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sillygoose067 · 2 months ago

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Wrong Bag, Right Time

Lewis Pullman x Reader

You’re already regretting your decision to book the late-night flight by the time you step off the plane. Your brain is a thick fog, your legs are stiff, and your eyes are burning from a barely-there nap sandwiched between two chatty seatmates. The fluorescent airport lights feel like a personal attack as you shuffle through the terminal, clutching your carry-on and weaving through a sea of bleary-eyed travelers.

You follow the signs to the baggage claim, your body moving on autopilot, ears still ringing from the jet engines and the tinny airline announcements. You lean against a cool, steel column, rolling your shoulders back as you wait for the belt to start rumbling. Around you, people are already gathering, faces drawn and eyes darting every few seconds as the carousel creaks to life.

Bags start thudding onto the belt, one after another — a parade of black, navy, and occasionally neon roller bags that look like they’ve been through multiple rounds of airport roulette. You squint, eyes scanning the blur of luggage as it slowly snakes its way around the conveyor.

Your suitcase is black, a standard roller bag with a scuffed corner and a strip of faded, decorative tape around the handle — a last-minute attempt to make it easier to spot in the chaos. When you finally catch sight of it, you push through the small crowd, reaching for the handle just as a kid with a Spider-Man backpack nearly trips over his own shoes, forcing you to dodge sideways to avoid a collision.

You grab the suitcase and wrestle it off the belt, feeling the reassuring weight of your overpacked essentials as the wheels clatter onto the tile. It’s a little heavier than you remember, but then again, you crammed it full of work documents, laptop accessories, and enough backup phone chargers to power a small tech convention.

Dragging it toward the exit, you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the glossy airport windows — hair mussed, eyes smudged with exhaustion, and your blouse slightly wrinkled from a restless sleep against the plane window. You sigh, mentally promising yourself a long, hot shower the second you get to your hotel.

The shuttle to the car rental lot is packed, every inch of space claimed by tourists and business travelers with the same dazed expressions you’re sure you’re wearing. You brace yourself against a pole, your suitcase tucked between your knees as the bus lurches into motion, bumping over the uneven tarmac.

By the time you reach your hotel, you’re practically running on fumes, dragging your suitcase through the lobby and into the elevator with a series of clumsy, exhausted jerks. You fish out your key card, nearly dropping it twice before you manage to swipe it through the reader and stumble into your room.

Your heels come off first, clattering to the floor with a dull thud as you toss your bag onto the bed. You flick on the bedside lamp, the warm glow instantly making the small space feel a little less sterile.

The water from the shower is scalding, and you let it beat down on your shoulders, eyes closed as the steam fills the small bathroom, fogging the mirror and making the tiles beneath your feet slick. You let yourself stand there longer than necessary, feeling the tension slowly drain from your muscles, the ache in your lower back gradually easing.

Wrapped in a thick hotel towel, you shuffle back into the main room, hair dripping onto the carpet as you flip open your suitcase, ready to dig out your comfiest, most threadbare shirt and collapse into bed.

But when you peel back the top layer of clothing, your fingers don’t hit neatly folded blouses or the sensible, corporate slacks you’d meticulously packed. Instead, you pull out a rumpled Led Zeppelin tee, its soft, well-worn fabric clearly belonging to someone who’s spent years living in it.

You blink, holding it up, the faded graphic stretching across the front like a relic from another lifetime. Confused, you dig deeper, pulling out a small mountain of band tees, a denim jacket with fraying patches sewn into the sleeves, and a battered leather notebook, its cover creased and edges worn.

Your pulse quickens as you flip through the pages, finding half-finished sketches, messy notes in looping cursive, and the occasional smudge of ink where someone clearly wrote in a hurry. There’s a faint, musky scent clinging to the pages, a mix of worn leather and old cologne.

“Wait...” you murmur, setting the notebook aside as you reach for a thick stack of papers wedged against the side of the case. It’s a printed script, the title bold at the top and someone’s lines heavily highlighted in yellow.

You glance back at the open suitcase, your mind racing, heart thudding against your ribs as you fish out a small, laminated luggage tag tangled in the zipper. It flips over in your hand, the plastic cool and slightly warped from years of travel.

“L.P.”

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.” You sink onto the edge of the bed, the towel slipping from your shoulders as you stare at the mismatched pile of someone else’s life spread across your hotel sheets.

---

Across town, Lewis Pullman hauls his suitcase up the narrow stairwell to his apartment, one hand gripping the railing as he leans into the climb, every muscle in his legs protesting the final stretch. He fumbles for his keys, and finally shoulders his way inside, the familiar, comforting chaos of his one-bedroom coming into focus as he kicks the door shut behind him.

He toes off his boots, letting them fall wherever they land, and drags the suitcase into his cramped living room, tossing his jacket onto the back of the couch. The streetlights outside cast thin, golden strips across the walls, and his refrigerator hums steadily in the otherwise silent space.

He flips open the suitcase, too tired to even think about organizing, and reaches blindly for a clean shirt. Instead, his hand lands on something stiff and sharply pressed.

Lewis frowns, pulling out a neatly folded stack of dress shirts, their collars crisp and perfectly creased. He blinks, eyebrows knitting together as he digs deeper, pulling out tailored slacks and a leather-bound planner with a small, discreet logo embossed on the corner.

“What the...” He flips the planner open, eyes skimming over tightly packed meeting notes, detailed itineraries, and a color-coded calendar that looks like the work of someone who genuinely enjoys spreadsheets.

He reaches for a thick, intimidating-looking folder marked “Confidential” in bold letters, his heart sinking further as he flips it open to reveal a stack of professionally printed documents.

“Oh, no. No, no, no.” He lets the folder drop onto the floor, running a hand through his already messy hair as he stares at the unfamiliar contents of what is very clearly not his suitcase.

Somewhere out there, someone is currently rifling through his tangle of band tees, scribbled notes, and, worst of all, his heavily highlighted script for a new gig he'd just scored.

---

You stare at the suitcase spread open on your hotel bed, the pile of band tees and creased notebook sitting there like a physical reminder of the chaos your life has just become. You should do something — call the airline, maybe, or at least try to figure out who this L.P. is before their missing luggage becomes your permanent problem.

But you’re exhausted. The kind of tired that settles deep in your bones, turning your thoughts into molasses and making even the simplest task feel monumental.

You let out a long, frustrated sigh, rubbing your eyes and glancing at the clock on the bedside table. It’s already pushing 1 a.m., and the idea of trying to navigate a customer service call right now feels like a special kind of hell.

“Alright, fine,” you mutter to the empty room, tossing the vintage tees back into the suitcase and flipping the lid closed. You’ll deal with it in the morning, when your brain is at least somewhat functional. For now, you just need sleep.

You crawl into bed, still vaguely damp from the shower, and tug the covers up to your chin. The mattress is firmer than you’d like, the pillow a little too thin, but it doesn’t take long for the steady hum of the hotel air conditioning to lull you into a deep, dreamless sleep.

---

Across town, Lewis drops onto his couch, head thudding against the worn armrest as he stares up at the cracked ceiling. The folder of mysterious corporate documents is still sitting on the coffee table, its thick, embossed cover practically daring him to open it again.

He considers getting up, maybe flipping through the papers for a hint about who his mystery bag-swapping stranger might be, but the thought alone makes his eyes feel heavier. He’s not exactly equipped for a late-night detective mission right now, not with the remnants of jet lag still clinging to his brain like a wet blanket.

“Tomorrow,” he grumbles, kicking his feet up onto the armrest and letting his eyes drift shut. He’ll deal with it in the morning, when his brain isn’t actively trying to shut down.

---

The next morning comes far too quickly. You wake to the sharp, insistent chime of your phone alarm, the sound cutting through your foggy consciousness like a knife. You groan, slapping at your phone until it goes blessedly silent, and roll onto your back, staring up at the bland, popcorn-textured ceiling.

It takes a moment for the events of the previous night to come rushing back — the wrong suitcase, the unfamiliar band tees, the mysterious L.P. luggage tag. You sit up slowly, rubbing at your eyes and trying to shake the lingering cobwebs from your brain.

First things first: your own suitcase. You’d had the foresight to slip an Apple AirTag into one of the side pockets before your flight, a small, paranoid part of you always worrying about exactly this kind of mix-up.

You grab your phone, opening the Find My app with a flick of your thumb, but the screen just loads into a frustratingly empty map, the little green dot stubbornly refusing to show up. Too far away, probably. You grit your teeth, already regretting not springing for the upgraded model with the longer range.

You tap the call icon and put the phone to your ear, bouncing your knee as it rings.

“Thank you for calling Apple Support. Please hold while we connect you to the next available representative.”

You resist the urge to groan, your fingers tapping an impatient rhythm against the hotel comforter as the tinny hold music crackles in your ear.

---

Across town, Lewis is having his own version of a chaotic morning. He’s halfway through his second cup of coffee, hair still damp from a hurried shower, as he flips through the stack of neatly printed documents that had been sitting in what he thought was his suitcase.

Every page is packed with dense, professional text — contracts, meeting agendas, and what looks like a series of legal documents with a name scrawled at the bottom in neat, looping handwriting.

“Alright,” he mutters to himself, leaning back against the kitchen counter as he taps the name into his phone’s search bar.

Results flood the screen, a frustratingly long list of people with the same name scattered across LinkedIn profiles, news articles, and random blog posts. He scrolls through the first few pages, trying to find anything that might match the person he accidentally luggage-swapped with, but it’s like looking for a needle in a very, very crowded haystack.

He blows out a breath, tossing his phone onto the counter and rubbing the back of his neck. His manager is going to kill him when they find out about this. Still, he can’t exactly let a stranger hold on to his scribbled notes and half-finished script forever.

“Alright, screw it,” he says, grabbing his phone again and pulling up his manager’s contact.

“Sam, hey, I’ve got a situation,” he says as soon as the line connects, pacing a tight circle in his small kitchen. “No, it’s not like last time. I just... I might have swapped bags with someone at the airport, and I have no idea who they are, but they’ve got my script. And my stuff. All my stuff.”

There’s a long pause on the other end, the kind that usually means Sam is resisting the urge to throw his phone against the nearest wall.

“Okay,” Sam finally says, his voice a carefully measured calm. “Here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to take the bag you’ve got and head back to the airport. There’s a decent chance the other person will do the same once they realize they’ve got the wrong bag.”

Lewis sighs, glancing at the stack of neatly folded dress shirts and leather-bound planner sitting innocently on his counter.

“Yeah, alright,” he mutters, grabbing his keys off the hook by the door. “I’m on my way.”

---

Meanwhile, your Apple Support call finally connects, a cheery voice on the other end promising to walk you through the steps to locate your missing suitcase. You glance over at the still-open bag on the bed, the crumpled script catching your eye.

Maybe it’s time to finally figure out who the hell L.P. is. You grab the thick stack of papers, flipping to the cover page and skimming the title. Your eyes widen as the name Lewis Pullman jumps out at you, the pieces suddenly falling into place.

Lewis Pullman. The actor. Bill Pullman’s son.

You stare at the script in your hands, heart thudding in your chest as the full weight of your accidental heist hits you.

“Oh, no,” you mutter, sinking back onto the bed. “What have I done?”

---

Lewis taps his fingers against the steering wheel, jaw tight as he stares at the congested freeway ahead. The morning sun glares off the windshields around him, turning the LA traffic into a slow, blinding crawl. He glances at the passenger seat, where your neatly packed suitcase sits like a silent accusation, the crisp corners and tasteful leather trim a stark contrast to the chaos he’s used to.

By the time he finally reaches LAX, the nerves in his stomach have twisted into a full-on knot. He parks and hauls the suitcase through the labyrinth of terminals, the weight of his mistake pressing down on his shoulders.

The airport is buzzing with activity, the steady thrum of engines and the chaotic clatter of luggage creating a backdrop of controlled chaos as he heads for the airline counter.

The attendant at the lost and found desk looks up, raising a perfectly manicured eyebrow as Lewis approaches, his suitcase clutched in a white-knuckled grip.

“Hi, I... I think I accidentally swapped bags with someone on my flight last night,” he says, his voice coming out a little more strained than he intended. He sets your suitcase on the counter, running a hand through his hair as he tries to sound less like a sleep-deprived mess. “This isn’t mine. I’m hoping the person who has mine will come looking for theirs, too.”

The attendant nods, typing something into the computer and giving him a weary, knowing smile — the kind that says this isn’t the first time someone’s stumbled in with the wrong bag and a panicked expression.

“Just leave it here,” she says, slapping a tag on the handle and sliding it onto the cart behind her. “If the other person comes by, we’ll let them know you dropped it off.”

Lewis hesitates, fingers still wrapped around the handle, his brain fighting a ridiculous urge to hold onto the bag a little longer. He gives it a final, reluctant nudge, watching as the cart wheels it away and disappears into the maze of behind-the-scenes airport chaos.

With a deep, tired sigh, he turns and heads back to his car, hands shoved into his pockets as the sounds of the bustling terminal fade behind him.

---

Meanwhile, back in your hotel room, you’ve entered the frantic, mildly horrifying phase of a full-on internet spiral. Your laptop is balanced precariously on the edge of the bed, multiple tabs open on Lewis Pullman.

You grab your phone, pacing the small stretch of carpet between the bed and the window as you pull up his IMDb page, half-hoping there’ll be a contact button you can just click to resolve this mess. But of course, there isn’t. The closest you get is a list of his past projects and a handful of magazine interviews that all seem to paint him as the down-to-earth, quietly intense type.

Finally, after what feels like a small eternity of frantic googling, you stumble across what you think might be his manager’s number, tucked away on an obscure industry listing. You dial it, hands shaking a little as the line rings, each passing second making your pulse thud harder against your ribs.

Voicemail.

You hang up, your breath coming out in a short, frustrated huff as you toss your phone onto the bed. You’re tempted to try again, maybe leave a message this time, but something about the whole situation already feels too much like a scene from a bad rom-com, and you’re not sure you can handle the embarrassment of leaving a rambling, half-panicked voicemail for a guy you’ve never even met.

Finally, you decide to cut your losses and head back to the airport, clutching Lewis’s battered suitcase like a lifeline as you weave through the bustling lobby and make a beeline for the lost and found desk.

An attendant is sitting there, her expression unimpressed as she types away at her computer. You clear your throat, shifting your weight nervously as you set the bag on the counter.

“Hi, I think I accidentally swapped bags with someone on my flight last night,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “I just... I just want to leave this here, in case they come looking for it. It’s got a lot of their stuff in it, and I’m, um, really hoping mine is still somewhere in the system.”

The attendant glances at you over the top of her computer, her expression a mix of boredom and mild curiosity. She slaps a tag onto the handle of the suitcase and adds it to the same cart Lewis’s bag disappeared on earlier.

“We’ll call you if we find anything,” she says, already turning back to her screen.

You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat as you scribble your name and number on the form she slides your way. It feels weirdly final, like you’re closing the book on a strange, mildly mortifying chapter of your life.

---

A few weeks pass, and the whole suitcase fiasco slowly slips into the background noise of your daily routine — a bizarre, slightly embarrassing story you’ll probably share with friends over drinks someday.

But then, just as you’re starting to convince yourself that you’ll never see your meticulously packed suitcase again, your phone buzzes with a call from an unknown number.

“Hello?” you say, balancing your phone against your shoulder as you fumble with your laptop.

“Hi, this is LAX Lost and Found. We’ve located your suitcase. You can come pick it up anytime this evening.”

---

You arrive at the counter a little breathless, the memory of your original suitcase still a fresh sting as you approach. But just as you step up to the desk, another figure rushes up beside you, his sneakers squeaking against the polished tile.

“Hi, I’m here to pick up my suitcase —” you both start, your voices overlapping in a messy, tangled echo.

You glance at each other, both of you wide-eyed and a little winded, and then immediately look away, the awkward tension settling like a heavy fog. He’s tall, a little scruffy around the edges, his hair tousled like he’s run his hands through it one too many times. There’s a brief flicker of recognition in his eyes, like he’s trying to place you, but then he quickly looks down, rubbing the back of his neck as if he’s suddenly aware of how tightly the air feels around you both.

The attendant rolls her eyes, bending to grab two identical suitcases from the back, her movements sharp with barely disguised exasperation.

“Here,” she says, shoving both bags onto the counter with a loud thunk. “I assume you two know which is which this time?”

You and Lewis both reach for your respective bags, pausing to double-check the scuffs and ID tags, even unzipping the top a few inches just to be sure.

When you both exhale in relief, catching each other’s eye for a split second, his mouth opens, closes, and then opens again, like he’s trying to catch the right words before they slip away.

“Uh, hey,” he starts, one hand gripping the handle of his suitcase, the other half-raised in a tentative gesture. “I, uh... just wanted to say thanks for, you know, bringing my stuff back. I know that, uh, it probably... wasn’t the most convenient thing.” He lets out a little breathy chuckle, eyes dropping to his shoes for a second. “I mean, I’m not sure what I would’ve done if you hadn’t.”

You let out a small, relieved laugh, the lingering tension breaking like the first crack of a smile after a long, awkward silence.

“No, it’s fine. I... kinda panicked when I realized what I had. Almost didn’t want to touch anything, but, uh... yeah.” You bite your lip, feeling a little of the same nervous energy radiating off him.

He nods, his shoulders relaxing a bit, and he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, like he’s working up the nerve for something.

“So, uh...” he hesitates, his gaze flicking back up to yours, the corners of his mouth twitching in a hesitant, lopsided grin. “Maybe we could, I dunno, grab a coffee sometime? Or, uh, dinner, if that’s... less weird?”

You blink, a little caught off guard by the sudden offer, but the earnest, slightly flustered look on his face makes it hard not to smile.

“Yeah,” you say, nodding before you can second-guess yourself. “Dinner sounds nice.”

