#Maybe on the especially warm nights or when he's feeling lonely
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a place with you; luke castellan
wc: 2.8k (got a little carried away whoops)
pairing: luke castellan x f! reader
synopsis: luke is used to people coming in and out of hermes’ cabin without a second thought. so when you’re having a hard time adjusting to camp life, he doesn’t expect you to stick by his side, even after you’re claimed.
warnings/notes: shy reader going through a tough time, hurt/comfort, pining, kisses, fluff, potential ooc luke i don’t know what i’m doing, most of this is prob inaccurate lol, i got wayyy too attatched to this i am sorry, title inspired by dragon eyes by adrianne lenker
Luke Castellan is the son of a messenger. He’s used to delivering, passing things along, letting them enter his life and leave him. Sometimes it makes him angry. At his father, at the world, at himself.
So when you passed through the Hermes cabin for the inevitable few weeks before getting claimed by your Godly parent, the last thing Luke expected was for you to stay.
When you first got to camp you were terrified. Luke remembers that much. He can still picture you in Chiron’s towering shadow as he led you up to Hermes cabin. He gave you the usual spiel about the cabin, the land of the unclaimed, but it clearly hadn’t quelled your nerves. You were wringing your fingers together when Luke first spotted you, your eyes blown wide in what he knew as shock and a sort of . . . grief. For a life you’d left for what Luke knows as a life you’d never really have. He’d seen it in so many campers before you. He’d see it many times after.
“This is Luke, Hermes’ head counsellor and one of Camp Half-Blood’s finest,” Chiron pointed him out to you at the entrance. After Chiron introduced you, Luke held your name in his memory. Not because there was anything particularly intriguing about you at first, to be honest, because he’d seen a lot of people like you that needed help settling in (although maybe not many his age). It was harder for some people to adjust than most. He knew that better than anyone.
“Nice to meet you,” he stuck out his hand for you to shake after Chiron left. “I’m Luke.”
You sniffed, shaking it without looking at him. You were so, so embarrassed. This whole time you’d been too stupidly overwhelmed to process anything. Why was this so hard for you? Was it this hard for everyone? “Hi,” you managed, and that was it.
Now, weeks after your first meeting, you’ve concluded that it was not, in fact, this hard for everyone. The camp is crowded but full of life. You’ve never seen more happy kids in your life. There’s a sense of community on the wind.
So why can’t you feel it? Why is it so hard to connect with people? To participate in the fun? Everywhere you look there’s people but it’s all just so . . . lonely. You don’t fit. You’re lost.
Luke wakes up at night when the cabin door creaks open. He’s already tossing, so it’s no surprise he catches it. Unfortunately, he’s supposed to be a good counsellor—sneaking out at night is against the rules, and you’ve gotta reign the strays back in before they cause a ruckus. Sure, Luke’s not exactly a stickler for the law, but the least he owes is to make sure everyone’s safe.
Groaning, he draws himself out of the comfort of his bunk but doesn’t get far when he spots a familiar silhouette slipping out the door. He knows it’s you. He’s been hearing crying at night, and this is confirming his suspicions. It makes him ache in a million different places. Every time he thought about approaching you he shut himself down almost instantly, because who the hell wants some random guy coming up to them in the middle of the night and drawing attention?
This time, though, he’s a little worried.
It’s chilly tonight but not too bad, especially when you’re huddled up in a ball on a hill in front of the lake, grass tickling your ankles. Your tears keep you warm.
It’s a sorrow that feels bottomless. You don’t know what’s gotten into you. You don’t know why everything’s so hard.
There’s a scuffling of shoes, and your name is carried to you on the heels of a breeze. Oh God. There’s someone else here.
You sniff and smear your tears on the palms of your hands the best you can but a little part of you only wants to cry more now that you’re all anxious, and you only have a few seconds to collect yourself before you turn around and see Luke, your cabin leader, with furrowed brows. “Oh, h-hi, Luke.” It’s hard to ignore the splinter in your voice. You curse yourself a thousand times.
“Hey,” he says hesitantly, eyeing you in a way that makes you feel entirely exposed. “You, uh, you know you’re not technically supposed to be out here, right?”
You start to scramble to your feet with an apology on your tongue but surprisingly he laughs, a gentle sound, and beckons you to sit back down. “No, no, I’m not gonna get you in trouble or anything, just . . . letting you know.”
It’s uncertain if you should keep sitting, but you decide to because well, you’re already down here, and things can’t go lower than this. Luke comes to sit next to you and you stare out into the sea like your life depends on it. “Wanna talk about why you’re out here?”
“Wh-what do you mean?”
“I mean,” Luke sighs, scooting a little closer to you. “Most people don’t up and leave in the middle of the night because they’re having a great time.”
The answer is too hard to say so you don’t reply.
Again, Luke sighs, and you try not to look at the shadow the moon casts on his admittedly handsome face. “It’s hard settling in, I know. It happens to a lot of people. I’ve . . . I’ve seen a lot of them, and it doesn’t get any easier.”
“Well it sure seems easier,” you snap, and your self-control flies away before you can stop it. “I have no idea why I can’t just suck it up and fit in here. Everyone seems so happy and it’s driving me nuts because I’m just so confused on why I can’t—why I can’t—process any of it.” Tears burn your eyes. “I’m just miserable. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
In the corner of your view, Luke’s face falls. “I’m your guide, you know that, right? I can help you.”
You sniff, embarrassingly pathetic. “I know.”
He comes even closer. “So why didn’t you ask?”
“Because I—I don’t know, you’re busy all the time with all the people in there, so I’m sure your job’s already stressful as is, so—”
“My job is to help you,” he says, a hand on your shoulder. “That’s what I signed up for. If you need something, I’m the one to ask.”
“I’m not sure you signed up for me crying like a baby,” you swallow, the ripples of the lake blurring together. “I mean, I’m like, older than half the kids here, and they’re all so much better than me. I’m not good at a—anything, and I’ve tried it all, and nobody’s claimed me yet, and I feel so weird and old and alone and . . .” It’s too much to think about so you dig the heels of your palms into your eyes, hoping the sting wards off the thoughts. “What if I’m nothing? Why am I here?”
You’re crying again, hiccuping into your hands. Shame sears into you. Luke’s arm curls around your shoulders and you realize how cold you are when he’s warm, so warm, and you want to cry even harder. You don’t even know him, but it’s the most tenderness you’ve received in what feels like years. “Hey, deep breaths,” he murmurs, rubbing your arm with his other hand. “It’s okay. Look at me.”
It takes a ridiculous amount of strength to heed him. His hand catches your cheek and you can’t bear to pull away. Something strange rustles in your stomach.
Luke’s taught instinct when faced with situations like these is to reassure that the Gods always have a plan. But he doesn’t feel like much of a liar tonight. Both his hands steady your face towards his, your skin damp and cold beneath his thumb. “It's not your fault. It always takes a little bit of time for people to get claimed, it’s never . . . well, you can never tell.”
“What if I don’t get claimed?” You say it so quiet you can pretend it was imaginary.
His eyes crinkle at the sides when he says, “Well, Hermes’ll always have a place for you.”
I’ll, Luke wants to say, I’ll. His father is not responsible for his cabin’s kindness.
“No one really prepares you for how overwhelming this is,” he continues, thumb rubbing the apple of your cheek. Your vision is clearer now, and Gods, he is handsome, isn’t he? Even when his eyes are forlorn. “It’s harder in a way when you’re older. More to leave behind. Less to look forward to. It’s easier when you have a friend. Or a great cabin head.” He tilts his head with a faint smile, “Lucky for you, I’m both.”
It almost makes you laugh, and that’s enough. “It’ll get easier,” he promises softly. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”
Your cheeks burn. It’s hard to keep his gaze, so you blot at your eyes with your hands as Luke gently slides his off your face. “Thank you. Sorry for, um, all that. And the crying.”
He chuckles, “Don’t even worry about it.” You watch him rise in the throes of starlight. He offers you a hand. “Aren’t you cold?” He asks after pulling you up, and you sheepishly nod your head. He tosses you a sweater he’s been wearing, and it smells like firewood. Nostalgic, in a way. “I’m gonna poke around for some tea. Wait for me back at the cabin.”
Before he leaves, he squeezes your arm and that thing happens again in your stomach. “No need to be embarrassed, by the way. You can come to me anytime. I’m probably less busy than I look.” As he walked away, he added, “And don’t worry about the crying. You’re pretty either way.”
Either way. The tea doesn’t seem important anymore because your face is on fire.
Time reveals that Luke is right. He is a great cabin leader and a friend, and it’s hard to tell which he’s better at. You fall in with him right away. Soon enough, you’re drawn into your new life, so slowly you barely realize it’s happening. The days get shorter and you start wishing they were longer. The nights get easier. And when they’re not, Luke tucks you into his bunk and folds you in his arms until you drift off. You pick up a bow. A sword. Luke tells you to straighten your shoulders with a hand on the small of your back, and you swear it always lingers. You braid garlands of carnations for your cabin mates and they wear them with pride. It’s warm, your cheeks hurt from smiling, and things start to feel like home.
Until you’re claimed.
Now you’re a ghost in Hermes cabin, another empty bunk to be filled, and Luke stares at it until he can remember every last detail of what it looked like when it was yours. A beautiful, gentle daughter of Demeter, no longer in arms’ reach. He should’ve seen it coming.
He sees you with your siblings all the time. You’re so happy and he envies it. You belong there, he knows that, the way your face lights up at the dinner table and how you giggle when your half-sister presents you a flower. But sometimes your eyes wander, and something inside them dulls, until you look at him, too.
Luke’s place at camp is to be nothing but a funnel for lost campers to find their home. He’s a temporary stop in everybody’s journey. He’d made peace with it a long time ago. But here you are, messing it all up, because you still don’t leave him.
You beg him to give you another sword-fighting lesson. You sit next to him at bonfires. You pick him for partner camp activities. It doesn’t matter how many younger boys want to latch onto him for guidance—he sees you heading towards him, and he can’t imagine choosing anyone else.
But you’re always whisked away by your siblings, separated at meals and in sleep and in activities so it’s never, ever enough. Why did he delude himself into thinking you’d stay forever?
After weeks of distance from you, he’s elated when you have even a fraction of a conversation. “Hey, Luke!” You call out to him, and he finds you instantly. You’ve broken away from your siblings to get to him.
“Hey,” he smiles, and hopes he doesn’t look too pleased.
You lean a little towards his ear, and you smell like every wonderful thing in the world. “Can we hang out tonight? On the hill?” You’re a little bashful when you say it and it’s entirely endearing. Even now, you’re still so unsure. “I miss you.”
“I miss you too,” he says almost instantly, and it makes you look less nervous. “Yes. Absolutely. But don’t get caught breaking curfew now, you hooligan.”
Someone calls your name and you give a curt, playful nod. “Yes sir, camp counsellor sir!” He carries your laugh close to his heart until night falls.
You’re already there when he arrives, a vision in the moonlight before he even sees your face. “Hey, angel.”
When you turn around you look flustered. He won’t pretend like it doesn’t flatter him. “H—hi, uh, hello.”
There’s a moment where the world is still. The two of you, alone, for the first time in ages.
He sits down next to you, and it’s like the first time all over again. You get to talking, about your days, your anecdotes, your cabins. The strangeness of it all. “It’s so weird waking up in the morning and not having you yapping in my ear,” you remark, and he teasingly pushes your shoulder.
“Well, one of us has to be the talker, and it’s clearly not you,” he retorts.
You fiddle with blades of grass between your fingertips, weaving them together. “I’ll have you know I had a cabin-wide conversation about Capture The Flag yesterday, and I contributed greatly.”
“Oh, really?” He grins, knocking your elbow to steal your attention. “Look at you, coming out of your shell. I’m so proud.”
It’s hard to hold his gaze for more than a second. You’re afraid you’ll do something stupid if he keeps looking at you like that, but you almost want to. “Oh, shut up.”
He puts a hand on your shoulder. “No, I’m serious. I’m proud.” His eyes rake over your face. “You’re flourishing. You found your place.”
You can’t stop yourself from saying, “I kind of miss my old one.”
There’s a way he studies your expression that makes you feel utterly helpless. You wish you could dish it back to him, but you know you just look awestruck whenever you stare at him for so long. He’s quieter when he replies, “I miss it, too. A lot. Sometimes, I—” His face scrunches up like he just tasted something sour. “Nevermind.”
Frowning, you prod, “What? What is it?”
He sighs and turns to the horizon. This is the first time you’ve ever seen him struggle. “Sometimes, I wish you hadn’t been claimed. Sorry, that’s . . . that’s awful, I know.”
His surprise is evident when you say, “Sometimes I wish I wasn’t either.”
He turns back to you. “Really?”
“Really,” you nod, staring at the beads on his necklace. “You’re the only reason I’ve adjusted here at all.”
“Don’t sell yourself short.”
“It’s true. And I miss you.” A few months ago you would’ve kicked yourself for saying this. But Luke has a way of inspiring confidence in people.
“I miss you, too. So much.” He gently prys the grass you’ve been weaving out of your hands, now a small necklace. “But look at how talented you are. I’ll tell you, I’m lucky you’re still sticking around. For most people, Hermes is touch-and-go.”
Luke leans forward to tie the garland around your neck, and your pulse picks up. “This isn’t about Hermes, Luke,” you try to be firm but it comes out soft. “It’s about you.”
His hands stop fiddling and rest on your neck. When he speaks, you can feel his breath on you. And you have no idea that he’s been waiting to hear that his whole life. “What’s about me?”
It’s not fair, your inability to string sentences together only worsens right when a beautiful boy is this close to you. “Hermes isn’t—it’s not special because of your father, it’s special because of you.”
There is nothing else you can possibly think of saying with the way his fingers trace up your neck and hold your jaw. “Yeah, well,” he murmurs, “The only reason anything in my life is special is because of you.”
You don’t know if it’s a lie or not; you don’t care. His nose nudges yours. There’s a moment where you wonder if this is as close to Elysium you’ll ever get. Then he slips a hand to the back of your neck and pulls you to his mouth.
He kisses you in a near fury, then when he knows you’re not going anywhere, it’s the gentlest thing you know. It’s hard to believe this is even happening. Your hands weave through his curls but he holds you steady, and thank the Gods for that because you’re pretty sure you’re melting. You kiss again, and again, and again, until you genuinely think you’re going to pass out and you have to pull away.
“Aw, look at you,” he murmurs when you can’t meet his eyes, a playful lilt in his voice. “Still so nervous.”
“Would you shut up?” You press your face into the crook of his neck with a huge smile.
He kisses the top of your head. “Love to, angel.”
Luke Castellan is the son of a messenger. He’s supposed to believe he’s bringing the best of humanity to the Gods and glory above.
But screw the Gods. He’s keeping this one for himself.
#perrie’s fics#luke castellan#luke castellan x reader#pjo#pjo series#pjo x reader#luke castellan x you#luke castellan fluff#heroes of olympus#percy jackson#percy jackon and the olympians#charlie bushnell#this is far longer than i wanted it to be so sorry.#don’t usually write in 2nd person or present tense so i’m just trying not to look at it#the evil men with curly hair have won again
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There’s a dog that comes around the trailer park when Eddie moves in with Wayne, back when his head was shaved and his eyes were still haunted by the walls of his dad's house. No one wanted to play with the gaunt looking weird kid, so the first friend he made in Hawkins was this big brown dog, way bigger than any others. It was almost scary, wolf-like but he acted like a puppy, nudging Eddie with his snout, cheering him up, always wanting to play like maybe it was lonely too.
Then Eddie made friends at school, the dog visited less as he got older and more sure of himself, denouncing cliques, especially the jocks who lorded over everyone. The dog stopped visiting entirely and Eddie started to worry something happened to it.
Years later, he spots it with Robin Buckley of all people. She’s talking to it, which might seem strange but Eddie always felt like the dog was a good listener too. After that, he tries to find his old friend again and one night, he catches a glimpse of him but he disappears into the woods.
Instead, Eddie sees Steve Harrington later that night, disheveled and dirtied, total opposite to his usual pristine polos and perfect hair. It’s so out of place, the first of many times that Eddie sees him while out looking for the dog. Eddie never says anything, can’t imagine Steve reacting well to a moonlight conversation with the freak. Sure, Steve was iced out of the popular crowd for reasons all around the rumor mill, made an odd match with Robin at their mall job before the fire, and weirdly enough the new Hellfire boys seem to worship the ground he walks on, but Eddie has no impression of Steve beyond that.
Then Chrissy Cunningham dies in his living room. Eddie runs like hell, terrified and ashamed, hiding in the boathouse. He feels like a scared kid again and finds himself wishing for the dog, his first friend that never judged him and always made him feel safe.
That’s when an unlikely group shows up and Eddie has no time to hide, like they tracked him there by scent. Steve Harrington rushes right to him with big brown puppy eyes that feel so familiar somehow, so comforting. Stunned, Eddie lets Steve wrap him in a warm hug, nuzzling his ear with soft assurances, “Hey, it’s okay. I’m so glad we found you. You’re okay.”
To Eddie's amazement, his body just melts into Steve’s embrace, like greeting an old friend.
#secret born-werewolf steve anyone#steddie#eddie munson#steve harrington#steddie fic#steddie ficlet#werewolf steve harrington#rueswriting#mp
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old dogs don't change
pairing: joel miller x f!reader
summary: weeks after sleeping together, your no-strings-attached agreement goes up in flames when joel goes on a date with another woman. you make sure that never happens again. (sequel to keep it on the low)
warnings: 18+ MDNI, ex-boyfriend!joel, jackson era, tlou 2 jesse appearance, age gap, hurt, angst, smut, unprotected piv, post-breakup sex, rough sex, public sex, rough oral (m!receiving), exhibitionism, possessive behavior, jealousy, alcohol use, briefly dating other people
word count: 10.6k
You have no idea who she is, but you bet she’s a total bitch. Is that mean? Maybe. Do you give a shit? Nope.
To be fair, you’d probably say that about anyone Joel started dating after you, but that doesn’t mean it can’t still be true. Sure, you've never actually talked to her…or seen her before in your entire life, but that’s beside the point. She’s cute and bubbly, and everything you’re not, and that’s the point.
It’s honestly a little comical how different the two of you are, and you can’t help but wonder if Tommy did that on purpose. You know he was the one who set them up. Everyone in the dining hall was talking about it this morning. The latest, hottest piece of gossip, bouncing from table to table like a cruel game of telephone.
He probably thinks he’s protecting his big brother, but you think he needs to mind his own fucking business. It’s not like he knows anything about your relationship, not really. Well. It’s not your relationship anymore, is it? And Tommy, along with everyone else in this town, blames you for that.
Poor Joel, dumped by the biggest bitch in Jackson, who took advantage of his kindness and patience for years, and broke his heart when all he did was love her. Selfish, cold, and uncaring. Nothing like the pretty, perky girl sitting next to him in the booth they’re sharing at Seth’s.
If only they knew what really happened.
The bar is especially busy, even for a Saturday night, so you figure no one’ll notice you blatantly glaring at them. It’s not like you care, anyway. You’re feeling warm and loose, and maybe a little too tipsy for your own good, but tonight, you get to do whatever the fuck you want.
Because Joel’s sitting ten feet away with his arm slung around another woman, and it hurts.
It sucks way worse than him avoiding you since the last time you slept together, after all of the things you did and said on that couch. The things he said. You shoo away the thought with another swig of beer, wishing you were drinking something stronger. It's for the best.
If you get any drunker, you’ll probably end up doing something stupid, and the last thing you need is to prove everyone right that he’s better off without you. But you can’t seem to shake the anger that’s starting to simmer below the surface.
With the emotional toll this night has already taken, you kind of don’t want to. So, you surrender to it. Fuck him. He’s a piece of shit for parading his new girl around right in front of you, and for breaking off your agreement without so much as a word.
If he wanted to see other people, he should’ve opened his mouth and used his big boy words. Then again, he’s always been terrible at that, so why are you surprised?
Maybe he’ll fuck her tonight. Touch her all of the ways you like because that’s all he knows anymore. She’ll moan for him, soft and sweet, gentle in her affection, just like she’s touching him right now. But it won’t satisfy him, and when he’s panting on top of her, chasing that all-consuming release only you can give him, you know he’ll be pretending she's you.
Asshole.
You’re still watching them, shooting daggers from your spot at the bar, when your wish from earlier is granted. Two overflowing shot glasses topped with lime are placed in front of you, and you look up to see a very attractive dark-haired, brown-eyed man smirking down at you.
"Looked a little lonely over here," he says in a raspy baritone even lower than Joel's. He clinks the top of your beer bottle with the bottom of his own. "Thought you could use some company, maybe another drink."
Well, he’s right. You could use some company, and you’d love another drink. There’s no harm in having a little fun, right? If Joel’s doing it, then there’s nothing stopping you.
"So, both of these are for me, then?" you smile coyly, reaching for one. He nods, his own smile widening.
"Could be. Can I join ya?" he gestures to the empty stool next to you.
He has this cocky look on his face like he already knows you'll say yes, and in your inebriated state, you think it's kind of hot. It reminds you of Joel when you first met. How he knew exactly what he wanted and wouldn't give up until it was his. Until you were his.
You consider him for a moment. He’s young, maybe even younger than you, and obviously confident enough to make a move on you. Fleetingly, you think he might end up being that stupid thing you do tonight, but then you down one of the shots and decide you don't actually care.
What turns out to be tequila burns the entire way down, and you immediately pick up a slice of lime. You’re hyperaware of the way his eyes lock onto your mouth as you suck on the sour fruit, lingering when a droplet of juice dribbles down your chin.
It’s not a total surprise when he reaches up to thumb it away, but you are taken off guard by how strange it makes you feel. The pad of his finger is disappointingly smooth, no weathering or even a hint of a callus. You're not sure why that matters to you, but you can take a decent guess.
You chance a glance over at Joel's table and, of course, you have his full attention now. His entire body looks tense, from his hand clenched on the table to the prominent vein bulging angrily in his neck.
Good. Now he knows how it feels.
Looking back up at your mystery guy, you run your tongue along your bottom lip, catching any remaining lime before you finally give him an answer.
"Sure. Pop a squat, cowboy," you giggle. It doesn't even sound like you and feels wrong the second it passes your lips, but as long as Joel heard it, that's all that matters. "You got a name?"
He replies, but you're too busy keeping an eye on Joel in your peripheral to catch what he says. In the back of your mind, you think that’s probably a good thing. You'd rather not know, especially if you do end up taking him home.
Mystery guy laughs at your noncommittal hum and you realize you’ve been caught. But he doesn’t seem upset. It’s clear he’s amused by your obvious interest elsewhere and that piques your curiosity.
Any other guy here would’ve been pissed by your apathy, especially if they’d bothered to buy you a drink that you accepted, but apparently not this one.
He sits down on the stool next to you, pulling it close enough that his knee presses against yours. You unconsciously lean into him, your skin erupting in goosebumps despite your growing unease.
He's...baffling. A total enigma. You can’t figure out what his deal is or why he’s choosing to keep pursuing you when your eyes have been glued to another man all night.
The thought of letting this continue long enough to find out is a little thrilling. Might as well see where this goes. If it escalates, you’re more than confident in your ability to care of yourself.
But it happens sooner than you expect. His hand finds the back of your stool and, then, his lips are suddenly right next to your cheek. You can feel the warmth of them as he tilts his head to whisper in your ear.
“Look, not try'na to overstep, but…,” his eyes dart to where Joel’s sitting, unreservedly ignoring his date. The poor thing barely notices, chattering away about something not nearly as important to him as watching you. His gaze returns to you, and you can feel him smirking. “You wanna make that guy you've been staring at all night jealous?"
That’s—wow. You didn’t see that one coming. He’s got a lot of audacity to assume that’s something you’d want, let alone offer…what? His services?
But, then again, he isn’t wrong. Joel’s been the only thing on your mind since you walked into Seth’s tonight and saw him with her. He’s always on your mind if you’re being totally honest with yourself. It’s plain to see, obvious to every single person in this bar including the man himself.
You eye your mystery guy curiously for a second before nodding, your lips quirking into a small smirk. Maybe it’s time to prove to Joel and everyone else in this judgmental town that you’ve moved on, too. That you’re not the sad, bitter shrew that deserves to be alone.
"Yeah, actually, I do," you reply cautiously. But there's still one lingering question that has yet to be answered. "I just…why? I don’t get why you’re helping me. What are you getting out of this?”
He shrugs, and somehow you can just tell by the look in his eyes that there’s no hidden agenda. You’re not sure how you’re just noticing, but he has kind eyes. This whole time, he’s been nothing but patient and attentive, like Joel always was—...is?
Was.
You almost wish you could fall for someone like this man instead of pathetically clinging to your past. Maybe you’ll at least get a friend out of this crazy night, if nothing else. But then you remember one, tiny problem with that idea.
“Can you tell me your name again? I promise you have my full attention this time,” you smile sheepishly. He chuckles good-naturedly and, again, doesn’t seem to hold it against you.
“It’s Jesse,” he says with a deep, southern drawl you should probably be more attracted to. “And let’s just say I know how it feels to want someone ya can’t have.”
You nod slowly, understanding perfectly. Except—you didn't realize up until this moment that that's exactly what you want. Someone you can't ever have.
And it took seeing Joel with someone else, his body pressed up against a woman that isn't you, to realize it. Well, that fucking sucks.
You decide not to ask about Jesse's situation. It's not your business and, anyway, you're both trying to feel better about your circumstances, not worse.
There’s a silent sense of camaraderie between you that tells you to throw caution to the wind. Tossing back the second shot, you turn your stool to face his, literally and figuratively turning your back on Joel.
“It’s really nice to meet you, Jesse,” you murmur, and you genuinely mean it. He grins, leaning in slowly, still giving you time to back out if you want to, but you don't.
Eat your heart out, Joel Miller. This one's for you.
"S'nice to meet you, too," he replies softly.
Then, his lips are on yours. The kiss is wet and open-mouthed, and yet he handles you so delicately. He cradles your face in his hands as his tongue brushes against yours, and you moan softly into his mouth, letting your body get lost in the way he feels. And he feels so—
Much different than Joel.
All you can think about is how much you miss Joel's rough touch, the way he'd thread his fingers through your hair and tug you into his mouth, nearly devouring you whole. Joel kissed you like every time might be the last, right up until it actually was.
Fucking hell, why can't you just enjoy this without him ruining it for you?
You try to forget about it, about him, licking into Jesse's mouth a little more aggressively, and he groans, his body eager and responsive. It's probably more than you should be doing in public, sitting at a bar surrounded by people but, hell, you want them to see.
They can say whatever they want about you. You're done giving a shit.
And, boy, will they have a lot to talk about after tonight. Joel makes sure of that. It happens so fast, you barely register that Jesse’s lips aren’t on yours anymore like they should be.
One moment, Jesse's hands are trailing down your sides to your waist, and the next, he's being forcibly dragged off you. Between you stands a broad, imposing figure ensuring you stay separated.
Your mind goes blank, and all you can do is watch in shock and disbelief as Joel lets loose on him, his words possessive and almost nonsensical.
"The fuck you think you're doin' touchin' her like that? Y'need to learn how to keep your hands to yourself, kid, before ya get yourself in trouble," he grits out angrily.
