#so knowing that as a consequence of refusing his wishes at that point | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jamminvroomvroom · 3 months

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die for you.

ln x driver!reader

in which you can’t stand each other, or so you say…

this took waaaay too long for me to hate it sm but she’s here! and she’s long! love this concept so much, thank you for this request. so many feels so many vibes, tell me what you think <3

loosely inspired by die for you by the weeknd

warnings: 18+!! minors dni!! smut, language, slight glimpses of she fell first, he fell harder, rivals to lovers/enemies to lovers, choking, hate sex? bar fight, mentions of blood

8.3k words (oop)

it’s rare that you miss a podium, so when you do, it tastes bitter and stings like a bitch.

the car has been on fire all season long, a thing of beauty in your calculated hands. so, the string of bad luck you’re enduring, small mistakes with big consequences, it’s quite the pill to swallow.

out of the car you jump, teeth grinding hard out of frustration. you could see the commotion ahead of you, members of the papaya team celebrating their driver. your eyes roll so hard in your head that you feel a lasting ache. you side step members of your team, dodging every single person that tries to talk to you, your comms officer knowing better than to try and engage with you. you know you’re being unreasonable, it was a p5 finish! but it isn’t a podium or a win, so quite frankly, you aren’t interested, and you certainly don’t have any energy left to hear how amazingly well he had driven.

lando fucking norris.

what was once quiet disdain had grown into fully fledged hatred and you fear you’ll be violently sick if you catch a single glimpse of him on the podium. sure, he’s talented, and sure, he’s beautiful, you suppose. that doesn’t mean you have to like him. not anymore. he lives under your skin, inescapable.

you struggle through every interview in the media pen, most of which dissect your recent fall from grace, your mouth forming a hard, unimpressed line every time they mention the orange goblin and his recent streak of podiums and good luck. you wish the journos would bring up his string of women and the probable plan b receipts that went with them. that, you would love to talk about.

you drive in silence back to your hotel, leaving the track as soon as possible, and quickly find solace in your bed for the night. the idea of seeing the inside of a club makes you nauseous after your epic downfall. as your eyes are drooping, your body going limp under the thick duvet, a knock sounds from the door.

“no.” you shout flatly, but the only response you get are giggles from the hallway. for fuck sake, you mutter, groaning as you shift out from beneath the covers and trail apprehensively towards the door.

george and alex appear before you, and you throw your head back is exasperation.

“mate, it’s 9:30.” alex laughs, taking in your fancy attire; pyjamas that you’ve had since you were 17.

“what’s your point?” you croak, glaring up at your obnoxiously tall friend.

“why aren’t you getting ready to go out?” george questions, leaning against the doorframe. he, too, was obnoxiously tall, you thought, feeling the strain in your neck as you move your glare onto him.

“if it wasn’t obvious, i’m not going.” you deadpan, crossing your arms over your chest. “i thought that was clear after i ignored all 77 of your texts.” you smile sarcastically, rubbing sleep from your eyes.

“don’t be boring! you’re an f1 driver, you’re in a cool city, you’re rich and, let’s face it,” he sasses. “you need to get laid.” alex says, like it’s the most causal thing in the world. your eyes bulge out of your head at the utterance of the last bit. george bites back laughter.

“choosing to ignore that.” you hiss. “i’m sorry but i refuse to go out and celebrate that arrogant, whiny little bitch.”

they both know exactly who you’re talking about.

you and lando have simply never seen eye to eye. your karting days were spent pushing one another off the track or into a muddy puddle if things got a bit heated out of the car. sure, olive branches were extended, and maybe adolescent feelings were secretly harboured, but he never gave you any reason to tell him that. you’d grown out of the childish violence when you graduated into formula 1, but you hadn’t been able to shake the rage he made you feel.

it didn’t matter how many dinners you attended where others had conspired and forced you to sit next to each other. it didn’t matter how many times you turned up to play padel and were met with the same lame excuses of ‘oh, did we not mention lando would be here?’ it didn’t matter how many times you’d hugged it out on the podium while adrenaline and tensions were running high.

it didn’t matter how many times he’d watched you from across a crowded room and you’d found his eyes, watched him back. it didn’t matter how many times he’d smirked at you at the start of a race weekend, made you blush. and it certainly didn’t matter what happened last time you found yourself in a club with him.

you just don’t like him. not anymore. you sleep better at night when you lie to yourself.

~ the last time

you sink shot after shot, cocktail after cocktail; the taste of fruity liquor stains your lips and burns your throat. you feel electric, sizzling with ecstasy and the heat from the flashing lights above your head.

it’s approaching 4am and you can’t recall a time in your life where you’d felt so fucking good. the high of your first win is indescribable.

you’ve lost track of the guys, alex and george have packed it in and gone back to their hotels with their girlfriends. pierre and kika are somewhere in a corner, you’re certain. you’re pretty sure you’ve even seen lewis with his entourage and a brick wall of a bodyguard trailing behind him. and at the bar, a set of eyes watch you.

lando isn’t even listening to oscar anymore, no. he is too entranced in the way your hips move to the beat, lost in the carefree lines your body makes in the crowd. he’s itching to go to you, put his hands in places that would stay between you, him, and god, but he doesn’t think a broken nose would be good for business.

everything changes when you spin around, facing his direction. then, it begins: the same thing that happens every time you end up going out in the same group. you watch one another, pretending you’re not both achingly desperate to find out how the other tastes.

but lando is feeling bold. he tells oscar he’ll see him in the morning, and then, egged on by a moscow mule and a few too many shots, he makes his way towards you. it is instinctual, magnetic, the way he is drawn to you.

hands on your hips, lips on your neck. the song changes. you recognise the weeknd’s voice. you are disappointed in yourself but it feels too good to stop.

you know what i’m thinkin', see it in your eyes you hate that you want me, hate it when you cry you’re scared to be lonely, 'specially in the night i’m scared that i’ll miss you, happens every time

the lyrics sober you up. you’re in the first taxi you can see when you finally get outside.

alone.

as much as that memory makes you shiver, for several different reasons, you find yourself putting on some makeup and raking through your suitcase for something to wear. george and alex are waiting downstairs for you at the bar, and when you finally make your way down there, they have a martini waiting for you. they watch in impressed horror as the alcohol disappears from the glass mere seconds after it touches your lips.

“let’s get this over with.” you sigh.

it could have been worse, you suppose.

the club is packed, hundreds of faces blurring into nothing. you feel better knowing that there is a one in a million chance of running into lando.

you’re tucked into a booth with alex and george, carmen and lily, a few faces you can’t quite place, and charles and pierre. you’d conspired to sit on the outside, prepared to make a quick getaway at the first sign of tension.

you’d been in a state of fight or flight since your last run in, nails bitten down every time you thought about his hands on you, how good they felt on you. it scared you more than anything had in a long time, how your desire had festered.

you go to take a swig from your glass, only to find it empty, aside from a few sad ice cubes. you watch jealously as they melt into nothing, wishing they would take you with them, shoving your glass across the smooth table top when your frustration boils over.

you’re on edge, ridiculously afraid of bumping into a curly haired man. it wasn’t him you were scared of, per-say, more yourself. god knows what you’d do if you felt those warm, calloused hands pulling your hips into his again.

“you okay?” pierre calls across the table. he and charles abandon their conversation as soon as your glass goes flying towards their side of the table. you’re broken out of your trance, caught off guard like a deer in headlights.

“tired.” you reply, shrugging it off like it was nothing. it’s clear immediately that they don’t buy it.

“she’s hiding.” alex chimes in from beside you, and your elbow goes straight into his ribs. he feigns pain for a moment, cackling at your reaction.

“from who?” charles inquires. you roll your eyes, blush spreading down your neck already. you hate everything about the conversation, and yet you need to see where it goes. you’d planned your escape, and now was the opportune time to make it, but you seem to be glued to the leather of the booth.

“lando.” george smirks into his drink as a he speaks, wiggles his eyebrows.

“oh yeah, we know all about that.” pierre laughs, his head tipping back in amusement.

“what?” you spit, eyes wide with confusion.

“don’t think me and kika didn’t see you two before the summer break. that night you won? we thought you’d finally cave.” pierre explains, his grin conveying pure evil.

several “what?!”’s sound from around the table, and now all eyes are on you.

“nothing even happened.” you mumble. “he came over to me and then i left.” you look away, twisting your hair around your finger. you are sweating.

“you looked like you were minutes away from being arrested for public indecency.” pierre smirks. you almost launch yourself across the table, intent on strangling him, and then perhaps throwing yourself in front of an oncoming uber outside.

“well, well, well. i fucking knew it.” alex is giggling beside you.

“come on guys, leave the poor girl alone.” lily winks at you, but even she has a twinkle in her eye. “there’s obviously feelings there.” and just like that she betrays you. her sympathetic smile doesn’t make you forgive her.

“i think you guys just need to get it out of your system,” charles starts, pausing to take a sip of his drink. “just fuck.” he waves his hand, like it was the most causal thing in the world.

the table erupts in laughter and you decide that you are well past the end of your tether. you shake your head, declaring that you need another drink, or ten, and strut away from the table. a chorus of ‘love you’-s and ‘get some’-s sound from behind you. you reply simply by raising your middle finger and refusing to look back.

the bar is in sight, just about in your reach when your evening goes from mildly bad to aggressively worse.

“fuck sake.” you sigh.

“and good evening to you too.” lando replies. he’s blocking your path, materialising before you out of nowhere.

“get out of my way, lan.” it sounds like you’re pleading and you cringe internally.

“don’t you wanna congratulate me?” he feigns a pout and you almost swing for him.

“no, not particularly.” you say dryly. “all i want is a drink, so if you’d just…” you gesture for him to move. of course, he doesn’t.

“haven’t seen you in a while, though. thought maybe you’d missed me.” he takes a step closer; goosebumps litter your bare skin.

“you are such an entitled prick.” you spit, moving to step around him but he catches you, gripping your wrists and pulling you in. you feel heat radiating off of him, expensive cologne overwhelming you in the best possible way.

“and you, honey, are such a fucking brat. but you don’t hear me complaining, do you?” lando whispers, cool breath hitting your face, minty, laced with champagne and cockiness. you almost fold, thighs clenching so tight that he must have noticed.

“move.” you grumble through gritted teeth. you are crumbling painfully, embarrassingly fast.

“make me.” your underwear is damp, but you are fuming.

“don’t fucking test me, lando.” something in your chest sets on fire and you’re over him and his bullshit, and the way he makes you feel.

“i know you want me.” he dips his forehead down to rest gently against yours. his grip on your wrists tightens, thumbs swirling circles into the flesh, right where your pulse is.

you lean in, mere centimetres separating your lips. his eyes darken, the assumption of victory over you tugs his lips into a smirk.

“all i want is my fucking drink. come find me when you’ve managed to navigate your gigantic, stupid head out of your arse.” you catch him off guard, wriggling out of his grip. you’re shaking when you walk away, thoughts of doing things with him that would get you both fired invading your foggy brain.

you try to disappear into the crowd, finally breathe a sigh of relief when your hands meet the cool surface of the bar. you order your drink, putting it on your tab and drum your nails against the marble top. you’re lost in your own world, watching as concoctions are mixed, as shots are downed. you finally feel at ease, until your evening takes yet another turn, one that was somehow even more unfortunate than all the others.

your attention is rudely stolen by the guy stood next to you.

“can i get that for you?” the random man speaks, in a way that he must of assumed was smooth. slimy, you think. he’s gesturing to your drink, clearly having watched you add it to your bill already.

“no, thank you. it’s already paid for.” you smile politely, turning on your heel. it seems he wasn’t quite done with you. you feel a clammy hand tug on yours, a wave of sickness washes over you.

lando’s hands are bigger, warmer, softer.

“where are you rushing off to, babe?” the sweaty man asks, his tone fake in a way that makes you uneasy.

“i need to get back to my friends.” you try to pull your hand free, but he won’t budge. “can you let go-“

“i can show you a good time. always thought you were kinda hot.” you’re panicking now, looking every which way for a familiar face, a security guard, anyone.

“take your hands off of me.” you snap, still wrestling to pull yourself free.

“one night with me would pull you out of that little slump you’re in.” he leers. you visibly gag, white hot rage blurs your vision.

“okay you piece of shi-“ you snarl, interrupted by a flash of curls and tanned skin.

“she told you to let go.” lando stands in front of you protectively, rigid and furious. you’ve never been so happy to see his annoying(ly beautiful) face.

“and what are you gonna do?”

“hands. off.” lando stands up even straighter, looking bigger than you’ve ever seen him.

“okay, mate, whatever.” the stranger rolls his eyes, shoves your hand away.

lando turns to you, opening his mouth to speak when…

“keep that stuck up bitch all to yourself.”

and then, everything goes to shit.

lando whips around, fists are flying, the stranger topples to the ground, amassed to nothing in the face of the mclaren drivers rage. lando doesn’t stop there, makes sure he is sufficiently dealt with, flat on his back on the sticky floor. you don’t know what to do, calling out for lando, begging him to stop, as satisfied as you are. lando hears your shouts, pulled out of the chaos and back to you. always back to you.

“are you okay?” he has his hands on your face searching for any remaining fear or upset. a crowd has formed and you see alex and george towering above the other club goers, jaws agape.

it’s as if he dj has it out for you, and you realise that the song has changed to something moodier, slower, one that gives you whiplash.

even though we're going through it and it makes you feel alone just know that i would die for you baby, i would die for you

“we need to get out of here. security are coming.” you mutter, keening into his touch.

“i have a car outside.”

“well, let’s use it then.”

you can’t help but stroke over his knuckles mindlessly in the car, an unlikely comfortable silence settling between you. they look raw, cracked slightly and you have an overwhelming desire to kiss them better. your head is fuzzy, and you’re unsettled with confusion, but at the same time, you feel lighter.

“why did you do that?” you murmur, disrupting the quiet that has settled over the backseat of the town car, the question burning desperately on your tongue.

lando turns his head so that he’s looking down at you, his good hand comes up to cup your jaw softly.

“no one can talk to you like that.” he’s staring so deeply into your eyes and you almost squirm at the intensity. you feel exposed, bare.

“but why did you step in before that?” you reiterate shakily. lando hums in understanding.

“i’ve known you since we were 10 years old. i know when you’re scared.” he whispers, breath dusting your cheeks. you almost lean in, then, something about his words pull you even closer towards him. you feel warmth creeping over your chest, sinking into the pit of your belly.

“we’ve arrived.” the driver calls from the front, signalling that you need to get out of the car. it was like an elastic band had snapped, and you spring away from lando, scrambling to undo your seat belt, the moment of weakness long gone.

you sneak into the lobby, on the lookout for any angry PR teams or incognito photographers that are scoping for their next pay check. the coast seems clear, so you manage to scurry discreetly into the elevator. you hit the button for the third floor.

“can you hit the button for five?” lando asks, leaning against the opposite wall.

“you’re coming to my room.” you state, offering no other explanation, even when he raises his eyebrows.

the ding of the lift has lando pushing himself off of the mirrored wall, trailing behind you into the corridor. the lights are low as he follows you to your door, hands deep in the pockets of his jeans. he watches in anticipation as you rifle through your small bag for your keycard. the green light gives you the go ahead to open the door, and he awkwardly follows you inside, peering around the room.

you notice the slight apprehension in his features, eyes blown wide from alcohol and adrenaline. they seem to sparkle more than you’d seen in a while, a hazel-y blue twisting with secrets and unspoken thoughts.

“let me find my first aid kit.” you tell him. you guide him towards the foot of your bed, gesture for him to sit. “make yourself comfortable.”

“you don’t need to do this.” lando replies, sitting down anyway.

“and you didn’t need to get between me and that dickhead but here we are.”

your words elicit a low chuckle from him, and you’re glad you have your back to him while you dig through your suitcase. he can’t see your smile at the wholesome sound, and he doesn’t need to.

random pieces of clothing fall out of the bag as you rummage through it, your attention taken up completely by your mission to find the small box. you don’t notice the pile of garments littering the floor.

“wow, didn’t take you for that kinda girl.” lando teases. your cheeks flame red when you catch sight of the cherry red thong that has managed to get caught in the wheel of your suitcase.

“shut up, i’m helping you.” you grumble, balling up the lace and burying it at the bottom of the case.

“why is it ferrari coloured? something you wanna tell me? do you think charles is… foxy? or is it fred? oh, i bet it’s fred, isn’t it.” he’s laughing now, loud and boisterous, and if it wasn’t for the butterflies erupting in your belly at the sound, you would have throttled him.

“i’ll leave you to bleed out.” you tease back, pointing at the dried up blood across his knuckles.

“of course, i am in urgent need of medical attention!” he exclaims sarcastically, clutching his hand. you roll your eyes.

“you know where the door is.” you stand from the floor, carrying a little square antiseptic wipe with you.

“yeah, i do. feel like staying now, though. i’m just so comfy.”

and with that, he throws himself back on your bed, closing his eyes as he sinks into the mattress.

you stare at him for a second, noticing the way his eyelashes dust the tops of his cheeks, his tanned, thick neck peeks out from in between the undone buttons of his dress shirt. you exhale shakily, moving to sit beside him on the bed.

“give me your hand.” you instruct him, tearing the packet open and unfolding the wipe.

“romantic.” lando snarks. you shove his shoulder in response. he holds his hand out.

“whatever.” you sigh, avoiding eye contact as you run the wipe over his knuckles. you can see how they are already tinged purple, wincing at the idea that it is your fault.

“what is it?” lando asks, noticing.

you don’t respond. this proximity is odd, you can’t quite tell yet if you like it. what you do know is that you certainly don’t know how to handle him now that the alcohol is wearing off and you’re left tending to the wounds of a man that you could have sworn you didn’t like.

“so that’s how it’s gonna be? we’re going back to the silent treatment again?” lando scoffs.

“don’t know what to say.” you mutter, keeping your eyes trained on every line and indent of his knuckles.

“why do you hate me so much?”

“i don’t.”

“yes, you do.” he scoffs.

“i don’t think about you enough to hate you.” you lie. it’s cruel. he winces.

that shuts him up.

“i’m gonna go. thanks for this.” lando waves his hand and you feel a wave of guilt hit.

“no, fuck, i’m sorry.” you apologise, bowing your head. “stay.”

“i’ll stay if you tell me why you hate me.”

“i’ve never hated you, lan. haven’t always particularly liked you but i never, ever hated you.”

“okay.”

that’s all it takes for him to flop back onto the bed. some unexplainable instinct that you loathe has you crawling onto the bed beside him. you wrap your arms around your pillow, watching him watch you.

“i used to have such a big crush on you, you know.” lando says. you stare at him blankly.

“what?”

“yep. i think i was about 15. you were the first girl i ever really liked that way.” he smiles, recalling the memory. “it kinda sucked because i knew you wouldn’t even look at me twice but it’s funny thinking back to that time.”

~ 15

he watches the way her hair gets caught in the breeze as she takes off her helmet. two messy braids are shaken free, and his heart skips a beat or two, or seven, when she turns around with the biggest grin on her face.

she’s just won a race, another one, and he’d be so jealous if it wasn’t her.

he thinks she’s the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen. george and alex go over to her, congratulating her, hugging her. he wishes he could do that. he definitely can’t.

she doesn’t see him, the only times that she does are when they argue, when they push eachother off the track and scream at one another across a gravel trap. the times when she plants her pointed finger in his chest and calls him dirty, the times he gets heated and calls her something he doesn’t mean under his breath. and she always hears him. always. he watches her eyes pool with tears every single time.

he wants her, in a way he’s never wanted anyone before. he’s never felt like this, wonders how he can make it go away. she hates him. she must.

he can never have her, so why even try?

“i had no idea you ever felt that way.” you’re quite shocked, really. you knew that you had this intensely charged sexual tension between you now, but you had failed to realise how far back this all went.

mutually, at least.

“i’d say i’ve done a pretty good job of hiding it.” his smile changes slightly. it was now a sad smile, one that conveys disappointment in himself, and that you hated to see. it reminds you of the one you’ve gotten used to seeing on your social media feed after he’d had a shitty race.

you sigh, bracing yourself for what you are about to say.

“you’re not the only one who hid it.” you raise an eyebrow, your face says ‘guilty!’

“no?” lando’s eyes widen at your revelation.

“i think we were 13. you gave me half a cookie to apologise for pushing me off track.” you smile coyly. “it’s kinda sad but 13 year old me died inside.” you laugh.

“so, we’ve both… liked each other.” lando assesses. you nod.

“when did you stop?” you inquire, scanning his face. you take in each detail, each individual freckle, the curve of his lips. he seems closer, all of the sudden, and that’s when you realise you’ve closed the space between you. lando is within reach now, it would have been so, so incredibly easy to shift even closer still; it was like you were in his gravitational field, reeled in by pretty, pretty eyes.

“who said i stopped?”

“oh.” you breathe.

~ 13

he snaps the crumbly biscuit between his fingers, trails towards her awkwardly. he feels bad, feels a strange pang in his chest that he doesn’t recognise.

he finds her around the back of her parents car, arms crossed, eyebrows scrunched, pouting hard. he thinks she’s cute.

“why are you here?” she whines.

