#I'm small people I should have raised my hand lol

[mint-ty]

"what's this? boxers? smells like shit. I fucking love it!"

you heard here first guys :D not like we didn't know lol

[the-original-skipps]

|| Abs! Abs! Abs! || Honkai Star Rail Reactions II

anaxa and his lightcome came home so imma drop this and scurry away i know some people are gonna come at me like sunday and anaxa don't got abs theyre lean yeah well stomach, abs whatever man lol

When you ask them for an ab pic.

: Aventurine. Sunday. Phainon. Mydei. Anaxa.

cw: suggestiveness. established relationship. gn!reader. possible oocness. half naked men. art used does not belong to me but credited to it's rightful owner.

❥ Aventurine can feel his smirk growing as he reads your text. You're way too predictable. He's heard about this fad trending nowadays on social media along with a bicep pic? He's not surprised you jumped on the trend too. The blonde is a definite tease so he'll have his fun teasing you by saying maybe or asking you for a picture back. You were on the verge of giving up until he suddenly sent the picture.

Aventurine is very casual about the whole thing. He knows he has a good magnificent body and he knows how to take a good picture. He takes some pictures, checking them for a moment to find the right one before pressing send. What he's looking forward to now is seeing how you'd react to it. Oh, he can't wait to tease you more.

The picture he sends is of him sitting on some lavish sofa. His signature turquoise dress shirt unbuttoned all the way showcasing his abs. A wine glass in one hand while the other angles his phone down so that his abs are fully captured on screen. 

"Mhmm I don't know, what do I get in return for sending you such a picture?"

❥ Sunday tilts his head in confusion. Ab pic? A picture of his abdominal muscles? The request came out of nowhere and it surprises and confuses him. What could you use such a picture for? He sighs, shaking his head. There's no use mulling over its purpose. A small smile graces his face. He could never deny you, no matter how strange your requests may be.

Sunday spends quite a while a few hours on taking the perfect picture. It's not his fault he keeps finding faults in every single picture he has taken. He needs it to be perfect for you! Until he realizes how long you've been waiting for the picture. After what seemed to be forever, he finally settles on a picture he's satisfied with. He hesitates on sending it until he wills himself to just do it. His feathers could fall off with how nervous he is for your reply.

It's a picture of him reluctantly/shyly holding his dress shirt up. His eyes looking away while his wings cover half of his face in embarrassment. If you look closely his cheeks are dusted pink. 

"Abs pic? I'm not sure what that is but if it will delight you...I'll do my best to fulfill your wish, my love."

❥ Phainon smiles in glee at your request. His invisible tail is wagging as he reads your text multiple times. With each read his invisible tail wagging harder. Ask and you shall receive, of course!

Phainon doesn't waste any time, he's already pulling out his phone to open his camera app. Then quickly discards his shirt - carelessly tossing it aside. He doesn't think much about the pose or what angle the picture should be taken. He claims he just knows how the picture should be taken - it's all in the feeling. He aims the camera so that his abs are in frame and spams the capture button. After a while, he does change poses. Despite how carefree he looks he's actually taking this very seriously. He needs to send the most perfect picture to you.

He doesn't just send one but he sends all the pictures he has taken. The more the better or so he claims. Your phone is ringing non stop from notifications because he sent around 24 pictures. They're all in different poses, angles and expressions. One is zoomed in on his abs while the other shows his entire very toned body. Wait, is that a rose in between his lips?

"Are you sure you're happy with just these? I can send you thirty more...!"

❥ Mydei raises his eyebrow in confusion but it is quickly replaced with a smirk on his face. So, you want a picture of his abs. Very well, he supposes he can make that happen. Only you would dare ask such a thing from the Prince of Castrum Kremnos. He finds your boldness both amusing and attractive at the same time.

Mydei doesn't waste any time. He pulls out his phone, snapping a picture before immediately sending it back to you. The golden lion knows he doesn't need to worry if the picture is good or not. He knows it's good no matter what angle it's taken from. You'll definitely be pleased, he knows it. Though, a mere image made up of pixels would never be able to beat the real thing. He thinks about asking you to come over or maybe he can go to you. The picture is great don't get him wrong but he wants you to see how much better it is in person.

He only sends one picture but it gets the message across. His abs are magnificent as if the gods themselves had sculpted them. He doesn't wear a shirt so he doesn't need to teasingly lift it up. No, he shows it in all its glory. He sits on a throne-like chair, his chin resting in his hand while the other holds the phone.

"Why want a picture when you can come see the real thing."

❥ Anaxa has to resist the urge to scoff when he sees your text pop up. Another one of these nonsensical trends he assumes. He quickly dismisses the thought, deeming it a waste of his time and effort to do - setting his phone aside in favor of grading test papers.

After a while, he finds himself thinking back to your text. He's supposed to be finished grading these test papers by now but all he can think about is your disappointed expression. He nearly slams his pen down on the table before letting out a defeated sigh. Dammit, the things you make him do for you.

Anaxa finds himself irritated at having to do such a thing. He tries taking different pictures but none of them are satisfactory enough for him. He's not very good at this. He knows he shouldn't be wasting so much time and effort for a simple picture but the thought of your lackluster reaction makes his stomach twist uncomfortably. He takes a few more before finally settling on a picture. Angle? Good. Lighting? Good. Overall, not bad. He clicks the send button. Now he has distracted himself enough to not think about your response.

The picture is relatively simple. It's a picture of Anaxa sitting in his office but it's angled so that you can only see his lower half. His gloved hand lifting up his shirt revealing his abs. Might as well frame it because he might not do this for you again. He will.

"By the law of equivalent exchange, it's only fair that you send me one back too."

[muniimyg]

BED CHEM // JJK

♡ extra: manifest that you're oversized

series m.list // taglist unavailable

warnings: smol argument (slight angst), jk and oc ignore each other for a few days,,, smut ! somewhat virgin au... jk guides oc and oc is unsure but curious the entire time !!! very domestic of them :') ,,, jk eats her out, jk lives out a fantasy and face fucks oc, oc tries cowgirl for the first time & jk takes over in the end lol. raw sex, both of them orgasm & get all mushy in the end <3

note: oh my gawd this smut took me so long to write . tmi one of the side effects of my meds is a lower sex drive so i haven't been in the headspace for this ,, i'm so happy i got around to it. obviously it's not perfect or even close to what i envisioned for them ,, but i also think that's what makes them so hehe haha .

enj !

//

tuesdays are never good. 

jungkook decided this a long time ago. tuesdays are always the busiest—the most inconvenient and the longest. worst of all, with all of tuesday’s chaos—it means no you. 

that’s what jungkook hates the most. 

days without you. 

but today is an anomaly.

a breath above water.

a break.

his lab professor extended their assignment deadline. his afternoon class got canceled. shit, jungkook even hit a new personal record at the gym. 

not to mention that the weather isn’t miserable. for once, april isn’t pouring rain. instead, the sky is blue and the sunshines almost as brightly as you. currently, he’s on his way to surprise you with a matcha latte from your favorite cafe. which, was difficult for him to do. 

“one iced matcha with oat milk and less ice please.” 

god, it sounded so insufferable coming from his mouth… but it’s whatever. he’d do anything for you. you two have been together for almost one year and he’s utterly in love with you… he just hasn’t said it yet. 

you talked about it every now and then… how your favourite moments with him are the ones where he initiates seeing you. ever since you verbalized that, he’s been keeping a list of random things he could do in his notes app. though it’s a small act, getting you a surprise matcha is on the top of his list. 

your class should be ending right about now.

he timed his matcha gesture perfectly. 

and it is, because just as he rounds the corner, he sees you walking out of the building. surrounded by a group of people. jungkook snickers under his breath. of course. you’d never just walk out alone like a normal person. you always have an entire entourage.

as everyone disperses, he reaches for his phone.

nerd [11:45AM]: so popular nerd [11:45AM]: u have time for ur bf or what ? yn [11:47AM]: it’s tuesday :(  yn [11:48AM]: tuesday takes my handsome man away </3  nerd [11:48AM]: not today. i fought a few dragons, sailed across the 7 seas and crawled my way to u n shit  yn [11:49AM]: HAHAHAA yn [11:49AM]: wtf are u on  yn [11:49AM]: i’ll call u tn. focus on ur day. miss u :p  nerd [11:48AM]: turn around dummy  seen

he watches as you put your phone away and stretch your neck, scanning the area for him.

jungkook’s chest swells. but before your eyes land on him, someone else beats him to you. some guy—who jungkook assumes is a classmate—runs up from behind, surprising you.

you let out a playful scream, throwing your arms up as the guy engulfs you in a hug. and then—fucking then—he lifts you off the ground and twirls you around.

right then and there, jungkook feels his blood pressure skyrocket. irritation creeps up his spine, jealousy curling in his chest like a tightening fist. the guy sets you down, and you scan the area again. this time, your eyes find his. you brighten, beaming at him, and then—you point. 

to him. 

to jungkook. 

your boyfriend. 

and the guy follows your gaze, lifting a hand in acknowledgment. jungkook barely raises a hand back. 

half-assed. 

dismissive. 

unimpressed.

then, as if his patience wasn’t already paper-thin, the guy pulls you in for another hug before saying goodbye. jungkook rolls his eyes as you do this. just as he shifts his feet to close the distance, you’re already halfway to him.

you tilt your head, pouting. 

“hi baby—oh my god. is that for me?”

his gaze flickers to the iced matcha latte in his hand. 

then back to you.

before he can answer, you’re already leaning in, wrapping your lips around the straw and taking a long sip—right from the drink he’s still holding. he watches as your throat bobs, as you hum in satisfaction, as your fingers brush against his wrist.

without a word, he reaches over, slipping the tote bag off your shoulder and swinging it over his own. it’s muscle memory at this point. second nature, the way he carries your things like they’re his.

you tiptoe, pressing a kiss to his cheek. he turns at the last second, catching your lips instead. you giggle, and like always, your fingers intertwine with his, your free hand still gripping the matcha latte. 

suddenly and then all at once, jungkook can’t help but notice how pretty you are. 

just like that, his mood begins to fade. 

“how was class?”

“boring.” you frown. “i hate elective classes. they’re so extra for no reason. aren’t they supposed to be gpa boosters? what the heck are they doing assigning me exams and group projects? it’s painful.”

“it may be painful, but that doesn’t give you the excuse to be attempting to sext me during class.”

you glare at him. 

“it’s really annoying that you’re a nerd and actually care about my learning.”

“right,” he huffs. “i’m a shitty boyfriend.”

“you are,” you agree easily.

silence follows. 

but it’s not uncomfortable.

after a beat, you exhale. “oh, the guy earlier—he’s my first friend from first year. he just transferred, and his transcript has been all over the place. but he just found out his credits got accepted, so he doesn’t have to retake a class. fuck, i’ve been stressing for him all week.”

jungkook glances at you, voice softer now. “you shouldn’t stress over things that aren’t yours to stress about.”

“but he’s my friend. am i not allowed to care—”

“that’s not what i meant,” he interrupts, shaking his head. “you know that.”

you hold his gaze, the fight dying in your throat. you let it go.

“also…” you hesitate. “he invited me to his party on saturday. it’s a costume party.”

jungkook scoffs, rolling his eyes. “who throws a costume party in the middle of april?”

“the entire class is going.”

“okay,” jungkook says with a plain tone. “so what?”

“what do you mean so what?” you huff, stopping in your tracks to face him. “what’s with your mood?”

jungkook clenches his jaw. he doesn’t know. today was good—until he saw that guy hug you. “i don’t know,” he exhales. “sorry, baby. i didn’t mean to—”

“forgiven.”

he blinks. “that easy?”

“yes, because you’re coming to the party and you’re dressing up.”

he scoffs. “no, i’m not.”

“yes, you are.”

“i don’t do costumes.”

“well, you do now.”

he exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. “babe—”

“don’t babe me.”

“i have a meeting with the dean about the marine conservation club and our potential donners. i’m not going to that stupid party and i was hoping you’d accompany me to my thing.”

you pause. 

“you decided that for me?” you ask. 

jungkook sighs. “i never said that. i said i was hoping you’d accompany me.”

“but you can decide right off the bat that you aren’t going to my thing because it’s not your crowd and it’s not important to you.” 

he stares at you. 

you glare at him. “newsflash, jungkook… i don’t give a shit about dolphins, but i do care about you. but there’s no way i’m going to your meeting with the dean to be your arm candy if you’re acting like this over a harmless costume party—” 

“that’s hosted by some guy who clearly wants to fuck you.”

his words come out faster than his thoughts to filter them. he knows how you’re going to react. he knows he’s digging himself a grave right now… but a part of him doesn’t care. he’s upset. he should have the right to express his feelings and the reality of the situation. 

your mouth falls open. 

