#But i have. So much going *wrong* with me and my life.

[yuujispinkhair]

ILLICIT AFFAIRS

You show me colors I can't see with anyone else

You are stuck in an unhappy marriage, not brave enough to leave your cheating husband. Until you meet Sukuna.

Pairing: Modern!Sukuna x Reader (female) Word Count: 10k Warnings: 18+, fluff, hurt/comfort, smut, but not explicit, cheating (Reader's husband cheats on her, and later on, she cheats on him with Sukuna). Sukuna is a CEO (or can be read as a Yakuza boss, too). Sukuna + Reader are both in their thirties. The fic title is taken from Taylor Swift's "Illicit Affairs", but in this story, the secret affair has a happy ending. This story is super self-indulgent, but I hope some of my fellow Sukuna lovers will enjoy it, too! Minors don't interact. Divider @./lovwoung

You often ask yourself what went wrong. How did you end up trapped in this unhappy marriage? Maybe you were too young, too inexperienced, too naive when you met your husband. Maybe you were too insecure, convinced no one would ever want you, and so you gratefully settled for the first man who showed interest in dating you.

Your relationship was never like those romances you knew from books or movies, but you assumed that was just how things were in reality. Your mom, your aunt, and everyone else told you how lucky you were to have finally found a man willing to be with you. How lucky to have found someone with a good job and from a good family. They were also the ones who pressured the two of you to get married, and ever since then, things have gone downhill.

Your husband hasn't shown you any love or affection in years. The only time he shows interest in you is when he wants to have sex, but even that is without any real intimacy. He hasn't kissed you in years, and if he did at this point, you would probably be disgusted by it. There is no love in this marriage.

The worst thing is you know he is cheating on you. You already suspected it when he suddenly had to stay at work a lot longer than usual and when he began to hide his phone screen from you. And then one night, you woke up and walked into the kitchen to get a glass of water, and that's when you overheard your husband talking on the phone with some other woman calling her angel and baby and telling her how beautiful she was.

Even though you didn't love him anymore, it still made your world tumble down around you.

You want to leave him, but you can't. Everything is too much, too overwhelming. You have always found it very hard to make decisions, and this one is huge. You have no idea where to go or how to get by on your own. All your savings went into buying this apartment, and now what?

And it's not just the financial aspect that worries you. Everyone has always told you that you would never survive on your own. They always kept you small, turning you into someone who is dependent on others. You got told that you are weird, not good enough, and incapable of ever taking control of your life. And at some point over the years, you started to believe that. Your self-confidence is non-existent.

You tell your mom about the cheating, and she tells you to stay with your husband.

"It's just a little fling. At least you are lucky that he doesn't want to divorce you. It would be such a financial disaster, and you know how you are. You don't do well on your own. Just stay with him and find joy in other things. Maybe pick up a new hobby. I could give you Kira's number. She just joined a nice Yoga class!"

You don't go to the Yoga class, but you also don't leave your husband. You try to pretend everything is fine. Try to gaslight yourself into thinking that maybe you are really just a hysterical, insecure, and overjealous idiot who misinterpreted things.

The months pass, and you catch him flirting on the phone several times. An annual business event is scheduled, which you always accompany him to, but he tells you it got canceled this year. Only to find out from the wife of one of his coworkers that the event took place as usual, but you and your husband simply never showed up. You know why. He didn't want you there. He didn't want to risk his little affair and his wife running into each other.

You've given up on love by now. You hate seeing ads for romance novels or rom-coms. You stop listening to music because most songs are lovesongs. For all you know, romantic love is just a made-up thing that people sing about and write about, but it's all just lies.

Or maybe it does exist in real life. But not for you. Maybe you simply aren't the type of woman who deserves to be loved. Maybe your mom is right, and you should just accept it.

So you stay with your husband, but you are dead inside.

Until you meet Sukuna.

He is everything you ever dreamed about in your secret fantasies that you started to develop to comfort yourself. A dreamed life, but now it's right in front of you, close enough to touch. Sukuna is a real gentleman. An attractive mix of a bad boy and a successful, serious businessman. Smart, confident, and sexy, with a boyish playfulness beneath his professional appearance.

Ironically, you meet him the night you try to save your marriage.

You are already sitting at the table for two you booked for a date in one of the best restaurants in the city. You put on makeup and spend an hour picking a dress in which you feel at least half attractive. And now you sit here, sipping your red wine, waiting for your husband to arrive, to hopefully bond with him again over a delicious dinner and a few hours where you can talk and maybe laugh together.

Only that your husband never shows up. You have already finished your first glass of wine and received several pitiful looks from the waitress when your phone buzzes with a message. It's your husband telling you he can't make it. "Something has come up at work. I don't know when I will be able to leave. Just have dinner without me."

You stare at the message for far too long, not even knowing how to respond. Feeling utterly humiliated, utterly hurt, and abandoned. Worthless. You know he is going to see his girlfriend instead tonight. His girlfriend, who is young and sexy, and can give him what he wants.

And suddenly, you can't hold back the tears anymore. You blink hastily, wiping angrily at your cheeks, trying everything not to ruin your makeup or have a breakdown in the middle of the crowded restaurant. But the waitress chooses that exact moment to walk up to you with an overly bright smile, asking,

"Excuse me, Madam. Would it be alright if someone joins you at your table?"

You look at her, caught off guard, really not wanting a stranger at your table in this horrid moment, but you are too polite to say no, and so you smile weakly back at her, pressing out in a tear-thick voice,

"Of course, I don't mind."

You wipe your eyes again, trying to will the tears away, as a tall man in a fancy-looking black suit and slicked-back pink hair comes into view. He is snapping at the waitress, clearly annoyed, saying something about how rude it is to forget his reservation and that this will have consequences since he is a regular customer, etc.

But he sits down across from you, still fuming as the waitress bows deeply several times, apologizing profusely for the mistake, promising that the man's food and drinks will be free tonight.

He lets out an exasperated sigh and orders a glass of red wine, which the waitress immediately scrambles to get for him.

You gulp hard, trying to regain composure, hoping you don't look as forlorn as you feel. You lift your head to nod at the man across from you, trying to muster up a polite smile because, after all, you have been trained from a young age to always be friendly.

You take him in and draw in a surprised breath. He is gorgeous. The most attractive man you have ever seen. Tall and broad-shouldered with masculine but beautiful features. Angular jawline, intelligent maroon eyes, and sensual lips that are lifted in a smug smirk as he nods back at you,

"Excuse this inconvenience. I will make sure whoever is responsible will get fired."

And, of course, you splutter and are quick to try doing damage control, not wanting some poor person to lose their job over this.

"Oh no, please, it's no problem at all!"

The pink-haired man laughs softly, a low, husky sound that makes your pulse flutter nervously.

He looks intimidating with his tall height and muscular build, and the tattoos that line his handsome face. But he is distinguished and elegant, wearing a designer suit and an expensive watch. Clearly, he is a regular guest of a restaurant like this.

He looks like a successful CEO (or a Yakuza boss, your mind provides not helpful at all). He's definitely someone in a powerful position, judging by his whole appearance and the dominant and confident aura he exudes. But he also has pastel pink hair, a boyish grin, and a playful attitude that makes him seem not as scary as you first thought.

His wine arrives from a different waitress, and he thanks her politely, telling her,

"Put everything the lovely lady across from me orders on my card."

The waitress is quick to bow deeply with a polite, "Of course, Mr. Itadori," at the same moment, as your eyes widen, and you quickly argue,

"Oh no, please, I can't..."

But he smirks his charming smirk and lifts a large hand dismissively,

"It's the least I can do for ruining your evening in much-wanted solitude."

Much wanted solitude.

His words hit you to the core, making all the sadness well up in you again. If only it were true. If only you were truly a single, independent woman who came here after a successful day at work to enjoy dinner on her own in voluntarily chosen solitude.

But you are none of that. You are an abandoned and unloved wife with a boring job and no money, sitting here at a table for two because your husband ditched you to fuck his pretty little assistant in his office.

And suddenly, the tears are back in your eyes, making it hard to see. You quickly avert your shameful gaze, your hand grabbing your wine glass so tightly it almost breaks.

Your sight is blurry, but you can still see the shocked look on the man's face across from you. His eyes dart away from you but then back again, obviously not used to the company of a crying stranger. He clears his throat before he leans slightly across the table, lowering his voice to a soft murmur,

"Are you alright?"

You feel embarrassment flood you, feeling so mortified at your behavior. You wish the ground would just open up and swallow you! This is so typical of you, ruining this stranger's evening, because you don't have your emotions under control and act like a complete fool. It's something your husband would chide you for or make fun of if he saw it.

"I... I am so sorry! Please just ignore me."

You hate how your voice breaks, and before you can suppress it, a pathetic-sounding sob falls from your lips. You press your hands to your face, sobbing silently into them, trying to hide from the world and from the poor guy who's forced to share this table with you.

But then you feel a tentative touch, a warm hand gently brushing over your arm, and you pull your hands from your face, blinking at your table partner, feeling your lips tremble and your face burning, knowing that you must look so ugly right now with your makeup ruined and tears and snot coating your face.

Another apology is already waiting on your tongue, but he shakes his head, and somehow, it's so authoritative but also gentle that your apology dies on your tongue. Instead, you blink at him, as he cocks his head and watches you thoughtfully, that low voice so smooth and soothing when he says,

"Don't apologize."

You nod, trying to smile gratefully at him, but fail miserably as his kind reaction only causes more tears to fall.

He shoves his hand into the pocket of his suit jacket and pulls out a handkerchief. Not a paper tissue, but an actual handkerchief. He offers it to you, and you reach for it automatically, thanking him. But you freeze the moment your hand wraps around the fabric, realizing it's made out of fine silk.

He raises an eyebrow,

"Please, take it."

"But I... I will just ruin it with my makeup..."

He huffs, a soft smirk lifting his lips,

"I don't care. I'll just buy a new one. Take it. I insist."

"Th.. thank you, sir. That's really sweet of you."

His lips twitch,

"You're welcome. And for you, it's Sukuna, not sir."

You sniffle, pressing his handkerchief against your cheeks as you nod and tell him your name.

His smirk softens to a small smile, and he jerks his tattooed chin toward your empty wine glass.

"Do you want another one of those? Looks like you could use it."

You nod as more tears well up in your eyes, and Sukuna snips his fingers, instantly summoning a waiter to your table as if they are all hovering nearby just waiting for Sukuna to voice a wish.

Five minutes later, you have another red wine to hold on to and sip on, which causes a comforting buzz in your head, and suddenly, it all breaks out of you, and you tell Sukuna everything. You tell him about your failed marriage, about how lonely you feel, how unloved. About your cheating husband. About how pathetic you think you are for not daring to leave him because you have never been on your own before and you have no one who has your back.

You cry and sob and take big gulps of the wine while pouring your heart out to this beautiful stranger sitting across from you. This guy who, despite his intimidating look, is surprisingly gentle with you and who doesn't mind that you stain his silken handkerchief with your mascara and lipstick.

Sukuna actually listens to you. He looks earnestly at you, clenches his jaw when you tell him how your husband treats you, and shakes his head when you say under tears how stupid you think you are.

"No, you aren't. Don't blame yourself. It's him. He is the problem. He is the asshole."

Sukuna is the first one who tells you that you deserve better.

You feel an unexpected relief at finally being able to pour your heart out to someone. And just when you get yourself enough under control again to begin feeling embarrassed at your outburst, Sukuna flashes you a smirk and raises an eyebrow, asking,

"Do you want me to get rid of him for you?"

Which makes you forget the embarrassment and instead stare at him with big eyes and hurriedly splutter,

"Oh my god, no! This is not what I..."

You don't get any further because Sukuna begins to laugh, shaking his head slightly as his eyes sparkle amusedly at you.

"Don't worry. I'm just joking."

You huff a breath of relief, followed by a little laugh. Sukuna's comment managed to pull you out of your little moment of regret, and you feel better again, taking another sip from your wine and even managing to eat a few bites of the meal Sukuna ordered for the two of you, claiming that an empty stomach is never good.

Sukuna is nice to you. It's astounding to you because, with the way he looks with those face tattoos and the slightly dangerous aura surrounding him, you would have never thought a man like him could be so nice. It brings more tears to your eyes, feeling too emotional from all the wine. But you use Sukuna's handkerchief to blot them away.

He leaves with you when you say you have to go home, walks around the table, and pulls out your chair like a real gentleman. He offers you his strong arm when you sway lightly on your heels. He helps you into your coat and accompanies you to the exit.

You stand in front of the restaurant on the busy street, but all you see is Sukuna, who stands so close to you that you can smell his cologne, a sensual, woodsy scent that fits him perfectly, smelling expensive and sexy.

He puts a large hand on your tear-stained cheek, cupping it gently, wiping a few fresh tears away, and you take a step closer to him as if drawn in by a magical force, craving this tender touch, even if it's just a stranger touching your cheek in the middle of a busy sidewalk.

Sukuna is so tall and broad, making you feel so safe somehow, and before you can stop yourself, you lean your head against his broad chest, closing your eyes for a moment and sighing longingly. For the first time in so long, you feel as if you can breathe.

You reluctantly take a step back again, tilting your head to smile up at Sukuna, thanking him again for everything he did for you. And he grins at you and leans down, his lips brushing over your ear, while his hand still caresses your cheek,

"You deserve so much better than your asshole of a husband. Don't hesitate to call or text me when you need a break again."

And with that, he presses a gentle kiss to your cheek. It's such a delicate feeling, so soft and gone again in a split second that you aren't sure if it really happened or if you just imagined it, but it fills you with such warmth that it almost hurts.

Sukuna pulls away with a smirk, and you see a business card dangling from his long fingers. You take it from him with a small, grateful smile.

+++

Several days pass, during which you firmly ignore the business card that's still in your purse.

Waking up the next morning after meeting Sukuna made you feel strange. Guilty somehow. As if you had done something wrong. It's ridiculous, of course. Nothing happened between Sukuna and you. And if someone was supposed to feel guilt, it was your husband. And yet you refused to even look at the business card, feeling like you would be doing something bad if you even so much as entertained the idea of adding Sukuna's number to your contacts.

No, you would never contact Sukuna. You would do as your mom had said. Just accept the circumstances of your marriage and create your own happiness. Maybe you should really find a new hobby. Or maybe you could get a pet? A cat or a dog?

For the next few days, you almost manage to convince yourself that you are fine with your life. You keep yourself busy by researching different cat and dog breeds and starting a new TV show.

But then you walk in on your husband flirting with his affair on the phone again, and you see red. This time, you can't stop yourself from confronting him, from snapping at him and screaming at him under tears to stop it.

It leads to nothing, though. He is so unbothered, so smooth, lying through his teeth, downplaying it, claiming she is just a good friend, making you seem like some nutcase who overreacts at every little thing.

You escape to the bedroom, sitting on the bed, staring off into space as tears stream down your face, feeling so helpless in your rage and misery. What are you supposed to do when your cheating partner refuses to admit he is actually cheating on you?

You wish you had the courage to leave him. Or better, you wish he would take the decision from you and leave you so you won't be the one everyone blames for ending this seemingly perfect marriage! And so you won't have to be the one who makes a decision that will change your whole life.

You yank open your nightstand, searching for some paper tissues. And that's when you see Sukuna's handkerchief again, peeking out from under a package of chocolate cookies.

You brush tenderly over the soft, silken fabric. A small smile lifts your lips as your fingers brush over the initials embroidered on it in one corner in a fancy gold thread. S.I.. Itadori Sukuna.

You let out a long breath, wiping your tears away with one hand while the other holds the handkerchief. And suddenly, the clouds seem to disappear as you remember the warmth you felt when Sukuna cupped your cheek and wiped your tears away. And suddenly you know what you want to do.

You jump up and walk to your dresser, pull it open hurriedly, and yank out the purse you had with you in that restaurant. You open it, impatiently emptying its contents over your bed, until you see the business card with Sukuna's contact information.

On any other day, you would overthink things and take an hour to even make up your mind about what to write, but in the state you are in right now, everything seems so clear.

You grab your phone, add Sukuna's contact, and open a new text message. Your fingers seem to do the work without you consciously having to think about it as they quickly type a message:

"Hey. It's your surprise table partner from last Friday. Thank you again for being so nice to me and for your handkerchief."

You feel triumphant as you place your phone down on your nightstand. And then it buzzes, and your heart jumps to your throat. There's a reply.

"I'm glad you finally texted me. You are very welcome. How are you feeling?"

"I am ok. What about you?"

You cringe at your poor small-talk skills, but Sukuna is surprisingly easy to talk to. He tells you about his day, about business meetings, and what he will have for dinner.

There's a strange feeling spreading through your chest. A kind of longing. You crave the feeling of being near Sukuna again. How safe you felt when leaning your head against his chest for a few seconds. How seen you felt when he listened patiently to you and reassured you.

You want to see him again. Want that feeling again.

"I want to give you back your handkerchief. Where can we meet?"

You know you sound weird as fuck, but it's the only way you dare ask him to meet you again.

"I don't want that handkerchief back, sweetheart. But we should meet up anyway. I quite enjoyed your company. How about you join me again for dinner sometime this week?"

Oh.

Your heart is racing uncontrollably, and your hand shakes as you stare at Sukuna's message.

This is it. This is where things become dangerous. You know the right thing to do would be to say no. It's what a married woman should do. But your husband is in the living room, probably sexting his little affair, so why should you be a good wife?

And so you text Sukuna back, letting him know that dinner sounds great.

+++

The dinner with Sukuna is nice. Really nice. You catch yourself feeling so much lighter, your lips lifted in genuine laughter, your eyes shining with happiness as you spend your evening with Sukuna. He is a very charming conversationalist. Cocky, but in such a playful way that it makes you giggle and feel your face get hot from all the joy it brings you to playfully joke around with him and let him tease you in such a charming and light-hearted way.

Your meeting is innocent, nothing that could be counted as cheating. Just a man and a woman who enjoy good food and wine together and chat about everything and nothing. The occasional small touches don't count, right? Like when Sukuna's large hand brushes over the back of your much smaller hand that's resting on the table.

Or when he reaches across the table to cup your chin and wipe some cherry sauce off the corner of your lips with his thumb. But just because his gentle touch makes your skin tingle and your pulse quicken doesn't mean there is anything going on between Sukuna and you!

Sukuna refuses to let you pay, saying it's a delight for him to have you keep him company. And you laugh bashfully and wave him off but feel so giddy. Sukuna offers you his arm when you walk out of the restaurant, and you take it happily, marveling at how tall he is and how safe you feel walking at his side, biting your lip when you wrap your hand around his upper arm and feel his big biceps flex under your palm.

You say good night on the street in front of the restaurant, and before you know what you are doing, you wrap your arms around Sukuna for a light hug. You intend to pull away again immediately, just a quick, friendly hug, but you get stopped by Sukuna's strong arms wrapping around you, holding you firmly, hugging you back, and not letting you go yet.

He rests his chin on your head, and you have the enticing scent of his cologne in your nose again. You feel so warm and comfortable with Sukuna's strong arms around you, his tall, muscular body pressing against you, warm and reassuring. It makes you let out a shaky breath, overcome with feelings, because you can't remember the last time someone hugged you like this.

Sukuna's low voice is a velvety rumble when he says,

"I am on the National Museum's VIP list. There will be a pre-opening event for a new exhibition this coming week. Heian era. It sounds interesting. Would you like to accompany me?"

You lift your head, looking curiously at Sukuna,

"What must one do to get added to the National Museum's VIP list?"

An amused smirk lifts Sukuna's lips, making him look so unfairly handsome,

"Oh, nothing much, just make one or two generous donations every year."

He shrugs, and you laugh, beaming up at him in amusement as you nod,

"I would love to accompany you."

"Sweet. It's settled, then. I'll text you the day and time."

You want to walk to the subway, but Sukuna stops you with a warm hand on your arm, saying he will drive you home. For a moment, you freeze, not knowing what to say. It feels wrong somehow to let another man drive you to the apartment you share with your husband. And maybe you should be cautious and keep a distance and not let Sukuna know exactly where you live.

But you shake yourself out of it. All of those things have been hammered into your brain all of your life, making you anxious and scared and never truly living your life. You are already meeting with Sukuna for dinner and will accompany him to a museum next week. The world won't end if he knows your address!

You smile at him and nod, telling him it would be very nice if he drove you. And Sukuna smiles back, a pleased look in his maroon eyes. He gently steers you towards the parking space with a large hand resting lightly on the small of your back as you stroll down the street.

You catch yourself having a more upright posture than usual, your head lifted, your lips adorned with a soft smile. You feel like the passerbies are all looking at you and Sukuna. Maybe thinking the two of you are a couple on a date, and the thought makes your stomach tingle.

Sukuna's car is a black Porsche. You don't even know why you are surprised. He grins lazily as he opens the door for you and helps you slip into the passenger seat, handing you your purse when you sit and carefully closing the door behind you before he walks around the front of the fancy sports car and gets into the driver's seat.

"Nice car," you say, and Sukuna turns to look at you with a teasing twinkle in his eyes,

"Well, I'm not a nice guy, so at least my car should be."

"Oh, I think you are very nice."

The two of you hold eye contact for a long moment, both pairs of eyes filled with amusement before you burst out giggling, and Sukuna joins you with his low laugh.

+++

You spend the next evenings at home, having dinner with your husband, who is busy with his phone most of the time, making the cold, heavy feeling in your stomach even worse.

Your only joy is the anticipation you feel in looking forward to Wednesday afternoon when you will meet Sukuna at the museum.

He is already waiting when you arrive, leaning casually against a pillar next to the entrance, tall and handsome with his perfectly styled pink hair and his Tom Ford suit. A dark red one this time, which makes his eyes look like red wine.

Sukuna is a beautiful man.

For a moment, you feel a nervous flutter in your chest, but it vanishes again when Sukuna grins at you and greets you with his warm, low voice and a large hand on your back, pulling you into a half hug.

He doesn't even have to say his name when the two of you approach the young man who greets the guests and ticks off their names on the guest list.

"Ah, Mr Itadori! Have fun at the exhibition. And thank you so much for your generous support."

Your hand slips naturally around Sukuna's arm as you stroll through the exhibition. It feels nice to be here. It makes you realize how long it's been since you last visited a museum. Or did any kind of activity, really. Your husband never had time for you during the last few years.

You can tell that Sukuna is genuinely interested in the exhibition. He already seems to be an expert on the topic, adding interesting facts to the already detailed info sheets next to each exhibition piece.

It's an equal amount of endearing and sexy how nerdy he seems to be about this. Attractive. You like smart men. You like it when a man is passionate about learning everything about a topic that interests him. And Sukuna is like that.

You hang on his lips, soaking up his knowledge, feeling way too hot when you watch the sparkle in his maroon eyes as he goes into a passionate monologue about political intrigues during the timeline of one of the exhibition pieces.

And he seems to like that you also show genuine interest in the exhibition and in what he has to say about it. He blesses you with a soft smile that makes your stomach flutter. You feel exhilarated, your heart pounding in your chest, almost bursting with happiness. A long-forgotten feeling emerging again after so many years.

You thank Sukuna profusely for the fun afternoon, and he grins that charming, boyish grin at you and tells you he is grateful that you kept him such lovely company.

This time, there is no doubt about whether he really kisses your cheek or not. His lips linger on your heated skin for a long moment, soft lips pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek before Sukuna smiles at you and cups your other cheek with his hand, his long fingers caressing it slowly.