“this is for you. i know it doesn’t make up for the race. i didn’t mean to take you out, i swear.”

he sounds panicked, sincere. her tummy turns funny.

he’s holding out a cookie, the children’s equivalent of an olive branch.

her face softens. she accepts it. they bite into their cookies at the same time.

it’s not the worst day in the world anymore.

messy kisses and soft whispers lull you to sleep.

his nose bumps yours every time your lips meet, gentle and plush.

you feel delicate in his arms, treasured. his lips press gently to your hairline. he’s different, softer than you’ve seen him since you were teenagers splitting cookies.

it’s the easiest thing in the world to curl into his side, mould together until you’re part of him, and drift off.

the heat wakes you up.

you stir, eyes fluttering open, searching for the source of the onslaught of warmth. it clicks quickly, and you realise that you hadn’t dreamt the events of the night before.

lando is in your bed.

lando had protected you.

lando had wanted you since you were stupid kids who didn’t know any better.

he is the heater that had woken you up, and suddenly you don’t care that you’re far too hot. you curl back into his side, head rests on his chest. it rises and falls softly, his heartbeat thrums beneath your ear. you are jealous of how pretty he looks when he’s asleep, relaxed and infatuating. you lose track of time, gazing up at him.

a sharp pain in your side makes you groan. you had fallen asleep in your dress, lando in his jeans and his shirt, and now you’re paying for it, your fingers searching for the zipper that was now digging into your side. your movements draw him out of his slumber, and when you look back at him, he’s watching you, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“you okay?” lando croaks, his voice deep and sleepy. it sends shockwaves through you.

“mhm. how did you sleep?” you ask, mindlessly running your hand over his jaw like it was the most natural thing in the world. a smile breaks out across his face, eyes fluttering shut once more.

“really fucking well.” he laughs, almost in disbelief.

“yeah, me too.” you smile at him, shy.

“what’s bothering you?”

“well, a human heater woke me up and now this fucking zipper is killing me.” you joke. it’s weird that this doesn’t feel weird.

“i am pretty hot i guess.”

“yeah, yeah.” you roll your eyes and stand from the bed.

lando sits up, resting on his elbows. his eyes follow you as you walk around the room. you take a bottle of water, drinking half of it before passing it to him. his lips wrap around the bottle and you have to turn away, the ache between your legs that you’d been fighting for months rearing it’s irritating head. you clear your throat, composing yourself.

“need to get this dress off.”

lando pulls himself off of the mattress, stalking towards you. you stop in your tracks and he meets you at the foot of the bed. his hands find your cheeks, thumbs smoothing over your skin in little circles, and then kisses you deeper than he did last night.

it’s impossible not to melt into him, hands running over his chest, his shoulders, and finally finding solace tangled in his curls. if someone told you the morning before that you’d wake up in lando’s arms, you would have cackled, urged them to seek medical attention, and probably spat in their face. how things change.

“i think you should keep it on, look so pretty.” lando breathes, staring down at you. you blush hard, leaning into him.

“but i’m uncomfortable.” you grin coyly. and then, a surge of confidence has you whispering: “i’ll let you take it off if you want.”

“let me make you comfortable first.” lando murmurs, dipping his head down until it rests in the crook of your neck. “want me to get you nice and comfortable, baby?” he kisses up your neck.

you cave, finally.

it takes him all of thirty seconds to have you spread out on his face, laying himself down on the mattress and pulling you on top of him so that you’re hovering over his lips. he mouthes at your panties for a second, getting his first taste of you, and then he drags them to the side, clearing a path. his tongue laves over your cunt, groaning as soon as he gets a proper taste.

your dress fans out over your thighs, and lando has disappeared beneath the fabric. you can tell he’s there, though, by the strong hands gripping onto your thighs, the tuft of curls peeking out, and the feeling of his nose bumping your clit as he buries his face deeper and deeper between your folds.

“lando.” you cry, throwing your head back. the straps of your dress are slipping down your arms, skimming your goosebump ridden skin. he just groans into your pussy in response, pulling you impossibly closer to his mouth, backwards and forwards until you’re grinding down on his willing tongue. you reach down blindly, grabbing one of his hands where it rests on your thigh, and your other threads through his hair, gripping tight as you revel in the pleasure.

lando pulls your clit between his teeth, grazing over the bud and you’re jolting, writhing above him. you feel like you’re going to die, heat pricking all over your skin, your tummy tight from the building orgasm. he’s so eager, sliding his entire face through your slippery folds, obscene sounds falling from his lips that ricochet through your quivering body.

tears prick your eyes when you finally let go, slumping forwards from the overwhelming sensation taking over every single nerve. he lifts you off of him, laying you back on the bed as you come down from your high.

“you okay, baby?” he coos, brushing sweat dampened hair from your eyes.

his lips are stained, dark pink and shiny, a mixture of enthusiasm and your slick coating them. lando scans your watery eyes, feral at how fucked out you look all because of him, and tantalisingly licks his lips.

“need you.” you moan, reaching out for him. his shirt is wrinkled where he’d slept in it and your shaky hands find the few buttons that are actually done up. you push the material off of his shoulders, pupils blown wide at the sight of his toned chest, at the feel of smooth, golden skin. you pull him in by the shoulders, swallowing him whole as you kiss him with everything you’ve got left.

lando’s hands find your thighs once more, running his hands over them to push your dress up your hips.

“wanted this for so long.” he whispers into the kiss, pulling away so that he can take the dress off of you. he looks ravenous the more he pushes the fabric up your body.

you feel vulnerable under his intense gaze, watchful eyes taking in every movement you make. you try to pull him back in for another kiss but he resists.

“let me look at you, please?” lando asks. “there you go, baby, let’s get this off, hmm?” he sits you up so that he can get it over your head, and you lay back, bare aside from your panties that he’d left in disarray.

he sucks in a breath, raking his eyes over the curve of your lips, your collarbone, the slope of your breasts. his gaze lingers there for just a second, before continuing further over your belly, the length of your legs. you want to hide away, pull him in so that he can’t look at you like this, or just dive under the duvet and stay there until you need to catch your flight.

“god, you’re so, so fucking beautiful.” he gasps, awestruck. he sounds speechless, and you feel yourself going red again.

“come here.” you whine. “needed you for so long.”

your admission seems to kick him into action, because seconds later, he’s on top of you, fingers grazing the band of your underwear while you fiddle with the button on his jeans.

“gonna be good for me, aren’t you?” lando stares you down, tone sending a shiver down your spine. you nod, batting your eyelashes. “words, my love.”

“yes, lando.” you affirm, arching into him. that’s all he needs to know, kicking his jeans away, boxers too.

“good girl. took care of me so well last night, now ‘m gonna take such good care of you.”

your eyes skim his body, honing in on how hard he is. your hand finds his cock, tentative at first, stroking over it softly. it’s heavy in your hands, red and dripping already. he wants this just as bad as you do. you continue to jerk him off, watching the way his eyes squeeze shut and his lips part, soft pants falling out. a low hum sounds from the back of his throat, and you wet your lips, threading your free hand through his hair.

lando opens his eyes at the sensation, gently batting your hand away. he dips down even closer, resting on one of his forearms. he lines himself up and your legs wrap around him instinctively. slowly, he pushes inside of you, his breath catching in his throat.

“fucking hell.” he groans, deep and guttural, something carnal sending shockwaves through his body. “been dreaming about all the ways i’d get to fuck you.”

your eyes roll back and you go languid in his arms, feeling every inch of him slide against your slick walls.

“want you.” you rasp, clinging to him, your fingernails leaving patterns between his taut shoulder blades as you beg for it.

“you have me, baby.” and then he kisses you, messy and slow, stealing the air from your lungs. you’re dizzy when he pulls away, sitting back slightly to change the angle. you cry out, feeling him even deeper and everything is more sensitive, warm. you roll your hips, meeting his thrusts deliciously, and he chokes out a moan as you clamp around him. “yeah, that’s it. fuck yourself like that for me.” he encourages.

this is all too much, too good. you have whiplash, physically and emotionally, eyes pooling with tears as the man you’d wanted so badly that you hated him for it rocks into you. lando hits the right spot every time he pistons his hips harder, and his nimble fingers slide up your abdomen, applying light pressure to your navel that makes you writhe.

“fucking perfect for me. gorgeous.” lando slurs, entranced by the sight of where you’re joined. he can see just how wet you are and it drives him insane, barrelling into you like a man possessed, drunk on every single way that your body responds to him.

his wandering hand finds your breast, kneading it before he traces your nipple. he watches the way it hardens at his manipulation, wetting his lips. he collapses back on top of you, sucking the bud into his mouth. you’re panting, whining beneath him as his tongue swirls over your chest, switching to the other side. you jolt, a silent scream scratching your throat when he slips his hand between your thighs, working your clit with the pad of his thumb. he’s rutting against you, grinding deeper, faster, uncontrollably.

“come on, baby. you’re so close, so tight for me.” he mutters into your skin. you nod frantically, your words lost on you. he kisses over your collarbone, the base of your throat, until he finds your lips.

“so close.” you sigh.

he stops.

“tell me you’re all mine.” lando growls, his entire demeanour changing. the tone of his voice almost finishes you off but you’re suddenly enraged. you’re too close for him to stop.

“c’mon lando.” you hiss, trying to move your hips but he has you firmly in place.

“need to hear you say it.” his hand slithers over your chest, finding a new home at the base of your throat. it makes you throb, the way his thick fingers wrap around you. slowly, his grip tightens, and you see an opportunity.

you buck your hips hard, whimpering at the sensation, but your plan works and now you hover over him. he’s still buried inside you, and you can feel him pulsing as you steal control.

“for once in your life, honey, shut the fuck up.” you smirk, mischievous in victory.

slowly, you build up your rhythm. he feels bigger like this, deeper, and you almost lose yourself in the small circles you make with your hips.

“knew you’d be like this. you liked giving yourself to me but i just knew you’d need to take back control.” lando teases. his hand is back around your neck, squeezing slowly, and you grind frantically, dizzy for him. “i was right last night, wasn’t i, baby? pretending to be my good girl when really,” he pulls you down so that you’re chest to chest. “you’re just a fucking brat.”

lando holds you close as he fucks up into you, feeling the way you go limp on top of him as the pleasure washes over you like a million electric shocks. you’re crying, tears pooling on his chest, because there is nothing you can do, nothing you want to do, but take it. he’s got you right where he wants you, and you’re loving every fucking second of it.

“yeah, baby, take it how you want it.” lando commands through gritted teeth, and you move your hips in a feeble attempt to match his speed. everything is slippery, everything feels wet and flushed.

the power play, the position, the frenzy he seems to be in as he fucks you, it all has you gushing, spilling all over him. you choke out a sob, shuddering as the elastic band in your belly snaps. lando stops his thrusts, replacing them with small rolls of his hips to help you through your orgasm.

a sharp breath and a string of curses from him give you the strength to muster the last little bits of energy you have left to look up at him. you pull your head up off of his chest just in time to watch him shatter into a million little pieces.

his neck flexes as his head rolls back, sinking into the pillow, his eyes tight. swollen lips part and your name falls from between them like a prayer. you can feel him filling you up, his hands tightening their hold on your hips like he’s scared to let go, like the world will stop if he does.

the world stops anyway, because then you’re looking at each other. really looking at each other.

it only takes a second for you to be drawn in and his hands leave your hips to cup your face. his calloused hands feel your skin, stroking over rosy patches on your cheeks. it’s deathly silent all around you, apart from the breathless pants you share.

swollen lips crash hard into yours and you melt. he’s still buried so deeply inside of you, your hips digging into his, impossibly close. you’re blindly reaching for any part of him you can get your hands on, and his big hands slide down your body until they meet the small of your back. ever so carefully, he flips you onto your back, easing your spent body into the mattress.

lando collapses on top of you, mouthes at your neck for a moment, delicate kisses making your eyes flutter shut. the eye contact almost sends you into cardiac arrest as he pulls out, oh so slowly. tease.

he holds you close in the shower, fingers massaging every part of you. sex and sweat are washed away, almost lovingly. you let the water run for far too long, content in clinging to him. it’s quiet, reflective time for both of you, exactly what it needs to be. you’re both hung up on questions that need to be asked, neither one of you brave enough to take the first steps. you know one thing, and one thing only: something has changed, in a forever kind of way.

your hair is stringy, half dry, and you’re stood in your underwear. your legs are still shaky.

“your flight soon?” lando asks. he’s stood in his boxers on the other side of the room, scrunching the water out of his curls.

“yeah.” your throat feels raw.

“and you’re going back to monaco?” he’s stopped what he’s doing now, staring at you. you can see the cogs turning behind his eyes.

you nod.

“fancy a sleepover?” he grins, boyish and careless. your heart falls to your feet.

you’re giggling when he sweeps you into his arms and kisses you into the freshly made bed. the sheets are on the floor by the time you finally remember you have a flight to catch.

you’re his now, you realise. he’s too beautiful for his own damn good.

“baby?” you hear lando call from his bedroom. you make out the faint sound of his footsteps making their way in your direction. he appears before you can even answer him, and he’s smiling softly at the sight of you bundled up in a blanket, sprawled across his couch.

“what is it?” you ask. the next thing you know he’s on top of you, peppering kisses over every single inch of skin he can get to on your face. “hey, get off, muppet.” you whine playfully, ruffling his hair.

“do you know how much i love having you here?” he murmurs. it’s endearing as fuck and you fight a foolish, dopey grin.

“you’ve mentioned once or twice…” you’ve been here since your flight touched down a week ago. you haven’t even been home to get clothes, not that you needed them in his company.

“we might have a teeny, tiny issue.” he squints, pulling a face.

“and what’s that?” you ask, your voice measuring equal parts cautious and amused.

“so, alex called…”

“oh, shit.”

“we have to go to dinner tonight.”

“we have to?”

“he’s suspicious as fuck. you do realise they’ve been plotting for us to happen for years,” you roll your eyes as if you say duh. “and also, you’ve been in monaco for a week and haven’t seen him once. oh, and also, the last time we saw them, we were running away from a fucking crime scene.” lando smiles sarcastically, and you sigh, defeated.

before you can reply, your phone is ringing somewhere beside you. you root around in your blanket searching for it and when you find it:

“son of a bitch.” you exclaim, showing lando the caller ID. alex is one persistent motherfucker.

“hey girl.” alex singsongs down the phone before you can even say hello.

“hello to you too.” you can hear the fear in your own voice.

“dinner. tonight. although, i’m sure lando already told you.” alex teases.

“why would lando have told me? what?” you choke. lando slaps his hand over his face. your voice has gone up several octaves. not suspicious at all.

“so, you’re at home? you haven’t been at his place since last week?” the playful interrogation begins.

“why would i be with lando?” you try and feign disgust at the implication. it does not work.

“because you hate fucked after he beat up that perv? i have to say, i didn’t think he had it in him but he’s been in love with you since he was like, ten, so, you know-”

“bye alex.”’

“you’re not denying it-“

“bye alex!”

you’re flaming red when you throw the phone to the other end of the sofa. lando, as on brand as ever, is cackling into a pillow.

“he is such a fucking shit stirrer.” you bury your face in your hands, slumping back into the fuzzy cushions.

“well, he’s right about one thing.” lando trails off. suddenly he’s looking anywhere but you and you see him gulp, hard, swallowing his words, like he’s too afraid to bare his soul.

“huh?” you ask gently, sitting up to reach out for him. “what’s wrong?”

“we need to get ready for dinner. that’s what he’s right about.” lando says, standing from the sofa and walking towards his room. you’re suspicious, watching him go with furrowed eyebrows.

“lando, behave! you’re the one making me go to this dinner.” you squeal, batting his restless hands away.

you’ve made it as far as the elevator before he pounces on you, caging you in against the metal walls.

“but you look so good, can’t help myself.” he mutters between kisses on your neck, pressing himself even further into you.

the hand that finds it’s way between your legs, exploring beyond the hem of your skirt, is the one that makes you press the button for his floor. why have plans when you can have sex?

he gets through the door to his apartment at lighting speed and carries you all the way to his bed.

when you’re sweating and breathless a good hour later, half of the bedding on the floor with your clothes, you realise you never cancelled your plans.

lando is drawing shapes into the bare skin of your arm, kissing over your shoulder as he does so. his eyes are dropping from all of the over-exertion and you want to count each and every freckle on his face while he falls asleep. he’s cute like this, soft and yours.

and idea comes to your mind, and as if he can see the lightbulb, lando half raises an eyebrow at you. you giggle, somewhat evilly perhaps, and scramble for your phone on the beside table.

“what’re you doing?” lando groans, pouting as his outstretched arms try to find you.

“getting even.” you state.

with the phone in your clutches, you roll back over towards him, holding the camera above you both. he hears the shutter sound as you snap the picture, and peers closer to see the screen. when he sees the groupchat open, he quickly understands what you’re plotting.

“may i?” you ask for his consent.

“are you kidding? go for it. that’ll shut them up.” he laughs sleepily, muttering something about how this is the most lando thing you’ve ever done

FROM: you

TO: the groupchat

1 image attached

couldn’t make dinner. something came up xx

“alex always thinks he’s right, this’ll teach him for being such a little shit.” you flop back into bed even more satisfied than you were before.

you hear lando inhale shakily beside you.

“he is right sometimes you know.” he repeats his earlier words.

you hold your breath. his eyes say so many things that are too delicate to be spoken yet.

“like… like what he said on the phone?” your voice quivers with anticipation, fear. your heart is thunderous, hammering away like it wants to escape the clutches of its cage.

“yeah. i-“ he stops himself. you don’t need him to finish, you know which two words follow. they can follow in good time, you both know it.

“me too, lando.” you coo.

he’s beaming, eyes half shut. you watch as he falls asleep, the both of you ignoring the way your phones are vibrating so aggressively that they might buzz their way off of the night stand. you lose count of his freckles, but it doesn’t matter.

you’ll have plenty of time to figure it out.

let me know what you think :D

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2K notes · View notes

readychilledwine · 4 months

Note

Could i request something where az and reader are mates. They have a huge fight and “break up” and reader leaves the court. She finds out that she is pregnant and writes him a letter. He never shows up so she thinks he doesn’t want the baby. Rhys visit the court she is in and sees her with a child maybe a couple months old. He is mad because she didn’t told him and when he ask her why she keeps his nephew away she tells him that she wrote az but he never answered. Rhys is mad and ask az what is up with him to just leave his pregnant mate. Unbeknownst to him that az was searching for her the whole time. Az tells him that he never got a letter and they find out that maybe elain burned it. It takes some time for them but they find their way back and just fluff azriel dad who teaches his son how to fly.

( you could write more angst between reader and az because of elain or you could use a maid or something who wants az)

Here Without You

Summary - Being a single mother was more painful than you'd ever thought it would be, especially when your son's father was just a court away.

Warnings - Angst, Elain showing those claws, single mom status, a child, PPD and the thoughts that come with it, **edited to add** cheating

A/N - I had one of my friends who is a single mom help me with this one while also imagining my life without baby daddy, and um, yeah. We cried a lot, so hopefully, you all do too.

*message from Liz regarding the ending at the end*

💙Peep my Azriel Masterlist Here💙

You had decided whatever you had done to offend the Mother must have been truly unforgettable and unforgivable as you sank against the wall of your family chambers in the Day Court Palace.

Being a new mother was the hardest thing you had ever and will ever do. You had finally gotten Nox down after 3 hours of fussing and tears, and now you waited. He'd sleep 2 hours if you were lucky, wake up crying, and you'd start the process over.

You had wished for your mate more times than you could count, but that bridge was long gone and burned. He had ensured of that by not coming when you wrote him, by not even bothering to write you a response.

The last fight between you and Azriel had been ugly. Glasses had been thrown, a bottle of wine knocked over in rage, cruel words you would both have to live with ringing in your ears like a scream. 350 years. Gone. Thrown away like garbage. All for Elain.

Selfish, plotting, destructive Elain.

You stood, body swaying with sleep deprivation setting in before sitting at the table where your now cold food set. You were too tired to eat, choosing to instead drink the water you had been desperately craving 4 hour ago.

You had wished you could turn it to wine, drink it with no consequences, and still feed Nox when he woke, but that was not the reality of the world. So, instead, you allowed the room temperature flavorless beverage to slide down your throat before moving like a ghost to the couch. There was no point in getting comfortable in your own bed. You would have to be up soon anyway. It wasn’t as if you had help.

You were alone.

And that wasn't even the most painful part of it.

The most painful part was setting in doubt. The growing disbelief that you weren't capable of this, that Nox deserved more, that you should have dropped him at the cabin you had no doubt Elain had moved into, leaving him with her and Azriel to allow you to-

You cut your brain off, refusing to put those words into a full thought. Refusing to believe that your disappearance or death was better for your son than this.

This had to be enough, you had to be enough, because Gods if it wasn't and you weren't, then what truly was the point in living any longer.

Helion entered your chambers the next morning, eyes falling to where you were sat on the floor, shoulders shaking as sobs tore through you. He placed a large warm hand on your shoulder before taking Nox from your arms. "I know I can not offer much of a break due to his feeding cycle, but when is the last time you ate a hot meal, y/n?"

You shook your head. He was 2 weeks old. You supposed it had been before labor. Since then, it had been moments begging for just a second of deep sleep. Moments begging for the Mother to help you, to guide you. Moments where those prayers went unanswered as if they were just thrown into a void. "I don't remember."

Helion could have killed Azriel for you, for Lucien, for Nox. He almost had when you had winnowed yourself here, collapsing in his arms from the exhaustion magic and a growing babe had caused your body.

You hadn't known when you came to the Day Court, begging your oldest friend for a week of safety and healing that you were pregnant, but the High Lord had scented it the second you appeared.

It left him wondering how the hell Azriel hadn't.

"Let me hire a wet nurse for you," he offered again, knowing you would turn it down since your depressive state had you hyper fixated in this belief that all you were good for now was your breasts, and if you gave that duty away, what purpose did you have? "At least for the next few hours. To give you time to rest?"

You still shook your head, messy, tangled hair trying to sway. "I can't. I can't burden someone else."