To his credit, Jesse stays cool and collected, but it’s not enough. There’s already a few pairs of eyes on you, drawn by the physical altercation, and it won’t be long before the rest of the bar notices the impending fight.
"Respectfully, sir, s'long as the lady consents, I'll put my hands wherever she wants," Jesse replies, standing his ground. He tries to move around him to return to your side, but Joel fixes him with a look that sends a shiver down your spine.
"S'that really a good idea?" Joel sounds menacing and looks even more so the longer the conversation continues.
You’re still numb to everything unfolding in front of you and it’s not until Jesse’s next to you again, snaking an arm around your waist, that you finally come to. The reality of your situation hits you like a ton of bricks and now you’re mad. You open your mouth to retaliate, but Jesse cuts you off before you can get a word in.
“There a reason it wouldn’t be?” he turns the question back on Joel and you tense, anticipating a less-than-friendly answer. Jesse squeezes your hip in reassurance, but it does nothing to soothe your unease. He doesn’t know Joel like you do.
“Kid, do I look like I’m fuckin’ around? Take your hands off her and walk away. M'not gonna tell you again,” he all but growls, taking a threatening step forward.
Neither of you back down. Jesse’s arm stays firm around you as your nails bite into your palm. It's taking everything you've got not to make a bigger scene than you already have.
You knew it. Since the breakup, you’ve been trying to reconcile this increasingly unfamiliar man with the Joel you gave your entire heart to all those years ago. With each passing month, the differences between the two become more and more obvious.
He's angrier now and has so much less patience. It's not that he's unkind. You know that no matter what his circumstances are, Joel will continue to be a good man. But he has a hair trigger, especially when it comes to you.
And he wants. God, he always wants you. It’s not that you didn’t have an active sex life before everything fell apart. He just...fucks you differently now. Possessively and without restraint, like he needs to be sure you're satisfied enough to never need anyone else. The agreement to keep sleeping together was actually his idea. And it worked for a while—until it suddenly didn't.
Now, you're forced to come face-to-face with that reality. Sitting at this bar, you spent the entirety of the night believing he'd decided he didn't want you anymore, that he was ready to find happiness in something simpler than sneaking around with his ex.
Except, it's starting to feel like maybe that's not as true as he made it seem. Like he never should've gone on this date in the first place.
"What the fuck, Joel?" you hiss, fighting to keep your volume under control. Not that it matters. The entire bar is staring at you, their eyes ping-ponging back and forth like they're watching a tennis match. "Back the fuck off. Now. This is none of your business."
"The hell it ain't my business. Some kid's runnin' his hands all over another man's girl and y'think that ain't my business?"
His trembling hands clench into fists at his sides and, while you’re betting the rest of the bar thinks he’s preparing for a fight, that isn’t Joel. It might be you, though, if he keeps this up.
"Excuse me? And whose girl am I—yours? Because I'm pretty sure your girl is sitting over there in that booth. Or did you forget about your date?"
For a moment, he actually has the nerve to look ashamed, like he feels bad about leaving her all alone at their table and for humiliating her in front of all these people. He avoids her crestfallen gaze, likely not ready to face the hurt he’s caused.
But it only lasts for a second before his eyes darken again, focused solely on you. As if Jesse, his pretty date, and everyone else in this bar disappeared, and it's just you and him. This conversation doesn't include them anymore. It's a private matter now.
"We're leavin'," he says with finality, his tone leaving no room for argument.
He should know better. That's not how things work with you. You’re a fighter, a trait he’s always loved about you, even if your ire was directed at him. Back then, it rarely was.
"You're out of your mind if you think I'm leaving with you," you scoff bitterly. "Go back to your date, I'll go back to mine, and we can forget about this. All of it. We're done, Joel."
He shakes his head, mouth tipping down into a frown like he's thinking something over. Then, he huffs out a laugh. Like, an actual laugh, and you start to think maybe he really has lost his mind.
"Y'know, I really don't think we are, darlin'," he drawls dangerously.
He's on you in an instant, his hand wrapped tightly around your arm as he drags you out of the bar. You briefly consider resisting, but he's moving too quickly. All of those shots you downed combined with the beer you drank earlier go straight to your head, and you're suddenly overwhelmingly distracted by the feeling of his skin on yours.
Fuck, it feels like it's been so long. In reality, you know it's only been a few weeks but, god, you missed it. His hands on your body, anywhere at all on your body. You'd hate how quickly you forget about Jesse if you could think about anything else but those familiar, rough fingertips.
The way they dig into you, reminiscent of how he'd squeeze your thighs or clutch your waist when he was making love to you.
...Wait, what? No...no, fuck. Why is he making this so difficult? Why—Christ...why can't you just leave each other alone? If he never planned on letting you go, he shouldn't have broken up with you. And if he still wanted you this badly...all he had to do was ask. You would've said yes in a heartbeat.
So, you let him steal you away, out into the brisk, wintry air that does little to cool your fury or the heat beginning to coil in your belly. The door shuts noisily behind you, and you immediately wrench your arm out of his grasp before he can say a word. It's your turn to talk now.
"What is wrong with you? You can't just...fuck, you can't do shit like this!" You're seething, practically shaking in your rage, and his expression doesn't look much different.
"And you can? I dunno what the hell you were thinkin' gettin’ cozy with some goddamn kid, lettin’ him touch ya like that in front of the whole town," he reiterates harshly. He's starting to sound like a broken record. It's the only leverage he's got, and you both know it's flimsy at best.
"Some kid? Jesse's a fucking adult, clearly more mature than you," you bite back. "And it’s a bar, Joel. That's what people do at bars."
Joel scoffs, and you can tell he hates the way Jesse's name falls from your lips. Especially when those lips were on yours not even ten minutes ago.
"And who are you to decide who can and can't touch me? You broke up with me," you continue resentfully. "You don't get a say anymore."
At that, his face becomes unreadable. He didn't need the reminder, and you know that, but it needed to be said for both of your sakes. Sometimes you think maybe he actually forgets it was his choice to give you up. That he didn't realize his decision would hurt you as much as it hurt him.
"So, what? You gonna take him home then, let him fuck ya?" He leans in close, so close you can feel his soft, graying curls against your temple and the coarse drag of his beard across your cheek.
"Kiss ya here—," a finger trails delicately down the side of your neck to his spot above your collarbone, then continues down to where you've been aching for him for weeks, "—taste ya here."
You slap his hand away before he can get any further, but your reaction only spurs him on. How could you forget? He likes that.
"Y'know he can't make ya feel as good as I do. Fuck you just how y'like it, make ya cum as hard as I do," he drawls confidently, almost smugly, in your ear. "Don't ya?"
It's less a question than a statement, because you both know he's right. Joel knows your body better than anyone ever has, maybe even better than you know it yourself. Just as much as you know his. And it's sort of funny. You were thinking the exact same thing about him with his date earlier.
"Sure, Joel. Just like you were gonna take that girl home, right?" You raise an eyebrow, turning your head so your lips graze his skin. "Pretty little thing like her, I bet she likes it slow and romantic. She’ll probably even stick around for a snuggle and some pillow talk. You'd love that.”
Even as you mock him, the sneer marring your face doesn’t quite meet your eyes, and the spiteful nature of your words tastes acrid as they pass your lips. He’s so good at that. Always able to bring out the worst in you to prove his point—that he’s no good for you.
But you stand firm, your chest pressed flush against his in a show of determination. You're still in control here, unlike Joel, whose fingers are twitching noticeably at his sides like he's just itching to get his hands on you again.
"Maybe I would. Liked it with you, didn't I?" he murmurs wistfully, and that catches you completely off guard.
His words are almost too gentle to belong in this argument, and it doesn’t feel fair. What's worse, he looks like he means them. You’d prefer the fight, the aggression of the man who dragged you out of the bar. Not this. Not these traces of your Joel.
You can already feel your resolve slipping, and the rapid thrum of your heartbeat tells you to let it. When his hands finally take their rightful place on your waist, he’s in control again.
The cool evening air is suddenly stifling, and you’re starting to feel like you’re suffocating, your thoughts a jumbled, heated haze of anger and fear and want. He squeezes hard enough to pull your hips into his and you unintentionally buck, allowing his hands to travel up your shirt.
There's an intensity to his gaze, tinged with an unexpected tenderness. He almost looks...sated. Fulfilled, now that you're back in his arms. But not completely, not yet.
"You still haven't answered my question," he mutters. His hands splay across your ribcage, high enough for his thumbs to tease the undersides of your breasts.
You bite down hard on your bottom lip, sliding your hands up his chest to push him away so you can catch your breath, but your body won't cooperate. It's been well-trained to crave his touch. Exhaling sharply through your nose, you fist his shirt and instead pull him impossibly closer.
"You asked a lot of questions tonight. You're gonna have to be a little more specific,” you pant heavily.
It's getting more difficult to think, now, with the warmth of his body against you, his thumbs shifting higher to stroke your stiffening nipples. He urges your hips forward again to meet his, and you can already feel him straining in his jeans.
You whimper helplessly, unable to curb the way your body's reacting to him, and the soft sound causes something in him to snap. He suddenly backs you up against the hard brick of the bar's exterior and begins to grind languidly into your stomach.
"Y'really believe that boy can take care of a woman like you? Hm?" He interrogates you, his voice gravelly and uneven in your ear. "Tell me I'm the only one who can give you what ya need. Wanna hear ya say it."
Fuck, you can't lie to him. As much as you want to, it's just one more thing your body won't allow you to do. Not when he's working you up like this.
"You're the only one," you moan around your admission. He's still crowding you into the wall, his hands greedily roaming your soft curves.
His eyes meet yours, darting quickly to your mouth before he leans in to kiss you passionately like he’s rewarding you. It only lasts for a second, one deliciously fleeting second, before he pulls away. You’re not sure why you let him. Or why you kissed back.
"Who's the only man who can make ya scream?" he demands a little more urgently.
"You, Joel,” you murmur obediently, your lips already parted and ready for your prize.
And he acquiesces—another insistent kiss that doesn’t last nearly long enough. This time, you chase him, but he jerks his head back. He still has one last question for you. Except, this time, he looks afraid of the answer.
"Whose girl are ya?"
He whispers it so softly, you barely catch it over the whistling, nighttime breeze. As he brushes a few ruffled strands of hair behind your ear, you answer without hesitation.
"Yours, Joel."
His entire body relaxes. Now, he's complete.
"Damn right, you are—"
Then, the front door bursts open next to you, and he's abruptly cut off. Joel is quick to tug you around the corner into the alleyway before anyone can spot you, but he's not fast enough to keep you from seeing who just left the bar.
Jesse.
And there it is. A shock to the system, enough to clear some of that smoky, nostalgic haze and bring you back to the present. But as everything hurtles back for the second time tonight, this time around, you can’t be mad because he’s right.
Of course, you're not Jesse's girl. As pathetic as it sounds, you'll always be Joel's because he’s the only one who can take care of you and give you what need. The only man who can make you scream. But that goes both ways.
Even though he’s been picking fights all night, he hasn’t raised his voice once. It's not the way he wins his battles. So, maybe it's time to remind Joel Miller that there is someone who can make him scream. But he isn't allowed to unless you say so.
It all feels eerily familiar—his fingers digging into your waist and your lips crashing into his hard enough to bruise. You lead him deeper into the alley, back to where the glow of the string lights above the bar can't reach you, before you separate from him.
Neither of you wants to be the one to say it, but it needs to be heard. Here, in the dark, you can be his completely, but once you part ways and return to your empty beds, that's it. Just like last time. The reasons for your breakup are still very real, and that means your relationship can't be.
"Only here. Right, Joel?"
He stays silent for a moment, his gaze filled with deep longing and sadness. It almost makes you want to take it back. Take him back. So, when he shakes his head and cups your cheeks, kissing you like this might be his last chance, you're not surprised in the slightest.
And after this whole night—this whole confusing, fucked-up night—you let him. Right now, he needs this. Maybe you do, too.
His lips taste like whiskey and relief, and you return his kiss with all of the passion and fervor he’s pouring into you. You’re both a little frantic in the way you touch each other, but as much as you don’t want it to, it makes perfect sense.
Those few weeks without each other felt like years, and now that his hands are back on your body and his voice, deep and dulcet, is in your ear telling you how badly he wants you, you don’t want to let him go again.
You grind the heel of your hand into the front of his jeans and his responding groan pleases you more than it probably should. This. This is yours—his pleasure, his attention, him. They belong to you and you alone. Not his pretty, perky fucking date.
The sudden possessiveness stuns you for a moment, but it's not enough to stop the feeling from consuming you. This must be how it feels for Joel. It's potent and feels so, so…right. You're starting to think you've felt this way for a while.
"I needed you, and you made me wait so fucking long," you gasp against his lips, and the fingers cradling your face tense. You’re still fisting his shirt, nearly hard enough to tear, and you wrench it up from where it’s tucked into his pants.
"M'sorry, darlin', I know. I know I did,” he rasps back, following your lead and dropping his hands from your cheeks so he can unbuckle his jeans. “M'gonna make it up to ya. Tell me what you want, I’ll give it to ya.”
You want everything. Everything he has to give, you want it all. After everything you've been through, the hurt he caused you, you deserve it. And right now, what you want is for him to feel so good, he'll never go on a date with someone who isn't you ever again.
Sharp gravel bites into your bare skin as you drop to your knees in front of him. He's already so hard under all that heavy fabric and looks desperate above you. Just as desperate as you are for him to replace the flavor of Jesse's tequila and lime on your tongue with something saltier and headier, and undeniably Joel.
You hastily unbutton and unzip his jeans, not wasting any more of the precious time you have left together, before tugging them down just enough to free his cock and balls. He looks...fucking mouth-watering—flushed and red and leaking, and so goddamn thick. You wrap your hand around him and he sighs gratefully, dribbling precum onto your fingers.
"This is what I want," you finally reply, keeping your eyes locked on his as you lean forward to lick a broad line up his cock. He hisses in a breath through his teeth, his thighs already beginning to tremble, and you brace your hand on one. "But you're gonna be quiet, okay? I'm gonna suck your cock and you're not gonna make a single sound."
His expression darkens, but he agrees to your terms, nonetheless.
"Sure, darlin'. Whatever you say," he nods, gazing down at you with furrowed brows. He cradles your face in his hand and brushes his thumb along your cheekbone.
The affectionate gesture isn't lost on you, but this time you accept it. Instinctively leaning into his touch, you revel in it for a brief moment before his cock pulsing a frantic rhythm against your palm becomes an unignorable distraction. But a welcome one.
"That's my boy," you mumble against the tip. Just as a pained noise escapes his parted lips, you swallow him down as far as you can take him, purposely gagging yourself on him before you can dwell on the words that accidentally just tumbled out.
Your boy. Your boy. It echoes in your mind, ricocheting wildly and painfully like a bullet. Before you can take it back, maybe even to keep you from taking it back, he buries his fingers in your hair and holds you in place. You choke around him, trying your best to breathe through your nose, but in doing so, you take in a lungful of the heady musk at his base.
The familiarity of it all sends you reeling. He only gives you a second to adjust before he's fucking into your mouth and biting back a litany of needy sounds that rival your own wet, audible gagging. Your grip on his thigh tightens as your throat relaxes, allowing you to take him deeper, and you can feel yourself clenching around nothing every time he grazes the back of your throat.
Tears stream down your cheeks and he wipes them away with a much too tender swipe of his thumb, even as he continues to force you up and down his cock. But you're too lost in your pleasure to notice anymore. So fucking good, you feel so, so good. But you need more, and you're not willing to pull off of him just yet.
Tugging down the front of your shirt, you roll a sensitive nipple between your fingers, and, god, that helps. You imagine they're Joel's and it amplifies the sensation, though your fingertips are still too smooth and delicate. Then, they're replaced by exactly what you've been yearning for all night.
“You don’t even know how beautiful y'look like this,” he grits out, his fingers running through your hair with one hand and roughly cupping your breast with the other. His hips stutter, and you moan around him. “Fuckin’ perfect. How are ya so fuckin’ perfect?”
Beautiful. More beautiful than her? Well, you must be, because you’re the one here on your knees, choking on his cock, and she’s still sitting in the bar wondering if her date will ever come back.
He won’t.
You preen without meaning to, your eyes blearily finding his while you drool around him, dripping saliva down his balls and onto your bare breasts. It's as if the visual alone has him thrusting into your mouth faster, pushing your limits only as much as he knows you can take. You must look like a wet dream right now, his wet dream, with your watery eyes and swollen, split-slick lips wrapped tightly around him.
Yet, he's remained so, so quiet this entire time, just like you told him to. Joel likes his sex loud, regardless of where you are and who might hear, so if he’s following your rules, that means something.
It means he'll do whatever it takes to have you. The realization crashes over you like a bucket of ice water, and then you're pulling off of him.
“You’ll give me anything, right? Anything I want?” your voice cracks around the question, wrecked from the effort of taking him. His hips chase your hand as you continue to pump him, matching his previous, unforgiving pace.
“That ain’t a question, y’know I will,” he replies breathily and without hesitation.
You gaze up at him, praying your eyes convey all of the need and anguish and hope you've felt since the last time you slept together. Since the last time you were his.
“Fuck me," and you won't accept anything less than his all. Not that half-assed shit he would've given her. "Fuck me."
He understands. His heart rate kicks up, thrumming wildly against the palm of your hand, and you know he does.
The growl that rumbles through his chest is nearly soundless but powerful. An entire night's worth of tension culminating in a single exhaled breath, just before he drags you up and spins you around, bending you over against the wall.
Bracing yourself on the harsh brick, you rush to give him better access, arching your back as he tugs your pants and underwear down to your knees. A callused hand runs upward, following the notches of your spine, while his other spreads across your waist, pulling your hips back onto his so you can feel him, heavy and leaking against your bare ass.
God, he’s so close to where you need him now. His knuckles graze your skin as he grips the base, pumping himself before the blunt head of his cock nudges your entrance.
But then, for some godforsaken reason, you feel a wave of panic. Time suddenly feels like it's running out, worsening with every subtle movement he makes. The ticking clock of your and Joel's relationship, perpetually stuck at two minutes to midnight, has sprung to life and that terrifies you.
You don't want him to stop—fuck, you don't want him to stop, but you know neither of you will last long once he's inside you. The build-up was too intense and this entire night has you both wound up so tight, you could snap at any moment.
You need to savor this. The way you failed to on your couch all those weeks ago, and might not get to ever again.
“Slow,” you tell him over your shoulder, and it's equal parts a command and a plea. If this is the last time, then you want to feel it. Every thick inch of him, while he still belongs to you. “Just…go slow.”
He nods, shifting forward almost imperceptibly so he can watch your lashes flutter as you brace for the stretch.
"Don't need’ta tell me. I know how ya like it," he replies gruffly.
He does. For now, you won’t overthink it or let yourself get lost in the nostalgia of his cock nestled inside you. You’ll just enjoy it. Sex with Joel has always been mind-blowing, and here, in a dirty alleyway, pressed up against the exterior of a bar, you bet it’ll be life-changing.
It stings like it always does when he breaches your entrance, no matter how wet you are for him. Together, you hiss in a sharp breath, mutually adjusting to the overwhelming stretch that quickly ebbs into something addictive.
"Tight as all goddamn hell," he mutters to himself, rocking into you languidly. He takes his time, relishing your walls enveloping him, mesmerized by the way you suck him in until he's buried to the hilt.
"Would'ja look at that," he continues in awe, tracing where his cock is forcing you to yield to him. "Greedy fuckin' pussy, ain't she? M'not goin' anywhere, don't'chu worry. Gonna take care of ya...make ya feel so fuckin' good..."
He's starting to babble. Not good. Not good at all.
Broad hands grip your ass, pulling your cheeks apart so he can see how tightly you’re gripping him, and it's too much. His hips buck, startling a pained whine out of you as he rams into that spot. The one deep inside you he can only reach when he’s fucking you from behind. Your cunt clenches, fighting to keep him there, and he growls low in his throat, hungry and territorial like a wild animal.
"There it is," he nudges it again, purposefully this time. You barely manage to bite back a sob as you gush messily around him. "Christ, honey, y'sure ya still want it slow? 'Cus it sure don't sound like it."
He's patronizing you. He knows exactly what he's doing—that's his spot. He also knows it makes you loud as fuck. But he wouldn’t. There’s no way he’d go back on his word, not after he promised he’d be discreet.
"Joel. Don't," you warn him shakily, but you're already too far gone to be intimidating.
He pulls out until just the tip is still inside you, huffing out a distinctly calculated breath.
"Don't what? Don't make ya cum nice and loud on my cock? 'Fraid I can't do that, darlin'."
That's all the warning you get before he slams in hard. Your jaw drops, and you're positive you couldn't have stopped the wail punched out of your chest even if you'd tried.
Wrong. You’re wrong again, and you should’ve known better. It’s not the first time he’s gone back on his word, remember? Joel’s shitty lack of communication is why you’re here in the first place. Sure, he agreed to be quiet, but he never said anything about you.
He establishes a brutal pace that has you scrabbling against the wall for purchase and slapping a hand over your mouth in a futile attempt to muffle the desperate cries being forced from your body.
Please, don’t be outside. Please, please, Jesse. Don’t still be outside.
But your luck's officially run out.
Heavy mahogany crashes into solid brick, echoing down the alleyway, and a raucous group of people spills out onto the street, barely 30 feet from where your ass and tits are out for anyone to see. Then, the deep baritone of Jesse's voice cuts through the rest, and your blood immediately turns to ice.
You're fucked. You're about to get caught and expose your secret to the entire town, except...Joel isn't stopping. Fuck, he's—
Yanking your entire body up and ripping your hand away from your mouth, rutting into you like he was just waiting for an audience. He snakes a hand up your stomach to palm at your chest, squeezing firmly to anchor himself as he fucks up into you with all the force he can muster.
And it turns you on so much, you finally stop caring. Fuck it. Fuck this town. Fuck everyone in that bar who made you feel like a goddamn pariah for months, crucifying you for the unforgivable sin of getting your heart broken.
You hope his date's standing out there, too, so she can hear everything she'll never get to have. So they can all see that Joel Miller isn't the crushed, cruelly dumped old man they all thought he was.
Your moans ring out, loud and high-pitched, all but drowning out the messy slap of his hips into the drenched curve of your ass.
"That's it, darlin', let it all out," he chuckles darkly against the shell of your ear. Your next moan tapers into a drawn-out keen that he mimics, his thrusts getting shallow and sloppy. "S'for me, right? Let 'em know you're makin' all those pretty noises just for me."
Christ, you're close. And he's as close as you are, you can feel it. You turn your head, nodding jerkily into his shoulder.
"S'for you, Joel—mmph, just for you. Only for you," your words slur as he continues to bounce you on his cock.
"Tell 'em you're mine, darlin’. Not just here," he pants raggedly, desperation coating his words. "Everywhere. You're mine everywhere."
The voices are getting closer, about to pass the mouth of the alley, and the ice in your veins quickly thaws, turning to molten lava. They'll definitely be able to able to hear you, but can they see you? For the umpteenth time tonight, you decide you really don't give a shit. You've got none left. You and Joel, that's all that matters now.
His hand drops between your legs, thick fingers swirling tight, slick circles into your clit while he waits for you to confirm what he already knows. You've said it again and again—weeks ago, wrapped up in his arms, and earlier tonight, after the worst argument you've had since the breakup.
And you’ll tell him again in this alley as you cum blindingly hard around his cock. Third time's the charm.
"Y-yours, Joel. I'm always yours."
His hips completely lose their rhythm, and he barely has time to breathe out his contentment before the violent convulsing of your cunt and contrasting serenity of your words send him hurtling over the edge.
"That's my girl."
He crashes his lips into yours, swallowing every noise you make as the group finally comes into view. Their drunken chattering and roughhousing aren't enough to draw your attention away from each other, but the depraved sounds of Joel continuing to fuck you through your release captures theirs almost immediately.
A few of them stop to squint into the darkness, trying their best to pinpoint what everyone already knows is happening further down the alley. As they inch closer, they can just barely make out two connected figures, and the wind carrying muffled gasps and labored breathing with it into the street all but confirms it.
"Y'all seein' this?" they whisper amongst themselves, but in the inebriated state they're in, they might as well be yelling.
And that's what pulls you and Joel back to reality. Shit. Shit. So, this is it, then. You tense in Joel's arms, waiting to get called out as the slutty girl who seduced her ex away from his date. Hell, they're not even wrong. You can feel his cum dribbling out of you, and can't help but think maybe you'd deserve it.
From where you're standing, you recognize each and every one of their faces under the string lights, and you know damn well that none of them can keep their mouths shut. Except...wait a second. They're still glancing back and forth between you and Joel in the shadows and each other.
Oh. The fucking shadows. None of them can see shit. They have no clue who the hell they're looking at. Joel must've caught on around the same time you did, because now he's backing up, putting more distance between you and the looming crowd. Before they can get any closer, one of the younger guys cuts in front to block their path.
“C’mon, it's probably a couple’a teenagers. Just let ‘em be," he drawls, glancing back at you. Your eyes lock, and you're suddenly so grateful, you could cry. It's Jesse. He shoots you a wink before turning back to the group, shaking his head in mock admonishment. "Don't act like y'all weren't doin' the same damn thing at their age."
By some miracle, it fucking works. They all laugh in agreement, appeased by Jesse's quick thinking. One by one, they follow each other out of the alley and back onto the road to continue their original path home. Jesse lingers.
"Glad y'all figured things out," he calls out over his shoulder, giving you privacy to tug your shirt back up. He clears his throat awkwardly before continuing, "Look, I, uh...distracted as many people as I could from comin' over here, but if y'all were gonna be that loud, maybe you should'a figured things out at home."
Jesse shakes his head again, chuckling to himself as he shoves his hands into his pockets.
"Anyway, y'all have a good night, now. Get home safe."
As he jogs away to catch up with the rest of the group, you start to laugh, too. You can’t help it. It feels cathartic, relieving some of the tension of this overly eventful night.
Joel’s body begins to shake behind you, his chest rumbling with what you realize is deep-bellied laughter. It gradually increases in volume as it melds seamlessly with yours; transitory, white clouds of condensation that intertwine, then dissipate.
You feel him slip out as he starts to soften, and then he turns you to face him, carefully crowding you into the wall. He kisses you again, this time slow and deliberate like you asked him to earlier. His tongue meets yours, gasps exchanged and treasured like you have all the time in the world.
When he parts from you, it feels reluctant, but he stays close, whispering his next words against your lips.
“M’gonna get ya cleaned up, alright?” he mumbles, dropping his arm from around your waist to run his fingers up the cum leaking down your thighs. You shiver as they continue up, slipping his release back inside you. “Don’t…,” he continues, squeezing his eyes shut as his forehead drops to yours, “…just—don’t go anywhere. Please. I’ll be right back.”
Maybe he’s trying to protect himself from the response he anticipates you’ll give him, but that seems silly after everything you’ve been through tonight. You cup his cheek and thumb the coarse, trimmed hairs of his beard, willing him to open his eyes. He does, hesitantly, one then the other, and you offer him a soft smile.
“I’m not going anywhere, Joel.”
An intoxicating breath fans across your face, and the taut muscles in his neck and shoulders loosen. His lips match the soft quirk of your own and, then, brush fleetingly against your cheekbone as he backs away and disappears through a metal side door you didn't notice before. The moment it clicks shut, you slump against the wall.