“Cool, cool,” he says quickly, letting out a breath that sounds suspiciously like a silent cheer. He fumbles for his phone, nearly dropping it as he tries to unlock it with one hand, his cheeks turning a little pink. “Uh, here, just... give me your number and I’ll... yeah.”

You chuckle, tapping your info into his phone as he watches, his eyes crinkling at the edges when you hand it back.

“Alright, well... I’ll text you,” he says, stepping back with a little half-wave. “Thanks again. Seriously.”

You nod, your heart doing an odd little flip as you watch him turn and weave back into the airport crowd, his suitcase rolling behind him, the wheels clattering against the polished floor.

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xinganhao · 3 months ago

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cherry on top 🍒 mafia boss!seungcheol x reader. (3)

being in a situationship is already pretty hard. being in a situationship with a petty mafia boss who has never dated before? much, much harder. previous chapter + masterlist.

💰 Expense report filed by mafia financial officer, Lee Seokmin

SUBJECT: Personal Expenditures – S.Coups re: Civilian Target

CATEGORY: GIFTS / SURPRISES

Custom Silk Scarf (Monogrammed with "S.C.") – $1,350.00 └ Ordered from Paris boutique. Civilian target wore it once, commented: "It's soft, but why is his name on it?"

Limited Edition Vinyl Record (Frank Ocean – Blonde) – $880.00 └ Gifted after argument #7. Civilian target was seen smiling while playing track 14.

Midnight Ice Cream Delivery – From Rome, Italy – $4,700.00 (incl. private courier) └ Civilian target said: "You could've just gotten Häagen-Dazs." Boss replied: "This has basil. It’s romantic."

CATEGORY: DAMAGE CONTROL / APOLOGIES

Floral Arrangements (x12) from 12 Different Florists – $2,160.00 └ Delivered over 48 hours post-miscommunication re: "flirting waiter" incident. One bouquet was left untouched in the hallway. The rest were used as Instagram story props.

Therapist Retainer (Anonymous Booking, Civilian Target) – $3,000.00 └ Civilian target has not claimed these sessions. Boss insists it's "just in case she realizes she needs help processing me."

Reimbursement for Civilian Target’s Broken Mug (accidentally knocked over during jealous argument) – $25.00 └ Mug was shaped like a cat. Boss replaced it with an expensive glass tumbler. Civilian target was not amused.

CATEGORY: SMALL & QUESTIONABLE EXPENSES

Custom Engraved Bullet Pendant ("So You Think I’m Scary, Huh?") – $300.00 └ Intended as ironic gift. Civilian target laughed, wore it once to annoy him. Boss framed photo.

Spotify Premium (Family Plan – Only One Member) – $15.99/mo └ Boss created 17hr playlist titled "if i die it’s her fault but i’d still thank her." Civilian target unknowingly listens to it often.

Gluten-Free Baking Class (Online, Gifted to Civilian Target’s Aunt) – $220.00 └ She mentioned her aunt wanted it. He took notes. Civilian target unaware of mafia-funded culinary education in progress.

Donation to Shelter Where Civilian Target Volunteers – $5,000.00 └ Made anonymously. Boss requested they name a puppy after her. They did. Civilian target unsure why a rottweiler named "Beloved" exists.

CATEGORY: UNAUTHORIZED PERSONAL SPENDING

Rental of Entire Rooftop Restaurant for "Casual Talk" – $12,000.00 └ Civilian target refused to show up. Ate ramen alone at home. Boss sat through three-course meal with two phones: one for business, one specifically for her texts and calls.

Suit Tailoring (New Lapels for Better Hug Experience) – $900.00 └ Boss: "She said my suits were stiff. I made them hug-friendly."

Jet Fuel Surcharge – Roundtrip to Seoul, 3 hours total visit – $15,700.00 └ Purpose: "To see her smile."

TOTAL EXPENSES TO DATE: $49,250.99

RECOMMENDATION/S: Immediate financial intervention or a mandatory sit-down with Boss regarding boundaries, budgets, and basic human dating behavior.

👂 Surveillance transcript filed by mafia soldier, Chwe Hansol

DATE RANGE: ███████████-███████████ LOCATION: Civilian Target's Apartment, Unit 13S BUG #7: Living Room Lamp (Active)

TRANSCRIPT 001 – 23:43 HRS

S.COUPS: Why is there a toothbrush that’s not mine in your bathroom? YOU: Because I live here. And sometimes people visit me. It’s called having a life. S.COUPS: Who visits you? Give me names. Socials. Blood types. YOU: You are so exhausting. [SOUND: Footsteps. Fridge opens.] S.COUPS: Don’t change the subject. That toothbrush has a blue handle. Blue is a masculine color. YOU: Oh my god, are you jealous of a toothbrush now? [SOUND: Prolonged silence. Soft muttering.] S.COUPS: ...It’s suspiciously ergonomic.

TRANSCRIPT 004 – 07:12 HRS

YOU: Why are you folding my laundry? S.COUPS: Because you do it wrong. YOU: What does that even mean? S.COUPS: You mix textures. Cotton with wool. It’s chaos. This is what chaos feels like. YOU: You literally blow up cars for a living. S.COUPS: Yeah, but strategically.

TRANSCRIPT 008 – 14:09 HRS

YOU: Why is there a bag of gummy bears on my pillow? S.COUPS: You said you liked them. YOU: Once. In passing. S.COUPS: I take notes. On everything. You also like your coffee with oat milk and you talk in your sleep about octopus documentaries. YOU: That’s creepy. S.COUPS: It’s called “caring.” YOU: It’s called surveillance. [SOUND: Muffled laughing, presumably from YOU.]

TRANSCRIPT 015 – 00:03 HRS

YOU: Did you pick a fight with your own underboss because he liked one of my photos? S.COUPS: He put a heart and a fire emoji. That’s a double reaction. It’s aggressive. YOU: You are so—so emotionally constipated. S.COUPS: You say that like it’s a bad thing. YOU: It is a bad thing! [SOUND: Struggle noises, unclear. Presumed YOU threw a pillow at S.COUPS and he retaliated by tackling YOU on to the couch.] NOTE: Possible physical altercation turns to intimacy. Redacted for discretion.

TRANSCRIPT 017 – 01:26 HRS

YOU: Stop staring at me. S.COUPS: I’m memorizing your face. Don’t make this harder than it is. [SILENCE FOR 13 SECONDS.] YOU: ...Why is there a tiny blinking light in my lamp? S.COUPS: Oh no. YOU: Did you seriously bug my apartment?! S.COUPS: Okay, first of all, you’re being very judgmental right now. YOU: Because you’re a lunatic. S.COUPS: I'll give you one guess as to whose fault is that. YOU: Take the damn bug out of my lamp, you psycho! NOTE: S.COUPS neglected to turn bug off. Argument ensued; redacted for discretion. Intimacy ensued. Also redacted.

END OF AVAILABLE TRANSCRIPT. ADDT'L NOTE: REQUESTING TO BE MOVED OUT OF SURVEILLANCE DIVISON ASAP.

📓 Therapy session notes filed by Dr. Boo Seungkwan, licensed psychiatrist affiliated with ████████ Syndicate

SESSION: 3rd of prescribed 10-week cycle

INITIAL OBSERVATIONS: Patient arrived precisely on time, wearing a tailored black suit, slightly wrinkled as though he'd been pacing before arrival. Hair unkempt, hands clenched for most of the session. Eyes noticeably tired. Declined water. Brought a half-eaten bag of gummy bears, claiming "They calm me down. She likes them too."

Presented with guarded posture, alternating between overconfidence and sudden emotional vulnerability. Exhibits hallmark signs of high-functioning control dependence, paired with emotional suppression and limited interpersonal processing tools.

SESSION THEMES

1. Obsession with Control: Patient admits to bugging the civilian target’s apartment ("It was for her safety") and maintaining a detailed log of her daily habits. Claims these measures are a form of care. When asked what he fears would happen without this control, he replied, "She might stop needing me."

Expressed frustration when civilian target expressed autonomy: "She does things without telling me. Like she has a life or something." Tone was sarcastic but undercut with genuine confusion.

2. Difficulty Processing Emotions

Patient struggles to name his emotions beyond anger and protectiveness. When prompted to describe how he feels when civilian target smiles at him, he paused for 47 seconds before muttering: "Like I'm about to combust, but in a good way?"

Displays discomfort with perceived emotional weakness. Used humor and territorial possessiveness to deflect.

Quote: "She called me emotionally constipated. That's unfair. I feel things. I just don't show them. I'm not a chihuahua in a sweater." (Analogy unclear.)

3. Devotion to Civilian Target

His attachment is intense and deeply internalized. He referenced at least eight specific events he organized to make her life easier, ranging from "tailoring suit lapels for better hugs" to "funding her aunt’s gluten-free hobby."

Refers to her as "the only thing that makes me think twice before pulling a trigger."

Appears to be undergoing identity shift: from feared mafia boss to a man attempting—often poorly—to be emotionally available. Indicates willingness to grow, albeit via unconventional and often unhinged methods.

Notable Quote: "I don't know what being a boyfriend means. But if it means checking all her windows are locked and ordering her ice cream from Italy when she's sad, then I'm already trying."

TREATMENT PLAN

Begin cognitive restructuring around concepts of emotional intimacy vs. surveillance.

Introduce grounding techniques for obsessive behaviors.

Assign weekly "emotional vocabulary" journaling.

Strongly recommend cessation of all illegal tracking devices.

PROGNOSIS: Patient displays exceptional loyalty, obsessive commitment, and a deep desire to improve for the sake of the civilian target. Progress will be slow, as foundational emotional processing tools are underdeveloped. However, signs of potential are present.

Patient left session saying, "Don't tell her I cried. But also, maybe do. I don't know. What would make her like me more?" Then insisted that I forward these notes to her, threatening to cease sessions otherwise. Will have to consult with mafia leadership.

DIAGNOSIS: High-functioning attachment disorder with control dependency and romantic maladjustment. Currently treating with compassion, sarcasm, and an iron will.

NEXT SESSION SCHEDULED: ████████

› scroll through all my work ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ my masterlist | @xinganhao

#seungcheol x reader #scoups x reader #seungcheol imagines #scoups imagines #seungcheol smau #scoups smau #svt text imagines #svt x reader #seventeen x reader #svt smau #seventeen smau #── ᵎᵎ ✦ mine #── ᵎᵎ ✦ series: cot

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vroomvro0mferrari · 9 months ago

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LN4 | Vexing Vacation – Part 1

Summary: When you agreed to join your brother on his vacation, sharing a room with his best friend wasn’t part of the plan. Now, that you’re constantly stuck with Lando and his relentless teasing, you’re not sure whether you want to strangle him or kiss him.

Lando Norris x Fewtrell!Reader, one-bed trope, a lot of banter and a hint of forced proximity :)

WC: 3.1K

Warnings: mentions of sex/sexual insinuations, and cursing (as always)

Masterlist | Part 2

Y/N sighed as she stared at her suitcase. She would never get it closed without breaking the zipper. She opened it again, going through the selection of clothes while she asked herself which of her items weren’t absolutely necessary. The unfortunate answer was that she needed everything.

She had wild plans for the short vacation her brother had invited her on. According to him, she had been too stressed the last couple of months, and she desperately needed some time off. Along with the promise that he’d take care of everything, she had agreed to join his trip. She could use a one-night stand, or two and a little flirting to get her mind off her busy job.

However, there was the small nuisance of Lando coming along. Ever since he gained some confidence after his career took off and girls started herding him, he had been mocking her and making extremely inappropriate comments. He had changed over the years and Max had told her all about it. He told her about his new endeavours with the ladies; how he brought a different girl home every weekend and never spoke to them again. The attention was feeding his ever-growing ego, and it annoyed Y/N endlessly. He needed someone to put him in his place, and she would volunteer every time.

She smiled triumphantly when she finally zipped her suitcase closed with half an hour to spare. Sitting on her couch and scrolling on her phone, she waited for her brother to pick her up on his way to the airport. They greeted each other quickly before they took off, Y/N and Pietra catching up and discussing their plans for the week as Max drove.

Once they arrived at the airport, she spotted Lando all too quickly, casually leaning against a pillar near the check-in. He was wearing sunglasses (inside – like some lunatic) and a cocky smile on his face when he saw them approaching.

“Y/N Fewtrell. It’s been a while…”

“If only it lasted longer,” She responded.

Lando smiled at her reply, enjoying her feisty character whereas Max hissed into her ear, “Play nice.”

“Let’s board?” Lando asked. “The jet’s ready, I think.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Private?”

“Yes. Are you impressed?”

“Hardly,” she scoffed before rolling her suitcase to the plane.

The group arrived at their destination in no time – flying private really did have its perks – and drove the rental car to the resort. Taxis were a no-go when half of the people on the trip were professional drivers, and apparently, so were ordinary cars.

The porter took the bags out of the trunk and Lando handed the keys to the valet driver before they entered the hotel. Y/N took a seat in one of the luxurious chairs in the hotel lobby while she let her brother manage the check-in. She was people-watching when the group joined her.

“Okay… So, there’s been a little mishap…” Y/N looked at her brother with narrowed eyes.

“What did you do?” She said in a low tone.

“So, I may have forgotten to book an extra room for you…” Max admitted.

“What?”

“And they have no other rooms left, even the most expensive ones are taken.”

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

“I’m not,” he paused, “but, you can share with Lando.”

Of course, Lando would oh-so-heroically offer to share his room with her. She could just smack the smirk right off his face.

“Max, can I talk to you for a minute – in private?” Y/N asked, an innocent smile on her face, before forcefully pulling her brother aside.

“I can’t sleep in the same room as Lando, Max. I had plans for this vacation, plans that can’t happen if I’m sharing a room with Lando.”

Max raised an eyebrow at her insinuation but didn’t comment on it. “Well, what other option do you have?” He said, crossing his arms.

“I could share a room with Pietra, and you can share with Lando…” she suggested, smiling up at her brother sweetly. “Please?”

Max sighed. “I don’t know about that, Y/N. Pietra and I have plans too, you know. Plans that include nightly activities. In bed,” He clarified.

Y/N pulled a face of disgust but offered her brother the same courteousness of ignoring the comment. “Are you serious, Max? You’re okay with me, your little baby sister, sharing a room – a bed, with Lando Norris? You know well enough that he’s always trying to get into my pants. This is your fault, you know. You told me you had taken care of everything.”

“I don’t like this as much as you do, but there’s not really another choice, is there?”

“Yes, there is. I told you, I can room with—”

“Y/N. Don’t be childish, you’ll be fine sharing a room for a few nights.”

“He’s going to try to take my innocence, Max. You can’t let that happen. You’re my big brother. You’re supposed to protect me, not throw me into the lion’s den.” Y/N tried, pulling out all the stops in the hope Max would change his mind. There was no other card she could play. She was tugging on his arm, practically begging him in the middle of the hotel lobby. If Lando and Pietra didn’t already know what was going on, they sure would know now.

Max rolled his eyes. “Your innocence has been gone for years, I’m sure,” Y/N gasped in offence, “It’s not going to work, make the best of it, yeah?” He concluded, patting her back before walking back to the group.

She watched as her brother walked away, frustration clear on her face, but she joined him only a couple of seconds later; she needed to make the best of this, after all, and it was too late to go home now.

As her eyes met Lando’s, she could already feel a wave of irritation come over her. He was standing casually, the stupid sunglasses still perched on his nose, hands tucked in his pockets, and a smirk plastered on his face as if he knew exactly how her conversation had gone.

“You really don’t want to share a bed with me, do you?” He asked her as soon as she was near enough.

Y/N crossed her arms, glaring at him. “What gave it away?”

“Could’ve been the part where you begged your brother not to throw you into the lion’s den,” Lando said, raising his eyebrows playfully. “Or maybe the part where you said I’m always trying to get into your pants.” He feigned hurt, putting a hand over his chest. “All those years of flirting down the drain…”

He chuckled softly at her angry expression, the sound infuriatingly smug. “Look, you’re making this into a bigger deal than it is. But don’t worry,” he added, his voice dropped as he leaned closer, “I’ll be the gentleman here. You can take the couch.”

Y/N blinked. “What?” She hissed.

“The couch, it’s all yours. I’ll suffer through the luxury of the bed.” He sighed dramatically before turning toward the elevator, casually slinging his bag over his shoulder.

“See you upstairs, roommate,” he winked, stepping inside as the doors slid shut.

Her jaw was slack as she watched him disappear behind the sliding doors. She turned to Max angrily, “What the fuck is wrong with him? Did he fall on his head as a child or something?”

Pietra laughed softly as she wrapped her arms around Max’s waist. “He’s just teasing you, Y/N. It’ll be fine. Come on, let’s go up.”

– – – – –

“I’m not sleeping on the couch,” Y/N said as soon as she entered the room.

“Oh, hello. Good to see you.” Lando smiled smugly from his position on the bed.

She glared at him – if looks could kill he’d be dead ten times over by now. “Get. Off. My. Bed.” She forced out through her gritted teeth.

Lando stretched out even further on the bed, hands behind his head. “Your bed? If I’m not mistaken, you were an afterthought to this vacation. This room was originally mine. You should be glad I’m kind enough to share it with you.”

Y/N stared at him. She wanted to rebuke him and tell him to stay on the couch, but he was right – although she’d never admit it to his face. He was doing her a favour by sharing his room, but he would never be chivalrous enough to sacrifice his bed. She took a deep breath. “Fine,” she said, her voice cold and direct. “I guess we’ll share the bed.”

“Fine with me,” Lando said offhandedly as he messed with the remote control.

“Alright, then. I’ll go get ready for dinner.”

The silence that settled over the room was awkward, at best. Y/N felt Lando’s eyes pricking in her back as she did her makeup, and the eye contact through the mirror didn’t make it any better.

“What?” She asked, hoping for some conversation to fill the quiet.

“Nothing,” Lando responded, averting his eyes and continuing to browse through the series and movies on the TV.

Y/N frowned at the response. She’ll have to raise a topic of conversation herself, then. “Why is it so cold in here?” She asked.