“what?”

he huffs a humorless laugh. “come on, baby… you really don’t see it?”

“see what?” you furrow your brows. 

“he’s into you.”

you stare at him, brows furrowing. “jungkook, he’s my friend.”

“yeah? and how many of your ‘friends’ have tried to get with you? be honest with me… he at least had a thing for you, didn’t he?”

anger rises in your chest. “that’s not fair.”

“what isn’t fair? the truth?”

you gawk at him. “so what, you don’t trust me?”

“of course i trust you.” jungkook exhales sharply, looking away. he’s beyond frustrated at this point… and so are you. “i just don’t trust him.”

“holy shit, jungkook.” you shake your head, throwing your hands up. “it’s just a party. you’re blowing this way out of proportion.”

he doesn’t respond, jaw set, eyes fixed on the pavement.

“it’s stupid,” he breathes. “i’m not going. i don’t want you to go either, if i’m being completely honest.”

your face drops. 

you don’t mind the honesty… you hate the audacity. 

“you know what?” you walk forward and turn to him. with a final defeated breath, you tell him; “text me when you pick me over your stupid dolphins.”

then, just like that, you turn on your heel and walk away, leaving him standing there, fists clenched at his sides. jungkook watches as you shove the matcha latte into the nearest trash bin and storm off towards the direction of your home. 

his feet feel glued to the ground for some reason. 

the rational thing to do is run after you, apologize, and make up with you… but instead, he sulks. jungkook turns the other direction, choosing to be a complete idiot.

you don’t text him that night. 

you don’t call him the next morning, either.

jungkook doesn’t reach out, but you catch him viewing your stories, and liking your tiktok reposts. 

he lingers closely when you hang out with the guys throughout the week. like maybe he’ll say something. like maybe he’ll tap your shoulder and ask if you still want him to come. but he doesn’t.

you bump into him around campus once. 

you pass each other—his eyes flick to yours, but you look past him. not out of malice. you just don’t have the energy for his half-hearted apologies or defensive silences. you don’t want him to say sorry because you asked him to. you want him to say sorry because he means it. 

when thursday passes with no message, you wonder if he’s really not coming.

you wonder if he’ll just let this linger, like it doesn’t matter.

you go shopping with your friends on friday. pick out a costume that’s just silly enough to make you feel like yourself. 

then it’s saturday.

and you still haven’t heard from him.

the party is lame. 

you hate to admit it, but maybe jungkook was right. costumes in the middle of spring? it just doesn’t feel right. regardless, you're laughing at a story you’re only half-listening to.

you’re having fun. 

you swear.

you’ve been having fun for the past two hours. smiling, mingling, keeping the energy light… but your phone’s screen is a little too smudged from checking it every ten minutes.

no texts.

you open instagram. he watched your story.

you close it again.

you’re mid-sip when someone bumps your side—not too hard, just enough to jostle the drink. you turn instinctively, lips parting to apologize, when you see him.

jungkook.

in his marine conservation blazer, white shirt crisp under the low light. tie loosened, hair pushed back like he’s been running his hand through it all night.

and on his head?

tiger ears.

he doesn’t say anything at first. just stands there beside you like he’s been there the whole time. then he glances down at you, voice low and casual.

“you waiting for your shitty boyfriend to text you?”

you blink at him.

“you’re a tiger.”

he nods. “roar.”

you snort. “do they even roar?”

he rolls his eyes, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s trying not to smile. then he shifts, turning to face you properly. his hands find your waist without question, like that’s still his place. like you’re still his.

his voice softens. 

“they roar. and they say sorry.”

you look at him.

"sorry," he adds. his brows are furrow just a little, like he means it. like he’s been thinking about it all night. like the headband was his way of saying i miss you in the dumbest way possible.

you reach up, adjust one of the ears so it’s standing upright again.

“well... you look stupid.”

“you like it.”

“unfortunately.”

he presses his forehead to yours, sighs quietly. you glance at the headband again, then back at him. he’s fidgeting with the sleeves of his shirt, refusing to meet your eyes. for once, jungkook looks nervous. 

you soften.

“you didn’t have to come. we would've worked it out regardless.”

“i know,” he says quietly. “and i would’ve been here faster but the dolphins…”

“those damn dolphins,” you laugh. 

he joins you. 

then, a beat.

then he lifts his gaze, eyes meeting yours for the first time in days.

“i wanted to come,” he confesses. “i want to be wherever you are.”

and just like that, the fight breaks into dust.

you step closer, close enough to touch. your hand brushes his. he doesn’t move, but his pinky curls around yours like muscle memory.

you don’t talk about the argument. you don’t ask if he’s sorry. you don’t need to.

you lean in, voice lower now.

“one dance. and then we go.”

he rolls his eyes, but there’s the faintest smile tugging at his lips. “just one?”

“two.”

“three.”

the door clicks shut behind you.

you kick your shoes off with more force than necessary and drop your bag somewhere near the wall. jungkook follows behind, slower, undoing the top button of his shirt as he steps inside.

the silence isn’t uncomfortable. just thick. waiting to be cut. so here you two are—ripping the bandaid off.

you turn to face him.

“you were a dick.”

he nods. “i know.”

“and jealous. for no reason.”

another nod. “i know that, too.”

you cross your arms. “so?”

“so…” he sighs, tugging at the sleeve of his shirt like he needs something to fidget with. “i got in my head. and then i got mad about being in my head. and then i made it your problem. i'm sorry i said all that. but also, i don't think i'm wrong to feel intimidated by him. he's someone from your past.”

you watch him. you don’t say anything.

he finally meets your gaze.

“i trust you,” he says, voice quieter now. “i do. i just… get scared sometimes. that someone else will be better. smarter. funnier. more patient with me when i’m acting like a five-year-old.”

you blink at him. “you’re not five.”

he snorts under his breath.

“you’re like… seven. max.”

he huffs a small laugh, the tension in his shoulders easing just a bit.

“i should have considered why it could have made you feel uncomfortable. shit, you gave up tutoring just because for me... although you could have said it in a nicer way, i understand where you were coming from... and not to mention... you’re the smartest person i know,” you say with no hesitation. “i’ve never met a bigger nerd than you. i wouldn't worry about me dumping you for an even bigger nerd. don't think i could handle more nerdology behaviour.”

jungkook cracks a smile.

still, he huffs in frustration and tsks. “i… i just didn’t want to lose you over something dumb. i hate messing things up with you,” he murmurs.

you step toward him, hands slipping under his blazer, palms resting against his chest. 

“you aren't messing anything up.”

his hand covers yours. his eyes flick between yours.

“i'm really trying, ___. i swear.”

you nod, smiling sweetly at him. “you did good tonight.”

“the ears?”

“the ears.” you smile. “very charming.”

he leans in slightly, voice lower. “wanna pet me?”

“maybe later.”

jungkook rolls his eyes before dipping his head low. he kisses you for the first time in so long and literally feels his heartache dissolve. you reach over his neck and kiss him with more passion. then, when you pull away, you murmur; “i’m sorry i wasn’t very patient. can you and the dolphins ever forgive me?”

“forgiven.”

kiss. 

“that easy?”

kiss. 

“you’re too pretty to stay mad at.”

jungkook is laid back against his pillows, hands planted lightly on your thighs like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to grip you tighter yet.

you’re straddling his lap, your fingers curled into the open collar of his shirt, your lips pressed to his like you’re trying to memorize the shape of him again. like you need him to know: i missed you.

his mouth moves under yours—eager, but letting you set the rhythm.

you pull back just a little, your breath shallow. “we were really mad at each other. didn’t even text.”

his eyes open slowly. “yeah,” he murmurs. “i hated it.”

you lean down, kissing the corner of his mouth. “me too.”

before he knows it, your fingers make their way to the buttons of his shirt. you begin to unbutton them, one by one. his breath shakes. this is only the third time you two have ever had sex… the first time you’ve ever initiated it, too. the first few times you two have had sex, it’s always been a little slow and soft. he’s always been sure to make it as easy as possible for you because, in your words, it feels weird. 

you like it, of course. 

it’s just different. losing your virginity recently to him is a completely new experience. in all honesty, he’s done everything right so far. jungkook is always so gentle and caring. but something about the way you look at him right now tells him that maybe… tonight that isn’t what you want. maybe, you don’t want gentle. 

you want him… 

hard. messy. hot. 

“can you take this off?”

jungkook freezes. 

then, his hand slides up your waist, thumb brushing under your shirt. “you’re sure? we don’t have to.”

he wants you to be sure. he wants you to know that sex is always in your control and that you get to have it your way. to finish your way… to start? this is new. it makes him nervous too… but excited more than ever. 

your reply is barely a whisper. 

“kiss me again.”

and so he does. 

slower this time. 

deeper. 

one hand cups the back of your head, the other squeezing your hip like he’s finally letting himself touch you the way he wants to. the kiss grows hotter, messier—your teeth graze his lip, and he exhales a shaky breath through his nose like he’s barely holding it together.

“fuck,” he whispers. “missed you so much.”

you smile against his mouth. “good.”

jungkook is buried between your legs. 

he kisses your thighs slowly, slightly lifting his head up for air. then, he reaches over to your hips and palms them, pressing some pressure. without warning, he dips his head low and begins to eat you out again. 

his tongue flickers back and forth, fast and messy. he digs his nose in as he sucks your clit and pulls away. he takes his time, flattening his tongue against your clit. your toes curl, your head throws back, and your stomach tightens as the feeling. 

“d-don’t laugh at m-me, okay?” you stutter.

he lifts his head. 

“what’s wrong?”

“i… i t-think i might pee,” you pant. “i don’t wanna pee.”

jungkook chuckles, not mocking, just warmly. 

“you’re not gonna. promise.”

your eyebrows furrow. “but what if i do? that’s so gross.”

“do you want me to stop?”

you nod. 

“sorry.”

jungkook shakes his head and reaches over to kiss your forehead. “don’t apologize. let’s do what you want and what makes you feel good, okay?”

you swallow. 

“w-what do you wanna do?” you ask him shyly. jungkook breathes you in, resting hs body on top of yours. like second nature, you wrap your arms around him and hold him close. he trails kisses on your neck as you murmur; “i wanna do something for you too.” 

he smiles against your skin. 

“we don’t have to do anything,” he tells you honestly. “we can just go to sleep—”

“do you wanna fuck my face?”

his breath hitches. 

“uhm…” jungkook shifts and chases your eyes. you stare into his eyes and smile warmly. “w-what?”

you shrug. 

“i wanna try it,” you confess. “and you mentioned it once jokingly… why not, right?” 

he blinks at you. 

before he can register this, you shift and slide lower down the bed. he lifts his body, following your lead and positioning himself. jungkook kneels over you, straddling your chest. his knees are on either side of your body with one hand on the headboard for balance… the other cradles your cheek, thumb swiping your puffy lips. 

“if it’s too much—”

“i wanna take it,” you pout. “manifested for you to be oversized. this is me facing my consequence.” 

that’s all it takes 

as jungkook tilts his head with a playful smirk, he shoves his heavy cock inside your pretty mouth. he shifts his hips forward slowly, sinking himself deeper inside your mouth. 

“too deep?” he asks, fingers brushing your hair back. 

you shake your head, eyes watery but committed. 

shakily, he lets out a deep and wrecked groan. he drags his cock out, bringing the tip to your lips to play with. you swirl your tongue around it, playing with his slit. he inhales sharply before you part your lips for him to thrust himself back in again. jungkook then slides his hand to cup the back of your head, lifting you just a bit for a better angle. the slight move causes you to gag around him. 

his stomach sinks. 

he pauses instantly. 

“you okay?”

you blink twice at him and begin to suck him off. jungkook throws his head back, moving in slow and shallow thrusts. he tests the waters, as the headboard begins to creak. 

“god,” he moans. “look at you, baby… taking me so well. i’m so fucking proud of you.”

then, his pace gets a little rougher. his hips roll forward with more intent, but his hand stays gentle on your head. he doesn’t force you to take more. when you moan around him, your nails begin to dig into his thighs. 

“shit—baby,” jungkook begins to lose his breath. “say something… gonna cum just like this.”

you pull off for air. 

“you can… if you want.”

jungkook hisses. “you can’t say shit like that.”

then, he leans over you, bracing both hands against the headboard now. he cages you in. his abs flex with each thrust, and the view of him above you—eyes wide, flushed chest heaving—is seared into your memory forever.

god, he’s so handsome. 

you keep your hands on his thighs, letting him set the pace. he watches you the entire time, making sure you’re doing okay. it backfires, though because all he can notice is how your mouth stretches around him. how your eyebrows furrow and how your eyes flutter shut like you enjoy this.

spoiler: you do enjoy this. 

then, he feels his body tighten. 

he knows the feeling all too well. 

without warning, he pulls himself out and with a groan—drops down to kiss you. 