Christ. Your mind is simultaneously blank and racing a mile a minute. Taking a deep breath, you let your head thunk into solid, grounding brick while you wait for even a single coherent thought to take root. What now? What happens next?
There's no coming back from tonight. You both made choices you'll have to answer for, but, for some reason, that doesn't seem so scary anymore. The clock is ticking, but there's time. Plenty of it.
You're still lost in your reverie when Joel gets back with a thick wad of damp paper towels. You snort at the idea of him suddenly appearing in Seth's kitchen and having to explain himself, but maybe the racket you kicked up right outside his door was explanation enough.
"Seth didn't give you any shit for stealing his stuff?" you ask as Joel drops to his knees and coaxes one of your legs over his shoulder.
The cold air has already started to leach the warmth from the paper towels, and they feel cool as he slides them along your soiled skin. He huffs out a laugh.
"Nah, the kitchen was empty. Think they're startin' to close up for the night."
When he finishes your first thigh, he surprises you by leaning in to press a soft kiss against your freshly cleaned skin. He nips at you teasingly before starting on the next one.
You hum in response, threading your fingers through his hair and watching fondly as he pays careful attention to his task. He continues to wipe away his drying release, trailing his lips down your thigh as he goes, until he finishes at your knee.
He gazes up at you with a charmingly crooked grin, and that’s when it finally slips out. The single coherent thought you’ve been waiting for.
“I love you, Joel,” you murmur, brushing your fingertips across his cheek.
His smile falters. Then, it drops completely and your heart shatters. You don’t understand. But that—no. No, it doesn’t make any fucking sense. After everything that’s happened, how could you have been wrong again?
Joel sighs, grimacing as he slowly gets back up. He braces himself on one knee, clearly aching more than he's letting on, but when you reach down to offer him a hand, he refuses your help.
“S’fine, I got it. Just…,” he gestures to your jeans, still hanging loosely around your knees. You pull them up, fighting not to feel humiliated as he rises to his full height.
You search his eyes for…something. Anything. Any indication of what he’s feeling right now, but they’re blank. Cold and distant, just like they were the night he left you.
No. He doesn’t get to do this to you again. Not after everything you’ve been through. Not without an explanation. Not if he doesn’t want to lose you forever.
“Tell me why you broke up with me."
For a long time, you genuinely believed you could live without knowing the truth, but somewhere along the line, it began to eat away at you. Now, you want the real reason. He owes you that, at the very least.
You wait while he either works himself up to it or tries to figure out what bullshit to tell you this time. Once his hands settle on his hips, you know with absolute certainty it's the latter.
“Darlin’…,” he starts wearily, but you shoot him a look that stops him in his tracks. He doesn't get to call you that right now, and he knows it. Pausing, he nods grimly before beginning again. "We already talked about this. I’m no good for ya. It was only a matter of time before ya woke up one day and realized it for yourself.”
There it is. That same bullshit reason. You scoff bitterly, not surprised in the slightest.
“What the fuck does that even mean, Joel? We were together for years. If that was gonna happen, don’t you think it would’ve already?" you counter angrily.
You're trying not to get emotional. This can't be a repeat of what happened last time, but it's dragging up too many painful memories. It's always the same fight. You can't do this anymore.
"You know what? Fuck you," you seethe as your self-control slips completely. "Fuck you for making that decision for me. You had no right."
At your words, his face crumples and he has the nerve to look ashamed. Maybe even a little hurt. His pained expression makes your heart ache, yet a nastier part of you believes it's only fair that he feels this way, too. He sighs, his eyes dropping wistfully to his feet.
“I did what I thought was best," he mumbles quietly as if he doesn't want to be heard. It's hard for him to say this out loud, and you realize it's because he's finally telling you the truth. "I just…I thought you’d be happier with someone else, someone who could give ya a family. Kids. I gave you up so you could have the life ya always wanted."
You eye him incredulously. The life you always wanted? Sure, you and Joel had toyed with the idea of having a family once upon a time, but that was never a dealbreaker. He should've known that. He should've brought it up before deciding to destroy your life together over an idealized fantasy.
“Oh, here we go. Joel, the fucking savior. Mr. Fix-It, swooping in to save everyone and solve every problem," you hurl back venomously. But it was a cruel thing to say, and you immediately hate yourself for it.
Rationally, you know his intentions were kind. He probably even thought he was being selfless. But he hurt you, and, through your tunnel vision, that's all you can see. You push yourself off the wall, stalking closer to where he stands, still refusing to look at you.
"So what, you thought you’d dump me and I’d immediately shack up with some other asshole? Is that really what you think of me?”
His eyes shoot up to yours and his fingers begin to tap restlessly at his sides. Now, you've pissed him off.
“Don't go puttin’ words in my mouth. That ain’t true and you fuckin’ know it," he all but growls, his body shaking with a turbulent combination of frustration and adrenaline.
You're starting to feel it, too. This conversation is overwhelming both of you, but he still hasn't told you everything. There's a piece missing, keeping all of his disjointed reasonings from adding up. He's holding back and it's time for him to stop.
“Then what is, Joel?" you plead with him to give you a definitive answer. One that finally explains why you had to lose everything. Ellie, your home. The love of your life. "What’s the truth?"
Then, everything he's kept bottled up inside and allowed to poison his happiness claws its way out as a single, unwavering statement.
“I’m too fuckin’ old for you!”
The silence that follows his admission is deafening. You watch in shock as he runs a hand through his hair in frustration. He's never yelled like that before or looked so defeated. By something as innocuous as his age.
It isn't something you'd ever considered, not before your relationship and never once during. But he did. His bottom lip starts to tremble as he turns and takes a few steps away from you.
“Every day, I’d watch ya…offerin’ to take more shifts, spendin’ time at the school with Ellie and the kids," he says softly, shaking his head as he works through his next words. "And every day, I’d feel it. My body givin’ out on me, more and more. My blood pressure’s up, my goddamn knees are creakin’. Couldn’t even fuckin’ stand up on my own just now."
When he turns back to you, his eyes are wet with unshed tears. He feels too far, but you know you can't go to him, yet. He's not finished.
"You can do better than that. You deserve better than that," his voice cracks and your whole world blurs into a wash of colors. “You’re gonna outlive me by a mile. I’m an old man, darlin’. It wasn’t fair for me to keep ya.”
For a while, you just watch each other. Tears overflow and continuously spill down his cheeks and yours, but neither of you moves to wipe them away.
None of this is fair. You're both miserable and heartbroken, perpetually yearning for a love you've told yourselves you can't have. Months ago, Joel made a choice for both of you. You won't make the same mistake he did.
"I didn't want fair, Joel. I wanted you. A life with you...," your face screws up as you fight back a sob, "...the rest of my life with you, however long that is."
Joel takes a tentative step forward, carefully reaching out to touch you, but stops himself before he can get too close. He looks afraid...of you. Scared of the consequences of allowing you back into his heart.
A sob escapes your chest, then, and you wrap your arms around yourself, suddenly bitterly cold and wanting nothing more than for Joel to hold you. To tell you for the first time since the breakup that he loves you and, regardless of time, won't ever stop.
So, you cross the alleyway and cup his wet cheeks in your hands, wiping away his sadness and, hopefully, his fears. He melts into the poignant familiarity of your touch and it makes you brave. This time, you'll be brave enough for both of you.
"Don't I deserve that?" you whisper, close enough to share his next breath. He watches your lips, hanging onto your every word. "Don't you?"
His eyes meet yours, and it finally happens. The moment Joel gives in and decides to let himself be happy. He nods slowly in your grasp, reaching up to cradle your hand on his cheek.
"Dunno what I deserve, darlin'. Not after the things I've done and the hurt I put ya through. But if I'm...if this is really what ya want...," he hesitates, his voice thick with tears and, yet, still that full-bodied, twang that sounds like home. "I'm yours. 'Til my last breath, I'm yours."
He kisses you before either of you can start crying again, and it's all there. The love he kept under lock and key to protect you, released from the prison of his own making.
His kiss feels different again. There's no hunger or rush, and the possessiveness—the need to devour everything you have to give so there's nothing left for anyone else—is gone. He's sure, now, that there's no one else you'd rather give yourself to.
His arms circle your waist and he pulls you closer, crushing you into time-worn chambray and sullied denim as you continue to explore each other like a pair of horny teenagers. Two lovers learning to give and take for the first time. Time passes slowly in this space you've carved out for yourselves, even as the moon continues to rise in the night sky and floods the corridor with light.
Then, noisily and as if right on cue, the last-call crowd stumbles from the bar and immediately catches what the previous group missed. You and Joel separate, dazed but unhurried, to find that it's them.
It has to be fucking kismet that, of everyone in Jackson, the first to witness your reconciliation would be the biggest blabbermouths in the entire town. The same women who talked shit about you every day for months and constantly vied for Joel's attention, standing there with wide eyes and slack jaws.
Their varied expressions almost make you want to laugh, and you can't help but snort unattractively into Joel's shoulder. Half of them are glaring at you, and the rest look either devastated or genuinely surprised. Guess you were better at hiding your arrangement than you thought, not that it matters anymore. It's a relationship again, and everyone's about to know all about it. Joel clears his throat, drawing their attention back to him.
"Evenin', ladies. S'there somethin' we can help ya with?" he drawls, breaking out the Southern charm that endeared every single one of them to him in the first place.
They all shake their heads, looking a little too pleased with themselves once the initial shock wears off and they realize you've just given them the gossip of the century. After a few fake, high-pitched pleasantries, they slink away as quickly as they came, already chatting to themselves about some shit you'll definitely hear tomorrow at breakfast. You watch them go, feeling oddly liberated.
"Guess the cat's outta the bag, huh?" You wrap your arms loosely around his neck, still chuckling softly to yourself. Joel huffs out a laugh, too, bending down to kiss the crown of your head before nodding in agreement.
"'Fraid so," he muses, amusement and a hint of something lighter glinting in his eyes.
You haven't seen him this relaxed in a long time. As he holds you in his arms, he leans a fraction of his weight on you to ease the night's strain on his back and knees, and it makes you feel needed. Relied on. That's new, Joel depending on you like this. Things are going to be different this time around, you can tell. They already are.
You hum, ruminating on what awaits you after your first night back in your own bed, in your own home. What everyone will think and say—to your face and behind your back—when they find out you're back together. Though, the only opinions you give a shit about are Ellie, Tommy, and Maria's, anyway.
So, yeah, you're a lot of things right now: exhausted, yet relieved and so full of hope. But you're not afraid, the cat and the bag be damned.
"I'm not," you tell him honestly as you pull away. You let your hands trail from his shoulders, down his arms, until his hands are in yours.
Tugging gently, you walk him backward out of the alley, away from the bar and plummeting winter chill, and any lingering, prying eyes. Even the moon and stars have no stake in what comes next. This moment, right here and now, belongs to you and Joel, alone.
"Take me home, Joel."
The light in his eyes burns brighter, amusement giving way to adoration and contentment. He's been waiting for this, to be given the privilege of keeping you safe and taking care of you the way he needs to—it's how he shows love.
He slots his fingers between yours and leads you down the empty streets of Jackson.
"Darlin', nothin' would make me happier."
thanks for reading!
#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller smut#joel miller angst#the last of us fanfiction#tlou fanfiction#pedro pascal characters
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I feel bad for Butcher!Simon so I had an idea for him or Carpenter!König (the idea you gave me for my Shopkeeper!COD AU because he is so pathetic)
Now the idea is something for Valentine's Day
You love your favourite, pervy shop owner but have not had the courage yet to ask him out as he is so rough and gruff on the exterior to the point you think you are annoying him. So for Valentine's Day since your date turned you down you decided to dress up for you favourite shop owner as you do not see any ring on his finger!
You wear a cute, pastel dress that hugs you curves nicely to show off your figure and chub to hopefully grab their attention especially with the low cut neckline that shows off your breasts as they are pushed up by your push-up bra
You go into the shop and go over the counter to see them working. You ask little questions at first before you start complaining about being alone and how sad you are because you were hoping your date could be your future husband and father of your children which drives him up the wall by making his balls oh so tight as all they can think of is making you a mother after seeing your breasts
By the end of the night you are in his bed and having him empty his balls into you. And a few months later you have a little baby on your hips named after the holiday that blessed you with them
I'm going into this with Carpenter!König bc this just screams him and I haven't written for him in a long while <3
He's the town's loner, living on the far outskirts of the small, rural town and owns a carpentry shop that's quite well known around the area since his furniture is sturdy and very well made. However, people still generally tend to avoid him due to his massive, towering size and how he just 'unsettles people' with his stare and mysterious past, supposedly in the military.
But you never heeded the whispered rumors about the huge man, always smiling at him on the few occasions he was in town, you even took to order furniture from him yourself, always bringing him something sweet you baked as a thank you <3
Unknowingly to you, König started developing rather strong feelings for the sweet and kind girl with treats him like a normal human and not an anomaly like the rest of the town people. His lonely nights where he only had his hand and some old, crusted porn magazine are now replaced with fantasies of you, how sugar sweet you'd taste like the cookies you bring him, how your whines and squeals of pleasure would fill the empty wooden cabin :((
König swore he almost came in his pants on the spot when you waltzed into his cabin, on Valentine's Day, dressed in that cute pastel dress with a low neckline, your soft tits almost spilling over it as you sigh and whine about how this day brings out all the lonely in you, how everyone around you seems to be in happy relationships but you and you just don't get it :(( You'd love to take care of a nice partner! Maybe even mother a baby and knowing König, his domesticity/breeding kink shot through the roof with his full, aching balls squeezing almost painfully at the mention of you being a housewife :/
One thing leads to another, your feeling as they turned out to be very mutual and before you know it, the giant man has you in a mean mating press in his bed, the sheets and a few furs for keeping warm drenched in his strong, masculine musk which only makes you whine more, who knows what this beast was fantasizing about while laying here :((
This was officially the best Valentine's Day you both ever had, not only as the beginning of your beautiful, loving relationship but also the day where your little baby girl, the big, chubby and giggly Valentina, was conceived <3
#kin speaks#asks#interactions#cod x reader#cod mw x reader#könig x reader#könig cod#könig mw2#könig call of duty#könig x you#konig x reader
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Oh to be with old man price right now drunk on shitty wine and dancing to hozier in a dimly kitchen.
It’s not every day that you get to see Price this relaxed. Usually his mind is spinning with hundreds of thoughts- wondering if an old man like him is fit for someone young like you, wondering if there is someone who could treat you better than him, someone closer to your age someone who’s not jarred from the years they spent living, someone better looking who you could spend the rest of your life with-
But tonight he can only think about what a lucky bastard he is to have a man like you in his life. He’s got this lazy smile on his face as he pears up at you over his wine glass, and having noticed his blatant staring you can’t help but ask what’s on his mind.
“Nothing” he says, and downs what’s left in his glass. It’s not often he allows himself drink, not ever since his doctor told him to go easy with the beers. His body can’t handle alcohol like it used to and many times it has shown him that. But every once in a while he’ll allow himself a glass, especially on nights like these and he can already feel the alcohol having its effect on him, the tension in his body slowly easing up, and tongue readying itself to say too much.
However you won’t let it go, arms slinking around his waist and pulling him into your embrace
“Tell me” you whine out, into his salt and pepper hair, mindlessly rocking side to side with him in your embrace.
“Keep up with that and I’ll throw up on you,” Price grunts out, eyes squeezing shut in hopes of lessening the effects of the rocking motions but despite his words he sneaks his own arms around your waist , sweat soaked forehead pressed against your chest while he moves along to the music that’s playing in the background.
Your skin feels ever so warm while pressed flushed against his, the faint smell of your cologne and laundry detergent invades his nostrils and standing this close he’s sure he can hear your heartbeat or maybe it’s his very own pulse roaring in his ears.
This is nice, Price thinks to himself, even finds himself humming along to the tune playing from your phone before he starts softly singing to you
“You know you’re bright as the morning, soft as the rain, pretty as a vine, as sweet as a grape “ Price gets so lost in the moment, he doesn’t even notice the amused smile on your face as he continues to sing. “If you can sit in a barrel maybe I’ll wait. Until that day I’d rather take my whiskey neat my coffee black and my bed at three,”
For many years Price thought that death was his ever lasting companion, that God was going to punish him for all the crimes he’s committed, that he’d end up all alone and loveless, with only the Grim reaper taking interest in such a sad and lonely man yet here he was drunk and dancing with the love of his life in your shared kitchen.
He indeed is a lucky bastard.
The gentle touch of your hand on his cheek, snaps him out of the little world he disappeared in and when his eyes flutter open, he’s met with your soft gaze and the warm smile painted on your face.
“What?” He says, and clears his throat, feelings his face turn red as ever
“Nothing,” you shrug, echoing his words from earlier with a small smile on your face and just as he’s about to ask a follow up question, you pull him in for a kiss.
All thoughts disappear as you mold your lips onto his. You mostly tastes of wine and of something sweet, probably the slice of store bought cake you sneaked in as dessert and Price finds himself addicted to it, easily getting lost in the taste, and the feel of your prickly hairs brushing across his chin, all while sweet grunts and groans tumble past your lips.
In that very moment he feels a surge of pride washing over him. See Price may harbor many insecurities but he knows how to kiss and he sure makes it clear as his own hand cups your cheek to deepen the kiss.
It doesn’t take much before he’s slipping his tongue inside your mouth, free hand sneaking under your pajama pants and cupping you in the palm of his hand.
“Oh- oh fuck,” you breathe out in surprise, eyes wide as he feels you twitch under his touch.
“How about we take this somewhere else hm?” Price says, playfully nibbles at your ear before he pulls away from your embrace and who are you to deny such request?
#this is justa. random blurb pls excuse mistakes i JSUT needed to let this out#call of duty#john price x reader#john price x male reader#john price#captain john price#captain john price x male reader#captain john price x reader#x male reader#male reader
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Where Do We Go? | CL16 & CS55
Summary: Charles will do anything to fix his marriage with you, Carlos will do anything to prove you're worth more. The question is where do you go between the two men fighting for your affection?
Word Count: 9.7k
Warnings: angst, a lotta angst, cheating, light smut, character death.
Note: You all really wanted a Part 2 to this one, and of course, I wanted to deliver! This is a little bit more angsty, we’re trying to save a relationship, after all. Or…are we? Also, a massive thank you to @formulaforza for proof-reading this for me and pulling me up on my addiction to italics; my brain is literally jelly right now. Enjoy, everybody!
PART 1: A House, A Home | PART 2: Where Do We Go? | PART 3: 'You Think, You Know'
Carlos Sainz is a best friend.
Best friends, however, do not text a love confession to one another in the hours of a rising sun, especially not when their declaration is to a woman who is wrapped up in the arms of her husband.
The confession had run cold through your veins; if it hadn’t been for the sheer exhaustion taking over your body from the events of the past 48 hours, you were certain you would have been up the entire night, contemplating the words he had sent to you. He wasn’t drunk; far from it, the man had driven you down the dusky streets to your home mere hours before. Was he lonely? Did he feel sorry for you? More importantly, did he mean those precious words that had lit up your screen?
Eventually, the desire for sleep, for the warmth of your estranged husband’s chest pillowing your back overtakes your body. You hadn’t slept in a bed with him since the last day of your supposed honeymoon; even then, you had slept with an infinite gap between the two of you, cuddling instead into a pillow, rageful tears in your eyes at the realization that this was now your life.
This was entirely different. Charles pressed into you as if holding you together; his warm breath danced across the nape of your neck, a hand pressed into your stomach, cradling you between the warm blankets and soft cushions you had picked out when decorating your room. You didn’t rouse during the night, the two before had been filled with tears, constantly awakening to call for your mother as if you were a child again, the harsh realization that she wasn’t around anymore.
When you did wake, the bed was empty.
You had subconsciously turned in the blankets when you arose, expecting to see the figure of your husband next to you. The pillow was still rumpled, his glasses disappeared from the nightstand, every single trace of him had seemed to evaporate. Clearly, one night next to you had been a big enough mistake in his eyes.
Instead, your attention turns towards your phone. Silently, you remove the device from its charger, the homescreen being flooded with sympathetic messages and photographs of you arriving at your father’s home. Luckily, no photographs of Carlos picking you up himself had been released; that would have caused a frenzy which wasn’t desired on either side.
However, his last text to you that evening before still stayed burned into your screen. In curiosity, you’d once again opened the text thread, seeing th
e words stand strong, his confession to his feelings presents for your eyes. He had laid it out so clearly, Carlos Sainz was in love with you.
But, were you in love with him? You loved your family; you loved the smell of fresh candles. You adored the sounds of the fastest cars in the world racing around a track whilst you watched with ease. Did you categorize your best friend into the love you so carefully crafted? Was the desire you felt for contact solely directed towards him?
You never had time to answer yourself that morning. Your subconscious state recognised the sound of footsteps; it was most likely Charles, on his way to his own room for some private time. Maybe he’d have his mistress with him, having snuck out of bed early that morning to possibly go and pick her up himself.
The footsteps get louder, the door to your room opens, much to your confusion. In the doorway, stands your husband. You’ve never seen him like this; a soft smile, hair pushed back by a bandana, glasses resting on the bridge of his small nose. He’s dressed in a soft, grey jumper and matching tracksuit bottoms, fluffy socks warming his feet. In one arm, he cradles a washing bag. Upon closer inspection, you see that it’s your washing from the case you had lugged in the night before, ironed and folded. In his other hand, he holds a steaming mug of tea.
He looks beautiful like this, almost ethereal. He looks domestic.
“Good morning.” He speaks gently, as if any sudden sound would hurt you. You looked…so precious, covered in blankets, your pajamas covering your modesty. “I’m sorry I had to leave early. I went to get your washing done and…pick up some tea.” He offers, holding up the bag of washing in confirmation. Charles offers you a smile as walks into the room, placing the pile of clothing on your vanity. Cradling the mug of hot tea in his hand, he walks back over to where you’re now sat up, surrounded by soft furnishings, offering you the drink which you gladly accept.
It's a mediocre cup of tea at best; the teabag hasn’t diluted properly, there’s too little milk and too much sugar. Yet, the fact he had made the drink himself caused your heart to soften, despite the past twelve months of actions. You offer him a soft ‘thank you,’ as the drink touches your lips. You’re half-expecting him to stand up and leave immediately. Instead, Charles sits himself down on the edge of the bed, making certain he doesn’t sit on your outstretched legs.
There’s a moment of bliss; you’re somewhat enjoying the drink cradled in your hands, your husband’s eyes trained on your movements. At one moment, he reaches out his hand towards your face. You flinch, not too sure on what was happening, before his palm simply tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. You can’t bring your own eye gaze to meet him, simply focusing on the hot drink in your hand. You can’t help but notice the way his shoulders fall, clearly not satisfied with the lack of eye-contact.
You can’t help it; it’s as if Charles believes with one night wrapped in his arms would solve the past twelve months. You couldn’t forget, not everything that had happened. Your husband had shattered this relationship, well and truly. He could only hope he’d realised in enough time to somehow win you back. Silently, he stands up from the edge of the comforter, walking towards the vanity, beginning to remove the clothing from its basket. It’s… humorous, to see him try and figure out where each category goes. It’s also a stark reminder of how this is ‘your’ room, not ‘our’ room.
Whilst picking out a rather revealing pair of panties, folding them up and placing them into your draw, he begins to speak again. “What are you doing this afternoon?” His voice is soft, but in the silent room it carries well.
You shrug, before realizing Charles has his back to you. “I’m…nothing much.” You cut yourself off, placing the cup of tea on your bedside table, letting your hands pull up the comforter a little higher. “My father is going to the funeral parlor today.” Are you…having a conversation with your husband? “How about you?”
“I have lunch with the Ferrari team this afternoon. Nothing serious, just a talk on the next part of the season.” He explains. Charles isn’t stupid; he knows despite your father’s input that you constantly worry about his job. Not because you care about his fame, wealth or power; you care about him.
“I was,” he takes a breath. “I was wondering if you would like to come along.”
You feel goosebumps prickle across your exposed skin. Charles Leclerc never invited you to his lunches. He’d always have a reason as to why his darling Mrs. Leclerc could never attend their lunch meetings alongside him. The only time you’d ever appear by his side, fingers harshly interlinked and a cold barrier between you both was when your father insisted upon it. He wouldn’t be there today, there was no way he’d be present for any form of meeting for a while now.
“You don’t have to, of course.” His explanation runs further. “I know it might be too much for you now. I just thought…maybe we could go for a drive after. Carlos and Xavi will be there, you’ll know some of the others from the Paddock…” His voice trails off in your mind. It had started to the moment he had said the Spaniards name.
Were you… ready to see Carlos? The day after a text message you had never thought you’d see. Would he acknowledge the message, was it a drunken mistake? Most importantly, did you want him to love you?
When you come back out of your trail of thoughts, Charles is still talking, carefully hanging one of your summer dresses onto a velvet coat hanger. He takes a moment to brush the fabric under his fingertips, feeling the soft cotton under his touch. He’s so gentle. The touch is almost identical to the way he had held you mere hours ago.
“I’ll come.” You cut him off, watching as his head snaps in your direction, eyes bright underneath his glasses. “Yeah. It will be…nice.” You finish your sentence, trying not to ramble or to float off topic. Charles’ eyes are still bright, elated you had decided to come alongside him. All he had to do now was fix every other mistake spanning over twelve months.
Carlos Sainz is a red-wine gentleman.
You’d immediately spotted him the moment you had entered the waterside restaurant; his back was to the entrance, but you’d recognise the powdered blue shirt and dark wisps of hair in any circumstance. You could have just walked over, stood next to him and ordered a drink, but your fingers stayed tightly interlocked with your husbands, a force of habit in public at the current rate.
However, his grasp, like the entirety of his actions over the past twenty-four hours, was different. Charles’ thumb gently stroked over your knuckle, his fingers gently resting against yours instead of the firm grip he usually held for the sake of actions. He’d taken a moment to look at you before entering the building, something he’d never done in the past, simply having dragged you into whatever location instead. It was as if his eyes told you a million things; that he had your back and the moment you wanted to leave, he was right behind you.
The moment you’re in the presence of company, the façade still comes alive, the act you had been creating for all this time is still a force of habit. Charles’ hand comes around your waist, greeting the many members of the Scuderia Ferrari team, thanking them for his time and attention to the matter. As always, you tactfully excuse yourself from the side of your husband, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek and removing yourself from the crowd. Usually, he wouldn’t so much as flinch from the chaste action, but you don’t miss his eyes longing for you to stay this time.
Instead, your heel-clad feet press through the tiles of the place, making advancements towards the white marbled-bar. You receive a nod from the friendly-looking gentleman mixing cocktails, a silent signal to let him know when you’re ready. Maybe you stand too close to Carlos, so much so that you can smell his cologne, you can feel his body warmth radiating through that shirt. It doesn’t take long for him to notice your presence, his eyes widening upon the realization that it was, in fact, you–the woman he had confessed his feelings to less than twelve hours ago.
“I didn’t realize you’d be here, Mariposa,” he taunts, pulling you into his side. You’re grinning immediately, happy to be reunited with your close friend after how he had left you last night, promising he’d be there if you needed anything. “Come to make sure your husband behaves?”
