#ATS TRAFFIC counting

[iydiamartinx]

THIS MEANS WAR I

Dick Grayson x Reader x Jason Todd

divider by: @cafekitsune & @thecutestgrotto word count: 3.6k synopsis: Gotham’s youngest neuroscience lecturer never planned to get tangled up with two of its most eligible bachelors. Both are determined to win her over—without revealing they know each other… or that they’re vigilantes. But when the Joker takes an interest in her, things get a whole lot more complicated. a/n: This story is inspired by the 2012 movie This Means War. I went back and forth on whether to write it with a named OC or in reader format—and ultimately decided to try something new and go with reader-insert. I usually write in third person with original characters, so this is a bit of a different style for me. As for who the reader ends up with… I haven’t made a final decision yet—maybe one of them, maybe both. Feel free to let me know who you’re rooting for! Hope you enjoy the chaos! warnings: None so far except for the fact that I don't know anything about neuroscience only what my research brings up, so I'm praying the shit I write makes sense

GOTHAM UNIVERSITY 

The lecture hall smelled like old paper and burnt coffee. You stood at the front, spine straight despite the fatigue threading through your muscles. Behind you, the whiteboard was half-covered in scrawls of chemical structures and dopamine pathways, neatly drawn and precisely labeled. It was the kind of lecture that left half the room wide-eyed with curiosity… and the other half silently praying for mercy.

With a quiet click, you capped your marker and continued. “Neurotransmitter binding is not a one-size-fits-all process,” you said, voice steady as your gaze swept across rows of glazed eyes and frantic scribbles. “It’s dynamic. It’s reactive. It’s shaped by genetics, trauma, medication—even what you ate for breakfast.”

A hand shot up in the second row.

“So… like, can serotonin make you hallucinate?”

You blinked. “No. And if it does, someone’s given you something else—and you should go to the ER. Immediately.”

A ripple of laughter. A few groans.

Another hand rose—this one from a sharp-eyed girl near the back. “In Joker toxin exposure cases, have you ever seen synthetic mimicry of dopamine flood patterns?”

Now that was a question worth respecting.

You’d specialized in Joker toxin during your postgraduate years, had seen firsthand the neurological carnage it left behind. The clown was a madman no doubt—but a dangerously brilliant madman.

Your mouth tugged into a faint smirk. “Yes. And no. But that’s a topic for next week.”

The clock ticked toward the hour. You fielded three more questions—one insightful, two exhausting—before dismissing the class. 

Backpacks zipped. Conversations stirred. As the last student filed out, you finally exhaled. Slowly. The silence was a relief.

Rolling your shoulders, you gathered your coat and bag, the weariness catching up to you in waves as you made your way toward the door—hungry, tired, and vaguely craving something that didn’t taste like caffeine or sugary energy drinks.

Gotham’s streets buzzed with their usual chaos—honking cabs, barking vendors, motorcycles weaving between traffic like they were flirting with death. You walked with familiar ease, the city noise fading beneath the throb behind your eyes and the pressure at the back of your skull.

Your hand drifted up to your bun. It had been tightly wound since six in the morning, and now it felt like a migraine on a countdown. Mercifully, you didn’t have to be in the lab today—no microscopes, no sterile gloves, no post-doc breathing down your neck. Just freedom. Glorious, unwashed, unbothered freedom.

So you didn’t hesitate. One by one, you tugged the pins from your hair, each metallic clink falling into your coat pocket like a tiny rebellion. The strands spilled down, wild and full of indents, but you didn’t care. You tipped your head back, rubbed at your aching scalp with slow, tender fingers, and sighed like you’d been holding your breath all day.

You looked like hell. You felt like hell. But you were done. No lectures. No lab reports. Your appearance be damned you just wanted to spend the rest of the day in comfort. 

Your boots clicked along the sidewalk as you headed toward Café Nero, already imagining the warmth of a latte in your hands—despite your earlier claim about cutting back on caffeine. A lie, obviously. Caffeine was practically your lifeblood— and something carby in your mouth.

But the universe had other plans.

You turned the corner—and nearly collided headfirst with a ghost.

Jake.

Three years of your life bundled into one name, one face. One half-curved smile that looked exactly like it used to and somehow worse now that it was being directed at someone else.

Three years of your life compressed into one name. One face. One irritatingly familiar smirk. His arm was around a tall blonde, her smile radiant and far too trusting. He wore the same smug charm he always had as he said something that had her giggling. 

He noticed you first.

“Hey!” he said, voice way too bright. “Y/N. Wow. You look…” his eyes flicked over your rumpled sweater, your wild hair, “…great. Still at the university? Tinkering away in your little lab?”

You straightened instinctively, spine snapping to attention like your body was trying to make up for the indignity of the moment. Of all the days to run into him.

“I am,” you replied, polite but clipped.

Three years together, and he still couldn’t grasp the importance of your work—or the lives it affected. Your research had been groundbreaking, and he’d always referred to it like you were tinkering with science fair projects.

The blonde leaned into his side with a warm smile. “You didn’t tell me your ex was brilliant and pretty.”

You wanted to hate her. Truly, you did. But unfortunately… she actually seemed sweet.

He laughed. “I forget sometimes.” Then turned back to you with that same infuriatingly casual smirk. “Oh—uh, Y/N, this is my fiancée, Hannah.”

The word hit like a slap.

Fiancée.

Only a year ago, you’d walked in on him and his yoga instructor, limbs tangled and guilt nowhere in sight. He’d thrown away three years with you like it was nothing—and now, not even twelve months later, he’d found someone new and locked her down with a ring so big it probably needed its own insurance policy.

You managed a smile. A real one, for her sake. Sort of. “It’s nice to meet you.” Your eyes dropped to the large, glittering ring on her hand.

“Wow,” you said with a tight smile. “That’s… that’s a big rock.” You let out an awkward laugh, trying muster the slightest bit of enthusiasm you definitely weren’t feeling on the inside. “You’re engaged. To be married.”

Jake grinned. “Yeah. Things just… clicked. It was like fate.” Then he reached out and stroked her cheek with the kind of performative tenderness that made your stomach churn. 

God. How had you ever loved this man?

“Isn’t that right, baby?” he murmured.

Someone gag you with a spoon.

You stood there, frozen in place, as Jake pulled Hannah in for a kiss—deep as if he was trying to fit his entire tongue down her throat. Screw you, you thought. Screw you for rubbing her in my face.

You cleared your throat, the sound awkward and a little too loud. “Well, I should get going,” you began—except your mouth didn’t stop there.

Your brain screamed abort, but your tongue had other plans.

“I actually have to go meet my guy. Yeah, he’s a neuroscientist too. We, uh… met at work.” You nodded like that somehow made it more convincing. “Anyway…”

You cleared your throat again, silently begging yourself to shut up.

“It was… great seeing you. And congrats. On the ring. The upcoming wedding. Your whole… life. All of it.” You winced inwardly. “Well… Peace.”

And if that wasn’t humiliating enough, you topped it off by flashing a peace sign like some glitching robot before turning and briskly walking away.

The second you were out of sight, your smile collapsed. You pressed your lips together, debating whether to scream into the sky or crawl into the nearest sewer.

“Someone kill me right now,” you muttered under your breath.

CAFÉ NERO

You finally made it to the café, and with it, your mortification began to loosen its grip. The familiar scent of roasted beans and fresh pastries wrapped around you like a warm blanket, softening the sting of everything that had come before.

Inside, it was calm—the gentle hiss of the espresso machine, the clink of ceramic, the low murmur of scattered conversations. A peaceful hum that felt like the complete opposite of Jake and his nauseating tongue display.

You slipped into your usual seat at the counter, letting your bag slump to the floor, and leaned against the worn wood like it might hold you up a little longer.

“Ah! Doctora!” Juan greeted you with a bright smile from behind the bar.

He was a sweet kid—maybe nineteen—who’d moved to Gotham from Mexico about six months ago. His English was improving steadily, though every now and then he’d still stumble over a few words. You’d quietly helped where you could. While he knew your name, he aways insisted on calling you Doctora like it was your superhero title. 

You snorted at the thought. You, a superhero? You couldn’t even save yourself from an awkward conversation with your ex.

“The usual?” he asked, already reaching for your cup.

“Si, please,” you nodded.

He glanced up with a curious smile. “Long day?”

You let out a soft groan, dropping your face into your hands. “You have no idea.”

The door chimed behind you, but you didn’t bother looking up. Not until you felt someone hovering a little too close to the seat beside you. 

You prayed your luck wasn’t that shitty.

But of course, it was.

Jake’s familiar chuckle slid into your ears like nails on glass. You closed your eyes for half a second, steeling yourself, before slowly peeling your face from your hands.

“This is too funny,” he said with a grin. “What a coincidence.”

“Right! Absolutely hilarious,” you replied, forcing a smile that you hoped didn’t look as fake as it felt as you saw Jake and Hannah standing there.

“I’m assuming this is your boyfriend’s seat?” Jake asked, eyes glinting with amusement.

“Oh, ye—”

Before you could finish, Juan slid your drink across the counter, cheerful as ever.

“No, Doctora,” he said, accent warm, words slightly clipped at the edges. “Order for one. Always order for one. Seat is free.”

You nearly choked on air.

Hannah giggled while Jake said nothing. Just raised his eyebrows slightly, in that smug little way he used to do when he thought he’d won something.

God, you wanted the ground to swallow you whole.

You smiled tightly. “It is. I’m meeting him back at work. Just stopped in quick. Juan, I thought I said I needed this to-go?”

Juan frowned, brows pinching together. “Mmm… no, I don’ think so. You say you finish work. You always sit here, like always.”

“Not this time,” you said—too sharp, too fast.

Juan’s face fell a little. Guilt bloomed in your chest like a bruise, he didn’t deserve that. It was your own damn fault for digging the hole in you were now.

You sighed, softer this time. “Lo siento, Juan. Can you make it to-go, please?”

He nodded, already reaching for the paper cup and bag.

You turned back to Jake with a forced laugh. “Seat’s all yours.”

The second Juan handed you the new cup and pastry bag, you thanked him quietly, paid, and practically sprinted for the door—mortified, humiliated, and more than ready to go home and bury yourself under ten layers of shame.

MILO & ANTHONY’S APARTMENT

“Ugh! I wanted to die right then and there,” you groaned, collapsing dramatically onto Milo and Anthony’s couch, a glass of wine already halfway gone. Their apartment was across from yours, and you’d made a beeline for it the second you got home, desperate to drink your embarrassment into submission. “I fucking peaced them.”

Anthony winced. “Yeah, that’s… pretty bad.”

“That’s because you need to go out more,” Milo said, waving his wine glass like a pointer. “Meet someone. Rub him all over Jake’s face like a human flex—same way he’s doing with that girl, Hayley.”

“Hannah,” you corrected automatically. “And she seemed sweet.”

“She could be as sweet as cotton candy dipped in honey and I still wouldn’t give a shit,” Milo snapped. “I give a shit about you. And you cannot keep letting that asshole rent space in your head.”

You opened your mouth, but Milo steamrolled right over you.

“Fine if you’re not ready for anything serious, but girl—you need to go out and get some good dick. That pussy is drier than the Sahara.”

You choked on your wine. “Hey! I get some!”

Milo deadpanned you. “Your vibrator doesn’t count. Honestly, it should start charging you. Thing looks like it’s about to file for workers’ comp.”

You blinked. “Have you been going through my drawers again?!”

He shrugged without shame. “I was looking for your face cream.”

“And you thought I keep that in my underwear drawer?” 

“Look, the point is,” he said, sitting forward, “you need to go out. Date. Even just a casual thing. I hate seeing you mope over that troll.”

“I’m not moping,” you muttered.

Anthony gave you a soft smile—too kind for this earth. “We’re just worried about you. And hey, for the record, we’re glad you moved here. You’re part of our chaos now.”

You exhaled, guilt and warmth stirring in your chest. “I know. It’s just… I can’t believe I was that blind. I nearly gave up everything for him. I even moved back to this shit-hole of a city—where clowns and penguins blow up buildings and guys in capes fight crime in full spandex.”

“Well, at least Gotham has a certain… charm,” Anthony offered.

“I mean, it’s great if your idea of charm is daily arson,” you deadpanned.

“We are happy you’re here,” Milo agreed, his voice softer for once. “But you’ve gotta stop beating yourself up. Even I thought he might’ve been your person—but he wasn’t. That’s on him. His loss, not yours. You’ve gotta move forward, babe.”

“I am dating,” you said weakly.

“No, you’re talking to people. You don’t even give them a real shot.” He raised his brows. “You can’t test chemistry without mixing the liquids.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s more complex than just ‘mixing liquids,’ Milo. There’s neural signaling, oxytocin regulation, attachment frameworks, behavioral conditioning… Timing alone can throw everything off. You can’t just drop two people into a room and expect chemistry. That’s not chemistry—it’s chaos.”

“Why not?” Milo shrugged. “People do it all the time. You’re overthinking it—as usual. But if it helps, just treat it like another one of your experiments.”

“It’s not that simple,” you argued. “My experiments have structure. Charts. Data. Equations. Control groups.”

“Exactly!” Milo clapped his hands. “Which is why you should try online dating. They have charts and shit.”

You let out a snort. “Please. In this city? Knowing my luck, I’d end up matched with a serial killer. Or worse—the Joker.”

Anthony tilted his head thoughtfully. “Does the Joker even online date?”

Milo groaned. “You’re both insane. There are plenty of semi-normal people on those apps. It’s how me and Anthony met.”

You gave him a flat look. “Exactly.”

You gave him a long, pointed look. “Point proven.”

“No.” Milo leaned in. “The point is you need to get back out there. Whether it’s for a wham-bam-thank-you-man kind of night, or you end up calling me crying because you just met the father of your future babies—I don’t care. You just can’t keep living in Jake’s memory. Not everyone is like him.”

You groaned, tipping back the rest of your wine in one go. “I know that.”

He raised an eyebrow, giving you a look.

“I do!” you insisted. “Look, can we table this for now? I just want to drown my feelings and make future-me regret the hangover I’m definitely earning tonight.”

GOTHAM ROOFTOPS

Boots hit the edge of a rooftop with a soft scrape of gravel. Jason Todd scanned the streets below, hands resting at his sides, jacket collar tugged up against the bite of the early spring cold. He moved with restless energy—agitated, impatient, ready for something to go wrong.

“This is a bust,” he muttered into the comms. “Three blocks, no action. Not even a wannabe thug with a pocket knife and poor life choices. I’m starting to think Gotham forgot how to be Gotham.”

There was a beat of silence before Dick’s voice came through, dry and amused.

“Or maybe you’re just scaring the criminals too much, Hood. Ever consider early retirement?”

Jason rolled his eyes behind the mask. “Only if you go first, Nightwing. I thought Blüdhaven was where all the action was—what’re you doing slumming it with us Gotham bottom-feeders?”

“It is,” Dick replied. “But every now and then I like to slum it with my baby brother. Make sure you’re not burning down half the city in my absence.”

Jason snorted. “You’re only older by what, five years and a moral superiority complex?”

Before Dick could answer, Barbara’s voice cut in over the channel, sharp and clear.

“Seems like you’re about to get your wish, Jason. I’ve got eyes on suspicious movement down at the docks—east side, Warehouse Eleven.” Barbara drawled through the comms. 

Jason was already moving, boots hitting gravel as he took off across the rooftop. “Now we’re talking.”

Dick followed a step behind, vaulting over a low pipe with practiced ease. “Arms deal?”

“Most likely,” Barbara confirmed. “Thermal scans show at least four bodies. No confirmed ID yet, but one of them matches a known associate of Black Mask.  “Be smart. And try not to level the building, Jason.”

“No promises,” he said, grin audible.

WAREHOUSE ELEVEN, EAST DOCKS

The docks were dead quiet when they arrived—too quiet. The kind of stillness that always meant something was waiting to go wrong. The air smelled like oil and sea rot, and the only sounds were the soft lapping of water and the occasional creak of aging chains swaying in the wind.

Jason crouched at the edge of a container stack, pistols holstered at his thighs, his gaze locked on the warehouse below. His breath clouded in the cool air.

“East lot’s clear,” he murmured into the comms. “Nothing but rats and roaches.”

Dick landed beside him in a soundless roll. “So, your usual crowd.”

Jason didn’t glance over. “That’s twice tonight. Keep it up and I’ll tell everyone you cried during that Pixar movie.”

“I was twelve. And it was Up, you heartless bastard.”

“Still counts.”

They moved in silence, slipping through a broken window high on the warehouse wall. Their boots hit the rafters without a whisper. Below them, four men circled a battered folding table strewn with crates, unmarked cases, and haphazard stacks of cash. A single overhead bulb flickered overhead, casting shifting shadows across the concrete floor.

Jason zoomed in with his HUD. “I know that one—left side. Carlo Mancini. Low-tier runner for Sionis. Looks like he’s about to piss himself.”

“Might mean he knows something,” Dick murmured.

They listened.

“I’m tellin’ you,” Mancini hissed, voice tight and shaky. “It’s gonna be big. Joker-level big.”

One of the others scoffed. “The hell you talkin’ about? Joker’s been off the grid for months.”

“Yeah, and now he’s back. Lookin’ for someone—some guy who used to run with him, then bailed. Word is, he took something. Something important.”

Jason’s fingers curled slowly around the grip of his pistol.

“It’s not his usual stuff either,” Mancini went on, voice dropping to a whisper. “Heard it’s from Scarecrow too. Some freak chemical—don’t kill you right away. Makes you laugh yourself insane. Till your heart gives out.”

A beat of silence.

“No cure for it, either.”

Jason exhaled. “Shit.”

Beside him, Dick’s jaw flexed. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

Jason gave a tight nod. “If the Joker and Scarecrow teamed up and made something new—and someone stole it…”

Dick’s voice was grim. “Then Gotham just became a countdown clock. And we’re already late.”

Without another word, they moved.

Jason dropped from the rafters like a shadow cutting through fog, landing hard enough to make one of the thugs flinch. Dick followed a breath behind, graceful and quiet. By the time the first man reached for his weapon, Jason had already disarmed him with a sharp twist of his wrist and sent him sprawling with a solid elbow to the jaw.

Dick swept the legs out from under another, zip-tying his wrists with practiced ease. The other two barely had time to shout before they were taken down—one with a stun baton to the ribs, the other with a boot to the sternum.

Mancini tried to run.

Jason caught him by the collar, slammed him against a crate with just enough force to knock the air from his lungs. “Going somewhere?”

The runner gasped, eyes wide with panic. “I didn’t—look, I don’t know anything!”

“You know enough to be scared,” Jason growled, pressing his forearm into the man’s throat. “So start talking.”

“Okay—okay!” Mancini wheezed, both hands raised in surrender. “I just heard whispers, man. Word on the street is Joker and the ‘crow are lookin’ for someone—most likely one of his old runners. Said he took something. Chemical notes, maybe the whole damn formula. Whatever it is, it’s important. Real important. Joker’s tearing through people trying to get it back.”

Jason’s gaze darkened. “You know who this guy is?”

“No name,” Mancini coughed. “Just that he used to run logistics—backdoor stuff. Quiet type. Smart guy. Kept to himself. Real ghost.”

“Not smart enough if he got himself tangled up with the Joker and Scarecrow,” Dick muttered.

Jason’s hand tightened. For a moment, Dick thought he might snap.

“Jason,” he said, quiet. A reminder.

Jason let go.

Mancini dropped to his knees, coughing and trembling. Jason stepped back into the shadows, tapping his comm.

“You catch all that, Oracle?”

Barbara’s voice filtered in, sharp and efficient. “Every word. Red Robin and B are already digging. If this guy’s in Gotham, we’ll find him. But until then, you two are off the clock. Get some rest.”

Jason exhaled through his nose. “Yeah. Sure.”

Dick shot him a look. “Try to actually listen for once. Not everything has to be solved in one night.” 

With that, he clapped Jason on the shoulder and nudged him toward the exit—just as the distant wail of GCPD sirens broke the silence, growing louder with every passing second. Cleanup crew was on its way.

Jason didn’t answer. His jaw was tight, his thoughts already miles ahead—backtracking whispers, dissecting clues, remembering the sound of laughter that still echoed in the corners of his nightmares.

It was rare for the Joker to get invested in anything. He thrived on chaos, not consistency. But if he was serious enough to go out of his way to hunt down some nobody, then whoever had the formula was sitting on a bomb.

Next Chapter →

[foxtrology]

blue velvet (9)

harry castillo x reader

series

word count: 20k

warnings: no y/n, 28 year age gap, female reader, fluff, smut. unedited, all mistakes are mine.

There was a pot on the stove that kept boiling over. Just slightly. Not loud. Just that soft hiss of starch against metal, the kind of domestic sound that didn’t register until it had already left a mark.

She didn’t hear it at first.

She was folding laundry with her knee pressed against the side of the couch, a towel slung over her shoulder like it had something to say. The loft was quiet in that way it always was midafternoon—humming the floorboards, the occasional rustle of the lemon tree Harry insisted they drag inside for the winter, and the thrum of traffic seven stories down.

The water hissed again. Frances yowled in protest from her perch on the windowsill, tail flicking like a metronome for the restless. She blinked. Stood. Moved the pot. And then just…stood there. Hands on the lip of the stove, steam brushing her face like something personal.

It had been a year. Almost to the week. The wedding had taken place on a day that smelled like sea salt and rot. The kind of day that came with folded napkins and teeth behind every smile.

Lucy had walked down an aisle she didn’t own in a dress that tried too hard, and Harry—Harry had stood beside her like an act of defiance. Unshaken. Solid. Watching with his hand on her thigh, his mouth at her ear.

A year later, and she still remembered the champagne glasses sweating in her hand, the way Francesca had said, “You look like a movie star who burned down the studio,” and the way John—her John, in that unreal, tragic, strange little way—had looked at her like she was a ghost he couldn’t place.

She stirred the pasta absentmindedly. It had gone soft. Mushy, really. Harry would pretend to like it. He always did. The front door creaked open. Not loudly. Just that familiar, specific sound of the lock catching on the wood, followed by the low thud of his shoes on the threshold.

“Baby?” he called.

“In the kitchen,” she said, already scooping the noodles into a bowl.

Harry’s tie was loose. His hair wind-blown in a way that meant he’d walked home despite the driver’s offer. His coat was slung over one arm like it had betrayed him. He kissed her cheek. Barely a breath.

Then stared at the bowl. “This is a crime.”

She smiled. “It’s mushy.”

“It’s illegal.”

“You’ll eat it.”

“I’ll love it.”

And he did. Of course he did.

Ate the whole thing with the quiet stubbornness of a man who would go to war for a dish he hated, if only because she’d made it. She sat across from him, legs tucked under her, chin in hand. Watched him eat like she didn’t already know the way his mouth turned down when something was too salty, or the way he hummed slightly when something reminded him of a childhood he didn’t talk about.

He looked up at one point, eyes narrowing. “You’re staring.”

“You’re handsome.”

“I'm old.”

“You’re both.”

Harry Castillo, in his mid-fifties and no longer quite the young thing of Wall Street he'd once been called, leaned back in his chair and said, “You’re ridiculous.”

“Say that again when I’m in your bed later.”

He did not reply. But he finished the pasta. And kissed her wrist when she took the bowl away. The thing about Harry was that he didn’t lie. Not to her. Not even when it would’ve been easier. He told the truth like it cost something, but he paid anyway. Which is why the silence—lately—felt off. Not a big silence. Not a dangerous one. But a different one. Something about the way he left the office a little earlier. The way he turned off his phone at dinner.

The way he started locking the drawer of the old walnut desk they kept in the corner of the loft, the one that used to hold little more than spare charger cords and two unread novels. She didn’t think he was cheating. God, no. But doubt was like that. Slippery. Ugly. It didn’t arrive with sirens, just whispers. Just a look. A turn of his head. A glance that didn’t land.

She sat on the edge of their bed that night and stared at her reflection in the old freestanding mirror he'd bought her for no reason at all.

“You’re spiraling,” she said softly.

Frances, watching from the dresser, blinked once like agreement.

“Shut up,” she added.

Harry had started taking more meetings lately. More calls. And yet the numbers weren’t climbing. There were no new acquisitions. No press releases. Just long stretches of time he wouldn’t account for and a new, hushed kind of warmth when he came home.

It was beginning to rattle her.

Worse—she hated that it did. She was not someone who unraveled. Not someone who paced or spiraled or stared at their partner’s phone like it owed them something. She had survived a father who defrauded an entire generation of investors, who buried her under the weight of his name, who taught her that silence was safer than truth.

She did not fall apart. And yet. Harry left his watch on the bathroom sink the next morning. It wasn’t like him. The man wore it like armor. She stared at it while brushing her teeth, foam in her mouth, wondering what it meant.

By the time she padded barefoot into the kitchen, he had already made coffee. Two mugs. Hers a little lighter, with cream. His bitter as sin. She accepted the cup in silence. He kissed her temple.

Then added, “You wanna come in with me today?”

She blinked. “To the office?”

Harry shrugged. “You’re bored.”

“I am not.”

“You’re going to alphabetize the pantry again. That’s the last station before madness.”

She snorted. “You hate when I come in.”

“No, I hate when the interns flirt with you behind my back.”

“And then you stare them down. Making them run off, scared.”

“Exactly.”

He set the mug down. Looked at her. Earnest. Crooked. “Come with me.”

So she did. She changed into black pants and one of Harry's long sleeve button ups. Left her hair down. Wore the earrings her fiancé had bought her in Rome, even though they pinched.

The car ride was quiet. She stared out the window. Harry’s hand was on her thigh. Thumb brushing slow.

At the office, people paused when they entered. Everyone at his office knew Harry was with her. How could they not? The Carrie Roth article hit every part of the world. And once her problematic family was posted about online too, everyone knew her.

And here she was. She sat in his office on the couch, curled with a book she didn’t read, watching him work. He didn’t speak much. Just glanced at her sometimes like she was gravity. Like she was the reason the pen moved. It should’ve settled her.

But it didn’t. The weirdness grew. Little things. He changed the password on his laptop. He started carrying something in his pocket—tucked, hidden, checked on when he thought she wasn’t looking.

He left earlier one day and came back smelling like pine. Not cologne. Not sweat. Just...forest.

“You okay?” Maya asked over coffee the next week.

She nodded.

“Harry weird?”

“No more than usual.”

Maya blinked. “But something’s off.”

She stirred her coffee. Stared at the spoon.

“I don’t think he’s cheating,” she said quietly.

“Jesus.”

“I don’t. I just—he’s hiding something.”

Maya’s face softened. “Maybe it’s good.”

She scoffed. “Nothing ever is.”

But Maya said nothing. Just squeezed her hand.

That night, Harry came home with a new plant. For the rooftop.

“Why a rosemary bush?” she asked, watching him try to wedge it between their second lemon tree and the aloe.

“Because it’s hardy.”

“That’s a weird word.”

Harry wiped his forehead. “You’re a weird word.”

She kissed his shoulder. Later, she found him standing on the rooftop long after dark, hands in his pockets, staring up at the string lights like they were a message he didn’t understand.

She stepped behind him. Wrapped her arms around his waist.

“Tell me what’s going on,” she whispered.

Harry turned. Looked at her.

And said, “Soon.”

Which made her want to scream. The next day was uneventful. Which made it worse. She alphabetized the pantry again. Found herself staring at the junk drawer. Pulled it open. And saw it.

A small, velvet box. Dark blue. Tucked beneath a stack of contracts. She didn’t touch it. Didn’t breathe. Just closed the drawer. Backed away. Stood in the middle of the kitchen and let her heart thud against her ribs like a warning.

By the time Harry came home, she was on the couch, blanket up to her chin, a book in her lap and nothing in her head. He paused.

“Hey.”

She looked up. Smiled.

“Hey.”

He crossed the room. Sat beside her. Touched her knee.

“You okay?”

She nodded.

Then said, quietly, “I found it.”

Harry blinked. Then laughed. Not loudly. Just…relieved.

“I was going to do it tomorrow,” he said.

She stared at him. At the man who had buried empires with a line of his mouth and now looked like he was afraid she might shatter. He reached into his coat pocket. Pulled out the box. Opened it. The ring was old. Gold. Worn. His mother’s.

“Say something,” he said softly.

She didn’t. Not right away. Just…looked at it. Then looked at him. “You asshole,” she whispered.

Harry’s mouth twitched. “I know.”

“You’ve been making me crazy.”

“I was nervous.”

“You? Nervous?”

He shrugged. “You matter.”

She touched the ring. Touched his hand.

Then said, “Yes.”

Harry exhaled. Like a man coming home. He slipped the ring on. Then kissed her like salvation. Frances yowled in protest. They didn’t care.

Outside, the lights on the rooftop flickered. Inside, time folded quietly. And for the first time in her life— She believed in beginnings. She wrote it in her journal that night—beginnings—underlined once, then again, as if repetition might root it into something permanent.

She wrote it after Harry had fallen asleep beside her, one hand still curved around her waist, the other resting lightly against her thigh like a promise.

He slept like a man who had survived war and still dreamt of it. She watched the way his brow twitched, the way his mouth softened in the dark.

He’d said I don’t snore earlier. He absolutely snored.

It was two in the morning when she turned off the lamp. The ring on her finger felt too big and too right all at once. His mother’s. Worn and beautiful and chosen.

They didn’t tell anyone right away. Not even Maya. For two full days, it was just theirs.

They woke up the morning after he proposed and didn’t go anywhere. Stayed in bed too long, drank coffee under the covers, ordered lunch from the Thai place with the curt delivery guy Harry tipped like he was royalty. She wore one of his shirts. He didn’t even button his. They read. Fell asleep again. Read some more. She forgot what time was. Forgot the way doubt had once lived in her like rot.

She didn’t feel like a woman who had been abandoned by a mother who faked a passport and fled to Mallorca. She didn’t feel like a woman who had a father in prison for crimes she could recite backwards. She didn’t feel like a woman who had a brother buried in a suit he never wanted. She felt—quiet. And loved. And new.

On the third morning, Harry poured her coffee and said, “When do you want to tell people?”

She raised an eyebrow. “People?”

“Maya.”

“Ah. The entire world.”

He handed her the mug. Kissed the top of her head. “Start there.”

She didn’t plan it out. Maya came over for wine and beloved snacks—rosemary crackers, three cheeses, one sliced peach—and as they sat on the floor of the loft, toes under the coffee table and Frances curled into a resentful ball beside the ottoman, she casually held up her left hand.

Maya blinked. Then blinked again. Then launched herself across the floor, nearly knocking over the Manchego.

“No. No—no. You’re kidding. You’re fucking joking. You’re a liar. You’re—”

“Maya.”

“You’re engaged?!”

She nodded. Smiled. Bit her lip. Maya stared at the ring. Then at her. Then at the ring again.

“It’s perfect,” she whispered. “You’re perfect. He’s—I mean, he’s old, but he’s perfect.”

She laughed. Maya tackled her into a hug. Frances made an undignified noise and slunk away.

“When did he ask?”

“Two days ago.”

Maya gasped. “You held it in for two days?! You sociopath.”

“I wanted it to be ours for a minute.”

Maya nodded. “Okay. That’s allowed.”

Then—softer—“You deserve this.”

She swallowed. Maya brushed her hair back from her face.

“Hey. Look at me.” She did. “I’ve known you through some shit,” Maya said. “Some bad men. Some worse men. Some god-awful years. But this? You and him? This is the realest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Her throat tightened. She reached for her wine glass. Maya stopped her. “Wait.”

“What?”

“Let me ask before I explode.”

She smiled. “Ask what?”

“Can I be your maid of honor?”

She burst out laughing. “You’re not even gonna wait for me to ask?”

“No. I’m taking initiative.”

“Yes. You’re my maid of honor.”

Maya grinned so wide her face went pink. “Yes!” Then paused. “What are we doing? When’s the wedding? Are we eloping? Are we doing City Hall with a dress that makes him cry? Are we renting a house in the Alps? Do I have to wear heels?”

She smiled again. “We’re doing a vineyard. Harry owns one. In Europe. He bought it ages ago. Says it’s quiet and private.”

Maya blinked. “You’re gonna be Mrs. Castillo on a vineyard in Europe?”

“Apparently.”

“I love you. I’m going to cry.”

“And I'm going to cry with you.”

“Also I need to start working on my speech.”

“You have a year.”

“Oh, honey,” Maya said, pulling out her phone. “That’s barely enough time.”

Harry did not like the idea of a wedding planner.

“I don’t want a stranger touching our day,” he said.

“Our day,” she smiled, like she couldn't believe it.

“Yes. Our day.” Harry leaned down and kissed her cheek.

He was annoyingly good at logistics, which meant he somehow became the one who coordinated flights, worked with the vineyard’s staff, hired a local florist, and made a spreadsheet that was both terrifying and perfect. She took over the invitations. They wrote them by hand. On real paper. With real pens. At the kitchen table, elbow to elbow.

“Do people even open mail anymore?” he asked, flipping through the stack of thick cream envelopes she’d bought in Brooklyn.

“They will if it’s from us.”

“Arrogant.”

“Confident.”

He smirked. “God, I love you.”

“Write that in your invitation.”

He started with his star's invitation. To his sister.

Isidora, the card said, in his uneven, blunt handwriting. You once said I was born angry. You weren’t wrong. But I’m less angry now. Maybe because I’ve found someone who makes me feel like I don’t have to defend myself just to exist. I’d like you to come. I’d like your husband to come. The girls too. She wants them there. I do too.

She watched him sign it. Watched him hold the pen like a weapon until he relaxed. They addressed the rest together. Francesca and Luca, obviously. Danny of course. Sadie would try to pretend it was just a business trip, but she’d bring three backup dresses and a portable steamer.

James and his wife, who had quietly become their favorite people. She remembered James hugging her at Harry’s birthday and saying, “I’ve driven that man for fifteen years. I’ve never seen him happy until you.” That was it. Ten people. No cousins. No plus-ones. No press.

Well—almost no press. Because someone at Forbes caught wind of it. Some intern probably noticed a shift in the property record, a flight manifest, and Harry’s purchase of three dozen linen napkins from a French wholesaler.

Sadie called in a cold sweat. “I can’t spin this,” Sadie said. “I can’t even contain it.”

“You don’t need to,” Harry replied. “We’re not hiding.”

“But—”

“No but.” His voice dropped. “They can write whatever they want. But this is ours.”

Later that night, as she folded guest favors into cream tissue paper—little jars of local honey and sprigs of dried rosemary—Harry wrapped his arms around her from behind.

“You doing okay?”

She nodded. “It’s a lot.”

“I can make it less.”

“Don’t you dare.”

He kissed the side of her neck.

“I want it to be beautiful,” she murmured.

“It already is.”

She turned in his arms. “I want it to feel like the start of something. Not the end.”

Harry brushed her hair back. “You are the beginning.”

They sat on the couch with the list between them.

Location: check.

Guests: check.

Music: no playlist yet.

Food: Mediterranean, with her aunt’s lemon pasta on the menu even though the aunt had been dead for ten years.

Vows: unwritten.

Dress: unknown.

That's when she decided to start going dress shoping. Harry insisted, “You deserve the best. Go take the credit card and break something.”

In Paris, she found a dress that didn’t sparkle but whispered. That slipped like water. That felt like herself, if herself was allowed to be worshipped for one entire evening. She texted Harry a single photo of the fabric—a blur of ivory silk in a windowpane of morning light. He texted back: I’m not ready.

When she returned, he waited at the arrivals gate with a bouquet of peonies and a driver who knew not to speak.

Back in New York, the loft felt like it had expanded. Like the rooms were waiting. She started sleeping in one of his shirts again. The oldest one. The one with frayed cuffs and a faded logo from a failed tech company Harry had once invested in, then dismantled for parts. He caught her in it one night. Didn’t speak. Just crossed the room and kissed her like she was fire and forgiveness. The next morning, they made pancakes. She burned the first two. He flipped the rest.

“Do we have to write vows?” she asked, watching syrup pool at the edge of her plate.

Harry nodded. “I do. You can freestyle.”

“I’m going to write them.”

He grinned. “Make them dirty.”

“I’m going to make them holy.”

“You’re already holy.”

She threw a piece of pancake at him. He caught it. A week later, her vows still only had the words, You make me want to stay. That felt like enough. But she kept writing. On napkins. On receipts. On the back of old journals. The vineyard sent updated photos—golden light, neat rows of vines, white stone buildings that looked carved into the land. Harry studied the photos in bed.

Then murmured, “You’ll look good against this.”

She rolled over. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m obsessed with you.”

“I know.” She kissed his chest. Listened to his heartbeat. Slept like someone waiting for something soft.

They mailed the invitations in person. Walked to the postbox together in the rain, Harry holding the umbrella too high, her scolding him the whole way. They mailed ten envelopes. No more. No less. Each one sealed with a quiet kind of faith. They stopped for pastries after. Harry bought two. She stole half of his. He didn’t complain. He never did. Not when it came to her.

By the time spring stretched its way toward the city again, the lemon tree on the rooftop had bloomed. Small white blossoms. Sharp scent. Hope. They stood beside it one night, glasses of wine in hand, watching the sun slip behind the buildings.

Harry said, “Do you ever think about the ceremony?”

She nodded. “Every day.”

“What do you see?”

“You. Waiting.”

He kissed her temple. “And you?”

She looked up. “What do you see?”

He touched her face. “The only thing I’ve ever wanted.”

The wind stirred. The city below buzzed like a secret. And for a long, long moment—There was nothing else. Just them. Just light. Just beginning.

Her wedding dress hung at the far end of the closet. A white garment bag, thick and expensive-feeling, with a gold zipper and a hand-lettered card pinned to the hanger. Her name, in soft cursive. A florist’s ribbon threaded through the loop. Harry walked past it every morning.

And every morning, he paused. He never touched it. Never peeked. Not once. He had a quiet, almost reverent fear of it. Like it might vanish if he looked too closely. But he saw the curve of the hem tucked near the floor. The tiny bow of the ribbon. The card with her name. And it did something to him.

Made his heart slow. Then stutter. Made the coffee in his hand feel warmer. The morning light feel softer. It was a silent, constant reminder—he was marrying her. Her. The woman who burned toast and kept rearranging their fridge magnets to spell out the most random words she could think of. The woman who let Frances sleep on his side of the bed, then teased him for sleeping like a corpse. The woman who made him believe in love again. His future. Right there. In the corner of their shared closet.

Sometimes, when she was still asleep and he was getting dressed, he’d glance at it, just once, and mutter under his breath, “Jesus Christ.”

Not out of nerves. Just out of disbelief. He was really marrying the love of his life.  Because this—this quiet life, this rooftop lemon tree, this woman asleep in his bed in one of his t-shirts—was everything he’d stopped believing he could have.

She still visited him at work. Despite herself. She hadn’t wanted to work at the office. Had resisted. Loudly. She didn’t want to be “the girl who sits at a desk outside her fiancé’s door and color-codes paperclips.”

But then boredom crept in. So did curiosity. And the understanding that if she wanted a certain kind of cheese served at their wedding, she had to email six Italian vendors, not two. So she showed up one Tuesday with her laptop and a sharp opinion on chair rentals. And never really left. She didn’t have a title. Didn’t want one. But she took meetings when she felt like it, made suggestions Harry actually listened to, and once rewrote an entire pitch deck because “I couldn’t sleep and you were doing it wrong.”

She’d deliver lunch, too. Sometimes in brown paper bags. Sometimes in Tupperware. Once in a pastry box labeled FOR THE ASSHOLE IN SUITE A. She dropped it on his desk and left without a word. Harry opened it. Smiled. And ate every bite.

His staff watched her like a myth. Not because she was intimidating. But because she was the only person Harry Castillo had ever let into his orbit without pretense. He didn’t bark at her. Didn’t interrupt her. Didn’t ignore her when she curled up on his office couch to read or asked if he’d printed the seating chart. He listened. He smiled.

He sometimes shut his laptop mid-email just because she asked, “Want to go get coffee with me?” And when she did stay home? She wrote her vows. Or tried to. It was harder than expected. Not because she didn’t know what to say. But because every time she tried to pin it down, her words felt too small.

How do you explain I love you so much it makes my hands shake in a way that doesn’t sound like you stole it from a Hallmark aisle? She sat on their couch one afternoon, curled under an old throw blanket in one of Harry’s sweatshirts—gray, frayed, warm from the dryer. Pen in her mouth. Blank page in her lap. Frances on the windowsill, twitching her tail every time a pigeon got too bold.

The sweatshirt was her favorite. It still smelled like his cologne. Or maybe just his skin. She wore it when she missed him, even if he was only five floors away. She chewed the end of the pen, then sighed. Crossed out the sentence she’d just written. Tried again.

You make me feel like I belong somewhere. Not in a house. Not in a city. In a person. In you. Too vague. Too soft. Too—

She groaned and let the pen drop. She needed air. Tea. A distraction. She padded barefoot into their bedroom. Reached for the socks in the laundry basket and noticed it—something crumpled, sticking out from beneath the drawer where Harry kept his extra notebooks. Half-tucked, like it had slipped and never been picked up. She bent down. Pulled it free.

A single piece of thick white stationery, creased in half, faint coffee stain at the top. His handwriting. Slanted. Rushed. She didn’t mean to read it. But she did.

Vows — Draft One (throw this away)

I don’t believe in a lot of things. Not God. Not fate. Not soulmates. But I believe in you.

I believe in the way you look at me when I’m tired and unkind and still trying. I believe in the way you steal my socks and burn my toast and make me laugh when I’m too far inside my own head to find the door out. I believe in how you love me—loudly, recklessly, like I’m not a man who’s ruined everything he’s touched.

You make me believe in things I didn’t ask for. And I want to wake up next to you until my back goes out. I want to read beside you until my eyes give up. I want to argue about dish soap and sing badly in the car and die knowing you knew every version of me and didn’t flinch.

I love you. I’ll love you when we’re old. When we’re boring. When no one knows our names anymore. I’ll love you when I forget to say it.

I’ll love you always. Even after.

–H

Her chest stuttered. She sat down on the edge of the bed. Read it again. Read it a third time. By the end, her hands were shaking. She didn’t cry. Not really. Just pressed the page to her chest and whispered, “Of course I’ll marry you.”

Later, she tucked the draft between the pages of her journal. Didn’t tell him. Not yet. She liked the idea of hearing whatever version he landed on without knowing. But she also liked knowing that he’d written that. That he’d meant it. That even the vow he’d thrown away felt like a liturgy. That night, he came home late. Jacket slung over his shoulder. Eyes tired. Shoulders tight. She met him at the door. Wrapped her arms around him. Didn’t let go.

He let out a breath against her hair. Kissed the crown of her head. “What’s all this?”

“Nothing.”

“Liar.”

“I just missed you.”

Harry smiled. “That’s a crime, you know.”

“What is?”

“Being this in love with me.”

She laughed into his chest. “You’re such a menace.”

“And you’re stuck with me.”

She didn’t answer. Just kissed his jaw.

He groaned. “God, you’re gonna wreck me in that dress.”

“You haven’t even seen it.”

“I don’t need to.”

He walked past her into the closet, started unbuttoning his shirt. Paused. Glanced at the dress bag.

His voice went quiet. “I saw your name on the tag today.” She stepped up behind him. Slid her arms around his waist. “I see it every morning,” he added. “Makes my heart do that annoying thing.”

She smiled. “Thump?”

“More like oh fuck, I’m going to cry.”

She kissed his back. Felt him relax. He held her hands over his ribs. They stood like that for a while. Breathing together.

Spring turned to summer. Summer turned to countdown. The vineyard sent updates. Rows of vines stretching green under the sun. White tablecloths delivered. The chef confirmed. The cake finalized—lemon, of course. She picked her shoes. He picked the wine. Maya picked her dress and cried in the group chat. Francesca wrote a toast that involved both the stock market and Harry’s record achievements. Luca offered cigars. Danny offered to keep the peace along with Sadie.

The final week arrived like a wave. And through all of it—through the stress, the softness, the boxes that kept arriving and the seating chart that kept changing—Harry stayed constant. Steady. Warm. The kind of man who took her hand during a chaotic phone call and squeezed it once. Who let her steal the sheets every night and still tucked her in. Who whispered, “I can’t wait to see you walk toward me,” when she was brushing her teeth.

He wasn’t like other men. He never had been. Because when he looked at her, it wasn’t with hunger. It was with reverence. And when she looked back—

It was home.

The rain started like a joke. A single droplet. Then a few. Then the kind of summer downpour that felt sudden even when it wasn’t. New York in June didn’t apologize. The city had no warning systems for softness. Just clouds and concrete and a kind of cinematic surrender.

She loved it. Always had. That thick, humming kind of rain, heat bleeding through it, streets glistening like film stills.

They were already running late. The car had hit traffic, some construction detour with a single blinking light and a cop who didn’t care who Harry Castillo was. He hadn’t said a word about it. Just let his hand rest on her knee while they idled, watching people dart between puddles, laughing and shrieking and slipping on corners that hadn’t been dry in hours.