"Let's meet again for dinner next week, sweetheart."

+++

You pace your living room restlessly.

Your trip to the museum with Sukuna made you realize something. It made you realize what this giddy feeling is that has been filling you ever since you started to meet up with him. That light-hearted, fluttery, happy feeling you get when you see him or even just when you think of him (which is almost every waking second of your day).

You try to shut down those feelings, telling yourself it's dangerous to let someone make you feel so much again. It makes you too vulnerable. It will only lead to more chaos and more hurt.

Why would a man like Sukuna even be interested in anything serious with me? He can probably have anyone. Either he only sees me as a friend, or I am just a little fling to him. I have to stop this before I get in even deeper!

In the coming week, you cancel your dinner with Sukuna by sending him a short text telling him you have a cold. He sends you a get well soon message and asks if you need anything, which you deny, even while you sob silently because Sukuna is so caring, and all you want to do is run into his strong arms and forget about your joyless life.

But you stay strong and put your phone away, forbidding yourself from sending more messages to Sukuna.

Your husband makes a rare attempt to talk to you, and you already know what he wants. After tiptoeing around you for several hours, he asks you for sex. You join him in the dark bedroom, feeling nothing as you slip out of your clothes and climb into bed with him.

You have learned to close your eyes during sex and let your mind wander, imagining all kinds of fictional scenarios to help you feel anything at all. But this time, you don't think of a fictional love interest out of a romance novel or an actor you find attractive. This time, you think of Sukuna.

You feel dirty afterward as you stand under the shower and scrub at your skin. Dirty for thinking of Sukuna while you slept with your husband. But what makes you feel even dirtier is that you still let your cheating husband touch you even though Sukuna is so nice to you. It feels as if you are cheating on both of them.

You cry so much that you feel like you have no tears left.

+++

Even though you haven't met or talked to Sukuna in over a week, he is still constantly on your mind. You are haunted by images of him. That beautiful tattooed face. That sexy low voice and the playful smirk. That tall and muscular body that makes you feel so tiny in comparison and so safe when you are standing in front of him or leaning against him.

You sigh. One would assume that acknowledging that you are developing romantic feelings for Sukuna would make things easier for you. Clearer. But the thing is, even though you know what your heart wants, you are still too scared to end things with your husband. There are too many insecurities. Too many risks and you feel so useless and weak, just like your parents always told you you are.

You feel frozen, unable to make a move. There is this wonderful man who treats you as if you are special and shows you how a man is supposed to make you feel, and yet you lack the courage to get out of your loveless marriage.

You have always been an overthinker, always scared to trust your instincts. Brought up to always be sensible and make decisions with your head and not your heart. So how could you just leave the security of this marriage? Especially when you are trying to convince yourself that Sukuna would never want a relationship anyway.

No, you can't let yourself believe that you could have a future with Sukuna. This is just a stupid dream born out of your naivety, which your parents always warned you about.

And how could you even go about ending things with your husband? Sit him down and tell him it's over? But what then? What do you do when he just refuses to accept it?

Or should you just pack your bag and leave while he is at work, letting him return to an empty apartment and a goodbye letter on the kitchen table? But where would you go? To a hotel? You have no money. To your parents? You would feel so ashamed, and you fear their judgment. To a friend? You don't really have any friends anymore who you are close enough with to ask this of.

You sigh. None of it seems achievable. Not for you. You are too chicken to do any of it.

Your husband informs you that he will be gone for two days for a business trip, and you let out a breath of relief, happy about the freedom you feel when he is away and you have the apartment to yourself.

You open a bottle of wine, listen to your favorite playlist, and dance around the kitchen, almost able to convince yourself that things will be ok and you can just live a life feeling detached from the hurt your marriage causes you.

And then your iPad dies. You groan, quickly walking to the spare room you use as an office to grab your husband's laptop, only to get greeted by his e-mail inbox, where you see a booking confirmation for a romantic couple getaway for the next two days.

You stare at it wide-eyed. And then you sit down in a daze and go through the received and sent e-mails, only discovering more outrageous things. The escort girls your husband booked over the last year, the flowers he ordered for other women, while you never got any flowers from him in all your years married to him. The romantic getaways he booked anytime he claimed to go on business trips.

You can't even cry about it anymore. The sadness is replaced by cold rage. And by a strange feeling of resignation. You know you could show all of this to your mom and finally make her believe what you told her all this time. Finally, presenting her and everyone else with proof of how badly your husband treats you.

But even as you snap pictures of the e-mails, you realize you can't bring yourself to do it. And the infuriating thing about it is that it's not even because it causes you hurt, but because you still want to protect your husband. If you show your mom this, she will confront him and make a huge scene. And you don't want that to happen. Even after everything he did, you still are too much of a good girl to let him face the rage of your mom.

That's why you close the laptop again without doing anything. You make sure to put it back to where you found it.

But a different kind of conviction has settled over you. If your asshole of a husband can go on romantic getaways and sex meetings, you can allow yourself some fun, too, can't you?

It's not even that you plan to have sex when you text Sukuna. You just want to meet him for dinner or another trip to the museum. You just want to talk to him, and laugh with him and soak up the light feeling he gives you.

He calls you instead of texting back. Your heart races when you take the call, and Sukuna's velvety low voice fills your ear,

"I just came home from a big grocery haul. So how about instead of meeting at a restaurant, you come to my apartment, and I cook for you?"

You agree instantly.

+++

Unsurprisingly, Sukuna lives in one of the most expensive neighborhoods of the city. The luxurious apartment complex makes you feel nervous and a bit out of place. But that uneasiness slips from you the moment Sukuna opens his door and greets you with that sexy, teasing smirk and a playful little comment.

It's the first time you see Sukuna dressed casually. And it undeniably does something to you to see him in a pair of gray sweatpants and a rather snug-fitting white t-shirt that clings to his buff pecs and gives you a nice view of his muscular arms and more of his tattoos. You aren't sure what is more mouth-watering, the food that is simmering in one of the pots on Sukuna's stove or his big biceps that flex deliciously with every move.

Sukuna lifts you onto the kitchen counter, easily picking you up and setting you down as if you weigh nothing. A fact that makes you all flustered and sends your pulse racing, making you gratefully grab the wine glass Sukuna is offering you, so you can hide your face behind it and let the alcohol calm your nerves.

No man has ever cooked for you before, and watching Sukuna do it is one of the most attractive things you have ever witnessed. He is so sexy. Passionate and skilled, and still always taking time to playfully flirt with you or ask you to try one of his dishes, feeding you food from a spoon or from his fingers.

There is a special kind of electricity between you tonight. An almost touchable tension that makes your skin tingle anytime Sukuna brushes up against you.

His voice is husky when he tells you what ingredients he uses to marinate the roasted vegetables. And you can't help but let your tongue flick over his fingers when he pushes a slice of roasted zucchini against your lips.

Sukuna groans softly. Your breath hitches in your throat, and you look up at his tattooed face. You are met by a hungry glint in those beautiful maroon eyes that remind you of the wine Sukuna poured for you.

You are caught in Sukuna's intense gaze, unable to look away. Everything else seems to fade away.

And the next thing you know is that Sukuna is kissing you. Or maybe you were the one who pressed her lips against his first. You don't know. All you know is that you are kissing right here in Sukuna's kitchen while you sit on the kitchen counter, and he is standing between your legs. His large hands are cupping your cheeks and tilting your head back, and your hands are twisting in the front of his soft white t-shirt, pulling him closer to you as you sigh needily into his mouth.

Sukuna kisses you like you have never been kissed before. Passionate, fiery. Deep and sensual, making your head spin and your pulse flutter under Sukuna's hands.

You can't get enough of him and wrap your arms and legs around him as if you are scared he will vanish into thin air if you let go of him. You kiss him with a hunger unknown to you until now. Like a starving person being presented with a life-saving meal.

Sukuna's large hands trail down your sides, fingertips grazing over the sides of your breasts, eliciting a needy little whine from you, and further down until they reach your thighs. You are drunk on his kiss, drunk on him, melting under every little touch.

And Sukuna hums in the back of his throat and deepens the kiss even more. His large hands slip under you, cupping your ass, kneading it while he makes you moan around his tongue.

You have always been shy, but there is something about Sukuna and the way he makes you feel that makes you slip a hand under his t-shirt, feeling him up, greedily caressing his flexing abs, feeling dizzy at how good his firm muscles feel under your fingertips.

You both can't seem to stop kissing, both tumbling down further and further into this heated desire. You are faintly aware of Sukuna mumbling against your lips that the sauce needs to simmer for another hour anyway, and then he picks you up and lifts you easily off the kitchen counter while his lips claim yours again.

Sukuna carries you to his bedroom while never breaking the kiss, and you suck on his bottom lip and run your greedy hands through his soft pink hair and down his bulging biceps, wanting him so much that you think you will die if you don't get all of him tonight.

You sleep with Sukuna on his fancy bed, and it's nothing like it was with your husband. It's like you finally learn how sex is supposed to feel with a man who truly wants you.

Sukuna makes you feel wanted and desired, a feeling that is so new to you after all these years caught in a loveless marriage where your husband made you feel undesirable, unattractive, and like you would never be able to find anyone else with how your body looks and how lousy you are in bed.

But with Sukuna, it is completely different. You feel sexy here in his bed with the way he looks at you when he undresses you. And with the way he moans sweet praise in your ear before his lips and hands worship your body.

Sukuna is a real man. Experienced and confident, but so loving and patient with you when you get shy and tell him that you aren't very experienced and that your husband was disappointed in your skills in the bedroom.

At one point, you tense up, thinking Sukuna will get angry like your husband when you are clumsy during sex. But the opposite is the case. Sukuna is calm and gentle, talking to you in that sexy low voice, all soothing and sexy, telling you that it's ok and that you don't have to be scared or embarrassed.

He kisses you until your head spins and then asks you why you got so tense, asks you what you need. And you almost break out in tears, hugging him tightly, hiding your face in his defined pecs, inhaling his scent, and feeling so loved and so safe in his strong arms like never before.

"I just... I have only been with my husband, and he told me I am not good in bed. He always got mad at me when I didn't know how something worked. I am sorry if I am not what you are used to."

And you feel Sukuna's arms tightening around you, feel him tense up. But he isn't angry with you, only with your husband.

"That man is such a fool. Look at me, darling."

You lift your head off his chest and look at his tattooed face when he looks at you all earnestly,

"You are a beautiful woman, sexy and desirable, and I want to fuck you so good you forget your own name. Because that's what you deserve. And you don't have to be experienced or fuck like a pornstar. You are perfect the way you are, and you drive me crazy. And if you don't know how something works and you want to learn it, then I will teach you, and I promise I will be patient and gentle."

You nod wildly, feeling too emotional to speak, and instead press your body against Sukuna's and capture his lips in another needy kiss. You can feel his smile against your lips when he wraps his large hands around your waist and takes control.

Everything is so easy after that. No words are needed. Just hands and lips exploring each other's skin in heated caresses and bodies entangled in feverish passion. You let yourself fall, give yourself fully into Sukuna's loving hands. Let him take care of you like no one has ever done before.

He fucks you so good you cry.

All the years of feeling undesirable and not enough slip off you now that you are in Sukuna's bed under his gorgeous, tall, and heavy body, your nails leaving scratches on his broad back, hot tears of bliss streaming down your cheeks, and his name falling sweetly from your lips over and over again like a prayer.

It's like you are finally alive, like you are a flower that finally blooms after all these years.

+++

That first night in Sukuna's bed changed you profoundly.

You catch yourself smiling all day. There's a new bounce in your steps. You feel so much lighter. Your stomach is filled with butterflies as if you are a teenager again who has her first crush. Your chest feels so warm. You're filled with new hope. Maybe there is more to life and love than you thought, after all.

You feel like, for the first time, someone has really seen you. You weren't aware that sex like this existed in real life. That a man could make you fall apart like that. Sukuna fucked you in a way that was life-changing, making you feel like you gave him not just your body but also your soul.

And as passionate and nasty as the sex with Sukuna was, he made you feel respected the whole time. Adored. That is what makes you lose your mind anytime you think of it. You have been with your husband for so long, and yet even in the beginning, when the feelings were still fresh, he never made you feel adored or loved in bed. You didn't even know it until now, but he only ever made you feel used.

When your husband asks you for sex, you turn him down his time, telling him you aren't in the mood, and you don't even feel guilty for it.

You keep running back into Sukuna's strong arms over and over again. Into his bed, under his heavy body, where you feel loved and wanted. It's like he opened your eyes, and now you can see all those new colors that you only seem to be able to see with him.

+++

Your clandestine meetings continue for weeks. It surprises you to see winter turn into spring, and yet Sukuna is still texting you, inviting you to more dinner dates and to more intimate meetings in his bedroom. You always assumed he would end your little affair before things became too serious.

But somehow, he is still in your life, reserving his Wednesday evenings for you, buying you roses, and taking you to the best restaurants in the city.

One night, you sit up in his bed on the ruffled silk sheets and bite your lip as you let your gaze trail over Sukuna's naked body. His tattooed skin, his buff muscles, his beautiful silhouette. And you blurt out,

"Why do you keep seeing me?"

It's what you have been asking yourself from the start. What does Sukuna see in you? You are mediocre in every way. Average looks, no real talents, and no impressive career. A wife who got neglected by her husband because she wasn't good enough in his eyes. A woman in her thirties, who was replaced by a younger, more attractive version.

Sukuna, on the other hand, is gorgeous, powerful and rich, and his age only makes him more attractive. He could have anyone.

Sukuna hums softly and turns onto his side, lifting his head to watch you with curious maroon eyes.

"What do you mean, darling?"

You avert your gaze, sighing, bringing up your hands in a helpless little gesture,

"I... I mean, you are you, and I am me. And I just don't understand what you see in me."

Now, the noise Sukuna makes sounds a bit like a growl. You feel stupid for saying anything, already about to scramble out of his bed and flee before you make an even bigger fool of yourself. But you don't make it out of bed. Sukuna's strong arms wrap around you and stop you. He pulls you back into his arms and against his solid, broad chest.

"Don't belittle yourself like that. I keep asking to see you because I want to. Because I like spending time with you. You are so sweet. You make me feel so warm when I have always felt so cold."

His words hit you like a truck. You blink rapidly, your eyelashes fluttering against Sukuna's chest.

"R... really?"

He huffs softly, letting out a low chuckle as his large hand pets your hair,

"Yes, really. I used to only have one-night stands or casual flings. Just sex and nothing more. I used to think that was all I needed. But you showed me something different. Hell, I've never spent so much time with a woman before I slept with her for the first time. And I enjoyed every second of it! I like spending time with you to talk and laugh with you and just have this companionship. You make me feel like maybe I am not that cold-hearted asshole I always thought I was."

You gulp hard, tears filling your eyes. But this time, happy ones. You sniffle against Sukuna's naked chest and press a tender kiss to his tattooed skin.

"You are so sweet, Sukuna."

He laughs softly, and you can feel it against your cheek, a low rumble, where your face is resting on his chest,

"You are the first one who told me I am sweet. Are you sure?"

Now, you laugh softly, too. The insecurity you felt a moment ago forgotten,

"Yes, 100% sure. No one has ever treated me as sweet as you."

"It's what you deserve. You are so sweet that I want to be sweet for you, too. And..."

Sukuna's large hands tighten around your hips, and he flips you over. He rolls on top of you, covering you whole with his tall, broad body. His lips find your neck, trailing little kisses over it, his low voice a seductive murmur in your ear,

"You're not just sweet, but also beautiful and sexy, and you make me laugh, and I want to take you places and cook for you and also want to keep you on my cock all night and feel you squeeze around me and hear you cry my name."

Sukuna grinds his hips against you, pushing you into the mattress, taking you with one powerful, deep thrust for the second time tonight. You gasp and cling to his broad shoulders, your legs wrapping around his hips, welcoming him, craving him, needing him.

He takes it slow. Slow, deep thrusts, his forehead resting against yours, his low voice moaning sweet nothings in between deep, sensual kisses.

It's then that you realize that Sukuna is doing what no one else ever did to you. Sukuna is making love to you.

And you cry hot tears, drowning in his love and his body and everything he gives you. Your nails leave scratches on his broad back, your heels dig into his firm ass, as you throw your head back and cry out his name in the sweetest ecstasy.

He holds you afterward, lies behind you, and wraps his tall, strong body around you. He hugs you with his strong arms and nuzzles his face into your neck, breathing kisses onto your skin, not letting go of you, taking care of you, cuddling you. Something you also never had before. A man who is willingly holding you like that for hours after he came in you.

You sigh happily, still in a daze. The occasional tear still runs down your cheek as you snuggle against Sukuna's muscular body, and your hands caress his tattooed forearms tenderly. You never want to leave his arms again. You want to stay right here.

As if reading your mind, Sukuna's low voice murmurs against your skin again,

"I mean it, darling. I like having you in my life. So much that I want you in it all the time."

One of his large hands caresses your belly, so tender, so loving, sending butterflies fluttering in it like crazy. And Sukuna breathes in your ear,

"Be mine."

You draw in a sharp breath and turn around in Sukuna's arms, cupping his face with your hands as you kiss him, long and sweet, and in between kisses, you murmur against his lips,

"I am already yours."

You know it is the truth. Even though you are still married to another man, even though you are still living with your husband, you are Sukuna's woman now. You suspect you have been Sukuna's woman for several months already, long before you allowed yourself to admit it out loud.

+++

Two hours later, you are buttoning up your coat, about to leave Sukuna's apartment and the sweet bliss of his arms and return to your cold, loveless marriage, and your lonely apartment, when Sukuna stops in front of you. He reaches out, wordlessly helping you with the buttons, dominant in such a caring way, and somehow, that small loving gesture makes your lips tremble as you are overcome by emotions.

He is so good to you. Such a giant of a man, so tall and broad and powerful. And yet, he treats you so gently. Large hands buttoning up your coat for you. The hands that also cook Michelin-star-worthy meals for you, or wash your hair in his luxurious bathtub. The hands that make you see stars when they finger you oh so good. The hands that caress your cheek tenderly and brush your tears away with so much care. Hands that give to you over and over again. A hundred little acts of service that this powerful man gives to you.

"Sukuna, I..."

You trail off, not able to put into words what you want to say to him. How much he means to you. How much you want him. How he made you believe in love again. How much you crave to leave your old life behind and start over new with Sukuna even though you are so scared of change.

Before you can say any of it, Sukuna grabs your wrists, takes them firmly but gently into his larger hands, and looks at you intensely.

"Leave that asshole. He doesn't deserve you, princess. If a man can't see what he has in you, then he is trash. Don't be scared. I can take much better care of you than him. I'll fuck you good and make you only cry happy tears. I will appreciate you like you deserve. I will love you like you deserve. I will ensure you always have everything you need. I have money, and I can protect you. Tell me, darling, who would you feel safer with waking through the city in the middle of the night? That joke of a man or me?"

Of course, you know the answer.

"I love you, Sukuna."

"I love you, too."

His strong arms wrap around you and pull you into a hug, and you nuzzle your face into his chest, inhaling the comforting scent of his cologne. And finally, here in the safety of Sukuna's embrace, you say those words you have been too scared to say until now,

"I will leave him. I want to be with you. Only with you, Kuna."

You can hear the smile in Sukuna's voice when he replies,

"I'll help you, sweetheart. I have one of the best lawyers in the whole country. I'll call him tomorrow to prepare the divorce papers. I'll take care of everything for you."

Sukuna cups the back of your head and leans down to kiss your forehead gently, reassuringly. He looks at you with that boyish grin you fell in love with and adds in a playful and husky voice,

"And once all of this is dealt with, I will make you my wife."

He takes your left hand into his, turning it around, inspecting the wedding ring you are still wearing, scrunching his nose at it,

"And I'll give you a much prettier ring."

+++

You let the door fall softly shut behind you one last time as you walk out of the apartment you had been sharing with your husband for over a decade. A smile lifts your lips. You are glad to close this chapter of your life.

You know that a braver woman would have left her husband sooner, would have moved out, or kicked him out the moment she found out he was cheating on her. Maybe even sooner, when she realized she was unhappy in that marriage. But you aren't brave. You have always been full of self-doubts and fears. Too ashamed to crawl back to your parents and admit that you hadn't been strong enough to endure your marriage. Too scared that you would never recover from the financial loss of the divorce. Too insecure to believe you could ever make it on your own.

But now you have Sukuna. And the fall doesn't seem so high anymore. You know Sukuna will catch you in his strong arms. He won't let you crash to the ground.

In the end, you think it doesn't matter how you got out of that unhappy marriage and into this loving relationship. All that matters is that you got a second chance to learn how love is supposed to be.

And it still takes bravery to leave your husband and walk into Sukuna's arms. To close the door of your marriage and open the one that leads to the man who came into your life as an illicit affair but has become your one and only.

OH SUKUNA, I NEED YOU 😭😭💗💗 He really took one look at Reader having her breakdown in that restaurant and was like, "I will steal that woman from that loser and give her what she deserves." Thank you, Kuna baby ;)

Thank you so much if you read the whole thing! This story became much longer than I thought, but the words wouldn't stop flowing out of me because this story made me so happy. I hope it could give some of you the same feeling.

I often see posts/articles that victim-blame the women who don't have the courage to leave an unhappy marriage, so I wanted to write something where Reader isn't a strong, independent woman but someone who needs a little encouragement and lots of love from a man like Kuna before she dares make the decision to leave her husband. She deserves all the happiness!

I hope you enjoyed the story and maybe fell a little in love with this version of Sukuna, too 💗

Comments and reblogs would be very sweet.

[angelesca]

a soon-to-be-husband's plan for successful marriage! w.c. ~900

requested by: @kimura-uzuri lots of kisses as per the request, suggestive, all of them are idiots in love and mega pathetic (just how we like 'em amirite) added some extra characters & stretched the prompt, but the core remains the same - hopefully you don't mind :)) (!! written before playing 3.1! only seen some bits and pieces)

anaxagoras's "all according to calculation" love letter!

to my dearest, if you were to reject me, i think i'd cry with my one eye since our fateful encounter, i've found myself... happy agitated, with these bothersome feelings aglaea said it was "love". hah. what does she know?, aroused by, simply, your presence in my orbit. it nags endlessly, claws at my throat when i breathe, these insignicant matters should afford me no pleasure... yet, the heart is no longer a master of itself, desperately wrestling from your grip, but inevitably chained to your smile that is interwoven with my memories. i also cannot forget how you suplexed me after our first kiss my lips spring and curve at an accord of their own when you spare as little as a glance at me. to who else can be ascribed such a feat? congratulations i guess a scholar's instinct is to question in the face of adversity. and questions must be accompanied by answers. as i write this to you, i have finally sumrised the truth. why i feel what i do, i must acknowledge it now... i adore you. i am eternally yours-- i must spend my life with you. ... *unintelligible scribbling*

anaxagoras looks up from his page, staring at you. "did that work?"

work? it didn't even try. "what? what are you- why did you read me a whole love letter? i didn't even know you had it in your bones to write sappy romance."

anaxagoras's eye twitches. he took that to heart. his formula for the perfect proposal is breaking, time to move onto plan b.

you throw your hands on your hips. "what's with you?" kiss. "you just came home after-" kiss. "-being away for so long." kiss. "is something wrong with your head?" kiss. "stop that! it won't distract me from your failure of a proposal."

