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whorety-k · 2 days

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Ebony Coasts [Part 1]

Happy Mermay everybody!! I'm deciding to come out of the woodworks and actually write something because of the brain worms all of my favorite writers are giving me. I decided on some Corvus Corax love today because I feel like he's often part of the forgotten Primarchs in fanfiction (and I'm also a Raven Guard girlie <3).

Pairing: Merfolk!Corvus Corax x fem!Reader (second person POV)

Song recommendation: The Night Does Not Belong To God - Sleep Token

"And you remember everything / Only till the sun recedes once again / And the night comes down like heaven."

Warnings: Ocean mentions / potential thalassophobia

Word Count: 2.2k

[Part 2]

The full moon above hung in the sky like a beacon, illuminating the ebb and flow of the tides. Stars were all but drowned out by its glow, glimmers of the crashing waves reflecting what little light they put out. As it so often did this time of night, the chill settled deep into your bones. Still you were at ease.

You were never quite sure what called you out to the ocean so late in the night, and for whatever reason 'The waves are calming,' wasn't enough for your friends and coworkers to get off of your back. It had become a habit to gaze at the stars as a stress-reliever after your recent move closer to the coast. The two-hour work commute had taken its toll on your psyche, and you have not regretted your choice to find an apartment closer to your workplace.

What you now lacked in commute stress, you more than made up for stressing over your newest case. Coastline conservation was your forte; you were the one often called in to solve complex cases, and yet this one seemed to leave you puzzled each time. From kids tearing up the natural flora or an illegal succulent harvesting operation, you had been able to solve every situation that had been thrown your way before, but this situation didn't match any of the patterns you had trained yourself to look for.

It stumped you.

Caves were dug practically overnight into the cliffside, then left completely uninhabited by the time you found them. No one man could have accomplished such a feat without at least a noise complaint from the houses on the cliff above.

Random caches of sea glass, precious stones, jewelry, and other shiny objects were tucked away within pits in the caverns as if hidden for later. Interestingly enough, these caches seemed to grow in size if they were left untouched. The last hoard you had taken as evidence resulted in that particular cave being completely abandoned overnight, often filled in.

And most puzzling: there were no other actual signs of anyone ever having tread there. No tools, no trash, no foot prints. Nothing but the little stores of trinkets. It was infuriating. Whatever punks had been tearing up the coastline were masters at their craft.

Tonight, you were determined to catch the bastards that had been giving you stress once and for all. You even had the local authorities on speed dial (despite your distrust in them properly handling the situation) in case anyone decided to get violent.

A gust of frigid wind draws you from your thoughts. The night isn't getting any younger, and you need to get down to the cave. You hug your windbreaker jacket closer to your body as you wander back down the metal dock, boots clunking loudly across the water. The crackle of gravelly sand crunching replaces the heavy thumps as you descend onto the illuminated beachfront.

You almost lose track of time as you travel along the high tides. You've walked this particular beach head a hundred times at nearly all times of day, and by now it's all beginning to blur together. You force yourself to focus on the present this time, fiddling with the moonstone pendant around your neck. You had taken it from the last cave for study, but when it solved absolutely nothing, you decided to keep it as a token to remember what you were working towards. ‘A stone of new beginnings’, they say. Maybe it'll be the beginning of actually solving this damned case.

A cavity in the cliff face finally comes into view. From this distance, the high tide creates a shallow cove that appears to fill part of the cavern. There aren't any tracks other than your own as you approach. Whoever created the small structure must not have returned to it just yet.

A flicker of white catches your eye.

You come to a dead stop.

It barely registers that you're just at the maw of the cavern when you remember how to breathe. You quietly chastise yourself with an annoyed huff. Doing this job for as long as you have, you really should be more used to the way the reflections on the water’s surface play tricks on you, especially when at nightfall. With a shake of your head, you take a step into the thin layer of salty water covering the floor of the cavern. You silently thank the waders you wear for keeping your feet dry.

The moonlight doesn't reach farther than a few meters in the darkness of the space, you note as you tread deeper into its embrace. Without the wind chill, it is far warmer than the marine layer settling just outside. Your hand fishes into an inner jacket pocket to retrieve your flashlight–

Splash!

…Of course you'd drop it. Right now, of all times. Professional.

You kneel down into the sparkling abyss and feel around for the waterproof torch, letting out a sigh of relief when its plastic casing finds your fingers. You grasp the pesky light and stand back up to onyx orbs peering directly into yours.

You blink. It blinks.

A flurry of movement torrents the cave as rapid splashing fills the air. In your panic, you slip on the wet stones and fall back into the water as the jet-and-alabaster creature looms before you, eyes boring into your very core. This thing is huge. Its skin gleams unnaturally white, rippling with lithe muscles as it leans down over you, trapping you between its muscular arms. You desperately look up into its (his?) stony face as you try to sprawl backwards, searching for any purchase in the puddle currently soaking your backside. It stops you with a large clawed hand on your chest, pinning you down firmly to the flooded floor. The creature (man?) is delicate enough not to slice you open.

“Stop.”

You freeze. He stills. Did he just speak–?

“Your efforts are fruitless. Cease this before you harm yourself.” The deep voice that comes from the man is rough, as if it is not often used. “Please,” it adds, quieter.

You stare up at the man like cornered prey, but you heed his words and stop your fight. The hand on your chest briefly trails to your neck, claw catching on something before shifting to cradle your back. He lifts your upper half until you are sitting upright once again, assuring you'll hold the position before he retrieves his hand.

The moon and proximity allow you to finally get a semi-decent look at the man before you. He must be at least three meters tall, even leaning over slightly. Long black hair frames a strong, admittedly handsome face. His blunt, wispy bangs just barely hide black eyebrows knit with concern and amusement. Webbed ear-fins hide amongst his ebony hair in the dark, a gradient of charcoal grey at their edges. Your eyes respectfully shy away from his athletic chest to the gills tucked along his ribcage. When he finally moves back enough for you to fully sit upright, you notice the dorsal fin that trails down his entire back, leading into a tail that looks as if its melting into the water below. His fins drape over him like the softest silks, sharing that charcoal gradient from what you can see in the dark.

Your eyes widen at the sight, and the giant seems to catch on.

“Why do you continue to return here, little human?” he inquires.

You look back up at his face to once again see that perfectly neutral expression. It frightens you to know that he knows you've been here before, when you had no idea he even existed until just now. Finding your voice takes an embarrassingly long time. “...I…”, you start, voice laced with thinly veiled awe, “...work in coastal habitat conservation. I've been trying to figure out who was vandalizing protected areas on this beach head.”

The man’s head cocks to the side curiously, the only indication that he had heard you. It's his turn to observe you now– at least, you think that's what he's doing from the subtle shifts of the muscles surrounding his eyes. The fully black scleras do not make his gaze clear in the low light, but you swear you can see how his expression seems to fall.

“I am no vandal. I am merely an inhabitant, and I do not appreciate such accusations,” he growls.

Your words get lost in your throat as you straighten up and move to apologize, instinct kicking into to reassure the creature you've just met that you didn't mean to imply that he was a vandal. If anything, in hindsight, you're the asshole raiding his home.

You're cut off when he raises a hand to silence you, softly shaking his head. He seems disappointed, but the wave passes him by. Firmly, he presses, “I intend to stay here, and I would hope that you will be of no trouble for me to do just that.” You don't miss how he clasps his clawed hands together before him.

You quickly nod your head, shifting to stand back up. The chill of the sea water soaking through your clothes down into your waders is starting to become too much. Your body begins to tremble. With an unsteady voice, you croak out, “Nope! No problem here! Technically, it's my job to protect your habitat, so…” You voice drifts off as you realize you're either going to have to:

A. Convince the world that mermaids exist, or,

B. Lie on your report.

…And telling the world about merfolk sounds like a lot more paperwork than you're willing to do in this lifetime. You can't imagine what horrors bureaucracy and media would do to this (so far) gentle giant. If he exists, there's certainly more of his kind and you are not about to accidentally start an illegal merfolk poaching trade.

A quiet huff leaves the pale merman, and you focus back up on him. It takes a moment for you to realize he's laughing at your crisis. You fold your arms, body still shuddering from the chill. “Your secret is safe with me,” you declare, confidently standing up straight.

The merfolk nods in response, clearly amused by the whole situation despite the grim countenance that colors him. A silent staring contest commences between the two of you, gentle sounds of crashing waves filling the air from outside of the cavern. The scattered moonlight causes his scales to glitter like obsidian. You get the feeling that you're going to be watched from the shadows to assure you keep your promise, and you're not sure how to feel about it.

His soft voice breaks the silence, notably warmer. “You will be returning here again regardless.”

It's not a question; it's a statement, and you reckon it's not an incorrect one. You defend yourself, “It's not every day that I discover something out of my childhood fantasies is real and causing me hassles with my job.”

Your comment earns you another soft huff of a laugh. It's the best you'll get out of him, you assume. “It is not every day that a human raids my den and steals my belongings,” he chides.

Sputtering at his accusation, you avert your gaze and draw your lips into a tight line. The heat in your cheeks could burn a hole through steel. “I didn't know! I... can't exactly get those back for you until they're cleared out of evidence, but I will try.”

The answer seems to charm and please him. “That would be pleasant.”

Another bout of silence fills the cavern as you feel yourself being studied. Awkwardly, you tell the merfolk your name, extending an arm out for a handshake.

The man stares at it blankly, blinking once before he places his hand on top of yours. It's not correct, but at least he has the spirit. Now that you're not in a panic, you notice just how cold his hand is on yours. “You may call me Corvus Corax,” he says, withdrawing, “Is it normal for your kind to shake as you do?”

You cross your arms over your chest, rubbing your hands over the wet jacket covering your upper arms. “Not particularly. I'm wet and it's freezing,” you jest, giving Corvus a smile.

The words have little weight on Corvus Corax. Cold and wet are his normal. If hypothermia doesn't take you, embarrassment and culture shock certainly will. You look down at your clammy hands.

“I should get home before I freeze to death,” you state bluntly, wincing as a breeze from the mouth of the cave causes the wet windbreaker to stick to your back.

Corvus nods, simply staring. You aren't sure what you're expecting when you give him a wave, but the sheer amount of nothing he seems to give only serves to intrigue you further. You can feel his eyes on you as you turn to exit the cave, mentally preparing yourself to falsify a report about a group of ne’er-do-wells digging into the cliff face for an unknown reason and how they narrowly evaded identification… however unbelievable it is. You step out of the cave in a distracted daze, still convincing yourself of everything as your boots crack on the gravel once more.

You know you'll be returning. Corvus knows you'll be returning. Gingerly, with trembling hands, you reach up to fiddle with your pendant once more to ground yourself when you have a jarring realization.

That bastard took your necklace.

[Part 2]

#warhammer 40k #warhammer 40000 #warhammer 30k #corvus corax #primarch #primarch x reader #corvus corax x reader #warhammer fanfic #mermay #your honor i love him #raven lady writings

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leech-drinker · 2 months

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i have fallen victim

i sincerely apoligize for shipping radioapple. i dont find it hot i swear, its just amusing. please no its not like kissy kissy ship theyre just like coparenting, a two man comedy act, two opposite forces that are entertaining to watch clash against eachother. please jury do not strike me down, i will learn from my sins, i will kill the part that is cringe.

#radioapple #joking #gay #feral #i know al is acearo spec but like qpr yanno #not like romantic ship #just a fun dynamic #i dont think a sigle part of me lusts after alastor #like that man doesnt even know what backshots are #he too good for sex #not tied by the red string of fate #but crashing together with the tides of time #like two opposing melodies that harmonize #theyre just a pair not a ship

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peachesofteal · 2 months

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Simple Math / Part Eleven

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 6k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI. Graphic depiction of domestic violence. This fic contains mature themes. Mention of pregnancy. Nurse!reader, hospital setting, medical inaccuracies. Bun is in pain, goes to a doctor. Dissociation. Lots of despair, fear, anxiety. The 141 reunites. Nightmares. Comfort. Tenderness. Angst. Welcome home.

“Knock knock.”

“Bunny.” Johnny murmurs, lifting an arm, urging you close, a moon to a tide.

“Hi.” You bend, moving into the hug, pressing your face to his neck for a quick second before straightening.

“I miss ye.” You survey him, glancing at the monitor, the brace on his leg and hip, the disconnected fluid line. He’s doing well. You’re so relieved to see it with your own eyes, ribs rattling with a long exhale. Satisfied, you smile, tension bleeding from your spine.

“Simon says you’re terrorizing your night nurse.”

“Am not. She’s jus’ not gentle, or quiet. Wakes me up.”

“That’s her job.” He scoffs, waving you off. You settle in the chair at his side, and he takes your hand in his, lifting it to his lips, dotting kisses across your knuckles. His affection is freeing, sweet and easy, a warm breeze on a spring day. It overflows your heart with warmth until you think it might spill over, and you go with it, following his lead, even though your better judgement, the girl in the mirror, wails.

“Ye look good. Better. Swellin’ gone down?” He cradles your chin, turning your face from left to right, inspecting with a crystal-clear sapphire gleam.

“Yeah, my shoulder is still sore but… yeah. I feel better.”

“’m glad. Simon keepin’ ye off yer feet all day then?”

“Oh my god.” You laugh. “He keeps telling me to lay down. Or asking if I want to take a nap.” Johnny chuckles.

“Sounds right. He’s a bit o’ a mother hen, that one. He cares though, we both do.”

“I know.” You squeeze his hand. “And I missed you too.”

“He said ye an’ him had a nice chat the other night?” Your cheeks burn. Oh god. Did he… “I’m a wee bit jealous.” He complains, turning his nose up and away in a mock pout, and you roll your eyes.

You laid in bed all night and thought about these moments. Thought about Simon’s mouth on yours, his hand on your ass, squeezing and stroking. You thought about how he tasted, how he smelled, the way he looked at you, like you were a part of their world, a piece of them.

And you thought about Johnny. Johnny alone here, Johnny trapped in the hospital, healing, unable to leave or even get out of bed. How anxious he must be, being separated from his family, how frustrating it is to spend so long trying to get better.

You wanted to give him something. Wanted to make him feel better, see him smile.

Here goes nothing.

Leaning, standing, you dip into his orbit, lightly bumping your noses together. It takes no time until his good hand is around the back of your neck, crashing your mouth into his, and he breathes you in, holding you steady, tongue and teeth and lips swirling together in a ubiquitous, overwhelming haze. He tastes like summer rain, the feeling in the air before a giant storm, electric and blazing, brilliant glow transferring between the two of you, lightning striking a mountaintop. He nips your bottom lip, heat flooding your stomach, and you pull away slowly, his eyes jeweled and shimmering, brilliantly blue.

“Bunny,” You try to swallow a quiet giggle and fail. “I’ll have to tell ye I’m jealous more often.”

“Don’t take advantage.” You playfully scold.

“Me? Take advantage?” He pretends to be outraged, voice piquing higher, and you laugh again. “How can I take advantage when ‘m the one stuck here in this bed while ye two are at home, playin’ house, takin’ couch naps and gettin’ butt rubs. No one cares about Johnny, no-“

“Shhh.” You press your lips to his, silencing him, remaining in the kiss that’s long and soft and saccharine. He sneaks his tongue back between your teeth, mischievous and wild, every bit the man you’re drawn to, an attraction you can’t fight.

“Well.” Simon clears his throat from the doorway, brows raised, mask snug. “Hope I’m not interrupting.” You don’t know why, but you fly backwards, nearly stumbling, cheeks on fire. You feel like you’ve been caught doing something you shouldn’t, and that feeling, the pit in the bottom of your stomach, is all too reminiscent.

It frightens you.

“Whoa, hey.” Johnny tries to snag a finger around your wrist, but you step out of the way.

“It’s alright.” Simon moves inside fully, clicking the door shut behind him. “You’re not in trouble. Nothing is wrong, I was just kidding. That’s my fault.” You shake your head.

He’s not mad. Johnny is fine. Everything is fine.

You’re overreacting. You’re making a mess of this.

You shouldn’t even be doing this in the first place. What’re you doing? Who are you kidding?

“I’m s-sorry.” You stammer, hands wringing together anxiously.

“Ye dinnae have anything to be sorry about.” Johnny protests, still trying to reach for you.

Get it together. You have to get it together.

You close your eyes.

Deep breath. In and out. You can do it. Just breathe.

It works. You’re steadier, and you meet their watchful gazes as your eyes open.

“You okay?” Simon murmurs, moving very slowly to the other side of the bed where you’re standing, like he’s approaching a spooked, scared, wild animal.

“Yeah. Sorry. Just… had a moment. I’m fine.” Not entirely true, but that’s alright. You feel a little unsteady, a little unnerved, and Johnny frowns.

“Ye should sit.”

“I’m fine.”

“Bunny, please. For me?” He bats his eyelashes, and you want to groan.

But you lower yourself in the chair all the same.

Quiet falls over the room. It’s awkward and stiff, and you curse yourself for ruining the moment.

“Hey.” Simon soothes, reading your mind. “Hey, you’re alright. Everything is fine.” You nod, unsettled. He squeezes your good shoulder and dips past you, leaning to press a gentle kiss to Johnny’s brow, before dotting his nose and pushing their lips together. Their kiss is long, languid touch melting away to expose their connection, trust and love on full display. Delicate and rare, their affection makes your heart flutter, pulchritudinous whispers given to one another as Simon holds Johnny’s hand, stroking a familiar pattern into his skin, something similar to the way he touches you. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine. Wish they’d let me out of this bloody bed.” Johnny grumbles. You clear your throat.

“They’re waiting on your wrist. Once your wrist can support your weight on crutches, then you’ll be able to start PT and be released.”

“Ach. I know.” He’s frustrated, it’s clear. You know it’s not easy, being here, being separated, stuck in a hospital.

“It won’t be too long.” You try to reassure him, and he nods, still a little forlorn. “Here,” you stand with a burst of confidence, knocking his arm with the back of your hand as a direction, “scooch over.”

His eyes light. Simon laughs.

You fold yourself onto the edge of the bed, turned on your side, curled along where he’s the least banged up, careful of the sensitive graft lurking beneath his hospital gown.

“There. That better?” His good arm wraps around you carefully, settling on your ribs, a thumb tracing the wrinkle of your shirt.

“Aye, much better.” Your knees are bent, and cool air ghosts over your lower back, where your shirt has ridden up and exposed your skin. You shiver.

“Cold?” Simon murmurs, and you nod. He’s close, hovering, pulling a blanket up from the end of the bed to cover both you and Johnny. He tucks it around the two of you carefully and leans forward, pulling his mask down again to brush his lips across Johnny’s brow.

You watch in a daze. They don’t speak, but there’s something happening between them, something being said in their eyes as Simon holds his face briefly, and Johnny nods.

They both look to you, your bottom lip caught between teeth.

“Want one too?” Simon hums, cupping the back of your head. “Here.” He kisses you, lingering in it, heat of his naked mouth still a shock to your system.

Johnny is beaming, and cuddles you as close as possible, cheek resting atop your forehead.

They make you dizzy. All of it feels like some kind of dream, a world impossible, a fantasy suddenly turned real life. You’re on the verge of spinning out of control inside it, losing yourself.

It doesn’t help that everything you’ve done over these last few years, this identity, this life, the work that went into hiding and planning and saving and scraping, trying to stay unseen and unnoticed-

Was all for nothing.

“Bunny?” Johnny whispers, bringing you back to them. Simon is settled in the recliner, the same one from the ICU room, but his arm is stretched past your head, fingers playing idly in Johnny’s very long mohawk.

“Sorry. I’m here.”

“Where did ye go?” He tightens his hold, and you snuggle in closer, hiding away from everything bearing down on you, the pain and the panic and the doubt. You hide your face from it, refuse to acknowledge it, desperately trying to stay in this moment, hoping to just be… be here with them. In the sun.

“Nowhere.”

A day passes. Then another, and another, and another. Your face nearly looks normal, puffiness and swelling practically gone, and your neck aches less and less with each passing day.

Your shoulder, on the other hand, is a problem.

It never stops hurting. You struggle to get your arm through your shirts, can barely lift it, can't pick anything up, and it’s so sore, tender, and stiff, like it’s been dislocated or worse, broken. You’re worried, worried about going back to work without a full range of motion, worried about being in pain.

Worried about being even more permanently damaged than you already are.

Just another tally mark. Just another thing you must live with now, a permanent remnant of him, a forever reminder of just how foolish you really are.

You’re weak. You’re stupid. You’re damaged.

The pain breaks you down. It prevents you from sleeping, keeps you twisting and turning through a roil of dark dreams. It depresses you, sinks its teeth into your flesh and gnaws on the pieces touched by the sun, the parts of your heart still beating, somehow.

It reminds you of everything you’re desperate to forget.

It all comes crashing down one morning. The despair. The helpless feeling brewing in your stomach. The loneliness. It keeps you there, in bed, in agony, past breakfast.

It keeps you there, until you hear the creak of the stairs, a firm knock.

“I’m coming in.” Simon advises, trying the door, cracking it enough to stick his head through.

You’re crumpled in the middle of the mattress, pillows strewn about from trying to find a comfortable position, tears already dried. Your shoulder hurts so bad, and you don’t know why, don’t know why it’s not getting better, not healing.

“Hey, sleepyhead.” He sits at your side, hand resting on your hip, inspecting the worry lines, the frown tugging at your lips. “What’s going on?” Guilt swamps you.

“It’s nothing, my shoulder just kept me up, so I’m a little tired. That’s all.” You paste on your work smile, forced and believable, but he only shakes his head.

“Don’t do that.” He thumbs your brow. “I think you should see a doctor.”

“N-no.” You can’t. He doesn’t understand. They’ll want to take x-rays. X-rays lead to questions.

He never takes you at face value. Always pushing. Always digging, looking you over. “Why not?”

“It’s… it’s not necessary. I’m fine, it’s probably just a deep bruise.”

“You’d be experiencing less pain if that was the case.” You raise an eyebrow. He shrugs. “I know a little bit. We all have basic medic training, and I’ve been reading up, for when Johnny gets home.” He pats your hip. “Let’s make you an appointment.” You shake your head.

“No!” It’s too sharp, too insistent, and he freezes. You wince. “I’m sorry. It’s just-“

“You can’t go to a doctor.” He finishes, like he knows. “Tell me why, sweetheart.” You take a shaky breath.

You can’t. You shouldn’t.

Sunlight taps against the iron that’s encrusted around your heart. It knocks, wanting to be let in. It searches for weakness, places of opportunity, slivers of space where it can find its way.

Your mouth starts moving before you give it permission, like it knows this is where you’re headed, no matter how hard you fight, no matter how deeply the survivor’s logic is ingrained in your brain.

“It… it’s not safe.”

“It creates a trail.” He surmises, and you nod. For a wild moment, you wonder if he’s a plant. If they’re a trap, designed to get you to lower your guard, fabricated to encourage you to trust, to love, just so the jaws of Philip’s cruelty can close around you at the most opportune moment.

They wouldn’t. They’re not. You’re being ridiculous. You’re paranoid.

“We’ll make it under my name. Our primary is service member focused, and very discreet. You’ll be safe.” He makes it hard to argue, even though you want to. You should.

“I- I don’t know.”

“I can’t stand to see you in pain like this.” He rebukes, and then smiles softly, eyes lighting up. “Besides, I’m going to need your help. Johnny’s coming home on Friday.”

“He is?” You push upward. “Really?”

“Really.” He’s beaming, radiant sunshine spilling from his lips, and it makes you emotional, seeing him so happy, so weightless. “He passed a strength test on his wrist this morning. He needs a few days of PT in hospital, and then he can do it outpatient. His care team has signed off, and he’s ready.”

“Oh my god, that’s great!”

“It is. But I want both of you on the mend, not just one. Please.” It doesn’t take much more for you to concede, unable to find an excuse or a good enough reason, one he’s not able to combat.

“Alright, I guess.”

“Simon. Good to see you.” The doctor extends his hand and Simon shakes it readily, keeping his body positioned between you and the physician, one hand still on your knee.

He’s had a hand on you for the last half hour. You’ve been rattling on the exam table, shifting and fretful, disquieted energy spilling forth since he coaxed you into the car this morning.

“Dr. Fitch.”

“This is my patient?” He motions to you, and Simon stands to the side, concentrating, eyes focused above the mask. You give your name, and the provider repeats it with a warm smile.

“Hi, I’m Dr. Fitch.” You raise your good arm to shake his hand, and he pulls the rolling stool underneath him, taking a seat opposite Simon at your knee.

A warm palm flexes at your lower back. It’s soothing, comforting.

I’m here, it says. You’re safe.

“Simon says you’ve been having some shoulder pain?”