“gonna stop,” he pants. “gotta be inside you when i finish.”

you let out a laugh against his lips. “okay,” you agree. “want you to finish inside me too.” 

with that, you feel your legs tremble when he pulls you upright. he kisses you slow and settles back against the pillows. his cock is angry, twitching between his thighs. jungkook pulls you into his lap. 

you hesitate a little, as you swing a leg over. your knees rest on either sides of him. his eyes flicker to the way your hands hover above his chest. you look unsure… but also desperate. he can’t fight with that. 

“what do you wanna do?” he asks gently, fingers tracing your thighs. 

“wanna ride you,” you say shyly. “like cowgirl… b-but—”

“you don’t know how?”

“i’m gonna look stupid.”

he rolls his eyes at you. “not possible.”

jungkook leans in, pressing his lips to your shoulder. “take your time with it. you’re in control. i’ll help you figure it out, okay? do what you want. i’m all yours, baby.”

with that, he lies back as you grab the base of his cock rather awkwardly. you lower yourself down slowly. sinking inch by inch, you gasp. 

“sorry—”

“don’t apologize,” he reassures you, as he reaches over and helps you line himself up. “here, like this.”

jungkook holds himself still while you slowly sink down. your hands are planted on his chest, steadying yourself. he groans as he feels your tight pussy clench. his hands grip your hips tightly. you let out a shaky breath in response. 

you both pause when once you realize you’ve taken him in fully. 

you catch your breath as his hands soothe up and down your sides. 

“f-fuck.”

“you okay?”

“yeah,” you nod, taking a deep breath in. “just… big.”

jungkook chuckles, leaning in for a kiss. “your fault.”

you let out a small laugh as he rubs circles on your hips. you adjust, locking eyes with his. 

“should i move now?”

he blinks at you. “yeah. try rocking your hips. you don’t have to bounce or anything—just move how you feel.”

you nod and try it.

it’s awkward at first, but his hands guide you. soon enough, you’re rolling your hips against his. the slow grind of your bodies both make you moan. you feel his cock harden inside you, and the sharpness is something you never expected to love so much. it feels so good. jungkook’s head lolls forward, kissing your breasts and then your neck. 

he’s breathless. 

“that’s it,” he praises. “good girl… you’re so perfect, baby.”

you lean in to kiss him. then, you pick up your pace. you roll your hips forward, grinding and humping him however your body wants to. he’s biting his bottom lip as your movements quicken and you begin to feel tingling in the pit of your stomach. you chase the feeling by riding him harder. soon, you begin to let out breathey moans. 

“ohh,” you almost cry. “f-fuck. oh my god…” 

“that’s it,” jungkook moans. “shit. just like that.”

you fuck him harder. 

jungkook slaps your ass and you let out a whimper. as you two fuck, you begin to feel the pressure of it all weigh in on you. for some reason, as you look at him, you can’t help but pant and want more of this insane feeling. 

“look at you,” he hisses. “you’re doing it, baby. fuck. you’re riding me.”

before you know it, you’re whimpering. 

your grinding gets lazier but the high is still there. you’re out of breath, sweaty and tired. you’re still moving in his lap, but your thighs are burning. he looks up at you like he’s never seen anything more beautiful. 

(he hasn’t)

“you okay?”

you give him a small breathless nod. even before you tell him with words, jungkook pulls himself out and reaches over to you. he checks in you. 

“everything okay?”

again, you nod but your rhythm falters. your legs shake a little as you try to lift yourself and sink again. you whimper, frusterated at yourself. 

“sorry—”

“hey,” jungkook murmurs, quickly sitting up. he kisses your forehead. “you’re doing so good. nothing to be sorry about.”

“i think my legs are giving out,” you murmur, nuzzling into the side of his neck. “but don’t wanna stop.”

he chuckles, running his hands up and down your back. jungkook kisses your jaw. “lay back for me?”

before you can even answer, he shifts—scooping an arm under your knees and the other behind your back, rolling the both of you with practiced ease until you’re lying against his chest, back to his front.

“this okay?” he asks, lips brushing your ear. 

you nod quickly, already breathless as he hooks your thighs over his, keeping you wide open while he stays deep inside you. his arms wrap around your middle, pulling you in tighter, grounding you completely.

he starts to thrust again—slow, deep rolls of his hips that push into you from underneath, the angle making you whimper. your head tilts back onto his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut as you melt into him, letting him do the work.

jungkook fucks you like this for a while. you focus on your breathing and the feeling of him inside you. all your thoughts and efforts crumble when he places his hand over your pussy and begins to play with your clit. 

“j-jungkook… i can’t—”

“you can.”

“i’m gonna—nghhh…. oh my g-god. jungkook!” 

your body starts to tremble, back pressed flush against his chest, every nerve ending alive as he keeps grinding into you from beneath.

his arms stay locked around your waist, one hand splayed over your stomach, holding you still while the other toys with your clit—soft, steady strokes that match the rhythm of his hips.

“fuck—” you gasp. “jungkook—i think—i’m gonna—”

“i know, baby,” he whispers, his voice shaky but so sweet. “you’re close, yeah? it’s okay.”

his mouth is right at your ear, so gentle despite how deep he is inside you.

“breathe through it,” he hisses. “i feel your pussy tightening. you’re gonan cum soon and your instict is to hold your breath—don’t. i want you to breathe through it. want you to feel it all, okay? can you be a good girl and do that for me, baby?” 

you whimper. 

“uh... mhmmm... shit, shit, shit! nghh… i… i’ll try.”

jungkook fucks himself inside you deeper and harder. you hold your breath as you take him in, and then shut your eyes to exhale. 

you breathe through your nose, trying to focus on his request. 

and when you do—your body curling forward, a desperate whimper falling from your lips—he wraps you tighter in his arms, guiding you through it with slow, grounding thrusts, his hand not leaving your clit until you're twitching and whining from the overstimulation.

you cream his cock. 

“you’re so perfect,” he breathes, kissing the side of your neck. “you did so good for me. so fucking good.”

you’re still catching your breath when he carefully lifts you off, laying you back down on the pillows.

“you okay?” he asks, brushing your hair from your face.

you nod, dazed, your skin flushed and glowing. he kisses your forehead.

“gonna finish, yeah?” he whispers. “just wanna be close.”

and then he’s sliding back in—slow and deep—his body over yours, elbows tucked beside your head as he holds himself up just enough to look at you.

“feels so good,” he moans, dropping a kiss to your cheek. “so warm.”

your hands trail up his back, pulling him in. his movements are less frantic now, more like he’s savoring it—each roll of his hips drawn out, every kiss messy and sweet.

“look at me,” he whispers, foreheads touching. “wanna see you when i cum.”

and when he does—hips stuttering, a low groan leaving his throat—you kiss him through it, soft and open-mouthed, your fingers carding through his hair as he falls apart right there, with you.

his whole body trembles, but he doesn’t move—doesn’t leave. just stays wrapped around you, breathing hard, kissing your lips again and again like he doesn’t want to let you go.

just like that, jungkook cums inside you—filling your pussy up with every ounce of himself. 

you’re draped over him like a blanket, one leg tossed over his hips, face tucked into the crook of his neck. the room is quiet, save for the low hum of the fan and the slow, steady rhythm of your breathing as it evens out.

jungkook's fingers trace lazy shapes along your thigh, slow and thoughtless, like he’s just making sure you’re still there. still his. still real.

beside you, hello kitty stares from the edge of the bed. a little crooked. still wearing the ribbon he tied on her hours ago.

“you think she judged us?” you mumble against his collarbone.

his chest shakes with a quiet laugh.

“she was appalled. horrified, even.”

you snort.

“poor girl didn’t sign up for that.”

“we should apologize.” he suggests. “sorry, kitty.”

you giggle agaisnt his chest. then, you lift your face and say; “next time… i think the tiger ears should stay on.”

he stills, then looks down at you slowly—like you just said something criminal.

“what’s with you and props? if it’s not my glasses, it’s the tiger ears. what’s next? blindfolds and whips?”

“i’m dead serious.”

“oh, i know. that’s the scary part.”

you both dissolve into soft laughter, his fingers still moving along your bare skin. at some point, he tugs hello kitty into the covers, nestling her between your bodies like a little buffer. a witness, maybe. or a silent secret keeper.

your eyes flutter closed soon after. sleep is winning.

but jungkook stays awake a little longer. watches you. breathes you in.

and once he’s sure—sure your breathing is slow and even, sure you won’t catch him in the act—he leans down, presses a kiss to the crown of your head, and whispers against your skin like it’s sacred.

“___?” jungkook whispers, voice low and careful, like he’s scared of waking you.

he shifts a little, just enough to see your face in the soft lamplight. your lashes are fanned out across your cheeks, your lips slightly parted, breath slow and steady.

you don’t answer.

he watches you in silence. listens to the hush of the room and the tiny creak of the mattress as he adjusts his arm under your waist. your leg is still hooked over his hip, and your fingers rest gently on his chest—right over the spot where his heart is beating just a little too fast.

maybe you’re asleep. maybe you’re not.

but he takes the chance anyway.

he turns his head, nose brushing the side of yours. and with a kiss so soft it almost doesn’t land, he presses his mouth to your hairline.

“i’m so in love with you,” he breathes. not even a whisper—more like a confession carried on his last exhale. “i love you.”

you don’t move. don’t speak. don’t flinch or blink.

but your fingers twitch. just slightly.

and then they curl in, sinking into the fabric of his shirt. slow and gentle, like your body coudn’t help but respond before your mind caught up. like your heart heard him first.

jungkook’s eyes flutter close.

he doesn’t say anything else. doesn’t push or ask or even hope. he just sinks a little deeper into the sheets, into you, pulling you closer like maybe, if he holds you tight enough, the moment won’t break.

and you—still quiet, still pretending—feel everything.

the weight of his arm around you.

the warmth of his skin against yours. the truth of what he said lingering in the space between your bodies.

you don’t say it back.

not yet.

but you feel it, too. so, in your head you say it back. drifting to sleep, tangled with the love of your life—

i love you too. 

[bruhstories]

Bet IV

p.1 here & p2. here & p.3 here & p.5 here & p.6 here

mandatory mdni because things will start to get heated up in the following chapters.

summary: you're starting to feel things for the man who hired you to take care of his cat. but he's only being nice. that's it and nothing more. pairing: hwang in-ho/the front man x civilian!reader warnings & content: age gap, afab!reader, slightly detailed descriptions of reader’s background for plot purposes, red text for in-ho, purple for reader, pre 33rd squid game, canon divergent, domestic violence (reader gets slapped by her uncle), veeeery slow burn, reader's dad is dead w/c: 2.1k

a/n: if you would like to be tagged for the next part, please check this post! thank you for reading! please remember that if you asked to be tagged but i can't find your age on your blog, you will NOT be tagged. there will be smut and people dying lol.

"Where were you last night?"

You sighed at your uncle's question, sick and tired of explaining the same thing over and over again. He woke up earlier than he should have, especially for a man who worked night shifts at a warehouse. He did it on purpose, just to have more reasons to pick on you, and you knew that all too well. You lived through that hell for the past ten years.

"I told you, I was cat sitting." 

"Cat sitting." He repeated with derision in his voice. "You need to get a real job."

"I have two real jobs." You reminded him, and it took all your willpower not to raise your voice at him.

"Where's the money, then? Huh?" Your uncle grabbed you by the wrist, twisting it backwards.

"I'm getting paid today!"

"How much?" 

"660,326!" You cried out as his fingernails dug deeper into your skin.

"I better see that money on my nightstand by tomorrow morning." He let go of your wrist. "Keep the change."

How generous, you thought, rubbing the crescent-shaped dents in your skin. At least he didn't hit you, but your small victory crumbled when he turned on his heels, smacking you with the plastic fly swatter in his hand. Once. Twice. Thrice. 

You didn't cry, not in front of him. Never in front of him. 

But when you stepped through the doors of Mr. Hwang's penthouse, the dam broke, and tears streamed down your cheeks. They burned when they touched the cracked, swollen skin, courtesy of your uncle, but you still smiled at the sight of Eunjoo.

Instead of waiting next to the water bowl, like she had done before, the cat jumped on the countertop, her paw gently touching your wrist, where the imprinted dents of his fingernails were still visible. You didn't know why, but Eunjoo's gesture made you cry harder, heavy tears falling onto her plate. 

"Good kitty." You sobbed, daring to pet her, and she allowed it, nuzzling your hand for the first time since you met her.