"tch." anaxa clicks his tongue, slumping defeatedly like a child who got caught red-handed. so much for his perfect plan. well, when all else fails, there's only one final strategy: "well? are we getting engaged?"

you sigh. "you could've said that in the first place..." kiss. "..."

little did you know, that was a display of anaxagoras's restraint. the power of a scholar comes from more than their words, you learned the hard way, sore in bed the next day.

phainon's "super special, totally epic °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°" checklist!

1. i miss my partner so much... (´-ω-`) must return to okhema 2. buy a ring (maybe ask aglaea?) (ugh, i can't let mydei know or he'll tease me) 3. ??? 4. become husband!!! (☆ω☆)

step 1. miss my partner... check. duh. ┐(‘～` )┌ return to okhema? check.

step 2. buy a ring. check. aglaea, with a stifled chuckle, gladly helped the clueless phainon pick out a ring perfect for you. after all, someone who pairs an orange shirt with purple pants could hardly be trusted with picking out an engagement ring. successfully avoided mydei's keen eyes.

step 3. ???

phainon stares at you. "???"

"???" you stare back.

"???????????" phainon took the third step too literally. what is this doofus doing?

realising that his plan is falling apart, phainon panics. "c-c-c-c-can i k-kiss you?" his lips unconsciously push together, pouting, as if practicing his kissing on your ghost.

you frown. "why are you asking like it's our first time doing it?"

"oh, right..."

you playfully roll your eyes. "come here, you."

phainon skips over, brightened, lowering his head for you. you press kisses on them. then, ten more for good measure, because, well, phainon and kisses just go well together, clicking like a puzzle.

"haha, that was nice." phainon's cheeks were red as tomatoes, pressing his hands on them like a youthful maiden in love. then, he latches onto your arm, intertwining. "let's settle down soon. i'm so tired of fighting bad guys all day," he mumbles.

"settle down? like family?" you ask.

"whatever you desire: children, dogs, cats, potted plants. i'm okay with anything you want, as long as you want it," phainon beams. "i just want to start a new life with you!"

beneath all the sweet words, phainon feels that he forgot something integral... something something... become husband... well, whatever. as long as you're happy, phainon can't think of much else when you're calling out his name at night. ( ‾́ ◡ ‾́ ) the neighbours are tired bro...

(days later, you found the engagement ring left in his pocket before taking his clothes for laundry)

mydei's "conquer and overcome all adversities" (is he still talking about proposing?) goal!

1. propose

mydei holds out his hand. "let us form a legal, committal union under a contract."

your jaw drops. mydei had just returned home and these were his first words after being apart for so long? "s-sorry?"

mydei huffs. "you know what i mean."

"you mean a marri-"

COUGH COUGH.

...?

you scrunch your eyebrows. "you want to marr-"

COUGH COUGH.

... mydei is blushing, eyes glossy. how could one word have such an effect? scratch that, how has he made it this far into the relationship? romance was certainly not in the kremnoan dictionary.

you take a deep breath. "mydei, you can just say the word."

"the word."

you sigh. this was too slow. "fine. i agree."

"agree?" mydei looks at you expectantly.

"to establish a legal contract that binds us together."

"oh," mydei smiles. "well, let us make haste." he swings you over his shoulder easily, as if carrying feathers. now, it's going too fast - he really can't set a pace.

"hey! what the-" by the time you realised, you were already at an altar, face-to-face with your husband-to-be. never in your life have you witnessed your body being covered in so many marks the night after the wedding, and your lips were definitely bruised.

you sternly warned mydei, and what is repressed comes back stronger, as he hugged you 24/7, stealing your waist instead of lips. a kremnoan warrior always stays conquering, even when proving his eternal love for you.

a/n: i just found out there are anaxa chibis but its too late im afraid. pea head anaxa for life who's with me also here's some behind the scenes! originally i wrote this for phainon's step 3:

phainon gets on his knees and- oh, oh my god- "PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE-"

"phainon???" his name barely leaves your mouth as a breath, for you can hardly construct words, let alone a sentence.

LMAOOO it was way too much. anw ty again! i had fun writing it! sorry this was kinda short, i wrote this up as quick as i could. but if you'd like me to re-make the request bc it was too silly, lemme know xx

[snoopyracing]

forever and always // ln4

part two to champagne coast

pairing: lando norris X reader

word count: 10k

warnings: cursing and alcohol use

includes: 100% pure fluff

summary: life with lando after the italy trip or lando and you getting your happily ever after

masterlist

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Life at the moment couldn’t be greater for you. You’d just gone on the most amazing week-long trip to Italy and in the process managed to upgrade your best friend into your boyfriend. You couldn’t truly ask for more, except for the screaming baby on the plane to give it a rest. Even in first class the baby’s incessant cries could be heard and you wanted to slap yourself for not remembering to pack your headphones into your carry-on. 

You glance over at your boyfriend who’s sat in the spacious seat next to you. “We should have just flown private like you wanted.” You were trying to not have Lando spend any more unnecessary money on you then needed, lord knows how much he spent on you this past week. You’d told yourself that you could survive a commercial flight, it was only three hours back to London. You do it for work and when you visit Lando in Monaco, it shouldn’t be that big of a deal. Well, at least that’s what you thought a couple hours ago. 

“What I wanted was to stay in Italy for another week.” His large hand finds yours and your fingers intertwine. “But I know my working girl has responsibilities and deadlines to meet and money to make and all that kind of stuff.” He lifts your intertwined hands up to his lips and presses a chaste kiss to the back of your hand, the simple gesture sending an eruption of butterflies through your stomach. 

“Yeah well someone’s got to bring home the bacon in this relationship.” You joke, like Lando wasn’t bringing home a modest 30 million a year. 

“Well, racing isn’t gonna last forever, so I am gonna eventually need you to be my sugar mommy.” 

“You’d like that wouldn’t you?” Your teasing causes a pink tint to spread across the apples of Lando’s cheeks and it makes you giggle at how easily you can get him riled up. 

He slides down in his seat, trying to make himself seem smaller, all while still anchoring himself to you by his hand. “Nothing wrong with liking to be taken care of.” Lando has never not been vocal (at least with you) about how he in all honesty likes to be babied. 

Sure, he loves taking care of you, but sometimes he just wants the woman he loves (you) to take care of him. Even before you two got together you were the person who would look after him after a particular shit race weekend and when he would visit you back in London he always seemed to just be able to let his walls down and be vulnerable with you. 

“I like that you need me.” You state, which has Lando feeling even more warm and gushy inside. 

“Never not gonna need you. You know that right? You’re stuck with me.” And Lando means every word that slips out of his mouth. He doesn’t know what he’d do without you in his life. For so many years you were his everything and now that he fully has every part of you he can’t imagine letting you go.

Your eyes soften at the man you love. There isn’t anyone else you’d rather endure this plane ride from hell with. Yet, with all the love you have for him, you can’t help but poke fun at him. “Unfortunately.” You say with a cheesy grin on your face. 

“You love me.” Lando pushes back. 

“Unfor-“ 

Lando interrupts you before you can push his buttons even more. “Wait, do you hear that?” 

Your eyebrows furrowed together in confusion, your head glancing around the cabin to try and figure out what he’s talking about. “Hear what?” 

“Exactly.” 

And that’s when you realize that there is nothing to hear, because the baby had stopped crying. You think you’d forgotten what quiet was for a moment and to finally have it back was pure bliss. Though the little slice of silence lasts for a few short moments because as the plane begins its descent the change in air pressure has the baby crying once more. “Well, at least we know we are almost home!” You say trying to be positive. 

“We could have still been in Italy.” Lando groans. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Adjusting to life back in London was a little harder than you thought it was going to be. It helped that you had Lando with you this week, but you wished so badly to be back in Italy. The Thames couldn’t hold a candle to the Mediterranean Sea and you could only dream that you would wake up to the calming lull of the waves and not construction and sirens. And while you were slowly adjusting it seemed like Lando wasn’t at all.

When Lando was back in London for work he usually just stayed with you or Max, so Lando staying at your place wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, but him not letting Max or his family know that he was back home was out of the ordinary. After the third day of Lando being a hermit in your apartment all day while you were at work you finally confronted him about it. 

“Lan, I’m home!” You called out as you kicked off the world's most uncomfortable heels, your feet silently thanking you as they felt the cool flooring beneath them. 

“Kitchen!” You hear him holler back and by the smoke free air you’d have to conclude that he wasn’t trying to cook you dinner. Instead you find him standing at the counter in the middle of making himself a cup of tea. Your hands sneak around his waist, resting your head on his muscular back. A content sigh escapes past his mouth and you feel his free hand settle on your arm. 

“Hi baby. How was work?” 

“Very long and tiring. I’m glad to be home.” You reply before placing a kiss on his shoulder. 

Lando says nothing as he moves to grab your arm, leading you towards the couch. And by some miracle he sets his cup of tea down on the coffee table spill free while he pulls you into his side as you two plop down. “Missed you while you were gone.” His words are slightly mumbled as he plants a kiss onto the top of your head. 

Moments later his phone buzzes and your eyes can’t help but glance at the screen as he pulls it out of his sweatpants pocket. You barely see the contact name of your shared friend across the screen before he’s locking his phone and sliding it back into his pocket. 

“Lando.” His fingers ghost up and down your arm as he hums in response. “Why have you been ignoring Max?” You weren’t trying to pry into his business, but what you were saying was true. You’d seen the unread texts and for Lando to ignore his best friend, especially when he was back in England, was very out of character for him. 

His movements halted and you can hear the gears in his pretty little head turning. “I’m not ignoring him.” 

You shift on the couch so you can properly look at him. “Lando. You’ve been holed up in my apartment ever since we got back. What’s going on? You ignore Max’s texts to make plans. I see the missed calls from your parents. Are you second guessing things or do you not want people to know about us?” 

Lando’s eyes nearly bulge out his head at your suggestions and he’s reaching out for your hands faster than lightning. “Oh god no. God. No no no. Never in a million years would I not want to be with you.” 

“Then what is going on?” Your eyes soften at the man you love as you try to understand what’s going on in his head. 

“It’s quite selfish of me.” He finally admits with his head hung low while you rub your thumb across his knuckles, encouraging him to continue. “I know this sounds ridiculous, but I don’t want to have to share you with anyone quite yet. You going to work I can handle, but god we haven’t even gotten to really spend time together as a couple. Summer break is going to be over very soon and then that’s a whole nother beast we have to figure out and I know I’m very in my head about all of this but I just want you to myself for as long as I can. I don’t want other people’s opinions about you or our relationship to be all over the internet either. God why am I so in my head?” . 

Your heart swells at Lando’s words and while you understand how he feels, you know you’ve got to talk some sense into him as well. “I get it. We’ve been living in our own bubble this past week and now it’s even better that we’re together. It’s like the real world and reality are out to get us, but baby that’s life. And really I don’t give a fuck what anyone on the internet says about me or us because they’ve been saying stuff for years. It’s not anything new– I know what’s real between us and that’s all that matters to me and it should to you also.” 

You give his hands a reassuring squeeze, trying to convey just how serious you were about all of this. 

“Plus, I’m not worried one bit about once you start racing again, sure I’ll miss you when I can’t come with you, but we’ll make it work. What I am worried about though is you isolating yourself. I love that you love spending time with me, but Lan you gotta not let the anxiety of life get into your way. Even with this crazy life that you live you’re lucky enough to have people who care deeply about you and the rare occasion that you aren’t in England for more than a day or work and you chose to ignore them is not good for you. So take your phone out and tell Max that we’ll be over at his place Friday.” 

Lando sighs as he internalizes your words. Everything you had said was right. You always know how to get into his head and talk him off his anxiety induced edge. He can’t recall how many times you’d been there for him during a bad race weekend— granted this was nothing like that, but nonetheless he knows he can always confide in you and that you’ll always be there with love and the right words to say. 

And like the obedient boyfriend he is– he slips his phone out of his pocket and quickly sends Max a text. “Why not Saturday? Don’t you work Friday?” He asks. 

You shrug your shoulders at him like it was no big deal. “I got Friday off and we have other plans for Saturday.” 

“With your friends?” 

“No. We are having dinner with your family. I’ve been texting your Mom occasionally ever since we got back. Someone had to let her know her son was still alive.” 

Lando’s cheeks turn red in shame, he’s a known certified Momma’s boy and he knows his Mother was probably worried sick about him these past couple days. “I’ve always said she likes you more than me.” 

“Yeah well I actually respond to her messages.” You tease as you tuck yourself into Lando’s side, the couch pulling you in deeper. 

Silence fills the room for a few moments and it’s tranquil– golden hour cascading through your floor to ceiling windows as the two of you cuddle up on the couch, the feeling of Lando’s fingers running up and down your back as you listen to his steady heartbeat. 

“Thank you.” Lando is the one to break the silence, his voice soft and meaningful. You hum in response, waiting for him to continue. “Thanks for getting me out of my head. You’re my person, you know that? Don’t know what I’d do without you.” 

The sun filtering into the room makes the golden brown flecks in his eyes pop even more and you can’t believe that this beautiful and caring man that you’ve had in your life for so long is now actually yours and that maybe if you would have opened your eyes sooner you could have had him this way for even longer. 

“I love you.” 

Lando’s face erupts into a smile and you can’t help but lean into his hand as it moves to cup your face. 

“I love you too.” 

He leans in for a kiss and when your lips meet you swear it’s like you're kissing him for the first time again. There’s something so enthralling and intoxicating about kissing Lando and you pray it’s something you never grow tired of. 

“Can you really blame me though, for wanting to stay locked away with my sexy, stunning, intelligent, caring, and breathtaking girlfriend?” Lando states as you two resume your prior positions on the couch, soaking in this serene evening together. 

“Wow, that's a lot of adjectives.” You reply as a slight giggle escapes from you. 

“I can name some more if you’d like.” 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Friday comes in the blink of an eye and before you know it you’re standing next to Lando as he knocks on the door to Max’s apartment. The solid white door swings open and there stands Max with a mischievous look on his face. 

“Thought you two had fucked off and decided to move to Italy.” 

“It’s still a possibility.” Lando states as he walks in behind you. 

“Don’t be bitter because you weren’t invited Fewtrell.” You chime in. 

The three of you settle in the living room and it reminds you of old times before Lando moved to Monaco. When you’d all be gathered at someone’s place and life seemed simpler. Things have changed drastically since then, but you know you’ll always have these two annoying guys in your life. 

“I’m not bitter. I’ve third wheeled enough in our friendship to know when I’m not wanted.” Max is chomping at the bit to know what went down on your trip and if nothing had he thinks his two best friends may have one collective brain cell that they share between them. “Soooo. How was Italy? Romantic?” 

Your eyes quickly dart over to Lando who’s seated in one of the chairs slightly to your left, while Max is sitting on the couch opposite of the one you’re residing on. Max was clearly digging for information and according to someone else in your friend group, Max had a large amount of money that he had bet on the two of you coming back from Italy and being together. So Lando and you had decided to make Max work for his prize– nothing like a little lying and mental warfare while spending time with friends right? You see that mischievous look in Lando’s eyes and then he open’s that pretty little mouth of his. 

“Did you know pizza was apparently invented in Naples?” 

Max furrows his eyebrows at Lando, surprised at the fact that was what came out of his mouth. “I didn’t.” 

“Yeah. Think we ate our body weight in pizza this past week. Gonna have to hit the training hard before the season starts back up.” Lando is acting too nonchalant about the trip and you can tell Max is listening for any little slip up. 

“Hmm is that so?” Max glances over in your direction and you know your next in line for his interrogation. “Y/N.” 

“Max.” 

“How was Italy?” 

“It was great. We ate lots of good food, went sightseeing, went to the beach, and relaxed. Everything you’d do on a trip to Italy.” 

Max still isn’t satisfied with anyone’s answer. To him there was just no way that something didn’t happen between you two on that trip and he was going to get the truth out even if it killed him. “Nothing exciting happened?” 

You shrug your shoulders as you glance over at Lando– wanting him to take the reins on this one. You can see the gears turning in his head all the while Max is getting antsier by the second waiting for someone to respond. 

“Well, Y/N did meet a guy.” 

There’s a shocked look on both Max’s face and yours at Lando’s words. Even with your little plan in place you didn’t think Lando was going to say that or honestly bring up that night ever again, but he did and he’s thrown Max for a loop at the same time. 

“You met a guy?” Max asks you. He isn’t sure if he heard Lando right and he’s really starting to wonder how this trip could have gone this horribly wrong. 

“Yeah. We went out to a bar one night and I started talking to this guy. He was really nice and happened to be from London. He’s my most recent follow on insta if you want to see what he’s like. His name is Harry.” You hadn’t bothered to unfollow him and at this moment you guess it was a good thing you hadn’t. 

Max thinks the world is ending right here in his apartment. How could his best friends be so fucking stupid? How could they go on a trip by themselves and not see how utterly in love they were with each other? 

He pulls up your instagram and finds the guy's account– sure he’s attractive, but there’s never going to be the connection there that Lando and you have. Anyone with two working eyes and a brain could see that and as Max locks his phone and tosses it on the couch cushion beside him he thinks he should make an appointment for both Lando and you to go see an optometrist and neurologist. 

“He seems like a nice lad.” Max had given up. If anything did happen you two were clearly dead set on not giving it up, so he’d try again another day. If Max knew one thing it was that consistency was key and being annoying about his best friends being in love was one thing he will always be consistent about. 

“Yeah I think he’d fit in really well with our friend group.” The look on Max’s face is nothing shy of disgust and out of the corner of your eye you can see Lando fighting back his laughter. You know if you fully look at Lando that you’ll break so you focus on Max who seems to be going through the five stages of grief.

“Right. Well Lando I’ve got a couple things I need to go over with you for Quadrant. Let me go get my laptop real quick.” Max has no issue with changing the subject at this point— the mere idea of that guy joining your friend group was completely out of the question. 

Once Max was out of earshot you immediately turned your attention to Lando. 

“Oh he’s absolutely fuming.” Lando states, his voice slightly higher from trying to suppress his laughter. You can feel the giggles rising from within you and it’s like in school when you aren’t supposed to be laughing, but everything is way more funny because of it. It’s not even that funny of a situation, but Lando and you are nearly beside yourselves over it. 

Before you both completely lose it Max waltzes back into the living room with his laptop in hand. The two of them go over clothing ideas and mockups for sometime while you calm yourself and scroll through your phone. 

“Ok one last thing- the redesign for the website. I’ll send the test link to your phone and see if there’s anything you want to look different on the mobile site.” 

Lando pats his pockets and realizes he forgot his phone in the car. “Shit. Hey baby can you please run to the car and grab my phone.” He’s tossing the car keys to you and you’re catching them before Max can get his brain and his mouth to work fast enough. 

“Sorry! What?!” 

You stand there confused, Lando’s keys jingling in your hands. 

“What’s wrong?” Lando asks. 

Max doesn’t know what to think at the moment. “You just called Y/N baby!“ 

In all honesty Lando didn’t even realize the term of endearment had slipped past his tongue and from the way you reacted it seems you didn’t either. But Lando and you share a knowing look and instead of panicking you decide to just run with the situation.

Lando scoffs, like Max had just suggested the most outrageous thing. “No I didn’t” 

“Yes you did!” Max’s eyes look like they are about ready to bulge out of his head as he speaks. 

“Max he literally didn’t. I think I would know if Lando called me baby.” 

“Stop gaslighting me!” Max knows what he heard, he’s not stupid or crazy like the two of you are making it seem. His eyes dart back and forth between Lando and you, trying to see if he can read your faces, but it’s useless. 

“Alright well I’ll be right back. Lando maybe try to calm Max down.” You state before swiftly leaving Max’s apartment before you break character. 

While you’re gone Max doubles down on his interrogation of Lando, but all Lando does is deny deny deny. His PR training coming in handy at this moment in time. It doesn’t take long for you to get back and when you hand Lando his phone and keys Lando can’t help but fan the fire some more by intentionally letting that little four letter word slide right off his tongue. 

“Thank you baby.” His hand lingers on yours for way longer than need be. The simple skim of his fingers across your skin sends a shiver up your spine. You don’t even get time to respond to Lando before Max’s big mouth is hollering once more. 

“I know I’m not going crazy. I heard that clear as day! Now would you two quit fucking with my head and tell me you finally opened your eyes.” 

There’s an unspoken agreement between Lando and you as you shift your gaze towards him, a shrug of the shoulders and both of you knowing that if you continued to screw with Max he’d probably start to make your lives hell. So, you take a seat on the arm of the chair that Lando is still residing in and like a magnet he’s snaking his arm around your waist–pulling you closer to him. 

Max sits there eyeing the both of you, your current positions tell him nothing, as your closeness and touching was nothing out of the ordinary for you two, but it’s what comes out of Lando’s mouth seconds later that has Max’s eyes as wide as saucers. 

“Better call Ed and let him know he owes you some money.” 

He knows what that means and has clearly been waiting for it to happen, but actually knowing now has him somehow not believing that Lando is telling the truth. “Are you guys fucking with me again or is this for real?” 

“What you want me to physically tell you that Y/N and I are together? That we finally realized that we’ve been in love with each other for an unreasonably long time and made everyone close to us crazy for years?” 

Max sits there dumbfounded, for someone who had been wanting to finally hear this news he just can’t believe it had finally happened. “Well yeah I guess.” He watches his best friends as their hands intertwine and when they look at each other he can see the love radiating between them. 

It had always been there– the love, but there was something different between them now that they’ve become partners like the missing pieces of the puzzle had finally slotted into place. He’s happy that his best friends finally have each other in the way they were meant to and perhaps that he has a little more money in his pocket. “Alright well now can you actually tell me how Italy was?” 

“Well first of all. It wasn’t just you and our other friends that were annoying about us. I think everyone in Italy thought we were a couple before we even realized how we actually felt.” And so you tell Max all about Italy and how special it is to the two of you now. 

“See now why couldn’t you have just told me all of this in the beginning instead of fucking with me?” Max exclaims. 

“Well that’s no fun is it?” Lando rebuttals. “Think about how funny of a story that will be to tell at our wedding one day?” 

You feel your heart start to rabidly race and a heat spread throughout your body at Lando mentioning your wedding. You guys had only really been together for like a week and he’s already casually mentioning marrying you? You weren’t trying to freak out, but what the fuck? Your ears are ringing and it’s like your mind has left your body for a second, but the one thing that brings you back to Earth is the feeling of Lando’s hand squeezing yours. 

When you look down at him and he looks at you with those pretty eyes that seem to be an enigma of colors and that smile of his that could make you feel better even on the shittiest of days you just somehow know that he is the man you’re going to marry. You couldn’t imagine yourself marrying anyone but him. And yes it’s early, way too early to be thinking about marriage in this relationship, but if Lando asked you in a couple months to get married during the Las Vegas GP by some Elvis impersonator in a little church on the strip– you’d say yes in a heartbeat. 

“Well as long as I’m your best man.” Max states. 

“Who else would it be?”  

���── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The three hour drive from London to Lando’s childhood home the following day is spent trying to figure out how you should announce to his family that you two are together. You’d gone over every scenario, but they either seemed too awkward or just unnecessary. 

“We could just say ‘hey we are in love and in a relationship’ as soon as we walk into the door.” Lando suggests. 

“Do we even really have to tell them?” You counter, knowing you are both totally overthinking this situation. “I mean couldn’t we just let them find out through social media or something?” 

Lando scoffs at your suggestion and he doesn’t even have to speak for you to know that your idea wouldn’t work with his family, especially his Mother. Cisca would never let you both hear the end of her finding out about you two over social media, especially when she’s been not so shy about expressing how she felt about you two. 