“I don’t know,” Lando retorted.

“Do you think it’s cold or are you okay with the temperature?” She continued, but Lando merely shrugged in response.

Y/N sighed, setting down her brush and powder before getting up to look at the air-conditioning setting. In contrast to the rest of the room, it was an old-fashioned system with a disk with a pointer to set the temperature. She turned the disk, but the pointer didn’t move.

“Are you getting hotter?” She asked confused, not feeling a temperature difference in the air blowing out of the air conditioner.

“Don’t even try,” she added quickly before Lando could respond, already seeing the smirk form on his face.

It quickly changed into an innocent smile, “What? I was just going to say I don’t feel a difference.”

“Mhm, sure. I think the air conditioner is broken. I turned the temperature up, but it’s not getting any warmer…”

Lando got up from the bed with a sigh and walked closer to look at the buttons himself.

“You don’t have to get so close…” Y/N commented when she felt his breath hitting her neck.

“I’m trying to see what the buttons say, Y/N. I have to get close in order to do that.”

“You’re getting in my personal space.”

“Personal space? What’s that? I thought we were past the formalities.”

Y/N huffed, crossing her arms.

“I don’t know why it’s not working,” Lando continued, “It must be broken,” he concluded before walking back to the bed.

“What? Can’t you fix it?”

Lando looked at Y/N incredulously, “How am I supposed to fix it?”

“I don’t know… Aren’t you good with technology and stuff?”

“That thing is ancient, Y/N.”

She huffed. She’d just have to deal, then. She quickly changed into one of her dresses and finished her hair.

“Aren’t you going to change?” She asked Lando, who was still lying on the bed in his plane clothes.

“Hm?”

“We’re leaving any minute now. It’d be nice if you changed into something decent for dinner. We’re not eating at some dive bar, you know.”

Lando rolled his eyes and sighed, “Don’t you ever get tired of yourself?”

“Excuse me?” she retorted, crossing her arms as she stared him down, about to scold him when there was a knock on the door.

“You’re lucky this time,” she added, before letting Max and Pietra in.

She plastered a sweet smile on her face and complimented Pietra on her outfit.

“I can say the same about you,” Pietra responded kindly, pulling Y/N in for a hug.

“Oh, you’re too sweet,” Y/N waved off her comment.

“Are you ready to leave?” Max cuts in.

“Yes, don’t know about Lando though. He wouldn’t change.”

“I’m ready,” he interjected. “I don’t need as much time as some people here,” he said with a teasing smile.

“Okay, let’s go.” Max pulled her out of the room before Y/N could respond, her mouth already open to rebut his rude comment.

“Did you hear that, Max? How on earth am I supposed to get through the night – let alone the entire vacation – when he talks to me like that? I swear, I’m going to strangle him in his sleep—”

“Let’s not do that. You just need to adjust a little bit.”

“Did you hear what he said before? He asked me if I never get tired of myself. Do you know how insulting that is? He’s absolutely insufferable! His ego’s way too big, he could use someone to knock it down for him,” Y/N kept rambling as Max led her to the elevator, basically pushing her in before she quieted down.

Pietra and Lando joined them only a few seconds later, and the cocky grin on Lando’s face showed he knew exactly how much he had ticked her off, and the enjoyment he took from it. Y/N glared at him throughout the elevator ride. However, despite his earlier comments and the way he had annoyed her all day – if not all her life – she couldn’t deny he looked good.

The white shirt he had changed into, with the top buttons open and the sleeves rolled up, accentuated his muscled arms, and allowed her to see the glimmer of the silver chain around his neck – she had to admit he was attractive. When Lando caught her looking she quickly averted her gaze, looking at her nails as she picked at them. But he had already noticed, his grin only becoming cockier. The confidence with which he carried himself, although extremely frustrating and unnecessary, had caught her eye along with all the other girls’, but it wasn’t enough to make up for his annoying behaviour.

– – – – –

The dinner was uncomfortable.

Of course, Y/N and Lando had to be seated across from each other. And if the discussions earlier that day didn’t display their dislike for each other, the lack of conversation at the dinner table certainly did. They didn’t exchange a single word until Y/N snapped at him.

“Would you stop looking at me?”

Her patience had worn thin after feeling his eyes on her every other second, but Lando merely smirked at the annoyance in her voice, “Where else am I supposed to look?” he asked innocently.

“I don’t know. Your food, maybe?” She shot back.

Lando raised his hands in surrender, before turning his attention to Max and Pietra, who were deep in conversation. Y/N tried to focus on their discussion, but the persistent feeling of Lando’s gaze on her was impossible to ignore. Every time their eyes met, his smirk only grew, making her jaw clench tighter.

When the meal came to an end, Y/N was more than ready to leave. She quickly collected her bag and jacket before joining Pietra on the walk back. With Lando far away from her, she could finally relax and talk comfortably, without being distracted by a pair of eyes burning holes in her face. The group quickly made their way back to the hotel, and after the elevator ride, Y/N and Lando were once again left alone.

“It’s cold in here,” she mumbled, switching the lights on as she entered the hotel room.

“You don’t say,” he responded sarcastically.

Y/N sighed, deciding to ignore the comment and rather focus on the problem at hand. “Okay, we should probably discuss how we’re going to do this…” Lando looked at her confusedly, so she continued, “As concluded earlier today, we’ll share the bed. I’ll take the left side if that’s okay?”

Lando nodded, so she continued, “The bed is big, so if you dare cross over to my side, I’ll choke you in your sleep—”

“Ooh, kinky,” he interjected, and Y/N flashed him a fake smile, “or I’ll tell Max, and he’ll handle it for me,” she finished.

Now, usually, Lando wouldn’t care much for her threats, but he knew Max was protective over his sister and from experience, Lando also knew that Max would indeed fuck him up if he crossed Y/N’s boundaries. He was actually surprised that Max was okay with him and Y/N sharing a room; he was usually up her ass whenever she so much as stood near a man. He didn’t know whether to be glad about it or not; did Max think Lando was like a brother to his sister, that nothing would ever happen between them, or did he trust him enough not to do anything without her permission?

“Fine, fine. I promise I’ll be a perfect gentleman,” he told her.

Y/N squinted her eyes at him.

“I will,” he repeated.

She wasn’t sure whether to believe him or not, but the sincerity in his voice suited her a bit. She nodded and quickly changed into her pyjamas in the bathroom before slipping under the covers on the left side of the bed – as promised. She lay on her side, facing away from the right side where Lando would soon settle. She stayed as close to the edge as she could without falling off, so much so that Lando raised an eyebrow at her when he returned.

“You okay over there? Not lonely or cold or anything? I could warm you up if you like,” he suggested, the amusement evident in his tone.

“I’m fine,” she muttered. She wasn’t really, though. The room was freezing with the air conditioner still blasting cold air, and the thin comforter, which would normally be fine for the temperatures outside, wasn’t helping much.

She felt the bed move as Lando shifted, but she stayed silent, quietly staring out the window where she could just barely make out the street lanterns through the thin curtains. Although she pretended not to care (and would continue to do so), being this close to him made her uneasy – not because she didn’t trust him, although she wasn’t entirely convinced yet, but because of how aware she was of him. His presence, the warmth radiating from his body, and the faint scent of his cologne were all impossible to ignore in this proximity.

She closed her eyes, willing herself to fall asleep, but her mind refused to quiet. Despite everything, she couldn’t stop thinking about how he had actually been pretty decent at dinner – apart from his frustrating staring habit – and how relaxed, confident, and hot he looked in that shirt… She hated how easily he affected her and how only he could wind her up without any effort at all.

– – – – –

Part 2

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lighthousecommunicationsinc · 9 months ago

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coolwyous · 9 hours ago

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┈─★ 𝘩𝘪𝘫𝘢 𝘥𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘱𝘪 (𝘥𝘢𝘥𝘥𝘺'𝘴 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭.)

⊹ ࣪ ˖ you and daniela have been divorced for years, keeping cordial for the sake of co-parenting your perfect angel of a daughter. but when a snowstorm traps you in a cabin with your ex-wife, you realize there might be more unfinished business than you care to explore.

ˎˊ˗ ❄️ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ 🔓୭˚. ⠀ ᵎᵎ ⠀ 🗝️

➴ pairing: hockey daddy!daniela avanzini x f!reader

➴ genre + wc: 7k, pining, bickering, parenting!au, daniela is our fuckass baby daddy/ex-wife, we hate her but she wants us back lowkey <3

┈─★ a/n: more daddy!kats! i highly encourage reading the college hockey!au verse this is based in! <3

sometimes, you wish you could be extremely fucked up for custody swaps. ideally, so blackout drunk that you can tune out any of daniela’s annoying comments or innuendos she so relentlessly throws at you, as if you haven’t been broken up for years at this point.

but you have a teenage daughter you need to be a role model for, and you sure as hell know your ex-wife is severely lacking in that department, so the responsibility falls to you. you bite your tongue and bear it: every friday, after school, one week on and one week off as per the custody agreement written in your divorce.

you see the stupid cherry-red mustang pull up along the curb of your house. the house, now yours, but once hers too, the house that she used to share with you and esme, before she had moved out following the divorce.

you wish you could say she was a terrible parent, or that your daughter hated her time with her other parent, but esme is beaming from ear to ear as the two of them roll to a stop. the car is blasting with a classic reggaeton song that they’re both head-banging to. seeing the two of them laughing, swinging their heads around, curls flying in sync, even down to the stupid dimple your daughter inherited might actually warm your heart.

(at least it would, if daniela wasn’t 15 minutes late to the swap, as she always is.)

“you could have at least tried to be on time today. the twins’ birthday trip is this weekend,” you remind her, gritting your teeth as dani steps out of the car to give esme a hug. “we have to leave before the road gets bad. if you can’t reach esme, text lara. service might be spotty on the mountain. i’ll go get her sunday morning.”

esme gives you a quick hug and a kiss on your cheek before running inside to grab her things for the trip.

“i remember, i remember. see you next week, hermosa,” daniela waves esme off. she reaches out to you with open arms, peering at you over her sunglasses with that infuriating smirk. “what, no hug for daddy?”

you roll your eyes, ignoring her. you focus instead on esme, who runs out of the door with her suitcase. you focus on helping your daughter pull her suitcase down the curb and towards the sidewalk, hoping it’ll help you ignore your aggravating ex.

“i’ll order the uber in a few minutes, esme. are your hearing aids charged, baby? i’ll ask auntie megan to bring her spare batteries if they haven’t left yet,” you offer, pulling out your phone.

“uber?” daniela arches a brow. her arms cross over her chest. “isn’t the cabin like an hour and a half away?”

you glare at her. “my car is in the shop and the rental isn’t ready until tomorrow.”

“sorry again, mami,” esme grimaces.

“baby, don’t apologize. i’m so glad you’re going on this trip,” you reassure her, reaching out to stroke her cheek.

for as head-strong as you are and as hot-headed as daniela is, you two were lucky to end up with the most considerate, mild-mannered child you could have possibly imagined. esme is shy, thoughtful, and had never gone through a phase of terrible twos or moody pre-teen years. she’s always been the most insanely sweet kid, never causing any trouble, and you couldn’t be more grateful for her. for all the chaos in your relationship with daniela, your daughter was never something you’d regret, not for a second.

“an hour and a half uber? i have today off,” daniela interjects, looking down at her watch. “i can drop you guys there.”

the offer is generous, sure, but the idea of being stuck in the car with daniela sends a shiver of horror down your spine. the last time you two had been together for longer than 10 minutes was for esme’s parent teacher conferences, and even the hour of those felt like torture, always ending in you two bickering.

“that’s almost three hours,” you point out.

“i don’t want to throw off your plans,” esme shakes her head.

dani reaches out to grab your daughter by the chin, squeezing her cheeks playfully.

“hey, no. i’d do anything for this face.”

the girl lights up at the offer.

you freeze, but the way esme seems genuinely excited is enough to make you swallow your pride. it’s not about you, you remind yourself, it’s about your daughter. you can play nice with your ex-wife if it means making your daughter this happy to have both parents for a little longer.

“fine,” you say simply, reaching for the suitcase to help throw it into the trunk.

esme wraps daniela up in a giant hug, burying her face in your ex-wife’s chest. “no way! thank you, papi.”

you pause. maybe you can give her the benefit of the doubt. could dani be turning a new leaf?

“your turn to thank papi,” daniela smirks at you, reaching out once more.

your face drops. nope. same old stupid daniela avanzini.

“not a chance in hell,” you roll your eyes. “just get in the damn car.”

daniela’s eyes, still hidden behind her sunglasses, are focused on the road, the white of the snow painting the road up the mountainside towards the resort where the cabins await.

“thank you again,” esme pipes up from the backseat.

“no hay de qué, mi amor.” daniela shakes her head, peeking at the girl through the rearview mirror. “my wife and kid alone in a car with a stranger? stuck on the side of the mountain? in a snowstorm or something? the thought alone would have kept me up like a freakin’ nightmare.”

“ex-wife,” you remind her sharply.

daniela grins, shrugging. “meh. potato, potah-to.”

“tomato, divorce settlement, totally the same,” you snip back.

“mami’s coaching zuri’s cheer team this year,” esme randomly interjects. you try to take a deep breath to steady yourself.

“yeah?” daniela grins, peering at you. “you got bit by the coaching bug all of a sudden, mami?”

“don’t piss me off, daniela,” you hiss back, hating when she uses the nickname.

“auntie megan convinced her,” esme explains. “she says she has a lot of fun coaching our hockey team. it’s less pressure than college level.”

“i’ve tried to get meiyok to come coach for us so many times. she always refuses. but a fucking high school hockey team she’s got all the time in the world for? insane,” daniela rolls her eyes. but as she sits on esme’s words, something seems to stick with her.

“pause. megan convinced you?”

you arch a brow back at her challengingly, seeing the way she bristles.

“and if she did?”

“did she?” daniela presses, her gaze unwavering.

“she’s always been my favorite between all of you,” you say simply. “her and yunjin.”

you see daniela’s jaw clench. maybe it’s immature, but you can’t help but grin to yourself at how the mere mention finally gets her to shut the hell up.

“auntie yunjin and auntie chaewon pitched in for me to go see a pro game,” esme offers gently. you realize she’s trying to salvage the conversation, knowing daniela’s longstanding beef with yunjin.

and it works. daniela instantly softens, esme’s gentle voice enough to disarm her and distract her from your guys’s standoff.

“they paid for you to get a ticket? mi amor, why didn’t you tell me you wanted to go to that game? i could have gotten you tickets,” daniela asks.

“um, i don’t know.” esme rubs the back of her neck nervously, her eyes screwing shut. “i’m gonna take my hearing aids out. my head hurts.”

“take a nap, baby,” you reassure her, reaching backwards to stroke her knee.

she nods, resting her head against the window. “love you guys.”

you quickly sign back an “i love you” and watch her as she closes her eyes. as soon as she takes her hearing aids out, you let out a groan.

“daniela,” you say sternly.

“y/n,” she responds. “love hearing you say my name like that. again, please.”

you have half a mind to punch her there and then, but knowing your ex, she’d probably somehow like it.

“she didn’t ask you because the huh-kim kids are going too and she knew you’d throw a fit.��

daniela blinks in surprise. “how do you know that?”

“because she told me,” you grit irritatedly. “our daughter actually talks to me.”

“she talks to me too. about lots. things going on inside my own house.” daniela pivots quickly, almost disarmingly fast. “are you still seeing that dude from your old job?”

“daniela,” you warn her. you empathize with esme in that moment. how difficult does dani make it to talk to her? you think back to your relationship, and the way it ended.

daniela has always been impossible to talk to. as much as you’d love to be a united front, you can’t blame your daughter for wanting to keep some things from her dad.

“what?” the brunette questions.

“i’m not talking about this with you.”

daniela squares her shoulders and focuses on the road.

“fine.”

the two of you manage to keep the peace for the rest of the drive, not wanting to disturb your sleeping daughter. by the time daniela pulls the mustang into the parking lot, the snow is coming down decently hard. esme runs excitedly to go join her friends who wave to her from the window of the main cabin, having been watching her arrival.

“y/n, hi!” lara beams, greeting you as you emerge from the car. “wifey’s inside setting ground rules for the girls. no exploring the woods after midnight type shit, you know.”

“who all came?” daniela asks, eyeing the area curiously.

“josie, esme, the twins obviously, arin, and kj.”

“no boys?” daniela asks.

lara shakes her head. “girls trip only.”

“that’s sweet,” you smile.

if there is anything good that came out of your marriage to daniela, it was also the community of her friends and their families. the tiny village that surrounded esme made it that much easier to trust that she was in good hands. she’s kept the same best friends since she was a baby, and being the youngest of the group, you feel reassured that she’s got good people keeping their eyes on her, both the kids and their parents.

“no,” lara wrinkles her nose in irritation. “it was the only way we could keep zuri from begging to bring her little boyfriend.”

“oh god,” dani says, running a hand through her hair. “i’m not ready for the whole dating thing.”

“esme’s cabin is down this way,” lara says “but they’ll honestly all probably spend the whole trip in the twin’s cabin.”

daniela wrinkles her nose. “waste of money, bro. if you knew they’d sleep over why’d you get them individual cabins?”

“honestly? zuri and priya have been fighting a lot recently. sometimes over literally nothing, bro. i wanted everyone to have somewhere to run away to if they have one of their little twin spats on this trip,” lara breathes, pinching the bridge of her nose. “the beauty of teenagers, right?”

you laugh, giving lara one last hug before you and daniela turn to head back to the car. but before you can warn her to behave, a man is placing bright yellow cones by the parking lot exit, roping it off from the main road.

“the road’s closed!” he calls out to you all. you and daniela exchange looks of disbelief.

“what!?”

“ice too thick,” he says simply, motioning up to the snowbanks blocking up parts of the road. “it’ll take the snowplow until the morning to get up here.”