Without wasting a single moment, you took out your phone to take a selfie of you and Eunjoo, and sent it to In-ho, with the caption 'Making progress!' You thought he might be happy to see her slowly lower her guard and get attached to you.

Who hurt you?

Stupid. How could you be so stupid to send a selfie when your cheek was grazed and puffy? Of course Mr. Hwang would ask about it, he was a nice man, one whose kindness you didn’t think you deserved.

I accidentally walked into a lamppost! Silly, right?

Hoping that the lie would be convincing enough, you carried on with your tasks after eating with Eunjoo, and to your surprise, it worked. It fooled him, but you weren’t proud of yourself in the slightest. 

You need to be more careful next time. If anything happened to you, who would take care of Eunjoo until I return?

It shouldn't have hurt reading his reply, and yet your heart ached. What did you expect? You were an employee, he obviously wanted his cat to be safe, not you. And how could someone like him even care about someone you? You came from different worlds that could never intertwine.

I will.

No thank you, no sad face — you were bitter, even though, rationally, you had no reason to be. Besides, you lied to him in the first place. Maybe if you told him the truth, he would have sent a different reply. It didn't matter. In less than five days he would come back, pay you and never speak to you again. Just like all rich people did.

You cleaned the bathrooms that morning, scrubbing the bath tubs, the toilets, the sinks and the floors until your fingertips stung and your head pounded from the bleach fumes. The vibration of your phone startled you, and you wiped your hands to check the notification.

Have I upset you?

Okay, maybe he did care. Or maybe he was just very observant and noticed your monotonous reply.

Not at all, I just have a lot on my mind. I'm sorry that you worried about me, or that I seemed upset! You're right, I need to be more careful next time.

Please don't take this the wrong way, miss, but I've never met anyone who apologised for making me worry about them. You're quite special.

You did a double take when you read Mr. Hwang's reply, and a wave of remorse crushed your heart. The man was too nice for you to lie to him, but you didn't want him involved in your family affairs, either. There was a strong internal conflict within you, a battle between honesty and dishonesty, but for the time being, dishonesty won, no matter how disgraceful it was.

Choosing not to reply, as time was ticking and the Abduls would be waiting for you soon, you swiftly finished tidying up the bathrooms and put away all the cleaning products so Eunjoo couldn't get to them. With the automatic feeder full, fresh water in the bowl and litter boxes clean, you left.

In all fairness, you didn't know what to reply to his text. No one called you special before, except for that one guy you dated who only wanted to sleep with you, and unfortunately succeeded. It wasn't your proudest moment, but you moved on since then. You stared at the text, typing a reply, then deleting it, then typing again, and you did that for the duration of the entire bus ride back to Guryong Village. By the time you knocked on Ali's door, you still hadn't come up with a response.

What could you even say? Thank you? Likewise? I'm sorry I lied to you, my uncle slapped me with the fly swatter? No. In telling the truth, Mr. Hwang would pity you, perhaps even offer you more money, or food, or clothes, and you didn't want to be pitied. You wanted your hard work to be recognised, not to use your social status or depressing background as an excuse.

Mrs. Abdul couldn't feed you that day, and that was fine. They needed to prioritise themselves, since they didn't live any better than you. Luckily, you saved enough money to buy a kimbap roll for lunch and a bag of rice crackers for dinner and breakfast. Resourcefulness was, perhaps, your strongest point and the reason you survived for so long.

The theme park was packed with tourists and locals, gathering to watch the parade, and you took the time to entertain children and take pictures with them, always on your feet, always working. Back in the dressing room, you took the comically large mascot head off, sweat dripping down your face and neck. Summers were worse — there were body parts you didn't think could sweat.

"Excuse me, Y/N?"

You looked up from your seat to a man around your age, a coworker named Donghyun. He had worked there for a few months or so, but you barely spoke.

"Yes?" You smiled, resting your elbows on the mascot head in your lap.

"We're getting paid today, and a few of us are going for drinks after work. I was wondering if you would like to come." Donghyun avoided looking into your eyes, nervously pinching the soft fur of his own mascot.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, but I have another job I need to get to. Maybe another time."

"Yeah, another time." He nodded. "Hey, could I get your number?"

"Why would you want my number?" You laughed, immediately pursing your lips when Donghyun frowned. "Sorry, yeah, of course I'll give you my number!"

You were such a people pleaser, it was ridiculous, but he seemed to feel better after saving your number in his phone. And there was no harm in making new friends.

"I'll text you later." Donghyun nodded with a smile and left.

What a strange interaction, you thought. It wasn't unusual for men to like you — you were pretty, smart, funny — but you just weren't interested in any of them. In fact, it was their age and maturity that didn't appeal to you. They acted like prepubescent pricks, trying to impress anything with a vagina and a pretty face by being obnoxious and loud and downright irritating.

Older men were different. They had manners, they were respectful and caring. They knew how to dress, knew how to speak to women, kind of like Mr. Hwang.

Oh. 

God, you needed to forcibly remove that thought from your mind before it spiraled into something worse. In-ho probably wanted nothing to do with you — no, he definitely didn’t want anything to do with you. He was just a nice gentleman who happened to not be married. Maybe he had a girlfriend that didn't live with him. Or maybe he worked so much he couldn't afford a relationship. 

Maybe he murdered people.

You laughed at that ridiculous idea — no one in their right mind would do that, especially not Mr. Hwang. He had a cat, for God's sake. Murderers usually killed animals, surely he was just a normal man with a lot on his mind, a workaholic, or a hermit.

Walking into your boss' office, you received your pay and counted the money — 662,326. You got more than you should've, completely forgetting about the pay rise. Your uncle didn't need to know about that, and you took the extra 2,326 and hid it in a small pocket inside your backpack, along with other money you saved. Unbeknownst to him, you secretly opened a savings account in the hopes that one day you would be able to leave and rent your own place, but you only had 1,094,463.60 won, which was barely enough to cover the deposit.

One day. One day you would leave all that abuse behind and have a fresh start. But today was not that day. 

Back in Gangnam-gu, you entered the penthouse earlier than normal and dropped your bag on the floor next to your worn and torn boots. You were hoping they would last through winter because you really couldn't afford a new pair. Eunjoo ran to greet you for the first time, and your heart was filled with joy at the sight of the cat rubbing against your leg. She was growing on you, and you soon realised how much you'd miss her when Mr. Hwang returned. Perhaps he'd let you visit her. 

You turned the TV on and played some songs by ABBA, the sadness of the morning gone, replaced only by joy and optimism. Things would turn out well, you just knew it. You grabbed In-ho's black clothes and placed them in the washing machine, all the while dancing to the beat of Money, Money, Money. It was a song you related to, but you didn't want to find a wealthy man. You just wanted to have enough money to survive without your uncle.

"It's a rich man's world." You sang to Eunjoo, who wiggled her butt, playfully attacking your feet. 

"All the things I could do if I had a little money, kitty. I would get my own apartment, I would donate to orphanages and charities. Oh, don't look at me like that." You frowned when Eunjoo stared at you judgmentally. "I would! There are people out there who need help. But you know what I would get for me? A hotteok! Ah, I would kill for that cinnamony goodness."

You placed the food on the floor and opened the pack of rice crackers. 

"My dad got me a hotteok on my seventh birthday. It was the best birthday ever and- oh my God, I'm talking to a cat." Laughing at the sudden realisation, you shook your head in disbelief. "Well, you're probably my only friend anyway. You don't judge me. You don't care if I'm rich or poor. You just listen and eat. Oh!"

Good evening, Mr. Hwang! Could I ask what your favourite dish is?

You decided that would be your gift. Cooking wasn't your strongest skill, but you were confident in yourself. And who didn't want to come back to a hot home-made meal? Maybe he liked jajangmyeon, or jjigae, or something sweet, like chapssaltteok. The possibilities were endless.

Beef Wellington. Why?

Your heart sunk to your stomach. Beef fucking Wellington? How on Earth could you even afford all the ingredients? The tenderloin itself was probably over 65,000 won. But you were going to do it for him, regardless of what it cost. You felt that Mr. Hwang deserved it. 

I was hoping to cook it for you when you returned. I'll admit, I didn't think it would be such a... fancy dish, but I'm sure I can manage. 

Have you tried it before?

I'm afraid not. Is it good?

Exquisite. You'll have to stay and try it when I return, yes?

Chewing on your bottom lip, your heart skipped a beat at his request. You knew he was just being nice, but you couldn't stop the sudden burning desire to just obey. 

Yeah, I'll stay. 

tagging: @ri1liane @anmert1 @syraxnyra @frshluvcats @lanyia @mettreads @nightdark-dreamdark @bridge-always @lovekm @audrey223 @ririgy @starkeyszn  @hobiesbrownsgf  @thoughtfulbelieverstrawberry @maria-trisha @akiqvq @10hrs26mn @tenzko @okaycharr @politicstanner @moonxknightx @googie-jeon @swthrtbyeol  @mariiestfu  @ratsnestinmyhair @missroro @talia-the-gemini @fortluocha @true-queen-of-mischief @ssa-callahan @bibliophile-yomna @wwastro @heartsforseo @marymun @glads-stuff @starryeddie @kisses2kanao @gagaga167 @l4venderia @scryi @lelisae @twicelover2 @ashtrosstuff @cruel-affair @cdej6 @veragrhm @nikos-a-clown @cchewhaz @pepsicolacoochie @lily-ann-b @red22wolf @nellabear @unabletonotlovesatoru @happiness2112 @waterjewelsspite @luna-looniesnlog @plan3t-plut0 @full-sunnies @houta-habtet-houta @alexisabirdie @riri53 @bluehourss

[suliigwp]

GAME OF HEARTS

Charles Leclerc x player!reader

SULI: I worked so hard and??? It's so long and so rushed¿???? It's so long Tumblr keeps glitching and I cannot write in peace in just gonna post it. Sorry I'm not a professional. I'm sorry I love writing horrible person! Readers - sorry if your name is sally - also this is part one cus appearently Tumblr has limits?

Warnings:bet relationship, suggestive content, swearing, hurt no comfort (more in part 2?), Usage of Y/n, reader is a translator, mentioned to have big dark eyes and brunette hair (sorry Blondies, it was only one time though!), bad writing lol

Y/n isn’t heartless. But she is reckless.

Everything started as a joke—one of those drunk, late-night dares during a getaway with friends. One of them, Sally was her name, bored, smirked when people started talking about y/n's player tendencies.

And tossed out the idea like it meant nothing:

“100k. Bet you can’t make Charles Leclerc fall for you. You can't resist him."

There was laughter, a round of drinks. Y/n raised a brow. "As in, formula 1 Charles Leclerc?" And smirked when Sally nodded. She tilted her head. She hates it when someone tells her she cannot do something.

“I don't need your money. I could do it with my eyes closed.”

Y/N didn’t know Charles personally. Only as a name in a sport she loved, Only knew his face from the covers of magazines, his calm confidence, the precision in the way he carried himself. He was magnetic in a way most people couldn’t touch. He seemed untouchable.

That was the appeal.

...

Charles always loved sunny days and warm weathers, basking in the sun and swimming around was one of his favorite things to do, but this week, Silverstone Grand Prix was upon him. And the UK was always rainy, or the weather was doing this in spite of him.

As he waited for his hotel keys, he looked around in the large hotel he was staying at. Beautiful ceilings, paintings decorating the walls and the lights dimmed, creating a comforting atmosphere as the rain outside hit the windows.

He thanked the receptionist and took the keys, grabbing the bags that he had put on the floor, trying to gather everything in his arms, denying with a smile when he was offered help.

Stopping in front of the elevator, huffing as he put the bags down again, he heard footsteps coming and whipped around when the person talked.

"You dropped this."

She's holding out his room keys, hair and skin damp from the rain, nails painted dark red, big black coat over her shoulders. He noticed a bit of black smudged under her eyes, likely the rain washing down her makeup.

His hand slowly comes up and gently takes the keys. "Thank you."

She just nods. "You should be more careful. You look like the type who loses things often." And turns around.

His eyes followed her as she walked up to a door with a sign.

"INT. TRANSLATION CONFERENCE. PLEASE KEEP QUIET."

She opens the door, and walks in. The elevator behind him dings as the doors slide open. Picking up his bags as he clutches the keys a little tighter, he presses the last floor.

...

Charles steps into the quiet lobby, hands in his pockets, head slightly down. It's been a long day, press, debriefs, social things he didn’t feel like attending. He’s waiting for the elevator when he notices her.

She’s standing in front of a small conference room door, squinting at the sign taped crookedly to the glass.

