#( her smile brightens a room ;; photograph )

[kwilquib]

Falling for You, Again.

TripleS Kim Yooyeon x Reader

Switching POV

Word Count: 14.4k+

Kim Yooyeon sat upright in the hospital bed, the sterile scent of disinfectant clinging to the air. It no longer unsettled her the way it once did. She had been here long enough to adjust—to wake up every morning knowing she had lost her memories, knowing that her only grasp on the past came from what others told her.

And what they told her was this:

She was married. She was deeply in love. And her husband, who had been abroad for work, had been devastated when he heard about the accident, even more when he couldn't return immediately. Today—the day of her discharge—she would finally go home.

Her parents had been with her since the beginning, threading her past together with their words. Their voices were steady, unwavering—as if the truth could be spoken into existence.

"You and your husband were so perfect together," her mother gushed, her voice thick with emotion. "Always looking at each other like you were the only two people in the world."

Yooyeon held onto the words, testing them, trying to find something familiar in them.

A flicker of memory surfaced. A formal dinner, the gentle clink of wine glasses, a man’s hand resting on the small of her back as they smiled for photographs. She could almost hear the laughter, but it felt distant, muted—like a scene from someone else’s life.

Her father nodded approvingly. "He's a good man. Responsible, capable. And devoted to you, as any husband should be."

Another fragment—her husband adjusting his tie in their shared bathroom mirror, his reflection catching hers. A quiet familiarity between them, practiced and smooth. She remembered feeling something then—a warmth in her chest, steady and certain.

"You don’t remember?" her mother asked hopefully.

Yooyeon hesitated. Did she? The images were there, but they felt too crisp, too clean—like a story well-told, not a memory truly lived.

"I... I think I do. Little pieces."

Her mother brightened immediately. "See? It’s coming back! I always said true love leaves its mark on the soul, even if the mind forgets."

The words settled over her like a soft weight. True love.

With each story they shared, more pieces seemed to surface. Their first dance at a business gala. Weekend brunches with friends where they finished each other’s sentences. Vacation photos where they looked blissfully happy.

Each memory felt genuine—yet the edges of them blurred, like an oil painting smudged by an impatient hand.

She wanted to believe it. She wanted to be the woman they spoke of, the one who had been so deeply in love.

But wasn’t love supposed to feel more certain than this?

The nurse entered with her discharge papers. "Mrs. Kim, you’re all set to leave. Your husband must be relieved—his wife is finally getting discharged."

His wife.

The words settled into the quiet room, lingering in the air longer than they should have.

She had heard it before—"your husband," "your loving marriage," "you were so happy together." Each time, the words had been spoken with certainty, as if they alone could fill the void in her memory.

But this felt different. Final. Binding.

Her fingers curled around the ring on her left hand. The metal was warm, familiar. She traced its shape, searching for something—anything—that felt like certainty.

She waited for the rush of emotion, the deep-seated knowing. It didn’t come.

Her mother squeezed her hand. “Your husband called while you were resting. He’ll be returning from his work trip this week.”

Yooyeon nodded, ignoring the flutter of something in her chest. Excitement? Anxiety? Or something else entirely?

As the elevator descended to the hospital lobby, her parents chatting excitedly beside her, Yooyeon let herself lean into the stories, into the warmth they promised.

If she reached for the love they spoke of, if she believed hard enough—would it become real?

Today, she was going home.

To them.

And maybe, just maybe, to the love she was supposed to remember.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You step into the familiar quiet of your home, and for a moment, it doesn’t feel real.

This place—this moment—was never supposed to happen like this.

You were supposed to come back with a clearer mind, with the weight of your feelings for Yooyeon finally worn down by distance and time. You had convinced yourself that being away, that drowning in work, was the right thing. You had nearly succeeded in quieting the ache of wanting her—of wanting something you were never meant to have.

But then the call came.

The accident. The words you never expected to hear. That she had lost her memories, that she couldn’t remember you.

And suddenly, the distance that was supposed to help you move on became unbearable.

You couldn’t leave. Couldn’t abandon your work, not when this deal had been months in the making. But you couldn’t call her either. You weren’t ready to hear her voice, to confirm with your own ears that she didn’t remember you. Instead, you asked about her indirectly—through doctors, through her parents. Keeping yourself just close enough to know she was okay, but far enough to not face the truth.

Now, you’re home. And for the first time since you left, you can’t avoid her anymore.

She’s in the living room when you step in, arranging flowers—an image so delicate, so carefully composed, that it stops you in your tracks. You never remembered her paying so much attention to things like this before.

“Welcome home,” she says, offering you a small smile. It’s polite, warm even, but there’s something unfamiliar about it. It’s measured, like she’s giving you exactly what she thinks you expect.

It throws you off.

She’s different, and yet—she’s not. She’s not an entirely new person, not a stranger. She’s still Yooyeon, but softened in ways she never was before. Less guarded, less sharp. And it terrifies you how easily she could slip into the version of her you used to dream about—the version that could have loved you back.

You clear your throat, setting down your luggage. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get back sooner.”

Her fingers still briefly over the petals. “It’s fine… they told me your trip was important.” Her voice is light, but there’s something beneath it. A hesitation. A quiet disappointment.

Then, softer, almost to herself, “We could’ve at least talked on the phone.”

Your chest tightens. You don’t know if she’s saying it because she wanted to talk to you or because she thinks it’s something she should say.

“How have you been?” you ask, even though you already know. You know what the doctors have said, what her parents have told you. But you need to hear it from her.

She launches into a recounting of her recovery—how she’s been adjusting, how her parents have practically hovered over her. But as she speaks, something feels off. Her words are careful, almost rehearsed, as if she’s reading from a script someone gave her.

And it hits you—she is following a script.

She’s trying to fit into the life everyone says she had. Trying to be the person they tell her she used to be.

The realization unsettles you.

It should be easy to draw the line. You told yourself, over and over, that this marriage had given you nothing but a lingering ache. That whatever warmth you once felt had long since dulled into something muted, tolerable. Maybe this is the clean break you need—the perfect excuse to finally move on without guilt.

But instead, all the walls you’ve built, the callousness you spent months forging, begin to crack.

You watch her—this version of Yooyeon, untouched by old wounds and past hesitations—and wonder.

Is this a curse? Or is this the only chance you’ll ever have to hold onto something that was never truly yours?

Later, over lunch, the air between you still carries an odd tension—not uncomfortable, just… unfamiliar. You catch yourself hesitating before speaking, unsure which parts of your shared past she still holds onto and which have slipped through the cracks.

"Do you remember the trip to Busan?" you ask, testing again, reaching for a thread of the past.

Yooyeon blinks, her brows knitting together. "Busan…?"

"The conference," you remind her. "Last year. You spent half the time making fun of that presenter’s slides."

She lets out a small laugh but shakes her head. "I don’t remember that at all. But it does sound like something I’d do."

There’s a beat of silence, then a quiet chuckle from both of you—awkward, but not entirely unpleasant.

"Tell me about it?" she asks, tilting her head, curiosity flickering in her eyes. "I want to know what kind of person I was."

The question throws you off guard, though you’re not sure why. Maybe it’s the vulnerability in her voice, the quiet plea to be filled in on the version of herself that she’s lost.

You hesitate, then exhale softly. "You were—" You stop, correcting yourself. "You are sharp. Witty. You never let anyone get away with nonsense."

She smiles at that, as if it reassures her. "That’s good to hear."

Bit by bit, the stiffness fades.

By evening, it’s different. The space between you, once uncertain, feels smoother, more fluid. It’s not the same as before, but in some ways, it’s easier. Lighter.

Yooyeon touches you more. Small, fleeting gestures—her fingers brushing against yours when she hands you a plate, resting a hand on your wrist when she asks a question, leaning into you slightly when you walk side by side. It’s nothing dramatic, nothing she seems to think twice about. But it’s different.

Before the accident, before the marriage, you thought of Yooyeon as a great friend—someone easy to talk to, someone who made life feel less heavy. When you agreed to the marriage, you thought maybe, just maybe, you were moving toward something more. At first, it seemed like it. The familiarity deepened, your feelings began to take shape, creeping in slowly, almost unnoticed. There were moments—glimpses of what could be—where it felt like the two of you were truly building something together.

But then, it stopped. Or maybe it just never went far enough. She was always there, yet just out of reach. She smiled at you, laughed with you, shared meals with you, but there was always a quiet hesitation in her, an invisible wall she never dared to cross. You wanted more. You wanted to pull her closer, to make her see what you were feeling, but something kept holding you back. Kept holding her back.

Your love for her didn’t fade—it grew. And the more it grew, the more it hurt.

You lived together, spent your days and nights side by side, yet the gap between you remained. A happy marriage, but never quite content. Companions, but never quite lovers.

And now? Now she’s changed. Now, that boundary is gone—not in the way you once wished it would be, but in a way that feels almost unreal. Like something delicate and fleeting, something that shouldn’t be yours to hold.

You don’t comment on it.

You tell yourself it’s just her way of adjusting, of seeking comfort in something familiar.

So you play along.

As the evening drags on, you feel her eyes on you constantly, but there’s no familiar ease to it. No comfort. It’s as if she’s studying you, trying to figure out the person she’s married to, trying to place you into this new reality where you don’t fit. You catch her refilling your water glass before you even ask, adjusting your collar just slightly, even suggesting things she thinks will please you—asking how the trip went, what you did, if you’re tired. Every move she makes feels calculated, like she’s not trying to be the woman you married, but the woman she thinks you expect her to be.

Her actions are all wrapped in politeness and care, but it feels like a performance. You’re a stranger to her now, and she’s just trying to fit the role she believes she has to play.

You can’t help but wonder, does she even know who you are anymore?

After dinner, Yooyeon sets her chopsticks down and looks at you expectantly. “Can we watch some videos?” she asks.

You blink. “Videos?”

“Our wedding, maybe? Or just… us?” She hesitates, twirling a strand of her hair between her fingers. “I want to see. I want to remember.”

You don’t answer right away. Something about the request unsettles you, but you don’t know why.

She watches you carefully, waiting. And for some reason, you find yourself nodding.

Minutes later, you’re both sitting on the couch as the TV screen flickers to life. The first video plays—a montage of your wedding day. The ceremony, the smiles, the laughter. The perfect image of a couple in love.

Yooyeon watches intently, her gaze scanning the screen like she’s trying to etch every second into her mind. “I remember this part,” she murmurs when the camera captures her slipping the ring onto your finger. “I was so nervous.”

You glance at her. “Were you?”

She nods, eyes still locked on the screen. “I kept worrying I’d drop the ring. But you… you looked so calm.” She tilts her head, studying the way you held her hand in the video. “Did you feel nervous?”

You almost laugh. “No. It was just a formality, I was rushing for the event to be over.”

The words sit between you, stark and unfiltered.

Yooyeon doesn’t flinch. Instead, she hums thoughtfully. “Still. We looked happy.”

You don’t answer.

The video shifts to another clip—your honeymoon. A trip spent half in public, playing the roles expected of you, and half in quiet companionship behind closed doors.

“You remember this?” you ask, testing her again.

She pauses. “Not all of it,” she admits. “But some parts… they feel familiar.”

She leans into your side, her body warm against yours.

You hadn’t noticed when it happened, but somehow, Yooyeon ended up nestled against you, her head resting lightly against your shoulder, your arm loosely draped around her. The closeness should feel foreign—it never used to be like this—but strangely, it isn’t.

It feels natural. Too natural.

On the screen, the version of you from the past smiles at her, something soft in his expression that even you don’t quite recognize.

Yooyeon shifts slightly in your arms, tilting her head up to look at you.

Your breath catches.

She’s close. Closer than she should be.

The glow of the screen casts soft shadows over her face, highlighting the curve of her lips, the quiet intent in her eyes. The air between you grows heavy, charged with something neither of you acknowledges.

And then she moves.

Her lips press against yours—gentle, seeking. A quiet, hesitant question in the form of a kiss.

Your body reacts before your mind does.

You’d spent months trying to forget, convincing yourself that this love was better buried.

And yet, here you were—undoing everything in a single moment.

You kiss her back.

Before your kisses could get any deeper, she breaks it off.

“I— I should probably take a shower…” her breath heavy. “Before we continue…” she muttered almost a whisper. As she runs towards your room.

The warmth of her lips still lingers on yours as Yooyeon stumbles away, her words barely registering in your mind. Your pulse is erratic, breath unsteady as she disappears into the bathroom. The sound of running water fills the space, but your thoughts are too tangled to process anything else.

You exhale sharply, running a hand through your hair. What just happened?

The weight of her kiss, the way her body fit against yours—it felt inevitable, like something long overdue.

Minutes pass, stretching endlessly until the water finally stops. The door creaks open, and for a brief moment, you catch a glimpse of her silhouette before she vanishes into your room, wrapped in nothing but a towel.

Your heart is still racing as you push yourself off the couch. The air feels thick, charged with an energy you don’t know how to name.

The shower is quick, the cold water doing little to calm the storm inside you. Even as you dry off, the memory of her touch lingers—her warmth, her scent, the way she looked at you before she kissed you.

Steeling yourself, you step into your bedroom.

And then—you freeze.

Yooyeon lies on your bed, the blanket pooling around her bare shoulders, exposing smooth skin bathed in the dim light. Her damp hair spills over the pillows, dark strands curling at the ends.

Your throat goes dry.

She watches you, her expression unreadable, lips parted slightly as if caught between hesitation and expectation.

Then it hits you.

Under that sheet, Yooyeon is completely naked.

And so are you.

The towel slips from your fingers, falling soundlessly to the floor. Her gaze follows the movement, trailing over your body before flickering away when it lands lower—shyness warring with curiosity.

You move closer, sitting at the edge of the bed. Your hand reaches out, fingers brushing against the soft fabric of the blanket. Slowly, deliberately, you peel it back, unveiling inch after inch of her bare skin.

First, her collarbones, delicate and defined.

Then her breasts, supple, rising and falling with her breath.

Your eyes trace the gentle slope of her stomach, the way it tenses slightly under your gaze.

And then, finally, the last of the blanket falls away, revealing the most intimate part of her.

You pause, drinking her in—every curve, every detail, the sheer vulnerability of this moment.

She is beautiful.

You remind yourself not to rush. To take your time.

Slowly, calmly, you lean in, capturing her lips in a kiss—soft at first, testing, savoring. Her breath hitches, but she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she melts into you, her hands trailing up your back, fingertips pressing lightly as if urging you closer.

The kiss deepens.

Your tongues meet, a slow, intoxicating dance. Her taste lingers on your lips, warm and sweet. You tug at her tongue, coaxing it out, teasing, savoring every second before finally breaking apart, breathless.

Both of you pant for air, foreheads pressed together, heat radiating between you. Then, you feel it—Yooyeon’s hand wrapping around your length, her touch light at first, then firmer, stroking you, making you harder than you already are.

You tense, instinctively pulling back for a second, startled by the sudden contact. Her eyes flicker with confusion, but you don’t explain. Instead, you press forward, shifting your focus.

Your lips trail down her body, kissing her skin, feeling the way she trembles beneath you. Her quiet moans spill out as you kiss along her side, then lower, past her navel.

You don’t linger. You know she’s already wet.

Positioning yourself between her legs, you part them, revealing her.

“Yooyeon… can I?” Your voice is low, thick with need.

She nods, her gaze heavy-lidded, filled with anticipation.

You lean in, your tongue sliding against her folds, tasting her, teasing her. She gasps, back arching slightly, her moans growing louder as you work her with slow, deliberate strokes. You take your time, letting each flick, each swirl of your tongue build her pleasure.

You feel her body loosening, her walls softening around your touch. Taking it as your cue, you push your tongue inside, warmth enveloping you as her arousal coats your mouth. She’s overflowing, her body giving in to pleasure.

Her legs clamp around your head, a sharp gasp escaping her lips. Fingers tangle in your hair, grasping tightly as her moans turn desperate, erratic.

You hold her thighs apart, refusing to let her escape. The way she writhes beneath you, the way her voice rises with each stroke of your tongue—it only fuels you. Her pleasure feeds your hunger.

You pick up the pace, teasing and flicking against her sensitive bud. She cries out, hands gripping the sheets, her body arching as the sensation overwhelms her.

Then, without warning, you push your tongue back inside, not giving her a moment’s reprieve. Her moans turn to breathless, broken sounds, her mind too lost in the pleasure to form words.

"Fuh…Ah—Nnn… fuah!!!"

Her body tenses, muscles locking up as the pressure builds. Her legs tremble, stretching outward, her hands pressing against your head, trying to ground herself. Her back arches high, head tilting back as the wave finally crashes over her.

And you don’t stop—drawing out every last pulse of her release, savoring the way her body trembles beneath you.

But your hunger isn't satisfied.

Even though she’s already drenched, already ready, you want more.

Moving back up, you claim her breast, taking a hardened peak into your mouth. Your tongue swirls around it, sucking, teasing, while your hands knead her softness, fingers flicking and pinching in tandem with your lips. You alternate between gentle licks and sharp bites against her sensitive tips, drawing a sharp gasp from her lips.

A loud moan escapes her, her back arching.

Your eyes flick up, catching the way her head tilts, her neck exposed—a silent invitation.

You answer it immediately, trailing kisses along her skin, feeling her pulse quicken beneath your lips. Each press of your mouth sends another shiver through her, her body reacting to every touch.

But you need more.

Your lips find hers again, and before you can even take the lead, she’s already parting her mouth, welcoming you, her tongue eagerly meeting yours.

The kiss deepens, slow and consuming, both of you losing yourselves in the heat of it.

And then—another moan escapes her, breaking the kiss.

Your tip presses against her, teasing her entrance.

You don’t stop. Instead, you return to her lips, deepening the kiss as you rub your length along her slick folds, coating yourself in her arousal.

Her moans sync with each slow, deliberate movement, her body shuddering beneath you. Her hands cradle your face, fingers gliding over your skin, smearing the mess of your mixed saliva as she pulls you in closer.

Your lips part, but your tongues remain locked in their heated dance, unwilling to separate—until she finally pushes you back, breathless.

"Dear… it’s enough… ah!" she whispers between moans.

But is it?

Doubt lingers, and instead of answering, you dip back down, capturing her breast in your mouth, sucking lightly, flicking her sensitive tips with your tongue. She gasps, arching into you, her fingers tightening against your skin.

You trail back up, capturing her lips once more, silencing any protests. She parts her mouth as if to speak, but you don’t let her—your tongue claims hers again, drawing another muffled moan from her.

Finally, she pleads, her voice trembling with need.

"Please… put it in…"

You pull back slightly, your breathing ragged.

Is it really enough?

Your eyes search hers, questioning and hesitating. You want her completely—but only when she’s truly ready.

Then another thought crosses your mind: rubber. Hastily, you reach for the drawer, but before you can, her hand intercepts yours.

“Wait…” she says softly, holding out a condom. Her eyes sparkle with a mix of impatience and assurance. You know you’re supposed to use it, yet in this heated moment, the raw intensity of your desire makes you yearn for an unfiltered connection.

Clutching the condom in your hand, you feel that inner battle between safety and passion. In one impulsive moment, you decide—raw is what you need. With deliberate urgency, you press yourself against her, entering her without delay.

“Ahnnn…” escapes her lips as she welcomes you. Every thrust is met with her rising moans—a rhythmic symphony that spurs you on.

Your hand slides up to her breast, massaging and flicking it, alternating between gentle licks and teasing bites along her sensitive nipple. The sound of her moans draws your attention to the delicate curve of her neck, where your lips trail a fiery path of kisses.

Her insides grow warmer and more intense with each movement, wrapping around you, pulling you deeper into the moment. Sensing that the intensity might soon overwhelm both of you, you briefly pull back—tearing open the condom wrapper with a mix of urgency and hesitation.

You withdraw slightly, and she moans in response. The pause makes you acutely aware of how close you both are to the edge. Desperate not to lose the rhythm, you fumble to put the condom on again.

Sensing your hurry—and perhaps sharing in your urgency—her hand reaches out, deftly fitting the condom for you. Without missing a beat, she guides your length back to her welcoming embrace. Your body re-enters her, and you murmur her name, “Yooyeon.”

“I'm about to cum,” you confess in a low, husky tone, “but… is it okay?”

She meets your gaze with a smile and a nod of encouragement, “Yes… do it whenever you like.”

Emboldened, you resume your pace, each thrust growing more rapid as your kisses overlap with her soft moans. The sight of her—flushed and panting, eyes half-closed in bliss, strands of hair clinging to her flushed skin—drives you closer to your limit. You grip her waist tightly as her arms cradle your head, locking you together in a passionate embrace.

You feel your release building rapidly. Her hips rise to meet your every thrust as she arches her back, her body moving in perfect rhythm with yours. In a final, desperate surge, your finger finds her clit, adding one last burst of stimulation to the electric mix of pleasure.

“No—… Not—There—” she gasps breathlessly as her body twists with the overwhelming sensations.

"I’m—cumming—cumming… Ah!!!" she cries, and in that climactic moment, both of you shatter under the intensity of your shared release.

Her body convulses as waves of heat and pleasure surge through her, each pulse sending shudders down her spine. The sheets beneath you seem to ripple with the force of your climax, every fiber of your being alive with raw ecstasy. You feel her muscles tighten around you, an unspoken invitation to surrender completely to the overwhelming sensation.

Exhausted yet exhilarated, you collapse beside her, your heads turning to face each other. Her expression radiates satisfaction and joy as she softly calls your name. Gently, she plants a kiss on your lips, then on your forehead, and finally on your nose—each tender gesture sealing the memory of your shared passion.

As her eyes close and she nestles into your embrace, you both drift in the afterglow—a raw, unforgettable moment of intimacy that lingers long after the night fades.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yooyeon stirred awake to the warmth of a steady heartbeat beneath her cheek, her fingers curled lightly against his bare chest. His arms were still around her, firm yet relaxed, holding her in a way that made her feel safe. Wanted. Loved.

A quiet smile ghosted her lips as she let herself sink into the moment.

Last night had been…

Her cheeks flushed at the memory—her own boldness, the way she had moved on instinct, the way his touch had set fire to every inch of her skin. She hadn’t thought too deeply about it at the time. She had simply acted on a feeling—a feeling that told her she wanted him, wanted to be close to him in the most intimate way.

And she had been right.

Being with him had felt good, natural. She felt satisfied, happy, content in a way that only reaffirmed everything she had come to believe since waking up in this life—she loved him.

She was sure of it.

The realization sent a quiet thrill through her. She had been nervous, hesitant, unsure if her memories would ever return, but last night had proven that love didn’t need memories to exist. She felt it in the way she craved his presence, in the warmth that filled her chest when he looked at her.

Yooyeon shifted slightly, pressing closer to him, breathing in the faint scent of him—clean, comforting, familiar.

But then his voice cut through the soft haze of her thoughts.

“That was… unexpected,” he murmured, his fingers absentmindedly tracing slow circles on her back.

She blinked, tilting her head up to meet his gaze. “Unexpected?”

He hesitated, just for a second. Then, with a careful smile, he said, “It’s been a while.”

A while.

The words settled in her mind, stirring something she didn’t quite understand. Of course, it had been a while—she had only woken up to this life weeks ago. But his tone, the way his hand tightened slightly around her waist, made her feel like it was more than that. Like this distance between them wasn’t just from her accident, but something older.

She wanted to ask—why had it been so long?

But the words never left her lips. It wasn’t hard to imagine why. Their relationship was complicated. She might not remember everything, but she could sense it—the hesitance in his touch, the way he always seemed to be holding back, like there was something unspoken between them.

Maybe that was just how marriage worked. Maybe love wasn’t always constant, but something that came and went.

Still, as she rested her head against his chest, the thought lingered.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

At first, it unsettles you.

The way Yooyeon moves around you so effortlessly, the way she reaches for your hand without hesitation, the way she speaks to you with such natural affection—it’s disorienting.

She doesn’t remember.

She doesn’t remember that your marriage was built on something practical, something strategic. She doesn’t remember that love was never part of the equation.

And yet, she looks at you like it is.

Like it always has been.

You catch yourself hesitating around her more often than not. There’s a strange discomfort in knowing something she doesn’t, in feeling the weight of the truth pressing against your ribs every time she smiles at you. You should tell her. You should set things straight.

But you don’t.

Instead, you find yourself falling into the rhythm of her new version of your life together.

You wake up with her in your arms, and you don’t pull away.

You sit together for breakfast, and when she instinctively places a peeled orange slice on your plate, you take it without thinking.

You come home from work to find her waiting, sometimes with dinner already prepared, other times with stories of her day, filling the house with a warmth that never quite existed before.

And slowly, day by day, you stop resisting.

You settle into married life again—but this time, without hesitation.

She reaches for you first. She falls asleep in your arms, waking up smiling at you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The distance that once defined your relationship is gone, replaced by something warm, something dangerously easy to believe in.

You let yourself fall into the illusion.

One evening, as you sit in the living room, Yooyeon is curled up beside you, flipping through an old photo album she found while reorganizing the shelves.

“Oh,” she says, her fingers tracing over a picture. “I remember this one.”

You glance over. It’s from a ski trip, a company retreat you attended together two winters ago. She had nearly sprained her wrist trying to prove she could keep up with the more experienced skiers. You had ended up guiding her down the slope, an arm around her waist, both of you laughing as she barely managed to stay upright.

“You do?” you ask, cautious.

“Sort of,” she hums. “It’s faint. More like… I remember how I felt.”

You watch her quietly. “And how did you feel?”

She turns to you with a small smile. “Happy.”

Your chest tightens.

There are other moments, too—soft, fleeting, but impossible to ignore.

Nights spent in the kitchen, cooking together, bumping into each other as you move around the stove. She steals bites of whatever you’re preparing, grinning at you when you feign irritation.

Late-night talks, lying in bed with the lights off, her voice quiet but filled with warmth as she tells you about all the things she wants to do, all the places she wants to see. And for the first time, you let yourself imagine being there with her.

She steals kisses—teasingly, playfully, like you’ve always been in love. A kiss on the cheek as she passes by, a lingering press of her lips to yours just before bed. At first, it startles you, but then you start to expect it. Crave it.

And before you realize it, you start kissing her back.

You begin to dream of a life where this isn’t just a lie.

Another time, during dinner, she asks a question you aren’t prepared for.

“What was our first date like?”

You pause, chopsticks hovering midair. “Our first date?”

She nods eagerly, resting her chin in her hand. “I was thinking about it earlier. I tried to remember, but I couldn’t, so… tell me.”

You exhale slowly, setting your chopsticks down. A smile tugs at your lips, unbidden. “You don’t remember sneaking out of that charity banquet when we were seventeen and eating instant ramen at a convenience store?”

Her eyes widen in surprise before a small, delighted laugh escapes her. “That was a date?”