He looked good that night. Really good. White dress shirt, sleeves pushed up just enough, dark pants that sat perfectly on his hips, the soft graying scruff. His hair was damp at the temples. He smelled like salt and cedar and that cologne she’d asked him never to stop wearing.

She wore a black slip dress that clung a little, in the way silk does when it rains, and a pair of earrings Maya had talked her into. Her umbrella had snapped in the wind earlier that week—cheap bodega plastic—and she hadn’t replaced it. Harry had his own. Big. Dark blue. Old enough to have been repaired at least twice.

When James, Harry's driver, finally pulled up to the curb, Harry slid out first. The rain was heavier now. He didn’t hesitate. He opened the umbrella with one hand, turned toward her with the other, and held it at that particular slanted angle that kept every drop off her—even if it meant soaking the entire right side of his own jacket.

“Harry,” she said quietly, glancing at the growing damp patch on his arm.

He didn’t blink. “Walk.”

So she did. He kept his stride slow. Steady. Let her take his arm like they were on some old movie set. When a gust of wind caught the edge of her dress, he shifted closer, shielding her with the bulk of his body. They looked like money and history and something romantic you didn’t quite believe until it was in front of you.

The restaurant sat tucked beneath the overhang of a building that had been there forever. Brick. Low lighting. The kind of place that didn’t advertise, didn’t seat walk-ins, didn’t trust Yelp. They’d come here a hundred times. Probably more. The host knew her drink order. The chef sent them things “off menu.” One of the waiters always asked about Frances. 

They hadn’t been back since the proposal. She’d wanted one last dinner here before they flew out. One last night before vows and vineyards and their honeymoon in Lisbon and waking up with a different last name.

Harry reached for the door first. Shook off the umbrella. Opened it for her, like always. And that was when she saw them.

Lucy. And fucking John. At the host stand. Talking. Laughing. And, for just a moment, not noticing them. Lucy looked exactly the same. That too-long fringe. That half-smile that never quite matched her eyes. She was wearing something tan and soft and undoubtedly expensive. She turned slightly—laughing at something John said—and that’s when she saw them.

Lucy's eyes landed on the ring. His mother’s ring. The one Harry kept in a drawer she’d once been told not to open. Lucy stared. The smile faltered. Then—quietly, calculatingly—she turned fully to face them.

“Harry,” Lucy said, voice slicing through the room like the clink of cold silverware. “Wow. This is a surprise.”

Harry didn’t flinch. Just placed a gentle hand at the small of his fiancé's back and said, without looking at Lucy, “We’re late.”

John, smiling awkwardly, stepped forward. “We’re just visiting. Up for a friend’s reunion. Saw this place on a list and figured—”

“You could afford it?” Harry said, voice dry as dust.

John flushed. “Hey, now. I got a job.”

Lucy smiled tightly. “My father brought him on at the company. Construction management. We just bought a house in Chatham.”

“Good for you,” Harry said, voice so flat it might as well have been printed.

She said nothing. Just watched Lucy. Lucy watched her back. Their eyes met. And Lucy’s gaze dropped—to her dress, to her shoulders, to her ring on her left hand. It lingered.

“That’s...quite a ring,” she said finally. “I recognize it.”

Harry’s jaw shifted.

Lucy continued, lightly, like she wasn’t sharpening a knife. “Didn’t you say nobody was ever going to wear it again? That it wasn’t for public?”

Harry’s voice was quiet. Cold. “I said it wasn’t for you.”

The silence was swift. Even the host blinked.

John cleared his throat. “Guess we didn’t get an invite to the wedding, huh?”

Harry turned to him then. Smiled. Just slightly.

“You didn’t get one because you weren’t wanted.”

John’s mouth opened. Then closed. Lucy’s eyes narrowed. And that was when the maître d’ appeared. Harold. Mid-sixties. Glasses pushed up his nose.

“Mr. Castillo. Miss. Your table is ready.” He didn’t even glance at Lucy. “Apologies for the delay. We’ve kept it waiting. Wouldn’t dare seat anyone else.”

Harry nodded. “Of course.”

He touched the small of her back again, guiding her forward. They didn’t say goodbye. She didn’t need to. He didn’t need to. Their silence said enough.

The booth was tucked in the back. Candlelit. Quiet. Familiar. Harry didn’t speak for the first full minute. Just reached for the wine list, handed it to her without asking, and then drummed his fingers once against the white linen tablecloth. She stared at him. He stared back. And then—slowly—he smiled.

“That was terrible,” she said, laughing before she could stop herself.

Harry nodded, smiling, trying not to laugh with her. “It was terrible.”

“She saw the ring.”

“She’s always wanted something that wasn’t hers.”

“She looked like she wanted to bite it off my hand.”

“She can try,” he said, “but I’m faster.”

She laughed again. He didn’t. He just looked at her. Really looked. And then leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, fingers brushing hers.

“I like you in the rain,” he said.

She tilted her head. “Why?”

“Because you love it. And it puts you in a good mood.”

She blinked.

He shrugged. “And because I get to get wet shielding you.”

She laughed. “You're an idiot.”

“Your idiot.”

They ordered the usual. The wine they always liked. The burrata with the peaches. The pasta with saffron. The steak, rare, because Harry swore medium was for quitters.

The waitress—Jess—winked at them as she dropped off the plates. “I’ve already told the chef. He’s sending dessert. Congratulations on your engagement, again.”

“Thank you,” she said, cheeks flushed.

Harry nodded once. His hand was still on hers.

“I want to be out of here before they eat their first course,” he said, very seriously.

She smiled. “You’re so dramatic.”

“Only in defense.”

“Of?”

“You.”

She went quiet and smiled. He let that sit. By the time dessert came—some fig tart thing she didn’t even order—she had forgotten all about the host stand. Because Harry had leaned in again.

And told her, in that gruff, quiet voice that always hit her somewhere low in the chest, “Seeing that ring on your hand might actually kill me.”

She smiled. Soft. Lethal.

“Then it’s doing its job.”

They walked out an hour later. The rain had stopped. The streetlights cast everything in gold. Harry opened the umbrella anyway. Held it above her head, just in case.

“Old habit,” he muttered.

She slipped her arm through his. They walked to the car like the world hadn’t tried to dig up old ghosts. Like love was the only thing that had survived. Because it was. And it always would be.

Lucy didn’t finish her drink. The stem of her wine glass had been pressed between her fingers for too long—skin warming the Sauvignon, knuckles pale from the grip. She wasn’t listening to John anymore. He’d been talking about something—renovations, tile samples, maybe the way her father had offered him more work. She couldn’t recall.

Her gaze had drifted, caught somewhere near the front of the restaurant, where the door still lingered open just enough to let the evening draft roll in. Where Harry and the woman he's going to marry, walked out of the restaurant. The air smelled like wet concrete and wood polish. It reminded her of something old. Something half-remembered. Her nails tapped softly against the glass. She kept seeing it. The ring. That ring. Harry’s mother’s ring.

The one he used to keep locked in a drawer with a tarnished clasp, buried under tax returns and a folded menu from a restaurant that didn’t exist anymore. Lucy had found it once. Early on. When they were still new and reckless and playing house in his penthouse like they didn’t know it was going to burn.

She’d slipped it onto her finger, the way anyone would, the way a girl tries on an outfit she doesn’t think she’s earned. She remembered standing in the mirror. Turning her hand this way and that. Admiring it in the soft hallway light.

He’d seen it. He hadn’t smiled. Hadn’t even looked at her with anything resembling fondness. Just a slow, flat, “Put that back.” And she had. Because it hadn’t belonged to her. It was too heavy. Too real. It had memory in its shape, in the way it sat on her hand like judgment. Now, years later, she'd seen it again.

But this time—

On her. The girl. His girl. The girl who Lucy called a child. In her words 'You brought a child to my wedding.'

Lucy had felt it like a crack along her spine. The sick sort of click when reality shifts a little to the left and you realize you've been left behind without anyone needing to say it. She tried not to watch them walk out. Really, she tried.

John was saying something again—probably trying to fill the space, bridge the chasm that had opened the second Harry’s voice slid across the room like ice. Something about how they must be excited to be heading to Europe soon. Something about Harry’s “usual table” being available when they come back.

But Lucy didn’t care. Her eyes were on him.  On Harry. Through the glass, she could see them in profile—him holding the umbrella just slightly off-center, his right shoulder soaked. Always the shoulder. Always the goddamn coat. The same one she used to tease him about, said he looked like a detective in a French movie.

And her. She looked older now. Not aged, just... solid. Like she'd grown into her own skin. Same soft jawline. Same thoughtful mouth. The kind of beauty that didn’t need permission. Her dress clung to her in the rainlight. Her hand slipped naturally into the crook of Harry’s arm.

And the ring—That ring—caught in the glow of the streetlamp like a quiet fuck you. Lucy exhaled slowly. Her chest felt tight.

“Do you think it’s real?” she asked suddenly, cutting into John’s monologue.

He blinked. “What?”

“Them,” she said, voice softer now, like she was trying to convince herself she didn’t already know. “Their relationship. Their wedding. Do you think they are actually going to go through with it?”

John paused. Sipped his wine. Then, slowly, said, “It looks like it.”

Lucy nodded once. Didn’t look at him. She watched the umbrella close as Harry opened the car door for her. Watched her slip inside, glancing back just once with a grin. Not at the building. Not at the window. Just toward him. Her future husband.

Like she knew he was watching.

“You okay?” John asked, voice cautious now.

Lucy didn’t answer right away. She ran a finger along the condensation of her glass, drawing a small circle, then another. Finally, she said, “Do you remember the night of our wedding reception?”

He blinked again. “Which part?”

“When she showed up. With him.”

John sighed. “Yeah. Hard to forget.”

Lucy looked at him now. “Do you remember what I said to her?”

“You were upset.”

“No,” she said, sharper. “Do you remember what I said?”

John hesitated. Then nodded. “You called her a child.”

Lucy looked away. Back toward the window.

“They’re going to France,” she murmured. “That vineyard. The one he bought before the market crash.”

“How do you kno—?”

“Because I asked once,” she said. “Back then. When I thought maybe I could make a life with him. Asked if we’d ever get married somewhere quiet, somewhere real.”

“And he said?”

Lucy smiled tightly. “He said he didn’t believe in weddings.”

John didn’t speak. Because he knew. He knew it now too. That Harry Castillo had simply been waiting for the right person. Not a woman who understood appearances. Not a girl who grew up in a house that held grudges like trophies. Not someone like Lucy.

She watched as the car disappeared down the avenue, taillights slipping into the current of the city. The server came by with their entrees. She didn’t eat. Just sat there, napkin folded in her lap, staring at the ring on someone else’s finger burned into the backs of her eyes. Because she knew what that ring meant. And she knew that when Harry had looked at her, he had never been capable of the softness she saw when he looked at her.

That wasn’t regret. It wasn’t bitterness. It was something colder. Something closer to envy. Because Lucy, for all her knowing, all her proximity to wealth and power and privilege—

Had never been loved like that. And now she never would.

While Lucy, back at the restaurant was reeling at her table, the couple she was thinking about had just arrived at their loft

The rain had slowed to a whisper against the windows, the kind of hush that made the rest of the world feel like it had stepped back to give them space.

She toed off her shoes by the door, barely speaking. Harry didn’t, either. But the air had changed. Something tight lived in the silence now—something hungry. It shimmered between them, thickening every breath.

He locked the door behind them without looking away.Then—slowly, deliberately—he stepped toward her. One hand still damp from the umbrella, the other hanging loose at his side. His shirt was rumpled, clinging to him in places where the rain had soaked through. The cuff of his right sleeve was pushed up, exposing his forearm and the hairs at his wrist.

She watched him. Harry watched her back. Like a man who had held back for too long. He touched her first. Just a hand to the side of her neck, fingers curling under her jaw like he was steadying her. His thumb brushed the soft hollow beneath her ear, and she let out a breath like it had been trapped in her chest all evening.

Then he leaned in. Kissed her—not gently. Harry's mouth landed on hers like possession. Tongue parting her lips, thumb tilting her chin up to give him more. He kissed her like a man with patience but no more restraint. Like someone who had memorized the taste of her and still couldn’t get enough.

When he finally pulled back, their breath mingling in the space between them, he murmured, “You have no fucking idea what you do to me.”

She smiled, lips kiss-swollen. “Show me.”

His eyes darkened. He stepped forward—pressing her back until her spine hit the wall. Then he kissed her again. And again. And again. His hands moved now—everywhere. Cupping her face, then sliding down to her waist, then gripping her ass hard enough to pull her hips flush with his. She gasped when she felt him—hard against her stomach, straining through his slacks.

“Been like this all night,” he muttered into her neck. “Watching you walk around in that dress. Smile like that. Touch me like it’s nothing.”

“Harry—”

He grunted. Bit down softly on the edge of her shoulder. She whimpered.

“You think I don’t know what you’re doing to me?” he growled. “You think I don’t know you’re wearing that fucking ring and looking at me like you want me to lose control?”

Her breath hitched. He pulled back just enough to see her face.

“You like it,” he said darkly.

She nodded. “Yes.”

He exhaled like that answer hurt. “You’re gonna kill me, baby.”

“Then die,” she whispered, “on top of me.”

That was it. He dropped to his knees. Right there. In the middle of the loft. No ceremony. No warning. Just his large, calloused hands curling around her thighs as he shoved her dress up past her hips.

“Fucking hell,” he hissed when he saw what was underneath. “No panties?”

“Didn’t want lines.”

“I fucking love you.”

He leaned in. Bit the inside of her thigh. She gasped.

“Hold onto the wall,” he said, voice guttural.

She did. Hands braced behind her. Eyes wide. Then—His mouth. His mouth. It met her with such greedy precision that she nearly collapsed. Tongue flat against her clit, then curling. Then flicking. Then sucking.

And he moaned into her. Like this was the meal he’d been starving for. His grip on her thighs was bruising in the best way—anchoring her to him as he feasted. And feasted. No mercy. No slowing. Just Harry—on his knees, devouring her like she was the only thing on this earth that could save him.

“Harry,” she whimpered, knees buckling.

He groaned. “Say my name again.”

“Harry—oh—fuck—”

He sucked harder. She came apart. Loud. Clutching his hair. Whole body trembling like she’d been struck by something divine.

He kept going until her thighs twitched. Until her breathing stuttered. Until she whimpered, “I can’t— please—”

Then he kissed the inside of her thigh, his lips slick, facial hair damp. He looked up. Eyes blown.

“You taste like heaven,” he rasped. “Like mine.”

She didn’t remember how they got to the bedroom. She remembered him carrying her. Holding her like she weighed nothing. Like she was something precious and burning and fragile all at once.

He set her on the bed. Didn’t follow immediately. Just stood there for a moment. Looking down at her.

Then he stripped her first. Slid her dress off over her head. Then he stripped himself. Button by button. She watched every piece fall. Watched the shirt drop from his shoulders—broad and solid, with arms that still made her ache. Watched the undershirt come off. Watched his stomach—soft, comforting, familiar—bared to her like a confession. He caught her looking. Paused. She sat up on her elbows. Reached out. Touched his stomach.

“I love this part of you,” she whispered.

He swallowed. “You’re gonna ruin me,” he said again.

Then pushed his pants off. His cock sprang free—thick, heavy, already leaking. She sat up fully now. Reached for him.

But he shook his head. “No. Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“Because I need to be inside you. Now”

He knelt on the bed. Spread her legs gently. Like an offering. And then—

He slid in. Slow. Careful. But deep. She gasped. He grunted, jaw clenched, trying not to lose it.

“God, you feel good,” he breathed. “Every time. Every fucking time.”

She moaned. He began to move. Not fast. But with purpose. Like every thrust had a message. Like he was trying to say I love you with every inch of his body. He kissed her neck. Her jaw. Her shoulder. Her breast. Every part of her he could reach.

“You’re mine,” he growled into her skin. “You’re going to be my wife.”

“Yes,” she gasped.

“You belong to me.”

“Yes.”

“And I’ll spend the rest of my life proving you made the right choice.”

He fucked her harder then. Rougher. But still careful. Still worshipful. His hand came between them, rubbing soft circles against her clit. His mouth never stopped moving. Kisses. Praise. Obscene promises.

“Gonna make you come again,” he whispered. “Gonna feel you squeeze my cock and lose your mind.”

She did. Hard. Arching up. Crying out. Clutching his back with nails that left marks. And he came with her. With a shout. A groan. A final thrust so deep it made her see stars. He collapsed on top of her.

Sweaty. Spent. Still inside. They didn’t move. Just stayed like that. His body heavy over hers. Her fingers combing through his hair.

She whispered, “I love you.”

And he—still breathless—murmured against her shoulder, “I’d burn the world down for you.”

She smiled. Pulled the sheet over them. Held him tighter. He didn’t fall asleep immediately. Just stayed inside her, even as his cock softened, holding her like she was the only thing tethering him to earth. Because maybe she was.

They should’ve been asleep. The sheets were tangled. The air warm with sex and sweat and something sacred. He was still inside her. Slowing. Softening. Breathing hard against her shoulder. The weight of him grounding her. Wrapping her in heat.

But Harry Castillo wasn’t done. Not even close. Because when she shifted—just slightly—he growled. Low. Animal.

“Again,” he rasped. “Need you again.”

She blinked up at him. Eyes still hazy, lips parted. “Harry—”

His hand slid down her thigh, lifting it over his hip. The movement pressed his cock deeper again—still there, still thick, still very much a presence. He kissed her jaw. Her mouth. Bit her bottom lip.

“Don’t care how tired you are,” he whispered, voice like smoke and sin. “You’re not getting up until I make you cry again.”

She whimpered.

He smirked. “Yeah. There she is.”

Then he pulled out—just enough to make her gasp—before slamming back in with a force that stole her breath.

“Oh my God—”

“Not God, baby,” he growled. “Just me.”

Her nails dug into his shoulders. He welcomed the sting.

“Harry—fuck—”

“You feel that?” he grunted, hips snapping into hers. “Feel how wet you still are for me? How your pussy won’t let me go?”

She nodded, moaning. “Y-yes—”

“Fuckin’ knew you were made for me.”

He leaned down. Kissed her throat. Her collarbone. Bit the edge of her breast until she arched into him.

“Your body’s so perfect,” he murmured. “So soft. So fuckin’ mine.”

Then rougher, “Look at you. Dripping on my cock like you want me to fuck a baby into you.”

Her eyes flew open but she moaned. Loud. “Harry—”

“Yeah,” he growled. “Bet you’d take it. Bet you’d let me fill you up and beg for more.”

She whimpered—louder now. And he lost it. He flipped her onto her stomach in one motion, like it was nothing. Grabbed her hips. Pulled her back. She barely had time to gasp before he was inside again—deeper now.

From behind. One hand on her lower back, the other in her hair. Her cheek pressed to the sheets. Her mouth fell open. And Harry fucked her. Harder. Rougher. Still in control. But wild. Every thrust was a statement. This is mine. You’re mine.

“Look at you,” he growled, panting. “Back arched. Ass bouncing. Taking this cock like you were fucking built for it.”

“Please—Harry—I’m gonna—”

“Do it. Fucking do it. Let me feel you fall apart on me again.”

She shattered. Came around him like she’d never come before. Screamed into the mattress. He grunted—loud—and slammed in once more, spilling inside her with a groan that sounded like something ancient, like something only she had earned. He stayed there. Deep. Still. Then he moved again. Slow. Shallow. Because he wasn’t done.

“You can come one more time,” he said low, filthy and sweet. “Gimme one more, baby. Just one more.”

She shook her head, crying now—not sad, just overwhelmed. And Harry kissed the back of her shoulder.

“Don’t worry,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”

Then—again. His fingers slid between her legs.

“Shh,” he cooed. “One more for me. Be a good girl.”

And she did. God help her, she did. She came again—wrecked, sobbing into the pillow, body trembling, legs useless. He kissed her spine as she collapsed fully, lowering both of them to the bed without ever leaving her. He curled around her from behind, one arm tight around her middle, his cock still buried in her.

“You’re so fucking good to me,” he whispered.

She couldn’t answer. She just breathed. He kissed her shoulder. Her temple.

“You still with me?”

She nodded. Barely.

“Good,” he whispered. “Because I’m not letting go.”

Then—softer still—

“I’ve been waiting my whole life for someone to let me love them like this.”

And she melted in his arms. Because Harry Castillo wasn’t just wild in bed. He was devoted. Feral. Tender. Vulgar. Romantic. Hers. Forever.

The room smelled like sex and sweat and skin. The sheets were soaked. The pillows half-off the bed. The lamp still glowed low, casting soft golden light across their tangled limbs. She laid boneless, breath shallow, eyes closed. Floating.

Harry didn’t move for a while. Just held her. One arm wrapped around her ribs, the other under her head, fingers stroking her hair like he was still grounding himself. He kissed the back of her neck. Then her shoulder. Then just breathed her in.

“You alive?” he asked softly, voice rough with exhaustion and something quieter.

She hummed. That was all she could manage. He smiled into her skin.

Then shifted, slowly, carefully, slipping out of her with a groan that felt more reverent than lustful. He sat up, rubbed his hands over his face, and let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh.

“You destroyed me.”

She snorted, eyes still closed. “You did all the work.”

“I stand by what I said.”

He leaned down. Brushed her hair off her cheek. Kissed the corner of her mouth.

“Stay there,” he murmured. “Don’t move.”

She didn’t. Didn’t want to. But she heard him pad barefoot across the room. Heard the soft creak of the bathroom door. The rush of water. The gentle thud of the cabinet opening. When he came back, he was holding one of their thick white towels—her towel. The one she always stole from the linen shelf. The softest one.

He crouched by the bed. Wiped between her thighs first. Gentle. Slow. Not clinical. Loving. She flinched, still sensitive. “Sorry,” he said softly. “I know. I know, baby.”

His fingers were careful. Thorough. Once he was done, he tossed the towel into the hamper by the door and scooped her up like she weighed nothing. She made a sleepy sound of protest.

“You need a shower,” he whispered. “Just a quick one. Then you can collapse on me again.”

She let her head fall onto his shoulder. Nuzzled in.

“I’ll carry you the whole way if I have to.”

“You already are,” she mumbled.

He kissed her temple. “Spoiled brat.”

But he carried her into the bathroom anyway. The steam had already filled the space. The shower was on—warm, not too hot. The kind of perfect he knew she liked without asking. Always had. He stepped in with her still in his arms, only setting her down when the spray hit their skin. She gasped slightly. The water soaked her hair, slid down her back.

Harry reached for the shampoo first. He did this slowly. Like a ritual. Poured it into his palm, worked it through her hair with strong fingers, careful not to tug. He massaged her scalp. Tipped her head back under the water. Watched the suds slide away. Then the conditioner. Then the body wash. All without saying much. He just washed her. Took care of her. Worshipped her in the most mundane way possible.

“Arms up,” he said quietly.

She obeyed. He washed her underarms, her stomach, her thighs. When he knelt to do her legs, she touched his hair. Twisted a damp strand between her fingers.

“You don’t have to do all this,” she whispered.

“Yes I do,” he said simply.

Then kissed her knee. When she finally blinked, she realized he’d already washed himself, too. That he’d done it fast—efficient—because all his focus was on her.

They stepped out together. He wrapped her in a towel. Rubbed her dry. She giggled when he got to her hair.

“Sorry,” he murmured. “This part never goes well.”

“You’re better at it now.”

He smirked. “Practice.”

Once she was dry, he walked her into the bedroom again. The sheets were already changed—he must’ve done it in the two minutes she wasn’t looking.

“I was very efficient,” he said when she blinked at the bed.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re welcome.”

He helped her into pajamas—his shirt, of course. The one she loved. The old one with the faded lettering and a frayed collar. Then kissed the top of her head.

“Go sit,” he said. “I’m making tea.”

She padded barefoot into the kitchen. Curled onto the couch with a throw blanket. Frances blinked at her from the windowsill, unimpressed, then curled back into a ball. Harry moved around the kitchen like a man on autopilot. Filled the kettle. Pulled out her favorite mug. Tossed in a tea bag. Herbal. Soothing. He added honey. Carried it over without spilling. Then—because he always did—he sat beside her and waited for her to sip first before resting a hand on her thigh.

“Good?” he asked.

She nodded. “Perfect.”

He leaned back. Let out a slow breath. His body ached. She could tell. He shifted like a man twice his age but smiled like a teenager in love.

“You okay?” she asked softly.

He nodded. “My back hurts. My thighs are killing me. I might never walk right again.”

She snorted.

“But I’m so fucking happy.”

She looked at him. And believed it. The soft light from the kitchen made the gray in his beard shimmer. His eyes were softer now. Barefoot. In sweats. Damp curls pushed back. The kind of man no one saw like this except her. She curled into his side. He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her into his chest. They didn’t talk for a while. They just breathed.

Until she said, “You didn’t have to change the sheets.”

“I couldn’t let you crawl into a crime scene.”

She laughed against his shoulder.

He kissed her forehead.

After a while, he stood again. Scooped her back into his arms with a groan. “One more trip.”

“To the bed?”

“To heaven.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re so dramatic.”

“And you’re in love with it.”

He set her down on the clean sheets. Climbed in beside her. Pulled the blanket up. Wrapped himself around her like armor.

When the light clicked off, she whispered, “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For all of it.”

He pressed a kiss to the back of her neck. And whispered, “I’d do it a thousand times.”

Then, “Sleep, baby. I’ve got you.”

And she did. Always.

Two days passed the way all sweet, strange days do when something big is waiting on the other side of them—quiet, deceptively slow, marked by the kind of soft rituals that feel like a pause before a life shifts.

She had spent most of the time barefoot in their loft. Doing what, she couldn’t exactly say. Folding things that didn’t need folding. Opening drawers. Staring at her wedding dress bag and then walking away. Sometimes she just stood still in the middle of the kitchen like a clock trying to remember what its hands were supposed to do.

Harry had been...Harry. Brooding, purposeful, half-distracted but not with her. Never with her. If anything, he moved around her more like a shadow that kept checking in—running a hand down her back when he passed, kissing her temple without a word, standing behind her when she stared into the fridge like she’d find answers in the shelves.

The day before their flight, she caught him repacking one of the carry-on trunks. A serious crease between his brows. Like the positioning of the charger cables might determine the entire outcome of the wedding.

“You know it’s all going in the same jet,” she said, wrapping her arms around his middle from behind.

“Incorrect,” he murmured. “This is the jet with you in it. That means it has to be perfect.”

She pressed her cheek against his back. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You knew that when you said yes.”

She smiled into his shirt. “I did.”

He turned then. Tipped her chin up. “Everything’s going to be perfect.”

“I don’t care if it’s not.”

He kissed her, slow and soft.  The morning they left New York was gray in the way June sometimes is—low clouds that made the air feel suspended. The kind of overcast that made the world seem quieted, as if someone had turned down the volume knob.

Frances was already gone.That part had been surprisingly hard. Harry had insisted on delivering her himself to Danny’s sister on the Upper West Side. He’d said he didn’t trust anyone with their girl, not even the concierge they knew by name. Only Danny’s sister got the greenlight.

And even then, he’d grilled her on feeding times, her window perch, what she liked and didn’t like when it came to brushing. Frances hadn’t even looked back when they left.

“She didn’t even care,” he said in the car afterward, arms crossed, sulking like a man twice her size had just been personally rejected by a cat.

“She knows we’re coming back,” she had said. “She’s not mad.”

Harry didn’t laugh, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “You always do that.”

“What?”

“Make me feel less stupid about caring.”

“You’re not stupid. You’re in love.”

He glanced at her then, eyes warm beneath the sharp set of his brow. “Yeah. I am.”

They arrived at the airfield just past noon. The sun had finally come out—split the clouds like something divine and golden had changed its mind about withholding.

Her dress was carried aboard by Harry himself, the garment bag over one arm, his other hand steady at the small of her back like he could shield her from gravity.

She hadn’t seen him sleep the night before. She had, once or twice—through the blur of her own nerves and the quiet hush of early morning—but he always seemed to be awake. Reading something. Checking his watch. Watching her like she was the steady thing keeping him from unraveling.

The jet smelled like leather and cedar. Her dress was hung with reverence in the back cabin. A hook installed just for it. 

“You packed everything?” she asked, curling into one of the leather chairs while the staff moved quietly behind them, prepping for takeoff.

“Everything,” he said. “Three times.”

“I still feel like we forgot something.”

Harry sat across from her, eyes steady. “We didn’t.”

“You sure?”

“I’ve waited my whole life for you. You think I’d let packing be the thing that ruins it?”

She felt her throat tighten. “You’re being sweet.”

“Don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation.”

“You might get an ulcer.”

He smirked. “I'd get anything for you.”

They buckled in as the engines kicked up, a low hum that turned quickly into a roar. Harry didn’t look away from her. Not once. She watched out the window as New York disappeared beneath the clouds. Slowly. Then all at once.

The flight to Avignon was smooth. Long, but quiet. She slept part of the way, curled under a soft gray blanket with her legs folded up beside her and her head on Harry’s thigh. He didn’t move. Just kept a hand on her arm, thumb stroking the skin absentmindedly. She could feel the heat of him even in her dreams.

When she woke up, he was reading. His glasses were low on his nose—only for the plane, only for her. The frames were dark, delicate, and completely at odds with the man who wore them. She reached up, gently pushed them up the bridge of his nose.

“Hi,” she murmured.

His hand found her hair. “You slept.”

“So did you.”

“Nope.”

She sat up slowly. “Harry—”

“I don’t sleep on flights.”

“You’ve been on flights your whole life.”

“Still don’t sleep.”

She frowned. He leaned in. Kissed her forehead. “I’ll sleep when you’re my wife.”

They arrived in the afternoon. The vineyard shimmered like something half-plucked from a dream. Olive trees lining the drive. Grape vines in perfect rows. A light breeze that caught the lavender just right and made the entire hillside smell like peace.

The house was old. Stone. Weathered in the way that made it beautiful. Her name had already been added to the door plaque beside his in the study. Harry had done it the week before. Quietly. Without asking. Just...made it true.

Their guests would arrive in staggered groups over the next two days. For now, it was just them. And the quiet. And the land.

And the kind of light that made time feel like it had slowed to the pace of breath.

She kicked her shoes off by the front door, again. Looked out at the land from their bedroom window. Harry stood behind her. Didn’t say a word. Just wrapped his arms around her middle and let the sun warm both their faces.

“I love you,” she whispered.

“I love you too,” he said back.

Later that night, they walked the grounds barefoot. She carried a wine glass. He carried a lantern.

The staff had lit candles in mason jars along the gravel path toward the altar. The view overlooked the valley—mountains in the distance, the sun setting like something spilling gold across the whole world.

He didn’t let go of her hand the whole walk. Not once. They stood where they’d say their vows. The chairs were empty. The flowers not yet placed. But it already felt full. Like something had bloomed there already, invisible but pulsing.

“You nervous?” he asked softly.

She shook her head.

“You?”

“No.”

She looked at him. He was staring at the valley. Then down at her.

“I’ve never been more sure.”

She touched his face. “Good.”

He leaned in. Kissed her once. Twice.

Then said, low, in that way that only she ever heard, “You’re it for me.”

She smiled. So did he. Then they walked back. Slowly. Past the grapes, past the lanterns, past the soft hum of France settling in for the night. And in the main house, as she curled into him under an old quilt, the world stilled again. It was happening. Finally. And it felt like everything had been building to this. To them.

The next morning began with the sound of crates being unloaded.

It was early—not so early that the sky was still dark, but early enough that the hills around the vineyard were cloaked in that quiet, silvery mist that always seemed like it should come with piano music.

She woke before Harry, not by much, and not for long. He followed shortly after, groaning at the stretch of his back as he stepped out of bed barefoot, in nothing but his boxers and the scowl of a man who slept five hours and drank half a bottle of wine the night before.

“Is there a reason someone’s banging around outside like it’s a construction site?” he muttered, raking a hand through his graying curls.

She was brushing her teeth already, barefoot in the bathroom, one of his T-shirts hanging off one shoulder. “Cake,” she said through a mouthful of mint foam.

“Cake?”

She spat, grinned. “Wedding cake.”

His expression didn’t shift, but she could see something soften in the set of his mouth. Something like amusement. He leaned on the doorway, arms crossed, watching her like a man who still couldn’t believe she existed.

“We’re really doing this,” he said quietly.

She wiped her mouth on a towel, turned, and walked to him. “You say that like I’m going to back out.”

He kissed her forehead. “I’d still chase you.”

“I know.”

They made their way downstairs slowly, the kind of slow that came with time. Their rhythm had fallen into something domestic, something patient and known—she pulled the French press from the counter while he opened the windows, muttering something about how the air smelled different here, like crushed rosemary and old rain.

Outside, a delivery van had parked near the side garden. The pastry chef and two assistants were unloading a multi-tiered, half-finished cake into the house kitchen, careful and focused. Another vehicle was idling further up the dirt road—full of crates, ingredients, imported oils, things she’d never remember the names of but that Harry had probably signed off on himself.

From the porch, she watched as a young chef—barely twenty-five—stepped out of the second van, wiping his hands on his apron like he’d just completed something sacred. He looked nervous. The kind of nervous that said he’d heard of Harry before.

Harry leaned against the doorway beside her, sipping his coffee. “That kid looks like he’s about to shit himself.”

“Be nice,” she said, bumping her hip into his. “Not everyone’s immune to your face.”

“My face is fine.”

“It’s the eyebrows.”

He snorted. “Here I was thinking you liked them.”

“I tolerate them. The nose makes up for it.”

He glanced at her sideways, smile just barely there. “That so?”

She kissed his jaw. “That’s so.”

By noon, the place was alive.

The vineyard staff moved around them like the quiet hum of honeybees—setting up wooden trellises, moving chairs and lanterns, arranging tables under the olive trees with casual expertise. The arch where they would stand had been wrapped with early greenery and a few starter blossoms, soft ivory and pale green. By the end of the day, the rest of the flowers would come in—wild roses, sweet peas, clematis, jasmine. It felt like something slowly unfurling.

Harry stayed close all morning, rarely more than a few feet away. Sometimes he gave orders in that clipped tone of his that made people obey without asking questions. Other times, he said nothing—just stood behind her with a hand in his pocket, watching her talk to the florist or adjust the seating chart again for the fifth time.

“You know it’s the same people no matter where you put them,” he said, glancing over her shoulder while she squinted at the paper.

“But the energy matters.”

He made a noncommittal sound. “Maya doesn’t care if she’s on the left or the right.”

“She might.”

“She won’t.”

She looked up at him. “Are you going to complain about me being meticulous now?”

He bent low. Kissed her cheek. “I’d rather you plan it than me.”

“That’s what I thought.”

He lingered behind her, arms slipping around her waist, face pressed to her shoulder. “You smell like coffee and lavender. I love it.”

“You smell like me.”

“You’re welcome.”

By the time five p.m. rolled around, she had already changed into a soft linen dress and pinned her hair up. She’d been in the sun all day, laughing with the staff, fussing with the tables, stealing sips of Harry’s wine when she thought he wasn’t looking.

Harry had swapped his shirt twice. He was in a dark linen button-down now, sleeves rolled to his elbows, sunglasses perched on top of his head, and a look on his face that said don’t talk to me unless you’re her.

But when the car that held Isidora and her family pulled up, something in him broke open.

It was subtle. No fanfare. Just a shift—like someone had reached into his chest and unknotted something that had been tangled too long. His back straightened, but not with tension—with something closer to hope.

She touched his arm gently. “She’s here.”

He nodded once.

Isidora stepped out of the car with her husband first—Luis, tall, clean-shaven, polite in a gentle, almost invisible way. Then the girls spilled out.

Yvette was the older one, maybe ten. Dark curls, sharp eyes, already unimpressed by the gravel drive and her baby sister’s endless chatter. Shiv was younger—seven, maybe eight. All limbs and laughter, skipping ahead like she’d already claimed the vineyard as her playground.

Harry stood still. She watched his face closely. He didn’t blink.

Isidora was the last one out. She wore a cream linen set and the kind of sunglasses only elegant younger sisters could pull off. She looked more Paris than Spain these days. But when she took them off and smiled at Harry, the years fell away.

“Hello, brother,” she said.

Harry cleared his throat. Looked down. Then stepped forward. It wasn’t dramatic. Just real. They hugged.

And it was awkward at first—like they’d both forgotten how—but then it changed. She saw it in the way his shoulders dropped. The way his hand pressed against his sister’s back. The way her eyes got glassy but she didn’t say anything.

Luis nodded politely to her. “You must be the woman who made this possible.”

“I guess I am,” she said, smiling.

Shiv ran straight up to Harry and tugged on his hand. “Are you the grumpy uncle?”

Harry blinked. Looked down. Then slowly crouched to her level.

“Who told you I was grumpy?”

“Mama said you never smile.”

He tilted his head. “You think that’s true?”

Shiv considered it. Then grinned. “You’re smiling now.”

He chuckled. Soft. Rare. Yvette stood at a distance, arms crossed. He looked at her. “You too cool to say hello?”

Yvette shrugged. “Maybe.”

He stood. Walked to her. Ruffled her hair with one large hand.

“You’ll warm up,” he said. “Everyone does.”

That night, the house felt full. She made tea. Harry lit the fire outside, even though the air didn’t really call for it. The girls sat on the stone steps eating little plates of cheese and olives. Luis helped one of the vineyard staff bring in a crate of wine. Isidora wandered the garden with her, talking about how strange it was to see her brother laugh.

“I forgot he could,” Isidora said, sipping her wine.

She glanced over at Harry. He was pouring juice for Shiv, sitting on the low stone wall like he’d always been someone’s tío.

“He’s different with you.”

“He’s still himself,” she said.

Isidora smiled. “That’s what I mean.”

When everyone had gone to their rooms, she found Harry alone in the study. Shirt unbuttoned at the throat, a glass of wine in his hand, one leg hooked lazily over the arm of a chair.

“You did good today,” she said.

He looked at her. “You brought them here.”

“You brought the wine.”

He set the glass down. Pulled her into his lap. She fit perfectly there. Always had. He pressed his face to her collarbone. Breathed deep.

“They’re good kids,” he murmured.

“They love you already.”

He didn’t respond. Just held her tighter.

After a while, he whispered, “Thank you for not letting me die alone.”

She blinked. Then pressed her lips to his forehead.

“You were never alone,” she said softly.

He didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. Because his arms never loosened. And the house smelled like rosemary and wood smoke. And she was home.

Morning came on a soft breeze. She woke alone—Harry had gone out early, something about making sure the florist didn’t leave the arch lopsided—and the sheets were still warm where he’d been. His side smelled like him, a mix of cedar and old soap and something sharp that always lingered on his collars. She reached for it, just for a second, fingers curled into the pillow. Just holding the shape of him.

Outside, it was quieter than usual. The kind of quiet that wasn’t emptiness, but expectation.

She stood slowly, still wearing one of his T-shirts, and padded barefoot toward the window. The air outside had turned golden, honeyed and soft, the morning light spilling across the gravel drive and down the sloping rows of vines. She could already hear movement near the west lawn—footsteps, soft laughter, a crate being set down.

More flowers had arrived. Delphinium, roses, foxglove, narcissus. Creams, blushes, blood-wine purples. The staff carried them like offerings, careful hands delivering stem after stem to tables and corners and vases lining the stone walls.

She opened the window, breathing it in. Then heard a knock. When she turned, Harry was standing in the doorway, hair wet, fresh from the shower, shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, that familiar grumpy furrow to his brow that usually meant something had gone not quite to his liking. But his eyes softened when he saw her.

"You didn't eat," he said, stepping inside. A small white plate in his hand—toast, sliced fruit, a folded napkin tucked beside it like he’d rehearsed the delivery.

“I was going to come down.”

“You didn’t.”

She smiled, taking it from him. “Thank you.”

He grunted, kissed her temple. “Eat all of it.”

“I will.”

“You say that, and then I find toast crusts hidden in your napkin.”

She grinned, dragging him down for a proper kiss. “I’ll eat all of it. I swear.”

He gave a satisfied nod but lingered at the edge of the bed, watching her eat like it was the most fascinating thing he’d seen all morning. “They should be landing soon. I told James to send a text once they’re on the road from the airstrip.”

She nodded, mouth full of melon.

He paced a little, adjusting the cuffs on his shirt.

Then, awkwardly, “I, uh…I talked to the jeweler.”

She looked up.

He cleared his throat. “For you. Since… y’know. I proposed with my mother’s. You deserve another ring for our ceremony.”

She set the plate down. “Harry—”

“I picked something simple. I thought about doing something bigger but…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re not a chandelier kind of girl.”

“No,” she said quietly, “I’m not.”

“So it’s just… plain. Platinum. Thin. But it’ll sit under hers like it’s been waiting.”

Her eyes stung.

“You didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to,” he said, with that steel certainty he always saved just for her. “You’re not marrying a man who half-asses the details.”

She smiled, stood, pressed her face to his chest. “I got you a ring, too.”

“You did?”

She nodded. “It’s hidden in my vitamin bag.”

He snorted. “Of course it is.”

The guests began to arrive one after the other, small groups of them stepping out of the long black cars Harry had arranged—private, simple, efficient. James and his wife first, polite and beaming. Then Sadie from PR, surprisingly flushed and holding the hand of a short-haired woman with wide eyes and perfect posture. Francesca and Luca followed, both look older now—Luca had grown into the kind of lanky that made the bride smile. Francesca had new bangs. They hugged her like family.

And then, finally, Danny and Maya. Still pretending they weren’t together, which was more transparent than ever now that Maya was wearing Danny’s sweatshirt tied around her waist and Danny kept touching her back in that absent, protective way men do when they’ve already decided she is mine.

Harry didn’t comment on it, of course.

Just shook Danny’s hand and gave Maya a rare smile that was almost fond. “You both made it.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Maya said, hugging her tightly.

Everyone scattered to their respective rooms—Harry had insisted everyone stay on the vineyard itself, a cluster of small stone guesthouses scattered like pearls across the slope. No one argued. It was impossible to want to be anywhere else.

She and Harry wandered through the grounds as more chairs were delivered, more linens unpacked, more glassware unwrapped.

At one point, she caught him adjusting a table setting himself, muttering under his breath about forks being off-center.

“You’re not allowed to be this controlling on your own wedding weekend,” she teased.

He glanced up. “This isn’t controlling. This is precision.”

She stepped closer. “You’re a menace.”

He let her loop her arms around his middle, despite the eyes of the staff nearby. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, let his hand linger on the back of her neck.

“You’re marrying this menace.”

“I know,” she said softly. “Gladly.”

The day passed in golden slowness. There were wine tastings with James’s wife, who had a secret palate and guessed each vintage without looking. There was a plate of thinly sliced jamón and marinated olives that she ate with Maya in the shade of a cypress. Harry disappeared once or twice to check on the chef’s preparations—“I don’t trust anyone with garlic but myself”—but always returned, like his body couldn’t go too long without orbiting hers.

By late afternoon, the long outdoor table had been set for the pre-wedding dinner. A single taper candle at each seat. Vines coiled along the center. Plates so clean they caught the light like mirrors. It looked like something from an old painting—simple and reverent.

She turned back toward the house to change when she felt it. That familiar shift in the air. The way it always felt when he was behind her, without a sound. She didn’t turn around. He touched her wrist lightly.

“Come upstairs with me.”

She blinked. “Why?”

“I need to show you something.”

“Harry—”

He leaned in, his mouth close to her ear, voice quiet. “It’s not a trick. I promise.”

She followed. They climbed the stairs together slowly.

The sun had begun to dip. Shadows stretched long across the hall. One of the windows was open—grapes growing just outside, still ripening. The hallway smelled like warm linen and something sweeter, something herbal, probably from the candles she’d unpacked the day before.

His room was at the end of the corridor. One of the guest rooms no one had touched. She stepped inside first. Then stopped.

The bed was made—neatly, precisely. Her pillow was on one side. His on the other. Their usual comforter. A candle lit on the nightstand. The soft cotton robe she always wore folded at the end of the bed. On the dresser, a photo of her and Frances, taped to the mirror, slightly crooked. And there, next to the sink in the adjoining bath—her toothbrush, set beside his. Her skincare already on the counter.

She looked at him.

“I can’t sleep without you,” he said quietly.

Her chest ached.

“But we’re not supposed to see each other the night before.”

“I know.” He stepped in, gentle. “We won’t.”

She gave him a look.

“I mean it,” he said. “Lights off. You on your side. Me on mine.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“I won’t even breathe too loud.”

“You’ll snore.”

“I’ll apologize in the morning.”

She stepped into his arms. He held her like the world was ending.

Like tomorrow was already here.

“You ready?” she whispered.

“I’ve been ready since the second I saw you on those steps.”

“You hated me that day.”

“I didn't hate you. I wanted you that day.”

She smiled into his chest. “Shut up.”

“Sue me.” He kissed her hair, breathing in. Then whispered into the top of her head, “We’ll turn off the lights. I just need to know you’re there.”

“Okay,” she said.

And it was.

The evening light slipped through the window like gold silk. The guests laughed faintly down below. The vineyard held its breath. And upstairs, in a room built just for one night—just for them—he kissed her one more time.