“oh hell no,” you groan, throwing your head back in irritation. just your fucking luck, stuck on a mountain with your aggravating ex-wife.

“you can stay with us, dani,” lara immediately offers, realizing what this means for you both.

“no, you guys have your hands full chaperoning,” she waves lara off. “we can stay at esme’s cabin.”

“together?” you question, nearly in disbelief at how calmly she’s taking this.

she shrugs, letting out a sharp breath.

“do you have a better option?”

you bite your tongue, and pray it’s a short night. knowing daniela, however, it probably won’t be.

esme chews anxiously on her lower lip. outside, the snow falls, mounting up on the windowsill. the three of you are crammed into the queen sized bed, esme in the middle, but you don’t mind. anything to spend more time with your daughter is a win in your book.

“i’m sorry you’re stuck here,” the girl apologizes, her eyes darting between the two of you on either side of her.

“if i have to be stuck anywhere, i’m grateful it’s with you,” you reassure her.

“i love you,” she beams, resting her head on your shoulder. the three of you lay side by side, backs propped up against the headboard.

“well, we’ve got all night, so let’s start killing some time,” daniela grins, poking your daughter in the stomach. “esme. any crushes?”

the question catches the both of you off guard. you feel your eyes go wide.

“um…” esme’s eyes dart to you.

“what, something you’re not telling me?” daniela prods, still playful. she tilts her head. “you’re keeping secrets from your bestie?”

“n-no,” esme quickly scrambles.

daniela arches a brow suspiciously. “is it a he?”

“no,” esme blinks.

“oh thank god.”

“daniela,” you warn.

“what? i have two criteria— no huhs and no teen pregnancy.”

esme blinks between the two of you, squinting as she gets up and heads towards the bathroom. “i’m gonna go wash my face.”

once the door closes behind her, you glare at your ex-wife.

“have you ever actually talked to her about any of this?” you question.

“what?”

“dani, you and your daughter have a great relationship, but you need to stop acting like she’s going to be 4 years old forever.” you shake your head. “the more you try to shelter her, the more she’s going to act out and keep things from you.”

“she’s…” daniela’s argument trails off, and you continue.

“and we need to suck it up, for her sake. she was probably excited to go have a weekend away from us, and now she’s stuck feeling like she has to babysit because we can’t be cordial with each other for more than 5 minutes without fighting,” you sigh, realizing how anxious she must be with the change in plans.

“she looks like she’s having fun,” dani pushes back.

“she’s 16,” you remind dani. “we’re ruining her trip. she was probably excited to sneak a bottle of alcohol and get tipsy with her little friends.”

daniela instantly bristles. “no fucking way. she’s too young for that.”

“daniela, you’re forgetting that you were almost an alcoholic your freshman year of college. that didn’t happen overnight.” you remind her. “better safe and in a controlled environment than going buckwild rebelling against parents.”

dani runs a hand through her dark hair, her nose flaring. “this parenting shit is so stressful. maybe i do owe your pops an apology. i might actually be the reason he’s bald.”

“i did enough of that on my own, before you,” you can’t help but laugh.

you see something mischievous flash in her eyes.

“bad girl.”

“don’t fucking start,” you roll your eyes. “that shit has to stop, for 24 hours, for our daughter.”

“what do you mean?” dani feigns ignorance.

“we spend all our time together arguing instead of focusing on her.”

“i’m not arguing with you. i’m flirting with you.”

“no, you’re intentionally trying to push my buttons. enough. get your head out of your ass. esme deserves our best. she is the perfect child,” you remind your ex.

“you’re right. parent mode activated.” dani lets out a deep breath. “fuck.”

“thank you,” you nod, grateful your pleas got through to her.

she looks at you, something softening in her gaze. “thanks for believing i could be better.”

you pause, realizing the sincerity in her voice. old dani, coming back in familiar flashes. “then i should tell you something.”

“oh.” she grins. “you’re still in love with me.”

“you lasted a whole 10 seconds. you’re so annoying.” you groan, throwing your head back, but you persist, knowing this piece of information is pretty significant for your co-parent to know about. “she has a crush on arin.”

“huh’s kid?” you see dani’s eyes widen. “the captain?”

“yes,” you nod. “but arin’s not very nice to her. that kid is built different. she’s not nice to anyone.”

dani lets out a low whistle. “she’s damn fucking good on the ice, is the worst part.”

“esme likes arin, but i think one of the other girls has a crush on esme.”

“which one?”

you laugh, realizing how silly you two must look. “christ, we sound ridiculous. gossiping like we’re the teenagers.”

“fuck.” dani wrinkles her nose, but she smiles back at you. “yeah we sound nosy as hell. but don’t leave me hanging. esme likes arin, arin’s a shit-head but i could have told you that with the parent she’s got, and some other kid likes esme?”

“one of her teammates,” you whisper. “you’ll pick up on it if you pay attention.”

“god, i’m not ready for this.” daniela buries her face into the pillow. “i can’t fucking do this.”

the door swings back open, and you and dani share a look to agree to put this conversation on pause.

“i’m back,” esme waves.

“hi baby,” you greet her.

her eyes dart between the two of you suspiciously. “you guys okay?”

“great, actually,” daniela jumps in. “we were talking about your friends.”

“oh god.” esme drops back in between you and daniela, covering her face with her hands.

“no, all good,” dani reassures her. “max is applying to the university this year.”

esme nods. “so is seongwook.”

you lean towards dani, filling her in on the tea between their little friend group. “wookie. zuri’s boyfriend. arin’s brother.”

“huh’s kid.” you see dani’s eye twitch, but you’re proud as she quickly pivots away. “if you applied, i bet you’d get in on hockey. three generations there, you, me, and your grandpa. it’d be pretty cool, no?”

“i’m not that good, papi,” esme shakes her head.

“esme, your team is second in the conference,” daniela reminds your daughter. “you’re the strongest left wing in the state. anywhere would kill to have you play for them.”

your heart warms at dani’s affirmations. when esme had first started playing, and megan recommended her at left wing, daniela’s first response was apprehension. that was her position, and daniela reminded megan of all the injuries she had sustained. but megan had been quick to remind her that esme was tiny, but she was fast and she was smart, and when she hits the ice with josie at center, they two kids are just as good as she and megan were at their age.

“thanks,” esme drops her gaze shyly, and dani reaches out once more to play with her hair.

“i watch all your games,” she tells your daughter. “and if i can’t make it, i watch those tapes like my life depends on it.”

“really?”

dani smiles. “hell yes, mi amor.”

“but you’re so busy.”

“never too busy for you,” dani insists.

“i didn’t know that,” esme admits.

“got your back, kiddo.”

before you can realize that you’re staring, esme’s phone goes off in between all of you. she holds it up apologetically.

“um, priya is calling me. i think her and zuri are fighting again. can i take it?”

“of course, mi amor,” dani nods, and esme bolts off to take the phone call.

daniela watches her rush to the twin’s aid and sighs. “she’s such a good kid. got so lucky with her.”

“she’s always there for her friends.” you breathe out quietly. “gets that from you.”

daniela’s eyes light up, turning immediately to narrow her eyes at you. “did you just compliment me?”

“you were shit at being consistent for me, but every time megan was in crisis, there you were, taking her to the ice, calming her down.” you recall all those late nights where dani would drop everything just to support whoever needed it. “whenever lara had some grand scheme she got up to, you never questioned it. you’d go along with it.”

“you were also a great friend. loyal. it’s what drew me to you,” daniela tells you, her voice softening. “it was cool to hear that you cared that much about the people in your life. honestly, i just thought you just had a bad attitude.”

“and i thought you only cared about yourself,” you smile.

daniela’s voice does something bizarre, hardening and softening all at once. you can tell you’ve hit a nerve.

“i tried caring about other things too, you know.”

you feel your chest tighten, and before you can stop yourself, you’re already saying it.

“you stopped trying.”

“i did.” she nods solemnly, and the accountability makes your heart ache. “i’m sorry.”

before you can say anything else, esme pops back inside, her big brown eyes looking between you hesitantly.

“they’re asking if i can come over to their cabin, and spend the night,” she starts, slowly, pausing as if to choose her words, before holding up her hands. “but i don’t have to if you guys aren’t okay with that.”

“we’ll be okay here, mi amor,” dani nods.

“um… i know you guys don’t hang out alone any more,” esme admits quietly, looking to you specifically. “i feel bad.”

“we’ll be fine,” you nod reaching to her to press a kiss to her head. “we’ll catch up.”

“promise?” she breathes.

“you can trust me, baby,” dani nods.

esme lights up as she reaches for her backpack, giving you both a tight hug before escaping out to join her friends, leaving you and dani alone in the cabin.

you figure it won’t kill you to be cordial, so you try to start with small talk.

“how’s coaching going?”

“i don’t think you wanna hear it,” dani laughs, rubbing her nose.

“since when do you censor yourself?” you question, narrowing your eyes at her.

there’s distance between you, but that doesn’t stop you from taking her in. her eyes are heavier, darker, and granted you’re both older now, but she still has that dangerous dimple and that mischievous smile that makes you remember exactly what you fell in love with. her dark brown curls, now back to her natural hair color, pulled up and out of her face. you take in the lines, the creases, the face you had once said yes to no matter what. the face you had picked, over and over, time and time again. the face you pictured being alongside for forever.

“your dad hates me as head coach. he’s taking that promotion super personally,” she confesses.

you scrunch your nose. your father and your ex-wife working together was never ideal, but it’s your reality, and you know how difficult your dad can be. “i’ll talk to him.”

“that’s the last thing i need,” dani laughs, waving you off. “i can talk to him myself.”

you take a second, thinking about dani’s relationship with your dad. you had seen it first hand for yourself all those years ago— how badly you knew he would have preferred lara as captain, how hard he was on dani, how much pressure he put on her and how little he believed in her capabilities. he was always intense as a coach, and you know that, but he had been extremely hard on dani as a player.

and unfortunately, things only got worse when you started dating. whereas your mom had always welcomed dani with open arms, and your brothers loved having another hockey buff in the family, your dad had never shifted in his stance, treating dani like she couldn’t be trusted despite all the things she had done to give you the most perfect, beautiful romance possible. you’ve made peace with the fact that you and daniela are over, but there’s no doubt in your mind that she was absolutely the love of your life, and realizing that that’s over is admittedly a tough pill to swallow.

“is he part of it?” you finally ask, feeling your stomach flip into a knot. “part of why you gave up?”

you see dani’s temples tighten, her brows tensing. she could make a joke, lighten the conversation, avoid the topic altogether, but she doesn’t. she addresses it head-on, unafraid, ready to be vulnerable.

“he told me i was gonna ruin esme’s life. i already ruined yours.” you hear the rasp in her voice. she can’t manage to look at you. “you called him that night, when i left.”

“i was scared you would do something stupid,” you admit, remembering the night you had first given dani the divorce papers after months of trying to save her from herself. “i was scared you weren’t coming home in one piece that night. i didn’t know what to do. esme was so little, you were in such a bad headspace, i didn’t know what else to do.”

her face is stony as she stares down at the foot of the bed. “you could have called megan. you could have called lara.”

your throat tightens and dries as you blink back memories of that night. just how angry daniela was as she stormed out, not knowing where she was going, how scared you were for her.

“i panicked. i made the wrong choice, and i’m sorry.”

“i put you in a horrible position.” she shakes her head, and you appreciate that she acknowledges the severity of the situation you were forced to face. “but i think when your dad got involved, that was it. that was the beginning of the end. like you stopped believing in us.”

“dani, that’s not fair. you know i pushed him out whenever he was bad to you. i didn’t even tell him when we eloped. that was just between us for months,” you push back. yes, he was a strain on your relationship, but you had always chosen dani over him, no matter what. “this wasn’t all on me, or on him.”

daniela chews on her bottom lip, her only real anxious habit for an otherwise confident facade.

“i cared too much about what he thought. kept thinking about his voice, in my head, that i would never be good enough for you.”

“all you needed to do was try,” you tell her, watching the way her face tenses in clear distress. “dani, that would have been good enough.”

“i didn’t trust myself to get it right,” she admits. “when esme heard us screaming that night…”

you grimace thinking about it. esme was so, so little, coming out in the middle of the night to ask if everything was okay, seeing your face streaked in tears and daniela on the verge of a breakdown. your yelling must have been strong enough to vibrate through the walls to wake her up.

“that was it,” she finishes. “confirmation. your dad was right. i wasn’t good enough to get through this without hurting anyone.”

you and your ex have had a few conversations here and there about how things ended, but never before has dani given you this level of reflection. your conversations were always limited to your daughter, given that daniela has the emotional intelligence of a literal child, but you catch glimpses of the old her here and there, a version of her who faced challenges head on and confronts everything with a mindset of getting through it, no matter what.

“you’re so hard on yourself, dani,” you sigh, knowing who daniela is at her core, beneath all her bravado. she’s passionate, she’s intense, and worst of all, she wants to be someone who might never be obtainable. “i never wanted you to be anyone else, i never needed you to be perfect. i just needed you to show up.”

“i had everything, and i fucked it up,” she breathes, before finally looking up at you. “i haven’t dated since that.”

“don’t tell me that,” you roll your eyes. leave it to her to ruin the moment.

she shakes her head, almost earnestly. “i’m serious, y/n. and you can do so, so much better than the guy from your old HR department.”

“daniela, he gave me a ride home once and that was it,” you groan, realizing she’ll never drop this topic. “we were never dating.”

“esme told me about how you let him inside.”

“yes, to offer him a coffee,” you emphasize. it was one time, and it was an act of kindness, but daniela continues to treat it like you agreed to marry him. “i’m allowed to offer people coffee inside my own home. he left immediately after.”

“that’s my home, and my family.” she sits up, her gaze intensifying. you thought at first that she was joking, but you quickly realize she’s dead serious. “and that was my bed, once upon a time.”

“the whole territorial thing is so not fucking cute, daniela.” you roll your eyes and push her away, scooting further from her. “it’s gross, if anything, you possessive weirdo.”

but daniela isn’t letting up.

“y/n, if i ever find out someone else has been in that bed, in my bed, i’ll fucking kill them.”

“shut up, daniela,” you groan.

“listen to me,” she drops her gaze. “i will kill them.”

“we are not together, and that’s not your bed.” you’ve had enough of her constant whiplashing you, switching so quickly between someone who makes it easy to remember why you once were so obsessed with her, then transforming into someone you wish you had never met. “i can’t fucking stand you, dani. so arrogant.”

“you’re always going to be the mom of my kid,” she reminds you, unphased by you moving away as she simply scoots closer. her eyes are sharp, intense, like she’s on a mission to prove a point. “that makes you mine in some way.”

ooh. if there’s anything about your ex wife, it’s that she knows how to make your fucking blood boil, and she has since day 1.

“i don’t belong to you,” you spit back harshly.

“you know that’s a damn lie,” daniela snaps back with lightning fast speed.

“you’re so fucking irritating,” you seethe.

“you miss me pissing you off all the time,” she grits back. “miss me being under your skin.”

“i most definitely do not,” you tell her. “my life got so much easier when you left.”

“i don’t believe you,” she bites back.

“you don’t have to,” you snap, realizing this is what she wants. she wants to get into the back and forth with you, wants to get a rise out of you. “believe whatever you want. i don’t have to prove anything to you.”

and then, something in her face changes, like a dam breaking. her face tenses.

daniela cracks.

“there’s no way you don’t think about me, ‘cause i think about you, all the damn time,” she finally confesses.

the absolute ache in her words makes your stomach drop. it disarms you. “dani.”

“i miss you when your dad calls me a shit-head, and i remember how much love you used to say it to me with,“ she laughs, but there’s something painful in her voice. “or when i drive and the air is up too high, and it reminds me of when i used to drive you home in lara’s car from our place.”

you want to ask her to stop, not because you can’t handle hearing it, but because you can’t handle seeing her like this. since your divorce, you had worked through all the feelings involved with letting daniela go, hardest of all being the expectation that you had to fix her. but here she is, looking so small, so vulnerable, all of a sudden you’re back to when you first met and you realized the hockey team captain with a terrible reputation wasn’t bad at all. just painfully, dangerously misunderstood.

“sometimes it’s hard sharing a daughter with you, ‘cause she’s perfect, but she’s perfect because she’s got all the best parts of you, and i look at her, and it makes me miss you,” she goes on. “and i miss you the most when esmeralda laughs, ‘cause she laughs like you do, and it’s like we’re 21 and i’m hitting backflips in your front yard just to make you smile at me even for just a second.”

you absolutely hate how easy it is for you to fold for her in that exact moment. what, all it takes is some vulnerability, some nostalgia, and now you’re imagining letting her back into your arms? she can put you through absolute hell, but all you need is a quick sob story from her to feel your heart tug in her direction again?

the fact is that you loved her, and she loved you. you try to make peace with that and hope you can keep yourself from doing anything stupid.

“i think we should go to sleep,” you finally manage, peeking out the window to see that the sun has dropped out of sight. you’re not sure how long you and your ex-wife have been talking, but clearly it was enough to keep you focused.

she blinks a few times, nodding as she looks away. “yeah, guess you’re right. i’ll take the couch.”

but before she can get out of the bed (or perhaps before you can think about it) the words rush out of your mouth.

“don’t.”

you see her brows furrow in confusion. “don’t?”

it’s one word, so simple, but it carries the weight of everything left unsaid between you two. you nod, curling up underneath the covers, before letting your voice soften.

“don’t.”

you half-expect her to say something stupid, but without further fanfare, she’s slipping into the bed behind you, the weight of the mattress shifting. it’s foreign and familiar all at once, but once her arm wraps gently around your waist and you feel the warmth of her body pressed against yours, all you can think of is just how undeniably, head-over-heels in love you two were, once upon a time.

you let out a soft breath as her familiar touch causes all the stress in your body to melt away. her hand rests innocently on your waist, but you want to make it abundantly clear that your intentions are pure.