“You called it one,” you say, smirking. “Said it was the best meal you ever had.”

She hums, thoughtful, before grinning. “I must’ve been charming back then.”

“You still are,” you murmur without thinking.

Her expression softens. Then she tilts her head playfully. “That’s cute, but I meant a real date. You know—one where we both knew what it was.”

You hesitate, because you know what she’s really asking.

There was never a first date in the way she’s imagining—no sweet, nervous anticipation, no deliberate choice to step into something romantic. Your relationship had always been tangled in something more complicated.

But now, as she looks at you with expectation, her fingers absentmindedly toying with the edge of her napkin, you find yourself saying—

“Then let’s have one.”

She blinks. “What?”

“A first date,” you say simply, watching her reaction. “One you can remember.”

Her face brightens, eyes gleaming with something warm, something real. “Okay,” she says, smiling. “Let’s do it.”

And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe that maybe—just maybe—this doesn’t have to be a lie.

You don’t realize when you stop overthinking things.

When she slides her hand into yours while walking through a park, you don’t flinch.

When she leans against you while watching a movie, you don’t stiffen.

When she laughs at something you say, her whole face lighting up, you don’t look away.

And one day, you catch yourself smiling at her when she isn’t looking.

The feeling that stirs inside you is unfamiliar and familiar all at once.

Because the truth is—you’ve always had feelings for her.

You just never let yourself acknowledge them before.

But now, standing in the middle of a life that feels almost real, you wonder if this is a sign.

A sign that maybe, just maybe, you can start again.

And maybe—just maybe—you don’t have to tell her the truth.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yooyeon stood in front of the mirror, carefully adjusting the delicate bracelet around her wrist. A soft hum of excitement bubbled in her chest as she checked her reflection one last time. Their first real date—the kind she had always dreamed of. She wanted today to be perfect. Not because it had to be, but because it already felt like it would be.

She had spent the past hour choosing the right outfit, something that felt effortless yet pretty, hoping he would notice. Hoping he would look at her the way she was starting to look at him.

By the time she stepped out of the bedroom, he was already waiting near the door. His gaze flickered over her, lingering just long enough for warmth to spread through her.

“You look nice,” he said simply, his voice softer than usual.

She grinned. “Only nice?”

He exhaled a small chuckle, shaking his head as if she was impossible. Then, more sincerely—“Beautiful.”

Her breath caught. She wanted to tease him, but the way he said it, like he meant it, left her speechless. Before she could find the words, he extended his hand.

A simple gesture. A quiet offering.

She took it without hesitation, her fingers slipping between his, fitting as if they belonged there. He gave her hand a small squeeze, and together, they stepped out into the world beyond their home.

The day unfolded like something out of a dream.

Their first stop was a small bakery-café, the kind nestled between old bookstores and cozy boutiques. It smelled like fresh bread and vanilla, warmth curling in the air like an embrace. Yooyeon picked a selection of pastries for them to share, carefully choosing the ones she thought he would like.

She watched with barely contained excitement as he took a bite of a strawberry tart.

“It’s good,” he admitted, chewing thoughtfully.

“Good?” She gasped, placing a dramatic hand over her chest. “This is art.”

His lips quirked into a smirk. “Alright, it’s art.”

Satisfied, she took her own bite, savoring the sweetness. The café was quiet, filled with the murmur of soft conversations and the gentle notes of a piano melody playing in the background. She found herself stealing glances at him, memorizing the rare ease in his expression, the way the afternoon sunlight kissed his skin.

For the first time in a long time, it felt like they weren’t pretending.

The movie theater was next. She had picked a lighthearted romantic comedy, wanting to keep the mood playful. He hadn’t protested, only giving her an unreadable glance when she insisted it would be fun.

It was.

She found herself laughing at the silliest scenes, and every now and then, when she peeked at him, she caught the faintest trace of amusement in his eyes. He wasn’t laughing outright, but he was watching her more than the movie, and somehow, that made her heart flutter more than anything on the screen.

At one point, when she reached for the popcorn, their hands brushed. Neither of them moved.

Slowly, he intertwined their fingers beneath the dim glow of the screen.

Her heart stuttered. She squeezed his hand lightly.

He squeezed back.

By afternoon, they had made their way to the park, where a small picnic awaited them. She had planned it in advance, packing simple homemade sandwiches and fresh fruit. The air was crisp, the sky stretching endlessly above them, and for a while, they simply enjoyed the peacefulness.

Yooyeon leaned against him, letting her head rest against his shoulder. He didn’t move away. Instead, his hand found its way into her hair, his fingers brushing through it absentmindedly.

Her heart melted.

“I think this is the first time we’ve actually done something like this,” she murmured.

“Like what?”

“Spent a whole day together… just being a normal couple.”

He was quiet for a moment. Then, in a voice so low she almost missed it—

“Yeah.”

She smiled, closing her eyes for a brief second, savoring the warmth of him. The world felt quieter like this. Like it had shrunk to just the two of them, existing in a space untouched by the past.

She wanted to stay in this moment forever.

Night had fallen by the time they reached their final stop—a quiet hill overlooking the cityscape. From afar, the lights twinkled like stars, stretching far beyond what the eye could see. The air was cool, crisp against her skin, but standing beside him, she barely noticed.

“I used to come here alone sometimes,” he admitted, his voice softer, more open. “Just to think.”

Yooyeon turned to him, searching his face. “And now?”

He looked at her then—really looked at her. As if seeing her for the first time. As if realizing something he hadn’t before.

“Now, I think I’d rather share it with you.”

Her breath hitched.

The moment stretched between them, delicate and charged.

Without thinking, she stepped closer, lifting a hand to his cheek, her thumb brushing over his skin. He didn’t pull away. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, leaning into her touch, like it was something he had been waiting for.

Her gaze flickered to his lips.

The tension thickened, the world around them fading until there was nothing left but the space between them.

She moved first, closing the distance, pressing her lips to his in a kiss so soft, so tender, it felt like a secret. He inhaled sharply against her mouth, his hands finding her waist, pulling her closer.

The kiss deepened, slow and consuming, filled with something warm and terrifyingly sweet.

When they finally pulled apart, they were both breathless. He pressed his forehead against hers, eyes closed as if grounding himself.

“Maybe we should go home,” he murmured, voice husky.

Yooyeon nodded, still dazed. “Yeah.”

He took her hand again, this time holding it a little tighter as they made their way back.

And deep down, she knew—tonight wasn’t over just yet.

The drive home is quiet, but not tense. Her fingers remain laced with yours the entire way, her grip firm—like she’s afraid you’ll disappear if she lets go. You don’t say anything about it. You just hold on.

By the time you step through the door, the house feels different. Warmer, despite the lingering shadows. It’s strange how just her presence can make it feel like home again.

Neither of you turn on the lights. There’s no need. The dim glow from the night city lights outside is enough to guide you through the familiar space. Without a word, you both make your way to the bedroom, as if some unspoken understanding pulls you forward.

And now—here you are.

Sitting side by side at the edge of the bed, your hands still loosely linked. The weight of the night settles over you, thick with all the words that haven’t been spoken yet.

You steal a glance at her, only to find her already looking at you. There’s something different in her eyes tonight—not just longing, not just resolve, but something deeper. Something that makes your breath catch.

You thought you had lost her. And maybe, in a way, you did. But now she’s here, choosing you—not because of old memories, not because of a past you held onto alone, but because of now.

And that’s when it hits you.

You had loved her before. Loved her in quiet ways, in restrained touches, in the unspoken words that always hovered on the tip of your tongue. But now—now, you’ve fallen again. Harder. Deeper.

She tilts her head slightly, waiting. For you to speak, for you to move, for you to reassure her that this isn’t a mistake.

You exhale, threading your fingers through hers, squeezing once. “Yooyeon…”

Her name feels different when you say it this time—like something new and familiar all at once.

She smiles, small but real, and she pressed her lips against you.

And just like that, you fall all over again.

She pulls away, her lips barely parting from yours as she searches your face. There’s warmth in her gaze, a quiet certainty that makes your chest tighten. Then, she smiles—soft, unwavering.

You cradle her face in your hands, and she leans into your touch, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment as if memorizing the feel of you.

You kiss her again. This time, there’s no hesitation—just slow, unhurried intimacy, deepening with every passing second.

Her hands rest lightly against your chest, fingers curling slightly against the fabric of your shirt. You can feel her heartbeat, unsteady yet eager, mirroring your own.

Your hand slides up the smooth curve of her thigh, fingers ghosting over her soft skin before slipping under the hem of her skirt. She shudders but doesn’t pull away—if anything, she presses closer, her breath coming faster, anticipation thick in the space between you.

Your lips break apart just as her gaze flickers down—drawn to the movement of your hand between her legs. She knows what’s coming. She wants it.

Without hesitation, your fingers slip beneath her panties, gliding over her soaked heat. A slow, teasing stroke along her slit makes her breath hitch, her thighs twitching in response. You find her clit, circling it with deliberate pressure, and she gasps—soft at first, then louder as your touch grows bolder.

Her head drops onto your shoulder, her body sagging into you, surrendering. You let your free hand tangle in her hair, stroking her, keeping her close as she clings to your other arm. Her grip tightens whenever you rub just right, her body reacting instinctively, desperately.

She’s soaked now, dripping, her slickness coating your fingers as you ease one inside her. She tenses, then relaxes, her walls fluttering around you as you curl your finger, testing, teasing.

“Hnnng…” A breathy moan spills from her lips, her body trembling against yours.

She leans into you, eyes wide and desperate as they lock onto yours—raw, pleading, and hungry for more. You can tell she’s craving every inch of this moment, and you’re more than ready to deliver.

“Can... can I—like, you... lie down?” she asks shyly, her voice low and breathy.

“Sure,” you reply, a mix of confusion and intrigue in your tone as you both head for the bed. Once there, she starts undressing, and you watch, not quite sure what she’s planning.

“Should I... too?” you ask with a playful smirk.

“Ye—yes,” she stammers, her voice thick with anticipation.

Before long, you’re shedding your shirt, pants, and boxers, leaving you completely bare as you wait for Yooyeon to finish. With a final, deliberate move, she slips off her soaked panties, revealing everything. Her eyes linger hungrily on your throbbing package, and after a deep, steadying breath, she crawls over and positions herself on top of you.

Meeting your gaze, she confesses, “It’s because... last time, you teased me way too much,” her cheeks flushing with both embarrassment and desire.

Before you can even reach out for a cuddle, her hand finds your cock, stroking it with a confident, teasing rhythm.

“Yooyeon...” you murmur, barely above a whisper.

Without missing a beat, she shifts so that her dripping, slick pussy meets your throbbing tip. Her natural juices make every touch wet and irresistible.

“Hnnng…” she breathes as she slowly pushes down on you, her warm, inviting opening taking you in inch by inch. Her body settles over yours, fully engulfing you as she adjusts to the sensation.

Then. Her hips start moving—first slow and deliberate, then quickening into a relentless, pulsing rhythm. The heat of her body surrounds you as she rides you hard, every thrust drawing you deeper into a night of raw, unfiltered passion.

“I can feel it twitch…” she breathes, her voice husky as she asks, “Do—does it feel good?”

“Yeah, Yooyeon… it feels amazing,” you reply, your words thick with desire.

Your lips collide, entangling in a deep, fervent kiss as your fingers cradle her cheeks. The kiss intensifies, every touch stoking the fire between you. Rising slightly, she quickens her pace—her desperation unmistakable as she chases her own pleasure.

Before long, exhaustion begins to claim her, and her movements slow; yet even as she gasps for air, her hips remain insistent, grinding slowly despite her fatigue. Sensing an unspoken urge, you murmur, “Yooyeon, there’s something I want to try,” offering an excuse in case she’s too shy to ask outright.

A quick nod is all you need. You reposition her gently to your side, guiding her so that her head rests on your arm. With her back to you, you slide into her again, savoring the fresh angle as both your rhythms realign. Her moans return, matching the new, steady pace that builds once more.

As your hands explore, hers finds yours, fingers interlocking tightly as the intensity escalates. Your other hand wanders over her breasts, teasing her hardened nipples with every deliberate stroke. “I’m—I'm close,” Yooyeon confesses, her voice trembling with anticipation.

Noticing her gaze drifting back to you, you grasp her chin and pull her into another searing kiss, your tongues dancing together. Shifting once again, you climb atop her, pressing her flat against the bed as you prepare to drive her to the edge. “I’m close too,” you murmur between kisses, the admission fusing your sensations into one.

The pace quickens; her moans grow louder, her movements erratic as both your breaths come in ragged bursts. The heat between you becomes almost unbearable, every thrust and every touch amplifying the approaching climax. “Cum with me… please,” she pleads, her voice raw with need.

In that electrifying moment, her body convulses in overwhelming pleasure. You feel your own climax surge through you as you pull away, releasing your heated burst onto her back. The space between you, though charged with the remnants of passion, holds the echo of every gasp, every moan, and every shared moment of unbridled ecstasy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lying in bed, Yooyeon feels the warmth of his arm draped over her waist, the steady rise and fall of his chest against her back. The room is dim, the only light coming from the soft glow of the city outside. She should be at peace, comforted by his presence—yet something gnaws at her, an unease she can’t quite place.

She traces slow circles on the back of his hand with her fingertips, a habit that feels instinctual, familiar, though she can’t remember why. The motion soothes her, but the ache in her chest lingers. Without thinking, she murmurs,

“You always used to hate holding hands.”

His entire body stiffens.

She feels it instantly—the tension in his muscles, the way his breath halts for a split second before resuming, just a little too controlled.

She blinks, turning to look at him. His face is carefully blank, but she knows better now. Knows enough to recognize the way his guard snaps into place.

“…Didn’t you?” she presses, searching his face for an answer.

He exhales slowly, withdrawing his hand. “I don’t remember saying that.”

But she knows he does.

Her memories aren’t whole—just flickers, shadows of something real but unreachable. Yet, in those fragments, there’s a truth she can’t ignore.

She starts noticing it more—the subtle moments when he pulls away. The slight hesitation before he responds to her touch. The darkness in his eyes when she speaks too easily of their love.

And it starts to hurt.

One night, the weight of it all crashes into her. “Why do you act like this?” she asks, voice trembling. “Like you’re afraid of me?”

His expression hardens. “I’m not.”

“You are,” she insists, stepping closer. “I see it in your eyes. Every time I talk about us, about our past, you look at me like—” Her throat tightens. “Like you’re waiting for something to fall apart.”

His jaw clenches. He looks away. “Yooyeon, drop it.”

But she can’t. She won’t.

“Why did we choose the beach?” she asks suddenly, searching his face for the truth she feels slipping through her fingers.

His arm stiffens around her shoulders. “You wanted something grand.”

No. The memory surfaces, unbidden. I wanted it small. Private. Just us.

His gaze is raw, almost pained, as if she’s a ghost he can’t touch. When she reaches for him, he hesitates—a heartbeat too long—before brushing a kiss to her temple.

Something inside her cracks.

The fear she’s been trying to suppress rises to the surface, wrapping around her throat, making it hard to breathe. She needs to hear it. Needs him to say it.

“Did you love me from the start?” she whispers in bed that night, her palm flat against his chest, feeling the erratic rhythm of his heartbeat.

He goes still. Seconds stretch into something unbearable before he answers,

“Yes.”

But it’s the wrong kind of yes—heavy with guilt, not devotion.

She sits up, the sheets pooling around her. “Then why does it feel like you’re lying to me?”

His jaw tightens. Moonlight catches the sheen of sweat at his temple.

“Yooyeon—”

“Tell me the truth.” Her voice cracks. “Please.”

He turns away, his silhouette rigid against the night. “You’re still recovering. We shouldn’t—”

“Stop treating me like I’ll break!” The words burst out sharper than she intends. When she grabs his wrist, he flinches.

He actually flinches.

Her breath catches. “You… you’re scared of me.”

“No.” But his pulse is racing beneath her fingers.

“Then why won’t you look at me?” She cups his face, forcing his gaze to meet hers. What she sees there steals the air from her lungs—anguish, regret, something deeper, darker.

His voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper.

“Because when you remember everything… you’ll wish I hadn’t.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You notice it the moment you step inside.

The air feels different—thicker, colder, heavy in a way that has nothing to do with temperature. Some of the lights are off, casting the house in an eerie dimness, as if it were holding its breath.

And Yooyeon—she isn’t there to greet you.

That alone makes you pause. Even on days when she’s distracted, even when she’s lost in thought, she always turns at the sound of the door unlocking. Always lifts her head, always meets your gaze.

But tonight, she doesn’t.

Your chest tightens. You don’t even take off your coat before stepping further inside, following the faint glow of the living room lamp.

Then you see her.

She’s sitting on the couch, unnaturally still. Her hands rest in her lap as if she’s forcing them to stay there. But it’s her eyes that give her away—locked onto something on the table, unblinking.

A single sheet of paper.

Something prickles at the back of your neck.

“…Yooyeon.”

She flinches. It’s subtle, barely noticeable, but you catch it.

Then, like a switch, she turns to you, a smile flickering onto her lips—too practiced, too forced. “You’re home.”

Your gut twists. Something is wrong.

Still, you don’t press. You nod, greeting her quietly. She nods back, but her fingers tighten against the fabric of her dress, her nervousness seeping into you.

You tell yourself to let it go. To wait. If it’s important, she’ll bring it up.

So you step away, heading toward your home office. The silence follows you.

You place your briefcase down, reaching for the drawer to put away your documents—

—and stop.

The drawer is open.

Your heart stutters.

It shouldn’t be. You always keep it locked. You always make sure.

Your breath is shallow as your eyes lower—and then you see it.

The contract.

The one detailing everything. The terms of your marriage.

The proof of how pragmatic your relationship was.

The paper that stands in direct contrast to the warmth you’ve built with her now.

Your pulse pounds.

Yooyeon.

She saw it.

You’re moving before you can think, your footsteps brisk as you retrace your steps, each second stretching unbearably long.

When you step into the living room again, she’s already looking at you.

Panic. That’s what you see first. She opens her mouth, stumbling over her words, voice thin and desperate, like she’s trying to contain a flood. “I—I found it when I was cleaning. I didn’t mean to pry, I just—”

She stops, swallowing hard. Then, softer, like she already knows she won’t like the answer:

“…What does it mean?”

Your throat tightens.

The weight of it crashes between you, an invisible force pressing against your chest, against your ribs.

She knows.

She doesn’t know.

Not completely. Not yet. But she’s one breath away from understanding.

You could lie. You could say it was nothing. That it was just an old, forgotten document. You could keep pretending.

But you don’t.

Because the truth is already here, unraveling between you.

You exhale, stepping forward, your voice quiet, steady.

“Yooyeon… there’s something I need to tell you.”

The silence is suffocating.

Yooyeon doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t have to. You see it in her eyes. The confusion, the disbelief, the quiet, desperate hope that this isn’t what she thinks it is.

You wish you could spare her. Wish you could rewind to a moment before she found that damned contract, before she looked at you with that kind of fragile, breaking expression.

But you can’t.

So you force yourself to meet her gaze, force yourself to let the truth spill before it’s too late.

“Our marriage wasn’t… real. At least, not the way you think it was.”

Her breath catches.

You don’t look away. “It was arranged. A contract. Your parents and mine, they wanted us to marry. We went along with it.”

Her lips part, but no words come out. You can see the gears turning in her head, the memories she’s tried so hard to piece together now twisting into something cruel, something she never saw coming.

She swallows. “So… so you’re saying…” Her voice shakes. “It was all fake?”

Something twists in your chest.

“No,” you say immediately. Desperately. “No, I—” You drag a hand down your face, frustration clawing at you. “It wasn’t like that. Not for me.”

She flinches.

And that’s when it happens—the moment her heart breaks.

You can see it, feel it, the way her entire body tenses like she’s trying to hold herself together, but the cracks are already there, spreading, widening.

“…Every time you told me you loved me,” she whispers, “was it just part of the act?”

“Yooyeon.” Your voice is strained, pleading. “I didn’t lie about loving you. I just never had the courage to tell you the truth.”

She stares at you.

Then she lets out a quiet, shaky laugh—one that isn’t amused at all.

She takes a step back. Then another.

Your stomach drops.

She’s leaving.

You don’t know where, don’t know if she even has anywhere to go, but she’s walking away from you.

“Yooyeon, wait—”

She shakes her head. “I need to think.” Her voice is barely above a whisper. “I just… I need to think.”

Everything in you screams to stop her. To explain, to beg, to do anything but let her go.

But you don’t.

Instead, you inhale sharply and take a step back first.

“I’ll give you space,” you say, though it nearly kills you. “But don’t leave. Please.”

She hesitates.

You reach for her hand—just barely, just enough for her to know you would still hold on if she let you.

And finally, finally, she exhales, her shoulders dropping as if she’s too exhausted to fight anymore.

“…Okay,” she whispers.

She stays.

But the distance between you has never felt wider.

You exhale, slow and measured, though everything inside you is fraying at the edges.

“I’ll stay at a hotel,” you say, voice quiet but firm. “For as long as you need.”

Yooyeon doesn’t respond right away. She’s still looking at you like she doesn’t know who you are anymore. Like she’s seeing you for the first time and hating that she ever trusted you.

It’s unbearable.

“I don’t want you to feel trapped here,” you continue, forcing the words out despite the knot in your throat. “I don’t want you to think I’m keeping you in a place built on lies.”

Her breath stutters, but she quickly masks it. She’s still trying to be strong.

You wish she wouldn’t.

You wish she’d yell at you, cry, say something that doesn’t feel like an unbearable silence stretching between you.

“Okay,” she finally whispers.

You nod, forcing yourself to move. To walk away first, even when every instinct in you screams to stay.

But before you reach the door, her voice stops you.

“How long?”

You turn, eyes meeting hers.

“How long were you going to keep this from me?” she asks, arms wrapping around herself. “If I hadn’t found out… would you have ever told me?”

The truth is cruel, but it’s the only thing she deserves now.

“…I don’t know.”

Yooyeon swallows, then looks away.

That’s when you realize—you’ve broken something that might never be fixed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yooyeon wakes up alone.

The bed feels bigger now, colder, the silence stretching around her like an unwelcome embrace. She lies there for a moment, staring at the empty space beside her, before finally sitting up.

Another day.

She moves through the house like a ghost, her footsteps quiet, her routine unchanged—yet everything feels different. The kitchen table where they used to share quiet breakfasts, the couch where he used to sit, sifting through papers while she curled up beside him. It’s all the same, and yet it isn’t.

Because he’s not here.

He never called. Never came back.

She should be relieved. This is what she wanted, wasn’t it? Space. Time.

But instead, all she feels is this aching loneliness.

Her eyes fall to the coffee table, where the contract still sits, edges curled from how often she’s touched it, read it, searched it for something—anything—that could make this hurt less.

Each word, each line, feels heavier now. A binding agreement, an arrangement born from necessity. But as the days pass, as she reads it over and over, something in her shifts.

It was never just that.

Her mind drifts back to that night—his voice, raw with emotion.

"I didn’t lie about loving you. I just never had the courage to tell you the truth."

She remembers the way he looked at her, desperate, conflicted, afraid. She hadn’t been able to see it then, too consumed by the betrayal, by the weight of everything she didn’t know. But now, with time, with distance—

Hadn’t she felt the same way?

She rests a hand over the contract, fingers trembling slightly.

Her memories come in fragments. Unclear at first, like pieces of a puzzle she can’t quite fit together. But slowly—painfully, inevitably—they start to return.

She remembers loving him. Wanting him. Long before marriage was even a question.

They had been friends first, before their parents had forced them together. But she had never felt trapped, had never resented the idea. Because she had wanted it too.

She had been happy, at first. Happy at the opportunity to be something more, to step into a future where she could love him freely.

But then—she hesitated.

Fear had crept in, silencing her before she could say the words, before she could risk what they already had. She had told herself it was better this way. Safer.

And then—

The accident.

The memories she had lost. The love she had forgotten.

Yooyeon lets out a shaky breath, pressing her palm against her forehead.

She had already fallen for him before the marriage.

And now—she's not going to lose him again.

She already lost him once to her memories. She won’t let it happen a second time.

It doesn’t matter how it all started, doesn’t matter what had happened before. She had fallen for him before. More importantly is that she fell for him again.

She loves him. Now.

And that’s enough.

Her hands tighten around the contract for a moment before she exhales, setting it aside. She grabs her coat, her keys. She needs to see him.

She needs to fix this.

Without another thought, she heads for the door, heart pounding as she makes her way to his hotel.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You weren’t expecting her.

Not tonight. Maybe not ever.

Days had passed, stretching into something unbearable, something you forced yourself to endure because it was what she needed. Space. Time. A chance to decide if she even wanted to come back.

You had told yourself you wouldn’t wait forever. That if she wanted to leave, you would let her. That you wouldn’t be selfish—not anymore.

But when the knock comes, sharp and hesitant against the hotel door, your heart betrays you.

You open it, and there she is.

Yooyeon stands in the dim hallway, arms wrapped around herself, eyes flickering with uncertainty. Her hair is slightly damp, as if she’d rushed here without thinking twice. Her lips part, as if searching for something to say—something to explain why she’s here at all.

But then she steps forward.

Her hands reach for you first, fingers curling into your shirt, and before you can ask, before you can even breathe—

She kisses you.

It’s not careful. Not hesitant. Not like before.

It’s deep, unrestrained, filled with something desperate and aching, like she’s trying to grasp something that’s always felt just out of reach.

You’re stunned. For half a second, your body locks up—because how could you have prepared for this? For her? For the way she clings to you, pressing herself close like she’s afraid to let go?

And then you give in.

Your arms wrap around her, pulling her fully into you, returning the kiss with everything you’ve held back for too long.

She came back.

She wants this.

When she finally pulls away, her forehead rests against yours, breaths mingling in the small space between you. “I don’t want to remember a love we pretended to have.” Her voice is quiet, steady despite the way her fingers tremble against your chest. “I want to love you for real.”

The words hit harder than you expect.

You swallow, pressing your lips together, hands tightening at her waist. “Are you sure?”

Her answer is immediate. “Yes.”

And that’s all you need.

You don’t know how you make it to the bed. Only that she doesn’t let go. That every step, every kiss, every touch feels like something slipping back into place—like something that had always been there, waiting to be found.

She’s warm against you, tucked under the sheets, her body curled into yours as if she belongs there.

And maybe she does.

Her head rests against your chest, fingers playing absently with the fabric of your shirt. She’s quiet, but not distant. Not like before.

You hesitate, then run a hand down her back, slow, deliberate. She shivers, but doesn’t pull away.

“I thought I lost you,” you admit, voice low in the quiet.

She shifts, tilting her head up to meet your gaze. In the dim light, her eyes are soft, filled with something painfully tender.