Then let her go. Just for now. Because tomorrow was the wedding. And she would be his. Forever.

The sun began to slope low across the vineyard, bathing everything in that kind of old gold light that made skin glow and stone blush. The tables had been set hours ago—linen napkins folded into soft half-moons, polished silverware gleaming under the trees. Vines wrapped the legs of the chairs. A single taper candle burned at every seat, the flame flickering against the soft hush of the countryside.

She stood barefoot at the edge of it all, a glass of white wine in one hand and a curl of her hair caught behind her ear. She hadn’t put on anything dramatic. Just a soft blue dress that hit mid-calf and clung gently to her back every time the breeze rolled in. The neckline scooped low, square and delicate. She’d let Maya braid the crown of her hair an hour ago, with two wildflowers stuck haphazardly in, as if plucked by accident.

Harry had watched the whole process in silence from the porch. Now, he was behind her.

“You look like a goddamn Botticelli painting,” he murmured, his hand coming to rest on the small of her back.

She turned her head slightly, just enough for her smile to find him."Big words for someone who claims they can't spell Baroque."

"I can spell it. I just can't stand it."

"You’ve got drama with Baroque now?"

He just shrugs.  She laughed quietly, letting her fingers brush the back of his hand. He wasn’t dressed up either—linen trousers, a white shirt open at the neck, sleeves cuffed up his forearms, the smallest hint of the bullseye tattoo on his hand visible when he reached for his wine. His hair was still damp from the shower, pushed back messily, with a single unruly curl falling toward his brow. The kind of disheveled that made her feel something between her legs.

His nose was sharp. His jaw shadowed with gray scruff. His mouth looked perpetually like it was thinking of something sharp to say, even when he wasn’t. She wanted to kiss him every time she looked at him.

“You keep staring,” he said under his breath, not looking at her.

She sipped her wine. “So do you.”

He leaned in, lips brushing the shell of her ear. “That’s because you’re mine.”

She didn’t say anything back. Didn’t have to.

Instead, she slid her fingers into his—warm, calloused, familiar—and walked with him to the table, where their people were already gathering like a soft orbit.

Maya had kicked off her sandals within five minutes of sitting down. She was nursing her second glass of rosé and kept adjusting the tiny wildflower tucked behind her ear like it personally offended her every time it drooped.

Danny, sitting beside her, had rolled his sleeves up to his elbows and had the kind of farmer’s tan that came from refusing to wear sunscreen. He was slicing bread with the laser focus of someone trying not to say something emotional.

Across from them, Francesca and Luca were already bickering softly over whose turn it was to pass the olive oil. Francesca had braided her hair into a tight coil at the base of her neck and was wearing a silk slip dress that made her look like she belonged on an old Italian postcard. 

Sadie was seated near the end, arm draped casually around her girlfriend’s shoulders, the both of them in loose linen and dark nail polish. Sadie kept making quiet commentary about the table setting—“I’m going to steal these napkin rings”—and her girlfriend just hummed agreeably while popping cherry tomatoes into her mouth like popcorn.

James and his wife had taken the seats closest to the head of the table, both of them glowing with the kind of married contentment that came from years of knowing which wine went with which kind of cheese. His wife had brought a notebook with floral sketches in it. James had brought a bottle of port older than their hostess.

Isidora was seated at the other end, flanked by her two daughters—Yvette, who was asking the waiter whether there would be dessert, and Shiv, who was wearing one of Harry’s old baseball caps, was trying to convince everyone she was drinking champagne when it was apple juice.

Harry, predictably, didn’t sit until everyone else had. He made two rounds first—checking the wine, adjusting a seat cushion, muttering something to the waiter about the temperature of the plates. She didn’t interrupt him. Just watched. Quietly. The same way she always did when he slipped into that mode—that obsessive, precision-focused place where care and control bled into each other until he’d exhausted both.

When he finally dropped into the seat beside her, he exhaled like he’d been holding his breath all day. She reached for his hand under the table. He squeezed once. Then twice. Then didn’t let go.

The first course was something light—melon and prosciutto with a drizzle of local honey and a crumble of something sharp. Harry picked at it with a faint frown, eyes narrowing every time he hit a bite that didn’t feel cold enough.

“You’re judging the food,” she whispered.

He didn’t deny it. “It’s pretense until the lamb arrives.”

She snorted.

“I’m serious.”

“You’re a menace.”

“You picked me.”

He turned his head and kissed her temple. Soft. Familiar. Like it was already habit.

Maya gave a toast somewhere between the bread course and the grilled vegetables. She hadn’t warned anyone. Just stood with her glass and cleared her throat dramatically.

Harry leaned over to her and muttered, “She’s going to make me cry.”

“You won’t cry.”

“I absolutely will.”

Maya raised her glass. “I wasn’t going to say anything tonight. I was going to save my speech for tomorrow. But then I realized I’d already cry too hard at the ceremony and possibly forget how to speak, so—here we are.”

Danny passed her a napkin without a word. She took it.

“I’ve known her since she was sixteen. She was angry and sharp and stubborn and half-feral, and I adored her immediately. I knew she was going to grow into something terrifyingly good.”

She shifted, glass trembling slightly.

“I didn’t know she’d find someone who deserved her.”

Harry blinked once. Stared hard at the table.

“But you do,” Maya said, voice softening. “You see her. And you let her be seen.”

She looked at her then. “You love him like it’s a fact of nature. Like gravity. Like breath.”

Then at Harry. “And you…you are still a terrifying man. But you’re kind to her. Gentle. Devoted. And I’ve never once doubted you would protect her.”

Harry raised his glass. Didn’t speak. Just nodded once. Just smiled. That was enough.

Everyone drank. Dinner stretched into the soft dark. The sun sank lower, and the candles began to glow brighter. The temperature dropped slightly. Luca ran inside to grab sweaters. Francesca wrapped herself in a shawl and pretended she wasn’t crying during Sadie’s accidental heartfelt comment about love being a quiet thing. Harry barely ate his potatoes. She stole them. He noticed. Didn’t comment. Just pushed the rest of his plate toward her.

“You’ll be too full for dessert,” he said.

“Not possible.”

“Bold statement.”

She smirked. “I’m marrying you. I have to be bold.”

That earned her a faint smile, crooked and warm.

He leaned in. “You’re gonna kill me in that dress tomorrow.”

“You haven’t seen it.”

“I don’t have to.”

She nudged his foot under the table. He nudged back. Gentle. Comfortable. By the time dessert arrived—tiny pear tarts with sugared herbs—Harry’s hand had wandered to her thigh under the table, casual, unmoving. His thumb drew slow circles just above her knee.

She turned to him at one point, whispered, “You good?”

His answer was quiet. “Best I’ve ever been.”

They lingered longer than they meant to. The wine bottles emptied. Shiv fell asleep in Isidora’s lap. Yvette asked if she could braid her aunt’s hair. Danny and James smoked cigars near the fountain while Francesca and Sadie argued about floral arrangements. Maya retold the story of the proposal twice—once for Luca, once for Sadie’s girlfriend, both times with more dramatic flair than was strictly necessary.

Harry stayed beside her through all of it. Never far. Always within reach. At one point, she leaned into his side, tucked her head under his jaw, and he exhaled into her hair like it had been his plan all along.

“You tired?” he murmured.

“A little.”

“Want to sneak away?”

“Not yet.”

“Okay.”

He didn’t press. Just kissed the top of her head. Eventually, the guests began to peel away—slowly, reluctantly, like children being called inside after playing too long in summer light. Francesca said goodnight with a low bow and a wink. Maya tackled her into a hug. Danny just looked at Harry and said, “She’s the best thing you’ve ever done.”

Harry nodded. “I know.”

And when they were finally alone—just the two of them, the candles low, the air thick with the scent of warm sugar and cut rosemary—Harry didn’t say anything at first. He just pulled her into his chest. Held her there. She let herself be held.

The sky was dark now. The stars blinked low over the hills. Somewhere in the distance, an owl called once. Then again. Harry’s heartbeat thudded slow and steady beneath her ear. She didn’t want to let go. She didn’t have to. They walked back to the house in silence. His hand never left her back. And when they climbed the stairs together, passed the still-open window and the soft curl of incense from the hallway table, she stopped outside the room where she wasn’t supposed to sleep.

Harry opened the door first. Then turned. Held it for her.

“Lights off,” he said, voice low. “No funny business.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You think I’m the one who starts it?”

He smirked. “You are.”

“Bold.”

“True.”

She stepped inside. He followed. And that was it. The night before the wedding. Their last as fiancés. And it had been simple. Beautiful. Mundane. Just them. And their people. And the kind of love that didn’t need proving. It had already been lived. And tomorrow—It would be named.

And then the sun rose. It came in slow, spilling across the vineyard like honey over warm bread—thick, golden, unhurried. The kind of light that filled rooms before sound did. The kind that didn’t wake you with urgency, but with the quiet certainty that something mattered.

She felt it first against her cheek. The warmth of it. Then the weight behind her—the long, anchored line of Harry’s body still curled into hers, solid and warm, one arm draped heavily around her waist, the other tucked beneath her pillow like he’d buried part of himself under her just to be sure she wouldn’t vanish. His breathing was slow. Deep. The kind that only came with rare sleep.

She shifted slightly. The bed creaked. Harry made a low, half-conscious sound, somewhere between a hum and a growl, and pulled her closer. His nose brushed the back of her neck. He always did that. Always found the softest part of her and stayed there. She closed her eyes again.

Just for a second. Let her fingers slide over his forearm, the veins and hair and warmth of it. He smelled like skin and sun-dried cotton and the faintest hint of the cedar soap he insisted on traveling with because “other soaps makes me itch like a bastard.” She loved him and his sensitive skin.  God, she could stay here forever. But she wouldn’t get the chance.

Because that was when the door slammed open. “Motherfucker!”

She jolted. Harry didn’t. He just grunted. Then, lazily, “Close the door, Maya. You’re letting the bees in.”

“No,” Maya snapped, stomping across the room. “You’re letting tradition die in its sleep.”

“Maya,” she tried, barely able to speak through a sleepy laugh, “what the hell are you doing—”

“Dragging your romantic, traitorous ass out of this bed like a proper maid of honor, because you’re getting married in four hours and you slept with the groom.”

“She didn’t sleep with me,” Harry said, not opening his eyes. “She just slept.”

“Same bed,” Maya hissed. “That’s sacrilege.”

“Calm down, we didn’t elope.”

“She’s wearing your shirt.”

“It’s her shirt now.”

“I’m going to scream.”

Harry finally cracked one eye open. His voice was a husky murmur. “Do it outside.”

Maya pointed at him like he was a cat that had brought in a mouse. “You. Don’t move. Don’t even think about sneaking a kiss. If I see you near her before the ceremony, I’m cutting off your coffee supply for a year.”

Harry’s mouth curved. Not quite a smile. Just the slow, crooked pull of amusement he saved for the few times someone entertained him. “You’re lucky I like you.”

“You don’t.”

He stretched. Long. Deliberate. The sheets fell low on his hips.

Maya immediately turned around, groaning. “Disgusting.”

“Don’t look then.”

“Oh my God.”

His bride was laughing now. Fully upright, one hand in her hair, the other gripping the edge of the blanket like it might shield her from Maya’s wrath. Harry hadn’t moved to cover himself. He never did. But his fingers brushed hers beneath the sheet, one last anchor before the day really began.

“I’ll see you later,” he murmured, low enough that only she could hear it.

“You better.”

Then Maya was yanking her out of bed like she was still nineteen and late for something she didn’t remember signing up for. She kissed Harry’s forehead quickly, then let Maya drag her down the hall barefoot, groggy, her legs still loose with sleep and the aftertaste of closeness. The room Maya brought her to was enormous. The biggest sun room she's ever seen. Old stone walls. Exposed beams. Soft French light. And everywhere—everywhere—was care.

The dress was hanging from a brass hook in the corner, the ivory fabric spilling like cream onto the fainting couch beneath it. Her shoes were lined up in a row on a woven mat, with backups beside them. Skincare was arranged by order of application. Her makeup bag—packed by Maya—was open and blooming with options. A mirror stood tall in the corner, flanked by two vases of fresh lavender. A tray sat near the chaise with three linen napkins, two pitchers of water, and an untouched espresso.

Maya crossed her arms, smug. “You’re welcome.”

She blinked. Swallowed. “You did all of this for me.”

“Of course I did.”

She turned slowly in the room, taking it all in. The candle Maya must’ve lit an hour ago. The playlist humming softly in the corner, instrumental, slow. The card on the nightstand that said you’ve already won in Maya’s handwriting.

“I love you,” she said.

“You better. You’ve turned me into a monster. I ordered a clothing steamer. A steamer. Do you even know how ugly those things are?”

“You’re my maid of honor.”

“Damn right I am.”

The next hour passed like water through fingers. She sat in a chair while Maya curled her hair and told her stories about a wedding she once attended when she was a child in California where the bride caught fire (not dramatically, just enough to lose her veil). They laughed through mascara. Drank espresso. Argued over lip liner colors.

Every now and then, she touched the sleeve of Harry’s shirt she was still wearing and smiled. She hadn’t taken it off yet. Couldn’t quite make herself do it. She kept looking at the dress. It didn’t feel like the dress. It felt like a door. And she wasn’t sure what would be on the other side once she stepped through it. A knock at the door breaks her thoughts. Harry’s voice, muffled.

“Can I come in?”

Maya froze.

“No! No!”

“I have her breakfast.”

“You can pass it through the door like you’re in some tower.”

“Christ.”

There was a pause. Then a tray appeared, gently nudged through the barely cracked door.

Maya snatched it like it might explode. “Thank you, goodbye, she’s mine now.”

“I could bench press you,” Harry muttered.

“I could poison the appetizers.”

Then she slammed the door again and turned to find her grinning.

“He’s ridiculous.”

“So are you,” Maya said, setting the tray down. “Eat. Or I’m feeding you like a baby goat.”

She lifted the lid. Toast. Eggs. Two slices of roasted tomato. A cup of tea with cream. And—folded neatly under the napkin—a note. She saw it immediately.

Maya raised a brow. “He’s nothing if not dramatic.”

“Give it.”

Maya handed it over to the bride. She unfolded it slowly, thumb brushing the edge of his handwriting—blunt, sharp, all angles and pressure. It wasn’t long. Just this:

You slept with your leg over mine all night.

You drooled on my chest.

You still looked like peace.

In a few hours, you’re going to walk toward me and I’ll stop breathing.

You are the only thing I’ve ever truly wanted.

Don’t be nervous.

You’re already mine.

—H.

Her throat closed. She folded it back. Pressed it to her chest.

Maya didn’t ask what it said. Just leaned over and kissed the top of her head.

“You okay?”

She nodded. But her hands shook. Not with fear. With knowing. This was really happening. She was marrying a man who would spend the rest of his life making her feel like a choice, not a default. A man who still watched her like she was something he didn’t think he deserved. Who whispered I’ve got you in the dark and meant it.

A man who never once flinched at the truth of her—That her father had ruined lives and called it ambition. That her brother had folded under the weight of it and never gotten back up. That her mother had boarded a plane in the middle of the night and never sent a letter. That her name came with apologies. That her survival came with guilt. Harry had never asked her to apologize for any of it.

Only said, once, in a whisper, “You didn’t cause the storm. But you’re the one who walked out of it.”

She breathed in. Looked at herself in the mirror. And slowly began to unbutton the shirt. The dress slid over her body like a promise. Ivory. Heavy. Beautiful. It didn’t sparkle. It didn’t shout. It whispered. Like the life she was stepping into. She turned slowly in the mirror, fingers brushing the soft silk. Her hair was curled down her back. The earrings glinted. Her hands were steady. Her heart wasn’t. Because it was full. And when Maya came to stand behind her, brushing imaginary lint off her shoulder, she saw it too.

“You look like the beginning of something.”

She met Maya’s eyes. Smiled.

“I feel like it.”

The ceremony would begin soon. But for a few more minutes— She stood still. Let herself feel the quiet. Let herself hold that note to her chest, eyes closed, one hand on her heart. And in the distance—

Down the slope of grapevines and chairs and string lights—

Harry Castillo was waiting. And he was trying not to fidget. Which, now at fifty-six, with a reputation for stoicism that terrified executives and made junior associates piss themselves, was saying something.

He was already dressed. It wasn’t complicated. A dark suit—deep charcoal with a faint texture you could only see up close. No tie. Crisp collar. One button closed. Clean shave. Polished shoes. A watch on his wrist she’d gifted him on his birthday, the inscription hidden on the back: This is the only time I want you to keep track of. His hair was still damp from the shower. His sleeves were rolled to the wrist, not an inch higher. He’d redone the buttons twice. They were perfectly aligned now, of course, but he kept glancing down at them like something had shifted when he wasn’t looking.

James stood nearby, sipping a small glass of white wine that Harry hadn’t offered.

“You’re pacing,” James said mildly.

“I’m not pacing.”

“You’ve walked that length of stone floor seven times.”

“I counted eight.”

Danny leaned against the arched doorframe of the study. His tie was loose—he hadn’t bothered to fasten it yet—and he was chewing on the end of a toothpick like he’d been born in a Western.

“You nervous?” Danny asked.

“No.”

“You look nervous.”

Harry shot him a look. Danny shrugged, easy. “It’s good. Means you give a shit.”

Harry didn’t reply. Just exhaled through his nose and checked the small paper in his breast pocket—again. The final version of his vows, folded once, worn at the crease.

James wandered to the window. “The chairs are all set. Florist’s finishing the arch. I think Sadie yelled at the pastry chef.”

Harry blinked. “What about the garland for the chairs?”

“Done.”

“The wine labels?”

“Lined up.”

He turned. “The music cues?”

Sadie appeared then, slipping through the side door with the quiet assurance of someone who managed entire legacies in heels and silk blazers. “Handled. We even tested the speakers. Twice.”

Harry opened his mouth. Sadie held up a hand.

“Whatever it is—don’t. It’s done. All of it. If you so much as try to adjust a candle, I will drug you.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You can’t speak to me that way.”

“I’m your publicist. I have to speak to you that way.”

Danny snorted. “She’s right.”

Harry looked at them all—Sadie, James, Danny—and for a moment, the weight of it hit him. This wasn’t a press event. This wasn’t a deal closing. This was his wedding. His.

And she was upstairs. In a room he wasn’t allowed to enter, surrounded by women who knew more about serum and chiffon than he ever would. She was probably scowling at a mascara wand. Or reading something to calm her nerves. Or laughing too loud. Or looking at herself in the mirror like she didn’t quite believe this was real. Like she didn’t know how much it cost him to ask her to believe it. He swallowed. Checked his watch. Then turned toward the door that led outside.

“Where you going?” James asked.

Harry grabbed a small folded envelope from the side table. “I’ll be back in five.”

The vineyard stretched wide. The vines were in full bloom, green and humming, the earth warm and soft underfoot. He walked slowly. Deliberately. The breeze tugged at the open collar of his shirt. The sun was warm but not oppressive. He took the long path. The one that curved behind the main rows, past the slope where the kitchen herbs were grown, toward a quieter, less manicured corner. The dirt was dry here, the stones old. The kind of place you didn’t landscape. You left it wild. Let it remember.

He stopped at the fence post that was painted blue last summer, for no reason other than she liked the way it looked. Then crouched beside the vines. And pulled out the letter. It wasn’t long. But it was his:

To my mother, 

You didn’t get to meet her.  You would’ve liked her.  You would’ve seen it. The way she looks at me. The way I look back. You once said I wasn’t made for quiet things. Turns out I just hadn’t earned one yet. 

I’m getting married today. She’s younger than me. She’s smarter than me. She drives me insane and makes me calm in the same breath. And she found that ring in a drawer I swore I’d never open again. I’m giving it to her. Because no one else ever should’ve worn it. 

You said I was born angry. But today, I’m not. Today, I’m grateful. You got me here. Even if you didn’t mean to. I hope you can rest now. I’m going to try.

—Harry 

He folded it again. Tucked it between the roots. Brushed his fingers over the soil like a benediction. Then paused. Because something else was already there. A scrap of paper, half tucked beneath the next row over. Smaller than his, paler. Folded once. He reached out slowly. The name stopped him.

Teddy.

He didn’t touch it. Not at first. Just stared at it. Let the wind move around him. Then, carefully, he opened it. Her handwriting. He knew it. Every curve. Every sharp edge. It wasn’t dated but you could tell it was written recently. Just this:

Hi. I don’t know if I believe in these kinds of things. But today, I needed you to know. I’m okay.

I’m marrying a man who doesn’t flinch when I tell the truth. I’m marrying someone who knows where I come from and stays anyway. I wish you could’ve met him. You’d like him.

You’d pretend not to. But you’d watch the way he makes coffee. The way he touches me like he’s afraid I’ll leave. The way he folds my laundry when he thinks I’m not looking.

He’s stubborn. And smart. And he sleeps on the left side even though he hates it.

I miss you every day. I wish you’d stayed. But I’m staying. For both of us.

—Your sister

Harry sat down. Right there in the dirt. Bent over, elbows on his knees, jaw tight, shoulders still. He didn’t cry. But his throat ached. He folded the note again. Put it back. Where she had. Two notes, side by side. His and hers. For ghosts.

He stayed there a long time. Not saying anything. Just breathing. Letting the wind move. Letting the silence settle. Letting the weight of it all—grief, love, history—press into the earth where it belonged. Then, finally—He stood. Straightened his jacket. Checked the time. And walked back. When he reached the edge of the main house, James was waiting.

“You good?”

Harry didn’t answer right away. Just nodded once. James held out a boutonniere. Small. White. A little crooked. Clearly done by his bride.

“She’ll kill you if you forget it.”

Harry pinned it to his lapel without comment. Then glanced toward the path that led to the arch. He exhaled. Rubbed his hand over his mouth. “Let’s go.”

The chairs were full now. The guests were seated. The sun was beginning to shift behind the cypress trees, the light going soft and golden, the kind of light photographers prayed for and poets wrote about. The musicians began to play.

And Harry Castillo—Formerly the most unshakable man in New York, the one with the steel mouth and the colder eyes, the one who had once said love is for idiots—

Stood at the altar. And waited for the woman who changed everything. The sky held its breath. The vineyard had quieted, hushed under the weight of what was about to begin. The chairs were filled, but no one was speaking. The wind moved slow. The leaves barely rustled. Even the sun seemed gentler, like it was trying not to interrupt.

Harry stood still. At the top of the aisle, near the arch they’d built together with quiet hands and too many revisions, he stood in his dark suit, one hand curled loosely in front of him, the other brushing the edge of his watch. His brow was tense in that familiar way—creases drawn deep between his eyes, like he was already enduring something. But his mouth was soft. No scowl.  Softer than anyone had seen it in years.

The first to walk were his nieces. Yvette and Shiv. Small flower crowns, bare feet in the grass, baskets held too tight in their small hands. Yvette looked unimpressed, carefully sprinkling petals like they were tax documents. Shiv took the whole thing more seriously than anyone—biting her lip with concentration as she scattered pink and white blossoms across the aisle like breadcrumbs in a storybook.

Harry blinked hard.

Then harder when Shiv grinned at him as she passed and whispered, “You look nervous.”

He didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

Maya followed. Chin up, eyes bright, holding a small bouquet like it owed her rent. She looked proud. Not of herself. Of the moment. Of her best friend. Of the history she’d lived through to get here. She nodded once at Harry as she passed, as if to say don’t fuck this up. Then Isidora. She moved like a woman who knew her brother had spent his whole life angry and finally wasn’t. She gave him a look that meant nothing and everything, then took her place beside Maya near the front isle..

And then. Then—Her. 

The dress wasn’t extravagant. Not like the ones you see on Bridezillas. It didn’t glitter. Didn’t pull the eye with beading or boning or a train meant to make a statement.

It was silk. Ivory. Slipped like water across her skin. Sleeves to the wrist. A subtle, impossible plunge at the front that made his chest seize. The back was low. Low enough to see the line of her spine. The dip of her waist. She walked with her ballet heels, hair pinned but loose at the edges, skin glowing like the moment belonged to her.

Which, of course, it did.

He exhaled once—too sharp. Tried to catch it. Failed. Then blinked. Then blinked again. His throat went tight. His jaw twitched. He hadn’t cried in thirty years. Not when his mother died. Not when his father left. Not when he’d made his first million or his first hundred. Not when he burned the business down and rebuilt it again from ash. But this? Watching her walk toward him—He broke. Quietly. Without fanfare. Just a single tear that slid down the sharp cut of his cheek. She saw it. Of course she did.

Because when she walked, she didn’t look around. Didn’t wave. Didn’t scan the chairs. She walked like she had a target. Like he was gravity. Like she didn’t believe in aisles or arches or ceremony but still—somehow—believed in him. And he watched her the way men watched miracles. She stopped just in front of him, bouquet clutched in both hands like it was anchoring her.

“Hi,” she whispered.

“Hi,” he rasped, voice broken glass and breath.

They didn’t touch. Not yet. But it was like their bodies leaned, instinctively, as if the air between them wasn’t enough anymore. The officiant cleared her throat—gently, politely, like she’d seen a thousand of these and still understood how sacred the beginning was.

“If you’re both ready,” she said, smiling.

They nodded. The ceremony wasn’t long. They’d agreed on that. Just what needed saying.

The officiant began with something simple. A few words about love, about timing, about the way people come into each other’s lives not to fix them but to hold them steady while they fix themselves. About how choosing someone every day is a decision made quietly and relentlessly.

Then it was vows. She’d insisted Harry go first. And he had. He pulled the paper from his pocket. Smoothed it once. Cleared his throat. Then looked at her. Not at the crowd. Not at the trees. Just at her.

“I wrote this so many times I forgot what the first version said. You remember. You found it.”

Laughter stirred behind them. She smiled, eyes glinting.

“But this one—I meant this one. Every word. Every pause. I don’t believe in soulmates. But I believe in choice. And I choose you. Every morning. Every minute. I choose the way you look at me like I’m not broken." Harry sniffles softly.

Another tear comes down his eye. She wipes his softly with the back of her hand. 

"I choose the way you burn toast and then claim it’s on purpose. I choose the way you let me be quiet. I choose the way you don’t let me stay there too long. I choose the night you found the ring. I choose the look on your face when you said yes. I choose the version of myself that only exists when you’re near."

She gets choked up with tears. If she hadn't decided to work that party at the Met, she wouldn't have met him. Her husband. 

"I choose you. I will always choose you. Even when I forget how to say it.”

He folded the paper. Hand shaking slightly. And stepped back. She was still staring at him like she was memorizing something. Then she reached into her bouquet. Pulled a small folded card from between the stems. And began.

“I wrote this in a journal. Then on a napkin. Then on the back of an old receipt. I didn’t think I’d ever get it right. But maybe that’s the point. There’s no right way to say, you saved me. You didn’t fix me. You didn’t try. You just made space."

Harry smiled tearfully.

"You made it okay to be someone who lost things. A father. A mother. A brother. You never asked me to stop carrying them. You just offered to carry some of the weight with me. You did it by refilling my coffee without asking. By letting me yell about spreadsheets. By tucking the blanket around my ankles without waking me. By brushing my hair back when I pretend to be asleep." 

So many nights where she would fall asleep on the couch and wake up in bed. Wrapped in his arms. 

"You did it by loving me like I’m something worth staying for. And I will stay. I will choose this. You. The morning breath. The quiet. The stubbornness. The loyalty. The attitude. I will take all of it. I will hold it in my palms and call it home."

Sniffles were heard throughout their limited guests. 

"Because that’s what you are. You are home.”

When she looked up—Harry had stopped blinking again. But he was still breathing. Barely. The officiant smiled. Wiped at her own cheek.

“By the power vested in me—”

Harry stepped forward. Hands at her face. Mouth against hers. They kissed. Not hard. Not hungry. But full. Anchored. Like something settled. Like a promise made without needing words. The crowd laughed. Soft. Startled.

The officiant raised a brow. “I wasn’t done.”

Harry pulled back just enough to murmur, “I was.”

She laughed. Shaky.

The officiant sighed, half-smiling. “Then let it be known—before I could say it—that you are husband and wife.”

Maya cheered. Francesca whooped. James clapped once, solemn and proud. Isidora didn’t cry, but her jaw trembled. Harry didn’t look at any of them. He looked at her. And only her. She pressed her forehead to his, fingers sliding up to his jaw.

“You cried,” she whispered.

“Shut up,” he murmured.

“I’m keeping that forever.”

“Put it in your vows next time.”

She kissed him again. Gentle. Final. Everyone stood. Chairs scraped softly. Champagne popped somewhere off to the side. The sun dipped behind the hill just slightly, brushing everything in a layer of light that looked painted.

And Harry Castillo—once the coldest man in any room—wrapped his arm around the woman he loved and walked down the aisle like the only thing that had ever made sense was her hand in his.

Because it was. And it always would be them.

Mr and Mrs. Castillo.

TAGLIST @foxfollowedmehome @glitterspark @sukivenue @hhallefuckinglujahh @wholesomeloneliness @bebop36 @maryfanson @aysilee2018 @msjarvis @snoopyreadstoday @woodxtock @lasocia69 @jakecockley @just-a-harmless-patato @romancherry @southernbe @canyoufallinlove @aomi-recs @ivoryandflame @peelieblue @mstubbs21 @eleganthottubfun @justgonewild @awqwhat @xoprettiestkat @prose-before-hoes @indiegirlunited @catnip987 @thottiewinemom @rainbowsock4 @weareonlygettingolderbabe @hotforpedro @petertingless @lemon-world1 @jasminedragoon @algressman16 @la-120 @totallynotshine @joelmillerpascal @inesbethari @peedrow @escapefromrealitylol @mrsbilicablog @lunpycatavenue

[moonlightwritingf1]

Tempting Surprises | LN4

ᰔᩚ summary ━━━━━━━ Lando and Y/n have been dating for two months and are both in love but haven’t confessed. One Friday, Y/n decides to surprise Lando and finally take their relationship further. She asks him for money, buys sexy lingerie, and models it for him during dinner. As she reveals the final set, the tension between them escalates.

ᰔᩚ pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

ᰔᩚ word count ━━━━━━━ 3.2k

ᰔᩚ warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content

The sharp chime of her phone jolted Y/n awake, pulling her from the lingering fragments of a dream that had left her cheeks flushed. She blinked at the screen, the sunlight streaming through her curtains catching on the text notification.

Lando: Morning, love. Need anything? Coffee? Breakfast? Your favorite croissant from that bakery you won’t shut up about?

She bit her lip, stifling a laugh. Always so eager, she thought, but the fluttering in her chest betrayed how much she secretly loved his relentless attention. Still, she couldn’t let him off easy. Not yet.

Y/n: Actually… I need to ask you for something. Something important.

Her fingers hovered over the screen, and before she could second-guess herself, she hit send. The reply came almost instantly.

Lando: Name it. Anything.

Y/n: I need money. About £500.

There was a brief pause, and she could almost picture him raising an eyebrow, his lips curling into that mischievous grin she both adored and dreaded. Then, her phone buzzed again.

Lando: Done. Check your account. And don’t even think about paying me back.

A notification pinged moments later, and her eyes widened at the figure. It was more than she’d asked for—far more. She shook her head, muttering under her breath, “He’s ridiculous.” But the warmth spreading through her chest told her everything she needed to know. He wasn’t just indulging her; he was showing her, in his own way, how much she meant to him.

By noon, she was out the door, weaving through the bustling streets of London with a singular mission. The boutique windows gleamed with temptation, and she allowed herself a rare indulgence, stepping inside one after another to select pieces that made her feel powerful, desired, dangerous. Each lingerie set was a statement, a promise she intended to deliver on later that evening.

---

Lando arrived at her apartment precisely at 7 PM, his arms filled with takeaway bags. The aroma of sushi wafted through the air as he stepped inside, his bright blue/ green eyes scanning the room for her.

“You’re late,” Y/n teased, leaning against the doorway to her kitchen, her tone light but her gaze sharp enough to make him falter.

“Traffic,” he shot back, setting the bags down on the counter. “And I had to endure the smell of raw fish for you. Do you know how disgusting that is?”

She laughed, the sound soft and melodic, and crossed the room to inspect the food. Sure enough, there were her favorite rolls, perfectly arranged, alongside his more mundane choices. “You hate sushi, yet you still bring it every time. Why?”

He shrugged, his expression casual, but the intensity in his eyes gave him away. “Because it makes you smile.”

The words hung between them, heavy with unspoken meaning, and for a moment, she forgot to breathe. She glanced away first, busying herself with plates and chopsticks, but her heart raced as if she’d run a marathon.

They ate in comfortable silence, the tension simmering just beneath the surface. Every brush of their hands as they reached for the same piece of ginger sent sparks racing up her arm. Lando watched her intently, his gaze lingering on her lips as she chewed, on the way her hair fell over her shoulder when she leaned forward.

When the last bite was gone, she stood abruptly, a sly smile playing on her lips. “I have a surprise for you.”

His eyebrows shot up, curiosity and excitement mingling in his expression. “Oh? Should I be scared?”

“Terrified,” she replied, disappearing into her bedroom before he could respond.

Lando sank back onto the sofa, his leg bouncing with anticipation. The minutes dragged on, each one feeling like an eternity, until finally, the soft click of heels echoed down the hallway. His breath caught as she stepped into view, wearing a black lace bralette that clung to her curves like a second skin, paired with matching panties that left little to the imagination. The thin straps accentuated her shoulders, and the sheer fabric teased at what lay beneath.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered, his voice rough with desire.

Y/n smirked, twirling slowly to give him a full view. “Do you like it?”

“Like it? I—” He cut himself off, raking a hand through his hair as his eyes darkened. “You’re killing me.”

She giggled, the sound light and infectious, before retreating to her bedroom once more. When she reappeared, it was in a deep red set, the color vivid against her skin, the plunge of the bra daringly low. She struck a pose, her confidence radiating as she strutted toward him, only to stop just out of reach.

“And this one?” she asked, her voice dripping with mischief.

Lando’s jaw tightened, his hands gripping the edge of the sofa as if to anchor himself. “You’re not playing fair.”

“Who said anything about playing fair?” she shot back, vanishing again.

By the third set—a delicate white number adorned with pearls—his resolve was crumbling. His cock strained against his jeans, the outline unmistakable, and Y/n couldn’t help but revel in the power she held over him.

“You’re enjoying this,” he accused, his voice thick with frustration and arousal.

“Immensely,” she admitted, her grin widening.

The fourth and fifth sets pushed him further to the edge, but it was the sixth and final one that shattered whatever remained of his self-control. This time, there was no lace, no frills—just two small patches of fabric barely covering her nipples and a single string nestled between her thighs. Lando’s breath hitched, his knuckles white as he gripped the sofa, his entire body taut with need.

“Y/n…” Her name sounded like a plea, a prayer, and she felt a thrill at the sound.

She strolled toward him, her hips swaying deliberately, until she stood mere inches away. “Yes, Lando?” she purred, tilting her head as if daring him to make the next move.

But he didn’t speak. Instead, his hands shot out, grabbing her waist and pulling her down onto his lap. Their lips crashed together in a searing kiss, all pretense stripped away as the tension finally snapped. Her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging lightly, and he groaned against her mouth, his grip tightening as if afraid she might disappear.

When they finally broke apart, both gasping for air, Lando pressed his forehead to hers, his voice trembling. “You’re going to ruin me.”

She smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair from his face. “Isn’t that the point?”

Lando’s lips trailed down her neck, his breath hot and urgent as he nipped at her collarbone. Y/n arched into him, her fingers tightening in his hair, pulling him closer as if she could fuse their bodies together. He murmured something incoherent against her skin, his hands sliding under her thighs to lift her effortlessly off the couch. She gasped, wrapping her legs around his waist instinctively, her heart pounding as he carried her toward the bedroom.

“You’re going to kill me,” he muttered, his voice low and strained, but there was a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Do you even know what you do to me?”

She didn’t answer, just pressed her lips to his jawline, teeth grazing his stubble as she teased him with soft, fleeting kisses. Her touch was deliberate, every movement calculated to drive him wild. And it was working—his breathing was ragged, his steps quickening as they reached the doorway. He kicked it shut behind them with one foot, the sound echoing in the quiet room.

He laid her down gently on the bed, his eyes raking over her body like he couldn’t believe she was real. The last set of lingerie clung to her curves, leaving nothing to the imagination, and his hand trembled slightly as he reached out to trace the delicate lace at her hip.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he whispered, his voice thick with desire. His fingers moved higher, brushing against the fabric that barely covered her breasts. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”

Y/n bit her lip, her cheeks flushed as she watched him. God, he looked so good, his shirt half-unbuttoned, his hair disheveled from her hands. She reached up to finish what she’d started, undoing the rest of his buttons until his chest was bare. Her fingertips brushed over his skin, tracing the lines of his muscles, and he shuddered under her touch.

“Lando…” she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. “I need you.”

Those words seemed to break whatever restraint he had left. He leaned down, capturing her lips in a searing kiss as his hands roamed her body, exploring every inch of her. His touch was electric, sending sparks shooting through her veins as he slid the flimsy lingerie off her shoulders. His lips followed suit, trailing down her neck, her collarbone, until he reached her breast.

Her breath hitched as his tongue flicked over her nipple, teasing her relentlessly. She squirmed beneath him, her nails digging into his back as she tried to pull him closer. “Don’t stop,” she begged, her voice trembling. “Please…”

He chuckled darkly, lifting his head to meet her gaze. “So impatient,” he teased, his thumb brushing over her other nipple. “What happened to taking our time, hm?”

Y/n groaned, throwing her head back against the pillows. “You’re killing me.”

“Good.” His grin was wicked as his hand slid lower, slipping between her thighs. She gasped, arching off the bed as his fingers found her slick heat. He circled her clit slowly, deliberately, watching her reaction with rapt attention. “Fuck, you’re so wet for me.”

She moaned, her hips rocking against his hand as he increased the pressure. Her eyes fluttered shut, her entire body coiled tight with tension. But just as she felt herself teetering on the edge, he pulled away, leaving her gasping for air.

“Lando!” she whined, glaring at him through hooded eyes.

“Patience, love,” he said, his smirk widening as he stripped off the rest of his clothes. Her gaze dropped to his cock, hard and throbbing, and her mouth went dry. He climbed back onto the bed, hovering over her as he kissed his way down her body, pausing to nip at her inner thighs before finally settling between her legs.

His tongue flicked against her in slow, torturous strokes, teasing her until she was writhing beneath him. Her hands fisted in the sheets, her thighs trembling as he worked her into a frenzy. Just when she thought she couldn’t take anymore, he slipped two fingers inside her, curling them just right to make her see stars.

“Oh god—” she cried out, her back arching as pleasure crashed over her in waves. She came undone, her vision blurring as he continued to lap at her, drawing out every last tremble until she collapsed bonelessly against the mattress.

Lando gave her a moment to recover, kissing his way back up her body until his lips met hers. She could taste herself on his tongue, and it only made her crave him more. She reached between them, wrapping her hand around his cock and guiding him to her entrance.

“Inside me,” she demanded, her voice shaking with need. “Now.”

He hesitated, his brow furrowing. “Are you sure—”

“Yes,” she interrupted, pulling him closer. “I’m sure.”

With a groan, he pressed into her, filling her inch by agonizing inch until he was fully sheathed. They both stilled for a moment, foreheads pressed together as they adjusted to the sensation. Then Y/n shifted her hips, urging him to move.

Lando obliged, setting a slow, steady pace that quickly built into something more frantic. His thrusts became deeper, harder, each one driving her closer to the edge. She clutched at his shoulders, her nails leaving crescent-shaped marks in his skin as she urged him to go faster.

“God, you feel—” he broke off, his voice strangled as he buried his face in her neck. “You feel so fucking good.”

She could only nod, her own words lost in the haze of pleasure clouding her mind. Every nerve in her body was alight, every touch, every movement sending ripples of ecstasy through her. She wrapped her legs tighter around his waist, pulling him deeper, and he groaned in response, his rhythm faltering.

When she felt him tense, his thrusts becoming erratic, she knew he was close. He pulled out suddenly, his hand wrapping around his cock as he spilled himself across her stomach and pussy. The sight of him, breathless and undone, sent a shiver down her spine.

For a moment, neither of them spoke, the only sound in the room their labored breathing. Then Lando glanced down at her, a lazy grin spreading across his face. “You look so fucking hot like this,” he murmured, his voice rough with satisfaction.

Y/n laughed softly, her cheeks burning as she reached for the sheet to clean herself up. But his hand stopped her, catching her wrist mid-motion.

“No,” he said, his tone firm but gentle. “Leave it. You’re perfect.”

Lando’s hand lingered on her wrist, his fingertips brushing against her skin in a way that made her pulse quicken. “Leave it,” he repeated, his voice low and husky, the words settling into the air like a command she couldn’t ignore. His eyes held hers, intense, filled with something she couldn’t quite name—admiration, desire, maybe even tenderness. She felt exposed, not just physically but emotionally, under the weight of his gaze.

Y/n let out a shaky breath, her heartbeat still racing. She glanced down at herself, her stomach streaked with him, and a flush crept up her neck. “You’re insane,” she muttered, though there was no bite to her words. Her voice was soft, almost shy, as if she weren’t entirely sure how to handle this version of him—the one who looked at her like she was everything.

He laughed, the sound warm and rich, and it sent a ripple of warmth through her chest. “Insane for you,” he said, leaning down to press a kiss to her shoulder. His lips were gentle, almost reverent, and it made her shiver.

She turned her head to look at him, her cheeks still pink. “You’re impossible,” she said, but there was a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“And yet here you are,” he teased, his fingers trailing up her arm. “Stuck with me.”

For a moment, they stayed like that, tangled together in the quiet aftermath. The room smelled of them, of sweat and sex, but there was also something sweet lingering in the air—something undeniably intimate. Y/n wasn’t used to this, to being so completely seen, so completely known by someone. It terrified her, but it also exhilarated her in a way she couldn’t explain.

Finally, Lando shifted, his arms wrapping around her waist as he pulled her closer. “Come on,” he murmured, his lips brushing against her ear. “Let’s clean up.”

She hesitated, her body stiffening slightly at the thought of moving. But then he was sitting up, his hands gently guiding her to do the same. When she stood, her legs felt unsteady beneath her, but Lando was there instantly, his arm slipping around her waist to steady her.

“I’ve got you,” he said softly, his tone reassuring.

She nodded, letting him lead her toward the bathroom. The tile floor was cool beneath her feet, and the air was thick with steam as Lando turned on the shower. He adjusted the temperature carefully, his brow furrowed in concentration, before stepping back to let her step in first.

The water was warm, almost soothing as it cascaded over her skin. She closed her eyes, letting it wash away the remnants of what had just happened. But then she felt him behind her, his chest pressing against her back as his arms wrapped around her waist.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his lips brushing against her shoulder.

She tilted her head, glancing back at him. “For what?”

“For tonight,” he said simply. His voice was soft, almost vulnerable, and it caught her off guard. “For trusting me.”

Her breath hitched, her heart swelling in her chest. She didn’t know what to say, so she just nodded, her fingers curling around his forearm as he held her.

They stood like that for a while, the water running over them, washing away the tension and the heat that had been building between them all night. It was strangely peaceful, standing there with him, their bodies pressed together without any expectation or urgency. Just… them.

Eventually, Lando reached for the soap, spreading it between his hands before smoothing it over her shoulders and down her arms. His touch was slow, deliberate, and she couldn’t help but lean into it.

“You know,” she began, her voice hesitant as she stared at the tiles in front of her. “I didn’t actually need the money.”

His hands paused for a moment, and she could feel his confusion radiating through the silence. Then, softly, he asked, “What do you mean?”

She swallowed hard, her cheeks heating as she forced the words out. “I… I used it to buy the lingerie. All of it.”

There was a beat of silence, and then he chuckled, the sound low and warm against her ear. “Fuck, Y/n,” he said, his hands resuming their gentle movements. “That’s the hottest thing you’ve ever done.”

She rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at her lips. “You’re such an idiot.”

“Your idiot,” he corrected, his tone teasing but sincere.

Her heart skipped a beat at his words, and she turned to face him, her hands resting lightly against his chest. “Is that what you are?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

He looked down at her, his expression softening as his hands came up to cup her face. “If you’ll have me,” he said, his thumb brushing over her cheekbone.

She didn’t know what to say, her mind racing as she searched his eyes for some hint of doubt or insincerity. But all she found was him—raw, unfiltered, and utterly honest. And for the first time, she let herself believe it.

Leaning up on her toes, she pressed her lips to his in a kiss that was softer, slower than any they’d shared before. It wasn’t desperate or hungry; it was real. And when she pulled back, his hands were still on her face, his forehead resting against hers.

“You’re going to ruin me,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion.

She smiled faintly, her fingers tracing patterns against his chest. “Funny,” she whispered. “I was just thinking the same thing about you.”

They stayed like that for a while longer, the water running over them as they held each other close. There were no more words, no teasing or jokes—just the two of them, lost in the quiet intimacy of the moment.