“Yeah, I had… I had an injury. Thought there was some soft tissue damage, maybe some minor bruising, but the pain is too persistent.”

“Mind if I take a look?” He points to the side you’re clearly favoring.

“Sure.” It’s not comfortable, to have another man’s hands on you outside of your job. There’s no trust there, no familiarity like there is with Simon and Johnny, and your body knows it, practically vibrating as he walks his fingers up your scapula. Simon stays close, still with a hand at your back, watching intently.

Dr Fitch holds your elbow, and slowly lifts your arm until you’re telling him to stop, pins and needles radiating through your shoulder and up your neck.

“I think we need an x-ray so we can really see what’s going on.” Your fingers curl, nails digging into your palm.

Fuck.

“I… I think I just need a sling, or an immobilizer for a few weeks. Give it some time to heal.” You try to protest, but he shakes his head.

“I can’t be sure of any of that, without an x-ray.” Oh god. You think you might throw up.

He’s right, though. You know he’s right. You know no good provider in their right mind would sign off on a treatment plan without knowing the extent of an injury. He’s not going to let you dictate what you need.

“Bun.” Simon murmurs, and you blow out a rough breath.

“Okay, fine.”

Dr. Fitch is grim when he reappears almost an hour later, throwing the films up for both you and Simon to see.

You spot what’s soured him immediately, and there’s a sharp intake of breath behind you, the tell-tale sign of Simon noticing it too.

“This side of your body has seen a lot of trauma.” The doctor says gently. He’s not unkind, but still clinical. The kind of provider you’d like you work with, you think. “These old injuries, your clavicle, acromion, even this break in your ulna, make your scapula a very delicate part of your body. I think an MRI would show a fair amount of cartilage damage in these areas.” He motions around your joint, and you close your eyes.

You can’t do this.

If Dr. Fitch sees your unease or panic, he pushes past it. “You have a rotator cuff tear. The good news is, it’s not surgical. I recommend physical therapy for injuries like these, along with activity modification and lots of rest. I want to do a corticosteroid injection for your pain as well. Today, if you’d like. You’ll need to rest your arm for twenty-four hours afterwards, make sure you’re not lifting anything or moving it…” He continues, but you lose track, lose focus, staring at the vinyl tile, weird grey and pink and green patterns all worked together to make some of the ugliest floor you’ve ever seen.

You zone out. Lose yourself. The films mock you, their ugly, horrific images hanging you out to dry, showcasing the truth, the reminders you’ll never be able to escape.

The pieces of you, changed permanently.

It’s hard to look at. Hard to think of.

You’d rather be considering survival. Counting your cash and researching new places to live. New communities to disappear inside, a new life to assume.

It’s easier to run.

You can’t look at Simon. Can't bear the shame. Can't believe he's seeing this, your nightmares on display.

You keep your eyes fixed on the wall.

The girl in the mirror is falling apart. She despises being confronted with your failings, your weakness, the results of your stupidity.

It’s far less common now, these mistakes. These slip ups.

But before… before… they indulged Philip in a beautiful game of cat and mouse. You made it fun, made it exciting. A wolf with his prey. Playing with his food before he eats. Before he strings it up and breaks its collarbone because he likes to hear it scream.

Simon is talking to the provider, asking questions, receiving answers. You can barely hear him. You’re underwater.

The only thing that tethers you to the earth is the hand on your back, the warm, gentle, broad, grounding pressure.

There’s more conversation, and then Dr. Fitch is vacating the room.

Is it time to go?

You try to stand on autopilot, but Simon holds you steady.

“We’re going to do the steroid, for your pain.” He drifts into your line of sight, pulling the mask down. “Bunny, look at me.”

When you can’t, he follows your gaze.

The films come off the wall within the next second, ripped down by the long reach of his arm.

Gone.

“I have to go.” You whisper.

“You’re not going anywhere. You’re going to get this injection, and then I’m going to take you home and put you to bed.”

He doesn’t understand your meaning.

Or maybe he does.

Home. The word rings in your ears like a punch. It’s like you’ve been hit with it, burned with it.

Home.

He’s not forceful, but you still feel the pressure, the insistence. You expect to rail against him. To cower.

Instead, you slip inside it. Allow him to tell you what to do, to make the decision. You fall easily into him, and he holds your hand through it all, while the injection site is swabbed, when the needle goes in. He holds your hand out to the car, holds your hand as he buckles you in. He holds your hand as he tucks you into a bed larger and softer than the one you've been sleeping in. It smells like him and Johnny, soft sheets and pillows piled around you like a wall, false sense of security building every time you twitch, testing where is he is, if he’s left yet.

The last thing you feel before you drift off to sleep is your hand, still in his.

You don't know how long you sleep. You sail in the darkness, navigating turbulent seas, waking every now and then, sometimes alone... sometimes not.

The baby monitor blinks pale green, little circle fuzzy on the edge of your vision, appearing and disappearing throughout the day.

Sometimes the bed is warm. Sometimes it's not.

When it is, you seek him out on instinct, trying to crawl inside his ribs, frantic with your effort to hide, to run. He holds you through it, rocks you gently, tells you you're safe, says you don't have to be afraid anymore, he's here now. He'll take care of you.

There's a rope around your ankle, tied too tight, tethered to the ocean floor. It drags you down, rips you away from him, fills your lungs and silences you.

You didn't make it.

All you can see behind closed lids is those films. All you can feel is the phantom ache in your limbs, the remnants of a shadow, still living and breathing inside of you.

The girl in the mirror is silent. Nothing to say for once in her life, she weeps like her chest is being carved open, sobs and screams pouring out in a flood.

I know you'll be here when I get back, won't you?

The house is vibrant today.

Lou has been here, stocking the fridge, precooking some meals, and her husband is helping Simon rearrange the living room, moving pieces of the couch to be more accessible, laughing back and forth quietly. Occasionally, he stops into the kitchen where you’re seated next to Pen in her highchair, checking in, but never encroaching.

He doesn’t get too close, right now. You’re still underwater somewhere, lost in a current. You’re here, but not really, silently drifting like a ghost, watching and waiting for something or someone to shake you out of it.

Simon hasn’t yet, but he’s watching. Always.

He’s intentionally careful, loud. Announcing himself everywhere he goes in the house, telling you everything he’s doing.

You didn’t understand why at first. Didn’t realize you hadn’t spoken in eight hours, and then ten, then twelve.

Trapped in a tomb of yourself, locked away with the girl in the mirror.

Guilt burns like a wildfire.

This should be a happy time. A wonderful time.

But all you’re doing is making a mess of their life.

Lou, thankfully, doesn’t push you either. She’s content to let you sit there, next to Pen. She keeps an eye out, glancing over at you occasionally, but your placating smiles seem to satisfy her.

Simon steps in front of the counter, ducking his head down to catch your eyes. “I’m going to pick Johnny up.” Somewhere, in the pits of hell, excitement blooms. Happiness tries to sprout. “Do you want to come?” Definitely not. They’ll certainly clap him out, and there’s no way you can be there for that.

“No, I’m… okay.”

“Okay. Penny is coming with me, but John and Lou are staying here. Kyle is coming by. If Johnny’s feeling up to it, I’m hoping to do dinner all together.” Acid is tossed around, tempestuous in your stomach. Lou smiles around his side.

“Want to watch something while we wait?”

“Sure.” She disappears down the hall, saying something to John, and Simon slowly pulls Pen from her chair, kissing her cheek and nose before cradling her to his chest. She’s not a small baby, but in his hold, she’s tiny, soft and delicate, content in her dad’s arms, still a little sleepy from her afternoon nap.

“We’ll be back soon.” He whispers, turning to go.

Your hand whips forward instinctively, out of control.

It latches onto his.

“Simon. I’m… I’m sorry.” You’re sorry you’re ruining everything. You’re sorry you’re fucked up beyond belief, you’re sorry he had to see all that in the doctor’s office, you’re sorry, you’re sorry, you’re sorry.

He squeezes. “Shhh, hey. There’s nothing to be sorry about.” He shifts, still holding Penny, but stooping down to crouch at your knees, his own popping with effort. “It’s okay, if you have to go somewhere else for a little while up there, as long as you're not lost in it.” He motions to your head. “Nothing has changed. We’re still right here, everything is alright. Huh, Penny girl?” He bounces her, and she shrieks out a giggle, reaching for his face. He kisses her hands like he’s trying to eat them, rumble in his voice making her squeal, and he catches your faint smile. “There she is.” He kisses your forehead. “We’ll be back soon, okay?”

“Okay.”

You hear Johnny before you see him.

There’s a scrape of crutches, his voice animated, talking to his baby, Penny giggling wildly outside on the walk. Lou and John exchange a comfortable smile, and she manages to get the door open before Simon can get his key in the lock.

“Welcome home!” She exclaims, and Penny squeaks, clapping excitedly. She’s wriggly, wanting to get down immediately upon crossing the threshold, but Simon holds her firm, turned around so Lou can snap their picture.

“Ach, Price, can ye do somethin’-“ Johnny laments, but the captain only laughs and looks on.

“Hey! Come on, you’ll want this, later. I promise. Look over here.” They’re picture perfect, Penny cradled between them, Johnny’s hair moved out of his face, his posture a little slouched because of his hip and leg. His head rests on Simon’s shoulder, an arm stretched across his middle, right under Penny, who glows from her perch, the center of attention.

An ache unfurls in the middle of your chest, a sore spot, growing, spreading through your body.

They’re so lovely, it hurts. This moment is beautiful, a homecoming, a story of survival and perseverance. Johnny’s strength and determination. Doing something you know a lot of people initially doubted.

The dark spot of pain passes, fleeting.

Johnny’s eyes find yours. “Ye goin’ make me hobble all the way over there?” He teases, and you shake your head.

The two of you can only give half hugs, but you make it work, holding onto him, fingers fisted in the back of his shirt.

“Welcome home.” You whisper in his ear, and he pulls away, notching his forehead against yours. His eyes glitter, heavy, trembling breath filtering through his nose, and he kisses you slowly, so painfully slowly it’s like you’re the only one in the entire house, in the whole world.

“You too, bunny.”

Dinner is lively. Kyle arrives shortly before it’s time to sit down, greetings and warm wishes passed around as everyone gets settled, Penny positioned in highchair between the guys with mashed potatoes and peas already scooped onto her tray. Johnny’s on your left, with Lou on your right, and Simon sits at the head of the table, across from who you realize now, is his old, or kind of still, boss.

He looks perfect there, half turned towards Pen and Johnny, radiantly smiling at his partner and daughter, trying again and again to catch your eye. Johnny's knee stays steady against yours, fingertips occasionally brushing your thigh, and the two of them try to draw you in, pull you towards them, over and over.

Conversation flows easily. They’re all talking, laughing, swapping stories, poking at one another. Kyle tells you about a time he fell out of a helicopter, and they all tease Johnny about nearly dying this time, or a different time, you can’t be too sure.

“Ye jus’ wish ye had the natural ability I do.” He sniffs, and Kyle chortles, struggling to swallow his food.

“I’d probably be dead, mate.”

“’Cause ye cannae handle it!” He retorts, and Simon laughs, causing Penny to giggle too, and then the entire table erupts in it, attention redirected, cooing at the adorable girl with mashed potatoes smeared on her face. Johnny and Simon fuss over her, a perfect family in unison.

There’s a whining, buzzing noise in the back of your head. It’s an off-key tenor, annoying and coarse, like the snag of rough skin texture against a soft sweater.

What are you doing here?

The world, this room, these people, spin and spiral around you. Talking, laughing, loving. Making connections with each other, feeling the warmth of love and friendship, of happiness.

The buzzing gets louder.

You’re vaguely in it now, still seated but not here, not anywhere. You’re drifting, falling away, slipping behind walls and layers, hiding.

The girl in the mirror approves.

What makes you think you have any right to be here? What makes you think you could ever possibly belong here? With them? With their friends? Their family?

You’re an intruder.

You’re risking their safety. You’re making a mistake.

Lou boasts a sharp laugh, and you nearly flinch.

You don’t belong here. You’re supposed to be alone. It was supposed to be okay, to be alone.

You’re selfish.

Simon reaches for Johnny’s hand, stretching across Penny’s spot, eyes heavy with love. There’s so much in his expression alone, dedication, devotion, borderline obsession bleeding through, and he holds Johnny like he’s holding his lifeline.

You’ll never be loved like that, known like that, cherished and protected… like that.

And why should you be?

You’re standing before you announce it, trying to hold yourself together. Both guys look to you, Simon’s expression changing from amusement and love to worry and concern, while Johnny mirrors it, and tries to grab your hand.

“Ye alright?”

“Bun?”

“I’m fine, just… uh. My stomach.” You lie, motioning away from the table, like it makes any sense. You excuse yourself quickly, apologizing, and practically run up the stairs.

The guest bathroom door locks, and you slide down against the tub, slumping over to rest your cheek on cold tile. “Fuck.” You whisper, rubbing at your cheeks. What is wrong with you?

You lay there long enough that your shoulder starts to hurt. Everything aches, your heart too, and wipe your cheeks over and over, trying to regain control of a sinking ship.

God, you really, really hope they aren’t mad you bailed.

The bed is your only option, your only salvation, and you sink into without fuss, burying yourself beneath a pile of blankets, hiding yourself away from the world.

At least when you sleep, you can’t think.

At least when you sleep, you can’t feel.

“Philip, please.”

“You made a fucking fool of me tonight.” He grips your upper arm so tight it feels like he’s cutting into your flesh, branding you, burning you down to the bone.

“No, I- I wasn’t trying to, I swear.”

“I think you were, spitfire. I think you wanted to see me sweat, didn’t you? Wanted to play a little game, huh?”

“No!” you’re crying, chest heaving with giant sobs, and his fist tightens in your hair, dragging you down to the ground. “No, Philip, stop. Stop!”

“Shut up.” You’re crawling on your knees, trying to keep pace, trying to stay in stride with him as he tugs, practically pulling you down the hallway to the bedroom.

Once he gets there, he jerks you upwards.

The hardwood floor is the next thing you see as your face crashes into it.

“S-stop.” You’re barely audible, buried in sobs. He mocks you.

“Stoooop, babe. Stop please.” Your arms cover your head, trying to protect your delicate bones there, your skull, your nose, your cheeks.

His foot rears back.

The world goes cold.

“NO!” you jerk your knees up to your chest, rolling away. “No! I’m pregnant!”

You think he’ll be happy. You think he’ll be pleased.

Instead, it’s raw, concentrated fury you see lining his face, lightning and thunder gathering in his eyes.

“You’re what?”

You come to trembling, coated in a cold sweat.

It’s okay. He’s not here. He’s not. You’re safe.

You clasp a hand over your mouth to ward off the volume of the sob, nausea rising until you’re almost gagging.

It’s okay.

You can do this. Get it together.

Time ticks away, but the agony of your memory, your nightmare, doesn’t fade. It settles in your bones like a sickness, infecting your mind and heart, keeping you from closing your eyes.

You can’t go back there. Not in real life. Not in your dreams. Not ever.

You would die before that happened.

Johnny and Simon sleep down the hall. You wonder if they’re wrapped up together, if Johnny is comfortable, if their room is cozy and homey, bed heavenly and full of love.

You could…

No.

The clock on your phone reads three in the morning. You feel like you haven’t slept at all, but every time you try to close your eyes, dread spreads, tenebrous and sticky, clinging to every synapse in your logical brain.

You eye the door.

You could…

Should you? Would they be mad? Would they welcome you? Would they even answer?

You don’t know how you convince yourself to do it, to drag your weak will down the hall and knock on their door, but you do. You’re a child the whole way, padding up to a parent’s room in the middle of the night, looking for salvation and sanctuary, desperate for comfort.

It takes almost no time after your timid little rap for the door to swing wide, Simon standing behind it, little lamp flicked on where Johnny is half sitting up, mostly still asleep, rubbing his eyes.

“Hi.” You whisper, distracted by Simon’s naked chest. He’s wearing sweatpants, but they’re slung low on his hips, soft tummy with wispy light brown hair peeking out above the drawstring. You think you’re staring, and you force a blink, trying to appear normal.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“N-nothing, I just… I had a nightmare and…I… I can’t…” the rest doesn’t come out, laying heavy on your tongue, trying to organize itself so it doesn’t seem so intrusive, or weak.

He doesn’t make you feel bad. Or guilty. He doesn’t even ask, he just steps aside, motioning to bed, clicking the door shut behind him.

“Take the middle.” He whispers, and you crawl across the expanse, timidly smiling at Johnny, who’s still yawning. He’s got his bad leg and hip set up on a bunch of pillows, and the spot next to him is still warm.

“Hey pretty girl.”

“Hi.” He pats the empty space, shoving the blankets down to the best of his ability to let you get underneath them.

“Bad dream?” He drawls, slow and sleepy.

“Yeah.”

“C’mere.” He tries to tug you closer, but Simon scolds him softly.

“Johnny, easy. Your graft.” He turns, sliding, encouraging you to settle on your side, with him at your back. “There we go. That’s better, hm?” It is better. So much better. Warm and safe. Blocked in on either side by them, your hand resting on Johnny’s sternum, grounding yourself with the rise and fall of his breathing, Simon nestling you into his chest, heavy arm slung across your ribs to hold Johnny’s hand.

It's so nice, tucked between them like you belong there, things start to spiral a little bit, doubt and worry fueling a cycle of second guessing. You shift restlessly, and Simon rubs your hip, soothing whatever he senses amiss back to neutral, lips humming just above your ear. “Close your eyes, little bunny. We’re here. You’re safe.”

#peaches writes #simple math #ghoap x reader #ghost x reader x soap #ghost x soap x reader #simon riley #john mactavish #simon riley x reader #soap x reader #john mactavish x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #ghost x reader

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ma1dita · 2 months

Note

Congratulations on 23! not a book reader but I remember reading somewhere that there's a rule that boys and girls who aren't related ofc be alone in the cabins together. Imagine this rule got implemented bc of Luke and posideon! reader

MDNI

🐥🐥🐥🐥🐥

luke castellan x poseidon!reader

not sure if this was supposed to be a smut request but guys look what you've done to me this is all yalls fault

a/n: smut... a bit of godly desecration & blasphemy?...is this dark!luke? luke said fuck the gods literally...no dialogue...wrap before you tap bc they dont (luke castellan x poseidon!reader)

wc: 603

It had been raining at Camp Half-Blood for a whole month.

No amount of prayers from Cabin 7 nor Mr. D's control over the atmosphere of his camp could change this—and everyone was doing their hardest to figure out why.

You and Luke however, were having the time of your lives— with camp activities canceled due to the downpour, it gave you more time to bundle up under the covers and within each other's arms. It wasn't a secret per say, just something so natural between the both of you. Like crashing tides, he'd fall into your embrace over and over for as long as the gods would allow. But sometimes, he liked spiting them for the fun of it.

Your cabin was empty all the time anyway, no pesky siblings or unclaimed campers peering over the bunks and invading your personal space, because this is what this was between the both of you---personal and intimate. No one's business but your own.

In Cabin 3, you were his alone. And as much as he is Camp Half-Blood’s all-star camper, he thinks the gods owe him this much. He’s allowed to be selfish when it comes to you.

Luke could relish in the sound of your moans echoing off the marble walls, waves of pleasure extracted from you as he thrusts into your pussy, soaked and pulling him in deep. He marks you where only he can see, handprints on your hips, hickeys between your tits and thighs, and he licks your cheek like a fucking dog, just because he can.

His alone.

His cock pistons harder as he holds onto the plush of your tummy, hands grappling onto every expanse of skin he could touch—his, his, his, from the hair he's pulling on your head to the tips of your curled toes. The harder you shake underneath him, the wider he grins, reducing a daughter of the Big Three to nothing but a fucked out puddle of tears.

Luke encourages you to be louder—deep down, he likes the idea of desecrating you in a place of honor. The Big Three were too pretentious to be parents, forbidden children given temples instead of homes to sleep in. It’s not his fault this place has too many platforms to christen. He supposes you both should try your father’s altar next.

Your eyes glaze over before you cum, and each time it reminds him of sparkling seafoam kissing the coast of the beach back home. It's his cue to throw your legs over his shoulders, diving into your mouth like you'd breathe oxygen into his lungs as he loses control and moans until your heart, like the rest of you feels full of him. He swirls your pretty pearl between his fingers, coaxing your orgasm out of you as naturally as he calls your name.

Under the tears and drool, Luke agrees you’re your father’s daughter, soft and sopping wet, drenched in his domain. Anchoring himself between your hips, you let out a scream of Luke's name and he kisses you delicately as you both release—everything from your collarbones to your breasts to the skin behind your knee, he kisses all of it.

His.

Luke could argue that the cum dripping out of your womb is his too, despite how eagerly he gives it to you each time. You didn’t even have to beg him this time.

It's what he loves about Cabin 3—it's his as much as it's yours, no clothes necessary. Until Mr. D comes barging in drenched to nine hells and floodwaters rising behind him with a personal threat from your father.

#jo's 23rd birthday bash ⋆｡°✩#luke castellan x reader #luke castellan fanfic #luke castellan smut #percy jackon and the olympians

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wandasaura · 3 months

Text

BURNING BRIGHTER THAN THE SUN

summary — the annual maximoff memorial day barbecue has finally come, but so has a softer side of your dominants

warning(s) — established relationship, married wandanat, mentions of dom/sub dynamics, this is 90% fluff, shower sex, quickie, fingering, oral, nipple stimulation, hickies, its relatively tame in comparison to what lives in this au, domestic fluff, mentions of pietro being dead as fuck, men/minors dni

authors note — remember when i said i was taking a little break? yeah i lied and im not sorry about it!

you are in love universe

♥️⊹ ˚ . 18+, men/minors dni ⁺ 𓈒 ꒰💌꒱ ♡ ･ mommy maximoff

The warmth and promise of sunshine had quickly taken hold of Westview, days of long darkness and snow storms came to be just a memory, thawed out by butterflies and the occasional white dove that pecked at the birdfeeder on the back porch of the Maximoff residence. You couldn’t understand how the sky was so much brighter in warmer weather, but as you sat beside Natasha on the cusp of solid Earth, you thought it looked bluer than usual. The crashing waves before you licked at your feet and dampened the shorts you wore when the tide dared to try and swallow you whole, but like changing seasons, it never stayed quick.

Sunrise had barely hit its peak and already the traces of pink and orange were just another mental memory for the big scrapbook of moments you never wanted to forget. The sand was coarse beneath the fingers that hours earlier had been dug into soft blankets, but refreshing and welcomed despite how small granules crept beneath your nails when you picked it up the wrong way. Natasha hummed an old lullaby beneath her breath, eyes closed and face tilted toward the sun like a lonely flower that had managed to grow in an abandoned field. You knew much about the woman's past, but not enough to understand her connection to the star that brought you light each new day. Now wasn’t the time to ask, but you knew that eventually you’d come to know the reason for her methods of relief in hard times.

The first weekend of break had come on quick, and the barbeque that Wanda and Natasha had frantically tried to tidy the house for before your attitude interrupted them was merely hours away. Despite the plans and the people coming over, time had been taken out of the day to devote just to you. In this moment, sitting on the edge of solid ground beneath rays of sun that attempted to burn you, you couldn’t even explain how truly loved you felt.

The beach was empty, void of the presence of others and quiet for your enjoyment, save for the seagulls who squawked over scraps and the waves that crashed against man made piers and naturally jagged rocks. Your toes were coated in sand, your fingers in the same state, but you didn’t care to think about the messy things at that moment, you only wanted to focus on the good. The good was Natasha’s arm wrapped around your waist, keeping you close like a stray wave might succeed in carrying you out to sea. The good was Wanda’s perfume that lingered around the collar of your stolen shirt like the scent was woven into the cotton. The good was being here, being free and alive. The good was knowing Natasha. The good was having Wanda. The good was knowing love and having love.

You laid your head down on the woman’s shoulder, noting how her hair seemed to glow beneath the sunlight. In this moment, it wasn’t auburn with scuffs of brown thrown in at the roots, it was orange like fire made by those long before lights and lanterns existed. She was ethereal, sat out beneath the early daylight, bearing her freckles for the sky to adore. You’d attempted to count them earlier, your gaze stuck on her naked face with blemishes and beauty marks sporadically thrown into the mix, but somewhere after thirty they all blended together and you settled for simply looking at them, admiring how you were somehow allowed to see them.

You were happier in spring, happiest in summer, but recently, you have found those seasons in people. Wanda was like the early days of May, where weather was warm but also cold, and sunlight was soft but somehow harsh. Natasha was like summer, late July if you thought about a specific moment. Like the air she was sweet, but like the people she was calm, and like the night she was chaos wrapped up in laughter and loved company. They weren’t perfect, you would never call them such, but they were as close to it as people could get.