The English countryside passes by in a blur as you stare out the car window, you’d given up on figuring out ideas and decided to enjoy the view and the feeling of Land’s hand in yours as you continued the journey. 

“If my family didn’t know that you were coming I could have just called and said I was bringing my girlfriend home for them to meet.” Lando states from the driver's side. Now it’s your turn to scoff, but Lando doesn’t seem to be backing off the idea. “Seriously, we could surprise them.” 

“Lando, that's not a good idea. You’re gonna be in deep shit with your Mom.” 

“I’ll just call and say that you aren’t coming and that there’s someone that I’ve been wanting them to meet for awhile.” He thinks there’s nothing wrong with his plan, but you know he’s gonna get his ass chewed out by his Mother. You love Lando dearly, but he’s also stubborn and sometimes you have to just let him learn his lesson. You can’t even tell him it'll be your funeral before you hear the phone ringing. Cisca picks up rather quickly and you decide to keep quiet in the passenger seat. 

“Hello darling. Are you guys almost here?” Her voice echoes through the luxurious car. 

“Yeah we’ve got a little under an hour left.” 

“I can’t wait to see you and Y/N. Can she hear me? Hello my love! I’ve got a little gift for you when you guys get here. I saw it when I was out shopping the other day and I just thought of you instantly.” 

You want to speak up, already feeling the guilt creep in over this and Lando hasn’t even opened his big mouth to speak yet. You look over at him with pleading eyes, trying to convey just how much he shouldn’t do this, but he’s waving you off and you know this is when Lando has signed his death certificate. 

“About that. So Y/N isn’t coming to dinner. There’s actually someone else that I’ve been wanting you to meet.” 

There’s silence on the other end for some time and anyone would think Cisca had hung up or the line had disconnected, but the call time on the screen keeps going. “Mum are you still there?” Lando finally breaks the deafening silence. 

“Am I on speakerphone?” She replies and you know Lando is about ready to get yelled at. If there was one thing you knew about Lando’s Mother, it was that she didn’t play around when it came to you, especially if it involved Lando. 

“No.” Lando says confidently like her voice wasn’t echoing throughout the car. 

“I know I raised you better than this Lando. Y/N and I have been talking and she literally planned for all of us to have dinner. For you to uninvite her and then decide to bring some random girl in her place is absolutely horrible Lando. She said you guys had a wonderful time on your trip and that you had been staying at her place this week so I don’t know what is going on, but this better be a joke. If it’s not you’d better pray that you don’t lose the one person who cares so deeply about you. I’m so disappointed in you son, but we will talk more when you get here. Oh and hopefully the girl you decided to bring likes my roast dinner. I know it’s Y/N’s favorite meal I make so I was going to surprise her with it. Anyways I’ll see you in a little bit.” 

There’s no goodbye’s exchanged or time for Lando to reply, just Cisca hanging up on her son and then music that was playing before the call filling the air once again. You so badly want to tell Lando that you told him so, but from the blank look on his face and the thousand yard stare he’s got going on, you think perhaps that wouldn’t help the situation any. 

“I should have listened to you.” He finally says, the stupidity of his idea fully sinking in now that his Mother reprimanded him over the phone.   

You shrug your shoulders at him, fully knowing he should have, but not wanting to rub it in his face. “Hopefully once she sees me your wrongs will be forgiven.” 

“God, we can only hope.” 

By the time you pull into the driveway Lando’s already thought of ten different ways his Mother could kill him and when he’s getting out of the car and heading up to the front door he’s thought of eleven. Usually his family would be opening the door to greet them by the time they pulled into the driveway, today was a different story. The decadent smell of his Mom’s cooking hits both of you in the face as soon as you enter the house and you’re so glad you’re actually here and not back at home like you were supposedly meant to be.

“Mum! I’m home!” Lando hollers. 

“In the kitchen.” 

So you slowly traipse behind Lando towards the kitchen, letting him be the one to greet his Mom. He stops just past the doorway, his Mom standing at the counter peeling potatoes, while you’re slightly hidden behind him. “Smells amazing.” He figures starting out with a compliment wouldn’t hurt his situation any.

“Thank you.” 

You can’t exactly see Cisca, but you know just from the tone of her voice and the fact that she doesn’t have her son wrapped up in her arms right now tells you she’s still upset with him. The sound of the peeler against the potatoes is getting more rapid and aggressive– you’re thankful to not be a potato right now. You can slightly see her over Lando’s shoulder and she’s still got her back turned to you both still as she speaks once again. 

“Are you going to introduce me to your girlfriend?” 

Lando steps to the side, nudging you to step into his previous spot. You know Cisca will be thrilled when she sees you, but you’re still a little nervous after seeing the ever apparent cold shoulder that she’s giving Lando right now. You hear the peeling stop as you step into the kitchen and when Cisca turns around to see the supposed mystery girl, the peeler drops to the ground with a clang. 

“Y/N! Oh my darling!” A look of shock, excitement, happiness, and slight confusion washes over her face as she’s practically running towards you and wrapping you up in her arms. “What are you doing here? Lando said you weren’t coming?” She pulls back from the hug and just stares at you, like she’s trying to figure out if you’re actually here. 

“Surprise!” You say with a smile. 

She looks back and forth between you and Lando, who unbestowed to you has the biggest grin on his face. And then like a switch that was flipped her jaw drops and she grabs your shoulders like she’s afraid you’ll run away. “Wait a minute.” 

You feel Lando delicately place his hand on the small of your back as he moves right up against you. “Mum can you stop hogging my girlfriend please.” And you can hear the smile on Lando’s face as he speaks. 

The look on Cisca’s face you would have thought Lando had just won the driver’s championship. “Oh my god finally! My love I’m so happy you’re here. If it hadn’t been you that I saw when I turned around I think I would have had to knock some sense into my hard headed son.” She’s wrapping you up in another bone crushing hug and it’s one of the best feelings in the world to be embraced by someone who truly cares about you. 

“Well to be fair I think we both needed some sense knocked into us a long time ago.” You joke as Cisca finally frees you. 

“Yes, but this is how it was clearly meant to be. I’d always said you two were meant for each other and that one day eventually you’d open your eyes and hearts and realize that your other half had been with you all along.” 

You can see tears start to well up in her eyes.

“God I’m just so happy that you’re here. My heart broke when Lando had said you weren’t coming, but now it’s like it’s been mended. You’re the person for my Lando and I knew that from the first time I met you all those years ago Y/N. You’ve made him so incredibly happy and always been there for him during the extreme lows and highs, but as much as you're his person he’s just as much as yours. I’ve never seen him act like he does with someone like he does with you. I saw that love in his eyes that only a Mother can see the first time he brought you home. He may not have realized it, but I did.” 

Now you’re feeling the tears start to well up in your eyes and it’s only a matter of time before Cisca has got you in her embrace again. 

“Where’s the love for your own son?” Lando asks jokingly as he watches the two most important women in his life. 

“My own son wouldn’t have played with my emotions like you did earlier.” Cisca fires back, before heading back to her previous task.

Lando and you sit down at the small table in the kitchen while Cisca resumes peeling the potatoes. “I told him not to do it.” You say just to finally get in your I told you so.

“And that’s why you’re my favorite!” Cisca chimes in. 

Lando groans, but it’s all an act because there’s nothing that makes his insides turn to mush more than you being so loved and getting along so well with his family. “Maybe I actually shouldn’t have brought you.” 

You know he’s joking, but he earns a full name shout and a look from his Mom that only Mom’s can do. Which in turn emits a giggle from you and to Lando anything is worth getting to hear that melodic sound bless his ears, even getting scolded by his Mother. 

Dinner is spent filling in the rest of his family and both Lando and you somewhat get made fun of as his family points out all the times you two were so blind about how you felt about each other. Then to no one’s surprise Cisca begins to get emotional again as you’re talking to her about Italy. And not soon after Lando says the one thing again that makes your heart skip a beat and your body run hot. 

“Alright Mum save those tears for the wedding.” 

You laugh it off and allow for Cisca’s animated reaction to allow no one to focus on how flustered Lando’s words have you. It was one thing to talk with Max about it, if anything you were sure Max had mentioned (more like teased) you two about getting married many times before. But to just so openly mention it, even if he was just messing around, to his family had your head spinning and the butterflies in your stomach ready to burst out like some sick gory horror movie. 

You had always been close with the Norris family ever since Lando and you had become friends, but there was something about their not so shocked reaction (besides Cisca) that had you wondering if they had just always expected Lando and you to end up together. For you two to get married and grow old together. That the idea of it being anyone other than you had never crossed their minds. So that when Lando does casually mention it during dinner it’s like yeah of course you two would get married? Why wouldn’t you? It’s not until people begin getting up from the table that you come back to reality and out of your head. 

Once the mess from dinner is cleaned up you find yourself looking at all the photos across the house. Picture frames filled with childhood photos and family portraits scattered on shelves, tables, and walls. You’ve seen them all before, each one with a story that’s been told you were sure to anyone who visited the Norris household. Pictures of Lando as a child were your favorite to look at, especially when you see just how tiny he was as a kid. Cute little innocent Lando who had to be velcroed to his karting seat and went up against kids three times his size.

As you continue to look through the pictures your mind begins to think about the future and you can’t help but wonder if your kids would be small like him or when they inevitably started karting if they too would have to be velcroed to their seat. If there was one thing you knew for sure it was that you hoped they would have Lando’s pretty eyes and curly brown hair. God you hoped they wouldn’t inherit his big head. 

Then it’s like reality hits you in the face and you realize just how insane you’re being at the moment. You have to remind yourself once again that you two haven’t been together even a month yet, perhaps thinking about your future children is a little premature. But then you remember Lando mentioning you two getting married multiple times already, so you tell yourself your thoughts aren’t as bad as you made them out to be. 

Moments later a familiar pair of strong arms snake their way around your waist and some unruly curls tickle your neck as Lando rests his chin on your shoulder. He’d been admiring you from the doorway for some time before he finally couldn’t resist not clinging onto you somehow. You feel yourself start to melt into his embrace and before you know it you’re leaning back into him, his arms secured around your midsection as both of you now look at the various photos. “You know you were a pretty cute kid.” 

Lando hums in response, his lips pressing a chaste kiss to your neck as he tries to stop himself from thinking about how much he’d love to have mini versions of you two running around. Not right now of course, but god some years from now he could imagine it clear as day. He hoped they would be little spitting images of you, that he’d hear your laughter in little kid form and know that when he came home from a bad race weekend that he’d have the most important people in his life waiting there for him. He’d always figured he’d eventually settle down and have a family, but now that you’re in his life there’s not a doubt in his mind.

While Lando was thinking the same thoughts you had minutes ago an unfamiliar picture on the wall catches your attention. “Is that one new?” You question, breaking Lando out of his thoughts. 

His eyes follow to where your finger is pointing and sure enough it is. In fact it’s a picture he didn’t even know existed. “Mum must have taken it and decided it was worthy of a place on the picture wall.” Lando mumbles. 

“It is a good picture though.” 

The picture in question? The two of you after the Belgium Grand Prix weeks ago. The race didn’t go the way Lando wanted it to at all. Yet, even with the disappointment from the race it was like when he saw you afterwards none of that shit mattered. He knew he was going to get to spend a week with you in Italy and at the end of the day he knew you’d always be there for him. 

To anyone else looking at the picture they would have thought you two were together, but at the point in time you two were still hard headed dumbasses. He remembers posing for the picture with you, but the angle this one is taken at he knows his Mother must have taken it from behind the scenes. She’d caught him looking at you with the biggest heart eyes mankind has ever seen and a smile that only radiates one thing– love. 

Night time was fast approaching and as everyone retired for the night you found yourself in Lando’s childhood bedroom. It still had its boyish charm with trophies and medals lining the walls next to posters of past racing legends. There wasn’t really anything that had changed since the last time you had stepped foot in his room, it was almost like a time capsule from the last moment in time that Lando still lived at home. 

As you take a seat on the twin bed you glance over at the one thing you loved to tease him about and when you see a bare wall where it should be you’re shocked. A freshly showered Lando walks into the room seconds after you’d spotted the missing piece of history. 

“You took down the Alex poster?!” You bombard him as soon as your eyes land on him. 

Lando furrows his eyebrows as he looks over to the spot where the infamous poster once resided. “Yeah.” He says, like it’s no big deal. 

“Why?!” 

Lando’s confused as to why you’re so distraught over him taking down the poster, but he entertains your inquiry. “Maybe because I didn’t want a poster of Alex Albon, who is my co-worker, staring me down while I fuck my girlfriend.” He teases as he saunters towards the way too small bed. 

You know what you’re planning on saying will get Lando riled up and so you say it with confidence. “Well thats what I was planning on looking at while you fucked me.” 

Lando hates how much of a tease you are and how easily you can press his buttons. He thinks he might need to teach you a lesson and in a flash he’s hovering over you with your hands pinned above your head. “You really know what to say to get me going, don't you love?” 

“Yeah but you love it.” 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

two years later

The salty sea air fills your nostrils as you walk along the beach holding the hand of the man you love. It had been an amazing week in the country you both hold to your hearts so dearly and tonight was the last night before you both had to go back to reality once more. Lando had suggested taking a walk after dinner and you were never one to pass up admiring the natural beauty that Italy has to offer. The lounge chairs and umbrellas were long gone from the beach and all that was left was the lulling waves and a picturesque sunset over the coastline. 

“I’m glad we were able to come back here.” You state as you lean your head on Lando’s shoulder. 

“Me too. It’s been too long.” 

And it truly had, the two of you hadn’t been back to Italy since the first time years ago. Since then the two of you had moved into a beautiful place in Monaco, Lando had two constructors championships and a driver’s championship under his belt, and you had been dominating your new job– quickly moving your way up the ladder. You were both thriving and it seemed like to you life couldn’t get any better than it was right now. 

Lando on the other hand somewhat felt the same. He’d accomplished so many things in the last couple years, but there was something that just didn’t feel complete in his life. And that something was burning a hole in his pants pocket. He’d won both championships, traveled the world more times than he could count, he’s lived a thousand lives it seems, but none of them would ever feel complete until he made you his wife. 

He’d known very early on that he was going to marry you, but the timing never seemed right and it was something he didn’t want to mess up. In all honesty he’d had the ring for over a year and how you hadn’t found it while living together he didn’t know, but the fact that you hadn’t was a sign to him that this is how it was meant to happen. 

You two had been talking about wanting to go back to Italy since what seemed like the day you got back the first time, but it seemed like something was always popping up or you had plans to go to someplace else. So when your schedules lined up and nothing else had been planned Lando knew this was when it was going to happen. 

He’d talked it over with Max trying to create some elaborate plan, but in the end they both agreed that something lowkey and more sentimental would be the best option. So now here he is minutes away from asking the love of his life to be his forever and she has no idea. He seems to be slyly checking his pocket every chance he can get to make sure the ring is still there and each time he feels it he thinks his dinner is about ready to come back up. 

When you ask him to take some pictures of you with the sunset he knows this is the moment. He actually does take a couple pictures of you just as like a moments before kind of thing, but when you turn your back to him he tosses the phone in the sand and grabs that little black box from his pocket. His heart feels like it’s about ready to beat out of his chest and he thinks he’s experiencing more adrenaline now than he ever has while racing. He gets down on one knee and his hands are trembling so bad he can barely open the box to display the ring. This is what he’s been planning for what seems like years, yet in the moment he’s so fucking nervous he can’t even think straight. 

“Oh my god!” 

He hadn’t even looked up at you yet before you had turned around and saw the scene in front of you. Your voice snaps him out of his anxiety induced trance and when he sees the woman he loves standing in front of him on the verge of tears he knows this is meant to be. 

“Y/N Y/L/N. I’ve known I wanted to marry you since practically the first week of our relationship, but I’ve loved you knowingly and unknowingly for what seems like a lifetime. You’re my sun, my moon, and my stars. There isn’t a day that goes by where I don’t acknowledge just how insanely lucky I am to have you in my life and for you to be mine. You love me when I’m happy, when I’m sad, and even when I’m a little bit of an ass.” 

He pauses trying to calm himself. 

“God, you’ve supported me through my worst times in racing and during my absolute best times. You’re my best friend, my soulmate, my lover, you’re everything I’d ever need in life wrapped up into one extraordinary woman. I’ve done so many things in life and accomplished so many things, but my life isn’t complete until I make you my wife. I’ve never loved someone like you and I never plan on loving anyone but you. You’re it for me, you’re the person I want to grow old and grey with. So Y/N, will you make me the happiest man on Earth and marry me?” 

There’s tears streaming down your face and Lando manages to let some of his own fall as he professes his love to you in the most vulnerable way possible. You feel like you’re not even in your body at the moment, but you drop to your knees and grab Lando’s face in your hands, pulling him into the most passionate and loving kiss you two had ever shared. To hear the man you love with every fiber of your being talk about you like that is a moment you’ll never forget. When you pull away you look down at the breathtaking ring that’s residing in the box being held by a still shaky Lando. 

“Yes, I’ll marry you.” You say breathlessly. 

“Yes?” Lando can’t believe the words he’s hearing. 

A huge smile stretches across your face, of course Lando doesn’t believe you. “Yes!” 

In an instant the ring is out of the box and being slid onto your ring finger. It’s even more gorgeous on and as you stare at your hand you really can’t believe you’re engaged. Lando’s pulling you into another breathtaking kiss and you realize you’re kissing your fiance which makes you feel even more giddy. 

“I love you so much.” Lando says as he stares deeply into your eyes, his hand gently cupping your cheek. 

“I love you more.” You counter back. 

“Impossible.” 

As you two walk back to the villa you’re both still on cloud nine, but it doesn’t stop either of you from being your cheeky selves. “Y/N Norris does have a nice ring to it doesn’t it?” 

You give him a tight lipped smile. “This is awkward… I thought you’d be taking my last name.” 

Lando lets out a laugh, pulling you tighter into his side. “Honestly I’ll do whatever you want my love.” 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

a year later 

The wedding was planned rather quickly, the both of you almost considering just getting eloped, but you knew you’d want the memories and stories to tell. So, you planned a wedding with just your families and close friends to attend. 

The ceremony itself was beautiful and you couldn’t have asked for it to be any more romantic or sentimental. Tears were shed by both Lando and you and the crowd during your vows. The way Lando talked about you and expressed just how much he loved you let you know you had made the right choice in marrying him. 

The reception on the other hand was what seemed to be the party of the century. You had ditched your long elegant wedding gown for a much shorter white dress. While Lando ditched his suit jacket and had opted to roll up his sleeves and unbutton the top buttons on his shirt which had you feeling feral. You’re husband was looking hot as fuck and you couldn’t wait to have some alone time with him. 

As the two of you sat at the wedding party table you heard the clinking of silverware on a champagne flute. To your right stood Max Fewtrell with his glass held high and everyone’s eyes on him. “Excuse me everyone, but as the best man I’m required to give a speech, so here goes nothing.” He shoots a wink towards Lando and you and you’re scared for what’s about to come out his mouth. “Well let me just start off by saying, I think we all figured this day would eventually come, but for a while we didn’t think it ever would. I mean I don’t think I’ve ever seen two people be more in love with each other for years and not realize it and deny it!” 

The crowd laughs and you feel your cheeks turn pink at the teasing, choosing to hide your face in Lando’s neck for a moment while Max continues. 

“There was a time where we all went on a group trip to Greece and mind you there was a group of us and Lando and Y/N acted like no one else existed. They’d go off and do their own thing, leaving everyone else behind, and this was probably a good year before they finally opened their eyes. Then when they went to Italy together by themselves and made it seem like it wasn’t a big deal, when it was all Lando could literally talk about the week leading up to it. Luckily they came back and realized how in love they were with each other, because I know I can speak for myself and everyone in this room when I say we all would have had to knock some sense into you if you hadn’t.” 

More laughter fills the air and both Lando and you have a little red tint to your cheeks, which you both blame on the alcohol. 

“Anyways, I’m so happy that my two best friends have each other in the way they were intended to. You two are my favorite example of love and I hope I can make another speech at your fiftieth wedding anniversary.” Max raises his glass in a toast. “Here’s to the happy couple. May your love last a million lifetimes.” 

The crowd erupts into applause and hoots and hollers as Max sits back down in his chair. Lando presses a quick kiss to your temple before quickly getting up from his chair, repeating the actions of Max’s glass clinking. You look up at him confused, but he just shoots you a smile before speaking. 

“First of all thank you all for coming to celebrate me marrying a woman who’s way out of my league. Secondly, thank you Max for that lovely speech.”

Laughter and cheers fill the air once again and then there’s some commotion in the background somewhere. Then you see two guys wheeling a projector screen to the middle of the room where everyone can see it. 

“Um, I’ve got a little something for my amazing wife that I’ve been working on for years and actually I had been working on it unknowingly for years before that. Anyways, let me stop rambling and show you.” Lando sits back down in his chair next to you as the lights dim and before you can ask him what’s going on his pretty little face pops up on the screen. 

“Hi baby! Over the years of us being together I’ve been capturing pictures and videos of you. Which is nothing new, we are always taking pictures and stuff, but these ones are special. These are pictures and videos that you’ve never seen. Instead of me explaining just let me show you. I love you so much and I want everyone to see the extraordinary woman I’ve married. I want everyone to see you how I see you.”

The screen fades to black and then pictures of you begin to pop up, ones that you didn’t even know existed. You’re so used to Lando having his camera out that you never thought to think of the ones he didn’t show you. Pictures of you in your pajamas making breakfast to you in your work attire to you all glammed up for a gala. Videos of you singing in the car, laughing, and just existing. Birthdays, trips, everything you could imagine someone could capture. Then you realize some of these pictures and videos are from before you two even got together from when you were still friends. 

It makes your heart swell to know Lando’s been capturing you in such a loving way since basically the beginning of you two knowing each other. You don’t even realize your crying until you feel Lando gently wiping away your tears. If someone would have told you years ago before you two went to Italy that you’d be here today married to Lando and crying over the most beautiful thing he’s ever given you, you would have laughed in their face. You look into your husband’s eyes and you know that there’s not another human being on this planet that could love you like he loves you. There’s a permanent place for him in your heart now and deep down you think there always has been. He’s your person and you're his and sure it may have taken you guys awhile to get here, but everything happens for a reason and you know you two were meant to be here at this moment right now. 

“You’re mine forever you know that right? I love you so much it hurts.” You tell him as the video ends and the guests also wipe their tears. 

Lando grabs your hands in his, his thumb rubbing over your knuckles. “Forever and always, baby.” 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

five years later 

A little girl with a mop of brown curls and laughter that resembles her Mother plays in the sand with her Father by her side. “Daddy!” She screeches looking up at him with eyes that mirror his– pretty blue like the water. The waves keep inching closer and closer to the sandcastle they’re building and the little girl is worried their hard work will be washed away any minute now. “I know my love. We should have listened to Mommy and built it further up.” 

“Mommy know’s everything.” She states matter of factly. 

The man lets out a laugh. “That she does.” 

A baby lays on his Mother’s chest as they both lounge under an umbrella. The woman watches her husband and daughter lovingly as they play in the sand. She catches her husband's eye and he flashes her a smile that even after all these years makes butterflies erupt in her stomach. 