“INT. TRANSLATION CONFERENCE – CLOSED SESSION”

She exhales sharply, mutters something in French, perfect French. It surprises him. And he says, without thinking:

“Your accent’s better than mine.”

She glances over her shoulder, dark eyes landing on him like she’s sizing him up in under a second. Something shifts in her eyes, he doesn't know what. “That’s not hard.”

Her tone is dry, not unfriendly but not interested, either. Charles lets out a small, surprised laugh. “You work in translation?”

She raises a brow, turns fully to face him now. “I am a translator.”

“Really?” His interest sharpens. “So how many languages?”

She tilts her head, considering him for a moment like she’s trying to decide if he deserves the truth. He's already interested, eh?

“Seven.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “Seriously?”

“That’s what my examiner says.” She turns back to the door, about to leave him with that.

But then, something in her pauses. She looks at him again.

“And you?” she asks. “What do you do?”

Charles hesitates. Then smiles. “Something with engines.”

She smirks, just barely, and nods. “Sounds noisy.”

“It is.”

They stand there in a comfortable kind of silence, the moment oddly private in the middle of a public space. She reaches for the door.

“Good luck with your engines.”

“Good luck with your... seven languages.” He grins. “You never told me your name.”

She doesn’t answer. Just pushes the door open with a soft chuckle and disappears inside.

He watches the door close behind her, then finally heads to the elevator, already wondering when he’ll see her again.

...

She steps out of her room quietly, barefoot, wearing a hoodie that clearly isn’t hers, sleeves too long, hood bunched up around her neck. In her hand, a book. She was just going to sit somewhere quiet and read, clear her head.

But when she turns the corner near the little lounge at the end of the hallway, she finds someone already there, curled up in the armchair by the window, staring at the streetlights below.

He hears her footsteps and looks over.

“Oh, hello. Can’t sleep either?”

She pauses. Nods, one hand still on the corner wall. “No. Didn’t think anyone else would be up.”

He shifts, making room. “It’s all yours if you want the seat.”

She crosses the floor slowly, eyes flicking to the view, then to him.

“We can share.”

She sits, not too close, but enough that their shoulders are angled toward each other.

A few seconds pass in silence.

“You read before bed?”

She glances at the book. “It helps. When my mind won’t shut up.”

He smiles faintly, eyes back on the window. “I drive when that happens. Not ideal at midnight, though.”

She hums. “No. Probably not.”

They sit like that for a while. It’s quiet, but not awkward. The city lights paint soft shapes on their faces. Eventually, he glances at her again.

“You’re quieter than I expected.”

She raises an eyebrow. “And what exactly did you expect?”

He shrugs, barely grinning. “I’m not sure. But not this.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

“You didn’t.”

He says it gently, without teasing. She blinks at him, almost caught off guard.

“Well,” she murmurs, “you’re not what I expected either.”

“No?”

She tilts her head. “You talk less than I thought. That’s a good thing.”

A small laugh escapes him, quiet, tired, sincere.

“Maybe that’s why we’re both here.”

She leans her head against the back of the couch, gazing at him sideways. He falls into the black hole that is her eyes.

“Maybe.”

A pause.

“Or maybe we’re both just bad at being alone.”

Something shifts, just slightly. A softness.

Charles quietly murmurs. “Maybe.”

She tucks her legs up into the chair, the book still resting in her lap, forgotten. Charles leans back as well, their bodies now mirroring one another without meaning to. A quiet comfort settles over them. The kind that only happens when the world is asleep and no one is watching.

The city is blurred below them. Their reflections hover faintly in the glass.

"Do you ever wonder how many people are out there, also avoiding something?"

She considers that.

“All the time. I think people are always trying to run from something.”

He nods. “What about you?”

“I’m not running.” She says it quickly, maybe too quickly. “Just... delaying.”

He turns to face her slightly, intrigued. “Delaying what?”

She opens her mouth, then closes it. “That’s a bit personal for someone I just met.”

Her tone is light, teasing but the edge is there. Charles raises a hand in surrender.

“Fair enough.”

A beat.

Then she adds, quieter. “What about you? What are you delaying?”

He doesn't answer right away. His gaze drops to the floor, fingers tapping lightly on the armrest.

"Letting someone get close again."

That surprises her. Her head tilts, just a little.

She doesn’t tease this time. Doesn’t fill the space with commentary. Just.

“Fair enough.”

A long silence follows one of those silences that says more than speaking ever could. And eventually, when she stretches out her legs and her knee brushes his, neither of them moves away.

She glances over at him, then back to the view.

“If I fall asleep here, you’ll wake me, right?”

"sure, yeah."

She doesn’t answer. She just leans her head against the back cushion again, eyes fluttering shut.

A few minutes pass. Maybe more. The city below sparkles like a quiet secret. Her breathing evens out just slightly, not asleep, but teetering on the edge of it.

Charles watches her in the reflection of the glass before daring to glance at her directly.

She's still hugging her knees, but looser now. The book has slid halfway off her lap.

He speaks, barely above a whisper. “Don't fall asleep.”

It hangs there.

She doesn’t open her eyes, but something shifts in her posture.

Still, she keeps her face turned away from his. And maybe that’s why he dares to go on.

“You never told me your name.”

A smile ghosts across her lips. Not the amused kind. The tired kind. Like something inside her is so excited. But he doesn't see it so.

“You’d want to know it?”

Charles leans in slightly, voice steady.

“Yeah. I’d want to know everything.”

Silence again. She bites her lower lip, opens her eyes slowly and turns her head, just a bit, enough to meet his gaze.

Then softly, almost like she’s handing him a weapon, whispers out her name.

He doesn’t react right away. Just studies her face, like he’s committing it to memory now that he knows. Then, simply.

“Nice to meet you, Y/n. Charles. Charles Leclerc."

And she says nothing.

...

It was practice day and Charles runs down to the first floor early in the morning, he liked arriving at the paddock when only a few people were there, but the weather had other plans.

It was pouring and his driver was late, texting him that there was a holdup on the road thanks to the horrible weather, he pocketed his phone again and leaned on the big pillars outside, looking out at the rain.

A sigh next to him broke him out of the trance, glancing at his right - it's her again.

She's looking down at her phone, writing something angrily, fingers quickly swiping over the screen, and equally angrily drops the device in her bag, crossing her arms.

He tries looking away, to not make this awkward, but he was intrigued.

"y/n"

Her head turned towards him, straightening up when she saw him.

"Hi."

She blinked. "You're the guy who looses things." She smirked slightly. "Did you sleep well last night?"

He chuckled lightly, awkwardly fidgeting with his hands in his pockets. "Yeah, um, thank you for-"

"-Oh finally."

He shifts his weight, runs a hand through his hair as she runs to the car

“Hey,” he calls out. She turns around to face him again.

“I don’t want that to be the last time I see you. I mean, I hope it isn’t.”

She raises an eyebrow, watching him now.

He pushes on, a little nervous but determined. “Could I... maybe get your number?”

She studies him for a moment. Not coy, careful.

Then she holds out her hand, palm up. “Phone.”

He blinks, then fumbles for it, unlocking the screen and handing it over.

She types something in, then hands it back.

“I don’t answer unknown numbers,” she warns.

He looks down. There it is. Y/n.

“I won’t be unknown for long,” he says, maybe a little smug.

She gives him one last glance.

“We’ll see.”

And then she’s gone.

But he looks down at the name in his phone again and smiles.

...

They run into each other again.

Not by chance, he asked the hotel concierge if she was still checked in, then lingered downstairs under the pretense of waiting for someone. He didn’t expect it to work.

But there she is, emerging from the elevator, files in hand, other hand wrapped around a coffee cup.

She pauses when she sees him. Her gaze flicks down, then up again.

“Twice in two days,” she says. “Starting to think you’re following me.”

He smiles, soft and sheepish. “If I say yes, will you call security?”

She takes a sip of her drink, pretending to think. “Depends. What’s your angle?”

Charles hesitates, then gestures toward the lobby café. “A question and a croissant?”

She raises an eyebrow. “What kind of question?”

“The kind you ask before a first date.”

She exhales a quiet laugh. It surprises her more than it should. “That was... smooth.”

“It really wasn’t,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck.

A pause.

He adds, gentler this time.

“I don’t know what it was last night. But I liked it. You. And if you let me, I’d like to keep finding out.”

She looks at him for a long moment. No teasing now. Just quiet appraisal.

She nods slowly.

“Alright then,” she murmurs. “Croissant first.”

He smiles, and it’s the kind that reaches his eyes.

And she walks past him toward the café, fully aware he’s following now. This time, on purpose.

They take the corner table by the window, quiet, a little tucked away. She sits across from him, pulling her coffee closer as he orders them two croissants, one plain and one chocolate. He doesn’t even ask which she’d prefer. She notices that.

The silence is comfortable at first. A kind of echo from the night before.

Then she speaks.

“So. The question.”

Charles looks up, eyes warm. “Right. You remember.”

“Hard to forget when a croissant was promised.”

He huffs a soft laugh. “Okay.” He leans forward slightly. “Will you go out with me?”

She blinks. “That’s it?”

“That’s the question.”

She watches him. Eyes narrowing like she’s trying to figure out if he’s joking - or if he’s actually serious.

“Do you always ask girls you don’t know out over breakfast?”

“Only the ones I spend the night talking to and still want to see in daylight.”

That gets her. She shifts in her seat, caught off guard. “You’re not at all what I expected.”

“And you are exactly what I hoped you wouldn’t be.”

She arches a brow.

“Unnerving,” he clarifies. “In a good way.”

The croissants arrive. He breaks a piece of his and passes her the chocolate one, like he knew.

She stares at him for a long second. Like she’s giving him one last chance to change his mind.

Then, finally, she nods.

“Alright.”

He blinks. “Alright?”

“I’ll go out with you.”

And there it is. A slow smile that spreads across his face, caught somewhere between disbelief and awe.

Neither of them says anything after that.

They just eat their croissants in silence, sharing one morning like it could be the first of many.

Victory bells.

...

...

...

Charles shifts on his feet outside her door, rubbing his palms together once before sliding them into the pockets of his coat. He tells himself to relax, that it’s just dinner. Just conversation. He doesn't know why he's nervous, it's not like it's his first date. He rubs his palms on his trousers and knocked twice - gently.

The door opens.

And all the air leaves his lungs.

She stands there in a long black coat, fitted at the waist, the collar turned up slightly. Her hair is tucked behind one ear, a glint of silver at her lobe. The lipstick is deep, dramatic. The look is effortless, and devastating.

His mouth opens, then closes.

She lifts an eyebrow. “You forget how to speak, Leclerc?"

“No,” he says finally, recovering with a smile. “I just wasn’t ready.”

“For?”

“That.”

He gestures vaguely, like the word gorgeous might be too much, too soon.

She glances down at herself, then back up with a smirk. “You’ve seen me in a hoodie.”

“And I thought about that hoodie all week.”

She laughs, a low sound, half-genuine, half-disbelieving.

“Well,” she says, locking her door behind her, “try to keep it together.”

“No promises,” he murmurs, falling into step beside her.

And she knows, without looking, that he’s still watching her from the corner of his eye the whole way to the elevator.

...

She’s halfway through telling him about a conference in Geneva, something about a panel that went sideways when someone tried to improvise in Russian, when Charles leans in, elbows resting on the table, chin propped in his palm.

"Wait," he interrupts gently, grinning. "You travel that much for work?"

She nods, sipping her wine. "When they need me, yeah. Depends where the crisis is."

He arches a brow. “So where’s home base? Or do you just live on planes?”

“Monaco,” she says casually, setting her glass down.

His smile lingers, but there’s a beat of surprise behind it. “Monaco?”

“Mhm.”

He sits back slightly, lets out a low laugh. “This just keeps getting better.”

She raises an eyebrow, amused. “Does it?”

“You’re fluent in seven languages, calm under pressure, and apparently my neighbor,” he says, shaking his head like he’s only just processing it all.

Her lips curl, but she hides it behind her glass. “You make it sound like a résumé.”

Charles tips his head, eyes still on her. “It’s impressive. I mean it.”

She shrugs, a little bashful despite herself. “I just do my job.”

“Most people don’t do it in seven languages,” he counters, smiling softer now. “That’s not nothing.”

She meets his gaze for a moment, the air between them going quiet, but not uncomfortable. Just… aware.

Then she leans forward slightly, elbow on the table, mirroring him. “So what, you’re suddenly into translators now?”

Charles grins. “I think I might be.”

She laughs.

“You didn’t strike me as the type to be charmed by grammar rules and diplomatic syntax,” she teases.

“Maybe I’m discovering new things about myself,” he replies easily. “You’re a good influence.”

She lifts her brow. “Too soon to say that.”