A soft smile graced your features, and though you squinted to lessen the sting of sunlight, Natasha thought you looked stunning. When her eyes reopened and her head tilted downward to look at you, there was only affection smeared across her face. Her eyes that were so meticulously different shades of green had a spark within them that could only speak of the happiness she felt. How words had existed for so long and still there wasn’t one to describe the intense feelings that rushed through the both of you, you didn’t know, but you were content enough to rest against her with the knowledge that even if you couldn’t say it, you were both feeling it.

“We’ve gotta head back soon.” Your beautiful moment was ripped into tiny pieces of paper that got caught in the breeze before they made it into the recycling can, and the smile that had turned your lips upward quickly worked in the opposite direction. You shook your head, digging your heels into the sand like the simple action might change her mind and make her forget about the barbeque that was starting at noon. “Not now. I need a couple more minutes of this.”

You giggled softly when she nuzzled into your head, her wild curls tickling your nose because she hadn’t bothered to straighten them yesterday. You reached up, taking one of her curls between your fingers and pulling it taught, letting go to watch it bounce back into place and laid against her forehead with frizzy edges. You sighed in content, running your fingers through her wild hair that couldn’t be tamed in this state. “I like your natural hair.”

Natasha crinkled her nose at your genuine admission. She puckered her lips and let them rest against your finger that was still in front of her face as you softly brushed strands of hair away from her eyes. “My natural hair is blonde.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” You rolled your eyes fondly, snuggling even further into her side despite how hot you felt beneath the sun. No matter the weather you wanted to be pressed up into her, and it was clear that she wanted the same, her arm around your waist squeezed you tight, almost daring you to try and pull away prematurely. “When you met Wanda did she have red hair?”

“No, the red is pretty new. It was brown, a little bit longer than she keeps it now. She was really leaning into the whole emo phase. We could never go out together if she didn’t have red lipstick and eyeliner, she always said it completed her look.” Natasha smiled fondly at the memories that came to mind when she thought about the beginning stages of their relationship, and you felt your own heart warm in your chest as you thought about the young couple they had been. You wondered what kind of odds had been stacked against them, but you didn’t question it, happy to just live in this happy moment.

You let your hand fall back into the sand, rubbing circles that slowly became hearts into the malleable surface. The beach would always be one of your favorite places, but sitting beside Natasha made it better, sweeter. “How long have you been together now?”

“Fourteen years.” Natasha laughed, her own hand reaching out to collect handfuls of sand that she let run between her fingers until only a few granules were left in her palm, and then you watched her repeat the process over again. “Sometimes it feels like it was only a couple of weeks ago, and other times it feels like I’ve never lived without her.”

“I never hated her.” You admitted, though you had the slightest inkling that Natasha already knew that. She just had a way of knowing things before you did. There was no possible way anyone could hate Wanda Maximoff, and if you somehow stumbled upon the only person in the world who did, you didn’t doubt they’d meet a quick and painful demise.

“I know, moya kroshka.” Natasha laughs softly, so softly the sounds of the waves almost drown her out completely, but you still heard her. You’d always hear her. “It’s coming up on a full year since we started this whole thing, have any ideas about what you want to do?”

You shrugged your shoulders, reaching for Natasha’s hand when she lost interest in the sand. She’d taken her rings off last night and with the early wake-up call hadn’t put them back on. The slightest tan kissed her features around where they usually sat, and gently you brushed the pads of your fingers against the pale skin. “I just want to spend it with you both.”

“We can definitely make that happen.” Natasha hummed softly, laying a gentle kiss on the top of your head where sunlight had kissed your hair. Your roots were warm, hot against her lips, but Natasha didn’t flinch away. You knew this moment was coming to an end, but you could appreciate it for the few seconds longer that it lasted. “Wanda probably has breakfast ready, milaya. We’ve gotta start heading back now.”

“Can we come back?” You questioned softly, not wanting to speak too loud as if it could ruin the quiet atmosphere around you. As you stood, dusting sand off the back of your legs, you winced at the ache in your back when you finally found your feet and steadied yourself on them. Natasha did the same, a quiet groan slipping past her lips when she reached down to collect your abandoned sets of flip flops. With one hand occupied, she reached the other out to you.

“We’ll find a day.” She promised with a nod of affirmation. Your hand fits easily in the palm of hers, your fingers curl around her scarred knuckles while hers lay flat against your unbroken ones. Together you’re a perfect balance. Delicate definitely, but not entirely harmless.

Westview sits on the edge of New Jersey, the air tinged with the permanent lingrance of salt and sand. The farther you walk, the less prominent it becomes, but if you know what you’re looking for, the scent of the shore still remains. Houses closest to the water are painted soft colors that linger in the summer sunrises, vacation homes that are only occupied for a handful of months throughout the year, but the deeper you walk the more mundane it becomes. The town is a muted palette of browns and beiges, fences of white and cars of greyscale. It’s perfectly coherent, acceptably mature, but the Maximoff residence remains the outlier. In the blandness of tans and creams, the two-story house is a soft green color with vibrant red shutters. The cars are normal, though elaborate. Unlike the Hondas and Toyotas that occupy driveways and road space, Natasha’s sleek Corvette Stingray sits beside Wanda’s Audi R8 in the driveway, the only flex of their wealth that’s apparent. You like it though, like how they’re so different from everyone else.

You make sure to kick the sand still clinging to your heels off before you step into the house, and immediately you’re met with the aroma of sweet sugar and maple. Natasha hums at the change of scent, leaving behind the traces of salt that had tickled her nose the entire walk back to the house in favor of discovering what Wanda had prepared for breakfast. She drags her hand across your back as she passes you, seeking out the presence of her wife.

You're slower to follow, taking your time to meticulously stack your flip flops with the rest of the shoes in the entryway. They don’t match the aesthetic of Valentino loafers and Prada heels, but you smile at the sight anyways. Your favorite pair of white converse sit beside the shoes Wanda wears into the office every work day, and your balled up pink socks are tucked into Natasha’s running shoes for some reason, but the little traces of your place here makes you feel at home. You’re not so different from the shore that lingers through Westview in the winter, but unlike the water that’s abandoned when snow falls, they’ll never forget about you when the seasons inevitably change.

“Where did you leave the stray?” You just barely catch the end of whatever conversation has led to that question when you finally appear in the kitchen. The sunlight is golden now, no longer soft with pink and orange, but it falls over Wanda like the perfect blanket anyways. She’s wrapped up in Natasha’s arms, pinned to the stovetop where bacon rests in a hot pan. The only indication that this moment is less than perfect is the hot grease that pops and splatters every other second when Wanda neglects it for too long.

“You know, you should really be nice to me before I start biting your ankles like a real stray.” You hum, your voice carrying through the kitchen like it’s always belonged there, though it’s not a response derived from annoyance like it would have been only weeks ago. Rather, your words are layered with fond exasperation that Wanda finds herself laughing at.

Natasha kisses the lawyer's shoulder, squeezes her waist tightly, whispers something in Russian that’s not entirely audible from how far away you stand, before she pulls away entirely and walks toward the refrigerator. You pout when she pulls out the near empty pitcher of orange juice, setting it down on the island to be poured into glasses when breakfast is ready. It seems you could’ve spent a few more minutes beneath the sun, but you don’t complain. This is just as nice, just different.

“That’s my job.” You sulk, letting your naked feet slap against the hardwood floors as you approach with sadness written across your expression. “Wanda, your wife took my job.”

Natasha only narrows her eyes at you, the faintest ghost of a smile on her lips that she doesn’t even attempt to school. “It was my job first.”

“Well it’s my job now!” You stuck your tongue out at her, sulking your way over to Wanda who lets you wrap your body around hers like a baby koala. With your front pressed up against hers, you have to crane your head backward to catch a glimpse of her face, but you're pleased to know she’s already looking down at you. You pout your lips up at her, grinning in victory when she kisses your frown away with a sigh of faux exasperation. “Can I have a new job?”

Wanda laughs at your question, her fingers sliding beneath the waistband of your shorts to sit on the skin of your ass that’s still marked from days prior. You sighed in relief at the contact, leaning heavily into her chest when she rubs away the lingering ache that truthfully doesn’t bother you much anymore. It doesn’t last long, there’s still much to be done before noon rolls around, but you soak up every ounce of domesticity this morning has offered. “Sit on the counter and look pretty for me while I finish up with the bacon.”

“Aye aye, Captain.” You giggle after saluting her, wiggling out of her arms and sliding your way up onto the countertop that’s practically become your designated spot since she stopped reprimanding you about sitting up here. Natasha crosses the little space between the edge of the island to where you’re perched watching Wanda cook, and you hum in pleasure when she leans forward to connect your lips.

Your hands wrap around her shoulders and fingers tangle into the baby hairs at the nape of her neck. You smile into the kiss, beyond content with the little bubble that’s existed around you since being roused from sleep at five in the morning. A shriek of surprised laughter fills the kitchen when Natasha pulls away from your lips and buries her face in the crock of your neck, a raspberry tickling the sensitive skin as she blows against it. You squirm away from the sensation, but your arms still keep her locked in place.

“Hi, Natty.” You giggle, tugging gently at the loose curls that your fingers are twisted between. She smiles at your happiness, pecking your lips a handful of times before she pulls away and whispers back the same greeting. “You smell like the beach.” You point out, giggling at Natasha’s extravagant eye roll.

“You both smell like the beach and will be taking a shower after breakfast.” Wanda chimed into the conversation, tapping your thigh in warning as she opened the cabinet just beside your head. It had become routine at this point for her to simply work around you, so the clattering of plates beside your ear didn’t bother you much.

When she turned around to grab the serving plate of belgian waffles on the island, your hand shot out to slap her ass, all thoughts of controlling your limbs forgotten. But really, who could blame you when she was wearing the shortest cotton shorts that had ever been sold in stores? Natasha had to bury her face in your neck to muffle her laughter, and you could feel her wide grin against your skin as you smirked innocently back at Wanda who set a firm glare in your direction.

“Behave yourself.” She warned half-heartedly, absolutely no bite to her warning as you’d all just accepted the natural occurrence of the day, your roles as dominant and submissive forgotten about. You liked this exchange, not because you felt any less their equal when they bossed you around and set expectations upon your shoulders, but because it was the faintest glimpse at what life could be if they weren’t married and you were really their girlfriend. “Don’t even think about it, Natalia.” Wanda warned, already knowing Natasha was about to do the same thing you had been bold enough to accomplish.

The redhead merely smirked and shrugged her shoulders, feigning innocence as she pulled away from your embrace and brought the drink glasses and pitcher into the dining room. You hopped off the counter the same as you always do, mimicking Natasha’s shrug when Wanda winced at the action. You grabbed the platter of bacon from her hands and followed after the lawyer who had already exited, eager to see where the day ended up, surrounded by the Maximoff’s closest friends and family members.

The shower water was hot enough to create a thick fog on the glass doors and surrounding mirrors in the en-suite master bathroom, but still it felt cold as you joined Natasha beneath the heavy and unrelenting spray. You shivered despite the heat, reaching for the handle and turning it up even hotter, ignoring the Russian’s protests that her skin was actively melting off her bones. You liked hot showers, but you hated hot baths, and somehow you had yet to find a happy medium that worked for the both of you. Typically you’d compromise and switch off between who melted and who froze, and although it was admittedly your turn to freeze, today was not a day where you were willing to sacrifice feeling in your appendages.

You silenced her whines with a desperate kiss, not even attempting to hide your need for her as you backed her up against the cold tile walls and pinned her hands to her sides. Your tongue was unrelenting as it licked and sucked at hers, tasting the minty toothpaste that she had rinsed from her mouth only minutes before you’d sought out her presence. When your teeth bit down on her tongue, just hard enough to send a shock of excitement down to her core, Natasha decided that being pliant in your hold wasn’t working for her.

You shrieked in surprise when your position switched easily, the hands that had been firmly holding her wrists against the wall now pinned at your sides in the same way. You arched away from the cold tiles, effectively smashing your chests and eager nipples together as you attempted to run away from the cold wall.

“Fuck!” You shivered, your lips ghosting over hers. “You have a fucking Stingray and you still haven’t discovered heated walls?! What’s the point of having money if you don’t use it for good things!” Your words were quickly replaced by breathy moans as Natasha attached her mouth to your chest and greedily sucked a mark into your untouched skin; a mark that wouldn’t be easily hidden, especially not with the swimsuit you had been intending on wearing for the party. “Fuck, Nat–” You pushed her head away, hoping you’d acted quick enough for the damage to be only minimal. The smirk on her lips told you that you hadn’t succeeded, and you slapped at her shoulder in exasperation. “Your sister is literally going to be here in two hours, can you contain your vampire impulses until she leaves?!”

“My sister has fucked her girlfriend in my guest bedroom. A hickey should be the least of her worries.” Natasha threw back at you, attacking her mouth to your nipple with purpose. You had ten minutes to sort yourselves out before Wanda came stomping up the stairs and pulling you out of the shower, orgasms or not. You did not want to spend the entire afternoon and evening hot and bothered because you got pussy blocked by a scary Sokovian.

Natasha’s teeth pulled at your nipple, allowing the skin to sting for only a second before she soothed the pain with quick flicks of her tongue. Your other nipple was not privy to the same treatment, but her stumbling fingers attempted to make up for the neglect as she rolled and pinched at the pebbled bud. You shoved her head away from your chest, forcing her down onto her knees and in the direction of where you needed her most. It occurred to you briefly that you should wash her hair as she ate you out, kill two birds with one stone or whatever the saying was, but you quickly backtracked on that idea when her tongue sought out your clit with no lack of drive. Your knees wobbled, your breath got caught in your throat, and desperately your fingers tangled into her hair and pulled her closer. Your hips grinded against her face as she licked and sucked at your nerve with a passion, and you're certain that had the droplets of liquid fire not been falling over her face in a manner that was less than pretty, her chin would’ve glistened with your arousal.

You arched into her touch as your orgasm approached, and Natasha had used the new position of your body as the perfect moment to bury two fingers knuckles deep in your cunt. You gasped in pleasure at the brief sting that came from her actions, crying out her name in pure bliss as she worked you over the edge so quickly you deserved an award for fastest achieved orgasm.

She pulled away with dilated pupils, her own lust not forgotten about. You sank to your knees before her, pushing at her shoulders until she complied with your silent request and was laid out on the shower floor. Unlike you, she didn’t attempt to wiggle away from the flush of cold against her back, and unlike her, you didn’t waste time toying with her nipples. You dove straight into her cunt, lifting one of her legs until it was high enough to drop onto your shoulder. She tasted like she always did, but something about this situation made her more addictive. The spray of the water fell onto her belly, harsh droplets of water tinting the skin pink from not only the temperature but the pressure. One of these days, you’re going to get around to finding out the true pleasure of the detachable shower head, but today was not that day. You didn’t tease, much more intent at working her up and pushing her over before Wanda came to interrupt. Her clit throbbed beneath your tongue as you licked at her, and her walls clenched around your fingers as she pleaded for more.

“Faster.” She moaned, her head thrown back against the white shower floors. The messy sprawl of her red hair was perfectly angelic, but you had no time to dwell on the sight of her as the minutes ticked down to none. Your fingers set into her at a punishing pace, curling into the sweet spot she loved so much until it was just a symphony of your name that rolled off her tongue in breathy whines and moans. You eased her off of the cliff with a practiced ease, giggling softly when she pushed your head away and subsequently caused water to spray in all directions as it bounced off her wrist. “N-Never letting you talk me into a shower quickie again. I think there’s an entire lake in my ears.” She panted, splaying a hand across her belly until she had managed to catch her breath.

“I mean, technically I didn’t talk you into anything. I mouthed you into this.” You giggled, helping her stand and replacing your rough touch with something tender and sweet. You reached for Wanda’s shampoo, not caring that Natasha had her own right beside it. Wanda’s smelled sweeter, and if you were going to be the one to wash the woman’s hair, it would be you who picked the scene she bore for the rest of the day.

You rubbed at her scalp, lathered until it bubbled, and eased your fingers through the knotted locks when it was time to wash it out. Wanda’s conditioner sat in her hair when the process was repeated on your head, and you sighed in relief when Natasha scratched her nails against the nape of your neck before trailing her hands down to your shoulders. Her thumbs worked on the soft muscles between your shoulder blades, and you melted into the firm attention.

“How long can we stay in here before she breaks down the door?” You questioned, your eyes fluttering closed as you let yourself relax completely. Even if you hadn’t said it, you were beyond nervous to be meeting their family and friends. Some of the people attending their barbeque were big names in the security world, namely Kate Bishop, and you intended on making the best first impression if you were to ever have a career in the same field.

“Three minutes.” Natasha chuckled gently, guiding you under the stream of water so she could rinse the soap from your hair. She conditioned you right after, twisting the strands of your hair between her fingers as she worked out the knots and kinks toward the ends. You rinsed her hair when she was done, dragged a loofa across her skin afterward, and then were rewarded with the same loving treatment. “There’s nothing to be nervous about. Everyone coming knows how much you mean to us. They’re all excited to meet you.” Natasha kissed your shoulder before she turned the water off and squeegeed the door clean of droplets and steam, stepping out into the cold first before she offered you a towel.

“I know.” You sighed, drying your body as you tried to force your feelings into words. “I just want to make a good impression. These are your friends. It’s your sister. They matter to you and Wanda.”

“And you matter to me and Wanda just as much. If you’re worried about Yelena, there’s no reason to be. She’s going to act like she hates you because she thinks it's her duty as my little sister to vet whoever I choose to spend my time with, but by the end of the night she’s going to have you trapped by the firepit showing you pictures of her dog. When she met Wanda for the first time, she insulted her in Russian because she thought she wouldn’t understand.” Natasha snorted at the memory, and you couldn’t help but grin bashfully at the admission. “You’re going to get along fine, and honestly that worries me. I can barely handle you by yourself.”

“Hey!” You slapped at her side, but couldn’t help the wide smile that threatened to split your lips in half as you stared up at her. “I’ll be on my best behavior, promise.”

“I don’t doubt that, утенок.” Natasha leaned forward to kiss your lips, and you returned the gesture though a crinkle of confusion settled across your brows.

You asked once she pulled away, wrapping the towel tightly around your torso so that you could make a break for the guest bedroom where your outfit for the day remained. “What does that one mean?”

“Duckling.” She laughed, and you groaned knowing that it was going to stick around, at least for a little while. You’d been quite privy to Wanda in recent days, call it making up for lost time if you really had to explain your reasonings, and both the Russian and Sokovian had chalked up your clinginess as acts of a duckling blindly following its mother. If Wanda was anywhere in the house, you were right behind her. Yesterday you had genuinely pouted at the bathroom door when she forbade you from coming in with her when she needed to pee, and unluckily enough for you, Natasha had come into the bedroom at just the right time to watch the scene unfold. “Go get dressed. Yelena said she’s arriving at twelve which really means she’ll be here in twenty minutes.”

You nodded quickly, bolting out of the master bathroom and into your claimed bedroom without a moment of hesitance, not wanting Yelena to arrive before you were dressed. The door wasn’t even fully closed before you were dropping your towel and scrambling to find your bathing suit bottoms in the pile of messy clothes stacked on the dresser.

Droplets of chlorinated water lingered on touches of skin that had yet to be dried by the slowly slipping Spring sun; still a ripple of motion in the pool that hadn’t yet gone completely still with the fresh absence of bodies in the water. The crack of wood submitting to controlled flames accompanied the music of laughter and conversation that happened around you. The evening was long ahead of you, eternal more hours of company promised, but you didn’t feel any obligation to join in on jokes and memories as you fell into Wanda’s lap and snuggled in close, seeking her warmth and comfort as a chill set overtop of you. You’d been drinking all afternoon, being handed hard seltzers and beers whenever anyone noticed your hands were empty. You’d finished a handful of Wanda and Natasha’s chosen drinks, taking it upon yourself to try at least one of every flavor they had laying around the backyard. The flush on your cheeks was near permanent at this point, and though the heat in your ears would be gone by morning and replaced with a headache only Advil and sleep could soothe, the kiss on your cheeks would last days before it settled into darkened skin.

As promised, Yelena had kept you pinned to the edge of the pool when the sun was still at its highest peak in the sky, showing you pictures and videos of the two dogs she took great pride in caring for. Kate had watched for a while, draped across her girlfriend's shoulder as the three of you laughed at a particular video of Fanny and Lucky dressed up in bowties zooming around their daylight drenched kitchen, but she had excused herself to the bathroom before the end was in sight. Maria Hill had been your savior, though you were content with Yelena’s easy presence not to mind your trapped position much while it had lasted. The early hours of the afternoon had been filled with conversation and the act of acquainting, but the later hours had told a different story; a wild one. It was the story of how you had come to find this state of mind, far past the point of being tipsy and well on your way to true drunkness.

You hummed when Wanda laid her palm flat over your belly, keeping you close and safe in her lap. The soft pad of her thumb tickled your belly button as she adjusted slowly, sinking further down into the lounge chair she sprawled across. The sloppy smile on your face was the truest indication of your contentment, and Wanda, though she wondered who had been the one to feed you so much alcohol without her realizing, returned the grin.

Natasha and Yelena were noticeably missing from the circle, but the silhouettes of their wild hair and toned shoulders were figures or darkness in the kitchen that promised a quick return. Natasha, though only an inch or so taller than her sister, wore her curls in a messy bun that slipped lower and lower down her head as the hours carried on. She was easiest to spot from a distance, the shadow of her presence known perfectly to you. Wanda didn’t pay you much attention other than the firm hand on your belly, but you were content to just be with her as she laughed and caught up with the blonde woman sat beside her; Carol Danvers.

“They put up a new plaque for Pietro today.” Carol laughed at the inkling of information she had forgotten to share earlier in the afternoon, and Wanda craned her head in hopeful willingness that Carol would share more. “He would’ve loved it. He’s the only bastard on the squad that was dumb enough to have a catch phrase.”

As if that mentioned catch phrase had been sitting on the lips of every person gathered around the fire, it fell from soft tongues without a moment of hesitation. Messy, not at all in tune, but seemingly perfect to Wanda who smiled when horrible Sokovian accents caught up to her ears and the words her brother had made his slogan lived on when even he didn’t, “You didn’t see that coming.”

Memorial day has never held much significance to you. It had been just another holiday that sat on the start of summer, sometimes warm enough for gatherings like these, and sometimes not. Until you realized that the American flag folded in militant perfection in the master bedroom was a symbol of remembrance, you hadn’t thought it held much significance to the CEO’s either. Even though you hadn’t known Pietro, his life ending years before your path had crossed with the Maximoff’s, you smiled. His name had lingered in conversations throughout the day, and you didn’t question how loved he still was after years of absence.

Wanda’s lips were heavy on the crown of your head when she leaned down to kiss you. You leaned into the touch, your eyes fluttering closed for the briefest second before they opened and found Natasha admiring the sight of you. Two beers retrieved from the cooler near the pool sat in her hands, one cracked open and extended in your direction.

“She doesn’t need anymore.” Wanda rolled her eyes, but didn’t stop you from grabbing the long necked bottle Natasha offered and adjusting yourself in her lap so that you could sip on it easily, having already spilled one drink down the front of you. With your back against her chest, and your legs situated between hers, you had to crane your neck to catch even the slightest glimpse of her face, but her arms around your torso were the physical assurance of her presence. She rubbed at the skin of your belly that had grown pink and warm beneath the sun, not yet tan, but it would come soon. The hickey on your chest had long since been forgotten, though Yelena had posed many questions of its origin before Kate slapped her shoulder and changed the topic. You’d been accepted without question, and you found that while some of their friends were painfully intimidating, Maria and Carol, they were truly sweethearts who had the same tendencies of protection as your dominants.

When your beer had grown warm, and your cheeks had grown flusher, having been in no hurry to finish it off and replenish it like Yelena was doing, you passed the near empty bottle off to Natasha who had taken it not without an exasperated roll of her eyes and a mumbled sentence along the lines of being nothing but your servant. You had giggled, shrugged your shoulders, and curled further into Wanda who didn’t seem to even flinch at your elbow digging into her ribs.

Despite your determination to remain awake, sleep won over you just as quickly as drunkenness had. Wanda merely rubbed your back in encouragement, being the single factor that had forced you into soft unconsciousness when conversations still buzzed around you. With your eyes closed and your breathing even, no chance of being woken even by the harshest storm, conversation had naturally flowed away from Pietro and onto you, but both Wanda and Natasha welcomed the new topic if it meant having the welcomed opportunity to boast about just how truly sweet you are.