But eventually, Lando broke the silence, his voice light and mischievous again as he leaned down to whisper in her ear. “So… does this mean I get to pick out your next set of lingerie?”

She swatted his arm, laughing despite herself. “Don’t push your luck, Norris.”

He grinned, his hands sliding down to her hips as he pulled her closer. “Oh, I think my luck’s pretty damn good right now.”

[starkwlkr]

mum said no | lewis hamilton

an: i love hot ones <3 that’s all

After canceling many times, Lewis finally made his appearance on Hot Ones with Sean Evans. He was a big fan of the show so he was happy to finally get to be a guest. Not only was he a big fan, but so was his eleven year old daughter, Maeve, so naturally she accompanied him to the set.

Maeve Hamilton watched as her dad ate spicy wings and answered questions. When talking about Roscoe, Maeve payed close attention. She loved talking about Roscoe so much.

On the monitor, a picture of Roscoe and Maeve appeared. Maeve was wearing a black Lewis shirt that her mum had bought from an Etsy store while Roscoe licked her face. It was the British Grand Prix and Maeve, along with her sisters, was beyond excited.

“Look, Mavy, that’s you and Roscoe!” Lewis pointed to the screen. “That was taken last year. Do you remember?” Lewis asked his daughter.

Maeve looked at the picture and nodded. “Angela took it!”

“Is your family always at the races?” Sean asked.

“Most of the time during the summer, yeah. It’s always a great time when they’re in the garage, but when it’s school time, they stay home with their mum.” Lewis explained. “They don’t like that at all. But I always tell them education comes first.”

“But I get lots of good grades.” Maeve cut in.

“What’s your favorite subject?” Sean asked the girl.

“I like science.” Replied Maeve.

As the show went on, Maeve was seated next to the camera crew, laughing at her father. He was now taking bigger bites.

“You can do it!” Maeve cheered on.

“Thank you, baby. Love you.” Lewis chuckled and blew a kiss to the girl. “I can always count on my girls to cheer me on.”

“On the topic of family, is it possible that Formula One could get another Hamilton on the track? Or do they want to go into other careers?” Sean asked.

“At one point, they did say they wanted to, but now they’re discovering more careers that they’re interested in. I will support them in whatever choice they make.”

You and Lewis both knew that your daughters would never be Formula one drivers. You both talked about how hard it would be on them. He saw how fans were tough on Mick. He didn’t want his girls to go through that.

The wings got spicier and all Maeve could do was laugh at the faces Lewis was making. He drank milk but that barely helped. Tears were starting to come out his eyes. Maeve noticed and quickly went to her father’s side and used a clean napkin to clean the tears since she didn’t want him using his own hands that were covered in sauce.

“Thank you, baby.” Lewis said as Maeve cleaned up the tears.

“What kind of reaction do you get when somone pulls up alongside of you and then sees that it’s, you know, Lewis Hamilton behind the wheel next to them?” Sean questioned.

“Most people are just like ‘Holy Shit!’ um. . .” Lewis chuckled.

“They’re not revving their engine at you or anything?”

“I’ve had people, yeah traffic light that wanna race yeah.” He nodded. “Definitely when I was young, I felt like yeah. . . smoke this fool.” He laughed.

“This man wanted to race you yesterday!” Maeve spoke up. “Mum said no.”

“I got kids now!” Lewis laughed once again. “I got precious cargo, I can’t be fooling around.”

“And mum said no.” Maeve whispered to him.

“Yup, and mum said no.”

[starconstruction]

Kindness Turned Obsession

Yandere Gaeul x Male Reader (smut)

smut tags: oral, ass eating, creampie, riding, fsub + fdom, breeding.

Word Count: 6388

The kingdom raged with the news of the castle princess Gaeul getting married. What they assumed was a blissful thing for every member of royalty was a nightmare for the main one involved.

"This is madness!" Gaeul screamed at her parents, the king and queen of the nation, a wonderful place which had no official name. Only known as "The Gilded Coast" to those who took an interest to it's rich history. It got its name from its affinity for gold plated everything, a stunning display of opulence that commanded respect.

"You knew this day would come eventually, we held it longer than we would have. Out of respect for you." Her mother spoke, her tone obviously fed up with her daughter's antics.

"Respect?!!" Gaeul was bewildered "If you respected me you'd leave me to marry someone I love!" Her body shaking as she stood up to her parents. Tears of frustration slowly trailing down onto her cheeks.

"Gaeul, you know this is best." Her father chimed in, a reserved individual. He often let his wife make the hard calls as he felt bad hurting his daughter.

"You know we have to do this, our kingdom will prosper. The Emerald Shores have lots of material we could benefit from. A trade union will help all of us." Her mother exclaimed, dismissing Gaeul's feelings as her body straightened against the throne.

"No! I'm not marrying anyone I don't know! That is final!" Gaeul screamed as she ran down the stairs of the lavish throne room. Terrified for what she was going to do to prevent this.

--

You were definitely down on your luck. Not everyone was fortunate enough to live in a nice home. You weren't even fortunate enough to live in a home at all. The Gilded Coast having one of the lowest homeless populations in the region didn't stop you from sitting on a musty mattress. Flat against the floor as you rested in the streets, bustling with foot traffic as people walked doing their own errands. Most people ignored you, others looked with disgust, some with empathy.

You ate your stale bread, disgusting and difficult to maul but it's all you had. You breathed in as you watched the day sky, a tender light blue dotted with thick grey clouds, an ominous storm threatening to arrive. No shelter covered you from above, you were going to have to brace nature itself.

Oh well, you've done it before.

--

Gaeul sat in her opulent room, absently drawing pictures on paper. Desperate to come up with something as she admired her pens, every color imaginable laid in a container. A Kaleidoscope of creativity, she yawned as she enjoyed the gentle light radiating from the candle. The gentle hum of jazz playing from the corner on her personal vinyl player. Her creative freedoms being threatened by the greed of her parents.

The thoughts were heavy on her mind, she wasn't getting anywhere as her lines became less focused, threatening to ruin her beautiful drawing. She sighed, getting out the chair, detailed with beautiful golden sigils. All this wealth was for naught if she was going to be couped up in a cage.

"Fucking hell" she murmured to herself, grabbing her coat as she left her suffocating sanctuary, the place of respite being replaced by worry.

-

The storm raged against every fiber of your being, lacerating your clothes with wet slashes as the temperature plummeted. The ground was disgustingly wet as you tried to sleep, a task proving impossible as you laid there shivering.

The night was disturbingly silent, no music, no vendors, nothing. Just you and the rain. Your heart plummeted in your stomach when the rain started to harden, shards of ice smashing against your skin leaving sharp aches in its wake.

"Hey!" A voice pulled you out your head, a girl. Dressed in heavy clothing as her hood covered her features, a shadow talking to you. Her voice was full of concern as she ran to you.

"You can't stay in conditions like this! You'll get sick!" She shouted, her face showing worry as she grabbed your hand.

"What?" You replied.

"Come on! Let's get you somewhere warm!" She pulled you to your feet, dragging you along as she started running.

You two approached the giant gate of the castle, it towered over you as you panicked. "I don't think I should go in there." You said, shivering intensely as the cold bit at you.

"Unless you want to freeze to death, I'd comply!" Her tone was stern as she opened the gate, pushing you forward towards the entrance door.

The cold relented as you entered the castle, big corridors with infinity stretching oak planks, full with dim light as portraits of royalty were hung up on the walls, covered in golden trails, a baroque display of greed. You didn't keep up with the kingdom, it's difficult with no way to get the information.

"Upstairs, first door on the right, I need to grab something." She said, walking in the opposite direction. You were nervous as you walked up the giant stairs, staying out of sight as you darted to her room, opening and shutting the door in an instant.

Her room was quaint and cozy, it was large, very large. A massive king sized bed was propped up against the wall, it looked soft and inviting, but you wouldn't dare touch anything in your condition. The soft scent of vanilla wafted over the room, even these few seconds felt like a paradise compared to outside.

The creak of a door opening behind you alerted you to the strange altruistic girls presence, an average height woman with black hair, she was incredibly gorgeous. In her hand laid a pile of clothes, a grey hoodie, some black pants, socks and a pair of boxer briefs. Alongside a towel.

"These are mine, I had a phase of oversized boy clothes. It's all I can offer, sorry about that. You should shower to prevent getting a cold." Her tone was similarly stern to her one back outside, you smiled as you graciously took her offer. "Shower's over there" She pointed to the door in the corner. "leave your clothes in the basket."

You walked into her bathroom, a massive tub alongside a shower, a mirror full with various supplies, everything was so beautiful. You felt sinful being able to see such a sight clearly not meant for people of your class.

You immediately stripped out of your dirty, frigid clothes, the scent of sweat and dirt that clung to you like thick tar filled your mouth with disgust. Desperately clambering into the tub to reach the shower, the tub had several body washes and shampoos and conditioners. Things you haven't seen in a long time, she never told you which ones to use so you were going to have to gamble.

The warm water washed over you, blasting at your body as you appreciated the feeling for the first time in awhile. The grime on your body disappearing into obscurity, appreciating a new found feeling of cleanliness. You grabbed the first body wash you could find, a sweet scent of citrus came out of it as you applied it to your body. You didn't want to take too long, so you started to speed up. Grabbing the bottle of mint shampoo as you rubbed it into your scalp, rinsing it off and quickly getting out.

You dried your body and got changed before heading out the bathroom. The strange princess was sat on the bed, looking into the roof absently, her features soft and comfortable.

You stood in front of her, "Thank you, so much errr" Your voice died out, no knowledge of her name. "No problem, my name's Gaeul. You homeless?" She was blunt as you nodded, Gaeul was very interesting.

"Yeah, the street in a storm isn't exactly the best place to sleep" You chuckled. Gaeul smiled as she tapped the bed space next to her. You awkwardly sat next to her, the bed was soft and plush as you fell into it.

"Sooooo, what's the plan after tonight?" She asked.

"Probably sit in the same place, hope my mattress dries up." You replied, the warmth of her clothes hung to your body, the sound of hail slammed against the window.

"It doesn't have to do that way, yknow. I mean, I wouldn't mind a personal assistant" She smiled and sat backwards.

"I don't know, are you sure?" You looked at her.

"Yeah I mean, I can set up a mattress over there" She pointed to the corner, next to her bookshelf. "it'd be a pretty nice gig, if I need something from you, you do it."

You thought for a second, she was royalty. So it was unlikely to be a trap, outside was significantly colder, more dangerous.

"I would love to take that position if it's open." The words left your mouth heavily, a possible new leaf to be turned.

"Fantastic, I'll set your mattress up, you'll spend most of your time in here, the other servants are... Much more unsavory than you appear to be."

She left and quickly returned, a queen sized mattress in tow, this level of kindness was new to you. She got it ready, adorning it with pillows. Covered in a purple and gold case, alongside a matching quilt. Your chest fluttered with warmth as you watched.

"All done, I'll go freshen up then you can. The spare stuff is on the right" She said as she walked into the bathroom. Gaeul was so nice, you couldn't imagine this job being too bad.

You got ready and went to bed, sleeping well for the first time in awhile, dead to the world as arms laid sprawled over the mattress, heat encapsulated your body as you dreamed.

--

Light filled the room through the windows, the chirps of birds sung a song of nature, combined with the sound of Gaeul's humming. Your eyes fluttered open, for the first time in forever you woke up gently. Basking in the warmth of the soft light as you sat up.

"Morning Y/N, hope you slept well." Her voice was deep with sleep. "I need to tell my parents about you, get ready and go downstairs, make two portions of food." Her instructions were firm.

You felt ready to earn your keep.

You knew you could do it.

--

The sizzling of eggs hit the pan, oil splattering as the temperature rose to unfathomable degrees. The kitchen was massive, like everything else in the castle. A few servants came in as they made food of their own. They paid little mind to you, going around their business as they functioned like the blood of the castle, providing life.

The eggs solidified as time went on, spreading some sprinkles of cheese as it melted. Flipping it over as you made a fluffy omelette, throwing it onto a plate. Making another one as you brought it up to her quarters.

Gaeul was sat there, hunched over her chair, crying. You softly approached, putting the omelette in front of her. "I have a week." She said, her cheeks puffed up, red soreness over her face. "One week till my parents want me to marry this guy."

"That sounds awful." You said, unsure what to do as your hand found her back. Tracing circles as you rubbed up and down. Sharing condolences.

"Guess I'm going to have to make it count." Gaeul took a bite of her omelette, "So you can cook, nice." Her tone was still somber with a small hint of hope.

-

Being at Gaeul's beck and call was surprisingly stressful, becoming her personal chef, cleaner, up keeper and therapist over the course of 4 days was a lot to learn and grasp.

However, there was a sense of deepening connection between the two of you. It started on the second day, when Gaeul started joking around with you.

"You missed a spot!" She teased, pointing at an incomprehensibly small speck of dust. Slapping your shoulder as she insisted you worked further. She was significantly warmer than the servants you had to speak to, a friendship blooming in the slipping time.

-

" Y/N, run me a bath please, I need to relax" She said, it was late at night as the town fell asleep, Gaeul had been running around all day. Dealing with "things".

Water rushed into the bath, pooling into the bottom as it started to rise, taking delicate care to keep the temperature perfect. She liked it nearly burning, your hand found a bottle of expensive bubble liquid, pouring a diligent amount as it foamed up into soapy balls.

The water had reached the desired level as the valve closed, the moisture in the air was thick and claggy, making it hard to breathe as you opened the door. Gaeul was sat as she waited for you to finish.

"It's ready Gaeul" You said, she walked past you, entering the bathroom. "I'll leave you to it." A gentle hand pressed on your shoulder, her lips mere inches from your ear. "As my wonderful servant I think you will wash me." her voice was seductive as your cheeks warmed a light red.

"If you insist." You weren't going to argue, she could be a real hard ass if you expressed concern.

Gaeul pulled her shirt off, your eyes quickly averted their gaze. "Your going to be touching me anyway, look." She pushed your head to lock eyes with her. Her smooth skin was divine, her breasts came into frame as Gaeul's midnight black bra hit the bathroom floor, you should turn away. You shouldn't look, but your captivated.

Gaeul sat down on the toilet seat, adjusting her legs slightly "I'm just so tired, my useful servant, care to finish the job?" She smirked. Reveling in your anxiety. You nestled between her legs, gulping as your hands fumbled with her crotch button, you struggled as it clicked open. Taking a deep breath as you pulled her zipper down. The flap of her clothes fully opened leaving no restraints for you to pull them down. Revealing her smooth endless legs. Her body took your breath away, she was well endowed, shaped perfectly. "Cat got your tongue? Finish the job my servant."

The final boundary blocking Gaeul's fully naked body lied in the centre of her body. A black piece of lace, semi transparent as her pussy hid behind it. A delicate crease creating a bridge into her hole. You cleared your head of the inappropriate thoughts, hooking your fingers into the waistband as they reached the floor. Laying with the rest of her clothes. You felt yourself harden slightly against your jeans, you had to remain professional.

Gaeul climbed in elegantly as she made contact with the soapy water, body disappearing under the surface. A thin sigh left her lips as the warmth made contact with her skin, she settled her back against the tub. "Get to work, my servant." She repeated the familiar nickname, which seemed to flow off the tongue.

You grabbed her loofah off the shelf, composing yourself as you poured body wash onto it. A nice smelling concoction of vanilla and strawberry, rubbing it into Gaeul's tender skin. She smiled as you washed her shoulders, the air thickened further with tension as you went lower. Rubbing her breasts with a soapy lather. the water acted as a barrier, making it hard to continue your job.

"Gaeul, I can't go any further with the water yknow?" You queried, she thought for a second. Giving you a cock of her brow, "Well then, servant. Take your clothes off and get in, it'll be easier. And call me miss, you are working."

You panicked as Gaeul stared at you, waiting for some action. "Hurry up servant" She rushed, you complied. Ripping your clothes off, Gaeul paid a similar lack of respect to privacy. Staring at your most sensitive area, licking her lips as you approached the water. Lowering yourself in as it felt good but truly unremarkable compared to the woman inches from you.

"Miss." The name felt natural on your tongue, "Let me continue." You continued to clean her, she gasped as you went beneath the water. Ineffective but she seemed unwilling to move. You pressed the loofah against her crotch as you cleaned her final area. Moans leaked from her mouth, you couldn't tell if she was trying to mess with you. The sound hardened your dick, pressing against her soft sole, it rubbed back, stroking you through the water logged atmosphere.

Gaeul locked eyes with you. The tension coming to a final climax. "Get out, servant. I have another task for you."

-

Gaeul laid against her pillows, the two of you fully naked. Completely ignoring the water dripping into the fabric of the sheets. Legs laid over your shoulders, "What do you want me to do miss?" You teased, breathing hot air into her folds. She was soaking wet, both from water and her own arousal. Her clit begged for your attention, not waiting for her answer as you gave it what it craved.

You sucked on her nub, swirling your tongue as she moaned. Legs tightening around your head as an affirmation of skill, inhaling her scent, a mixture of juices, vanilla and strawberries. Your mouth kept working on her bundle of nerves.

"Fuck that's my good little servant." Her hands massaged your scalp, nails scratching as it burned in pain. Your fingers found her awaiting hole, pressing in slowly as Gaeul started to accelerate her moans. The high pitch screams assaulted your eardrums, your mouth catching some of her juices, coating your lips as you continued your dual assault. Your fingers pushing in and out, her walls gripping against them as you serviced her. Having no resistance as her smooth juices gave you an easy gateway into her. Her body chasing an impossible high, you pulled away from her clit. "Miss, you taste so good" You gasped, fighting for oxygen.

Gaeul said very little, too overwhelmed by your actions, laying there with her arms sprawled to her side. "Fuck! Fuck me my servant!" You pulled your fingers out of her greedy cunt, angling your rigid cock against her bottom lips.

Her velvet walls gripped down on your length, coating it in her wetness as she tried to milk you for all you are worth. She screamed as the bed shook under your shared bout of passion. Your legs burned as they exerted as much strength you could muster. "Fuck, miss! Your pussy is so good!" Gasping desperately for air as you resumed. "I'm gonna breed this tight cunt! You want that right? Don't you miss?" Your thrusts grew stronger as your balls slapped against her asshole, dick pistoning in and out.

"Yeah! Fuck, breed me! Cum in me!" She begged as her body jolted against your thrusts.

"I'm going to give you exactly what your slutty hole wants! Fill it with my load, fuck that guy in the future! You are mine!" You growled, rubbing her clit roughly. Her thighs were shaking in orgasmic pleasure, Gaeul's pussy accepting you greedily.

"Fuck, servant! I'm going to cum! Cum with me!" She shouted, the words bringing you closer to the edge.

You only had a few thrusts left, "I'm gonna cum! Breed my mistresses tight, greedy cunt!" You breathed out. Ropes shooting into her awaiting womb, stuffing her with cum as she came undone.

Your softening dick withdrew from Gaeul's used pussy, leaking cum pooled onto the mattress as you attempted to impregnated her. A mixture of juices meeting, showing your combined pleasure.

"That was so good, my servant... You have to clean me up" You chuckled, she was barking orders even after she took your cum.

"Yes miss."

No matter what happens, you and her had a now unbreakable bond.

-Part 2-

The next two days after your night of passion with Gaeul was a blur of serenity, she ditched the servant formalities and obligations you once had. Replacing the jobs with more sessions of hanging out, the city had many secrets to your lower class self. You two laid entangled in each other's arms on a blanket in the castle's garden.

The garden was beautiful at night, the arrays of flowers were neatly ordered in color, a range of red to violet making a stunning rainbow. But the main beauty was Gaeul, her hair laid spread over your lap as she laid there. Your hand locked in the strands, stroking them as you two watched the night sky.

The supposedly final night of your employment, at least in this context. Was magical, you and Gaeul went to the biggest restaurant in town. A place you've never had the pleasure of walking into, Gaeul came in with a practiced elegance. Leading you into the private area, a list of food you couldn't pronounce was in your hands. Gaeul sensed your hesitation, ordering a meal she thought you'd like. A perfect way to end a magical week.

Unfortunately, most good things have to come crashing down.

-

You woke up in Gaeul's bed, the darkness in full effect as you felt around, Gaeul was missing. A sense of worry gripped your body as you grabbed a candle, lighting it as you crawled out of bed. She had to be around here somewhere, the cold leeched into your bare feet as they made contact with the floor.

The night was still, a collective silence as all the servants and royalists went to bed, your body was tense as you expected the worst. Maybe Gaeul was arguing with her parents, the halls of the building felt even longer than usual, walking towards the pitch black only illuminated when you got close.

You went down the stairs, your heart sunk as a loud scream ripped through the basement. You took off and ran down the rest of the stairs, the door of the basement was firmly closed. Another scream filled your ears as your hand made contact with the handle. It didn't budge, terror chilled your blood as you shook the door. "Help! She's nuts!" A feminine voice called out, muffled by the locked entrance.

You weren't sure what to do, but you couldn't risk Gaeul getting hurt. You backed up, arching your leg as you took a deep breath.

You got this.

A hard kick made the door shake, but it quickly bounced back.

Another breath.

The second kick injured the lock and your leg as it begun to ache in pain.

Another breath.

One more kick forced the door open with a sharp launch.

The sight was worse than anything you possibly could have expected.

Gaeul was certainly there, not in danger but being the danger. Her clothes coated in a thick layer of sanguine blood, the gleam of the blade held in the air as she looked at at the corpses. There was two lifeless bodies, stabbed excessively as they contributed to a pool of shared blood. Gaeul's eyes had a look of sheer insanity, no longer the woman you felt a connection with. Something far more sinister had taken over. "Gaeul?" You called out, her body stiffened in shock as she looked at you. Did she not hear the door slam? Could you have ran?

"Oh, hi! The door was locked for a reason, you weren't supposed to see this Y/N" She said, getting off the king's body. She walked towards you, knife held in her hand. "Stay back! You murderer!" You yelled, Gaeul froze as her face frowned. "Baby, it had to be done! You know that, they would have took you from me!" She said, voice booming with instability. Where were the guards? Gaeul started to walk again. "Y/N, let's go upstairs. We can clean up, embrace each other!" She was starting to ramble, her vocals shook.

You gulped as you turned around, feet banging up the stairs, oxygen leaving your lungs as you heaved. The candle was mostly dim, sight entirely restricted by the oppressive darkness. Gaeul was right behind you "Baby! Where are you going!" she yelled out. The corridors felt limitless as you turned every corner. Your heart pounded incessantly against your rib-cage, feeling it in your ears as you kept running.

The exit door came into frame, the candle went out as you discarded it recklessly. Your hand desperately tried to open the door to freedom, loud clicking noises as you tried to get it open. The door was locked, you panicked. A large gust of strength launched you into the ground, head reeling as Gaeul stood over you. The side of her face being illuminated solely by the night sky. "Move. And I'll hurt you." She said, her once bubbly voice replaced by a chilling emptiness. "Gaeul, how could you?! You monster!" You replied.

"Monster?! How are you saying that! I saved our relationship. I saved you! How could you dare, even. Say that! " Gaeul's voice cracked and fought to speak as she got closer to you, her body towered over. Her lips, covered in blood took yours in a tight kiss. You gagged at the taste of the thick blood, hands wrapped around your head as she kissed deeper. Your eyes were bug wide as she made out with you one-sidedly. She withdrew, still leaning over you. "Tell me Y/N! How could you say that! I, I'm not a monster! But I know that spark is still there, you feel it! I know you do, I know you do! I will get it out of you my love" She said.

You had no time to speak, Gaeul yanked you to your feet as she pulled you through the long halls. Getting you back into the shared bedroom, your new prison. The room no longer felt like a sanctuary, the queen had you as her personal prisoner. Gaeul pushed you onto your mattress. "Are you going to be good? I don't need to restrain you right?" Her tone was full of fake sweetness as she held your arms in her hands.

"No, Gaeul. I'll sit here." You pleaded, escape would be much easier unrestrained. She smiled, "I'll go clean up, stay here." Her body disappeared into the bathroom. The sound of water rushing calmed you down, laying there as your body fell tired. You would strike at night, your body fell into dreamland shortly after.

-

The next few days were agonizing, never having a free moment to escape as anytime the newly anointed queen had business you were tied against the heater. When she got back, she was unstable. Too many or too little words would set her off, the wrong tone would set her off. It was painful to watch the person you had feelings for transform into this.

It was night again, Gaeul laid dormant on the bed. You knew it was time to go, heart aching as you watched her sleeping frame. Opening the door as you snuck out, Goodbye, Gaeul.

-

Weeks passed as you returned to standard life, laying against the brick walls of the old building. The street was miserable, the people walked around, minding their business. The city was brimming with life despite the recent regicide, ignorance being a blessing they didn't yet realize. You adjusted as you watched the street performers. A chorus of drums and violins, a stark contrast to the usual boredom. A large crowd accumulated as the sounds of chairs and chatter joined in.

You looked around, there was a strange amount of guards for this area. You could spot at least 7, as opposed to the normal 2 or 3. It had to be just normal paranoia, they weren't looking for you. Gaeul would have found you by now if she was.

You still had a bit of money from what you scavenged from the drawers of your ex home, a weird feeling of shame for robbing Gaeul. But you got up, pushed it down and walked through the kingdom, it was truly beautiful to witness. Shared laughter and smiles as people went around their business. You made it to the local market, full of fresh forage and breads.

"Hello! Welcome to the market, what can I do for you?" The market keeper said, gesturing vaguely to the produce. "Hey, just some bread and grapes thanks." You exchanged the money and went back to your outpost.

You got close to your belongings, stopped in your tracks by the sight unfolding in front of you. 3 guards and a familiar looking figure was investigating your things, prodding and moving things. You were petrified as they turned around, facing you directly. Gaeul's gaze softened as they stared directly at you. The same one as the first time you met. There was considerable distance to run, but that'd draw way more attention than you could handle. Your legs slowly backed up as you went to look for a hiding place.

The guards and Gaeul slowly moved towards you, trying to be discrete. Your heart hammered, she was absolutely still after you. You ducked into an alleyway, breathing heavily looking for solace. They were mere inches from you, hiding from them behind a trash unit. It couldn't be, you couldn't handle her wrath.

Loud footsteps echoed off the walls of the alley, heels digging into the ground as they cast a shadow onto the walls. Their perfume strong as it penetrated the odor of trash. Then suddenly, it wasn't a shadow. The queen stood in front of you. Visibly angry as her hand pulled a knife from her pocket. "Finally, there you are." She said, dropping down to eye level as your body shook in fear. "Why are you shaking dear? Y/N, I won't hurt you. Just come quietly okay?" She spoke commands gently into your ear, breath hitting your face. "Ga--eul, why haven't you moved on? Its been weeks.. Please there's so many better people." You struggled to get your words out, Gaeul's knife brushing against your leg as she hugged you. Body's melding into one, tears pricked in the corners of your eyes. Trapped again. "You are mine! Y/N, I won't let you suffer anymore. "

Gaeul's demeanor scared you as she continued, "You can come quietly, and I won't cut you. Or you can disobey me, and it'll hurt like hell. What will it be honey?" A sadistic twinge laid in her vocals. The guards blocked the exit. There was truly no escape. "Fine, I'll come quietly. Please Gaeul no more pain." She beamed as her hand grasped yours.

-

Gaeul's impromptu promotion gave her a new room, inheriting the master bedroom. It was a regal affair, elegant white walls, affluent gold trims for corners, an accent colour of a deep purple adorned the sides. The bed laid impressively in the middle, a mirroring of the aesthetic that the rest of the room followed. It had very little of Gaeul's character, replaced by the impression of higher royalty.

"Welcome home, baby! I'm sorry we have to start on such a bad foot, but I can't let that runaway go unpunished." She said, inciting fear in you as saliva struggled to get down your throat, she ditched her humanity in exchange for power over you. Gaeul brought you into the corner of the room where your jaw dropped, a black cage, thin black metal pieces building a imposing box.

"Gaeul this~" She cut you off, throwing you into the cage and shutting you in. Anxiety shot through you as the metallic walls closed in around you. Breathing getting difficult as you stared at the warden who trapped you here. "If you behave, this will only be temporary. But you need to understand your actions have consequences, I'll leave you for now. Think about what you have done sweetie." Her sadistically sweet words turned your head upside down. Hands pressing at the cage, there was nothing in it. The chill of winter nipped at your body, stripped of any thermally warm clothes you had.

Hours passed without Gaeul, the deafening silence started to gnaw at you. Desperate for any form of contact, it was frigid, the temperature had plummeted beyond 0, shivers crawled up your spine as you laid down. Hands hugging your chest as you sat in the night's embrace.

You couldn't tell how long it was until Gaeul arrived, wearing a long sleeve cardigan and dress skirt. You'd kill for those clothes right now, "Gaeul. Please. Blanket." Your words were sharply pierced by chattering teeth, interrupting your vocal cords as she smiled. "Oh, baby are you cold? It's a bit chilly in here, tell you what. You do something for me, and I'll give you one." She was tormenting you. What happened to the girl you loved?

"What, what is it Gaeul? I'll do anything" You chimed.

"Anything? I'll hold you to that, but all I ask for is a simple kiss. Let's start gentle." The grasp of hypothermia battled with the war of not wanting her to be satisfied. Hypothermia won as you crawled to the edge of the cage. Locking lips with her, a familiar feeling of heat that gave you nostalgic memories. "Good boy, I hope we can repair our relationship."

-

It took months, but there was a spark of hope for you two, it started slow at first. Battles between you two as you argued, she tortured you both psychologically and physically. Frequent verbal abuse and physical punches and deprival of food.

However, a turning point occurred when she let you out the cage, giving you the luxury of a bed again as you two slept in each other's arms, frequent fights morphed into casual conversations. A familiar spark radiating from you as the compressing cage of her room became a beacon of hope as you and Gaeul stopped fighting completely.

Naturally, the conversations morphed once more from casual chats to more romantic conversations, discussing the passion you guys once shared. You felt a strange sense of love for Gaeul, despite what she had done. Forgiving her for the actions she committed.

Tonight was the apex of your sexual desire, you two hastily removed the clothes on your body. "Y/N, let me take control this time. Let me make you feel good." Gaeul whispered into your ear, kissing the lobe as she pushed you into the plush bed. Gaeul's tongue trailed down your body, leaving a gentle trail of saliva as she showed her eagerness. Licking down your stomach, all the way to your shaft. But that's not her destination, going lower as she made contact with your hole.

Gaeul's tongue was the pinnacle of expertise as she coated your backdoor with her saliva, rimming your hole as her tongue darted around. "You like that Y/N? Letting me go down on you?" She probed you for answers while her tongue probed you, pressing an inch inside of your ass. Going no deeper as she tongue fucked you. "Yes.. Gaeul, you are so good." You let out a breathy sigh of satisfaction.

Your hands laid against your chest, knowing you shouldn't touch her without permission. Gaeul looked up at you seductively as she slurped against your ass, alternating between your balls, completely full with your load. "Y/N honey, stroke yourself. Be a good boy for me." You smiled, "Yes miss. Anything for you." Gaeul spat on your shaft for you. "Rub it in for me, be good." She said, resuming her eating as you stroked your rigid cock. Feeling Gaeul's saliva coating your hand as you jerked off.

This went on for a few minutes, her sensual tongue writhed against you as your hand got stronger. Gaeul finally grew bored and pulled away, grabbing your hand to stop you. "Dear, pleasure your Mistress for me, let me ride that beautiful face." She commanded, "Yes Miss."

Gaeul mantled your awaiting face, her sopping cunt rubbing against your tongue as you tasted your mistress. She tasted strong and addictive, like her bellowing moans. "You are being such a good boy for me! That's what you are! Keep going please.. Fuck." Gaeul shouted, spilling praises out of her mouth as her cunt spilled a mixture of slippery and sticky juices. Her aroma laid against your nose, less than an inch away as you breathed it in. You wanted every part of Gaeul as she pulled your hair, ripping out strands as she got closer to orgasm.

"Fuck! IM GONNA CUM! ALL OVER THIS SLUTTY TONGUE! FUCK!" She screamed, thighs shaking around your skull as she came undone. Bringing herself to the edge as she sat there for a minute. Gingerly removing herself as she gave you the right for more oxygen.

"What do you want, my good boy?" She teased, voice breathy as she recovered.

"Please, ride my cock. I'm so needy for you Miss." You felt a bit of shame as you pathetically begged for Gaeul. She quickly got to work, straddling your body as she lowered into you. There was no time for being slow, her hips aggressively slammed into your crotch as your cock pierced her. You moved your hips upwards, eliciting a slap from Gaeul. "Be good, move again and I'll stop." She moaned out, digging her nails into your tender flesh.

The scent of sex filled the room, replacing the luxurious scent of the burning vanilla candles. "Your cock is so good! I can't believe you tried to run! Fuck!" She moaned, you were too scared to say anything as you took what she gave you. Letting out deep moans, you couldn't last much longer. "Cum, cum in me!" Gaeul screamed. Using you as a dildo as she came around you, creating a ignition in you as your load shot into her. "Give me an heir! Fuck!" Your semen kissed her womb as you bred her, giving her what wanted as you two slowed down. The painful sensitivity causing both of you to pull out.

"My good boy, you are never leaving again." Her voice hit a 180 it was chilling and disturbing. But there was a small warmth in it as you thought about your eternal bond.

"I'm yours. Forever. Gaeul." You said, signing yourself to her forever.

[notarmedandnotdangerous]

+18 mdni! watch your mouth; a fic where bucky's your boss, and you're his secretary. he ends up getting himself into a lot of trouble with you.

cw: dom!->sub!reader, sub!->dom!bucky, slightly mean bucky (he's nice at the end), use of 'traffic light' safeword system, overstimulation (like 4 times), use of 'baby'

word count: >3.3k

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9.1] [9.2]

a/n: i received 2 requests for ideas to carry on this series ... mwehehehe i will work on them soon

-------------------------------------------------------

today was the sixth day since all of this started.

morning light filtered through the window, while the scent of coffee filled the air. it was warm, comforting, and familiar, just enough to give you something to focus on while pretending the rest of your body didn’t feel raw from the night before. you moved carefully, avoiding any sudden movements.

your body still ached. not in a painful way, more in an overstretched, sensitive way. your thighs would tremble if you stood for too long, your throat felt rough, even the fabric of your boxers felt too much. you swallowed hard and forced yourself to look down at the pan. don’t think, just cook, just breathe.

you tried to focus on the simple rhythm of cracking eggs, but your hands twitched like they wanted to reach for something else. the fear creeps in your chest, slow and steady, coiling tight in your chest, suffocating.

then, bucky stepped out of the bedroom doorway, the soft light filtering in catching the angle of his jaw, and the dark sweep of his hair, disheveled from sleep. the sleeves of his henley were rolled up casually, the muscles of his forearms relaxed but firm beneath the fabric.

“morning.”

your hand jerked, startled by the sudden presence, and the small kitchen towel you’ve been holding slipped from your fingers. heat rushed to your cheeks as your heart hammered, then the worry hit.

‘what if he didn’t like what he saw?’

‘what if the messy kitchen, my shaky hands, the way my skin flushed makes me look broken, weak?

“shit.” you muttered, bending down quickly to pick up the fallen towel. “uh, hey, morning. just, uh, give me a minute, yeah?” you said, trying to shake it off with a nervous chuckle, hoping it would shoo him back to wherever he came from.

“sure.” he spoke, voice low, and raspy from sleep.

the both of you sat across each other at the small table.

bucky ate slowly, deliberate and calm, savouring each bite.

you, on the other hand, were restless. your fingers drummed nervously against the table, eyes flickering towards him, and then away. whenever he glanced in your direction, your mind spiraled.

“you’ve been quiet all morning, something on your mind?” he asked, tilting his head slightly at you.

‘why am i so on edge?’

‘what if it’s too much for him?’

“just.. thinking.” your chest tightened.

his eyes softened, but his gaze stayed steady. he figured he didn’t want to force you, so when he was done eating, he moved towards the sink to wash the dishes.

you remained seated, eyes unfocused, lost in your own thoughts. you exhaled shakily, relieved at first, but then the anxiety sank in. you couldn’t bear sitting still, couldn’t stop the jitter under your skin. so you ended up doing the only thing you could think of aside from work: you cleaned.

and cleaned.

and cleaned.

the rest of the afternoon slipped away in a blur of continuous scrubbing, dusting, and rearranging.

bucky had been watching from the sidelines all afternoon, his confusion growing with each scrub, and rearranged cushion.

“you’re making the place so spotless. i’m starting to wonder if you’re trying to erase something.” he raised an eyebrow at you.

“maybe i just hate clutter.”

“uh huh.. it’s definitely about the clutter.”

at first bucky thought you just needed some space to shake off whatever was going on inside your head. so, he kept himself busy with reading, watching tv, taking a walk. hours later, it was clear to him that this wasn’t just about you needing space, it was about something bigger.

“hey, it’s 3pm, you hungry yet? i can order something.” he asked, out of pure concern. you’ve been going at it for hours.

you didn’t even glance back at him.

“i’m good.” you replied a little too quickly, like your mind wasn’t present at the time.

bucky hummed, pushing off the wall. he crossed the room, and gently brushed a hand gently along your back as he passed. you tensed, but barely acknowledged it.

that was strike one.

a little while later, he dropped back onto the couch, phone in hand, pretending to scroll, but mostly just watching you dart from one task to another.

“you know, most people take breaks on holidays. sit down, maybe talk to the person that’s been waiting since forever.”

“still a lot to do.” you mumbled, moving towards the spice cabinet to reorganise the spices for what felt like the second time.

strike two.

bucky sighed, trying humour instead.

“you do realise that you’ve cleaned that exact spot four times? whatever you’re trying to scrub away, i promise it’s definitely not on the coffee table.”

still nothing. you let out a nervous chuckle, but still didn’t look at him.

strike three.

by the time the sun set, you had wiped down the countertop for the third time, changed the bedsheets twice, fluffed the pillows, refolded the throws on your couch, reorganised the coffee table books by color, and size. you moved to the windows, the windows, for fuck’s sake. you were trying anything to stay busy, anything to not be still.

bucky had tried everything he could think of: soft jokes, light teasing, a few passing touches, even silence beside him on the couch, fuck, he was about to resort to getting you flowers in hopes to cheer you up. he had been hoping you would lean in, but the space between the both of you only seemed to grow.

he wasn’t stupid, he knew avoidance when he saw it.

you weren’t just ‘busy’, you were hiding.

his patience wore thin, not from anger, but from the sting of being shut out by you. you wouldn’t even meet his eyes, and it made something inside him snap. it wasn’t violent, just sharp. if you weren’t going to talk, then he will.

“hey.” he patted your shoulder.

“yeah?”

“you’ve been avoiding me all day.”

you laughed, and it cracked mid-way.

“what? no- i’ve just been cleaning. the windowsill was filthy. i mean, when’s the last time i-”

“stop.”

“what? i’m just-”

“stop.” he stepped closer towards you, cornering you into the bookshelf.

“seriously, it’s fine. i’m fine. i just.. needed to do something with my hands. i’m not-”

“you won’t even look at me.”

“that’s not true.” your eyes darted towards his, then away.

“you haven’t held my gaze once today. you flinched every time i touched you. you turned every conversation into a chore, and every beat of silence into an escape route.” he hadn’t touched you, not yet. he just stood there, crowding you in against the bookshelf.

your chest was rising too fast. you looked like you were ready to bolt, not because you wanted to, but because you couldn’t take it.

“you were so good last night.” his voice softened. “made the sweetest sounds.”

“buck.” you whispered, horrified.

“you let me see everything, and it was so perfect.”

“don’t.. don’t say that.”

“why not?”

“because i can’t handle it.”

he tilted his head at you.

“it’s too much.”

“but you want it, no?”

“no.” your voice was tense, pulled tight.

“yes, you do.” bucky spoke, dragging his fingers up your side. “you want to be held through it, praised for it, don’t you?”

you shook your head frantically.

“no- no, fuck, i can’t. buck, please. i don’t know how to do this-”

“you don’t have to know how.” he cradled the side of your face, thumb running softly against your cheeks. “i’ve got you.”

your knees gave out, just a little. not enough to fall, just enough to sag.

“you don’t have to be strong, i just want you like this.”

“don’t say that.” you choked out. “you don’t know what you’re saying-”

“i know exactly what i’m saying.” he replied. “you were desperate, shaking, begging, and i’ve never wanted you more.”

you shook in his arms, not from shame, but from the unbearable feeling of being seen.

bucky held you close, but now his grip was firmer. one of his hands braced at your lower back, while the other held onto your jaw to make you look.

“i know what i’m doing to you. i see the way your eyes go glassy, the way your voice cracks when you beg.”

“please.” you whispered, you didn’t know what for.

“please what?” his tone turned sharper. “please stop seeing you? please stop wanting you?”

you whimpered.

“baby, you don’t get to hide from me.” he shoved you back, slightly. it wasn’t violent, just firm. he caged you there, bracing his hand against the bookshelf.

“bucky..”

“stop running, let me ruin you the way you need.” then, bucky’s hand slid up your chest, trailing his fingers over the sweat soaked shirt you had on.

you didn’t respond, you didn’t know how to.

“i know you’re scared, and i know this kind of softness fucks with your head.” he cut himself off, pressing a kiss to your jaw, sucking lightly before pulling away. “so fine, i’ll make it rough enough to hurt a little. just enough to keep you from spiraling.”

you whined, your body instinctively pressing against his.

“you’ll still get my praise. you’ll still get my hands, my mouth, my cock, all of me.” he pressed another kiss to your neck. “but i’ll pin you down while i do it. i’ll keep you right here.” he pressed his hips forward, just enough friction to make you gasp. “isn’t that what you really want?”

“i-i don’t know.” you whispered, squeezing your eyes shut.

“yes you do.” bucky reached down, and palmed you through your sweats, making you stifle a whine. “you’re hard already. you wanted to be treated like this, didn’t you?”

you let out a broken moan, nearly collapsing onto him.

“y-yes.” your voice cracked.

“then be good, let go, and let me fuck the panic out of you.”

bucky didn’t give you a chance to think after that. he shoved you back against the empty dining table.

“tell me, what do you want?”

“i.. i don’t know.” your eyes were wide, and unsteady, avoiding his gaze.

“no.” he shook his head. “you do know. you just won’t say it.”

“this.. this isn’t going to work.” you swallowed hard.

“it’s exposure therapy. you fall apart, get ruined, and learn that you can survive it.”

“i’m scared, buck.”

“you don’t have to be. i’m here.” he sighed, kissing up your neck. “you get to have some control. you tell me what you want me to do, and i’ll listen.”

“really?” you blinked dumbly at him, and he gave you a nod in response. “i want.. i want to be taken care of.. but not all at once, i need to tell you when to stop.”

“look at you, finally thinking straight. that’s the smartest thing you’ve said all damn day.”

you couldn’t help but chuckle.

“i.. want you to touch me.. slowly.” you whispered, barely audible. your cocky facade was long gone.

“slow?” bucky scoffed. “fuck no.” he slid a rough hand under your shirt, nails dragging lightly across your ribs. “i’m going to touch you however i want, but you tell me when to stop.”

“i’ll.. i’ll say.”

“you better, or i’ll end up taking what i want.”

his fingers trailed over your tense muscles, then suddenly pressed harder, eliciting a sharp gasp from you.

“liar, you love this.” he nipped at your neck, leaving a mark there.

“stop that.” you rolled your eyes at him.

bucky’s grip tightened again as he bent down to kiss you. then, one of his hands slid lower, tracing the curve of your hip. the sheer pressure of it was enough to make you whimper.

“strip.” he ordered.

“no.”

“then i’ll do it for you.” he pulled you away from the dining table, then removed your clothes so roughly you were afraid that he would rip them.

you struggled, and cursed, but it wasn’t hard, not really. there was compliance in your resistance, and he loved it. within seconds, you were already stripped bare by him, cock hard already from how rough he was being, from being manhandled, from him.

“look at you, already hard and i've barely even touched you.” bucky spoke with a near predatory glare.

“i’m not-” you tried, but he stuck two fingers into your mouth to shut you up.

“i don’t want to hear it. you wanted to pretend last night didn’t happen?” he pulled his fingers out of your mouth, making you whine at the emptiness. “fine, i’ll give you a reminder then.” he spat into his palm, wrapped his hand around your cock, and started jerking you with rough, steady strokes. it was a little too dry, and a little too fast. “you said you needed me. said that you wanted it to fucking hurt. you said you were scared i’d see too much, well guess what? i did, and i’m still here.”

you whimpered, thighs shaking as you tried your best to pay attention to what he was saying.

“i’m going to ruin you,” he hissed. “until you admit it, until you beg like you did last night, or maybe i’ll just force it out of you.”

your cock betrayed you, twitching in bucky’s grasp.

“fuck, you’d like that wouldn’t you?” his hand stopped, and you moaned, like, actually moaned. “tell me what you want.” he ordered. “or you don’t get to cum.”

“n-no.” you tried to sound confident, but your voice faltered.

then, bucky slapped your cock just hard enough to make you hiss.

“fuck, b-bucky.”