“Maybe,” he says. Then, after a pause, gentler. “But I like where this is going.”

And this time, she doesn’t tease. Just looks at him for a beat too long, and nods.

“Me too.”

Bingo indeed.

She twirls the stem of her glass thoughtfully, then lifts her gaze again. “And what about you?” she asks. “You’ve been politely dodging questions about your job all evening.”

Charles smiles, but there’s a flicker of something sheepish in his expression. “I haven’t been dodging.”

“You have,” she says, amused. “Artfully. With compliments and curiosity deflection tactics.”

He chuckles. “That obvious?”

“A little.”

He exhales, then sits up straighter. “Well, I drive.”

“For work?"

He nods. “Professionally.”

She tilts her head, not quite connecting the dots. “Like… logistics? Or—”

“Formula One.”

There’s a beat. Then she blinks.

“Oh,” she says, slowly. “Like actual Formula One.”

He tries not to laugh. “Yeah. That one.”

“You’re a Formula One driver.”

“I am.”

She stares for a second, eyebrows rising. “And here I thought I was the cool one at the table.”

“You are,” he says quickly, leaning in again. “But I get to look smug now, right?”

She leans back, still processing. “That explains a lot, actually.”

“Like?”

“The neck tan. The posture. The slight air of someone who’s crashed something expensive before.”

Charles laughs, warm and unfiltered. “Only a few times.”

She smirks. “Do I need to be worried about the ride home?”

“I’m an excellent driver,” he says, mock offended.

“You’re a fast driver.”

“There’s a difference?”

She hums. “You tell me.”

He grins, hands folding on the table. “Let’s just say—next time, I’ll drive you around Monaco's best places and you be the judge."

She lifts her glass again, eyes sparkling. “Deal.”

And somehow, dinner feels even easier after that.

...

The car ride back is quieter.

Not in a tense way, more like neither of them want to break whatever’s been building all evening. The kind of silence that hums, charged and contemplative, as the city lights drift past outside the window.

Charles glances over at her once. She’s looking out, her reflection clear in the glass. Her lipstick’s faded a little. She hasn’t noticed.

He thinks she’s even more beautiful like that—undone just slightly, real in the soft blur of the night.

When they pull up to the hotel, he steps out first, moving quickly to her side. Their hands brush as he opens the door, and something lingers in that small touch.

She doesn’t say anything as they enter the lobby, but her pace slows beside him.

The elevator ride is a quiet thing too. Close. Comfortable.

When it dings at her floor, she turns to him, half a step outside already, and he thinks maybe this is the moment to say goodnight.

Instead, she looks at him and murmurs, “You coming up?”

He meets her gaze. Reads the stillness in her face, the slight tremble of something unspoken behind her eyes. She’s not asking him to start anything. Just... not to leave yet.

He nods once. “Yeah. I’ll walk you up.”

Her room isn’t far. They stop outside her door, and she pulls the keycard from her coat pocket, but doesn’t swipe it yet. Her hand rests lightly on the keycard.

Charles offers a small smile. “You really undersold how good you are at conversation.”

She gives a quiet laugh, dipping her head. “That’s because you didn’t hear me at the conference panel last month. I made a joke in Japaneese no one laughed at.”

“That’s because you haven’t had me in the crowd,” he says gently, stepping just a little closer. “I would’ve laughed.”

She looks up at him, something soft in her eyes now, less guarded than before, still sharp, still her, but warmer.

“I had a good time tonight,” she says, her voice a touch quieter than usual.

“I know,” he replies. “I could tell.”

He’s teasing, but not in a smug way. Just… charmed.

There’s a pause then, right before she steps toward him. Just a small step.

And without warning, she leans in and presses a kiss to his cheek, light, but lingering for half a second too long to be casual.

Her voice is low when she pulls back, almost amused at her own boldness.

“Thank you, Charles.”

He blinks, caught off guard for once and maybe a little speechless.

She doesn’t wait for him to find the words. Just gives a small smile, turns, and slips into her room, the door closing with a soft click behind her.

He stands there a moment longer, his fingers brushing where her lips just were, smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Yeah.

He’s in trouble.

...

Her phone rings before she even opens her eyes.

At first, she groans and buries herself deeper into the covers. But it doesn’t stop.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

With a sigh that says she already knows what’s coming, she reaches for it blindly. One look at the caller ID and she huffs a quiet laugh.

“Already?” she croaks, voice sleep-rough.

“You absolute witch,” the voice on the other end hisses, half-gasping, half-laughing. “I wake up, check Instagram, and BAM. You. Charles Leclerc. That smile. Walking you back to your hotel like a scene from a Netflix show.”

Y/n stretches, blinking at the ceiling, the edges of her lips curling. “He is very photogenic.”

“No. No. Don’t downplay this. There are at least six paparazzi angles and two fan videos. You were smiling.”

“I do that sometimes,” she says dryly, already scrolling through the headlines.

Mystery Brunette Accompanies Charles Leclerc in London

Charles Leclerc Seen With Translator Girlfriend?

Fluent in Love? F1 Star and Monaco-Based Linguist Spark Romance Rumors

She snorts. “Fluent in love? That’s a bit dramatic. He was fun though.”

“Okay, but you said he was boring,” her friend reminds her between cackles.

“I say a lot of things,” she replies, flipping to the next headline. “Also, I’m the one who walked away last night. I kissed his cheek, that’s all.”

“Oh please, he looked like he was ready to grab you. You cracked him. He’s done for.”

There’s a pause, and then Sally adds with mock seriousness: “So are you admitting I was right?”

Y/n grins. “About what?”

“That you couldn’t resist.”

She laughs now, fully awake. “No. I’m admitting I played it better.”

They both burst out laughing, sharp, chaotic, victorious.

Outside, the sun hits the glass of her hotel window, and down below, London doesn’t know what it’s in for.

Neither does Charles.

...

It’s late afternoon when the knock comes.

Soft. Hesitant. The kind of knock that isn’t sure if it should even be happening.

Anastasia’s still in her robe, hair pulled back lazily, a mug of coffee in one hand, the TV murmuring something she’s not paying attention to. She wasn’t expecting anyone.

Another knock, two gentle taps.

She sets the mug down and pads barefoot across the carpet. Pauses. Peeks through the peephole.

And there he is.

Charles, standing just off to the side, like he’s trying not to be obvious. Hoodie pulled low over his hair. Hands in his pockets. Looking, for once, not like an international sports star, but just a boy who maybe thinks he messed something up.

She opens the door.

He straightens a little when he sees her, one hand lifting in a sheepish wave.

“Hey,” he says quietly. “Sorry. I know I should’ve texted.”

Y/n leans against the doorframe, brows raised, waiting.

He scratches the back of his neck. “I just... wanted to say sorry. For the photos. For the attention. I didn’t- I mean, I didn’t think-”

She tilts her head, watching him flounder with a small, unreadable smile.

“Charles,” she interrupts gently. “You didn’t hire the paparazzi.”

He exhales, shoulders dropping slightly. “Still. You didn’t sign up for that.”

She shrugs. “It comes with the territory, doesn’t it?”

There’s a pause. His eyes search hers. Quiet.

“I just didn’t want you to feel like... you were being dragged into something.”

She watches him for another moment, then smiles, shaking her head a bit.

"You worry too much."

...

The garage is humming, the usual pre-qualifying buzz vibrating through the floor. Charles is leaning over a monitor, reviewing data, when Lando saunters up behind him, helmet under one arm, smirk already locked and loaded.

“So,” Lando says casually, “how was dinner?”

Charles doesn’t even turn around. “Dinner was fine.”

“Oh yeah?” Lando steps up beside him, pretending to study the screen. “Just fine? Because, see… Twitter thinks otherwise.”

Charles sighs through his nose. “Twitter needs a new hobby.”

Lando grins. “Don’t dodge me, man. You asked me for a list of restaurants that were ‘quiet, not flashy, good food, somewhere she won’t hate.’ That was suspicious from the start.”

“I was being polite,” Charles says, dry.

“You were being a man with a plan.” Lando laughs. “So? She liked it?”

Charles finally looks at him, a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “She did.”

“And you?” Lando nudges him. “You like her?”

Charles exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know yet.”

Lando watches him for a beat. “You’re lying.”

Charles shrugs.

Lando grins again. “This is fun. I hope you fall in love or crash and burn - either way, I get a front row seat.”

“Remind me not to ask you for dating advice again.”

“Too late,” Lando tosses over his shoulder as he walks off. “You're already in too deep.”

...

The suite is dim, curtains drawn against the grey London sky. On the screen, the pre-race coverage buzzes softly, commentators chattering, camera shots sweeping across the grid. Charles’s name flashes in the lower third. He’s smiling at a fan in the paddock, oblivious.

Y/n lounges in an armchair, legs crossed, a glass of champagne poised delicately in one hand. Her friend sprawls on the bed behind her, flicking through photos on her phone. “These are gold,” she says. “Look at this one, he’s looking at you like you put a spell on him.”

Y/n doesn’t look. She already knows. “I did,” she replies calmly.

The camera cuts to Charles climbing into the car, the prancing horse logo gleaming under the lights. Y/n watches him, unreadable.

“You’re scary,” her friend says, but it sounds like admiration.

“No,” Y/n murmurs, eyes sharp. “I’m good at what I do.”

Her friend laughs, breathless. “Do you think he knows yet?”

Y/n finally glances over her shoulder, a slow, amused smile blooming. “Doesn't suspect a thing."

The lights on the screen go red, one by one. Anastasia leans forward just slightly, eyes locked on Charles’s car.

“Let’s see how well he performs when he thinks someone’s watching just for him.”

Her friend whistles. “You’re ice cold.”

But Y/n only lifts her glass again and takes a sip.

...

Her friend is still giddy beside her, replaying a slow-motion clip of Charles overtaking someone on Lap 38 like it’s cinematic brilliance.

Y/n, still calm and composed, scrolls through her phone until she finds his name.

She doesn’t overthink it. She never does.

The message is simple. Just warm enough to make his heart jolt. Just vague enough to keep him guessing.

Before she hits send, her friend glances over. “You’re texting him now?”

Y/n smirks, thumb hovering. “Of course. Timing is everything.”

She hits send.

A few thousand miles away, Charles is just stepping out of the car, helmet still in hand, surrounded by noise and celebration. He laughs and his dimples most noticeable in the sun.

“Didn't think you'd take this so seriously” her friend murmurs, impressed.

Y/n only smiles, the phone still glowing in her hand. She watches him on the podium as he closes his eyes for the national anthem, face shining.

...

The champagne’s still fresh on his suit. Charles runs a hand through his damp hair as he steps off the podium, smile lingering, but there’s that dazed post-race haze in his eyes—like part of him hasn’t caught up yet.

Flashes go off. Team members pat him on the back. Reporters shout. But for a second, he lets the chaos blur into background noise.

One new message.

He stares at it for a moment, mouth twitching into something realer than the smile he wore for the cameras.

A hand claps his shoulder, it’s Carlos, grinning, breathless. “You checking splits or fan mail?”

Charles locks the screen, slipping the phone back in, heartbeat just a little faster. “Neither.”

But the thought stays with him.

Because somewhere, far away from the screaming fans and the glare of the spotlight, she watched.

And she texted.

And now, she’s in his head again. exactly where she planned to be.

...

The walk back from their first date in Monaco is slow. Monaco is glittering around them like it always does, lantern lights swaying gently above the stone streets, the hush of the sea close enough to taste in the air.

They’ve been talking the entire time. But somewhere between the restaurant and her street, the conversation softened. Less words, more space between them.

He says something that makes her laugh, a low, surprised laugh, and she turns to look at him just as he’s already watching her.

The smile on his face doesn’t quite reach his lips. It stays in his eyes, soft, like it’s only meant for her.

“You always laugh like that?” he asks, voice quiet.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re trying not to.”

She lifts a brow, a little amused. "Hm?"

He shrugs, stepping a little closer without even thinking. “Like you didn’t expect to. Like someone caught you off guard.”

She doesn’t answer.

Because he’s right. And because he’s standing too close now. Not quite touching her, but near enough that she can feel the edges of him, his warmth, his gaze, the way he shifts slightly like he’s holding back.

There’s a long beat of silence.

He glances down at her lips — just for a second.

And then he murmurs, “Can I?”

She should say something clever. She always does.

But tonight, her words stay tucked behind her teeth.

So she nods. Once. Barely.

And it’s all he needs.

He steps closer, leaning down, his eyes softly on her lips. He kisses her like it’s been building, slow at first, his hand rising gently to the side of her jaw, thumb brushing just below her ear. She leans into it before she can stop herself, kissing him back with something softer than either of them expected.