“I see you played the long game, Maximoff.” Maria winked at the Sokovian, her icy blue eyes admiring your innocent form as you attempted to wiggle closer to the auburn haired women who held you tightly. If you could find a way to burrow yourself beneath her skin, she knew that you would’ve done so already.

“Patience rewards those who have it.” Wanda merely smirked in response, running her pruney fingers from hours of holding sweating cans and bottles through your chlorine stiff hair. “She just needed a little encouragement.”

“She wasn’t the only one.” Natasha rolled her eyes, sipping slowly on her beer that despite the warmth, still brought a piece of home over her longing heart. Russians may drink vodka, but Melina Vostokoff had always preferred a beer.

Wanda shrugged, knowing that despite her persistently cold demeanor, she had never truly doubted how her heart yearned for you. “It’s not my fault you brought home a brat.”

“If I remember correctly, you said the same thing when you met Natasha.” Carol smirked over the lip of her can, her eyes burning holes into the side of Natasha’s face, though the Russian pointedly ignored her stare.

“Watch it, Danvers.” She warned, but surrendered to the teasing she had missed in recent months. Life was busy, but they’d always find a reason to come back together.

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lxclerc · 9 months

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𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 | 𝐝𝐫𝟑

summary... it’s never the right time for you and daniel, always something pulling the two of you away from each other. requested... yes by literally everyone. yall were coming at me with pitch forks for this warning... age gap (7 years), emotional cheating, physical cheating, angst, angst, angst, light smut (more on fade to black) pairing... daniel ricciardo x horner! reader

note... i am tagging each and everyone of you who asked for a part 2 bc this fic has quite literally loomed over my head ever since i posted it a year ago. literally everytime i open this godforsaken app, someone is offering me their first born for the part 2 so yall better give me all the notes!!!

𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

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high tide came and brought you in

“if you could go anywhere in the world right now, where would you go?”

the question caught you off guard as your friend drunkenly pondered over it out loud. where would you go? you were sober enough to say home, the most acceptable answer that would not invite any other follow up questions. it’s simple and doesn't need a discussion. the reason it caught you off guard wasn’t just that though but because your answer was instantaneous in your head. your answer isn’t a where but rather a who, came your bitter realization.

and you knew that if you could go anywhere in the world right now, it’d be him you’d go to. he always lingers in the back of your mind, everything that reminded him of you tends to bring a certain kind of aching and longing you’ve grown to resent over the months and years spent without him.

daniel sent you away and deep in you, you know he meant good. he’d done a selfless thing, loving you and setting you free. but missing him was unbearable, loving him all consuming and you resent him for doing this to you. you resent the world for making you fall for a man without letting you have him.

still, you did as he told you. you went back to school, pursuing a career in a field you knew he’d be proud of, achieving your dreams and living your life as though a part of you hadn’t been left with him.

your friends carry on with the party. half of university was partying which is a scene familiar to you. this time, it’s on the beach, the salty air and sound of crashing waves echoing with the sound of the music and chatter. still though, you can’t help but scan the place as though looking for him among the crowd of people the same way you always would. you miss the way you’d find his eyes already on you, pools of brown dripping like honey on your skin.

but he’s never there and you feel dirty whenever another man looks at you, their gazes too eager as they look at you as though you’re a piece of meat, never gentle like his as though you’re aphrodite herself walking among mere mortals.

you miss him is the ugly truth. you miss him so fucking terribly it makes you angry. you don’t want to miss him. you no longer want to love him. loving him hurts, as though he’s clawing at your chest and squeezing your heart together in a sick sort of torture.

but even before he touched you, you were his. all he had to do was look at you. you exist in two places – here and wherever he is.

eventually as the night progresses on, you move away from the party. you’re in some fancy country club and the tile is expensive on your feet as you step out of your heels and walked towards the beach, feeling the cool sand against your skin.

in hindsight, you really shouldn’t have been surprised to find him in a place like this but despite looking for him wherever you go, you’d never expect to find him. searching for him has become a comfort the same way longing for him has – in a sick, twisted and painful way.

but he’s here now and in the one time you hadn’t searched for him, he found you. the moment you’d spotted his figure looking out at sea, he turned to you as though a gravitational pull connected you to him.

one year, three months and fourteen days. that was the last time you saw him but he looked no different from the man who’d brought you back to your hotel room only to say goodbye.

and then he smiled and it was as though the sun shone on you again.

“honey,” he says and your heart trembles.

daniel.

it was too early. and you’re drunk and you aren’t entirely sure if you were dreaming or not.

but he stands before you, eyes of brown looking as though you’re aphrodite herself and he can’t quite believe he gets to stand before you. eyes of brown that seem to be sobbing without tears. daniel.

you’re still not talking and he’s letting you, watching you so intently as though he’s memorizing your face. he looked the exact same but you know what he must be seeing. you look nothing like the woman he left behind. you’d cut your hair short and dyed it. long gone were your summer dress, replaced by tight fitting ones that showed off your body. you feel different and you tried so hard to make sure you wouldn’t recognize yourself in the mirror. you hated seeing the woman who couldn’t make him stay.

but in his eyes, you see your reflection and you recognize her well.

“daniel,” you muttered as the crashing waves touched your feet. would you love me now? you wanted to ask.

he smiled again. “you look beautiful as you always are.”

please touch me, you wanted to beg. soft eyes and soft soft hands. you’re lonely without him.

you manage a grin. “sure, old man.”

the laugh that he let out echoed against your soul. “i’m being honest.”

you missed him. god, you missed him so fucking much.

but daniel still would not let himself love you. not yet, not now that you’re finally building something for yourself. you have friends and have set goals. not yet.

“y/n!” someone calls from behind you but you’re hesitant to take your eyes off of daniel, terrified he’d become a figment of your imagination the moment you do. but your friend's familiar calls force you to. “come on, we have to go.”

you ignore her, turning back to daniel and he smiles at you, offering his hand for you to shake. this is the best he can offer for now. “i’ll see you around, kid.”

you wanted to cry, wanted to scream that it’s so unfair, but you smile sadly as he shook his hand, his calloused fingers so familiar against yours.

“in a few years,” you say.

and as the ocean brought him back to you, the waves must return to the sea.

but you were still gone and gone, gone and gone

the next time you see daniel again, you were twenty four. you’re in your last year of university, applying for your doctorate. you loved academia, you loved your two cats and your little apartment downtown, you loved science and the galaxy it holds and you eventually realized that this is why he let you go. he wanted you to have this — be more than someone who just follows a man around country after country.

he wanted you to grow, wanted you to find the things you really loved without influence from him. he wanted you to find your independence and learn to stand on your own two feet.

max brought you here. it’s his first world champion and as his self proclaimed best friend, he refused to allow you to skip this one and so you pulled up your big girl pants and got on with it, arriving in abu dhabi on friday.

by some cruel twist of fate, he’s the first person you find the moment you enter the paddock. it would have been rude to ignore him and so you smile even though you can clearly see the woman next to him and the way she stands close.

goddamn it.

it hurt. it hurt seeing her there. it hurt seeing her cluelessly smile at you. the way he looks at you now, eyes of brown full of silent apologies, looking as though he wanted to reach over and touch you, to comfort you.

you release a shaky breathe, raising your hand in an pathetic attempt of a wave before you walk past him. you aren’t the same young kid like before. now, you have enough self reservation to not actively put yourself in a situation that would only hurt you. you don’t need to play besties with daniel’s new girlfriend.

the moment you enter the red bull motorhome, you hit max at the back of his head.

“what?” he exclaimed as you glared at him.

“you’re an idiot,” was all you said before moving towards your father. you’d ignore daniel and his girlfriend. you’re here to support max – even if he is a stupid idiot – and there’s no need for you to obsess over daniel.

but of course, you still do anyway. even as you watch the race, you’re watching him. he looks good, amazing, fucking edible. he looks like he stepped right out of your dirtiest dreams, all thick neck and stable arms. he looks beautiful, absolutely gorgeous and breathtaking and you selfishly want him just for you. but you’ve always wanted that and you’ve never been allowed to have him.

and then you’re watching her. she’s grace herself, really. she’s exactly the kind of woman he needed and you wonder if she knows about you and then you wonder what it is about her. what is it about her that made it so that daniel thought she’s good enough for him to love when he never could you?

“mate, it’s getting creepy,” max said as he took the seat before you. he looks tired but he looks determined and the way the hair falls over his face makes you smile. max is a very special person to you and you know that he always will. you hold him close to your heart and you know you’d move the earth for him.

you reach over, fixing the collar of his red bull shirt. “shut up.”

“her name’s caroline,” max says. “if you want to get to know her then just approach her.”

you glared at him. you don’t want to know her name. you don’t want to know what her laugh sounds like or the color of her eyes. you don’t want to know what made daniel fall in love with her. you don’t want to know her.

“shut up,” you say again. “i’m still blaming you.”

max laughed and you think him annoying you might just be his way of distracting himself from the race so you let him. you let him talk on and on and on the entire time till he’s needed back in the motorhome. you let him steal yur ice cream and tap your nose.

but when you turned back to her, caroline, you find him staring right back at you, anger and jealousy in those brown eyes you missed so much.

and it was like you’re twenty again, petty and young as you glared right back at him. he had no reason to be jealous when he has her beside him. he has no right to be jealous when he’s the one who’s never allowed the two of you to be more.

these hands had to let it go free

that night, he called you for the first time in three years. his name lit up your phone and your hand shook as you picked it up. his picture, smiling up at you taken at your twentieth birthday stares right back at you.

“daniel,” you breathe out as you press the phone against your ear. you’d arrived back in your hotel room two hours ago smelling of champagne and victory. max’s world championship trophy is laying next to you after being forgotten because your best friend was far too drunk to grab it before his girlfriend dragged him out. throughout the party, you avoided daniel like the plague, keeping to your side of the room and never straying towards him.

“i missed you,” he says from the other end, voice cracking and slurring. he’s drunk and you push back the blanket as you enter the bathroom, hand gripping your phone. “but fuck it, i don’t miss this.”

“what are you saying?”

“he’s my best mate, y/n.” there goes your name. not sweetheart or honey. he says your name like it’s sacred, something he’s only ever allowed to say when he’s at his most vulnerable, completely raw and baring his soul to you. “and i wanted to fucking punch his face the entire night.”

you close your eyes. this is familiar to you. daniel and his raw honesty when he’s drunk. daniel and his jealousy of max. this is all so familiar to you that you feel twenty again. you feel young and out of control and so drunk in love with a man you can’t have that it physically hurts. he’s ripped you off the past few years where you’ve grown into yourself. you’re twenty again and so tragically in love.

“i wanted to punch his fucking face because his touching you, because i’m not allowed to touch you,” he continues as you sink to the floor.

“you’re the only one who’s never let yourself touch me, daniel,” you whispered on the phone, broken down from one phone call.

he laughs bitterly and you might as well not have said anything. “and here i am, can’t even sleep next to my damn girlfriend because i keep thinking of you. it’s so unfair.”

you wanted to laugh too. unfair? how does he get to talk about unfair when he’d been the one to create this mess for the two of you? how dare he talk about being unfair when he’s the one who’s with another girl? this is unfair. it’s unfair to you. he doesn’t deserve to talk about it being unfair.

the night he left you in your hotel room on your twenty first birthday, you’d called his name again and again like a child. you hoped by some magical thing that he’ll appear. you were desperate.

“you shouldn’t have come back,” he says. “not yet. we both weren’t ready.”

you wipe the tears falling to your cheeks. “and when will that happen? when will we be ready? maybe it’s time to accept that it isn’t us.”

you heard him let out a shaky breath. “don’t say that. don’t say it.”

“i’m so tired of waiting. if it wasn’t us then and it isn’t us now, why do we still believe that it’s us someday?”

“ask me to stay,” he whispers. “ask me to stay and i will. ask me to drop her and i will. i will drop everything if you ask me to.”

you cry, pulling your knees against your chest. “goodbye, dan.”

struggled through the night with someone new

the next time you see daniel again, you invited him. you’re twenty five, it’s two thousand and twenty two, you’re engaged and you’d gotten arrogant.

you met your fiance, james, in university. you’re in the same program and the same friend group though you never paid much attention to him. for the most part, you never really paid much attention to anyone. six months later and he asked you on a date, one you’d declined without a second thought. it didn’t matter how many guys asked you out, you always declined, daniel in the back of your mind always reminding you of what you’re truly waiting for.

but james never treated you any differently. he never made it awkward and never put you on the spot. for the most part, you both acted like it never happened. but you applied to the same doctorate program and coincidentally ended up in apartments right next to each other. he was a comfort, a friend you already knew that you could rely on. he never made anymore advances towards you but it was inevitable to grow closer.

he’s stability and curiosity. he never once pulled back whenever you touched him or apologized for liking you. it was a breath of fresh air – to be admired so freely. you did your thesis together, hands tightly clamped together as you defended it.

you were the one to ask james out on a date, knowing he wouldn’t again in fear of making you uncomfortable. and after leaning on each other as friends for so long, transitioning to become lovers was so easy, you didn’t have to worry what anyone would say or think of you. you didn’t have to worry what your family would think. everything was easy with him.

james was so different from the type of love you were used to. you could love him without guilt, without pain and longing. you could love him simply, easily. you didn’t need to ask him to love you back, didn’t need to wonder if he’d still love you tomorrow. it was so easy being with him and you’d gotten lazy. waiting and hurting and crying for daniel was exhausting.

you wanted a love you didn’t have to fight for.

you’ve convinced yourself that you no longer felt anything for daniel, gaslighting yourself into believing that you’d close that chapter and left it in the past. you can move on now. there was no need for you constantly being miserable and lonely waiting for him to be ready.

and yet here you were, your fiance’s arm around you as you stare at the front door. you shouldn’t have invited him. there was no reason for you to do so but you wanted to prove yourself. you wanted to prove to yourself that he no longer affected you. daniel is in the past and you’ve told yourself repeatedly that you’ve let him go but now you wanted to show yourself that you have.

if you’re lucky, maybe he wouldn’t attend at all.

“are you okay, love?” james whispered against your ear, having noticed your stiff posture. you spent weeks planning your engagement party, stressing over the smallest details but now you don’t seem to be enjoying yourself.

you loved this about him – the way he’s able to read you like an open book. james knows there was someone before him – someone who’d left you broken and torn apart. he just didn’t know that person would be attending today.

you nod, taking a sip from the champagne glass you’d been holding as an excuse to stop your hands from fidgeting. “just a bit nervous from the crowd.”

“don’t worry too much. it’s just friends and family.” he gives you an assuring smile, accepting your reasoning as he pulls you closer towards him to try and comfort you.

you’re an idiot, the biggest one there is. max told you himself after you told him that you sent the invite to daniel. you’re a massive idiot and you’re in denial and you set your own trap, tempting yourself when there was no need to and now you were going to hurt james because the moment daniel entered the room, your breath was knocked out of you, heart beating furiously as though it recognized him.

it was daniel. how can you be so stupid?

his eyes meets yours and you missed the way those eyes of brown settle on your skin, grazing as though his soul was touching yours. but they’re sad this time – sad and exhausted and defeated and you can practically hear the way your heart shatters. it was daniel. it has always been daniel. it will always be daniel. how stupid were you to think otherwise? how stupid were you to believe you could ever forgot the way your heart and soul roars back to life the moment he enters the room.

you’ll break james’ heart, you’re breaking your own and you’ve broken his.

the entire time, you and james had stood before the door, greeting all of your guests and showing them where they can wait. you absolutely had no plans to greet daniel. it was bad enough that he was here, but james, sweet sweet james, who had no idea what he was doing dragging you towards the formula one driver, hadn’t gotten the memo.

he didn’t know that having daniel’s eyes on you so close would set wildfires in your stomach and he didn’t know how exhausting and difficult it was to contain those wildfires. he didn’t know that he was burning himself as he all but dragged you in front of him.

“hey,” your fiance says cluelessly. “daniel ricciardo!”

daniel is looking at you and you feel frozen under his gaze. it’s heavy. he makes you feel heavy, like you were cheating on james simply by looking at you. you feel nauseous but with guilt eating up at every cell in your stomach. but you shouldn’t feel guilty. he had no right to make you feel guilty for moving on. he moved on. last you him, he had a girlfriend. why aren’t you allowed to do the same? why can’t you go on with your life and build a future with a nice man that isn’t him?

“i’m a big fan,” james says cheerfully, offering his hand for daniel to shake and forcing him to tear his gaze away from you.

daniel forces a smile to his face, moving to shake his hand and you know this is the part where you’re supposed to introduce him. daniel is your guest after all and so you clear your throat, hoping your smile isn’t as stiff as you feel like it is.

“james, this is my friend daniel. daniel, my fiance james.” you manage to let out, gripping your champagne glass to avoid having to touch either of them the same way you avoid the way daniel’s eyes hardened when the word fiance tumbled from your lips.

“it’s really nice to meet you, mate,” james says with a massive smile. god he’s so nice and sweet and you hate what you’re doing to him.

daniel says nothing, only smiling and you end this entire interaction the moment you get a chance to. pointing at the snacks table, you turned to him. “there’s food over there and max is around here somewhere. nice seeing you again, daniel.”

you were lying through your goddamn teeth. thankfully, he seems to have taken the hint, walking away without saying another word.

the entire night, you feel his eyes on you. even as james makes his speech declaring his love for you, daniel stares at you with hooded eyes. he looks pissed and sad at the same time and you wanted to scream. stop looking at me! you couldn’t take anymore of this. he’s looking at you as though you’re under a microscope – staring into your soul like he could reach you there.

you’re an idiot and now that he’s in the same room as you are, the illusion has left you. you’re not over daniel because you can never be over him. he’s engraved in your soul, his fingerprints all over your heart. he was, and still is, the sun that made your universe turn. you’re choking and you needed to get away lest you burst.

daniel is overwhelming. he’s terrifying and addicting and you hate him but you’re madly in love with him. and worse of all, you’ll spend the rest of your life being in love with him. you’ll spend the rest of your life wanting him and hurting for him and and longing for him and that’s a goddamn fucking tragedy.

you manage to get through the party, practically dissociating yourself. eventually the guests leave one by one, only your family and closest friends left. you sit on the foyer with max, the dutchman watching you drink champagne straight out of the bottle.

“you shouldn’t have invited him,” he tells you quietly. “you were fucking yourself over.”

you roll your eyes. you stare inside the house where daniel is talking to your father. your dad offered his home for your engagement party. you know he likes james. your mother too and your little siblings can’t get enough of him. that fact almost makes you want to throw up.

“i thought i was over him,” you say.

it’s max’s turn to roll his eyes. “you’re just a good liar. you’ll never be over daniel and he’ll never be over you. even i know that.”

you glared at him. you already know what he’s telling you and quite frankly, you had no desire to hear it again. “i hate you.”

“neither you nor dan would survive this long without me.” max laughed and you threw the throw pillow at him.

not that he’s lying. you met max the same time you did daniel and you clicked immediately. he knows everything, comforted you many times as you pined over dan. he’s your best friend and he’s also daniel’s best friend. he knows more than anyone how deep the connection you two shared.

“go home already,” you tell him. you’re tired and slightly drunk and you just want to go to bed now. “and make sure you take him with you.”

max laughed at the way you said him like it’s a bad taste on your tongue but did as you said anyways.

that night, you laid on the bed you and james shared, you couldn’t sleep. he’s fast asleep next to you, his arm over your stomach as you lay wide awake. you shouldn’t have invited him because now he’s turned your world upside down again. everything you’ve built for yourself was gone the moment his eyes met yours. he’s a plague, sucking all the happiness out of you.

eventually though, the restless night was about to get worse as you picked up your phone, scrolling through your contacts till you found his name. you stared at it for a while, knowing that you shouldn’t but you’re rattled and your self control is at an all time low. you shouldn’t have been trusted to make any types of decisions.

you come back to what you need

daniel was waiting for you when you parked your car outside his apartment building, hand gripping his phone as he watched you step out of the vehicle. four years since he first let you go and one year since he last saw you and you look as beautiful as you ever were.

he shouldn’t have told you to come but he’s so exhausted from staying away, from waiting for the right time. there will never be a right time and tonight, he’s done holding back. he wants you, he always has and he no longer has the energy to stop himself from wanting you.

“i shouldn’t be here,” was the first thing you said as he opened the door for you.

a lazy, almost mocking smile covered his lips. “and yet here you are.”

you glared at him but daniel’s heart was soaring. it’s been so long since you were this close. he can smell the perfume that followed you and the scent of your shampoo. he’s so so tired, he just wanted to hold you.

he’s going to make this as hard as possible, you realize. you’re no longer a child, he doesn’t need to play nice and easy with you anymore. you’re a woman now and he’s going to treat you like one. but you just need to get over this. you need closure. you need to put him in the past where he truly belongs so you can go about your life. you need him out of your system.

daniel may be everything you wanted but it’s time to accept that he’ll never be what you need.

“why did you come?” you asked, wanting to get this over with as quickly as you can. three years pining for him in red bull and four years of longing for him and everything leads you here.

daniel cocked an eyebrow. he’s done with playing nice. “you invited me.”

okay, you walked right into that one. “you still shouldn’t have come.”

daniel wanted to laugh. “i guess we both like doing shit that we shouldn’t do. now the question is, sweetheart, what are you doing here?”

“i’m getting married, daniel,” you whispered. “we need to accept that it isn’t us.”

“i thought you did that in abu dhabi.”

he’s being an asshole. “you’re the one who told me to leave. you don’t get to be mad that i’m moving on.”

“you’re not moving on,” he laughed, leaning against the wall.

you glared at him. “yes, i am. i’m getting married!”

he looked at you as though you said something hilarious and you wanted to punch him in the face for it. “and yet you’re here.”

“for closure.”

he stepped towards you and you found yourself holding your breath. from this close, you can see the freckles on your cheeks, the ones you used to spend all your time trying to memorize. the curve of his plump lips and the intensity in his eyes. and when he touched, it felt like the first drop of rain after a million years of dessert. his hand perfectly fitted on your hips, warm and so achingly familiar.

his hand snaked from your hip to your legs, finger light on your skin as he ever so slightly tugged at your shorts. you need to pull away but your body needs him closer. you want him. you want him to get closer. you want him to touch you more, to feel his skin against yours. you can have every single inch of his body pressed against yours and you’d still begged to get closer.

his lips graze your cheek before it reaches your ear, even breathes in contrast to your desperately shaky ones. “is that really what you want, baby?”

with every ounce of sanity you have left, you forced yourself to nod and you can feel the way his lips formed into a mocking smile against your cheek.

“really?” he mocked. “then why are you clutching my shirt like you want more?”

you hadn’t even realized the way your fist is holding on to his shirt, pulling him closer towards you like you’re terrified he’d disappear right between your fingertips.

“fuck,” you muttered, the heat of his skin against yours dizzying. james is nowhere near your mind as your hand slips under his shirt, self control flying out the window as you feel the curves of his abs. you want him. you’ve always wanted him so desperately that you’re willing to go to hell for it. “fuck me.”

he kissed you then, fire in his lips as it finally finally touched yours. this is all you’ve ever asked for and it’s worth the damnation you’d be paying in return. you pull him impossibly closer, going on your tiptoes. you need to get closer. closer, closer, closer.

like an addicted chainsmoker to cigarettes, you can’t get enough of his kiss. you want to inhale the fumes of his breath, of him, deep into your lungs. he tugs at your shirt and you pull away enough for him to get it off.

you grunt in complaint when he pulled away from you, only to swallow it back as his lips attached to the skin of your chest, licking and nibbling as it slowly made it way down.

“oh,” you breathe out as he lips attached to your breast, your fingers tugging at his curls as his tongue circled your nipple.

you should have stopped him the moment his hand unbuttoned your shorts but as he bent you over and his hand slipped between your folds and he trapped your moans with his mouth, you were far too gone. god be damned, morality be damned. you’d crawl through hell for this.

but eventually, reality comes knocking and morning comes and your bliss ends. you woke up from your phone ringing, cocooned in daniel’s arms.

“don’t answer it,” he mutters but sleepily, you grab your phone from the nightstand, seeing james’ name on your screen.

and that snaps you out of it, being reminded of what happened the night before and what you did and you all but jumped out of his arms as though his touch burned you.

“fuck, fuck, fuck,” you mutter under your breath as you hurriedly put on your clothes, daniel watching you still naked from his place on the bed. you turned to him, “this never happened.”

you watched as anger slowly filled his eyes. “are you being serious right now?”

“i’m getting married, daniel!” you’re panicking now, screaming as your phone rings again.