Helion turned his head away from you, willing himself not to cry at the emptiness of your voice, at the lifelessness you had become.

"The Night Court and Spring are coming today," he started slowly. "I am the magic selected neutral ground for Tamlin and Rhysand to begin setting a peace treaty and trade routes." He waited for your reaction, almost breaking further as you gave him none. "Do you want to see any of them?"

"Lucien and Tamlin."

Helion felt his heart shatter for Cassian, the male who had been asking about you for months now. "The general-"

"Is Azriel's brother. And probably has taken his side. Attempts to see me are probably to give him some sick sort of satisfaction."

He dropped the subject immediately. Nox was asleep, content in the High Lord's arms. "I have time before they arrive, go nap." Helion ordered it, eyes blazing a soft gold and forcing you into submission.

Your bed had never felt so soft.

Helion was walking with Nox around the Palace, smiling and cooing the little male. He was always content when he was being held, and you were so deeply asleep you hadn't even noticed Helion holding the boy to your chest as he nursed. He walked towards where Lucien and Tamlin were.

His son, his pride and joy, looked just radiant in his Day Court attire. The soft, off-white pleaded fabric draping him showed the new healthy build he had gained since Azriel and Elain's transgressions, a golden snake wrapped his bicep, new golden earrings adorned those many piercings.

Lucien paused, a look of concern etching his face when he saw Nox before shaking his head rapidly.

But it was too late, Helion was already in the room where Rhysand also stood with the Inner Circle. The Lord of Night's face fell as he looked at the Illyrian boy, looking so happy up at Helion as he dozed off.

Cassian had frozen, mid sentence with Nesta. He had tried to take a step, wanting to see the babe he immediately knew was his nephew. His eyes met Helion's pleading with permission to approach. Elain's face had paled. A mix of guilt and fear running across it before she schooled it into a faked look of hurt and sadness.

But it was Azriel's face the broke the High Lord. It was a look he knew all too well.

The look of a father who missed the birth of his child.

The look of a father who didn't know he had a child.

The look of a father mourning lost time.

Lucien moved to Helion, taking Nox before leaving the room quickly. The boy did as he always did when his head found Lucien's warm bare shoulder. He released a heavy breath, snuggling into that familiar scent and warmth. "Your mother did not call for me last night," they all heard his soft voice trailing off, speaking to their nephew softly.

"You will tell me everything I do not know," Rhysand demanded as if he was in his own court. "When the fuck was he born. Why were we not informed of her pregnancy?"

Tamlin looked to Helion, digging the shit further. "Is she in the same room as last time?" The Lord of Day nodded. "I will go see her while you all deal with this."

Helion didn't answer, walking to the centered round table and taking the head seat. "To begin, Rhysand, this is my court. You will not make demands of me in my home." They all sat, aside from Azriel. His gaze was locked on the hallway Lucien and Tamlin had gone down.

If he ran, he could catch them. He could see you. He could-

The slam of hands on a table ripped him from his thoughts, and his head snapped to Helion. The High Lord was blazing, glowing like the sun itself, heat radiating from him. "Sit. Down."

An hour later and Rhysand had the bridge of his nose pinched between his fingers. "You saw her send each letter?"

Helion rolled his eyes, nodding again. "Every month after every check up and once after the birth."

Rhys pointed to Azriel. "But you never got them?"

"My son wouldn't be in another court if I had," Azriel's voice mirrored yours. Broken, empty, mourning. Mourning what was, what he had missed and would never get back. "You're sure she sent them to me?"

Helion could have snapped his neck. "Who else would have fathered her babe? You are the one who stepped out of the bonds of marriage and mateship. Not her."

Azriel paused, a sudden look of anger gracing his face as he looked up at Elain, shadows curling his ears. Nuala appeared, setting envelopes down in front of Rhysand. "In her room. Under her bed in a locked chest. Along with every communication you had tried to send to y/n, my lord."

Feyre gasped, turning her back to Elain and leaning further into Rhysand, holding Nyx tightly between them. She remembered those first few weeks. The sleepless nights, the pain, the emotional down pour. She would not have survived without Rhysand. Without Nesta and Mor. Without Cassian and you and Azriel. Her sister, the one who had held her as darkness swallowed her mind after her son's birth, had allowed you to endure this alone.

Azriel's hands shook, reaching for that stack. He separated out the letters. 10 for him. 2 for Rhysand and Feyre. 2 for Mor. 2 for Amren. 4 for Cassian and Nesta.

Helion stood. "I will let you all process this. Call for me when you are ready to do negotiations. The sooner you all leave, the better for her."

Rhysand's eyes shot up. "You won't let us explain to her-"

"Does it change the fact that he took Elain to their marriage bed? Does it change that he signed the annulment papers." Silence filled the room. "I believe that's why she left. Correct?" Rhys grit his teeth nodding. "Then all this changes is me, someone she trusts and feels safe with right now, informing her of what happened and allowing her to decide if she wants to reach out again from that point." He made a pointed look at Elain. "Which would not matter since I cannot see you removing the parasite from your court."

Helion walked into your room to Lucien and Nox laying skin to skin, a blanket over them as Tamlin held you, long fingers running through your dark hair. "And?" His son said.

"Your mate hid the letters regarding her pregnancy." Lucien whistled. "She's a snake hiding behind beautiful scales."

Azriel had tracked down your room with his shadows easily. The inner circle had been excused for the negotiations and allowed to explore the city. Cassian had flown Elain home, Mor and Amren winnowing Nesta behind them. Cassian wanted Elain out of his house, and Azriel could not have been more grateful to his brother for having his back.

He entered the room slowly and quietly. You were placing the babe in a crib on the balcony. It was shaded from the sun, shielded to remain the perfect temperature, and yet gave him access to fresh air, to the breeze.

You turned, eyes wide the second you saw Azriel. He moved to you so quickly that you could hardly process it. One second, your feet were on the ground, and the next, arms held you tight against him. Azriel was breathing deeply, memorizing your scent all over again.

He set you down, keeping you close to his chest, and sent a prayer to the Mother. "Elain hid all the letters," he began slowly. "She kept them all in her room. I didn't know. Had I known about you, about him, I would have crawled the very depths of hell to bring you back home to me."

You didn't answer. Tears fell as your body relaxed into him. It wasn't fair. The hold he had on you. The need you still felt in your bones when he touched your skin. You ached for Azriel so deeply it echoed into your bones. You longed for his smell. His voice.

Azriel took your silence as permission to continue. "I made a mistake. I will never be able to make up for it. Elain knew the second you left, I wanted to correct this. I was so blinded by her, by the feeling of being needed like that again, that I forgot how precious your independence was. How beautiful it is."

He couldn't stop himself from kissing the top of your head. "You are all I think about. Morning, noon, and night, it is always and will always be you. I am so sorry for what I have done. I am sorry for hurting you, for ruining us, for hurting the family we should be raising together. There are no words for my remorse."

"Why?" Your voice broke as you asked. "Why wasn't I enough?"

Azriel pulled back to look at you, hand raising to hold your chin and force eye contact. "Y/n, you are not at fault for my actions. You did nothing wrong. There is no partial blame, no what ifs. I fucked up. I made a mistake and it cost both of us everything. You are the victim of my actions, not the catalyst."

He saw you process those words and saw as they sunk in. "You were and are more than I will ever deserve. I want to spend my lifetime making up for it. Becoming a male you are proud of. I want to be the father I never got to have. I want to be the husband and mate you deserve. I know it will take time, and I do not expect your forgiveness today, but if you give me a chance, I will go to my grave worshipping the ground you two walk."

"Do you want to meet our son?" He broke at the question, feeling the bond opening back on your end. "This doesn't mean we're back together. It means we need to coparent for him while we work on things." He nodded rapidly, following you to the bassinet.

It felt like the world was coming full circle. You knew it would take time, that you two had many things to discuss first. This was a needed good start, though. Your pain eased slightly as you pulled back the curtains to the crib and whispered, "Azriel, this is Nox, your son."

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanager @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho

**I have received some pretty nasty anon asks, some unconstructive comments, and a good amount of general negativity regarding this fic. If you are unhappy with the ending and want to know why I made the choices I made as the author, click #discussingherewithoutyou. Unconstructive comments will be receiving the same copy and paste answer from here forward.

My time and content are free. If you do not like them, scroll.

General Taglist:

@mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium

Azriel Taglist:

@elle4404

#acotar #acotar x reader #send asks #send anons #azriel acotar #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel x yn #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger #discussingherewithoutyou

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mysecretlittlelibrary · 9 months

Text

After The End

Pairing: Bucky x Reader/former Steve x Reader

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: idk... there's lots of arguing and resentment

Genre: mostly angst some fluff here and there

Summary: It took you ages to put yourself back together when Steve chose to stay in the 40s, what happens when he comes back two years after

***

Life after Thanos was hard. Watching some of your closest friends disappear was not something you would ever be able to forget. Especially with those of you that were left scattered around trying to patch up what could be saved. Those five years were hard, but harder still was having almost everyone you loved return only to lose others. If you had known that beating Thanos would mean losing your boyfriend you might not have tried so hard. It's selfish to think that way, you know it is but you had a whole life planned with Steve, and being heroes you knew there was a chance you wouldn't get to see it through but losing him like this was- almost too much to bare. All he had to do was return the stupid stones to where you'd gotten them from to save the universe. It was supposed to be simple and there was something soul shattering about him choosing not to return to the team, to you. He took the stones back and then he stayed. Chose a life with Peggy that was never his rather than the life with you that he already had. It was agony, for months you were heartbroken. But you got through it. You mourned that life you envisioned, you mourned him, and while you'll probably always love him, you refused to let his choice destroy you. And you considered yourself lucky because Bucky was there for you through it all. On nights that were really bad, Bucky would stay with you even if you were up all night.

You aren't entirely sure when it happened, even now, looking back on it you can't pinpoint the moment late night conversations and afternoons completing chores became... more than that. You guess in spending so much time together you started to see Bucky in a different light. You'd always cared for him but what happened with Steve seems to have created a level of closeness you didn't expect. That first night that you kissed him was unexpected even to you. You'd been talking about nothing of consequence, he was lying on the floor of your room while you were in your bed, both of you staring at your ceiling for the most part. There was a lull in the conversation so you said the thing that had only clicked for you the week before at that point.

"I can't believe I let myself feel inadequate for so long." You sighed. You'd convinced yourself, for weeks, that Steve leaving was because you weren't enough, and only now were you coming to your senses about it.

"I'm sorry." Bucky had whispered it so quietly you almost thought he wasn't talking to you.

"You're sorry? For what? You didn't make him leave." You scoffed at him.

"For letting you feel less than perfect."

"Come on Buck, that's not on you." You'd rotated onto your stomach with a chuckle at his words. He'd cracked one eye open to look at you when he realized you were staring at him. Before you let yourself think about it too hard, you had leaned over the edge of your bed and kissed Bucky. It was quick and a bit awkward because of the angle but you made sure not to shy away from his surprised stare after.

"Did you just-" Bucky didn't even finish the question.

"Yeah. I guess I did." You'd smiled slowly watching a slight pink warm Bucky's cheeks.

You wish you could simply say 'and the rest is history' but that makes it seem like things were way easier than they were. It wasn't a smooth transition by any means. That night neither of you spoke for far too long, and when you could muster up something to say it wasn't to address the rapidly growing elephant in the room- it was to dispell the tension. You and Bucky spent two weeks dancing around the subject before he finally asked you if you were even ready for another relationship after Steve. That's when it clicked, why he'd been avoiding it in the first place, he was considering the possibility you were rebounding. Understandable concern but nope. It had been months, almost a year actually, since Steven had left. You knew you were in a place to begin again and you wanted to do it with Bucky.

Now the rest is history. You've been together ever since. About a year and a half at this point and you can't remember the last time you were this happy. The two of you meshed so well you can't believe there was a time you thought your future was with another man. You smile to yourself as you think about it while working on a painting. There's a knock at the front door that you almost don't hear.

"Y/n can you get the door? I'm in the bathroom!" Bucky shouts.

"Oh shit, of course!" You put down your brush and head to the door. You can't describe the shock that gripped you when you open the door.

"Steven." You blink at him.

"Hey. Nat- told me you'd moved. Luckily she uh, had your new address so-" He trails off with a shrug.

"Look not to- sound rude or anything, like I'm glad to see you, I think but, what are you doing here?" You ask.

"I thought- I thought I knew what I wanted but I got it wrong. I got it so wrong. My life- my happiness, it's here. With you." Steve steps towards you and you instinctively step back, placing a hand up gently to indicate your boundary.

"Hang on a second Steve. Just because your plan didn't work out doesn't mean you can just waltz back into my life like nothing's changed."

"Y/n! Who's at the door?" Bucky's voice calls from inside.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you." You call back.

"I- didn't realize you'd have company." Steve mutters.

"Oh I don't. That's-" Before you can explain, Bucky's asking something, now walking over to join you at the front door.

"So who's this unbelievable surprise guest of-" Bucky's hands drop from where they were just about to settle on your waist when he finally glances out your door. "Steve." He says stepping back.

"Told you, you wouldn't believe me." You toss over your shoulder.

"Hey pal. Long time no see." Steve says. You can't tell if he's totally put it together yet but the strain in his voice tells you he at least knows something's changed between you and his best friend.

"I'll say. What happened to growing old with Carter?" Bucky asks, stepping around you to half hug Steve and offer a shoulder pat.

"I realized that- wasn't the life I wanted. I mean it was once upon a time but, not anymore. Things have changed." Steve shrugs.

"I see." Bucky nods.

"Well, Steve you're welcome to stay here with us while you- get back on your feet in the 21st century! Right Buck? Or I can send you over to Sam, he's back in Louisiana with family right now but I'm sure he'd love to see you too." You say.

"Oh, yeah, we can set him up in the extra room although- your art stuff is in there, did you want me to move it into my office or should I put it in your room?" Bucky hums.

"Do you have space in your office? Cuz I definitely can set it up in my room-"

"There's tons of space in my office." Bucky shrugs before you can finish. Steve clears his throat and you turn your attention back to him.

"Sorry to interrupt your- logistical discussion about all this, I j- I didn't realize you two were living together." Steve says.

"It's been two years. Like you said, things have changed." You say.

"You haven't told him?" Bucky looks at you.

"Well in my defense I was about to when you walked over here and the conversation kinda pivoted." You say.

"Okay well, do you want to do it or should I?" Bucky asks.

"I mean I don't want to but- it should be me, yeah." You mutter.

"Okay, can we stop doing this sidebar thing you guys are doing? Tell me- what exactly?" Steve asks. Bucky's hand settles comfortingly against your back, it's out of Steve's line of sight and you appreciate it greatly.

"Bucky- Bucky's my partner." You say.

"In the- you go on missions together sense or the 'my girlfriend is dating my best friend' sense?" Steve asks.

"It's been two years Steve-"

"So you replace me with my closest friend?"

"No. I moved on and yeah it was with Bucky but that was by chance it wasn't about you at all. Don't make it personal."

"You just happen to move on with my best bud? It feels pretty personal." He scoffs.

"Okay! Let's settle down. Steve, if you're gonna take our offer to stay I will show you to your room. Nat has some of your things at her place, the rest of it is in a storage unit. I'll take you down after." Bucky interrupts the would-be argument by changing the subject. You step out of the doorway to let Steve walk in as Bucky tugs him along.

"Why are my things at Nat's?" Steve asks.

"Well some of the more valuable things y/n held onto for a while but when she didn't want to keep them around here anymore we gave them to Nat to look after until we came up with a better plan since we didn't wanna leave them in a storage unit we'd barely go to." Bucky explains as the pair walk further into the house. You can't hear Steve's reply as you walk into the kitchen to regroup. Letting him stay here is going to make shit so weird. You sigh to yourself, with any luck he'll get on his feet pretty quickly and this will only last a couple of months. You can do a couple of months.

The first few weeks are, tense. You're not sure if Bucky is as aware of it as you are but your house is awkward and quiet most hours since Steve showed up. It's like most of your routines have been disrupted and you're not sure which ones are best left for after he's gone. Right now you're on your balcony with a cup of tea. When you glance over the ledge, you see Steve trudging into view. You watch curiously to figure out what he's doing, not even realizing Bucky's snuck up behind you until his arms settle around your waist.

"Penny for your thoughts my darling?" Bucky asks.

"Things are weird. Maybe I shouldn't have offered to let him stay here." You frown.

"Don't be silly. You wouldn't be you if you hadn't offered." Bucky chuckles.

"Sure but- now I'm worried I've put us- put you in an uncomfortable situation." Bucky spins you around to face him. His hand comes up to the side of your face, fingers grazing your cheek softly.

"I'm fine. Are you uncomfortable with him being here? Because I can suggest he spend some time checking in with the others if you'd-"

"No, I don't want to kick him out. I just- I don't want you to lose him because of me." You say taking his hand in yours kiss his knuckles.

"If 70 years and Russian brainwashing couldn't destroy our friendship I think we can make it past this." Bucky winks at you. You glance over the balcony again in time to see Steve toss some wood at a growing pile.

"What is he doing? Why is he piling wood?" Your eyebrows scrunch up.

"You can just ask him you know." Bucky muses.

"It's not harming anyone. I don't need to know." You shake your head.

"You wanna ask don't you?"

"It's just strange." You say fighting a smile.

"Just ask." Bucky laughs leaving you to your tea on the balcony. A moment later you let your curiosity get the better of you and lean against the metal railing of the balcony.

"Steve hon, what on earth are you doing?" You ask him.

"A tree fell, so- I'm breaking it down into firewood."

"Stevie it's August, we're not using the fireplace." You shake your head with a laugh.

"Better safe than sorry." He shrugs.

"You must be incredibly bored." You muse.

"No, I just like to be prepared." He says. "Alright, I'm a little bored." He adds with a sigh after a moment.

"Well if you need something to do- I was catching up with Nat the other day, she said a couple of the tenants in her building moved out for whatever reason, you should talk to her about applying." You tell him.

"I'll give her a call." He squints up at you.

"Good." You nod heading back into the apartment. That's honestly the longest conversation you've had since the day he moved in. Usually, you spend all day avoiding him- or he spends all day avoiding you- you're not sure but you don't speak really, except you make a point to ask him about dinner, if he has plans, or if he'd like to join you and Bucky. You're a good host, but you don't talk to each other much. Not that you expect any different, you were together for six years and he up and left but he's back now- and things are not what he thought they'd be. What else could be said honestly?

You actually don't mind the silence between you two, because the day Steve decides to break that pattern brings forth the worst conversation. The type you've been dreading since the moment he appeared at your door. You're cleaning around the apartment and Steve offered to help, first you worked in silence, just the music from your speaker filling the air until a particular song came on. One you played for Steve once that he immediately fell in love with. It became your song. You only recently stopped associating the song with him but you forgot it was in this playlist otherwise you would've picked another one.

"You still listen to this song?" Steve asks. You keep your back turned to him as you wipe down the coffee table.

"Of course I do. I knew the song before- it was, ours." You say.

"This is the first time I've heard it in a while." He muses.

"Duh the song didn't exist until the 2010s." You scoff.

"Yeah I guess that's- that's true. It's strange though, that awareness of what's to come."

"Yeah that's why most of sci fi warns you not to go time jumping."

"You clean with different products now." Steve points out. You're not sure what he's trying to do here but you are in no mood to dance around awkwardness with him.

"Scented products are easier for Bucky. He says plain bleach smells too sterile." You mutter. It's Bucky that buys most of the cleaning products anyway, but he always buys citrus stuff.

"It's not easy, you know, seeing my best friend with the love of my life every day." Steve says after a stretch of silence. At this, you turn to face him, trying to stifle that frustration bubbling inside you.

"You left me. Left us. Not the other way around Steve. You don't get to complain about us having picked up the pieces." You tell him.

"I still love you, that's not something I can just pretend isn't there." He says.

"And I love Bucky." You shrug.

"Not me?"

"It doesn't matter." You shake your head.

"It does."

"If it mattered to you at all you would've never left." You grit out.

"So say it." He says quietly.

"What?"

"Tell me you don't love me."

"Steve-"

"Say it. If what we had is truly all in the past for you tell me you don't love me. That there's no place in your heart for me and- I'll move on."

"This isn't fair." You shake your head.

"No?"

"No! You got the life with Peggy that you thought you wanted. You abandoned me. Now you're asking me to choose you when you didn't choose me. How can you expect me to do that?"

"I'm choosing you now!"

"And I've chosen Bucky. I wanted the world with you. All you had to do was come back to me. And you didn't. It's too late now Steve. You needed to choose me two years ago."

"You still haven't said-"

"I don't love you. That's what you want to hear? You lost me the day you chose not to come back. I shouldn't have to spell it out for you. I chose Bucky, yes. But you-" Deep breath. "If you can't handle me and Bucky together in our home then- maybe you should go stay with Sam or Natasha." You say. You're not going to argue with him.

"Are you kicking me out?"

"I'm offering you an alternative- because, I will not be choosing you. Not now, not ever again, you had your chance and if you can't come to terms with that, if it's too difficult to be around reminders that you fucked up and I kept living life without you then by all means don't destroy your mental health staying here. You have other friends."

"How can you expect me to just- pretend what we had means nothing? How can you pretend it means nothing?"

"I'm not asking you to pretend shit. I also am not pretending it means nothing I'm just aware of the reality that it's over and that's something you need to come to terms with because you left and Bucky made me feel alive again when your leaving nearly killed me. It's been two years, did you think I would simply be waiting indefinitely for you to decide I was worth something to you again?"

"Wait a second you have always been worth something to me. You've always been worth everything." Steve frowns.