“No. I came to see how his teammate is behaving.” You let him ponder for a moment, but he realizes, the blush growing from his neck to his cheeks. “I’m a married woman, Carlos.” You remind him but make no attempt to move further away. The idea is completely eradicated when his hand comes out to rest on the small of your back. His eyes are still fixed on you. He knows he shouldn’t be doing this. It’s not fair to you. He couldn’t care less about his teammate’s position, the way he’s treated you all this time leaves a sour taste on his tongue.
“Your marital status doesn’t change the way I feel for you.” He thinks back to that moment in the ocean. What on Earth would be happening if he had kissed you at that moment? He could never be certain, but something tells him you’d be his date to this luncheon right now. Sighing, Carlos turns to face you directly, the bottle of wine he had originally come to pick up having been left on the counter.
“I’m going to ask you something, and you don’t have to respond.” He tries to keep his breathing calm, your presence practically overpowering him. “But...I would love to take you out for a date sometime. A proper date. With flowers and dinner and being able to make you smile.” Your heart is softening by the moment with the Spaniard’s pleads of everything your husband had never given you. “Would you like that?”
“I would.” You don’t even have to think of your response. “I would like that, Carlos.” At that moment, your estranged husband is the last thought of your mind; instead it’s overpowered by the fantasies of a date with the man standing in front of you. This time, Carlos can’t help the grin on his lips, reaching for the bottle of red wine on the bar. His careful hands carefully unlatch the stopper, the liquid hitting two crystal glasses, one of which he passes to you.
“Well, shall we toast the idea, no?” he holds up the glass delicately, to which you raise your own, grinning at the satisfying sound of clinking crockery. When you take a sip of the rich red, you’re blissfully unaware of your husband’s eyes; the ones which are never attached to you, but in that moment, don’t want to focus on anything else. Nobody misses the way he purposely sits between yourself and his teammate, fingers interlocked into yours tightly, the occasional kiss on the temple of your head.
You were his wife, after all.
Carlos Sainz is a brilliant cook.
The intimacy between yourself and your husband had oddly grown within the past week. To start, his messages became more frequent, checking in when he couldn’t be at the house. Your pantry had stocked overnight, begging for your home cooking whenever he could be there to sample it. Most importantly, the interaction. You’d been hesitant to even let your husband touch you in the beginning. You had kept it simple, a hug before you’d headed off to bed in your room, (sleeping in the same bed as him had been that one-off.) His arms would find their way onto your waist if you were cooking, his fingers would tuck a lock of hair behind your ear when you found yourself engrossed in studies.
Your husband had been elated when you had spoken to him two days before he was due to leave for Qatar, announcing you would like to attend alongside him; it was also your father’s wishes to attend that race, wanting to signal to his fellow associates that he was okay, that you could pass on a message from your family. Charles’ eyes had glossed over with happiness, taking your hand in his own, pressing a kiss to the back of your knuckles.
You were ready for your entrance to the Paddock 72 hours later; after arriving in Qatar, you’d barely seen anything from the transport from his jet to the hotel. Your eyes had grown heavy the moment your feet were removed from their shoes, two large beds welcoming you with their soft blankets and heavy pillows. (He’d made sure to give you the sleeping space that you needed.) Charles’ heart had softened when he’d seen you curl into one bed. When he returned from the bathroom, you were out like a light.
It didn’t stop him from gently rubbing a makeup wipe over your features, knowing you’d regret your lack of attention to appearance in the morning. Hesitantly, he leans forward, pressing a kiss to your hairline, one hand stroking over the back of your head before he returns to unpacking both yours and his suitcase.
You had been hesitant of attending the Paddock alongside Charles that morning, not because you were worried of the bombarding questions. No, this was the first time you had attended the paddock with a husband who seemed comforted by your presence. His heart felt gentle when he saw you look out of the front windscreen, eyes transfixed on the countless photographers standing by the barriers. Immediately, his hand finds yours, resting atop your thigh, the hot weather pleading for a cooler outfit.
“You don’t have to do this.” He removes his sunglasses, those ocean eyes finding your own. “You can wait here, or I can have somebody drive you back to the hotel now.” He promises, the worry flickering over his face. Your hand removes itself from his firm grasp, instead reaching forward and resting your hand on his bristled cheek.
“I’m okay.” You promise him, thumb dancing over his soft cheekbone. He offers you a soft smile, eyelashes fluttering as your face gets closer to his; you have no panic leaning over the console of the hire-car, gently pressing a warm kiss to the cheek your hand wasn’t resting upon. You can’t help but hesitate when you pull back from his face, lingering within mere millimeters of his lips for a long moment; you could just lean forward, press your lips to his and give into all those nights you had dreamed of. But this wasn’t a dream; this was your husband whom you needed to fix a relationship with first.
Charles isn’t going to lean forward and kiss you himself, not until the signals you are giving him are crystal clear. Instead, he presses his forehead close to yours, tips of your noses gently brushing against one another before he steps out of the car, and you’re quick to follow.
This time, he doesn’t walk in silence, ignoring your presence. Instead, as the two of you flash your paddock passes towards the security guards, he’s openly commenting on different happenings around Media Day, both of you falling into giggles upon seeing Toto Wolff’s broken arm; he was truly beginning to become an icon at the local emergency room. You’re happy. Subdued in a bubble alongside your husband, hands interlocked as you work your way through the paddock.
You’ve never experienced such a harsh blow to reality when you see an all-too-familiar figure lurking outside of the Williams Racing building. Her hair is shorter, her skirt is skimpier and a ghastly color. However, she still looks beautiful. She is undoubtedly the woman you’ve fought and lost your husband’s affection from, his mistress.
Charles seems to clock less than a moment after you do, both bodies freezing upon notifying her presence. You seem to have a quicker reaction time, despite being in the presence of a world-class Formula Driver. Immediately, you rip your grasp from Charles’ hand, showing him no emotion as you step away and into the Ferrari Building. You’re fortunate enough to avoid most of your fathers’ colleges, only once having to stop to give a sympathizing message of your mothers’ passing, the words being used are minute compared to the ache in your heart for her presence.
When you reach the top of the dark stairs, almost certain you can hear Charles’ voice below you. He’s searching for you now, but instead is overwhelmed by the amount of people in his presence. You’re able to sneak through the makeshift corridor, finding a large number ’55,’ pressed onto the door. You don’t even think, opening the door to a very tanned, very shirtless Carlos Sainz.
He's so… toned. The natural light from the window is reflecting beautifully onto his chest, broader than you’d last seen during your adventures at sea. His shorts hang low on his waist, making no attempt to shift his body despite your appearance. Instead, his dressing is overtaken by his concern for your face, immediately dropping the shirt fisted in his right hand, taking your gentle face in between both of his palms. You didn’t even realize the tears resting on your cheeks, the fear glossed over in your eyes that you’d ever trusted Charles.
Carlos doesn’t need to ask; he saw her on his own entry to the Paddock. Admittedly, he had to double-take; surely Charles wouldn’t have the audacity to bring his mistress to the other side of the world. He didn’t bother to glance in her direction too long, instead greeting the Ferrari team, excusing himself to go and get changed for their upcoming press appearances. In this moment, he’s held you against his bare chest, hushing you gently as one hand threads through your hair. Your mind is overwhelmed, from seeing your husband’s mistress, but from being pressed against his oh-so warm chest.
You don’t even realize, but your palms are resting on his chest, his skin so soft beneath your touch. Carlos gently hushes you, tilting your head up to face him, still cradled in his grasp. He could so easily reach forward, claim you there and then, but he realizes in that moment, under your soft touch and those doe eyes, you are the one who has claimed him. After a moment, he pulls back, motioning for you to follow him towards the couch, littered in Spanish-themed cushions and the enormous chili plushie you had bought him several months ago.
You can’t help the slight disappointment when Carlos eventually slips on his Ferrari Polo; however, you are interested when he reaches for his small fridge, pulling out a neat lunchbox, motioning for you to grasp it whilst he reaches for another. Curiosity takes the better of you, gently unclasping the lid of the Tupperware box. A beautiful aroma overtakes your senses, a carefully crafted meal nestled into the lunchbox. The Spaniard can’t help but grin at your reaction; sometimes something as simple as a homemade meal could lift your spirits.
And that’s how you spent the next forty-five minutes, sat on the sofa of Carlos Sainz’s driver room, the man sat on the floor as the two of you exchanged bites of food. There’s one particular moment where you offer him a spoonful of your lunchbox, watching as he arches his torso towards you.
It’s almost…sensual, the way his lips wrap around the top of the spoon, maintaining sole eye contact as he retracts his mouth from the utensil, letting his tongue trace around his lips for a chase of the taste. He knows what he’s doing; in his mind, all he wants is to show how adored you could be, to show he could be everything your husband never was.
It isn’t until Charles is finally free from the bombarding questions of his sponsors that he finally locates you in Carlos’ room. The man isn’t oblivious; he can see that the two of you have grown undeniably close. He can’t bring himself to say anything on the matter. He knows, in his heart of hearts, he has no right to make any assumptions; he was the one who had spent hours with a mistress, after all. Silently, he opens the door to the driver’s room, your figure perched upon the sofa, a grin plastering your soft features. You looked happy.
You looked like the most beautiful girl he had seen in his life.
You acknowledge his presence after a few moments, standing up from your place on the sofa, insisting the man tries Carlos’ cooking. It takes less than a few blinks of your eyes for him to submit, taking the spoonful off your utensil, making a comment towards his teammate that he would have to give him some lessons at some point. The man says nothing, simply nodding in a passive agreement.
There’s a sharp call for Charles after he wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. He shoots both you and his teammate an apologetic look before he makes his way down the corridor, gently closing the door behind him as to give you a sense of privacy; the last thing he wanted was to have you plastered all over social media pages when he knew it would purely be used for publicity purposes.
You’re still smiling when the door closes, your back to Carlos’ front. “He seems to like you-“
You were destined to never finish that sentence. Within a split moment, there are warm hands, rough hands resting on either side of your waist, twisting your body within his grasp. He takes two steps backwards, enough pacing to have your back pressed against the closed door: the coldness of the wood contrasting violently with the heat radiating off your best friend.
He couldn’t hold any emotion. Carlos Sainz wears his heart on his sleeve. That much is adamant, from the way his text messages were drafted, to the way he tilts his head, meshing his lips to your own.
They’re surprisingly soft; there’s nothing soft in the way his hands grasp at your waist, the way his body is pressing so deeply into yours. Yet, as his lips continue to entrance yours, they feel like clouds; a gentle stroke of a paintbrush. His artistry continues when his kisses get deeper, one of his hands enclosing yours, bringing it to rest around his shoulders, pushing the two of you closer together. Your other hand is interlocked by his, being stretched above your head, pinned to the door you’re resting upon.
He's waited so long for this, before lunch, before your moment in the sea. He’s wanted this since the moment you walked into the Ferrari Paddock alongside your father, you must have been etched into his heart.
Carlos isn’t thinking; his kisses are becoming rougher, one hand blindly reaching for your leg, almost bare from the shorts you had opted from your wardrobe earlier. He guides it to rest upon his hip, grunting when he can feel his hardened crotch press between your legs. His reality comes crashing down when he feels the cool band on your fingers entangling in his hair. Your wedding ring.
Ragged breaths, panting, he pulls away from your lips, pressing his forehead to your own in a sheer plea of comfort. Both your breaths are synchronized, both grasping for some form of air in the room.
“You’re everything, Mariposa.” He whispers, closing his dark eyes, enjoying his moment, taking every opportunity to imprint the feeling of your body, of your lips into his mind. He prays this won’t be the last time he holds you this way.
Carlos Sainz is a fast texter.
In the moments after you had shared the intimacy, hidden away in his driver’s room, he’s gone into a sheer panic. He’d overstepped, he’d made an advancement on you at your most vulnerable. When he had left for the press alongside your husband, he didn’t have a single chance to pull you aside, not when you had left the moment after the duo had been pulled into their press conferences. Simply, you were not waiting around to catch glimpses of the mistress, still proudly flocking around the Paddock as if it was her home.
It had taken a matter of moments to request a car home, having slipped out of the Ferrari building, talking to one of your father’s colleagues about your departure. Silently, you paced out of the building, a direct beeline towards the car park, head down from the ever-present photographers.
You hadn’t expected a text from either your husband or his teammate, considering that they were both in press conferences until further notice. However, when you had felt and grasped the device in your shorts, you had immediately noticed the soft vibrations, pulling your device out of your pocket, your eyes being illuminated by the screen of your phone. Two text messages. One from your father, one from Carlos. Your attention is drawn to the latter, curious on what your best friend has to say.
11:32: Carlos Sainz:
I’m really, truly sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable. I haven’t seen Charles yet to let him know you left. You don’t have to see me again if you do not wish.
11:36: You
It wasn’t you at all, I promise! I was aware that Charles’ mistress was about, I couldn’t stick about for that.
Carlos messages you back, almost immediately. You’re confused, considering he is due to be in press alongside Charles. He could be having a break; he could have completely skipped out on several media appearances.
11:38: Carlos Sainz
I wish you could have stayed longer. I meant what I said, every single word. Please let me know if you need anything.
11:41: You
I know, C. I appreciate it, even if I express it terribly. I’ll always be here for you, too. Always.
You never get to see the next message that Carlos sends to you. Instead, your phone starts ringing, an incoming call from your father. You’re certain that the chauffeur won’t mind you taking the call whatsoever, holding the device to your ear as your father’s tone fills the void, his words becoming numbing as he runs through the details of your mother’s funeral, the tears in his voice beginning to swell heavily.
Charles had left the Paddock as soon as he got notice of your departure. He hadn’t bothered to message, his sole focus being on returning to the hotel, to find out what on Earth had happened to you. He was fortunate enough to escape the wandering eyes of his ex-mistress, how on Earth she had gotten into the Paddock for that race was beyond him, especially since he had ceased contact from that day.
The car arrives swiftly outside of the hotel; immediately, Charles is rushing through the back entrance, beelining for the staircase; waiting for an elevator at this moment would be too much. Within moments, he’s fumbling for his key card, pushing the door open, his heart shattering at the vision in front of him.
You, his wife, sat on the edge of one of the king-size beds; your head is buried into your hands, heavy sobs racking through your body. He can see the goosebumps littering your skin, the solemn shakes running through you, the trauma of losing somebody you cared about so deeply, combined with a cocktail of emotions from your entrance to the Paddock had become too much.
He doesn’t care about boundaries, not at this point. Immediately, Charles has crouched in front of you, his gentle hands reaching to grasp around your wrists. There’s a flinch at the sudden contact; your skin had overheated from the sheer energy of crying; your husband’s cool touch was a stark contrast which made you shiver. Delicate touches pull your hands away from your eyes. They’re so red, so swollen. Had he ever made you react like that from his own actions. The Monegasque doesn’t want to question that right now, he can’t even bring himself to look into your broken eyes. Instead, he feels as your arms wrap around his neck, hiding your face in his neck, craving for somebody to just…hold you.
Your husband has no issue in that desire; he lets you remain like that, Charles on his knees whilst you cling to him, the tears dampening through his shirt. One hand slides across your back, kneading gentle circles into your skin. At some point, you move onto the bed, the man lying back on the soft furnishings whilst you rest your head on his chest, arms encircling you as if he could hold you together, until the storm in your mind passes.
When the tears subside, you finally find the energy to look up to your husband. He hadn’t reached for his phone, tried to find some form of entertainment whilst he held you to his chest for hours. Instead, his gaze had been fixed upon you, brushing a gentle stroke over your cheek, his fingers dancing against your skin, brushing away the tension from heavy lines and sobs. When your eyes do open, you’re greeted with a soft smile, Charles leaning down to press a kiss to the top of your head.
“Do you need some water?” His concern is to bring you back up to health; now the tears have stopped, he can do this. “I can order some food; would you like that?” His voice is so quiet, as if a simple loud sound could shatter through your veins. You can’t muster up more than a nod, your body becoming colder when Charles’ gently shifts away, sitting up so he can reach for the telephone. His voice is so mesmerizing, speaking down the line as he requests different foods; he doesn’t mind how much he orders, if he can coax you into even eating a little, the man will be satisfied.
The call finishes, but the man doesn’t sink back down into his previous position. Instead, whilst he remains sat up, Charles guides you to join him, your body still aching from your emotional breakdown. He murmurs under his breath as he pulls you into his lap, your body is tense until his strong arms wrap around your waist, the warmth instantly allowing you to relax, lean back into his firm chest.
“I’ve wanted to speak to you for a few days.” His voice is soft, but the phrase causes you to feel a sharp panic dance down your chest. Surely, this can’t be good. The relationship had evolved from barely speaking to intimate conversations within a span of two weeks. You try, try so hard to keep a clear mind as your husband continues to address you.
“How I’ve acted…how I treated you, all that time-“ He must stop himself, trying not to let his own emotion overpower his words. “I’m never going to be able to take it all back, and I will never be able to stop apologizing for it.” His whispers, his eyes growing misty with regret. “I will never forgive myself for how I treated you, nor do I ever expect you to forgive me. But…I want to try. I want to try and spend the rest of my days as you husband. I know…it won’t be overnight, but I’ll do anything, anything for you.”
The tears are rolling down your own cheeks now; never, in your wildest dreams, did you expect for Charles to speak those words of affirmation to you. His hand moves cautiously, to your face, wiping the tears which were pooling across your features.
“You’re so beautiful.” He whispers, letting one of his hands remain on your cheek. The man leans forward, pressing gentle butterfly kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, your nose…he pauses, mere inches from your lips. He wants to kiss you; he’d promised himself he wasn’t going to push you; his mind and his heart are complete opposites.
His mind goes into overdrive when you lean forward and press your lips to his own. They’re salty, slightly chapped, but undeniably something he has been craving for oh-so-long. Charles is immediately kissing you back, his grip around you tightening, keeping your body close to his own. Carefully, he shuffles the two of you back into a lying position, never once breaking the kiss, tumbling back onto the mattress.
Of course, you don’t miss his grumble of annoyance when the food eventually arrives.
Carlos Sainz is a gentle kisser.
An autumn breeze was strong on the dreaded day; the funeral had rolled around way too soon for your liking. Rows of family connections, close and distant friends lined the outside of the cemetery, eyes all transfixed on the black hearse rolling into view. Murmurs were pressed into silence, a bitter air all-too present as the ivory coffin was removed from the vehicle. Your elder brother and two cousins were to assist in carrying the piece into the church. Plans were soon suspended when the eldest of your siblings collapsed into tears, head in his hands upon the sheer realization that this was it.
Your father is desperately looking around, practically praying outside a place of worship that the eldest could pull himself together; it’s impossible. Whilst one of your arms is occupied, holding the hand of your young sister, the other gently wraps around his torso, comforting him in the ways he had done for you when you were nothing more than a young girl in messy braids and mismatched socks.
His wife stood on his right-hand side, adamant on consoling the man as you were, a caring hand running across his back. Your husband stood next to your sister, her childish eyes blinking in confusion; just like you, she had never seen her brother this inconsolable.
Charles feels a pain wash through him, he wants nothing more than to help his dear family through this moment. Maybe the act he was playing for so long was just a way of shielding himself from caring. Now he had bared his soul towards you, pleading for a second chance, the man wanted to be there for you, in every sense of the word.
He murmurs something incoherently, stepping away from your side, leaning towards your father’s ear. Whatever he mumbles is met with a sharp nod, a firm pat on the shoulder in confirmation. Your husband keeps a firm gaze on the coffin, not catching your own eyes as he walks towards the piece to join your cousins. There’s a quick whisper between the men, before the ivory is shuffled from the car, resting on their suit-clad shoulders. Silence falls over the attendants as your mother is carried into the church, immediate family following closely behind. Hesitantly, your eyes look to the crowding people, and as if by fate, you see his dark eyes, the fluffy curls brushed back to conform. He shouldn’t look that good in a dark suit.
Most noticeably, his gaze isn’t fixed on the church, on the six men carrying your mother. It’s transfixed on you.
The service is beautiful, if you can describe it like that. Flowers are placed atop of your mother’s coffin, the service of words correlating to her soul, the hymns sung were always her favorite when you had frequented church as a young girl. However, there’s a turning point. When the priest begins to speak of her dear children, tears pool in your lower lash-line. You want to take the time for yourself, to mourn, but louder sobs are emitting from next to you; the youngest child is beginning to realize her mother is truly gone.
You’re torn; pulling her towards you would only make you cry harder; you had already seen your father and brother fall apart, silently knowing you would have to be the one to wait by the door, thanking the copious guests for attending. Her tears are suddenly quietened when you see her gently shuffled into Charles’ lap; despite the estranged relationship for the past twelve months, he’d always had a soft spot for your sister, she reminded him of when Arthur was young. Whilst her tears turn softer, he runs a hand over her back, letting the young girl rest her heavy head in his sternum.
The open gap in the seating allowed for you to shuffle closer towards your husband, his free arm wrapping around your torso. You had to remain sitting up straight; his presence right now would have to be enough for your comfort. To any unassuming eye, you would probably look like a family, the crowds of attendants would have no idea of the true story behind your marriage. Even on the darkest days, the narrative was played well.
When the service draws to a close, final prayers are spoken. The first to rise are your father and brother, both clinging to one-another as they must leave the building. Silently, you pull yourself away from your husband’s grasp, smoothing the skirt of your dress. Charles remains seated, your sister practically passing out atop of him. Today had been a heavy day for a child, after all.
There are rows of people pausing to console you on your loss whilst you stand at the door of the church; friends you had known for oh-so-long, members of the Scuderia Ferrari team; you had never seen Fred Vasseur cry, but the redness of his eyes told you something completely different as he took one of your hands in his, squeezing it in apology.
The pews filter out silently, a large group of the guests making their way back to your father’s home, the wake soon to begin, a blessing and want of your late mother. Sharp footsteps are emitted through the church, the penultimate duo being your husband and sister. He was still carrying her, head resting on his shoulder, almost completely asleep. Charles smiles at finally seeing you, using his free hand to run across the back of your head.
“I’m going to take her back.” Charles explains to you. He understands you don't need the pressure of looking after her atop of everything else bound to come your way. “Let me know when you’re done here, please?” Silently, you nod, no hesitation needed as he leans forward, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, bidding you farewell as he paces out of the church, holding your sister tightly in comfort.
You believe that’s everybody, ready to collect your belongings and thank the priest for a heart-warming farewell. Before you can even think to turn around, there’s a light cough, emitting you to spin on your heel.
He’s there. Still clad in his designer suit, hair pushed back behind his ears. Undeniably, Carlos Sainz looks good in any situation. He holds your bag in one hand, the other reaching out to clasp around your wrist. You gasp at the warm skin pressing to your own, heat radiating through your body. The man leans down, letting his lips brush against your own, a sweet feathering brush pressing onto you. Carlos wanted to be there for you, more than ever on what would be the hardest day.
Seeing Charles take that position had made his blood boil.
His grip on you remains tight as he leads you out of the church and towards his own car, parked in the most secluded section of the lot. When his grip falters to hold your hand instead, he doesn’t aim to correct it, instead only holding tighter. He only removes his grasp to unlock his car, sliding himself into the driving seat, pushing the recliner back as far as it would go. When the space is present, he guides you to rest atop of his lap, arms tightening around your waist as he lets the door close, bodies pressed together tightly.
“Is this okay?” He murmurs, keeping your faces so close together. The built-up emotion, the desire since your last kiss had built a fire in your stomach, not so much as speaking before pressing your lips to his own. Whilst your own movements had become desperate, craving for some form of emotional release, his remained feather-light, one hand tangled into your hair, the other resting firmly on your waist.
His lips are soon ghosting over your cheek, fluttering across your jawline and landing on your neck, small whines emitting from your lips as he seeks to trace his tongue over your sweetest spot. The sensation across your body, the hot touch of his skin and an undeniable bulge now settling between your legs.
There’s a sudden realization that you needed to go home. Being with Carlos was the affection you desired, your heart knows however that right now, your family needs you. Hesitantly, you pull away from the man’s lips, feeling utterly guilty for the pleading look in his eyes as you rest your forehead against his own. He could never hate you for it, though. In his eyes, you could never draw that feeling from him. You don’t need to say anything, he knows.
“I’ll drive you back.” He murmurs, pressing one final kiss to your lips before allowing you to slide into the leather passenger seat.
The drive to your father’s home is almost silent; there’s an occasional rev of the engine, various horns from different cars along the highway. A part of you always prays that each drive with the Spaniard could last forever, you could drive into the distance and live happily ever after. The fairy-tale is soon dissolved when you pull to the driveway, hearing the engine of the car cease. Your eyes find Carlos’ side profile, still transfixed on the road ahead.
“Are you coming in?” You ask gently. He sighs, the grip on his steering wheel becoming tighter.
“I can’t see you that close to him, Mariposa.” He murmurs, finally finding the courage to look you in the eyes. “Not when I want to be that close to you.” One hand finds its way off the wheel, entwining your fingers together, peppering light kisses against your knuckles. “Please call me when you go back. I’ll miss you.”
“I’ll miss you too.” You whisper, leaning to press a kiss to his stubbled cheek. In that moment, Carlos Sainz is your savior. He’s your truth.
Carlos Sainz is a liar.
Your knuckles had turned white from the grasp on your phone, you didn’t want to believe anything you were seeing. What was supposed to be an impromptu browse of Twitter whilst waiting for your husband to finish in the en-suite, had turned into a deep dive through a certain hashtag, having seen information spread on a certain Ferrari driver.
It had started as a simple few tweets, some fans and gossip pages reckoning they had seen the driver in an exclusive club, some random blonde sitting on top of him. The photos came second, though the angle was skewed, the quality too weak to see who was there. The final nail was the video; Carlos’ hand placed on her waist, how he had done to you mere hours ago, his mouth pressing against hers, clearly nothing else on his mind.
Granted, you knew you had no right to feel the anger you did; after all, you were married, Carlos was a single man, free to do as he desired. Yet, your rage was fuelled by the romantic, now seemingly empty promises he had made you; how you were his everything, how he would treat you better than Charles ever did. He was no different than Charles Leclerc, and as your fumbled fingers reached to his contact, your rage felt inclined to tell him that.
The phone rings once, twice, three times. You’re set to hang up, leave a particularly nasty text message to the man before the line connects. Immediately, your eardrums are overtaken by the loud pulse of a nightclub, some feminine laughter almost directly on top of him.
“Are you okay?” He asks. Clearly, he’s now intoxicated, his accent is always thicker when he is. You hear another voice, telling him to hang up the phone and to come and dance with her. “Hey- are you there?”
“I’m here.” You snap; why do you feel this enraged? You must have done so when you first saw Charles with his mistress; that had become such a common occurrence that the fire in your stomach must have eventually drained. “And clearly, you’re busy with the woman climbing all over you.”
“Fuck- you left me hanging!” He retorts, drunken mind clearly pressing against any form of sober thought. “You went back to your husband. Left me with nothing. Fuck the funeral.” He snaps, clearly now becoming enraged with the entire situation, with the fact he had been caught out. The words pressed through the speaker of your phone and emitted a wave of sobs from your stomach, immediately pressing the red button on your device.
Carlos Sainz wasn’t in love with you. He just liked the distraction.
Of course, as fate would have it, the moment that your tears began again was the moment Charles had left the bathroom. He’s dressed in just a pair of boxers, chest bare and tone after his warm shower. The sound of the door opening caused you to turn to the source. His eyes widen, scampering towards you, cradling you in his arms, bare chest against your cheek. Silently, you sob into his body for the third time that day, wanting nothing more than for every form of pain to stop.