“I won’t leave you,” she murmurs.

You inhale sharply.

She presses her hand against your chest, right where your heartbeat pounds—steady, strong.

“Not again.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Their steps were slow, unhurried, yet every kiss, every touch, pulled them further inside, as if gravity itself was drawing them together. Yooyeon wasn’t even sure who was leading. It didn’t matter. Between soft sighs and the heat of his hands on her waist, guiding her closer, she only realized they had reached the bed when the backs of her knees met the edge.

She looked up at him, breathless, her pulse thrumming with anticipation. There was no hesitation this time, no uncertainty. Just them.

She kissed him again, rising onto her toes to meet him, her lips warm and insistent. He responded without pause, deepening the kiss, his hands steady on her waist as he pulled her closer. The sensation of him, solid and warm, sent a shiver racing down her spine.

Then, he pulled away just enough to rise above her, his gaze heavy with intent. Yooyeon’s breath caught, her skin buzzing with anticipation as his fingers found the hem of her sweater. Slowly, deliberately, he lifted it, the fabric sliding over her skin, gathering just above her chest. Cool air met the warmth of her body, sending a shiver through her as her stomach and the lace-covered swell of her breasts were revealed to him.

Her heart pounded as he leaned down, his lips tracing a slow, unhurried path along her jaw, then lower, down the delicate curve of her neck. Every press of his mouth left her skin tingling, warmth pooling deep inside her. His hands followed, tender yet assured, cupping her breasts, his thumbs brushing over the sensitive peaks. A quiet sigh escaped her, her back arching instinctively into his touch, silently urging him on.

His fingers skimmed the slope of her waist, tracing along her ribs before venturing lower. The anticipation made her breath stutter, her senses sharpening as his hand found the waistband of her jeans. She felt his fingers slip past the fabric with ease, the heat of his touch pressing against the thin lace of her panties.

A sharp breath hitched in her throat as he explored, teasing at her center with slow, deliberate strokes. The sensation was electric, sending waves of pleasure curling through her. She clung to his shoulders, her grip tightening as he pushed her further into sensation—patient, unhurried, savoring every reaction she gave him.

Beside her, his warmth enveloped her, grounding her even as his fingers continued their slow, teasing rhythm. Every movement was precise, coaxing, igniting a fire deep within her. She could feel the way her hips responded, rising instinctively to meet his touch, chasing the pleasure he so expertly drew from her.

Her breath came in quiet, uneven gasps, each one only spurring him on. His gaze flickered between her flushed face and the way her body moved under his touch, drinking in every sound, every shiver.

Then, seamlessly, their position shifted. He sat up, pulling her with him, his arms wrapping around her as he cradled her against his chest. Her head rested against the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, her breath shaky, her body trembling in his hold. Yet his hand remained between her thighs, never faltering, never rushing—just holding her there, guiding her deeper into sensation.

She clung to him, her fingers gripping his shirt as if anchoring herself against the pleasure that threatened to consume her entirely.

“Yooyeon…” He whispers her name, his voice deep and coaxing.

His free hand stroked her hair, tender and grounding—a stark contrast to the way his other hand moved with aching precision. She gasped, thighs trembling around his wrist, and he tightened his hold around her, murmuring soft reassurances against her temple.

She could feel his arousal pressing against her through his pants, heat radiating from him. Instinctively, her hand drifted down, palm grazing over the rigid outline. A quiet sigh escaped him at her touch.

“I want to make you feel good,” she whispered, her voice laced with quiet desire.

A silent agreement passed between them as he slowly withdrew his hand from between her thighs, releasing her just long enough to let them shift.

Yooyeon pulled her sweater over her head, the fabric slipping away to reveal bare skin beneath. He helped her, his fingers grazing along her arms as he eased it off. She returned the gesture, undoing the buttons of his shirt, pushing it from his shoulders, baring him to her touch.

Piece by piece, they undressed—her bra, her jeans, the soft slide of lace slipping down her legs until nothing remained between them. She moved closer, hands finding the buckle of his belt, unfastening it with deliberate care. He watched her, breath shallow, as she worked the zipper down, easing his pants over his hips and letting them pool at his feet.

Left only in his boxers, his arousal strained against the fabric, the tension between them thick with anticipation. Settling between his legs, Yooyeon reached for the waistband, fingers curling around it as she tugged it down, inch by inch. The moment the fabric gave way, his erection sprang free, no longer bound by restraint.

She glanced up at him, lips slightly parted, her breath warm against his skin. He looked down at her, eyes dark with something between restraint and longing.

“Yooyeon… you don’t have to,” he murmured, his voice low, hesitant.

She shook her head, her heart aching at how gentle he was with her. “But I want to.”

And she did. It wasn’t just about desire—it was something deeper, something that went beyond the heat simmering between them. She wanted to show him how much he meant to her, how much she trusted him, how much she loved him. Every touch he had given her had been filled with tenderness, with devotion. She wanted to give that back to him now, to see him unravel because of her.

Holding his gaze, she leaned in, letting her lips brush against him first—soft, deliberate, reverent. His breath caught. Encouraged, she let her tongue flick out, tasting him, before slowly taking him into her mouth. He twitched against her tongue, and a quiet groan slipped from his lips. The sound sent warmth curling through her, not just from arousal, but from the knowledge that she could bring him pleasure like this. That he would let her. That he wanted her to.

She moved slowly, savoring the weight of him, the heat, the way his fingers threaded through her hair—not to guide her, not to demand, but simply to touch, to hold. His restraint was palpable, and it only made her more determined to make him feel good.

Her eyes flicked up to meet his, and the sight of him nearly stole her breath. His jaw was clenched, his brows drawn together, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. But it was his eyes that struck her most—heavy-lidded, filled with something deep, something raw. It wasn’t just lust. It was trust. It was need. It was him letting her in, completely.

She took him deeper, her fingers gripping his thighs as she found a rhythm—slow, unhurried, giving him everything she had. She wanted him to feel it—to feel her. To know that this was more than just pleasure, that it was her love, her devotion, poured into every movement.

“Yooyeon…” His voice was strained, rough with need.

She stilled immediately, understanding him without question. He wasn’t asking her to stop—he just wanted something different. Something more.

He reached for her, his hands open, waiting. Without hesitation, she took them, letting him guide her up, pulling her closer.

She followed his lead, moving effortlessly into his lap, their bodies pressing together as she settled atop him. Face to face now, her knees hugged his sides, her chest brushing against his with every breath. A sharp shiver ran through her as she felt him—hot, hard, pressing against her stomach, the intimacy of their position making her pulse race.

She gazed at him, her fingers trailing over his shoulders, his neck, his jaw, memorizing every inch of him. His eyes, dark and unreadable, searched hers, and for a moment, they simply breathed together, held in the gravity of this moment.

Slowly, tenderly, she leaned in, capturing his lips in a kiss—one filled with everything she couldn’t say out loud.

But she wanted to show him. To give him everything.

Her gaze drifted downward as she reached between them, her fingers grazing along his hardness, feeling the heat of him against her palm. A quiet shiver ran through her as she caressed him, taking her time, savoring the way he responded to her touch. With careful precision, she guided him, adjusting her position, her body instinctively preparing to take him in.

And then, without hesitation, she moved.

A quiet gasp left her lips as she slowly enveloped him, her body stretching to accommodate him, every inch sending waves of sensation through her. Her arms wrapped around his neck, seeking both support and connection, her forehead resting briefly against his as she took a steadying breath.

She felt him—deep, warm, filling her completely. But more than anything, what she felt was joy. A slow, radiant smile formed on her lips as she met his gaze, her heart swelling with something beyond just pleasure.

And then, as if that smile was all the invitation he needed, he began to move.

The first thrust sent a sharp, sweet pleasure rippling through her, her breath catching before it spilled out in a quiet moan. The next had her clutching onto him, overwhelmed by the intensity of feeling. The sound of their mingled breaths, the heat between them, the way their bodies moved together—it was all-consuming.

She melted into him, lost in the rhythm, lost in him.

The intensity overwhelmed him, and he fell back, bringing her with him. A gasp left Yooyeon’s lips as she followed, her body molding against his as his thrusts remained unrelenting. His hands moved to her hips, then lower, gripping her firmly as he guided her movements, driving her deeper into pleasure.

She felt the heat, the desperation between them, the way their bodies refused to part even for a second. Every movement sent another wave of sensation crashing through her, pushing her closer to the edge.

But she wanted more than just the pleasure. She wanted him—completely.

Yooyeon cupped his face, her fingers threading into his damp hair as she looked down at him. His jaw was clenched, his brows furrowed, lost in the sheer intensity of their connection. She could see it, feel it—the tension coiling tight within him.

So she kissed him.

Soft at first, then deeper, her lips parting to welcome him, their tongues meeting in a slow, tangled dance. She poured herself into the kiss, coaxing, soothing, grounding him even as the pleasure consumed them both.

And slowly, she felt him relax beneath her, surrendering to her touch, to her.

As his pace became less erratic, she adjusted, matching his rhythm with newfound confidence. She learned his movements, feeling the way their bodies aligned, and slowly, she took control—rolling her hips in time with his, meeting each thrust with her own.

Their breaths synced, their bodies moving together in perfect harmony.

She felt it in the way he held her, in the way his hands tightened on her waist, guiding her but letting her lead. A quiet thrill coursed through her at the unspoken understanding between them, at the way he let her set the pace, trusting her, surrendering to her.

Their eyes met, locking in an intimate gaze, the world around them fading away. There were no words—there was no need for them. In that moment, everything was clear.

It was just them.

“Yooyeon… I’m close…” His voice was ragged, strained, barely holding on.

She gasped, her fingers tightening against his shoulders as pleasure coiled tighter inside her. “Me too…” she whispered, her breath hitching. Then, she met his gaze, her eyes soft, full of trust. “You can… it’s fine.”

A shudder ran through him at her words, at the quiet certainty in her voice.

And then, together, they unraveled.

His grip on her waist tightened as he thrust deep, his release spilling into her just as she came undone around him. A sharp, breathless cry escaped her lips as pleasure surged through her, overwhelming, consuming. She trembled in his arms, her body clinging to his as the waves of ecstasy pulsed through them both.

For a long moment, neither of them moved—just the sound of their breaths mingling, their bodies still entwined, the warmth of each other keeping them grounded.

Slowly, Yooyeon melted against his chest, her heart still racing, a soft, contented sigh escaping her.

They had never felt closer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You wake up before her.

The first thing you notice is the weight of her arm draped over your chest, her fingers lightly curled against your skin. The second is how deeply she sleeps—peaceful, unguarded, as if she belongs here, as if there was never a time when she didn’t.

Something tight eases in your chest.

You should move, should slip away before she stirs, but you don’t. You just lie there, watching the slow rise and fall of her breathing, the way the early morning light catches the strands of her hair.

She came back.

Not out of obligation. Not because of memories.

But because she chose you.

Your fingers brush over her knuckles, tracing the shape of her hand. She shifts at the touch, her brows scrunching slightly before her eyes flutter open.

For a second, she blinks at you, dazed with sleep. Then, she smiles—small, warm, real. "You're staring."

You huff a quiet laugh. "You're the one who came here in the middle of the night and threw yourself at me."

She flushes, burying her face into your chest. "I did not throw myself at you."

"You did." You smirk, tightening your hold around her. "Not that I’m complaining."

She groans but doesn’t pull away, only presses closer. You feel the sigh she lets out, something soft and content against your skin.

Then, quieter, almost hesitant—“What happens now?”

Your grip on her tightens slightly.

Because the truth is, you don’t know.

There is no contract binding you anymore. No pretense of a marriage built on expectations, no excuse to hide behind the illusion of what you used to be.

There is only this—the love she chose to give you.

And you—the love you’ve always had for her.

You exhale, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “We take it one day at a time.”

She tilts her head up, searching your face. You meet her gaze, your voice quieter when you add, “And this time, we don’t hide.”

Her expression softens. She lifts a hand, cupping your cheek, her thumb brushing just below your eye.

"Okay," she whispers.

And just like that, it’s decided.

This time, it’s real.

No pretending. No distance.

Just you and her.

[yanderenightmare]

part two

TW: none? ig

fem reader

You’re there with a friend, only waiting, holding her stuff—feeling in-the-way posted on the wall as closely as possible, making yourself as small as you could while models and other busy passersby buzzed about back and forth in front of you.

Your friend—one of the many models—had just done her fifth outfit change and was all but running back to the photo shoot. Apparently, the photographer was a real jackass.

Jackass was an understatement. You feared he’d turn around from the white background sheet he was facing, spot you and tell you that you didn’t belong in there and to get the fuck out. He was certainly shouting that same thing to some of the models.

Your friend was then next to bite the bullet—being the fifteenth model he’d sent on their sorry way. 

You’d honestly thought it was for the best—she’d get nothing but scorn modeling for that narcissistic drama queen anyway. You give her your best sympathetic smile as she teeters over. It doesn’t surprise you to see her on the verge of tears. Some of the prior ones had been all but bawling their eyes out, running out of the room as fast as they could. But you couldn't blame them—if anyone were to shout at you that way, you’d most likely have died on the spot.

His eyes fall to the back of the room in frustration—a heavy sigh leaving him. Seems he was out of models already. What a pity until—right there, standing small and almost insignificant next to the changing area, there’s you—the perfect face he’d been needing.

“Oi you, get dressed,” he bites with a finger pointed towards you. But no, he must have changed his mind about your friend who’s standing next to you as you hand her back her clothes.

She brightens up when she notices, dropping her clothes back in your arms to go back, only—

“No, not you,” he very nearly snarls. “You there,” he points again—this time, it isn’t a question of who it’s directed at. “Why aren’t you dressed?”

There’s such a harshness to his tone that you’re almost convinced you’ve done something wrong. But no, you’re not supposed to be dressed.

“I’m not a model,” you call back.

At that, he scoffs. The smile on his face must be the cockiest thing you’ve ever seen in your life.

“Everyone’s a model, sweetheart. We’ll send you a check in the mail.”

Your eyes are round—too stunned to be affronted. He taps his shoe, hardened gaze directed at you, unwavering in wait. You’re almost scared to say no.

“Well? What’s it gonna be?”

It’s only been a few seconds, and still, he sounds as if he’s been waiting forever—exuding impatience on a level you’ve never seen.

You open your mouth to tell him off, but a tug from your side makes you stop.

“You have to,” your friend ushers. “It’ll be trouble for me if you don’t.”

You give her an incredulous look—but she only grabs you and drags you with her into the many rows of clothes, picks out your size, and helps you get into it before you’ve even said another word aside from a pitiful “Wait—” 

Lastly, she applies some light makeup to your face before pushing you out into view of the waiting photographer.

You’re in too deep to be turning back now. Besides, you wouldn’t want your friend to get fired when she works so hard just to have gotten in the same room as the guy before you—so you end up walking over, ever so awkwardly—not used to the height of the cigarette heels.

If he notices, which he most certainly does, he doesn’t say anything.

He seems to have found some patience he lacked, watching you—bearing an expression, almost amused.

You don’t return the favor, looking down as you stop before him.

“So, uhm—what, ugh—” you mumble, on your way to peek behind you, hoping to get some sort of direction from your friend, when he grabs your chin and makes you face him.

Still, he makes no sound—only wetting his thumb with a lick of his tongue before putting it to the outer corner of your eye. You gasp, but it doesn’t deter him as he smudges the eyeliner to his liking. Doing the same with the other eye. He continues until he’s satisfied. Keeping his grasp on your chin, he angles your face here and there slightly while his intense glare rakes over you like he’s a tortured artist chiseling a sculpture to some vision in his head—then hums with a smile, softly, “Perfect.”

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Shigaraki, Dabi, Aizawa, Shinso, Overhaul ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Naoya, Toji ♡ HQ – Oikawa, Kageyama if photography was volleybal lol ♡ BLLK – Reo, Rin ♡ AOT – Levi ♡ DS – Akaza, Sanemi

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[dovveri]

strike a pose

synopsis: momo’s the best photographer in korea and she’ll be taking your pictures for the annual haute couture magazine

warnings: swearing, 69, mutual masturbation, filming during sex, taking pictures during sex, reader has a praise kink

w/c: 4.6k

a/n: can be read as a standalone but also follows directly from sana’s part

⌞ ⌝

"momo!"

a pretty girl with bright blonde hair pokes her head out from around the corner, eyes brightening when she sees her assistant with you in tow.

"come in! i've been expecting you! y/n right? sana told me all about you!"

"s-she did?" you gulp nervously, unsure of what exactly sana told the world-class photographer.

momo grins, "enough anyway. c'mon- let's get you changed. we've got quite a few shots i want to try out today. sana really outdid herself with the outfits this time. i can't help but think she was a little more inspired than usual." there's a teasing lilt to her voice, like she knows something you don't.

you can only allow yourself to be ushered along as hands start pulling at your clothes, makeup brushes touch up your face, and hair rollers are placed into your curls.

after your appointment with sana, she had managed to get your contact number, either through your agency or whatever else. it was mainly just for business though, she’d ask for your opinions on certain colours or ideas she had, treating you as if she didn’t fuck you senseless in her workshop upon your first meeting. you just took her lead and pretended it never happened, though every time her name lit up your phone screen you’d feel a little tingle down your spine at the memory.

"alright! let's get going team we have a lot of shots to take today!" you hear momo's stern yet excitable voice over the pop music in the studio. momo's reputation was just as prestigious as sana's, though she was admittedly a lot less intimidating. people said it was because of her general airy obliviousness that made models feel at ease and comfortable when posing for her that made her a pleasure to work with. of course, that never diminished from her actual job at hand, she was the best photographer in korea, always booked out and only shooting for the best magazines and companies across the country. she could be a little awkward but her work spoke volumes, she was simply better at communicating with her tool than with her words.

you're rushed over in your first outfit of the day, an extravagant, floral piece with a set full of colour and vibrancy. once all the stylists are done touching you up and hurriedly move out of the camera frame, momo wanders up last, smiling and adjusting your body to her desired position.

her touch is soft, barely there, it leaves goosebumps on your skin, or maybe it was the fact that the a/c was on high.

"alright?" she checks in on you, eyes twinkling.

you gulp from her proximity, the only thing separating your bodies the camera hanging around her neck. you nod sheepishly, unsure of yourself.

she smiles, "just let me know if you want to take a break or anything yeah? remember you're the most important person in the room here, if we don't have a model, we don't have pictures, so don't be afraid to make any demands at all."

you nod again, not trusting your own voice to speak, but you appreciated momo being so accommodating of you.

with that, she steps back, holds the camera up to her face, and starts taking photos.

⌞ ⌝

momo isn't the type of photographer to yell out compliments or directions while she's working. she stays quiet most of the time, only asks you to keep natural and do whatever feels comfortable. it's not awkward though, you could tell how focused she got when she was working, how much effort she put into her job, what a perfectionist she was.

soon enough, you've run through all but one of the outfits and backdrops, the swimsuit segment.

your hair is being curled into wavy, ocean-swept locks when the stylists pull out the skimpiest bikini you've ever seen. after they're done clipping together the pieces, some of them even have the shame to look away despite having seen you in all your naked glory multiple times during the shoot. you thought it was a piece that was perfectly reflective of its maker. covering almost nothing yet leaving everything to be desired, teasing in the most erotic way imaginable.

the studio has already been cold enough with the air-conditioning on full blast, but now with the new beach backdrop and a mist fan blowing directly on your body and face to give your hair the appearance of being freshly blown through with a sea breeze, you're near shivering.

it doesn't help the chills going down your spine every time momo glances over at you. and momo makes it known when she likes something and when she doesn't. and the way she was stalking towards you like you were her prey, her eyes dragging over your body again and again, licking her lips, until she's almost nose to nose with you, it was pretty safe to assume she liked what she saw.

"alright?" her voice is husky, like she's controlling herself from doing something not so work-friendly.

you can only nod, breath hitching.

"hmm... are you sure? you don't look alright."

"h-how do i look?"

she gives you a devilish glare, "i don't think you want me to answer that y/n."

"why n-not?"

she leans in even more, you almost close your eyes out of habit before you realise she's breathing next to your ear, voice low, only meant for you, "is that how we're playing this? you're gonna act stupid? or... do you have a praise kink y/n? want me to tell you what a pretty girl you are? to tell you about how i think you look absolutely succulent and how badly i want a taste? how i want you riding my face with your perfect tits swinging back and forth while you leak into my mouth, my camera set up recording every movement, every sound, every scream you'll be making because of my tongue? is that what you want to hear?"

your ears were always sensitive, even momo breathing near them has you squirming and the inside of your bikini bottoms soaked. you whimper as she whispers filth into them, feeling light-headed and desperately needing to hold onto her or you'd be at danger of falling over and exposing just what she made you feel to all of her staff.

she smirks, turning on her heel quickly and barking , "out! everyone out! good job today but I'll be finishing up these final shots myself. thank you all for your hard work."

her staff exchange glances a little uncertainly, never having been told to leave early by momo before, so they were unsure if that was what momo really meant.

momo tuts impatiently, "did you not hear me? pack up! let's go!"

her staff are prompted into movement, hastily running around and collecting their personal items before bowing out of the studio. momo glares down anyone that looks to be dawdling for too long, tapping her foot and ensuring her studio was empty before turning back to you.

you gulp, grateful the makeup on your face was covering the bright red blush on your cheeks. you both knew what was going to happen. it was a little absurd this was happening to you a second time when both times it's been 2 of the most influential people in the fashion industry. you're still in disbelief that they wanted you.

momo eyes you again with a smirk, fully appreciating you without the burden of her staff bustling around and calling for her attention in the background.

"alright gorgeous. let's do some standing poses first. whatever makes you feel the most confident."

you nod, taking in her direction and pushing one hip out, raising both arms to mess around with your hair, face morphing into a practiced smile, going for the sexy, energetic woman on the beach.

momo starts snapping away, humming and checking the photos every now and then, there were a few she took from certain angles that were a little... questionable, but you weren't one to question, so you let her do whatever her creative freedom asked her to.

"now can you lean forward? hands on your knees please."

you blush, this was a classic swimsuit stance, it would be fine, there was nothing to be shy about.

you do as she asks, switching your happy-go-lucky smile to one that’s a little more seductive.

momo takes a second to raise the camera to her eye, staring at your chest like she had lagged out. but once she does, she’s back to work, making sure she gets all the best shots.

“now lie down. on your side.”

you gulp, following her instructions. momo moves the fan to be at your face level, so it’s still blowing through your hair. she lingers a little, adjusting your face, hand on your chin. her eyes are stormy, the hint of a smirk permanently etched onto her lips. her hands drift from your chin, down to your shoulder, gliding fingers leaving goosebumps in their wake. your breath hitches audibly when she slips down to your side. she hums approvingly, her smirk growing as she traces your side, your stomach.

then she slides backwards, leans back on her knees and brings the camera back up to her eyes. you’re caught as her shirt lifts, her very visible abs peeking through.

momo clears her throat, “camera’s up here darling.”

you lick your lips, not even needing to fake your next look, reeking of pure sex. all you can think about is momo’s abs, her thighs, the way her knees are spread, her biceps, her well-endowed chest, all that muscle she was packing underneath a teasing smile.

she takes the picture.

then she’s the one leaning forward, going on all fours, crawling towards you slowly.

you hold your breath as she reaches you, nudging your hip lightly so you’re lying horizontally. and then she’s hitching a leg over your side and sitting on top of you.

your hands instinctively go to her hips but she catches them, pushing them above your head, her chest smothering your face in the process.

she leans back too soon, bringing the camera to her face, adjusting herself to sit better on your hips. “there we go. you’re a pretty girl.”

you blush brightly at her comment, looking away shyly. she starts snapping immediately, grinning. you compose yourself and look back towards the camera, biting your lip, drooping your eyes, satisfied when you hear the stutter in momo's work before she starts clicking again.

once she's happy with those shots, she moves off your body, but keeps a hand on your stomach to keep you there, pushing down slightly letting you know who was directing you, who owned you. then she's propping up a beach ball, or an umbrella, you couldn't really tell you were too focused on the way her abs tensed as she lifted and shuffled things around.

she leans you back, then slides her hands down from your stomach to your thighs, pushing gently.

your eyes widen, unable to resist as she spreads your legs, licking her lips as she stares.

“m-momo.”

“hmm?”

“um- the- the photos?”

she clicks her tongue, “impatient are we? just let me enjoy the view for a little.” her eyes track back up your body, smirking at the hooded look you give her, breaths coming in and out visibly harder, your arousal too obvious to ignore.

after what feels like forever sitting in your own slick, she finally moves backwards, bringing that goddamn camera back to her face, her smirk only growing wider with each passing second, before she starts to click.

she takes a few shots, then feigns disapproval, frowning down at her camera in the most exaggerated pout you have ever seen, so you know it’s just for show.

“y/nnnnn~” it’s cute, too cute. “i don’t like these. will you… spice it up a little?”

you take a breath before responding, steadying yourself, “spice it up?”

“yeah. y’know…”

“…i-i don’t.”

momo’s expression changes immediately, scowling, her cutesy show over in a flash, “don’t be a brat y/n. you know what i’m talking about. you think i can’t see you dripping for me? you think i can’t see the way you’re squirming, how you’re imagining the way i’d feel under you, inside you? don’t make me spell it out for you. be a good girl and do what you want to do.”

she's completely right of course. her words only encourage the thoughts you've been keeping locked away since the moment you saw her. you didn't think it was professional for this to happen a second time, hell the first time you didn't think it was professional.

but you gulp, hesitantly bring your hands down to your stomach, tracing the skin there lightly. you feel your nails dig in just lightly and you gasp, hyperaware of your body and all its sensations. the cool air of the room, that fucking fan that's been blowing wet mist at you for the past 20 minutes, momo. god momo. she was so fucking hot. in that sleazy, greasy, nice-guy way straight girls found film bros hot. except momo had the face and body to match the arrogance she hid under practiced professionalism and niceties.

you whimper as a hand trails up and captures a breast.

momo grins, bringing her camera back up to her eye, more vocal now than she has been the entire photoshoot.

"there we go. now we're getting somewhere."

you feel your breaths go heavier, no longer able to hide yourself as you ache to rub your thighs together.

she notices of course. she notices everything about your body.

"don't you fucking dare. tease yourself. make it worth it. make yourself earn it."

you try and take a breath to steady yourself again, though you don't know why, each breath hasn't been helping at all, only making the matter worse as you become more and more aware of your arousal.

with difficulty, you bring your other hand to your chest, now groping both your tits, moaning fully, completely on display for her while she snaps away.