“then why the fuck were you knocking on my door at two in the morning?”

you ignore him, gathering your things. “it was a mistake.”

he’s glaring at you now, looking like he wanted to start screaming. but he remains silent, only glaring as you gather your things and put on your clothes.

you look at him again, apologies and sorrow in your eyes. “i’m sorry but this isn’t me. this can’t be me.”

and then you left, not allowing yourself to look back as you ran to your car. maybe in a parallel universe or a different world, you sit next to each other at the kitchen table and go over the grocery list, but for all the universes and worlds there are, this one was not enough, not for now and not for you and daniel.

when you finally arrive home, your father is in the kitchen, eyeing you up as you walk past him. “where were you? james was looking for you.”

you grimace. there’s a knowing look in christian’s eyes as though whatever you reason he already knows will be a lie. and unfortunately, he’d be right. “i was out with friends.”

“at seven in the morning?” he narrowed his eyes and you hated his timing. of all times, did he have to question you now?

“breakfast.”

you all but run to your room before he can question you further, thanking all the gods that james isn’t there. for a moment, you stood stunned, reeling from the past twenty four hours as the guilt settles in your chest. you need to get as far away from daniel as you possibly can. you can’t be the type of woman who cheats on her fiance. you refuse to be. you refuse to break a good man’s heart like that.

and yet as you finally calm down enough to try and fix yourself, your phone buzzes, his name appearing on your screen saying he sent you a text message.

daniel i’ve loved you in every way i can. i loved you selfishly and so i tried loving you distantly, i tried loving you selflessly, i tried loving you correctly but i just want to love you now. if i could do it all over again, i would love you better but i can’t love you more than i do now.

this love came back to me

the wind is chilly as you step foot in hungary and the dress you wore is definitely not meant for it but still, you persevere, finding your way to the red bull motorhome and greeting your father. the last time you attended a grand prix was abu dhabi 2021 and yet it still feels like home.

“there’s my biggest fan!” max cheered the moment he saw you, immediately wrapping his arms around you. he hasn’t seen you for nearly a year and he missed his best friend. to be fair, no one has seen you for nearly a year, disappearing from the face of the earth after your failed engagement.

after the night of your engagement party, the guilt ate you alive as you realized that you were exactly the kind of girl you didn’t want to be and so you came clean to james. he screamed and cried and said you could work it out but you were exhausted from lying to yourself. as long as there was daniel, you can never be happy with anyone else and no man deserve to be someone you simply settled with.

you realized then that you’d lost yourself. you don’t know who you are, don’t know who you’ve become and so you left everything you know, ignoring everyone’s calls as you attempt to find yourself.

“actually, i’m supporting ferrari,” you joke once max finally lets you go.

“i’ll disown you!” your father screamed from across the garage, making you and max laugh.

“have you seen him?” max asked, whispering as though he’s telling you a secret.

you shake your head. coincidentally enough, or ironically, the first gp you attend in a while, daniel is announced to race in. and max, quite frankly, is far too excited for the two of you to see each other again. he’s had enough watching you both be stupid.

after catching up with max and the mechanics you still know, you find yourself in a cafe with your father, talking about everything and nothing at all. christian watched your every move and you can see the worry in his eyes. he’s part of the people you ran from and you know that it was a cruel thing to do to your father.

and then he was there and you’re all too familiar with the feeling of your world freezing the moment your eyes meet. he looks better, happier and you’re sure you look different too, hopefully more grown.

“you’re here,” he says, unbelieving.

you smile, genuine and free this time. “i’m here.”

and this time around, you were both tired of fighting it. it’s him. it’s always been him. there was no point denying it. he’s the only person you’ll ever want. you are totally and irrevocably in love with him – the kind of love that’s so intense it feels like an explosion of fireworks throughout your whole body. the love that leaves you sleepless but exhilarated, speechless but poetic, lost but exactly where you're meant to be.

and in that moment, your lives flashed before your eyes – marriage, children, growing old together.

daniel ricciardo is the defining moment, the collision of stars that slammed into you so hard it tore your heart in pieces and only he can put it back together again.

he smiles at you and you smile back.

hello, love, welcome home.

and finally, finally, it felt like the world isn’t burning anymore.

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thisismeracing · 11 months

Text

Honeymoon stunts | CL16

― Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!reader (she/her) ― Word count: 1.2k ― Warnings: not proofread; mentions of a wedding and public sex; graphic description of sex; p in v; breeding kink; +18 (minors DNI); ― Summary: Charles and Yn just got married, and although they know too much about one another, there's always something new to discover together, such as Charles' new breeding kink. ― A/n: Every piece I write here it’s a new experience, so your feedback, comments, and asks are more than welcome. *mwah* 🤍

⁕ I just got back from a shadowban so Tumblr is still a bit slow on delivering my stuff, that being said, it would be nice if you guys could not only like, but reblog this piece. Thank youuu!

Based on this request.

⁕ my masterlist and my taglist

⁕ you can support my writing by reblogging, and leaving a comment (don’t forget to follow me if you like the piece)

Charles loved the sea. He loved what it represented, its mysteries, and how it could be used for many interpretations of life. For example, he loved to think that life sometimes worked just like the sea: it had its highs and lows, sometimes the waves would reach the furthest part of the beach, and sometimes it would retract and crash almost around itself. He, like the sea, has had many setbacks the past few years, but, just like the sea, Charles too had his high tides. The most recent one being just the other day: his marriage.

Charles married Yn, and he considered this his high tide. The water reached the driest pieces of land in his heart.

He have never been so happy the way he was with Yn by his side.

And as if on cue, she appeared in front of him obstructing a bit of the sunlight reaching his face. Charles pinched his sunglasses at the point of his nose, leaving just enough space for Yn to see his eyes.

“Hi, husband,” she grinned.

“Hey, wife.”

“I missed you in bed,” she confessed before straddling his lap, her hands firmly planted on his strong shoulders.

Charles mumbled a quick apology busying his lips with her ebony skin. He trailed kisses from her neck to her jawline and the corner of her lips, and then from her cheeks to her shoulders where he lowered the straps of her nightgown. Yn smiled and with a dashing attitude, she pushed the small piece of fabric enough to free one of her breasts.

“Chérie,” Charles lets out a pained whisper as if trying to hold himself back.

“It’s a private beach.” Yn reminded.

“We’re going into the kinky public sex?” he teased lightening the mood and Yn threw her head back in laughter. The Monegasque watched how that position exposed so much for him. Just for him.

And what could Charles do if not take it?

One of his hands tightened on Yn’s waist, while his open palm found a home in the middle of her back bringing her body closer to his mouth. He kissed and licked over the places he knew he had left small lovebites the night prior. Yn whimpered and rocked her hips against his bulge, she was wearing nothing but the nightgown and Charles moaned when he felt her wetness against his trunks. He dipped one of his hands between their bodies, his skilled fingers were fast to find her sensitive bud and rub it teasingly. She bucked her hips harder and Charles groaned.

It was her turn to kiss her way from his neck to his face. She took her time biting, sucking, and gently kissing his now-tanned skin. And she did it all while lazily rocking on top of him, which only drove Charles crazy. Yn, however, didn’t kiss his lips and he was about to protest when she got up, took off her nightgown threw it at his face, and covered her breasts with one of her arms.

“Yn…” Charles warned and she giggled. The wind and the waves mixed themselves with her happy noises and Charles swore he found paradise again.

“You want it?” she teased spinning her body for him. “Come get it!” she giggled again and took off to their cabin. Charles gripped her piece of clothing and laughed before sprinting right after her. He got to her just when she reached the door and it wasn’t long before they stumbled into the bed. Yn sitting on top of him again.

Charles gripped her neck and brought her face down to his, smashing his lips to hers in a messy and needy kiss that Yn reciprocated with the same amount of passion. She rocked against him again, and this time her fingers were the ones between their bodies, she pushed his trunks down freeing his hard cook. Their lips were still attached to the others when Yn started pumping his shaft, her thumbs finding his head every once in a while, and her mouth swallowing all the dirty noises coming out of her husband.

“Fuck, mon amour, just- oh fuck,” Charles started but lost track of his words when Yn tightened her hand on his base.

“Yes?”

“Don’t tease me,” he whimpered and she smiles victorious. It was a wonderful feeling to have Charles under her begging and whimpering to have her. It felt powerful. He needed her just as much as she needed him.

Yn kissed his collarbone one last time and got into a seating position grinding his dick against her lips, gathering just enough slick to help him slip inside her. Which Charles did in a single movement. It earned a loud moan from both of them.

“Oh, fuck- you feel so good, chérie,” he breathed.

“Charls,” Yn moaned starting a sequence of rotational movements. She rocked and ground on top of him and Charles raked his short nails on her back and thighs. She repeated her movements and they felt the ecstasy that angle caused. “Don’t stop, don’t fucking stop!” Yn almost screamed when Charles lifted his hips to find her moves. Her body shook with want. He felt bigger when she rode, and she could feel his pulsing dick so much better that way. It was fantastic.

Charles gripped her breasts and took one nipple between his teeth teasing and playing with it while their bodies kept rutting against each other. Yn raked her fingers throw his brunette strands, gripping his face and directing his lips to her.

Her stomach tingled whilst Charles devoured her until her body started to tremble, “I’m coming,” Yn choked and Charles smirked lifting his lips again. His thrusts got sloppier and Yn knew from that fact that he wasn’t far behind her.

When the wave of pleasure washed over her, she let her body fall on top of his, her body dissolving into pleasure, but her hips still grinding waiting for Charles' turn. He grunts and moans and he’s about to pull out when Yn perches her body harder forcing them to stay in that position.

“Come inside me,” she pleads and lets out a string of curses in French.

“You want me to let you have my seed?” Charles asks and Yn can only nod, her sensitive clit brushing against his pubic bone. “Huh? You want me to put a baby in you, mon amour?”

Her eyes roll back and she cries feelings another orgasm approach, “Please, Charles!”

“Tell me, chérie. Tell me you want me to stuff you full of my cum,” his voice is low, but his tone is set and straight, almost like an order and Yn obeys.

“Please, I want to- I want you to empty yourself inside me. I’ll have all your babies, love.”

Charles bites her shoulders and sensually groaned on her ear when his orgasm finally came. It brought her second one along and they rode it together, gripping the other for dear life, moaning profanities, and love confessions.

When the dizzy feeling of the orgasm started to fade, Yn sat up, a small smirk on her face, Charles was still buried inside her, she could feel their wetness mixing together between her legs, and the Monegasque could only smile blissfully at her. “So… a breeding kink, Charls?”

taglist: @sachaa-ff @mickslover @mishaandthebrits @formulakay3 @iloveyou3000morgan @fdl305 @crimeshowjunkie @saintslewis @carojasmin2204 @chaoticevilbakugo @wondergirl101ks @smiithys @shhhchriss

⁕ my masterlist and my taglist

⁕ I just got back from a shadowban so Tumblr is still a bit slow on delivering my stuff, that being said, it would be nice if you guys could not only like, but reblog this piece. Thank youuu!

Feel free to leave me a message or ask <3

#cl16 #millie writes smut #f1 smut #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x black!reader #f1 x black!reader #f1 x reader #charles leclerc one shot

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neteyamslovrr · 5 months

Text

I'M JUST RESTING

summary: just a cute wee drabble of my man peeta.

contents: 300 words, fem!reader, no warnings just fluff

authors note: im baaaaaaaaaaaaaack

It was as if all gods had turned their heads away from us. Too guilty to look at the state of the lives of puny humans below them. Yet, they had carved a beauty with their godly hands. Soft eyes, perfect hair, a calming smile… all put together to make the masterpiece of Peeta Mellark.

If it wasn’t these circumstances you wished you two had a cliché romance. One where you met as your fingers brushed together by accident, where your eyes would click, and sparks would fly. That was for the fairy tales. You were nowhere near a fairytale.

Sat on the beach of the arena you rested on Peeta’s shoulder. Exhaustion taking over…you were sick of fighting…you just wanted a rest.

“Don’t get sleepy on me pretty girl.” He whispered in your ear, voice as sweet as honey. He smiled his large hand caressing the small of your back. This was the nicest time you two had spent together in the past hellish week.

“ ‘M not. Just closing my eyes” You’d whisper back, as if you were trying to hide your voices from the thousands of cameras in the arena. Peeta chuckled pulling you closer.

His presence could clear any tension in your body. His breathing rhythmically calming you. He was all you needed.

“It’s not good to lie y’know? Rest my girl…I’ll be here when you wake up.” He kisses your forehead, yours sweaty, his lips chapped. Yet it was as perfect as it could ever be.

“Told you I’m just closing my eyes.” I grin cuddling into your shoulder. The crashes of the waves on the tide were calming, even if they claimed so many lives in the past few hours. How could something so calming be so deadly? A mystery your sleepy mind had no time to contemplate.

i didn't proof read :0

#peeta mellark #the hunger games #peeta x reader #peeta mellark x reader #thg peeta #peeta mellark imagine #peeta mellark fluff #hunger games fluff #peeta mellark oneshot

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crystalflygeo · 10 months

Text

How to train your dragon ft Zhongli + fem!reader

cw/tags: dom bottom!reader and subtop!zhongli YEEAAAAH WE DOING THIS BABES. Collaring/Leash. pet play. primal play. praise kink. bit of shibari at the start. oral on reader.Zhongli has dragon features (horns/tail/tongue) but only 1 dick this time tho//hit.

notes: I ABSOLUTELY BLAME @zhxngii BECAUSE SHE AWAKENED MY INNER DOM. I DIDN'T KNOW I COULD DOM??? //HIT also @silentmoths bc together we brainrotted this idea I am so fucking WEAK for petplay dcbhbchjkancjak //rabid horny crys noises.

Light breathy moans escape your lips as you shift slightly against the bed headboard, back arching and biting your lip at the heated pleasure.

Your spread legs twitch a little as you groan, right hand tugging just slightly at the leash held in it. "Hng... fuck, t-that's a good boy..."

The pull of the collar around Zhongli's neck makes him press even closer against your pussy, licking and sucking more insistently at your wet folds. Long hair cascading down his back, though some strands drape around his shoulders and tickle at your skin.

You keen, free hand gripping so hard at the bed covers your knuckles turn white. The man buried between your legs dives in with as much raw passion as a certain determination. With his arms tied behind his back, Zhongli tilts his head for a better angle and his nose presses against your mound, sinful long tongue drawing wet stripes along your core and flicking at your clit, teasing the little pearl and earning him more of your sweet sounds.

The sight, coupled with the hot, wet slide of Zhongli's mouth steadily surrounding you, buzzes like electricity under your skin, leaving your fingers tingling and pooling more fire in your core.

"S-so good for me..." You can't help but roll your hips towards him, searching for that delicious friction. "So well trained and behaved hmmm-"

His long dragon tail sways after him at that.

Working his tongue sinuously against you. Each fluttering motion sends sparks up your spine, until your heart is pounding in your chest in anticipation and your head is swimming with arousal. Zhongli snakes that long dragon tongue inside you, probing carefully and slowly at your insides and feeling you clench. The motion has your thighs trembling and you let out a loud whine, unconsciously tugging at the leash again on reflex. Heat screws directly into your gut, surging with each swipe and flick of his tongue, dragging in and out of you, the wet muscle reaching deeper every time. Each little noise that falls from your mouth seems to spur him on, increasing his speed until your toes are curling at the sheets, body taut with pleasure.

"Yes, yes... oh! Ooohh... m-make me cum... and I'll let you- hng- fuck me. You want that don't you?" You coo, free hand releasing the sheets to instead curl around one of his golden antlers.

The reaction is instantaneous as Zhongli purrs.

"F-Fuck!" Waves of pleasure crash down on you at the vibrations against your sensitive folds, cresting higher each time, and you toss your head back. Skin burning, muscles trembling, breath stuttering until every sensation peaks abruptly with an obscene shuddering moan, leaving you helpless to keep from coming in Zhongli's mouth.

Distantly, you feel him growl against your pussy, retracting his tongue to slurp and lick at your juices instead like they’re the sweetest ambrosia.

You ride out the flood of heat, gasping for breath as your body slowly melts into relaxation, and when the tide recedes, you blink the dots out of your vision and look down to see the dragon lapping gently at your core, cleaning up your arousal. “Good boy...” You rasp, letting go of his antler to card your fingers along his dark hair, fingers massaging idly at his scalp.

Those bright golden eyes stare up at you with adoration and your heart flips in your chest.

Zhongli nuzzles at your inner thighs as you enjoy the fading glow of your orgasm before you start shifting and tug gently on his collar to make him pull back. He lets out a huff.

You sit up and surge forward, cupping his face in your hands. "Hmm, you really are so good for me, aren't you?" You nuzzle at him, planting kisses around his cheeks, his nose, his jaw. He sighs and relaxes, tail once again wagging after him. "My beautiful beloved dragon..." You nip at his neck and he inhales sharply. From the corner of your eye, you see his large erection twitch. Straining against his stomach and drooling tacky precum, the head flushed in a lovely dark color.

"Well, we made a deal, didn't we?" You whisper against his skin as your hand lowers down to rub against his length, giving him a couple of lazy strokes as he lets out a mix between a whine and a moan as his hips buckle against your hand. “You earned it…” You coo at his ear.

Even though he could have shredded them apart at any time, he lets you painstakingly undo the knots at his arms and unwind the rope from them. You rub and massage a little at the wrists and muscles, leaving another kiss at his forearm as he flexes them a little. In seconds you find yourself caged under his larger frame, pressed against the bed and crossing stares with him.

His golden eyes are feral, simmering under his skin you can almost feel the scales flickering to life, to burst free. The dragon claws and howls within its cage, every instinct carved within his ancient bones demanding he take action, demanding freedom from the confines of his mortal guise.To take him mate and claim you, breed you.

And yet he stays still. For you. Hanging on your words.

You stroke your hands along his skin, before going up and curling a finger around the collar, appreciating the lewd contrast of the black color against his skin. You fidget a little with it. “Do you want me to keep the leash on or not?” You ask coyly. “You can speak.”

“Anything you want.” He replies evenly.

You chuckle. “I am asking you though, this is your prize after all…”

He bends down a little until his forehead rests against yours. “My prize is you. In any way you’d have me.”

Your breath hitches at the sincerity and pure desire in his words.

“Keeping it on then…” You say, giving a quick peck against his lips before you shift and roll over, pulling a pillow closer to your chest, burying your cheek on it as you stare at him over your shoulder, hand pulling at said leash just a bit.

He straddles your legs and you feel his cock rub against your ass. His hands at both sides of you with one of them intertwining his fingers with yours.

“Now… give me a good fucking, my pet…”

You feel a clawed hand guiding your hips and finally, the blunt head of his cock prods at your entrance. Zhongli shoves forward and you gasp as he slips inside. Your walls stretch to accommodate him and you moan low in your chest from the steady drag, head falling forward. He doesn’t stop until he’s fully seated and you shiver at the sensation of being so full.

The hand at your hip slides underneath to press against your stomach and the sound that escapes you is pure sin. Zhongli seems to like it, since he presses harder and his hips jerk, shifting his cock inside you, giving aborted little thrusts and eliciting another high-pitched whine.

“D-don’t- Don’t tease me-!” You jerk the leash. His chest pressing against your back. “Behave.”

Zhongli nips at your shoulder and growls.

“Don’t get an attitude with me or I’ll change my mind.”

Zhongli grumbles low in his chest and your chuckle is cut short as he quickly pulls out and slams forward again before you can even process, you’re empty.

“Fuck-!”

Detaching from your back, he holds your hips again and thrusts once more, using his grip to drag you back against him, holding you there so you can feel every inch of his cock filling you up, rubbing and touching you so deeply it was too much and simply not enough. You gasp and whine, eyelids fluttering. Zhongli slides out, then back in, gaining speed with each tantalizing stroke until his pelvis is slapping loudly against your ass.

Every thrust snaps an electric spark as the dragon practically mounts you, rocking you against the mattress until your thighs are trembling and you’re muffling your moans and squeals against the pillow. Zhongli is panting above you, each rasping breath rattling with a gusty exhale, catching on the growl building within his chest. Blood pounding in your ears, heart rattling as his pace chases even faster, reaching a desperate frenzy; The hot rigid length filling you over and over again blurs into a steady, burning stream of sensation.

You let Zhongli use your body like a feral animal in rut, every thrust punching out a pitiful noise out of your lips, stars dancing in your eyes and heat surging until you’re nearly incoherent with it, drooling against the pillow.

Your trembling hand yanks weakly at the leash and his pace stutters, you call out to him with a whine, teary eyes begging at him and he surges forward in an open-mouthed kiss, filthy and clumsy with how you both are worked up right now.

“Good-” You choke out against his lips. “T-That’s a good boy, Li-”

He growls with satisfaction, losing his even rhythm as his thrusts become sloppy, recklessly slamming in and out of your warm heat. His tail wraps around one of your legs.

“Such a good pet for me-” Your nails dig into your palms, one of them tangled with the leash, the other held by Zhongli’s for dear life. “Come on… come on, Li… c-cum inside me-”

The dragon slams a few more times against you before burying himself completely inside, going rigid as a loud groan tears out through gritted teeth. You all but mewl at the familiar feeling of his hot cum seeping inside you, body shaking with your own release as the heat climbing through your body overflows with a blinding flash.

You whimper and whine as you ride the dizzying wave of pleasure, vision blurred, mouth hanging open.

Once the peak ebbs away, you’re left with trembling limbs and a heaving chest, sagging on the bed exhausted.

Zhongli gingerly slides out making you moan softly at the now unpleasant emptiness, your combined fluids running down your legs. You twist sluggishly onto your side and pull him down not by the leash this time, but by wrapping your arm around his shoulder. He presses and nuzzles against you and you let out a breathy tired chuckle. “Good boy…” You mumble.

He intertwines your hands again and pulls them up to kiss at the back of your hand, then your knuckles. “Hm… I do believe no one had ever called me those names before.”

Had you not been so tired, you’d be more embarrassed about the whole ordeal, but right now you can only manage a bashful smile. “Well… did the mighty lord of geo enjoy being my pet?” You ask, fingers tracing the black collar around his neck.

“I did.”

“You want to… try it again sometime?”

“If you want to.” He replies, his gaze warm and affectionate, scanning your face searchingly. “Did you enjoy it, my dear?”

You avert your eyes, a blush finally creeping in your face as the adrenaline washes off with the calm atmosphere. “I… really did.” Your hand moves up from the collar to his cheek. “You’re always so good to me, Li.”

“Hm, I simply love you. My mate…” Zhongli leans in close, the tip of his nose tracing a path along your cheek.

“I love you too.” You close the few inches of distance between your lips and kiss him, slow and meaningful.

He kisses back immediately, sinking into it with a low, throaty croon. Suddenly you find yourself on your back with him pushing you into the mattress, the leash and strands of his hair dangling over your sweaty skin, and his hips rolling up to yours.

You swat at his shoulder playfully. “No! Bad dragon! Insatiable-! That’s all you get!”

Zhongli chuckles, deep and rich voice making your heart skip. He nuzzles into the space between your shoulder and neck once more before pulling back and sitting up on the bed. “Let’s go take a bath, then.”

“Oh, so we’re back to you giving the orders? You’re still wearing the collar, you know?”

“I suppose I am. In that case, whatever my sweet mate demands…”

“A bath sounds good.” You chuckle. He nods and stands up, you get only a few seconds to admire his body before he picks you up, ignoring your squeal, and heads over to the bathroom. Hopefully, only to get cleaned up…

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verstappensrealwife · 3 months

Note

would you be able to write about lance stroll? possibly a story where she is his childhood best friend and they end up together. Smut if possible!!

Beyond Friendship's Boundaries - Lance Stroll x Reader

smut.

approx. 1960 words.

warnings: oral (fem!recieving), awkwardness in the start, sex (p in v). --- Also my horrid smut writing (I am yet to write a smut fic that i think i wrote well!) Hope you enjoy anyways <3

lance stroll masterlist - here. f1 masterlist - here.

You and Lance had been inseparable since childhood, ever since that fateful day in kindergarten when his boundless energy collided with your unsuspecting form. As he barreled into you with the force of a tiny tornado, you found yourself sprawled on the ground, tears welling in your eyes. But even in that moment of chaos, Lance's instinctive kindness shone through as he scrambled to lift you up with all the might his pint-sized arms could muster.

"Sorry," he blurted out, his voice tinged with genuine concern.

With a sniffle and a shaky nod, you forgave him, wiping away the tears with the back of your hand. His infectious grin, inherited from his mother's insistence that it could brighten anyone's day, worked its magic once again as you found yourself mirroring his smile. From that day forward, a bond was forged between you two that would withstand the tests of time and tide.