“try again.” he spat.

your eyes fluttered shut.

he slapped your cock again, making your eyes snap open in shock.

“that get your attention?” he huffed.

you grabbed onto bucky’s forearm so that you wouldn’t lose balance from how intense your legs were shaking.

“don’t want to answer me? fine.” he forcefully tilted your head down. “you’re going to watch as i slap this needy cock.” and he did, he slapped your cock a few more times until you were close to tearing up.

you cried out, and gripped bucky’s hair tightly, but unfortunately for you, he pulled off of you.

“you’re a f-fucking brat.” you muttered.

“and you’re a mess. you don’t get to just lie there, and wait for me to do something.” then, he got down on his knees to take your cock in his mouth.

“say it.” he spoke, his breath warm against your cock. “or i’ll keep doing this all fucking day until it gives up on you, or until you’re too sore to lie.”

slap. slap.

two more. rhythmic, and mean. so fucking mean.

you sobbed, biting your lip so hard it was trembling.

“look at that. you want to beg so bad, don’t you? but your pride..”

slap.

“..is in the fucking way.”

you swallowed, hard. then:

“i.. don’t want to be in control. just for once, i don’t want to be strong.”

he smiled, and bit the inside of your thigh, making you jolt.

“there we go, making progress already.”

bucky led you upstairs without a word, now you were sprawled on the bed. he crawled towards you, slowly.

you tracked his movements with half-lidded eyes.

“you’re staying right here, and you’ll take everything i give you.”

you blinked.

“again?.. like yesterday?”

bucky just smiled. his hands spread your thighs gently, and he kissed the insides lovingly.

“buck, please.” you whined.

“shh. i want to see what happens when you finally stop pretending.” he looked up at you from in between your thighs, and you swore you could just cum from the sight alone.

“colour?”

“green.” you spoke, breathlessly.

bucky bent down, and licked a strip up your cock, soft, and slow. then he sucked the tip into his mouth.

“buck-” you gasped.

“shh.” he said, pulling off with a soft pop. “just take it, you know what to say if you can’t take it.”

and then he started working.

his mouth was skillful, too skillful.

“oh my.. fuck-”

bucky didn’t stop when you bucked helplessly against his face, just grabbed your thighs with a soft, yet firm grip, and held you down. he pulled off once more, just enough for him to speak.

“too much?” his breath lingered on your tip as he spoke, making your mind spin.

“no- yes.. i don’t- fuck.” you choked.

“hm.” he sunk your cock back in his mouth. he moaned around you, sending vibrations straight to your cock. it was too much, too soon.

this was the point of the whole ‘exposure therapy’ session, to overstimulate you, to let you get used to getting ruined, and giving up control.

“i can’t..” you mewled.

“you don’t get to tell me that you ‘can’t’.” he spat when he pulled off of you. he licked the tip once more, before dragging his hand up, and down your cock slowly. “you’re going to stay here, and let me drag the truth out of you.”

“buck.. bucky, please..”

“please what? please don’t? please continue?”

your head fell back.

“i.. don’t know.”

“don’t give me that. you do know.” he dipped two of his fingers in your pre-cum, removed his hand from your cock, and slid his fingers down to circle your rim. “you’re going to give me at least three before dinner, and i’m starting right.. here.” he carefully slipped his middle finger inside, as gently as he could.

your hips jumped, and trembled.

“w-wait-”

bucky moved around, before finally finding your prostate, and you let out a choked moan.

“aagh-.. fuck, feels.. weird..” you gasped like you’ve been punched in the gut. you had never had your prostate stimulated before, so this was definitely something new.

“oh i know you feel that.” he smirked, leaning next to you. “you get so damn soft whenever you get touched here, hm?” he stroked your prostate while watching your expressions so he could figure out what you liked most.

without hesitation, he added a second finger, stretching you as he worked his fingers in you with precision, with the perfect angle, and the perfect amount of pressure.

your eyelids fluttered, lips parting as you tried to process the unfamiliar pleasure. soon, the ‘weird’ pressure turned into pleasure, and it was fucking wrecking you.

“it’s too much- buck! too much..” you let out a wrecked sob. there was no contact on your cock, just pressure, fullness, curling in your gut.

“i know you’re sensitive, that’s why i’m doing it this way. i want you to cum without me touching your cock.” bucky leaned in to kiss your inner thigh as he worked his fingers in you. “i want to see your face when you cum this time.” he spoke, before pressing deeper, and harder.

you were already so fucking close just from the stimulation on your prostate, and the way that he spoke to you definitely wasn’t helping.

“oh my god- buck- oh.. shit, i-i’m gonna..”

“do it.” he whispered, moving up to kiss you.

“fuck.. i-i’m cumming..” your voice broke when you came, your back arched clean off the bed, while cum painted your stomach in spurts. you moaned into his mouth, all while he kept kissing you. finally, he pulled away to let you catch your breath.

“i’ve got you, you’re okay. let it all out, i’ll take care of you.” he muttered, as he kept fucking you through it until you started rambling nonsense.

then, your body collapsed back onto the bed.

bucky didn’t even give you a second.

you barely had time to breathe, before you felt heat on your cock. his warm, wet mouth was there, sucking you off. your body jolted, still raw from the earlier orgasm.

“wait- b-buck.. please!”

he pulled off of you, but still let the the tip of your cock rest against his cheek.

“shh. two more.”

you tried to pull away, tried to twist your hips, but his arm wrapped around your waist and practically locked you down.

the suction wasn’t gentle anymore.

bucky was fucking eating you.

he didn’t care, just started sucking like it was the only thing he was made for.

“please… uuuhm..” you moaned like it fucking hurt.

because it did, but it was just too good for you to want to stop.

“no- no, please, b-buck.. too fast-”

he pulled off of your cock.

“colour?”

“..green.”

“second one’s coming quite soon, don’t you think?” he smirked, before swallowing your cock once more.

you sobbed, literally sobbed.

bucky’s hands held your hips down, pinning you in place as he bobbed his head. every drag of his tongue made you quiver. it was so much, too much, even.

then, you came, violently. you came down his throat with a guttural cry. your legs kicked helplessly at his shoulders, while your cock jerked helplessly, as if you were trying to escape the pleasure.

he held you down, and drank every single drop.

and then, he kept licking. this time, slow circles over your tip that made your hips jerk like you were being electrocuted.

“fucking hell, buck-.. aah.. stop- i-i can’t.. can’t!..”

“you got one more in you, just one more.”

tears strayed from the corners of your eyes, and stained your cheeks that were flushed.

bucky was more merciful now, but still mean about it. he kissed your stomach, then licking your oversensitive cock in slow strokes. one of his hands rubbed your thigh, the other barely ghosting over the tip.

“shh, you’re okay. you deserve this.”

“i-i don’t have.. anything left, for fuck’s sake!” your voice faltered halfway through your sentence. you had more attitude, since you could at least think.

“yes you do, i’ll take care of you.”

he didn’t suck, didn’t stroke, just touched. he dragged lazy circles over the tip of your cock, giving gentle flicks of his tongue. his fingers trailed lower, this time pressing against your rim, not entering, just to remind you of what had been inside.

“y-you’re.. fuck.. stupidly good at this.. pervert.” you spoke in between breathy moans. every little motion of his affected you so much that you couldn’t even breathe properly.

you were starting to slip, not able to think straight anymore. the pressure was building, starting to coil in your gut again, but this time slower.

“please, buck.. i can’t anymore.. i’m so close..”

“then cum. cum for me one more time.”

your third orgasm wrecked you even more than the previous two combined. you came with a strangled, and weirdly high-pitched sob. your chest was flushed, and glistening with sweat. your limbs were limp, as if your bones had been crushed.

“you’re okay, you’re safe, i’ve got you.” he whispered. “colour?”

“green..” you whispered, too wrung out to reply properly.

then, bucky smiled, like the fucking bastard that he is. he leaned down, kissed your temples gently, then murmured casually:

“you know we can’t stop at three, right?”

you blinked slowly, completely dazed.

“what..?”

“we can’t end on an odd number. that’s just.. bad symmetry.” he spoke, and you could’ve sworn his voice dropped a few octaves.

your eyes widened, just barely.

“buck, i can’t i swear, if you keep going i’ll-”

“i know, i know. it won’t be a big one, i swear. just a little one- like a cherry on top.” then, bucky bent down in between your legs, then kissed the skin on your inner thighs.

“fuck you..” you swore at him, and he couldn’t help but laugh. you whimpered as his warm breath lingered on the tip of your oversensitive cock.

“this isn’t me fucking with you, i swear. it’s just for balance.” then, he wrapped one hand around the base of your cock, just tight enough to make you ache, and lowered his mouth once more.

this time, bucky was moving frustratingly slow. his lips barely touched you as his tongue flicked playfully in light, teasing licks around the tip of your cock.

even though the sensations were barely there, it still made your thighs twitch, and your breath hitch. you were panting again, clenching your fists into the sheets.

“i can’t- b-buck.. hurts.. but good..”

“i know, that’s the best part.” he cooed. then, without warning, he hummed low against the tip of your cock.

that did it.

your fourth orgasm was just painful. there was no fluid, no strength, just a choked sob, and an out-of-control spasm of your body. you looked wrecked, completely gone.

bucky kissed the tip of your cock, innocently this time. then your thigh, then your hip, then your stomach, as he let you calm down.

“four.” he spoke, cheerfully in between kisses. “even.”

you could feel his smug smile against your skin, and you wanted to bite back at him so badly, but you just couldn’t. you were thoroughly drained.

after a while, you finally calmed down. your fingers loosened against the sheets, then you blinked, unfocused. the burning sensation in you started to dull, and the soreness started to settle in.

“still alive?” he asked, playfully.

“barely. you’re a monster.”

“mm, i don’t know. you’re safe, so am i really?”

you let out a soft, broken laugh.

“next time, i’m wrecking you.”

“sure,” he spoke as he stroked your hair. “even numbers though.”

“i fucking hate you.”

“you know you don’t.”

[8]

[bluesidez]

Gym Rat Miguel Part 11 | chapter on AO3 for easier scrolling

content warning: fluff, some hurt/comfort?? angst??? bittersweet moments???, recreational use of zaza, some nerd talk, 18+ so MDNI, p in v sex (first time 😗)

word count: 10.1k, halfway proofread (don't ask me NOTHING...)

shout out to @hyjionie and @hwasoup for one of the ideas here! 😗 you guys will know it when you see it!

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GymRat!Miguel whose mom was driving him crazy. The flight for New York was at 7 am and somehow she was up running around the house at 2 am.

“Miguel! Get up, we have to go. Now!”

“Ma, no one is even driving on the road right at this hour. There's no traffic."

"Which is why you need to get up and move. You know Gabriel takes forever. Get up!"

GymRat!Miguel who groggily put on his clothes. It was the hoodie you got for him for Christmas with the doodle of the two of you on the front. If he was going to be stuck in the airport for hours, he might as well be comfortable.

GymRat!Miguel who looked made sure that his laptop was loaded with things to do.

He could catch up on shows he knew you watched so that you could have someone to rant to about them. He could listen to that one podcast you mentioned just because you mentioned it. He could read that one manga you were raving about because he was not going to compete with fictional men, and maybe, he could steal ideas from it.

GymRat!Miguel who went to wake up Gabriel before their mom's voice pierced both of their ears again.

He opened the door to see Gabriel staring bug-eyed at his wall while he ate a bowl of cereal.

“Did you go to sleep?” Miguel asked, closing the door and walking closer.

“No,” Gabriel said. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Miguel ran his hand over his hair, curly strands bouncing back, “Promise me you’ll try to sleep on the plane?”

Gabriel took his bowl to his mouth, slurping up the last drops, “Only if the voices let me.”

“Right,” Miguel says then takes his bowl from him. “Maybe you can have a conversation with them right now.”

“And maybe I will!”

GymRat!Miguel who stares at the bags his dad has stuffed into the trunk with awe. 

“Pa, you know we’ll only be there for three days, right?”

George presses against the trunk with a little more force than needed, “You never know what could happen, mijo.”

GymRat!Miguel whose bones shake with exhaustion as he stares out the window on the way to the airport. Maybe it’s due to the lack of sun, but he’s never felt a cold summer night. 

GymRat!Miguel who sighs as his dad argues with the staff over a suitcase that Miguel knew would be too heavy. He’s not even sure what his dad has in there.

GymRat!Miguel who thinks that TSA is having a field day despite his family being one of the few coming in at this hour. 

The man in front of him was taking way too long to pat him down and he got the hint was Miguel scowled at him.

GymRat!Miguel who had about four hours to kill before the plane came, so he decided to walk around the airport with Gabriel and pretend like they were a spoiled set of twins shopping casually in France.

“What do you think about this, Mimi? A little chic, no?” Gabriel held up a Gucci scarf to his green hoodie. 

Miguel stuck his nose up, “No, Bribri, it’s so yesterday.”

“Ugh,” Gabriel put the scarf back like it was on fire, “You’re so right. Thank god you’re here or I’d be so lost!”

GymRat!Miguel who feels like he’s back at home with Gabriel as they try their best to avoid the luxury brand store staff. Every time one would get close, they would giggle and rush out of the store. 

GymRat!Miguel and Gabriel who crash back at their terminal with enough food to feed a family of five. 

“What is all of this?” Conchata asks as Miguel hands her a coffee, a frustrated look on her face.

“Ma, it’s almost the crack of dawn and we’re hungry. Big boys gotta eat,” Gabriel said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

George reached in one of the bags and grabbed a sausage sandwich, “He’s right, Conchata. We can’t survive on two bites.”

Conchata eyed her three boys with her arms crossed, “All of it better be finished and I don’t want to hear one complaint about your stomachs.”

Miguel just snickered. It’s not like she bought the food anyway.

GymRat!Miguel who is watching an older couple meditate at his terminal as the sun begins to rise. 

“Yo,” Gabriel says. “That looks relaxing as hell. I’ma join them.”

GymRat!Miguel who is wheezing as he watches Gabriel plant himself between them to spread his arms and breathe at deep paces.

GymRat!Miguel who is thankful that his parents bought better-than-Economy seats, but that still didn’t stop any of the O’Hara boys from feeling like they were in one of those miniature museums. 

Both his dad and Gabriel were already tall, but Miguel was more than tall with a heavier body to match. If another compartment almost smacks him in the face, he might lose it.

GymRat!Miguel who takes off his headphones when Gabriel grips his arm.

“The voices,” Gabriel whispers. “The voices are here.”

“Are we doing this the whole flight?”

“Miguel, what if they tell me to do something drastic?”

Miguel looked to the window next to Gabriel and then up to the ceiling, “Three hours.”

“Three hours in which my brain could be infiltrated!”

“I’m closing my eyes, Gabri.”

“But-”

“Closing!”

GymRat!Miguel who used the flight to catch up on sleep and listen to the playlist you made for him. You gifted it to him earlier this month and said it would grow more and more. Miguel loved it because it showed that you were thinking about him, daydreaming about him. It also meant that he could connect to you more. 

No sound of crying babies, no smell of the artificial air packed tight, no light from overhead, just you and him in his mind, dancing on clouds. 

His heart felt like it followed the tempo of each song that played, the words and melodies taking over his mind. 

GymRat!Miguel whose mind wanders by the time the second half of the playlist starts. It was sensual and intimate in a way that passed the sticky sweetness of the first half. 

He was thinking about the nights when it was just the two of you and a bed. He could feel your body tangled with his in the sheets and your eyes piercing his skin. He could see you in front of him as the music played, the words glowing on your skin and the harmonies bounding you to him.

GymRat!Miguel who is yanked out of his fantasy of him pressing you up against a wall when his body jerks from the turbulence. 

He opens his eyes to see Gabriel knocked out and not a clue in the world.

GymRat!Miguel who is always reminded how idiotic people can be at the airport. 

Standing in the aisles is not going to make the people in the front move any faster.

GymRat!Miguel who could finally stretch his legs once he exits the terminal.

“If I get on another plane where a kids stares back at me the entire flight again, I’m going to spin my head like an owl,” Gabriel mumbles as he cracks his neck.

GymRat!Miguel who has a time laughing at his dad slowly losing his mind. 

First, he complained because his fabric luggage was lopsided and twisted from its buckled components, extra bag barely hanging on. 

Second, a wheel on his luggage was a few more spins from giving out. Every time the bag would skirt across the shining floors of the airport, George would grunt in frustration and yank it back. Gabriel almost pissed himself leaning onto Miguel from laughing. 

Third, the ride to the hotel almost gave him a heart attack. The cabs in New York were fast and no-nonsense when it came to getting people to their destinations. The cab drivers were also known to bob and weave into lanes like it was nothing. At every switch of a lane, George was mumbling prayers into the air. 

Conchata kept a hand on his shoulder as best as she could from the middle back seat, but George’s grip on the handle was turning white as he tried his best not to yell into the driver’s ear. Gabriel was filming him from the left side, wheezing like it was the funniest thing in the world. 

GymRat!Miguel who dropped his stuff off, took a nap, and used the rest of the afternoon to walk around Times Square. 

“You refused to go to a Broadway show with me but mark my words, you’re going to one with me before the year is over,” Gabriel pointed his finger at Miguel. 

“Unfortunately.”

GymRat!Miguel who watches as Gabriel dance battles with the random people in costumes in Times Square when they try to heckle him. 

At first, Miguel was worried for him trying to navigate such a bustling place, but there are moments like this that show him that his little brother has always been quick on his feet. His little brother was light years ahead of him in so many aspects and he couldn’t be prouder. 

GymRat!Miguel who probably filled his phone with more pictures and videos of Gabriel experiencing New York for the first time than were necessary. 

He couldn’t help it. His baby brother was soaring.

GymRat!Miguel who sends you places that he wants to visit with you. 

Envisioning you in his hoodie or with a fluffy, long scarf and walking down the sidewalk hand-in-hand with you had him excited to see you again. You would shine so brightly under the Christmas lights.

GymRat!Miguel who didn’t get back to the hotel with Gabriel until the evening. His parents both snoring in the room across the hall. 

GymRat!Miguel who still manages to get up early enough to hit the hotel gym before he and his family go tackle Gabriel’s dorm room. 

GymRat!Miguel who feels like the only other lady in the gym is trying her best to follow everything that he does. 

So much room in the tiny cube of a gym that they’re in and she moves to wherever he is after five minutes. 

GymRat!Miguel who is annoyed when she taps him in the middle of his set. He removes one ear of his headphones and tries his best to stop the disgusted look on his face from forming. 

“Hey! Sorry, I was wondering if I could use this machine! I’m kind of in a hurry.”

“After I finish this set,” she jerks back at that. “I’m using it right now.”

“Well, I just thought that-”

“Ma’am.”

“I’m 22! Don’t call me ma’am.”

Miguel’s eyebrows went up. He could hear Gabriel in the center of his mind calling her a “hard 22,” so he just put his headphones back on and continued to work through his set. 

GymRat!Miguel who thinks that interaction ruined the girl’s mood but he really didn’t have the energy to be concerned. 

He had to freshen up for breakfast. 

GymRat!Miguel who feels absolutely cramped when he steps into Gabriel’s dorm. 

“It’s not bad!” Conchata rubs Gabriel’s back as he looks around with his mouth in the shape of a line. “Once we clean it and set up your things, it’ll be just like home.”

Gabriel puts his hands on his hips, “Home doesn’t look like cell block 1.”

“At least the window overlooks the city,” Miguel says. 

The door behind them opens with George poking head inside. 

“Mijo, we need to set some ground rules. Your suitemates have no idea how to organize.”

“Did you go in their rooms?” Gabriel asked in disbelief. 

“It’s not my fault they left the door open!” George puts his hands up. 

GymRat!Miguel who works harder than he did for his own dorm. Every piece of clothing was in its rightful place, every surface was sparkling clean, the bed was made with minimal pillows and a giant RJ churro plushie, and there was an odd-shaped humidifier plugged up on his desk. 

“I’m putting your cleaning supplies in the corner of your closet, so this room should stay clean,” Miguel grumbled as he stuck a mini vacuum against the wall.

“Whatever, mom,” Gabriel replied.

“Gabriel,” Conchata had a hand on her hip and a finger pointed at her son. “Don’t whatever him. He’s right. There’s no excuse for this room to be a mess.”

Miguel and Gabriel stood in shock at Conchata’s quick defense.

“Are we in the twilight zone?” Gabriel asks out the side of his mouth.

“Maybe it’s the air pressure,” Miguel whispers back.

GymRat!Miguel who equates Conchata’s growing softness to the fact that not one, but two of her boys will be leaving the nest. 

The sentiment is sweet, but by the fourth time she just lets him and Gabriel roam the busy streets, he’s internally freaking out. 

It was far different from the woman who pinched their ears when they tried to sneak sweets into the shopping carts or the woman who had her shoe locked and loaded for when one of them did anything to annoy her. 

GymRat!Miguel who stays up late to talk all night with Gabriel about anything and everything.

“Which one of these do you think is better?”

Gabriel reaced into his backpack to unfold two flags, one with Jungkook over the Mexican flag and a Weenie Hut Jr. sign.

“Well, I definitely feel like there’s a clear answer.”

“You’re so right,” Gabriel says and folds up the Spongebob sign. “It’s better to represent.”

Miguel only sighed, “If that’s what you insist, Gabri.”

GymRat!Miguel who hugs Gabriel tight as their parents pack the cab back to the airport.

They’ve dropped Gabriel back at his school and said their goodbyes all morning. Miguel feels like he’s fading away. He bites his lips in order not to cry, but it’s hard when Gabriel's hands grip his hoodie like a lifeline. 

“Knock em’ dead, baby bro.”

Gabriel leans back with a wet laugh, “They won’t see me coming.”

GymRat!Miguel who waves out the window as the cab drives off. Gabriel waves back with both hands and a smile on his face. 

Miguel keeps looking back and Gabriel is still standing there. He wants to tell the cab to turn around.

After the fourth look, Gabriel is no longer looking at the direction the cab went but to a girl who also seems to have said goodbye to her family. He’s talking animatedly, arms moving as fast as the words fly out of his mouth. 

Miguel turns back around and pulls the strings on his hoodie hard, eyes welling up with tears. 

“Ay, pobrecito,” Conchata pulls Miguel into her arms, kissing the top of his covered head. “I know, it’s ok.”

Miguel’s lungs take in chopped breaths, hands never moving from the strings. He doesn’t know how to stop the tears from falling. 

“George, you too?”

To Conchata’s other side, George was looking out of the window, sniffling with a fist covering his mouth. 

“It feels like just yesterday I was teaching him how to kick a ball!”

Miguel blew out some air, “That probably was yesterday. He sucks at soccer. And football. And kickball.”

“How did he ever make the basketball team?” George says, voice riddled with sorrow. 

“His height, pa,” Miguel’s throat was tight again. “I didn’t call him beanstalk for nothing.”

The two of them lean onto Conchata, snot and tears crowding their faces. 

“Lose one baby and I gain two more,” Conchata sighed as she rubbed their backs, barely space in the little cab. 

GymRat!Miguel whose eyes remained puffy and swollen the whole trip back home. 

GymRat!Miguel who had to go back to school as soon as possible. 

He loved his parents, but being in the house without Gabriel took a lot more patience than he was willing to give. 

GymRat!Miguel who doesn’t see you coming while he's looking for you around the Student Center. 

The campus feels a little different since he’s become more familiar with it. Now he’s got shortcuts and pathways down. He knows more places to hide away in and he carries more tips to survive than he did his freshman year. 

A tap on his shoulder has him turning around. He spins, looks down, and his mood immediately lifts. 

You’re standing there with a pretty smile on your face in the midst of the bustling crowd. Miguel bends down to pick you up, arms wrapping around your thighs, mindful of your skirt. You laugh his name out as you cling to his shoulders. 

He kisses your lips, mouth warm and cozy like the sun shining through the window in a cool room. 

“I missed you so much,” he breathes after two heavy pecks. He moved to the corner of your mouth to your nose to your cheek. “‘M happy to see you.”

“I’m happy to see you, too,” you run a hand through his hair and cradle his face, looking into his eyes. “Are you alright?”

Miguel puts you down, knowing your limit for periodic PDA was nearing its end. 

“Better with you here.”

“Really?” You lean into his chin on his chest with hearts in your eyes. 

“Absolutely,” he plants his arms around you. “Been replaying your playlist for me. You want me to be your good boy?”

Your eyes get wider and you bury your face in his chest. 

“Why are you hiding? You should have known I was going to ask about it,” Miguel chuckles as you groan. 

“You’re using it against me.”

“No, I just want to confirm!”

The irritated face you gave him was too much, he had to tease you more. 

“Just say the word.”

“Hmph,” you lean back as Miguel grins. “Well, be a good boy and help me find our friends.”

Miguel let you pull him, smile loopy, “Whatever you say, baby.”

GymRat!Miguel who is glad to see his friends again. Peter, MJ, Jess, and Ben are sitting at one of the high tables and they all greet you both with smiles. 

“The lovebirds are here!” Peter reached to shake Miguel by the shoulders. “Good to see you both alive.”

“Never better,” Miguel replied, holding the seat out for you to sit on. 

“Look at him,” Jess snickered. “His eyes are practically shaped like hearts.”

“It’s ok to look away from her Miguel,” Ben said. “She’s not going to disappear.”

“C’mon guys, leave them alone. Haven’t you ever had someone you’re head over heels about?” MJ asks.

“No,” Ben and Jess say in a monotone voice.

“I’m sure you’ll find someone someday,” Peter quips as he wraps his arm around MJ. “Someone to stare at like they’re the only ones at the table.”

Everyone looked at Miguel talking to you as you tapped on your phone. He would whisper something in your ear and you would push him back with a shy laugh. His hands rubbed on your shoulders and your thighs. 

“Movie night might be insufferable,” Ben sighed.

Jess leaned back, “A girlfriend or boyfriend would suffice. I’m not picky!”

“I am,” Ben says with raised eyebrows. “I need someone to acknowledge my beauty.”

GymRat!Miguel who does in fact become insufferable during movie night. 

Flashing bright colors are painting the white dorm walls, lighting up the room, and the two of you are cuddled together on his bed. It’s way too cramped and Miguel could barely fit on the thing by himself, but somehow, he has you laid in his arms, a blanket covering you both. 

He’s not even sure what movie is playing on the projector because his mind is too focused on you. His hands keep wandering your body under the thick blue fluff. He’s watching you body jump and listening to your breath hitch as he kneads your thighs, your sides, your stomach, your chest. 

He really did miss you and he wanted to take this time to become acquainted with your body again.

But you would kill him if he let his thoughts take over and sink his hands under your clothes. 

So he settled with touching you and kissing your neck occasionally, your mind to preoccupied with the movie before you. 

GymRat!Miguel who insists on a snack run and makes you tag along. 

Does he want snacks? Not really.

Does he use it as an opportunity to make out with you on the outside of his car? Absolutely.

“Mig, mm-” you melt into him as he pries your mouth open. “I thought you said you wanted milkshakes.”

Miguel cages you against the car, pans down to your chest, then back up to your eyes, “My milkshake is right here, though.”

You scoff, hit his chest, and push his arms to walk around to the passenger seat.

GymRat!Miguel who has milkshakes ready for everyone on their way out to their own dorms. He spent way too long playing with you in the privacy of his car.

GymRat!Miguel who by his second day of classes thinks he has the ideal fall semester schedule planned.

He’s still blocking things out on his calendar, but his classes are a bit more spread out this time, which means more time to be with you. 

With your stacked studio classes, he was going to take every opportunity he could to see you. 

GymRat!Miguel who wanted to take up a basic game programming class as an elective. What better way to nerd out than to get insight on how his favorite games worked?

Learning C++ and Python, breaking down the technical side of things, making his own small games through engines; Miguel was beyond excited, to say the least.

He walked into the empty lab, scoping the classroom out for the best seat. The perks of being early. 

GymRat!Miguel who is scrolling through his watch later list while he waits for class to start. Maybe he could finally watch the Let’s Plays he’s been piling up. Maybe character builds would be better. 

“Hare-Hare, is that you?”

Miguel stopped, that nickname something he hadn’t heard in forever. 

He turned to his right with a smile on his face, “Xina?”

“It is you!” 

Miguel stood to hug her, his body rocking from the weight of her, almost knocking him over. 

“It’s been so long,” she breathes out. Her hands slide down his arms. “Have you gotten even bigger?”

Miguel laughed, “Probably.”

Xina’s eyes flitted over his body and back to his face. 

Miguel sat back down, “You look different, too. Is that a tattoo?”

“Y-yeah! You like it?”

It was some computer code in a spiral shape on her arm. It was really different for her. A far cry from the conservative, shy girl who left the South. 

In fact, the outfit she had on was something she would never wear. It looked like something that Lyla or Tempest would throw on. No collared dresses or long socks over stockings, just low-cut skirts and flowy-sleeved tops. 

“It’s pretty cool. Do your parents know you have it?” 

She shuffled the sleeves of her shirt back down, “They weren’t too fond of it, but what can they do now.”

Miguel smiled softly, “Lyla told me you were coming down here. I guess I just didn’t believe it until I saw you. How have you been?”

“I’ve been pretty good. Just trying to readjust. It’s a lot different here.”

Miguel raised his eyebrow, “From China or from up north?”

“Um, from up north. It’s a lot slower.”

“Really?” Miguel watched as she picked at the mountain of bracelets on her arm. “Hopefully not too much slower. I want you to enjoy your time here.”

More people started to fill up the lab, dropping their backpacks and pecking on their phones. 

Miguel rolled his chair closer to Xina, “What happened up there? Is everything ok?”

Her eyes shifted nervously, voice tight, “Lyla didn’t already tell you?”

“She can say a lot of things, but I’d rather hear it from you.”

Her shoulders dropped and whatever thoughts that were clouding her mind disappeared. 

“I’ll-” the professor heads to the front of the class. “I’ll tell you one day.”

Miguel nods, dropping the subject. 

GymRat!Miguel who is really excited about the future of the class after the first initial day. 

The professor seemed to have a lot of knowledge involving the industry, and even if Miguel couldn’t see himself really tapping into the industry, he enjoyed the banter. 

“Class seems like it’s going to be fun,” Xina says as she walks next to him, bag patting against her hip. 

“That’s a sentence I’ve heard no one ever say.” 

“Oh, shut up,” Xina pushes his shoulder and Miguel fakes being knocked over. “This is coming from the man who got excited about encyclopedias being available for checkout.”

“There was good stuff in there! Not my fault that others didn’t catch on.”

GymRat!Miguel who chats with Xina like old times. 

She looked different, but the core of her was still there. Still the sweet, reserved girl that he remembers. 

“Ah,” Xina looks down at her phone. “I gotta go. Me and my roommates are having a house meeting.”

“You got a quad suite?”

“An apartment! You should come over sometime. We’re going to have a little housewarming party soon.”

“Cool, I’ll be there. See you Thursday?”

Xina grinned wide, hands folding together in front of her, “See you Thursday.”

GymRat!Miguel whose time with you during the day was limited to lunch time. Your studios were stacked along with some general ed classes and he hated it. 

“Miguel, stop pouting, I’m here now!”

“That’s until you have to go mix your paints with others and cut floorboards.”

“I’m not mixing paint with others,” you reach to wipe some salad dressing off of his lip. “I’m mixing paints with other paints. And mineral spirits. And turpenoid.”

Miguel slumped down his chair, petulant. 

“Why can’t I just sit next to you and encourage you?” Call you pretty, stare at you, hold you. 

“Because it’s a college course just like any other class. I just can’t just walk into your labs unannounced.”

“If it were one of my lectures, you probably could.”

You left out a soft breath through your nose, “True. Too bad my classes are three hours long, babe.”

Miguel groaned, “I should have switched my bio class to yours.”

“So you and I both could be distracted all day? Not a chance.”

“No,” Miguel held out the vowel. “I wouldn’t get distracted, I swear! We’d sit at the front of the class to ensure it.”

“And somehow, you’d still find a way to distract yourself.”

Miguel puffed and folded his arms.

“How so?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you shake your cup, seeing if you had any drink left. “Writing me messages on your notes app, spamming emojis, sending naughty pictures in the middle of class.”

“That was one time.”

“One time that my professor almost saw the hairs leading to your-”

“So what you're saying is, you don’t want my chest in your phone?”

“No! I never said that!” 

Miguel smirks and you fall back into your chair with your heart pounding. 

“You’re so mean, I’m going to class early.”

“Baby, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

Miguel held your hand to stop you from leaving the table, pulling you to his side. 

“Let go, I’m going to class.”

“Let me walk you there at least?”

Miguel wrapped his arms around you and moved his head wherever your gaze went. 

“Fine, hurry up.”

GymRat!Miguel who finished his lunch in two bites and reached for your portfolio. 

GymRat!Miguel whose heart swelled as you swung his hand on the walk to class. 

“I think we can still make more time for just us. There’s the weekends, your birthday, fall break, winter break, our anniversary,” you sang as you looked up at him. 

“You excited?”

“To spend time with you? Always.”

Miguel felt his cheeks warm at the simple statement. 

“Are you?”

“If I’m not excited to be with you, you’ll know I’m being kidnapped.”

“Stop,” you giggle. 

“It’s true!”

GymRat!Miguel who lingers in the art building while you wait for class to start. 

“Is there anything in particular that you wanted to do for our anniversary?”

You fan your eyes up, “Hm. I’m not picky. As long as it’s close to school. We can save the bigger trips for the future or holidays.”

So no sporadic trips across the country. He can check that off his list. 

“Your face is telling me that you were thinking of something else.”

“No…”

GymRat!Miguel who after two weeks of class could definitely say that his elective was taking more brain power than his science classes combined. 

It was fun, but god, he didn’t understand the point of his professor insisting that they learn C#. 

“This is so stupid,” Miguel grumbled after the third failed attempt to get his program to run. “I think I’m in hell.”

“With me here? No way,” Xina snickered beside him. 

“Yeah, you’re right. Still doesn’t change the fact that this is a program that is completely useless to not only me but the rest of this course.”

“It literally can’t be that bad”

“Look!”

Miguel showed Xina his code and the lack of progress that it seems like he made. 

“That’s ‘cause your lines are wrong, silly.”

She leaned over him, tapping at his computer. Miguel noticed that her tattoo was on display today despite the cool chills coming in as fall approached. 

“There. That should fix it.”

Miguel ran his program again and was filled with relief when it actually did what it was supposed to do. 

“You’re a lifesaver.” 

“Anytime,” she beamed and fanned absentmindedly. “I’m always here to help. I definitely need your guidance for quantum physics.”

“What do you need that class for?”

“My advisor suggested it, but I’m starting to regret it and I can’t afford to drop it.”

“Tell you what, you help me with coding and I’ll help you with physics. Fair trade?”

“Plenty equal to me.”

GymRat!Miguel who smells Xina’s perfume as she helps him for the third time that class. 

It’s sweet and earthy. It reminds him of the time you fed him ice cream on a campus bench not too long ago. 

“What is that? It smells good.”

“Really?” Xina looks over to Miguel with a smile. She leans back and twirls the black strands of her hair. “You like it?”

“Yeah, it’s nice.”

“Thank you.”

GymRat!Miguel who gets invited to Xina’s apartment-warming party. 

“It’s pretty small, and I’ve only made a few friends here so far, but I would love for you to come.”

“For sure, for sure. Should I bring something?”

“No, just you and your body will suffice.”

GymRat!Miguel who laughs with Xina as they exit the class. 

“I’m just saying that if you have time to make merch for your games immediately after the first patch of it does numbers, then you have enough time to improve it and make other parts faster.”

“Game developers have families to feed, ya know?” Xina states. “They can’t just sit at a screen all day, they need quick money like the rest of us.”

“So you sell plushies instead? Whatever happened to ‘hi, hello’ or ‘this is how progress is going this month.’”

“Miguel!”

He turned to where he heard his name, that voice like music to his ears. 

“Bebé!”

GymRat!Miguel who runs to you and spins you around like he hasn’t seen you in years. You squeal into his neck, excited because he’s so excited. 

He puts you down and stands in shock, checking his watch, “I thought you had studio right now?”

“Critique ended super early, so I wanted to surprise you!”

“So the rest of your day is free?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

Miguel would punch the air with glee if he wasn’t in public. 

GymRat!Miguel who turns when you peek your head past him to see Xina standing with a small smile on her face. 

He slots his hand into yours and pulls you over. 

“Xina, meet my girlfriend. Bebé, meet Xina.”

You reach your right hand out, introducing yourself. Xina takes your hand with a grip like a blood pressure machine and a quick introduction. 

When you take your hand back, your eyes do a double take between the two, Miguel oblivious to what just took place. 

You clear your throat, “Do you guys take the same class?”

“Yep, we-”

“We go way, way back,” Xina grins. “Like trading silly bandz and Pokemon cards back.”

“Oh shit, really? So you saw Miguel in his baby days. What was he like?”

“Please don’t say anything embarrassing,” Miguel groans out. 

“Yeah, tell me something good. Something juicy.”

“Hm,” Xina tapped her chin. 

Miguel shook his head behind you, hands clasping together in a pleading motion. 

“Miguel had a crush on me.”

That’s not what he expected Xina to say and from the raised eyebrows on your face, neither did you.

“That’s,” you rock on your feet and adjust your backpack, “definitely something.”

“Yeah! He was so cute running around handing me flowers with the roots still attached. I was too busy trying to be the best ballerina around, though. Right, Hare-Hare?”

“Right,” Miguel looked to the door. “Uh, we’ll see you around Xina.”

“Yeah, see you soon,” her fingers twinkled, chains on her nails dangling. 

GymRat!Miguel who kept waiting for you to say something as you both walked to his car. 

He was excited to eat dinner with you for once, but your silence was scaring him. 

“What’s wrong?” He breaks, sick of his aimless thoughts. 

“I don’t know, Hare-Hare, you tell me.”

“Amor, don’t be upset. It was such a long time ago.”

“That’s fine, I don’t care about that. Why would she bring it up in the first place? I don’t even know her like that.”

“I think she was just nervous, she’s not usually like that.”

“Compared to…?”

“Compared to the kind person I know her to be. Look,” Miguel reached for your hand, voice steady. “I’m sure she’ll open up to you as I’m sure you will to her, ok?”

You blew out a deep breath, “Ok.”

“Trust me?”

“I trust you.”

“Good,” he pecked your lips. “Now let’s go get pizza. I’m starving.”

GymRat!Miguel who still brought a gift to the apartment warming. It felt rude to not show up with something. 

You had recommended a candle, so Miguel went and got something that smelled similar to Xina’s perfume plus a candle warmer in the shape of a flower. 

He knocked on the door, a gift bag in his hand.

After a few seconds, it swung open with a guy who he didn’t have to bend down to look at. 

“Woah,” he said. “You’re huge.”

“Uh, thanks? Is Xina here?”

The guy was brushed to the side to reveal a frazzled Xina. 

“H-hey, Miguel! You came!” Xina clung to him, fingers clammy and breath burning through his shirt. 

“Yeah, of course. Was this the wrong day?”

“No! No, no. You’re right, come on in.”

GymRat!Miguel who felt that the apartment was really nice and Xina’s roommates were a rambunctious bunch. 

Although, he expected the event to be a bit more relaxed. There were people crowded together in the living room, some screaming at a game on the TV, some making their mark on the couch, others dancing out on the balcony. 

Miguel was anxious to say the least. 

GymRat!Miguel who was pulled into Xina’s bedroom, the stench of that sticky, sweet perfume filling his nostrils. 

“Sorry about that, I didn’t know it would get this wild.”

“It’s fine,” Miguel shuffles the bag into her hands. “I just wanted to give you this, then I’ll be on my way.”

“Aw, so soon?”

“Yeah, I’ve got some stuff to catch up on.”

He wanted to get out of here. 

His eyes panned around her room, the style of it matching more to her past self. White lace, lilac and soft pink bows, tiny bunny and hamster families sitting on a shelf above her desk. 

A poster from a franchise that she swore she hated but he loved. Funny. 

Xina dug into the bag pulling out the candle warmer, “Miguel, this is so cu-ute! It’ll be perfect on my desk.”

“I thought you would like it.”

“You do know me very well,” she pulls out the candle and holds it to her nose for cartoonishly amount of time. “This smells fucking amazing. It’s like, like the inside of an ice cream bucket. But in a jar.”

“Xina,” Miguel sits the candle down before she moves the wicks up her nose. “Are you high?”

“Only a little…un poco,” she holds her fingers in a pinch. 

He pushed her hand away from his face. 

“They’re not making you take anything, right?” He pointed back to the door. 

“No, I wanted it to. It’s nice. You should try it sometime. Relax a little.”

Miguel watched Xina’s eyes for a moment, searching for anything, something about how she really felt. For the moment, they were only cloudy and unphased. Miguel supposes that he should be like that too. 

“Maybe another time. I think I’m gonna go.”

“If you must,” she pouted and hung on to his shoulder until they reached the door. 

GymRat!Miguel who finally breathed easier once he was in his car. 

He wondered what to get a person to help them come down from a high easier. 

GymRat!Miguel who didn’t care what Lyla had to say, the arcade was a great idea for the 1st Anniversary date. 

He had it all planned out: pick you up at your dorm door, drive you out, about an hour to the closest city, spend the rest of the night exploring the city, come back to the hotel, breakfast in bed, an afternoon at an art class because you wanted to see him paint, an evening at the arcade, and a night to complete out his Mission B: Virgin No More. 

It was perfect. Immaculate. Sublime. 

GymRat!Miguel who took the term passenger princess more seriously than he needed to. 

“You sure you don’t want me to drive?”

“Nope. Just sit there and look pretty.”

“I might fall asleep.”

“You’ll still be pretty either way.”

GymRat!Miguel who has the most fun going to random stores with you. Sure, there were some boutiques where the owners looked at you both like extra heads were sticking out of your necks, but there were also stores that were cozy and warm. 

You both stayed in the nooks and crannies of stores looking at trinkets, jewelry, books, anything. 

“Miguel, look!” you hold up the tiniest pair of baby shoes he’s ever seen. “How precious is that?”

“Put those down, I don’t need any new ideas.”

“You had old ones?”

GymRat!Miguel who buys a giant puzzle for you both to complete together. It’s a watercolor painting of the night sky and the bright day blending together. 

It was the two of you together in one piece, he had to get it. 

GymRat!Miguel who is giddy that you bought a set of matching silk pajamas for you both to wear. 

He knew you were definitely going to get hot in them, but what are hotels for if not turning up the A/C and cuddling together under the thick, starchy comforters? 

GymRat!Miguel who keeps staring at you through the mirror as you brush your teeth. There’s a fluffy headband keeping your hair out of your face, and you’re only wearing the top of your pajama set. 

He’s no better, only rocking the pants. 

“What?” you say with foamy toothpaste flooding your mouth. 

“Nothing. You’re cute.”

You spit out the toothpaste, “You’re cute!”

GymRat!Miguel who holds you close as you take a bunch of mirror selfies before you both head to sleep. 

GynRat!Miguel who knew this day was starting off right when you came out of the bathroom with your stomach showing. The shirt is like a blessing, mesmerizing in multiple areas, hugging your skin tight but loose enough for him to stick his hands under it. 

“Amor, I don’t know if you know this, but,” Miguel pulls you in between his legs. “We’re supposed to actually make it out of the hotel room today.”

“And we will,” your eyes sparkled. “So until we get back, be good.”

Miguel groaned and peppered searing kisses across your skin, hands hot on the pocket of skin he could see, squeezing and gripping. 

“Do I get a reward?”

You lean and whisper in his ear, breath tickling his skin, “A really, really hot one.”

Miguel's eyes are opened wider when you stand back, neck burning. 

“You’re killing me.”

GymRat!Miguel who really sucks at painting. 

“I don’t understand what I’m doing wrong.”

“Well, to start off, your brush isn’t even clean.”

You guide his hand to his water cup with a giggle, “None of your colors are going to show up if you keep dipping them willy-nilly.”

“Ok, but how come your hearts are so much better than mine? We both followed the teacher.”

Your eyes looked from your uniformed artwork, colors tangling together intricately and shapes flowy to Miguel’s canvas that had dripping paint, a bad mix of oversaturation, and wobbly shapes. 

“You know, I’m not completely sure how you managed that, babe. What matters is that you did it with love,” you say noticing both of your initials in one of the best hearts on the page. 

“Maybe you’ll be better at pottery? Mosaic?”

“I think you just enjoy laughing at my expense.”

GymRat!Miguel who rolled the sleeves of his sweater up when it was time to play arcade games. 

He had to look good, show off, and earn prizes. 

You watched with heavy eyes as he geared up to play the boxing game. 

He made the boyfriend outfit look even more yummy, with his button-down peeking from under his blue sweater to match your outfit and his big jeans hugging his waist. 

With a heavy swing, the machine seemed like it lifted off the ground with the force he gave it. His face was so serious as he waited for the score and you were inching closer to insanity. 

The machine faltered, red dashes dancing across the screen. 

“Did you break it?”

“Uh. I hope not.”

After what felt like a moment in which you both probably should have run away or called a worker, the machine blinks back to life. 

“No way.”