“don’t get any stupid ideas.”

you can practically hear her grin.

“i’m nothing but stupid ideas.”

you roll your eyes, but all she does is pull you closer, and you’re not protesting.

“i will kill you, avanzini.”

“do you ever miss being mrs. avanzini?” she asks curiously.

“god, i should have divorced you sooner,” you groan.

“so you could remarry me again sooner?” she teases, shuffling to cuddle up behind you more comfortably. “true love finds a way.”

you roll your eyes, but you can’t help but feel yourself dozing off, daniela’s comforting familiarity sending a sense of peace throughout your body. “can’t stand your annoying ass.”

“esme’s so perfect. tell me another baby doesn’t sound exciting…”

if you rolled your eyes any harder, they might just pop out of your head.

“good night, daniela.”

but instead of insisting on another stupid joke, she simply presses a tender kiss into the back of your neck. it’s not aggressive, or possessive, not meant to stir anything. it’s gentle, familiar, as if she’s wishing you a restful sleep. you remember it now— her old habit of a good night kiss whenever you guys would go to bed.

“good night, mami,” she whispers gently, holding you just a little tighter, before you both drift off.

you wake to the first sunbeams shining in through the window, striking you just across the eyes. daniela’s arms are still wrapped around you, anchoring you in place, and it almost breaks your heart to have to peel her off of you. you turn slightly to see her, eyes screwed shut, lips just barely parted, her chest rising and falling rhythmically against your back. it stirs something in you, but before you can explore it any further, you hear the rustle of the doorhandle.

daniela stirs, and the two of you quickly part as you realize your daughter is back, racing inside, her eyes lighting up as she spots the two of you still there in one piece, neither parent having killed the other overnight.

“good morning!” she greets excitedly, throwing herself in between the two of you. you laugh and think about how she’s never outgrown this habit, even squeezing between you two from when she was a little girl.

“hi mi amor,” daniela greets, her voice raspy from having just woken up. she presses a loving kiss into esme’s head and looks out the window. “snow looks like it’s clearing up. i’ll head down with your mom soon.”

esme’s eyes go wide in eager curiosity. “can we maybe get breakfast together? nobody else is awake. i just haven’t had you both in one place for so long.”

you and esme look between each other, before you exchange looks with daniela. you smile at your daughter. “of course my love.”

“thank you guys for being nice to each other,” she beams.

the three of you get ready and make your way to the main lodge for breakfast. you sit by a window, admiring the mountainside view, the snow melting under the warmth of the emerging sun.

“hey,” dani says gently, poking esme’s snow boot with her foot from under the table as you all enjoy your breakfast. “hope you had fun.”

“i did,” the girl nods happily.

“you’ll tell me about it another time?” dainela offers. “i’d love to hear. at your age, i was setting off fireworks in lara’s backyard and aiming them at her window.”

esme laughs. “auntie lara was telling us about that. said you’ve always been a menace.”

you’re half expecting for daniela to say something stupid, as she always does, but suddenly, she catches you off guard with an unexpected confession.

“esme, did you know auntie lara was my first kiss?”

“what?” you balk. this is news even to you. before you can question her further, you realize what she’s doing— she’s trying to give your daughter a safe space to open up.

“no way,” esme gapes in shock.

“gross to think about, right?” daniela laughs, wrinkling her nose. “we were just kids. a few of us on the team stole a bottle from her dad’s liquor cabinet one day, over the summer. we both threw up immediately afterwards.”

esme bursts out laughing. “that’s insane!”

daniela grins, shoveling another spoonful of eggs into her mouth. “i was a naughty kid, believe it or not.”

you shake your head, laughing. “trust me, she believes it.”

daniela smiles at you, before reaching you to hold esme’s hand from on top of the table.

“cariño, i don’t want you feeling like you have to keep things from me,” dani tells her gently.

the gesture is obviously enough to soothe esme, and whether it’s a parent’s instinct or blind intuition, daniela manages to say the exact perfect thing to get your daughter to clear her throat and look between the two of you nervously.

“i um… can i tell you something?”

“you okay?” you ask, looking at her in concern. “you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want.”

esme shakes her head, playing with a piece of fruit on her plate. you can tell something is bothering her as she musters up the courage to open up.

“arin and i kissed last night, during spin the bottle,” she finally confesses. “it was my first one.”

you see your ex twitch, her body tensing. “arin huh-kim?”

“daniela,” you warn, hoping to remind her of your guy’s expectations to be supportive and not difficult.

“i kind of regret it,” esme breathes, her gaze glued to the strawberry on her plate that she keeps poking about. “i thought it’d be more special, but she was so fast about it. like she was over it.”

“i’m sorry, mi amor,” daniela sighs.

“you’ll have a million chances to get a good first kiss,” you try to reassure her, sensing her disappointment. “one worth remembering.”

“you only get one first kiss,” esme frowns. “you didn’t forget yours, papi.”

“i forgot a lot about it. but i remember my favorite kiss,” daniela says. “i remember everything about it.”

esme’s eyes light up, but you can tell she’s hesitant about asking dani to open up and dive in. “you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“are you a romantic, esme?” daniela asks, taking a sip from her orange juice.

“yeah, i think so,” the girl smiles.

“where’d you think you got it from?” daniela puffs up her chest. “definitely not your hard-ass mom’s side. she’s one of the least sentimental women i’ve ever met.”

“watch it, avanzini,” you laugh.

“my favorite first kiss was right after a party,” daniela goes on, reminiscing, esme’s eyes going shiny as she clings to every word of dani’s story. “i had been wanting to kiss this girl so many times before. kept stopping myself. didn’t want to get it wrong. she was dancing with one of my teammates and i just butted in and stole her away. there were so many people there, but it felt like we were the only people left in the room.”

“you still remember it?” esme asks.

daniela smiles. “you don’t forget the good ones.”

“thank you,” esme breathes appreciatively. “i was scared, and kinda sad. but that made me feel better. i’ll have more chances or whatever.”

“you’re a perfect kid, and anyone who knows you is lucky,” you reassure her.

“i’m gonna go back with the girls,” esme says, cleaning up her plate, before she looks between the two of you. “thank you both for coming.”

daniela reaches out to wrap her up in a hug. “always gonna show up for you, mi amor.”

“thanks for reminding me.” esme reaches out to scoop you up too, the three of you crushing into a warm group hug. “i love you guys.”

you both admire your perfect angel of a daughter as she bounds out in search of her friends. you clean up your own plate in silence, meeting daniela outside as she gets the car started to head back down into town. you’re both sitting in silence, in her red mustang, waiting for the engine to warm up before you start the drive back down the mountain.

but something is gnawing at you. you need answers.

“that kiss at the party. when yunjin and i were dancing together. you kissed me that night. you were talking about me,” you finally say, watching as she adjusts the rear-view mirror. “that was our first kiss.”

daniela simply smiles back at you.

“i know.”

you let out a quiet breath.

“still your favorite?”

she blinks a few times, staring out at the road, and you half-expect her to make a joke, but she disarms you with one simple word.

“yeah.”

you pause. there’s no use in lying.

“mine too.”

you’re not sure who reaches out first, you or her, but your fingers are intertwining, holding hands on top of the gear shift.

she offers you a gentle, tender smile, looking you over once more. you see it in those warm dark eyes, the eyes of someone it seems you’ll always know.

“let’s go home.”

you know things will be different when you’re back to the real world. but for the next few hours, as your daughter hangs out with her best friends on a mountainside resort, and the snow glistens around you on the icy road, you can let yourself pretend with daniela just one more time.

#katseye x reader #daniela x reader #katseye daniela #daniela avanzini x reader #daniela katseye #daniela avanzini #☆ﾟ dittoverse thoughts.

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damiansgoodgirll · 1 month ago

Note

hi, i know you’ve done this before with a request with rhea! :)

can we please have a headcanon/blurb of punk standing up for/with reader when a man either pisses her or just being a dick please 😭💖

cm punk x reader

likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated!

‼️men being dicks, harassment and intimidation, slut shaming and punk being our savior ‼️

what stays unspoken

sometimes it was dallas. sometimes it was chicago. sometimes it was a hotel room with flickering lights and a broken mini fridge. sometimes it was the backseat of a rental van, your laptop balanced on your knees, your eyes burning from staring at wrestlers promo clips for six hours straight.

being a social media manager for wwe wasn’t exactly glamorous. not like people thought. yeah, you traveled with the talent, city to city, state to state, documenting everything from behind-the-scenes chaos to those perfectly-timed instagram stories. you posted about championship wins, edited reels of high spots, tweeted corny captions the marketing team fed you.

but no one really saw the rest. the long nights. the constant pressure. the way people never minded their own business.

you got used to it. or, at least, you told yourself you had.

chicago was cold that week. sharp wind off the lake, the kind that made your fingers numb when you were trying to film something on your phone. you were backstage at the united center, running on two hours of sleep and one sad gas station coffee.

you moved between gorilla and the tunnels with practiced ease.

you were heading to the media room trying to see if there was even more work to be done before you were finally able to crash at the hotel room.

the lights team was working there - doing their usual job so you didn’t think much of it until one of them called out.

“hey, media girl. looking for another wrestler to suck off today?” one man screamed.

you froze.

the room was mostly empty. just you and them - three guys from the lights crew. big guys. you recognized their faces, not their names. they’d been giving you looks all week. whispering when you passed.

you turned, tried to play it off “just heading to catering.”

one of them grinned “figures. gotta keep up your strength, right? must be exhausting getting passed around.”

your stomach dropped. you felt your phone buzzing in your back pocket - probably a notification from twitter. you didn’t move to check it.

“i don’t know what you’re talking about” you said quietly, taking a step back.

but one of them stepped forward.

“don’t play dumb” he said, voice low and nasty. “you think we don’t see you? always hanging around the boys. taking pictures. laughing at their jokes. dressed like that.”

you glanced down. just baggy jeans and a hoodie. nothing special.

his eyes were mean “maybe you want all of this attention, don’t you?”

and then his hand brushed your waist. just a second. just a touch. but it sent panic straight to your chest.

you stepped back again, heart beating fast in your chest “don’t touch me.”

the other one laughed “what, you’re saving yourself for balor? mcintyre? uh uh… punk?”

you froze again.

“he’s not gonna save you…” he laughed “not that you are this special…”

you didn’t know what hurt more. the fear. or the words.

but then everything shifted.

a voice cut through the hallway. sharp. angry. mad.

“get your fucking hands off her.”

you turned. and there he was.

cm punk. phil. philly - as he lets you call him.

his eyes were darker than you’d ever seen them. his jaw clenched, fists balled at his sides. he moved fast, stepping between you and the men like a wall. like a storm.

“you think that’s funny?” he snapped “harassing a woman who’s just trying to do her job?”

the tallest guy tried to laugh it off “hey, chill man. we’re just talking.”

“no, you weren’t” punk’s voice was deadly calm now. the kind that made people back off “you were threatening her. touching her.”

he looked at each of them. didn’t blink.

“you do it again” he said “and i swear to god, you’ll be out of this company so fast your heads will spin.”

no one said anything. one of the guys muttered something under his breath and turned. the others followed.

you stayed frozen.

punk didn’t move until they were gone. then he turned to you. softer now.

“you okay?”

you nodded as you didn’t trust your voice.

he looked at you for a second, then gently touched your arm “come on. let’s get out of here.”

he took you to an empty locker room. it was quiet there while your heart was still racing.

you sat on the bench. he handed you a bottle of water from a cooler in the corner. his hands were still shaking.

“you want to report it?” he asked quietly “we can go to hunter. or hr.”

you shook your head “not yet.”

“you sure?” he asked again, not sounding convinced.

you nodded.

he didn’t press. just sat beside you. silent. present. you looked at him then. really looked.

he always carried himself like nothing could touch him. like he’d seen the worst and come out the other side with scars and sarcasm. but now… he looked like he wanted to break something. or someone.

“thank you” you said softly.

his eyes met yours “you didn’t deserve that.”

you swallowed “they said things.”

“i heard…” he was mad. so mad.

“they said… you wouldn’t care.”

his jaw clenched again “they are so wrong…”

you weren’t sure what that meant. but something in your chest pulled tight. you always noticed punk. of course you had. he was loud and intense and kind in a quiet, careful way. he always said hi to you. always stood near you during production meetings, like a silent shield. always asked if you were eating. drinking water. sleeping enough.

he never flirted. never crossed lines. but sometimes… you caught him looking.

and sometimes… you looked back.

you leaned forward, elbows on your knees “they made me feel… small.”

his voice was low. rough “they don’t get to do that.”

you turned to him “why do you care so much?”

he paused.

you watched the muscle in his jaw twitch. his hands curled into fists again, then relaxed. he didn’t answer. he didn’t have to.

you already knew. you just didn’t say it.

instead, you reached out, resting your hand on his. it was quiet for a long time.

“next time you walk down a hallway” he said “you don’t walk alone.”

you nodded. squeezed his hand once.

“deal…” you softly smiled.

after that day things changed.

not drastically. not publicly.

punk still acted the same around everyone else. gruff, sarcastic, a little tired of everyone’s bullshit.

but with you…there was something different.

he made sure you always had someone with you backstage. he walked with you between sets when he could. he texted you before shows: you good? where are you?

he never brought up that day again and neither did you.

but sometimes you caught him watching you from across the arena. eyes soft. protective. sometimes you wondered what he’d say if you asked.

why do you care so much?

but you already knew the answer and for now, that was enough.

you were safe and you weren’t alone and that meant more than anything else.

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

hi everyone ♡

just wanted to say a quick thank you for your patience while i’ve been away. if you’ve been following me for a while now you already know that i’ve been dealing with health problems since the beginning of the year. in april i had some serious health issues that took me out for a bit, but i’m finally feeling better and ready to be back into things. your support means the world and i’m so grateful for all of you. thank you for supporting me and this blog from day one!

new stories coming soon ♡

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coldfanbou · 1 year ago

Text

It Started as a Rental

So to explain this piece, me and @i-am-lifeform24 were both struggling and decided to challenge each other with a concept decided by the other person.

Length 2.9K

Hanni X Mreader

Waiting outside the cafe, you look around, waiting for your date to arrive. You flick through your phone, looking through her profile again. “Hey? Is this you?” You look down at the petite woman in front of you, her long, straight hair swinging as she comes to a stop. It was your girlfriend for the night, Hanni. She held her phone up to you, showing your profile.

“Yeah, that’s me. Let’s head inside,” You say, opening the door to the cafe and letting her in first. As you order and sit down, you think about your situation. It was a bit pathetic having to rent a girlfriend, but you thought it necessary. Your sister’s wedding was coming up, and you didn’t want to be the only one without a partner; you had bluffed your way into making your family believe you were dating. You just need to find the right woman to bring with you, and Hanni was the first profile you liked after a friend told you about the website for renting girlfriends.

“It’s nice to meet you,” you say nervously, trying to start a conversation.

“Let’s get down to business before this date really begins,” she says politely, with a hint of amusement. Getting this part out of the way first is a lot easier. So, you hired me for five days, one of them being a wedding. I hope you're prepared to play the role of a loving boyfriend." She ruffles through her purse as she looks for something. “You saw my rate on the website; there is just the matter of extras that I personally provide.”

You give her a quizzical look, “Extras? What do you mean extras?”

“Well, most guys want to have sex, and that costs extra. The website might say sex isn’t allowed, but I’m willing to make some…under the table deals. There are limits to what I’m willing to do, and each thing will raise the price, so I just need you to fill this out so I can name a price.” Hanni hands you the piece of paper with kinks listed on one side and prices on the other.

“Uhm, I’m not interested in this. I just need you for the wedding and these few days to get to know you.”

“Oh, well, that's alright then. I’ll just bring this along with me if you change your mind,” Hanni says, somewhat surprised. She grabs the paper and places it back in her bag. Let’s have fun these next few days.” Hanni puts her bag down and gives you a gentle smile as your drinks arrive. The next few days, you and her go out to different places, and you learn more about her. After your initial worry melts away, you begin to feel close to her.

The day before the wedding, you meet with Hanni again. As you walk by your cafe meeting spot, you find her munching on a piece of bread. She excitedly waves at you, “Right here!” She yells with a mouthful of bread. You take a seat beside her, feeling a little shy as you feel her kiss your cheek. “Did you sleep well?”

You give her a nod, “Yeah, I slept well. Thanks for asking, did you?”

“Mhmm! I dreamt of you last night.” She says with a giggle.

“The wedding is tomorrow. Are you ready?”

“Ready as can be,” Hanni says, taking a sip of her coffee before returning to her bread. “I have my dress picked out and everything. She grabs your hands suddenly; you can feel the crumbs on her fingers as she intertwines your hands. “I’m really nervous about meeting your family. Do you think they’ll like me?”

“I’m sure they’ll love you, Hanni. Come on, we have a busy day ahead of us.” You say as you stand up, taking Hanni by the hand as you walk out of the cafe. Spending the day looking at clothes for the wedding, you can’t help but think about Hanni’s beauty and just how cute she was. Hanni lifted a dress off one of the racks, placing it in front of herself and imagining how she looked in it.

“Do you think this is okay?” The dress she chose was a simple black one; it had oval gaps along the chest as a distinguishing feature. It wouldn’t attract any attention at the wedding otherwise. “I think I’m going to try it on,” Hanni says before scurrying to the closest changing room. She comes out a few minutes later wearing her chosen dress. You looked her up and down; she looked cute. If she had a different shirt under it, it would look better, and you told her so. Hanni pouted before looking around the store and finding a shirt she thought would look better. It had some slight frills that she liked, and as she came back out of the dressing room, you thought she was right. Her outfit was nearly perfect. “How about now?”

“You look great,” you gulp, “Really pretty.” You bring a smile to Hanni's face. She jumps toward you, wrapping her arms around you. You slowly wrap your arms around her, enjoying the hug until you feel her arms tap your side. You let her go, and she changes back to her regular clothes before you begin to search for your clothes. You’re forced to change into several outfits as Hanni hands you several different pieces of clothing, unsatisfied with each one. “Hanni! We’ve gone through so many clothes. Is there nothing that looks good?” You complain.