"there we go- that's good- more like that- mhmm-"

momo mumbles praises and compliments that make your head dizzy and your pussy clench. your fingers find two hard nubs that have been begging for attention since you had gotten in this glorified piece of cloth. you pinch simultaneously and let out a pathetic sound of lust.

momo gets it all on camera. zooms in even.

knowing you had an audience, that this was being recorded, it gave you a sick sort of thrill that made each squeeze of your hands feel that much better, each click of momo's finger, like she was rubbing your clit with each photo.

one hand slips under the bikini top, doesn't reveal it to the camera, but it's obvious where it is, pulling and twisting as you writhe, legs shaking, sweat collecting, desire building.

momo comes closer, sits right between your legs, keeps them open, captures your face mid-moan, anyone could hear the pornographic sounds you were making without needing film, the pictures momo took were enough. she was that good.

the heat of another person near you makes you grow desperate. "m-momo- p-please- i- i- i need-"

"hmm? what do you need darling? tell me. remember i said you're the most important person in the room. without you, we don't have pictures, without you, i don't have a job. so, what do you need?"

"y-you! please-"

"me? what do you want me to do to for you?" she cocks her head, acts confused, you know better.

"w-what you said e-earlier! p-please i'm please- i'm begging-"

"oh you're begging? why are you doing that? i'll give you anything you want darling. there's no need to beg. do you think i'm that mean?" she pouts, has the audacity to look completely innocent even while she has you under her, dripping onto the floors of her studio, hands groping at your chest, back arching trying to get closer to her.

"m-momo!"

"what?!"

you almost cry, sliding your right hand down your stomach, straight into your bikini bottoms, the waterproof material did it's job too well. you couldn't tell from the outside, but the inside, it was drenched. you moan as your fingers meet your folds.

momo doesn't even glance down, keeps staring at you in mock ignorance.

you slide a finger up and down your slit, gritting your teeth as you rub your clit harshly. too harsh, you would come too soon. you ease up, sliding back down to your entrance, hips bucking up, other hand still twisting at a nipple.

snap!

you roll your head back as your hips rock against your hand, letting her slide down and position herself right in front of your cunt, lens pointed directly at it. you can't look at her, too embarrassed as you push your fingers in and out of yourself, just centimeters away from her face, from her instrument.

you've been groping at your chest enough that the material has ridden up, half of your chest exposed to the studio, to the flashing lights at each click of momo's fingers, and fuck you needed more space. so you hastily pull at the strings tying the bottoms together, just one side while your other hand keeps pumping in and out of you. it falls away easily and you feel yourself clench around your own fingers at the gasp momo lets out, snaps growing quicker in succession.

the hand that untied your bottoms goes right back to your neglected tit, rubbing and squeezing while you hump your hand.

you risk a glance down, and you almost cum at the sight.

momo's got one hand on her camera, the other down her pants.

it's a little pathetic, the way she's grinding down on herself, trying to alleviate the tension that's built up in her lower stomach, such a pretty girl reduced to a horny loser at the sight of pussy, but it gets you so hot knowing she was affected by you.

your eyes focus in on the hand trapped between the floor and her cunt, the rapid movements giving you an idea of what was going on inside her pants. you start to match her pace, bringing the hand that was palming at your breast to rub at your clit, pushing it around in little circles as you gasp and moan and clench for her.

momo curses under her breath, cheeks flushed as she stays on her stomach, a shaky hand still clicking away, changing settings, zooming in and out, capturing every moment of your build-up.

it was too much, her focus, the way you're pulsing, the flashes of the camera. you cum.

your vision whites out, throwing your head back, unable to hear the little curses momo lets out as she pulls her other hand out of her pants, frantically grabbing for her camera to be able to capture your full glory in your orgasm, her fingers still covered in her own slick, zipper undone as she scrambles to her feet.

you keep pushing in and out of yourself, slowing down the circling on your clit until a full stop, breathing heavily as your vision returns.

you blink, looking around hazily, pulling your fingers out of yourself with a wet squelch.

you find her eventually, stumbling around with her pants fallen to her knees while she fiddles with different cameras and light settings.

your post-orgasm haze finds her adorable. so different to the woman who said she'd have you screaming on top of her tongue. she was unpredictable, your initial canvas of her was wrong. she was simply... momo. she was unique, the only person who could possibly understand her was herself, and you doubted she understood herself. but that didn't matter, because she's good at what she does and she gets what she wants.

she notices you watching her after a little, blushing and kicking off her pants fully.

"sorry y/n just gimme a second."

you smile, shaking your head, "it's alright."

you watch fondly as she finishes up, but with her legs now exposed you can't help but feel the twinge of arousal in your core as your eyes follow the muscles of her thighs, her calves, her ass when she turns and bends. she acts so oblivious but she must know what she's doing.

you sigh, leaning back and running your hands up your stomach again, appreciating the view. you finally take off the bikini top, freeing your chest and groping freely at them as momo stands back up.

she checks the camera once more, then takes off her top. her bra follows quickly after, and she turns.

her eyes narrow as she stalks towards you, chest swinging proudly as you whimper, pinching your nipples and wishing you could just bite down on hers.

"i see you started without me."

"mhmm~"

"i told you to give me a second didn't i?" she stands above you, arms crossed over her chest, pushing her breasts together sinfully. you notice the wet spot on her underwear, trying to hide a giggle but failing.

she raises an eyebrow, pulling her panties off. that gets you to stop, your mouth watering at her cleanly shaven, dripping cunt.

"something funny?"

"n-no."

"c'mon. i like funny things. tell me."

"nothing's funny."

she kneels down in front of you, on all fours, your eyes go straight to her chest.

"impatient and a fucking liar."

you whimper.

she juts a finger behind her, her eyes never leaving yours, "i'm giving you what you wanted now. what i said. that camera's filming us, so are three others around the room, just so we get every angle. now you're gonna sit on my face and look pretty. understand?"

your eyes widen, wet already from your first orgasm, fresh arousal starting to build up. you nod.

"good girl."

you squirm at the term, watching as she lies down, then pulls on your thighs to get you to kneel on top of her. you're a little embarrassed as you lower yourself, but momo doesn't give a shit. she yanks you down and starts eating like it's her last meal.

your hand comes up to your mouth in an automatic reaction, trying to stifle the sinful moan you let out as she starts lapping at you. you can't control yourself. you never could around her. your body reacts on it's own. riding her face.

momo sucks your clit into her mouth and your knees buckle. you're afraid of suffocating her but she shares none of the same concern. arms pulling you down as you try to pull away, licking and suckling.

you look directly into the camera she has set up in front of you, imagining how messed up your hair was, how utterly ruined you looked.

momo's hands are on your ass, pulling you down still, but she lands a slap, the sound echoing throughout the empty photo studio.

you yelp, gushing into her mouth. she happily drinks it up, spanking you again.

the ripple of your cheeks must be captured on the camera behind you, maybe if momo had the quality settings right, it could even see the slick flowing from your cunt into momo's mouth, onto her tongue.

you can't bear to look into the camera anymore, eyes drifting down to momo's chest.

god you could finally see her. pretty dusk-coloured peaks sitting on top of the breasts you'd only be able to conjure up in your wettest dreams. her abs flex as she huffs with effort, making sure not to let a single drop of you go to waste, working efficiently and thoroughly at your pussy, licking into every wall, every corner. her cunt glistens, you notice her thighs rubbing together and you resist the urge to roll your eyes. you do it anyway but only because momo has her tongue inside you, hits a spot that has you seeing stars.

you test her, placing a little more weight on her face. she moans eagerly around you, pulling you down further.

satisfied she can hold you up, you shift your weight onto one hand, the other tracing down momo's chest, circling a nipple.

momo groans, vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure up your core.

you grasp the flesh, squezzing as her tit spills out between your fingers. momo bucks her hips, almost shakes you off of her, but her grip on your ass is tight, she wouldn't be letting you go until you came all over her tongue.

you're still moaning uncontrollably when you lean down, still groping a tit, pressing your own chest against her abs that feel absolutely heavenly flexing under your nipples, rubbing and moving giving just the barest amount of friction that drove you insane.

you grip her thighs, resting the front of your body on hers so you could part them, licking your lips at the sight that greeted you.

her cunt was pulsating. clenching around nothing, slick dribbling out of her. she talked so much but she was just as turned on as you. you planned on giving her what she was too proud to ask for.

you dive in.

momo moans into your cunt, hips rocking up before you push her back down, lapping at her pussy.

she tastes divine. otherworldly. salty and sweet, uniquely hers, just like everything else about her was uniquely hers. momo's grunting and moaning so prettily, and you're cleaning her up, even while she continues making a mess, you know you're not much better.

you grind down against her while she rocks up into you, chasing your highs. you find her clit, sucking, reveling in the moan she sends through your body, not wanting to be beat, she doubles down, growing almost overly aggressive as she sends another slap down on your cheeks when you're least expecting it.

you can't hear each other, can't scream out the curses, her name, all you can do is grind and moan and suck.

the blinking red dot of the camera gets it all. every brush of nipples against stomach, every flick of tongue, every squeeze of ass.

it doesn't take much longer.

not when she just keeps sucking. you're sure she could draw your pussy by now, that she's memorised it all. you could probably draw hers.

your back arches as you cum, and you make sure she falls apart at the same time, massaging her thighs as she writhes and cums, whining into your pussy, drunk off your taste.

you roll off of her before she can get you going again, lying on your back, your elbows pushing you up as you finally get a look at her.

she's covered in you. huffing, throwing her head back to breathe, cum dribbling down her chin. you can't help but crawl towards her, licking it up, towards her lips.

she lets you kiss her, still catching her breath as she pants into your mouth, the taste of the both of you mixing on your tongues.

you break away, licking your lips and wiping your chin.

momo grins lazily, "i think we got some good content."

you snort, "you think?"

"mhmmm. mina will definitely be happy."

your eyes widen, "you're not showing these tapes to myoui mina?!"

"and to sana. she asked for them."

your mouth falls open, gaping dumbly at her while she laughs, patting your cheek.

"let me know if you ever need any shots done. i'll be happy to help. i'll send you the tapes too once it's edited." she winks, wobbling back up and going to check the footage.

you stare after her, still in disbelief that the three of them really were in kahoots this whole time. and then the self-consciousness hits. they were going to watch those tapes. they were probably going to cum to those tapes.

just what the hell kinda industry did you get yourself into?

[cutiecusp]

Memories, part three.

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader.

TW, Memory loss, mentions of PTSD, light fluff.

You watch him as you both enter your shared home together, the tightness in his chest obvious as he scans the room, his dark eyes flitting over all the things that made your home unique to you both before settling on a photograph.

"You look beautiful, cant believe you got me in a suit." He remarks gruffly, staring at the couple in the photograph.

You take the frame off the table, and hand it to him, your smile genuine.

"What's more unbelievable is Soap ate the cake before we even cut it."

You watch Simon throw Soap an annoyed look, the Scot held his hands up in mock surrender, before joining the others in the kitchen.

Simon heads to the mantlepiece, his fingers tracing over the frames, as if he was trying to bring back every memory by touch.

"There's no doubt we look good together." He smiles, picking up a picture of you both on holiday, the sea in the background, your face beaming as you hold a giant ice cream.

"We had to share that ice cream." You quip, standing next to Simon.

Your cheeks redden as you remember all the sugary kisses afterwards, melting into his arms as he held you close.

Simons gaze flickers over your face, taking in the blush, but not remarking on it further.

"And who's this?" He asks, pointing to a picture of himself, with a dog.

"That's Scout, and in the back is Riley." you point out, your eyes soften.

"My brother owned Scout, and Riley was ours, you brought her home-"

"I brought her home from a mission." He finishes, his gaze steady.

"I remember her."

You smile sadly. He could remember your dog, but not you?

He picks up on the mood change, and offers a hand, and without hesitation, you take it.

"Sorry love. I wish i could remember more."

You shrug it off, as if it wasn't a big deal, and while your heart was breaking, you had to remember he was home. So you put on a watery smile, and change the subject.

"Tea?" You ask.

He nods, and finding his way to the kitchen, it allows you a minute to breathe.

Your eyes take in the first photo he saw, you in a white dress, your smile brightening up the shot, your eyes shining and focused on Simon, who stood tall and broad in a black suit, mask off, his eyes burning back into yours with desire and love.

Tears threatened to fall, and at the sound of laughter from the kitchen, you let them. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you cry, your vision blurring out the real world for a minute.

After a few minutes, you feel strong arms wrap around your shoulders, pulling you into an embrace. You look up, to see a familiar jaw line, and honeyed eyes.

"He will be okay, petal." Kyle remarks, his voice soft.

You shake your head, how can he be, when he cannot remember the life he's created with you.

Kyle rubs soothing circles on your back. Out of the taskforce, Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick felt the most like family, calm, collected, always ready for an adventure, and the one you confided in the most, he was like a brother to you, so it wasn't unusual that he was there to comfort you.

After a few minutes, you caught your breath and took the tissue Kyle offered.

"Thank you, Kyle, i should be grateful he's home, and i am, its just-"

Kyle nodded, his face solemn.

"We are going to give you guys some space, but if you need us, call us, I'm on paperwork duty tonight, so ill be awake."

You sigh, before nodding. You look up to see Price and Soap at the door, sad smiles on their faces. Over the last five years, these men had become your family, and it hit you hard that they must be grieving a friend too. You hug them both, pressing a kiss to each cheek before they head out, a clear understanding that this is the first day of a new life for both you and Simon.

The rest of the evening was consumed by dinner, Simon helping you prepare a basic dish, and asking small questions along the way. The mood felt awkward, hollow, with shallow conversations, Simon caught up with the year without him.

You hide in the bathroom, emotionally strung out. Essentially Simon was a stranger to you now, and while your heart yearned to break down the door and wrap your arms around him, he didn't feel like yours anymore.

You hear him shuffling around in your bedroom, so you go to investigate.

"Jus' looking for some shorts for bed," He calls out, seeing your shape in the doorway.

"I'll take the guest bed tonight, Simon." You say softly, looking everywhere but him.

"You don't have to do that, i will." Came the gruff reply. You look up to find Simon staring at you.

"I know, deep down you are my wife, and you are someone special to me, and i also know that this is a sore situation for you, so I'll take the other room."

You nod, returning to the bathroom, unable to argue with him. All you want is your husband back in your arms.

As you wash your face, and apply your skincare, you notice Simon watching you over your shoulder.

"You still use the vanilla cream?" He asks nonchalantly

You pause. How would he..

"Your dressing gown smells of vanilla in the bedroom. Made me think of cake. I thought the smell could trigger something" He admits sheepishly.

You nod, it had been a favourite of yours, and he routinely brought you more, even on deployment.

"Thank you." Simon says quietly.

You turn around, a questioning look on your face.

"For not giving up on me. For always believing I'd come home."

Your eyes soften, and you nod, unable to speak.

He throws you a smile and heads into the guest room, leaving you to finish rubbing lotion into your skin.

** A FEW HOURS LATER.**

You wake up with a start, a loud noise coming from the guest bedroom, throwing the covers back, you race into the next room.

Simon is drenched in sweat, his eyes unfocused as he tosses and turns in his sleep.

You know better than to wake him physically, so you call to him from the edge on the bed.

"Simon, its me, love. You are home, in the guest bed. You are home. " You chant your mantra a few times, before he groggily opens his eyes, before they settle on you.

"I'm home?" he asks, his voice deep with sleep and fear.

You nod, slowly approaching him.

"Yes, Simon. You are home, its me, you are safe."

You sit on the edge of the bed, watching Simons chest heave, his foggy gaze drinking you in like a cold glass of water on a hot day.

"Love?" He calls, his voice strained, his arms open.

You settle between his arms, your hand stroking his cheek, soothing him.

"I'm here." You assure him.

His breathing evens out, and you hold him closer, your heartbeat settling him.

"I remember the ice cream." he murmurs.

You raise an eyebrow.

"The ice cream?"

"From the photo, i remember it took you forever to eat it, it was when i came home from Paris, and we took a holiday. I remember kissing you after, your laugh as you put some on my nose."

You smile, Your thoughts going back to that day.

"I did, and do you remember the cat we saw, getting all the old ladies to feed it croissants?" You chuckle.

Simon pulls away, his eyes locked on yours, your bodies still close. Your heart beating rapidly in your chest.

"I remember the dress you wore for me that night, love." He remarks, watching you blush.

"I remember it not lasting long on your body." He continues.

His eyes flicked down to your lips, and back up to your eyes.

" I remember a lot, now love. But will you stay until i remember it all, and we can build our lives back together?" He asks, his voice full of vulnerability.

"I promise." You whisper, before his lips press gently against yours.

"I promise you forever."

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

@kaeyasfuturewife @xoxunhinged @muneca-lemon-steppa @gardenof-venus @misshugs @soraya-daydreams @frudoo @renpodz @yesornowaitidontknow @thevoiceinyourheadx @shadowdark00 @rynbeerose @lunamoonbby @incredible-walker @identity2212 @pukbadger @urbimom @corvid007 @wordsfromshona @shadows-empress @m00xy @canyonmooncreations @oniraki @evie-119 @havoc973 @kylies-lover-blog @ishipdabands @cmbghost @heckinspooks @midwesternwitchery @eggy-yoke @redzluvvesage @masterclassofescapism @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @mims900 @skeletonsucker @vmaxis

[munariplans]

forty, love | part 3 | natasha romanoff

part 3 of forty, love | read part 2

synopsis: nothing's changed, or everything's changed, really, in the years away from you. natasha doesn't know which is better.

natasha romanoff x tennis player! reader

word count: 5k words

a/n: the final part to this very wonderful series. i hope you enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it. as always, thank you for your support.

masterlist

working up the courage to approach you after the match felt like having to work up the courage to approach you at graduation, except this time, she was being pushed around by a swarm of other reporters, cameramen, and the fans, all trying to get a glimpse of the winner of the grand slam. it was no longer the college’s favourite tennis player that she was seeing, no, it was almost as if she was looking at a completely different person. 

you were grinning from ear to ear, unbothered by the fans coming in swarms and happily signing each ball, each cap, each shirt that was passed your way. natasha assumed when you were in the position that you were in, paying fan service to the fans was the least you could do. the crowd was singing your name, and natasha was getting drowned out by people who were much taller, much bigger, and louder than her.

but then, by a stroke or luck, or mere fate, your eyes were roaming the crowd again, as if looking for someone. you were smiling and laughing with everyone around you, but your eyes betrayed the intention behind your search. somehow, this time, you caught natasha’s gaze in the crowd, among the many fans towering over her, among the cameras over her head obscuring your view. your smile faltered in the slightest bit, and natasha’s heart dropped. 

it was going to be like a repeat of graduation. it was going to be you, telling her no, not to come any closer again, and forcing her to retreat. it was you refusing to take her back, even then, even now. she took one step back, almost stepping on the foot of a photographer behind her, when you suddenly pulled your manager in by the collar, and whispered something to him. she saw his eyes shift to her as well, and he nodded, walking towards her while you returned your attention to the people around you. natasha found herself being escorted to your dressing room.

you only came in half an hour afterwards, when natasha had finished biting the last of her fingernails, and paced around the room about a hundred times by then. but when the door unlocked and you stepped in, it felt like natasha’s breath was knocked out of her lungs again. 

“hi,” you started, giving her a small smile. you were carrying the trophy natasha watched you receive with joy earlier. but then, you set the trophy down behind you, not even giving it a second thought when you returned your attention to the woman before you. you had decided natasha was more important in that moment. 

it was awkward at first; speaking after years of no contact. “hi.”

“you came.”

she wanted to say of course, i watch every single match of yours, but instead, she uttered, “yeah, my company sent me. i was covering the finals.”

you chuckled, nodding. you took the seat across from her, trailing your eyes up and down natasha. you thought she still looked like the woman you wanted to spend the rest of your life with. natasha caught you casually glancing at her fingers, and at the absence of a ring on the fourth one, you were ashamed that she had seen your expression brightening. 

you cleared your throat, desperate to change the subject. “you did what you always wanted to do. i always told you journalism was much more fun than chemical engineering.”

natasha couldn’t control the laughter that bubbled at her throat, remembering all the times she complained to you of how much she hated her degree, no matter how good she was at it. she always had a fondness for covering stories instead. you had been supportive of her pursuing her dreams, but she had wanted to be practical. you were proud that she was finally doing it then. “yeah, i tried my hand at a smaller firm after college, then i got this opportunity and…”

“...and you’re amazing at it. like i knew you always would be.”

she blushed brightly, fingers digging into the couch she was sitting on. then, she sat up. “but you! look at you…winning a grand slam, finally.”

it was your turn to get a little shy, sneaking a look back at the trophy, the shining Tiffany silver, and shrugging. “i won a grand slam.”

“congratulations.”

you thanked her, replying with, “it’s been a long time coming. i think…and i’m sure you know, you knew, that it’s all i ever wanted ever since i started playing. and now…it feels a bit surreal.”

“you deserved it more than anyone.”

there was no smugness, or arrogance, in your expression. it was one of quiet relief. natasha thought you still looked so beautiful when you sighed, nodding towards her in happiness. 

then came the reason for why you had invited her to your dressing room. “i was very happy to see you. i thought i’d seen you, from way down in the court and you were in the hospitality suite, but i thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. and then you came to see me after the win, and i knew it…it hit me like a ton of bricks.”

natasha’s lips were already quivering, watching you nervously profess to her of the reality that she too, had been experiencing, since seeing you again. “i was very happy to see you too.”

the glint in your eyes twinkled, knee bouncing in excitement as you heard her words. you had doubted if natasha was happy, or even willing to say yes, when you had asked your manager to ask her if she wanted to see you after. you were half-expecting her to say no, or to leave after a brief congratulations with you, but she stayed. the both of you stayed, in that dressing room for hours after, catching up and laughing and talking like the years had never passed. you forgot that natasha was once your best friend before she became the love of your life. 

and at the end of the day, when your team had to inevitably ask you to leave the room so they too, could pack up and return to celebrate, you were yearning not to have the time with natasha come to an end. you asked her if she had work to do, or any other players to interview or cover for, but when she said no, and looked back at you in hopes for something more, you decided to risk the chance.

“would you…want to go get dinner with me then?” you asked, fingers gripping the ends of your racket bag strap, drumming in anticipation. 

the look of surprise on her face caught you off-guard for a moment. “y-you don’t have plans? to celebrate?”

she watched you sheepishly admit, “to be honest, no. i didn’t expect to actually win the slam and…and i usually celebrate by myself, alone in my hotel room. which i know is pretty lame, and boring, but i just like to–”

“–to take it all in.” 

“you remember,” you grinned, and at natasha’s laugh, it grew even wider. you had missed hearing that laugh so much. 

she nodded, affirming you, “i remember. and i would really like to, getting dinner with you.”

–

you asked natasha if it was okay, for old time’s sake, that the both of you visited a diner a little outside of town. a little afraid that she would be upset that you weren’t taking her for an upscale restaurant, or high-end steak place, considering your status and the occasion then, but she said yes. she found that your preference for the little things never really changed, including your love for the nostalgia of celebrating the way the both of you celebrated in your years in college. 

with a fry in your mouth, you watched as natasha let out an uneasy chuckle halfway through dinner. then, she joked, “i guess you only stopped your losing streak after you left me, huh? maybe i was what was weighing you down for so long, stopping you from winning a grand slam earlier.”

“you weren’t.” natasha was a little taken aback at the seriousness, and the hint of vexation, of your tone. your expression too, had gone solemn.

“i–i mean–”

“–you weren’t the cause of my losing streak, natasha. and you definitely were the reason for my winning of a grand slam so early in my career. i want you to know that.” you were all i thought about before, during, and after my matches. you were all i ever thought about. 

she nodded, indicating that she understood. the atmosphere had gotten awkward again, no thanks to natasha’s self-deprecation. but you let down your own guard a bit, and offered her a taste of your drink. 

inevitably, you also asked, “how’s steve? did you and him make it? are you guys still together now?”

it was natasha’s turn to laugh, quite incredulously this time, to your face. your eyebrows raised, she let out another snort before she managed to calm herself down. “n-no! steve and i…we were never a thing. and we would never be, because…”

“...because?” you continued, but then natasha did a gesture, a flick of her wrist downwards, and her eyebrows telling you what it was suggestively, and it hit you. oh. oh.

the fit of giggles and chuckles that left the both of you at the same time was infectious, as both you natasha leaned forwards with how hard you were laughing. her hair shrouding a little of her face, she was still incredibly breathtaking even as she was snorting and laughing her heart out with you. you almost hadn’t wanted the moment to end, pure joy indescribable in both your faces. 

the both of you talked, and talked even more, into the night. it was like the years had never passed, like nothing had ever changed. at dessert, she even spotted another couple ordering a milkshake, and plucked up the courage to ask you, “can we share a milkshake too?”

your eyes travelled to the couple, and the memories of how the both of you would head to the diner for your weekly cheat meal and share a milkshake after when you won matches all returning to you then. it was a bittersweet memory that you enjoyed very much with natasha.

she always liked the flavour with chocolate ribbons, and you loved vanilla. in the past, you would argue over the flavour that you would order, the other never backing down on their insistence for the superior flavour. 

natasha, noticing your silence, and longing gaze at the couple, suddenly cleared her throat nervously. maybe it was too much, maybe she was being too much. “it’s perfectly fine if you don’t want to. you’re probably on a strict diet now, and it’s probably weird, to share a milkshake with someone who’s like a stranger, and–”

you returned your gaze to her, smiling. “–we can share a milkshake.”

you flagged the waitress down, and natasha’s heart skipped a beat when you told her that you wished to order a milkshake with chocolate ribbons without so much as a thought for your own preferred flavour. she remembers as well as you did of your little fights.

when the milkshake arrived, you even grabbed the little bottle of sprinkles by the table, and let it pour all over the top of the whipped cream, just like how natasha liked it. you remembered everything. 

she caught herself from reaching over to kiss you, many times, as the both of you inserted straws into the drink and began sipping the sweet treat.

you could tell natasha was longing for something more, still. she guessed she hadn’t realised how much she had really missed you; of course she did, she always did, but seeing you in the flesh again, spending the night and catching up with you, it felt like she was taken back to a happier, simpler time. natasha never realised just how much she had lost, being apart from you.

however, on the other hand, you were scared, and doubtful, of the woman before you. had natasha really changed, or grown up, you weren’t sure. for all you knew the reason she was making you so happy, and was being so kind, in the moment, was all because you had won the grand slam. if you hadn’t, things would have been completely different. you couldn’t be more wrong. 

natasha never cared about the grand slam, or the trophy you carried in, or even your career at all. all she wanted to see was you, and all she wanted was you. she just missed you.

you let natasha finish the shake, and when she did, you joked this time, “have you gotten enough insider scoop for your coverage of the US Open, then, ms. romanoff?”

you gestured towards the clip-on name tag natasha still had on her breast pocket, grinning at the title of senior reporter. it fit her so well. but that smile quickly disappeared, when instead of laughing along with you, natasha suddenly looked down, pushing the milkshake away dejectedly. a hurt look flashed onto her face, before she tried hiding it under the guise of looking away at something else. 