A max score of 999 stared back at you both and the card machine lit up with rainbow colors. 

You held his hand in yours, looking at his knuckles for any bruises or blemishes. When you stared up at Miguel incredulously, he had a goofy smile on his face. 

GymRat!Miguel who may have been more competitive than he needed to be. 

You yelled as his score kept inching away from yours on the basketball arcade game. 

“You’re, like, as tall as the machine! You’re cheating!”

“It has nothing to do with height, chiquita.”

You groan out a sound of frustration as you miss your shots, messing up your streak. 

The timer goes out, Miguel winning by a landslide. 

You push your head back as Miguel celebrates. 

GymRat!Miguel who keeps this song-and-dance up for the rest of the night. Sometimes you would win, sometimes he would win. 

His final strike was when you both were in one of those FPS games that required you both to be crammed inside of a dark box. 

“Miguel, stop taking my fucking shots!”

“Oo, she’s getting feisty with me now.”

You thought quickly and leaned over. With an eye on the screen and the intention to rile him up, you moan his name right in his ear, breath needy and warm. You lick at his jaw to seal the deal and turn back. 

Like paper, Miguel folds, and his aim becomes absolutely terrible. 

“W-why would you do that?”

You couldn’t bring yourself to feel that bad as “Player 1: Bunny WINS” and “Player 2: Bear LOSES” jumped across the screen. 

You kiss Miguel on his cheek as he readjusts his pants with a frown on his face. 

GymRat!Miguel who could hear his heartbeat in his ears on the elevator ride back up to the room. 

You were holding onto the giant plushie he gave blood, sweat, and tears to earn, saying that it reminded you of him. 

Miguel, on the other hand, was digging his nails into his palm and opening the collar of his sweater sporadically. 

“You alright?” you say, placing a hand on his elbow.

“I might pass out.”

“Miguel,” you hold him close as you both walk to the door. “You gotta calm down.”

“I am! I’m just nervous.”

“You’re shaking.”

Miguel’s hands tremored as he ran the key card over the censor.

GymRat!Miguel who let you hold his hands as you kissed over his wrists. 

He was so dear to you. His presence, like a beautiful spark.

“You’re so sweet.” A kiss to his palm. “The sweetest there is. I adore you.”

Miguel took a shuddered breath as he watched you, heart rushing to his ears.

GymRat!Miguel who is more calm when you both start to remove your clothes. It wasn’t steamy and desperate like he imagined. It was slow, intimate, and quiet. 

It was like seeing you all over again for the first time when he helped you take off your shirt. It was like stepping into new territory when you held his jeans so he could step out of them. You both took turns taking off an article of clothing, savoring the moment. 

Miguel fumbled a bit when he was met with you the clasps of your bra, fingers knocking against each other.

When the time comes, after what was an hour or so of touching, feeling, and existing within each other, your hands fumble with the condom.

Miguel feels out of his body as you slide it down with care, hands moving as if you were molding clay. 

It wasn’t until he was on top of you that he felt that this was really happening. The foreplay between you a spot of comfort and habit.

After so long, he finally slid in deep, the pit of his stomach quivering. You were so unbearably tight.

“Y-you ok?” Miguel squeezed onto your hand, watching your eyebrows knit together. 

“Yeah, it’s just,” you chuckle, breath almost gone from the feeling of him. “You’re really big.”

Miguel’s face shifted from worried to shocked. 

“Oh! Well, I guess that’s a good thing?”

“You don’t have to guess, I can feel it.”

Miguel twitched and jolted involuntarily, causing you to whimper, your words going straight south. 

“Miguel! Stop moving.”

“Sorry! You’re really tight right now and I’m trying to focus.” 

“God,” you sigh and let your head drop to your pillow. “Are we even doing this right?”

“No clue.”

Miguel kissed your collarbone as you wrapped your arms under his. He continued to kiss across your shoulders, lips light and airy. Up your neck to your jaw, he could feel you relax and breathe a little easier. 

He grazes his mouth to your cheeks, humming as you move them closer to his lips. He kisses your temple, your eyebrows, your forehead. At your nose, you start to giggle, Miguel’s kisses leaving flutters on your skin. 

Miguel joins in on your joy, grinning as you try to return the pecks. 

“Ok,” you whisper. “I think I’m ready. You can move now.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. I want you to make me feel good. I want you to feel good.”

Miguel looked at your eyes, waiting, wanting, open. He couldn’t help but to think how lucky he was to have a girl like you who was just so beautiful and lovely. 

His body is pressed against yours, the plush of your chest molding onto his. Your legs were wrapped around his thighs and your fingers danced across his back. 

He takes a hand to hold the side of your face while the other one is pressing you even closer to him. He moves out as best as he can, the warmth of you an addicting feeling, and slides back in slowly, a shallow thrust to start off. 

Your breath was hot against his mouth as you shuddered. Miguel groaned, feeling the heat of you through the thin condom. 

He moved again, watching as your face twisted and turned. Your hands are pressed against his back, palms applying pressure until the feeling stretches to your fingertips. The pricks of your nails dig softly into Miguel’s skin, muscles moving as he tucks your hair away from your face. 

By the third thrust, Miguel is moaning out, overwhelmed with you everywhere. When he breathes, you breathe. When he tightens his hand on your back, you tighten yours. When the feeling of you becomes too much to bear, you’re right there with him, eyes heavy and wet. 

Everything was heightened, from the sound of the bed squeaking as Miguel’s hips moved, to the little sounds you made when he inched in deeper. He’s scared he might shout in your face due to how good you feel so he presses against your lips, grunts coming out with each thrust. 

You take him with stride, hands balling up to fists as he gets deeper and deeper. 

His name from your lips is broken down from two syllables to four, enunciation clear enough for Miguel to know that he’s doing something right. 

“Don’t stop,” you plead, gaze reaching Miguel’s soul. “Please.”

“I won’t.” He would never leave if he had the choice. “Am I, shit, am I doing good? Do you feel alright?”

He shifts back to see your face and his heart speeds up watching you under him. Your arms fall to the bed and your mouth stutters open as Miguel continues. 

Your eyes drip as you let out staccato moans and Miguel leans down to kiss away your tears. 

“C’mon, bebé, let me know.”

You nod your head and cry out when Miguel goes even deeper. He hums against your mouth as a thank you. 

“Miggy, I,” you stop as you take a breath. 

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

A rush of heat from top to bottom filled Miguel’s core. The air left his lungs swiftly and came back in twice as fast. His back shook, nerves like a spring. All he could hear was your breaths, all he could smell was your warm skin, all he could taste was the lingering touch of your tongue, all could feel was the hot valley of you, all he could see was you.

He dies and comes back to life, sight piecing together that the stars and hearts were not part of you but they were just his muddled brain taking you in like the first day he met you. His throat burns like he swallowed hot coal. 

Your mouth is moving but he still can’t connect the words yet. He feels himself floating away. 

“Baby?” the way that your hands grip his body ground him. “Can you hear me?”

“Yes,” Miguel nods, eyes blinking fast. “What just happened.”

“I think you came?”

Miguel looked down, and sure enough, you were right. 

He doesn’t remember you getting any relief. 

“Can I-” he groans as you clamp down on him when tries to pull out. “Can we do that again?”

You nod your head, “Please.” 

GymRat!Miguel who, after a brand new condom and a clearer mind, realizes that he has a lot of work to do. 

He knew that you were his everything, but he couldn’t deny that he was a little embarrassed. You swore to him that it was ok, flattering even, but Miguel isn’t buying it. 

Your legs were bent at his sides as he lifted your hips off the mattress. He held them up as he stroked deep and focused on the sound of your breaths. 

“B-baby,” your voice is stunted as Miguel keeps a steady tempo. “Look at me”

Miguel groans into your neck, shuddering from the sound of your voice and your hands rubbing his sides. Your moans were high in your throat, breaking as Miguel’s hands pushed and pulled at your skin. 

“I can’t.”

“Why,” your words fizzle as Miguel hits a sweet spot. “Why not?”

“If I look at you, I’m gonna cum.”

Miguel goes faster as he feels you constrict against him. The bed creaks as the sound of him delving into you gets louder and louder. 

“Oh,” your nails scratch his back. Miguel matches your voice, desperate to please you. 

You open your mouth again, a three-letter phrase ghosting your tongue. 

“D-don’t,” Miguel’s hips freeze and unfreeze as he hears the first vowel leave your mouth.

“I wanna see you.”

Miguel shifts, eyes finding yours, and he knows he won’t make it. 

He tells you just as much and you pull him closer. 

“Te amo, mi luna.”

Miguel cries as he feels the air leaving him. He reaches down to touch you, your body jolting when his fingers graze your clit. 

You cum around him and he pushed through, waiting until you were shaking to let go. 

“You,” Miguel leans his forehead on yours. Both of you are shaking, blood pumping with adrenaline. “Play so unfair.”

“But you love me?”

He cuddles into your thumbs wiping at his eyes, “So much. I love you so, so much.”

You kiss him, feeling warm and satisfied, sighing as he melts on top of you. You run your fingers through his wild hair and scratch at his name. 

After a while, Miguel perks up, eyes sparkly and big like a little puppy. 

“A-again.”

“What?”

GymRat!Miguel who pulls you to the edge of the bed by your legs. You yelp at his strength and the icy pricks of the hotel A/C coating your overheating skin. 

Miguel slides back in with a practiced ease, the angle different, but not unfamiliar. 

He held your legs and hips from the bed, watching as your body moved from the faster momentum he produced. 

Your voice reaches the ceiling as your hands grip for anything. Seeing your reaction, Miguel grips your hips and your stomach, angling even deeper. It was fulfilling until your hands landed on your chest, stopping them from jerking so.

Miguel pulled your wrists together and down, watching as your arms framed your chest. He moans out your name, eyes stuck on the picture presented before him. 

How could anyone ever believe you were not beautiful? 

GymRat!Miguel who can’t help but to ask for one more round. In your disheveled state, you tell him it’s the last one. 

The sounds leaving your bodies were enough to make the bed blush. It was something so perfect about the whispers you mewled into each other's skin contrasting the wet sound of Miguel slapping into your wet entrance. 

Somehow you were nearly bent in half, knees almost next to your ears, as Miguel’s feet were planted on the bed. You didn’t even know your body could do that. 

At every smack of skin, Miguel was moaning your name louder and louder, mind completely gone. 

“I’m, ngh, gonna cum!” Your voice comes out at a volume that matches his. 

Miguel nods, encouraging you to release, kissing along your skin. 

You shout as he swerves his hips, melting your cour as he slides along your sweet spots. 

“So good,” Miguel says, balls twitching against you as crumbles to the bed. “So amazing. Mi luz, mi sol.”

The two of you catch your breath in the dim hotel lighting, jolting with aftershocks of your anniversary. 

GymRat!Miguel who held you on his chest as you slept, lips pressed against the top of your head. He checked his phone before going to sleep, wanting to set a timer for the morning. 

A Game Exchange’s Worst Nightmare

Miggy Mig MC: I did it

Winner-Winner: ???

Ly(ability)la: Only you would announce losing your virginity like that

Tempie: omg

You’re not a baby anymore 🥺

What am I gonna do

Winner-Winner: WAIT

LESGOOOO

Tempie: I never thought this day would come

Winner-Winner: you was tearing it up wasn’t you? 🤪

Ly(ability)la: you’re so annoying

Tempie: like I didn’t prepare fast enough

I

I WASNT READY

Winner-Winner: I hope you did that trick I taught you

It gets em every time

Guaranteed banger

Tempie: This actually ruined my night

Ly(ability)la: Temp is losing it and so is Wins

Congrats to you ig

Winner-Winner: I bet she’s KNOCKED OUUOOT

Ly(ability)la: is being normal like not in your cards or…

Tempie: I think I’m sick

Miggy Mig MC: .....

Gabri 🤏🏽🤡:

“I did it”

“No fucking way"

"NO FUCKING WAY"

"AND? AND SO?"

“It was just as good as you say. That’s all I’m saying.”

"I feel like I need to throw something on the grill"

“Not too much Gabri”

GymRat!Miguel who wrapped his arms around you as you fixed up something the next morning. 

“G’morning,” you say to a heavy Miguel leaning down on you. 

“Super good morning,” his hands reach to cup your left breast and your stomach under your robe. He left a long kiss on your shoulder. “Whatcha doing?”

“‘M getting your gift together.”

“Another one?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Well, let me step up my game.’

GymRat!Miguel who sits with you on the bed as you both trade gifts.

“Aw, Miguel! How am I supposed to eat these? You look so cute here,” you took a piece of candy in your hand and looked his face planted on it. 

“Like this,” Miguel takes your hand and guides the candy to his mouth. 

You smile watching him, body warm. 

GymRat!Miguel who watches your eyes glow when you see the dolphin charm with the date that you two took our first date. 

“Put it on me?”

Miguel slid the jewelry over your skin, watching as gold danced against your skin.

GymRat!Miguel who feels like crying when flipped through the scrapbook you made. Each section matched a song in the playlist you made for him. 

It was so thoroughly crafted and thought out that Miguel couldn’t stop the waterworks. 

“Why did I think that outfit was cool?” Miguel laughed wetly as he saw a picture of you both at a pumpkin patch.

“You look adorable,” you catch his tear on your thumb and hug his side.

GymRat!Miguel who drops you off at your dorm with kiss after kiss to your lips. 

Jess opens the door with a dramatic sigh, “The two of you are glowing. How cute.”

GymRat!Miguel who reaches back to his night with you every time he’s sick of the class he’s in. 

A little bit dangerous when it comes to his labs, but everything is reminding him of you. He can’t even look at his blanket without thinking about the way your shirt draped your body. 

Maybe he should make love to you with it next time.

GymRat!Miguel who is in a daze during his programming lab. 

“Earth to Miguel. Did you finish the mini code?”

“Uh, yeah,” Miguel replied to Xina. 

“Good, because I need you to check this equation really quick. I need to turn it in later this week.”

Miguel leaned over to Xina’s laptop, arm reaching across her. 

“So,” she slides her nails up his arm. “What do you think?”

“It’s fine. This part is very wrong, though.”

She squeezes at his muscle, chest pressing on him.

“Are you cold or something?”

“No, why do you ask?”

“Because,” Miguel slides her laptop in front of him. “You’re really touchy today.”

“Miguel, I’m always touchy.”

She puts an arm on the back of her rolling chair and leans on her wrist. 

“True.”

“Is there a problem with friendly touches?”

“No, Xina. I’m not like that.”

“Ok,” she holds her hands up in defense. “I’m just trying to understand.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“That,” Miguel says turning to her, “Being weird. Overstepping.”

Xina folds her arms and nods her head, “I got it.”

GymRat!Miguel whose time with you dwindles within the next couple of weeks. If it’s not studying, it’s the robotics team. If it’s not the robotics team, it’s his class schedule never matching yours. If it’s not your studios, it’s his study sessions with Xina. 

Currently, she was sitting beside him on the first floor of the library, head on his shoulder as she sighed over a new formula. 

“This is so gross,” she said, wiping away eraser shavings.

“Did you even try?”

“Like, once. That was enough.”

GymRat!Miguel who gets your text and looks up to where he knew you’d come from. He felt like he could feel you close, but the entrance was so far away he couldn’t see. 

He got up for a second, turning and standing tall to catch a glimpse. 

“I know you’re not about to give up this. You said it was easy! That’s not the Miguel I know,” Xina grabbed his wrist, hands unbearably hot. 

His phone buzzed again. You said you were going back to your studio. 

He sighed and sat back down, mind foggy.

divider by: @thecutestgrotto + @adornedwithlight 🩵

a/n: Y'all know that gif with the smoking duck? I feel like that but I would replace the cigarette with an Icee or something.

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[tttt06]

Sex Can't Solve Everything

IdolEnhypen x Blackreader

Request are open! I reply quickly. Masterlist here

Synopsis~ Enhypen's reaction to you trying to cope by having sex with them.

Warnings~ Sexual comfort, fluff, conscious toxic relationships, alludes to ab*se, fights, angst, mentions of death of a close friend, mentions of depression, I didn't really describe the reader, so she's normal and able bodied. I just didn't give her features.

Word Count~ 3k

Heeseung

You and Heeseung had a long day. You came back from the funeral of a close friend. 

They were someone you've been friends with since childhood. She died tragically in a traffic accident, and you've been hurt.

Hee noticed the way your eyes darkened. 

The way you've gotten quieter.

You aren't the same because she's gone. How could she leave you in the cruel world like that?

Heeseung moved out of the kitchen to pass you a chopsticks. You weren't going to eat the ramen he made you anyway. You were too in your head.

Heeseung softly kissed your head and asked, "You doing okay?"

You blinked, eyes dry from the tears you've cried today.

You still smelled like Chloe's mom. 

You just laughed, "Yeah, I'll be okay."

Heeseung gave you a comforting smile. "I'm here if you want to talk."

You shook your head, "I'm okay."

He looked over your face. Mascara was running down your face. Your eyes were beat red. You didn't even do your edges today. That was an essential part of your day.

Hee just cupped your face and kissed your forehead. You pulled his face down to press into your lips. 

"Hmm."

You were shoving your tongue into his mouth. You jumped, and he caught you. Your legs wrapped around his waist as he walked to the couch.

He sat down as he tried to catch your rapid kisses.

They were hungry and passionate.

You bit his lip, and he pulled away, "Slow down."

You said, "m, m."

Your grip on him strengthened as you started to grind against his boner. 

The memories of Chloe and you rushed to your head, and the only thing you could do was sob.

Heeseung pulled away when he felt you crying. His eyebrows furrowed with worry. 

He cupped your face, "What's wrong?" You sobbed, "I miss her."

Heeseung pulled you into a hug. "I know you do, and as much as I love having sex with you, that's not how we solve things. Sex is a way to show you how much I love you, not this."

You cried, "I don't know what else to do." He sighed as he listened to your cries, "I miss Chloe!"

Heeseung rocked you until you fell asleep. 

It was a rollercoaster of emotions for him. He knew it would be a difficult chapter for the two of you, and he was willing to work through it.

He put you to bed and ate your bowl of ramen. 

He sat there and thought about how to help you.

Jay

Winter was here. The time of year when you often disappeared. You'd stop texting back, coming over, and spending time.

Jay knew it was seasonal depression. You were unhappy during wintertime, and he knew it wasn't your fault.

After about nine hours of practice, he came to your apartment. 

You were there, cuddled on your couch, reading. A blanket was on your lap. The blanket had Jay's face plastered on it. You bought it as a joke.

You were so funny to him. The things you'd do as a joke always made him laugh.

You saw him and smiled. "Oh hey. You came over."

Jay said carefully, "I haven't seen you in over a week, and you stopped responding to my messages."

You pouted while looking at your phone, "I'm sorry."

He shook his head, "It's okay. I understand. I just came to check in. I could head out if you want."

You stood up quickly, "No, no. Stay."

You walked closer to Jay. His breath was warm on your face. You cupped his cheek and kissed him softly.

Jay relaxed as he tilted his head. He kissed you just as passionately as you.

His hands traveled to your waist, and he pulled you closer. You walked him to the bedroom and kicked the door behind you closed.

After pushing Jay on the bed, you looked at his face. 

He looked so confused.

You furrowed your eyebrows and leaned back for another kiss, but Jay jerked away.

"Why are you crying?"

You touched your face as you realized. "I am?"

Jay let you climb into his lap as you said, "I don't know. Now I feel really sad."

You felt yourself start to cry as Jay hugged you. "It's okay, babe."

You hiccuped, "I wanted *hic* to stop thinking *hic* about my problems."

Jay laughed at your hiccups as he said, "That's understandable. But there's another way to do that."

Jay rubbed calm circles on your back. That only made you cry more. Jay has been so understanding. 

Your crash-out boyfriend was the sweetest. You loved Jay, but you only ever felt nothing or sadness.

"Jay, I want to feel something. Please."

You rocked on his hips. Jay can't resist you. Still, he deflected, "No. We can watch a movie together."

You asked, "Why? Why can't you?"

Jay sighed. He pulled you down with him as he plopped on the bed. 

"It'll come to a point where sex isn't about love anymore."

You couldn't respond. Jay was right. 

You listened to him. You cuddled close to him and turned on the TV.

Jay was a sweet guy. He ignored your messy room, dirty kitchen, texts, and angry blow-ups because he loved you.

Jake

Someone from your past was coming out of jail. You're the one who put your ex-boyfriend there, and it was stressing you out.

DJ (Your ex-boyfriend) hurt you. 

He hurt you in and out of the relationship. He manipulated you, cheated, and left you alone on the street.

Jake found you. Jake helped you get better. 

Jake was with you when you found out the news. You were sitting on the bed, watching Bluey.

Two grown adults were watching Bluey because the show was good as fuck.

You sighed as your phone rang. Jake was biting his lip as he looked at you. You answered it, "Detective Seo? Nice to hear from you."

Seo sighed. "Yes, I wish under better circumstances. Sadly, I have bad news."

You furrowed your eyebrows. Jake carefully watched your face, "What's wrong?"

Seo said, "DJ... he's out."

You jolted, "What? Where?"

You were frantically running around your apartment as you started to pack, "We have him on an ankle monitor. He's in the States. He's not allowed to leave the country. Don't worry. Witness protection found you a safe place in Korea."

Jake ran after you as he watched you throw things in the luggage.

You knew everything you needed to run.

"I'm getting a ticket to a different country."

Jake and Detective Seo both said, "What?"

Detective Seo said, "Stay there. Please. Your best hidden there."

Detective Seo hung up, and you were stuck. All you could do was cry as the tears streamed down your face.

Jake is quick to hug you to make you feel better.

The problem is, there is no feeling better.

You kissed Jake. Then you started making out. It was slow and comforting. You didn't want that, though.

You wanted him to be rough tonight. 

You were biting his lip and touching up his abs. Jake pulled back to quickly say, "Slow down."

You didn't listen.

You unbuckled his pants and were ready to give him head. When you looked at his dick, he was only half hard.

You looked up at Jake.

His eyes were filled with confusion and vulnerability.

Jake shuddered as he asked, "What are you doing?"

You moved away from his pants. Your head hung low as you tried to explain.

You wanted to what? Use Jake's body as a distraction? You're no better than the man who's free and dangerous. The man you spent years hiding from.

You changed your house, name, and lifestyle. You deleted all social media and tried to move on.

Now, you're forcing yourself on Jake to distract from your problems.

You felt tears welling up again, "I-i'm so sorry."

Jake shook his head and cupped your cheeks, "It's okay."

You cried, "No, it's not."

You pulled away from his embrace. You felt like you didn't deserve it.

You know how susceptible Jake is to sex. He wouldn't have stopped you.

"I'm a horrible person."

Jake watched as you walked out of the bedroom.

It wasn't until hours later that he'd sit next to you quietly. He rubs your back and asks, "Is this about your ex?"

You nodded, "He's out of prison."

Jake's breath was heavy as he tried to wrap his head around how you might be feeling.

"Baby. You can use me however you need to make yourself feel better."

You shook your head, "Sex should be for love."

Jake smiled, "I love you so much, I'm letting you use me."

You looked at him with a smile that didn't reach your eyes, "I can't do that."

Jake sighed. His body leaned back on the couch as he said, "How about you ask me to make you feel good?"

He kissed your temple as your eyes widened, "Yeah?"

He nodded.

Sunghoon

You had a bad day.

That's all it was. 

You came home, threw off your black heels, and ran to the bedroom.

Sunghoon was taking a nap. You quietly walked to his side of the bed and kissed him.

He jerked awake, "Eh? Oh, hey, babe."

You smiled, "You tired?"

Sunghoon turned his back and said, "I don't remember."

His voice sounded a little hoarse, so he must've been sleeping for a while. You saw the tea and cough drops on the bedside table and asked, "Were you recording today?"

He nodded, "Yeah, I passed out when I got here though."

You climbed on his lap, and he straddled your hips. "Mm. Can we have sex?"

Sunghoon furrowed his eyebrows, "No." He scoffed a little and flipped you over, "What's wrong with you? You crazy?"

You whined, "Hoonie! I had a horrible day, and I want you."

Sunghoon laughed, "Okay, we can talk about it. I see you're not wearing the same clothes as this morning. What happened?"

You sighed, "I spilled coffee on myself, fired Rachel, caught two of my workers having sex in the break room, had to fire them too, had 7 meetings about color design, and my mom yelled at me because I hadn't come over last week."

Sunghoon's face dropped, "... sex in the break room?"

You nodded, "You see?! My life is a movie."

Sunghoon laughed and kissed you. "I guess. The answer is still no to sex, though. You can't solve your problems like this."

You slapped his chest, "But you make me feel so good."

Sunghoon bit his bottom lip as he traced your face. Your body started to heat up as you squealed, "Don't look at me like that! Oh my god!"

He smiled, "You're so cute, I guess we could have sex."

He reached down and gave you a tender kiss. Two seconds later, Sunghoon was slipping his tongue into your mouth.

Sunoo

Sunoo and you had been fighting. Arguing non-stop.

It was happening for days. It was over a girl.

He was texting some girl you've never heard of, and you, being petty, accused him of cheating. You know he wasn't, but he was hiding her from you.

It was weird.

So, you've been dragging him through hell because of it.

It was when you were really going at it in the dorms. The boys had all left because you were screaming at each other.

Sunoo was yelling how you were doing too much, but you knew you weren't. He loved the tension.

Sunoo was close to your face as he spat, "I'd never cheat on you with anyone because I fucking love you."

That's all you wanted to hear. You smashed your lips into each other as your tongue slipped into Sunoo's mouth.

He picked you up and threw you on the bed. You started lifting his shirt to feel his bare skin. Sunoo was frantically leaving kisses on your neck, sucking.

You moaned as you started unbuckling his belt. 

Sunoo grabbed your hands and put them above your head. "Calm the fuck down, Y/N."

Anger bubbled in his throat as you gulped. Shit, he was so hot when he was like this.

Sunoo looked at your face, and it softened. "Why are we doing this?"

You shuddered, "I don't know, but I like you like this."

Sunoo asked, "What? Angry? That's toxic." You shook your head, "It's not toxic." Sunoo laughed, "Purposely starting arguments to actively make me angry? Kind of is."

You sighed, "Sunoo, just touch me."

Sunoo shook his head, "No, you're gonna sit here and think about how fucked up that is."

You pouted as you sat on the opposite side of the bed. You confessed, "I knew you weren't cheating on me."

Sunoo laughed, "I knew that. I know you like to fuck with me."

You sighed, "Maybe I am a little toxic. Why are you still with me?" Sunoo confessed, "I like the rush."

He kissed your cheek.

Jungwon

It's the same as Sunoo. It wouldn't be on purpose, though. Jungwon would be gone for days or weeks on end.

All you'd want was a text back, but he couldn't do that. 

You showed up during practice. Jungwon furrowed his eyebrows as he looked at you like you were crazy.

"I know, but just come here."

Jungwon followed you outside to the hallway. You heard the boys continue to practice to give you two privacy.

"Can you come over tonight? We have to talk."

Jungwon said, "Okay, but why didn't you text me that? Why show up to my practice?"

You laughed, "You don't respond to my messages." You scoffed, "Jungwon, just come over. Don't blow this off."

You started to walk off, and he grabbed your arm, "Hey."

You turned to him, "What?"

Jungwon looked you up and down, "What's with the outfit?"

You reminded him, "My little brother graduated today. I invited you to come with me. You're here." Jungwon sighed, "I'm sorry."

You shook your head, "It's whatever."

Jungwon noticed the lack of a nickname. You didn't call him baby, honey, love, or sweetie. When you left, you didn't tell him you loved him.

When he did visit your house, you didn't talk. You fucked. It was passionate, something you two have never done.

He didn't like the change. He enjoyed the soft whimpers you let out. He didn't like the screams, the rough nature of him, the nails digging into him, the speed of it all.

You were lying on his chest, tracing his abs, when you began to talk. 

"You haven't been here for me these past two months. I feel like I'm single."

Jungwon tensed, "Why did we have sex instead of talking about it?"

You laughed, but the laughs turned into cries. "What else am I supposed to do. You've been blowing me off. Today, you forgot to meet me at the school. My brother was waiting for you to show up. You see? You're not just blowing me off, but my little brother. He was upset."

Jungwon rubbed your back, "I'm sorry."

You cried, "You should be. I had to explain to my brother that you won't be around often."

You lifted your head, "I wanted to break up with you today. But we had sex. Now, I can't let this go."

Jungwon's eyes were filled with hurt. "Don't."

He kissed you slowly, and you were back in the missionary position. You two were trying to fuck away your problems. Jungwon didn't stop saying how he'd do better and how much he loves you.

You believed him.

Ni-ki

Ni-ki and you were still teens. You two were trying to navigate how to communicate and be vulnerable.

Though difficult, you two always tried. You both would call out each other's toxic traits. You had avoidance of confrontation. Ni-ki really hated it, but he'd always call you out.

He was never mad when you brought up things you didn't like about him. He was an understanding partner.

It was a day a long day. You got home, trash was filled, dishes were in the sink, and Ni-ki was in your living room playing his video games.

You were upset. You came home from a long day at work, and the house was still dirty.

You were seething but didn't want to mention the issues. Instead, you let Ni-ki sit there in the mess.

Ni-ki noticed you didn't announce you were home. You went straight to your room and showered. He'd usually be invited to the shower. It was why he hadn't showered yet, so he could do it with you.

As you did your skincare, Ni-ki watched you in your silky robe. 

Ni-ki asked, "Why are you upset?"

You corrected, "I'm not upset."

Ni-ki took a deep breath. "What's wrong?"

You closed the bathroom door, not wanting to hear his bullshit. How could you not know what's wrong?

Ni-ki opened the door and cornered you to the sink. He was so much bigger than you in every right. 

He leaned over and asked again, "What's the matter?"

You wanted to avoid this, so what did you do? You grabbed him by the collar and kissed him. You had brushed your teeth, so you tasted like mint.

Ni-ki tilted his head and kissed you harder. His hands unwrapped the robe, and he felt your bare ass. 

You whimpered in his mouth, and he pulled away. 

"So, you're that mad, you're seducing me?"

His hand kept kneading your ass. His strength makes you sway back and forth. "Baby." He said, trying to get you back in reality.

You shook your head, "Can you do me a big favor?"

Ni-ki nodded, his hands going to your waist to let you know he was listening. "Go on."

You said, "Can you take the trash out and wash the dishes in the sink?"

He smiled, "Yeah, but keep this sexy robe on."

He was running off to follow your instructions.

Hongjoong Fan Fic on May 29th

[oracle-of-dream]

Sweetness

Minors DNI

Summary: After being invited to hang out with your old friends, you try playing a game with hypnotism. But things didn't go as planned...

Warnings: Male Reader, Hypnosis, Blowjobs, OT7, Slight Dubcon, Making out, Handjob

Word count: 3.1k

The rain hit the window softly as you watched Tiktoks on your phone. There was traffic so the bus was behind schedule, and the rain wasn't helping. The window was cold, your coat was warm, and your head softly bumped against the window as the bus moved through the stop-n-go streets. The video you were watching was about a man pranking his girlfriend by hypnotizing her into doing his chores, and he showed you how to do the same.

"What a load of BS," You mumbled as you let your eyes slowly drift shut.

When you woke up, your phone flashed at 6:45 pm. You promised the boys you'd be at their dorm by 6 pm, but it was almost an hour past that! Luckily the rain seemed to have lightened up, so you dashed off the bus with your hood on toward the dorm. It was a three-minute walk, but you cut it down to 2 as you rushed around the street corners and j-walked.

You knocked on the door, following the secret pattern they'd taught you. The door unlocked and you pushed your way inside the warm apartment, letting the door shut behind you.

"Guys, I'm here!" You shouted out as you took off your shoes.

The sound of footsteps came toward you as you heard them talking to each other.

Shotaro's face was the first one you saw,  but the others were right behind him. He pulled you in for a hug, "Hey man, how's it going?"

You held him tight, "It's good! The rain died down for a second so I got here without getting soaked.

"That's good because it's supposed to be a storm the rest of the night," Wonbin said as he ate some of his chips.

Everyone muttered in agreement about the storm until you'd finished taking off your shoes and hanging up your coat.

"So, ready to hang for the weekend?" You cheered.

The boys all shouted in agreement.

You'd known all of Riize from training with them. They'd managed to get into the debut group, but you didn't. Not hard feelings, they'd always call and share their experiences with you at every step to make sure you didn't miss out on anything. Since they had no schedules for the weekend, they invited you over to catch up and play around with them.

The group gathered in the living room; drinks, snacks, games, and movies were laid out for the group on the table.

"So, what's first?" Eunseok asked.

Everyone looked at you for an answer.

You sighed, "How are all of you so indecisive? Fine, I'll choose!" You sat for a minute, trying to think of something fun for everyone. Wonbin would leave if we put on a scary movie, Sungchan gets a little too competitive at games, and you were running out of stuff to talk about. But then you remembered the Tiktok from the bus.

"Hey, check this out," You pulled out your phone and showed the video to everyone. "Should we try this?"

Everyone shrugged or gave a silent nod.

"You don't believe that stuff works, do you?" Anton asked.

"Well, no... But it'll be fun to try anyway, right?"

You collected a few things around the apartment that you'd need. A cup of water, a clock, and you borrowed Sungchan's weights since you needed something heavy.

"Now we need a volunteer," You put your hand out, waiting for one of the boys to speak.

But no one looked like they wanted to be first. "

If I go first, then will someone go after me?" You begged.

They all agreed that you'd go first. Sungchan gave you the weight to hold in your lap "to ground your spirit", Anton had several watches so he picked one of his at random, and Eunseok got the glass of water.

"Okay, you need to pick a trigger word for my hypnosis to trigger, but I can't know it. So figure something out," You covered your ears as you let them discuss with each other.

Soon, Wonbin tapped your arm, letting you know they picked something.

"Alright, so now I need to close my eyes and focus on the sound of the watch. Anton, hold it to my ear. And someone else does the talking."

You closed your eyes and felt Anton put the watch near your ear. Each tick was soft, so you had to focus on it to hear it. Then you relaxed completely, focusing on the sound in your ear, the ticking echoed in your brain.

"Y/n, you're now falling under our spell. Let go and trust us," Wonbin said as he read from the script from the video. "We're now entering your mind, and you're under our control. When we say sweetness, you'll follow any orders you get. The word is sweetness. At the snap of my fingers, you'll wake up and forget about this."

There was a snap. The sound of the watch faded and you opened your eyes.

"Well, did it work?" You looked around.

Sungchan shrugged, "Let's find out." He knocked the cup of water over, spilling it onto the table. "Sweetness, could you clean that mess up?"

Without a word, you stood and cleaned the table with your shirt. Mostly pushing the water around until it was absorbed completely into your clothes. You sat back down, the members staring at you in shock, and you blinked.

"Well, did it work?" You looked around, confused by everyone's faces. You were also suddenly cold, and wet, "Hey, when the hell–"

Sungchan spoke first, "I don't think it worked. I told you not to move and I threw the water on you, and you just let it hit you. Were you faking?"

You shook your head, "You did? I don't remember that."

The others exchanged looks of surprise at their sudden revelation. You were hypnotized and didn't know it.

Seunghan leaned on the table, "Maybe we should try again?"

"On the next person, I already went," You whined.

"Sweetness, please, go get another glass of water?" Seunghan asked, holding the cup out to you.

Again, without a word, you took the cup and filled it with cold water before giving it back to him and sitting down in your spot.

"So... Which one of you is going next?" You asked, oblivious to Seunghan's devilish smile.

Seunghan yawned, "Actually, this is boring. Let's do something else, right everyone?" He looked at the group, hinting at what he wanted and they all nodded in agreement.

The group decided to move on from your hypnosis and play card games instead. Uno first.

You slapped a card down, "Uno! I'm gonna win~"

Sungchan's ears were red as he still had almost twenty cards, "Sweetness, switch with me."

You handed him your one card in exchange for his twenty. Everyone watched in awe as you did it without arguing or fussing.

When you came back, you realized your hand was heavier than a moment ago. "How the fuck!?"

Anton picked up two cards and handed them to you, "You called 'Uno' when you have too many cards, you have to pick up two more!"

"But I... I had only one card–" You scratched your head trying to remember getting to twenty.

Sungchan won the game in the next round, but everyone seemed happy he won.

Next was the scary movie, The Conjuring.

Wonbin barely made it through the first 20 minutes without crying. You were sitting next to him, trying to enjoy the movie but he kept kicking you when he was scared.

"Bin, stop! I can't enjoy the movie," You nagged.

"Sweetness? Can you hold my hand?" Wonbin asked.

You held his hand unconsciously and kept watching, only to realize you were holding it when he almost crushed it to pieces.

Seunghan looked over to you, "Sweetness, Wonbin looks scared, you should hold him!"

You crawled over to Wonbin and wrapped your arms around his waist. His face went pink as he looked you in the eyes, which were empty as if you were asleep. You shifted to where he was slotted in between your legs as he lay on the arm of the couch, being pulled into you.

"When the fuck did you get so close?" You whispered at Wonbin.

He was too embarrassed to answer, only shrugging as he tried to look at the screen.

You were already comfortable so you didn't bother pushing him off you, letting Bin get comfortable in your embrace.

Now it was Truth or Dare.

"That's lame, you guys always dare crazy stuff!" You complained.

"But you always pick the truth anyway," Sohee added.

You wanted to complain but he was right...

Shotaro whispered in your ear, "Sweetness, you should be risky. Only pick, dare, for the entire game."

You blinked as Shotaro went back to his seat, snickering to himself.

The group made Anton drink a hot sauce shot, Sungchan and Shotaro went to the bathroom together, and Wonbin dodged three challenges so he was three shots deep. Now it was your turn.

Anton asked, "Y/n, Truth or Dare?"

You opened your mouth, "Dare." You waited for your friends to boo you for picking the truth again, but then you realized what you'd said. "No, wait–"

"Too late! You said dare!" Shotaro cheered.

"I dare you, to kiss your favorite member," Anton blushed as he gave you his dare.

"No way! I'm not kissing any of you," You reached for the Soju bottle, but Eunseok stopped your hand.

"Sweetness, kiss a member, anyone," He muttered.

You leaned over to Sohee and kissed him on the lips, earning cheers from everyone as you realized what you'd done.

You recoiled and rubbed your lips, "I didn't mean to kiss you– Hee, I'm so sorry!"

Sohee's face was already red, "No no, it's okay! I'm glad to know I'm your favorite."

Wonbin started pouting, his face with a drunken glow. "I want a kiss too, y/n," He leaned toward you.

"Y-You've had too much to drink!" You pushed him back to his spot.

"Sweetness, kiss me, now!" Wonbin whined.

You crawled to him and kissed him.

"Sweetness, keep going! Kiss him more!" Someone else cheered.

You and Wonbin were making out in front of everyone. He tasted like yogurt soju and strawberry lip balm, and his hair tickled your face.

"Sweetness, me too!" Eunseok chirped.

Immediately dropping Wonbin, you climbed onto the couch. You straddled Eunseok and kissed him passionately, more than you had with Wonbin. Eunseok's eyes squeezed shut as he held your waist.

"Uh, guys, I don't know. This is getting a little much," Sungchan shifted in his seat. "Maybe we should stop."

"Or you're being no fun! Maybe you want some too!" Seunghan pulled you away from Eunseok, "Sweetness, Sungchan needs kisses too. And make sure to make it good for him."

"Hey-" Sungchan tried to protest but you were already on him before he could. You slipped your tongue into his mouth, moving your hips as you pressed yourself into him. Sungchan's muscular arms landed on your waist, pulling you closer to him as he crushed you. You let out a soft moan from the pain but persisted in kissing him.

Sungchan was enjoying the moment, until he felt your hand worm its way down to his belt to remove it, "Wait, wait– Sweetness stop!"

You snapped out of it, in Sungchan's arms with warm lips.

"What the fuck just happened?" You asked, eyes wide.

The members looked around with panicked expressions.

"Well, you see... I– Um," Sungchan tried to explain while still holding you.

Wonbin, still very drunk, says, "Sweetness, have you ever sucked a cock? You have the lips for it."

"Never," You answered.

"We should fix that, and everyone else here wants to play with you..." He mumbled as he passed out on the table.

"Fix what? Play with me? Someone better spill," Your expression started to form anger.

"Sweetness, forget what he just said! He was joking!" Sohee said, panicked.

You blinked, and held your head, "I think I had too much to drink guys... My head is killing me, and my lips burn. Maybe I should call it a night."

The group agreed. Seunghan helped Wonbin to his room with Sohee and Anton. You slept on the couch while everyone else went to Sungchan's and Shoato's room.

"Okay, we need to set rules here," Sungchan warned. "We can't tell y/n about tonight! Then we'll all be killed."

"I didn't even do anything," Sohee raised his hand.

"You made him forget!"

"I panicked!"

"Which means you're just as bad as us," Seunghan reminded.

"So, no telling him. What else?" Sungchan asked.

Anton spoke, "Maybe, don't let other people say it around them. Like if it happens, give a quick and simple command?"

Everyone nodded.

"Until we figure out how to undo that, we'll have to keep our eye on them. And also, no using them like a maid! Just because he can do our chores doesn't mean he should," Sunchan commanded.

"Wait, does it count if he says it, or reads it?" Eunseok asked.

Everyone paused at the thought. No one had thought about that.

"Someone text him, he'll look at his phone," Seunghan ordered.

Anton whipped his phone out.

A: Sweetness, can I have a picture of you?

YN: No, wtf? What's with Sweetness?

A: Nevermind, forget it

"He's okay if he reads it."

"Noted. Tomorrow morning, we figure out how to fix him," Sungchan clapped to dismiss everyone.

Everyone went back to their rooms– Wonbin was dead asleep in bed.

You woke up to the sound of someone in the kitchen. You sat up to see Wonbin getting a glass of water.

"Binnie? What time is it?"

Wonbin looked at his phone, "It's not even 5 am yet, go back to sleep."

"Wait, can I talk to you?"

"Sure, what about?"

"What exactly happened last night? There are gaps I can't remember, super brief ones, but I really can't put it together."

"You want the truth?"

You nodded.

Wonbin sighed, "We did hypnotize you. They used your trigger word so you'd do as they told you. But things got out of hand... You started making out with us."

"That wasn't me–"

"I know, it's all our fault, and you have every right to be mad," Wonbin lowered his head.

"So y'all told me to make out with y'all?"

He nodded solemnly, "I'm sorry for taking advantage. It was wrong. And I know all the members feel the same."

"Well, at least it's over, now that I know it means the hypnosis is over."

Wonbin's head shot up, "Really?"

You nodded, "Once a person knows they're being hypnotized, it usually breaks it– But don't tell the others yet. I want to see what they'll do."

Wonbin nodded, "It's only fair you get us back. Should I test it?"

You nodded.

"Sweetness, I've been bad, slap me."

You slapped Wonbin's cheek.

Wonbin rubbed his face in shock, "You're still hypnotized!"

You laughed, "No, I'm not. You deserved that." You sent him to bed with his painful reminder not to mess with you as you plot your revenge for the next day. It wasn't long before someone else came into the living room.

"Y/n, are you awake?" It was Sungchan.

You rolled over, pretending to sleep.

"Please forgive me later... Sweetness, can I have a kiss?" He muttered.

You sat up and held your hands out to him, waiting for him to get closer. When he did, you pulled him in for a kiss.

"Whoa, it's even better than before– It's like you really... mean it." Sungchan sat on the couch with you, "Sweetness, take off your shirt."

You stripped off your shirt. Normally you'd cover yourself shyly, but you had to keep up the charade longer.

Sungchan touched your torso, admiring it before he stripped off his shirt. "Sweetness, I... I love you. And, I want you to say it too."

You swallowed, and your throat ran dry at hearing him confess to you. Originally you were going to stop before things got too far, but you didn't have the heart to break character. "I-I love you, Sungchan."

"Call me, Sungchannie."

"Sungchannie."

You watched as his hand slipped down his pants as he rubbed his cock, "Say you love me again, say 'I love you, Sungchannie', do it now, Sweetness."

"I love you, Sungchannie..." Your breath hitched as you repeated the sentence.

"Sweetness."

You held your breath, listening for his next command. You weren't hypnotized anymore, but you wanted to listen to him.

"C-Can you suck me off?" He stuttered.

"Y-Yeah," You replied, with big eyes.

Sungchan almost jumped when you answered, "Y/n! You're not– You're awake! I, uh–"

You covered his mouth, "Don't tell anyone. This will just be you and me..." You slipped your hand down his pants and took over stroking his cock.

"Why?"

"I don't know."

"Were you pretending the whole time?"

"No, just this time I was."

Sungchan nodded his head, understanding it wasn't time for more questions as he watched you lower your head.

"Can I... make you act like you're hypnotized?" He asked

You smiled devilishly, "Say the magic word then."

"Sweetness, suck it. Now," His voice got deeper as he shoved you down, forcing his cock down your throat.

You started sucking on his tip as you looked up with big cute eyes. He can't help but push up into you, fucking your mouth. Your eyes watered and you gagged at every thrust. Anyone could walk into the living room, hearing the noise, but Sungchan didn't care. His voice started to slip out of his mouth in soft moans.