She brings you another outfit and kisses your cheek as she hands it to you. “I’m sure this is the one.” Her soft smile is enough to convince you, and you head back into the dressing room. As you come back out, Hanni claps her hands, her teeth shining, and she smiles. “That’s the one!” Hanni walks around you, looking it over one more time as she compliments it. As you head to the register, you pay for both sets of clothes. “I can pay for the dress and shirt.”

“No, I got it. Let me take care of it.”

Hanni looks at her feet for a second, and a small sniffle escapes her before she meets your eyes. “Thank you.” After you leave the building, Hanni spins around on her heel, beaming a smile to you.“We have everything now.”

“Yeah, I can pick you up tomorrow for the wedding.”

“No, no. I’ll meet you at your place. Just give me the address. I’ll be there early in the morning.”

You nod your head. “Alright, that sounds good.” After you give her directions, you and Hanni part ways for the day.

As you walk away, Hanni grabs your arm, turns you around, and presses her lips onto yours, having to stand on her tippy toes to do so. “There, now we can say bye. Get home safely.” She says with some concern in her voice.

“You get home safely, too.”

Early the next morning, you wake up after hearing a knock on your door. Hanni is waiting in her wedding outfit. You blink a few times and rub your eyes as you stare at her. She had added a pair of thigh-high socks with a small bow design around her knees and a bow around her head. She gives you a simple smile. “Wake up, sleepy head.” She says cheerily. Today’s the big day, and we need to get you ready. I’ll make you breakfast while you get yourself dressed, okay?”

“Yeah, thanks, Hanni.” You say before kissing the top of her forehead.

She playfully pushes you away, her small hands cupping your cheeks. “Stop!” She yells, a smile on her face. “You’re going to ruin my makeup. Go change already, mister.” She watches you walk into your room, looking over her shoulder to make sure you didn’t sneak up on her. When you come back out a few minutes later, Hanni is sitting by the counter with an omelet. “You…didn’t have very much in your fridge.” She says weakly.

“Today is when I normally go for the groceries,” You reply.

Hanni pats the seat next to her, “Sit. Let me feed you.” You follow along, sitting next to her as she stabs into the eggs and brings some to your lips. “Say Ahhh.” You open your mouth and take in the freshly cooked eggs. Hanni giggles as she watches you chew. “How is it? Good?”

“Yeah, it’s good. Thanks, Hanni, you’re a pretty good cook.”

“You have to be when you like food,” she says with a chuckle. Now, eat up; we have to get there early.” Hanni takes the time to wipe your face. “You look very handsome in this,” she says as her eyes meet yours.

“You look beautiful too. I really like the bows; they’re cute on you.” You pinch Hanni’s cheek; it’s squishy. You finish breakfast before heading to the chapel, where you introduce Hanni to your family. She greets them well, making a good first impression.

“I think they like me.” She says as she sits next to you on the bench.

“Why wouldn’t they like you? You’re so cute and cuddly.”

“Don’t embarrass me!” Hanni slaps your hand away as you try to pinch her cheeks. She gives you a cute pout, her eyebrows furrowing as she tries to look angry. A few seconds later, she breaks, smiling and laughing, and she links her arm around yours. “I hope this part isn’t too long. I get antsy if I sit for too long.” Lucky for the two of you, it was a short ceremony, and you were soon off to the party.

You felt happy with Hanni by your side as you made your way to your seat. She attracted some attention as people asked how she ended up with you. It hurt your pride that they would ask that in front of you, but Hanni’s response made you feel warm and fuzzy inside. “Why wouldn’t I be? He’s kind and makes me feel safe. He makes me feel special when we’re together. I wouldn’t want to be with anyone else.” She’d say those words while she held your hand, sometimes holding your arm tightly. As you sat down with her, Hanni scooted her chair closer. “Some of your family can be very mean. Do we have to stay here for a long time? I’d rather just spend my time with you.”

“Just a little while. They’re going to want to do a few dances.” Hanni nods her head, staying by you the entire party. When it was time for the couple dances, Hanni gripped you tightly; your hand and shoulder felt like they were going to be crushed. “A little looser would be great, Hanni.”

“Oh, sorry,” Hanni says as she loosens her grip. You stare into her eyes, knowing she’ll be gone after this. You can’t help but get a little teary-eyed as you look at her. Hanni tilts her head, giving you a confused look. “Don’t cry. There’s no way it hurt that much.” She says, wiping away your tears with one of her hands. “There, all better.” She places her head on your chest as the dance continues. Once it was over, you and Hanni took your leave, wishing everyone well before making your way home. “That was fun, wasn’t it?” She says as she kicks her shoes off.

You take a seat on the couch, taking a deep breath before looking over at Hanni. She strolls over to you, her hair swaying as she comes to a stop in front of you. She places a hand over your chest and straddles you. You’re caught off guard by her actions. “Hanni?”

“Just this once, I won’t charge you,” You’re confused by her words, but your train of thought goes off the tracks when you feel her press her lips against yours. Her hands move down your biceps to your forearms before she places your hands on her waist. Her hands shift to your shoulders, holding onto them as you feel her grind against you.

You hold your lips against Hanni’s, your hands digging into her. When you finally break apart, you stare at each other in silence. Hanni undoes the buttons on her dress and lifts it over her shoulders, leaving her in her shirt. You kiss her neck softly as she begins to lift her shirt; your hands snake under it, and you squeeze her modest chest through her bra as she throws it off. Your eyes move up and down her body, taking in her perfectly smooth skin and the clothes she was left in. All that remained were her bra, panties, and her thigh highs. You run your fingers along her spine, moving up toward her bra. You can feel her shiver. Unlatching her bra, you drop it to the floor. You lean in and kiss Hanni’s chest, leaving a trail of kisses as you move upward. She cranes her neck back, cooing. “Take your clothes off, too.” She whines.

You stop for her, throwing your blazer and shirt off with haste. Hanni helps you with your pants, having to stand up to pull them off you. Now clad in only your underwear, you stare into Hanni’s eyes again. You both knew what you wanted. You leaned down and picked Hanni up. Carrying her to the bedroom, she wrapped her arms and legs around you, clinging to you as you kissed her neck again.

You dropped Hanni onto your bed, on top of her, before you stripped her of her underwear. She was shaved. As your eyes wander upward, you notice her breathing heavily. You take the time to get rid of the last piece of clothing keeping you from one another. Crawling back over her, you press your lips against hers, your hands running up and down her thighs. You felt her thigh highs; the thin fabric was smooth to the touch, allowing your hands to continue gliding over her. Hanni spreads her legs slowly, and you take notice. You glance down and reach for her slit. Hanni trembles as she feels your fingers run along it. A gentle moan escapes her lips as you tease her. Hanni holds onto the bedsheets as her mind becomes filled with the pleasure you’re giving her.

Your fingers were becoming slick as you teased Hanni, your cock began to ache as you watched the petite woman enjoy herself. Your cock tapped against her belly. Hanni looked down and reached for it, her small hand struggling to wrap around it. You groan as her palm rubs against the head. “Don’t tease me anymore,” Hanni moans. She stretches her legs outward and pulls apart her lips. You take a step back, taking in every detail. “Please…fuck me.”

You gulp and nod your head slowly. Aligning yourself with Hanni’s cunt you push the head in slowly, watching her reaction. Hanni cranes her neck, her eyes closed as she grips the sheets and lets out a deep groan. You hold onto Hanni’s waist, shuddering as you feel her walls squeezing your cock from all sides. You push more inside of Hanni, feeling her walls split apart as you move deeper into her. You moan her name, feeling her walls tighten around you as you do.

Hanni grabs your wrists, gripping them tightly. “Keep going; I feel so full.” You thrust the rest of your cock inside. Both of you moan loudly, filling the room with the sound. Hanni wraps her legs around your waist; you can feel her feet trying to push you further inside. You remain buried inside Hanni for a moment, allowing you both to catch your breath. You thrust slowly at first before picking up some speed. Hanni’s warm and wet walls rub the head of your cock as you push in, granting you great pleasure. Her moans are like music to your ears, but you can’t resist her lovely lips. You steal a kiss from her, muffling her beautiful moans. Her arms wrap around your head, keeping you connected to her.

The rhythm of your thrusts breaks down as you go on; you can feel yourself nearing your climax. Hanni’s walls began to squeeze you tighter as well. You met her eyes and saw she was reaching her limit. “Hanni, I’m going to cum.”

“Me too,” She whimpers; her hands wrap around you tightly, and she pushes you in deeper with her legs. “It’s okay if you cum inside,” She whispers into your ear.

You give her a few more thrusts before cumming inside of her cunt. Hanni’s wall clamps down on your cock as you trigger her climax. You paint her walls white as her cunt greedily takes it all.

Pulling out slowly, you stare at Hanni’s body. She had a thin layer of sweat over her. You fall beside her, staring at her. She turns onto her side, staring back at you. A soft smile forms on her face. “I’d love it if we could meet again.” She says with a hint of shyness in her voice. There’s a moment of silence between the two of you, “I…um, had a really good time with you these past few days. You weren’t like the others.” Hanni pauses again, “I meant what I said at the wedding. You’re really a good guy, and…” Hanni struggles to find the words. “Do…you want to meet again? I mean…without the website.”

You caress Hanni’s cheek, your thumb moving across it gently. She places her hand over the top of yours. “I’d love to go on another date.” Hanni gives you a sincere smile and moves closer to you, burying her head in your chest as you both drift off to sleep.

#kpop smut #male reader #m reader #hanni smut #newjeans smut

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 7 months ago

Text

Squeaky Clean 1

Warnings: non/dubcon and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Steve Rogers

Summary: You start work as a maid but you're not prepared for the mess your client brings with him. (maid AU -- plus!reader)

Note: yeah...

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

This isn’t where you pictured yourself. Even as a cynic, it’s not a job you would aspire too. You’re realistic. Practical. You do what needs to be done. And you suppose, at the end of the day, that’s all this is. Cleaning is rarely enjoyable but it needs to be done.

You have your kit. The agency gave that to you for a $30 fee. Wonderful, you get to pay for supplies. Business is business. Just another way of the world. The bucket is weighed down by the cleaners, the sponges, clothes, etc. The vacuum is a rental and weighs down your trunk with the broom and mop from your own apartment. You’re not buying a whole new set just for this. They’ll do the job.

You can settle for that. For what will do. For the bare minimum. Life has been a lot of that. You’re not the only one living that way so why feel sorry for yourself. Get through it, get over it.

The map on your phone leads you to the address. It’s a big place. One of those high-end townhouses. Not new but renovated. Protected by some city ordinance for ‘historical preservation’. Under that, they sell for nothing less than two million. Yep, you expect that. Logic and practicality are easy bedmates.

You park and feed the meter. Again, paying to make money. The world runs on money. Put in a little and hope for a few cents to get you by.

You get out and grab your bucket. You'll come back for the rest when you need them. Zuli, the woman who went over the expectations with you assured you that most clients are away during a service call. They don’t like mingling with the help. If they are around, you likely won’t see them. Or they won’t acknowledge you.

You can suck up your pride. It’s that city mindset. When you’re on the subway, you keep your head down, you don’t make eye contact. If you hadn’t taken this damned job, you wouldn’t be slogging through New York traffic in the company pinto. A job is a job, money is money, everything is simple if you just parse down your expectations.

You climb the front steps and as you go to ring the doorbell, a lens built in to protect the overpriced property, the door opens. You retract your hand in surprise. Bad timing?

The man that greets you is tall and blond. He wears a button up; brown plaid, and khakis. He looks like a cut-out husband from a 1950s advertisement for laundry soap. ‘Give your a fresh scent’ or whatever.

Strangely, he also tweaks your memory. Do you know him from somewhere? That’s not possible. You don’t know anyone you’re not forced to know.

“Mister...” You lift your phone and check the app. “...Rogers.”

Oh, right. Steve Rogers. You thought it was a coincidence. It can’t be a very uncommon name. You really didn’t anticipate the Captain America opening the door, even in Brooklyn.

“You must be...” he says your name with a smile. “You can just call me Steve.”

He holds out his hand. You look at it and stiffly set down the kit. You shake it, out of courtesy. Just your luck. You get one that wants to chat.

“I’ll give you the tour,” he squeezes your hand firmly before he lets go. “You can get the lay of the land.”

Another false promise. You should be used to those by now. Those written directions Zuli mentioned are out the window. You get the full curated walk through.

“Thanks,” you nod and bend your knees.

He’s quicker than you. Stronger too. Obviously. But the way he easily scoops up the bucket, it’s like he’s picking up no more than a pillow. The act adds to the hint of mortification in prickling behind your ears. Here you are, in sweats and a bandana, in a nice neighbourhood, and now you’re faced with the primped and pristine golden boy.

He backs up and gestures you inside, the bottle of bleach wiggling in the bucket. You enter and stop on the matter. You slip out of your shoes as he shuts the door. He turns, coming close, close enough that his warm radiates through the back of your hoodie.

“You can hang up your sweater,” he reaches to tap a peg on the coat rack mounted on the wall.

“Sure,” you unzip the hoodie and hang it.

The house is nice. Organized. You wonder why he needs a maid but then again, you suppose even if he can do it himself, he might not want to. Or have the time. How much leisure does he have when he isn’t saving the world.

It’s a pretty standard layout. You’ve seen homes with a similar floor plan by the fixtures are loose and corroded and the floorboards splintered. Nice places, just aged. Owned by those who can’t afford hired help.

You notice a few original pieces, restored, but emblazoned with the patent that demarcates them as turn of the twentieth century. Almost as old as the man leading you around. You go through the first floor, the second floor, and come back down.

“So, I’ll be around here and there. I don’t really have a solid schedule but I’ll try to have you come in around the same time, make it easy on you,” he explains. He has a hand on his hip as he gestures with the other; like he’s ordering around his soldiers, rather, his avengers.

“Right,” you nod again.

Taking orders isn’t that hard. They remind you of someone else but they’re not difficult. It’s harder when you don’t know what others want. When disappointing them is easy.

“Any questions?” He asks.

“No,” you shake your head. You stand awkwardly, waiting. You clear your throat. “I can take that.”

You reach for the kit and he flinches as he looks down. He chuckles, “oh, oh yeah. Heavy. Let me know where to put it. I’ll save you the pulled muscle.”

“Really, I can handle it,” you grab the handle, next to his hand. He resists for a moment then lets you take it. He could keep it from you if he wanted. That thought is something else. This man is powerful in more ways than one. “Thanks.”

“No problem, and whatever you need, water or whatever, let me know,” he offers as he slides one heel back. “I’m up in my office today so you can do that last.”

“Makes sense,” you accept and turn away.

Kitchen first, that’s the most tedious.

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #maid au #drabble #series #squeaky clean #marvel #mcu #captain america #avengers

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stargirlygirl · 1 month ago

Text

no, you can't buy my ranch

rancher!sylus x spoiled!city girl!reader

⭑.ᐟ part two: how do you do it?

summary: in your frustration, you go and visit sylus and ask him how he runs his ranch

contains: swearing, hurt comfort, sylus fat ass appreciation, 3k works

A BIG THANK YOU to @tragicvictoriantears for all of her legal advice in the comment section of part one. literally incredible research and an excellent explanation, you should check out her comments for insight into how taxation changes with different types of properties. i'm thinking of running with a blend of adverse possession and wishful thinking for our successful businessman here.

“Argh! How fucking long is this going to take?” You shout into the humid air settling across the green shrubbery. Whipping out your phone, you check the time.

“Two hours?!” You shriek. Shoving the device back in your jeans, you pull at your roots.

For the past two hours, you’ve been lawn mowing. You might be thinking, how is it possible to mow the lawn for two hours? There can’t be that much lawn to mow, right?

Wrong.

Your father purchased a very roomy block of land, and he cancelled his subscription to a landscaping service after the last tenants evacuated the property. This means the acres were severely overgrown by the time you moved in.

It’s only been one week staying in this fuck ass charming small town and your archaic dreamy ranch house, and you’re about to have a mental break down. You’ve only mowed one of the fifty acres of your property with your good ol’ push mower. 1 out of 50!

You can’t do this anymore.

Leaving the mower running in the middle of the field, you stomp back to your house. Up the porch steps, you push the door open with both hands, sending it clanking into the wall as you beeline to the kitchen.

Pouring yourself a glass of cold water, you gulp it down while sweat rolls down your dirty forehead and neck. You sigh, slamming the cup on the bench and wiping your brow. Slumping against the countertop, you think about how you’re going to handle this.

You could call up your father to reinstate the landscaping service, but part of the rental payments had been paying for it. The last tenants lived here around two years ago, and the vegetation had been left untamed. Now that you’re living here, free of charge, you can’t expect him to foot the ridiculously expensive bill for gardening when you could just do it yourself, or whatever.

You could mow one acre of the lawn each day for the next 50 days. Not bad, but by the time you finish, you’ll have to mow the first acre again because the grass will have already gotten out of control again.

You could give it a rest for today and pick things back up tomorrow, in the hopes that you’ll somehow mow the other 49 acres during daylight hours.

In the midday light, a red glint catches your eye. Striding over to it, you pick up the business card you had left in your fruit bowl days ago.

“Sylus Qin,” you mumble, reading his name on one side. Flipping it over, you type his address into Maps on your phone. Enlarging the lay of the land, you realise that he lives in the next street over. Huffing, you darken your phone screen and make your way upstairs, intent on getting ready to pay a certain someone a visit.

…˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚…

Shutting off your ignition, you hop out of your rust bucket. Your low heels sink into the grass, and you groan internally about how ruined they’re gonna be when you get home. Shimmying down your pencil skirt and adjusting your blouse, you head to the huge ranch house at the front of the property.