Later after a day spent at the beach they’re both carrying a sleeping child back to the villa, their world in their arms. Finally when both kids are sound asleep in their beds the adults find themselves sitting outback with an all too familiar scenery around them. The man leaves for a brief second and while he’s gone the woman watches her babies through the baby monitor, her heart swelling over the fact that she made them with the love of her life. 

When he returns he has something hidden behind his back and with a raised eyebrow from his wife he reveals an old favorite of theirs. 

“The trip wouldn’t be complete without this now would it?” He says as he sits down next to her. 

“God we haven’t had this in forever.” She says as she takes the glass of pink moscato from him. 

“Just a man after your heart.” 

She laughs at her husband's antics. “You’ve already got it darling.” 

[helenoftroydidnothingwrong]

Ok I'm gonna go through this because, while i think it comes from a good place, some of this is misleading (my qualifications is that I have a bachelors in classics and am currently getting my masters, focusing on making classics more accessible to the general public). I want to be so so clear, I am NOT coming for OP, their heart is in the right place obviously, this subject just happens to be what I have devoted my entire life to. If I say something here that is incredibly wrong and you have evidence, PLEASE tell me. Just be nice. Disagreements and wanting to prove someone wrong is the backbone of scholarship. If anyone wants specific sources for what I'm saying, just hit me up.

- this is true, though that doesn't mean that the actual myths will be non-recognizable or anything. The themes you enjoyed from that media will likely still be present. Just remember that Greek mythology was (and still is in some cases) a religion, not a story, and that it was first attested during the bronze age (3300 BCE)

- No myth you know is 100% accurate to Greek mythology, because there is no canon. There is no "original" myth that is the correct one. Ovid did do what he wanted (during the roman republic) with the stories he wrote, but that does not mean none of those elements were present in certain aspects of ancient Greek culture. I could say the same thing about the idea that Perseus killed Medusa.

- It is not a "tumblr invention." This idea is much older than tumblr and also grafts a modern view of morality onto ancient religious figures. Absolutely read the homeric hymn to demeter, as the modern perception of Demeter within the Hades and Persephone story is absolutely sexist. But also consider that there are theories that Persephone (or Kore, to be more specific) went to the underworld and became the queen of the underworld before Hades as a god existed (this is not confirmed; it's a theory, like much of our understanding of Greek mythology). The story has much more depth than "sheltered girl escapes overbearing mother to be with cool bad boy death god" OR "Evil patriarchal god of death kidnaps young girl to be his bride in hell"

- this one's completely right. there's some idea that it is a cognate with a sanskrit word, but there's no definitive evidence

- yeah that's true, but remember that it is often unhelpful to view ancient cultures and stories through a modern moral lens. Not always, but often

- this one too.

- yep. They did often have things that were their "main thing" (Hera and marriage) but also had many aspects that they were worshipped under (Hera Alexandros: Hera protector of heroes). Again, they aren't characters, they are figures in a religion that was practiced for thousands of years.

- Saying Apollo and Artemis' main thing was music and the hunt is misleading. It's true their sun and moon god stuff came in pretty late, but Apollo's connection to prophecy was as strong if not stronger than music, same for Artemis with her patron of young women thing.

- There is some level of difference, but in general yeah. The nuances are pretty small in the grand scheme of things, but also know that Titans didn't just disappear from myths and worship with the olympians showing up. Again, it's a religion, not a novel.

- I mean, yeah? Do people make Hector out to be a villain? Even in Song of Achilles, he wasn't particularly villainous. I might just not have the context for this one

- Wild way to put this, sorry. I once again will hammer home, THERE IS NO GREEK MYTHOLOGY CANON. I don't care what Hesiod says, he is not the be all end all of Ancient Greek religion. There is no Greek Mythology bible. Also the Wikipedia article linked is not entirely accurate when it comes to divorce. It says that divorce was not looked down upon in ancient Greece, which 1. not how ancient Greece worked, it wasn't a single country, it was a bunch of city states linked by common language and culture, with different laws and values. In Medea, she talks about how it was shameful to be divorced because men didn't want a divorced woman. Maybe it was different for men, but yeah. Also, I could find no evidence for a divorce between Hephaestus and Aphrodite. He is said in the Iliad and in the Theogany to be married to Algaia, but the Odyssey says Aphrodite. (this isn't the most reliable source, but it does give line numbers). This could mean about a million things, tbh. It could mean that Aphrodite was syncretized with Algaia, it could mean that an earlier tradition had Algaia as Hephaestus' wife, and Aphrodite was a later one (based on the estimated dates of the Iliad vs Odyssey). It could also mean that there were two different traditions at once. It is near impossible to make a timeline of greek myth that makes sense, but saying that Algaia was Hephaestus' wife after he divorced Aphrodite is misleading at best. Also I know that the google ai thing says that but it is wrong all the time. If you have ancient sources that actually mention a divorce between Hephaestus and Aphrodite, PLEASE send it to me that sounds really interesting.

- sure, that's true. But also do whatever you want. It's more accurate to say asexual, but remember that THEY AREN'T REAL PEOPLE THEY'RE RELIGIOUS FIGURES. Different stories have Artemis falling in love with men and women sometimes. It always ends tragically but it does exist. These aspects were not worshipped everywhere. Do what you want with a modern interpretation, just remember that modern labels for sexuality/gender/etc (and race but we don't have time for that) didn't exist, but can be helpful when looking at ancient figures.

- Ok, yeah, this is what I've been saying. But also "greek and roman versions" imply that they are completely distinct. The end of the Ancient Greece as we think of it overlapped heavily with the beginning of the Roman Republic (and i mean hundreds of years overlap). We can TRY to distinguish older and newer versions but it's not typically helpful. the timeline is long, and the changes are blurred at best, if not completely obscured. If you're interested in seeing how some gods evolved, check out some of Overly Sarcastic Productions vids on youtube. I like the Aphrodite one.

- Sure I guess? So is what you know about Athens, Crete, Corinth, etc. Idk why Sparta is called out here. I guess yeah, don't use 300 as your basis for understanding historical spartan culture?

- I mean yeah, definitely. But also there's a million translations, and everyone is fighting over them all the time. Don't feel bad about choosing an "accessible" or "easy to read" translation. I like the Emily Wilson ones, they sound good and are less sexist in their translation. But also if you're looking at Greek plays (I'm partial to Euripides) watching a production can go a long way to understanding them.

We all go into things with preconceived notions, it's inevitable, but don't let them stop you. Greek mythology and its study are incredibly complex; there are a ton of contradictions, and the experts rarely completely agree with one another. Be open to being wrong, be open to changing your mind, and be open to new evidence being found and wrecking your whole idea of something.

a quick psa to anyone recently getting into greek mythology and is a victim of tumblr and/or tiktok misconceptions:

-there is no shame in being introduced to mytholgy from something like percy jackson, epic the musical or anything like that, but keep in mind that actual myths are going to be VERY different from modern retellings

-the myth of medusa you probably know (her being a victim of poseidon and being cursed by athena) isn't 100% accurate to GREEK mythology (look up ovid)

-there is no version of persephone's abduction in which persephone willingly stays with hades, that's a tumblr invention (look up homeric hymn to demeter)

-as much as i would like it, no, cerberus' name does not mean "spot" (probably a misunderstanding from this wikipedia article)

-zeus isn't the only god who does terrible things to women, your fav male god probably has done the same

-on that note, your fav greek hero has probably done some heinous shit as well

-gods are more complicated than simply being "god of [insert thing]", many titles overlap between gods and some may even change depending on where they were worshipped

-also, apollo and artemis being the gods of the sun and the moon isn't 100% accurate, their main aspects as deities originally were music and the hunt

-titans and gods aren't two wholly different concepts, titan is just the word used to decribe the generation of gods before the olympians

-hector isn't the villain some people make him out to be

-hephaestus WAS married to aphrodite. they divorced. yes, divorce was a thing in ancient greece. hephaestus' wife is aglaia

-ancient greek society didn't have the same concepts of sexuality that we have now, it's incorrect to describe virgin goddesses like artemis and athena as lesbians, BUT it's also not wholly accurate to describe them as aromantic/asexual, it's more complex than that

-you can never fully understand certain myths if you don't understand the societal context in which they were told

-myths have lots and lots of retellings, there isn't one singular "canon", but we can try to distinguish between older and newer versions and bewteen greek and roman versions

-most of what you know about sparta is probably incorrect

-reading/waching retellings is not a substitute to reading the original myths, read the iliad! read the odyssey! i know they may seem intimidating, but they're much more entertaining than you may think

greek mythology is so complex and interesting, don't go into it with preconcieved notions! try to be open to learn!

[hamilando]

ੈ✩ daddy playlist II (smau) ੈ✩

pairing : f1 gird x leclerc! reader ( platonic )

summary: the leclerc sister causing havoc in the f1 driver’s life again

tw : fluff; chaos, SUGGESTIVE

fc : emma chamberlain

a/n : I hope you like it and thank you so much for supporting me ! lysm 🫶🏻 the reader is gay, so don’t like it, don’t read it 🫶🏻 also, there are a lot of suggestive jokes, so please don’t read if you are uncomfortable

·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ✩ ･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ✩ ･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ✩ ･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ

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babyn ok, Kimi is a baddie fr

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babyn KIKAAA , I WAS DRUNK WITH BIANCA AND SHE IS ON MY BATHROOM FLOOR !? ALSO WHY WAS ON THE FLOOR ! KIKAAA ANSWER ME !? I DONT REMEMBER THESE PCITURES! WAIT OH MY GOD ! KIKA

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kikagnomes the reason I am not responding is cuz this is a post, NOT OUR TEXTS

kikagnomes Charles and arthur are going to kill you

lordperceval WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU

lordperceval DRUNK AGAIN !?

lordperceval PICK UP YOUR PHONE RIGHT NOW

norriz she must be fucking Bianca

kingarthur LANDO!!

lordperceval THATS OUT SISTER !!

lordperceval WHY IS BIANCA THERE

alexmieux calm down charles, banging the phone won't make a difference

babyn KIKAKAKAAKAKJA SHE MUAH MUAH ME

lordperceval Y/N, PICK YOU PHONE

kikagnome guys, we collectively agree not to respond to this post yeah ?

pastry 👍🏻

max1 👍🏻

georgey 👍🏻

pierreneedsgas 👍🏻

albono 👍🏻

liked by pastry, norriz, kikagnome and 54 others

babyn alright guys, I was drunk. Lando is hating me for picking my hangover ass. PLEASE NO BIANCA TALKS

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lordperceval not funny

lordperceval LANDO YOU WERE WITH THEM YET THEY GOT SO DRUNK

chillijr they were with lando THATS WHY they got that drunk

norriz calm down

norriz THEY GOT 1836 POUNDS WORTH OF VODKA

babyn i ma broke, ask my brothers

kingarthur I AINT PAYING MADAME

lordperceval my blood pressure

kikagnome lando being such a pookie

norriz set me up with Carla

pierreneedsgas NO !?

pierreneedsgas LANDO IS NOT BECOMING MY BROTHER IN LAW

babyn damn lando, my best friend's sister ?

pastanelli YOU ANSWER ME YN

pastanelli Bianca left her clothes at your place and she is asking me for your number

lordperceval WHAT

kingarthur dead yn. DEAD

babyn thank you so much KIMI

liked by norriz, max1, kikagnome and 73 others

babyn pg -13 date only

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kikagnome YN?!?!

lordperceval ALEX, IS MY LIFE INSURANCE UPTO DATE !?

lordperceval YN LECLERC , WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU ?

babyn I just went on a date with Bianca

lordperceval DATE AND FUCKED !?

babyn HOW DO YOU -

babyn oh

babyn OH

babyn FUCK

kingarthur WHY ARE YOU TAKING PICTURES OF YOUR HICKEY !?

norriz bro got rizz

babyn thank you

lordperceval WHAT THE HELL YN !?

pastanelli Bianca still wants her clothesz

babyn she told me I look good in them 🤩

kingarthur YN ON THE CALL NOW

max1 damn kid, didn't think you had it in you

babyn I know 😔

lordperceval YN, ONE MORE TIME YOU IGNORE -

kikagnome You need concealer love ?

babyn Yes bby 🤩

lordperceval YN LECLERC! going to maman right now

babyn yes, photo deleted, life deleted, in call what's next ?

let me know if you want to be added or removed to the tg!

permanent tg: @isotopemylove @chair-things @justaf1girl @nichmeddar @bibblemiluvr @blushmimi @nikfigueiredo @amz824 @ivegotparticulartaste @raizelchrysanderoctavius @freyathehuntress @piastri-fvx @sadiemack9 @ilivbullyingjeongin @cherry-piee @luvleylisen @sweate-r-weathe-r @jxnellat @loveofmylife12 @budgetcupid @lilaissa @scorpiodiosa @wondergirl101ks @nichmeddar @hoeforlifee @urfavnoirette @lily-ann-b @okcurran @miniboast @teti-menchon0604 @motorsportloverf1 @formula1-motogpfan

[bunny-jpeg]

better than home (kidnapper!simon) - you had seen enough horror movies to know that being kidnapped meant being on the news, being butchered, and being a cold case. but simon wasn't like that. except for the bruises he left when he took you, his touch had gentle. kind in a way that someone would brush their cat.

you flinched under his touch, but he just simply shushed you. "not gonna break a thing on ya, angel." that was his name for you. angel. he said that it was like you were given to him fro heaven, "if i do, i give ya the right to put a knife between my ribs."

it was unnerving to say the least. in the tiny home you both shared, locks on the windows, you had never seen a front door that needed a key to unlock from the outside. you tried getting out, but simon was simply so much bigger and stronger, that he didn't need to hurt you herd you back into a safer place.

"don't need to think about much anymore. safer here." he said in his gruff voice. you didn't know what kind of life this man had lived, but with the hunting knife on the coffee table, the well-used rifle over the fireplace and the old army formals in his closet. you knew that there was a story.

it didn't sink in till the first week, but you didn't have to worry about anything. you moved through the house on your own, when you scurried into rooms simon sometimes didn't follow. it was like he was bird-watching. keeping a close eye and admiring you. except you weren't exactly a free bird, rather a delicate beauty in a shiny cage.

you were surprised that simon had your favourite snacks in the pantry, even the same brand of plant-based milk you enjoyed. it was like he knew everything about you, and yet he was a total mystery.

"scary world out there." simon said, kept his distance from you in the recliner while you were curled up in the couch. you had taken a liking to a black and white checkered flannel blanket. it reminded you of the one back home, that you wondered if he just broke in a took it. he eyed you, which made it hard to read one of your many books, "pretty things like you need to be protected... bad men out there." as if this massive mountain of a man wasn't one of those so-called bad men.

you were in no place to argue. you still felt like you were in a spring locked trap and one wrong move would have it clamped down on you. that this was just some sick game before simon buried your body in the field behind the house.

"when can i go home?" you asked, finding your voice.

"this is better than home."

"are you going to kill me?" you asked before you swallowed the lump in your throat.

he shook his head, "no, ma'am. never." sounded like wedding vows rather than an answer. your curiosity only grew with each day. when you finished the books he brought you, he simply put them back in a bag and returned them from where they came from and came back with new ones.

"saw them on the shelf at the library, thought a woman like you would like them." he gave a curt nod as he dropped the canvas bag by your little nest of blankets on the floor by the television. you hadn't been able to watch television yet. primarily busied with sleeping, books, puzzles and notebooks where you had been writing.

and while it started a journal in the event the police found you. it had become more about fictional stories. for your personal pleasure. you thought about being a writer as a child, but the grind of corporate work in your adulthood seemed to dash that dream.

"next time." you said, feeling a little bold, "can you get some science fiction books too...." it felt uneasy to make any demands. he was your captor.

"well then, angel. be good for me then." he said, smiled under that mask. you looked over and made a face at him. you scampered off back into your nest of books and puzzles. maybe he was right, this was better than home. <3

a/n: this is unwell, i hope you enjoyed it. thank you!!

[orimuraa]

── ⋆⋅ ❀ Give me your heart and I'll give you mine - OT7 𝜗𝜚 do you think you could love me - yung kai

꒰ 𝔖𝘺𝘯𝘰𝘱𝘴𝘪𝘴 ꒱┆enhypen falling in love with a fan ⨾

۶ৎ idol!enhypen x fem engene!reader┆fluff┆delulu is the solulu, kissing, petnames, secret relationships┆wc 757

⤷ 𝐲𝐞𝐣𝐢’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: SIGHHH when will nishimura riki notice me T^T

꒰ঌ ℬℴℴ𝓀𝓈𝒽ℯ𝓁𝒻 ໒꒱

𝑳𝒆𝒆 𝑯𝒆𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒖𝒏𝒈 - 이희승

"hee..we shouldn't be doing this..i can get you in so much trouble if we're caught," you mumble hesitantly, pulling back slightly from heeseung's embrace. "angel, you're worth ruining my career for. i would go to the moon and back just to show you i'm with you till the end," heeseung sighs against your lips. "let them find out about us. let them say their words. none of that can tear me away from you. nothing." he says, sealing his words with a kiss to your lips and at that moment you think, maybe it'll be okay.

𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝑱𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒔𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒈 - 박종성

you weren't exactly sure what it was that drew park jongseong to you. maybe it was the way your eyes sparkled when you talked to him, not even the slightest bit nervous to be meeting your ultimate bias. or maybe, it was the way just didn't throw yourself immediately at him and instead, you asked how he was and what he had been up to lately. either way, it was enough to influence the scene that was unfolding now. he was placing delicate kisses onto your lips, celebrating your 1 year anniversary and that's the way things were, no room for complaints.

𝑺𝒊𝒎 𝑱𝒂𝒆𝒚𝒖𝒏 - 심재윤

sim jaeyun had a problem. and that problem, was you. you were just too goddamn pretty and something so alluring about you drew him in further. he was so sure of getting in trouble with his management but if it meant that he could have you in his arms, it would be worth it all. you were just an engene, one of millions, yet he just couldn't take his eyes off of you. he knew right away that he needed to get to you somehow and if that meant putting his career in danger, he would do it just so he could maybe meet the love of his life.

𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝑺𝒖𝒏𝒈𝒉𝒐𝒐𝒏 - 박성훈

"hoon, are you sure that this is a good idea? if word gets out that you're seeing me, an ordinary engene, your whole life as an idol is practically thrown out the window," you sigh, shifting to look at sunghoon. you were both lying down and he had his arms around you protectively. "darling, i don't care what they have to say about me. the only thing that matters to me is that i can come home to you and lay in your arms, just like this." sunghoon answers. and it's the truth. sunghoon would go as far as ruining his dream career just to be able to have you by his side, because at the end of the day, you're the thing he loves most.

𝑲𝒊𝒎 𝑺𝒖𝒏𝒐𝒐 - 김선우

sunoo always thought his job as an idol would restrict his ability to find the love of his life. but clearly, that was wrong, and you were proof. sunoo saw you in the crowd of people in front of the stage and you looked so bright and happy. the warm smile you had on your face as you stared at him made his heart flutter in the slightest bit, making sunoo believe, once again, in love at first sight. the moment your eyes locked with his, you could tell that there was something more than just eye contact. there was something more...something exciting and new...and maybe something sunoo was willing to risk it all for.

𝒀𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝑱𝒖𝒏𝒈𝒘𝒐𝒏 - 양정원

"won, what if i get you in trouble? you're the leader and it gives you more pressure to abide to the rules! i don't want you to put your career at risk just for me," you say, your lips turning into a small frown just thinking about all the hate that jungwon would receive if your relationship was ever exposed. "let them do what they can, because in the end, they can't ever take me away from you. you're my muse, my motivation, my happiness and if they take that away? that's just their loss." he replies, kissing you on the cheek. "don't stress about it, we have nothing to worry about."

𝑵𝒊𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒎𝒖𝒓𝒂 𝑹𝒊𝒌𝒊 - 西村 力

you were just an engene. a typical engene with much admiration for the seven members of enhypen. but you were also an engene that snuck her way into the very own heart of enhypen's maknae. ni-ki cherished you and from the way he held you, deep down, he was scared to lose you. you were his motivation and the sole reason he kept pushing himself. he cherish the late nights he would come home and be able to kiss you and cuddle you. and there was no way he could live without you. you were his everything.

𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬: @en-diaries, @k-films, @k-nets

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ✉︎ ꒱ ˎˊ˗ 𝐉𝐢𝐣𝐢’𝐬 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @vmpivory, @yuvany, @seozii, @pinknjm, @greentulip, @jomisu, @nxzz-skz, @ancnymcnzjy, @hyukabean, @annybah, @ijustwannareadstuff20, @chaeneu, @17ericas, @firstclassjaylee, @riribelle, @right-person-wrong-time, @cheruphic, @woniefication

[bleuberries-and-video-games]

Every time my mom gets mad at me about having plushies, I think about how our house is solid gray both inside and out. I think about how every single personal affect she buys, she has to justify in some way. It has to be something that looks nice in the house, serves a function in the house, etc. It can't just be something she likes, or enjoys, and if it is it has to be contained to a little glass box, put away on a shelf, or only brought out in certain times. I think about how little she gives herself grace, I think about how often she told me how much I should hold on to my child like wonder, and then when I do how much she gets frustrated with me for it. I think about every single time she talks to me like I'm 14, when I paid taxes, pay bills, make my own appointments, I'm a fully functional adult with autonomy and Independence, and she still manages to find something that indicates I'm immature. How up until recently, every single time I told her about rent and jobs, she would get mad at me and say I wasn't trying hard enough, only really realizing that I was trying as hard as I could once she was obligated to find a new job after the prospect of retirement started becoming more immediate. I think about how pretty much all of my transition has been me sitting down with a lot of the things both my mom and my dad did, and asking if I should reciprocate it, continue it, and in many cases saying no. I shouldn't. What they did was wrong.

And then I think about how often when I do that, they get unreasonably mad, they tell me I'm not being mature, not thinking things through, when I have and I did and I don't want to end up like them. I don't want to swallow my feelings and nearly kill myself drinking, and I don't want to stress so much about diet and exercise and avoid my feelings that I get sick or worse. I want to try and live with the things I do, cope however I can, be the person I want to be.

I think about every single time I have felt a sting of guilt being the person I should be, the person I want to be. And then I continue ever onwards.

Because I have told her, and I have told everyone who decides to make a point of it, that if somebody doesn't like my plushies, if somebody doesn't like who I am, if I feel so uncomfortable around them that I have to change my entire person to satisfy how they see me, if somebody doesn't like some aspect of me, or can't accept it, then I don't associate with them. It's simple. Yeah I know I'm going to have to be around people I don't like. I can stomach that. But if somebody tries to make me change in a way that isn't healthy or genuinely denies me my agency, I don't want to associate with them.

Because like I know I'm not going to be taken seriously in life sometimes, I know some people are going to look at a kinky trans weirdo and think "what a nutcase, i cant take them seriously!" I have accepted that fact. I can deal with being judged for being childish, and I can stomach it pretty easily.

The people who make judgments of childishness most often are the ones most bothered about being seen as immature because they cannot validate themselves.