“you think i said yes to dinner with you so i could get information for my firm?”

damage control. damage control, now, the sirens in your head immediately rang, as you sat up straighter, panicked at hearing her voice crack. “n-no, no. of course not. i was kidding, i didn’t mean to make you feel that way.”

“i’m not using you, if you think that’s what this is.”

“of course, i didn’t…” you choked on your words, “...that wasn’t in my mind at all. i trust you, natasha.”

it was a relief to hear, of course, but the sting was still there. however, in your desperation, and perhaps regret, still, you reached out your hand, holding hers, and natasha physically melted into your touch. “please, please believe me. it was a joke, which i realise now is a badly made one. i never meant for it to sound like you were using me, because…because i really enjoyed tonight. i really, really wanted to hang out with you, and this is the best way i thought we could celebrate my grand slam. i’m sorry.”

after all this time, natasha thought, she somehow still had you wrapped around her finger. she rubbed her thumb over yours, and nodded. “i understand. apology accepted.”

afterwards, you offered natasha a deal; free VIP passes to any future matches she wished to watch you in, in exchange for her forgiveness of the crudeness of your words. she found it adorable that you were still so apologetic, and touched when she got reminded that this was precisely the person she fell so hard for. 

– 

natasha appeared for almost every single match that you played when she had pockets of breaks away from work. wherever you were on the court, you could look up to find her there; smiling encouragingly and cheering you on regardless of the scores. even when there were so few spectators that she was only one of a handful, and even when it was a match that drew in the thousands. 

you often hung out after, and outside, the matches, natasha following you around the country when she secured a promotion that allowed her the flexibility to work remotely, and became, as one could call it as accurately as they could, best friends. you talked to her about your woes and struggles of your schedule, and she noticed that you loved it when she talked about her journalism too. she was there for you as much as you were there for her through it all this time. 

still, natasha always wishes there could be something more. it could have been pure selfishness on her part, or dissatisfaction from something unfinished, but was it so wrong to want to keep you all to herself? often, when she toured around with you for your matches, she would catch the occasional pining gaze of others upon you, wanting to experience what it was like to have a champion for a partner, and it would fuel her blood boiling at people who she barely even knew. other times, when there were celebrities, or public figures, who flirted with her in interviews, and she was in your presence, it almost made her even more upset when you would only look briefly in her direction, almost trying to gauge her response, before looking away again. was it so wrong for you to want her again?

this time, she was there to love you and support you through your losses. though you were no longer the irrational, insecure, and doubtful youth player that you were in your college days, a loss was a loss and it would still hit a professional player as hard as it would a rookie when it came to feeling like you could have done better. when your confidence was shaken, natasha would be there to hug you after your matches, whispering words of encouragement and telling you that you did your best out there. you hugged her back just as tight. when you received an unfair result, natasha was there to shit talk the umpire just as much as you were, allowing you to crack a grin and eventually end up laughing along with her on the poor person that was destined to give you the poor score. and finally, when you tell her that she could skip the next match if she wanted because you feared the result, she told you that she wasn’t going anywhere, and she would be just as happy to see you as she would be in any other match. 

eventually, natasha proposed that the two of you forget about tennis altogether when you were alone and outside of the tennis courts. ice cream hangouts became simply talking about the flavour of the month instead of the impending match the following day, picking her up after her shifts at work became a nice solace for enjoying the music on the radio instead of talking about strategies that you could have used in matches earlier in the day, and movie nights became a time for you to rest your laurels for a bit, and lean your weight against natasha, to take away your stress and sorrows for the week instead of thinking about tennis the whole time. natasha would never know it was the respite you had so badly craved ever since you started playing professionally, and the closest thing to a work-life-balance you had between tennis and the woman you loved.

in those moments, natasha refused to talk about anything, or touch anything remotely close to tennis, when she was with you. she had reminded you that she was there to hang out with her friend outside the court, not the professional tennis player, and while it took you some time to dissociate your identity from all that you knew, which was tennis, you began to learn to like the person you were outside of the sport as well, all thanks to her.

and eventually, natasha noticed, you finally allowing yourself to look at anyone else in the face after losing matches, ready to confront and thank the crowd for their support, still. you seeking her for comfort after certain hard matches, instead of her coming to you, you letting someone else in to the world that you had carved a path for all by yourself, all those years ago. and with a support system like natasha, it was hard to lose many matches, not when you found confidence independent of your results and began climbing up the ladder to become one of the top tennis players of all time. 

maybe the both of you had just grown older, maybe you both matured out of your college ways, or maybe something was different now; the way you would look at each other across the room and know, just know, what the other was thinking, what the other wanted. maybe something really had changed, when you would catch each other’s smiles and finish each other’s sentences. maybe natasha had changed, and so had you.

it was after a gruelling day in the office, natasha remembered, she wasn’t so sure of the date, but she had been of the time. she hadn’t asked you to, and she certainly told you to just go home after your match, since you would be tired and drained from the day, but you waited, in your car, until nearly 2 in the morning to pick her up and get her home safe. she had come out in a hurry, apologising for keeping you waiting and being so mentally exhausted from work herself. but you had gotten out of the car, and, taking her stuff away from her to load it into the back, you had come back for her afterwards, pulling her in for a tight, comforting hug before she could even open the car door. natasha immediately felt all of the stress and worries for the day melt away into the ground then, almost whimpering with how comforted she felt being in your arms. she felt like she could cry. 

“it’s okay. you did great today.” you said, smiling down at her.

“how would you know?” she muttered into your sweater, letting you rock her back and forth for a minute, “you were busy being amazing at tennis.”

“i asked my manager to record you on the news while i played. watched it after. incredible how you could look so cool even when you’re delivering the news.” you got what you wanted when you heard her chuckle, finally letting go after making sure she knew she was off duty, and with you now.

your tennis rackets and equipment were still in the back of the car, and natasha got reminded just of the day you had before you even came to pick her up. “how was it? the match?”

you kept your answer brief, already driving into the parking lot of the diner the both of you first went after your grand slam win. natasha was craving for a milkshake after a long day. “i won.”

“that’s great!” she exclaimed, and you nodded, thinking that no matter how great it felt to win, somehow, the feeling of being able to see natasha after a long day felt even better.

the both of you ate in the car after, natasha laughing about a stupid thing your coach had told you during training, and you listening intently as she told you about a new unfolding story she was covering. it was safe, and familiar, and everything you had wanted after a match. 

it was the way that natasha wiped a crumb off your cheek, eyes glistening with something you always knew was more than friendship, fingers soft against your skin. the realisation that you had always known, but never dared to admit, all came rushing back. it was now or never. you never wanted her to be apart from you ever again.

“natasha.”

she was busy finding the sprinkles in her shake. “mmm?”

“do you think we’ve changed?”

she paused for a moment, looking up at the dashboard, before letting out a nervous snort. “what makes you say that? what a serious topic for tonight.”

“because i’ve changed. i think i’ve changed, a lot.” you angled your body to face her fully, inviting her to do the same. she sensed the shift in emotion in your tone, and finally turned to look at you. your stance mirrored that of the one you had displayed so many times in the past, when you were apologising to her after a bad fight the both of you would have.

you continued. “i’m not…that kid anymore. that angry, hotheaded, smug, and insecure kid you knew back in college. i-i think i’ve changed, i’ve grown, and i don’t ever want to go back to what i was back then.”

“i know,” natasha probed, “i know you’ve changed. i’ve seen it in person.”

you nodded, biting the corner of your lip, and natasha sighed. “and i’ve changed too. i’m not someone…who projects her desires, her insecurities of losing, onto someone else anymore. i’ve found peace with myself, and the time apart from you…it’s really helped me find myself and what i wanted for my future. winning clearly doesn’t matter to me anymore, and though it is nice, i think being able to enjoy and live in the moment, with people i cherish and love, that’s what’s more important.”

“i’ve changed because of you.” the both of you managed to say at the same time, sending shocked looks to each other at least, before natasha laughed nervously and you grinned with your heart pumping in your chest.

she motioned for you to speak first, seeing as you had something so earnest on the tip of your tongue. “i was going to say…i’ve changed, and everything’s changed, but i don’t think i have loved you any less, over the years. my love for you, it is the one thing that’s remained the same.”

natasha knew and didn’t know what was happening, both at the same time, until you reached over the console, and held her shaking hand. “i still love you, i always have, over the years, until now. and i know you might call me stupid, or even rash, for trying to repair something that we clearly thought was broken back in college, but…but i think we can make it work, this time. i think we can try again, and have the love we always dreamed of back then, now, as adults.”

at her stunned silence, you persisted, “i’m not saying you have to say yes now, or for us to get back together now, but i want you to think about it. really think about it, because i am certain that you are the one i have always loved, and you are the one i want to spend the rest of my life loving. so–”

“–yes.”

it was your turn to stare at her in shock. “...yes?”

then, natasha had tears down her eyes again, this time filled with joy and relief, as she threw herself over the console, and into your arms. “yes, yes, you idiot! yes i’ll get back together with you, yes i want to love you for the rest of my life as much as you want to love me.”

she felt you chuckle in relief through her arms, bringing her in for a kiss right after.

– 

“do you think you want kids? soon?” the topic had come up before, and while the both of you had discussed it briefly, it had never come to any real conclusion. natasha, naked and vulnerable and laying in your arms then, years after your confession outside the diner in your car, asked again. 

you were still catching your breath  beside her, the activities of the night after such a win tiring you out more quickly after the activities in the day.  “i want whatever you want.”

“well…” natasha drew circles on the bare skin of your back, “...i want them. pretty soon. i think we should start a family.”

she felt your smile against her own skin, nodding in agreement. “sure.”

“sometimes i see the kids that show up at your matches, up in their parents arms and wearing your caps to cheer you on, or even the ball girls and boys eagerly rushing in and out to help you during the matches, and i can’t help but want them then and there. even now, i can’t help but want them right now, with us, in this moment.”

you leaned over to kiss her sensually, cradling her face in  your hands, before returning, “my love, are you saying you have baby fever during my matches? and not a lovesick, guttural, lusting feeling for your fiancee that is playing–”

“–oh shut up!” she groaned, throwing a pillow at your face, “you’re the one that brought that stupid trophy to bed before you even thought about bringing me on it!”

she pointed towards the trophy at the end of the room, that natasha had almost kicked in frustration when she came in after her shower, sported in a brand new lingerie set just for you, and caught you hugging it and trying to fall asleep. you had to remind her that doing so would have broken your heart, and definitely your proposal to get married with her.

she felt herself being rolled over then, out of sight of the trophy, as you nipped on her skin and apologised until she gave in again. she always gave in when it came to you. “sorry. got jealous that my very beautiful, very sexy fiancee is busy looking at how cute the kids that support my matches are, instead of me. totally my fault.”

the glare natasha shot at you was met with another kiss that made her melt, but you weren’t free just yet. she rolled you back to straddle you, hands pushing against your shoulders to say, “i still want the kids.”

“my god, woman,” you sat up, pulling her down with you, “you just fucked my brains out, and we have a wedding to attend tomorrow. let me marry you first tomorrow, and we’ll have the kids after, okay? one thing at a time.”

it was getting pretty late, as she reluctantly grumbled her agreement. she was already breaking rules by sleeping with you the night before her own wedding; but how could she not? when her bride looked as gorgeous as the one she was snuggled up with, natasha didn’t mind breaking a few rules.

“fine, but if you dare bring that godforsaken trophy tomorrow, baby…”

that sprang your eyes open, lulling you out of the sleep you had been succumbing to. “come on, it’s wimbledon, i won wimbledon! don’t you think people deserve to see a wimbledon trophy in the flesh once in their lives?!”

“but not at our wedding!”

[steddiehyperfixation]

don't you forget about me (part eight; final)

(part one)(part two)(part three)(part four)(part five)(part six)(part seven) (ao3 link)

It was an “if” if Eddie would actually be discharged today, but now, after some more poking and prodding, he's finally on his way home with prescriptions for pain meds and physical therapy. 

Wayne helps him up the three creaky, beautifully familiar stairs into the trailer, and Eddie collapses onto the old, beautifully familiar couch the second he gets inside. The weary groan he lets out is only slightly over-dramatized. “I feel like an 80 year old man,” he complains, entire body sore and aching to the bone already. “Now I know how you feel.”

“Oi, I ain't that old,” Wayne protests. When Eddie snorts derisively, Wayne rolls his eyes and chuckles. “Alright, fine, so we both got creaky knees now. You, at least, will be young and spry again in no time, though,” his uncle tells him. “Just get some rest, old man.” 

Eddie heaves a great big sigh, takes another breath to steel himself, and then does just the opposite of that. 

“What did I just say?” Wayne mutters as Eddie moves to stand again. 

“I said I’d call Steve,” Eddie says. Steve had to go to work, but he'd told Eddie that morning to call him if he ended up making it home today. “I’ll dip out of work and come hang out, help you settle in, if you want,” Steve had said. 

Wayne offers, “I can call him for you.” 

“No, no, I got it,” Eddie insists, words broken by a grunt as he hauls himself back to his feet. “I can make it to the phone, Wayne, I'm not a complete invalid.”

“Alright.” Wayne raises his hands in defeat and backs off. He’s never been one to hover. “You just shout if you need me.” 

Eddie limps - slowly, painfully, with difficulty - to the phone on the wall by the tiny dining table they never use, the surface littered instead with unopened mail and haphazard papers scribbled with notes and reminders and important phone numbers. He leans heavily against the table as he paws through the piles trying to find a note of Steve's number. Eddie finds it buried deep, probably long since memorized by now before his memory got erased, but there it is: a notepad paper with Steve's name scrawled on it and two phone numbers written underneath, home and work. 

“Bingo.” Eddie grabs the paper, takes the phone off the hook, and dials the work number. 

The phone rings a couple times, and then: “Family Video. How can I help you?” 

“Hey, Stevie.” Eddie smiles at the sound of his voice, as if he hadn't literally just heard it only a few hours ago. 

“Eddie!” Steve's bored customer service voice brightens. “Are you home? How are you feeling?” 

“Yeah, I’m home. I’m alright. I mean, I’m bone-fucking-tired and feel about a million years old, but it's really really good to be back,” Eddie says honestly. He adds, “I’m under strict orders to rest, though - gonna be bored out of my mind, so I could use the company if you were serious about ditching work for me.” 

“Of course I was serious,” replies Steve. “It's a slow day today anyways.” 

Eddie grins. “Get your sweet ass over here then.” 

A smile is evident in Steve's voice too. “I'll be there in ten.” 

Eddie hangs up, tries his best to wipe this stupid lovesick grin off his face. He stumbles his way down the hall to his room next, flicking on some music from the cassette player on his dresser and looking around. His room is just as beautifully familiar as the rest of the trailer, not much changed from the way he last remembers it. The same music and D&D shit clutter his surfaces, the same posters clutter his walls. His bed is unmade, clothes litter the floor, same as always.

The only differences: his beloved electric guitar no longer hangs on the wall by the mirror (he was told, devastatingly, that she hadn't survived her trip to the Upside Down), and there are photographs he doesn't recognize taped up around the corners of that mirror. Eddie staggers over to get a closer look, only to first be momentarily jumpscared by his own reflection. His face is pale, eyes sunken, and his hair frizzes out in a greasy, tangled mess around his head, unwashed and unbrushed for who knows how long. Gross, but whatever. He manages to ignore his sickly appearance and inspects the pictures he had apparently deemed important enough to stick to the edges of his mirror. 

There are photos of Eddie smiling with Hellfire and his band and the kids, in large groups and small groups, with old friends he remembers and newer ones he doesn't quite. But what catches his attention the most is a photobooth strip of him and Steve. The first picture shows the two of them grinning, arms slung around each other’s shoulders; the second, a silly face photo, Eddie sticking out his tongue and Steve crossing his eyes; the third, Eddie giving Steve devil horns while Steve laughs; and the fourth- 

Eddie plucks the strip off the mirror, stumbles, so taken aback he trips over his own lame feet until he plops down heavily onto his bed, and he stares. He stares at the last image in the row, which depicts - clear as day and undeniably real, immortalized in ink on photo paper - Steve kissing Eddie, tender hand on his cheek, both of them smiling against each other’s lips.

He stares and he stares and he stares. And the longer he stares the more he can almost feel it, taste it, see the events of that photo strip playing out in his mind’s eye like a waking dream. Like a memory. 

~ 

Steve pulls up to the trailer, the one with the metal music blaring from somewhere inside that announces to the whole park that Eddie Munson is back home. He smiles at the sound, gets out of his car and bounds toward it. 

It's Wayne who lets him in when Steve knocks on the door. “He's in his room,” the older man tells him as he steps aside to let Steve in. “Make sure he's stayin’ off his feet, will you? ‘Cause lord knows he won't listen to me.” 

“Yeah, I got it,” Steve says, and his tone and his smile say I got him. Wayne nods. 

Steve makes his way down the hall to Eddie’s room. He raps his knuckles against the door first, but he doubts that can even be heard over the music so he pushes it open without waiting for a response. “Hey, Ed-” Steve starts, only to falter when he sees Eddie sitting statue-still on the edge of his bed, eyes boring holes into a photo strip of the two of them together. “Oh.” 

Eddie blinks, expression unreadable as he looks up and over at Steve. “Why didn't you tell me?” 

“I-” Steve doesn't know what to say, what he should say. His veins buzz with a nauseating mix of hope and anxiety and it's making him feel a bit sick. He takes a deep breath, turns down the music so he can think. “I wanted to. I just- I thought it would freak you out. You didn't know me. I didn't want to force anything on you.” 

“So…we were together,” Eddie says slowly. “For how long?” 

“Since July.” Steve’s desperately searching Eddie’s face for something, anything, to clue him in to what Eddie’s thinking or feeling right now. “Are- are you freaked out? Because you look a little freaked out.” 

“I’m not freaked out,” Eddie says, and it's almost convincing. “I'm just…processing.” 

“Oh-kay…” Steve breathes out, leaning cautiously against the doorframe, still hovering by the exit just in case Eddie decides he doesn't want him there anymore once he's finished processing.

“I’ve, uh-” Eddie looks back down at the photo strip he holds in his hands and takes a breath. “I’ve been remembering some things, you know, little things - in dreams - about us. But I- I thought I just had a crush or something, because I thought if all of that was real, if we had really been that happy - that…in love - then you would've said something. You would've told me.” 

When Eddie's eyes meet his again, Steve realizes he'd misread his expression before. Eddie's not freaked, he's upset, hurt, not because of what he's learned but because it was kept from him. Of all the worst-case scenarios Steve's spiraling mind had come up with over the past couple weeks, he had not considered this one. So preoccupied with his own angst over being forgotten and fear of being unwanted, Steve hadn't thought to consider that him hiding the true nature of their past might make Eddie feel unwanted too. That's the last thing Steve wants; the ache of that trumps any other ache he feels. 

“Eddie, I’m sorry. I just- you didn't know me, and I panicked; I didn't think, or-or I thought too much, but I should've just told you.” Steve pushes off from the doorway and goes to sit beside Eddie, because he can't stand Eddie looking at him with those big doe eyes and not being close to him. He leaves a bit of space, barely holds himself back from taking hold of Eddie's hand. “Because it was real, all the things you've been remembering. It was real- it is real, and I’m so sorry I didn't tell you.” 

Eddie is uncharacteristically quiet for a moment. His gaze flicks him up and down and across his face, and then Eddie grabs him, hands dropping the photo strip to instead clutch at Steve's cheek and jaw as he pulls him in and kisses him. As their lips slide together, familiar, the both of them sigh into the kiss. Steve feels a bursting in his heart, so similar to the way it felt the very first time they’d done this: the giddiness of reciprocation, the intuition that this is right. 

When Eddie pulls back after a few long moments, something is changed, something returned. Steve watches Eddie’s eyes flutter open; and when they do, for the first time since he'd woken up in that hospital bed, Eddie sees him, knows him, loves him. 

“How could I ever have forgotten that?” Eddie says, almost whispered, running his thumb across Steve's cheekbone. “How could I ever have forgotten you?” 

Steve could cry. Tears made of relief and joy blur his vision, because Eddie is looking at him with all the tenderness he'd been missing these past weeks, the painful emptiness of before now filled. It's all back. His Eddie is back. Steve pitches forward and hugs him bodily. Eddie returns the embrace; Steve sinks into his arms and it feels like coming home. 

He closes his misty eyes, buries his face in the crook of Eddie's neck and the tangles of his hair, and he breathes him in, clinging onto him like Eddie might just disappear if Steve ever let go. Eddie holds him just as close, one arm wrapped firm around Steve's waist while his other hand cradles the back of Steve's head and strokes his hair. Steve soaks in every touch, feels every place where they are pressed against each other, so warm and safe and loving after so long without it. He is whole again in the arms of the man he loves.  

“I missed you,” Steve mutters, lips brushing against the skin of Eddie's neck as he speaks, muffled. 

“I know, Stevie,” Eddie murmurs, “my Stevie, I’m so sorry.” 

“S’okay. It wasn't your fault,” Steve mumbles, and he thinks maybe they both need to stop apologizing for this. 

Eddie must think the same, because he says, “And it wasn't yours either,” like he knows every twisted, guilty thought that's been haunting Steve lately and he absolves him of them. He tugs gently at Steve’s hair to get him to lift his head and look him in the eyes. “You know that, right?” 

“Yeah, I know,” Steve says quietly. Eddie reaches up to brush from his cheek a tear Steve didn't even know had fallen, and as he wipes it away he wipes away everything - all blame, all fear, all pain. Eddie had forgotten him, and it sucked, but now he remembers again, and none of that matters anymore. Steve hangs onto Eddie's wrist. “Just-” His voice rasps with emotion, making it rougher. “Don't you ever forget about me again.” 

It's not a promise that can be made with any certainty - anything can happen at any time, just as unexpectedly as it had this time - but Steve doesn't need certainty, he just needs to hear the words, and Eddie gives that to him. “I won't, darling,” he vows, with gentle reassurance. “Never again.”

“Good,” Steve sighs, turning his head into Eddie's hand to press a kiss to the palm. 

The last of his heavier emotions drain out of him then and now he can feel the joy of Eddie's return in its whole entirety. As he rolls his face out of Eddie's hand and settles his eyes on the beautiful boy in front of him, a grin begins to spread across Steve's face; Eddie's smile grows in tandem with his, like he's smiling just because Steve is. Steve says, giddy in full now, “You're back.” 

“Yeah,” Eddie says, lovely and bright, ducking to bump his forehead against Steve's. “I'm back.” 

Steve lets go of Eddie's wrist to tangle a hand in his hair, and he tilts his head up to kiss him again, just because he can, because he's making up for lost time. They draw each other in close once more, lips and bodies moving against each other, easy and natural. Steve could stay right here like this forever, never wants to stop holding him or stop kissing him. 

But a thought - a question - tickles at the base of Steve's skull, and when he does pull back he asks, hopeless romantic that he is, “Just in case - I mean, just so I know - what was it that brought your memory back? Was it like a…true love’s kiss breaking the spell sort of thing?” 

Eddie laughs, gives Steve another quick peck like he always does when Steve says something endearing. “Not quite, Prince Charming,” he responds with a grin so fond Steve thinks his heart might burst. “It was more like…the things I had remembered were just dreams to me, shallow and unreal, but kissing you was like an anchor, a reminder that allowed those dreams to sink in as proper memories and become real.” 

“So…basically it was true love’s kiss,” Steve says cheekily, just to hear Eddie’s laugh again, just to receive another affectionate press of Eddie's lips against his. 

“Yeah, sure,” Eddie concedes, smilingly, never one not to indulge whimsy, “we can call it that.” But then he amends, with a little less levity, “It wasn't exactly a magic cure-all, though. It didn't bring everything back, there are still gaps in my memory.” He looks at Steve with eyes like pools of melted chocolate, soft and endless. “But I remember that I love you; I remember that much.” 

And Steve tells him, “That's enough," and he pulls him in for another true love's kiss.

THE END. taglist: @romanticdestruction @daydreamsandcrashingwaves @paintsplatteredandimperfect @hallucinatedjosten @mugloversonly @estrellami-1 @alongcomesaspider @thatonebadideapanda @tell-me-a-secret-a-nice-one @dragonmama76 @wxrmland @nuggies4life @sirsnacksalot @myguiltyartpleasure @lolawonsstuff @marklee-blackmore @vinteraltus @sebastiansstanswhore @0happyeverafter0 @scarlet-malfoy @hotluncheddie @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @emsgoodthinkin @alyelf @warlordess @stevesbipanic @lil-gremlin-things @rockandrolodex @badcaseofcasey @bat-outta-hel @fandomcartographer @manda-panda-monium @littlewildflowerkitten @giopandaonice @mightbeasleep @queenie-ofthe-void @krazyperson @worldofshea @marvel-ous-m @tartarusknight @a-little-unsteddie @xenon-demon @goodolefashionedloverboi @xxsky-shockxx @mc-i-r @bookbinderbitch @aspenshade88 @slowandsteddie @thedragonsaunt @daydreaming-mood @space-invading-pigeon @irregular-child @a-lovely-craziness (continued in replies)

[pucked-bunnie]

capturing my interest ⎜t.frederic

pairings: trent frederic x lohrei!reader genre: fluff ⎜romance ⎜ prompts: "just tell me what you want from me." ⎜photographer!reader ⎜ warnings: trent working his big brown eyes ⎜ just trent wanting the reader to love him ⎜slightly sad trent synopsis: you'd heard all about hockey players and their love for hanging girls out to dry from your brother - so you're not quite sure what to do about the bruins puppy dog forward. word count: 3.5k authors note:  i combined some requests for this one! i apologise for how AWOL i've been but I hope some people enjoy this.

(unedited)

“And here is your hot chocolate with a orange and poppyseed muffin.” The server smiles as she slides the take away cup onto the table in front of you, your hand immediately swiping at your textbooks making room for her to position the cup and brown bag. 

“Thank you.” You smile as she stands to move away from your table - the servers smile brightening as the door opens with a jingle. Your gaze follows the servers, watching as the large man in the navy blue suit greets her with a tip of his head, walking up to the counter with a confidence you see in a lot of the athletes you photograph. 

He places his order, his voice so quiet that the server has to lean forwards to hear him properly, her hands moving quickly to get the order ready as quickly as possible. He strides to stand at the pick up counter, his phone looking tiny in his hand as he pulls it out of his pocket. 

The man has to be an athlete for sure. 

And he looks so familiar. 

You turn back to your books, taking a long sip from your drink, a shiver running down your spine at the warm chocolatey goodness making it’s way into your belly. 