He lets go of you to let you catch your breath. Spit dripped down your chin as you breathed heavily. He had to cover his mouth but wanted to fuck your throat again too, you put his dick back in your mouth. Looking up again and keeping eye contact. Sungchan's free hand stroked your head, praising you silently.

Your eyes watered, your chin covered with spit as you gagged like crazy. You chase your orgasm as you moan and rub your cock in your pants. After only a few seconds, you let out a stronger moan as you finish in your pants. Sungchan was quick to follow.

"Sweetness, swallow it!" He commanded.

You dutifully swallowed every drop, not letting any go to waste. You released him with a loud pop, and Sungchan's head was spinning.

"Holy shit... You're way too good at that," He complimented. "Now, go back to sleep, Sweetness. We can talk in the morning."

You laid down like you were going to fall asleep and Sungchan left the room, not realizing someone had been watching him...

[gigabyte-flare]

The Dark of You

(A Gigabyte Flare One Shot)

Summary: Leon S. Kennedy returns home to you from an assignment in San Francisco in desperate need to relieve some tension

Word Count: 1.5k

Pairing: Death Island!Leon Kennedy x fem!reader (afab)

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. You are responsible for your own content consumption. If any of the following warnings trigger you, please read at your own risk. Minors do not interact, this story is 18+ only.

CONTAINS DEATH ISLAND SPOILERS

Warnings: sex (p in v), age gap (reader is 26), very mild angst, choking, degradation, pet names, breeding kink

A/N: This is 5000% self indulgent. I cannot, for the life of me, get Death Island!Leon out of my head since watching the movie. The title is inspired by Dark of You by Breaking Benjamin

“Fade away to the wicked world we left,

And I become the dark of you.”

The anticipation is killing you. About an hour ago Leon had let you know he landed in D.C. and is on his way back home. He had been on an assignment in San Francisco, he didn’t say what for, he never disclosed any of his assignments to you. He insisted it was to protect you. You have been sitting on the couch, watching TV as you wait for Leon to come home but fatigue is starting to get the better of you, so you decide to turn off the TV and go to bed. A small inkling of guilt ate at you; you wanted to greet him when he got home.

Walking into the bedroom, you pull back the covers, slipping beneath them and getting yourself comfortable. You fall asleep within minutes; that’s not like you. Your constant worry for Leon clearly exhausted you. You’re suddenly awoken by the feeling of someone kissing the crook of your neck, an unshaven face scratching at yours. You recognize the cologne and his masculine scent immediately.

“Mmmm… there you are, Leon…” you say softly as you’re pulled from your slumber. 

“I hit traffic on the way home, I hope I didn’t worry you,” Leon replies, his voice still muffled by your neck.

“When am I not worried about you?” you ask, turning your body to face him.

You immediately notice he looks ragged and exhausted, with dark bags under his ocean eyes and his hair slightly disheveled. He is still wearing his combat vest over his dark gray t-shirt and his blue leather jacket over that. 

“You look like hell.”

“I feel like hell, I think my age is starting to catch up to me, love,” he says, bending down to kiss your forehead.

“Stop talking like you're 80, you’re only 38, you’re not old.” you tease, playfully punching one of his biceps. 

For some reason, unknown to you, Leon was very self conscious about the age gap between you two. You can’t count how many times you reassured him that his age didn’t matter to you, that the 12 year gap between you didn’t bother you; you’ve been seeing him for almost a year.

“It’s not like you started dating me out of high school, you’re not a creep!” you recall telling him constantly. 

He smirks at you, running a hand through your hair, “I’m going to hit the shower, I’ll be right out.”

You nod at him, watching as he goes into the adjacent bathroom, not bothering to shut the door behind him. You listen as he turns on the shower and you can hear the sound of his clothing hitting the floor. You let out a deep sigh of relief, grateful that he’s home and safe. Even though he didn’t talk about his work with you, you knew one thing for certain.

His job is dangerous. 

You watch as Leon comes out of the bathroom, a pair of light gray sweats barely hanging onto his hips as he dries his hair with a towel, giving you a beautiful view of his ‘happy trail.’ Tossing the towel aside, he fixes his damp hair with his hands before climbing into bed with you, immediately wrapping you in his arms, nuzzling his face into your hair as he breathes deeply. You feel him kiss your hair over and over, like he couldn’t get enough of you.

“I’m so glad you’re home, Leon,” you tell him, snuggling into his embrace.

“Me too,” Leon replies, “I… I almost didn’t make it back…”

“What?” you look up at him, sitting up, your eyes full of concern.

You can tell by Leon’s pained expression that he was struggling on whether or not to tell you what happened. You watch him sigh and he clears his throat.

“I got infected with a virus--”

“What?! Do we need to get you to a hospital? I can take you!” You panic, throwing the blankets off you as you start to climb out of bed, but one of Leon’s strong hands grab your upper arm, stopping you.

“Babe, I’m fine… I got vaccinated, I’m not infected anymore. It’s… actually not the first time that’s happened.”

You tuck yourself back under the blankets, laying your head back down on the pillow as you continue to listen to Leon.

Leon lets out a soft chuckle, “if I had a nickel each time I’ve been infected with something… I’d have two nickels.”

You can’t help but laugh, even though hearing this from him made you worry more, but you don’t say anything and let him continue.

“I know that’s not a lot, but it’s weird that it happened twice.”

You shake your head, cupping his face in your hands and kiss him as you’re laughing. 

“Unfortunately, there was one casualty,” he says, his lips still pressed against yours.

You pull back, raising an eyebrow at him.

“The bike got wrecked…”

“Oh sweetheart,” you coo, running your fingers through his hair, “I’m so sorry, I know you loved that bike.”

“It’s alright, if I had to choose between the bike and coming back home safely to you, I’d pick you. Every time.”

In an instant, one of his hands grasps the back of your head, pulling you to him to kiss you ravenously. His tongue makes its way into your mouth, dancing with yours as he lets out a low growl. He climbs on top of you, pinning you to the bed as his hands work to pull off your underwear, tossing them aside as he continues to kiss you vigorously.

Meanwhile, your hands are working to get his sweatpants off him, finally getting them pulled down when he kicks them off. His hands grasp at the front of your tank top, ripping it apart to expose your breasts. His hands grasp at them as you pull off the remnants of the tank top, tossing it aside off the side of the bed to join your underwear. Before you know it, he’s manhandling you, getting you on all fours on the bed, positioning himself behind you as he wraps his left arm around your neck as he uses the other to position his hard member against your thoroughly soaked cunt. He pulls back, choking you with his arm but not enough to outright strangle you; a favorite position of yours, admittedly. You love it when he’s rough with you. 

“You want this old man’s cock, don’t you, pretty girl?” he growls in your ear, his hot breath on your ear sending chills down your spine, straight to your aching hole. 

“Y-Yes!” you manage to reply, gasping for air as his arm gives your neck a nice squeeze. 

“Of course you do, you dirty slut.”

You feel Leon bully his cock into your leaking entrance, your fingers curling and gripping the sheets as he begins to pound into you with vicious ferocity. His right hand grips your hip like a vice; that’s going to leave a bruise later. He lets out a half moan, half growl as you feel him adjust his position, getting on one knee to get a better angle to fuck into you as deep and as hard as he possibly could.

“F-Fuck! Too… too much!” you manage to say, his arm still squeezing your neck.

“You can take it, baby, I know you can,” he purrs, thrusting even harder into you, “gonna breed this pretty little kitty.”

His words make your clit throb and your walls tighten around his cock, causing you to cry out. With one of your hands, you reach between your legs, rubbing your aching clit with your index and middle finger, making your body tremble. Leon picks up on this immediately, chuckling in your ear.

“Oh? You like that? You want this old man’s cum? You want me to fuck a baby into you?”

Your cunt squeezes around him again as you nod, moaning as he picks up the pace of his thrusts. He leans over you, kissing the side of your neck before giving you several hickies as he pushes his hips deep inside you, the head of his dick kissing your cervix, filling you with a sense of euphoria, your arms reach up and gripping the arm still wrapped around your neck. 

“Leon… I’m.. I’m gonna… I’m gonna cum…!”

“Good… such a good little slut you are,” he growls, giving you a playful bite on your earlobe.

After a few more powerful thrusts, he pushes himself as deep inside you as he possibly could go and you feel the burning warmth of his release as you come undone on him. Gasping, tears of relief stream down your face. Leon stays inside you for a few minutes as both of you catch your breath, having removed his arm from your neck. Eventually, he pulls himself out of you, hooking your waist with one of his arms and pulling you back so that he could cuddle with you. You give each other gentle, tired kisses until you both eventually fall asleep in each other's arms.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 15 - Wait For It

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: Bucky about to take the gold in his favorite sport (glaring).

Chapter title from Amsterdam by Imagine Dragons

Word Count: 7.8k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Bucky worries, and you have a meeting. Usual warnings.

Tags: Bucky Barnes/Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, smut, angst, fluff

Chapter 14 - Chapter 16

Read on A03!

There were a lot of things about this situation that Bucky hated.

To start, traffic had been shit. He hadn’t gotten the chance to eat, because he usually ate with Her. The day was too damn sunny, but Bucky would sound like an asshole if he said that out loud. Finally, his phone was almost dead, and Sam’s waiting room didn’t have one fucking outlet.

If She called him, he needed to be able to respond. He shouldn’t even be taking a day off anyway. Bucky could think of a hundred damn reasons he should be with Her, not halfway across the city. But every time he’d thrown one at Her, she’d shot it down with sharp accuracy and a flat tone. 

“You could have another Hydra run in-“

“I’m not going to leave my apartment.” She’d shrugged, not looking away from Her computer. “And Happy upgraded my security. I’ll be fine.”

Bucky had scoffed, leaning further over the desk. “Thing is, you’re sayin’ you’re not going to leave your apartment, but the last time you did that, you left your apartment-“

“I won’t this time.”

“I don’t believe you-“

“James.” She’d finally turned to face him, and there had been a heavy exhaustion on Her face that hadn’t made Bucky more eager to leave Her.

It had really been sinking into Her features, lately. A sort of gauntness that made Bucky’s jaw clench and his gut turn. The Moon was shrouded in Her eyes, Her hair had flyaway strands, and several of Her nails had chipped.

It was all that, combined with a million small things that told Bucky She wasn’t okay. Whenever She’d smile at a suit it was all overdone sweetness, but without the usual, slight hint of teeth. She seemed to be floating through the day rather than carving at it. Bucky had passed Her a coffee in the car that morning, and She’d just held it. 

Completely still in the passenger’s seat. Answering Bucky with Her usual jokes, but all of them too soft. When they’d parked, and Bucky had let the song playing run all the way to the end, She’d just stared ahead with a blank expression. 

Whatever this was looked like more than the sickness. That always made Her colorless, but not dead. And some part of Her always seemed a little more tired than Bucky liked—if it were up to him, She’d rest every single night, maybe next to him, with his arm around Her shoulders and Her voice smooth in his ear—but all Her movements seemed to be animated. When She walked it wasn’t the purposeful, well-designed strut She seemed to have mastered, but a mechanical movement that only Bucky seemed to see the difference in. Less hips, and the same rhythm a beat behind, with no ease. 

Her voice was missing something, too. As She’d looked at Bucky with tight features and all that exhaustion, he’d really fucking heard it. There was nothing musical in the tone. It was just goddamn flat.

“I’m not going to leave my apartment.” She’d said, holding his gaze. “And if you don’t meet with Sam, we won’t know if he’s onto us.”

Bucky had sighed. “He’s not onto us, Butterfly-“

“We don’t know that.”

“Maybe, but I know Sam-“

“I know him too.” She’d raised Her brows in a silent challenge. “And we need to be sure he doesn’t know. We’re fucked if he does.”

“Yeah, I know that, but he might be okay with it-“

“No, he won’t be.”

“Fine, he’ll be pissed at me, but not you-“

“He’ll take you off my detail.” She’d snapped, and Bucky had stilled. “If Sam finds out you’ve been encouraging me to deal with this, he’ll move you to work on the case because you’ve got the info, and separate us.” She’d taken a long, slow breath, and the venom in Her voice had made Bucky sit a little too tall in his chair. 

He’d muttered Her name, and She’d shaken her head.

“Please just go to the meeting, Buck. I-“ She’d run a hand through Her hair, Her voice fading into something far too soft. “I’d like to keep you with me.”

She’d sounded like She cared. And She’d wanted to keep him. 

Bucky. 

Of all damn people, Bucky got to be the one She wanted to keep with Her. 

And the heat in his body—dimmed to a flicker, as his gut had been aching as he tried to figure out what the fuck was wrong with Her—had flared back up with a roar. 

He wouldn’t just bend to Her orders. If anything, the annoying feelings had made him more determined to match Her pace for pace, shove for shove, bite for bite. 

But She’d had a damn good point. Bucky couldn’t protect Her, or help Her, or make sure She didn’t eat herself from within if Sam moved him away from Her. He didn’t really want to be anywhere but Her anyway. 

So Bucky had folded.

Mostly.

“You have to promise you’ll rest.” He’d muttered, and She’d sighed.

“Fine.”

Bucky had blinked, the furrow of his brow deep enough for him to feel. He’d expected Her to argue. To negotiate. 

But She hadn’t.

And goddamnit, that was sitting and rotting in his stomach, giving him yet another reason to hate being here. Something was wrong with Her. It had been wrong with Her, since She’d gotten back from that party Miles had dragged her to. She’d apologized to him for letting Miles be rude—which was stupid, that hadn’t been Her fault by a long shot—and then started to shrink back into Herself.

There were moments where She’d seem okay. If Bucky made Her move. If he ordered food and let Her paint on his arm, or sat next to Her and asked her for help with a course on Stark’s stupid program. When he made Her think, or let Her make something that he studied after, to see exactly what She liked enough to create.

But if he let Her sit in Herself for too long, that was when She started to fall apart. So Bucky should be with Her. Making sure She didn’t hurt herself, or something—someone—else got Her. 

Because he had eyes. 

He’d seen the way She’d grown small and nervous the moment Miles had stepped into the apartment. The way She’d obeyed his every word, even when it was something Bucky was certain she wouldn’t actually agree with. Miles had spoken to Her like she was a dog, asked Her to dress up like She was a toy, and it had made Bucky’s fists curl and his attention sharp.

Because he recognized the stance She’d adopted. Eyes down, speaking only when spoken to, with as few words as She could manage.

The Soldat had been scratching at the back of his skull, at the sight of it. 

That was how he had stood. For decades. The slow, careful movements of someone who knew that a foot out of line would result in losing a toe. The words of a person who had said the wrong ones in the past, and paid heavily for it.

And Bucky had a theory. A theory he didn’t know how to ask Her about, or how to test. One he was desperately hoping was wrong—he never saw bruises, but She was also good at hiding things, and Miles didn’t seem like enough of a dumbass to do something obvious—but couldn’t afford to count out. Not with Her.

It was, really, the only reason Bucky was here. He didn’t give a shit about lunch with Sam. He probably could have pushed a little harder, and stayed where he wanted to be. With Her, in Her apartment now that Miles was back out of town, making Her try the new spice he’d found at a market down-town and watching the Princess Bride movie.

Looking at Her, trying to work out if there was anything about Her that wasn’t made like art, and coming up empty-handed. When he’d been there yesterday, She’d given him more coins for laundry and a handful of rocks.

He hadn’t been able to fight his smile. “The hell am I supposed to do with these.”

“They’re for science, James.” She’d sighed. “Geology.”

“I don’t know a single thing about geology.”

“Then you can learn-“

“Or you,” he’d passed than back into Her hands. “Could paint them.”

She’d stared at him for a second, Her voice dropping to something soft. “Do you want me to paint them?”

Bucky had shrugged—although nothing sounded better in the world than Her, painting rocks just for him—and She’d nodded slowly. 

“You have to do one too.”

“Alright. Deal.” He’d held out his hand, She’d shaken it with a worryingly determined expression, and Bucky wanted to be at Her apartment, painting rocks like a goddamn idiot.

Steve had liked to paint rocks. And Bucky had done it with him, when they were kids. And he’d gotten pretty damn good at it, enough to maybe impress Her, and Bucky shouldn’t care about impressing Her, but he did.

He wanted to keep being the person She kept around. Wanted to watch Her eyes get wide, and then have Her ask him a million questions, and maybe hand Her to rock and have Her keep that too. 

He’d been feeling disturbingly like a goddamn kid lately, whenever he was around Her. Falling for the doe-eyed girl sitting across from him, eating Her lunch and talking too fast, wearing a pretty dress and letting Bucky stand between Her and the bullies. 

She’d been less doe-eyed lately. It was just another part of whatever the hell was happening with Her.

So Bucky was here. He didn’t want to be. But it was that damn theory that was making the Soldat scratch up and down his skull. And Sam—who was fucking late, the asshead—might have an answer.

The clock was taunting him again. Ticking and ticking, like a bomb set to go off that Bucky didn’t have the time to clean up. Hydra could be making steps as he just sat there. She could be running around, and fall over a trap—or just Her own feet—and Bucky wouldn’t be able to catch Her. Miles could get back again, while Bucky wasn’t there-

She’d be fine.

He could check the cameras. But She said she was at her apartment. And checking them for worried reasons but not real reasons felt like an invasion. 

She’d call if She needed him.

She would.

She’d been letting Bucky help, so She would call-

Tick. Tick. The gas in Her office had a similar sound. 

Tick. The tap of Her fingers on the keyboard did too. 

Tick. So did the sound of polished shoes on a floor, crossing over to Her and wrapping around her like She was something to be suffocated, rather than the most air Bucky had ever breathed maybe in his whole life-

There was a whine from the wood of Bucky’s chair, and he’d almost snapped the arm clean off. Shit.

His name was James Buchanan Barnes. It was going to rain later, because the air had that sticky quality that came with a storm. Sam’s office still had that ugly, gray carpet. 

He liked that Sam at least texted to say he was running late, and would be up in a few minutes. He didn’t like that he wasn’t with Her, but he’d been thinking about that all morning, so he also didn’t like how he couldn’t think of a real reason to text Her.

He needed to yell at Sam later, about replacing that goddamn clock.

He wanted to just ask the question right away, when Sam got off the elevator with a wide grin and open arms. Bucky wanted to cut into it, and make sure he wasn’t right.

God, he really didn’t want to be right.

But he had to do the whole dance. Drop across from Sam in the office with a grimacing smile, settle in best he could, and ask about Sarah like a normal person-

“Man, you don’t care about that.” Sam gave him an amused look, leaning forward. “Sarah’s back home, last time you saw her was the last time I did too. But you know who I do know you care about?”

Bucky’s jaw clenched. “Sam-“

“I heard about how you’ve been bullyin’ Happy Hogan-“

“It’s not bullying.”

“Fine, harassing-“

“I’m doing my damn job, Sam.” Bucky snapped, and Sam snorted.

“You got blocked.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“Means you were goin’ way overboard. And if you say for a job, I swear to god, Buck, I’m gonna punch you in the face-“

Bucky scowled. “She’s my friend. You wanted us to be friends, and now we are, so shut up. Didn’t you want to talk to me about something-“

“Yeah,” Sam shrugged. “Progress report on Hydra, nothing. We’ve got jack shit. And I saw you guys at lunch, you weren’t talking like friends. You were actin’ like you’ve been married ten years-“

“We haven’t.”

“Yeah, but you wanna be, don’t you-“

“Sam.”

“C’mon, Bucky.” Sam rolled his eyes. “Do we gotta do this again? I’m joking about the marriage, but she stayed at your apartment. If you think there’s nothing there-“

“She has a boyfriend.” Bucky muttered, and the word felt sour in his mouth. 

He might have made a face too, because Sam raised his brows. “She does. You got any feelings about that?”

“He’s a dick.” 

Sam snorted. “Yeah, he is. I mean- Jesus, man. You have no idea.”

Bucky sat up taller at that. He didn’t have an idea. 

He really needed to, though.

“How did…” Buck paused, frowning at the air as he searched for the normal, casual, tactical way to bring this up. “That even happen.”

“I wish I knew.” Sam sighed. “She’s never really told me either. When we got blipped I’d been on the run a few years, but I’d still been sending her postcards, and she’d write back about how her siblings were doing. I’d ask if she was going to settle down herself and she’d dodge the question. Then I get back and she’s working for the Stark Foundation and dating the biggest asshole I’ve ever met in my life.”

Bucky grunted. “She ever mention how they met?”

“Nope.”

Fuck. “How about-“

“You never answered my question, Bucky.” Sam cut him off with short words, and Bucky swallowed. “You got feelings about her having a boyfriend?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “No. We’re not talking about this.”

“About what, Bucky?” Sam’s grin was shit-eating. This had been a horrible idea. “How that old heart of yours is finally pumping-“

“Sam-“

“I wouldn’t be against it.” Sam said quickly. “Miles is a dickbag.”

Bucky was going to break his teeth. “I know that-“

“I mean, I don’t ever really see him, and she doesn’t talk about him, but- Shit, Buck, he doesn’t even like her cat.”

Bucky frowned. “He doesn’t?”

“Nope. And I’ve never seen her like someone that didn’t like her cat. That thing has been with her as long as I’ve known her.”

Bucky paused. If Sam knew something about his theory, he would’ve said it here. Hell, now that Bucky was thinking about it, there was no way Sam would’ve known and let it continue. Sam did only see Her whenever he was in the city, and She was good at wearing all those masks and dancing through the world like it was all beneath Her, even when Bucky could see it crushing on Her shoulders. 

And the Boy. 

His name. Combined with the fact that—if Bucky’s math was right—he shouldn’t be half as young as he seemed.

There wasn’t a better time to ask.

“You know the Boy’s real name? Behemoth?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, why?”

“Isn’t that the name of one of the Hydra projects?” Bucky said pointedly, and Sam sighed.

“Bucky, don’t tell me you think she’s fucking Hydra again-“

“No. That was- I don’t.“ Bucky let out a slow breath. “Just odd. Not a common name.”

“She’s not a common person. And I asked her about it, long time ago, and she said he just is the Behemoth.”

Bucky frowned. “The?”

“She was nine, man, I don’t think it’s that serious.”

“But-“

“Bucky. From what we’ve found, the Behemoth project got cancelled. Merged. But if it makes you feel better, I’ll go to her apartment right now and make sure they didn’t put doomsday in a cat-“

Bucky scowled. “Shut up.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Sam grinned, pushing up from his chair. “Let’s go, old man. You owe me a lunch.”

Bucky didn’t owe Sam anything. But he did want to talk to Sam about normal things for maybe twenty minutes—steering the conversation away from Her, all while only ever thinking of Her—and the sooner he finished up here, the sooner he could get back.

To Her.

If Sam pushed him about it—like the asshole tended to do—Bucky would make it real damn clear that he didn’t think She was guilty of anything. He looked at Her too much for that to be true. 

Bucky could recognize a guilty person. A truly guilty person, who didn’t think they were doing a single thing wrong. They had a sort of indifference that Bucky was pretty sure She couldn’t fake if she tried.

Even with that dead-man-walking, tired, heavy air She seemed to carry with Her all the time lately, there was this something in Her. Emotion. Care. 

The Moon, hidden but turning. She was still working Herself into the dust, and going on all Her business trips, no matter how many times Bucky and Sam tried to talk her out of public appearances. 

“Have you tried to-“

“Yes.” Bucky grunted over lunch, glaring down at his sandwich. “She said no.”

Sam sighed. “She always says no, Buck. You gotta push it-“

“I do push it, when I think she’ll listen. But she won’t.”

“You ain’t gonna know that ‘till you push it-“

“Do you want to push it?” Bucky raised his brows, and Sam grimaced.

“Hell, no.”

“So-“

“Yeah, yeah, I get your point. You know better than good ol’ Sam, who’s basically her brother, and it’s not like we’ve known each other longer or something-“

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”

“Is she at least working less?” Sam said, his voice a little softer than before. “I mean, I know she ain’t gonna stop, but Hydra tried to kidnap her and then camped outside her apartment, that’s gotta at least earn her a weekend.”

“She was working less.” Bucky muttered. “Then Miles stopped back in last week, and now it’s all she does.”

Sam made a sour expression, his eyes narrowing at his burger. “He still in town?”

“No.” 

“Good. Fucking dipshit.”

Bucky nodded, but that might be a generous title for Miles. 

He was a hell of a lot more than a dipshit. The more he thought about it, the more he wanted to check the cameras or just ask Her to make sure he was wrong. That he wouldn’t have to introduce the man to a crash course of how much a vibranium punch could hurt. How it could—if tested—cleave right through someone’s chest.

And even if he was wrong, Bucky might just do that anyway. 

He’d never seen Her move this little. He’d checked on Her, before he left for Sam’s office, and She’d bene curled up on the couch with Her laptop, loud music blaring from the TV. The only difference when he got back was that the Boy had settled himself near Her feet, and was glaring at Her as she typed away. 

She didn’t even look up when he walked inside and kicked off his shoes.

Bucky grunted Her name, moving to lean over the couch. “You eaten today?”

She hummed, still not looking at him. “Had the sandwich you brought me.”

“It still in you?”

“That’s disgusting, James. I’m not that type of girl.”

He gave Her a flat look, biting the inside of his cheek. This was serious. There was less color in Her face than when he’d left. “You know that’s not what I meant, Butterfly.”

“Do I?”

“Yeah, you do.” Bucky reached over Her to grab her laptop, and she let out the highest, most adorably frantic sound Bucky had ever heard, pulling Her laptop right into her chest.

“Bucky, I’m busy-“

“You’ve been busy all fuckin’ morning-“

“Because I have things to do-“

Bucky grunted Her name, not releasing his grip on the computer. “You promised me a movie.”

She blinked up at him with the doe-eyes, and the heat was settling a little deeper than just his skin. Bucky couldn’t grab Her chin and tip it further. Couldn’t keep Her gaze trapped on his and lean down to kiss her, right until she let out another pretty sound and all that life rushed back into Her features. Until She looked more like a bright, loud bird of paradise again, and less like something aimless and half-dead, floating through the air as if She was a ghost.

If Bucky got to have Her, he’d never let Her look like a ghost. He’d keep Her right at his side, and listen to her all the time, and right now he’d distract Her with teasing kisses all over her face until she was letting out that all-consuming and drug-like giggle, and her grip slackened on Her laptop. Then maybe he’d climb over Her and kiss her into the couch, and She’d relax below him because She’d trust Bucky to take care of Her.

Control was slipping too far out of his reach, because She did trust Bucky to take care of Her. More than anyone else, at least. 

And despite what Sam claimed, he would push it.

He gave a slight tug of the laptop again and raised his brows, and She pouted but released it. 

That shouldn’t make him feel like he was glowing. 

It did.

“You suck.” She mumbled, crossing Her arms over her chest, and Bucky laughed. 

“I’ve heard that before. Last time it was cause I wouldn’t let you drive-“

“I’m a good driver-“

“Sure, Butterfly.”

She stuck Her tongue out at him. Bucky wanted to pull it between his teeth. “So smooth, James-“

“Only for you.”

Bucky didn’t flinch when she slapped his shoulder, and this was the only reason he hadn’t grabbed Her face between his hands and demanded to know what was wrong. In these moments—when it was just them, and She didn’t look lost enough that Bucky was worried he’d touch Her and she’d fall apart—She was herself. Still a little soft and quieter than Bucky would like, but Herself. 

And the movie was fine, but Bucky would probably need to rewatch it later, when She wasn’t there. When She was next to him, paying attention to anything else was impossible. It was exactly what he’d wanted—Her settled deep into the couch, their knees brushing and a million bolts of lightning rushing through his blood whenever She smiled—but if She asked him a single question about what was happening, he wouldn’t be able to answer.

That had been true of most things, lately. When the movie finished and they ate dinner, Bucky had to force himself not to stare at Her lips, in a slightly pucker as she ate a noodle. Her knee was bouncing under the table—that was a good sign—and She’d gotten sauce on Her face he wanted to wipe off with his thumb, but that wasn’t a friend thing.

He was pretty sure.

He wouldn’t wipe sauce off Sam’s face, and he wouldn’t have wiped it off Steve’s face, but Sam would punch him and Steve had never gotten sauce on his face, so-

“Bucky?” She was waving a hand in front of his face, and he blinked at Her. “Sargent Bucky Barnes-“

He caught Her hand—it fit pretty damn well in his—and dragged it down to the table. “What?”

“You were ignoring me-“

“I was thinking.”

She hummed. He was still holding Her hand. “About what?”

Her. Kissing Her. Launching himself over the table and trying to find out how loud he could make Her whine his name, and if She’d give him doe-eyes when he was buried inside of Her and worshipping Her like the strange, alien deity she was-

“James.”

Fuck. Control. “Nothin’.”

She frowned. “Liar. What were you thinking about?“

“Noth-“

“Don’t say nothing.” She snapped. “Or I’ll punch you.”

Bucky snorted. “Alright.”

There was a short silence, and She was glowering at him like she really did want to land that punch. Bucky really needed to teach Her how to do that. If not for his own, rotten, selfish, not-very-friend-like reasons—he’d get to touch Her, and stare at Her, and maybe She’d lean into him or leave a bruise on his skin—so for his fucking sanity. If She was going to keep running that smart, pretty mouth of Her’s—which She was, because She was infuriating and magnetic and loud—Bucky needed to know She could back herself up. 

He shifted that somewhere around in his log, as She kept glaring at him. He needed to make sure She could fight.

Maybe not now, though. Given the death-glare he was getting, later seemed like the best course of action. 

“Are you not going to say anything?”

Bucky shrugged, giving her a small grin. “You said you’d punch me, sweetheart, I’m defending myself.”

“We both know you’d be fine-“

“Do we?”

She scowled, and noodle whacked Bucky right in the face. “I hate you.”

“Yep.” He ate the noodle, and just kept grinning at Her. Jesus, She was pretty. “You wanna hear what Sam said?”

Her nose wrinkled, but She nodded. “Yes, please.”

“Such good manners-“

“Shut up.”

Bucky laughed again, and She wasn’t actually mad at him. Bucky could recognize Her real fury from anywhere. Sometimes he could swear he felt it spike over his bones. Right now She was only an angry cat, biting at his ankles to try and make him play.

He’d like to play with Her. However She let him. On the table, or against the wall, or even in a bed he hadn’t slept in for over eighty years-

Focus.

Friends. They were friends. And She a boyfriend Bucky needed to be watching more carefully, because the mission was keep Her safe, not fuck Her.

He cleared his throat. “He doesn’t know anything. Even said they didn’t have any new leads. It’s just us, Butterfly.”

She hummed, still watching him so carefully. “Just us?”

“Yep.”

“Okay.” She twirled Her fork, the spaghetti moving into that strange pattern she always made. “Good.”

Bucky grunted an agreement, and the heat seems to be living everywhere. He felt a little like a volcano, and one wrong brush of Her bare skin, one word that wasn’t mocking, but sincere, would set him off.

Just us.

He was torturing himself.

Every goddamn second, Bucky was torturing himself. When he got home and he kept wanting to call Her, just to talk. When he’d walk past his empty bedroom, and fail to not glance in to check on Her, when she wasn’t even there. When he read another book She gave him, and tried to figure out why She liked it. 

He really wanted to know what made Her like something. If Bucky could be something She liked enough to be loud and immovable about. 

If She’d ever want to come back to his apartment, now that he had a carpet and blanket and singular painting of a city skyline on his wall. 

She’d like the painting. He’d bought it because She’d like it. 

It was getting a little pathetic, how Bucky was staring to shift everything around in hopes She’d want to rest at his side. 

But it made him better. Everything looked better, and tasted better, and felt better. Just because of Her.

Even silence was better. Just as long as Bucky was sharing it with Her. 

“Do you like blue or purple more?”

Bucky glanced up from his computer—they’d been sitting in the office for damn near two hours without a word, and he’d been alternating between more classes and watching Her work like a creep—and She was looking at him like his answer would be the most important thing in the world. 

“For napkins,” She added, and he blinked at Her.

“What.”

“I’m making final calls about decoration shit,” She waved a hand to Her computer, frowning slightly at the air. “Apparently everyone can figure out catering and speakers by themselves, but napkins need my opinion.”

Bucky was pretty damn sure everything should need Her opinion, but he also knew that if he told Her that, She’d do something stupid like try to plan the whole thing herself. “Uh- Blue.”

She hummed, nodding slowly. “Good.”

“Good?”

“That was what I would’ve said too.” She shrugged, and Bucky raised his brows.

“Were you testing me, Butterfly?”

“I- No-“ She shook Her head, her words almost frantic. “I just don’t think I should be the only person to make the choice.“

“They’re napkins.” Bucky’s voice was flat, and She shook her head.

“They’re expensive napkins.”

“Then get cheaper napkins.”

“I can’t. If I get cheap napkins, all the donors will somehow smell it, and they’ll all be offended we didn’t respect them enough, and we won’t raise enough money to do the prosthetics and vaccine-“

Bucky muttered Her name, and it shouldn’t feel so good that She snapped her mouth shut. “Deep breathes.”

“I am breathing-“

“Not deeply.”

She glared at him, but took a long, slow breath, and Bucky kept talking.

“I know Wakanda. T’challa’s a good man, if you ask him to help you fund some stuff, he’ll do it-“

“But I don’t want a discount-“

“And,” Bucky kept his voice firm, holding Her gaze. “I was joking. I know you wouldn’t test me like that.”

She paused. “You do?”

“Yeah. You’re not exactly subtle when you do test me.”

She sighed, pouting slightly and mumbling under Her breath. “I don’t mean to-“

“I know. ’S alright.” He liked being tested. It gave him something to do. More chances to show Her that he could keep Her safe. More opportunities to get closer to Her, until he’d earned Her trust. “I don’t mind.”

“Oh.” She whispered, Her eyes wide on his, and the Moon was glowing. 

Bucky really wished he could figure out what the hell that meant. 

But She slumped into Her seat with an easy, slow breath, and that was enough.

“Better?”

“Yeah,” She grumbled, shredding at one of the papers on her desk. “Thanks.”

He snorted. “Say it like you mean it, sweetheart-“

“Thank you, Sargent Barnes.” She leaned forward, smiling too sweet and speaking too soft. “I’m never going to be able to make it up to you, and I’d fall apart without you. You saved me-“

“Alright.” He pushed the words through his teeth, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “Smart mouth, Butterfly.”

She hummed, the smile on Her face wide and toothy and real, and Bucky never wanted to see anything else on Her face again. 

Once this was sorted out—Hydra and, hopefully, Miles—maybe Bucky would get to see nothing else. Maybe he’d prove himself enough that She’d want to keep him as more than a bodyguard or friend. He couldn’t think of a better place to be.

But for now, they had to sort this out.

She’d given them a damn good reason to be calling with Wakanda. Her schedule was marked yellow for vaccine meeting, and Grace had strict orders not to let anyone bother them. The meeting was so late because of the time difference, and they’d be calling Shuri’s lab to cover all remaining tracks. 

They’d stop being careful once they could be. Once they had something that could only be dealt with via guns and muscle, when Bucky would have to pass himself over to Sam with the information. She’d agreed to that. Promised that, once they had some solid ideas, She’d sit back and let them handle it.

This would, hopefully, be a step towards that. Bucky standing awkwardly over Her as they waited for the meeting to start, Her fingers shredding at paper and her leg bouncing under Her desk. Zemo would have information for them, they’d be closer to being out of this mess—closer to Her being safe—and Bucky could focus on Her. 

“Bucky.” She was tipping Her head back in her seat, frowning up at him, and he nodded for Her to continue. “You ready?”

“Course I’m ready.” He muttered, crossing his arms over his chest. “Nothin’ he can do to me across the ocean.”

She frowned. “Yeah, but-“

Bucky grunted Her name, his hand moving to grab Her by the chin. Keep their eyes connected, so She’d be able to see that he meant every word his was saying. 

It was a stupid move. Little rushes of lightning were shooting up his arm, he was sort of falling into Her beauty, and She wasn’t swatting him away. She should be. Things would be so much easier if She did. 

“Buck?” She whispered—he’d been staring at Her too long—and he coughed. 

“Don’t worry about me,” he muttered, scanning over Her features carefully. She, at least, looked okay. “I’m fine, Butterfly. And they’ll be keepin’ him in line on their end. We’re asking the questions, he’s giving the answers. That’s it.”

She swallowed, Her voice still too soft. “What do I do if he asks me a question?”

“Ignore it.”

“But-“

“Bucky Barnes.” 

Bucky’s gaze shot up to the screen, finding a very amused Shuri looking between Her in the chair, Bucky over Her, and his hand still on Her chin.

She still wasn’t pushing him away.

It felt like he’d been branded on his fingertips, when he let go.

Shuri said Her name with a smile, and She nodded quickly, sitting a little taller.

“Your majesty, it’s an honor-“

“It should not be.” Shuri shrugged, still giving Bucky a shit-eating grin he really didn’t need right now. “If this is an honor, your life sounds quite boring.”

She frowned. “I mean- It kind of is. My life.”

“Ah. Honest.” Shuri grinned at Bucky. “I like her.”

Bucky liked Her too. 

He just grunted, and lowered himself more into the screen. “Good. Shuri, I’m grateful for this, but we’re on a clock-“

“I know. You get an hour, starting when I move your call to his cell. Ayo is with him for immediate action, but we have more of the Dora Milaje on standby if they are needed-“

“They won’t be.” Bucky cut Shuri off with a shake of his head. Zemo was a manipulative shithead, but nothing he said could affect Her and Bucky, and the Dora Milaje weren’t exactly weak-minded women. “Seriously though, Shuri. Thank you.”

Shuri just shrugged. “Do not bother with thanks. You are my friend, and I am bored. I am hoping you’ll have a puzzle for me to solve.”

“We’ll call you if we do.” Bucky gave her a tight nod, and Shuri beamed.

“Lovely, White Wolf. Have fun.”

The screen went dark for a second, and She glance back up. 

“White Wolf?”

Bucky sighed. “I’ll tell you later. You want to do the talking, or-“

“James.” 

He needed to pay more attention to the screen. To drag his gaze away from Her and focus on the actual meeting. 

Maybe then he would have been ready for the chill that rushed his body at that voice. 

He fucking hated that Zemo could still do that to him. It lit some of that useless anger all over his bone and in his gut, made him fists clench and his stomach turn. He’d let go. He was supposed to have let go. Zemo couldn’t hurt him. 

Couldn’t hurt Her.

“Zemo.” He muttered, giving the man a grimacing smile through the camera, and Zemo grinned right back.

“You look healthy. Your hair, it is nice longer. Always was nice longer, though I understand wanting to dodge public attention-“

“Yeah, we’re not here to talk about my hair.” Bucky braced his hands on the back of Her chair. “We’ve got some questions for you. All you gotta do is answer.”

“By we,” Zemo drawled, his gaze falling onto Her, and Bucky’s grip tightened. “I presume you mean the woman between us who you have yet to introduce me to? That is not very polite, James-“

“Thinking I’m going to speak for her isn’t exactly chivalrous either.” Bucky grumbled, and Zemo’s brows raised.

“You are protective of her.”

In and out. Breathe in and out. He couldn’t do the exercise right now, but he had to breathe. 

Zemo wasn’t in his head. He couldn’t be. And Ayo was watching silently in the corner. Everything was fine.

“We’re asking the questions.” She said, before Bucky could respond. “You’re Baron Zemo?”

“I believe I am.” Zemo hummed, and Bucky couldn’t smash the camera to stop him from looking at Her. That would be expensive, and detrimental to the whole process. “Who are you? Forgive me for being curious, but James doesn’t exactly make friends.”

She said Her name, and Bucky didn’t like it. He’d told Her not to answer questions, but he should’ve known better than to think She’d listen. They would’ve had to tell Zemo Her name anyway—Hydra was after Her—but it still made him sick, the way Zemo repeated it back, looking at Her so carefully. Like he was estimating the cost of Her cage. 

“I recognize that name.” Zemo hummed, and Bucky was going to break the fucking chair. It couldn’t be that fucking easy. “I have seen you. On the TV. You had a very familiar face, when Stark presented you. His diamond, found during that horribly named blip.” Zemo tilted his head at Her. “How did you fall into this sort of a company?”

It wasn’t that easy. 

Fuck.

“Bucky’s helping me.” She muttered, Her words slow. She was being careful.

Good.

“He’s my friend.”

“Friend.” Zemo’s eyes glided back to Bucky. “You have been busy, James.”

“You have no idea.” He muttered, before raising his voice back up. “You really don’t recognize her. And don’t lie. It won’t help you.”

Zemo sighed. “I am past helping myself. I know I will be here for the rest of my life, and it is not the worst fate. Wakanda treats their prisoners quite well. I get cable TV. And I have watched you many times.” He nodded to Her. “You are very magnetic. A good speaker. A shame to waste it on a Stark organization.”

She tensed, but Bucky kept pushing. They’d talked about this. They had questions set up, as well as a plan—She’d made questions, and Bucky had decided which ones would be best to ask—and Bucky could do this. Ignore to fury, and how he wanted to wrap around Her and shield her from Zemo’s view. 

They just needed fucking something. 

“You really don’t recognize her from anywhere else.”

Zemo gave Bucky an amused look. “I do not know. Should I?”

“How about old Hydra files.”

“James, I have said this many times. I was never involved with Hydra. Everything I know was released by the Black Widow. It is public knowledge.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “We both know that’s not true.”

“It is not my fault others do not share my curiosity.” Zemo shrugged. “If you are looking for a decryption, I am afraid I do charge-“

“What about numbers?” She cut in with soft words. “Would you recognize those? From the files?”

“I may. Am I permitted to ask why-“

“No.” Bucky grunted, nodding for her to continue, and she started to count off on Her fingers as she listed.

“Twenty-seven, twelve- Um, sixteen, nineteen, eighty-four-“

Zemo cleared his throat. “Nineteen eight-four is the date of Howard Stark’s murder. James, I am surprised you would miss that.”

Fuck. It was.

And that just gave him more fucking questions. 

“How about Project Ouroboros.” He muttered. “You heard of it?”

“Project…” Zemo trailed off, frowning at the air. “Interesting. How did you come across that?”

“Just answer the fucking question.” 

Zemo sighed. “I know of project Ouroboros. A hyper-secretive Hydra project, starting in nineteen nintey-nine. Short-lived. Tragic.”

“How did you hear about it?” Bucky kept his voice even, but the Soldat was starting to scratch at the back of his skull. “Your name was on the files, Zemo, so-“

“My name?” Zemo frowned. “My name should not be on any files.”

“Well, it is. So you need to start talking-“

“My first name?”

Bucky blinked. “What.”

“Was it my family name, James, or my name? My name is Helmut Zemo.”

“Uh,” Bucky glanced to Her, and She shook her head. “Family name.”

“Interesting.”

Bucky frowned. “What-“

“You look to the girl.” Zemo hummed. “For orders.”

Not useful anger. “That isn’t what should be interesting. Why is your family name on the files.”

“Oh, that isn’t interesting.” Zemo waved Bucky off with a sigh. “My father. He was often foolish. Liked to sponsor Hydra projects with what he believed to be potential. Ouroboros went under quite dramatically, as I remember. Only half in association with Hydra, mysterious funding, a gamble that did not seem to pay. And their prize, the Leviathan,” Zemo laughed, and it crawled over Bucky’s skin. “I visited with my father, once. I was interested in the science of it, and some strings were pulled for me to see the lab.”

“I thought you weren’t involved with Hydra,” Bucky muttered, and Zemo shrugged.

“It was unwise to not associate with Hydra, at the time. And I was mostly just curious of this project. A world-eater. The ultimate weapon.” Zemo laughed. “It was just as terrifying as promised. Black eyes.”

She tensed. “Eyes?”

“And glowing, white hair. Like biblical angels and demons all at once, come to bring judgement on us all.”

“So they finished the Leviathan.” Bucky could hear his heartbeat in his ears. “It’s done.”

“Yes. For over two decades. And it was all power. You could feel it, in the room. And that was in its infancy. I imagine now, it would be dreadful. Damning.” Zemo gave Bucky a small smile, his voice dropping to something soft. “You should know this, James.”

Bucky scowled, and the Soldat was banging on his skull. “Really.”

Zemo nodded. “You have met it.”

The Soldat roared in the back of his brain. And in the distance, he could sort of hear Her wrapping it up. Thanking Zemo for his cooperation—of course She would—and thanking Ayo as well. 

He’d never met the Leviathan. 

He didn’t think he had.

He had no memory of it. 

But he didn’t have clear memory of… a lot of things.

Fuck.

“White Wolf.” Ayo said, and Bucky shook himself. Focus. “I hope this was as helpful as you wished it to be.”

“It was.” He muttered, and She gave a small nod in agreement. “Could you ask Shuri to send me anything Wakanda has on Hydra or their science? I can, uh- Write an email-“

“I will pass it on.” Ayo said, Bucky grumbled his thanks, and the screen went dark.

“That didn’t go horribly.” She mumbled, and Bucky grunted. “I mean, that’s something, right?”