In the present moment, he found himself thousands of miles away in Australia, while you remained in Canada. Alone in the confines of his hotel room, he sat on the edge of the bed, consumed by thoughts of you that strayed far from the innocent memories of childhood. With a conflicted mind and a restless urge, he grasped his cock in his hand, indulging in fantasies that danced on the edge of forbidden desire.

If only you knew the depths of his depraved thoughts, he reasoned, you might recoil in horror or sever ties altogether. But in that solitary moment, consumed by the need for release before the impending race, such considerations faded into insignificance. He whispered your name like a forbidden prayer, his imagination weaving a tapestry of carnal delights where your bodies entwined in passion, where your desires ignited a flame that threatened to consume them both.

As he surrendered to the waves of pleasure crashing over him, he couldn't help but yearn for your presence, for the touch of your skin against his, for the possibility that you might reciprocate the intensity of his longing. In the darkness of his solitude, he dared to dream of a world where your desires aligned, where the boundaries between friendship and something more blurred into obscurity. But for now, all he could do was chase the fleeting ecstasy of release, his fantasies a bittersweet reminder of the distance between them and the unspoken truths that lingered in the silence.

Unbeknownst to him, the object of his affection stood mere inches from his hotel door, her heart thrumming with anticipation as she prepared to surprise her closest friend.

"Lance~" Your cheerful voice called through the door, sending Lance into a whirlwind of panic. Why were you here? When had you arrived? And most importantly, where on earth were his pants!? With a frantic scramble, he attempted to cover himself, his heart racing with a mixture of excitement and trepidation.

As you swiped the card and entered the room, Lance's eyes widened in disbelief. He couldn't believe you were here, standing before him in the flesh. But before he could gather his wits or even properly greet you, your exclamation filled the room, cutting through the air like a knife.

You couldn't help but yelp in surprise as you laid eyes on him. There he stood, with his messy hair tousled in disarray, a rosy flush painting his cheeks, and no shirt to conceal the sculpted contours of his chest. Beneath the sheets that draped over his lower half, there was an air of tantalising mystery, hinting at the forbidden pleasures that lay hidden from view. Thankfully he had found his boxers before you had walked in.

Caught off guard by the unexpected sight, you felt a rush of heat flood your cheeks as your heart raced with a mixture of shock and embarrassment. It was a moment frozen in time, etched into your memory with vivid clarity, leaving you breathless and at a loss for words.

You stuttered out a few words, your voice wavering with uncertainty as you struggled to make sense of the unexpected scene before you. "Is this a bad time... I can leave," you managed to murmur, your cheeks burning with embarrassment.

"No!" His response was swift, almost desperate, as if the mere thought of you leaving sent a jolt of panic coursing through him. He hesitated for a moment, the realisation of his own desperation dawning on him, before quickly composing himself. But deep down, he couldn't deny the truth: he was desperate for you, in more ways than one.

You stared at him, your eyes wide with surprise and uncertainty, unsure of how to proceed in this newfound tension. "N- Not a bad time... uhm..." he stammered, his words trailing off into an awkward silence as he searched for the right thing to say.

As the tension hung heavy in the air, a palpable electricity crackling between you, Lance's heart pounded with a mixture of desire and uncertainty. In that charged moment, he couldn't deny the raw attraction that pulsed between them, igniting a fire that threatened to consume them both.

With a hesitant step forward, he closed the distance between you, his gaze locking with yours in a silent plea for understanding. "I... I want you here," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper, laden with desire and longing.

Your breath caught in your throat at his admission, your own desires laid bare in the vulnerable space between you. In a bold move, you closed the remaining gap between you, your fingers trembling as they reached out to touch his bare chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips.

With a shared moment of unspoken consent, the floodgates of desire burst open, consuming them both in a whirlwind of passion and need. Lips met in a searing kiss, hungry and desperate, as years of unspoken longing erupted into a frenzy of desire.

Lost in the heat of the moment, Lance's hands roamed eagerly over your body, tracing every curve and contour as if committing them to memory. With each touch, each caress, the world fell away until there was only the two of you, lost in the throes of passion.

As the intensity of their desire reached its peak, they surrendered to the undeniable pull of their bodies, consumed by a hunger that could only be sated by each other. In that moment of blissful surrender, they knew that they had found something truly special, something worth fighting for amidst the chaos of their tangled emotions.

His movements were urgent, fueled by a hunger that threatened to consume them both as he pushed you gently onto the bed, his lips trailing a path of fire down your trembling body. Each kiss left a trail of tingling heat in its wake, igniting a blaze of desire that pulsed between you.

Reaching your legs, he knelt between your thighs, his breath catching in his throat at the sight beneath the dress you had worn just for him. His eyes drank in the sight of your exposed skin, the tantalising curve of your hips, and the promise of what lay hidden beneath.

"Fuck..." he mumbled, his voice husky with desire as he took in the sight before him. The realisation that you wore no underwear beneath the dress sent a surge of heat coursing through him, his heart pounding with anticipation.

His fingers trembled with longing as he reached for the hem of your dress, his touch gentle yet urgent as he pulled the fabric slowly upwards, revealing more of your intoxicating form with each passing moment. As the dress pooled around your waist, leaving you bare and vulnerable beneath him, he felt a primal need stir within him, urging him onward.

You could only moan in response, lost in a haze of pleasure and desire as his lips continued their journey, leaving a trail of kisses along your inner thighs. Your words dissolved into incoherent babbling, your mind consumed by the overwhelming sensations that pulsed through your body with each touch, each caress.

Never in your wildest dreams did you imagine this moment would come to fruition, yet it consumed your every waking thought, an unrelenting desire that pulsed through your veins with a fierce intensity.

As he pushed his fingers into you, the sensation sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body, igniting a fire that burned with an intensity you had never known. With each skilled movement, he found the perfect spot, sending sparks of ecstasy dancing along your nerve endings.

His mouth followed, hot and hungry against your skin, eliciting a guttural moan of pleasure from deep within your throat. The sound echoed off the walls of the room, mingling with curses and cries of ecstasy as you surrendered yourself to the overwhelming tide of sensation.

He pulled two earth-shattering orgasms from you with his skilled touch before finally entering you, the culmination of desire and passion reaching its peak. Position after position, they explored the depths of pleasure together, lost in a whirlwind of sensation and ecstasy that seemed to stretch into eternity.

For almost an hour, they moved as one, bodies entwined in a dance of primal desire. With each thrust, his dick found its mark, sending waves of pleasure crashing over you with every movement. It was a symphony of sensation, a crescendo of pleasure that built with each passing moment.

Despite his best efforts to prolong the inevitable, he could only resist for so long before the overwhelming tide of pleasure threatened to consume him. With a primal groan of ecstasy, he pulled out at the last moment, spilling his release over you in a cascade of pure bliss.

In the aftermath of their passionate encounter, they lay entwined in a tangle of limbs, their bodies still humming with the echoes of pleasure. With gentle caresses and soft whispers, they reassured each other of their mutual affection, basking in the warmth of their shared intimacy.

As they lay together in the quiet aftermath of their lovemaking, a sense of anticipation hung in the air, unspoken words lingering on the tip of their tongues. Lance shifted slightly, his fingers tracing absentminded patterns along your arm as he mustered the courage to broach the subject that had been weighing on his mind.

"Hey," he began softly, his voice tinged with a hint of uncertainty, "can we talk about... us?"

You turned to him, meeting his gaze with a mixture of curiosity and warmth. "Of course," you replied, your heart fluttering with anticipation.

"I... I know we've always been friends," Lance started, his words hesitant as he struggled to articulate his feelings. "But after tonight, I can't help but wonder if there's something more between us."

Your breath caught in your throat at his confession, the air crackling with tension as you searched for the right words to respond. "I've thought about it too," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "What we have... it feels different now, doesn't it?"

Lance nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Yeah, it does," he agreed, his gaze softening as he looked at you. "And I don't want to risk losing what we have, but... I can't shake the feeling that there's something special between us."

You reached out, intertwining your fingers with his in a silent gesture of solidarity. "I feel it too," you confessed, your heart swelling with emotion. "And maybe... maybe we owe it to ourselves to see where this could go."

Lance's smile widened, a flicker of hope dancing in his eyes. "I'd like that," he replied, his voice filled with conviction. "To us, whatever that may be."

"To us," you echoed, a surge of excitement coursing through you as you leaned in to press a tender kiss to his lips. In that moment, you both knew that whatever the future held, you were in it together, bound by the unbreakable bond of friendship and the tantalising promise of something more.

el fin.

Hope the smut was good. I tried not to use cringe words, key word tried. anyway. probably gonna have 2-3 fics out today :)

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petit-etoile · 7 months

Note

*meekly raises hand* I'd had an idea for a drabble prompt. That hug Astarion gets? What if it also led to him kissing Tav, really kissing them for the first time? Like one that he is able to put his heart into without the fear of being used and tossed aside?

wave after wave (like a transparent star)

pairing: astarion/tav wordcount: 762 content warnings: none other tags: canon compliant, introspection, character study, kissing, gender neutral tav, human!tav if you squint archiveofourown: here. .

tag list: @azrielshadows1nger, @pandimoostuff, @faevi, @microskies, @foreverthemaraudersera, @queenofthespacesquids, @claryvoyantfray, @6doodlaang14, @anne-isnotokay, @itshimbotime, @yeeteth-the-raven, @sessils, be added to the taglist here

summary: What if the hug also led to him kissing Tav, really kissing them for the first time?

‘I want,’ you say with the slightest shake of your head, ‘I want. I want — ’

This, is what you would say if you had the words to speak. Instead, you stare at Astarion with a sense of unrelenting urgency between the two of you. It’s as though you are frozen in time with your palm resting flat against his, both of his hands framing yours protectively, his skin, his fingers, his everything laid bare against your silly little hand.

Astarion collides with you like a star racing across an ocean. He is a tide that overcomes you and threatens to take you out to sea. You wrap your arms around his thin frame to keep yourself grounded. The dark depths of the ocean swirls around you, but you hold onto Astarion and he holds onto you, your arms wrapped around his waist, his hand gently cradling the back of your head as he desperately presses his forehead against yours with a shuddering breath as he fights that urge to consume.

And just like that, a supernova creates itself in the middle of camp in the dark. You tilt your chin at just the right time to catch his mouth as he crashes into you. Astarion kisses you so passionately that you have no choice but to seek purchase on his shoulders to avoid toppling over. There’s hysteria in his tongue, in the way his lips tremble, but all you can smell is rosemary, bergamot, and brandy, and tears, yours and his together.

This might’ve been how he would have kissed his highborn lover back in Baldur’s Gate before everything. Before mindflayer and tadpole, before Cazador and the attack, before you and your frightening humanity. This is a kiss a magistrate would have given to a recently courted lover in private away from prying eyes. You almost feel as though you’re being swept off your feet, like you’re being properly romanced instead of hunted in the woods, and it does something to the pit of your stomach. You swoon.

‘I think,’ Astarion says thickly, ‘I know what I’m feeling for you.’

‘I know,’ you say, nuzzling his jaw. ‘I know you love me.’

His eyes soften and then, well, it really is a collision this time. Somehow, Astarion kisses you roughly and tenderly all at once. His nose presses sharply into your cheek, and you clutch his elbows like at any moment, if he chooses to let go, you’ll be stranded at sea. It’s a different kiss from all those you’ve experienced from him before. From the kiss during sunset, the kiss when he first drank your blood, and the shyest kiss from right after his confession. This is something else entirely. A fire let loose in the wood.

He kisses you like a man who has only known hunger. Astarion takes and he takes and he takes until you’re almost certain he’s hunting for your soul from your lips, and you would give it to him if you knew where to look for it. This is a kiss — a real and genuine kiss — from a man who has only known desperation, nails scraping against the grain, seeking something far beyond himself. You would feel scandalized by the passion if it were anyone else.

And when he’s done fervently kissing you, Astarion cradles your cheek in his hand and runs his thumb over the curve of your cheekbone as if you were the most precious idol he could have laid his hands on.

There’s something different about the gleam in his eye, a glossiness that you’ve never seen before, not really. Beneath all the vitriol and discomfort, there is a young man who wants nothing more than freedom.

He presses his forehead against yours and sighs, and the sound is relief composed as a symphony by the saddest souls. You return the favor, your fingers sliding across the familiar harsh lines of his face, and decide to show him the purest of emotions so that he knows.

‘I don’t know what comes next,’ Astarion says, his tone a touch agonized. ‘But wherever this leads, I know that I want it to be you.’

For once, his words are honest and match his intentions. It’s something you come to cherish. You’re the only one he’ll ever show this side to; this kind devotion belongs to you and you alone. This is the part of Astarion that Cazador can never touch. There is still hope in his skeletal frame.

You kiss his cheek softly.

There’s no other place you’d rather be than at Astarion’s side.

#astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion x oc #from ，carcosa .#my fic #anonymous #* a thousand lives，and one

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oddinary4bts · 5 months

Text

Sinful Lust | ch 5 (myg & jjk)

☆summary: On a rainy night in May, everything is bound to break. Hearts that once beat as one, now break in time with the tide. What will be left in the end?

☆pairing: bisexual boyfriend!Yoongi x female!reader x Jungkook

☆rating: 18+ (MINORS DNI)

☆genre: mostly angst, smut, snippets of life!au

☆warnings: mentions of what happened between Jungkook and OC in ch 4, cheating, cursing, momentary trip to the hospital, mentions of bullying and getting beaten up, mentions of alcoholic parent, mentions of domestic abuse, explicit content: protected sex in a semi-public environment, fingering, squirting, anal sex, car sex

☆word count: 8.3k

☆a/n: This one is really sad. We learn more about Jungkook's past, and we see everything crashing down. Please don't hate me for this :') Annnnd thank you @moonleeai as always for beta-ing this fic <3

☆a/n pt2: I do not own BTS or any of the members. I do not know what they are like irl (I do not claim to know their personalities, sexual orientations, beliefs, etc.). This fic is just a work of fiction, so please keep that in mind while reading

☆series masterpost

☆☆☆☆☆

May is rainy. You watch the world outside – it’s turned grey weeks ago, and the sun has yet to show up. Or at least it feels that way, and you’re slightly annoyed as you once again look out the window, only to be greeted by drops of water racing each other on the glass.

You don’t mind the rain. You never really did. But you don’t like feeling like you’re not doing anything, and the book you’ve been trying to read since you got home from work just isn’t cutting it.

Or maybe it’s the fact that Yoongi is once again going to be home late tonight. You don’t know what project he’s been working on – whenever you’ve asked questions about it, he was super evasive. But like clockwork, every night for three weeks Yoongi got home late after work, claiming that he is too tired to do anything with you.

You don’t blame him. He’s been working crazy hours, but you just miss his presence. Now, whenever you get to actually spend some time together he also invites Jungkook, and you feel like your relationship with Yoongi just isn’t what it used to be.

When you brought it up to him last week, he said that he was too tired to talk about it, and he kissed the side of your head before rolling to the other side of the bed. The dismissal was clear, and it’s been making you feel dreadful, like every breath you take is missing just a little bit of oxygen, making your lungs burn and heart beat harder in your chest as it tries to compensate.

You know what changed everything. You saw it in slow motion – that night you’d woken Yoongi up because of Jungkook. That same night you had fucked Yoongi on Facetime while Jungkook watched and guided the two of you.

Yoongi hasn’t looked at you the same way since then. You hate it, hate the distance that’s wedged itself between you and him, but you don’t know how to fix it.

No amount of cuddling or affection or loving words seem to be enough to bring Yoongi back from the place his mind wandered to when he saw what you and Jungkook had been texting about.

It was a mistake. You know it today, and you wish you could take it back.

Wish you could take the whole ordeal back.

But you can’t, and you’ve been trying to be better. To treat Yoongi better, to make sure you don’t overstep the boundaries, though you reckon that night you went flying over the line at the speed of light.

You sigh, leaning your head back against the couch. You’ve been trying to read your favourite book – the one Yoongi bought for you on your first date, annotated in the margins with all of his thoughts on it. But every time you see his handwriting, every time you read what he left behind, your heart just hurts a little more.

You’ve suggested calling off this whole thing with Jungkook. Yoongi laughed and said that he didn’t want to stop. It was strange to see him like that – like he isn’t the same man you once fell in love with anymore. But then again you reckon you haven’t been the same either.

How could you be the same after experiencing Jeon Jungkook?

Jungkook, too, has changed. He doesn’t smile with you as much as he used to, and sometimes you feel like he’s forcing himself. Like he doesn’t want to be there, but just like you and Yoongi, he doesn’t know how to stop.

It’s a mess. Everything is a mess, and you wish you’d know how to fix it.

But you don’t, and so you force your eyes to skim over the lines of the book, reading words that used to be familiar and now feel like excerpts from a different life.

*****

Yoongi likes the rain. It’s calm, soothing, and he feels like the world stops rushing when it’s under the clouds. Like he can sit back, relax and enjoy the coffee on the table in front of him. He’s ordered it black, and though it’s a little too warm, he still enjoys every single sip he takes of it.

Jimin isn’t here yet. But Yoongi doesn’t mind – he likes watching the droplets of water racing on the window. It keeps his thoughts busy, keeps them from running back to you and Jungkook and the night you fucking sexted with Jungkook while he was sleeping next to you.

His first thought had been to be mad at you, but then he’d figured he could twist this to his advantage. Because he knew you and Jungkook both felt guilty, and it now shows in the way you take care of him.

And maybe he is sick and twisted for enjoying the sex life like this, but he reckons he deserves it after you’ve cheated on him.

He’s aware he should confront you. Should tell you how it made him feel, even though you were quick to make sure Yoongi was involved too. The situation just broke some part of him, and he highly doubts it will ever be fixed. For now, he’s just content as he sits back and enjoys what’s left of the relationship before it goes up in flames.

He never knew he was such a petty person. Or maybe getting involved with Jeon Jungkook just brought out the worst of him. Which, he reckons, he should have expected. Because Jungkook has a tendency to do that to all of the relationships Yoongi has seen him involved in.

It’s no wonder he’s never had a girlfriend.

The bell by the doors of the café rings, and Yoongi knows it’s Jimin before he’s even looked towards the entrance. Maybe because he’s too aware of Jimin now – he’s been searching for the man in every room, every crowd, ever since that night that changed everything.

He has to confront you. He’s aware that lying about staying at work late isn’t all that better than what you did. But Jimin is like the rain – he’s soothing, calming, and maybe it helps with fixing the jagged pieces of Yoongi’s broken heart and trust, and he likes keeping that part of his life to himself.

At least for now.

Jimin’s smile is blinding when he sits in front of Yoongi. He’s got a tote bag, and he pulls two books out before he even says hello.

“I got us some reading for tonight,” Jimin finally says, and he shakes the water from his hair. And then the smile falls into the soft one that renders Yoongi unable to think as he says, “Thank you for the coffee.”

Because Yoongi memorized Jimin’s coffee order the first time they got coffee together. It came far too naturally to him – you’re the one he used to remember everything about so easily. But things have changed. You’ve been slipping down a slope, and he knows the end won’t be positive.

“Thank you for the book,” Yoongi says right as he takes the one Jimin offers him.

His blood turns to ice in his veins. He tries not to let it show on his face, even though he freezes right on the spot, as if he’s been suddenly sent straight to orbit with no atmosphere around him to keep his body warm anymore.

It’s the book he and you read on your first date, five years ago. He’d filled it with notes for you, and he knows you keep it in the first drawer of your night table, as if it’s a Bible you like to read to fall asleep every night.

“Something wrong?” Jimin gently asks, his smile slowly wavering until it disappears entirely.

“Sorry…” Yoongi apologizes, though he doesn’t really know what for.

He’s not entirely sure Jimin is the one he should be apologizing to right now.

“It’s just…” he adds when Jimin doesn’t say anything, looking confused. “That’s my girlfriend’s favourite book.”

Jimin looks alarmed. His eyes widen, and he tries to take the book back, though Yoongi holds onto it.

“I’m so sorry,” Jimin says. “I thought… my granddad said it was a good book, so I figured why not?”

“It really is,” Yoongi quickly replies, hoping it would bring back Jimin’s easy smile.

Jimin gulps, looking down at the copy he saved for himself. “Well…” He chuckles, and it’s a little awkward. “I guess we can say your girlfriend has good taste.”

There’s a deeper meaning behind Jimin’s words. Yoongi hears it right away, and something stirs in his chest. Blush creeps on his cheeks, and he tries to push it away, as far away as he can, but he finds he’s too weak to do so.

“She does.”

At that Jimin looks up to meet his gaze again. “Do you still want to read it, though? I know things haven’t been great with her…”

Yoongi has been confiding in Jimin. He hasn’t been able to speak to anyone from his group of friends, mostly because all of them are friends with Jungkook too. They don’t know about what’s been going on, and Yoongi doesn’t want to tell them either.

Though he thinks Namjoon might know, even if he’s never said anything about it.

So he’s been confiding in Jimin instead. Every night that they meet for coffee, or those that Yoongi goes to help at Seojun’s bookstore. It’s been like therapy for him, though he reckons Jimin might not be the person he should be confiding in.

Not when the crush he has for the man feels a little too real.

Another thought that he pushes away, or tries to. He’s not sure that it works, but it does chase Jungkook and you out of his thoughts.

“We can read it if you want,” he tells Jimin. “I promise it’s worth the read.”

Jimin offers him a careful smile. “Sounds good.” He pauses, cheeks tinting with pink as he looks down at the coffee Yoongi got for him. “Next time I’ll let you choose the book.”

*****

Jungkook shifts, keeping his features cool and composed as the shutter of the camera goes off. He tilts his head to the side for the next picture, then looks away. He’s been at it for what feels like hours now, and he frankly can’t wait to be done.

Though the work has been a well-deserved reprieve from his churning thoughts.

He moves into another pose, staring down the camera with a slight frown on his features, head tilted back. The camera shutter goes off again, and he’s about to move into another position when the director yells, “Cut!”

Jungkook breaks into a smile, though he doesn’t really know why. Maybe because he actually likes this – the posing, the modelling, feeling as if he’s the shit for a moment.

It helps him forget that you are Yoongi’s, and not his.

Jungkook walks away from where they were shooting, and the fashion designer that chose the outfits for the day approaches him, a smile on her lips.

A pretty smile that matches her equally pretty features. Boring though – they’re lacking something that he can’t quite put a finger on.

“You did great,” she compliments him as they near a table with snacks and water bottles for the staff.

Jungkook grabs a water bottle, opening it and taking a long, refreshing sip. “It was all you,” he flirts back, though he wasn’t quite sure she was flirting to begin with.

When he notices her features turning a light shade of pink, he knows he hit his mark.

“Please,” she says, scoffing as she shakes her head in a self-deprecating manner. “I barely did anything.”

He smirks. “Give yourself some credit, you did a good job.”

She wets her lips, the tint on her cheeks darkening. “Well then, thank you.”

There’s a silence as he drinks some more, and she grabs a quarter of an egg sandwich that she bites in with her head turned away from him. He imitates her, grabbing some for himself, only then realizing that he’s famished.

So he eats his fill with her next to him, in a silence that ought to be uncomfortable but isn’t quite so. And maybe it’s the way she eyes him, like he’s the dessert, that leads him to suggest heading somewhere quiet.

He sees the debate, the conflict in her eyes, because clearly this would be unprofessional. And she’s pretty, wearing a fashionable outfit that looks like she belongs in a lawyer office more than on a photoshoot. It hugs her frame right, and when she turns he gets a good look at her ass, at how the fabric stretches on her…

And he feels his dick slowly hardening.

“If we get caught, I’ll lose my job,” she answers, voice low as her gaze falls to the floor as if she’s ashamed.

As if she didn’t approach him for this in the first place.

“Then you’ll have to keep silent, mmh?” Jungkook fires back, voice low and sultry.

He sees the instant she folds. It’s in the way she bites her lips, and somehow the gesture is too familiar, sending a pang through his heart as you take over his thoughts.

Yet he follows the woman, watching her ponytail swing left and right with every step she takes. She leads him to an unused dressing room, and he catches sight of the rainy world outside as she locks the door behind them.

A rainy world, to match the rainy thoughts that have been clouding him.

She takes a step towards him, and though he’s faced away from her, she touches him, hand moving shyly on his back. He’s not sure he likes the shyness – he prefers your confidence, the way you touch him like he’s yours.

And maybe he is. Maybe he’s been for a lot longer than he’ll ever admit to anyone.

He turns around, forcing his lips into what he hopes is a lustful smirk. Eyes slightly narrowed, he looks down at the girl, and he realizes he doesn’t even remember her name.

He doesn’t care. He still crashes his lips on hers, pushing her back until she hits the door. And a moment later they are naked from the waist down, and her legs are around him as he pounds into her, her fingers digging in his shoulders as she lets out breathy sounds.