“Hey, come on.” He whispers, arms circling your body, pulling you tight against him. He thinks that seeing you cry will get easier each time, that the pain in the pit of his stomach won’t continue to eat him away. However, it never gets easier; he hates seeing you cry, every single time. “It’s been a long day, yeah? Let’s get some sleep, baby.”
The nickname sounds foreign on his tongue, though neither of you question it. If anything it causes more emotion to flicker through your body, the fact that your estranged husband was finally beginning to give you. Silently, he guides the two of you into the large bed, cradling you to his chest as he had done whilst in Qatar. Sleep and emotion overtake you, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder as a ‘thank you,’ before drifting into a state of slumber.
The sleep means you miss a vital update from the Twitter threads you had been closely following earlier.
‘Carlos Sainz leaves exclusive club ALONE, despite dating rumors arising with mystery blonde.’
Carlos Sainz is your best friend.
You returned to the following day; the entire time remaining at your father’s house had consisted of nothing but tears. You had been especially concerned for your sister, watching the way she had clinged to Charles when the duo was saying their fond farewells. After a tight hug from each family member, your husband hand interlinked your fingers together, guiding the two of you to his own car, each free hand carrying along the suitcases.
The first hour of the drive home had been quiet, the buzzing streets had morphed into greenery, the sun beginning to set across the coast. Your eyelids couldn’t find it to grow heavy, having done nothing but sob and sleep for the past twenty-four hours. Instead, your focus turned to the radio, a familiar song trickling out of the speaker, one you hadn’t heard in almost eighteen months.
“Is this…” You ask, fingers reaching towards the dial, turning the volume up slightly. Behind his sunglasses, Charles grins. You hadn’t expected him to recognise the song, let alone be aware of where he recognised it from.
“Our first dance.” Your husband laughs, both nodding your head to the music. One hand on the wheel, he reached out his other hand to grasp yours on his own, a gentle squeeze passing through each hand. “We’ll have to dance to it again, properly next time.” He promises to himself, eyes focused on the road as he continues to drive you both home.
It’s almost dark by the time you have arrived back at your driveway. The stones are dipped in the darkness, the only illumination being from the headlights of Charles’ iconic vehicle. Your eyes flicker towards the doorstep, convinced the sleep is playing tricks on your mind; why on earth was there a figure standing on the doorstep to your house? They were slim, feminine, holding a cream envelope in one hand, a designer bag resting atop the other.
The familiar feeling of who she was began to nestle in your stomach. Surely, it couldn’t have been her; even your husband would not have the audacity to invite her to the house, right after you had returned home from what was quite possibly the saddest moment of your life. It couldn’t be her, even if every sign pointed towards the truth, you’d begin to search for the tiniest detail; her hair was too short. Your stomach snaps when you realize it’s the identical haircut from the Paddock mere days ago.
“What on earth-“ You hear your husband begin to speak, turning off the engine to the car. He looks over to your figure, but you show no emotion, no reaction on the exterior. Immediately, he has stepped out of the car, violently slamming the door behind him, causing you to snap out of the trance the woman had placed you upon.
Your eyes fixed upon Charles, his mistress trying to reach out into his touch. She’d pressed the envelope into his hand, continuing to speak. The words were clear through the thin glass of the car’s windscreen, divorce, pictures, evidence.
You couldn’t stick around to watch this activity play out. Immediately, you reach out for your phone, breathing uneven as you scroll through the contact list, searching for his name. Despite the last twenty-four hours, you were not too sure who else to call. It takes less than a moment for him to answer, your words rambling and falling over one another, pleading for him to come and collect you. He speaks firmly, commanding you to stay in the car, he would be there as soon as possible.
Charles is so deep in conversation, pleading for his mistress to reconsider, that he doesn’t see you slip out of the car, stepping down the driveway into the awaiting car of Carlos Sainz. He makes no intention to show you affection when first stepping into the vehicle, his only intention to get you out of the situation as soon as possible. Whilst silence filled the space between you both, you had sent a text to your husband, confirming your disappearance.
23:01: You
I’m so sorry, I can’t be there when she is, not anymore. I’ll be back at the house tomorrow. Thank you for everything.
There’s no response. If you’re completely honest, you were not expecting anything else, not whilst he was engrossed in conversation. The street is quiet as you pull into Carlos’ driveway. Saying nothing, the man simply removes his keys from the ignition, before leaning over your frame to open your door, ever the gentleman. Of course, his eyes catch yours as he leans back, creating a deep gaze for oh-so-long. Carefully slipping out of his gaze, you leave the car, walking up the steps to his apartment, the door opening for your arrival.
It's homely. Clearly lived in. Shoes are thrown across the entrance mat, coats hanging in the rack. Although it is primarily basic, a little bare, there’s touches around the complex which warm your heart; a photograph of the man with his sisters and father, a helmet you immediately recognise as Lando Norris’ resting atop of a bookshelf. There’s fine wine glasses resting atop of his coffee table; clearly ready for their usage before your untimely call.
The details become irrelevant the moment you feel his warm arms circle around your middle; the rising of your hoodie lets his body heat radiate onto yours. Carlos doesn’t need to say anything, his face comes towards the joint between your neck and your shoulder, using his nose to brush your hair away, exposing the skin he craves to mark.
“Mariposa.” He whispers, hiding his expression in your soft skin. “I can explain her, I can explain who she is, I didn’t-“
This time, it’s you who rolls around in Carlos’ touch, your arms entwining around his neck, pulling his lips to touch yours. The Spaniard does not need convincing, his grip on your waist immediately tightening, pushing your bodies closer together, if that was even humanly possible. This time, when his lips begin to trail down your neck, there’s no hesitation left in your mind, letting the man dance across your skin, leaving small bites, trails of his tongue against you.
You realize it’s you, making a small whine as he pulls away from your body, catching his breath whilst his tanned arms reach to the bottom of his shirt, exposing his chest once more. This time, your fingers fumble to find the hem of your hoodie, pulling the clothing atop of your head, exposing the laciest bra Carlos had ever seen. There’s a grunt from the back of his mouth as he darts forward, one rough palm scooping your breast from the lingerie, his mouth immediately finding your nipple, tongue tracing across the sensitive skin whilst his stubble rubs against your exposed flesh.
He doesn’t let up, not even when your legs go weak. His mouth remains firmly attached, using his arms to instead scoop you into his grasp, your whining sheer pornography to his ears whilst he carries you into his bedroom.
He will simply ruin you for every other person, and god forbid if he lost you now.
You realize hours later, somewhere between your post-orgasm haze and the combined warmth of Carlos’ hoodie and his firm arms that best friends did not have intense, body-numbing sex in the middle of the night, specifically when one of them was married, the other one a close friend of her husband. Yet, it somehow feels normal, as if this had been the longest impending explosion. Of course, you had explained to the man the reasoning for calling him out so late, for him to simply hush you, promising you would have never been a burden to him. The further questions of what is to come next are pushed to the back of your mind.
Your sleeping state misses two key moments. The first? The slight camera shutter from a phone as Carlos places his device back on the nightstand, snuggling down into the blankets, his dream to hold you whilst he slept finally arising.
The second? Your phone finally buzzed with a response from your husband, unable to sleep without knowing you were in the large house alongside him.
02:51: Charles Leclerc
I’m in love with you.
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CHRISTMAS CUDDLES | JEON WONWOO
Wonwoo hated sleeping alone - it was cold, lonely, and he had nothing to cuddle, so it wasn’t a surprise he woke up grumpy when he noticed he was alone in your shared bed.
This was the first night he got to spend with you in what felt like forever, and he was so excited he ran to your bedroom dragging you with him. Wonwoo couldn’t count how many times he woke up in his hotel bed in the middle of the night wishing he was with you, to feel your familiar weight on his body, your breath on his neck as you’d place your head in the crook of his neck.
Yet, you still had the nerve to leave him.
“Hpmf,” was the only thing he managed to say, his mind still clouded with sleep. He patted your side of the bed to check if you really were gone, and unfortunately for him, you weren't there.
Sighing, Wonwoo decided there was no point in lying alone because he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep anyways, so he blindly reached for his glasses lying on the bedside table, putting them (probably crookedly) on his nose. “Love?” He mumbled, rubbing his eyes to wake himself up a little.
The second he stepped out of your bedroom he immediately knew where you wandered off to - the living room had the temperature of a refrigerator, which meant one thing - the terrace door was open. Wonwoo smiled to himself, because of course that would be the only place you’d leave your warm bed to go to. Especially since it was snowing.
Taking some extra blankets from the couch, knowing that he would get cold quickly, he opened the terrace door wider and finally found his little elf that disappeared from his bed, who was sitting wrapped in his sweatshirt and a pile of blankets, looking calmly out at the city.
You didn’t mean to leave him just like that, you knew how happy he was to spend this night with you after such a long time apart. But you couldn’t sleep, no matter what you did and how hard you tried. Then you noticed it started snowing, and that was the last straw for you - you pecked your boyfriend’s forehead, took his hoodie and a bunch of blankets, and went to your favourite place in your apartment.
“What are you doing up?” You asked, extending your hand towards your sleepy Wonwoo. He looked adorable with his messy bed hair, sticking out in every direction, and his slightly annoyed pout, which made him look like a little grumpy cat. “You’ll get cold.”
“Then you shouldn’t have left the bed,” he mumbled, sitting down next to you, and pulling the blankets he brought over the both of you. Wonwoo made sure you were properly tucked in before kissing your cheek and resting his head on your shoulder, grabbing your slightly sweaty hand under the blankets.
“Sorry, I just… I couldn’t sleep,” you sighed, kissing the top of his head, hoping he’d take it as your apology. “And I didn’t want to wake you up, so I thought that I could maybe go out for a second and maybe then I’d get sleepy again.”
“S okay, baby,” Wonwoo kissed your shoulder, smiling up at you. “I’m actually glad you couldn't sleep. The city looks seriously so beautiful now.”
“I thought you’d say some corny shit like “the view is nice, but you’re more beautiful” or something,” you laughed, nuzzling your nose into his messy hair. His laugh sounded like the most beautiful melody that you could listen to over and over again, and the fact that it was because of you that he was laughing.
Nothing could top that feeling.
“I missed this. I missed you,” he said, looking out on the city. You weren’t sure if the pinkish blush on his cheeks was due to the wind or if he got shy, but you couldn’t help but grab his chin to turn his head in your direction and peck his lips lovingly.
“I missed you too. And I love you, Jeon Wonwoo,” you said as he scrunched his nose, kissing you again.
You sat like that for a while, soaking in each other's presence, enjoying each other in silence, until you remembered one small thing. “You know we have to start making the Christmas dinner in a couple of hours, right?”
“We could always ask Mingyu if he could cook for us,” Wonwoo buried his head in your neck with a whine. “We are the hosts this year, baby,” you laughed. “We can’t always use Mingyu as an excuse.”
“I guess it’s okay as long as we’re together,” he sighed.
“Okay, we need to get you in bed, sir. Let’s go,” you wrapped your arms around his waist under all of the blankets, trying to pull him off the couch.
Key word - trying.
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hii baby! I know you're not taking requests right now but maybe if you're looking for inspiration you could do some headcanons or something with the Uchiha's and spending a cold winter night with them? Like what are their favorite ways to keep warm? It can be NSFW or sw hehehe
warnings: smut, unprotected sex, mentions of trauma, mentions of drinking, kissing, non-massacre AU
word count: 1.4k
pairings: Sasuke Uchiha x Fem!Reader, Itachi Uchiha x Fem!Reader and Madara Uchiha x Fem!Reader
a/n: I know this is going against my hiatus mention, but I've been wanting to write this request for so long! I hope you all enjoy, and if it gets popular enough, I might write a part 2 with Shisui, Obito and Izuna!
He’ll act like he doesn’t want the comfort and the company, but inside he’s dying for you to come over. Especially if it’s cold and there is snow falling outside. He’ll wait for you at his home in the old Uchiha compound, a fire burning bright in the fireplace.
You brave the winter cold for your lover, and you find him in comfortable clothes just waiting for you. Sasuke pretends to be nonchalant about the whole affair, but in reality he is so happy not to spend another lonely night alone.
You two settle by the fireplace, and he finds you something of his to wear. Once you’re both snuggled together, he mentions making some stew for dinner and for you both to spend the evening together fireside.
Sasuke and you prepare the food in the kitchen together, humming to some silly songs and bumping into one another every now and then. It puts a smile on his face to see you breathe life into this place after everything that’s happened.
After dinner, you help him clean up. You’re so good to him, it really warms his heart. Then you two head back towards the fireplace, a blanket is wrapped around the both of you. A bottle of wine is passed back and forth.
It doesn’t take Sasuke long to pounce on you. His lips are hungry for you. His touch is desperate. His hand caresses you all over as he begins to undress you. With the wine and the fire, things are heating up so fast.
Then he pushes you down onto the ground, his lips attaching to your neck and kissing down to your breasts as he removes your shirt. You look so beautiful like this, your cheeks so flushed and your eyes heavy with lust. Sasuke feels a warmth so deep inside of him,
He kisses you sweetly as he begins thrusting into you, the blanket on top of you both to keep the heat between you two. He feels so in love right now. Nothing could make this situation any better.
But he’s proven wrong when you cup his face and bring him in for such a romantic and loving kiss. You put so much love into everything you do with Sasuke, and while he thinks you’re too good for him, you prove to him that he deserves love.
He cums so deep inside of you, with a loud cry of love. It’s all so passionate and sensual as he rides out his high. As he slowly comes down, he rests his head on your breasts and catches his breath. Then he looks at you and you see all that love in his eyes. “Will you always stay with me?” He asks, a blush on his cheeks. “I’ll never leave.” He knows you mean it too.
You’re on a mission with Itachi to the Land of the Snow. You knew it would be cold, so the two of you decided to pack for the worst. You knew it could get stormy out there too sometimes. You didn’t want to be without.
Arriving in the village, you and Itachi are glad for dressing very warmly. You pull your coat around you even tighter, and you’re grateful for changing your footwear to something more weather appropriate.
At the inn, you’re given a room with a private onsen. It has lots of windows so you’re able to look out at the beautiful starry skies as you soak in the tub. Before you can even get a good dip, you and Itachi are getting your mission done first.
As you are both very important members of the ANBU, Itachi and you are there to gather intel. He leads you into one of the buildings, and he notices just how much the cold is affecting you. He holds onto your hand tightly, making sure you aren’t too chilly.
After you gather the intel there, you and Itachi move onto the next place. This goes on for a few hours, and Itachi grows even more concerned for you. You’re shuddering as the chilly wind blows harshly and leaves your cheeks all red and chapped.
Once back at the inn, Itachi orders you both some room service. He figures some warm stew and some sake could help get the chill out of your bones. You sit by the heater, warming yourself up. Itachi sits near you and the two of you eat to your heart's content.
After you’ve had your fill of food and a few cups of sake, Itachi suggests a nice dip in the onsen. He helps you undress and you do the same for him, caressing his beautiful body. You’re excited to be here with the love of your life.
The water is just perfect as you both slip into the bath. Itachi keeps you close to his body, his arms wrapped around you as you lean against his chest. His hands slip into the water as he begins kneading your plush thighs.
“Pretty girl,” he purrs against your neck. He nips at your soft skin and you let out a soft moan when you feel his adept fingers brushing against your clit. Itachi has no problem getting you so riled up like this. He could easily make you cum.
Before you know it, he has you sinking down on his erect cock. The two of you let out sweet moans of pleasure as you settle back down against him. You feel safe in his embrace, and more than aroused as he begins to start up his slow and steady pace that has you dizzy. You know this will be the perfect way to end such a chilly mission.
It’s a late winter night, and Madara can’t sleep. He’s plagued with all sorts of nightmares and traumatic thoughts. He sits by the fire, contemplating his life. He wonders what he could have done to make things different for himself and for others.
As he thinks about this, you wake up in your bed without him. You wonder if he needs some time alone. You aren’t a stranger to the way things are for him. Especially in the dead of the night in the middle of winter. It’s too quiet for him to really get any kind of peace.
You find him by the fire, and you drape a blanket over his shoulders. He hums happily when he feels your warmth. There’s only a few people who can pull him out of this funk, and you’re the one who truly knows how to do it the best. He doesn’t know that he deserves you, but he’s grateful for you.
“Are you alright, love?” you ask in a sweet voice. He leans against your legs for a moment, looking up at you. You’re glad to see his Sharingan isn’t activated, which means he isn’t too caught up in his thoughts. You lean down and press a soft kiss to his forehead.
“I’m just lost in my thoughts, darling.” he says truthfully. He lets out a breath he was holding, and then you sit behind him. You wrap your arms around him, pressing your face in the wild mass of his hair and inhaling his beautiful scent.
He doesn’t need much more to calm him down. He turns around to face you, pressing soft kisses all over your pretty face. Madara is so enamored by you, he knows that you’re the most precious thing to him in this life. He’d do anything to keep you close and safe.
He lays you down on the blanket you brought to keep him warm. The wind blows loudly outside, making you both shiver. But the warmth of him pressing himself against you quickly warms you up. You kiss him passionately as he settles himself on top of you.
Your fingers tangle in his hair as you begin making out. His saliva tastes so good to you, it’s making your heart race like nothing else. You’ve always loved the way he kissed you like he was so hungry for you. It makes you feel so special and so desired.
His eyes are dark with lust, but the moment he undresses himself and he’s able to push his hard cock into your slick heat, his Sharingan activates. You’ve always told him not to waste his powers on you, but he’s admitted that it happens involuntarily sometimes whenever you two are intimate.
He rocks his hips as his cock fills you up. Madara feels all of his stress begin to melt away as you wrap your legs around him. Naughty words as well as sweet praises fall from his lips. He’ll be able to sleep after he fills you with his sticky seed a few times tonight.
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Little Love Letters | c.s
pairing: dark!neighbour!mean!dom!carlos x sub!reader
warnings: psychotic behaviour, obsessive behaviour, possessive behaviour, pure manipulation, inappropriate usage of ropes, usage of a knife, smut, cnc, dacryphilia, forced blowjob, gagging, brief mentions of killing somebody, brief mentions of stalking
w/c: 3.1k
summary: After receiving multiple creepy letters by an unknown stranger, you scarily run into the arms of your sweet, spanish neighbour carlos — sadly, you ran into the worst embrace you could have possibly ran into.
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Feeling lonely in your 20's is probably something a lot of people feel. The problem is, that literally all of your friends — who are the same age as you — are most definitely not lonely, they are either in a relationship or already married, one of your old Highschool friends just recently gave birth to her little babygirl.
And you are not even able to remember the last time when you talked to a man that wasn’t your gay best friend or your neighbour carlos.
Carlos, the kind Spaniard next door was very sweet and also quite attractive in your opinion, but you still never really felt the specific spark between the two of you when you crossed paths and talked for a bit.
But even though you had no partner and only a few friends that you barely saw since you’ve moved, you didn’t feel that alone.
Especially not since some unknown stranger — or maybe even 'secret admirer' sent you letters, every. single. day.
At first, you thought that it was a joke and ignored it, but after you’ve received the fourth letter, you knew that this was not a joke, this was serious.
Of course it scared and confused you, since nobody expect for your three friends know your new address, but at the same time, it wasn’t that bad.
Sometimes, this mysterious stranger filled the letter with sentences like,
“Each time i see you, you only get prettier.”
“You are the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen, my love, ever.”
“I wish I could kiss you right now beautiful, wish I could feel your lips on mine.”
But sometimes they brought tears out of pure fear into your eyes,
“One day I will get you into my hands and I will never let you go, I promise you that y/n.”
“You will be mine, if you like it or not my darling, you will be mine.”
“I would kill for you, I would do absolutely anything for you y/n, anything you want me to.”
You gulped as you read those words, sometimes even wiping some tears away since some of his letters were filled with dark and psychotic sentences like that.
And since you were so scared — and also since it got everyday only worse and worse — you ran to the only person that you knew in this new town, your neighbour Carlos.
When you knocked in his door on a cold night at around 9 p.m., Carlos looked at you like you were crazy since you were only in a lose pair of jogger and a thin tanktop, making him quickly step aside and lead you into his cozy and especially warm home.
“Cariño, what are you doing here, don’t you have a jacket or a coat? C'mere,” he told you, placing his hand onto your back and leading you into his house, “It’s so cold outside, you’ll probably catch a cold y/n.”
But you only shook your head before you sat down onto the big couch in his living room, biting your lip before he got on his knees in front of you, being almost at eye level with you now.
“What’s wrong? Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Carlos quickly raised his brows before he scanned your body with his eyes, rough palms reaching out to grab your hands, turning your arms around and glancing at your unharmed skin.
You sighed before you pulled your arms away from his touch, briefly making him gulp. And if you haven’t lost your mind already, you could have sworn that you’ve noticed that he looked rather mad at you for a quick second as you basically threw his hands away, but you were probably just seeing things by now.
After letting out a long sigh, you shook your head, “N-No, I’m not hurt, don’t worry Carlos,” you spoke up, making him release a long breath, “I guess I’m just a bit…scared,” you admitted as you felt tears building up in your eyes, quickly trying to blink then away as the Spaniard furrowed his brows,
“Scared? Of what?” He asked you, lightly stroking your legs with his big palms now, listening to your voice explaining everything to him,
“It’s just, there are those extremely weird and scary letters that I’ve been receiving for a while now-”
Carlos immediately interrupted you, “For a while? Cariño, for how long? Why have you never told me,” he asked you in a strong Spanish accent.
“About a month now-”
“A month?” The Spaniard raised his brows, caressing your legs, “You should have told me y/n.”
You gulped before you shook your head and muttered a quick 'it's nothing' before you went on,
“Of course I felt a bit…watched as I got the first letter but the letter was actually filled with…really nice and sweet words, so I just smiled before I threw him away,” you continued your story, swallowing down some tears while you felt Carlos squeezing your knees almost like he was mad about the fact that you threw them away,
“But after some while the letters got…worse.”
Carlos tilted his head to the side, shaking his head before he spoke up with furrowed brows, “What do you mean when you say worse?” He asked you, thumb caressing your cold skin now,
You cleared your throat, “Well, they got creepier, sometimes this unknown stranger wrote things like, 'I would kill for you' or 'I am the only one you’ll need for the rest of your life,” you told him before you sniffled, quickly wiping a single tear away, making Carlos change his almost too serious facial expression in a matter of a second.
“Oh no, cariño,” he immediately spoke up as he noticed your wet eyes. Carlos raised one of his hands and wiped your tear away, cupping your cold cheek with his big, warm hand afterwards.
“Don’t cry, I know that all of this is very scary for you,” he mumbled reassuringly, “If you don’t feel save enough in your house, you can stay at my place tonight,” he suggested as you looked down at him, “I will keep you save, I promise,” Carlos told you with a sweet smile, making you laugh into his palm.
Carlos briefly laughed along before he stood up, towering over your sitting figure now, hand brushing your hair out of your face now,
“I will always keep you save, mi cariño,” he told you with more of a serious tone, only a tiny smile covering his lips now, making you quickly furrow your brows before you smiled up at him,
“Thank you, Carlos.”
“Oh,” he chuckled before he made his way to the kitchen, “No need to thank me.”
You wiped some more tears away before you stood up, Carlos standing in front of you now with two glasses filled with probably very expensive red wine, making you gasp.
“Only one glas, cariño, c'mon,” he smiled at you, basically pressing the glass filled with the alcoholic beverage already in your hand without giving you a chance to say anything.
You chuckled and flashed him a wide smile before you mumbled a quick 'okay', both of you saying a quiet 'cheers' before you emptied your glasses, Carlos closely watching you while you just enjoyed the wine.
“Wow,” you spoke up as you handed him the glass, “That was a really good one, not gonna lie…definitely needed that one,” he laughed at your statement, cleaning the glasses while you just stood in the big kitchen, slowly blinking your eyes.
Carlos turned his head and looked back at your slightly stumbling figure. And if you weren’t hallucinating, you could have sworn that you saw him smirking at you.
You gulped before you released a deep breath, smiling in his direction, or at least you tried to smile in his direction, “That w-was a s-strong one,” you chuckled before you heard Carlos chuckling as well, making you furrow your brows as you felt like the entire room was spinning around you, groaning as you squeezed your eyes shut.
“Oh really?” He asked you, honestly, you were very surprised that you were even still able to understand him.
You swallowed before you touched your head, desperately trying to stop the spinning, “Y-Yeah, a very, very s-strong one, c-carlos,” you whined out, gulping a second time.
you blinked another time, and another time — and this time, your helping neighbour stood right in front of you.
“C-Carlos, I don’t feel,” you breathed out as you felt like you were on the brink of fainting, “so g-good,” you finished your sentence, quickly falling straight into the arms of the Spaniard, passing out in his warm embrace.
Carlos sighed after he caught you, “Each time I see you, you really do get prettier mi cariño.”
- - -
Waking up with a headache, with the feeling of a bit of dizziness and ropes around your wrists and ankles, was definitely something new for you.
Desperately, you tried to get free by tugging on the ropes that are attached to the wooden bedposts but no matter how hard you tugged on them, I didn’t work, there was no chance for you to escape any of this.
“Oh, you’re awake,” Carlos suddenly spoke up, making you lift your head and look with wide eyes at your Spanish neighbour. You gulped before you spook up with a trembling voice,
“C-Carlos,” you nervously breathed out, furrowing your brows as he stood next to your tied up figure, fingertips now gently running up and down your bare leg since he only left you in your underwear. “W-What is g-going on?” You asked him as you felt his hand creeping closer to your barely covered pussy.
Carlos only grinned down at you before he answered your question, “Let’s play a little guessing game, alright?” He tilted his head to the side, waiting for your answer.
Suddenly, Carlos pulled a little but sharp pocket knife out of his pocket, opening it, clearly wanting to make sure that you know how serious he is about his 'little guessing game', so you quickly nodded your head.
“Good,” he replied before he went on, “Do you think that… a man, send you those letters?” He asked you curiously, making you slowly nod, “okay,” he nodded along your silence answer, “Do you think that the man that send you those letters, knows you? I mean, like, has seen you before in person?”
You gulped before you nodded again, briefly squeezing your eyes shut as his big fingers started to circle your clit,
“Do you think that you know him?” Carlos asked you, briefly focusing his gaze onto his moving fingers now before he looked back at you.
You nodded again as tears build up in your eyes, hands tightly gripping the ropes as you felt like you were getting close to your release.
He nodded along again, “okay,” he quietly muttered, “Listen, I’ll give one last hint, alright?” Carlos asked you, making you quickly nod again,
“He said that if he gets you in his hands one day, he will never let you go, he promised you that,” he told you with a wicked smile on his lips right before you widened your eyes, tears gliding down your heated cheeks as he made you come through your panties with the tip of his fingers.
You wildly trashed around as you gasped and choked on your cries, sniffling and whining while Carlos slowed his movements down, eyes still looking at your face. He groaned,
“Just like that, mi cariño, that’s my good girl,” he whispered before he asked you, “Who do you think wrote those letters now?”
You gulped with fresh tears in your eyes as you looked up at him, squeezing your eyes shut as the realisation came over you, “Y-You did.”
He nodded, “That’s right, smart girl,” he quietly replied with a smile as his fingers left your pussy, gliding down to you ankles now,
“Since you were so smart and won the little game, I’ll get you out of those ropes now, okay?” He raised his brows as he lowered the little knife towards your ankle.