“A history of photography?” A voice questions as the empty seat in front of you is pulled out, his suit tight on his thighs as he takes the seat in front of you, the black ring on his pointer finger catching the light as your gaze flinches up to his face.  “Must really be capturing your interest.” He adds, a bright smile on his face as he waits for you to respond. 

You stunned silence must be killing him cause he adds, “see what I did there… photography… capturing.” You nod slowly, confusion tilting your lips upwards as you continue to silently stare at the extra large man in front of you. 

No seriously, what do they feed these dudes sometimes. 

And seriously why is he so familiar? 

“A double espresso for Trent?” The server calls out, your gaze following the man in front of you as he shoots out of his chair to grab the drink off the server, the girl smiling at him through her lashes, without a second glance towards the pretty server Trent turns just as quickly to move back to the seat in front of you. 

“Double espresso?” You question as he slides back into the chair, your focus no longer on the open textbook in front of you. 

“I need some energy for today?” He states, his tone raising at the end in a question, his eyebrows pinching as he glances down at your drink. “What are you? Five?” He asks, with a surprised laugh, your marshmallows perfectly melted on the top of your drink. 

“Some of us prefer drinks that taste good.” You huff, the air pushing some stray pieces of hair off your forehead, your glasses pinching the bridge of your nose as you push them up higher on your face. your phone dings softly on the table besides you, the reminder of your photoshoot in 20 minutes making your hands move to close your books, shoving each one in your bag as Trent watches you quietly. 

“Going somewhere?” He asks as you zip your bag closed, pulling the strap over your shoulder. “And here I am thinking we were about to have a meaningful conversation.” You can’t help the chuckle that falls out of you as you push the lid on your cup, grabbing your phone off the table as you stand smiling at the large man with his double espresso. 

“I have to go to work, but it was nice unofficially meeting you, Trent.” You say softly as he leans forwards with a frown.

“Can I at least get your number or something?” He asks, your gaze flicking down to the numbers written on the side of his cup in thick black marker, before flicking back to him. 

“I think someone else has beat me to it.” You tease, before leaving the cafe and Trent, the stranger glaring at the side of his cup. 

+

+

“We really can’t thank you enough for filling in on such short notice.” Mia, the team organiser says as she leads your through the large arena. “Mason said you had a pretty busy schedule so we weren’t sure if you’d be available for us.” She continues, and you just nod, adjusting the strap on your shoulder as you try to keep up with the long legged manager. 

“Well I cleared up my schedule just for this - can’t let my brother down.” You chuckle, as she stops in front of the two large doors leading to the teams locker room. The team already suiting up for the game against the maple leafs later tonight. 

“Mason, you have a visitor.” Mia says into the locker room, motioning for you to stand besides her in the doorway, a few of the other men letting out low whistles as Mason stands from his bench, throwing a dirty towel at the goalie in the corner making the most noise. 

“It’s my sister you dickheads.” He chides, his face lighting up as he spots you, rushing out the door to wrap you in a tight hug, his arms and chest still sweaty as you try to escape him. 

“Mason, please I’m gonna smell like wet dog all day if you don’t let me go.” You whine, slapping at your brothers back as he just squeezes you tighter, some of his teammates watching through the double doors as they take in their young defence man holding his sister hostage. 

“Oh please, you wished you could smell like this.” Mason teases, as he rubs his sweaty head on the side of your face. You wriggle free, laughing as you wipe your cheek with mock disgust. “Seriously, you need a shower. I love you, but no one should smell like that.”

Mason feigns offence, clutching his chest dramatically. “What would the fans say if they knew you talked to their favourite player like this?” His grin is infectious, and you can’t help but roll your eyes as you step back. 

“Favourite my ass.” Jeremy huffs from inside the locker room. 

“Probably that you need to step up your hygiene game,” you shoot back, crossing your arms. The locker room buzzes with laughter and playful shouts from the other players, a few glancing your way with curious expressions.

“Are you excited for the game tonight?” Mason asks, his tone shifting to something more serious as he leans against the doorframe.

“Absolutely. I’m ready to capture all the action,” you reply, gesturing to the camera slung across your shoulder.

Mason’s teammates are already getting dressed, a mix of focused determination and camaraderie evident in their banter. “Hey, is that really your sister?” one of them calls out, grinning. “Thought she was just a myth.”

“Yeah, she’s like the Loch Ness Monster—rarely seen but definitely real,” Mason replies, a cheeky grin spread across his face as he bumps you with his shoulder. 

“Good luck tonight, Mason!” you call out with a roll of your eyes, feeling the warmth of the team’s energy wash over you. “And try not to get yourself into too much trouble out there!”

He rolls his eyes but can’t hide his smile. “No promises!”

Mia shoots you a grin, ushering you back down the hallway, a tall brunette in the second last stall in the locker room catching your attention, his AirPods shoved into his ears as he focuses on taping the blade on his stick, his head shooting up as your brother claps him on the shoulder. He exchanges a few words with Mason before his gaze lands on you, a spark of recognition flickering in his eyes.

“I’ll set you up with a spot right on the glass - don’t worry too much about getting the perfect shot just take as many as you can.” Mia says quickly, as she pushes her way through the crowd, waving a quick hello to the security guard as she walks you down the tunnel to the reserved spot right by the ice entrance. 

“This is your pass - you can use this for anything from concession if you get hungry or thirsty.” Mia says one last time, making sure you had everything you needed and was comfortable before leaving you in your seat. You pull your camera out of its bag, screwing on the large lens as you adjust the camera hole making sure it would close quickly incase of flying pucks. 

As you tighten the lens into place, the excitement in the air is palpable. The scent of ice and fresh paint mingles with the faint trace of sweat and adrenaline that always seems to linger in arenas. You glance around, taking in the vibrant atmosphere: fans draped in team colours, the chatter of eager voices. 

When a loud cheer erupts from the stands as players start filtering onto the ice for warm-ups, your gaze flicks away from your camera catching sight of the brunette from the locker room, now clad in his gear, weaving through his warmups with effortless grace. His eyes dart around, catching the excitement from the fans occasionally stopping to look at a sign or throw a puck over the glass, but then he locks onto your gaze again, giving a quick nod before joining one of his teammates on the ice, kneeling into a stretch.

Mia’s voice echoes in your head: “Take as many as you can.” You adjust your focus, capturing the energy of the players as they stretch and shoot, their movements sharp and intentional. Each click of the shutter feels like a heartbeat in the bustling arena, and you can’t help but feel alive in this moment.

Suddenly, a powerful shot rings out, the puck soaring past the goal and echoing off the boards. You instinctively lift your camera, snapping a series of shots as the players react, laughter and shouts filling the air. Your heart races; you know you’re in your element.

The sound of a whistle blows, signalling the end of warm-ups, and the players start to make their way back down the tunnel for the final prep before the game begins. The brunette you noticed earlier glances over again, his expression shifting from concentration to something warmer as he catches your eye once more.

You can’t help but smile back, feeling a surge of confidence.

As the crowd begins to settle, you adjust your position, preparing for the game to start. The lights dim slightly, and the announcer’s voice booms through the arena, igniting the fans into a frenzy. You can feel the anticipation building, and with your camera poised and ready. 

+

+

The game passes quickly - your brother most definitely finding himself in several tricky situations, the bruise already blooming on his jaw as you turn his head to inspect it. 

“I had to give you a good show, didn’t I?” Mason teases as he wrenches his face from your hands, straightening out his suit as he pulls his car keys from his pocket. “Oh you don’t mind if one of the guys joins us for dinner, do you?” You brother adds just as the tall brunette from the cafe stops besides him, a sly grin on his face. 

“Trent didn’t have anyone else to hang out with tonight and I said it would be cool if he joined us.” Mason explains, your brother oblivious to the way the brown eyed demon nods his head mockingly, a big grin breaking out on his face as you plaster a tight grin on yours nodding your confirmation. 

“Of course, the more the merrier,” you say, forcing a casualness into your voice that doesn’t quite match the flutter in your stomach.

Trent leans against his own car, his arms crossed and a playful glint in his eyes. “Are we heading to yours?” Trent asks pointing to your little brother, who nods his head in response before they both turn towards you, “because I hear your cooking is legendary,” he quips, his gaze lingering a moment too long on you.

Mason chuckles, oblivious to the tension building between you and Trent. “Yeah, she’s got some skills. You should’ve seen her last Thanksgiving—almost set the kitchen on fire with her fancy pants turkey cooking method!”

You roll your eyes, trying to mask your embarrassment with a laugh. “That was one time! I’ve improved since then.”

“Right,” Trent smirks, “can’t wait to see what kind of culinary masterpiece you whip up tonight.”

With a shrug, you slide into Mason’s care, heart racing. The drive feels longer than usual, filled with playful banter and teasing, but you can’t shake the feeling of Trent watching you in the parking lot, his car closely following behind yours. 

As you pull into the driveway, Trent gets out of his car first, moving into the building with an easy confidence. You try to focus on the task at hand—dinner—but every time you catch Trent’s eye, a heat rushes to your cheeks.

“Need any help?” Trent asks, leaning against the counter as you pull ingredients from the fridge, his gaze steady and almost challenging, the soft smile never leaving his lips. 

“Just chopping some veggies,” you reply, trying to sound nonchalant.

“I can handle a knife.” He says, his face more serious but his eyes still watching you curiously.

You chuckle, the tension shifting as you both work side by side, the rhythm of conversation punctuating the sounds of slicing and chopping.

“So, what’s your deal?” Trent asks suddenly, leaning against the counter, arms crossed. “What do you do when you’re not rescuing Mason from himself?”

You pause, considering how much to reveal. “Oh, you know. Just the usual—trying to keep him out of trouble, studying, that sort of thing.”

“Oh come on, I think there had to be more than that.” Trent says picking up the now diced carrots as placing them in the bowl besides you, placing his knife on the empty chopping board to cross his arms over his chest, “you have to give me something to work with here.” 

“What are you trying to do, Trent?” You question stoping the stirring of your pot as you cross your own arms across your chest mirroring his position. “What’s with all the prying?” 

“I’m just trying to get to know you a little bit…” He responds with a shrug, “maybe have that meaningful conversation you skipped out on before.” You can’t help but let out a shocked laugh at his words, his eyes softening as he steps away from where he leans against the counter, his arms dropping from across his chest as he closes the distance between you, your steps taking you backwards until you press against the fridge. 

“You can’t tell me that a little bit of you didn’t feel that jump of excitement when you saw me in the locker room.” Trent’s voice is lower than before, his eyes flicking to the entrance of the kitchen, making sure your brother was still perched on the couch playing his video game. “Because trust me I felt it too.” You let out a shaky breath keeping your arms close to your chest as you feel his own press against you. 

“The onions are going to burn if I don’t stir them.” You say quickly, clearing your throat as slipping out from where he’s trapped you, quickly stirring your ingredients in the pot before adding the carrots he had just chopped. You hear Trent let out a long huff as he moves away from the fridge, pulling himself up and onto the counter to watch you move around the kitchen. 

“Just tell me what you want from me.” Trent says his voice almost a whine as you add the canned tomatoes to the pot. 

“Huh?” You question back.

“Just tell me what I have to do to get you to agree to a date with me.” He says, quickly adding, “Please.” You look up at him, his eyebrows furrowed as he pouts slightly, his soft brown eyes capturing yours. 

God, you’ve always been a sucker for brown eyes. 

“Hockey players aren’t really my type.” You say quickly, “not really a one and done kind of girl, you know.” You add, thinking the extra information will help get the point across, your brother warnings about his teammates ringing through your head. 

“And you think I’m a one and done kind of guy?” Trent’s question throws you off guard, the playful tone he’s had this whole time, gone completely, his hand lifting him off the counter as he nods slowly, “good to know.” He says quietly before leaving the kitchen, joining your brother on the couch. 

The dinner passes by with you each digging into your bowls of lasagna soup, the recaps for the other hockey games that night playing on the T.V. the bowls discarded onto the coffee table as you finish eating, your brother quickly checking the time on his phone. 

“Ah shit, we better be getting you back home, you’ve got classes tomorrow.” He says quickly, your head nodding in agreement, standing from your seat to grab your purse off the counter, checking that you have all your belongings. 

“I can always drive her home if you want? No point you leaving and then coming back.” Trent offers quickly, gathering the bowls from the table and depositing them into the kitchen, snatching one of the take away containers with the leftover soup off the counter. 

“Nah man, I don’t want to bother you with that.” Mason says quickly, searching the counter for his keys. 

“It’s really no bother, let me do you this favour.” Trent reassures, your brother shooting his gaze towards you in question. 

“It’s fine Mase, he said it’s not an issue.” You say quickly, stepping forwards to give your brother a quick hug, poking on his bruise for good measure as you step away, “you played good today kid.” You note, your brother scratching the back of his neck as he walks the two of you to the door. 

“Text me when you get home.” Your brother says and you nod quickly following Trent out to his car as you hear the door to Mason’s building close behind you. 

“You really didn’t have to drive me home.” You mumble as you slide into the passenger seat of the car, shooting a glance over the strangely quiet man besides you. He just nods in response, holding out his phone open on the maps app for you to input your address.  

“I’m sorry for what I said before, I didn’t really think it would hurt your feelings.” You say after ten solid minutes of pure silence, other then the occasional directions from Trents phone. 

“No cause why would you? Why would assuming I’m a man whore hurt my feelings?” Trent says his tone sarcastic as he tightens his hands on the steering wheel. 

“I didn’t mean it like that.” 

“You did, and that’s okay - I’m sure Mason has given you his fare share of warnings.” Trent says shooting a glance your way before letting out a long sigh, “I just wanted a chance, you know. I didn’t think I was such a horrible option.” His words have a tone of joking in them but you can’t help the way your eyebrows lift in sympathy, your hand reaching out to grab hold of his forearm. 

“You’re not a horrible option, Trent.” You say quietly, “I didn’t think one stupid comment was going to stop you from capturing my attention.” You pause for a second, watching as the corner of his mouth tilts up slightly, the callback to his horrendous pun at the cafe making some of the tension release from his body. 

“Did you see what I did there?” You joke softly, pulling your hand away from his arm, his hand leaving the steering wheel quickly to chase after it. 

“I definitely saw what you did there.” He comments, his hand finally finding yours, latching your fingers together as he sits it in your lap. “So, if I’m not a horrible option then why are you trying to delay our future together.” You let out a snort of laughter as he pulls into your driveway, his hand still gripping yours as you look up at your apartment building with a sigh. 

“We can go on one date.” You agree, Trent’s smile growing as he releases your hand, rushing to open his door and slip out of the car, his footsteps heavy on the concrete as he rushes around to your side to pull the door open. 

“I’ll take whatever I can get.” He says quickly, offering a hand to help you out of the car, closing the door gently behind you. “Besides we’ve already had our first fight, we’re essentially married at this point.” 

“Goodnight, Trent.” You chuckle, your smile matching your own as you lift onto your tiptoes to press a soft kiss against his cheek. His neck a flaming red as you make the way into your building, glancing back over your shoulder to see the hockey player pumping his fist in victory as he rounds his car to slip back in the driver seat. 

[inkspiredwriting]

Snapshots of Love

Five Hargreeves x reader

A/N: Hey guys surprise surprise. I'm posting another one shot today because unfortunately I won't be able to do it tomorrow. Have a great day :)

Warnings: none

Five Hargreeves sighed as he walked into the cozy living room of their home, rubbing his eyes after a long day of work. As he stepped inside, he noticed a familiar scene that instantly brightened his mood: his wife Y/n sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by a scatter of old photo albums.

Y/n looked up from a particularly thick album and smiled warmly at Five. "Hey, I found something interesting in the attic today."

Five raised an eyebrow and walked over to her, intrigued. "Is that so? What did you find?"

She patted the spot next to her, and he sat down, leaning in to see the open pages filled with photographs. "I found this old photo album. It’s full of pictures from our life."

Five’s eyes softened as he gazed at the album, a flood of memories rushing back. "I remember that album. I didn’t think we still had it."

Y/n chuckled and flipped through the pages, revealing snapshots of their journey together. "Here, look at this one."

The photo showed a much younger Five and Y/n, standing in front of the Eiffel Tower, grinning from ear to ear. Five was holding a map upside down, looking completely lost, while Y/n was laughing hysterically.

“I remember that trip,” Five said, a smile tugging at his lips. “I insisted we didn’t need a guide, and we ended up lost for hours.”

Y/n laughed, leaning her head on his shoulder. “Yeah, but we found that amazing little café because of it. The one with the best croissants we’ve ever had.”

Five nodded, his smile widening. “You’re right. That was worth getting lost for.”

As they continued to flip through the pages, each photograph told a story. There was a picture of them at a Halloween party, dressed in glamorous outfits. Another showed them at a garden party, looking completely out of place yet having the time of their lives.

Five paused at a picture of them in Rome, sitting on the steps of a temple at sunrise. “That sunrise was incredible,” he murmured, tracing the edges of the photograph with his finger.

Y/n’s eyes sparkled with nostalgia. “I remember. We stayed up all night just to see it. It felt like the whole world was still asleep, and it was just us.”

The photos transitioned to more recent memories: their wedding, their first house, and the birth of their children. Five lingered on a picture of them holding their newborn daughter, Maddie, both looking exhausted yet indescribably happy.

“We’ve come a long way, haven’t we?” Five said softly, his voice tinged with emotion.

Y/n nodded, her eyes misting over. “We have. And look at us now. We’ve built a beautiful life together, despite everything.”

They turned to a picture of their son, Milo, his mischievous grin eerily reminiscent of Five’s. Five chuckled, shaking his head. “He’s going to be a handful, isn’t he?”

Y/n laughed, squeezing Five’s hand. “Just like his dad.”

The last page of the album held a recent photo: the entire Hargreeves family, including five’s siblings, gathered around a Christmas tree, laughing and enjoying each other’s company.

“We’ve had our ups and downs,” Five said, his voice filled with gratitude. “But I wouldn’t trade any of it for the world.”

Y/n looked up at him, her eyes filled with love. “Neither would I. We’ve made some incredible memories, and I can’t wait to make even more with you.”

Five wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close. “Here’s to many more adventures, Y/n.”

They sat there in comfortable silence, the album open in front of them, reminiscing about the past and dreaming of the future. Five pressed a gentle kiss to Y/n’s temple, feeling a deep sense of contentment.

As they closed the album, Five looked at Y/n with a tender smile. “Thank you for finding this, Y/n. It’s a reminder of how strong we are together.”

Y/n leaned into him, her heart full. “Always, Five. No matter what the future holds, we’ll face it together.”

And in that moment, surrounded by the memories of their past, Five and Y/n felt more connected than ever, ready to take on whatever adventures life had in store for them next.

[aventurineswife]

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏: 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐀𝐦 𝐈 𝐍𝐨𝐰?

You awoke in an unfamiliar place, the weight of nothingness pressing down on you. Your body lay on something soft, far too soft compared to the jagged edges you had last felt. The air smelled different—cleaner, almost otherworldly. The warmth around you was more gentle than the oppressive heat that had surrounded you before. Slowly, you opened your eyes, but the world was hazy, blurred, as though you were still trapped in a half-dream. You tried to move but found that your limbs felt stiff, uncooperative. Something heavy pressed against your chest.

You blinked and found yourself in a room made of polished, gleaming metal. The floor was smooth, warm beneath your feet, and as you pushed yourself upright, you became aware of the rhythmic hum of machinery beneath your feet. A train. The faint sound of engines filled your senses, reminding you of the distant hum from earlier, just before you’d… arrived here.

But where was this? What was this place?

A muffled voice broke through the fog of confusion, soft but firm.

"Hey, you’re awake."

You turned your head, every movement sluggish, and saw a figure standing in the doorway, framed by the dim light streaming from outside. They were dressed in casual attire, though the expression on their face was serious, focused—like they had been waiting for you to stir.

“You should lie back down,” they said. "You’ve been through a lot. We weren’t sure if you’d make it."

The voice was warm, but there was an undercurrent of tension. You tried to speak but only a hoarse rasp escaped your lips. They stepped closer, eyes narrowing in concern. "Easy now. You’re safe."

Safe. The word echoed strangely in your mind. Were you safe? Your memories were fragmented, but one thing was clear—your world had fallen apart. The city, the chaos, the Stellaron. You had to get back. You had to know what happened.

But before you could voice that thought, a soft sound came from the far side of the room. A woman—young, with pink hair that bounced as she moved—stepped forward, her eyes wide with curiosity and energy. Her gaze landed on you and instantly brightened.

“Oh! You’re up!” she exclaimed, though her voice held a slightly nervous edge. "Are you okay? You look like you’ve been through… well, a lot." She hovered near you, her camera dangling from her neck, but her hands trembled slightly as she took a step back. “I’m March 7th,” she added, as if her name was some kind of badge. “I’m, uh, a photographer. And a warrior! I think. Mostly a photographer, though.”

She smiled brightly, her cheeks flushed with excitement, but there was a flicker of something deeper in her eyes. A curiosity. A drive that mirrored your own.

Before you could say anything, the figure from the doorway spoke again. “March,” they warned, their tone softer but firm. "Give them space."

March gave an exaggerated sigh but stepped back, leaving you some room to breathe. You could feel her eyes on you, though, full of questions. You turned your gaze to the one who had spoken, and they nodded slightly, as if reading your confusion.

“I’m Welt,” he said, his voice smooth and quiet, with a calmness that contrasted sharply with the chaotic thoughts still swirling in your head. "And this is the Astral Express. You’re safe here."

The words barely registered. Astral Express? What was this place? A train, yes—but why were you here? You opened your mouth to speak, but the words faltered. Everything felt too new, too foreign.

Welt seemed to sense your disorientation. He crouched down slightly, looking you over carefully, but with a hint of something almost paternal in his gaze. “We’re still figuring out what happened to you. And where you came from. But we’ll help you, if we can.”

“But my world—” you began, but the words caught in your throat. What had happened to your planet? The Stellaron outbreak—was it still happening? Was everyone gone?

The train suddenly shuddered, and the soft hum of the engines faltered for a moment, as if in response to your panic. The floor beneath you vibrated, and the faintest tremor ran through the walls. Welt’s eyes narrowed slightly, and March's expression turned serious.

“Stay here,” Welt ordered. "You’re not alone, but you need to rest. You’re not ready for what’s out there yet.”

March’s voice cut through the tension. “You might want to take it easy, yeah? You’ve been out of it for a while. But if you’re up for it, we can show you the rest of the train.”

Before you could respond, there was another sound—a soft chime that rang through the train, like a bell from far away.

The walls hummed again, and then a new voice interrupted, clearer now, almost an intrusion in the quiet.

"The situation's getting worse," the voice said, cutting through the uneasy silence like a knife. It was sharp, direct—almost too familiar.

You turned sharply toward the sound, and there, leaning against the wall just beyond March, stood a young man with dark eyes, his gaze unreadable. His posture was rigid, defensive—like a guard, and he exuded a quiet, unshakable presence.

"We're approaching the edge of the affected zone," he continued. "The Stellaron’s influence is still spreading, and our scans show the planet’s core destabilizing. We’re not safe yet."

The weight of the words hit you hard. The planet—your home—wasn't safe. It might already be lost. Your stomach tightened with the realization that nothing was certain, not even your survival.

But despite the growing dread clawing at you, something—someone—urged you to keep moving forward.

"We're going to need your help," the man said, his eyes flicking over to you. "Whatever brought you here, it's connected to this."

You opened your mouth to protest, but nothing came out. You didn't even know how to begin. Your mind was still reeling.

"Let's go," Welt said, his voice firm but not unkind. "We'll figure out what's happening together. You're not alone in this."

As the door to the compartment slid open, revealing a passageway lined with glowing light, the unsettling hum of the engines filled the air again. You couldn't help but follow, despite the confusion gnawing at you.

But somewhere deep in your gut, a warning echoed: You might not want to know what comes next.

[Navigation]

[sports-on-sundays]

hello hello, saw you were a bit bored apparently and had open requests soo…😛

how about a fic where gavi meets the reader during media day for the new kit launch, and as gavi doesn’t really like these events where cameras are, he’s a bit nervous hihi

the reader is the photographer or videographer and she’s shy too, but something between them sparkles🤭 they’re both too shy to talk but in the end gavi makes a move and he takes her on a date or something? just some cutesy fluff:) ty!💞

camera-shy / Pablo Gavi

Summary: Pablo x photographer!female!reader - Two shy people are drawn to each other.

Requested?: Yes!! Thank you lovely!

Author's Note: WHAT A CUTE IDEA! LOVE IT! 💞

"Gavi- Can you look at the camera, please?" the young Spanish man is asked for about the millionth time.

"Hm?" he asks, and looks up once more at the camera.

You snap a few pictures as the PR person who had spoken before says, "Come on; relax your face a bit. Smile. Yes, good. But brighten your eyes, please-"

"How am I supposed to 'brighten my eyes'?" Pablo Gavi asks in confusion and slight exasperation.

It's been a long media day for everyone, but especially Gavi, you can tell. He's not the type that likes the being filmed.

In photography, one of the biggest obstacles are people who are just simply, naturally camera-shy.

And you can tell this footballer, with his big brown eyes, is one of those people. The way he's averting his eyes, getting distracted. His stiff smiles and awkward laughs.

He's a nightmare.

But you, unlike a lot of people with your trade you know, don't get as upset about it.

Because you're one hundred percent more camera shy than him.

Besides the fact that you love the art of it, that's why you became a photographer.

You always get to be the one behind the camera.

A famous footballer being camera shy, though? That doesn't work out as well.

Suddenly, the PR guys taps your shoulder, and asks you, "Don't you have any methods of making his... you know... Appearance, better?"

"S- Sorry?!" you ask softly. Yeah, you're not only camera-shy. You're just shy-shy.

"You know, making him smile bigger, or angles for him to look-"

Suddenly, he's interrupted by Pablo Gavi saying, "Stop bothering the photographer."

You look up in surprise, but quickly look away when your eyes meet Gavi's. You silently thank him, though, as the footballer continues, "There's nothing she can do." He clears his throat, taking a deep breath, and nods, opening his eyes, looking at the camera. "Better?"

"Oh, God, perfect," you murmur as he looks at the camera with a certain playful yet thoroughly serious glint in his eyes. You quick snap some photos.

Pablo will admit he hates PR, and he hates being on camera. As his career has progressed, it's gotten better, for sure. But some days? Some days, he just isn't in the mood to do it.

It's unfortunate that today is one of those days, and it's a whole day completely dedicated to media.

His brain is spinning with the dark room, screen behind him, flashing cameras, rambling managers, and-

And, well, with the pretty photographer.

She's cute, he thinks with a small, shy smile at the girl.

She thinks he's looking right at the camera, and snaps a picture of the little smile. Right after, the PR manager snaps, "Good smile, but put a bit more strength into it!"