"You don't get to say that! You don't abandon people that are 'worth everything' to you. You chose someone else and that's a choice you have to live with." You say, your finger practically in his face. The sound of the apartment door opening disrupts your anger enough that you step back.

"Hey guys- did I miss something?" Bucky frowns looking between you two even though you've already stopped back over to the coffee table. Bucky's quick to come to your side, scanning your face for any clues as to what's going on, although he heard the last bit of what you said as he was coming down the hall. "Baby?" He coaxes gently, his fingers stroking against your side.

"I'm gonna go to Sam's for a little while." Steve grits out.

"Feel free to stay there." You clip before you can stop yourself. Steve's footfalls pause for a moment at your words but he doesn't respond before eventually he trudges out the front door.

"Feel free to stay there?! What... happened while I was out?" Bucky asks with a disbelieving chuckle.

"He has... a lot of nerve." You force out through clenched teeth.

"You're gonna have to give me more details than that so I can understand what's wrong doll."

"He just told me how hard it is to watch his best friend with the 'love of his life' every day. The love of his life that he left to be with a woman that lived and died without him. He asked me to choose him. Because after two years I'm supposed to still love the man that left me. Because it's not enough that he almost destroyed me the last time. Because for some reason he thinks I'd rather be picked two years too late."

"He's hurting."

"Yeah well, so was I. Two years ago. He'll live. I did." You shrug. Bucky pulls you into a hug, kissing the top of your head as he gently sways you both back and forth. You lived through hell that day you realized Steve chose a life with Peggy. You'd be damned if you ever let that happen again.

***

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader #marvel #marvel fanfiction #steve rogers #bucky x reader #bucky #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fluff #steve rogers angst #steve rogers fanfiction

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ataraxiaspainting · 4 months

Text

A Final Wish.

Yan Geto x F Reader x Yan Gojo.

Synopsis: All you want is the best for your daughter.

Warnings: Yandere themes, past kidnapping, mentions of pregnancy/not SFW, takes place a year or so before JJK 0, very, very unhealthy relationships, major power imbalances, child abandonment, and violence.

Continuation of Banquet of Massacre.

Word Count: 1.5k.

*~*~*~*

It is in a wolf’s nature to be gluttonous, but so is that of a dog’s.

Dogs come after wolves in the theory of evolution, and with dogs comes the unselfishness to be one. However, while dogs are not as gluttonous as wolves, they still are, in other ways. They seek constant attention, negative or otherwise, and will always have the personality of a human infant, regardless of how they are brought up by their superiors.

They express their emotions with the limited range of sounds they possess, sometimes timid and shrill, other times rough and menacing. They are dogs, experts in getting what they want in their way. Their primary pursuit is garnering the affection, care, and admiration they are unable to give themselves. Isn't it beautiful, people ask and say and wonder? They depend on those in their vicinity and refuse to release their grip, for if they do, they will stumble and remain fallen.

They do nothing, yet ask for everything, much like the wolves that came before them.

You put in the effort, while they enjoy the benefits that rightfully belong to you, rather than to them. However, you permit this arrangement because they assist you in warding off other threats, coming to your aid when you summon them, and fulfilling other tasks that you are incapable of accomplishing alone.

So, who is the dog, who is the man, and who is the wolf? Is that really up to you to decide, or is that the world’s decision, or is the question at hand supposed to be answered by the one who promised you a new life away from the one you ran away from, Satoru Gojo?

He is the same one that holds your daughter’s hand so gently, while his infinity leads you to not be able to touch him at all.

“I have to take her to kindergarten now, Satoru.”

As you state the task at hand that you must do, if you ever want your daughter to have a good life, Satoru sighs and pushes up his sunglasses. “Rina is a good name for her, I would say.”

“That… isn’t the point.”

“It means joy, doesn’t it?”

Unaware of the situation unfolding, Rina wears a constant smile, her irises almost black and squinting with sheer joy. These eyes, when glanced at by you, inadvertently bring pain, as they vividly resemble Geto’s own.

“It’s her first day, Satoru. Please let me take her, you know she… doesn’t have any friends.”

“She has me!” Satoru bursts with joy, hoisting Rina high above him and twirling her around, their laughter filling the air. You dislike how paternal he acts towards her, yet appreciate it at the same time. Being a mother was never your desire, so maybe Satoru lightens that burden for you, even though his motives are self-serving. He had extended his offer to shelter both of you a few months after your daring escape, while you were cradling baby Rina in your arms, who had just been born in an old, desolate house on the fringes of Tokyo.

You had no desire for her to fall ill, and despite everything, you remained as her mother. You intended to fulfill the role of a good mother, even if it was imposed upon you unintentionally or not by Geto. She is under your care, correct? As her mother, you would go to any lengths to ensure that Geto never discovers her existence. Does she possess the ability to perceive curses? If she does, and Geto were to discover her, she would be confined to a luxurious but restrictive environment. However, if she lacks this ability and he still becomes aware... you are uncertain of the consequences she would face. All you are certain of is that it would be something detrimental, something deeply distressing.

You are both dressed in white fleece, while Satoru wears fully black as he always has. “Let her stay. I’ll hire a tutor for her.”

Can you refuse this? Satoru possesses the demeanor of a loyal canine, whereas Geto embodies the spirit of a cunning wolf. Yet both inflict harm upon you, though in distinct manners. However, they both cause you pain. Don't they both cause you pain? They will forever remain entwined with you and with each other, connected by an unbreakable crimson thread, as they both harm you and strive to control you.

So, just as many, many times before, you bite your tongue and nod. Satoru smiles, then takes Rina back inside, down the hall to the elevators, as you follow them. “Yay, Rina! No school for you!”

“Yay!”

He presses the up button, and you resist the urge to run with Rina in your arms.

*~*~*~*

“She’s my daughter, Satoru.”

“I still don’t know why you decided to keep that brat around.” You never are used to Satoru speaking too coldly, especially when it comes to talking about Rina, but then again it only happens behind closed doors, when Rina has been put to bed for the night and all the lights are turned off aside from the one beside Satoru’s side of the bed. “Sure, she may be your biological daughter, but she is still unwanted, isn’t she? You never wanted to be a mother, so why do you want her to be with you so badly, huh?”

“She can’t survive out there, Satoru. Geto may find her too and… who knows what will happen then?”

“Is that your problem?” He grins, and it makes you almost cry more than this argument you’re having does. “I’ll tell you, it isn’t. She takes up time, money, all sorts of resources, and for what? She does nothing for us, does nothing for you.”

“She’s a child.”

“An unwanted one.”

So, who determines the roles of the dog, the man, and the wolf? Is it your decision, the world's decision, or the responsibility of the one who promised you a fresh start away from your past, Satoru Gojo?

Is your daughter truly a burden? Will she never experience happiness? Will you never find contentment? Will that be due to Rina or because of Satoru?

It is instinctual for a wolf to be voracious, just as it is for a dog.

According to the theory of evolution, dogs follow after wolves, embodying selflessness. However, while dogs may not be as gluttonous as wolves in some aspects, they still possess certain tendencies. They constantly seek attention, whether positive or negative and maintain a childlike personality, regardless of their upbringing by their superiors.

They express their emotions through a limited range of sounds, sometimes timid and high-pitched, other times aggressive and intimidating. They are skilled at manipulating situations to get what they desire, like experts in their own unique way.

Rina's core objective revolves around seeking love, support, and admiration that she cannot provide for herself. It is a captivating notion that often prompts people to ponder and discuss. Rina relies heavily on those around her and is reluctant to let go, fearing that she will falter and stay down. In many ways, she resembles the wolves of old.

The question arises in your mind: is Rina truly a wolf or merely a dog?

Is either answer just as bad as the other?

“Let me put it this way, sweetie.” Satoru leaned in closer then, and you could smell the artificial scent of cherry in his breath. “If she stays… I will make sure Suguru Geto’s offspring never has a good life. Out there, though… Perhaps if she works enough, she’ll deserve happiness. She’s a sinner’s child, a murderer’s child, and therefore doesn’t she deserve a similar fate? If Geto’s plan succeeded, you would be tied down with him forever, you know? If he finds out about her, he will attempt to do so again.”

Your heart sinks so low you could swear it is being dissolved by stomach acid.

“She’ll hurt you more, too, if she stays, you know. Whether Suguru finds her or not. So, what do you say? Your choice.”

Is it though, you want to ask? But you can’t. You don’t want to go back on the streets, hiding at every corner.

So, once again, you bite your tongue, and like a good dog, obey.

*~*~*~*

You don’t remember what you said. You only remember what you did, how Rina reacted.

She was crying. Screaming and begging for you to not leave her, snot and tears running down her face along with the chilly midnight air and the rain. With every step she took, you took three back, and when she touched you you kept pushing her to the wall behind the restaurant complex in the center of Tokyo. Behind the whole ordeal, Satoru’s smirk never faded.

But this was for Rina’s own good, right? Geto won’t find out about her, if you never recognize her as your child, right? She’ll be happier, and you’ll be happier too, right?

Right?

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masonreds · 8 months

Text

mason mount x reader

summary: when y/n is wants to be more than fuck buddies but mason doesn’t want anything more

word count: 8,0k words

warnings! smut + angst. I guess you could say dickhead!mason too a little? might have some mistakes so I’m sorry about that

‘Why don’t you visit me anymore?’

You tried not to let it get to this point, but you couldn’t deny it.

You missed him

It was around 8pm and Mason was getting ready to leave training. He had a late training session, he was just coming out of the changing rooms before he froze when he heard your voice at the doorway.

‘What are you doing here?’ His facial expression shifted from neutral to cold, but knowing him that wasn’t much of a difference.

‘I wanted to see you.’ The changing rooms were empty. Everyone had left for the day, but you kind of memorised Masons training days so you knew that he would be here right now, otherwise if he wasn’t, it would’ve made you look like a complete fool.

If it wasn’t for the security guard letting you in, you’d still be standing like a lost person in the parking lot, but you refused to go another week without seeing him.

Mason took a deep breath to calm his nerves before closing the locker door where he kept his belongings. You had caught him at the right time because his coat was already on and his training bag was in his hand, ready to head out of the door.

At least until you showed up.

He sighed before putting all of his things down and walking over to the bench and leant against the bench, not sitting down and crossing his arms. Unfortunately, he knew he would now be longer than he had to, and the way he looked at you indicated that he wasn’t happy about it.

‘You shouldn’t be here,’ his voice is stern. ‘Is there something you need?’

Sheepishly, you walked over to him, gently pressing your hands against his t shirt. ‘I waited for you last night,’ you whispered, looking up into his eyes. ‘You didn’t call.’

Mason’s jaw twitched at the feeling of your hands on his chest while making sure he stayed rested on the bench behind him to keep his composure. You caught him off guard and the tension in the air didn’t help. He managed to maintain his professional persona but maintaining his emotional distance was the real challenge.

He quickly understood what this was; the consequences of an impromptu decision he made in a moment of weakness that had finally come back to haunt him.

This was bad. He looked past you to the rest of the empty changing room, making sure there was no one else in sight and no one to catch whatever it was you were about to do.

‘That was a one-time thing,’ he didn’t even bother to look at you as he spoke. ‘We made a mutual agreement, remember?’

‘Then why did it happen more than once?’ You said breathily, sensually sliding your hands up to his shoulder

Mason took a deep breath and finally looked you directly in the eyes. ‘It wasn’t supposed to,’ his voice is low and serious.

It was Friday night, your night. The only day of the week when he would knock on your front door in the middle of the night and relieve his built-up stress from the seven days prior. And you gladly helped him.

You were his secret; Mason’s beautiful guilty pleasure.

Eventually, one Friday turned into two, then four, then eight. No one could tell you that what you two had wasn’t chemistry if they saw the way you lusted for each other. They’d notice the way he held you on the edge of the bed, or the counter, or the shower wall. Or they’d bring up the love marks that hardly got a chance to fade throughout the week before he was back on you, darkening them.

How you wished they heard the noises he fucked out of you echo down the hall, followed by the thumping sounds of the bed frame banging against the wall.

Unabashedly, you did anything just to please him, just hear him say your name between grunts. In public, in private, AM or PM, when he called, you came running, even if it was something unimportant.

For one day out of the week, you both belonged to each other and no one else.

That was until he stopped knocking.

You stepping closer only made it harder for Mason, both literally and figuratively. He could feel the heat of your breath against his skin intertwine with the rush of being this close to you after so long. It was agonizing, and he only had himself to blame. He let himself get swept away by desire, knowing in his heart that a relationship with you was something he could never have.

‘You're only going to get hurt if this continues.’

‘I don’t care.’ Wrapping your hand around the back of his neck, you pulled his face closer to yours. ‘I want to see you.’ You hovered your lips over his.

A taste is all he needs

A small spark to jog the memories of the pleasure he felt when he was with you, memories that he tried so hard to move on from.

His lips brushed against yours. He could feel your desperation and your scent alone was enough to make him go back on his word.

Reluctantly, he let himself lean into your touch. Your noses grazed each other, and you gave his cheek a light lick. Mason shuddered. Breathing heavily, he closed his eyes, melting into your embrace, like it was second nature. For a brief second, he placed his hand on your waist, before he quickly pulled away.

‘It was a mistake,’ he exhaled, coming back to his senses.

You frowned. ‘It wasn’t a mistake the other night.’

Your hands slid back down to his chest, but Mason grabbed your wrists before they could go any further. His eyes said more than his lips could. It was heartbreaking how loud they begged you to let him go.

But yours only begged him to stay.

Mason released your wrist and stood up straight, subtly pushing you off of him. It was impressive the way this man reverted back to his professional demeanor without missing a beat.

“I can’t keep doing this with you,” he spoke firmly. “This will only hurt us both in the end, and I know you don’t want that.”

“If I cared about that, you think I’d still be here?” You try to step closer to him again, but he brushes past you and strides to the front door.

“Please leave… I’ll pay for your uber if I need to.” He’s trying to be as gentle as he can, hiding his inner frustration in knowing that he so badly he secretly wants you to stay, but he could never say that. “I won’t ask you again.”

The silence was strong.

You didn’t speak, nor did you move. You simply stared at him, taking in the features you used to touch yourself to whenever the right side of your bed was empty. It was all there in front of you.

Your eyes couldn’t help but gaze at his lips, remembering how they felt against your skin. Then his hands, remembering how they pulled you closer to him. Until your eyes found his, remembering them never leaving yours even when he was inside you.

Especially when he was inside you.

So you didn’t move. Better yet, you walked over to the washing machine that was in the corner of the room and sat yourself on it, locking in your decision.

You weren’t going anywhere.

Mason clenched his jaw, his controlled expression turning into one of anger as he aggressively made his way towards you. Instantaneously, he placed himself between your legs, towering over you with a menacing glare.

The way he said your name sent a shiver down your spine. You were small in comparison to his tall frame. He would have no problem forcing you into submission, but still, you didn’t budge. It almost excited you.

Neither of you said a word, but this time with more conviction. He's trying to intimidate you out of the changing rooms and out of his life, while you only invited yourself in.

His furrowed brows didn’t soften until you reached for his hand and placed it over your heart without breaking eye contact; It was beating at a steady pace. Only letting your heart speak, you subtly told him he didn’t scare you, and he caught on.

With one final attempt, Mason bent down to your eye level and rested his long arms on either side of you. His face was inches away as his brown eyes peered into yours. It was like he could see right through you. As if he could read your every thought and predict your every move while he waited for your heart rate to spike.

Still, it was calm.

It wasn’t until he tilted his head a bit to the side and grazed his nose against yours that he felt your heart rate pick up in his hands. Mason knew exactly what that meant and he cursed internally at it. The thought of his lips on yours was enough to change your breathing.

For a moment, the two of you practically breathed each other’s air; Your lips almost touching, almost willing to give in.

‘One more time. One more night,’ was all you could say. Your voice trembled, barely above a whisper. ‘Let me make you feel good for one more night please.’

Mason opened his mouth, prepared to oppose your proposition until you cut him off. It was a simple reminder, but in this moment, it meant everything.

‘It’s Friday…’

Hearing those two words mixed with hurt and loneliness, Mason’s chest throbbed. A look of pity washed over his face. The tension between the two of you was now one hundred percent physical.

There was a long pause as Mason looked down at you, struggling to make a decision. His heart was pounding inside his chest, and he felt a sense of desire that he had not felt for a long time, at least, not for anyone else.

The worst part about it was you weren’t going to take no for an answer. He knew the consequences of what you were asking him to do, but in your presence, all of his good judgment seemed to disappear. It’s how he got here in the first place.

Before he could stop himself, he spoke. ‘All right,’ he said in a low voice, finally placing his hands on your hips. ‘One more time.’

Without warning, Mason placed his lips on yours for the first time in what felt like an eternity. A breathless moan left your throat on instinct. You waited so long for this, to feel him again; which is why you wasted no time slipping your tongue into his mouth and pulling him closer, lacing your fingers in his hair.

Mason groaned at the touch of your tongue lapping around his; his body shivering slightly as you teased and tested his resolve. Your presence was so enticing, so intoxicating, he could feel himself losing control of the situation.

His senses filled with you and it only brought up more feelings he dared not name.

For a moment, Mason parted from your lips, trailing his mouth to your ear and below. You couldn’t help the little noises that escaped your lips as your lover bit, licked, and kissed your neck, and it wasn’t long before he was getting more and more uncomfortable in his slacks.

A wave of excitement coursed through Mason’s body as your hands undid his belt with swift motions. The room filled with sounds of your heavy breathing followed by the sounds of his belt buckle clinking as it came undone. His hands explored you, grazing your calf, grabbing your thigh, going further and further up the fabric of your dress, and feeling nothing underneath it.

You planned this. This is what you came for and he knew it.

Mason hissed when his fingers grazed along where your underwear should have been. “You’re going to kill me,” he muttered under his breath.

‘Mason..’ you whimpered, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders as if he could disappear at any moment.

‘Shh,’ Mason whispered into the crook of your neck, causing your skin to tingle. You could feel the deep vibrations in his chest. ‘I'm right here.’

Mason slowly moved your dress further up your thighs exposing your ass to the cool air. The sensation of his short nails pressing into the skin of your hips accompanied by his mouth finding its way back to your lips once again was intoxicating.

“I missed this.”

A shiver ran down Mason’s spine as he pulled the spaghetti strap of your dress off your shoulders, leaving your full breasts visible for him to see.

"I did too," he whispered softly, like he was afraid to admit it. You heard him suck in a breath through his teeth as he saw your uncovered chest. "So, so much." He couldn't help but grasp the soft flesh; the tent in his pants growing impossibly tighter, even with it open and undone.

He was so damned deprived, so pent-up, he didn’t realize he was sucking your tits like it was his last meal.

Even in this state, Mason knows he never should’ve let it get this far. This wasn’t part of the plan, but damn it felt good, caressing and pinching one while kissing and sucking the other one, as he always did.

Your arms supported the extra weight he was pushing against your chest as you leaned back. Biting your lips, you squirmed against his tongue on your perky nipples as you held onto his scalp.

‘Then why are you trying to leave me?’ You practically whined. Despite everything that was happening, you couldn’t let it go—let him go.

Even when he agreed to have you once more, it wasn’t enough.

‘Because you deserve better,’ he growled, his free hand squeezing your ass. ‘Someone who can give you all the attention and affection you deserve.’ His mouth kissed its way back to your neck, his lips grazing against the soft skin and leaving a trail of saliva in its wake.

‘Mason..’

‘I don't want you to get hurt,’ he continued, his voice full of emotion and longing. ‘I don't want to hurt you, I promise, but you have to understand that I'm not suited for this.’

‘Not suited for what? Affection? Love?’ Even without the extra stimulation, you couldn’t wrap your head around his words.

He was kissing you and tearing you down at the same time.

Mason is charming and intelligent. A handsome, successful footballer who makes more than enough to support himself, and anyone else he chooses to be with. He was the kind of man who turned heads and made you feel like the only woman in the world when he was with you.

Mason Mount is the definition of perfect, so what about this is so wrong?

‘I'm not capable of...those things.’ He looked up at you with pleading eyes, but still managed to kiss you before continuing to remove your dress and tossing it to the side. ‘I won't waste your time trying to pretend I can give you that. In a nutshell, we are just two people looking for some relief, and this is our avenue for doing so. That's all.’ His words were blunt but cut like a knife.

That’s all this is?

You were stunned. Before you could process his statement, he lifted you from the washing machine and gently carried you to the chair across the room where he had more space to move.

Once he sat you down, the warmth of his hands left your skin for a moment as he backed away.

You had a front-row seat watching Mason loosen his t shirt.

The lighting was dim, but you didn’t have to imagine how he looked unclothed; Every part of him was already etched into your mind. You had no shame eyeing his smooth chest, muscular arms.

His muscles flexed as he slid his shirt off, tossing it onto the floor before leaning down and positioning himself between your legs again. His hands gripped the armrests on either side of the chair, caging you in, with his face barely inches away from yours.

‘Speak. I know you want to say something.’ He was challenging you. Mason knew that whatever reason he gave you for not showing affection would never be enough.

It was your last chance to do so.

Your heartbeat betrayed you. It wasn't fair. Who was he to decide what’s best for you? You’re supposed to be angry and hurt, yet here you were falling for the same things in him once again.

‘That’s not all this has to be, Mason,’ You struggled to look anywhere but his lips.

‘You don't know what you're asking for,’ he whispered in a husky voice. ‘I can't be what you want me to be.’

Mason’s eyes wandered below your waist for a brief moment. His expression betrayed his words, not hiding how badly he wanted you. He was topless, belt unbuckled, pants unzipped, while you were under him, legs open, vulnerable, and completely naked.