If you thought your little place was big (you’re used to shoebox apartments), then this is fucking grand. It’s like the house has been dipped in dark mahogany; it’s moody yet refined. Your heels clack against the wide steps up to the porch. Every detail is exquisite, from the embossed door knob to the hanging lights to the quiet luxury chairs out front. Not to mention the huge windows you’re positive someone is staring at you through as your fist raps against one of the double doors.

Within moments, the doors swing open, revealing two of the same boyish ranch hands greeting you.

“Miss L/n, our boss has been expecting you,” the one on the left remarks.

The right one continues, “Please—”

“Follow us,” they say in unison while gesturing inside. With a fake smile, you nod politely and step past the threshold.

Somehow, the house’s interior is even more magnificent than its exterior. You quickly notice the dark colour scheme of the decor, burgundy, black, and deep browns, mixed with fur rugs and leather finishings.

The twins lead you to the back of the ranch house before guiding you outside and to the stables. Stepping in, the overwhelming scent of livestock curls up your nostrils. You cough into your palm, stifled by the various beef cattle glaring at you. Towards the back stands Sylus, intimidating as ever in his maroon button-up and dark-wash jeans, barking out orders to his subordinates.

They scurry off like beetles as you approach. Sensing you behind him, the ranch overlord pivots around and gazes down at you with those piercing eyes. Your breath catches, and you unconsciously clench and unclench your increasingly sweaty palms.

He smirks, “Already seeking me out, kitten.” You sigh, berating yourself for stooping low enough to come and see him in your desperation.

“I’m not selling my ranch to you just yet, Sylus,” you mutter. He hums, revelling in hearing his name from your lips. The fact that you even thought about visiting him has excitement tingling in every inch of his body. Not that he’d ever admit it.

Clearing his throat, Sylus orders Luke and Kieran (as you learn to be their names) to take care of the ranch while you two talk business. With a large hand on your mid-back, he leads you back to his exquisite home and into his office.

Indicating to the plush chair opposite his opulent desk, he instructs, “Take a seat.” You obey, sitting down and crossing your legs all demure.

As he assumes his place opposite you, elbows on his desk and slender fingers intertwined, he drawls, “Well?” You breathe in deeply, feeling the cool air swirling in the bottom of your lungs to prepare yourself for what you’re about to say. Guilt gnaws at your stomach lining and makes the bile churn. Is this wrong? You ask yourself.

You press on, “I’m not here to discuss pricing with you.”

He chuckles dollar signs, “What a shame, kitten.” Silence pervades the distance between you as you glance around, feigning interest in his trinkets when nothing could be more captivating than the man in front of you.

“I want to know,” you start, leaning forward slightly.

Lowering your voice, you continue, “How do you manage all of this?” Your finger points from side to side, and for a moment, Sylus thought you were referring to him.

Raising a brow, he clarifies, “Manage what, sweetie?”

“Your ranch,” you murmur. Ah, that sounds about right, he thinks.

Grinning all handsome, he corrects you, “Ranches.”

Shifting back, you scoff, “Yea, yea, whatever. Your ranches. How do you keep them in order?”

His smirk widens, “Having some trouble in paradise, kitten?”

You scowl at him, “Oh, just shut up! I get it, you’re a successful businessman with an inflated ego.” Rolling your eyes, you slump in the stupidly comfortable chair. The cushions are so soft and mould to your body perfectly. And the details on the trim are to die for.

For a few moments, you two stare at each other, your gaze heated while his remains cocky.

Finally, you sigh, “I’m not asking for your trade secrets, okay? But, I get it if you don’t want to help me.” Breaking eye contact, you glance down at your roughed-up hands resting in your lap. Petrol and grass cuttings are still lodged beneath your fingernails, and there are little tears on your palms from fighting with the mower.

After a moment of deliberation, Sylus offers, “I could teach you a thing or two, if you’d like?”

Gazing up, your eyes are the size of saucers. You stutter in disbelief, “R-really?” He nods haughtily.

“So tell me, what’s the issue? You asked about management,” he drawls.

You hum in agreement and ask, “How do you keep up with everything? Like maintenance-wise? Obviously, I don’t have any livestock. But like the mowing? And the house?”

He smirks, “You want to know about landscaping and house cleaning?”

“Well,” you pout. “When you put it like that…” You trail off, your voice quietening until no sound passes out your lips.

Clearing his throat, Sylus responds, “I outsource those tasks, sweetie.”

“Oh,” you mumble. Right, of course. That was so fucking obvious, you scold yourself.

“Another reason why you should sell your land to me,” he mocks.

Leaning forward, the rancher continues, “You’re not made for this lifestyle.”

“Hey,” you mutter indignantly, but it sounds like a kitten hissing rather than a fiery roar.

He says sardonically, “City folk, such as yourself, aren’t built for this. So why don’t you give up now? It would save you much trouble.” His words sting in a way they shouldn’t. He’s telling you what you’ve been telling yourself, all week and for the past month, preparing for your move.

All of this complaining about the inconveniences of life here masks that feeling buried within: you’re not capable enough to handle life here. It’s different; an unknown way of living. You hate it for how incompetent it makes you feel. And right now, you kinda hate him for bringing that to light.

Swallowing the growing lump in your throat, you retort, “Desperate much? You really want my property, don’t you?” But it comes out mellowed.

Sylus grins, “Yes, I do. You’re wasting its potential.” You stand up in a flurry of chest pangs and prickling tears.

“Forget it. Forget that I ever tried talking to you. How fucking stupid was that?” You murmur dismissively while striding to the door. Grabbing the brass knob, you try and turn it, but it won’t budge. Drawing back, you notice a keyhole in the centre. All of this stress and pent-up anger is bubbling to the surface, spilling over as you pull on the door knob like it’ll magically open.

Whipping around, you choke out with cloudy eyes, “You-you locked it?!” Sylus stares at you like you’ve grown a second head, perplexed by your sudden emotional outburst. You’ve always been a bit of a crybaby, which definitely doesn’t help at a time like this.

Rising from his desk, he saunters over to you. Placing one hand on the door frame, he leans over you.

“Desperate much?” He remarks, throwing your words back at you as the door rattles from your furious attempts to leave.

Turning around, you shove at his firm chest while sobbing, “J-just let me o-out! Please!”

He shakes his head while countering, “I can’t do that, kitten.” Crying harder, you hit his pec with your fist, hard. But he doesn’t even flinch. If anything, he liked that.

“Want to take your frustration out on me?” Sylus teases while grabbing your fist.

He places it over his heart and urges you to, “Go on, then. I won’t stop you.” You shake your head, hair catching on your tears streaming down your cheeks. Your fist softens against his fitted button-up; his heartbeat is steady beneath your palm. It’s calming, feeling the rhythmic thump against your clammy hand. You know you shouldn’t, but right now, you don’t care about crossing his personal space boundaries. He crossed yours first, you reason.

Your head tilts forward, forehead hitting his muscles while his shirt bunches between your fingers as you grip it tightly. And now it’s Sylus’s turn to be surprised. He goes rigid while glancing down at you with a million thoughts running through his mind. He’s momentarily unable to comprehend whether this was real. Whether you’re really crying into him. Had he gone too far? Clearly. To him, you were still playing, even if you were becoming increasingly upset.

But this? He didn’t know how to handle this.

He embraces you tightly, one hand encasing the back of your head while the other rubs your back soothingly. This is what he should be doing, right? Holding you as you fall apart in his arms.

Sylus coos, “So emotional, kitten.”

You mumble into his chest, “S-shut up.”

Time elapses as you stand there, releasing all of your worries and pains into a man who only cares about purchasing your property. He doesn’t say anything further, your wails alongside his breathing the only sounds reverberating throughout the office. Even with the sunlight streaming in, it’s characteristically dark. But you like it. It’s fitting for wallowing in your sadness.

You ramble through your cries, “Y-you think I don’t-I don’t belong here. I-I know that! I k-know, b-but I don’t hav-have a choice.” Sylus doesn’t respond, but his grip tightens slightly as a fresh wave of sobs rips through you.

Eventually, you calm down into sniffling. Lifting your head, you’re met with his tender gaze. Far too tender for your current relationship. His thumb comes to stroke your cheek, wiping away the tears staining your under eyes. Instinctually, you lean into his delicate touch, not caring if you shouldn’t be doing this. He’s the one who upset you in the first place, so it’s his responsibility to make it better, right?

Sylus teases, “All out of tears, sweetie?” You nod, regardless of whether his question was rhetorical.

“Can-can you p-please let me o-out now?” You murmur. He smirks and draws back, raising his arms to the side in surrender. You stare at him with a creased brow as you rub your nose.

He chuckles, “If you want to leave, then you’ll have to acquire the key.” Gesturing to his body, you blink dumbly. He doesn’t mean—

“You wan-want me t-to search you?!”

Sylus nods, “That’s right, kitten.”

You sigh while stepping closer to him, your hands flying back to his chest, “N-no more game-games, okay?” The silver-haired man grabs your wrist and traces your fingers along the buttons of his now ruined shirt. You can make out little mascara stains and your blush against the deep red.

“S-sorry,” you mumble, your hand now guided up to his neck.

Sylus asks confused, “For what, sweetie?” Your fingertips ghost his Adam’s apple. Gazing at your hands, you realise how much bigger his are. And veiny, too. It’s criminal.

“I, uh, stained your sh-shirt,” you sputter.

He shrugs, “Do you think I don’t own others?”

“N-no!” You blurt out as he makes you caress his collarbones.

“Then you have nothing to apologise for,” he says resolutely.

“Now,” the rancher continues. “You’re not very good at this little scavenger hunt. Do you need a hint?” You hum softly in agreement.

“Alright,” he grins. Moving your hand back down his body, he stops around his navel and lets go of you.

Sylus says confidently, “You’ll have to go lower.” At his words, heat flares in your cheeks, and suddenly, you realise that you’re not sniffling anymore. Locking eyes, you search for a sign of approval in his. They slightly narrow, and he tilts his head, prompting you to explore.

Inhaling, you trail your fingers down to his belt, never looking away.

You ask, “Is it here?”

He grins, “You’re getting warmer.” To which you’re puzzled if he meant your tomato-red face or if you’re nearing the key’s location. Praying it’s the latter, you slide your hand to the side and down. Wriggling into his front jean pockets, you dig around, searching for the key. Nothing on this side. Trying the other, you come up empty-handed.

You pout, “You said I was getting warmer.”

Sylus agrees cockily, “I did.”

“So where is it?” You ask, perturbed.

He chuckles shortly, “Did you search all of my pockets?” Oh.

You glare at him, “You just want me to feel you up, don’t you?” The rancher tips his head to the side, grinning even more arrogantly.

“I want you to learn the importance of working for what you want.”

You scoff, “Trust me, I already know that.” Wrapping your arms around his breedable hips, you slip your hands into his back pockets. Damn, that booty. You feel a twang of pain in your chest from how sumptuous it is. Bet he just did a few squats and this was his reward.

“Being a rancher isn’t easy, kitten. It’s a demanding job and can be difficult to make a living from. That’s why you have to be strategic with how you spend your time,” Sylus continues. The key is in his left pocket. Curling your fingers around the hot metal, you retrieve it.

Leaning down, he rasps into your ear, “You’re a clever girl, sweetie. Don’t mock me by wasting what I could capitalise on.” Pulling back, you stare at him with your heart pounding so loudly in your chest, you’re certain he’s counting the beats.

“Thanks,” you mumble. Giving him a curt nod, you turn around and slide the key into the lock. The door opens easily. You don’t wait for him to see you out. No, you sprint from his office immediately, not turning around as he calls your name. Bolting out of his ranch house, you’re panting as you haphazardly start your engine and pull out onto the dirt road.

Your thoughts are a blur. Whatever the fuck just happened replays over and over in your mind like a broken tape. You can still feel the warmth his body against yours, that 50-pound ass in your hands☹️. You’re unsure of how you made it back to your house in one piece. But it doesn’t matter.

You just sit there, in your car with the exhaust pipe wheezing, stunned. No words, no course of action spring forth. It’s like Sylus’s touch and teasing have rewired your brain. And for some silly reason, you’re smiling all goofy when you think of his arms around you and his lips near your ear. Those kissable, pink lips.

Sighing, you step out and gaze at your property. You grumble upon seeing your one acre of mowed grass while making it up the steps and into your house.

That night, Sylus’s pep talk interrupts your every thought. You’re a clever girl, sweetie. Don’t mock me by wasting what I could capitalise on. Maybe— just maybe— you’ll take his advice.

story masterlist

full masterlist

taglist - @stxrrielle, @peachystea, @harbingers-lullaby, @grlyeetswrld, @multisstuff, @heartyluv, @cuntphoric-main

#★’s works #love and deepspace #sylus qin #lads sylus #sylus x reader #cowboy sylus #lnds sylus #sylus hurt/comfort

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with-my-calamitous-love · 9 months ago

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IN PLAIN SIGHT YOU HID / BUT YOU ARE WHAT YOU DID

katsuki bakugou x reader

same concept as the boyfriend thoughts ❅ breakup version

inspired by the smallest man who ever lived

katsuki bakugou, who, towards the end, wonders if any of it was true. he tried to picture you, gazing at him starry eyed. but those days are gone, and his heart hurts thinking of this future.

katsuki bakugou, who swears that in some other universe, things are okay. who knows that somewhere else in the world, he’s sitting across from you on the kitchen table, going over the grocery list. who gives you more time and more space, and who actually listens to what you say.

katsuki bakugou, who’s got a reputation. who starts dating you when the everyone hated him, and you loved him. who breaks things off with everyone loving him, and losing you.

katsuki bakugou, who can’t control his temper anymore. who is always an asshole, but who snaps when someone breaths wrong. who misses you more than anything, and copes with it by making it everyone elses problem. who relies on kirishima at night to keep him sane, tearing his heart out to his best friend over the phone.

katsuki bakugou, who hung you on his wall and stabbed you with his push pins. who, in public, loved to show you off. who knew he was nothing like that in private. who knew you deserved so much better but was too selfish to wanna let you go. who wishes he could turn back time and be what you deserved.

katsuki bakugou, who keeps all of your photos on his phone. who doesn’t even dare deleting them. who avoids his camera roll like the god damn plague. who wants to cry when he finally does delete everything, staring at the 1,768 deleted photos in his recently deleted folder. who replays old voice mails. who sometimes calls you and listens to it, because he knows you won’t answer.

katsuki bakugou, who you’re sure was sent by someone who wanted you dead. who tells you that its for your own good, that he needs to think things through. he books you an uber back to your apartment, and who helps you pack your things. who tells you he’s too busy, that he has to put his job first. who you can’t even argue with.

katsuki bakugou, who seemed like he was always ready to break your heart. who slept with a gun underneath your bed. who once loved you so tenderly, so delicately, and who know acts like you don’t exist. who you can’t quite declassify, not even if you had 50 years. who makes you wonder if he’ll ever confess why he did it. good riddance.

katsuki bakugou, who you see with other people, in news articles and through whispers from your friends. who thinks its sexy now that its not forbidden. who uses meaningless sex to mask how badly he misses you. who sleeps next to a stranger but dreams of you.

katsuki bakugou, who hops on a plane to LA. he tells everyone its to follow in all might’s footsteps, and he’s not lying- but apart of it is to escape his pain. who sees your face everywhere. who smells your scent on his sweaters. who finds one of your hairties in his jeans pocket and holds onto it like a god damn lifeline.

katsuki bakugou, who deserves prison for what he’s done to you, but won’t serve time. who watches as the media tears you to shreds, blaming you for the breakup. who tries to stop it but is rendered powerless when he sees how the heartbreak has been turned into entertainment. who hates that all of this has happened because you loved him.

katsuki bakugou, who slips through the bars. who’s thumb hovers over your contact during a late night. who fucked up. who misses you and just wants to love you once more. who wants to change his prophecy, fearing that this might kill him. who misses you stronger than anything he’s ever felt.

katsuki bakugou, who you miss just as much. who you dream about every night. who still hurts you, even when its something small like his name brought up in conversation. who makes you wonder what went wrong. who crashes your parties and your rental cars just thinking about him.

katsuki bakugou, who doesn’t expect your forgiveness, and wants you to forget. who watches your life through the glass, over the years as you move on. who knows that nothing will change what he’s done, and has to lie in that bed. who knows he hasn’t wasted a single ounce of his love, because all of it is yours to keep. who is the smallest man who’s ever lived.

part 2 where he gets redemption? u guys lmk 🫧

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bangtanbeom · 2 months ago

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⋆˚࿔ perfect match 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ 3

୨♡୧ part one / part two / part three / part four / part five ୨♡୧

pairing: rentalbf!soobin x fem!reader genre: fluff, comedy? (debatable), fake dating au summary: desperate to escape your friends matchmaking, a small lie spirals out of control. soobin—your charming, professional, rental boyfriend—the perfect answer. but what if the hardest part won't be fooling your friends? what if it’s reminding your own heart it's all fake? w/c: ~3.3k warning: not entirely proofread, fluff (might be cringe), an attempt at humor. a/n: sorry for the long wait guys! please bear with me ;-;. i wasn't feeling well lately and couldn't find the energy to continue writing. i'm still having trouble with writing a little, my head is a mess. BUT im happy with the positive responses, i'll work hard to finish this and make it enjoyable :) <3 taglist: always open! @saccharinezennie | @soobinz-wife | @mental-hollows

the fluorescent lights of the office hummed overhead as you pushed yourself through the glass doors, the usual morning chatter of keyboards clacking and hushed phone conversations filled the space. but the moment you stepped into the office—

yeonjun's head snapped up from his desk like a predator catching a scent.

oh no.

you barely had time to drop your bag onto your chair before he was already swiveling his chair toward you, his sharp eyes gleaming with mischief as they locked onto you like a target.