[beanietopia]

a sweet valentine's with shiu kong

shiu kong x afab reader. yes it's been a month since valentine's day, leave me alone! do you want the fic or not?! wc: 2k. proofread? nah. reader gets fingered in the backseat of shiu's car and LOVES IT. yuki tsukumo is the best wingwoman ever. thank you to my pookie for being my beta reader ily

sogaeting, a term you were unfamiliar with until about a few weeks ago. it was a korean word, meaning something equivalent to “blind date”, your coworker had told you. it had been a few weeks since you were transferred to the seoul office from tokyo, and your office had made it their mission to set you up with someone the minute they found out you were single. well, it was mainly your one coworker yuki, who also came from your office three months prior. she was just so likeable by the office that everyone seemed to support her antics, much to your displeasure. yuki had known you long enough to know that you were single for a while, she honestly didn’t even know if she’s ever seen you talk about a date in the 3 years you’ve been at the company. for reasons you could absolutely not wrap your head around to understand, yuki had taken it upon herself to fix your quiet love life. however if anyone had asked her what her plan was, she’d keep it simple.

you needed to get laid.

because you were close friends with yuki, and because you worked with her so there was no way to avoid her on lunch, you resigned yourself to listening to her “master plan” to get you a date on valentine’s day. “no but seriously, listen.” she pauses for a moment, some lettuce had gotten in her teeth, before continuing. “i think this could be good for you! i mean, you only go to work and go home. what’s one date going to do?” you roll your eyes. you had thought you were doing a pretty good job at being the single friend. you liked your alone time, you could stay out as long as you wanted without care, and you even made enough to take your friends out for a nice dinner every now and then. yes, your eyes did linger too long when you noticed yuki swipe gochujang paste off choso’s lips with her finger, or when you could hear gojo giggle on the phone to his lover in his cubicle when he thinks he’s being quiet. okay, maybe you didn’t necessarily enjoy being single all the time, and the exasperated look on yuki’s face all but confirmed your suspicion.

“c’mon, at least hear me out. one date, just one! and if you hate it, you don’t have to listen to my yammering about you being an old maid. sorry, wrong word choice. but he’s a workaholic like you! i think you’d like him.” if it weren’t for the exaggerated way yuki was wiggling her brows, you might have been a bit more interested in going on the date. truth be told, you were a little nervous going on a blind date, all too spoiled with the convenience of swiping a finger on your phone. but this was yuki, your longtime coworker, a friend, even. she wouldn’t sabotage you like that. right??  “could i know something about him at least? like, what he does for work, or whatever?”

when the night came, you found yourself staring at your appearance longer than you would have liked. had it really been that long? truth be told, yuki was right, you hadn’t really been focused on dating since accepting a job at this company. three years and a move later, you found yourself on valentine’s day obsessing over your appearance for the nth time before a blind date. the hell was yuki thinking, setting you up for this, you grumbled, fully forgetting you had agreed to meet shiu tonight. oh yes, shiu. yuki had forbid you from looking up any information about him prior to the date, claiming you would have an unfair advantage over him. she had sent you the address to this french place in apgujeong, claiming that the restaurant was his choice. when you checked the menu on the way there, you felt your eye twitch as bile rose in your throat. none of the dishes you could even attempt to pronounce, and the amount of commas in the prices threatened to make your heart stop. you didn’t even have the opportunity to turn back if you wanted, somehow your feet carried you off the train, down the street, and you were now scaring the poor hostess with your shell shocked expression. pull yourself together, yuki’s voice rang in your ears. great, she had now infiltrated your subconscious.

“i–i have a 9 o’clock reservation? for two.” your voice squeaked out, and the hostess seemed relieved that you could actually speak. with a tight-lipped smile and a slight nod of her head to follow her, you trailed behind her into the dimly lit restaurant. the soft murmurs of conversation mixed with the clinks of forks and classical music as she led you to your table. you felt your breath catch in your throat as your date was already sitting down. with a sly grin, he stood up to shake your hand. his grip was firm, but not tight, and his hands were surprisingly smooth. he smelled slightly of cologne and cigars, and yet you didn’t seem to mind. his short hair was styled neatly on top of his head, a slight side part with a few pieces spiked upwards. his sharp eyes held your attention for long you almost didn't notice his mustache that let your eyes stray downwards to his lips. jesus, he hasn’t even spoken yet and you’re already ogling.

“you must be yuki’s friend, it’s nice to meet you. the name’s shiu kong. thank you for coming tonight. i hope this isn’t too forward but,” he pauses to hand you a bag he had hidden under the table. “happy valentine’s day. i hope i can make tonight worth your time.” looking into the bag, you had to pinch yourself to keep your eyes from giving away your reaction. inside of the bag rest an arrangement of red roses with hints of baby’s breath, absolutely stunning. you lift your gaze to meet shiu’s again and smiled, maybe yuki was right after all. the conversation wasn’t difficult to get going after that, you found out that shiu had also worked in japan for a number of years and only recently came back to korea to work and live. he had also revealed to you that he was in his early thirties—about six years your senior. when you asked him why he was interested in dating at this stage of his life, he said he had spent his twenties doing nothing but work and had no time for relationships. you thought back to yuki’s words and shook your head, he was truly your counterpart. you had explained to him that it had been pretty much the same for you, after university you threw yourself into work. sure some dates happened here and there, but nothing stuck. you figured it would be easier to just focus on your career instead. shiu nods his head in understanding, taking a moment to sip from his wine glass. you didn’t realize how easy it was to talk to him until this moment.

the rest of the dinner went smoothly, much to your delight. shiu had taught you a couple of french words off the menu, and you found yourself becoming well acquainted with the waiter that kept refilling your wine glass. you had forgotten how fun dates could be, especially with the right person. shiu was charming, you gave him that. he broke you out of your shyness with no difficulty, and he even had you laugh a couple of times. you were having so much fun, in fact, when he asked you if you would like to continue the date you didn’t say no. the gentleman he was, he didn’t even let you spare a glance at the bill. he handed the booklet with his black card inside before turning his attention to you again, a soft smile on his features. “i’m glad you came out tonight, doll. from how yuki talked about you, i was starting to think that you weren’t going to show up.” your muscles tightened as you forced yourself to keep smiling, while you silently cursed out yuki in your mind. “well, i usually don’t go on blind dates.” you actually didn’t go on dates at all, but shiu didn’t need to know that. who were you kidding, he could probably smell the anxiety radiating off you once you sat down. nevertheless, he still gave you a slight chuckle and you even got to see how pretty his teeth were. 

time seemed to have passed so quickly when you were with him. somewhere after leaving the restaurant and before getting to shiu’s apartment, you were being pulled into his lap and felt his mouth pressing kisses into your neck. now if you were just a bit sober, you’d feel some shame for doing this in the back of a cab. but in between the kisses and the shushes shiu gave you, he reassured you that this was his car and he’d be having a driver bring you to his place. maybe you’d actually end up apologizing to yuki. “look at you,” shiu rasped into your ear, his fingers already traveling up the slit of your dress to play with the strings of your thong. “you’re stunning, how did i get so lucky?” your lungs couldn’t get enough air fast enough to keep up with shiu’s fingers, as his middle and index brushed themselves against your wet entrance. he shushed you in between kisses as he pumped his fingers inside of you, until you were pathetically riding them with shameless fervor. 

shiu had you so strung out you didn’t realise that your moans were a lot louder than you originally thought, but you’d find the shame to worry about that later. his eyes looked so hungry for you, you would’ve assumed he was undressing you with his eyes. as the sound of your arousal echoed through the car, he practically moaned as he watched you ride his fingers. “listen to that, doll. she’s so needy for me.. do you think you can last until we get to my place?” if you weren’t so focused on getting yourself off you would probably smack him, fuck no you wouldn’t last! you felt as if you were going to cum at any moment! the man seemed like he knew what you were thinking, as his lips curled into a smirk before he went to speak again. “do you think you can cum for me, beautiful? make a mess on my fingers for me baby, please…” you could never say no to a man with manners. your body shook as your orgasm ripped through you, your walls pulsing around his fingers like a heartbeat. shiu gave you a moment to calm down before gently removing his fingers from inside you, making you watch as he sucked off the creamy fluids you left behind for him. 

“looks like someone couldn’t wait until we got home… can you go for another round later?”

you made a mental note to send yuki a thank you text in the morning.

can you fucking BELIEVE this took me a month to write. no but seriously work and life have been beating my ass like so bad but i really wanted to post this so i hope you enjoy :3 better late than never right AHAHA also there isn't gonna be a part 2 so pls do not ask me i will cry. choso pt 3 might be in the works IDK IDKKKKKK but thank you love you beanie out mwah

@webism @gojoscinnamonroll @yemmuis @xixflower @xxsapphirescrollsxx

[valtsv]

Hi Mr Loveless, how does one make friends and hold onto them? I have so many friends who I call friends but they don't seem to remember I exist unless I am in their faces, in their inbox, it's never them approaching me.

Do I have to always be a bother to be acknowledged? Am I missing whatever it is that makes everyone accept zero interactions between friends for months as normal? Am I wrong to expect minimal effort from friends, like they imply, that they're not obligated to do it and it's insensitive of me to feel upset about being forgotten? That's not how it is for those who my friends call Their friends. It's not like I have different politics or can't understand their discourse either.

I'll be 25 next week, my friends are all too busy or haven't checked in in weeks or even replied more than an emoji. I'm frankly worried there's something wrong with me I'm never going to be remotely a priority to anyone but my family.

i've been where you are, and trust me when i say that i know how soul-crushingly lonely it feels when you wonder if you'll ever be the most important person in anyone's life, but here's the thing: that's insecurity, and it never goes away, but it's also not a true reflection of your reality. even the most joined-at-the-hip lifelong friends (or family, or lovers) won't be each other's top priority 24/7 for their whole entire lives - and that's a good thing! that level of commitment is a demanding, exhausting, and frankly nightmarish. there will be times when you are the centre of your friends' worlds and they're yours, and you'll feel like you've never understood someone and been understood in turn so perfectly. and there'll be times when you're on totally different pages; perhaps you won't speak at all for weeks, months, or even years. you might speak for the last time one day without knowing it. you might spend the rest of your lives in each other's orbit. the future will always be uncertain, and borrowing grief will never change that.

that's the bigger picture, however, and probably not particularly helpful to your immediate situation. i can sympathise with feeling like you're always the one initiating contact and never the one being sought out, and i know exactly how unwanted and unappreciated that can make you feel. it's worth keeping in mind that if your friends are receptive to you reaching out to them, however (even if only in the form of a very basic expression of acknowledgement like an emoji), then they probably do genuinely appreciate and enjoy your friendship. it's entirely possible that they're just currently in situations where they have less energy and time to devote to considering that you might not have anyone checking in on you the way that you do for them. unless they're all psychically linked, it's highly unlikely they know that you don't have anyone doing the same for you.

the only advice i can offer you is suggesting that you try to communicate that you'd appreciate more of their attention. perhaps the next time you reach out (if you haven't tried this already), mention that it's been a while since you last really talked, and that you'd love to get together and properly catch up sometime. ideally propose a way for you to connect, either virtually or in real life - feel free to encourage them to set the date, which will subtly hint that you want them to be involved in the process, and make it more of a mutual effort. be on the lookout for opportunities to connect over mutual interests, such as group watching (or listening to, or reading) media you both enjoy, or an event you can both attend, or virtual platforms with an interactive element like multiplayer video games. there's only so much you can do, and it shouldn't be entirely your responsibility to maintain a relationship, but it always helps to try expressing your desire for your feelings to be noticed and reciprocated before listening to the insecurity devil.

[fractoluminescence]

Might be off-topic but this reminds me of something mildly upsetting I've seen a pattern of.

There are people in my life, when I show then something I have made for funsies or because it meant something to me, who immediately point out all the things wrong with it, when I thought I had made it clear I was showing it to them because I was proud of it, not for feedback. Art in particular, but in other areas where one can accomplish things as well.

And when I tell them something along the lines of, "look I know your intentions are good here but the drawing is already made. And I can see where I messed up, and if I can't you're not able to tell me how to fix it, so your advice is basically useless to me"

When I say this. I've had people rebuke me with "but you have to learn to take criticism or you won't improve".

Uh, okay? I can take criticism just fine -when I asked for it-. Not every drawing I make is a study that I am doing to try to improve. I am doing it for enjoyment, and it's exhausting to have a person point out all its flaws every single time.

It's off-topic. Leave me alone. Why did I even show you this in the first place - oh, wait, because I otherwise enjoy your company and make the mistake of forgetting that sharing some of what matters most to me with you is oddly unpleasant. My bad.

I can tell what is wrong with the drawing better than you - I have so much more experience than you with this. This drawing is over, there's no fixing it now. Sure, if I had spent more time on it, if I bothered to redo it, if I somehow managed to understand the volume of the subject of the artwork better ahead of time...if only I was just better at art, really.

Yeah, no shit. If I was better at drawing, then I would draw better. I don't need you to tell me that.

And like. I understand trying to give advice. I have the reflex of doing it too. But then if the person tells me it makes them uncomfortable, I don't start arguing back, like wtf

---

Side note, to explain what link this has to the post - something people don't seem to realize when it comes to learning is that you need to be told what you're doing well just as much as what you're doing wrong. Because otherwise, how can you know that you need to keep doing it? That it's worth the extra effort? And you'll need to know your strengths if you are going to find a way to either work with or surmount your weak spots. And this is true of art, but of anything really.

It's not just a matter of motivation. It's a matter of understanding what you're doing right so that you can oppose a 'wrong' to it that you can avoid doing. Not doing this will sometimes lead to people's skill lagging behind in some areas because they're so busy trying to figure out what they need to learn about that aspect of things when they're in fact doing it fine. You'll have people backtracking on fully reasonable habits just because they mistakenly think a lack of feedback is a lack of good as well.

Give people positive feedback. Please. And hold back on the negative feedback unless it was asked for or is necessary

The mattress company I worked for the first time no longer exists. It was long ago eaten and assimilated by a bigger company. But when I started it was an incredibly intense five weeks of training. I was told I was extremely lucky to be selected, and I was. From a pool of a hundred applicants only fifteen of us made the cut to entering the training program.

The course covered how to talk to customers, how to ask open ended questions, how to close a sale, and product knowledge. I learned a lot, and truthfully my greatest takeaway was a lot of social scripts that I could use in other areas of my life.

We also had a midterm exam and a final. Both included a roleplay element with a trainer and a written portion. They told us when we started that the course was challenging but it was still a shock to come in after the midterm and realize half the class had failed.

I was named valedictorian of training- a dubious honor as it meant I’d done the best in the class, but popular lore had it that valedictorians struggled the most on the sales floor. Lo, I struggled.

Not because I wasn’t good. I was. But because my manager set out to systematically destroy my self esteem. Every sale, every interaction I had was scrutinized and criticized.

If I sold a bed with protectors, moveable base, and pillows he’d ask why I hadn’t managed to sell pillow protectors too. His first trainee had thrived on being challenged and he’d never bothered to learn a different way to coach.

It was wretched. My performance started strong but nosedived after a few weeks with him. My trainer, a man I loathed for stonewalling me in my interview, came in to inform me I was on new hire probation. If I couldn’t get my sales numbers up I’d be let go.

His actual phrasing was, “When you have a bandaid do you like to rip it off or pull it slowly?”

Since it was eminently obvious why he was visiting and because I thought it was condescending I sweetly informed him that I liked to soak my bandaids in hot water so they come off on their own.

He was briefly startled at this derailing but then got on with the bad news. I signed some forms stating that I understood my job was in peril.

I went home furious. I thought long and hard about why I wasn’t succeeding and how frustrated I was with my manager. I came in the next day and my anger had crystallized into a cold sharp edge.

My manager opened his mouth to address the probation and I snapped, “Just leave me alone. Go in the back if I have a sale. If you must address a serious issue then you will give me praise on two things I did right and present it as a compliment sandwich. Otherwise just say good job and shut up. Your constant nitpicking just makes me anxious and I do worse. Back off.” Belated and begrudging I added, “Please.”

He raised his eyebrows in dim surprise but I’d gauged him well. He backed off. Dutifully he’d meander into the back when I had a sale and praised me when I closed it. I resented knowing it was only because I’d demanded complimented but they still boosted me up. My numbers skyrocketed, I landed my first split king sale, and I exited probation with flying colors.

The trainer came back in to congratulate my manager for turning things around. To my gratification he gave me credit for setting him straight and said I’d taught him a different way to lead. My manager would often genuinely praise that moment when I’d stood up to him, impressed with my stubborn refusal to fail and my insight into what would help.

My biggest takeaway from the whole thing was just that people need positive reinforcement to succeed. Praise people for doing a good job. If you’re ever in a position where you need to criticize someone put it in a compliment sandwich instead of just saying the negative.

[loulou-land]

8x10 coda

bucktommy fix-it (sort of), emotional hurt/comfort, hopeful ending | cw: angst, dissociation, mild descriptions of a panic attack | 1.5k words

(Buck’s face at the end of that episode got me in the feels and I had to get these words out of me. Thank you @fuselsstuff for making me feel better about my writing and my endings 😘❤️)

As Buck watches Eddie drive away, something inside him crumbles, another piece lost to the wreckage that has come to be his life. He stands frozen in front of what used to be Eddie’s house—his house now, technically—but the words don't sit right. 

His house.

They feel foreign, misplaced. Like a title handed to someone else by mistake. He knows he chose it, knows the reason why he did it, yet what seemed like a good idea at first now feels like a crushing weight around his shoulders. 

He doesn’t know how long he stands there. Staring at nothing. His head filled with static noise. All feeling draining out of him, until emptiness is all that surrounds him. Distantly he’s aware of his clothes progressively getting soaked as the gentle drizzle grows into a steady downpour. But he can’t seem to make himself move, staying rooted to the spot. 

Eventually, however, the cold seeps so deep into his bones that it forces him into movement. Buck turns, steps inside and shuts the door behind him. And is promptly at a loss. He feels like he took a wrong turn somewhere and forgot where home was. It’s a disconcerting feeling. 

Buck makes his way to the bathroom, peels his wet clothes off and steps into the shower, turning the heat up as high as it’ll go. It skalds his skin, but even then, he’s still cold. It’s like it’s burrowed deep inside and refuses to let go. He pulls on a hoodie, refusing to think about whose it is and why he picked that particular one. 

By the time he stumbles into bed, his limbs feel heavy, weighted down by something vast and shapeless. His mind is scarily blank. Whatever thoughts flicker into his mind are gone too fast to take hold of. Maddie almost died. Eddie’s gone. And, why won’t they listen to me? Why can’t they see I’m drowning? Everyone has something, someone. And what do I have? What am I left with? 

Nothing. It’s always nothing.

I am nothing. 

For once, the thought doesn’t hurt. It barely registers at all. It’s just a fact—objective and empty. He notes the detachment like he’s reading about someone else’s life. It should scare him, but he doesn’t feel much of anything right now. I don’t like this, Buck thinks distantly, I don’t like this at all. 

He sees his hands move as though from far away, outside his body. His fingers close around his phone. It takes a few seconds for his eyes to focus, to process the screen in front of him. He scrolls through his contacts, searching for Dr. Copeland. That’s who he meant to call. That was the hazy plan he’d formed in his head. 

But somehow, Tommy’s name is the one he presses. 

The phone rings. One. Two. Three times. 

The sound should make his heart pound with anxiety. Instead, he finds himself being soothed by the repetitive sound. His mind latches onto the rhythm, following it like a thread in the dark. The longer it rings, he starts to fill each pause with a thought. Of course. He won’t pick up. You don’t matter to anyone. He didn’t want you. 

And then—

“Evan?” 

A pause, a quiet breath. Then softer, “you okay?” 

It shatters something in Buck. The numbness that had settled in him disappears. The concern, the familiarity, the way Tommy has never been anything but honest with him—hearing it now, when everything else has started unraveling In him, it’s too much. 

His breath is knocked out of his chest. His throat closes up. He feels a tingling in his hands as his heart rate picks up. He wants to speak, to explain, to say something, but all that makes it out is a choked, heart-wrenching sob that feels like it’s been ripped right out of him. 

“Sweetheart,” Tommy says, instantly alert. “Evan. Talk to me. What’s wrong? Where are you?” 

Buck tries to breathe, tries to push the words out, but they’re trapped behind his lips. He can’t speak and that drags him deeper into desperation. He clutches his shirt, as though if he grips it tightly enough, he’ll be able to keep himself together and he’ll remember how to use his words again.

His whole body shakes with the force of it, and it’s humiliating, it’s embarrassing, it’s—

“Okay, okay. I’m on my way,” Tommy says, voice steady but urgent beneath it. Buck hears the sound of an engine turning on, the rush of movement on the other end. “Just breathe for me, baby.” 

“Eddie’s,” Buck finally manages to croak out. 

“What?” Tommy asks, slightly distracted. Buck hears car horns and the shift of gears. 

“I’m at Eddie’s.” 

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.” The words come quick, sure, no hesitation. 

And Buck appreciates that Tommy doesn’t ask any more questions. He just keeps talking, filling the silence with warmth. You’re okay. I’m here. Breathe for me, sweetheart. Just like that. You’re doing good. You’re so good. Just hold on, I’m almost there.  

Buck clings to every word like a lifeline, tucks them inside himself. He tries to believe them. After all, Tommy doesn’t lie to him. 

His sobbing has slowed, but now something worse is creeping in—the weight of reality pressing back down. He called Tommy. He’s on the phone with him right now. He’s crying like a fucking baby. 

“I’m sorry.” Buck rasps, voice raw. “I—I shouldn’t have called you. Shit. I’m sorry.” 

“Evan.” Tommy says his name like it’s a prayer, like it’s something precious. Like it means more than Buck ever let himself believe. Like it means love. 

Buck inhales sharply, stomach twisting in knots. He’d missed that. God, he’d missed hearing his name spilling from Tommy’s mouth. 

Tommy’s voice softens. “You don’t have to apologize for anything. It’s okay. Whatever it is…I’m here for you.” 

He can’t accept that. “No—no, I…you were probably busy.” Buck’s voice cracks. “I didn’t mean to pull you away from anything important.” 

“I wasn’t doing anything,” Tommy says, simple and reassuring. Then, quieter, “And, even if I was…I’d still come.” 

Buck should feel comforted. Instead, it makes something ugly rise in his chest. A sick, gnawing pit of self-hatred. Sharp and precise. 

Why does he always do this? Always need too much? He feels everything so loudly, and then drags people into the mess of him, makes them carry it when they shouldn’t have to. 

He lets out a dry, broken laugh. “There I go again,” he mutters, bitter. “Bucking it up. Making it all about me.”

Tommy exhales roughly through the line. And then, firm but gentle, “Evan. I don’t know what’s going on, but it's okay to feel things. And you’re more than allowed to be upset and want to talk about it. It’s okay to need people.”  

Buck closes his eyes. His whole body hurts. He wants to argue. He wants to tell Tommy he’s wrong. That everyone else thinks he’s too much. That Buck’s needs  are a burden. 

But before he can—

“I’m here. Can you open the door for me, sweetheart? 

Buck manages to drag himself out of bed and down the hall. His breath hitches once he reaches the front door, hands trembling slightly, his mind still caught between panic and exhaustion. 

He opens the door. 

And there’s Tommy. 

Standing on the other side, rain-damp and breathless. There’s concern written into every tense line of his body. His shoulders are squared, his jaw set, like he’s ready to take on every single one of Buck’s battles without hesitation. 

Buck swallows hard. “Tommy.” 

So much weight in a name, in a single word. 

Tommy doesn’t say anything. He just opens his arms. 

And Buck simply falls into them. No second-guessing or uncertainty. He clings to Tommy like he’s a safe haven, fists gripping at the fabric of his hoodie, pressing in close until there’s no space left between them. And still, Buck wishes he could crawl inside Tommy, just to be even closer. His mind quiets, the storm inside him calms into a single thought, repeated over and over again. 