What the hell is a 'strong' smile?!

Then, finally, after over two hours of snapping pictures, he's done. He sighs a huge sigh of relief. Apparently, 'that will have to be good enough,' as the PR manager says.

Right, then.

But suddenly, as Pablo is about to leave, a slight disappointment in his chest stops him.

The cute girl. That photographer, I might not see her again...

He looks back over his shoulder, watching as you pack up your camera carefully.

Oh, get over it, he thinks, shaking his head.

You're too awkward to actually talk to her anyway. Just leave it. She's so beautiful, she's probably taken already anyway.

You'll just make a fool of yourself, Pablo.

Suddenly, though, from across the room, you look up.

And your eyes meet.

Pablo can't look away. It's like there's a magnetic force, a spark, holding your gazes together in the air, across the room.

Pablo, it's no use, his anxious brain screams as his legs begin walking over to you. Give it up.

Too late now.

"H- Hey," he smiles when he reaches you.

You gulp. "Uh... Yes... What can I do for you, Gavi?"

Aw. Her voice is so soft, he thinks as he says, "I... I just wanted to thank you for being so patient with me today..."

"Oh," she smiles shyly. "Of course. It's my job."

He lingers, and says, swallowing, "What's your name?"

"Y/n Y/l/n," you smile softly, scratching the back of your neck nervously.

"Oh," he smiles. "Nice to meet you... Uh... so..." he gulps, before sort of blurting, "I was wondering... if, uh, I could have your number...? Maybe, if you're free tonight..."

Your eyes widen as your face flares up pink at the handsome football player's suggestion. "Are you- asking me out?" you breathe.

"I- uh, I mean, if- you know, if-"

"Yeah!" you giggle. "I mean, sure!" You, without thinking, grab a pen and his hand, before scribbling your number on his hand. "That- That way you won't forget it."

"Oh," he nods, loving the fleeting feeling of his hand in your softer, smaller one, for just a moment. "Yeah, sounds good!" he laughs. "We can text the details!"

"Uh, yeah, right!" you laugh awkwardly.

Your head spins as he walks off.

You sit across from Pablo Gavi, over dinner. "So, uh, Gavi-"

"You can call me Pablo," he says right away with a little smile.

"Oh... Okay... So... I'm, uh, sorry... I know I'm kind of awkward..."

He smiles, hastily resting his hand on top of yours. "No, it's fine. I am, too. I was almost too nervous to talk to you."

"Oh?" you laugh a bit. "And don't worry about the filming thing today... I'm actually pretty camera-shy myself, so I get how it is..."

"Oh, you are? That's funny, for a photographer."

You grin with a little giggle, "I always get to be the one behind the camera."

He smiles warmly, his eyes almost shining in a strangely dreamy way, for a girl he just met today, as he says, "You're really cute."

You flush pink. "Oh- Uh- Thank you. You, too..."

He gives a little adorable crooked smile. "Thanks, I guess."

Throughout the dinner, as you continue talking, your fingers slowly entwine with each other. Once you're both finished eating, you're tightly holding one another's hands.

"Thanks for... talking to me, even though we're both a bit hopelessly shy..."

He smiles. "It was worth it... So, would you maybe like to go out again...? I've had... a really nice time with you."

"For sure," you giggle as you stand up together. "I've had a great time, too."

Just as you're about to slip your hand away from his, he uses it to pull you to him, into a hug. You gasp a little by the sudden touch, but immediately lean into it, hugging him back.

You stand there together, for a few moments, arms wrapped around each other, before he whispers, "Thank God I got over my nervousness and just asked you today, because I have a feeling this little date is going to go places beyond what either of us can imagine."

And in that moment, you know, deep down inside, that he is completely correct.

And you smile big, because you can't wait!

[wileys-russo]

blurb req for Georgia stanway if you write for her. Reader going with the team to Australia as staff maybe like a student physio or a photographer or something. Georgia has had a crush on teaser for some time now but refuses to do anything about it because she thinks you’re straight and dating someone else on the staffing team (spoiler: you’re not)

behind the camera II g.stanway

"alright alright i'm comin jesus keira!" georgia groaned as her best friend knocked on the bathroom door for the tenth time, threatening to leave without her.

"we're in australia ke, it's been a beautiful sunny day and we're going to the beach to watch the sunset. why are ya so moody?" the younger girl teased her friend as she finally exited the bathroom, squeezing her cheeks and grabbing her camera off the bed.

"you better have washed your hands." keira grumbled, the two of them leaving the room and catching up with the rest of the group who hung around waiting in the lobby. "what did ya fall in g?" lucy teased as keira blamed her for their late timing.

"shove off." georgia grinned, pushing the taller girl away who attempted to pull her into a headlock before running off after jordan. "ah look your girlfriends coming too." keira mumbled quietly from beside the blonde whose head shot up at her words, seeing you laughing with alex and mary a few pairs in front of them.

"would you stop? she's not my girlfriend and she's straight anyway." georgia huffed, rolling her eyes and busying herself messing around with the settings on her camera readying for the change in light.

"whose straight?" ella barged her way inbetween the two, slinging an arm over georgias shoulder as keira dropped back a little to chat with alessia. "little miss media, georgias had googly eyes at her for weeks now!" keira teased as the younger of the two glanced over her shoulder to send her a pointed glare.

"y/n?" alessia asked as georgia sighed but nodded. "oh g that's so cuute!" ella beamed, pinching her cheek tightly and running off before her friend could pounce on her. "not to assume anyones sexuality but how do we know she's straight?" alessia asked calmly with a raised eyebrow as their feet hit the sand, several of the girls running off towards the water for a swim.

"well she's dating mateo." georgia explained, nodding toward you who was stood with the second string trainer and mary, watching some of the girls attempt to get on one anothers shoulders with an amused smile.

"mateo? are you sure they're together?" alessias frown deepened, folding her arms over her chest and watching the pair off in the distance with scrutiny. "well they're always together, and they go out for coffee most mornings, and for a run like every afternoon, and they always sit together at dinner." georgia defended, missing the look shared between the girls stood either side of her.

"well you sure know her schedule back to front." keira chuckled, watching on as georgia merely hummed, only half listening as she watched mateo try to lift you onto his own shoulders as you threw your head back, your laugh echoing around the beach as georgias face dropped like a kicked puppy.

"g you're only speculating all of this. why don't you just talk to her about it?" alessia asked softly, bumping her shoulder into her friends to gain her attention, ripping her eyes away from you. "cause she'll think i'm a creep!" georgia scoffed, shaking her head and walking off with her camera in hand toward the rest of the group.

"so it's just her that doesn't know mateo has a wife and kids right? and that y/n obviously has something for her." keira sighed, alessia mhming in agreement as the pair watched you notice georgia join the group, immediately excusing yourself from your conversation with mary and mateo and making a beeline right for her.

"god she's thick sometimes." "the daftest girl we know."

"coming for my job are we stanway?" you grinned as georgia pulled her eye away from the lense, face brightening when she saw it was you. "figured i'd best have a backup if this whole football thing doesn't work out. if you can do it mustn't be that hard!" georgia teased as you playfully punched her in the shoulder and sat down beside her in the sand.

"go on then, give us a smile!" you shook your head and pushed her camera away as she aimed the lense at you. "no thank you! this face stays behind the camera." you shook your head as georgia protested and instead took several pictures of you laughing from the side.

"not up for a swim then? i think you'd look dead good in some goggles." you grinned nodding toward tooney, rachel and niamh who were all splashing around with the ridiculous head wear. "and let you capture that and put it on the internet for everyone to see? no chance!" the girl firmly disagreed with a grin.

"hey do you see my cameras anywhere? they banned me from bringing them, something about a work life balance? enjoying my time in another country?" you feigned confusion, stroking thoughtfully at your chin.

"sounds like you're slacking on the job to me, might have to dob you into sarina for the laziness you know." georgia shrugged with a sigh as you smacked at her shoulder, grabbing the camera from where it sat in her lap.

"do you even know how to work this? i know they send monkeys to space now but i didn't think they trained them to use cameras." you teased as now georgia smacked you and snatched the camera back, snapping another few candid pictures of you.

"do you and mateo have anything planned while you're here?" georgia took advantage of a comfortable pause of silence between the two of you to ask, remembering alessia's words and decided to just swallow the anxiety that came with them.

"uh, just working? i guess." you gave her an odd look at the question. "why?" you asked curiously, unsure where it had came from. "dunno, couples normally do stuff together on holidays." georgia shrugged, refusing to meet your eye as she looked off into the distance.

but her head snapped toward you when she heard the distinctive boom of laughter, seeing you doubled over and holding your stomach, georgias features creasing into a frown.

"whats so funny, they do!" "you think mateo and i are a couple?" "well...yeah." "oh god gee i knew you could be slow but i tried to give you a little more credit than this!" "what are you on about? i'm not slow!"

"mateo has a wife and three kids, they were literally there for the goodbye party at st georges park!" you laughed, your abs aching from the ongoing amusement as georgias face flushed deep red in embarrassment.

"but you're always together! you get coffee, you go for runs, you-" "well yeah, his wife is my sister after all. mateo is my brother in law you dope!" you revealed with a grin, georgias blush deepening as she buried her face in her hands.

"and while we're clearing things up for another thing i'm gay." "you are??" "well...i think i meet all the requirements."

"i've also been trying to flirt with you for weeks." you shook your head with a small smile as georgias head shot up and she looked at you, shock plastered all over her face. "you have??"

"clearly not been doing a good job of it if you hadn't picked up by now." it was now your turn to blush, chinks tinting a rosy pink at the confession. "-but now i know you thought i was dating my brother in law it makes a lot more sense." you smiled, georgia groaning and burying her face in her hands again.

"you know mary and millie even gave me an intervention, warned if i didn't start taking more content of the rest of the team and not just you i'd be sacked!" you grinned teasingly.

"can we start over?" the blonde beside you asked hopefully, giving you a charming smile as you shook your head. "afraid not, just can't forget that you thought i was dating my brother in law."

"alright alright! you can stop saying it now." georgia moaned with a pout as you smiled and knocked your shoulder gently into hers, another pause of silence falling between the two of you.

"so...i should ask you out then?" "well i was patiently waiting." "oh shut up. would you like to get breakfast tomorrow?" "nah sorry, missed your chance." you grinned cheekily, snatching her camera and snapping a picture of the offended look which overtook her face.

"breakfast sounds good, your shout since you thought i was dating my brother in-" "okay! we get it, how many times do i need to say im sorry?" "i actually don't think you have at all yet." "well i'm sorry." "sorry for..." "are you really going to make me say it?" "you know suddenly i actually realised i don't like breakfast-" "fine! sorry for thinking you were dating mateo." "who is...my brother in law."

"stop saying it! how many more times are ya gonna say it?" georgia huffed with a frown which only made your amusement grow, kissing her cheek as her expression perked up.

"how many girls are on the team? twenty two? twenty three?" "twenty three." "well then i'll be saying it twenty three more times." "don't you dare!"

[mclarengf]

la vida es tan dulce (contigo)

race day with dad!logan sargeant

[2.3k] 

note: woooow this got out of hand quick… well, enjoy my first proper full length fic! #didntknowhowtofinish x

“come on honey, time to go,” your boyfriend calls into the hotel room, still holding the door open for your daughter. 

lottie sargeant, every bit her dad’s lookalike, runs out, a tiny hand placed above the cap on her head to prevent it from falling. 

you stifle a laugh at her mild panic, readjusting the purse on your shoulder as you follow her out. logan closes the door behind him and holds out his arm for you to take. lottie, seeing you’re both ready to go, leads the way to the elevator, hitting the down button as if to summon it faster.

you squeeze her hand as you step in, “are you excited, lottie baby?” 

she grins up at you and nods, seemingly too happy for words.

“you’re gonna do amazing too, honey.”

logan looks up at this and shoots you a nervous smile. he’d qualified p14 the day before, a genuinely impressive result for the twisty streets of monaco. 

“all thanks to my lucky charm,” he’d said afterwards, kissing the top of lottie’s head in thanks. 

“i’ll just be happy if i can stay p14, y’know?” he says now, fidgeting with his watch, “at least it’s pretty tricky to overtake here.”

“daddy’s gonna win!” lottie, having regained the ability to speak now, wraps herself around logan’s leg, a hug of support. logan laughs at her blind faith and pats her head as he leads her out of the elevator and out to the street. 

“thank you, baby, i’m gonna try so hard just for you, yeah?” 

williams had managed to get you holed up in a hotel only a couple of blocks away from the paddocks, so you’re walking a bit slower than your family because of the heels you’re wearing, having wanted to dress up a bit for the prestigious monaco grand prix. lottie, who’s now found herself atop her dad’s shoulders, develops a system of tapping the top of his head whenever she looks back and you’re a bit too far behind for her liking, so that he stops and you get an opportunity to catch up. 

although lottie’s brilliant stratagem means you get there a few minutes later than planned, you all eventually arrive at the paddock entrance. logan puts your daughter down to grab his pass as rifle around in your purse for yours.

“lottie, have you got your paddock pass?” 

lottie reaches for her neck, only to find it empty and pass-less. 

“mummy…” her lip wobbles and her eyes turn sad as she realises what this means. 

logan stops as he’s about to scan his, already thinking of ways to get her in without a pass. she’s a kid- she’s his kid, surely it’ll be fine, right?

“oh look, darling, here it is!” you produce lottie’s pass from your bag, along with your own, and hand it to your girl on the verge of tears. instantly, she brightens and runs back over to her dad. 

relieved he doesn’t have to smuggle his own daughter in, logan lifts her up so she can tap her pass on the gate, before doing the same with his own and pushing through the turnstile. you follow suit, cringing at the photo which pops up on the display. 

just as logan hands lottie back over to you on the other side, a fan recognises him, and then another, and another. soon, logan’s being swarmed, and you’ve been pushed off to the side. lottie, to her credit, isn’t much disturbed by the sudden separation, but does cling to you tighter, probably for fear of being pushed away from her mum as well. logan’s head pops up above the sea of people, eyes searching for you and you gesture vaguely in the direction of the garage and hospitality areas when you spot each other. he sticks a thumbs up in the air before ducking back down to focus on autographing mementoes and taking selfies. 

you’re only stopped a few times on the way to hospitality, by a couple of fans who recognise you as logan’s partner, and a few photographers, looking to snap a ‘candid’ picture of the sargeant family. 

the williams team principal is engaged in a lively conversation with a few team members when you emerge on the second floor of the williams area. 

as soon as he sees you, he crosses the room for a hug, greeting you with a, “how’ve you been? it feels like it’s been ages!” 

“ah, you know, busy with this one always,” you return the hug and help lottie to stand on a chair. 

“hello lottie!” james is ecstatic to be fawning over your daughter, “don’t you look lovely today?” 

she’s dressed head to toe in williams merch, a team jersey layered over a white tutu and tiny williams-blue sneakers. her team cap is slightly askew from the journey here, but at least her pigtails seem intact for now. 

“hi grandpa james,” she reaches for him to hug her, and giggles as she’s spun around in his arms. 

“where’s logan?” james asks you, peeking over your shoulder to spot his missing driver.

“ah, we left him at the gates; i didn’t want lottie to freak out about the crowd.” 

he hums in understanding, still holding lottie. 

“it’s looking good today, you know,” he nods down to where the garage is on the floor below, “weather’s fine, car’s performing; we’ve high hopes.” 

you start to reply when he’s called over by an engineer with a clipboard. he hands lottie back to you with an apology, which you wave off. 

“come on baby, where do you wanna watch the race then?” you shift her weight into one arm as you free the other to fix her hat. 

lottie furrows her brows in deep thought, pondering your question, then points towards the balcony. 

the view from up here is incredible; you’re looking out over the pit lane and back straight of the circuit, and can see all the yachts lined up in port hercule. 

just then, lottie makes a small squeak, looking down at the pit wall. you follow her gaze down to see your partner walking over to gaëtan, greeting his engineer by dapping him up and pulling him into a hug. logan’s already dressed, wearing his fireproofs and overalls, tied at the waist. the two part and start discussing something or rather— most likely the next two hours of racing.

you know the race is supposed to start soon, but if logan’s only now saying hi to gaëtan, surely you’ve still got a little while. enough time to pop down and wish your boyfriend luck, at least. you adjust lottie in your arms again and make your way downstairs. 

logan’s no longer in the pit lane when you reach the garage, so you head towards the drivers’ rooms in the back. you go to knock on the door just as benny pushes it open on his way out. 

“oh hello!” he smiles at you as you catch the door with your foot, but his arms are full of god-knows-what training equipment, so you forego a hug and settle for returning his smile. lottie waves at him as he goes.

“baby?” you turn your attention back to the room, hoping to see logan sprawled out on his massage table, or standing in the middle of the room stretching out. instead, he’s sat on the floor, staring at his phone. 

“hey!” he gets up and takes lottie from you. she settles easily, head dropping onto his shoulder to watch her parents talk. 

“how’re you feeling now, log?” you shake your arms out- lottie’s getting so big so fast- and wrap one around logan’s waist. he rests his chin on your head, breathing in deeply and letting out a sigh. 

you stand together in silence until, “i don’t wanna disappoint the team,” he mutters into your hair eventually, “i’ve finally got a good quali position and i don’t wanna fuck it up for everyone.” 

he takes care to turn his head away from lottie as he swears; she’s at the age where she’s picking up words left and right. 

you move your head back to look at him, taking in every detail about him; the slight bags under his eyes, the freckles dotted across his face, the 5 o’clock shadow growing in. there’s a piece of hair hanging in his eyes which you brush aside as you take his face in your hand. it’s these quiet moments you really adore, where it’s just you two (and lottie) against the world. the sargeant family. even if you’re not technically a sargeant yet.

“you’re gonna do wonderfully babe,” you smile as he leans into your touch, watch as the stress in his face leaves it. standing in front of you now isn’t logan sargeant, the american who made it to f1, or logan sargeant, the other williams driver, each version of himself burdened with massive responsibilities. right now, he’s just logan, the boy you fell in love with.

 “and for what it’s worth, we’re already so proud of you, no matter how you do in the race.” 

at this, lottie perks up and reaches her hand up to logan’s face too, wanting to join in. he melts at the gesture, taking her hand in his to press a kiss to her palm. 

“that’s worth everything.” 

he sits lottie down on the massage table to kiss you properly for the first time today, arms settling around your waist. his hand drifts lower as the kisses get lazier, and soon it’s fully rested on your bum while you exchange slow, open-mouthed kisses. 

remembering where you are and your audience in the room, you pull away first, placing one more peck on logan’s lips as he pouts, wanting more.

he holds you tight as you say, “you’ve got a grand prix to race in now, handsome,” and is only incentivised to let go when you remind him how much lottie’s been looking forward to helping him get ready today. 

lottie helping her daddy get ready consists of watching him pull his race suit over his shoulders and watching you zip him up. she holds his gloves out as he slips his hands into them, and then- logan’s favourite part- gives him a good luck kiss. 

he’ll put his balaclava and helmet on just before he gets in the car, which lottie can’t help with today because you’re watching from upstairs.

“i love you, logan. race hard, yeah?” 

you kiss him one more time before you leave, relishing in the way he doesn’t want to pull away. 

“i love you too. keep your fingers crossed for me- both of you?”

lottie frowns at this; she’s not yet mastered how to cross her fingers by herself, but you laugh at her little expression and promise you’ll help her once you’re upstairs. 

pre-race rituals complete, you tug her away from daddy and return to hospitality. 

logan gets a good start when the lights go out, though a slow reaction from an aston martin ahead means he has to swerve to avoid a huge crash. he manages an overtake on kevin magnussen through the chicane, earning cheers throughout the room, and no doubt from the garage below too. 

the race ends with logan p13, but after zhou guanyu gets a 5-second penalty for leaving track limits, he finds himself in p12. 

logan’s post-race radio plays from the tv playing sky sports f1, “-good race today guys, thanks for helping me not look so bad in front of my daughter,” he laughs. 

crofty is saying something in response but lottie, already ecstatic because of the energy in the room, has stolen your attention by squirming happily in your arms as she hears her daddy talking about her on tv. you decide to take her back into the paddock so she can run around and let off some steam.

logan’s in the media pen when lottie spots him, and, full of excitement, she slides her hand out of yours and is halfway to him by the time you can react.

“-yeah, really happy,” you hear him say before he’s interrupted, “oh-? what are you doing here, baby girl?” 

he picks her up and looks around for you, smiling when he finds you.

“and who’s this gorgeous girl? is this who you were trying to impress in the car today, logan?” the interviewer- thank god- doesn’t seem annoyed by the intrusion, and instead welcomes it, holding the mic up to lottie, awaiting her answer.

“i’m lottie,” your girl says brightly, “my daddy’s the best racer in the whole world!”

logan, the interviewer, and logan’s press officer all laugh at this, while lottie smiles proudly. logan takes the opportunity to carefully adjust the williams cap on lottie’s head, which has been knocked askew from her running.

“lottie, do you want to be a racer like your dad?” 

logan angles her away from the mic before she can answer.

 “oh, let’s not get those ideas in her head yet. she’s already a handful without the stress of karting and racing right now.” 

this earns another laugh from the interviewer, thoroughly amused by father and daughter. the rest of the interview is uneventful due to lottie preoccupying herself with waving at the other drivers as they travel around the pen.

logan makes a beeline for you when he’s released. 

“hi baby,” he lets lottie down and scoops you up just as quick. 

“i’m so proud of you, log. for real.”

he says nothing, enjoying the moment, though you can feel him smile into the crook of your neck as he stays holding you up. you’re accutely aware of some people stopping around you and filming, but you’re just focussed on being with logan and lottie. your family.

[kathlare]

truth uncovered

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: Luisinha discovers a folder of intimate pictures between Lando and his ex, Amelie, shattering the trust she had in their relationship.

Wordcount: 1.6 k

Warnings: none

full masterlist // request over here!

October 12th, 2021 - London, United Kingdom

Luisinha sat at the corner of the photoshoot studio, her legs crossed and her phone in her lap. The shoot was almost over, but Lando had been distracted with the photographers and crew, so she figured now was as good a time as any to go through the photos he'd promised to send her.

He’d offered her his laptop earlier, knowing she would want to grab some pictures from their time together—she’d always liked those little snapshots of them, even if no one knew they were a thing yet. They’d been so careful, keeping their relationship under wraps while it blossomed in the shadows, and for some reason, that secrecy had made everything feel special. She hadn’t minded.

Lando’s MacBook was open on the table beside her, a couple of folders scattered on the desktop. As she clicked through a few, she smiled at the pictures, finding one of them laughing at a café in Paris, his arm slung around her shoulder as she leaned in to kiss his cheek. That had been one of her favorite memories. She sent herself the photo quickly, then moved on to another folder.

She paused when she noticed something strange. A folder named "Amor" sat next to the rest, its title in bold, curiously personal script. Luisinha didn’t think much of it at first. She figured it was just another folder of pictures Lando had taken on his travels, maybe from some fan event or another private moment. But something made her hesitate.

Her fingers moved toward it before she could stop herself. She clicked on the folder.

The first image that loaded nearly made her drop the laptop. It was a picture of Lando and Amelie, taken in what looked like a private moment—Amelie smiling, her face lit up by the soft light of a sunset, her arms around Lando. They were close, way too close for just friends. Luisinha’s stomach tightened.

She scrolled down, her breath catching in her throat with each new photo. There were dozens of them. Pictures of Amelie and Lando together, laughing, holding hands, kissing. Some were from parties, others from what looked like vacations. There were even a few that were… undeniably intimate. Pictures of them in bed, tangled together, Amelie’s head resting on Lando’s chest. Pictures of them kissing, not the casual kind, but deep, passionate kisses that left no room for doubt.

Luisinha’s mind raced. The rumors. The whispers. She’d heard them, of course. Everyone had. That Lando and Amelie had been something. But Lando had always denied it. Said they were just friends. That the fans blew everything out of proportion. And she’d believed him. She’d trusted him.

But now, staring at these images, everything she thought she knew about their relationship came crashing down. She couldn’t even process the reality of it. This wasn’t just some casual fling. This was something serious. Something that Lando had kept hidden, even from her.

Her hands shook as she scrolled through the folder, her eyes unable to look away from the evidence, the painful truth staring her right in the face. She couldn’t believe it. Why didn’t he tell me? she thought bitterly. Why did I have to find out like this?

The images kept piling up—Amelie in Lando’s arms, her laughter spilling over the photos, her face glowing with affection for him, and Lando... Lando looking at her like he loved her. The thought made Luisinha’s blood run cold.

What was she even supposed to do now?

She slammed the laptop shut, her pulse racing as the anger and betrayal swirled in her chest. The quiet of the studio suddenly felt suffocating. Her thoughts were a blur of hurt and disbelief.

When Lando returned, his expression brightening at the sight of her, it only made her feel worse. He smiled, not knowing what had just happened. Not knowing that the person sitting in front of him had just seen the intimate, private moments he’d shared with his ex—or whatever they were.

Luisinha didn’t even give him a chance to speak before she blurted out, her voice low but sharp with fury.

—What the fuck is this?— she demanded, throwing the laptop on the table between them.

Lando froze, his smile faltering as he looked at her, confusion taking over his features. —What?—

—Don’t play dumb with me, Lando.— She pointed to the closed laptop. —I saw it. I saw everything.—

His face changed then, the realization hitting him like a slap to the face. He looked down at the laptop, then back up at her, his eyes filled with guilt.

—Lu, I...—

—No.— She shook her head, standing up, her voice shaking with both anger and hurt. —Don’t you dare explain this away. All those pictures... everything, Lando? What the fuck is that?—

Lando swallowed hard, his throat dry. —It wasn’t like that.— He took a step closer to her, his hands raised in a gesture of peace. —Amelie and I... we had something, okay? But it was complicated. It wasn’t...—

—Don’t you dare fucking lie to me!— she snapped, her chest tightening. She turned away from him, pacing around the small studio space. —You told me she was just a friend. I trusted you, Lando. I believed you. And now I find out that not only were you involved with her...— she threw a hand up, voice breaking, —but you were still seeing her when we started talking. What the hell was I to you? Some fucking rebound?—

Lando’s face twisted in pain, but he didn't speak, just watched her with eyes full of regret.

—I swear, I never meant for you to find out like this. It was just...— He rubbed the back of his neck, unable to form the right words. —It wasn’t like that with Amelie. She was...—

Luisinha cut him off, her voice trembling with raw emotion. —It was like that. I saw it, Lando. I saw how you two looked at each other, the way you held her, kissed her like she was the only thing in the world. And you fucking lied to me. All this time, you lied. I... I feel so stupid.—

Lando took another step towards her, but she held out her hand, stopping him.