"well, well, well," he drawled, popping his chin in his hand, elbow digging into his desk. "look who survived her practice date."

you shot him a warning glare. "don't"

"don't what?" he blinked innocently—but the grin tugging at his lips ruined the act. "don't ask how it went? don't ask if you two held hands? don't ask if he—"

"yeonjun."

"—kissed you goodnight?"

you nearly choked on your coffee. "we didn't kiss—"

"oh?" he leaned forward, his grin widening. "so there was a goodnight?"

you groaned, slumping into your chair. "i hate you."

"no, you don't." he rolled closer, unfazed. "come on, details. was he as annoyingly perfect as his profile?"

you hesitated. the truth was, the night had been... surprisingly okay. less awkward than you'd expected. maybe even—dare you say it—fun. but admitting that to yeonjun would mean giving in.

"it was fine," you muttered, turning your attention on your computer screen with exaggerated focus. "we practiced. we ate. we left."

yeonjun gasped, slapping a hand over his heart like you'd just confessed a crime. dramatic. "you ate together? how romantic."

"it was a dinner practice for a fake date—"

"did he pay?"

"that's your question?"

"it's an important one!" he wagged a finger, grinning. "a gentleman always pays."

you scoffed. "it's a business transaction. of course he paid."

yeonjun's grin widened. "so he is a gentleman."

you buried your face in your hands, your voice muffled. "why do i even talk to you?"

"because you love me." he poked your shoulder. "and because you secretly enjoyed yourself."

you lifted your head just enough to glare at him. "i did not."

"liar." he smirked. "you're cheeks are red."

yeonjun, miraculously, dropped the subject—for approximately three hours. then, during lunch, he struck again.

the two of you sat at a small corner table in the company cafeteria, the noise of clattering trays and overlapping conversations muffled in the background.

"so," he said casually, picking up a piece of sushi with his chopsticks, "when's the next session?"

you narrowed your eyes. "why?"

"just curious." he shrugged. a grin played at the corner of his lips as he added, "you know. as your friend and favorite coworker."

"you're not curious," you countered. "you're nosy."

"same thing." he popped the sushi into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement. after swallowing, he leaned forward. resting his elbows on the table. "i'm invested now. this is better than a drama."

you groaned, tilting your head back toward the ceiling as if begging for patience. "it's not a drama." you insisted, dropping your voice lower as a group of interns passed by your table. "it's a fake relationship. with a contract. and boundaries."

"uh huh." he leaned in. "and how many of those boundaries have you almost crossed?"

your chopsticks froze mid-bite, the rice grains crumbling slightly under the sudden pressure.

yeonjun's eyes lit up. "oh my god. there is something."

"there's nothing—"

"you hesitated!" he pointed accusingly, his chopsticks nearly grazing your nose. "spill. now."

you exhaled sharply through your nose. "nothing happened, but maybe i'm... slightly less awkward around him now." you relented, crossing your arms.

yeonjun gasped. "progress!"

"but!" you held up a finger. "it's strictly professional. he's good at his job. that's all."

"sure." yeonjun nodded wisely. "and i'm sure him being tall, handsome, and charming has nothing to do with it."

soobin: practice date #2. tomorrow. 7pm. we're doing a double date to stimulate group pressure. dress casually but nice. no flinching when i touch you.

you: who said i flinch?

soobin: you literally elbowed me in the ribs when i put my arm around you at the bookstore.

you: reflexes. also you deserved it.

soobin: noted. try to resist assaulting me in front of your ex, though. bad for the act.

you: no promises.

soobin: i'm adding "combat training" to your invoice.

you snorted, locking your phone before yeonjun could peer over your shoulders—again.

"oooh, is that mr. perfect boyfriend?" yeonjun sing-songed, swiveling his chair toward you with a grin.

you shoved your phone in your pocket. "it's none of your business."

"that's a yes." he clasped his hands under his chin. "so? what's the plan? romantic stroll by the han river? cozy movie date? kissing practice—"

you snatched the nearest pen off the table and hurled it at him. he dodged with a yelp, the pen clattering against the wall behind him. "we're doing a double date simulation. to practice group dynamics."

yeonjun wiggled his eyebrows. "uh huh. and how many of these practice sessions do you need before you admit you're enjoying this?"

"it's fake." you hissed, rolling your eyes. "he's literally being paid to do this."

"and yet." yeonjun's grin widened as he pointed at your face. "you're blushing."

"i'm annoyed."

"sure." he flopped back in his chair, spinning lazily. "keep telling yourself that."

you stood in front of your closet, staring at the outfit you'd laid out on your bed for the fifth time in ten minutes.

casual but nice.

that's what soobin said.

you held up a silky blouse, then an off-the-shoulder top, then a dress you hadn't worn in months.

too formal. too plain. too... desperate?

with a frustrated groan, you grabbed the first thing that didn't make you second-guess yourself—a light-colored knitted sweater. simple.

you checked your reflection one last time, adjusting the neckline, smoothing your hair, and grabbed your keys.

your phone buzzed.

soobin: don't panic when you see beomgyu. he can be intimidating, but he's just a playful puppy in human form.

deep breath. you got this.

the drive to the restaurant was too short. your fingers drummed against the steering wheel, the lights blurring past as you rehearsed everything in your head.

bookstore. together for two months. no flinching.

you pulled into the restaurant's parking lot, your stomach twisting as you spotted soobin leaning against the entrance, scrolling through his phone.

you stepped out of the car, and his head lifted instantly, his eyes locking onto yours. a slow, knowing grin curled at the corner of his lips.

"took you long enough," he called out, pushing himself off the wall.

"i'm five minutes early," you shot back, crossing your arms.

"and yet, i've been waiting." he closed the distance between you, his voice dropping as he leaned in. "you look nice, by the way."

"thanks," you muttered. "you look good too, i guess."

he chuckled, the sound low and warm. "you ready?" he said, then held out his hand.

you hesitated.

his fingers twitched, waiting.

this is what you're paying him for.

you slipped your hand into his. his grip was warm, firm—reassuring, even.

"remember," he murmured, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. "no flinching."

you exhaled and nodded. "i'll try my best."

the moment you slid into the booth across from beomgyu and his girlfriend, you understood two things.

beomgyu was in fact like a playful puppy—energetic, unrestrained, and radiating chaotic charm. his grin was instant, wide enough to crinkle the corners of his eyes, and just a little unhinged.

his girlfriend was terrifyingly observant. her sharp eyes flicked between you and soobin like she was already analyzing the act, her gaze lingering just a second too long on the way soobin's arm brushed yours as you settled in. her lips curled faintly—not quite a smile, more like a quiet satisfaction of someone already piecing together a puzzle.

"finally!" beomgyu clapped his hands together, the sound sharp in the hum of the diner. "we've been dying to meet you. soobin never shuts up about—"

soobin kicked him under the table. a swift, unmistakable thud under the table cut him off. beomgyu yelped, shooting him a wounded look before seamlessly recovering.

"—how great his job is," beomgyu finished smoothly, grinning.

you shot soobin a look. really?

soobin's expression didn't change, but the toe of his shoe nudged yours under the table—play along.

"so," beomgyu's girlfriend said, resting her chin on her hand. "how did you two meet?"

ah. the first test.

you opened your mouth, but soobin's hand settled over yours on the table, his tumb brushing your knuckles. "we fought over a book," he said, his voice warm with amusement.

beomgyu gasped. "romantic."

"he reached for it first," you added, relaxing into the lie. "but i may have elbowed him out of the way."

soobin scoffed. "she definitely elbowed me."

beomgyu's girlfriend smirked, and soobin squeezed your hand—good job.

by the time dessert arrived, soobin had already passed three levels of the unspoken couple habits—and you were almost keeping up.

first, the hair tuck.

it happened so casually you almost missed it, when the waiter had just cleared the plates and the air was thick with the scent of caramelized meat and lingering spice—the brush of his fingers against your temple, the fleeting warmth of his knuckles grazing your cheek as he tucked a loose strand behind your ear.

you slightly stiffened, shoulders tensing for half a second, but soobin didn't react. he just leaned back in his seat, one arm slung over the backrest.

"you had something," he murmured, voice low enough that only you could hear.

"liar," you muttered back.

his lips twitched. "prove it."

then second, the kimchi pancake.

soobin speared a perfectly crispy bite with his chopsticks and held it out to you, eyebrows raised in challenge. "babe. try it."

the pet name still sent a jolt through you, but you refused to let him see it. you leaned forward, maintaining eye contact as you took the bite from his chopsticks—only to immediately regret it when his smirk deepened.

"good?"

"overrated," you lied, even though the flavors burst on your tongue, savory and tangy.

revenge came as you shoved a spoonful of ice cream toward his face. "your turn."

soobin didn't hesitate. he caught your wrist, fingers circling lightly but firmly, guiding the spoon the rest of the way himself. his lips wrapping around it in a way that was absolutely unnecessary—slow, deliberate.

and unfair.

"sweet," he said, tongue darting out to catch a stray drop.

across the table, beomgyu fake-gagged.

the third, where you stood up to go to the bathroom, sliding out the booth with a murmured excuse.

soobin's hand settled on your waist, his touch light but undeniable, his fingers just enough to press into the fabric of your shirt—it was possesive yet casual. boyfriend-coded.

and—

you didn't flinch.

progress.

the dinner ended with beomgyu dramatically clutching his chest, letting out an exaggerated gasp. "i take it back," he announced, pointing between you and soobin. "you two are disgusting. i've lost my appetite."

you blinked, lowering your fork. "what?"

beomgyu groaned, slumping back against the leather booth. "the looks," he insisted, miming a swoon. "the little hand squeezes under the table—don't think i didn't see that. and the way he feeds you—"

soobin kicked him again. harder this time.

this time, beomgyu yelped loud enough that a few heads turned at nearby tables. his girlfriend just smirked, swirling her drink with a knowing look.

"you two are good," she mused, her sharp eyes flicking between you and soobin. "almost too good."

you stiffened, but soobin just laughed, his fingers lacing through yours on the table. "jealous?" he teased, squeezing your hand tightly.

beomgyu groaned again. "i can't take it. can we leave before i lose my will to live?"

soobin rolled his eyes. "drama queen," he muttered under his breath.

as you all stood to leave, beomgyu slung an arm around soobin's shoulder, whispering something that made soobin shove him off with an exasperated sigh.

outside the restaurant, beomgyu's girlfriend pulled you aside while the boys bickered over the bill. "for the record," she murmured, "he's never brought a client to meet us before."

your breath hitched. "this is just practice."

"sure." she smirked. "but if you were real? i'd definitely approve."

beomgyu and his girlfriend lingered for a moment, exchanging final teasing remarks before waving goodbye.

"see you at the next one," beomgyu called, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively at soobin.

soobin rolled his eyes, shoving him lightly. "go home, gyu."

beomgyu laughed, throwing an arm around his girlfriend's shoulder as they walked away. "good luck with your client," he sing-songed, just loud enough for you to hear.

soobin sighed, rubbing his temples like he was already exhausted by the mere thought of beomgyu's antics.

soobin lingered beside you, his hands tucked into his pockets, the glow of the streetlights casting long shadows across his face.

"you survived," he mused, glancing at you sideways.

"barely," you muttered, rubbing your temples. "beomgyu is... a lot."

soobin chuckled. "understatement."

a comfortable silence settled between you, the kind that didn't feel forced—just two people decompressing after an eventful evening.

this was a performance. you'd seen the way he slipped into his role so easily—the way his voice softened at all the right moments, the way his gaze lingered just a second too long to make you feel special. it was flawless.

"do you ever turn it off?" you asked before you could stop yourself, breaking the silence between the two of you.

soobin blinked, his expression flickered for half a second. "what?"

"do you ever get tired of being everyone's dream guy and never yourself?"

he barked out a startled laugh, but was hollow. "that's not what i'm hired for."

"that's not an answer to my question."

the streetlight caught the tension in his jaw as he looked away. for the first time tonight, he seemed different—like you could see the layers unraveling behind his mask, like you'd pulled a thread he didn't want loose.

"it's easier this way," he said finally, voice quieter. "no surprises or disappointments."

you recognized the words for what they were—a shield.

he was too good at his job because he did care—just not in a way that ever left him vulnerable. his reviews praised him for being 'the perfect boyfriend', but you wondered if anyone ever asked what he got out of it—besides the money. if he ever felt like an actor in everyone else's story, but never the main character in his own.

"must be lonely," you said softly.

he stiffened. "i don't—

he cut himself off, exhaling through his nose. for a second, it seemed like he might actually say something real—something raw—but then his shoulders listed in a practiced shrug.

"it's just a job." the words were light, but the way he avoided your eyes betrayed him. "you shouldn't worry about me, i'm here to help you."

before you could press further, your phone buzzed in your pocket—a sharp, unwelcome sound in the quiet between you. you fished it out, half-irritated, and glanced at the screen

yeonjun: so??? how was the double date, did he feed you dessert?

you huffed and rolled your eyes, thumbs hovering over the keyboard.

you: shut up. it was practice. nothing more.

soobin peeked over your shoulder, catching a glimpse of the screen before you could hide it. his lips curled into a smirk. "work husband checking in?"

you snapped your phone shut. "work what—?"

"yeonjun," he said, nodding toward your phone. "the coworker who booked me for you. sounds like he's invested."

you snapped your phone shut, but not fast enough. his smirk was already in place, smooth and effortless—the perfect mask sliding back on.

"he's just nosy," you grumbled, shoving your phone into your pocket.

soobin's eyes crinkled at the corners. "mhm. sure."

you elbowed him lightly. "don't start."

he laughed, the sound warm and rich in the cool night air. "wouldn't dream of it."

you fished your keys from your bag, the weight of them familiar in your palm—your escape route, your reminder that none of this was real, no matter how convincingly you'd played the part tonight.

soobin walked behind you, hands tucked lazily into his pockets, the fabric rustling softly with each movement. his shoulder brushing yours as you walked toward the parking lot.

the parking lot was quiet, the hum of distant traffic filling up the comfortable silence between the two of you.

you hesitated, keys jingling in your grip, clicking the unlock button on your key fob. the car chirped in response, the headlights flashing twice—bright, impatient almost like a silent plea. "so. that went... okay?"

soobin tilted his head slightly as he studied you. "better than okay. you didn't flinch once."

"yeah well," you said, swinging your car door open, "i had a decent teacher."

his grin widened, slow and pleased. "aw. was that a compliment?"

you raised your eyebrow. "don't let it go to your head."

you slid into the driver's seat, but before you could shut the door, soobin's hand caught the frame, holding it open. he leaned down slightly, the streetlight casting shadows across his face, his voice dropping to a softer tone. "seriously. you didn't even flinch once. even when i—"

his fingers brushed your wrist where it rested on the steering wheel, then reaching toward your face, swiftly tucking the loose strand of hair behind your ear.

"—did that."

then he straightened, stepping back with that infuriating smirk—radiating his usual confidence. "see you at the dinner, babe."

the door clicked shut before you could retaliate.

you groaned, gripping the wheel.

just two days left.

"do you ever turn it off?"

soobin's fingers tapped restlessly. your voice clung to him, sharper than the cold air outside.

"do you ever get tired of being everyone's dream guy and never yourself?"

no one had ever asked him that. his chest tightened by the surfacing memory.

clients didn't pay for real. they paid for better—better than their exes, better than loneliness, better than whatever hollow version of love they'd settled for before. and soobin was good at giving them that. flawless, even. five-star reviews across the board.

you didn't ask for better.

you wanted honesty, the raw truth of what was behind the mask, the shield.

he dragged a hand down his face. he'd almost answered. for one reckless second, when your eyes held his under the flickering lights—sharp and seeing too much—he'd wanted to tell you, the raw truth.

but it shouldn't matter. that wasn't what you were paying him for.

the whole point of his job—no attachments, no complications. just a transaction. a role.

but you kept asking things that weren't on the script.

"how many of these fake relationships have you done?"

a question most clients asked, but not like that. not like they were counting how many times he'd pretended to care—not like you.

the neon sign of the late-night convenience store buzzed overhead, casting flickering pink light across soobin's face as he leaned against the brick wall outside. beomgyu had dragged him here under the urgency of needing late night snacks, but the way his friend was now smirking at him—chip bag crinkling in his grip—told him this was an interrogation in disguise. "so," beomgyu drawled, tossing a chip into his mouth. "when's the wedding?"

soobin let out a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. "shut up."

beomgyu grinned mischievously. "i'm serious, the way you looked at her?" beomgyu fake gagged. "i almost threw up my kimchi pancakes. digsusting."

"it's called acting," soobin retorted, rolling his eyes at the dramatic antics of beomgyu.

"acting my ass. you've never looked at a client like that before." beomgyu shot back with a teasing grin.

soobin hesitated, the silence stretching for too long. beomgyu's smirk faltered when soobin didn't immediately fire back. his voice softened, just a fraction. "no way—wait. do you like her?"

soobin flicked his gaze away, taking a slow sip of his drink. the carbonation burned his tongue. he shrugged casually before answering. "i like getting paid."

there was another silence. then—

"bullshit." beomgyu crumpled the empty chip bag and lobbed it at his head. "you're a terrible liar when it comes to these stuff."

soobin swatted it away, scowling. "there's nothing to lie about. she's a client. end of story."

beomgyu studied him, uncharacteristically serious. "you know what your problem is? you're so used to playing the perfect boyfriend for strangers that you don't know how to be real with someone who actually sees you."

soobin's jaw clenched. "that's not—"

"you looked at her tonight," beomgyu pressed. "not the way you do with clients. the way you used to do, back when you still—"

"drop it, gyu."

a sharp pang twisted in soobin's chest.

beomgyu sighed, but didn't push further. "look, all i'm saying is—if you keep acting like you don't care about anything, eventually you won't."

soobin rolled his eyes. "since when are you the wise one?"

"since always." beomgyu grinned, slinging an arm around his shoulder. "now buy me more snacks. my advice isn't free."

୨♡୧ part one / part two / part three / part four / part five ୨♡୧

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