This was exactly what Mason didn’t want to happen. He was drawn to you and everything he was saying to resist you felt like a lie, yet he couldn’t help but find it all so tempting. Everything you did gave him flashbacks; the looks, the sounds, smells, he was losing his cool with each passing second.

You shivered when he gripped the sides of the chair tighter.

‘And what do you think I want you to be?’ You trailed your hands down his abdomen. Mason flexed underneath your touch. Feeling him pin you against the back of the chair, you were desperate to feel more of him, impatient even.

Mason debated whether he should speak, so it started off as a whisper. ‘You want me to be yours. You want me to be your boyfriend, but I can't give you any of that. I care about you, don't get me wrong, but I can never love you the way you deserve to be loved.’

Suddenly, all the air was knocked out of your lungs. It was as if you’d been hit by a truck.

Could he truly read you that easily?

Without missing a beat, he was back to slowly trailing his mouth along your neck and shoulders, placing small kisses on the warm skin like he was kissing a wound. Unfortunately, it aided nothing; tears glossed over your eyes all the same.

Every time he hurt you, his kisses always eased the pain. They made you feel alive even when they were the very thing sucking the life out of you.

Whenever he didn’t answer your calls, or talked to another woman, and even ignored you for days on end, all it took was that damn knock that you looked forward to every week. You were addicted to him. You craved his attention, his affection, his lips. But your addiction was just that— an addiction and nothing more.

But despite all of his wrongdoings, he was just as addicted to you.

So when he pulled away, looked you in the eyes, and finished his sentence.

‘I can't give you everything…but I can give you this.’ He looked at your lips and knew exactly what he was about to do. ‘I hope this is enough.’ With his fingers under your chin, Mason leaned in and gently placed his lips on yours, knowing the damage was already done.

What could you say to that?

Yes, I want you to give yourself to me completely.

We can make this work

What if I don’t deserve to be loved?

He was right, and you knew it. There’s nothing you could say that could make this hurt any less, so you kissed him back, anyway. Even when a tear rolled down your cheek and the pain in your chest pressed against your lungs, you kissed him back. The saltiness on your lips, the same flavor as the bitterness in your heart.

You could both taste it.

Mason didn’t say anything. He just moved his hands down your thighs until he reached your knees, scooting you closer to him. And you let him. You let him move you into whatever position he wanted you in because you no longer had the energy to object.

You didn’t care to notice when he pulled down slacks and his boxers after that. You didn’t care to take in the sight of his pre-cum-leaking length, bobbing up and down and more than ready to split you in two because you didn’t have to. You’d seen it a hundred times before.

The only difference was this was the last time.

Your disheartened state wasn’t invisible to Mason. It pained him more than he expected when you didn’t even glance at him while he stripped like you did before. You didn’t squeeze your legs together or bite your lip, you just sat there, frozen.

‘If you want me to stop, just tell me,’ If only you could’ve seen the way his face fell as he kneeled in front of you to wipe away the tear he caused, only to be met by you flinching and turning your cheek before he could reach.

The message couldn’t be any clearer.

Is this how the night is going to end? He thought. Granted, he didn’t want it to come to this in the first place, but now that it had, this is how it ends? Mason wondered if this pain in his chest was how you felt every Friday; the agonizing feeling of rejection that churned in the pit of his stomach. The two of you were face to face, but you couldn’t be any further apart and he hated it but deserved it.

He doesn’t even know if he can bring it upon himself to say sorry to you again. It won’t change anything—and it certainly wouldn’t make either of you feel any less shitty—but most importantly, it just lengthened the list of the ways he failed you. So he didn’t apologize. He gave you one last sorrowful look before standing up and reaching for his clothes on the floor.

Your lips didn’t tell him you wanted to stop, but everything else did; your tears, body language, lack of eye contact, and closed-off demeanor were louder than the words you didn’t speak. Internally, you thanked him for not saying sorry— you don’t know how many more of his apologies you could take—but you panicked a little when he backed away.

You wanted him to feel your pain, but you didn’t want him to leave.

Before you even realized what you were doing, your hand caught his arm to stop his movements. You cursed yourself for not being stronger, for not cutting him off after the first he hurt you like you usually would with anyone else, but you refused to let this be your last memory of him—of both of you. And now that you had his attention, you had to speak. ‘Just go slow,’ you cleared your throat.

You didn’t even look him in the eyes as you spoke; he doesn’t deserve that.

Mason’s eyes went to his arm and the way you desperately held on to him while hiding your embarrassment; it triggered something in him. You sucked in a shaky breath when he nodded and dropped his clothes back onto the floor.

Without saying a word, he moved you back into the position he had you in before; your head resting against the back of the chair with your hanging ass off the edge, and your legs open on either side of him. Mason rested himself between your thighs, towering over you, taking in the sight of your naked body ready to be used by him .

For two people just looking for some relief, this was strangely…intimate. Other than the kissing sounds, the room was dead silent. His lips gently sucked on your neck, then your collarbone, and your breasts, before moving back up. He kissed you like he had all the time in the world and it was painstakingly sensual. You squirmed under his touch, already worked up and exhaling soft moans while he held your hips in place.

He had complete access to you.

Your cunt clenched every time he spoke in your ear, and you didn’t mean to moan when Mason moved his hand between your bodies and slid his middle and ring finger up and down your glistening slit. ‘You’re drenched,’ he sucked in a deep breath, his cock twitching, feeling your arousal coat his fingers. ‘I’m going to put it in. Is that alright?’ He adjusted himself, lining his hips up with yours.

‘Do whatever you want.’ It was clear how this was going to go. You wanted this more than you let on—you yearned for this—but deep down, you told yourself this was all out of sympathy.

In bold letters, your mind told you that Mason pitied you and he was only going to fuck you because you practically begged for it. So, you didn’t tell him to do whatever he wants in a sexy, ‘I’m giving you all control’ kind of way, you said it in a nonchalant, ‘I don’t care. Just get it over with’ kind of way. And deep down, it hurt both him and you.

Mason sighed and took himself in his hand. His forehead leaned against yours as you both watched him give his cock a few relaxed tugs. It was that feeling—that addicting feeling of his thick shaft sliding between your folds to coat himself in your slick, before pushing his tip inside of you that made you both forget everything except how badly you both needed this.

‘Shit’

You both moaned almost too loudly once he got past the head. He was big, bigger than anyone you had been with before. The first stroke was always the most painful, but you were used to him, and you were wet enough to not need any prep. He knew this.

He knew all of your sexual needs, what you could take and what you couldn’t. He knew what drove you crazy and what was too much.

Little by little, he stretched you out and you ate it up. You felt the familiar pressure radiate in your abdomen; clearly, you were out of practice and already full but you never told him to stop or wait. Mason watched your head tilt back and your jaw slack with pleasure, and used that opportunity to kiss any skin he could put his lips on.

The sight of you taking him always made his chest swell.

Mason pushed in another inch, and your hands immediately pressed against his stomach. ‘I know, baby, let me in,’ he cooed, moving your hands from his stomach and bringing them up to his mouth as he kissed the palms of your hands. His soft tone relaxed you, and without warning, he pushed in another inch.

You swear you felt his dick jump.

‘Shit —That’s it…That’s my girl.’

At some point, Mason gave you a chance to settle around him. He paused to stroke your hair or occasionally let his thumb glide over your clit to counteract the pressure before starting up again.

It was disgusting the way he controlled your emotions. He had all the knowledge of your likes and dislikes, and even now, he played into them; whispering sweet nothings in your ear as he filled you up, praising you for every inch you took, and cursing once it was finally all in.

You both sighed in relief like it was routine. Without trying, he pressed against your cervix and there was nothing you could do about it but moan and bury your face in his chest—it was music to his ears. You wanted to stay quiet, to take him and not give him the satisfaction of letting him know how good he was making you feel, but each grind against your hips made your toes curl and your grip on him tighter.

He fucked you at a slow, torturous pace, not because it felt good, but because he needed this to last. He needed to savor every tight ring of muscle he pushed through and every sound he drew from your full lips.

As much as he wanted to deny it, he couldn’t lie; he’d been thinking about this for weeks. Every time he was inconvenienced at work, or stressed, or had to stay at work longer than he needed to, he thought about burying himself between your thighs while you clawed at his back and begged him not to stop. He thought about releasing his stress inside of you and watching you drink it from him after he fucked your absolute brains out.

And that was just on a Tuesday.

It was like an addict’s first fix after going through withdrawals; he doesn’t remember how or why he went so long without you. The way your walls molded to his size and length, squeezing him in all the right places, and— god— don’t even get him started on your warmth. He didn’t say it, but he could feel your heartbeat between your legs before he even put it fully in.

Up until this moment, it was like you two were back in your bed. His mouth hovered over yours while your hands rested on his thighs with his cock deep in your stomach.

He wanted to taste your lips again, but you didn’t grant him that privilege. This time, boundaries were set.

Fuck buddies don’t kiss, right?

He made it abundantly clear that’s all you were, so this is all he would get. Fuck buddies don’t need to look into each other’s eyes during every stroke, and they don’t need to kiss each other on the mouth—that’s reserved for lovers, right?

So, you shut your eyes and turned your cheek when he leaned in. You could tell he didn’t expect that when his hips stuttered for a moment. Mason’s brows furrowed as he turned your chin with his index finger, but you resisted.

“Don’t be like that…kiss me.” There was hurt in his voice. Your coldness stung more than it should have. Never has Mason ever been refused, especially romantically. He called your name lovingly, still trying to turn your face towards him.

He wanted your attention and your refusing to give it to him felt like a punch in the gut.

Out of frustration, he thought about gripping your jaw and forcing himself onto your lips, simply because he could, but he knew better. Instead, he opted to comfort himself in the crook of your neck. You couldn’t stop him from nibbling on your ear or licking down the side of your neck even if you tried.

Your stifled whimpers turned into moans as Mason picked up the pace of his thrust. He wanted to get a rise out of you. You were distant, in your own little world, while Mason pumped himself in and out of you. The physical pleasure was there, but you showed him emotion.

He wondered how he could be inside of someone and still feel worlds apart.

You used you to beg him to keep going. Every chance you got, your mouth was on his, telling him every thought that came to your mind while he fucked your insides. Mason loved that you were vocal, not just because of your moans, but because he knew you’d always tell him how you felt. He looked forward to hearing what you wanted and how you wanted it, and hearing your eager fucked-out responses even when you didn’t hear what he said because you were too overwhelmed and too focused on your approaching peak.

But now, you didn’t give him any of that. You just laid there with your hands on his stomach, barely letting his chest touch yours, and barely letting yourself moan. Despite how good it felt.

‘C’mon baby, talk to me. You know I hate it when you get quiet,’ he cooed in your ear, grabbing your wrist and pushing himself further against you. ‘Tell me how good it feels…tell me you love it.’

You gasped in time with his thrusts at the extra pressure of him burrowing his dick deeper into you. Mason grunted, waiting for you to respond without stopping. ‘Fuck—Say my name, love.’ It took all your energy to keep quiet. You didn’t answer him and you still didn’t look him in the eyes.

Mason was getting desperate. Sweat dripped down his forehead at the way you were tightening around him. He didn’t know how much longer he could last. He tried so hard to get you to at least look at him—to spare him a quick glance before his inevitable release, but you’d rather focus on the walls behind him than give in to him again.

‘Damn it,’ he grunted. In one last-ditch effort to save the memory of what the two of you once were, Mason grabbed your ass and squeezed it tight, repositioning you on the chair so he could bottom out into you fully.

It wasn’t until his hands cupped the back of your knees and pushed them into your chest, did you finally look at him with wide eyes. His pelvis was now completely flush against your own, and you took it all.

‘Mason wait,’

You swear you heard him thank god when his eyes locked with yours. Your hands shot up to grab his arms and your mouth hung open against his lips as he rested his forehead on yours. ‘There you are,’ he whispered in a low voice. As much as he wanted to, he didn’t kiss you. He understood that wasn’t what you wanted anymore, but he let it be known that he still could, whether you want it or not.

It was his silent dominance that turned you on so, so much. You tried to look away again; no, you needed to look away otherwise, you’d fall back into his painful grasp. But your efforts were useless when he held you by the back of your hair to keep your head facing him. ‘Nuh-uh. Don’t shut down on me, I’m still here…I’m right here,’

He didn’t stop. The sound of skin slapping echoed throughout the building and you hated how much it turned you on. Your hands did nothing to stop his relentless pounding on your cunt; he was now in the perfect position to hit that one spot that led you to your undoing every time, and you could hardly breathe. Mason hissed when you dug your manicured nails into his biceps as he pinned you down. He felt so good it was painful.

Your hands came down in front of you to push him again and minimize the impact of his thrusts, but he held your forearms at your sides before you could protest. The sound of your sobs, along with your beautiful face contorting into one of pleasure, was enough to have him question everything he said earlier. He was so close, so close . ‘Talk to me, love,’ he grunted. ‘Tell me you don’t want me to go.’

How funny.

It was like the roles had reversed. Call it pettiness or bitterness, but you wanted him to hurt; You wanted to make him regret not choosing you because, in reality, you loved him. You wanted more—you needed more than one day out of the week. Hell, you craved him every day… but telling him that wouldn’t make a difference. Mason’s mind was made, and part of you resents him for it.

‘Please, baby…’ he stilled inside of you once both your silence and his pleasure were too much to bear, panting against your neck. His voice sounded like it was on the verge of defeat and he wondered if he had finally lost you. The heat of his breath on your skin made you shiver as your chest heaved up and down.

‘You’re a coward,’ you finally spoke.

Hearing your voice, Mason shot up from the crook of your neck to look at you. You cursed at your heartstrings when you watched his eyes light up.

‘Yes, I’m a coward.’ His hands immediately went to cup your face as if he didn’t register what you said. ‘I don’t deserve you.’ He said it so enthusiastically, placing soft, sporadic kisses all over your face; it was almost pathetic. How could you hate him when he was so happy just to hear you finally speak to him again?

‘I’m so sorry’

There’s that damn apology

For all you know, that was your breaking point. Tears welled in your eyes. ‘I should've never come here, you are an idiot Mason,’ your voice cracked. The light in Mason’s eyes didn’t fade, even as you cursed and called him out his name, hitting and scratching him, he still kissed your skin just as gently as he had before.

You choked out a shaky exhale when he went back to rolling his hips, brushing against your already bruised G-spot. You felt him grow impossibly harder inside of you.

‘Yes,’ he hissed. ‘Keep talking.’

Your eyes widened when he picked you up by your waist and held you on his pelvis. ‘No! Stop! Put me down!’ You thrashed and pushed him, but it was no use. He was already walking away from the chair and pushing you against the wall.

You went for his face, his neck, his chest, anything you could put your claws on, and Mason took the pain as he took hold of your wrists. ‘I don’t want this,’ You lied.

Mason knew it was a lie because your voice was softer as you said it, shakier, like it hurt you to say it aloud, and hurt him that you felt like you had to say it. Although he didn’t blame you. He didn’t blame you for any of this. How could he?

He watched the tears slip from the corners of your beautiful, sad eyes. ‘I hate you,’ you choked out. Your breaking voice was barely above a whisper and Mason felt his heart split in two. He always did love to hear what you had to say, even when it was painful to hear. You didn’t mean it even though it felt like you did.

You hated his unwillingness to put his fears or pride aside so you could love each other fully. You hated the hold he had on your heart, your mind, your body. You hated how good the sex was and you hated that he wouldn’t give you more than that. Most of all, you hated that this was how it would end…but you didn’t hate him.

He took your wrists that were in his hands and brought them to his lips. He did his best to comfort you and wipe your tears.

‘I know, baby,’ he cooed, stroking the hairs that stuck to your face as he kissed your tears.

He placed you on the washing machine again as it creaked as he started to move again. You were like putty in his hands, so malleable, so vulnerable. Out of all the men you’ve ever been with, Mason was the only one who had this kind of effect on you. It was unhealthy the way he made you question everything about yourself; your emotions, your sex appeal, you wanted to look good for him.

You wanted to be his

‘Don’t leave me,’ your words came out as a quiet sob and Mason could feel the lump in his throat start to form. He knew that if he spoke, all of his emotions would pour out at once, so he let your shaky hands pull him in. He let your lips graze his and your noses dance around each other.

Testing the waters, his tongue ghosted over your bottom lip as if he were asking for permission and Mason took the faint noise you made in response as an invitation. He tilted his head to his right, before closing his eyes, and finally kissing you once more. This time you didn’t turn away, and you didn’t shut him out.

The kiss was slow and tasteful, just like his strokes. Every groan he let out, every lick and nip at your bottom lip was deliberate. The deep vibrations he moaned into your mouth rang like a love letter to you; it was intimate.

You could feel the butterflies in your stomach start up again like a schoolgirl kissing her crush for the first time. Your fingers laced in his hair, tugging it just hard enough to earn a growl and a calculated press against your stomach as he angled his hips upwards; a move that had both of you on the edge.

The irony of him fucking you at this tender, love-making pace when he promised that was something he couldn’t give you. ‘I'm not capable of love,’ he said . ‘You deserve someone that could give you the love you deserve,’ he said.

Was this not it?

Was this not him finally being honest with himself and realizing that maybe something official wouldn’t be so bad?

Neither of you kept track of the time, but you stayed like that for a while, moaning and grinding until your lips were swollen.

Thoughts started forming in your head. Childish daydreams of you and him eating out and going on walks, Late-night phone calls eventually turning into late conversations when you two finally moved in together, and thoughts of sleeping beside him and waking up to find him still there with the morning sun on Saturday.

You should’ve known better.

You whimpered when you felt him pull away from your lips, but the loss in contact was instantly replaced when rested his forehead against yours again, and his heavy breathing mixed with your own. You loved when he did that, the intimacy of it always made you weak.

Something in you told you he was about to speak, you anticipated it.

His voice rang in your head.

I was wrong

Come home with me

I’ll stay

but instead, you were met with a low, raspy, ‘Tell me this is enough.’

Words cannot describe how quickly your eyes snapped open and your smile fell. ‘What?’

Mason’s jaw clenched as he worked up the courage to repeat himself. ‘This…is all I can give you. I need to hear you say it…for both of our sakes.’

He’s reaching his limit.

His head was still casually, resting on yours like he didn’t just completely undermine the best minutes of your life with five words. ‘You can’t be serious,’ you give an awkward chuckle before realizing he was dead serious.

‘No!’ you spit. You shoved him back, the butterflies in your stomach quickly turned into disgust, and you were back to thrashing around under him. ‘Was that not enjoyable for you? Did I make a mistake?’

Mason shook his head as if you were inconveniencing him. ‘it’s not like that. You know it isn’t.’

‘Then what is it?!’ you yelled. ‘Mase-‘

‘Tell me this is enough…and you will be happy with this. I need you to be happy with this.’

‘I’m not!’

You tried everything. You tried kissing him again, grinding, moaning, touching, anything to reignite the flame that engulfed you mere seconds ago, but he didn’t give in. Mason practically flinched when you brought your hands up to his face again.

‘We don’t have to be together!’ you said, frantically caressing him. ‘We can stay like this. You don’t need to be mine. Just let me be yours.’ You begged him.

‘Please, don’t make this harder than it has to be,’ he pleaded.

‘How could you say that?’ Your glossy eyes scanned his face for any signs of hesitation or emotion. You looked for the light that shined in his irises whenever you spoke. It was gone, dimmed, and dull on his expressionless face.

Was he always so cold?

‘Please don’t make me say it.’ At this point, there was no use in stopping the tears from falling.

With all his might, he wanted to say it. It crawled its way from his heart to the tip of his tongue as he watched you break down because of his selfishness—his cowardice.

He wanted to tell you how much sleep he lost in the weeks he didn’t speak to you. He wanted to tell you how long he debated pressing the dial button last night because he missed the sound of your voice. He wanted to tell you he looked forward to hearing your door unlock whenever he knocked every week.

He wanted to tell you it was never about the sex.

It was the moments like the minutes after when you both laid together and talked about your week. It was the warmth of your skin as you cuddled up next to him under the sheets, and the way you pretended to stay awake and listen to him speak even though you could hardly keep your eyes open. It was when he noticed your soft breathing that indicated that you had finally fallen asleep. And every time, he would stay awake a little longer just to hold you and whisper the things he could never say out loud.

You took one long look at his face and realized this was a battle you could never win. He made up his mind and wasn’t giving you another choice.

This was truly your last moment together.

Mason laced his fingers with yours as he rocked you against the washing machine and you moaned for him, louder than you ever had before, because you wanted your voice to be etched into his mind. You licked your way into each other's mouths, memorizing the taste, and no one said anything about the tears.

You didn’t bring up the salty droplets that dripped onto your face as he kissed you—there was no need. Instead, you brushed your thumb along his cheek and wiped the wetness away, just as he did to you.

Mason’s pace quickened when you announced that you were about to come and— god— did it feel good. Without stopping, he talked you through your orgasm; telling you how pretty you looked coming on him, grunting out how you’re the best he’s ever had, and asking you if it felt good when he fucked you harder.

And you gave him those fucked out responses he loved so much. Your eyelids were low and heavy as you nodded your head numbly, letting out a series of ‘Oh god’s,’ ‘Don’t stop’s,’ and ‘Fuck, Mase. Right there.’ He was going insane.

You clenched around him as you came undone. Your legs caged him in and he thrusted into you like his life depended on it. For the last time, Mason called out your name and dug his nails into your waist, sputtering above you as you milked him from the inside.

He gave you everything he had, and you did the same.

You gave in.