—Don’t. Just don’t touch me.— Her eyes were wet, and she wiped at them angrily. —You didn’t just lie to me. You lied to me about the most important thing. You’re still holding on to her. I saw it in those pictures. And now I don’t know what the hell to believe.—

The silence between them was thick and painful. Lando opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He couldn't say anything that would make this better. He couldn’t deny it, not now. Not with the proof right there.

Luisinha let out a shaky breath, backing away from him. —I can’t do this. Not right now. I need to get out of here.—

She didn’t wait for him to respond. She grabbed her bag and stormed out of the studio, ignoring Lando’s desperate calls behind her. She wasn’t going to let him play her like that, not anymore.

Her heart was pounding in her chest as she walked through the hallway, feeling the weight of the betrayal sinking deep into her bones. How could I have been so blind? she thought. How could I have trusted him?

And as she stepped out into the London streets, she felt the sharp sting of heartbreak, realizing that everything she had believed—everything she had thought she knew about her relationship with Lando—was a lie.

She didn't know what was worse: the fact that Lando had lied to her, or the fact that she had let herself believe in something that wasn’t real.

[lolathestoryteller]

a boggart in the attic (April 14th; Ridiculous) @jilymicrofics

„Mum?“ James asks, somewhat nervously, as he walks up to his Mother in the sitting room. „Where d’you keep the old photographs, you know, of when I was a kid?“

Euphemia Potter smiles knowingly, placing her book aside to grant her son her full attention. „She finally got you to agree to show them to her then?“ she teases, all too delighted by James‘ girlfriend, whom he’s been talking about constantly since last summer.

James scratches the back of his neck, blushing ever so slightly. „I promised to send one with my next letter…“

„I see,“ Euphemia replies, trying her best not to chuckle at his love struck expression. „They’re up in the attic, I think. Oh, but be careful, dear, if I remember correctly, there’s still a boggart hiding up there somewhere.“

At that, James’ expression unexpectedly brightens. „A boggart?“ he asks, already taking his wand from his jeans pocket.

Euphemia raises a brow at the, in her opinion, rather misplaced excitement. „You’re happy there’s a boggart in the attic?“ she asks doubtfully.

„Yeah, it’s great practice!“ James hollers back, already half way up the stairs.

He rummages through the many, many shelves and boxes for a while, before finally, he notices how his Dad‘s old wooden desk, cramped into a corner, suddenly rattles. „Ah…there you are!“

He raises his wand right at the desk, saying clearly: „Alohomora.“

The box opens at once, a barely visible shadow escaping from its confides.

James readies his wand once again, preparing himself to face Voldemort and turn him into a clown, or maybe rather an old granddad? — but then, for the first time since fifth year, when his biggest fear had changed from snakes to Voldemort (not that much of a change, in his opinion) it isn’t Voldemort‘s pale face or red eyes that he sees…

„No…no, no…“ he whispers frantically, his wand cluttering to the floor as he stares at the body lying there in front of him. „Lily!“ he dives down, kneeling to take her into his arms, her bright green eyes dull and empty. „Lily! No! Lily…wake up, come on…wake up!“ he‘s crying, his entire world shrinking down to the feeling of her, cold and motionless in his arms.

He feels like he’s suffocating. „Lil, please…please…“

He doesn’t hear the footsteps that thump up the stairs, nor does he feel the hands that try to pull him away— away from Lily. He’ll never let go of her. „No! Don’t touch me! Don’t—“

„James! It’s just a boggart!“ he can hear his Mother‘s voice, albeit faintly, like she’s miles away…but he remembers. The boggart.

Though, before he can even look around for his wand, his Mother stands before him protectively, raising her own wand to the changing image which settles, just for a split second, to one of himself — lying there where Lily‘d been.

„Ridikulus!“

[fortune-fool02]

In Her Grasp

Leon Kennedy x Serial killer female reader

Summary: The rookie policeman finds himself in the claws of a notorious serial killer. 

Warning: Angst. Blood. Kidnapping. Dark themes. Torture. Serial killer themes. 

Word count: 2,373

Thank you for reading this. I've been planning this for a bit now and wanted to write something angsty for this baby boy. Please leave feedback and reblog as it really helps and is very appreciated. Thank you. 

Please enjoy. 

The door opened and [Name] stepped into the house, softly humming as she closed the door behind her and took her shoes and jacket off, setting them aside. She carried the bags into the kitchen, setting them aside and pulling out the contents she had purchased. A visit to the D.I.Y shop had given her some rope, thick, black cloth and some other bits and pieces. 

After putting away her shopping, she gathered the rope and cloth, heading towards the cellar door. Darkness completely encased the cellar, making the steps leading down to it appear to vanish beyond the first two. Unfazed, she continued down them, flicking a light switch at the base of them. A weak flicker sparked, casting a small pale yellow light out, doing little to brighten the room. Her guest remained secured to his seat. The man was stripped of his clothing, rope tied securely around his ankles and wrists, binding them together to prevent any attempt of escape. Noise-cancelling headphones over his ears with thick cloth around his eyes, blocking out his vision and hearing. 

He was no one. Someone she picked up a few days ago and had been keeping him here since. Walking over, she stood in front of him and looked at him. Black and blue blotches covered his skin, the hard strike of a bat or metal pole leaving their mark. The rope burns gnawing away at his wrists and ankles, an ugly red raw against his skin. She had her fun with him before, hearing him cry out and beg for forgiveness for something he hadn’t even done. Hell, she didn’t even know the man’s name. There was truly nothing personal about this. He was just there at the wrong time. 

Moving around the other side of the chair, she held up the piece of rope in one hand and used another to drag a stool over, securing the rope to a hook in the ceiling. Giving it a firm tug, she was satisfied with its security before using the other side of it to wrap around the man’s neck, feeling him whimpering behind the gag in his mouth. Once it was on, she tied the other side of the rope to a heavy weight on the table before pushing it off, letting it fall to the floor. The man was lifted up into the air and held there, pained gasps and cries were cut off by the rope. [Name] just stood there and watched his legs try and kick around for a few minutes before his body went still. Pulling on some disposable gloves, she walked over and pulled the cloth off his eyes to confirm he was dead, a small smile tugging her lips at the sight of his hollow, empty eyes. 

A sense of fulfilment flooded her body, a comforting sensation that made the smile on her lips grow more. She savoured it for a bit longer, looking into those empty eyes, imagining how they must have looked in their final moments of light as the life slowly faded from them. Regardless, she turned herself away, her attention now on a new prey, a new target. A photograph was pinned on the wall, those sweet, baby blue eyes staring at the camera with such vibrant light with the shadows casting due to his hair. The policeman uniform peaking just above the bottom edge. The rookie policeman at R.C.P.D. At the bottom of the picture was a name: 

‘Leon. S. Kennedy’ 

Her latest target. It had been chance that they had crossed paths, a man had tried to mug her in the street and he swooped in to her aid. Something about him had made her whole world freeze in place, like the frozen film of a camera. A streak of vibrant colour in her bleak, bland world. From that moment on, Leon was the only thing in her mind, haunting her thoughts like a siren’s song. Any other target was nothing to her anymore, very little enjoyment pulled from their time together. None of them had that look in their eyes like Leon did. That sweet little glimmer, a twinkling star in his eyes. 

There was something about him being a policeman that made the whole ordeal that more enticing. A man in uniform, ready to serve and protect innocents from people like her, and yet, he was oblivious to the threat that stood in front of him. The fly gazing at the spider, falling deeper and deeper into her web.

[Name] disposed of the body, wiping everything down and scrubbing it clean to ensure there was nothing left behind. Nothing of that boring thing's presence as even an indication he even existed. Once done, she picked up her phone and dialled the number Leon had given her.

Her voice soft and sweet as honey as she spoke to him, wishing to speak to him in person to discuss something of importance before hanging up the phone. Grabbing her bag, she headed out. 

- 

Leon sat in his car, looking down at his phone, reading over the text messages. This was the spot [Name] told him to meet her at. The street was quiet, especially at this time of night. A knot of worry irritated his stomach, [Name] wouldn’t say what was wrong, just that they needed to meet in person and it was important. He was off duty so he made his way over as soon as he could. 

His window was rolled down, allowing the night’s cool breeze to brush through his hair, past his cheeks with a gentle touch as his eyes scanned around again for the [Hair colour] woman. He brought his phone back up, his fingers moving along the screen as he sent her a text message and sent it off. A ping behind him drew his attention, the sudden feeling of cloth shoved in his face brought a pang of concern and worry. The grip held the cloth firmly in place while the other hand latched onto his arm, keeping it down as the chemicals entered his system. 

Muffled cries and yells soon grew quieter, his attempts at fighting slowing as his muscles grew heavy, his vision swimming a little before encasing in darkness. 

When he awoke, his head ached. A pounding in rhythm of his heartbeat that made the back of his eyes hurt. He turned his head, trying to bring his hand up to his eyes but found it held firmly in place. The rough texture of rope chewing into his wrists, panic shot through him, forcing the drowsiness away as he took in his surroundings. Darkness filled every corner, making it difficult to make anything out. His clothing had been stripped away, leaving nothing but his underwear, as was his handgun he kept on him at all times. The coldness seeped into his skin, raising goosebumps along his skin. 

He couldn’t panic now. He had to think and try to figure out how to escape. The rope was secured tightly, restricting movement. Faint, light taps could be heard above his head, settled in a steady rhythm. Footsteps. Followed by a click of a lock before the door opened, the footsteps making their way downstairs. A light was turned on, casting a weak light around him. 

“...[Name]?” Confusion was thick on his voice, his eyes locked on the woman. What was going on? 

“Oh, I thought you’d still be asleep.” Her voice held that sweetness to it, the same sweetness that Leon has ever known from her since the moment he met her. She passed by him, setting a bag down somewhere behind him. Leon tried to follow her but he couldn’t turn his head far enough. 

“What’s going on, [Name]? Let me go!” He demanded, trying to keep his voice firm but those little cracks in it gave him away. He felt vulnerable. Weak. He couldn't escape these binds, he couldn't defend himself. Left at the mercy of the woman with the sweet smile.

"I can't do that, even if I wanted to, Leon." She moved around, settling back in his line of sight. A chair scrapped across the floor and she seated herself directly across from him. Their knees touching. There was something unsettling in those pretty eyes of hers, as if he was gazing into the eyes of a viper ready to strike. Dread coiled in his stomach.

"You see, for a policeman, I was kinda expecting you to put up a little more of a fight. Or at least have been more alert, especially when there's a serial killer on the loose." [Name] lightly scolded, as if talking to a child who was misbehaving and being reckless. "But I can't blame you. You're the new rookie. Things like this don't happen to the rookies, eh?"

Leon tried to keep his breathing steady, gripping his bindings a little as he tried to assess the situation and tore his eyes away from her, tried to think of an escape. Something metal flashed in the low light, and he felt the cold kiss of a steel blade under his chin, tilting his head up lightly. "Don't look away from me, Kennedy." Her voice, just like her eyes, held a venom to them that was sharper than this knife under his chin.

"[Name], please. You need help-" The tip of the knife pressed itself into his skin, just enough to draw a single droplet of blood, a stinging sensation followed.

"I've been told I've needed help my entire life." She slowly pulled the knife away from him, her eyes not once moving off of him, "This, all of this, helps me." Her other hand rested on his knee and she leaned close to him. He could feel her warm breath against his lips. She brought the blade to her open lips, gently smearing the droplet of blood on her lips like it was lip-gloss before grabbing a fist full of his hair, yanking his head closer and pressing her lips onto his.

A surprised sound spilled his lips, the taste of his blood on her soft lips, lips he had dreamed about kissing time and time before, but not like this. [Name] held him there for a few seconds, savouring his lips before pulling away with a smile.

"If you behave, like a good boy, then this won't be as unpleasant as I can make it." Beneath that soft, honey-laced tone, beneath those twinkling eyes, there was a threat there. A promise of danger if he doesn't listen to her. A mouse trapped in the claws of a cat.

-

Despite his best efforts to keep track of time, it was hard to do so in this cellar. [Name] had set this little routine of sorts. Whenever she would leave him, she would cover his eyes with a blindfold, and cover his ears with headphones that played different music, music that he loved, all of his favourite songs, at a comfortable audio. All the times they had hung out together, all those moments they shared, she had been learning about him, studying him, picking out information to use in her favour.

But this time, [Name] had something else in mind for him. Leon had attempted to try and escape while she had been "gone". He had gotten free of his restraints, he had made it up the stairs and out the front door, only to find the woman herself sitting on her porch right outside the front door. She had been waiting for him to try and escape. She knew he would try to escape. And the second her eyes met his, and he saw that disappointed look in them, he felt his blood run cold.

Now, Leon was back in the cellar, his body secured so he was laid bare before her on the cold, stone floor. His wrists and ankles tied to prevent any form of movement, any form of resistance was impossible.

"You know, I really didn't want to do this to you, Leon." [Name] spoke, her back facing him as she set something up on the desk across from him. In her hand, she held an old leather belt with a large, metal buckle at the end. Her hand motioned to the clock she had set up. An old pendulum clock. Confusion chewed at him at the sight of the clock.

"Every sixth tick from the pendulum, I am going to hit you with this belt. Every seventh tick, I am going to kiss you." She explained calmly to him, her fingers gently brushing strands of his hair from his face, she wanted to see his expression as she did this.

With that, she pressed the key on the back of the clock and allowed the pendulum to begin swinging.

"Wait, [Name], I-I didn't-" Before Leon could finish his sentence, a piercing snap of leather filled the room, followed by a burning, biting pain in his side from the belt buckle. A pained cry ripped from his throat as his body tensed, the pain throbbing in his side. But not a moment later, her lips were on his cheek in a gentle, almost loving kiss. The two opposite interactions conflicted with one another. Her loving kiss on his cheek was warm compared to the cold bite of the belt buckle. Each time it struck his flesh, her lips were on his skin without fail.

Six strikes. Six kisses passed before the pendulum's dreaded ticking finally fell silent. [Name] setting the belt down beside the clock and moving over to Leon's side, her hands gently on his skin as she stroked his cheek, smiling at him.

"See? If you behave, I won't have to do this. I don't want to hurt you, Leon. So please don't make me, baby." [Name] leaned down and kissed his lips, humming softly as he tried to pull away from her. He only looked at her, his eyes filled with a mixed concoction of fear and unease at her.

She loved that look, but she wanted to see something else in those pretty eyes of his.

"Don't worry, baby." She smiled at him, "You'll learn to come around. Then we can be happy together."

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

𓅨 Shifting Wings: Chapter Fifteen

Shifting Wings: Before the Raven Matthew, there was Jessamy, and Jessamy came with a little sister by the name of Adrienne. Dream adores his two little Ravens, but after over a hundred years of imprisonment and the death of Jessamy, Dream will find that he has not just lost his companion, but his beloved little Raven Adrienne no longer brightens the halls of his Palace. None of his staff wish to speak of where the Raven has gone, but the silent new resident of the palace is cause for question. After all, she was the one who aided in his release. If none of his subjects would help him find Adrienne, perhaps she could lead him to the whereabouts of the missing Raven. If only the woman wasn’t so flighty and hard to track down.

Warnings: Explicit Language, Explicit Material (Unprotected Sex is a No No), You Get ONE Happy Chapter!

To Note: Morpheus/Dream x FemaleRaven!Reader, NAMED Reader (I like the name).

Word Count: ~2.4k

Previous | Masterlist

“I’ve got ‘em, Luce,” You called as you picked up the books that had appeared on the shelving bookshelf, newly written. Lucienne leaned over the railing of the second floor, her brow furrowed.

“That is not your duty, Adrienne,” Holding the books against your chest, you looked up at the librarian with a raised brow.

“I didn’t say it was,” You replied before pointing out the obvious. “But you are swamped and I’ve nothing to do so don’t argue with me.” Lucienne wanted to glare at you as you moved towards the shelves, but she couldn’t argue with that fact.

“If Lord Morpheus catches you…”

“Lord Morpheus is far too busy to be constantly watching me,” You cut her off while sliding a book into place. “And should it come to that, I will handle it.”

“He may be busy but he shall never be so busy that he does not have the time to check on you,” Lucienne warned before shuffling away. You turned back to the shelves and put the rest of the books in your arms, away. Ultimately, you found yourself wandering the halls of the palace, enjoying seeing the many dreamers that now frequented the realm. You preferred it to be more lively for you knew that it pleased Morpheus to see his realm filled once again.

There were a group of dreamers wandering through the open parts of the palace, guided by Pācātus, the dream of calm and peacefulness. Of course they weren’t explicitly supposed to follow her, for the Dreaming was a place to dream not be hindered by walls. Occasionally some broke away to inspect places of the palace closer, like the ballroom, or the billiards room, even the music room was a popular gathering place. Hands behind your back, you wandered yourself, admiring the many murals painted upon the ceiling.

You probably ought to spent a week just walking the halls, seeing all of the murals that decorated both walls and ceilings… but even then it wouldn’t be enough time to full enjoy the place you lived within.

“You like art too?” Upon hearing a voice beside you, you turned your head to see a dreamer admiring the artwork. You smiled pleasantly.

“Very much so, I consider it my profession,” The dreamer raised his eyebrow at your words and his own smile widened. “I haven’t painted murals like this,” You continued, turning your eyes back to the artwork high above. “But I love to draw and paint.”

“Is that why you are here and not with the tour group?” The dreamer asked, taking a step closer. “I mean the dream leading it seems really knowledgable and how often do you get to visit a place like this?”

“I’m not one to follow the predetermined path,” You answered, turning in place to face him. “Do you enjoy the pencil and brush as well? Or do you prefer to appreciate?”

“I’m a photographer,” The dreamer explained to you, he flashed you another charming smile. “I do a lot of portraits and I can say that you are a very photogenic woman,”

“Am I?” You blinked and considered his words. “I do not think I have ever had my picture taken, let alone had a portrait made.”

“Well that’s a shame, you are such a beautiful woman.” You opened your mouth to thank him for his compliment, when someone called your name, your other name.

“Corvus,” Your head snapped around to see Morpheus brooding at the other end of the room. He was glowering, you could see that. He had also called you Corvus. He only did that for official business and even then it was never to you, always in reference. “Come, we have work to do.” Had you forgotten a meeting or talk with him? What had sullied his mood? You couldn’t remember and looked back to the dreamer with an apologetic smile.

“Apologies, but I must return to my duties, please enjoy the rest of your stay within our realm,” You were walking past the dreamer towards Morpheus, unable to see the shock and disappointment on the dreamers face. When you reached Morpheus, he took your elbow and was promptly striding away, pulling you along. Morpheus’s pace was fast, his long legs taking great strides while you scrambled to catch up. “Morpheus?” You asked, panicking that you had forgotten something important with the way he was dragging you along. “Morpheus did I forget—”

You were spun in dizzying circle while ushered into an alcove. Just as your back hit the wall, Morpheus cupped the side of your face and loomed over you, pressing his lips against your own. He kissed you with ferocious passion, highlighted by a touch of possession for he had not liked the sight of a dreamer flirting with you. You were his consort, not that dreamer’s. So the Endless kissed you, licked at your lips with his devilish tongue until you parted them with a soft sigh and then took more.

You whimpered softly when his tongue tangled with yours and lifted yourself onto your toes. Your hands slipped over his shoulders and pulled Morpheus closer to your body, and the Endless fed off it. Morpheus clutched you closer, his free hand wandering over your sculpted body and devouring what he found there. Breaking the tongue lock, Morpheus kissed you again and again, ravaging your lips until they stung and you were gasping. Melting against him.

“You are my consort,” He growled against your lips, his breaths heavy and thick. You shuddered and raised a hand to slip your fingers into midnight strands. He kissed you once more, this time pressing so close your faces were touching. “And I should make you my queen so that all dreamers know the you are not available.” Oh, oh my. Now you understood what had gotten into him. Stroking your fingers through Morpheus’s hair, you pushed back against his rabid kisses. You flicked your tongue along his lips, enjoying the way Morpheus’s grasp upon your body tightened, and then slipped your tongue across his once more. You really could never get enough of his cosmic taste. Several more moments of fevered kisses passed before Morpheus pulled back, resting his forehead on yours and brushing his fingers down your cheek. “I am going to make you my queen, Adrienne, tomorrow if it means that every dreamer knows you are mine.”

You blinked and tilted your head back to look in his eyes.

“Morpheus, I am sure that is not necessary…” You soothed, running your fingers further through his hair and nuzzling your face against his. Your physical touch always seemed to calm him down. “The dreamers are fleeting and ignorant, take no mind to their whims.”

“Their whims should not involve you, beloved,” Morpheus answered you, soaking in the heat from your lips and face. He wanted more. He wanted so much more and he could have it. You didn’t gasp or blink when Morpheus plucked your feet from the floor, you didn’t mind when sand wove around your body and the alcove disappeared. You definitely didn’t complain when you and Morpheus appeared in your bedroom and you were deposited onto your bed. Morpheus loomed over you, framing you in while his lips carved lines of tingles along your shoulder and neck.

“You know I am only yours,” You whispered, sliding your fingers over Morpheus’s shoulders and up his neck. Turning your head, you kissed his hair. “Did you not form me for you?” A rumble sounded from Morpheus, one caught between satisfaction and yearning. “Your dream of ravens. Your Corvus.”

“I wish for all who sets their gaze upon you to instantly know that you are mine,” He added, teeth tugging at the neckline of your waistcoat, then to your button down. You were always dressed impeccably, there was no denying that, but at the moment? Your clothes were a hinderance. So he got rid of them without a second thought. Morpheus pressed his mouth against your neck, kissing your skin and running his teeth at the point where your pulse of life fluttered.

Moaning sweetly, one of your hands departed onyx locks to drag down Morpheus’s neck. The Endless shivered beneath your touch, raspily groaning beneath your barely there touch. Morpheus had an infinite amount of patience, but not when it came to you. While his hands wandered your body with an increased fervor, teeth scraped up your neck. Morpheus returned his lips to yours. He kissed you hungrily, body draping along yours as remaining fabric separating your bodies disappeared.

Morpheus held your jaw and kissed you repeatedly for a few seconds more, slowly, deeply, making sure that his tongue was as tangled with yours as possible. Your fingertips trickled down his back, tracing the beautiful lines before you sank your nails into his flesh and breathlessly whined. You could only take him kissing you like this for a little while before needed more.

“Morpheus,” You whined, squirming beneath him and scratching further at his skin. Your Endless lover dragged his tongue across your lip and kissed you deeply once more before pulling back to look in your eyes. You gave him a pleading look and tugged on his hair. “Please don’t tease me, not this day,” You whimpered, feeling his beautifully sculpted body pressing against yours. Morpheus nuzzled your face and brushed his lips back over yours.

“Do not despair, my dream, for I do not intend to keep you at my mercy,” Morpheus purred, running a hand down your side and appreciating your gentle curves. That devilish touch didn’t stop until your legs were pushed apart, and even then, as Morpheus slid his cock into your eagerly waiting body, his touch was quick to return to your stomach. He could feel the way you trembled, lavished in your breathy sounds, and thoroughly enjoyed the way you twisted beneath him for more.

“Morpheus, my love,” You gasped out when he pressed the length of his body against yours. You could feel every inch of his length within you, feel every hardened muscle and tendon that was draped along your softer body. Your walls clenched around Morpheus’s cock and he angled your face so he was looking in your eyes once more.

“Are you really that hungry for me, my dream?” He questioned softly. You opened your mouth to reply but midway through your first syllable, Morpheus drew his hips back and sank back into your hot cunt. A strained gurgle departed your lips while you dug the nails of your left hand into his back. He nuzzled your face and brushed his lips against yours. “Hmm? Use your words, beloved,” You wanted to. Oh how you wanted to, but every time you tried he just thrust back into your body and stole your breath and sound. That made the Endless very happy, for his smirk widened every time you whimpered or squeaked when his hips met yours. He liked the feeling your pelvis rubbing against his, the more skin the better.

It was a particular vice of his to feel your arousal slipping from your body and smearing against his skin when he ground his hips against yours. Feel the way you slowly writhed and clung closer each and every time Morpheus’s cock slipped through your clenching walls to bury so deeply you would feel him for days. Morpheus was obsessed with you, obsessed with your touch, with your love, and his being ached with how much he felt for you. You cried out once more, your body clenching around the cock that somehow managed hit the perfect spot every time Morpheus thrust into your body. The pleasure building within your body was getting to be too much, that you knew. Morpheus pressed his lips against the skin beneath your ear.

“Tell me, my dream,” He rasped, urging you, pushing you towards ecstasy in a way that left your nails raking harshly across his back. “Tell me, beloved, how much do you need me?” You gasped and clenched your legs around him, digging fingers into his flesh, bucking your hips into the ones crashing against your own. “Tell me.”

“Ravenous,” You finally managed to wail, twisting your face so your own as near his. You had tears of frustration within your eyes because as much as you wanted to feel the high of an orgasm, your dark and dangerous lover was keeping you at the brink and not allowing you to fall. “I. Am. Ravenous!”  Entirely pleased with your wails, Morpheus kissed your lips and pushed you over the edge.

Head falling back, your entire body convulsed for a few seconds, tremoring and shaking as you came harshly around Morpheus’s cock. The high and pleasure rushing through your veins had such a grip on your body you could barely feel Morpheus continuing to fuck you, eyes glowing as he finally chased after his own pleasure. He spilled his seed into your body, shuddering and clutching you close to him when you whimpered and twitched, your body going slack beneath him. Morpheus allowed himself the pleasure to half lay on you, using your soft body as a place of comfort.

“I do not believe Abel will forgive us if we elope.” You spoke softly, slowly coming down from the high of pleasure and ecstasy. Your fingers returned to dark strands and you stroked Morpheus’s hair “And Matthew said he wants to be a bridesman, but I do not know what that means…”

“It is tempting thought.” Morpheus mused, nuzzling his face into your neck. “But you are right, beloved, many of our people would not be happy if we did so.”

“So what shall we do then?” You asked, wondering what to do about this predicament… because the longer you remained unmarried, the higher the chance there was of Morpheus taking off with you to elope.

“First thing tomorrow I shall convene with Lucienne and Mervyn to discuss planning our wedding, beloved,” Morpheus murmured, kissing your neck. You smiled and stroked his scalp, holding him close and resting your cheek against the top of his head. “We shall be joined within Fiddler’s Green, at the lavender grove, surrounded by our people and family.”

Your heart squeezed in your chest. Jessamy’s remains were buried in the lavender grove. You would be getting married with your sister at your side. Tears prickled at the edges of yours, tears of both sadness and happiness. Jessamy would never truly be gone, for she would live on in the heart of The Dreaming.

“That sounds perfect, my Dream.” You whispered, finally at peace with your sisters passing.

Date Published: 8/9/23

Last Edit: 8/9/23

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