Tommy. Tommy. Tommy. 

He breaths him in, the familiar scent anchoring him. Slowly, he matches his breathing to Tommy’s. And, in that moment Buck is entirely convinced their hearts are beating in sync. As one. 

Tommy holds him just as tightly, one hand cradling the back of his head, the other cradled protectively against his spine. He starts to run soothing circles up and down Buck’s back, murmuring lowly in his ear. 

“Shh, I got you. I’m here.” 

Then, gently, hesitantly, Tommy presses a kiss to the side of Buck’s head. Soft. Careful. Like he’s afraid he’s not allowed to touch Buck like that, but still feels compelled to, needs to do it. 

Buck lets out a shaky sigh, melting further into his arms. 

He knows eventually they’ll have to talk. About the break up, about them. About what had set Buck off.

He’ll have to untangle the mess inside him, sort through everything he’s buried deep. There will be therapy. There will be hard conversations. 

But not right now. 

Right now, he lets himself believe Tommy—that he’s here, that he means it—and decides to go from there. 

“Can I come in?” 

“Will you stay?” 

They speak at the same time. 

And then—

Yes. 

For the first time that day, Buck feels a genuine smile break across his face. 

It won’t be easy.

But he thinks that maybe—just maybe— things will be okay. 

[staytinyzen]

(Mis)delivered Confessions

Bff!San x gn Reader no gender mentioned for reader (Friends to lovers trope)

Sending a message to the wrong person.

Warnings: slight cursing for the first part? Ig that’s it

Word count: ~ 900 (~3min reading time)

You were lying on your sofa legs draped over the armrest, typing on your phone as you helped your friend draft a confession text.

"Y/N, I can't do this! There's no way I can tell him!" she almost yelled through the speaker.

“Girl, chill. You're overthinking it. You just have to be honest. What could go wrong?" you replied, half-listening as you typed out a possible confession for her to send.

She had been crushing on a guy in her class who she befriended on the first day but didn’t know how to take the relationship further, she was freaking out so she asked for your help before losing her mind.

“Hi, this might be random and maybe not the best time but I've been holding this in for a while… I really like you. Every time I see you, I feel like my heart is gonna explode, I can't stop thinking about you. If you’re not feeling the same, I hope this won’t change a thing in our relationship and we can continue being friends…”

You glanced over the message, feeling satisfied. You hit send.

“There, I wrote it. All you have to do is send it. Easy, right?” You said happily.

“Thank you I’ll try, can you send it?”

You were confused, “Girl I just did ?”

“I cannot see it can you send it again ?”

“Wait…” You sat up straight on your couch and looked at your phone screen.

And then... sheer horror.

Because the name at the top of the chat wasn't hers.

It was “Sannie^⩊^”

Your best friend.

Your neighbor.

“Oh fuck…” you really fucked up.

“Oh no. Oh no no no no!” you groaned, scrambling to your feet as panic set in.

Your friend asked what was happening as she had no clue what was going on.

“Oh no I did not just do that”

“Just tell me what’s happening!”

“I did actually send the message but not to you but to San… OH MY GOD!! I can’t delete it either, I have to tell him it’s not meant for him, I’m so dumb”

San.

The person you had spent countless nights watching movies with, stealing food from, and leaning on when life got rough—whether that meant venting about a bad day, sitting in comfortable silence, or simply knowing he was there, always ready to catch you when you stumbled.

Panicked, you scrambled to type:

"Wait!! That wasn’t for you! OMG, please ignore that!!"

Ironically, while pushing your friend to confess to this guy, you were pushing your own feelings to the side, not wanting to lose him, the person you cared about the most and loved so much that you preferred ignoring whatever you felt.

Yeah, great job. So much for telling your friend "it's easy" and the whole "what could go wrong?" speech.

You were panicking, even if you were to explain the situation, things would be awkward.

Soon enough three dots appeared. Then disappeared. Then appeared again.

You stared blankly at your screen.

You felt like you might throw up.

“I’ll call you later okay ?” You ended the call without waiting for her response, her crush can wait a bit.

You were still standing in the middle of your living room not knowing what to do.

Suddenly your phone buzzed:

Sannie^⩊^: “Oh. Got it”

That was it? Just “Oh. Got it”?! No teasing? No jokes? He always teased you!

Your phone buzzed again.

Sannie^⩊^ : “Who was it for?”

Your breath caught. For some reason, you didn’t want to explain the whole situation it felt too… complicated. It really wasn’t meant for him but what if it was the universe just pushing you because you’ve been hiding for a long time yet you weren’t ready for that.

So you took the coward’s way out :

“It doesn’t matter. Just ignore it.”

Sannie^⩊^: “Okay.”

The awkwardness in that one word made your stomach twist.

You groaned, throwing yourself onto your sofa. Maybe if you stayed here long enough, you’d just disappear.

But then—

A knock at your door.

You frowned. It was late. Who—

Another knock. Louder this time.

With a sinking feeling, you opened the door.

And there stood San, messy tousled hair, hoodie slightly askew, neckline slightly off, he probably just threw it on before coming over, he looked hot… and—frustrated?

“You’re seeing someone?” he blurted out, stepping inside before you could answer.

“What?” You blinked, slowly closing the door.

San ran a hand through his hair, his jaw tense. “You wouldn’t tell me who that text was for. And it wasn’t me. So who is it?”

You gaped at him. “Why do you care?”

His eyes flickered. “I—” He hesitated, then scoffed. “I don’t. I’m just… surprised, that’s all.”

“San.” You crossed your arms. “Are you jealous?” You asked trying to joke and ease the tension.

He scoffed again—too quickly. “No.”

But his ears were red.

Your heart pounded. “Then why are you here?”

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Looked away. “I just… I thought—” He exhaled sharply. “I thought I had more time.”

Your breath caught. “Time?”

His gaze locked onto yours, raw and unguarded. “Time before you fell for someone else.”

Silence…

A shaky laugh escaped you. “San…”

He swallowed hard. “Tell me it wasn’t supposed to be me.”

You hesitated. A part of you wanting to explain the misunderstanding.

His voice dropped almost whispering“Tell me, and I’ll drop this.”

Your heart screamed at you, but you were frozen.

Maybe you were meant to send that text to him after all.

Next

[rafesweetie]

i need to know more about prissy and ruthies drama omg!

okok i’ll share the origin a bit !! <3

so, as we hopefully know, prissy is a girls girl to her core! it doesn’t matter their popularity or whatever, prissy is supporting every girl that walks her way. that included ruthie, at the start, so they got along for a bit. that made rafe veeeery happy, because they could go on double dates n such!

but there’s an instance where prissy walks in late on a conversation at the country club. she had left rafe, top, and ruthie alone to get a drink for her and a whiskey for rafe. all she catches ruthie say is “kiara carrera”, and assuming ruthie is as sweet as she is, and is only saying good things, prissy says, “oh, kie? i love her, she’s so pretty and nice!” as she sets down her drink.

ruthie visibly has a snarl on her lip as she rolls her eyes. “i’m sorry? you’re friends with that broke-ass bitch? rafe, you allow this?” prissy is lost at this point, confused as she glances up at rafe.

rafe, as much as he loves prissy, cares a lot about his reputation, and doesn’t want prissy messing it up. so he answers, saying, “uhhh, shit, i didn’t even know about it. we’ll have to talk about it at home,” only you know that he’s lying, that usually he does let you hang out with kie, the only pogue he tolerates.

at home, you’re instantly asking rafe what that was. he’s answering, talking about how “you can’t associate with pogues anymore” and “you’re gonna dig yourself into a hole if you yap about how much you adore the pogues in front of the wrong people.” you’re glossy-eyed the entire time, very confused.

“but i like kie,” is your meek answer.

“i know, baby, but this is important, okay? i’m trying to help you. can you do this for me?” and you nod. because as much as rafe is controlling sometimes, he’s always right for the most part.

you distance yourself from the pogues, listening to your boyfriend. ruthie has started to be less warm around you anyway, it seems one positive mention of the pogues flipped a cold switch in her brain. she’s not even bothering to talk to you about why she’s mad, and you don’t have a chance to explain that you’re not associating with the pogues anymore.

the next time you see the pogues is at the beach. rafe had brought you along to sit in the sand with him while his buddies surfed, and you were happy to come along and tan. conveniently, you’re set up right beside the pogues. you give them a smile and wave, unlike all the people around you who are whispering about them and glaring at them.

as the pogues are leaving a little while later and you’re all packing up to leave as well, ruthie, who’s already in the car, decides to scare them a bit and drift the car around the pogues and their things. in the process, the most devastating thing happens — she runs over a turtle hatch. you rush to go check on them, but rafe holds you back. you’re already tearing up.

“ruthie, oh my gosh— did you know what you just did?” you ask.

“yeah, who cares? they’re just turtles,”

that turns your upset expression into anger. “i— i’m sorry, ruthie, are you kidding?” ruthie’s head is turning back and forth at kiara, who’s now yelling too. “those were baby animals, and you just killed them! and— and everyone was so happy to see them, and they had a life to live, and you were a stupid asshole and you ran them over! and kie—“ she cuts off your rambling the minute that name leaves your mouth.

“ohhh, it’s all over kie, huh?” she sighs. “honey, i’m sorry i killed your little turtles, okay? is that what you want, an apology? want me to apologize to your girlfriend too, hm? you’re a sweetheart, truly, for pretending to care about those dumb animals— and the turtles too, i guess. don’t worry about kie, she’s a big girl, she’ll be fine.”

the obvious fake-kindness and patronizing tone makes the first tear spill.

“rafe, you really picked a sweet one,” ruthie continues, looking up at your boyfriend, still holding you from behind. “a pogue-loving ditzy cunt, you just won the lottery,” she says sarcastically, batting her eyelashes and smiling.

he says nothing, because if he argues then suddenly he’s not full-kook anymore, people will think he’s defending the pogues, when he just wants to defend you. he holds you tighter as he moves you to his side. “c’mon, let’s walk home, yeah? we’ll take the pretty way home,” he mutters, dragging you and your teary face away.

from there on out, you’re constantly attacked by only one girl for two simple comments you made. you’ve never been in a fight with anyone, let alone another girl, and you’re unsure how to act. but thank goodness that for now, until it escalates, it’s nothing that can’t be fixed with some dick from rafe.

[steven-g-rogers]

He shook his head. “I don’t know, Peggy.  I think I appreciate it more, if that makes sense?  But I don’t know that that appreciation makes the love more real or more meaningful than anyone else who has true love.  In fact, I’d say an argument could be made that that appreciation could be more of a trauma response than a healthy thing.  And that’s not me to say it’s not real or special or to trivialize it at all.  Just - I know I worry more too.  Not about you leaving me.  But I worry about things going wrong because of my choice.  I logically know that you accepting me means we live a long happy life but I’ve lost people so many times now, I still have that anxiety.  So no.  I don’t think the struggles we’ve been through makes our love more meaningful.  If we had met in the streets of New York in a world that never went to war, I would have fallen for you just as hard, because you’re you.  And it’s you that my heart calls to.  I’m not just clinging to you out of relief that the trails are over.”

He reached over to the table and took her hand.  “I know I won’t take you for granted either.  I hope that would be true regardless.  But I also hope that our trauma doesn’t mean we excuse poor behaviour in each other, just because we should be grateful.  I don’t think so.  But it’s really hard to know, because the only lives we’ve lived are the ones where we lost each other and I had to travel through time to get to you.  I do know this though.  I love you with all my heart.  I know you love me too.  And if we get a nice easy life from now on, or we have to fight for every moment, I’m not going anywhere.”

He smiled and nodded.  “Another first for us.  I’m trying to remember the last time I rode a bike at all.  I had a motorcycle in the future.  But I think the last time had to be sometime around the war.”

He nodded and shrugged a little. “That would be nice.  Don’t spend too much money though.  I like these waffles, but I am still more of a pancake guy.  I’m fine if the only time I get them like this is going out.” 

@agentpeggycarterrogers

“I didn’t mean to say that to bring the mood down. If we hadn’t been through all we had, I know we’d still love each other, but would this mean as much as it does? Maybe. But I know I’ll never take this for granted, I know I’ll never ever get over this, or stop being grateful that we have this, that I have you, that I get to be the one who loves you.” 

Peggy blushed; she hadn’t meant to get caught up in her emotions and her words of love again, but she couldn’t say she regretted it either. Sometimes she just had to say what was in her heart. She’d always been so guarded, and yet with Steve here with her, she couldn’t help it. She knew she could say whatever she felt, whatever she thought, and he’d accept that. Her guard was coming down, and she realized that it had started to come down as soon as he’d knocked on her door and she’d realized he was here to stay.

“We’ve never gone cycling together,” she said. “This will be fun - and we’ll be able to get around the city quickly, exercise, and it’ll be fun.”

She shrugged. “Perhaps that’ll be a nice birthday gift - or Christmas gift - for you. I want you to be able to have the waffles you love.”

@steven-g-rogers

[eclipixels]

Relentless

Kpop Idol x Reader

Content: You bother a K-pop idol, but he accidentally ends up falling for you

[6,605]

      You’re annoying.

      At least, that’s what he’s told you. Multiple times, actually.

      But do you care? Nope. Not even a little bit.

      Because why should you? When your ultimate bias is standing right in front of you at every fansign, every event, every concert, looking drop-dead gorgeous as always? And if you have to be just a tiny bit insufferable to get his attention, then so be it.

      “Did you miss me?” you chirp, grinning as you slide your album across the table.

      He sighs. Deeply. Like he’s summoning the patience of a thousand saints just to deal with you. “Didn’t I see you last week?”

      “Yup! And the week before that. And the week before that. And the week—”

      “I’m sensing a pattern,” he mutters, flipping open the page. His pen hovers over it for a second before he glances up. “Should I even bother signing? You probably have my autograph a hundred times already.”

      “Hundred and two, actually,” you correct, tapping your chin. “But who’s counting?”

      You’ve been on his radar for months now, your presence a constant thorn in his side. While other fans scream in adoration, you’re the one who relentlessly teases him. While others shower him with compliments, you’re the one who calls him out for looking like a sleep-deprived raccoon which, in your defense, he does.

      And at first, he hated it. He still does but he’s gotten more used to it now.

      “You know,” you say, leaning closer as he signs your album. “If you keep staring at me like that, people are gonna think you’re in love with me.”

      He chokes. Actually chokes. Coughing into his fist as his ears turn a suspicious shade of red.

      “You—” He glares at you, pointing an accusatory finger. “You’re so—”

      “Charming? Stunning? The love of your life?”

      “I was going to say infuriating,” he deadpans.

      “You got a giant pimple on your chin by the way.” You mess with him.

      “Wait what?” He panics, pulling out his phone camera to look only to see you had been lying. You laugh but he just glares at you.

      “I’m calling security.”

      “I’m leaving! I’m leaving!” You yelp before speed-walking away.

      It’s the same thing every time. You show up. You tease him. He gives you a death glare. He doesn’t hide his irritation or put on the ‘always appease the fans’ personality.

      And that is why you keep coming back. It’s gotten entertaining now, he kind of expects it everytime his group is having an event. It’s kind of fun seeing you and the disaster you bring. Even if he’d rather die than admit it.

      One day, you stop showing up.

      It takes him a while to notice.

      At first, he just thinks it’s a coincidence. Maybe you finally got bored of teasing him. Maybe you ran out of albums to get signed. Maybe you found some other idol to annoy instead of him.

      It shouldn’t bother him.

      And yet, it does.

      He doesn’t realize how much he’s grown used to your presence until it’s gone. No smug grins at fansigns. No playful insults thrown his way. No exasperating banter that secretly made his days a little less exhausting.

      The first week without you, he feels… relieved.

      The second week, he feels off.

      The third week, he starts searching for you in every crowd.

      And by the fourth week, he knows something is wrong.

      It’s not like he has a way to contact you, he doesn’t even know your full name. But, by some miracle, he finds you. It’s past midnight when he sees you again.

      He almost doesn’t recognize you at first. You’re curled up on the bench of a park near his apartment, arms wrapped around yourself as the rain pours down. Your usual playful confidence is gone, replaced with something small. Fragile.

      Something inside him twists at the sight.

      He doesn’t think. He just moves.

      “Hey.”

      You flinch at his voice, eyes wide as you look up. The dim streetlight barely illuminates your face, but it’s enough for him to see the tear tracks mixed with the rain.

      For the first time since he’s known you, you’re not smirking. You’re not teasing. You’re just—broken.

      “What… what are you doing here?” you whisper, voice hoarse.

      He frowns, ignoring the rain soaking through his hoodie as he crouches in front of you. “I could ask you the same thing.”

      You let out a weak, bitter laugh. “I could give you a hundred and two reasons.”

      Normally, he’d have a snarky reply ready. But right now? Right now, he just wants to know what’s wrong.

      His voice is softer than he means it to be. “Y/n, what happened?”

      You hesitate. For the first time, you actually hesitate. But then your shoulders shake, and suddenly, you’re unraveling right in front of him.

      “Everything just—everything went wrong, and I didn’t know where else to—” You whisper, voice cracking

      Your breath hitches, and before he can think twice about it, he’s already shrugging off his hoodie, draping it over you. His hand lingers on your shoulder, grounding you.

      “Come on,” he says, his voice quieter now. “Let’s get you out of the rain.”

      You blink at him, like you can’t quite believe this is happening. Like you were expecting him to brush you off. But he doesn’t. Because right now, you’re not the annoying fan who used to drive him insane.

      Right now, you’re just you. Another person just like him.

      You don’t argue. You just let him help you up. And as he leads you inside to his apartment, away from the cold, away from whatever is haunting you, he realizes something.

      He’s missed you.

      You’re dry now. Mostly. His apartment looks nice. You can’t believe how many times you’ve walked past the area oblivious to the fact your favorite kpop idol lives right there.

      Sitting on his couch, wrapped in a blanket that smells faintly of laundry detergent and something undeniably him, you grip the cup of tea he shoved into your hands the second you stepped inside. You’re still cold, though. Not from the rain, but from everything else.

      He’s sitting across from you, his shirt damp from the rain, arms crossed as he leans back. He hasn’t asked you to leave. Hasn’t told you you’re being annoying. Hasn’t even made a sarcastic comment.

      You let out a slow breath, staring at the steam rising from the tea. “You don’t have to be nice to me, you know.”

      He exhales sharply through his nose. “Trust me, I know.”

      That earns the faintest hint of a smile from you, but it disappears as quickly as it came. The silence stretches between you, thick and unfamiliar. Normally, you’d fill it with some dumb remark, poke at him just to see him roll his eyes.

      But tonight you don’t have the energy.

      “I don’t even know why you let me come here,” you admit. “It’s not like we’re actually friends.”

      His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t argue.

      You let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head. “But I appreciate it since nothing in my life is going right.”

      He watches you, eyes unreadable. “Yeah?”

      You scoff, curling further into the blanket. “Yeah.”

      And then, before you can stop yourself, you start talking.

      You tell him about your job that sucks. About the bills that won’t stop piling up. About how it feels like the universe has some personal vendetta against you.

      And then, finally—

      “…And then I found out my boyfriend was cheating on me.”

      You don’t look at him when you say it. It’s less embarrassing that way. But he stills. You don’t notice at first, too busy staring at the swirling tea in your mug.

      “…Boyfriend?” His voice is sharper than you expect.

      You glance up, confused by the expression on his face.

      His brow furrows. “You have a boyfriend?”

      There’s something off about the way he says it. Something tense. Like he’s testing the words out, like they feel wrong in his mouth.

      You blink. “Had.”

      His eyes flick to yours. Just for a second. Enough for you to see relief flicker in them, but it’s gone before you can process it.

      “Huh.” He leans back, arms still crossed, gaze flicking to the side. “Didn’t know that.”

      You let out a bitter laugh. “Guess it doesn’t matter now, does it?”

      He doesn’t answer right away. And when he finally does, his voice is quieter.

      “No. Guess not.”

      Another silence. This one is heavier than before.

      You sip your tea, pretending not to notice the way his fingers tighten slightly on his arm. Pretending not to notice the way he hasn’t looked at you since you said ‘had’.

      And he? He pretends he doesn’t care. Even though, for some reason, he does. More than he wants to admit.

      “I should’ve known,” you mutter, voice dull. “He was always too smooth. Too good at talking his way out of things.”

      Across from you, he shifts, watching you carefully. “How’d you find out?”

      You snort. “Instagram.”

      His brows raise slightly, like he wasn’t expecting that.

      “I was so stupid,” you continue, laughing bitterly. “This whole time, I thought I was paranoid. I even told myself, no, you’re just overthinking it. But then, boom—he slips up. Some girl posts a story of them together at a hotel. Tags him in it. And just like that, it’s over.”

      You don’t even realize you’re gripping the blanket tighter until you feel the fabric bunch beneath your fingers.

      Silence.

      And then—

      “…He’s an idiot.”

      You blink, looking up.

      He’s staring at you now, expression unreadable, but his voice is firm. Steady.

      You let out a scoff. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

      His gaze flickers over your face. For a moment, he looks like he wants to say something else. But instead, he just leans forward, resting his arms on his knees.

      “You mad at him?”

      You think about it. Let the question settle in your chest.

      “…No.” You exhale. “I’m just mad at myself.”

      His brow furrows slightly. “Why?”

      “Because I let it happen.” You shake your head. “I should’ve seen the signs. I should’ve trusted my gut. I wasted so much time on him, and for what?”

      The words taste bitter in your mouth. But before you can dwell on it, he exhales, running a hand through his damp hair. “You’re not the only one who’s been through it, you know.”

      You blink. “What?”

      His jaw clenches, like he’s debating whether or not to say more. But then he sighs, shaking his head. “I’ve been there too. The whole ‘getting cheated on’ thing.”

      Your eyes widen. Someone cheated on him? Were they stupid? “Wait. You?”

      He nods once, gaze flicking to the side.

      You sit up straighter, fully invested now. “Who?”

      At that, he hesitates. His fingers tap lightly against the couch, a nervous habit you’ve never seen from him before.

      “You have to promise you won’t tell anyone.”

      You blink at him, taken aback by the sudden seriousness in his tone. “Do I need to sign an NDA?”

      “That’d probably be a good idea” he says, looking at you now, eyes sharp and unwavering, “But I don’t have any lying around so just promise not to blabber.”

      You pause. Then, with the most solemn expression you can muster, you raise a hand. “I solemnly swear that I, Y/n L/n, will take this secret to my grave.”

      Huh, so that was your full name. Then, after another long pause, he finally says it.

      “Myra.”

      Your brain short-circuits. “Wait. Kim Myra?”

      Kim Myra—the nation’s sweetheart, lead vocalist of Lulupop, one of the biggest girl groups in the industry? The same Kim Myra who made headlines last year for her K-drama debut?

      That Myra?

      “She cheated on you?” you say, still trying to process the information.

      He lets out a short, humorless laugh. “Yup.”

      “With who?”

      Another pause. And then, with a sigh, he mutters, “Kevin.”

      Your jaw drops.

      Kevin Ngyuen the half Vietnamese and half Korean actor? Her flipping co-star in that ridiculously popular debut drama she starred in last year. The one everyone swore had “undeniable chemistry.” The one she denied being involved with a thousand times in interviews.

      “Holy shit,” you breathe. “Are you serious?”

      “Dead serious.” He leans back, rubbing his temples. “It was a whole thing. I found out during the drama’s press tour. They were sneaking around behind my back for months.”

      You stare at him, mind racing. “How did this not get out?”