It’s not rushed. Not messy. It’s steady. Warm.

The kind of kiss that pauses in the middle because they both smile. His heart is racing.

When they finally pull away, he doesn’t move far his hand still resting against her skin, forehead barely brushing hers.

“Well,” he says, breath light. “That felt… overdue.”

She huffs out a quiet laugh, her eyes still half-closed. “Yeah.”

“You don’t regret it?”

She shakes her head. “Not even a little.”

And then she steps back, fingers brushing his hand once before they fall apart. She doesn’t invite him in. Doesn’t need to.

Because the door closes softly behind her and the kiss stays lingering like the warm Monaco night.

And Charles just stands there for a moment, running a hand through his hair, smiling like a man who knows something’s begun.

...

Two weeks later, It’s late when they walk down to the water.

Monaco is quiet in that silver way cities get when the night is deep and everything else is sleeping. They don’t say much. He’d offered to walk her back after dinner, but she’d tugged him toward the marina instead. Something about the air — it felt like it needed to carry something.

They sit on the edge of the dock. Their feet dangle, and the waves below are soft, lazy. The water reflects the city lights in scattered pieces.

She speaks first. “You ever get tired of being seen all the time?”

Charles glances over. “You mean by people?”

She nods. “Yeah. Fans. Cameras. Strangers who think they know you.”

He’s quiet for a second, then shrugs. “Sometimes. But I chose it. Doesn’t mean I don’t want space, though.”

“Right.” She twists a loose ring around her finger. “It’s just strange. This... thing between us. It’s not private. Not really.”

He looks at her. Carefully.

“You want it to be?” he asks gently.

She hesitates. “I don’t know.”

Another pause.

Then she adds, “It’s not just about people knowing. It’s about what they expect. Like I’m supposed to be a certain type of girl if I’m with someone like you. And I’m not. I’m—” She stops, frustrated. “I’m complicated. And selfish sometimes. And I get quiet when I shouldn’t.”

Charles doesn’t interrupt. Just watches her speak, like he’s trying to memorize the rhythm of her honesty.

“And I know what you are to the world,” she says. “But I’m still figuring out what you are to me.”

That makes him breathe in, slow. But he doesn’t look away.

“And what are you to me?” he asks, voice low. “Do you ever think about that?”

She finally turns to him.

“Do you?” she counters.

He holds her gaze.

“All the time.”

It knocks the air out of her a little.

“You’re not hard to like,” he continues, gently now. “You think you are, but you’re not. You make it hard on purpose. And I get it. But I like you anyway.”

She blinks. Once. Then twice.

“I don’t want to be someone you have to figure out,” she whispers.

“You already are,” he says, “but I don’t mind.”

Silence settles between them again. But it’s not sharp. It’s soft. Comfortable.

And when he reaches out, not to kiss her, but to take her hand, she lets him. No fight this time. Just fingers threading together.

She leans her head on his shoulder after a while, and neither of them says another word.

But for the first time, something feels a little less guarded. A little more real.

She doesn’t move for a long time. His shoulder is warm beneath her cheek, steady in a way she hadn’t realized she needed. The silence isn’t heavy—it breathes between them like the sea, rhythmic and alive. Her fingers curl more tightly around his, and he squeezes back without needing to look.

“You always this quiet?” she finally asks, her voice softer now. A little amused.

“Only with people who make me think too much.”

She smiles at that. “Is that a compliment?”

He shifts, lets out a quiet laugh. “Depends how you take it.”

She hums. “Then I’ll take it as one.”

It’s quiet again, but now it’s layered. Warmer. Like something invisible has loosened.

Charles tilts his head down toward her. “Do you think too much about me?”

She doesn’t answer immediately. But she doesn’t pretend either.

“Yes.”

He breathes a laugh. “Good. I was hoping I wasn’t the only one.”

She lifts her head, just enough to look at him. His eyes are darker in the low light—still, searching.

“You’re not,” she murmurs.

He nods, but there’s something a little raw beneath his smile. “I don’t know what we’re doing,” he admits. “But I like it. I like you. And I’m not rushing anything. I just want to be wherever you are.”

She doesn’t flinch this time.

Instead, she watches him for a long moment. “I think I keep waiting for you to see the worst in me.”

“I think,” he replies, quietly, “you’re scared I’ll still stay if I do.”

That catches her off guard.

But before she can respond, he adds—“And I might. Stay, I mean.”

There’s a long, still moment between them. Then, carefully, she leans in. Not rushed. Not dramatic.

Her lips press to his cheek first. The same way they had the night of their first date. But this time, she lingers.

And then, just before pulling away, she lets her lips find his—slow and deliberate. It’s a kiss that doesn’t ask for answers. It just wants to exist.

He just touches her jaw gently and smiles.

Her fingers rest lightly on his collar as he pulls her back into another kiss, slower this time, deeper. The kind that makes everything outside the moment fade. The kind that makes her forget how careful she usually is.

He kisses her like he’s learning her, like he’s been waiting to, like maybe he’d keep going until morning if she let him.

When they part, barely inches between them, she whispers, “You always kiss like that?”

His grin is crooked. “when I mean it.”

She shakes her head, laughing under her breath, her forehead tipping forward to rest against his. “Careful, Leclerc.”

“Why?”

“You’re going to make it hard to leave.”

His hand slides to the side of her face, thumb brushing just beneath her cheekbone. “Then don’t.”

She meets his eyes, and for the first time, she doesn’t mask the softness in hers.

“I have to fly out Monday.”

His lips are still warm against hers when he whispers it—soft, careful, like he’s offering a piece of himself.

“Come to the next race with me.”

She freezes for just a second, her fingers still curled against his chest.

He watches her eyes shift—something flickering behind them. Her breath hitches, and she pulls back just enough to really look at him.

“Charles…” she says it gently, almost like it hurts. “No.”

His smile fades a fraction. Not completely, just…enough.

“No?”

She bites her lower lip, eyes flicking down before coming back up. “Not yet.”

He doesn’t move. Just waits.

“I like this,” she admits quietly. “I like you. But I’m not ready to be in that world. Not like that. Not yet.”

He studies her face, searching, but not pushing. “You’re not saying never.”

She shakes her head. “I’m saying not now.”

Silence stretches between them.

Then he nods. Once. Slow. Sure.

“Okay."

She exhales, something in her chest easing. But he reaches for her hand before she can slip too far away again, fingers lacing through hers.

“I still want to kiss you,” he says softly.

A smile breaks, small and sad and fond, as she leans in again.

“Then kiss me, but don’t ask me to follow you yet.”

And he does. No questions. No pressure.

Just a kiss that says, I’ll wait.

...

She wasn’t sure how he’d talked her into this. Pasta from scratch in her kitchen. But there he was, sleeves rolled up, a smudge of flour on his jaw, looking too at ease in her home for someone who wasn’t supposed to stay long.

“You’re doing it wrong,” she said, pointing at the dough he was kneading like it had personally wronged him.

He glanced up, feigning offense. “Excuse me? I’m following your instructions exactly.”

“No, you’re manhandling it. You’re supposed to be gentle.”

“I am being gentle. This is my gentle.”

She tried to suppress a laugh and failed. “Your ‘gentle’ looks like a wrestling match.”

He grinned, clearly delighted by her unraveling composure. “Maybe I need a better teacher.”

She narrowed her eyes, stepping in close enough to nudge him aside. “Move. Let me fix it.”

Their hands brushed when she reached for the dough, and for a second, neither of them moved. She didn’t look up, but she felt the way his eyes lingered on her — quiet, steady. “You do this often?” he asked, softer now.

“What?”

“Let someone into your kitchen.”

She paused, then glanced up at him. “No.”

That earned her a small smile, something knowing and warm. “Me neither.”

They went quiet again. The water began to boil behind them. He moved to stir the sauce, giving her space — but not much.

She threw a dish towel at him.

“What was that for?” he asked, laughing.

“For judging my cooking.”

“You judged mine first!”

“Because you were mauling the dough!”

He gave her a mock-scandalized look and stepped closer. “So violent.”

“So dramatic.”

“Fine. Truce?”

She looked up at him, realizing how close he was now, how her kitchen suddenly felt smaller, warmer. “Truce.” He held out his pinky.

She blinked. “What are you, twelve?”

“Maybe. But I want a pinky promise.”

She rolled her eyes, but hooked her pinky with his anyway. His hand lingered a second too long.

Dinner turned out slightly uneven, wildly underseasoned on one side, and somehow perfect on the other, but they laughed through all of it, music low in the background, both trying not to notice how comfortable it all felt. And when the plates were cleared and she handed him her clothes for the night, the storm outside made it easier not to say the things they were both thinking. But the warmth stayed between them.

And so did he.

The pasta was forgotten on the stove. The wine, half-drunk, left to warm on the counter. What started as harmless teasing while she chopped basil — a flick of sauce on his white shirt, a smirk thrown over her shoulder — had built into something neither of them were really controlling anymore.

She was laughing, again. Breathless, flushed from the wine or maybe from the way he had been watching her all night. “You’re staring,” she said, voice lilting as she reached to wipe something off her cheek.

“Can you blame me?” Charles replied, leaning on the counter across from her, watching her with that gaze, the kind that never wavered, not even when she tried to meet it head-on. “You look like hell and heaven mixed together.”

She rolled her eyes, but her smile slipped. “Don’t say things like that.”

“Why not?” he said, crossing the small space. “Because you’ll believe me? Or because you already do?”

Her breath caught, and she hated that it did.

“You don’t know what you’re playing with.”

He tilted his head, stepping closer. “Neither do you.”

His hand ghosted over her waist — not quite touching yet, but close enough that her skin tingled. Her back hit the counter behind her, a soft exhale escaping as she looked up at him.

“You’re going to ruin everything,” she murmured.

He smiled, but it was slow, unreadable. “Maybe.”

And then he kissed her.

It wasn’t sweet. It was slow-burning and hungry — the kind of kiss that tugged something deep and buried loose from the chest. His hands found her hips as she leaned into him, her fingers curling into his shirt like a lifeline. He walked her back without breaking away, guiding her gently until the counter met her back, he lifted her on the counter, hands on her thighs, controlling himself to not squeeze too hard.

His mouth moved down to her jaw, then her throat, open-mouthed, like he couldn’t get enough. “You drive me insane,” he whispered against her skin.

She didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Her hands were in his hair now, pulling, and he growled, low, deep in his chest, and kissed her harder. Her shirt had ridden up slightly, his fingertips skimmed along bare skin like it was sacred, and she felt herself unraveling.

He pulled back finally, forehead resting against hers, both of them panting. Her eyes searched his, a question forming.

“What are we doing?” she asked, voice barely audible.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, thumb tracing her cheek. “But I don’t want to stop.”

Neither did she.

She kissed him again.

This time, slower. More certain.

By the time she handed him a pair of sweats and a t-shirt, the rain outside had softened to a drizzle, tapping gently against the balcony doors. He disappeared into the bathroom to change, and she stood quietly in the kitchen, sipping the last of her wine and trying not to overthink things.

When he reappeared, barefoot and loose-limbed in her clothes, it took her a second to breathe again. He looked so at home it was disarming.

“You sure I’m not intruding?” he asked, voice soft as he leaned against the doorframe. The gray shirt hung just a little off his collarbone, her oversized shirt.

“If you were,” she said lightly, “you’d still be standing in the hallway.”

He smiled, stepping into the room, and for a second, neither of them said anything. The silence between them wasn’t awkward — it was full, humming with something quiet and undeniable.

Then he glanced at the couch and then back at her. “I can’t tell if this is the most domestic thing we’ve done or if I’ve just dreamt about this already.”

She raised a brow, amused. “You dreamt about borrowing my clothes and crashing on my couch?”

“No,” he said, stepping closer, “about being here. With you.”

That made her falter. She blinked, suddenly less guarded. “You don’t even know what you’re saying.”

“I do,” he said gently. “And if I didn’t, I wouldn’t be standing here dripping water in your hallway.”

She crossed her arms, lips twitching like she was holding back a smile. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re beautiful,” he said without missing a beat. “And terrifying. And impossible to figure out.”

“Yet here you are.”

“Yet here I am.”

The tension shifted—tender now, careful. He took another step closer, and she didn’t move away. He reached up, fingers brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, and for a moment, he just looked at her.

“You’re really letting me stay?”

“You’re already here.”

“I don’t want to ruin this,” he murmured.

“You won’t,” she said, almost in a whisper.

And then, like gravity had pulled them together, she leaned in, not quite a kiss, but the barest brush of her lips against his cheek. His eyes fluttered closed, just for a second.

“Sleep well, Charles.”

He looked at her like she’d just undone something inside him. Then nodded.