This was enough

if he told you to do anything, you would’ve done it. But now, all you could do was reminisce and imagine a future where Mason wanted to be your boyfriend: a future where he asked you to stay.

#mason mount x reader #mason mount #mason mount x oc #mason mount angst #mason mount smut #mason mount imagine

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agoodroughandtumble · 3 months

Text

Roronoa Zoro x Reader - I Didn't Need Saving Part 2

Status: Incomplete Summary: Reader is hurt after battling with the marines Warnings: 18+. Language, injury, implied violence (in keeping with the show)

It wasn’t Zoro’s proudest moment, walking away from you. Not when you were injured, not when you were looking at him so desperately. Not when the entire situation was a direct consequence of his actions. You had saved his life, thrown him away from a danger his arrogance hadn’t even registered. And now you were beaten and broken all because of the misguided assumption that somehow his life was more precious than your own.

Fuck he hated you. Hated that you could so casually throw away everything, hated that you were so stupid enough to think that it would be possible for him to carry on without you.

He didn’t know what love was but if it was self-loathing and guilt at your expense he had that in abundance. If it was the way your smile made his heart leap, the overwhelming urge to be close to you, to be good enough for you, to rip open his chest and let you make yourself a home there, well, then he was fucked beyond all reprieve.

Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe it was the worst thing. Either way, he wasn’t going to risk being alone with you again. At least he could be certain of that.

Two days later he was stood outside your door. Pacing. Nami had said you had been asking for him. That meant one of two things: Nami was tired of covering his shifts so was passing on the buck, or you actually wanted to see him. Which, after how he left you, was not something he was particularly looking forward to. Unfortunately, you were a request he was fundamentally unable to refuse – even if he had actually wanted to.

Hence his pacing.

The irony was not lost on Zoro. The Demon Pirate Hunter was scared of a girl with a hole in her side. But scared of what he wasn’t quite sure. Scared you would yell at him, or be disappointed, angry, spit venom at him again. But what if you didn’t. What if he allowed himself to consider the possibility that you felt a fraction of what he felt? What if you had saved his life because it was him and not because he was a crew member and you were clearly an idiot with a death wish.

Guilt prickled its way up his spine. He was, at least, going to have to acknowledge you at some point. He knocked on the door frame – the door being open in case of an emergency, but he had deliberately been pacing out of sight.

No answer.

Fine. Good. He could leave now – tell Nami he tried but you weren’t up for seeing anyone.

He made it two steps.

Fuck.

Zoro turned around and walked into the room with the determination that only someone who nearly lost it all could have. He’d come this far.

“Come to kill me then?” There was humour in your voice, albeit laced with sarcasm.

He let out a relieved sigh. Maybe you weren’t that pissed off with him. “Only if you pull a stunt like that again.”

You shuffled under the covers and he couldn’t help but be grateful at the ease with which you seemed to move. “I’m promising nothing.”

“Yes you are.”

His sudden serious tone caught you off guard and you hoisted yourself onto your elbows, and although Zoro would rather you didn’t exert yourself he was glad to see you moving without wincing.

You looked at him expectantly, “What am I promising?”

He slumped onto the chair Nami had placed at your bedside and rested his swords against the wall by the headboard next to you. “You’re promising not to leave me.”

You rolled your eyes. The nonchalance with which he spoke failing to convey his meaning until it was too late. “I didn’t leave y- … oh.”

Once again, Zoro felt the familiar rising of guilt starting at the base of his spine, slowly traversing upwards as he watched a thousand expressions cross your face, felt the weight of a thousand unspoken promises embedded in his shoulders. When he looked down at you it was nigh on impossible to say anything that wasn’t his hopeful heart trying to meet yours. He cast his gaze very firmly on anything, everything that was decidedly not you. Anything but you. “A swordsman is no swordsman if he can’t protect his friends.”

Your face dropped only a fraction of a second sooner than his heart. “Well I’m glad we’re friends.”

Zoro searched for some sarcasm only to be met with something else. It was a rare shade on you – embarrassment - and one he didn’t much care for. He sighed. Somehow he had already managed to make things worse. Not for the first time, he wished he could be someone else for you. Someone better. Someone like Luffy with his endless optimism to put a smile on your face, someone like Usopp to take you on an adventure with his fantastical tales. Hell, even someone like that shitty cook who never had any inhibitions when professing his undying love to whichever woman was the latest to catch his eye. But he was Zoro. And apparently that meant all he was good for was failing you.

Failure was not something he was accustomed to. His whole life was built around striving for perfection – whether that was through swordsmanship or being first mate. Failure seeped into his bones, became an obsession, clawing at him. And here you were, unbeknownst and unapologetic. Seeped into his bones. Carving your way into his soul as if it was the easiest thing in the world, as if you had belonged there all along. But you were friends. Because Zoro had failed. Again.

He really should have brought some sake with him. The look of uncertainty, the way you pulled the covers to try to hide as much as yourself as possible, make yourself smaller would be much easier to swallow washed down with alcohol.

He wanted to reach a hand out, rub a reassuring thumb across your cheek. To tell you he was being an arsehole – to somehow articulate that the feeling of hope of reciprocation your actions had arisen in him could in no way compare to the fear of losing you. He wanted to tell you he wasn’t worthy of such an act – and he was so, so angry that you would rather he lost his soul, his heart, his only chance at true happiness over his life. He could happily, willingly, die a thousand deaths if you lived. But if you died. If you left him devoid of all hope and salvation, he could certainly learn how to hate you then.

“I should go.” It was almost a question but one he couldn’t bring himself to ask. Zoro watched as you shuffled further into the covers – protecting yourself. He should be protecting you. He should be holding you in his arms. He should be doing everything and more. But he wasn’t. He was walking out of the door before you could respond. He was failing.

#opla #one piece live action #one piece #roronoa zoro #zoro x reader #zoro x y/n #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x y/n

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geekgirles · 4 months

Text

"I would've preferred it if Amalia were our Queen instead."

"Like many others, sweetie, but you can't say that right now."

"Where did Amalia go, Mum?"

"She's gone explore the world, like she usually does."

Okay, but this little piece of dialogue is crucial to understand so many things about the Sadida and their opinion on their royal family.

And we stan that little girl. Yes, baby, I, too, wish Amalia was queen instead. I don't trust Armand and Aurora as far as I can throw them.

It's already been established Armand resents his sister not only because of her wanderlust or the fact that their father seemed to favour her, but because so does their people.

The fact that there are apparently many who support Amalia, the younger princess, over her brother, the Crown Prince, comes to show that for the Sadida actions speak louder than words.

There is no denying that both royal siblings care immensely about their kingdom. Armand was in the front lines when Nox attacked alongside King Oakheart and many of Amalia's best, most mature moments were in relation to her wanting to protect and serve her people. Like when she decided to stand up against Armand and inform their father of Nox's attacks back in season one, or how she was more than willing to forego her chance to marry for love and marry Harebourg instead if that meant her kingdom would survive Ogrest's Chaos in the OVA.

The difference between the two of them, however, especially in the eyes of their people, is their actions or, more accurately, the consequences of said actions.

Armand is the Crown Prince, and he remains in their kingdom carrying out his duties while Amalia went off to explore the world and have fun, away from her duties. At first glance, that should make Armand the better choice in the eyes of the Sadida, except that also means they've probably been far more subjected to his less pleasant moments.

Having to watch your tongue out of fear of severe punishment or even death just because the prince is sensitive over his bad breath is overkill, plain and simple.

Not to mention, every time Amalia left her kingdom, her adventuring evolved into a life-or-death mission to save the world.

With Nox, the fact that she ran away allowed her to gain the intel needed to go back home and warn them of the upcoming attack. Something Armand refused to do anything about until King Oakheart entered the picture and took matters into his own hands, all because he couldn't believe his sister would ever be more than a spoiled brat trying to run away from her responsibilities.

With Quilby, what at first was a simple, humanitarian mission to retrieve his dofus and welcome the Eliatrope children eventually turned into a desperate battle for the survival of their world.

Again, in the OVAs, the entirety of the Sadida kingdom was aware and celebrated Amalia's sense of responsibility and selfless decision to enter an arranged marriage for their sake. I haven't watched beyond the Throne of Ice, so I don't know if the Sadida ever found out Harebourg's true plans for their forest, but if they did, all the more reason to respect Amalia for refusing to put her people in jeopardy.

Finally, people talk. In season 3, it's made apparent that since Aurora entered the picture (at the very least), the royal siblings' relationship has strained practically to the point of no return. And while Amalia isolated herself and mourned her father's deteriorating health, it's very likely the castle guards and servants bore witness to how the prince's treatment of his sister worsened each day. So I wouldn't be surprised if word got out and the rest of the kingdom sympathised with Amalia either.

Now, it is true that while Amalia does have a sense of responsibility and duty to her kingdom and a deep love for her people, despite her royal upbringing, she is not really made for the stifling life of royalty. Hence, her constant wanderlust. In that regard, Armand is indeed the most reliable of the two.

It just so happens that when it comes to personal flaws and his treatment of others he is wholly unreliable. It's his way or the highway. And that is a very terrifying quality for a king to have, to be unable to compromise.

But most importantly, what really sets these two apart in the way their people perceive them is that while Armand is a prince, Amalia is a hero. And she has proven time and time again that she will do everything in her power to assure everyone's safety and well-being.

And that alone speaks volumes of a ruler's true character.

#wakfu #wakfu spoilers #wakfu season 4 #wakfu season 4 spoilers #wakfu analysis #loin du monde #far from the world #amalia sheran sharm #armand sheran sharm #king oakheart sheran sharm #aurora #sadida #sadida kingdom #count harebourg #ankama #wakfu ova #nox #quilby

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onchyart · 10 months

Text

lets explore “is Hannibal in love with me?” and its significance to Will's character progression Short version: Will seeks stability from the place of "normalcy", eventually fails to create it with Hannibal. Then tries again, but this time using "unorthodox" methods, aka "verbally revealing himself as a person who cares, if the convicted serial killer cannibal has feelings for him". Will commits to this new-found truth, and Hannibal is out in like two weeks, finalizing Will's arc as a guy who says who he is, instead of constantly imagining to be somebody else. Long version:

Will is used to feel threatened by possible replacements

Will is acting like that in relation to Hannibal quite often . Hannibal is special to him, but he is afraid it's not mutual

Will compromises his morals, kills a rival and eventually met with Bedelia, who changed her mind, "took his place", got in and out consequences-free. His worst nightmare came true, he got replaced

This signals, that he is Hannibal’s favorite scratching pole, but not enough to settle down with, find stability together. Dogs, for example, are loyal to the point of going against their instincts, their self-preservation sometimes, it's what Will wants. So it's not gonna work as long as Hannibal refuses to commit to the relationship

So Hannibal commits

Will, sees this act as some kind of spiteful retaliation against his wishes (maybe his rejection was a deliberate ploy to see Hannibal behind bars, it's up to interpretation) and moves on

Will finds family to hide in, imperfect replica

Jack arrives, Molly takes his side (cause she doesn't know Will enough to not to do it), Will seeks out Hannibal as his support system

After FBI discovers that Hannibal is communicating with the Dragon, Will incorrectly assumes he is Hannibal's former patient (like with Randall)

Hannibal sends Francis after Will's family. Will sees it as an act of stirring competition between him and the Dragon. In the past, Will was never sure if Hannibal actually wanted him, or he is just a willful idiot, an attack dog, something to be amused by. No clarity was ever given

Until now. Hannibal quotes Faust at Will. In its full form, in this particular context, it boils down to "There are two parts of me, one wants power, the other wants to experience the world and it's beauty. You are the latter, let's run away."

And then, Hannibal sells out Francis, his inner turmoils. The Red Dragon is freedom to him, Will is freedom to Hannibal

Will finds the whole situation very flattering. Hannibal's actions are taking the form of his words, aligning with Will in the center

but he has one last person, who was in a competition with him

And asks he asks “is Hannibal in love with me?” that Bedelia paraphrasing to be about hunger and says yes

Let me paraphrase as well: “Can Hannibal survive on the thought of Will and Will alone? Even if before he was all over the place?” Yeah, congratulations

Will loses the last pretence of giving a shit

Hannibal is out in like two weeks

#hannibal #hannibal analysis #hannibal meta

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firapolemos05 · 2 months

Text

Manners

CW: suggestive, creepy whumper, lady whumper, pet whump, water deprivation, muzzles, defiant whumpee, forced to beg

The glass of water on the table had caught her Pet's attention.

Scarlet noticed him stealing glances over the book in her hands, eyes darting between the glass and the floor. Longing. Oh it was simply adorable how he tried to hide it.

'How long should I make him wait?'

She raised the glass and took a nice long sip, the cool liquid refreshing. Her Pet's gaze held longer that time, a glint of desperation sneaking into his eyes. Chapped lips pulled into a thin line under his muzzle, and Scarlet knew he was trying so hard not to waste any remaining moisture in his mouth on them.

It had been days since she last allowed him to drink.

A consequence of disobedience.

Fluids and nutrients delivered intravenously would prevent any actual dehydration, but that did nothing to treat cottonmouth. The parched barren of his throat must be unbearable by now.

"You must be thirsty, aren't you, Pet?" she inquired. His eyes shot back to the floor, embarrassment marking his face at being caught. Scarlet chuckled. That pride of his made it too easy. "Come now, you remember your tenth rule, right?"

Mentioning the rules always made him flinch. Oh he remembered alright. She had made sure of that. Made him recite each one over and over, interrupting each mistake or refusal with a strike of her switch across his back.

He remembered them very well.

'Rule 10: Pets do not request, they beg.'

While knowing his rules was one thing, following them was another. And her Pet had a particularly difficult time with this one. A defiant little one, he was, but after several weeks of strict training, Scarlet had cracked his armor.

Some beautiful cracks.

The fear that flashed in his gaze whenever she entered his cell. The empty, resigned silence whenever she ran her fingers through his hair, or traced the masterpiece of scars over his skin. He was even getting better at remembering to call her 'master.'

Now Scarlet watched another crack form. Watched the show of emotions he failed to suppress: anger, humiliation, anxiety, craving. She took another sip from the glass and watched the unspoken threat fuel those last two. And soon she spots the exact moment of breakage.

He turned towards her and bowed his head. His voice weak and rasping.

"May I please have some water. . . Master?"

Oh how delightful.

It usually takes him far longer to beg. He must really be desperate. He didn't even growl this time.

The satisfaction was like a drug.

"Good boy," she smiled and he bristled at the praise. He despised it now but it'll be a matter of time before he's craving that too. She pointed to the floor in front of her chair. "Come here."

Her Pet hated to crawl, but he knew better than to attempt standing without permission. Oh well. He can be grateful his arms are bound in front of him today.

He avoided eye contact as he approached, a glare glued to the tile flooring. But soon, he was where he looked best, kneeling at her feet.

His hands rose to reach for the glass, a gesture Scarlet swiftly corrected by catching the chain connecting them under her boot and pinning them down.

"Pets do not use their hands," she scolded and he grimaced. She held the glass out, hovering it just above his head. "Tilt your head back and open your mouth."

His face flushed dark at that, the anger and shame making a reappearance. He had earned his reward, but he still had to accept it however she wished him to. Even if it was a display of power such as this. It was too late for him to refuse, but he almost looked as if he was going to try. Fortunately for him, the desire to quench his thirst won out. He obeyed, his jaws parting as far as the muzzle would allow them.

Scarlet poured slowly, wanting to savor his reactions. She could be a gracious master now and then. She was careful to let the water fall steadily in between the muzzle's wires.

To his credit, her Pet tried to remain stoic, composed. But as soon as liquid passed his lips, the animal need took over. Like an eager dog he gulped it down, leaning closer, squeezed his eyes shut as he craned his neck to catch every last drop. The effort failed him, as his movements made the drops catch on the muzzle, splashing over the metal. Well, that was his own fault. Glossy streaks ran down his chin and neck.

Scarlet licked her lips.

She should do this again, just with her favorite red wine. Painting her Pet's neck with dripping red would be quite enticing. And it would be an order then, rather than a reward. He won't be able to refuse, and won't be able to stop her from pulling him into her lap to lick the wine from his neck.

Oh how he will hate it. And she will feast on his helpless fear.

The last drop of water fell from the glass.

It's barely enough to satiate. Her Pet gasped for air, greedily seeking more where there is none. It will be a short respite, and he closed his mouth to prevent his breaths from stealing that back. Then he noticed the amused expression of approval on his master’s face and turned away, abashed at his behavior.

Scarlet curled a finger through his muzzle, pulling him back to face her. "Now what do you say?"

Another rule he had difficulty with.

Contempt twisted his features, and before he could think better of it, the words already left his mouth. "Go to hell."

Scarlet grinned. She can already taste his regret.

Time for another lesson.

#whump writing #whumpblr #whump community #whump stuff #pet whump #lady whumper #Scarlet Matar #my ocs #my writing #my work #original #had some creative juices today so decide to gift myself a birthday present

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thatfreakingone · 2 months

Text

ˡᵃᵗᵉ ⁿⁱᵍʰᵗ ˢⁿᵉᵃᵏⁱⁿᵍ ᵒᵘᵗ

Teen!Michael Afton x Teen!Reader

Character ai bot reveal

He snuck his father's new Chevrolet for a late-night date with you 🚗🌙

Warnings: just a small mention of sex, (Michael and the reader are seventeen), (it's an au where the bite had never happened)

࿓ ࿚ Enjoy ֙⋆ ་

revving the engine and speeding up on the empty highway, city lights and billboards pass with a woosh as the rock music blasts through the speakers, vibration causing a white buzzing noise to accompany the howling of wind snuggling through the open windows.

The night was young and so were you; sneaking out of your houses without permission, you must've had a death wish, let alone taking his father's newest car. That perfectly shaped, glossy black automobile. One that turns gazes and makes whistles blow as it passes. His father was rich for sure, but that didn't mean he was allowed to drive one while being a year under legal age.

Nothing could've stopped him from planning this night ever since that very moment you made a comment about his father's sexy choice of car when he pointed to the parked engine in front of his house.

"Oh, so you like it?" was all he said before he was sitting in the same Chevy that got you all excited about, a few days later. No call, no warning. He showed up, throwing tiny rocks that made soft thuds against your bedroom's window. Pretty cliché, but it was worth that expression planting on your face when you saw him leaning to the car's passenger door, twirling the keys on his finger.

Tapping the steering wheel along the beat; he mumbles the lyrics, driving carelessly and giving a playful side-eye once in a while, lips curling up in a small smirk.

With a cigarette hanging from your lips, nicotine clouded in your lungs, and the spring breeze tugging your hair, you sure looked like you were having the time of your life.

Empty streets stretched into limitless roads with no one around to judge his morals, speeding up didn't look like a law to break; as if you both wouldn't get screwed if cops chased after you.

But knowing Michael, he'd go as far as breaking every possible rule just to see that joy and contentment in your face.

"Where you takin' me, Mike?"

You yell over the music, asking for the third time tonight, and every time he shakes head saying the same sentence that, "It ain't no surprise when I tell ya where we off to now, is it sweetcheeks?"

Groaning whether loudly, you roll eyes, playing pretend that his refusal to give a hint about your destination is itching your nerves; while in reality your heart is pumping in your throat, teeth clattering and hands cold from the adrenaline rush that the ride is giving you.

The thought of a possible consequence is horrifying.

Parents finding those stuffed pillows under your blanket faking a sleeping clone, or worse; cops calling them for all the deeds you both committed. Feeling a shiver, you turn to him, frowning in concern. He knew the words before you even tried to spell them.

"Why don't you jus' forget about everything and live this moment with me?"

His hand reached to pinch your cheek, something you often found annoying before suddenly snatching the smoke from your lips. Your lips parting and forming a pout.

Placing it against his mouth, he shoots a wink, inhaling deeply and closing his eyes momentarily, enjoying the burning heat that's spreading through his body.

"Told you gonna take you somewhere, where it's jus' me 'n you against the world,"

Muttering through the exhale of steam, you barely hear his words through the loud music. He smirks to himself, already knowing full damn well that you're gonna love the spot he found recently.

When the lights began to vanish and the bumps and turns of the engine increased, you noticed how far you had come out of the city. Probably a few miles away where it's just pitch black, lightened up weakly by Chevy's headlights.

He turns the volume of the music down, where you can hear the car's wheels struggling up the dirt and rocks, whining about the lack of asphalt before the engine finally comes to a stop. Lights turn off and music cuts short.

The sight ahead was beautiful.

Dancing lights in all shades of color illuminate the night, drowning tall and small buildings that are lined in Irregular patterns, creating the city. Your lives and houses were somewhere down beneath these tall hills, and you finally understood what he meant about "me and you against the world."

Your head turns to catch his gaze already watching yours, pausing in your tracks as your eyes trail over his dark blue orbs shining in the dim light.

"It's beautiful."

"Not as beautiful as you are."

Your lips curl up in a cheeky smile.

"Wow, you did something actually romantic for once."

Your comment made him look forward with a grin, trying not to ruin the moment with a snarky reply.

"thought about bringing you up here after I found this spot."

His words made you also turn your head to watch the scene.

"Been watching the hill from down there, thinkin' we could like... be the first ones to climb up and see the city from this perspective."

His hands move as he talks, trying to sound thoughtful, and it makes you crack into a snicker.

"in the middle of the night?"

You raise a brow, trying to hold back a laugh.

"Well, that's another story."

He looks back at you with a smirk.

"And what's that story, may I ask?"

You lean closer to him, tilting your head as you await his reply.

His grin widens and he too leans close until the only thing keeping you apart is a few inches distance.

"A story that isn't made yet, unless..."