      He gives you a flat look. “Come on. You really think companies let this stuff leak?”

      That gets your attention. You shift, turning to face him fully. “Okay, spill. How often does this actually happen? Because every time an idol gets exposed for dating, people act like it’s some rare phenomenon.”

      He scoffs. “Please. It happens all the time.”

      You gape at him. “All the time?”

      He nods, stretching his legs out. “Most idols date in secret. Sometimes it’s other idols, sometimes it’s actors, sometimes it’s staff. Hell, sometimes it’s fans.”

      Your eyes widen. “Fans?”

      He shrugs. “Yeah. Not often, but it happens.”

      Your mind is spinning. The media paints idols as these untouchable figures, too busy to date, too devoted to their careers. But here he is, casually confirming that half the industry is dating behind closed doors.

      “So let me get this straight,” you say, crossing your arms. “You’re telling me that while we, the peasants, are out here fighting over crumbs of interactions, you guys are out there secretly dating each other?”

      He smirks. “Pretty much.”

      You groan, flopping back against the couch. “I feel so betrayed.”

      He actually laughs at that—a real laugh, not the sarcastic ones he usually gives you. And for some reason, it makes something warm settle in your chest. You watch him carefully. For the first time, he looks… vulnerable. Not the cocky idol who always rolled his eyes at you. Not the guy who (rightfully) acts like you were the most annoying person in the world.

      Just a guy who got his heart broken, the same way you did.

      “…She’s an idiot,” you say eventually.

      He glances at you, lips twitching. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

      The rain has slowed to a faint drizzle, tapping softly against the window. You’re still curled up on his couch, still wrapped in his blanket, still reeling from the fact that you just got industry tea straight from the source.

      And yet, the weirdest part?

      You’re not freaking out.

      Like, logically, you should be. You’re in the apartment of a K-pop idol. But here you are, having a normal conversation with him like this is just… a thing that happens.

      He shifts, resting an arm against the back of the couch. Then, almost absentmindedly, he mutters, “You know… this is the first time I’ve let a stranger into my house.”

      You blink, caught off guard. “Huh?”

      He tilts his head slightly, watching you. “I’ve never talked to a fan like this before, let alone allow one into my place.”

      You let out a small laugh. “This is kind of crazy, isn’t it?”

      He raises an eyebrow. “What is?”

      “This.” You motion between the two of you. “I’m literally sitting in a celebrity’s house, and I’m not even freaking out. It’s like…” You trail off, thinking.

      “…Like?” he prompts.

      You shrug. “Like we’ve been friends or something for years.”

      His lips twitch. “Oh, a friend, huh?”

      You don’t miss the way his gaze sharpens, playful and teasing. Then, with a smirk, he leans forward just slightly. “You probably have, like, a gajillion pictures of my face in your camera roll.”

      Your face heats. “I—okay, first of all—”

      “Oh, I hit a nerve, didn’t I?” His smirk widens. “How many are we talking? A hundred? Two hundred?”

      You cross your arms. “I don’t have that many.”

      He hums, unconvinced. “You sure?”

      “Okay, maybe a few, but that’s normal—”

      “So you do like me.”

      You sputter. “Excuse me?”

      His eyes gleam with amusement, head tilting slightly. “You like me.”

      “I used to like you,” you correct quickly, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “Past tense.”

      He snorts. “Right. Past tense.”

      “Yes.”

      There’s a beat of silence. Then—

      “Still doesn’t explain why you showed up to every fansign just to bother me.”

      You groan. “Oh my god, can you let it go?”

      He chuckles, clearly enjoying this way too much.

      You decide to change the subject before he can keep teasing you. “Anyway. Moving on. We’re getting off track.”

      He smirks but doesn’t argue.

      And somehow, just like that, the conversation flows into something easier. More natural.

      You talk about random things—childhood memories, weird pet peeves, stupid things you’ve both done. And the more you talk, the more you realize just how much you actually have in common.

      You both hate the taste of parsley. You both secretly love trashy reality TV. You both have a fear of roaches.

      “They’re just creepy, okay?” he mutters.

      You nod solemnly. “Agreed.”

      “That’s so exhausting,” you mutter as he rambles on about the complicated life of being a celebirty.

      “Welcome to the industry.”

      You tilt your head, watching him. “Do you ever regret it?”

      The question catches him off guard. His brows furrow slightly, and for a moment, he doesn’t answer.

      Then, after a beat, he exhales. “I don’t know. Some days, yeah. But I signed up for this, so…” He shrugs.

      You don’t know why, but the way he says it—so nonchalant, so matter-of-fact—makes your chest feel a little tight. Because for all the glamour, all the fame, all the screaming fans and flashing cameras… it must be lonely. And you’re starting to wonder if he’s lonelier than he lets on.

      You shift slightly, resting your head against the couch. “You know,” you say, staring at the ceiling, “I always thought being an idol was, like, the dream life.”

      He snorts. “Yeah? Still think that now?”

      You hum, considering. “I mean… parts of it, sure. The music, the performances. But all the other stuff? The restrictions, the constant scrutiny, the… fake smiles?” You glance at him. “I don’t think I’d last a day.”

      His lips quirk slightly. “Yeah. You’re too stubborn to follow company rules.”

      You gasp. “Excuse me?”

      “You heard me.” He smirks, shifting so he’s facing you fully. “They’d tell you to keep your head down, and you’d be out there starting fights with reporters.”

      You cross your arms. “I would not.”

      He raises an eyebrow.

      “…Okay, maybe I would,” you admit. “But that’s beside the point.”

      His chuckle is soft, barely there. But you hear it. And for some reason, it makes something warm settle in your chest.

      “You know,” he murmurs, breaking the silence, “you’re not what I expected.”

      You blink. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

      He tilts his head, studying you. “I don’t know. I just figured… I don’t even know what I figured. But it wasn’t this.”

      You raise an eyebrow. “Wasn’t what?”

      He exhales, shaking his head. “I don’t know. You’re just… normal.”

      You let out a dramatic gasp. “Wow. What a compliment.”

      He laughs, low and breathy. “Shut up. You know what I mean.”

      And yeah. Maybe you do.

      You stretch your arms above your head, letting out a yawn. “Whatever. You don’t even know me.”

      He scoffs. “Same could be said about you.”

      But that makes you sit up, an eyebrow raised. “No, see, I actually do know you.”

      He leans back against the couch, smirking. “Oh yeah?”

      You nod, shifting to face him. “For example—you grew up with a corgi.” You pause for effect. “Your favorite anime is fruit basket. You trained for five years before debuting. You love mint chocolate—”

      At that, he suddenly bursts out laughing.

      You blink. “What?”

      “Oh my god.” He covers his face with his hand, still laughing. “That is so wrong.”

      Your brows furrow. “Huh?”

      “My favorite anime is blood C” he says, “But that was too graphic for my label so I had to lie about it”

      “And I hate mint chocolate.” He shakes his head, still grinning. “My company made me lie about that too.”

      You gasp. “Are you serious?”

      He stretches his legs out, exhaling dramatically. “They assigned me this whole personality—‘the sweet, playful vocalist who loves cute things. They made me do so much aegyo during our rookie days. I swear, I was dying inside. Like geniunelly an angel lost its wings everytime they made me sing that fuck ass ottoke ottoke song.”

      At that, you lose it, laughing so hard your sides hurt.

      “Wow. So all those ‘cute’ moments in variety shows—”

      “Forced. Every single one.”

      You shake your head, still grinning. “Damn. Your whole life on camera is a lie.”

      “Pretty much.” He sighs, shaking his head.

      You tilt your head. “Yeah, okay. Who is the real you, then?”

      He leans back, thinking for a moment. Then, he starts listing.

      “I hate aegyo, if that wasn’t obvious by now. I suck at cooking, but I can make instant ramen taste amazing. I get restless if I sit in one place too long. I used to sneak out during trainee days just to take a breather because the dorms were hell.”

      You listen intently as he continues.

      “I love staying up late. I overthink a lot. I hate being told what to do. And—” He pauses, eyes flicking toward the ceiling in thought. “—oh. When I was a kid, I once cried for, like, three hours straight because my ice cream fell on the floor.”

      You burst out laughing. “Three hours?!”

      “It was tragic, okay?” He places a hand on his chest dramatically. “And I was five.”

      You shake your head, still laughing. “Wow. You were a menace.”

      “Still am,” he quips.

      You roll your eyes, but the warmth in your chest lingers.

      Then—his gaze shifts back to you, curiosity flickering in his eyes.

      “Okay, your turn.”

      You blink. “Huh?”

      He tilts his head. “I just told you who I really am. Now it’s your turn.” He smirks. “Because as far as I know, you’re just an obsessed fan with a messy life.”

      You huff, crossing your arms. “Wow. Rude.”

      “Am I wrong?”

      “…No, but still.”

      His smirk deepens. “So? Who are you, really?”

      You open your mouth, then close it. Because, honestly? You’re not sure how to answer that. And for the first time tonight… you think he can tell. You fidget with the edge of the blanket draped over you, suddenly feeling exposed under his gaze.

      “Who am I, really?” you echo, stalling.

      He shrugs, tilting his head slightly. “Yeah. Since, y’know, I actually answered.”

      You roll your eyes. “Okay, okay. Geez.”

      But now that the question is out there, you don’t know where to start. Because who are you, really? You could go the surface-level route—basic facts, the kind of stuff you’d put in a ‘get to know me’ post. Or you could be real, like he was, peeling back the layers, saying the stuff you don’t usually admit. Your fingers tighten around the fabric of the blanket. He’s watching you, waiting. And for some reason, despite how ridiculous this entire situation is, you kind of want to answer honestly.

      So you exhale and start.

      “I’m the kind of person who laughs at their own jokes before even finishing them.” You scoff at yourself. “I stay up way too late and regret it every morning. I’m really bad at responding to texts, even though I always have my phone on me. And I—” You hesitate, but push forward. “—I overthink everything. Like, everything. I make up problems that don’t even exist sometimes, just so I have something to be stressed about.”

      You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head. “Oh, and I have a terrible habit of pretending I’m okay when I’m actually so not.”

      You glance at him, expecting—what? Judgment? Pity? You’re not sure.

      But he’s just watching you. Quietly. Like he’s actually listening.

      So you continue.

      “I get attached to people way too easily. It’s honestly embarrassing. And I hate it, because most of the time, they don’t even care that much about me in return.” You shrug, forcing a small smile. “Guess that’s my fault, though. I expect too much from people.”

      You don’t know why you’re saying all this. Maybe it’s because you’re tired, or maybe it’s because, for once, you don’t feel like you have to pretend.

      Either way, the words just keep coming.

      “I act all tough, but I take things way too personally. If someone I care about starts acting distant, I automatically assume I did something wrong.” You huff out a laugh. “I hate that about myself, honestly. But, y’know… can’t really turn my brain off.”

      You fall silent, staring at the fabric in your hands, feeling weirdly vulnerable.

      Then—

      “That,” he says, voice softer than before, “was not what I was expecting.”

      You scoff. “Yeah, well. Neither was tonight.”

      He chuckles. Then, after a beat—

      “You know what’s funny?”

      You glance at him. “What?”

      He leans back, arms crossed, smirking slightly. “For someone who annoys the hell out of me, you sound a lot like me.”

      You blink. “Wait. You overthink everything too?”

      “All the time.” He exhales through his nose. “It’s exhausting.”

      You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “Well, damn. Maybe I do know you.”

      His gaze lingers on you for a second longer. Then—

      “Yeah.” His lips twitch. “Maybe you do.”

      You glance over at him, unsure how to break the silence, but he speaks first.

      “You can stay the night if you want.”

      You blink, caught off guard. “Huh?”

      His voice is low, relaxed, like he’s been thinking about it for a while. “I mean, it’s getting late, and you’ve been through enough tonight. You can stay in the guest room. No pressure.”

      Your heart races a little at the offer, and you instinctively open your mouth to decline. “Nah, it’s really fine. The weather’s—”

      Just as you’re about to finish, a sudden crack of thunder shakes the walls.

      You freeze, looking toward the window, and the hairs on your arms stand on end. You glance at him, confused. “That was… loud.”

      Before you can say anything else, the wind picks up, howling against the glass. The first hailstone hits the window with a sharp thunk, followed by another, and then another.

      You’re caught in the sudden chaos of weather. The storm that had seemed far off only moments ago now feels like it’s directly on top of you.

      He watches you, his eyes soft but firm. “Yeah. It’s now hailing outside. You’re not going anywhere.”

      You blink, feeling a rush of uncertainty. “But I—”

      “Stay,” he insists, his voice calm, reassuring. “You can’t go out in this. It’s not safe.”

      You swallow, the sudden realization hitting you that he’s right. The storm is now battering against the windows with intensity. The wind howls, the thunder rumbles louder, and the hail sounds almost like it’s trying to break through the glass.

      You hesitate. “But I don’t want to be a bother—”

      He cuts you off, eyes not leaving yours, his tone gentle but firm. “It’s fine. Really. It’s just one night.”

      You open your mouth to argue again, but the sheer thought of stepping out into the storm is enough to make you reconsider. The last thing you need right now is to get caught out there, drenched and cold.

      With a reluctant sigh, you nod. “Okay. Fine. I’ll stay. But only because the weather is insane.”

      He gives a small nod of satisfaction, his expression softening just a touch. He stands, stretching his legs. “I’ll show you the guest room. It’s just down the hall.”

      You follow him down the hallway, the quiet hum of the apartment now replaced with the distant rumble of thunder and the sharp tink-tink of hail.

      He leads you into a modestly furnished guest room, with a neatly made bed and soft, dim lighting that creates a warm, inviting atmosphere.

      “Make yourself at home,” he says, his voice more casual now. “I’ll leave you to it. Let me know if you need anything.”

      You glance back at him, feeling a little out of place but oddly comfortable. “Thanks.”

      He hesitates in the doorway for a moment, looking at you like he’s about to say something else, but then he just nods once and leaves.

      As you settle into the bed, the storm outside continues to rage, but inside, everything feels calmer, quieter. You close your eyes, trying to shake the feeling of being in his space, of being taken care of.

      The storm doesn’t let up. If anything, it gets worse. You can hear the wind howling through the cracks of the apartment, the heavy thunk of hailstones smacking against the windows.

      You should be sleeping. But you’re not.

      Instead, you’re lying on your side, staring at the ceiling, your mind racing too fast to settle.

      There’s a soft knock at the door.

      You sit up slightly. “Yeah?”

      The door creaks open, and he steps inside, rubbing the back of his neck. He looks… uneasy, like he’s debating whether or not he should even be here.

      “I, uh—” He hesitates. “Couldn’t sleep.”

      You exhale a small laugh. “Yeah, me neither.”

      He nods, lingering by the doorway before eventually sighing and stepping inside. “The storm’s kinda loud.”

      You smirk. “You scared or something?”

      He scoffs. “No.” Then, after a beat, “Just… restless.”

      You watch as he walks over, hesitating before sitting on the edge of the bed. He’s close, closer than before. The dim lighting casts soft shadows on his face, highlighting the way his jaw tightens, the way his fingers press against his knees like he’s holding himself back from something.

      The air shifts.

      Neither of you speak, but you can feel it, the weight of everything unsaid pressing into the space between you.

      You swallow. “What?”

      His gaze flickers to yours. “What?”

      “You’re looking at me like…” You trail off, suddenly self-conscious.

      He doesn’t answer right away. Just studies you, his lips parting slightly like he’s about to say something, but then—

      He kisses you.

      It happens so fast you barely process it. His lips press against yours. Firm, hesitant, like he’s not sure if he’s making a mistake but can’t stop himself.

      Your breath catches.

      It’s warm. It’s soft. It’s…

      Over too soon.

      He pulls back immediately, his eyes widening like he just broke every unspoken rule in existence.

      “Shit,” he breathes out, running a hand through his hair. “I—” He stands up abruptly, pacing. “That was, fuck. That was so unprofessional of me.”

      You blink, still trying to process what just happened. “Unprofessional?”

      He groans. “I mean you’re a fan. You were literally crying outside my apartment, like—this is just—” He groans again, dragging his hand down his face. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

      You just stare at him. “So… was it bad?”

      He freezes.

      Slowly, he turns to you, blinking like the thought never even occurred to him. “…What?”

      You raise an eyebrow. “The kiss. Was it bad?”

      He looks almost offended. “No. That’s not the point.”

      You tilt your head, lips twitching. “So it was good?”

      He glares at you. “Stop.”

      You can’t help it, you laugh.

      Because despite his whole internal crisis, despite the way he’s pacing like he just ruined his career or something, he kissed you first.

      And that means something.

      He sighs, exasperated, before finally looking at you again. His expression softens—just slightly. “I’m serious. That was…” He exhales. “It shouldn’t have happened.”

      You hum, still amused. “But it did.”

      The moment is thick with tension, something unspoken hanging between the two of you, stretching out like an invisible thread waiting to snap.

      “This.” His voice is edged with something unsteady as he gestures vaguely between the two of you, his fingers twitching like he wants to take the word back as soon as it leaves his lips. “I wasn’t supposed to—” His sentence cuts off abruptly, his jaw clenching hard as if he's physically stopping himself from saying more.

      You narrow your eyes, your gaze locking onto his, searching for whatever it is he’s trying so desperately to keep from you. “Wasn’t supposed to what?”

      His eyes flicker to yours for only a second, but it’s enough. Enough to send something sharp and unexpected shooting through you, making your breath hitch in your throat.

      “…Start liking you.”

      The words are so quiet, you almost think you imagined them. They are hesitant, fragile, as though speaking them aloud makes them more real than he’s ready for. Like he’s admitting something he never planned to, something he never thought he’d have to.

      Your stomach flips, and suddenly, for the first time since the kiss, you’re the one feeling thrown off balance.

      You blink at him, unsure if you even heard him correctly. “You—”

      “Forget it,” he mutters quickly, already shaking his head, a muscle ticking in his jaw like he regrets every syllable. “Just—”

      “No.” You sit up straighter, your voice firm. “You can’t just say that and expect me to forget it.”

      He exhales sharply, his gaze darting away from you. “I know. I just…” He groans under his breath, dragging a hand through his hair in clear frustration. “This is a mess.”

      You study him carefully, taking in every detail—the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers clench at his sides, the unmistakable war waging behind his eyes. He looks so genuinely conflicted, like he’s fighting against himself, and maybe he is.

      And then, because you can’t help yourself, because some part of you needs to hear him say it again, you murmur, “You liking me is a mess?”

      His head snaps back toward you, and for a brief moment, he looks utterly, completely exasperated. “Yes. Obviously. You’re a fan—”

      “Was a fan,” you interject smoothly, crossing your arms over your chest.

      He glares. “That doesn’t make this any better.”

      You smirk. “I think it does.”

      He exhales sharply, shaking his head in frustration. “You’re impossible.”

      You simply grin at him, but inside, your heart is pounding. Because it doesn’t matter how much he denies it, how much he tries to fight it—the truth is out now. He likes you. He wasn’t supposed to, he doesn’t want to, but he does. And now, neither of you knows what to do with it.

      Outside, the storm continues to rage, wind and rain slamming against the windows, but inside, you’re both just standing there, frozen in this moment, waiting for something—anything—to break the silence.

      You shift slightly on the bed, tilting your head at him. “So, let me get this straight.”

      He pinches the bridge of his nose, already looking pained. “Oh my God.”

      “You kissed me.”

      “Yes, I know.” His tone is flat, resigned.

      “And you like me.”

      He groans, running a hand down his face. “I literally just said that.”

      You smirk. “And somehow that’s the problem?”

      His hands drop to his sides, and he just stares at you, completely unamused. “Yes.”

      You swallow, forcing yourself to keep your voice casual. “Okay.”

      He blinks, his brows furrowing. “Okay?”

      You nod, leaning back on your hands, your expression unreadable. “Okay. So don’t like me, then.”

      His jaw tightens, his entire body going rigid. “I should go,” he says suddenly, voice stiff.

      He says he should go. But he doesn’t move. Instead, he just stands there, staring at you like you’re the most frustrating puzzle he’s ever had to solve. And maybe you are.

      You tilt your head slightly, a teasing edge to your voice. “Still here.”

      His jaw clenches harder. “I know.”

    �� Your smirk widens. “So much for I should go.”

      He groans, dragging a hand down his face before muttering, “You are the most annoying person I’ve ever met.”

      You shrug, entirely unfazed. “Not the first time you’ve said that.”

      “I meant it every time.”

      The air between you shifts again, the tension mounting, thick and almost suffocating. You don’t know how you got here, how things escalated to this point, how you went from being someone he wanted nothing to do with—to whatever this is.

      He sighs, finally breaking eye contact, his shoulders tense. “This is a bad idea.”

      You hum in agreement. “Probably.”

      He turns back to you, eyes searching yours, his voice low. “Then why aren’t you stopping me?”

      You swallow, suddenly hyperaware of how close he’s gotten. You should stop him. You should say something to break the tension, to shift the mood before it spirals into something neither of you can take back.

      “Because you don’t want me to.” You whisper

      His breath catches. And just like that, whatever restraint he had left—snaps.

      Because the second his gaze drops to your lips again—

      You pull him back in. This time, it’s different. This time, it’s desperate.

      You barely have time to react before his hands are on you again—one curling into the back of your hair, the other gripping your waist, tugging you forward until there’s no space left between you. His lips crash against yours, and you can feel the restraint he’s been holding onto for so long break completely.

      You match his intensity, your fingers twisting into his shirt, pulling him closer, like you need to feel all of him. His hands tighten on you in response, and then suddenly, he’s moving, guiding you back until your legs hit the mattress.

      You fall back slightly, breath hitching as he follows, hovering over you, his weight pressing down in the most intoxicating way. His lips leave yours just long enough to trail down, grazing your jaw, your neck—hot, open-mouthed kisses that send shivers down your spine.

      “Shit,” you breathe, gripping his shoulders.

      He exhales sharply, like your voice alone is enough to make him lose whatever control he has left. His teeth graze your skin, and you shudder, your fingers tangling into his hair.

      You exhale a little laugh, breaking the silence. “I so have to sign an NDA now, don’t I?”

      He opens one eye, glancing at you, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips. “You gonna keep showing up to my events?”

      You tilt your head, raising an eyebrow. “Are you implying I’ve been stalking you this whole time?”

      He lets out a soft laugh, turning to face you fully. “No. But you did seem pretty persistent.”

      You grin, leaning back on your hands. “Guess I can’t argue with that.”

      He sighs, rolling onto his side to face you. “Then yeah. You’ll need an NDA.”

      You bite your lip, pretending to think about it, then nod slowly. “Fine, I’ll sign. But only if you promise to stop acting like I’m some crazy fan who’s not actually pretty cool.”

      He chuckles, his eyes twinkling with something you can’t quite place. “You’re definitely crazy, but I’ll admit, you’re kind of cool.”

      You roll your eyes, but there’s warmth in your chest. “Oh, thanks.”

      He shrugs, but the smile never leaves his face. “You’re welcome.”

      The storm outside has finally quieted, leaving only the occasional distant rumble as a reminder of how chaotic things once were. The space between you and him is still charged with everything you’ve just shared, but there’s a peaceful calm settling in. The kind that comes with knowing that, no matter how strange or messed up this situation is, there’s something real here. Something that sticks.

      You look over at him. He’s lying back on the pillow, his eyes closed, a faint smile on his lips, but there’s something different about the way he’s looking at you now—something softer.