You barely had enough time to nod before he already removed the ropes around your ankles, quickly freeing your hands as well, giving you the ability to slowly sit up and look at him,
“What do we say? Thought you were so smart, baby.”
You gulped with tears in your eyes, “T-Thank you,” you slowly and softly replied, making him proudly smile down at you,
“No problem,” he replied with a nod of his head.
Then, Carlos stepped away from the bed, taking a few steps backwards until his back almost hit the door, making you furrow your brows before you wiped some of your tears away, focusing your gaze on his movements.
Carlos wiggled his pointer and middle finger in his direction, “C'mere,” he demanded in a quiet but stern tone, making you gulp before you stood up as well and slowly took cautious steps in his direction.
As soon as you were right in front of your fucked up neighbour, Carlos raised his head, clearly showing you that he’s visibly taller than you, making you feel unbelievably small in front of his broad figure.
“Get on your knees.”
You opened your mouth as you raised your head and looked up at the Spaniard, biting your lip as new tears made their way into your already wet eyes, “Oh no, no, no, mi cariño,” Carlos suddenly spoke up in a way softer tone as he cupped your cheeks, wiping some of the tears with the pad of his thumb away, “Está bien, solo ponte de rodillas por mí.” It’s okay, just get on your knees for me.
Without saying or doing anything else, you lowered yourself onto your knees since you were genuinely scared of him at the moment, knowing he could do anything he wants to you.
“Fuck,” Carlos mumbled under his breath, slowly running his finger through your hair, “Such a pretty sight, mi cariño,” he whispered in a deep tone while his other hand slowly unbuckled his belt, quickly freeing his very obvious erection.
You blinked some tears away since it all got so blurry by now, gulping again as he put the tip of his big cock in front of your still closed mouth.
“You know what to do, c'mon.”
Sniffling one last time, you opened your mouth, letting him shove himself into your mouth, hearing him groan and moan as he shoved himself so far into your mouth until he hit the back of your throat, making you gag around him.
“C'mon,” Carlos whined a bit, faking a pathetic pout as you just focused yourself on breathing through your nose, “J-Just like that, f-fuck yes,” he groaned as you squeezed your eyes shut and took him as far as you possibly could, briefly making him smile down at you.
“Buena chica.” Good girl.
You whined around his big, wide dick, fingers squeezing his navy blue slacks as fresh tears blurred your vision again as you looked up at him while he forced himself down your throat.
Your neighbour groaned as he caught your gaze, briefly chuckling under his breath as he noticed your smudged mascara under your eyes. Suddenly, he quickly removed himself from you, having a tight grip on your head by the roots of your hair, “Apologise,” he demanded in a deep tone, making you furrow your brows as you sniffled.
“W-What?” You spoke up in a quite and unsure tone, “For what, c-carlos?”
Carlos threw his head back before he growled, harshly grabbing your head and forcing your face towards his erection again, mercilessly shoving his cock into your mouth and down your throat, making you gag again.
But he only forced himself for a split seconds down your throat, then he pulled out again and forced you to look up at him, “Apologise,” he harshly repeated but you were still confused.
You whined, “F-For wh-” but before you were able to finish your sentence, Carlos forced his cock down your throat again, holding your head in that exact position for a few seconds before he let you go and pulled away again, groaning as he did so while you only whined and sniffled, quickly wiping some of your tears away.
His next move suprised you a bit, Carlos slowly bended down so he was eye level with you and wiped your tears away, pouting a bit and actually looking sad and sorry, “Do you really don't know what I mean?” He asked you in a rather kind tone, quickly making you shake your head as he wiped new tears away, stroking your cheeks afterwards.
He slowly nodded, “okay mi cariño, I’ll give you a hint again, alright?” He tilted his head to the side before you nodded your head, “o-okay.”
“What did you do with the first letters after you’ve read them?” Carlos asked you in a deep but kind tone, making you bit your lip as you through about what you’ve done after you’ve opened them and read them — and then it made click.
“I-I threw them a-away,” you slowly answered as soon as Carlos rose to his feet again, sternly looking down at you now, “exactly,” he nodded.
You gulped before you squeezed your eyes shut and quickly spoke up, smiling a tiny bit to make it seem more believable, “I am s-so sorry, c-carlos,” you wildly claimed, “I regret t-throwing them a-away! I swear t-that as soon as I-I'm home, I’m g-gonna get them o-out of the trash b-bin and f-frame them in my b-bedroom, I promise!”
Carlos only furrowed his brows and confusingly tilted his head to the side, “As soon as you're home? Mi cariño, you are at home! And don’t worry baby, I’m gonna go over to your house then and get them out of the trash bin for you and frame them myself,” he proudly told you, “and then we can hang them up! Either in the living room or the bedroom, wherever you want pretty girl,” carlos stated with a small smile as you gulped before you slowly nodded,
“O-Okay,” you answered before Carlos spoke up again, “Does that sound good for you, baby?”
You quickly nodded, “Y-Yes carlos,” you said, “sounds g-great.”
He stroked your cheek, briefly bending down to kiss the top of your head, “Perfect, I love you,” he claimed with a happy smile.
You looked up at him, briefly furrowing your brows before you replied, “I l-love you t-too.” You mumbled as you leaned into the touch of his palm with salty tears in your eyes.
#fanfic#fanfiction#fem!reader#f1#carlos sainz imagine#carlos sainz#carlos sainz x you#carlos sainz x reader#carlos sainz jr#carlos sainz jr x reader#carlos sainz one shot#Carlos sainz angst
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Heeey, I saw you are writing for fairy tail😍😍 I am obsessed. Can I please request a Natsu x Reader fiction. I don't have anything specific in mind. Maybe they are on a quest and reader is cold and Natsu helps them warm up. I don't know, just pure fluff!!! Thank you!!!!!!
just a lil drabble while im sick :)
natsu was my first ever anime crush and ive been feeling so nostalgic about him <3
late night cuddle.
you tried not to make it obvious, but it was getting harder by the second.
just why the hell was it so cold?
it had been like that for the entirety of the mission but bearable in the midst of everything. natsu and gray's bickering, coupled with light chattering with lucy and erza had been enough to keep your mind off of it on the trip here, and then once you were in the thick of it, it was pretty easy to ignore too. fighting, after all, built up quite the sweat.
but now? with no sun and just the dark, lonely sky, and a sleeping bag that was as thin as the shirt you were wearing it? it was so much more harder to ignore now.
a glance over your shoulder to your teammates tells you they're pretty much all asleep themselves, except for natsu who'd elected to keep first watch. happy had first volunteered to join him, but twenty minutes in you'd heard natsu chuckle affectionately and send him off to bed too.
so, that left just him and then the rest of your teammates peacefully asleep.
your eyes flicker to lucy next to you; you could ask her if she wanted to share a blanket and sleep close for warmth. you knew the girl never really wore the most appropriate clothing so she wouldn't mind and it wasn't like it was your first time ever having to share a sleeping bag before.
but.... but she looked so peaceful. her eyes shut and her lips parted just slightly as her chest rose and fell with soft breathes and you remember how she'd gotten hit partically hard earlier in the fight. the large bandaged bruise on her cheek a swift reminder and you didn't want to wake her up especially when rest was probably the best thing for her.
not to mention, wendy was off with gajeel and levy for a mission so she didn't have wendy's soothing healing magic to ease any of the pain.
yeah. no. you definitely were not disturbing her.
you glance to your other teammates. you loved gray, but he definitely wouldn't warm you up—if anything, he'd probably just make you more cold. erza wasn't an option either. you'd made that mistake once before and your head still hurt from being slammed against her armour (which she wore to bed, of course) and then kept against it for the entirety of the night.
happy was nice to cuddle with but he wouldn't keep you all that warm.
finally, your eyes flicker back to natsu. his back is turned to you and he's sitting crossed-legged by the edge of the camp, completely in his own world. he'd be warm, the warmest out of everyone, given him being a fire dragon slayer. but... the thought of... of asking him to warm you up brought an instant flush to your cheeks, embarrassment coursing through your entire veins and that idea gets reected instantly in fear of your feeligns.
so, relectantly, you're turning back around, letting your head fall against your thin pillow again.
you shut your eyes, forcing them shut and pull your knees to your chest, holding your blanket tight against you, praying that even just a bit of warmth will allow you to fall asleep.
a cold burst of wind has you shivering a second later and your teeth practically chitter against one another and you give up on sleep all together then.
with your blanket still wrapped around your shoulders, you make your way to where natsu's sat, sitting an appropriate distance from him.
"y/n?"
natsu's voice is soft, an odd tone you've never really heard on him before as his head tilts to face you, confusion written across his face.
"what're you doing up?"
"couldn't sleep," is all you offer in explanation, pulling your blanket closer around you. sending him a soft smile, you gesture behind you. "you can head to bed if you want. i can keep watch."
for a split second, he looks like he's gonna agree, the exhaustion clear on his face as he moves to thank you. then, wind brushes through the camp once again that has your hair swishing and your shoulders pulling in, a hiss leaving your lips as you try to fight through the bitting wind. natsu halts to a stop.
"why couldn't you sleep?"
you barely realize natsu's asked you a question until suddenly his face is right in front of you, concerned.
"o-oh!" you let out, startled, leaning back and using your hand to catch yourself. regrettably though, just the mere presence of natsu so close already makes you feel warmer. "it's no biggie!" you laugh off lightly, despite how good he feels so close. "i was just a little cold so i thought—"
whatever you're about to say gets promptly cut off the second you're being pulled flush against a firm chest. it all happens in a second. it's like you blink and suddenly you're being lifted off the ground and into a lap where a pair of arms wrap snuggly around your waist and you're completely surrounded by warmth.
"n-natsu!"
"here," natsu whispers, gruffly and it nearly sends you into a heart attack. "i'll keep you warm."
you blink, turning back to see him grinning brightly down at you. that same toothy grin natsu always has and the same one that always sends flutters through your stomach and has your heart racing madly against your chest.
you can barely stand it in general and even less when it's directed solely at you.
"oh," you manage to force out. "you—you don't have to, natsu!" you wingle in his grasp, trying to scoot off of his lap, but natsu's grip stays tight around you. "i meant what i said. you should get some rest and—"
"y/n?"
"...yeah?"
natsu's grin fades but only to turn into something softer. a warm, gentle grin falls on his face as he shakes his head. "you're practically shaking. you even feel cold, and that's a lot coming from me." you frown, just then realizing how cold you really had been. "it's fine. i offered to keep watch in the first place and besides? who better than me to keep you warm, right?"
there's a possessive edge to his tone that you don't quite catch.
the way he says it so nonchalantly has you absolutely reeling. so much that all you can manage in response is a weak hum and a nod as you turn back ahead of yourself, slowly and cautiously letting your back fall against natsu's chest.
"comfortable?"
you can feel his chest rumble as he speaks.
"y-yeah," you nod, letting yourself sink into his touch more, unable to deny how warm he is. a good warm. a really good warm. you can already feel the exhaustion you'd been feeling all day catching up to you as your eyelids grow heavy.
"thank you, natsu."
you say it just as your eyes fall shut, unaware of the warm smile natsu glances at you down with as you fall asleep in his arms and in his lap.
"no problem, y/n/n."
-
"damn, natsu, i didn't think you had it in you."
"shut it, droopy eyes."
"hey—!"
"they're in loveeeee~!"
"seriously, though, natsu. i... i certainly wasn't expecting to wake up to this."
"yeah, natsu. if you forced her, i—"
"what! no! what kind of guy do you take me for! i didn't force her to do—"
you let out a moan at the flutter of noises overwhelming your senses. all you can really register is how warm you are and how comfortable you are. the thought that you could stay here forever crosses your mind and you move to just go back to sleep, and then—
then. you remember everything.
being cold. unable to sleep. going to natsu. and then... then him pulling you into his lap and—
you snap awake, bolting out of natsu's arms who pulls back in surprise at your sudden movement. it takes you a second, blinking the sleep out of your eyes, before your gaze shifts from natsu who's smiling at you, with a faint pink to his cheeks, to the rest of your teammates stood in front of you.
gray looks smug, sending you a smirk as you turn bright red. erza looks utterly confused, her eyes snapping between you and natsu. happy is barely able to contain his laughter. and lucy's looking at you like you've grown a second head.
it occurs to you that you should say something.
turning to them, you raise your hand; "it isn't what you think."
"it's exactly what you think."
"natsu!"
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Bi-Han x Fem. Reader
A little sad tbh but like yk i try to give good endings. Also Bi-Han is mean asf but it is just due to their circumstances so beware you might want to punch him in the face. Also this is not proofread so any errors you see, just ignore.
The amount of tears shed for Bi-Han was outrageous. His actions could be absolutely deplorable. When they first married, she thought that there was a chance he would not be so cruel, but he had made it clear that their marriage was for power rather than true love. It hurt, it hurt her little heart and it made her cry during the lonely nights when her thoughts got to her. She had lots of thoughts of whether she was good enough for Bi-Han or if they would ever love each other. She had already loved him, but he did not give her the same energy back. It was futile.
“Wife,” Bi-Han said to her as he entered the room. “Join us for dinner, now.” There were so softness behind his words, but she bit back her increasing emotions. “Yes, Grandmaster.” She said back after she swallowed the built up saliva in her throat. He waited for her to get up and join him so they could walk to the dining room together. Kuai Liang and Tomas sat there together, waiting patiently as they greeted her with a smile.
Sitting down carefully, they started their usual traditions before eating their food. It was a little quiet with only Tomas and Kuai Liang speaking at first with Bi-Han chiming in when he wanted to. The brothers tried to include Bi-Han’s wife into their conversations, but she was quiet. They wondered if it was part of her personality or if it was because Bi-Han was sitting next to her. Watching her every movement.
That was, until Bi-Han and Tomas began to argue, well, more so Bi-Han arguing while Tomas sat there and Kuai Liang tried to play mediator. It made dinner extremely tense.
“You do not have Lin Kuei blood.” Bi-Han spat at Tomas who only gave him a look of ‘what’s new’. “So your words are pointless.”
“Bi-Han.” Kuai Liang said in a warning-like tone. “Do not ruin dinner with your bicker.”
“And you stay out of it, little brother. Do not stick your nose in something that does not concern you.” Bi-Han kept going. It was like he was here to just ruin their day.
“Bi-Han,” she said softly. “Let’s just enjoy dinner.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “I do not expect anything less from you, incompetent girl.”
She felt her heart beat fast and her ears feel warm. Whether it was out of embarrassment or a flood of emotions coming, she looked down and tried to control her breathing. She did not want to cry in front of them. She could not show weakness.
“Bi-Han, maybe you should be a little nicer?” Tomas suggested which Kuai Liang shot him a look of ‘stop making it worse for yourself’.
The Grandmaster swiveled his head to meet Tomas’ gaze. “Silence you fool. Your words have no meaning, you are not one of us. You could hardly ever hold a marriage together, just like you could not hold your parents together.”
“Bi-Han!” Kuai Liang hissed.
She felt herself snap. “Grandmaster, you need to leave him alone!” Her voice cracked as she stood up and looked at Bi-Han. “You are cruel and cold. You treat your brothers so horribly. How can one even appreciate you when you are so disrespectful?” Tears brimmed her eyes and her vision blurred.
Tomas was taken aback. He had never been stood up for like this, especially with an outburst. Kuai Liang always tried to be peaceful, but she was different.
Bi-Han’s face scrunched in irritation and annoyance. “If you are going to be emotional, then leave us to our own devices. We can finish dinner without you weeping all over the food.”
Her eyebrows furrowed as more tears fell. “You are sick, Bi-Han. No wonder no one would marry you, you are barbaric.”
“Your insults do not affect me. Stop wasting your breath and leave.” He continued to dig his knife into her heart.
She turned away from the table, storming off and leaving the dining room to retreat to the bathroom in order to let herself cry. As she left, she heard Kuai’s sharp tone and Bi-Han’s rising voice begin to argue but her blood was pounding in her ears. Sobs wracked her body as she curled into a ball on the large, cool bathroom. Bi-Han’s words cut deeply, and as much as she thought she could be overreacting, nothing eased the pain in her heart.
How could one be so mean to his brother like that? Whether they were not related by blood or not, it did not matter. Tomas was one of them. He deserved the respect he never got, especially from the Grandmaster.
There was a quiet knock at the door and she sniffled, wiping her swollen eyes as she sat up. She heard a muffled voice. “It is Tomas, please open the door.”
A little reluctant, she opened the door as she continued to wipe away her tears. Tomas looked at her guiltily. “Please do not cry, it is not your fault.”
“He is mean to you, Tomas.” She said as she felt more tears coming. “You are his brother no matter what. You deserve much more respect.”
Tomas sighed. “It is okay, little sister. It is not your battle to fight. I hate to see you so emotional over me.”
She started to cry again, but this time Tomas hugged her. “It is okay, I am okay. I have learned to ignore Bi-Han’s words. They will not falter my attitude.”
This did not ease her heart. Just as Bi-Han’s words cut into her, his words to Tomas did just as much damage. “He is too cruel to you, Tomas. You are lovely and always so generous. You do not deserve it.” She whispered into his shoulder. Tomas heard her words and felt himself smile. No matter what she cared for him.
Embracing her for a few more minutes, Tomas offered to take her out of the home for a little bit to give herself space away from Bi-Han. Tomas knew he would not exactly apologize for his words or actions, especially when he felt very little for the woman he married. It was only for business reasons rather than true love. Tomas and Kuai saw the love she felt for Bi-Han, but they could not say the same for their brother.
Bi-Han never had a so-called filter. He spoke what he truthfully felt no matter how harsh it would sound coming out of his mouth. His brothers were adjusted to this, but his wife was not. He did not understand, or maybe he did not care, that she would be extremely wounded mentally with every rude remark he made.
This sadly happened a night when Bi-Han came to their living quarters in a horrific mood.
“How was your day, Bi-Han?” She asked him as they got ready for bed. He ignored her which made her feel unwelcome, but she tried not to let it affect her deeply. “I am sorry for asking.”
“Stop speaking for once with your incessant mumbling.” He said grimacing. “You do not need to fill the air with your annoying questions.”
The same feelings she had felt many times before begin to crawl their way through her body. “I apologize, Grandmaster.”
“Stop apologizing. Be better.” He replied. “Or is that too much to expect from you?” He never seemed to know when to stop.
“Do not say mean things because you are upset.” She retorted back. She was afraid of his reaction as she already started to feel the overwhelming emotions of weeping.
“It is the truth. You seem to be more annoying when you are nervous or trying to be nice.” He said with a frown. “I have never met anyone as annoying as you.”
She felt the tears begin to flow out of her eyes as she got up from their bed. She did not want to speak so he did not know that she was crying. “Are you going to cry like a baby? How old are you? Why are you like this? If I had known you would be this way, I would have not married you in the first place.”
Night gown flowing behind her, she quickly left their living quarters as she was once again crying her eyes out. His words ached. How much could she take before she could not anymore?
He did not follow her out. Whether it was because he was too prideful or he did not see anything wrong with what he said, he did not make an effort.
She made her way to Kuai Liang’s living quarters. He and Tomas were enjoying a quick cup a tea when they heard the weak knocks at Kuai’s door. They knew it was not Bi-Han.
“Little sister,” Kuai said warmly as he opened the door. He then noticed her shaking form and her tear stained face. “Are you okay?”
She cried more when he asked that question. That question seemed to make her feel so much worse. So vulnerable. Kuai Liang brought her inside of his room and closed the door. Tomas got to his feet fast as he approached her. “Oh no.”
It was hard to speak, but she did her best recalling her and Bi-Han’s argument. Kuai Liang looked concerned, eyebrows knitted as he shook his head when she told them what Bi-Han said to her. Tomas frowned and felt his heart squeeze at Bi-Han’s cruelty.
“I will never understand him.” Kuai said as he gently rubbed her back. “He has such an important person in his life, yet this is the way he acts.”
Tomas made her a small cup of tea and coaxed her to drink as she cuddled into a blanket he draped over her. Kuai Liang’s hands warmed against her skin. “He is not one to understand. His actions in general do not have an explanation.”
“It does not make it any more fair. He hurts the one person who loves him unconditionally. Many of us Lin Kuei do not have that opportunity.” Kuai replied. He sighed. “Bi-Han has always been rude as a child. We are used to it because we grew up together, but you, I do not expect you to be used to it or even deal with it in the first place.”
She chuckled with sadness and despair. “I have to deal with it. He does not understand. He chooses to not understand. It is he who I married, and as much as I love him, the hurt I feel consumes me everyday. He does not ease it. It hurts very much.”
They felt their own hearts splinter at her words. The fact that she had to go through this did not make them feel good. They wanted Bi-Han to be better for her. That is what she deserves.
“You need rest, a lot of it. You can sleep here with me, and Tomas may even join us.” Kuai said with a small smile as Tomas nodded.
It felt a little weird to be sleeping in the same room as the brothers because of how adjusted she was to sleeping with just Bi-Han or herself, but Kuai gave her the mattress while he and Tomas took the floor. She felt guilty and tried to argue with Kuai Liang, but he only shushed her and made her lay down to sleep.
When she woke up in the morning, Kuai Liang and Tomas were gone. She assumed it was for their duties. Sighing quietly, she got up from the mattress and made up the bed before she left. She had her own duties to attend to, but she needed to look presentable.
Leaving Kuai’s chambers, she first went to the bathroom to bathe and get ready. Her eyes were extremely swollen, and she could feel the sadness come back once more. How could Bi-Han be so mean? Even with his tough exterior, she could not comprehend why or how he could be so mean to her or his brothers. Soaking a wash cloth, she gently laid it over her eyes so the swelling could go down. She knew it would not fully help her broken blood vessels on her eyes and the swelling, but it would suffice.
Meeting Bi-Han in the morning was a little angering for the brothers. When they looked at him, all they could see was his wife crying into Tomas while Kuai rubbed her back. They could hear her cries and whimpers as her body shook with every harsh inhale she took. They knew Bi-Han was cruel, but to his wife? It bothered with Kuai Liang’s heart because of how he could not picture himself doing that to Harumi. But he and Bi-Han were very different in personality, so they were bound to be different in how they loved.
“What has your minds clouded?” Bi-Han asked sharply. He crossed his arms as he saw the dazed but fiery look in his brothers’ eyes.
Kuai shook his head. “It is nothing, brother.”
“If it’s about that weeping willow, I will personally throw you into the river myself.” Bi-Han muttered. Kuai’s eyes narrowed. “Forgive me, but elaborate.”
Bi-Han rolled his eyes. “My wife does not need to come to you for her problems. I can handle them myself.”
“Unless you are the one creating them for her.” Kuai replied. “You are rude to her, Bi-Han.”
“I only married her for the clan’s sake. I do not love such a feeble woman like her.” Bi-Han spat. “Her emotions control her. That is not like the Lin Kuei. She needs to grow tougher skin.”
Kuai felt his frustration burn. “You need to take it easy on her. She is not a man, brother. She is not adjusted like we are.”
“Who are you to stick up for my wife?” Bi-Han was now face-to-face with Kuai Liang. It was an intimidation tactic. “It is none of your concern.”
“I’m sticking up for her because she has difficulty doing so.” Kuai replied with hints of irritation. Tomas watched silently as his brothers fought. “You only have the opportunity to know the very few special people that come into your life, and when they are gone, they are gone for good. Appreciate what you have. One day, she will not be here any longer. And all she will remember you by is your cruelty.” Kuai turned away from Bi-Han and walked off with Tomas not too far behind him. Bi-Han watched in anger as he felt the tip of his ears pink with frustration and shame. To be told such a thing by his brother, someone lower than him, was embarrassing. Who was he to tell him how to be a husband? Kuai Liang was not married himself.
Bi-Han stayed away from his brothers and dove into his duties and plans, only interacting with Sektor and Cyrax. His mood was extremely dampened, and he continued to snap on Sektor and Cyrax who were beginning to become fed up with his behavior. They kept their mouths shut, but they exchanged irritated glances when Bi-Han was not looking. He was being eaten alive by Kuai Liang’s words and his actions. It was rather humiliating for a Grandmaster to be checked by his own brother.
It was dinner time and the men gathered around the table to eat. However, Bi-Han’s wife did not join them. Maybe it was from a mistake of before. Once they did their traditional business before eating a meal, Kuai Liang looked at Bi-Han. “I apologize for my outburst earlier, brother. I still stand by what I said, but I apologize for humiliating you.”
Bi-Han’s lips were pulled into a straight line. “Just eat, Kuai Liang.” This was the closest Kuai would get to a simple acceptance, but Bi-Han was still fuming. Dinner was tense and awkward, and the brothers wanted nothing more than to get away from Bi-Han’s presence.
Still in a bad mood, Bi-Han finished dinner and went to his living quarters where his wife lay reading a book. Clenching his jaw, he closed the door. “Stop going to my brothers for our problems. It is between a husband and his wife, not his brothers.” He said with a snarky tone.
She set her book down. “I had nowhere else to go, Bi-Han.”
“You could have stayed with me and dealt with your problems. When you married me, you married the clan and I. But that does not mean you need to include my brothers in your drama.” He fought back.
She felt her heart rate increase and her emotions choke her throat. “It is none of your business who I go to for moral support.”
“It is when it is my family and they cause issues for myself because of it.” He snapped. “Why don’t you think of your decisions, you stupid girl. It is not that difficult to grasp. Stop telling Kuai Liang and Tomas about our marital problems.”
“Then stop being so mean to me like you are now!” She replied angrily. “You always call me unnecessary names. You like to put me down. I am already low as it is since I married you!”
“It is not my fault that your father wanted to better his status of his clan.” His eyes narrowed and he approached closer to her. “It is not my fault that you have fallen in love with me. You knew from the start that our marriage was not based around love. It has always been based around business, and that is the way it will stay. I will never love you, and that is the truth.”
Sadness was not enough to describe it. Her bottom lip trembled as she felt herself break right in front of Bi-Han. She cried quietly at first, until she got a little bit louder. Her breathing was uneven, Bi-Han almost a little concerned if she was breathing well. His face fell, tilting his head as he watched her cry. Something in him made him feel bad. Worse than bad. Like he was a monster. She shied away from his touch, moving her body away as if he was poisonous to touch. He stiffened as her crying became worse. It was as if she was going to get sick.
“You need to let me take you to the bathroom.” Bi-Han said as he reached another hand out, yet she moved back from it. It was beginning to frustrate him, but there was nothing he could do. “Please let me do what I need to do.”
Her mind was frazzled as she felt all of her pain flow out of her. Bi-Han was eventually able to grab her wrist and help her up onto her feet, guiding her to the wash room. Bile was building up in her throat as she felt the weird sensation of throwing up. Bi-Han was able to put her on her knees and grab a bucket, putting it in front of her. “If you need to get sick, use this.”
Her breathing was choppy, her hands uncovering her face slightly and he was able to get a glimpse of her red face. He felt guilty. He knew that she was emotional, but to this extent? He was unknown to it. He rubbed circles on her back as she did eventually get sick. He held her hair back too and stayed quiet while she emptied her stomach. All of this because of what he had told her. He truly felt like a monster. He was now beginning to understand Kuai Liang’s outburst.
Once she started to quiet, only her hiccuping could be heard, he frowned. “I… I am truly sorry. I really am.”