He reaches to the pocket of his jacket and holds up what makes your mouth drop.

"... you're an actual maniac."

You say, the condom in his hand catching you off guard.

"Well..." he says, his eyes falling over your eyes once more, "better to be safe than sorry."

He bites the corner of his lip, eyes glinting in mischief.

"In your dad's car???"

You ask in disbelief, leaning away in your seat with wide eyes.

He shrugs, sniggering a little as he says his next words.

"Daddy raised no scaredy cat."

His sarcasm was seeping when he said that line, but the giggle he broke into said otherwise.

"Plus, he's busy snoring his ass in sleep to ever notice."

You were in a state of shock and disbelief from his boldness. And he enjoyed the sight of your surprise.

"Now come 'ere!"

He suddenly reaches for you, which earns a set of giggles.

He really had the night planned, that goody ball.

───────────────────

based on my bot in Character ai. You can have a chat and create your own scenario

#character ai #character ai bot #michael afton #x reader #teen!reader #teen michael afton #fnaf #80s aesthetic #fiction #five nights at freddy's #mike afton #michael afton x reader #my fic #william afton

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annabtg · 11 months

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Headcanon post: the Sirius & James friendship

It is a well-known and irrefutable fact that James was Sirius's favourite person in the world. However, this sometimes leads people to think that Sirius treated James the way he later treats his new favourite person in the world, Harry - which I completely disagree with.

Sirius is very protective towards Harry, of course he is. Harry is a child, an orphan who was/should have been placed in his care. And at that point in his life, Sirius is a broken and disillusioned man with no other purpose than to care for the person dearest in his heart and at the same time atone for his best friend's death, which he still feels responsible for. Of course he drops everything, fights everyone, risks his life and freedom for Harry. But his relationship with James wasn't - can't have been like that.

Sirius and James are equals. Sirius sees James as a partner in crime, he appreciates his mind and skills; and James sees Sirius the exact same way. They've got each other's back; it's not one protecting the other at all costs. They both have lives at that point, even if one has a family and the other doesn't. (Single people are just as worthy of life as people with families! Follow me for more tips.)

I've said before that I see Sirius and James having an older brother/younger brother dynamic. Sirius has power over James that no one else does, as we see in SWM ("put that away, will you" - "if it bothers you"). He will die for him, but he *will* give him shit before he does. Oldest siblings will know what I'm talking about: you can make your sibling suffer if you feel like it, but Merlin help anyone else who think they can touch them.

Meanwhile, James adores Sirius and looks up to him. He is spoiled and attention-seeking, like a little brother would be, full of himself and stubborn. He won't admit to his faults or ask for help; and Sirius, who grew up under constant pressure and hated every minute of it, would never step up on his own "because he knows better". He is smart enough to know better, but he will never step in front of someone and tell them they're being an idiot. He is the type to let people suffer the consequences of their own actions (see: The Prank).

I think it's telling that, when the Potters are in hiding, it's Lily who asks Sirius to visit James. Sirius shouldn't need to be told to visit James; nobody doubts that Sirius loved James, that he was very concerned about the Potters' situation and he had them in his mind constantly. Yet he steps back and stays away - possibly on Dumbledore's orders (too many visits might draw attention) - while at the same time, James refuses to admit he can't deal with it. Sirius hadn't guessed James would suffer in lockdown? He's known him for ten years at this point, I'm pretty sure he did. And I'm pretty sure they talk often and exchange letters. This, imo, shows that Sirius, where James is concerned (or at this point in his life) is more logical than sentimental. He puts safety and the Order first, and James's feelings (and probably his own too) second.

Tl;dr: while Sirius was utterly devoted to James, I don't agree with the view that his actions always put James's wishes first and foremost. However, he'd do anything to keep him safe; which is why he was so devastated when James died, why he took it personally, and why he took such pains to take care of Harry and keep him safe afterwards.

#sirius black #james potter #james & sirius #hp meta #my headcanons

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nanaminokanojo · 11 months

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THAWING ICE QUEEN (part 12)

–one night of fooling around with the annoying campus king gojo satoru (he thinks so), turns into...well, something else more long term

CHARACTERS: gojo satoru x you | geto suguru | jjk characters

MASTERLIST | CHAPTER INDEX

<<prev part 12 next>>

NOTE: This has narration in prose.

~*~

Gojo Satoru was one persistent man, you gotta give him that. When he said your wish is his command, he delivered, so you don't really have any excuses to further refuse him. He took your opinion on the contract seriously, passed it by you without fail and exceeded expectations. You had the choice to stop whatever madness the two of you were cooking up, so you had that as a buffer to see how things go.

It's a very different situation for the both of you. Neither of you had been in bed with the same person twice. You thought that was convenient, spares you from that awkward phase of having to deal with the messy things that come along with commitment. But regardless of how much you and Satoru reiterate on the point of having no strings attached, it was still a form of commitment. You didn't know yet whether you liked the nature of that bond regardless if it was limited to the physical aspect.

But it was convenient. You could admit at least that. If it's just sex, then you wouldn't have to go through the motions of meeting people, getting to know them enough to say they're not psychos and establishing that mutual agreement of never seeing each other again. Satoru was familiar ground for once, and you more or less knew what to expect from him with the security of a written agreement adding to your supposed security.

Now it was a game of waiting to see who is gonna crack first, but that's a problem for future you. It's arrogant to think that there are no consequences to what you are about to involve yourself in because there will be, and you knew neither of you are stupid as to deny that. Accepting that fact is the first step. You'll deal with the mess later.

Or maybe you two were really stupid to be considering it at all. Either way, you didn't really care about the intricacies of it as much as you were annoyed over the fact that Satoru was taking away what you wanted to be a peaceful afternoon. Tolerance sure wasn't his strongest suit as expected of a rich brat who didn't know how it feels to be denied and done have the slightest understanding of the word no.

"You're gonna make me neighbors think I got into a tangle with loan sharks, Gojo," you said the moment you opened the door for him, unable to help it but ogle him. He was clad in gray sweats, a black shirt that fit him so damn well, his platinum hair mussed under a white, Balenciaga baseball cap.

He looked at you from under his cap, those gloriously blue eyes twinkling as he broke into a grin. "Well, you do owe me kisses, sweetheart."

Rolling your eyes, you cocked your head to the side, inviting him in, prompting his next comment: "I see how you're related to Sukuna when you move like that."

You chuckled. "I know how you think he was raised by brigands." You looked over your shoulder with a smirk. "You can opt out of our arrangement now."

Satoru caught up to you, blocking your way to the living room. He bent down to your height, booping you on the nose with his index finger. "Is that a roundabout way of saying you want out? You haven't even signed yet." He waved the file he was holding in front of you. "Ammended and reviewed as you've requested."

You took it, pushing past him and plopping down on the couch. You patted the space next to you as you opened the file, startled when he jumped right onto the spot, also making you bounce on the plush seat.

You momentarily glared at him but he just scooted closer, pointing at the sheaf of papers. "The things you wanted added are highlighted in yellow."

You quietly read the things he indicated, rifling through pages with your eyes. All the while, you could feel Satoru's blue orbs on you, his fingers toying with the tips of your hair. From your periphery, you could see him breaking into a soft smile, so different from his cocky, mischief-filled cheshire grins. Your planned glance turned into a sidelong stare as you whipped your head to actually look at him.

To your dismay, his expression was replaced by surprise, making that smile disappear as if it hadn't even been there in the first place.

"What?"

You shook your head, thinking you probably just imagined it. "Where do I sign?"

You made quick work of that after Satoru indicated where you were to sign, handing him the pen and also watching him do the same.

"And that's a done deal!" he declared, slapping the pen on the coffee table before twisting on his waist to look at you. "Congratulations, I'm exclusively yours."

"Thanks for saying my line for me." You shrugged, feeling the awkwardness of the situation now that your "giggle fits" about the whole contract, as Satoru had termed it, had died down. "So..."

"May I kiss you now?" he interrupted your thoughts, invading your space as he leaned forward, his eyes shifting slowly from your eyes and your lips.

You didn't fail to notice how he emphasized on asking for your permission this time instead of asking whether he was capable of it. "If you're always gonna choose your words like this..." You knocked his cap off his head with one hand while the other glided up from his shoulder to his nape. You pulled him closer, your lips just millimeters from his. "...instead of being such a tactless bastard all the time, I might actually enjoy this more."

He looked at you with hooded eyes. He wasn't one to be distracted from his goals. "So, may I, sweet cheeks?"

"Yes, you mmph –"

Satoru's plush lips were on yours in a split second, pressing gently yet the fact that he was holding back was evident in the way he gripped onto your waist as if he was trying to tether himself to you. He moved his lips against yours in languid motions as if he was testing the waters. You let him although you wondered at that knowing how hungry and all-consuming his kisses can be from experience.

You didn't dislike it, even the way he would pull away in the smallest fractions to nip at your lips before he would give them tiny kitten licks. It was enticing watching him take his time, making you reciprocate in the same small actions but mostly letting him have at it. Satoru's large hands moved from where he was keeping you steady on your arms up to the sides of your neck, his thumb brushing against your jawline.

Just then, he wrenched his eyes from intently paying attention to your lips to meet yours, blinking slowly and absently licking his lips. Satoru looked at you as if he couldn't believe you were in front of him, again breaking into that genuine smile.

"You're so pretty, sweet cheeks," he mumbled, looking absolutely out of it.

You were tempted to snort at his compliment but at the same time, you couldn't, unable to extricate yourself from the moment. This was a new side to him you're seeing for the first time. "That's one kiss today, Gojo."

At that, the spell seemed to have broken as he placed his forehead on your shoulder, chuckling. "You're keeping count?" He blindly fished for something in his pocket before taking your hand in his and pressing something onto your palm.

Before you could look and ask what it was, his lips were on yours again, less experimental this time. He licked at the seam of your mouth, pushing his tongue into it and seeking yours. You gasped when he finally found it, groaning when you responded in kind. Your ears were ringing, your head filled with nothing but the way he tasted in your mouth and the way he was possessively holding you against his taut form while his fingers drew circles on the small of your back.

And just as you were getting used to him and what he was doing to you, he pulled away, your lips parting with a wet sound. You swallowed hard, startled by the sudden loss of contact, and quite frankly, pissed off as well.

He wrapped your fingers on the thing he put in your hand, realizing it was some sort of card. As if he read your mind, he said, "Your key to my private place in the city. I'll text you the address."

With one last peck to your lips which were slightly parted from being flustered, he stood up, putting on his cap. And then he turned to look at you. "Sorry, sweetheart. I have class in half an hour with Yaga." He grinned. "Don't look so disappointed now. I'll make it up to you tomorrow."

You scoffed, also standing up as you regained composure. "Who says I am?" You shook your head, catching sight of the contract on the table. "Take those with you. I don't need Yuki or Iori finding those here."

Satoru laughed, taking your hand and twining his fingers with yours before raising it to his lips and winking at you. "See you tomorrow."

~*~

TAGS LIST: @arxliana @neeneee @charlie-xo @aelynaneedsalottathing @arizzu @cloudxp

PHOTO/IMAGE/GIF/FANART CREDITS TO THE RESPECTIVE OWNERS.

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lostinlewis · 10 months

Note

Lewis didn’t win but maybe he deserves some consolation sex? A little cheering up for missing out on the podium 🥺

Lets give him it, with a twist hehe... Part One 🤍

Words: 2.5k

Mature.

You were two wines deep and onto your third when something out of your hotel room window caught your attention; Lewis. It wasn’t just any Lewis, it was a Lewis clad only in a white towel hung dangerously low on his hips, a Lewis that’s skin glowed with the moisture from the warm shower he had just taken, a Lewis that tempted you with every fibre of your being to give into your wants, to put aside your stubborn insistence that the two of you could never spend the night together, a Lewis that you were convinced, somehow, knew that you could see him in this moment.

He paraded in front of the window, his phone in one hand, his braids in another, and all you could do was watch him. You were doing quite well to contain yourself really, sure you felt the tingle, the ache for him, but the feeling was simmering quietly within you, that was until he pressed one arm on the window and gave you the most perfect view of the V lines that decorated his waist as he took in the view below the hotel.

Many a moment you had watched those V lines hung between your thighs as he drove into you, many a time you had traced the lines with kisses as you teased him to the point of frustration, before you took him in your mouth. It was those moments you missed in your tipsy state, it was them that you craved.

Reaching into your luggage you found what had fast become your best friend on trips away for work; your rose. Laying back on the bed, you pulled your shorts down just enough to allow for free space for pleasure, knowing that what you were about to do was wrong, a violation almost, but what Lewis didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him, right?

Lewis didn’t move from his position, posed perfectly against the window as if he knew his image was spurring on your pleasure in that moment. You studied every inch of his skin as if it was new to you, your eyes drew the outline of every ab, tracing down the veins that popped so violently out of his skin. The memories of many illicit moments spent with him only helped to paint a full picture of exactly what you wished he was doing to you right now.

So caught up in the moment you were that you didn’t react for a second when the man you were staring at in the window across from you suddenly lifted his head. A second is a very long time when you are in the midst of being caught in your most vulnerable of moments, but the minute you realised, when you felt his gaze lock onto yours, you bit hard down on your lip with a mixture of nerves and excitement.

Leaving you little time to react, your phone began to buzz on the bed next to you, Lewis’ name flashing up on the screen as if to cement the fact he had caught you and now you had to face the consequences.

“Baby…”

His voice was gruff, deeper than usual, his words drawn out to leave the anticipation of what was to come hanging in the air around you, the tension almost suffocating you for all breath in your body.

“Lewis, I-”

“Stop. Come closer to the window for me, sit at the end of the bed.”

There was something about the command in his voice that made it so you were powerless to refuse. Standing up sheepishly, you moved towards the end of the bed just as he had told you to.

“Take them off.”

“What?”

“Before you sit down, take your shorts off.”

You didn’t argue back, yet he could tell by the way in which you were so slow to follow orders that you wanted to fight it.

“Don’t pretend you’re shy now, baby. Just yesterday you had my dick in your mouth in the paddock, if I was not mistaken you have a little exhibitionsit kink in you, don’t you?”

No words left your lips, not because he was wrong, no words left your lips because you had never been one to admit to your kinks, especially not to a man who was nothing more than just a great fuck to you.

Your shorts dropped to your ankles, stepping out of them you felt exposed. The game you were playing was very dangerous, not only was the hotel full with other visitors, those very same visitors worked with you both, some of those visitors were in positions to make sure the whole world found out about this game.

As you sat back on the end of the bed, lifting your feet up to the mattress, you granted Lewis a view he would never forget, a sight that you hoped would flash through his mind every time he saw you at the factory, a glimpse of the palace he hoped to be buried in that night; if only the race had gone a different way.

“Even from here, I can see how wet you are, baby. You liked what you could see, huh? Did it feel naughty watching me as you touched yourself?”

You nodded your head in response, your heavy breathing doing the talking for you.

“Words baby, I want to hear your words.”

“Yes, Lewis. So naughty but you looked so good, too good…”

The words you strung together were barely an intelligible response, yet the breathy groan you heard on the other side of the phone told you of how much he enjoyed it nevertheless.

“Carry on, I won’t stop you…”

A rush of excitement ran through your body as you reached for your toy, you knew what you were about to do was risky, but the thought of that man, Lewis Hamilton, watching you pleasure yourself to the thought of him, made it so impossible to not.

“Spread those thighs wider, let me see it all.”

It was as Lewis watched you place the rose on your clit, as he saw the way in which your head fought to fall back with pleasure but your need to look at him won, that he rewarded you with a sight you would never forget.

Letting the towel drop to the floor, Lewis took his dick in his hand, slowly he began to stroke himself to the sight of you too.

“Tell me how you feel, baby.”

HIs voice was breathy now, a little moan ended his sentence, one that if the room wasn’t deadly silent but for the vibration sound between your thighs, you might have missed.

“So good…so so good…”

“More, tell me exactly how that toy is making you feel.”

“It feels like you, it feels like your tongue flicking my clit, it feels just the way your lips feel when you wrap them around it to suck on it…”

There was a breathy chuckle from the other end of the phone now, his ego had been stroked just as well as his dick had.

“It isn’t as good as me, baby, do you know how I know?”

“How?”

“Because when I am between your thighs there is no fight in you that can keep your eyes open, no strength that will stop you from moaning out into the air.”

As if your body was controlled by his words, you felt a bolt of pleasure shoot up at you, letting out the most unintentional of moans in response.

“You thought about it, didn’t you? You remembered a few months ago, when we found ourselves in the debrief room after hours and how I just couldn’t stop myself from eating your pussy right there on the desk…”

Another moan left your lips now, a pattern was very quickly forming and judging by the heavy breathing you could hear from Lewis, he was certainly enjoying it too.

“Want me to come over there and make you cum on my tongue, baby? I can be there in a few minutes.”

“Yes please…”

“Are you going to let me spend the whole night inside of you?”

Another yes almost left your lips, so wrapped up in the pleasure you were, the moment overwhelming you, you almost forgot that deal you had made.

“But you didn’t win…”

The groan he let out now was more one of frustration, he had come so close to getting what he wanted, yet even as he hypnotised you with endless waves of pleasure, you were too stubborn to give into him.

“Fine. But nothing is going to stop me from making you cum right now.”

Was he challenging you? Was he taunting you? Did he hope that when you realised that he didn’t even need to be in the room with you to grant you your high, that you would give in and invite him over? He didn’t know you very well, afterall.

“What if I refused to cum, Lewis? You can’t control me from all the way over there.”

This chuckle was louder now, more telling, he found your words funny, pathetic almost. There was nothing you could do to match his competitive nature, you just didn’t realise it yet.

“I am going to count down from ten, and when I reach zero, you are going to cum for me, you are going to cum so hard that you will never want to touch yourself alone again.”

“Okay, Lewis…”

Your tone was mocking too, although a tiny part of you knew that he lived to amaze you, a tiny part of you worried that he might just win.

“Ten…is your throat still bruised from my dick hitting it yesterday? Can you still taste me?”

If that was all he had, you knew there was no way that he was going to get what he wanted within the next few seconds. You shook your head in response, but this time he was quite satisfied with that answer.

“Nine…you have such perfect lips, so full, your mouth is almost as inviting as your pussy is.”

It was the praise, the words of adoration, that made you crumble a little. You were powerless to withhold the little moan you let out as your clit throbbed against the rose; the first sign of an orgasm nearing.

“Eight…Oh you like it when I tell you how perfect you are, huh? You were made for me, your body, your pussy, built solely to take my dick, your warm wet walls wrapped so tightly around my dick, we fit together so perfectly.”

HIs words were mixed with groans now too, his sentences a little scattered. You could see that his strokes had picked up pace, that the vein in the forearm that was against the window popped prominently, a sure sign that he was tensing against his own undoing now.

“Seven…I wish you could feel how much my dick is aching for you. You know, since we have been…well since we have been fucking…I can no longer pleasure myself.”

“You can’t?”

“Six…No, baby. Nothing feels half as good as you do, your hand, your mouth, your pussy, it doesn’t matter what you use, I can never make myself feel as good as you do.”

“Mmm, Lewis…”

Hearing him adore you with words so raw, a voice so breathless to match, made you teeter so dangerously close to the edge of pleasure it was impressive.

“Five…Fuck baby, not being able to touch you is torture for me.”

“I know, I feel it too…”

“Four…You do? Stop being so stubborn, let me come over there and make you cum over and over again.”

“N-no…we can’t…”

“Three…We can’t? You don’t want my lips wrapped around your clit? You don’t want to feel me fuck you through an endless stream of orgasms as you scratch scars into the skin of my back?”

“I do…It’s just…shit Lewis, I want to, it’s just…”

“Two…You’re scared that if you let me in anymore it will ruin it? Baby all I want to do is make you feel good.”

Every word of his struggled to rise above the groans now, he was so very close, and so were you. No longer did you care about the game you were playing, nor did you care if you lost. Within the space of 9 seconds, Lewis had done exactly as he promised and brought you to the very peak of orgasm.

“One…I raced for you today, you know. Every inch that pushed me to drive fast was the need to spend the night with you. Not just to fuck you, to be with you, to wrap my arms around your naked sweaty body when we finally give into sleep in the middle of the night, to listen to you dream peacefully in a state that only I can keep you in.”

“Lewis, I-”

“Zero…Don’t fight it, cum for me…let me watch you cum…”

His permission was all you needed to finally reach your peak, so unabashed with your moans, you threw your head back into the bed as your body arched off of the bed and your thighs closed around your hand, the muscles shaking uncontrollably as your body rode what felt like the longest of highs.

So wrapped up in your own orgasm, you missed his. Lewis came as you came, groaning to the sounds of your ecstasy as he released onto the carpet below him - a problem he would deal with later.

“So…I won.”

The smugness of his voice interrupted the silenced state of ecstasy you both rode, rudely in fact.

“Does it count if you came too? Technically, we both won that one.”

You teased him back as you put your shorts back on, being brought back to reality by his words, you were suddenly very aware of the fact that you were exposed to the world - your world, at least.

“What are your plans for the rest of the night?”

Lewis asked as he sat down on the end of his own bed now, the towel back around his waist to grant him some dignity.

“I am about to finish this glass of wine in the bath, before I fall asleep to a random documentary on tv and wake to my alarm at some ungodly hour tomorrow morning.”

“Sounds fun, you sure you don’t want some company?”

“Goodnight, Lewis. See you at Spa next week.”

“You are so stubborn, baby. Goodnight.”

“You wouldn’t have me any other way.”

“Before you go, I have a question…”

“Okay…”

“The deal we made yesterday, that if I win I get you for a whole night, let’s make it last the whole season?”