She feels good. He can’t deny it – her pussy squeezes his dick just right. But once again there’s just something lacking, and frustration slowly takes over him until he carries her to a desk, so that he can put her down and fuck her harder, trying to get rid of the frustration.

But it never goes away. No matter who he fucks, the frustration clings to him like a second skin, like he’s been cursed and will forever be haunted.

So he fucks the girl, holds her waist possessively even though he doesn’t give a shit about her. His eyes trail to the world outside – the raindrops are rolling on the window, partaking in a race he’s never understood.

He doesn’t mind the rain. Prefers cloudy or sunny weather over it, only because it makes riding his bike more fun, but he doesn’t mind the rain. He just feels as if the world goes too slow when it’s raining, as if his thoughts are one second away from catching up to him.

They always are. Always are far too close for comfort, as if he’s about to lose the race. And he knows he is – he feels how everything has been shifting between you and Yoongi. It all changed that night you and he sexted while Yoongi was asleep. Yoongi has been more demanding, colder, and Jungkook can tell that Yoongi’s detaching himself from the situation. Perhaps as a coping mechanism, so that he won’t feel the emotions.

Jungkook envies his friend for being able to do so, as his own emotions have been choking him. Until he can barely breathe, until he doesn’t even feel the girl as she squirms under him.

He doesn’t come. He gets bored before he does, pulling out so that he can finger her instead, mechanically. He does it until she comes, until she squirts all over the floor, and then he tells her he has to go. Tells her thank you, and tells her that he’ll reach out to hang out again soon.

He won’t. It’s just something he found helps with ghosting in general. Which, he knows he’ll ghost her.

He’s ghosted everyone that got close to him after he’s started fucking you and Yoongi. Because no one ever compares to you, and he frankly doesn’t even want to find someone else.

He leaves the girl behind, leaves that dressing room to find his, where he takes a quick shower before changing into his own clothes. He grabs his motorcycle helmet, curses the rain as a few minutes later he’s rolling on the streets.

And when he’s home, he immediately uncorks his whiskey bottle, pouring himself a large glass that he drinks watching the rain outside, wondering why is it that he got attached to the only thing he’ll never have.

*****

It’s almost midnight when you realize that Yoongi might not be coming back home tonight. You texted him twice in the evening, and though your messages were delivered he still hasn’t read them.

You know he never checks his phone when he’s at work, but you highly doubt he’s still at work at this hour. And though you’re wearing one of his shirts, he’s never felt as much of a stranger as he does right now.

You try to forget it by looking at pictures of moments passed, of days and nights with him years ago when you believed he was the love of your life.

And though you still believe he is, you’re realizing that he doesn’t feel the same about you anymore. That somewhere between that first night with Jungkook and today, Yoongi changed.

You’re not stupid. You know exactly what caused the change, and you can’t help but hate yourself for it. To hate Jungkook, to hate Yoongi, for accepting to get involved with Jungkook. You should have known better – should have chosen someone you didn’t know.

Fear takes a hold of your heart, and you sit up in bed.

Is Yoongi with Jungkook, doing to you what you did to him weeks ago?

It hurts. You reckon it hurts and it’s hard to breathe, but then again you could never be mad at him for doing something with Jungkook without you being there. You think it’d be normal that the two friends got closer after having fucked – you yourself got a lot closer to Jungkook. But the thought still makes your blood feel like liquid acid, burning up your insides until you force yourself to grab your phone.

You go to your text messages as you worry at your bottom lip, pulling at the bit of dry skin you find there. Even through the anxiety that’s slowly taking hold of you, you make a mental note to do a lip mask soon, to help with the dryness.

It’s the only normal thought you are bound to have tonight, isn’t it? Because you immediately text Jungkook, asking if he knows where Yoongi is. And through a blurry vision you wait for his reply, your teeth now nibbling at your nails in an anxious manner you thought you’d gotten rid of years ago.

To your surprise, Jungkook replies in under five minutes.

[00:07 am] Jungkook: no clue [00:08 am] Jungkook: is something wrong

You don’t know how to answer. You think everything went wrong a while ago. You think Yoongi is sand slipping through your fingers, or perhaps he’s turned into the void between the stars where there used to be light. You think that though spring is reigning over the world outside, winter has found the land of your soul, and you’re not sure it’s ever going to leave.

[00:09 am] You: idk… [00:09 am] You: he said he’d be at work until late tonight but it’s past midnight… [00:10 am] You: he’s just an accountant, wtf would an accountant do at work so late at night

Jungkook’s reply takes a while to come in. As if he too needed to take a moment to analyze the situation, to face the gravity of it. Or you’re the only one that feels like the ground has slipped beneath your feet, and you’re about to go over the edge of the cliff.

[00:16 am] Jungkook: I can pick you up and we can go see if his car is at his job

Your eyes slide to the world outside. You haven’t pulled the curtains shut before lying in bed, as if you’d see Yoongi coming home this way even though you live on the upper levels of the building. But you do notice that rain seems to have given way to fog, though it isn’t thick enough to make driving in the night dangerous.

But would it be a good idea? To go chasing the night searching for Yoongi?

And then an entire other scenario takes a hold of you. Steals the breath from your lungs, makes your whole body hurt as if you’ve been set on fire.

What if he’s hurt? What if he got in a car crash on his way home, and he never made it?

What if he’s lying somewhere in a ditch, just waiting to be found?

You don’t fight the tears. Don’t fight a single one of them as they come pouring, just like the rain earlier today.

[00:18 am] You: would you mind?

Jungkook’s reply comes right away this time around.

[00:18 am] Jungkook: ofc not, I’ll be there in 20

So you get dressed, putting on a pair of black sweatpants along with a thick long-sleeved sweater. You stand by the door as you wait for Jungkook to arrive, almost hoping that Yoongi will be the one to cross the threshold first.

As you wait, you watch yourself in the mirror. You look distressed – eyes bloodshot from the tears that keep coming and going, dark bags under your gaze from the lack of sleep. Because of course you haven’t been sleeping well.

How could you sleep well when you’ve been feeling the love of your life slipping through your fingers?

Jungkook gets here faster than twenty minutes. You don’t want to ask how fast he was driving, especially not as his first reaction when you open the door is to pull you to his chest, holding you tight against him. Your tears free fall again, and you grab a hold of his jacket in your fists, clenching them on the fabric so hard you think it might rip. If Jungkook cares he doesn’t say it, instead lowering his head to rest his cheek on the top of your head.

“I’m sure he’s okay,” he tells you, voice velvety soft in its reassurance. “He’s okay.”

That second sentence feels like it was uttered more for Jungkook than for you. You reckon Jungkook does care for Yoongi. Probably more than as a friend, now that he’s been sleeping with you both.

“He has to be,” you reply, lips trembling.

Jungkook holds you tighter and he turns until his lips softly land a kiss to the side of your head. In the heaviness of the moment, it grounds you, and you pull away just enough to look at Jungkook.

His big eyes meet yours, and you wish you could read him. Though you think you’re starting to be able to, and you don’t want to see what’s in his eyes. So you take a step back, and he sucks on his piercing, before nodding once.

“I brought an extra helmet for you,” he says, and he hands it to you.

You look at it as if it’s a foreign thing to you. And it is – you’ve never ridden a bike before.

“You came with your bike?” you ask, carefully drying the tears that slipped on your cheeks.

He nods. “I do have a car but it’s at the repair shop right now.”

You let out a noncommittal sound as you grab the helmet, testing the weight in your hands, wondering what it’ll feel like on your head. Jungkook watches as you do so, still toying with his piercing mindlessly.

“Ready?”

You take a deep breath, pushing away the image of Yoongi dead in a ditch from your mind, before nodding your head.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

*****

Yoongi didn’t see the time fly. When the café owner told him and Jimin that they were closing for the night, Yoongi’s gaze had widened. He’d been so into the book, rereading it for the first time in years, that he really hadn’t seen the time fly.

But he doesn’t really mind. He should, he knows he should, but Jimin is great company, so he doesn’t. He walks behind Jimin outside, avoiding puddles left over by the rain earlier. The rain has ceased now, but the world smells of it still, and the pavement reflects the orange glow of the streetlights as if it’s a mirror.

“Good thing it’s not raining anymore,” Jimin comments, looking over his shoulder at Yoongi.

Yoongi cocks an eyebrow. “You don’t like the rain?”

“I do,” Jimin answers as he turns back to look where he’s going. “But I don’t like driving in the rain, you know?”

Yoongi mindlessly walks a little faster until he’s able to walk side by side with Jimin, and his cheeks burn as their hands brush against each other. He pretends nothing happened, and so does Jimin.

And even though his heart is thundering in his chest, Yoongi says, “Yeah, driving in the rain does suck.”

“Don’t take me wrong though,” Jimin adds quickly. “It was all worth it tonight.”

Yoongi gulps. “It was?”

There’s silence, and Yoongi thinks about you for a time. He wonders if you’re waiting for him. He’s seen your texts, and maybe he’s an asshole for not replying, but he feels like something changed today.

Or maybe something broke, he’s not sure. He just knows that he can’t bring himself to answer you, and he also doesn’t want to go home right now. It does make him sad, for a fraction of a second. Because once upon a time you meant the world to him. You just don’t anymore.

“I like spending time with you, Yoongi,” Jimin says, voice soft, as he brushes his hand against Yoongi’s again.

Yoongi instinctively pulls his hand away, yet he still answers, “Me too.”

It’s the truth. He does enjoy every second he spends with Jimin. Perhaps because Jimin is easy, easier than you. Easier than this whole mess that is Jungkook and you and the threesomes.

Jimin stops, and Yoongi follows suit a step ahead. He turns around to look at Jimin, and the slightly pained expression on Jimin’s features feels like his heart has been stabbed, and he almost instinctively rubs at his chest, over the spot that aches.

“Why are you staying with her?” Jimin asks.

Why? Why indeed. Yoongi doesn’t even know – maybe he’s just too bad with confrontation. Maybe he doesn’t want to break your heart – though he knows Jungkook would be quick to fix it. Maybe it’s the familiarity of his life with you that’s keeping him from doing it. Maybe it’s the fear of losing something that was once great.

He really doesn’t know.

And as he stands there, holding Jimin’s gaze, Yoongi realizes something. Something he probably has known for a while, but refused to acknowledge. He’s stopped loving you a long time ago. Because you’re not the one that he loves anymore.

No, that person is Jimin.

Even though it breaks him, Yoongi closes the space between him and Jimin, grabbing the younger man’s cheeks softly as he presses his lips on Jimin’s.

Jimin is quick to kiss him back, to sigh against Yoongi’s mouth as he takes even a step closer. Jimin’s hands grab at the lapels of Yoongi’s coat, pulling him flush against him. Yoongi wonders if Jimin can feel the wild beats of his heart in his chest, where his fists rest against him.

When Jimin sighs again, Yoongi slips his tongue between his plump lips, and this time Jimin lets out a breathy sound that electrifies Yoongi as if he’s been hit by lightning.

He doesn’t think about you then. Doesn’t think about Jungkook either. All there is in the land of his mind is Jimin, and Jimin’s kiss is healing.

Jimin’s presence in his life has been healing since the very first day Yoongi saw him.

“Come home with me tonight,” Jimin breathes when they pull away.

Yoongi rests his forehead against Jimin’s, still gently cupping the man’s cheeks. “I can’t.”

Jimin doesn’t say anything for a moment, just keeps holding on to Yoongi. And Yoongi wishes the moment could stop – he feels the guilt slowly creeping in on him.

“Why did you kiss me?”

Because he wanted to. Yet Yoongi can’t bring himself to tell Jimin. Not when he thinks of you at home, waiting for him, not knowing that he’s been out at night falling in love with someone else for weeks now.

“I need to go home…”

Jimin bristles, and he steps away from Yoongi. He looks hurt, and rightfully so. Though Yoongi doubts Jimin’s pain even comes close to what you’ll feel when he’ll tell you what happened.

If he tells you.

“Alright then,” Jimin says, and there’s bitterness in his tone. In the way he furrows his brows, features turning harsh, cold. “Go home to her.”

It occurs to Yoongi that Jimin has probably been jealous of you for a while now. Has probably wanted Yoongi for longer than Yoongi has even wanted him.

Would he be a fool to let him slip away?

Would it change anything if he kissed Jimin again?

He tells himself he’s just trying to smooth the lines between Jimin’s brows when he does so. When he pulls Jimin flush against him, and their teeth collide as they kiss languidly. Jimin tastes sweet, even as the taste of coffee lingers in his mouth. It’s not as bitter as it should be – not when Jimin kisses so damn well.

So Yoongi lets himself forget about you for a time. Lets the part of him that’s been aching since that night you and Jungkook sexted take control. Maybe he’s trying to get revenge. Maybe he’s trying to hurt you like you hurt him. He doesn’t know.

Maybe he’s just stupid – he could have broken up with you before getting together with Jimin. But he thinks he’s made his decision weeks ago now, that first time he hung out with Jimin saying that he was staying at work late.

So when Jimin once again asks Yoongi to come home with him, he says yes. He follows Jimin to his car, though they only make it to the backseat. And as Jimin rides his cock, moaning as his fingers dig into Yoongi’s shoulders, rain starts again, drowning out the sounds of their passion.

*****

Yoongi’s car wasn’t in the parking lot of his job. Jungkook refused to tell you what he thought was going on. Not as you started crying again, and asked if he could drive you to the nearest hospital. Because the second Jungkook saw that Yoongi’s car wasn’t there, and you admitted that Yoongi had been coming home later and later every day, Jungkook knew that Yoongi has been cheating on you.

So Jungkook agreed to drive you to the nearest hospital, and you’re halfway there now. Your arms are wrapped around his waist, and you’re a comforting warmth behind him. He wishes he could stop your heart from breaking, wishes he could take the pain away so that you wouldn’t have to experience it at all.

Fuck, even he is hurting. Because Yoongi and you ending means you and him will end too, and he doesn’t think he’s ready to let that go. So when they tell you that they don’t have anyone under the name of Min Yoongi at that first hospital, and you ask to go to another one, Jungkook drives you.

He tries to enjoy your closeness as much as he can, even as rain starts again, though it’s barely even pouring. He drives carefully, slower than he usually does on his bike. And when your arms tighten around him, he hopes you can’t feel his heart breaking in his chest.

You don’t declare yourself defeated until after the fourth hospital. Jungkook waits with you in the lobby as you sit on a bench, head hanging low. You’re not crying, but he can almost hear your thoughts where he’s standing next to you.

They’re even louder when he sits next to you, and you shift infinitesimally closer to him, as if you need his support.

Voice small, you say, “What if he was kidnapped?”

And Jungkook reckons maybe you’re refusing to face the truth. Like a coping mechanism – you’d rather paint Yoongi in a thousand different perspectives instead of one where he’d cheat on you. It shows Jungkook just how much you love your boyfriend, and for a moment he’s struck dumb, wishing that that night five years ago he’d been the one to approach you at the bar.

Even if you had clearly declined giving your number to him. He doesn’t know if you remember, and he’s pretty sure now is not the right time to ask.

“Maybe he’ll answer me,” Jungkook carefully says, and he feels stupid for not texting or calling Yoongi before.

And so he grabs his phone as you watch him, hope etched on your features. He feels like he’s a monster, like he’s about to take your heart and throw it to the rocks at the foot of the metaphorical cliff you’re standing on.

Because he sees it. He sees the pain in your features, sees the way you’re holding onto one last thread. He doesn’t want to be the one to cut it, but then again he’d be there to catch you.

He’s been waiting to catch you. It’s selfish, terribly so, and he looks away from you to call Yoongi.

Yoongi picks up on the third ring.

“Hello?” he lets out, sounding a little breathless.

You freeze. You freeze, unblinking, as if you were on a screen and Jungkook pressed pause.

“Hey, hyung?” Jungkook says.

There’s some mumbling on the other side of the line, all the confirmation that he needs to know Yoongi is indeed cheating on you.

“Why are you calling?” Yoongi asks, and he sounds annoyed.

Jungkook hates himself for what he says next. “Are you okay? Y/n is worried about you.”

There’s a pause on the other side of the line. As if Yoongi is holding his breath, as perhaps he’s faced with the consequences of what he’s doing.

“Yeah, everything is okay. You can tell her I’m heading home.”

Jungkook nods, still not looking at you. He’s not ready to face the destruction head on. “Okay, I’ll let her know.”

And then Yoongi is hanging up, not saying anything else. Jungkook doesn’t move, sitting in silence in the artificial light of that hospital lobby, watching people in scrubs and casual clothing walking around as if the world has not just stopped for you next to him.

“He must have been at work, then,” you murmur. “Maybe we just didn’t see his car.”

Jungkook hears his heart shattering on the tiles of the floor at the innocence in your voice. He says your name like you’re a fragile porcelain, like his hands are too clumsy to ever dare to hold you.

“Please,” is all you say.

He understands. So he asks, “Do you want to head home?”

“No.”

He nods, and he finally looks at you. Finally looks at your pale features, and the utter lack of feeling in your eyes. It hits so hard he thinks he gets a concussion from it, and he watches you, mind spinning in pain and sadness.

And though he wants to apologize, wants to say that it’s all his fault, all he manages to say is, “There’s a place I go to when I need to think. Do you want me to take you there?”

You meet his gaze, and he realizes you weren’t focusing on him before. Because now that you do he feels as if a train just ran into him, and he wishes he wouldn’t be able to feel. Yet he feels – feels for you and your broken heart. For Yoongi, who sacrificed you, and for what?

“Sure,” is all you reply.

So even if it’s raining, Jungkook starts driving you to that place where he went to weeks ago, where the sky meets the ocean and he can just stop thinking for a moment. He makes sure you hold him tight, though when the rain doubles up you’re forced to stop under a bridge, the last one before you’ll exit the city proper.

You climb down from his bike, and Jungkook watches you as you stand to the side. You don’t remove the helmet, as if it’s shelter for your broken eyes, and he doesn’t force you to. He removes his, puts it on the seat and then stands closer to you.

He just now realizes that your clothes aren’t made to ride in the rain. So he removes his jacket, handing it to you.

“Put this on, you’re going to catch a cold.”

You don’t move, and so Jungkook walks behind you, gently draping it over you. He shivers as he moves back in front of you, and he watches the reflections of the streetlights in the visor of your helmet as you just stand there, entirely motionless.

“We’ll keep going as soon as the rain stops,” he tells you. He grabs his phone from his pocket, going to the weather app. “Which should be in about twenty minutes.”

At that you turn towards the pillar of the bridge, and then make your way to it so that you can sit with your back to it. There’s something so defeated in the gesture that convinces Jungkook to make his way to you, sitting next to you even though he reckons it probably is unsanitary.

He can always wash the clothes later. He’s not sure he can afford to wait to keep you from breaking so thoroughly that no amount of fixing would bring you back.

“When I was a kid,” Jungkook starts, not knowing where to go, “I got bullied a lot.”

You don’t react, and he’s not sure if you’re listening. He just needs to fill the silence with truth, and so he decides to give you a piece of himself he’s never given to anyone before.

“Like a lot,” he continues. “It got to a point where older kids would beat me up. And my parents didn’t really want to do anything because they wanted me to fit in. But one day my father told me to punch them back.”

He remembers everything with vivid clarity. He remembers being nine years old, terrified to go to school because he wasn’t sure he’d survive the day. He remembers the stitches he’d needed on his cheek when they’d punch so hard it cut his skin open. He remembers the taste of the blood in his mouth when his lip split with the force of the punches. He remembers everything in such vivid clarity that he feels as if he’s been taken back then.

“And so I did,” he adds. “I punched back, and I quickly realized that I was good at it. So I started boxing.” He pauses, looking towards you. “But I wanted to be an artist. I wanted to paint, or maybe to sing. I’ve always loved singing.”

At that you do move. You take off the helmet, and the sight of your bloodshot eyes as tears roll freely on your cheeks makes him want to reach out, to hold you.

But he doesn’t dare do it, doesn’t want to take advantage of you.

“I’ve never heard you sing,” you say, voice raucous from crying.

He shrugs. “I don’t sing in front of people.”

You nod, and then fall into silence as you just look to the side. Jungkook looks in the same direction, watching the rain fall on and on, endlessly. It doesn’t seem like it’s going to let up anytime soon, so he figures he needs to say something else, to find something that might take the pain away from your eyes. And so he thinks about the rest of the story, thinks about what he left out from what he just told you.

“My dad was an alcoholic,” he admits, and your face turns towards him so fast he wouldn’t be surprised if you got whiplashed. “He beat my mom whenever he got too drunk. Never once touched me or my brother. But when I was old enough, when I finally knew how to fight, I protected her.”

What you do then entirely undoes Jungkook. He feels raw, like everything inside of him opens up, and he’s just left with this downpour of emotions, something that matches the rain beyond the bridge, this safe haven he’s found with you.

You put your head on his shoulder, wrapping your arms around him. To hold him, to keep him from breaking. Or at least that’s what it feels like.

It feels like you’re his salvation, and he knows you’ve always been anyway.

“He beat me so hard I ended up in the hospital,” Jungkook continues. “We fled the day I got out. My mom, my brother and I. We never once looked back.”

“I’m sorry,” you murmur.

He shrugs. “Please don’t be. I’m okay now.”

You don’t answer anything to that, just hold him tighter. And Jungkook watches the rain, listens to the soothing sound of it, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. He doesn’t know why he chose this moment to reveal his demons to you – why he chose to make this about him. He feels horrible for it, but when you look at him next, he wonders if maybe you needed to hear something of the sort.

Needed to know that though there are horrors in this world, one can always make it out of it if they keep pushing on.

“You’re a beautiful person, inside,” you tell him. “I should have realized before.”

The lump in his throat grows too big for him to swallow it, and a tear rolls down his cheek. You dry it with infinite softness, and then you share a look. It seems to last an eternity, but you eventually glance away, and he thinks he’s forgotten how to breathe.

“Looks like the rain has stopped,” you say as your gaze stops on the street beyond the bridge.

Jungkook snaps out of the moment, looking in the same direction. “Seems so.”

His voice is rough, raw and filled with emotions he never expected he’d face with you. Yet he did, and he’s not afraid. He just hopes he can bring you comfort tonight, so that you aren’t afraid, too. So that you know that, even though the next few days are going to be hell, you don’t have to face them alone.

“Where is that place you wanted to show me?”

He smiles through the emotions, through the pain and the fear and the memory of what you and Yoongi are – were. Of what he and Yoongi are. Of what they will be when you’ll eventually go home to Yoongi. Though he doesn’t think you’ll really go home to Yoongi. After what Yoongi’s done…

The fear doubles up, freezes up his blood. Because what if he’s the one you leave behind? What if you forgive Yoongi, and Yoongi forgives you? He knows you both love each other. Or at least he knows you love Yoongi.

Will you even break up with Yoongi?

And even if you don’t, does he want to leave you alone tonight?

He chooses not to, getting up and offering you a hand. You take it, and he pulls you to your feet. Holds your gaze as you stand right in front of him, not letting go of his hand. He looks at your lips, remembering kissing you. Remembering every searing kiss, every embrace he’s hoped meant more.

Did they mean anything to you? Only time will tell.

You step back, letting go of his hand, and take off his jacket so that he can put it back on. He wants to refuse, but you’re adamant. So he gives in, puts it back on, and then you’re back on the road, heading to the ocean. Jungkook didn’t realize how much time passed until you get to the spot overlooking the sea, and the horizon is slightly lighter than the sky overhead.

You stand by the ocean, wind whipping at your hair, but the rain is entirely gone now. The air is warmer than one would expect for a late night or early morning of May, though the ocean mist is freezing. You don’t seem like you care: you stand by the water, watching the waves hit the rock as if you’re a queen overlooking her subjects.

And Jungkook watches you, unable to tear his gaze away from you, until you start crying again. But you cry in silence, don’t let the sobs shake you, as you stare at the horizon. As you watch the sun as it slowly rises, painting the clouds in liquid gold. You watch the beauty of nature, while Jungkook watches yours, wondering if this is one of his last moments with you.

He’ll let you go if that’s what you want. If, in the end, you and Yoongi choose each other.

So he watches your features, watches you break, watches you compose yourself until the clouds are no longer gold, and you ask him to go home. He doesn’t know what you’re thinking of, only that he feels like the clock is about to hit its last second, and he wants to hold on.

But he’ll let you go.

*****

You watch the sunrise from that cliff over the ocean, listening to the waves crashing against the rocks. You understand why Jungkook brought you here – there’s some sort of serenity in the air, like your life is inconsequential.