She did not reply as she hardly looked at him. It still hurt. A ‘sorry’ was like a band aid on a wound that needed stitches. Looking at Bi-Han would make her break all over again.
He sighed as he took a washcloth and wiped her mouth from any residue, throwing it to the side and picking her up bridal style. “To bed.”
She could not argue with him, she felt exhausted and her head was thumping crazily. Her red-rimmed eyes were so swollen, it looked like she was squinting at everything. Her nose was still red along with her cheeks. Bi-Han laid her down and crawled into bed after her, reluctantly yet gently pushing a few hairs back off her forehead. “I am sorry. I did not know it was to this extent.”
Silence was all he got back. He understood that he did not deserve any words. He caused this, and it was his job to pick the pieces back up. Even if he did not love her, he could not let his wife deal with it by herself. He had already done it before. Hearing her breathing slow down, he held her close to his body. The guilt wracked him. He felt terrible for what he had done. Kuai’s words echoed in his head.
‘You only have the opportunity to know the very few special people that come into your life, and when they are gone, they are gone for good. Appreciate what you have’.
He thought of his mother. She was a special person in his life. She adored Bi-Han, she loved him, she took care of him. She was there for him when his father would push him to his limits and he would pass out from exhaustion. She was there when he received the ability to control ice. She was there for a lot until her death.
But after she had passed, he had no one else to do that for him. Until his wife came into his life. Whether it was for business or not, she still made sure to take care of him after he came home from fighting. Cleaning and stitching his wounds up. She took care of him similar to how his mother did.
He looked down at his wife’s sleeping form in his arms. He now felt ashamed. So ashamed he almost wanted to leave her to sleep by herself away from him, but he decided that he needed to be there. It was for her own good. He closed his eyes and lulled himself to sleep.
Bi-Han was gone the next morning when she awoke which was not a surprise to her. She rubbed her face gently, careful to not irritate her skin much more. Her crying had already done that enough.
She looked at the side table and was a little taken aback. There were flowers on the table. She assumed they were from Bi-Han. She carefully picked them up and inhaled their scent, sighing quietly to herself. She saw a note and picked that up as well. She read it carefully.
“Dear wife,
I have duties to attend to, but I apologize for my behavior towards you. An apology may not be enough for the harm I have caused. Truly, I am sorry. Kuai Liang has opened my eyes, and I witnessed first hand how my attitude and words affect you. I will be better for you. That is what you deserve. Please rest and relax, I will check in every so often.
Sincerely,
Bi-Han”
She felt her eyes water as she read the note over and over. It felt foreign to hear such vulnerability from Bi-Han, but she was somewhat glad to know that he realized how much his words can hurt. She hoped that he would stick to his word and truly improve. His words still stung, but she would take the time to heal and move on. That, she was sure of.
#mortal kombat#mk1#mk1 2023#mk 1#mk bi han#mk1 bi han#mk kuai liang#mk tomas vrbada#mk sub zero#mk scorpion#mk smoke#mortal kombat x reader#bi han x y/n#bi han x you#bi han x reader#sub zero x reader#bi han sub zero#sub zero
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Some fluffy, fluffy thoughts for Captain John Price and Reader (gender neutral and SFW):
John is comfort personified.
He loves spending a night in with you, lounging in the backyard with a bottle of wine or tea after dinner. As the night gets chillier, he will spread his arm out to you and beckon you closer.
He’s sitting there looking so comfortable and laidback. Sprawled lazily in a lounger, knees spread wide (this is Barry Sloane’s fault, he always sits like a whore and it gives me problems 😩). Maybe he’ll slowly puff away on a cigar, too.
You can’t resist curling up into his side and he’ll drape a blanket over both of you. Absolutely will manhandle you closer, tucking you under his chin. Draping an arm around you, heavy and warm.
It’s like cuddling a teddy bear. He’s big and comfy and he runs HOT. Blanket won’t be needed in five minutes flat.
He’ll nuzzle against your cheek with little kisses and a deep, contented hum and probably murmurs how much he loves you.
In the morning, since he’s usually awake before you are, he’ll bring you a cup of your favorite morning beverage (tea, coffee, etc), and leave it on the bedside table as he rubs your back and softly speaks to you until you wake up.
Did I mention bathtime intimacy???
Because John is a champion at this. Taking a bath with you, lazily cuddling in the warm, soapy water.
Kisses your bare shoulders and washes your back. His hands roam every inch of you with appreciative little noises. LOVES to wash your hair, massaging your scalp, fingercombing out any tangles.
He’s very, very thorough when it comes to rubbing your lotion in. Moments like this are his sanctuary.
After working in a high stress, high danger job, where he’s tense, alert, and on edge, making impossible split second decisions, John really loves to take his time with you. Savoring the feel of your skin beneath his hands. He’s not necessarily leading to sex. He just wants time with you - his favorite human being - in a way that doesn’t involve analyzing threats.
AMAZING cook, especially when it comes to comfort meals. Mac and cheese? His secret recipe is THE BEST you’ve ever had. Flavors are warm, full, hearty, and his meals always leave you feeling sleepy and cozy.
When the two of you are out in public, John has a hand on you in some way at all times.
At dinner? He has his hand resting on your thigh under the table.
In the car? He’s playing with your fingers like a fidget toy.
Most of the time, he’s not aware he’s doing this. It comforts him to be in contact with you, especially when he’s finally home after a long mission.
BIG SPOON.
He loves to completely envelop you. Wrap you up in his arms with his face buried in your neck and he won’t let you go all night long.
On a few rare occasions, you’ve managed to turn John into the little spoon when you wanted someone solid to cling to. Maybe you were just feeling randomly lonely or had a bad day, but it felt good to hug him like a pillow.
He’s very proud when you hug him from behind. It makes him feel like a shield - like he can protect you from the world and cuddle you at the same time. It’s a win-win.
Masterlist
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Strange Creature's Love
In honor of Ithaqua's release month (beta march 2 and release the 11th but that joseph's birthday lol). Small fic cause it really last minute but here's wonderwall lol
Rated Explicit | Warning: Ithaqua just that weird little guy
The first time you met Ithaqua, it was not during a match but a strange celebration. There are a few events in the manor that give hints to the passing of time here, and those are the ‘"Anniversary” events is one of them, but there is no number to them just like the New Year and Lunar New Year events. He was there watching, not one to approach others, much less socialize.
You only approached because he looked well small, not really that intimidating given he had no stilts or weapon in his hand.
You attempted conversion, figuring as someone new maybe he just was shy.
His words were rather… Odd, unsettling with a threat but a weird hint of something else.
You replayed those words over and over again in your mind, the strange phrasing.
“What exactly... are you looking forward to meeting? Ahh, I see, I see… I feel the same way.” Standing up and then invading your space, you are suddenly aware he still towers above you. You go still as his head tilts to the side like a curious owl, “The moment I met you... how about I make it so you can never say you want to meet anyone else again?” Your eyes drift to the two fingers lifting your chin up so your face is in him completely. “After all... I remember you very well.”
That freaked you out as you ran away when your fight or flight instincts kicked in hard.
The laugh he let out clearly mocking and one that haunted you as he suddenly became a frequent hunter in your matches.
The hyper fixation towards you is clear when he either took you out of the match quickly or saved you for last. A game of hunter and prey, he would stalk you before striking. Waiting if you give up or fight back.
A few times you surrender to avoid him when you only remain, but you always fight, giving your all to either find the dungeon or make it to the exit gate.
Strange looking back as he lays next to you holding your naked body against his body, his cloak covering both as the picnic blanket under you provides extra comfort. His breath is warm on your neck, steady, your hand stroking his messy blonde hair. This relationship sparked by a match where he only wanted you, anyone who got between that was hit yet not chased after.
He led you to the basement where he asked you simply to be his. No sweet words, no gift of romance, he was straightforward about what he wanted.
You agreed unsure, you thought it was a joke. Ithaqua was not joking, especially about his feelings.
Ithaqua hums when you seek out him to share warmth, he growls though when you moan as his cock is still buried inside of your filled hole.
“Careful.”
“Trying but it's cold.” Though spring is coming early this year, it is still cold. Ithaqua wanting to take you in the forest is losing its appeal. “Let’s go back to your room.” Mumbling when he holds you against his chest.
“My room?”
“Yeah, I want to be around you and all that is you, Ithaqua.” He has been to your room a number of times, rubbing his scent on your blankets and you before leaving like a creature. You have come to appreciate it when you have lonely nights.
“Hmm.” Hips his moving slowly, “Yes, after my cum drips down from your hole.”
“Ithaqua, oh!” Holding onto him as he suddenly keeps up the pace, your nails scratching deep into his already scratched-up back, “Ah, please, Ithaqua.”
“Begging yet I have no intention of denying you.”
He rarely does unless he wants to prolong the activity but normally he wants to give equally as he takes.
“Mine.” On top of you holding up and bending your legs to watch the cock disappear and reappear within you, “Yes.” Possessive, it scares you though not as bad as before.
“Ithaqua, God, so deep.”
He chuckles at your words, he likes it when you tell him how good you feel. A pride in being the one to have you crying out to the heavens the name of the Night Watch, to be giving of your love to freely, and to be thoroughly marked by him. It has a few times crossed his mind how he often fucks you enough as he is trying to breed you.
A thought that though he has no want for children, it amuses him how often you are equally eager for him and his cock.
“Ithaqua! So close.”
“Keep your eyes on me. I want to watch you fall.”
And you do, a cry of his name with your eyes barely able to lock on his and that taunt cord in the pit of your stomach snapping. You are disoriented and on cloud nine, whining as he keeps going. When the Night Watch is about to cum, he puts your legs over his shoulders as he goes essentially feral. Rutting into you like a beast in heat, snarling and saying at times worryingly possessive words— He has gotten better, but his passion runs deep in these moments.
You barely recover before cumming again with each other, his lips consuming yours to silence himself, your hands trying to grasp his face before he pulls away to soothe your aching legs. He keeps you connected to him until his cock softens and in his mind the idea of his seed taking, silly and foolish but it amuses him nonetheless.
#idv#reader insert#identity v x reader#idv x reader#identity v#identity v x you#idv x you#ithaqua x you#identity v ithaqua#ithaqua x reader#idv ithaqua#night watch x reader#night watch idv#night watch x you
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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐀𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝟑𝟖𝟏
Toji Fushiguro
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[Chapter 11] New Year's Eve
Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x f!Reader
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Spending a week alone is not something that you usually mind, but this time you actually feel sad as you spend the time alone. When you start to forget about your loneliness, you look at the charm bracelet that Toji gave you– And when it’s not that, it’s the stuffed bear that’s in your room. You just wish that you could spend time with them, especially this time of the year. You try not to sit in your room and dwell, but it feels impossible.
Everyone around you has someone else, and it’s a reminder of how lonely you are now. For the first time, you don’t have Kento with you, even if last year he was sick. Sadly you can’t escape going out because you still have to work. You luckily have some days off, but you still don’t escape going outside. You try your best to avoid going out.
You only go out when you absolutely need to, at least for the first five days that they’re gone. When the peak of the holidays passes, you go out without a problem.
You’re out for dinner, getting something hot to warm you up. Since you’re not taking care of little Megumi, you find yourself with a lot of free time, and now you have no idea what to do with it. You try to recall what you did before taking care of Megumi, but it’s hard. Even during the week that you weren’t talking to Toji, you had no idea what to do.
So you’re taking advantage of this rare opportunity and going out to eat. You have a couple of drinks, order food until you’re stuffed, and when you’re all done, you pay and walk out of the restaurant. But life is never so simple.
You walk past someone that you can’t easily ignore– Having white hair at such a young age isn’t exactly too common. What’s weirder about him, is that it’s his natural hair color. You try to walk past him as if you don’t know him, but he notices you and he grabs your arm, stopping you from walking further. He says your name and you’re forced to look back at him.
“Can I help you, sir?” You ask, hoping that he’ll drop whatever he has to say if you treat him like a complete stranger. Satoru isn’t one that drops a subject so easily, and he wants to talk to you, so he’s not going away until he talks to you.
“Are you leaving already?” He responds with a question that has an obvious answer since you were talking in opposite directions. You don’t say anything since the answer is pretty clear, and when you stare at each other for a minute, a sigh leaves his lips, “Can we talk?”
“Is there something more to talk about?” You reply, and he furrows his brows. Before he can mutter a word, you speak again, “I’m sorry, Gojo. I’m just really confused as to what you’re doing here. You live nearly an hour away, and you can certainly afford to eat at much nicer places… What the hell are you doing here?”
“Can’t I get food here?” He’s defensive. You shake your head, and your fingers manage to take off each individual finger that holds your arm until you’re finally free from his grasp.
“Not when you live so far away. Have a good night, Gojo, I hope to never bump into you again.” You walk away, and you know it’d take a minute or two before he chases after you, so you sprint away, until you know that you’re out of sight.
Luckily that’s the only time that you bump into Satoru during your time alone. And as much as you’d pay attention to him, the only man that you’re currently thinking of is Toji. Toji is slowly consuming your mind, and you hate to admit that you love it. Thinking about Toji brings a smile to your face, and you almost feel guilty because your husband hasn’t been dead for a year. But you can’t dwell on Kento forever.
Maybe you are moving on a little bit too fast, but you’re not putting everything on hold for a year. You’re starting to forget the fact that you didn’t want a relationship because as you think about Toji, the thing you want the most is a relationship. Your opinion has certainly changed.
There’s a knock on your door near noon, and since it’s New Year’s Eve, you have nowhere to go. You went to sleep pretty late the previous night, staying up to binge watch a TV show. You don’t even realize how late it is, walking straight to the door after being awakened by the knocking. When you open it, the biggest smile comes to your face.
“Megumi!” You exclaim, looking down at the little boy who holds a bouquet of flowers that’s almost bigger than him. You take it from his hands, and toss it on the kitchen counter before picking Megumi up from the floor. You kiss his cheek, and ruffle his hair, “How are you, baby? How was it?”
“It was good!” He responds. Your eyes then shift from Megumi to Toji. He’s awkwardly standing, his hands in his pockets, and it causes your face to get warm. He’s looking so fucking cute. Cute isn’t the word that describes Toji very well, but it’s the only word that runs through your mind.
“Please come in, I’m going to change real quick.” You say with a smile on your face. You put Megumi on the ground and run to get some clothes before locking yourself in the bathroom.
Megumi begins to walk around the apartment, and when he spots the giant bear in the corner of the room, he runs to it to hug it. Toji watches and furrows his brows, “What are you doing?”
“It’s soft.” The little boy says, putting his head on the bear. Toji’s smiling as he watches the kid, and he really is her son. Toji would’ve never done this as a child, or maybe he would’ve if he had different parents. He really can’t say.
“It’s nice to see you two again, didn’t expect you to be back so soon.” You tell them as you walk out of the bathroom. You find Megumi with his arms wrapped around your stuffed animal which causes you to chuckle. You really can’t tear your eyes away from the adorable sight.
“Uh… I have to go back to work.” Toji answers, and you furrow your brows.
“Your night job?” You ask him, and Toji nods his head. You tilt your head before asking, “Which is…?”
There’s no response. In fact, he tries to change the subject, “Megumi, stop hugging the bear.”
“But it’s soft.” Megumi argues, and even though Toji wants to laugh, he doesn’t want to focus to shift back to your question. Megumi ends up pulling away and then looking at his father. The bear reminds him of his birthday, and Megumi curiously asks, “When’s my birthday again?”
“Oh, it’s very far away, Megumi. Don’t even start thinking about it.” Toji answers, and the boy pouts his lips. You smile and walk over to him, ruffling his hair which further messes it up. Toji chuckles before commenting, “You love messing up his hair.”
“It’s always a little messy. Isn’t that right, sea urchin?” You watch as Megumi furrows his brows, unsure of what you mean. You then look at Toji and you ask, “When’s your birthday?”
“My birthday?” Toji seems a bit taken back by the question. He bites down on his lips before clearing his throat and answering, “Today.”
“Is it really?” You ask with a laugh, you’re almost one hundred percent sure that he’s messing with you. He scratches his neck before he nods in response causing your eyes to widen. “Toji! You should’ve said something!”
“What for?” Toji responds, and you walk over to him to hug him. He isn’t too sure how to react when he feels your arms wrap around him, but he eventually gives in and hugs you back. “I didn’t have to say anything.”
“Yes you did! We have to celebrate!” You respond, pulling away from the hug and you notice how his cheeks grow pink. You two stare at one another for a moment before you say, “Happy birthday, Toji.”
“Happy– I mean, thank you.” He answers. God, he fucking hates this. He feels as if he’s stuck in a trance, unable to look away. Toji felt like this once in his life before and he fucking hates this feeling. He’s a tough man– He has to repeat it in his head over and over again. He’s not a puny little bitch that blushes and stutters when a pretty woman wishes him a happy birthday.
“Happy birthday, daddy!” Megumi breaks him out, wrapping his arms around his dad’s leg. He wants to be included in a hug, he doesn’t care too much about his father’s birthday. Toji picks up Megumi from the floor and kisses his cheek.
“Thank you, sea urchin.” Toji says, looking back at you. “You’re right, he does look like a sea urchin.”
“Should we do something to celebrate?” You bat your eyelashes at him, giving him a sweet smile; one that makes him weak in the knees.
“I have to work tonight… Actually, could you babysit tonight?” Toji questions, and while you gruff and puff about it because he ignored your question, you end up humming in response. It’s his birthday so you’ll be as nice as you possibly can be. Maybe tomorrow when he repeats the same question, you’ll be able to be more mad at him. “You’re the best.”
“I know I am.” You respond. Your eyes then fall to the flowers that he bought for you. Your lips go up to his cheek and you sweetly tell him, “Thank you for the flowers, Toji.”
“I picked them!” Megumi claims, and you laugh. You also kiss Megumi’s cheek.
“Thank you for the flowers, Megumi.”
“Are you sleepy, Megumi?” You ask, and even though he’s falling asleep, he shakes his head. Toji went off to work, and since you didn’t have many plans, you’re now on your bed, watching New Year’s TV with Megumi, who sits on the floor. The entire day was spent by Toji unpacking and trying to do chores while Megumi did– Whatever the hell Megumi wanted to do. You tried to help out but Megumi insisted that you had nothing to do, so you didn’t.
“Not sleepy.” He assures you, even though his head is falling. You yawn, sleepy just like him. If it weren’t for the fact that Megumi insists on staying awake, you’d shut off the TV and go to sleep. Even though you woke up late, you’re more tired than ever.
You wonder when Toji’s going to get here. The cat is out of the bag and he’s admitted that he isn’t fixing cars up so late (which doesn’t really surprise you if you’re being honest). You try to figure out what his job is but it’s certainly hard to figure out since there’s a vast sea of options. Maybe he did lie to you and he’s going on dates, but you try to remain hopeful that Toji is honest with you. You also don’t like to admit the fact that the thought of Toji going on dates sends you over the edge.
While thinking about Toji you hear a light thud sound, and you look down to find Megumi’s head on the floor. You laugh, hearing the light snoring from the kid. You pick him up from the floor and put him on your bed, throwing a blanket over him. You take his previous spot, allowing him to take up the whole entire bed. Your eyelids feel heavy, and you feel as if the same thing that happened to Megumi, will happen to you. At the very least, you want to be awake when Toji gets back.
You’re not even old but you feel ancient because staying up till midnight is one of the hardest tasks you’ve done in a while. It feels absurd knowing that the previous night you stayed up without a problem. Maybe there’s just something in the air tonight– Maybe you’ve been thinking too much about Toji and he’s been using up all your energy. You won’t know, you just know that your eyes are shutting.
Until there’s a knock on your door that makes you shoot your eyes open. You stand up and rush to open the door. You see Toji, and this time he didn’t try to change out of his clothes like he usually does. Maybe he’s a waiter or something of that sort and he’s ashamed.
“He’s asleep.” You tell him, and he walks inside to pick up Megumi and take him back to his apartment. “How was work?”
“Exhausting.” He answers, and he keeps it brief. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t want to wake up the sleeping child, or he simply isn’t in the mood to talk. You don’t mind, after all, you’re sleepy. Toji walks out the door without muttering a single word, and you can’t lie and say that you weren’t offended by it. You shut the door and walk back to your bed, and just as you’re about to lay down, there’s a knock on the door again.
You open it to find Toji again. You stare at each other for a moment, and maybe it’s just your tired eyes deceiving you, but he appears to be trembling. His hands finally cup your face, his eyes looking deeply into yours for a moment, and it causes your heart to skip a beat. His face inches closer, and when his lips are mere centimeters away from yours, he mutters, “I’ve been kicking myself for not spending the night with you and my son.”
“You don’t have to worry about that. We can celebrate tomorrow.” His cold lips finally land on yours. Your lips warm him up, and he can’t seem to pull away. He wants to deepen the kiss, to go one step further but he’s too tired. Maybe he’d just like to cuddle but he can’t do that either. You close your eyes, fully surrendering to the kiss, your hands meeting behind his neck and pulling his head to you.
You swear you hear fireworks– Which knocks you back into reality. Toji ends up pulling away, and when your lips are parted, you peck him again. You smile at Toji, “Happy new year.”
“Happy new year.” He responds. Your whole body is hot which is odd considering the extreme coldness of the outside. He lets go of you, and while he wants to go in, he holds himself back.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Toji.” You tell him, and he mindlessly nods. You expect him to walk away but instead he awkwardly stands there. You wave at him as you shut the door.
There’s a big smile on your face as you walk back to your bed, and it makes you realize you really like Toji.
#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#anime#jujutsu kaisen x reader#toji fushiguro#jjk toji#jujutsu kaisen toji#daddy toji#toji zenin#jujutsu toji#toji x reader#toji fushiguro x reader#toji x y/n#fushiguro toji#toji x you#dilf toji#toji fic
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An Unexpected Visit (Cal Kestis x Mechanic!Reader)
Summary: You find a little metal friend in your lonely workshop on Koboh and you have no idea where he came from. The answer to that question brings you more hope than you thought it would.
Warnings: Small blood mention.
Words: 3.8k
Note: Thought I'd post a little something while I work on the next few chapter of BoP! Pretty sure this is gender neutral, but if im wrong don't hesitate to point it out!!
Koboh was a hot planet to live on even on its coldest days. There was no such thing as frost here, and snow was out of the question. The native population of the planet was used to it, buildings designed to keep out the sweltering air and clothes made of the thinnest materials.
You, however, hated it.
You’d been warned the planet was warm, but no one had quite mentioned how high the temperature really was. You regretted trusting the Ihi Tib that had brought you here more than anything, but you’d used up all your credits on that trip and there was no way in hell to make that money again to leave, not while working here.
You longed for Habo, the little planet you’d decided against in favor of this one. No raiders, no empire soldiers, just nature and its shy inhabitants. No droids either, but there wasn’t any here either, so you didn’t care. Sometimes, you dreamt of reaching its lush forests and mountains and feeling cold drops of rain on your skin.
The metal roofing of your shop did you no good either, heat waves often visible above it. Its only room felt like a furnace even at the best of times, and you weren’t a stranger to the feeling of sweat-soaked clothes sticking to you uncomfortably anymore.
You tinkered with a metal detector that some prospector had brought to you, taking the opportunity of the night’s barely detectable coolness to work on a project. Apparently, it had stopped functioning properly after it’d been dropped into a chasm. By the looks of it, you were surprised it even was in one piece. Well, mostly in one piece. Maybe the revenue you’d make from this might be able to pay for new boot soles, yours having almost completely disintegrated because of the burning sand that covered the entire region.
The only sound in your workshop was the harsh grating of your screwdriver against the detector’s metal, as you tried to pry open its chassis. The thing just wouldn’t budge, and you considered whether the boots were even worth it.
A whistling sound startled you, the old screwdriver slipping and taking a chunk out of your palm. You swore and tugged a rare oil-free cloth from the toolbox beside you, hitting your head on your work lamp in the process and swearing again. You pressed the cloth against the wound to stop the bleeding and looked towards the open room to determine where the whistling had come from. The door to the shop was locked, you’d triple-checked it while closing. Was this one of the raider lackeys trying to draw you outside again? You’d fallen for it exactly once and promptly learned not to investigate strange noises you might hear outside, but this sounded like a mechanical whistle, not a breathing being.
The strange whistling sounded again, this time from behind you. You spun on your heels, tied the cloth around your hand, and reached for the rusty rebar you kept by your workstation. Nothing seemed amiss at first glance. Had you imagined the sound? Maybe the heat was getting to you, you hadn’t refilled your water canister since this morning. Dehydration hallucinations were rare for you, but you’d still had your fair share, especially when you’d just arrived to Koboh. Getting used to this planet had been a challenge.
Suddenly a flash of red and white crossed the room, hiding behind a wooden bin you used to store your own unfinished projects. The whistle came again, followed by a few beeps. A droid, you realized. He’d been speaking binary! You’d hardly recognized it, not having heard it since your arrival. Lots of droids, the Ihi Tib had assured you, the bastard.
“Hey little buddy, can I help you?” you called, slightly lowering the rebar but still holding it tightly with your free hand. A series of beeps followed in response. It was mostly unintelligible, but you could make out the meaning of some of it.
“Yeah, I’m the mechanic here, do you need something fixed?”
A scared whistle. You crouched, putting down the rebar at reaching distance from your hands.
“I’ve let go of the iron, I won’t hurt you as long as you don’t hurt me, deal?”
You received no response, but the droid tentatively stepped out from its hideout. It was a cute one, you thought, a little flat head and cubical body supported by its two lanky legs. You could see his eyes focusing and zooming on you, no doubt examining you for any sign of aggression. You raised your hands as a peace gesture, and he stepped closer. He emitted a green light from his position. You laughed at the sudden scan but didn’t move.
From up close, you could see the damage he carried. The side of his left leg was blackened as if burnt, and its small body had a gaping hole that revealed his inner components. No wonder he’d been scared, one more hit and he’d be fried. He looked mostly intact on the inside, but you’d need him in your hands to determine if that was the case. You went to speak but got cut off by the loud noise of your door slamming shut behind you.
“Beedee, I told you to wait while I left to find a spare-”
You squealed at the man’s voice, grabbing the piece of rebar again, wincing as it rubbed against your clothed palm, and jumped to your feet.
A man stood at the entrance of your shop, only a few feet from you. You shakily held up the rebar between the two of you as a threat, the droid incoherently beeping behind you and hitting you with his little leg. You ignored him, and the intruder raised his hands, showing you that they were empty. You could see a metal baton at his side and a pistol strapped to his thigh, but he wasn’t reaching for them despite the threat of your rebar.
“Whoa, easy,” he exclaimed rapidly, “I’m not here to attack you!”
“What do you want?” you called, “Shop’s closed at this hour.” It was fairly late in the night, and not many people were still up at this time apart from you. No one with good intentions, at least.
He took a less defensive stance, increasingly unimpressed at your choice of weapon, or your unsteady hold of it. “My name’s Cal, I’m just here for beedee.” He gestured to the droid. “Come on buddy, we’ve got to get back to Greez.”
The cantina’s owner?
“How do you know Greez?” you asked with narrowed eyes. You’d never seen this man, and he’d never been around here. News spread fast in a village this small, you would’ve heard about it in less than a day. The cantina sometimes welcomed suspicious or dangerous individuals, and you wondered if this new guy was one of them.
“It’s a… long story. I’m just visiting. Beedee, let’s go.”