“You really think you are going to win in that wheelbarrow this year?”

“It’ll be tough, sure, but knowing you are my reward at the end might be the edge I need to get it over the line.”

“Goodnight Lewis. Good luck in Spa, you’ll need it.”

“Goodnight, baby. Prepare to see a lot more of me next weekend.”

#LHex

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gg-pedro · 4 months

Text

can you hear the music (ch. 5) - joel miller x reader

masterlist

summary: everyone in jackson is trying to distract themselves from something. you teach ellie piano, and you find yourself trying to help more than one miller settle into their new world.

chapter 5: new life, old wounds. a honeymoon has to come to an end eventually.

warnings: post outbreak!joel, jackson!era, joel x reader, AFAB!reader, platonic!ellie x reader, protective!joel, implied age gap, hurt/comfort, sickfic?, joel needs taking care of, non-gratuitous descriptions of a wound, mentions of death, swearing, references to gun violence, fluff at the end, angst, and more angst.

words: 4.4k (eek)

a/n: edited this one to death. go listen to adrianne lenker.

Weeks passed. Rainstorms rolled into Jackson.

Dark clouds eclipsed the sky, releasing sheets of rain that melted away most of the snow and rendered the ground a muddy brown. The storm system lasted days, save for an hour or two of sunshine between downpours.

Joel had asked you to move in with him. You refused. Then he begged you, saying that he wanted to be around to help you get back on your feet, but still, you declined the offer.

You always figured your honeymoon winter would have to come to a bitter end at some point. Watching Joel execute a man in cold blood probably wasn’t helping to close the divide that had been growing into a chasm and stretching you thin.

Your wound was halfway healed now, too. It still left a scar that made you nauseous when you had to look at it in the mirror.

You’d been allowed a week off from your usual duties around the commune. You asked to be removed from the position you had in the clinic, and Maria personally saw to that. You helped out at the school instead, with the kids you had grown so familiar with. They were the only thing bearable about your day.

You stopped offering piano lessons. That irked Joel the most. He’d gone even paler when you told him that than when he watched a bullet narrowly miss ripping a hole through your center.

Maybe this is what you got for complaining about the quiet sanctity of your life in Jackson.

You still played. You had long since memorized most of the scores you had collected over the years, so you’d taken to composing your own. It was all harsh, rolling sonatas that poured out of you whenever you sat before the keys. You’d pause to scratch the notes down on paper, skipping over a title because you knew you’d only be able to come up with one thing.

Joel. Joel Miller. Joel #3. Joel and I. Joel… why didn’t you ever ask his middle name?

You’d left him in the dark almost entirely about how you were feeling, save for that conversation you’d had in the clinic. By consequence, he was treating you as if you’d suddenly become fragile. As if you couldn’t handle getting hurt or witnessing death. You wished that you could say any of that was what was bothering you.

Still, he came. He showed up for you. He was sweet. He cared. He barely even flinched when the little things would set you off. It made it all the more difficult to try and push back from him.

On a cool evening, one where the air was almost warm but the breeze was bitter, the two of you sat on his back porch.

He was strumming on his guitar, trying to remember how to play Led Zeppelin's Going to California.

He paused to tune the high E string and looked over at you. “Tommy said he’s goin’ on a supply run next week. Might try and hit up that old college I told you about. Want me to look for some more sheet music to bring back? Beginner stuff, or stuff for you?”

You blew on your hot mug of tea, watching the steam swirl in the air. “No. You’d have to sift through some old performing arts building. No use in that.”

“You sure? I know you said you wanted–”

“–I promise, Joel, it’s fine. Don’t make more work for yourself.”

“Alright, baby,” he said quietly, plucking away at the strings again.

“But for Ellie,” you interjected. “She mentioned wanting some more movie scores. Might be worth finding that for her.”

He played a little softer as he spoke. “It’s no good if she doesn’t know how to play it.”

“She can read music,” you countered. “She’s welcome to use my piano anytime.”

He stopped playing completely this time, groaning a little as he stretched to prop the guitar up against the house. You watched his expression mold into concern as you made eye contact.

“You’re shakin’, honey. Let's go inside. Or I can walk you home.”

The liquid in your cup mirrored a choppy ocean from the tremors in your hands. “I’m okay. Just cold out here.”

Joel got up and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Okay. Then I’ll get you a blanket. Gonna catch your death out here.”

Your knuckles were turning white with your grip on the mug and you flinched away from his touch. “Stop it, Joel.”

He paused. “Stop what?”

“Treating me like I’m another child,” you said. “Did you hear me when I said that I was fine?”

“That ain’t fair. I’m just tryin’ to look after you,” he responded.

You started laughing. “Really? It really feels like you’re trying to make up for something.”

It started to drizzle again. You watched as the rainwater began to dilute your tea.

“Yeah? Make up for what, exactly?” He shot back. “Protecting someone I care about?”

You stood to meet him and the rain picked up. “Protect me from what? A man alone in the woods with no weapons?”

“Just ‘cause he dropped his gun doesn’t mean he had no weapons, doesn’t mean he was alone–”

“You beat his fucking face in, don’t act like you did it out of anything but emotion you couldn’t control.” The two of you were nearing drenched, but neither of you seemed to care. “Just admit that it was a bad decision. And that it was cruel, Joel. So fucking cruel.”

Joel just stared at you. “I’m walkin’ away from this, baby. You’re mad, I know. You don’t have to see things the way I see ‘em.”

You followed him to the back door. “I’m not done, Joel. Give me one good reason as to why you did it. A rational, true reason.”

“No,” he said as he opened the door.

“Then fuck you. You were wrong, it was cruel, and there is blood on my hands. How does that make you feel? To know that I blame myself for what you did?”

He slammed the door shut before walking inside, his face washed with anger. “Don’t you come into my fuckin’ house yellin’– not with Ellie upstairs,” he seethed. “ Blamin’ me for shit. For makin’ decisions that you couldn’t even imagine.”

You brushed wet hair out of your eyes. “Oh, but I could imagine it, Joel. I’ve been alive through all of this too. I still came out human on the other side. Not everyone is living in the world that you are. Not everyone acts like a fucking animal everytime they get the chance.”

“So that's how you see me, hm? A fuckin’ animal. You along with everyone else in this goddamn place. Just some old man who likes havin’ to kill people?” He looked away from you and shook his head. “I’ve got my reasons. Bein’ here isn’t gonna make me soft. Won’t make me forget,” he inched closer to you, “the ways that I lost people. I can promise you that.”

Joel had had a part of his humanity brutally gutted from him when his daughter died in his arms. Even still, he found it again in places he hadn’t expected. In Ellie, especially. In you.

“And listen to this closely– real fuckin’ close,” he began again, “I don’t give a shit if you hate me. Move on, never speak to me again. As long as you’re alive, and I know that I did what I could to keep you that way, I’ll sleep fuckin’ easy at night. You understand that?”

He inhaled and went on. “Maybe that man made a stupid goddamn mistake tryin’ to hunt. Maybe I did, too. I wish I could say I was sorry for that. It’s a cruel world out here.”

“Sleep easy at night? Is that really the truth?” You crossed your arms over your chest and watched his expression shift.

“Wouldn’t… wouldn’t make it any harder.”

You knew that was a lie.

You could see it now. Joel in another universe. A few less fine lines on his face, a few less grays threaded into his dark hair. No bad memories that would pull him from sleep. The right pocket of his jeans wouldn’t be ever so slightly stretched from storing a handgun there. Wouldn’t look at himself in the mirror like he was searching for the person he used to be. Wouldn’t look at you like you were an impending flatline on a heart monitor.

But this was now, and he would always be so stubbornly him, and you wished your feelings were important enough to him that he could see things the way you do.

He dropped his hands to his sides and sighed. “Look, I’m just tryin’ to make things easier on you. Clearly you took this real hard, and I never should’ve brought you out there, and–”

“Enough, Joel. Don’t act like that was the mistake, or that you ‘ruined’ me, or some stupid shit like that. One of us has to feel remorse for what you did to that man and if you won’t, then I will,” you countered. “And sure, It’s been difficult on me. I’ll give you that. It hurts. There, does that make you feel good? Give you a purpose? You still want to put me back together after what you did?”

The look on his face told you that you had cut deep. You immediately wanted to back down, but you were tired and it hurt and he still felt like he wasn’t listening.

“I ain’t gonna yell at you, baby, if that's what you want. Just… just go. Go on, go home. I’ll still be here if you need me.”

You were angry because you were hurt. He read right through you, too. Knew you didn’t mean all of that. You were trying desperately to stay hurt and mad at something, anything, because once that faded, all you’d be left with was sadness and guilt.

You turned your back on him anyway, soaking wet and furious, and made your way home. You couldn’t help but cry. God, you hoped you hadn’t just ruined everything.

He’s still there if I need him, you kept repeating to yourself. He’s there if I need him.

Joel wasn’t sleeping. He couldn’t.

He used to get at least a few hours every night. Took him a while to get there after settling into life in Jackson. Even when you were with him, lying close to his chest, he’d still wake up with the sun, hours before you did.

At least you quelled the restless anxiety that accompanied the morning exhaustion. You’d slip your hand under his shirt, rubbing circles into his side and his chest, and beckon him back to sleep. He almost never did, but he loved it anyway.

And now? He was getting almost nothing.

Sometimes, he could swear that he heard your pleas. Those strangled sobs echoing through the dense forest. Joel. Joel. Joel, stop it, fucking don’t, please–

A single gunshot, and the sound of you sobbing.

There, does that make you feel good? Give you a purpose? You still want to put me back together after what you did?

He laid awake, the rain pelting the roof and the rolling thunder in the distance making his heart rate spike and setting his body into fight mode. It was a feeling he’d grown accustomed to. He’d check that his pistol was on his dresser, then he’d check on Ellie, and finally, he’d look out his window, hoping to see that light on in your bedroom. Maybe your backlit silhouette. Anything.

You didn’t need him trying to protect you all the time. Worrying about you. Losing sleep over you, for fuck’s sake. If anything, he thought, coming into your life had just made things worse for you. If anything, he needed you a hell of a lot more than you needed him.

Powering through sleep deprivation wasn’t an uphill battle. It was all downhill. After the third day in a row with almost no rest, he was flagging. The world around him felt blurred, his senses and awareness all dull. He barely got through the work day with Tommy. He felt, in a word, awful. It was strange. He felt even worse than he had after all those nights on foot with Ellie where he would insist on giving up his sleep for hers.

He wanted you. With more sleep, maybe he could push those thoughts away if he tried, but now, all he wanted was you.

Fittingly, Ellie was the only one that noticed. Well, Tommy must’ve noticed, but he didn’t mention it.

After dinner, he could hardly keep himself awake to listen to her talk about her day. Sitting on the couch, with his head lolling to the left and subsequently making his hearing muffled on both sides, he dozed off.

“–el? Joel? The fuck, man, I was just getting to the good part of the story!”

A hand shaking his shoulder jolted him awake and he was slow to reorient himself with the room. Breathe. He was in the living room. The fire was lit. It was still raining. Ellie was there. You were… fuck, where were you–? Oh. Right.

“Are you good?” Ellie asked.

He nodded quickly, swallowing around a raw throat. “Yeah– m’fine,” he said. “Keep goin’, I’m listenin’ to ya.”

“Uh, no, you weren’t. You fell asleep. And you’ve only been sitting for like, five minutes.”

Joel sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Okay. Wanna tell me somethin’ I don’t know?”

“You look like shit.” She told him pointedly.

“Mmh. Shouldn’t have even asked.”

Ellie rolled her eyes. “Come on, dude. Are you sick?”

“No.”

“You sure? You look sick. And super fucking tired.”

“Yeah, m’tired. Storm’s been keepin’ me up,” he said, which was only half of a lie.

Ellie didn’t believe him. “Huh. Fine. Sleep away then, old man.”

Joel’s eyes were closed, but by the way Ellie’s voice got quieter as she spoke, he knew she was walking away. He was a little too tired and a little too deaf to hear the front door open and close again a few minutes later.

“He looks dead.” A pause. “Is he dead?”

“Jesus. No, Ellie, he’s not dead.”

A palm smoothing over his forehead, then the back of that same cool hand against his cheek. He didn’t want to open his eyes. Too tired, and the touch felt too nice.

“Oh, Joel,” you exhaled. “He’s burning up. Probably killing his back, too.”

Warily, he opened an eye to see you crouching in front of him, Ellie close to your side. He would’ve thought he was dreaming, but in his dreams, his entire body didn’t typically ache.

“I knew something was wrong with you,” Ellie proclaimed, looking proud of herself.

“Why’re you…?” Joel rasped.

You cut him off. “Hey, Joel, you with me? Is there any possible chance that you got bit?” You asked. Just covering all bases.

“No,” he replied. “And fuck you.”

“Yeah, he’s fine. Ellie, go heat water up on the stove.” You interjected. “See if there are any tea bags left.”

“Ugh, fine.”

Joel’s eyes slipped shut again just as you sat down beside him. He was sitting upright, arms crossed loosely over his chest.

“C’mon, Joel. You should be in bed,” you said softly. Your fingertips brushed his forehead again, confirming the fever you had felt earlier. “Figures… Ellie says you haven’t been sleeping.”

He shook his head and tried to dodge your touch. “M’fine, babydoll,” he said like it was a reflex.

“Yeah, you’re fine, I know. You’re always just fine,” you replied. “Wake up a little, though? For me?”

He couldn’t argue with that. Slowly, he rubbed at his eyes and sat up more fully. “...Ellie got you? Shouldn’t of fuckin’ done that…”

“It was fine. It’s barely six, It’s still light out. I’m glad she did.”

He opened his eyes again, looking panicked. “Six? Fuck, I gotta–”

“Six PM, Joel,” you clarified. “You haven’t missed a thing. In fact, it’s a great time to catch up on some sleep.”

After you grabbed both of his hands and threatened to go get Tommy, he finally relented, letting you help him up from the impression he’d made on the couch. He all but collapsed into bed, hardly putting up a fight when you tugged off his shoes and jeans to get him into something more comfortable.

On second thought, maybe this was more than exhaustion. He didn’t have much recollection of the fever that came with that infected stab wound, not until he dragged himself up from the floor with what dredges of consciousness he had left to find Ellie. This was sort of akin to that hot-and-cold aching feeling. Had a fever when he killed those two men, too.

He groaned audibly at the thought.

“You okay?” Your warm voice rang through the room.

This wasn’t that, though. He was safe. Probably picked something up from being out in the rain with you. Is that how that worked? More likely from the insomnia, which surely must’ve shot his immune system.

“Mhm, yeah… you’re stayin’?” He mumbled.

“Yeah, I’ll stay.” You kissed his temple and pushed his hair off of his forehead.

“Why?”

You thought for a moment. Honestly, you were wondering that yourself. But when Ellie showed up at your door in the rain, her face awash with concern, you didn’t even think twice about coming.

“Ellie was worried about you. I had to come,” you said. “And… the things I said the other week, they– they weren't completely fair to you. I’ll try to make it up to you, if you’ll still let me.”

“Nothin’ to make up for,” he told you, words slurring together.

“I think there is, but–” you sighed. “Get some rest. You need it.”

He fell asleep easily after that.

Joel’s nightmares were so vivid that he woke up feeling like someone had died in his arms all over again. He didn’t know who. When he sat up and looked around the room he saw you asleep, clinging to his arm, and a glass of water on the nightstand next to a mug of tea that went untouched.

He was freezing, shivering under multiple layers. His skin and the fabric clinging to it hurt. Everything hurt. He sucked in a breath, too overwhelmed to do anything about any of it. The only thing he could manage was to call your name out into the dark.

Your bleary eyes met his in an instant and you had to untangle yourself from him to sit up. “Hold on, I’m awake,” you said, clicking on the lamp.

Joel was pale and his eyes were glassy.

“Did something happen? No, just feeling like shit? You’re still so warm… poor thing.”

He shook his head and tried to keep his teeth from chattering. When you opened your arms, he melted right into you.

“Okay, baby. You’re okay, I still got you. Bet your fever’s just spiking.”

After a long while of him in your arms, he spoke up. “M’sorry for what I did,” he whispered. “Thought I was gonna lose you.”

You felt the ache in the wound on your arm that pulled from holding him.

What could you say? That you would just put it past you? That all was forgiven? Was there anything at all that could be said with him in this state, sweating out a fever and shaking in your arms?

After mulling over the entire situation while you had been keeping your distance, you weren’t

sure if he would ever be sorry for pulling the trigger. He was sorry that it hurt you. That the golden image of him in your mind was tainted by what he’d done. That just made you angrier.

For Joel, part of that was true. He wasn’t sorry for pulling the trigger. He’d do it 100 times over, even if there was only a fraction of a chance that it made the difference between you living and you dying. But he was sorry for letting all of his past experiences haunt the decisions he made in the present, and he was sorry that he never did try hard enough to be better for you.

He couldn’t magically change, though. Nobody could.

The fork in the road was clear. To hold onto hope that you could just love Joel deeply enough and some softer, unscarred version of himself would start to appear through the cracks, or to let him go. Let him be who he is, far away from you.

Or maybe, maybe, maybe– keep loving him for who he is now, perhaps even if a little hardened and cruel, in this life with him. Love him deeply enough, love him long enough, and one day who he isn’t won’t matter.

“You won’t lose me. You won’t. We can talk about it more when you’re feeling better.”

And if he ever finds those old pieces of himself, or if you manage to bring them out– you’ll love those, too. And if not?

He brought his face up from your shoulder and took your face into his hands. “I love you. I love y’too much. Don’t lose yourself in all this. Not for me, not for nothin’. Okay? Promise me.”

There wasn’t an ‘if-not.’ The harshness of this life hadn’t taken away his capacity to care about you. To want to give you the world. To love and be loved. Some things, some far away and buried things, the most important things, they had never left him.

And Joel did. He did love you. It was a universal truth. It felt more certain than the sun rising each morning, than the salt in the sea, than the earth spinning on its axis.

“I promise,” you whispered. “I love you, too.”

You made sure Joel got better. Sleep was the best medicine. He was so bone-tired and out of it that you hardly had the chance to say anything else to each other for the next day or so.

You woke on Saturday morning to an empty bed. Joel’s room was tidier, empty mugs and dishes having disappeared from the nightstand along with the clothes that were scattered on the floor.

You could hear Joel and Ellie bickering about something downstairs, and the oaky smell of coffee was permeating the entire house. It made you smile. You wanted to stay in bed and bask in it for a few minutes– that lazy morning feeling, and the growing warmth inside your chest that told you that life could be good again. In the heaviness there was still warmth, light in the darkness, sunshine after the storm.

It was still drizzly out, but everything was remarkably greener. Even the pear trees that were scattered between houses in the neighborhood were blooming. You found yourself looking forward to summer.

After soaking in as much time in bed as you could, you got yourself up and went to check on the commotion in the kitchen. Joel was busy making breakfast– eggs and a few strips of bacon that were sizzling loudly. He had a towel thrown over his shoulder and was gesturing rather aggressively at Ellie with a spatula.

“Come on, how’d you know that one?” Ellie asked incredulously, throwing her hands into the air from where she was sitting at the kitchen table. “It was good, too. Admit it.”

“It was the worst out of all of ‘em,” he retorted.

“Wait, wait, listen to this one– how did Benjamin Franklin feel when he first discovered electricity?”

Joel glared at her over his shoulder. “Shocked?”

She laughed. You were starting to think it was less about the joke itself and much more about Joel’s obvious hatred of them. “You’re killing my flow here, dude!”

He could pretend all he wanted. That smile and the way he shook his head afterwards told you he loved it. Maybe not the joke, but hearing Ellie laugh.

He came over to where you were leaning against the doorway, handing you a cup of coffee and pecking your forehead. You took both things gratefully.

“I see you’re feeling better,” you said, catching him by the arm before he could walk away. “Breakfast, too?”

He nodded, pulling you into him again to kiss you for a little longer. “Mhm. As a thank you for lookin’ after me.”

You smiled against his lips. “I’ll take it, then.”

The three of you sat down to eat together before Ellie, who finished three times faster than either of you, asked if she could meet Tommy at the stables. It was more like a declaration, one that gave Joel no room or time to say yes or no.

You helped him wash and put away dishes, talking and laughing with him about completely mundane things. A part of you hoped that he wouldn’t want to bring up the last few conversations you’d had. This all felt so fragile and you would’ve done anything to keep it intact.

“I got you something,” he said after you’d sat down again. “Shut your eyes.”

Doing as you were told, you brought both hands up to cover your eyes. You could hear him leave the kitchen and bring something in from the dining room.

“‘Kay, open ‘em.”

He’d set a small vase of flowers on the kitchen table. The arrangement was made up of pink and white tulips, interspersed with golden poppies. You’d seen them when you went out with Joel– when you got hurt.

“I went out early this morning. You should see the fields, they’re covered in flowers,” he said. “I went out there to bury that man. Said a prayer for him and all that bullshit. He was alone, you were right. Someone would’ve taken him by now if he wasn’t.” He sat down in the chair next to you, reaching out for your hand. “Thought it was the least I could do… the right thing to do.”

You squeezed his hand as you stared at the flowers. “Thank you, Joel,” you said quietly. “You’re a good person.”

And somewhere, along the northern edges of a forest, there was a pile of freshly disturbed dirt and a cracked rock in place of a headstone. The rain would still come and wash over Joel’s work, but you hoped that nature would be kind to it. And in a few weeks when the sunlight gave birth to new growth, flowers would spread over the gravesite, too.

“I’m tryin’ to do my best, baby. For you.”

This time, you really did believe in him.

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