Like breaking and healing and breaking again are just part of the cycle of nature, of life. Like the sunrise – it doesn’t stop. Every day it comes back, a promise that no pain can last forever. So you embrace the pain. Let it tear at you. You’d expected to break in screams and yells and sobs and curses, but you break in tears, silently rolling down your cheeks. You break in watching the sunrise, peacefully, just an astral body fully unaware of your woes.

And you also break for the man next to you. Who offered you a piece of his soul tonight, so that you wouldn’t be alone. Though his pain is different, older, there’s some sort of comfort in knowing that you alone don’t hold the weight of the universe.

And as you watch the sunrise, you realize that everyone suffers. That the human experience stems from suffering, as it’s the only way you can also know happiness. The only way you can taste the salt on the wind and think ‘Shit, I’m alive’.

The world is beautiful. And though going home will be hell, though facing Yoongi will be hell, you remind yourself that you’re alive. You prepare yourself for the ride home, breathing in the sun and the wind and the ocean. When you’re ready, you turn towards Jungkook, and ask him to bring you home.

He looks troubled, but perhaps he notices the serenity on your features. Perhaps he’s too felt the soothing balm of the sunrise, of endings and new beginnings. Because he brings you home, his bike purring under you as it eats miles and miles to the city, and then some more to your home.

Jungkook drops you off outside, and you give him back the helmet you’ve been using all night. He takes it, putting it safely under the seat. You watch him do so, and ache fills your heart once he climbs back on his bike.

He looks at you, and your gazes connect through his open visor.

“Thank you for tonight,” you tell him.

You think he gulps, but you’re starting to be a little too tired to interpret him. “Of course,” he says. He adds your name, before continuing, “I didn’t want you to be alone.”

You smile at him, though you reckon it’s etched in sadness. Etched in heaviness. You wonder if his heart shares the burden, if he feels just like you do. And you wonder if he too has been breaking all night.

“Thank you,” you repeat.

He nods, and you watch him blink a few times. You’re fully aware he’s blinking back tears, yet you don’t do anything. Just watch him.

“If you need me, I’m just a call away,” he says.

You can’t say anything. Because you don’t think you’d be able to be with him, to find comfort in him. Not when he might have been the catalyst to this whole shitshow. So all you do is nod, and he looks at you for a moment longer until he finally decides to go.

He pulls down his visor, turning towards the street. And then he’s gone.

As you watch him go, farewells hanging in the air, you tuck him into a corner of your heart. Somewhere safe, somewhere nothing ever happened between you and him. Somewhere untainted, pure, and then you whisper, looking at where he disappeared, “Goodbye, Jungkook.”

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☆☆☆☆☆

:((((( gosh this one is so sad :') (it might only get worse from here). What did we think? Did we like it? Let me know!

Taglist (add yourself to the taglist here) (strike-through means dumblr isn't letting me tag you):

#sinful lust ch 5 #yoongi smut #yoongi angst #jungkook smut #jungkook angst #yoongi x reader #jungkook x reader #yoonkook x reader #yoongi x you #jungkook x you #yoonkook x you #sinful lust #sinful lust series #btswritersclub #yoongi #jungkook #yoongi fic #jungkook fic

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naomeii · 5 months

Note

Please kindly consider this angsty Neuvillette request: Neuvillette had an Oceanid mate some 500+ years ago, an Oceanid who didn't take on human form. After the construction of the Fortress of Meropide, she sacrificed her form to empower the gate that held back the Primordial Sea. 500 years later when Neuvillette enters the depths of the Fortress to reseal the gate, he hears the encouraging voice of his beloved through the surging seawaters.

Please also kindly take as long as you need with this request; I have no qualms in waiting. Furthermore, by no means feel obligated to prioritize this request over your other requests.

Beneath the Tides.

Neuvillette x Oceanid!Reader

Content : Angst/no comfort, drabble.

The ancient stone walls of the Fortress of Meropide echoed with the haunting whispers of the past as Neuvillette, the Chief Justice of Fontaine, descended into its depths. The air was thick with the scent of brine, and the distant echoes of crashing waves seemed to mourn a tale buried deep within the ocean's secrets.

Five centuries ago, Neuvillette had known love in the embrace of an Oceanid, a mysterious being who refused to take on a human form. Their love was an ethereal dance, a connection that transcended the boundaries of form and substance. She was his mate, and their moments together were like droplets of time suspended in the vast sea of eternity.

In the early days of their love, Neuvillette and his Oceanid companion would explore the untouched corners of Fontaine, marveling at the beauty of the waters they called home. "The depths hold mysteries beyond our understanding, Neuvillette," she would say, her voice as melodic as the lapping waves against the shore.

As time passed, their connection deepened, and Neuvillette found solace in the companionship of his beloved. Together, they witnessed the construction of the Fortress of Meropide, a bastion erected to hold back the relentless tide of the Primordial Sea. But with this monumental undertaking came sacrifices, and none greater than the sacrifice his one and only beloved would make.

The fateful day arrived when the Oceanid decided to surrender her form, her very essence, to empower the gate that guarded Fontaine from the chaos beyond. Neuvillette, unable to bear the thought of losing her, pleaded with tear-filled eyes. "No, my love, there must be another way. I cannot lose you," he implored, but her decision was unwavering.

"I do this for Fontaine, for us. My essence will become the strength that holds back the Primordial Sea. We are bound by duty, my dearest Neuvillette," she whispered, her touch a bittersweet caress against his cheek.

The sacrifice was made, and Neuvillette watched helplessly as the love of his life transformed into pure energy, becoming one with the gate. The waters surged, a tumultuous symphony of grief and determination.

Now, after five long centuries, Neuvillette found himself standing once again before the gate. The echoes of the past resonated in the air, and memories flooded his mind. As he approached the heart of the fortress, the surging seawaters seemed to carry the echoes of a familiar voice.

"Neuvillette," the voice murmured through the currents, a whispered echo of love and encouragement. His heart skipped a beat as he recognized the voice, the voice of his beloved from centuries past. "You carry the burden with grace, my love. The fortress remembers our sacrifice, and I am with you in spirit."

Tears welled in Neuvillette's eyes as he continued his journey, guided by the spectral presence of his Oceanid mate. The fortress seemed to respond to their enduring connection, guiding him through the labyrinthine passages with an otherworldly intelligence.

In the depths of the fortress, as he faced the gate and prepared to reseal it, the encouraging voice of his beloved surrounded him. "Our love transcends time, Neuvillette. Seal the gate, and let our sacrifice be the beacon that guards Fontaine."

With a heavy heart, Neuvillette whispered, "For Fontaine, and for you, my love." As he channeled his powers to reseal the gate, the fortress embraced him, and through the surging seawaters, he felt the eternal presence of his mate for the last time

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spinningwebsandtales · 4 months

Text

Vita Nova

Orm Marius X FemReader

Rating: T

Warnings: Spoilers, mentions of death, crying, hurt/comfort, reader has some trauma, suggestive themes, angst, and fluff

Word Count: 4.2k

Fic Swap with @the-marshals-wife

(A/N:) Happy (belated) New Year everyone! And my first fic of 2024 and it turned out to be a whopper! My lovely best friend and I just adore the Aquaman movies and in light of the new movie that dropped around Christmas we decided to do a ficswap together! This bad boy is my contribution and you lucky readers get to read it! I hope I can make the other Orm fangirls happy with this as I honestly had way too much fun writing it as you can see! Over 4,000 words of just Orm goodness! I look forward of sharing more writings in this new year and I'm glad I could open up with this! Until next time happy reading! ~Countess

Reader's POV is in italics.

SPOILERS FOR AQUAMAN AND THE LOST KINGDOM BELOW

DO NOT CONTINUE AHEAD IF YOU HAVE YET TO SEE THE MOVIE!

Orm stood upon the beach, his toes buried in the warm sand as the setting sun painted his features in orange and pink hues. His heart longed for Atlantis once more as homesickness always reared it's ugly head when he was feeling alone. While tension still remained between him and his older brother, deep down he was grateful for Arthur, giving him a new chance at life. With Atlantis finally revealing themselves to the people of the land, he no longer had to be so secretive about himself, except when it came to Atlanteans. He had burned too many bridges that most likely would never have the chance to be rebuilt. He sighed deeply as the warm salty foam washed over his feet.

Orm turned, leaving his regrets and longing to drown in the crashing waves. While he could see why his brother loved the land dwelling humans, Orm normally avoided them as much as he could. Especially when it came to his time on the beach, he rather not be bothered. And despite the world knowing, he still swam in deserted parts of the beaches he visited. His favorite places were around the docks where the shade kept him cool and various sea creatures stuck around. The fish and small crabs made him feel a little less lonely and made everything feel more like home.

Orm's bare feet padded against the planks of the dock as he tugged his shirt over his head. The breeze rippled his blond locks and whispered promises of a good evening swim. His vision staying straight ahead, Orm was preparing to run and dive into the bright blue water when a yelp caused him to stumble and he fell to the dock. He almost slid off when a slender hand caught his wrist and kept him from rolling off and slamming into a boat.

"Are you okay?!"

A feminine voice had him blinking against the pain in his skull before he finally got his eyes to focus. Orm sat up quickly, backing away from the woman looking at him with genuine concern. It was an emotion Orm was unacquainted with.

"I'm sorry I wasn't paying attention," the woman blushed getting to her feet and brushing the front of her shirt and shorts off. A quick flash of annoyance had him glaring before Orm sucked in a deep breath and calmed the raging tide threatening to overtake him. She offered him a hand up and old him would have swatted it away with a snarl, but new him remembered his older brother and took her offered hand. She shuffled her feet before him awkwardly, refusing to look up in embarrassment. Though Orm was worried he was intimidating her, though he wasn't trying at the moment.

"Sorry again," she apologized once more only to break the silent tension between them.

"I wasn't paying attention," it was the most polite thing he could say. "Though I can't help but ask. Why were you laying across the dock?"

Her cheeks flushed bright crimson, a pretty red color, and now she really refused to look up at him, more interested in her bare feet. This in turn made Orm feel more awkward, like he had pushed across some threshold that he should have never even touched.

"You'll laugh," she mumbled. Her gaze quickly darting up towards him before once again looking away. When she noticed that he wasn't going to say anything else her shoulders sagged in defeat.

"I like watching the fish. They feel like they're my friends and they're so peaceful living their lives without a care in the world," she whispered. "I've also always dreamed about Atlantis and going there and now that it is truly real I can't help but long for it even more. Silly huh?"

Orm shook his head and smiled remembering his home fondly, "No it's not. I think it's a wonderful dream."

Though home always brought a smile to his face, in this moment of his life it brought a pang of sadness with it. One mistake had taken his chance of ever seeing that beautiful city ever again. And here he just met a mere human upon an empty dock longing for the same as him. Maybe he had more in common with the humans of this side of the world than he had first realized. She smiled and nodded, happy to have someone not laugh at her for a change. She walked away moments later leaving him to ponder upon the dock as the waves whispered softly against the sand. Then Orm dived in.

Usually Orm moved around a lot. If he liked a place more than others he'd normally stay for a few days. But for reasons he didn't want to know he had stayed in this particular spot for weeks. And it wasn't because the food was anything extraordinary nor was the beach one of the most beautiful he's seen. If he dug down deep inside he knew it was because of that one moment, where he had seen a glimpse of that beautiful humanity that Arthur was always talking about to him. So Orm did what every normal man would do, he kept his distance and watched her from afar. She visited the dock he had found her at nightly, just to talk to the fish and to watch the sun set behind the horizon of the ocean. She would hum tunes, almost stroking the water with her gentle hands. She would hide sometimes as people would come to the beach calling out a name he had never heard. What would shatter his heart more than anything was when she would come some nights crying. His heart would clench as her salty tears dropped into the ocean. He shook his head fighting the urge to go towards her. But she was different, she wanted to know his world, that she had no idea he was from. That he had once been a prince, let alone a king of that world but it didn't matter, not anymore. He was dead to that world and he had to find his place in this one.

It didn't take many times of him watching the lone girl sob on the dock before Orm concocted a plan. Atlantean technology to help humans make the trip undersea had yet to be brought to them. Except for the scuba gear the humans already had invented, but Orm wanted his plan to be perfect. So he would do something that would make his older brother proud and possibly bring an end to his life. To get what he needed he would have to venture back to the Sunken Citadel and hope that the pirates that still lived didn't kill him at first glance.

You didn't know what kept bringing you back to this particular beach, though you had a inkling that it was in false hope of finding that same blond haired man that you had tripped. He was a complete stranger and yet you found yourself hoping to see him once more. So every night you came, no matter how bad things got at home you escaped bringing yourself to this little place of serenity, hoping, waiting, that you would see him again. But every night became a disappointment, though you enjoyed seeing the fish. The sun quickly set seeping the warmth from the Earth but the ocean water still held those waning rays of warmth. The lights of the dock quickly blinked on illuminating the surrounding water so you could still watch the fish swim peacefully by. You hummed a quiet tune as the waves lapped against the barnacle crusted wooden posts. A shadow darted by causing you to suck in a quick breath. Sharks would sometimes come up or a curious dolphin but this creature was too fast to be one of them. Your heartbeat quickened but against your better judgement you stuck your hand back down along with your head, trying to find this mystery that had suddenly come upon you.

Orm had a difficult time in the Sunken Citadel and he had gotten into a few brawls, but he did get what he searched for. It had cost him, but if his well thought out plan worked as well as he hoped, it would all be worth it. He made his way back to the normal spot and he had timed his return just right. As his mystery woman he had begun to adore made her way out onto the normal dock. She was light on her feet and she greeted some of the boatmen, who were leaving, politely before going to her same spot Orm could always find her. She stuck a hand in the water tracing the patterns of the fish below as they swam close to the surface. She had a small content grin on her face as she enjoyed the creatures below the surface. Orm moved his arms slower, trying to keep from interrupting this moment as he was more than happy to watch her for a little while. She hummed a tune while tucking strands of untamable hair behind her ear, only for a breeze to send them back to fluttering. He sucked in a breath letting the peace of her presence wash over him. And then he went under the surface and swam close by and quickly. He heard her gasp and he grinned to himself. He could have a moments fun at her expense, especially with the gift he was bringing her. Despite not knowing what he was she braved the unknown and he had to admire that about her. She was proving his theory of humans being a cowardly race wrong every moment he watched her.

You searched timidly for any sign of the shadow you had seen. Your eyes darting across the eerily still waters. You were about to pull yourself back up onto the dock when an arm breached the water and grabbed onto your wrist. You screamed yanking yourself backwards and the person attached to the hand around you came up with your panicked movements.

Orm laughed loudly at your terrified face while he treaded the water. He had never been one to play tricks as he had been trained as a prince of Atlantis, but he found it quite fun. The woman he had yet to put a name to a face laid on her back panting, trying to regain some form of control.

"Why did you do that," she screeched once she finally found her breath.

"Think of it as payback for making me fall on my face the first time we met," Orm smirked as he lifted himself from the water easily.

She took in the fact quickly that his upper torso was bare and the form fitting pants only seemed tighter by the fact that they were dripping water everywhere. She looked away, pink coming to her cheeks.

"You come out here every night," Orm said after a few moments of awkward silence.

Her head whipped around and her eyes widened in surprise.

"How did you know that? I never see you around!" Those moments of wishing to see him again, hoping he'd be around, and he had been hidden from her the entire time.

"I was," Orm paused. He knew he couldn't just tell her that he had been watching her from afar. But he didn't want to lie. "I was swimming."

"Swimming?" Now she was suspicious of him. As she rightly should, though they had already met once he was still a stranger.

"I'm a decent swimmer." Understatement of the century Orm thought to himself.

"I can see that," she gestured towards him before darting her gaze away once more.

Orm chuckled. He liked that little of color that would pop up in her skin. He found it endearing and despite himself his heart began to pick up speed. He offered out a hand and she glanced at it warily.

"I'm Orm," he offered in greeting. "Orm Marius. I should have introduced myself that first day we met."

She laughed, taking his offered hand. "(Y/N). And I should have thought of it too. But I did almost make you faceplant into the water. Though it seems like it wouldn't have bothered you so bad if you had."

Orm shook her hand, reveling in how smaller it was compared to his. "Do you mean to tell me that you wish you had let me fallen into the water now? Instead of rescuing me?"

"Well after you just basically scared the daylights out of me, yes."

Orm pouted playfully, "And here I brought you a gift."

"A gift?!" Once again those beautiful colored eyes glowed in delight. It sent his heart a flutter and he could have sworn it skipped a beat. Is this what his mother had possibly felt when she looked upon the man that fathered Arthur?

"I think I am rather partial to it now," he teased. "Maybe I will just keep it for myself."

"You can't just say that you brought me a gift and then keep it for yourself. That's mean," she whined.

Orm couldn't keep stringing her along though he was finding it fun just to get a rise out of her. He brought the gift from behind his back and he wasn't expecting her to jump up and down. Her confusion was to be expected and he found himself grinning once more. She was so expressive, he found it endearing.

"Your dream of seeing Atlantis stuck out to me and their technology is above what your people have. I wanted to show you a part of that life even if it is just a small glimpse."

He was revealing himself. His heart was almost leaping out of his chest. He had kept his identity a secret, revealing nothing to the humans he had contact with. She would be the first and he didn't know what to do if she didn't accept. She placed her hands on the oxygen helmet, a question on her lips. But without a word he once more grabbed onto her wrist and lead her to the end of the dock. She wordlessly tugged the pirated good on her head and with no hesitation followed Orm into the water.

Orm dived down, keeping a good grasp on her hand, their fingers interlaced as he didn't want to hurt her by tugging on her joints by the speed he could swim at. The oxygen mask was working like a dream and despite the time of the evening the moon was doing a good job of lighting the sea life below the ocean. She gasped in awe at the sea creatures and plant life below. But mostly she gaped at him.

"You are," she hesitated saying the word.

Orm nodded. "I am."

You absolutely couldn't believe your eyes. A true Atlantean. It was everything that you could have ever dreamed of and as he kept you from floating away this moment was more than you could have ever dreamed of.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you before," Orm didn't want anything left unsaid. This was his chance. His chance to be himself and to stop being so alone in this world that he was learning more about every day. His time in Atlantis was done and now he was going to have to start anew. Maybe you were that new chance that he had been needing for a long time.

"It's okay," she answered. Her voice muffled in the helmet. Fish swam by coming near to Orm, pecking at his arm. He shooed them away gently causing her to laugh. "You don't have to explain yourself. We had just met that day and even at this moment we are still basically strangers. But I'm glad I met you Orm and your secret is safe with me."

"Thank you," he choked. Gratitude had been lost on him long ago but as he looked at this young woman, so genuine and beautiful in his eyes, that feeling was no longer a stranger. "Would you like to see more of my world?"

"Absolutely!" No hesitation and no fear. Orm kept her close, keeping her safe as he swam them further out into the sea.

Back on dry land you couldn't believe what your eyes had beheld. The world under was far beyond anything you could have ever imagined as Orm helped steady you. Spending that much time in the water had left your legs a little wobbly and you glared at Orm walking perfectly though he did have to take a moment to cough up water. You held out the helmet towards him but he shook his head pushing it back into your chest.

"Keep it," Orm insisted. "I want to take you out more now that you have it. There's so much more I wish to show and tell you. I hope that you don't mind."

She shook her head, stepping towards him. "I would like that so much."

Without a second thought she embraced him, squeezing Orm tightly before backing away, that familiar blush coming back to her cheeks. Reaching out Orm brushed a stray droplet of sea water off her cheek.

"Until tomorrow," he whispered and she nodded quickly.

Days had followed that moment before it had turned into weeks. Orm met with her daily, the helmet in tow every time as they explored together. She the underwater world he had grew up in and him emotions never before explored. Orm knew he couldn't take her far below the surface as he wished. He was trying his best to get a suit that would keep her from being crushed by the water pressure or freezing from the depths, but it would take some time. The helmet was easy to obtain, well easier than the suit. But she didn't complain nor did she beg him for more. Always content with their outings he began to realize that he looked forward to every second they spent together every day. It didn't take Orm long to figure out the emotions he was feeling and everything seemed to fall into place. She was beginning to swim closer to him as every day passed. Gentle touches and encounters that would leave her in awe and him trying to not overstep his bounds.

She swam closer keeping to his side as the day began to wan and like everything good in life their time together was ending that day. Orm always took his time bringing them both back to shore whenever it was time to head back in. She never seemed to be in a hurry herself and it had Orm wondering on things that he couldn't ask her when they first me. He wondered why she came by herself every day and those moments she had hid on the dock as several people had come searching, yelling her name. He wondered at the days that she had came crying as if she could no longer smile. And now that he had gotten to know her more it was something he could no longer keep himself from asking about.

Back on shore she removed the helmet and rung the sea water from her hair. Orm stayed near as he gathered up the courage to ask her. He was about to ask her about something she had yet to give up willingly and he didn't want to cause her to shut him out. He honestly didn't know if he could take losing her. He breathed in deeply gathering up all his courage, he stepped closer and grasped onto her shoulder to gain her attention and steady himself. She grinned up at him before it fell at the seriousness in his blue eyes.

"What is it," she asked covering his hand with hers that still laid upon her shoulder.

"Why do you come to the docks every day? And why do you hide from the people that call out to you and cry on some days?"

There he asked and he felt faint as she looked down at the waves lapping at their bare feet.

"You saw those moments too?" She whispered.

"I did," Orm confessed. " I've come to care for you these past few weeks and I can't help my curiosity getting the best of me. Knowing that you hurt or have any reason to hide is too much for me to bear."

She paused for a moment, gathering her strength. "I was in a bad relationship. I got out of it but the pain is still there and some days are worse than others. I find peace out here and that's why I always come and then I met you. And despite me telling you why that day, you didn't laugh at me like he and several other people did. I was really glad. You made me happy. Part of me was hoping that I'd get to see you again and yet I was afraid of getting hurt again too."

"That was brave," Orm cooed bringing her into his arms. He was warm despite the lack of shirt and all the time spent in the water. She shook from the cold and from telling things that had been hard on her. "You're the bravest and kindest person I have ever met."

"I'm not really," she answered.

"You really are," Orm breathed. "I'm the coward. I didn't like this part of the world at all. I tried to destroy it because of my older brother. I blamed him for a lot of things and I hated him. I still don't love him as a little brother should but my hatred cost me. I was prince of Atlantis once and I was even it's king for a short spell. But that was taken from me and now I am thought of as dead. I cannot go back there because I have officially been killed in action." Orm sucked in a deep breath as he feared what you would do now that you knew about his darkness, though he kept going. "This is both my punishment and my new life. This is both my brother's way of blessing me and cursing me. But I don't see it as a curse anymore, not that I know you now."

"Orm," she sniffled.

He tugged her in, her trembling body pressed to his as he tried to will any form of comfort into her smaller body. He felt lighter and more at peace than he had ever felt and while she held onto him tightly, Orm lost the battle on his emotional restraints. Holding her out he took in the sight of her, clearly seeing everything about her for the first time. And for the first time in his life, he felt truly loved. Not for being royalty of Atlantis or because they had to. Genuine love that asked for nothing in return. He leaned down towards her his stature always towering over her and it wasn't until his lips met her warmer ones did the fireworks start shooting off in his head. She didn't shove him away and she didn't protest so Orm pulled her closer. Deepening the kiss as he could taste the salty water still on her mouth and the scent of the ocean breeze on her skin. In that moment she was everything to him and he could want for nothing else as long as she stayed. She cupped his cheek, stroking his skin before Orm finally pulled away. His chest heaved and he couldn't bring himself to give her up just yet. He continued to hold her against his chest, not ever wanting this moment to end.

"Is it okay that we start a new life together," her voice quivered in uncertainty. She felt like she was going too fast or overstepping her bounds.

"I think I would like that more than you know," he agreed. This was when his life started. That new beginning he wanted for so long, that he dreamed about in that prison cell. This was the moment he longed for and had no idea. That moment he met her had been fate and had lead him to this moment. Their days together didn't have to end when their feet touched the shore, it was only the start of something on the shore. While he was her guide in the water, here on the land and in the midst of people it was her turn to guide him. She took his hand, taking the responsibility for teaching and leading in stride. They would learn together what this life meant and what it meant to know each other and keep together through thick and thin. Orm had baggage and come to find out she did too. But Orm didn't see that, he saw a woman who could light his way. She saw a man that had found redemption and was looking for a way to claim it. The sun had set behind them on the beach but the dawn was rising before them as they left hand in hand towards the life they would find together. Like two ships destined for each other, a new life was just beginning.

#Orm Marius X Reader #Orm Marius / Reader #Aquaman #Orm Marius Imagine #Aquaman Imagine #Orm Marius Fanfiction #Orm Marius #DC Universe #Not My Gif #My Writing

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