You examined the man closer, as he was clearly only interested in the droid. Now that the adrenaline had mostly run its course, your mind pointed out how attractive the man was. Sure, his armor-looking leather garments looked like they had seen better days, but it was hard to ignore his soft-swept hair, scatter of freckles and sharp jawline that his stubble didn’t quite manage to hide, not to mention his lean yet muscled build.
The droid, beedee, didn’t make a move to leave. Instead, he pushed into your leg again and emitted a series of noises you couldn’t understand.
“Is he always this unclear or is my binary just rusty?” you asked the man hesitantly, keeping the rebar in hand and taking a few steps back to put space in between the two of you.
“He got shot in the middle of a fight, his vocabulator got damaged,” he said. Your grip on the metal tightened. A fight? “I was going to fly to a relay point to find him a new one, but this guy,” he shot a reproachful look at the droid, “Won’t stay put long enough for me to go.”
The droid continued his monologue. The only word you could make out was ‘Mechanic’.
“I’m a mechanic, beedee, is that why you came to see me?”
He near-violently nodded his head.
“I’m sorry he disturbed you, like I said, we need the new component to fix it.” Cal said, shrugging.
You crouched and took a closer look. You could view the injured piece now, its main area intact but its outer edge clearly burnt out. You shook your head. “You don’t need a new one, actually.”
Cal looked at you like you’d grown a third head. “Have you seen the chip? That thing is as good as dead.”
“Not if you reroute the circuit towards his internal commlink instead.”
He blinked. “You’ve worked on droids before?” he asked cautiously.
You nodded. “It’s what I trained for as a teen on my home planet, but I had the great luck of finding a dishonest pilot who promised me there were a lot of droids here.” You gestured to your near empty workshop, embarrassed. “As you can see, not quite the reality of the area. The only ones here are those the raiders keep, and I’ve made it quite clear to them on multiple occasions that they could shove it. Being on their bad side isn’t the greatest, but at least I’m not helping them loot and kill people. Used to work on ships too and loved that, but those are also lacking here.”
He looked at you as if evaluating your body language. You weren’t exactly hard to read; you wore your emotions quite visibly. “Why haven’t you left?” he asked.
“A droid mechanic on a droid-less planet doesn’t exactly have the revenue to jump on a hyperspace voyage. Maybe in a couple years, but at this rate the raiders will have found any stash of money I could keep. Anyways! what I’m trying to say is I can fix beedee if you want.” The droid beeped approvingly from where he stood, jumping up and down in triumph.
Cal seemed to weigh the risks. You didn’t blame him, some unknown mechanic on a near empty outer rim planet didn’t exactly inspire confidence, but you knew you could make the repairs easily.
“Alright,” he said defeatedly, “but if a single electrical filament is damaged, I’ll know, and you won’t get a cent.”
You shrugged, his threat not scaring you. The droid already had enough injuries as is, you weren’t planning on adding to them.
Beedee jumped up to the worktable you’d been working at earlier and you pushed aside the metal detector with a wince. The movement pulled on your palm painfully. The droid didn’t miss your reaction and pushed on your injured hand with a foot.
“Just a cut, little guy, nothing to worry about.” You said, perhaps unconvincingly. The screwdriver you’d used was a bit rusty, and you knew you should get a bacta patch to keep an infection from spreading, but you couldn’t afford one. You’d wash it out with water later and hope for the best.
The droid didn’t miss a beat at words and a little vial was suddenly flung up in the air. You didn’t manage to catch it, not having the reaction time you might have with more rest and water in you, but a calloused hand caught it before it could hit the ground. Cal stood next to you, offering the tube in an open hand
“A stim?” you exclaimed, picking it up and examining it, “I haven’t seen one of those in years, they cost a fortune.” You glanced towards Cal. “I’m not sure the cut warrants using one.” you added.
The man just folded his arms and leaned against the table. “If beedee says you need one, I wouldn’t argue, or else you’ll be arguing with him all night.” he said.
You mumbled a soft thank you as you injected the stim, your hands already feeling much better after only a few seconds. You took off the cloth and despite the dark red that coated your hand, the cut had all but disappeared, leaving only a thin pink line behind. You scrubbed the dry blood off as best you could and turned towards the droid again.
He sat in front of you, presenting his exposed wiring. You picked up your smallest welder and started working, self-conscious of your beat-up tools. You could feel Cal leaning in with each detailed movement you made, unquestionably watching the process to learn how to do it himself. You worked as diligently as you could despite your focus trailing occasionally to the man that held close to your side. The slight reprieve the night air provided seemed gone, his warmth seeping into your skin.
It wasn’t a complicated job, you just needed to reroute the processor to the commlink to translate the droid’s processes into clear binary code to then bypass the burnt translator located on the edge of the vocabulator. It was a trick that was specific to this type of vocabulator though, so it wasn’t a well-known process.
You finished with the rerouting, satisfied by the clear binary beedee could now emit as he properly introduced himself to you. And idea shot through you and you slipped out from Cal’s side to reach for your spare parts bin. You rummaged through it for a moment, the droid sending you a questioning whistle.
“Wait a minute! I know I’ve got it somewhere here…” you grumbled. “Ah-ah! Here it is.”
You held out a grey piece of thin durasteel as you sauntered back to the waiting duo, grabbing your heat gun along the way. “I think I can give you a temporary fix for your casing, let me just… There! It doesn’t match your colors, but it should do the trick.” You slid a newly shaped metal plate over the spot where the casing had melted away, grinning at its sturdiness. “This won’t fix it forever; I’d need a little more time to make an entirely new one and to make it the right color, but this should keep your components safe for a while!”
BD-1, as you now knew him, spun around in circles as he tried to check out his new part. You took out a small mirror from a drawer and held it up to him so he could see. He let out a string of excited beeps and whistles, repeatedly asking Cal to look at his ‘cool looking patch’. You glanced to the man on your side and discovered him watching you intently with a small smile. You felt your cheeks heating under his stare and scuttled back a few steps.
“Uhm, I hope this all works out until you’re able to find new parts, you guys! I could get started on a new custom permanent case too, so beedee doesn’t lose his usual flair.” BD-1 whistled in approval. “Shouldn’t take me more than a few days, maybe 5 at most, if you’re interested.”
Cal nodded, his intense gaze not faltering. “I think that’d be perfect. How much for today’s work?”
“Oh no, consider it as a repayment for that stim and for the opportunity to work on a droid again. Honestly, I had forgotten how much more interesting it is than working on the prospectors’ tools. As for the pickup, if I’m not here when you come back to get it, that means I’ve gone out to trade for parts. I’ll leave the finished casing in this drawer here,” you pointed to the right one, “and you seem to know how to get past the locks. Just close it back up when you leave!”
He laughed at the remark and thanked you for your work on BD-1. The droid gave you a sharp farewell whistle despite its clear disappointment at having to leave already. He climbed onto Cal’s back as the man moved toward your shop’s door.
“Hey,” you called, “if you come around this corner of the galaxy again after picking up beedee’s casing, don’t hesitate to swing by! It’s always nice seeing someone new.”
He turned on his feet, walking backwards for a few steps. “I have a feeling we’ll see each other again, don’t worry.” He winked at you, leaving you at a loss for words, and turned back to walk through the door.
After you calmed your elevated heartbeat, you locked up after him, deciding the two unexpected guests were enough for one night. You leaned back against the door and sighed. Maybe you should’ve accepted the money. Cal seemed like a nice guy, but Koboh was getting harder every day. Habo was still on your mind, but you’d settle for anything other than this damn planet. Kriff, you’d even be willing to join a crew of wandering space pirates if that meant you actually got to do something other than retrieve and fix the same old tools over and over again. Maybe one day luck would favor you, you thought, or maybe it just wasn’t meant to be.
-- 9 days later ---
The walk back from trading was always exhausting. The prospectors that held the best materials were currently residing on a high cliff that hid a cave’s opening. Getting up there was arduous, but if you left early enough it was manageable despite the climbing you had to do. By the time you made the trek back, however, there was no escaping the sun’s rays, and the only thing keeping your hands from the burning rocks as you scaled down the cliff was an almost ruined pair of leather gloves. They wouldn’t last another climb, you thought, and neither would your boots.
You’d have to find something to barter with the one villager who made most of the prospectors’ equipment. You didn’t even have money for food this week, but you’d make do, like you always did. Maybe you’d go back to the cantina tonight to offer maintenance on Greez’s bartender droid. His cantina was apparently bringing in more customers this week, so maybe you could find some other work there too.
You were also looking forward to hearing more of the village gossip. You’d heard rumors of a Jedi taking down raiders all over the region when you’d gone for a drink the night before but given that the source of that information was Turgle, you were far from convinced. A Jedi would be hunted down in a minute by the Empire, especially if they used their famed weapon and left witnesses. The fisherman you sometimes saw hanging around the streams, Skoova, had however confirmed that there was indeed a newcomer hunting down raiders for sport.
He hadn’t been very talkative, only describing him as a short-haired man of average height that fought in a poncho. You didn’t know how you felt about someone wearing a poncho on a desert planet, though you did find humor at the idea of the raiders getting their ass kicked by some new guy in a raincoat. Either way, if there was a chance that this not-a-Jedi-even-though-Turgle-says-he-is guy had arrived here by ship, you wanted to find out more no matter his unusual taste in clothing.
You entered your workshop after the long walk back from the prospectors, bracing for the intolerable heat of your metal cage. You stored what little you’d brought back in its rightful place and dragged your feet to your worktable, ready to start working on another tool a prospector had given you to fix. You remembered distantly that Cal still hadn’t swung by to pick up BD-1’s new case.
You peeked inside the drawer and found it empty of the custom case. There were a few credits in there, thankfully enough to cover the material you’d used for the case, plus a couple more. Despite the much-needed money, you couldn’t help but feel disappointed. Of course, the one day you left your workshop had to be the one when he decided to come here. You sighed and pushed the drawer away, rubbing your eyes with your palms, hoping (and doubting) that he would visit again. You didn’t even know what region of Koboh he was from, you didn’t recognize his accent at all.
A glimpse of white caught your eye before the drawer shut completely. You reached towards the unknown object and found a folded note that you were sure hadn’t been in therebefore you left. You opened it and didn’t immediately recognize the handwriting.
-
Thank you for the case, BD-1 is practically begging for a couple more designs (to match my ‘rizz’ - I have no idea what that means. He convinced me to wear an old grey poncho I had just so we matched and I fear giving in to the different colored cases will be the start of a slippery slope, but how could I say no to the little guy?)
I’ve gone off-track – What I mean to tell you is that if you still want to leave Koboh, there will be a ship (it’s mine) at the landing pad until 1500 tomorrow. Bring what you need, but I have all the essentials on board. Food and water I mean, and maybe I have a spare toothbrush somewhere too?
Anyway. We’ll figure it out.
I can drop you off somewhere if you want, but I wouldn’t mind a mechanic on board if you’re interested. Can’t guarantee regular hours or absolute safety but hey, still more interesting than metal detectors, right?
This might be my last visit to Koboh in a while.
P.S.: BD-1 wants you to know you’re the only one allowed to fix his leg, and that he ‘requires you on board’. His words, not mine. He shot an electric dart at the last person who tried to repair it (me).
Cal
-
You couldn’t help but let out a loud celebratory shout as you read. He had a ship, and you were finally getting out of here! No more prospectors whining at the time it took to fix their tools, no bedlam raiders trying to kick through your door in the middle of the night, no need to refill your water supply from the well that stood well over a mile away.
You’d happily make BD-1 a thousand little metal outfits to match Cal’s ponchos if he wanted-
Your mind screeched to a stop. Hadn't that been the outfit Skoova mentioned?
You remembered what Turgle said about the second newcomer, the one he had called a Jedi. You didn’t remember ever reading about that order using guns, but… Cal had been carrying another weapon. The metal handle, you now realized, that was hanging at his side.
Oh kriff.
Had the idea while building the BD-1 Lego set. I meant for this to be just a little 1k meet-cute oneshot, Of course, me being me, i wrote 5k. Edited it a little, and it's as short as I can tolerate lmao
My first time posting for Star Wars! Still not over Survivor despite having played it more than 100 hour in the first two weeks i got it, and having done reruns since. The double-bladed stance has me in a chokehold.
Tell me what you think, and check out my masterlist!
#Cal kestis x reader#cal kestis#cal kestis x you#jedi survivor#jedi fallen order#jedi video games#star wars jedi#star wars#fanfic#star wars fanfiction#star wars fanfic
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My Hand and You
Stina Blackstenius x Reader ; Katie McCabe x Reader (platonic)
Summary: You woke up with a feeling of indiscernible dread, indiscernible, that is, until your match with Man City.
Word count: 3.3k
Warnings ⚠️: injury description
A/N: I'm in my stina era lol - this can be read as a sort of companion to my other stina piece, but its not necessary to read to understand. As usual my work is not meant to depict or speculate on players personal lives!
-------------------------------------
You had a bad feeling about the day ahead the second you woke up.
The London air hung heavy outside of your window, the heat bearing down on you already. The other side of the bed was empty. Your girlfriend had flown in last night from Stockholm. You hadn’t seen her in nearly two weeks since she’d been back in Sweden to see her family during the break. You could’ve gone home to Germany, but opted to stay in London and train a bit more before your next game. It was a big one, and you still didn't feel that you were in good form. Katie had invited you over a couple times before she went to Ireland, but mostly you’d been alone.
Stina was worried, you knew. You got lonely easily, something you never had been able to grow out of no matter how old you were. Your sister joked occasionally that you had no object permanence, like a baby. When you couldn’t see anyone for a while, it was as if you were totally alone in the world.
So Stina had been texting often, and you had tried to call every other day. But she could tell you were still down. Especially when you hadn’t accepted her offer to stay the night when she landed. Your apartment was considerably farther from the airport than hers, and you knew she needed as much sleep as possible. You told yourself accepting would be selfish. You would see her in the morning.
Your second alarm went off, demanding you get out of bed. You pushed open the window and ran a brush through your hair, wishing you’d slept better. It didn’t take long to wash your face and pull your hair back in an updo. You had half an hour before you had to leave, and you spent most of it cleaning up your apartment for when Stina came over later. You were never really all that hungry early in the day—something your girlfriend and your coach admonished you for—so you decided just to have a cup of tea and a yogurt before throwing on your kit and heading out.
Practice was supposed to be light that day. You had a game against Man City that night, and there was no point in any injuries before any of you got into the stadium. You took the tube instead of your car, preferring the time to think with your headphones on instead of focusing on the morning traffic.
“Hey!” Katie wrapped you in a tight hug as you strolled into the locker room. You two were the only ones in so far, which was unusual. More often you two were the last ones to arrive. You returned her embrace, for some reason nearly on the verge of tears as she patted your back. Maybe the weeks alone had done more to your mood than you thought.
“How you feeling?” She asked, pulling her cleats out of her bag to lace them up.
You shrugged.
“Fine. Not much to report.” You chuckled, but it came out a bit hollow.
Katie looked like she was about to press the subject, but then in strolled a few of your other teammates, giving you a chance to slip out onto the field and begin stretching.
The sun was beating down on your back and you were sweating within minutes of starting your warm ups. Jonas seemed impressed at how early you were on the pitch, and the two of you joked a bit before he sent you off to pair up with Lia.
You liked the Swiss girl plenty. She was probably one of the nicest people you’d ever met, which meant of course she pulled you aside a few minutes into your warmup to ask if you were feeling okay. You explained that you hadn’t slept well last night, and she seemed to let it go and return to your drills.
You were so distracted you nearly missed Stina walking out onto the pitch.
She gave you a wave and a bright smile, and you wished you could run over and give her a kiss. But the two of you were keeping things secret(ish) for now. It wasn’t that you didn’t want your teammates to know, but for now it just felt more secure to keep things private. Stina was so reserved anyway, and you weren’t one to thrust your private life into the spotlight either. It was moments like these though where you knew being in the open would be easier. Then nobody would question why your eyes went to her every time she was on the field, or why you ran to her first when things went south.
Your sour mood alleviated slightly as you went through your drills and practiced your set pieces. You got to work with Stina and Katie in some stroke of dumb luck, and you always enjoyed watching your girlfriend shoot. Before you knew it, it was afternoon and time to eat, shower, and get on the bus for the match.
---------------------------------------------------
By the time you had arrived at the stadium, the game loomed heavily in your mind. You weren’t sure why. Usually you were overjoyed at the prospect of getting out in front of the fans and playing the sport you loved so much. But tonight you dreaded seeing your name in the starting nine. Sure enough though, there you were.
Stina sat with you in the locker room as the team prepped for the match. Katie, who was captaining tonight, gathered everyone together to say a few words and encourage you all before you went on the field. You sent her a smile and a thumbs up as people started filtering out into the tunnel, but you stayed behind to triple check your laces—a ritual you had to do before each game. Stina remained next to you quietly, letting you finish before she put a hand on your neck softly and pulled you close.
You cherished moments like this. They came so little when you were out in public together that you had to. Her fingers played with the wisps of hair at the nape of your neck and you could practically feel the concern rolling off of her in waves.
“Will you tell me what’s wrong tonight? Can we talk about it?”
You nodded, not wanting to hide anything from her.
“Don’t worry, it’s nothing serious. I’m just…” you weren’t sure how to describe it.
Stina placed a kiss on your knuckles and nodded.
“Come on, they’re gonna start wondering where we are.”
---------------------------------------------------
The first half was relatively uneventful. Alessia and Gio both scored, putting you in a good position by the time half was called. And you had played well, assisting Gio's goal. Your passes were strong. It was only your head that was the problem. Something was still nagging at you. Some intuition that told you something back was going to happen. Viv felt like that sometimes, you’d heard, and Beth told her not to pay attention to it. If you spent all your time worrying about what-ifs, you would never set foot on the pitch again.
So you tried to put your worries out of your mind. Stina sat next to you on the bench at half, discreetly holding your hand and rubbing her thumb across your skin. You knew the girls could tell you were off, and Jonas even asked if you needed to be subbed off. You assured him that no, you absolutely did not need to be subbed off. Your playing certainly wasn’t suffering, so why should you be asked to sit out?
You closed your eyes and took a few deep breaths, remembering what your therapist had recommended when you felt untethered. This wasn’t exactly like that, but you figured that it would help either way. That and the feeling of Stina so close to you, worrying and ready to jump to your defense at any moment, eased the feeling a bit. For the moment anyway.
Once the break was over and everyone was resuming their positions on the field, you felt the dread return. It moved through you like ice cold water. It was like being on a roller coaster, the drop of your stomach for no reason. But you swallowed the anxiety and pushed forward. Running for the ball, seeing your teammates out maneuver and best the Man City players brought a smile to your face. You loved this team, these girls.
The game was nearly over, the score 2-1 Arsenal with a win in sight, when everything went downhill.
Morgan was locked on you. You couldn’t take more than a few steps without her trailing you, and it was starting to piss you off. Finally, you got the chance to break away thanks to a great pass from Pelova that had you racing down the right side of the pitch so you could set up one of the forwards. Your adrenaline was pumping, the sound of the fans screaming filled your ears, you didn’t even have time to think as your body took over, pushing the ball forward in front of you and running as fast as you could.
You saw your chance with a flash of blonde hair out of the corner of your eye. Stina was coming up the middle, nearly unguarded. You shot the ball towards her, barely getting a chance to see her beautiful goal as you felt the weight of another player slam into you. For a split second, you weren’t worried. A late tackle wasn’t all that uncommon, and the player had just been trying to block the pass. But then you hear a crunch, and excruciating pain rippled upwards from your ankle. Immediately you went down, a scream forcing its way out of your mouth before you could even think of stopping it. You couldn’t really seem to think of anything except the pain. The cheers from the fans continued, your scream likely not as loud as you thought it had been.
The defender popped back up, and you caught a glimpse of her horrified face as she looked down at you. You didn’t even want to try to move, much less get up. The stadium seemed to quiet, and you weren’t sure if it was the pain blocking your senses as you went into shock, or reality. You rolled over onto your side, curling in on yourself to try and lessen the pain. You pressed your face into the grass, trying desperately not to cry. You knew the cameras would be on you any second, and you would rather nobody witness what you’d been reduced to.
A shaking hand picked up yours and held it tightly. You tried to open your eyes to see who it was, greeted by the sight of your girlfriend’s worried face looking down at you.
“Stina…” you whimpered.
She bit her lip and looked upwards, clearly trying not to cry as well as she heard the pain in your voice.
“Stina, I think it’s broken.”
You were crying now, trying to hide your face with your intertwined hands.
Stina had seen you go down just a split second after her goal. Caitlin had quickly jumped up to give her a hug, obscuring you from her view for a few seconds as she waited for you to pop back up. But you were still on the ground once Caitlin had let go, and you were still there after the defender got up and offered you her hand. It was then that she realized you weren’t going to get up, that perhaps you couldn’t. Then nothing else mattered. She started off towards you, all giddiness from her goal gone and replaced with dread. She thought about your mood all day, about how you’d been drifting away for the past two weeks, and now this. Stina rushed past everyone, running as fast as she ever had until she could get on the ground next to you.
The sight of you broke her heart. You hardly seemed to know what was going on, but tear tracks were evident on your face. Stina risked a glance at your ankle, which was swelling and bloody. Clearly the defender had caught it with her studs first before the two of you went down. White-hot rage coursed through Stina’s chest unlike she could ever remember feeling. But Katie was already doing more than enough to scream at the defender, and you needed her.
“It’s okay älskling,” She stroked your hair with her free hand, “everything is going to be okay.”
The medics were on their way over, a stretcher in hand. Stina had to bite her lip once more at the implication of it. You didn’t deserve this.
Before the medics arrived a blue kit appeared in Stina’s line of sight: it was the defender, coming back to see if you were all right. She looked genuinely upset, clearly having not intended your injury. But it didn’t matter. The defender leaned down to put a hand on your shoulder before Stina batted it away, snapping at her to get away. The Man City player looked sufficiently scared off, particularly since Stina was known for her calm demeanor.
The medics suddenly swarmed, rolling you over onto your back carefully and beginning to assess your ankle. Your face scrunched up in pain, a few more tears leaking out as they gently prodded at your injury. Stina let you squeeze her hand as hard as you needed, gritting her teeth when the medics began cleaning the bloody cuts.
Apparently they’d been asking Stina to back up so they could lift you, though she couldn’t hear a word.
“Come on, Stina, we’ve got to let them work.”
Katie’s hand came to rest on her shoulder, pulling her back gently.
“I can’t—I’m not letting her go off alone.”
“I know, I know.” Katie nodded, “But they’ve got to put her on the stretcher, hun.”
Stina let go of your hand and back up a step or two, still keeping an eye on you. She heard Amanda arrive behind her, speaking to her in Swedish quickly. But Stina didn’t reply—all she had the energy for was making sure you were okay.
“Okay, everyone give us some space!” The medics called, lifting the stretcher and beginning to move you. You moved your head slightly, searching for Stina’s eyes one last time before you left the field. She met your gaze, eyes teary, and quickly pursed her lips in a kiss. You tried to give her a smile, hoping desperately that this was not as bad as you thought it was.
Once you were off the field the players milled around, unsure what to do. There were still a few minutes on the clock, though nobody seemed enthused about continuing. Stina in particular, hadn’t moved from her spot, Amanda rubbing her back. Everyone knew how close the two of you were—well not quite how close—but it wasn’t all that surprising how intensely Stina reacted. She looked lost, plain and simple.
“She needs to be subbed off.” Katie said to Jonas quietly, pointing to Stina. Not that he needed the guidance, it was fairly obvious that the forward was going to be of no use to the team for the next few minutes.
Jonas gestured for Stina to come off and she did without protest. All she really wanted to do was follow you to the medical rooms. Katie opened her arms for Stina, letting the taller blonde fall against her and bury her face in Katie’s neck.
“She’s gonna be alright, Stina. Don’t you worry.”
Stina nodded against her skin, trying to pull herself together.
“Why don’t you go check on her in the med room?” Jonas suggested, giving Stina a firm pat on the shoulder. “We can hold it down here for the next few minutes.” He flashed her a reassuring smile.
---------------------------------------------------
You were sure your ankle was broken. There was no denying that. But fuck, you hadn’t imagined it hurting this bad.
You had come to a bit more after the shock wore off, all of the pain of your injury rushing into your chest at full force. The medics were doing their best to be gentle you knew, and the poor woman doing your stitches was having a hell of a time with all your twitching. Your ankle was the size of a fist, it was some miracle that they were even able to get your boot off. After they had cleaned up the blood on your skin it was clear you would need a couple stitches before they sent you to the hospital for x-rays.
You were pulled out of your head by a commotion outside the door, after which your girlfriend burst into the room. You felt like you might cry all over again, so relieved by the sight of her. She looked frazzled, eyes wide, still in her kit and sweaty from the game. You reached out a hand for her. Wanting her as close as possible.
One of the nurses stood up to tell her off, but the look in your eyes must have made her take pity on you because she just sighed and let Stina come closer.
“Oh älskling…” she brought a hand up to your hair and stroked your forehead. “Tut es sehr weh?” She asked you in German, wanting to keep the conversation private. In that moment you appreciated her ability to pick up what you were saying so quickly more than you ever had before.
You nodded. It did hurt, a lot. It felt like your entire leg was on fire every time someone so much as brushed against it.
“I’m going to start stitching the last cut, it’s the deepest so it’s going to take a little longer.” The medic told you. You gave a half hearted thumbs up in response, preparing yourself for the incoming pain. Stina readjusted her hand around yours.
“Just squeeze my hand. I’m here. Allt är okej, alles gut.” She pressed her forehead to yours softly, flashing you a smile.
You grimaced as they began. It took all of your willpower not to kick the medic away. It hurt too much to bear. Your eyes were closed and you just tried to focus on Stina’s soft words—a mixture of English, Swedish, and German—and her hand in yours.
Stina could hardly keep looking at you. Silent tears streamed down her face, finally let free after the stress of the past twenty minutes. She hated seeing you in so much pain, wanted to take it all from you desperately. She gladly would’ve switched positions with you, sure that a broken bone would hurt less than seeing you try not to scream in pain before her.
“All right, that’s it.” The medic assured you after what felt like a lifetime. You were sure Stina’s hand would be sore tomorrow, something you were going to have to apologize for.
“We’re going to take her to the hospital and have some scans done, but it’s my bet that the ankle is broken,” the medic spoke to Stina, “you can come, but you’re going to have to wait in the waiting room. You can’t come in with her.”
“Okay.” Stina said, her voice firm. The medic turned and left the room, leaving the two of you alone.
“Stina,” you whimpered for what felt like the hundredth time that day. Never did Stina think her heart would hurt at the sound of her name coming out of your mouth. “If it’s broken I’ll be out for months. I’ll miss half the season.”
Stina kissed your hand, pressing it to her chest.
“Whatever happens, I’m here. I’m here for you whether you’re playing or not. You aren’t going to have to do this alone, you hear me? I’m gonna be in the waiting room every time.”
A few tears leaked out of the corner of your eye and you nodded, feeling a bit more like the world wasn’t about to end. Or if it was, at least you’d be by her side.
#woso#woso imagine#woso x reader#woso fanfics#stina blackstenius x reader#stina blackstenius#stina blackstenius imagine#arsenal x reader#katie mccabe#katie mccabe x reader#my writing
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