“Yeah.” He muttered. It wasn’t enough, though. “I’m thinking the numbers might line up with more missions.”

“Right.” She mumbled, poorly hiding a yawn behind Her hand. “Smart.”

Bucky let out a slow breath. 

The Soldat was still scratching at his head. Zemo had been a cryptic asshole, and if Bucky hadn’t been drowning in his own head, he would’ve pushed for more. More information, more leads, more anything.

They had what they had. And Bucky could deal with the itch of the Soldat himself, later. Pounding at the base of his skull, trying to rip a fog away that Bucky wasn’t even sure was real.

But She was real. Looking up at Bucky with a pretty frown, and looking exhausted again. 

He could deal with that now.

“C’mon.” Bucky started to stand, and She frowned at him.

“Buck-“

“It’s late, Butterfly.”

“You’re up too-“

“I’m a super-solider.”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s so annoying when you pull that card-“

“Yeah, I know. C’mon.”

“But we need to talk about that-“

His jaw clenched. “Tomorrow.”

“Bucky-“

He muttered Her name, holding Her gaze, and grabbing her chin again. 

She definitely should have pushed him away that time.

She still didn’t.

“Please.” He mumbled. He needed to do something. Everything was out of his hands, and a mess, and he fucking hated messes. He was so good at making them. He’d always tried to be good at cleaning them up. 

He wasn’t, though.

And She was tangible. Warm under his hands. Something he could fix. Could do something about.

She had to understand that. Her, of all people, needed to get that the Soldat was bursting and ripping in his head, and he just couldn’t.

She was scanning over him so carefully, and Bucky tried to make his features as open as possible. It wasn’t easy.

But for Her, he’d try. 

“Okay.” She whispered, and Bucky could feel his shoulders slump, the air is his lungs growing less hot in a split second. “Do you wanna eat dinner at my place?”

Bucky gave Her a small grin. He couldn’t think of a single damn thing in the world that would be better. “I’m buying.”

She scoffed, pushing to Her feet. “No, you’re not.”

“Try me, Butterfly-“

“I will.” She gave him a wide smile, falling right into pace at his side. “I’ll kick your ass.”

Not trying to make him talk about it. Or confront it. Just there, and smiling at him.

Caring.

She cared. 

Bucky knew She cared, because She didn’t waver or balk for a second. She let him drive, but stole his phone so he couldn’t buy the food. She glared at the Boy—strange, luminous eyed creature, looking at Bucky like he could see into his brain—when he jumped onto Bucky’s lap, but it was fake. 

Bucky knew when She was being fake. 

This was real. Her knee against his. Her laugh filling the air. 

And Bucky felt better. 

Good.

She was there, and even after the whole day, even with the Soldat, Bucky felt fucking good.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt good.

But he knew, looking at Her in all Her inhuman beauty and exhaustion, he’d never be able to ask to feel anything better than this. 

End Note: The plot. It thickens. The tension. It's going to snap. They both. Need to kiss.

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[obsessivevoidkitten]

Your Boyfriend Owen

Yandere Male x Gender Neutral Reader (CW: Noncon/dubcon, stalking, drugging, kidnapping, chaining, general yandere behavior, social awkwardness, creepy staring, mild scent kink.) Word Count: 2.5k (This was supposed to be a small couple hundred word drabble... oopsiedoodles...)

It was the first day of your last year in college.

At the end of class there was a student lingering at his desk. He was your age and of average build, maybe a bit on the skinny side, with disheveled medium length black hair that was a bit wet with sweat and glasses that were a bit crooked.

He seemed really distraught and panicky as he typed on his laptop.

You introduced yourself and asked him if he needed help with something.

He went silent and awkwardly stared at you for a moment before speaking.

“Uh… hi, I’m Owen.”

He was obviously not used to people approaching and talking to him.

I-I don’t know how to get assignments and submit them on this updated online portal we have this year! I just cannot figure it out!”

You leaned over his desk and took a look at his laptop, you happily showed him how to navigate the new system. You didn’t blame Owen for being so high strung, the classes were tough and this new portal was pretty confusing.

What you didn’t realize was that in this simple act of helping him you had made the biggest mistake of your life.

Owen was stunned that you were helping him. You must have liked him! No one was this nice to a random stranger.

As you leaned over his desk to use his laptop he noticed you smelled so nice.

If he hadn’t already been sweating from his previous issues with the student portal you may have noticed the blush that crept across his face.

When you finished he thanked you nervously before you left for your dorm.

There was plenty of foot traffic to and from the dorms, classes, and the food places on campus. It was very easy for Owen to go unseen as he followed you to your dorm.

He… just wanted to make sure you got there safely. And also wanted to see where you lived.

Over the course of the next few weeks Owen you constantly caught Owen staring at you in class and he never failed to greet you when you sat down or try to talk to you when you left. You were always polite but… it was a little creepy to be honest, but you ignored it because it was pretty harmless. He just had a crush on you.

It was far from harmless though, during the time of day that you had classes and he didn’t he would sneak into your dorm and take little “treasures” that he was sure you wouldn’t miss.

A used pair of underwear that still had your scent from the day before. Maybe a shirt if it wasn’t one of your favorites, he knew which ones you wore most often.

As far as he was concerned he was your boyfriend, even if you didn’t know it yet, and good boyfriends noticed small details like favorite clothes.

He also took note of super important information like what food seemed to be your favorite, wherever you ate lunch he was sure to be in the crowd watching you.

Things probably would have continued on like that for a lot longer, just a creepy stalker pining for you, but then one day you helped someone else in class.

They didn’t deserve to even breathe the same air as you! He was fuming, he clenched his hands so hard that his nails bruised his palms. To grace such a nobody with your assistance drove him beyond jealousy.

But that did not even compare to when he saw you the next day eating lunch with the slime ball.

Why would you do that to him? Surely you liked him, not this piece of shit. He must have forced himself into your space and you were just too sweet to push him away.

Owen had to do something before things escalated too far. And he didn’t have to wait too much longer to have his opportunity.

There was a huge Halloween party coming up and he knew for a fact you would be going.

He went with a masquerade ball costume, complete with an intricately decorated Venetian mask.

When you were at the party he waited for the perfect moment to make his move. He stared at you the entire time, not taking his eyes off of you for a moment. Even if he hadn’t been planning something he wouldn’t have been able to take his eyes off you. You had decided to go as a pale faced vampire, it made him wonder what your teeth on his neck would feel like.

When you were all alone, and after your judgment was a bit off from a few drinks Owen came over and introduced himself and started chatting you up before offering you a drink.

He was a bit of an oddball, but he was always nice right? What was the harm?

You accepted the drink and soon everything was a blur. You weren’t rendered entirely unconscious, just helpless, compliant, and a touch clingy.

Owen escorted you out of the party with you leaning on him heavily, his face was red beneath his mask, his darling was relying on him for support! Just how it should always be~

Not many people at the party knew you, and even if they had they wouldn’t have thought much of you leaving in this manner, you just appeared to be a little drunk and leaving with someone who you trusted.

Owen stroked your cheek gently and guided you gently into the passenger seat of his car.

It was really happening, he was taking his love home.

He lived with his parents, in the large basement of their house. He was the true epitome of a basement dwelling freak.

You clung to him and nuzzled into his neck as he brought you inside. You didn’t know why, but you felt so needy.

He sat you down softly on the bed, he had changed the color of the sheets to match yours. He wanted you to feel at home and get adjusted to being here as quickly as possible and thought it may make the transition easier.

To that end he had also hung copies of the same posters you had hanging in your dorm, had the bookshelf filled with every book that he had ever seen you reading, and while everyone else was at the party he had even managed to snag a few things from your room.

Most notably your Nintendo switch and your blankets. They were drenched in your scent~

In your drugged state you couldn’t quite make sense of your surroundings… it looked kinda similar to your room… but not…

“Wh-wherrre aare w-w-weee?” You couldn’t speak without slurring your words.

“We’re home! Th-this is where you live now!

That didn’t seem right… did it? It felt a bit off… But why would this nice man lie to you? He gave you a drink and a ride… home.

“You’ll live here with me and I will take good care of you!”

“That’sss sooo n-nice of you”

Owen smiled, he knew you may feel differently once the drugs wore off, but he had taken precautions just in case. What mattered was that you were here, you weren’t leaving, and you’d eventually admit that you liked him and wanted to be here with him.

He sat down beside you on the bed and wiped the pale makeup from your face gently, you leaned into his touch with a cute sigh that made his heart swell and his cock twitch.

You were so perfect. Eventually you would be like this without the drugs, he just needed to be patient and train you until you saw that you needed him as much as he needed you. He had wanted to wait until that point to make love with you.

But… you were acting so sweet and needy. So malleable. And he could tell that you really needed it, your face was flushed and you kept grinding your crotch slowly against your arm that you had between your legs.

You stared up at him in confusion as he began to peel away his clothing, his cock bouncing free. You couldn’t take your eyes off of it. Then he carefully took off what you were wearing, slowly. He wanted to savor the moment. The person he loved more than anything else in the entire world was about to be revealed completely to him.

“So p-perfect~”

“Whaaaa are you doooinnng?” You looked up at him while not even noticing you were already grinding into your arm again.

He rubbed your thighs gently before replying.

“I’m g-going to help you with this,” he said as he caressed your crotch.

You blushed and smiled, in that moment all you could think that Owen was just so nice. He had already taken you home and now he was going to help you with your arousal too!

You spread your legs to allow for easier access as he fumbled with the lube.

He was considerably more nervous than before.

“I-it’s my first time, I hope I’m okay~ I-if I’m not we can pr-practice until I get it right!”

Owen applied the slick fluid liberally to his cock, where it mixed with the precum that his cock was practically drooling, then he scooted you to the edge of the bed and knelt between your legs, using his tongue to get you nice and stimulated.

The scent and flavor of you was almost enough to make Owen cum almost immediately, he was more drugged by your smell than you were on actual drugs. He moaned loud, taking it all in.

Before he caused either of you to orgasm before the main event he managed to pry himself away and apply lube to your entrance, sliding in a couple of fingers and twirling them around inside you.

You bucked and moaned, desperate to have more inside you as the lube mixed with all the saliva he had deposited inside you.

“Neeed morrrre,” You started crying a bit, you were just so desperate. You were like a bitch in heat and nothing would take care of it except Owen’s cock.”

“S-so needy! Don’t cry honey bun, I will take care of you!”

You tried to get your sobbing under control as he kissed you deeply.

“Gosh, y-you’re pretty even when you’re crying…

Then he stood beside the bed and propped your legs up on his shoulders. He rubbed the tip around your hole a bit, wanting to ingrain this moment into his memory for the rest of his life, before grabbing your hips and plunging his entire length inside of you in one movement.

The two of you gasped in unison, finally you felt that yearning void in you start to fill and he was inside of you.

It was much better than he had imagined in the fantasies he had so fervently jerked off to.

The heat, the tightness, your insides were enveloping his cock in pure bliss. And the smell of your sweat mingled with his and the scent of sex was just indescribable.

He slid in and out rhythmically, bending down and biting your neck as he did so. Claiming it as he sped up faster and faster.

Owen couldn’t help not lasting too long, and luckily for him you couldn’t either in your drugged state.

You cried out as you came hard, the force of your climax shaking through your body, pushing Owen over the edge. He filled you with plenty of cum before wrapping his arms around you lovingly.

“I love you so much!”

Your intoxicated mind felt the perfect response to this was, “I looo-love youuu toooo.”

When you woke up you were clothed and all cleaned up, and you could scarcely remember a single thing after the party. You had an awful headache and it took you a few moments to realize that this was certainly not your bedroom.

You felt someone spooning you from behind.

Owen. Owen was spooning you!

You must have gotten black out drunk and hooked up with him.

The thought made you feel sick to your stomach.

You immediately jumped out of bed and went to put your shoes on when you finally saw it.

A long thick chain that led to a shackle around your ankle.

You screamed.

Owen woke up instantly and tried to console you. He had been worried this may be your reaction.

“C-calm down honey b-bun. Just let me expla-”

“Don’t call me honey bun you sick freak!” You shouted the words with as much venom as you could muster, with tears threatening to roll down your face at any moment.

“HELP! HELP PLEASE!! SOMEON-”

Owen grabbed you from behind and put his hand over your mouth, using his other hand to hold you close to his shirtless form.

You still yelled, but it was pretty muffled. You could only hope someone had heard your initial outburst.

“Shh baby, calm down, it will be okay I promise~”

He kissed the top of your head and you tried to shake him off but you were still weak from last night, and he was stronger than you had anticipated. You finally went still and silently cried, your voice too strained now to say much of anything.

Then you heard footsteps coming from above you, they got louder as they approached. Did he have roommates? Had they heard your plea for help? You allowed a spark of hope to ignite inside of you.

You couldn’t see it, but Owen was blushing deeply.

“O-oh jeez, I didn’t want you to meet my parents y-yet. Not until you felt b-better.”

A man and a woman came down the steps. They both had features that reminded you of Owen.

The woman spoke while the man stood behind her, “Just what the HELL is going on at this early hour!? The sun is barely out and I have to work later tod-”

She met your eyes, only just now realizing that her son had someone in his arms. You could see her gaze follow the chain that bound your leg to the wall.

Seeing your tear streaked face, red and puffy from crying, shaking from fear, she gave a look of sympathy. Your hope grew. Would she help you escape her loony son? Your sore throat strained to form words, but they only came out muted and garbled through Owen’s hand.

“Owen! You didn’t tell us you were dating! Honestly, with how awkward you are, I was a bit afraid you’d never take a liking to someone.”

Then she looked at you again.

“You’ll be okay, I know it’s hard at first, but you’ll settle right in.”

“I-i made sure the shackle was lined with something s-soft so it doesn’t hurt them. J-just like you told me how you did when y-you started dating dad!”

You saw the man bite his lip and gaze down sheepishly.

Owen was in his mid 20s, if his age was any indication… if he was conceived when his parents first met… then you were going to be here for a very long time.

[choerrysjubiles]

Electricity

Pairing: winter x fem!reader

Warning: established relationship, mentions of food/eating

Wc: 1.2k

A/n: winter, my most beloved capricorn

Song: Electric Blue - Easha

Sea water always felt freezing. You were used to the warmth of creek water, even ponds. The water that’s mixed with algae and mud with the harsh sun beaming down on the water to warm it. It never got too warm, but far warmer than the ocean.

Not that sea water was something bad, it was just different. You wouldn’t pass up a trip with Minjeong just because the water was chilly or the sand clung to everything. When she brought up the idea you were more than excited to go with her. Preparing your time off before counting down the days to your vacation.

You think you packed too much for the trip, but it never hurt to be prepared. Extra outfits, swimsuits, sunscreen and toiletries, even extra sandals. This was meant to be a weekend trip but you feel like you’re packing for a week long trip. Minjeong packed her car before driving by your place, picking you up then getting breakfast and heading towards your destination.

With the summer traffic, you’ve found yourself gridlocked a few times. Blasting your favorite songs, sing-shouting the lyrics as you had to wait and wait for the traffic to clear.

 You arrived far later than expected, setting your things in the small rental house before walking out to the beach. It was past sunset, the sky was turning deep shades of blue, the smallest hint of red shining over the far edges of the water.

Sand was clinging to your feet, making you walk around weird until you got used to it. You and Minjeong leaned against a large rock, watching the sun set and the moon shine over the rippling water. She turned to you,

“Wanna swim?”

You laughed, wondering how safe that actually was.

“Yeah.” You nodded your head.

You both ran into the water, already wearing swimsuits you thought you could relax in.

The water shocked your system, an icy freeze overtaking your body before you jolted back to life. Your head peaked out from the water, seeing Minjeong swim around.

You both swam around before moving closer to the edge, having the water meet your thighs. You felt freezing, wanting to run inside as quickly as possible but you were having far too much fun with Minjeong. You were cold down to your bones, shivering, even, but you couldn’t pull yourself away from her.

She pulled you in, wrapping her arms around your waist, you couldn’t see much but you knew how she was staring at you. Leaning in, she pressed a kiss onto your cheek, you began laughing before pressing one onto her lips.

“We should go inside.” She said, giggling.

“It’s so cold.”

You both raced into your rental, running into the bathroom to rinse off in the hottest the water could get. Washed and wrapped up, you and Minjeong decided to relax. Seeing what you could watch on the tv, checking what food was stocked in your kitchen. She found a show to watch before you both began cooking, grabbing ramyeon packets and adding in extra ingredients to make it more homemade. You both ate, watching some reality show before falling asleep on the couch.

Waking up was uncomfortable, your neck was craned at a weird angle, her arm fell asleep, but you were able to stretch your limbs, trying to feel normal by the time you’d dress and left for breakfast. At a nearby restaurant, overlooking the beach with at least two patios for extra dining space, you and Minjeong looked over the breakfast menu, you ordered something vaguely familiar. Both of you enjoyed your food, letting the other try some of the plate.

After eating, you both returned to your rental, it was around noon, the beach was full but would probably cool down for lunch hour. You forgot to unpack, digging through your bags to change into a swimsuit before walking to the beach.

Seeing the sunny beach, you were able to find a nice spot to sunbathe in. Minjeong turned to you, asking to help her put on sunscreen. You grabbed her bottle, pouring some of the lotion out before spreading it along her shoulders and back. She turned to do the same for you. The lotion was colder than you expected, your shoulders tensed as you felt the cool cream first touch your skin.

You could hear Minjeong giggle behind you before finishing apply the cream to your skin.

Relaxing on some beach towels, you both mindlessly talked. Asking about shows and books you’ve been reading, talking about places in the area you’d wanna visit.

“Do they have shaved ice here?” You asked.

“You wanna get shaved ice?”

“Not now,” You smiled, “but I’d love to get some.”

“When the crowds die down.” Minjeong promised.

After some time in the sun, you both set up the large umbrella. Watching the crowds of people come and go while enjoying the warmth. Seeing some empty areas in the water, you both raced towards the ocean.

You chased after Minjeong, who was faster than you. As soon as you met the water, Minjeong splashed the icy water onto you. You shrunk into yourself before splashing water back onto her. A cat and mouse game within the knee deep water. You were able to catch Minjeong fall into the water, laughing as you grabbed onto her hands to pick her up. She splashed more water onto you.

Tiring yourselves out, you walked around the food stalls and trucks lining the parking lots and walking areas. Sitting at a picnic table, you were surprised at how good some of the food was, worried it’d be plain on top of expensive.

Afterwards, Minjeong made sure to find a shaved ice stand, looking far and wide for one.

“It’s fine, I thought they’d be good. If there’s nothing, it’s no big deal.” You were amused at her, looking similar to a watch dog sniffing something out.

You heard her gasp, “There it is!” Pointing towards the small stand.

You both made your way towards the shop, looking over their flavors before picking out your orders. The cups were large, plenty filled with shaved ice and syrup. The flavor was good, not artificial tasting or overwhelming.

“Is it good?” Minjeong asked.

You held out a spoonful for her, letting her try some as she leaned it to bite.

“Oooh, that’s good.”

You sat and enjoyed the shaved ice, feeling something cool you down from the harsh sun. After eating, you both returned to the beach aimlessly walking around, seeing the beach empty more and more as the sun began to set.

You didn’t even realize it was nearing the end of the day, spending time with Minjeong did that, though. You could never keep track of time when you were with her.

“I know it’s only the first day,” Mingjeong said, “but I’m having so much fun.”

You grabbed her hand, “I am, too.”

Minjeong leaned in and pressed a kiss into your cheek. Giggling, you held her shoulder to do the same. Nothing was more important at that moment, beginning to chase each other to lay soft pecks on one another.

[my-great-big-book-of-fan-fiction]

Yandere! L Lawliet x Reader: Outing

Synopsis: you make an unexpected request to L, and recieve an unexpected answer

Word count: 2.6k

warnings: mentions of kidnapping, manipulation, and anxious attatchment; Reader has/developed intense social anxiety; L is complex (but mostly bad)

it's been so long. Too long. You curled into a ball at the window seat, staring out at the rainy cityscape. Where was L? You missed him. You needed him. When you envisioned life, there was nothing before him. There was nothing after him. There was only him. You could feel this...crushing, suffocating sensation in your chest. The worry consumed you, it ate you alive, it tore you apart.

you were so worried, you didn't even notice him enter the room. Or creep up behind you. Or reach to touch you. It wasn't until his spindly fingers brushed against your hair that you jumped, and spun around to face him. "L," you gasped, pleased as you sprung from your seat.

He was soaking wet from head to toe, he must've been standing in the rain again. He played with the ends of your hair wordlessly, searching your needy eyes for something you're unsure if you have. "Come shower with me."

You follow him closely as he walks to the bathroom, mindless, subservient. "What were you doing out there?"

He doesn't respond. He only sheds his clothes on the way, first his shirt, then his pants, and as he reaches the shower, his boxers. You're quick to follow, removing the pink nightgown you were previously lounging in. When you're finally naked, he settles his hands on your hips. He doesn't take you into the tub, or turn on the water. He just stands there, and stares. You stare back.

"It's cold out."

"Your hands are cold."

"I want you to wash me."

"Okay."

Always so willing. He worked hard to get you here. To make you love him.

You reached to turn on the water. You knew exactly how hot he liked it. He stood and watched, idle as you prepared. When it was finally perfect, you pushed open the shower curtain, and led him in.

"You never...answered my question," you murmur, wetting the washcloth and lathering it with body soap.

"I was feeling sentimental."

About what, you don't know. You wouldn't ask, you didn't want to push his buttons. He was fairly patient with you, but when it came to his past you didn't know what was ok and what wasn't.

In the silence, you began to gently run the cloth over his chest, up to his shoulders, over his neck. "Did you get done what you needed done today?"

"I suppose so."

You lift one of his limp arms, and scrub at his sides. It's silence as you work, not so much as a "thank you" from L. You didn't mind, though. He was still here. You needed him.

You finished with his torso and arms, and set the cloth back in its place. He watched as you squirted shampoo into your hands, prepping to wash his hair as the water sprays your side. You've come so far. He was almost bored of it. Almost.

The truth was, he needed your love. He needed you to tend to him, to listen to him, to bounce ideas off of. Tormenting you with endless mindgames was fun, but he could do that with anyone.

He closes his eyes as you scrunch his hair in your hands, scratching at his scalp with your manicured nails. The soap runs down the side of his face, over his cheekbones, across his jaw. You step aside, and the water hits his face. He steps farther into it, and you run your fingers through his hair once more to rinse out all the shampoo. Once he feels you pull away, he opens his eyes again, to find you behind him. He turns, and takes your hands in his.

"Would you like me to return the favor?"

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

Hours later, your head was rested in L's lap as he worked on his laptop. He was always working, but he saved one hand to idly thread through your hair.

The rain had died down now, the world beyond the little enclave of the penthouse busy again with traffic and movement. It had been so long since you walked a sidewalk, or bought fruit from a stand on the street.

"L..." you mumble, sleepy.

"Hm?"

"I..." Your words caught in your throat. You were so scared, for some reason. You had such a good rapport, it had been so long since you asked anything of him. You didn't want to ruin it. But this was something you wanted dearly. "I'd like to go on a walk tomorrow, maybe."

His petting stilled. "A walk?"

"Just...just for an hour..."

He lowered his gaze to you. You didn't have the strength to return it. "A walk where?"

"Outside the hotel, around the block...I don't want to go far, you know I can't stand to leave you for long."

Now, that was true. But there was a time where requests like these would lead to an attempt at escape. Could he truly trust you?

"Why not do something else? The hotel has a pool, and a gym. I could easily grant you access to either after hours."

"I want the fresh air. Please?"

Fresh air, as if you could get that in a city like this. As far as he knows, all of that smog could get you sick. You haven't been in it for so long, it's bound to affect you.

"No."

You could feel your chest squeeze, desperation clawing up your throat. "...I'll be good, you know I'll be good," you murmur, doing your best to sound nothing less than reverent.

"I don't doubt it. But there are dangerous things outside. Dangerous people. I won't risk it for something as foolish as a stroll."

Foolish. It was foolish to him. Your eyes finally meet his, he needs to see how important this was to you. "I just want to go outside, please. You can come with me, watari can come with me, I...I need it."

He searches your face for a reason. Any reason as to why he should bother. He could just let you sit in this penthouse, stew in isolation until you're even crazier than you are now. Because you are crazy. You're maddened by loneliness, driven to the brink of insanity, to the point of falling hopelessly in love with your captor. It's why he was afraid. A taste of freedom, even for an hour, may heal what he's broken.

But that look in your eyes...the need, the desperation for anything he can give you...he loves you too much. He wants to see you happy. His brushes his knuckles over your cheek, then delicately traces your lower lip with his thumb.

"Thirty minutes. Watari will join you. I will keep watch. I want to hear nothing of it after."

You gleefully sit upright, peppering his face in kisses. "Thank you, I promise I'll come back in one piece, thank you!"

He hopes so. "Go to bed. You'll be leaving early tomorrow, when the streets aren't as busy."

You give him one, lasting kiss on the cheek, and make a brisk walk to the bedroom.

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

The next morning is hectic. Well, as hectic as it can get, in a quiet penthouse with a quiet man. He gets you up when it's still dark out, and tells you to get dressed. He already had your clothes laid out for you, a blouse and pants with sensible running shoes. Not ugly, but not incredibly attractive either. It was purposeful, for your safety he said.

He spent the whole morning in a funk. Watching you get ready, gloomy, as if you were headed to your own doom with bright eyes and a bushy tail. You'd glance over at him every now and then, make it clear his mood was effecting yours, but he didn't care. He didn't want you to go. Even as he straps a small camera to your chest, between the buttons of your shirt, he doesn't speak to you.

By the crack of dawn, Watari is waiting for you, and you're ready to leave. You kiss L's cheek, a lipstick mark left behind, but he only pouts at you. A subtle narrowing of the eyes, and a droop of the lips.

"Goodbye....I love you."

He doesn't respond.

Watari guides you out, and as the door shuts behind you, you can feel L's gaze boring into the back of your skull.

The streets are busy. Cars cruising by. Crowds shuffling through. Even this early, it was packed. You push through, watari to your left, mumbling excuse me and sorry, but nobody returns your politeness.

You take a lap around the block, feeling the cool air brush through your hair in a brief moment of reprieve from the other people. It was so stressful, so scary. Loud, and smelly, and so many things happening all at once. You hadn't left L's side in so long, it felt like torture without him. Even when changing hotels, he would stick by you, and rush you to the car so you could be alone again.

You felt like you could cry. Burst into tears and wail about how you missed your L. But then, you caught a whiff of something that wasn't garbage and piss.

Coffee. There was a coffee shop, just a building away. You look up at watari, who's arm you had mindlessly taken for comfort. "Can we go in there?"

Watari pauses. He had an earpiece in. After a few seconds, he nods. L must have given him the OK.

You hurry over, eager to leave the bustling city sidewalk for something gentler on the senses.

The coffee shop is quiet, having just opened, with a couple of tired baristas and a few customers waiting in line. You step aside from the door, and look up at the menu above the counter.

Latte, cappuccino, drip, espresso, creme, frappuccino, americano, flat white...It just kept going, on and on, what felt to be hundreds of choices. And beyond those choices, even more choices: size? hot or iced? dozens of flavors, which one? whipped cream or no? what kind of milk? here or to go? Everyone is watching you, make a decision.

You felt your chest compress, your breath quickening. Tears welled up in the corners of your eyes, ready to spill in a hiccuping release at the slightest of deep breaths.

You hadn't made a choice on your own in so long. A year, at least. L fed you. L clothed you. L told you what to do. What little choices you had were kept simple, one or two options, not...this.

Your hand squeezes around watari's arm. He looks down at you, a kinder face that eases you just enough to keep your panic back.

Meanwhile, on L's end, he's more than pleased. The camera's microphone picks up your stuttered breathing, and the heavy beat of your heart, while the smaller camera in watari's glasses see the tears in your hopeless eyes. He didn't like to see you so anxious, of course, but it was a necessary evil. Your pain was a sign that this outing will likely be your last. "Tell her to order an iced caramel latte, whole milk, with whipped cream."

Watari repeats back the order, and the widening in your eyes as you realize you'll have to talk to someone else is soothing. L can't help but lean in as you move to the counter, hands folded neatly on the surface as you bumble through your order. The barista asks for a name. You easily give the fake one L has primed you to give in a public situation. He's proud of you.

The payment option comes up: cash or card? Thankfully, watari handles this one by swiping a credit card at the till.

Now, you sit and wait at a little booth attatched to a wide window. Eventually, your fake name is called, and you stumble as you remember it's supposed to be you. With shakey hands, you take the drink, and sit back down with watari.

The next few minutes are spent in silence, nursing the drink with little else to do. You calm down now that the hard part is over. It's sort of nice. The city thrumming with life, right next to you. The smell of coffee. The people that wander in and out, different characters that would usually look like ants in your penthouse view. "Watari, do you go out often?"

He nods. "To do what's necessary, yes."

"Is it always like this? So busy?"

"Yes, in the city. Some places are calmer, such as Suburbs and rural areas."

L's voice rings sharp in Watari's ear. "Don't encourage her."

"...it'd be nice to visit a farm, for fresh produce and things like that."

"...farms often have their own dangers."

You sip your coffee, and stare out the window. Some people look at you funny, but you don't mind. They're close. They see you. You're as much of a character as they are. "Like wild animals?"

"Yes."

"That's right," you agree solemnly. L would never let you go somewhere like that. "Did L grow up in a city?"

"No. However, He grew up with many others around him."

"Siblings?"

"In a way."

You smile. L, on his end, frowns. "Maybe one day, I could visit where he grew up, and meet them."

Watari doesn't respond. He's never had a conversation with you longer than this. You think L might have something to do with it. Both of their lives revolve around secrets, and L keeps many of those from you.

Watari checks his watch. "It's time to go."

You nod, and slowly stand, coffee in hand. You make quick work of the walk home, and finish your drink by the time you're in the Hotel lobby. The city was scary, but...you got better. In that short half-hour, you learned to handle some of it. Imagine what you could do with a full one.

When you return to the penthouse, watari leaves you to do his own work. You burst in, full of exuberance after your experience in the zoo that was the city.

L was seated at the computer, just as always.

You prance over to kiss his cheek and tell him all about it, when he puts a hand up to stop you. "Shower, first."

So you do. You shower with the gourmand soap he chose for you, and then change into one of two pajama sets waiting for you. Easy, and calm. Comforting.

Once you return, nothing stops you from easing into the spot beside him, and resting your head on his shoulder.

"Thank you, for letting me do that," you sigh.

He doesn't look away from his work. "Was it worth the effort?"

Here was another choice. To lie, or not to lie? He could usually tell when you were lying. But, on the other hand, he wouldn't like the truth one bit.

"I'm...glad you trusted me enough to allow it."

A lie of omission.

He finally turns his head to face you. He has a fondness in his eyes, a gentle warmth that wasn't there this morning. "You did well. I'm proud of you."

A blossom of euphoria spreads through your chest. He was proud of you. You kiss his cheek. "I love you," you murmur, worry twisting in your stomach at the prospect of receiving less of an answer than this morning. Worry that his affection was a game, some sort of ploy to make you admit something.

"I love you, too."

You smile.

Deep inside, you know he means it.

Deeper inside, you know it'll kill you one day.

[ice-man-goes-bwoah]

Silent comfort||Dad!Kimi Raikkonen x oc!daughter!Emilia Raikkonen x mom!Reader

Summary—When Emilia’s first heartbreak hits harder than she expected, it’s her dad quiet, steady Kimi Raikkonen who’s home to pick up the pieces while her mom is away. Between late-night pancakes, terrible documentaries, and the kind of love that doesn’t need big words, she learns that healing doesn’t always come from loud comfort it can come from just being held, exactly as you are. And when her mom returns, Emilia finds that sometimes the safest place in the world is simply home.

Word count 1.1k

Warnings—Warnings: Light heartbreak, mentions of crying, soft family vibes

A/n— I was in the mood for dad!Kimi Raikkonen fics I didn’t know what I wanted to do so @checkeredflagggs gave me a few ideas.

Ps-if there is an OC kid in the f1 community named Emilia let me and I’ll change it!

The slam of the door echoed louder than Emilia meant it to, she didn’t care. Her heart felt like it had cracked right open on the drive home every traffic light giving her too much time to think about him. About the things he said. About how stupid she must have looked trying not to cry in front of him.

She kicked off her boots, dropped her bag, and sat right there on the hallway floor.

A moment later her dad's quiet footsteps padded over on the hardwood floor. She didn’t look up. She didn’t need to.

He didn’t ask questions. He didn’t crouch down and fuss. He just lowered himself onto the floor beside her, a slow heavy sigh leaving his chest.

“Was it that idiot boy?” Kimi asked in that dry Finnish way that somehow still sounded like affection.

Emilia gave the tiniest nod wiping her eyes with her sleeve. “He says he’s not ready for something serious but he told me I was different last week.”

Kimi made a small unimpressed noise. “That’s what people say when they want to lie nicely.”

That got her to huff out a tiny laugh, read choked but a real laugh. She leaned into his side and he let her wrap an arm around her shoulder. “It’s okay to be sad.” He said softly “But you don’t have to believe everything he said. You know who you are.”

“You don’t think I was too much?” She asked, voice small and broken.

Kimi looked down at her, her brow furrowed slightly. “You are a lot. You’re smart. You’re kind. You talk fast and don’t stop until your point is made. Like your mom.” He paused, squeezing her shoulder gently. “If that’s too much for someone… then maybe they’re not enough.”

She blinked. “You think that?”

“I know it.” He kissed her hair, awkwardly but sincerely. “And I wouldn’t let anyone date you who didn’t see it, anyway.”

A beat passed.

“Except I did,” he added. “So that’s on me.”

This time her laugh was stronger. “You’re really bad at this whole emotional support thing.”

“I’m excellent at it,” he said, deadpan. “I just don’t do the movie version.”

“…Want to do something?” he asked suddenly. “To feel better.”

She glanced up, suspicious. “Like what?”

Ten minutes later, they were in the kitchen, Kimi standing over the stovetop, heating pancake batter. Emilia sat on the counter in an oversized hoodie, watching as her dad flipped one with unnecessary flair.

“Why pancakes.” She asked.

Kimi shrugged “Your mom says chocolate pancakes fix everything. She’s usually right.”

They ate the first batch standing at the kitchen island, laughing as powdered sugar got everywhere and Kimi burned the corner of one but insisted it was “just crispy.”

He let her pick the music. It was soft indie stuff that made her daydream so they didn’t have to talk about the breakup. The kitchen was a wreck but Kimi didn’t care not when his main concern was cheering up his daughter.

“Do you want to watch that show you're always talking about? Julie and the ghosts” Kimi asked, looking at her.

Emilia cracks a smile and a little laugh “you mean Julie and the Phantoms? Because if so then yes absolutely!” She hopped off the counter and gave her dad a hug.

Kimi smiled and gave her a soft kiss on the forehead “yes I absolutely mean that.” He replied.

It was almost midnight when the front door creaked open again. Emilia was still in a hoodie curled up on the couch with her legs tucked under a blanket head resting on her dads shoulder. The plate of chocolate chip pancakes sat empty on the coffee table Julie and the Phantoms was long over and now she was watching a Finnish hockey documentary played quietly on the TV.

Kimi didn’t move when the door opened. He was never really startled, he just blinked slower.

“I’m home” her mom's voice called softly.

Emilia stiffened for a second, suddenly aware of the miss. She must look red rimmed eyes tear dried cheeks hoodie sleeves stained with dried syrup. But then she felt her dads hand on her arm grounding her. She didn’t need to pull herself together, not right now.

She gave a quiet “hey mom.”

Y/n stepped into the room suitcase still in hand, eyes sweeping over the two of them like she could read everything in a glance. To be fair she could. Her mom had this uncanny emotional radar, something Emilia had long suspected that came with motherhood.

She took one long look at her daughter and said gently “Boy or school.”

Emilia sniffed “boy.”

Y/N nodded, setting her suitcase aside before crossing the room. She leaned down to kiss the top of Emilia’s head then ruffled Kimi's hair in a way he pretended to hate but he didn't move anyway.

“How bad was it?” Her mom asked brushing a lock of hair from her face.

Emilia hesitated, then answered honestly. “It sucked.”

Her mom nodded, thoughtful. “Did he cry with you or after?”

“He cried?”

Y/n gave a half smirk. “They usually do after realizing what they lost.”

That made Emilia laugh, sudden and surprised. “You’re both so dramatic.”

“She cried on me for forty minutes,” Kimi added, eyes still on the TV.

“You counted?” Emilia blinked up at him, mortified.

He shrugged. “I have a watch.”

Y/n's eyes sorted even more as she looked at them, both her husband the ever-stoic rock, and their daughter trying so hard to pretend the world hadn’t just shifted beneath her feet.

“I brought back that honey from Monaco you like,” her mom said gently, brushing her thumb over Emilia’s cheek. “We could make tea. Or facemasks. Or I could go full chaotic and help you stalk his socials from a burner account.”

Kimi raised an eyebrow “Please don’t encourage that.”

“I didn’t say I would comment, Kimi.”

Emilia, for the first time that night, genuinely smiled. That warm, post-cry kind of smile. “Can we just hang out?”

“Of course we can.” Her mom said pulling the blanket more snugly around her before settling onto the other side of the couch. “You're our girl.”

“And you survived your first heartbreak,” Kimi added, reaching for the remote. “You get pancakes, a terrible documentary, and two extremely emotionally weird parents for the rest of the night.”

Emilia exhaled through a quiet laugh, leaning back into both of them. The weight in her chest hadn’t disappeared, but it felt… lighter. Manageable.

She didn’t need to be fine yet. She just needed this.

A few days later Emilia stood in the doorway for a second, arms crossed over her chest like a shield.

Neither of them said anything—just looked up when they saw her.

“I know I’m supposed to be asleep,” she murmured.

Y/N smiled, walking over to the couch and patting the spot between them. “Rules don’t apply during heartbreak recovery.”

Kimi just grunted, sipping whatever was in his glass.

Emilia sat down between them, legs tucked up. “I just… wanted to say thanks. For everything.”

“You don’t have to thank us for loving you,” her mom said gently, brushing her knuckles over Emilia’s arm.

“I know. But you guys didn’t make it weird. Or worse. You just let me feel everything without trying to fix it. And I didn’t know I needed that until you did it.”

Kimi looked at her for a long moment. “We’ve both had our hearts broken before,” he said. “It’s not something you fix. It’s something you outgrow.”

Emilia’s lip quirked. “That was almost poetic.”

“I’ve been married to your mother for sixteen years. I’ve absorbed some things.”

Y/N gave a mock gasp. “Are you calling me poetic?”

He didn’t answer, just shrugged with a small, secret smile.

Emilia leaned her head against her mom’s shoulder, legs tucked under her dad’s arm, and for the first time in days, her chest didn’t feel like it was caving in.

[girl-next-door-writes]

Defrosted

Characters: Mycroft Holmes x reader

Summary: After a grueling day, you return home, weary and stressed. But behind closed doors, the icy, calculating Mycroft Holmes melts for you alone, showing a rare tenderness.

Word Count: 1291 words

A/N: This is a mixture of requests from @anonymousmarvelfan, @howaboutlunch, @savvy-devine666, @but-hey-could-be-satan. It’s been sitting in my WIP file for a while, so I hope the final version is what you were hoping for.

The London air bit sharply through the autumn night as you pushed the door open, peeling off your damp coat with a sigh that held the weight of the day’s troubles. Exhaustion clung to you like a heavy cloak, your thoughts dulled by the long hours of tense meetings and endless paperwork. A familiar chill hung in the air, reminding you of the looming winter and the comfort of the warmth inside your home.

And then there was Mycroft.

You found him in the sitting room, seated in his usual armchair by the fire, a thick book in his hands and his brow knitted in concentration. The firelight danced over his angular features, casting shadows that softened the harsh lines of his face. He glanced up at the sound of your entrance, his expression still the practiced neutrality he wore like armor, yet there was a flicker of something warmer in his gaze.

"My dear," he greeted, voice smooth and unperturbed. “You’re home late.”

The corners of your lips lifted into a weary smile as you approached him, sinking into the sofa opposite his chair. “Yes, well, not everyone can be as fortunate as the British government’s top strategist. Some of us still have to suffer through rush-hour traffic and unreasonable supervisors.”

A small, wry smile tugged at his lips. "Indeed. I suppose not everyone can delegate quite so effectively." He closed his book with a quiet thud, setting it aside on the mahogany side table. “You look exhausted.”

You gave a noncommittal hum, your body sagging against the cushions. “That’s one way to put it. It’s just been… one of those days.”

He rose to his feet with the kind of languid grace that spoke of countless years perfecting even the smallest of movements, as if the very act of standing could be an art form. His gaze swept over you, and in the quiet moments that followed, the transformation began—the slow thawing of the ice around him.

"Wait here," he instructed softly, before disappearing down the hallway.

When he returned, he was carrying a pair of fluffy slippers, the ones you kept tucked away at the back of the closet. He knelt before you, an unexpected gesture that pulled you from your fatigue-induced haze, and with the same careful precision he applied to everything else in life, he slipped them onto your feet. His fingers brushed against your skin, and you could swear you felt the faintest spark of warmth where they touched.

"Come," he said, standing again and extending a hand towards you. "Dinner is nearly ready."

You allowed him to lead you into the dining room, where the rich aroma of a simmering meal filled the air, the scent of garlic, rosemary, and roasted vegetables weaving together in an enticing blend. On the table sat two place settings, a bottle of your favorite wine, and a dish covered to keep the heat trapped inside. It was a sight that instantly made the day’s stress seem like a distant memory.

"You cooked?" you asked, incredulous as you took in the scene.

"I’m fully capable of following basic culinary instructions," he replied dryly, though there was a trace of amusement in his eyes. "Now sit, and allow me the rare pleasure of serving you."

The meal was simple but delicious—a roasted chicken, golden potatoes, and seasoned vegetables, paired perfectly with the deep, velvety wine. Mycroft poured your glass first, as he always did, with the kind of etiquette that had become second nature to him.

As you ate, the tension slowly ebbed from your muscles, replaced by a gentle warmth that spread through you, not just from the meal or the fire, but from the quiet intimacy of sharing this moment. Mycroft, usually terse and preoccupied, allowed himself to relax, his features softening as he listened to your accounts of the day. He commented occasionally, offering wry observations that made you laugh and rolled his eyes at the absurdity of office politics.

When you had finished, he was already ahead of you, standing to clear the dishes before you could insist on doing it yourself. "None of that, now," he chided. "You are under strict orders to relax."

As he moved about the kitchen, he carried himself with the same air of precision, each step purposeful, each motion refined. You observed him as he worked, feeling the familiar flutter in your chest. It wasn’t often that you were graced with this side of Mycroft Holmes—the attentive partner who pampered and doted, albeit in his own way. It was a side that the rest of the world would never see. To them, he was the British government, a man of intellect and authority wrapped in a cold, imposing exterior. But to you, he was something more—someone who had learned to defrost in the presence of love.

When he returned, his sleeves rolled up and his usual sternness tempered by the gentleness in his gaze, he reached for your hand. "Come," he said, his voice softening. "There’s something else I’d like to show you."

He led you to the bathroom, where a bath had already been drawn, the surface of the water shimmering with fragrant oils and surrounded by the glow of a dozen flickering candles. The warmth of the room wrapped around you like a blanket, chasing away the last remnants of the chill that had clung to you all day.

Mycroft’s hands moved to remove your clothing with a practiced ease that spoke of the years you had shared together. “You’ve earned this,” he murmured against your ear, his breath warm on your skin. "Now, enjoy it."

Once you were immersed in the bath, the heat soaking into your tired muscles, he did not leave as you expected. Instead, he took a seat on the nearby stool, his long fingers deftly massaging your temples, trailing down the back of your neck, tracing a line of warmth along your spine. It was a kind of care you knew he would never show to anyone else, a private language spoken only in the sanctuary of your shared life.

For a man so famously detached, his touch held a surprising amount of tenderness. It was as though the very act of tending to you brought him some unspoken peace, a quiet satisfaction that no position or title could grant him.

"Mycroft," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. "Thank you. For everything."

His hand stilled, and for a moment, you wondered if you had broken some unspoken rule by being so candid. But then he leaned forward, his lips pressing a chaste kiss to your damp forehead. "You’re welcome, my dear," he replied, his voice a low murmur. "Though, as you well know, I do not do these things out of some obligation. I do them because…" He trailed off, and there was a pause before he continued. "Because love, real love, is seeing all the flaws, the scars, the weariness—and choosing to stay. Something I know you do each and every day.”

You gazed up at him, and in his pale eyes, you saw the quiet promise of a man who had found his heart’s refuge in you. It wasn’t a grand declaration or an ostentatious display of affection—it was something far more enduring. It was the gentle unraveling of the formidable man before you, a defrosting that came not with time, but with trust.

As the water cooled and the candles burned low, you knew that no matter how many long days or bitter nights lay ahead, there would always be this—this shared sanctuary where the warmth of Mycroft’s quiet love would be enough to melt away the chill of the world outside.