“You too.”

And later, when she turned out the lights and slipped into her room, heart thudding, she had no idea how she was going to survive this man.

She couldn't sleep that night.

He was in the other room, asleep in the soft glow of her living room— or maybe pretending to be, because he always knew when her mind started spinning like this.

She stared at the ceiling from her own bed, blanket pulled up to her chin, her phone resting on her chest. A photo still open. One she had taken earlier that night.

He had been standing in her kitchen, barefoot, hair messy, wearing one of her hoodies because his suitcase hadn’t made it to Monaco. He’d looked impossibly domestic. Like he belonged there. Like he belonged to her.

She had caught the moment in secret — him laughing at something he said, hands mid-gesture, so full of life and light.

And now she couldn’t stop looking at it.

Because something had shifted.

It wasn’t just the late-night texts or the way he always knew when she was lying about being okay. It wasn’t the kisses, slow and sweet. It wasn’t the way he always watched her when he thought she wasn’t looking.

It was how he made everything quieter — even her own chaos.

And that scared her more than she could admit.

Because she had planned this. The bet. The charm. The script.

she hadn’t planned him.

She hadn’t planned the way her stomach would flip when he said her name in that hushed voice. Or how her chest would ache when he touched her without asking, like he already knew she needed it.

She was falling. And fast.

Her fingers curled into the sheets, jaw tightening.

She was supposed to be in control.

She was supposed to win.

But now — now, she was so fucked.

...

They were curled up on the couch in her Monaco apartment, the sea humming low outside the balcony doors, the golden spill of warm lamplight flickering against the walls. She was reading — one leg folded under her, oversized hoodie drowning her frame — and Charles had barely looked away from her for the past twenty minutes.

She noticed, of course.

She peeked over her book, amused. “You’re staring.”

He smiled, caught. “I know.”

She closed the book slowly, eyebrows raised. “Something on your mind?”

Charles hesitated, like he was carefully picking the words from the air. Then, he shifted closer, his fingers brushing gently over hers where they rested on her lap.

“I keep thinking about how… peace feels like this,” he said softly. “You. Here.”

She blinked. Her heart knocked once, loudly.

He looked down, then back up. “You make everything quieter.”

There was a beat of silence. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

He chuckled, nervous. “I don’t know how to say this like a normal person, but—can I be yours? Like… properly? Officially?”

Her lips curved, the breath she’d been holding finally exhaled.

“You want to be mine?” she asked, voice low.

“I already am,” he said, just like that.

She leaned in, and kissed him — slow, sweet, a silent yes pressed to his lips.

When they pulled back, she whispered, “You’re insane.”

“But yours,” he murmured, eyes twinkling. “Please say you’re mine, too.”

She touched his face, thumb running over the corner of his mouth. “I already was.”

They didn’t move for a while after that. Just sat there, limbs tangled and quiet, the world still blissfully unaware of what had just changed between them.

...

A blurry shot of her laughing across a café table in Monte Carlo, Charles leaning in with that unmistakable look in his eyes—the one that never made it to race day interviews. Then came another: them walking by the marina, her hand briefly brushing his wrist as he smiled at something she said.Dinner in Italy. A stroll through old streets in Lisbon. Her leaning over to whisper something in his ear while he grinned down at his shoes like a teenager.

By the time the Monaco tabloids got hold of it, the headlines were relentless. Her phone buzzed like a broken fire alarm. Messages from people she hadn’t spoken to in years.

Ten minutes later, there was a knock at her apartment door.

She opened it to find Charles standing there, hoodie pulled up, baseball cap low, a sheepish grin barely hiding behind his usual calm.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen like this,” he said.

“I know,” she replied, crossing her arms.

There was a pause. Then she stepped out onto the small terrace with him, closing the glass door behind them. The ocean stretched out below, quiet and infinite.

“They’re just pictures,” she finally said, leaning against the railing.

He nodded beside her. “But now it’s not just ours anymore.”

She looked at him carefully. “You scared?”

He turned to her fully then, brushing a bit of wind-blown hair from her cheek. “Only if you are.”

She smiled small, honest. “I’m not.”

That night, she dreamt of red flags waving and thousands of people shouting his name.

And when she woke, her mind was already made up.

...

Her birthday. It’s nearly midnight when they step out of the car, the glow from the Monte Carlo streetlamps kissing her bare shoulders. She’s still holding the red rose he handed her after dessert, the one the restaurant staff brought out with the champagne. Charles follows just behind her, one hand resting on the small of her back as they reach her door.

She turns the key, steps inside, her heels clicking gently against the hardwood. The air is quiet, thick with whatever has been simmering between them all night. She hasn’t said much since dinner — not because she doesn’t want to, but because she’s floating. Charles hasn’t taken his eyes off her since she stepped out in that backless black dress earlier, his hand lingering longer each time he helped her in or out of a car, each time he brushed the hair off her neck to whisper something soft near her ear.

She toes off her heels, letting them fall by the door. He watches, lips parted, the top two buttons of his shirt undone, like he’s still reeling from her — the way her skin shimmered under the restaurant lights, the way she laughed during dessert, the way she’d leaned in across the table, eyes full of something he didn’t dare name.

She turns to face him now, standing there barefoot, the hem of her dress brushing the floor.

“Did you like the place?” he asks, voice low.

She nods. “It was perfect.”

“You’re perfect,” he says, without hesitation.

She exhales slowly, lips curling. “You’ve said that three times tonight.”

“And I meant it every time.”

Her fingers reach for his collar, toying with the fabric, her touch feather-light. “You going to kiss me, or just keep standing there looking like that?”

He doesn’t answer — he just steps in and kisses her. It starts sweet, like always. But it doesn’t stay that way.

His hands find her waist, pull her flush against him. Her fingers slide into his hair as his lips trail down her neck, along the slope of her shoulder. The straps of her dress shift, loosen. She exhales into his mouth when his hands smooth along her bare back, reverent, hungry.

They don’t make it to the bedroom right away. She kisses him hard in the hallway, against the wall, her hands already tugging at his shirt. He lifts her — effortlessly — and she wraps her legs around his waist, laughing into his mouth before it turns breathless. Her dress falls lower, and he groans against her skin when he sees just how little she wore underneath.

He carries her to the bed with care and urgency, setting her down like she’s made of something rare. She pulls him down with her, their bodies slotting together with ease, heat sparking where their skin meets. They undress each other slowly, kissing between every layer they peel away, like they’ve waited long enough — they want to feel everything.

And when he finally sinks into her, there’s a beat — a sharp gasp, her hand tightening on his shoulder, his name tumbling from her lips like a confession. He stills, forehead pressed to hers, brushing her hair back gently, letting her adjust.

“Happy birthday,” he whispers against her lips, soft and breathless.

Her eyes flutter open, lips parted. She kisses him — slowly, deeply — and rocks her hips against his in response.

After that, everything becomes a blur of warmth and want. He moves with aching tenderness, like he’s memorizing every gasp she gives him. She runs her hands down his back, pulling him closer with each thrust. The rhythm builds — slow at first, then deeper, hungrier, like they’ve both been holding back for far too long. He kisses every inch of her, her shoulder, the space behind her ear, the curve of her breast, and whispers her name like it’s sacred.

When her legs tighten around his waist and she cries out softly, it undoes him completely. He kisses her through it, lips trembling against her cheekbone, groaning her name like a prayer.

They don’t say much after, just lie there tangled, the air thick with shared breath, heartbeat against heartbeat.

She turns to him, eyes sleepy but alert, fingers brushing the edge of his jaw.

“Thank you,” she murmurs.

“For what?” he asks, voice hoarse.

“For tonight. For all of it.”

He smiles and pulls her into his chest, kissing the crown of her head.

She falls asleep like that — heart pounding, skin warm, fully aware that she’s ruined now. That this night, this boy, has her in ways she can’t even name yet.

100.000 TRANSFERED TO YOUR ACCOUNT.

"hey, happy birthday, we need to talk"

...

It had been a few months since that night. Since her quiet no to following him to a race.

And true to his word, Charles didn’t ask again.

But he showed up.

Texts before flights. Dinners in quiet corners of Monaco when their schedules aligned. The occasional coffee slipped into her hand on a morning walk, as if he knew she’d forgotten breakfast again.

Tonight, they’re back on his terrace, the sea humming low beneath them. The air smells like salt and citrus. She’s curled into one of his sweaters, legs tucked beneath her on the lounge chair, and he sits nearby, close, but not quite touching.

He watches her profile in the warm evening light, the way the breeze plays with strands of her hair.

“You’ve been quiet,” he says eventually, voice soft.

She glances over, one corner of her mouth lifting. “Thinking.”

“About?”

She hesitates. Then... “I saw the calendar,” she says. “Next race is lmola”

He nods, cautious. “Yeah.”

She looks at him fully now, eyes steady. “I want to come.”

There’s a pause—just long enough to feel it. Then he blinks, and something like hope slowly rises to the surface.

“You do?”

“I still hate the idea of cameras in my face,” she murmurs, “but I hate the idea of not being there more.”

He doesn’t say anything. Just reaches out, gently taking her hand, like he’s afraid she might change her mind.

Instead, she leans into him, letting her head fall lightly against his shoulder.

After a beat, he says quietly, “So…do I finally get to say you’re mine?”

She smiles, lips brushing the fabric of his shirt. “You’ve always known the answer to that.”

And then he smiles that smile that she doesn't want to care for and kisses her.

...

It was chaotic, loud, and sun-drenched — the paddock before a race weekend always was. Mechanics weaving through reporters, engineers barking into radios, fans screaming through barricades. But Charles had one hand on her lower back, guiding her through the crowd like she was the only one there.

She’d come after much convincing. And only because he’d promised it would be “low-key,” which, given the number of cameras clicking when they walked in, was clearly a lie.

He leaned closer. “Ignore them,” he murmured. “They’ll get bored soon.”

She just hummed. “You say that like I haven’t been in this kind of mess before.”

He grinned. “Right. You’re tougher than me.”

“Considerably.”

Still, he noticed the subtle way she curled a little closer to his side. And he didn’t mind. Not one bit.

They ducked into the hospitality area, where the noise was more contained, the air cooler. And immediately, he spotted Lando waving him over from a corner table — a few familiar faces already sitting there.

“Come on,” he said. “Let me do something terrifying and introduce you to everyone.”

“Oh, good. A nightmare,” she replied dryly, but followed.

Lando stood the second they approached, grinning as his gaze flicked between them. “So this is her.”

“Be nice,” Charles warned, clapping his friend on the shoulder. “She bites.”

“I like her already,” Lando said, extending a hand. “Hi. I’m the funny one.”

She shook it, unimpressed. “I thought that was Daniel.”

Gasps from the Englishman. Charles snorted. “What have you been telling her?!"

From there, it snowballed — George, Alex, Carlos, even Lewis stopped by briefly. Some recognized her immediately, some didn't. All of them noticed the way Charles looked at her.

And she held her own — tossing a sarcastic jab back at Lando, discussing Monaco with Carlos, and pointing out an error in a multilingual press release that had George blinking in awe.

Later, as they walked away from the group, Charles nudged her with his shoulder. “So? Was it terrible?”

She shrugged, a small smile playing on her lips. “Could’ve been worse.”

“You like them?”

She paused, glanced at him. “I like you.”

He grinned, wrapping his arm around her shoulder.

...

She hears the knock before she sees the message — “Are you home?” — and by the time she opens the door, he’s already there, hoodie pulled up, eyes red-rimmed and tired.

“Hey,” she says softly, instantly stepping aside. “Come in.”

Charles doesn’t say much. He just walks in, head low, shoulders weighed down like the day has taken every ounce of fight out of him. She closes the door behind him gently, watching him sink into the couch like he needs the world to stop spinning for a minute.

She doesn’t ask right away. She just moves to sit beside him, close but not pressing, her hand resting lightly on his knee.

“Bad day?” she murmurs.

He nods once, lips pressed together. His eyes are glassy, and when he blinks too hard, a single tear slips down his cheek. He doesn’t try to hide it.

“I’m sorry,” she says, and she means it. “Want to talk?”

He shakes his head. “Not yet.”

She nods. She doesn’t need words. Instead, she opens her arms, and it takes him only a second to shift, to fold into her like he’s been waiting all day to fall apart somewhere safe. His head finds her chest, arms wrapped around her waist, his breath unsteady.

She runs her fingers through his hair, gentle and soothing, the way you do when you’re grounding someone. His breathing starts to settle. The silence stretches, full but not uncomfortable. She presses a kiss to the top of his head, her hand still stroking his hair, heart breaking quietly at how small he feels in her arms.

Minutes pass. Maybe more. He doesn’t move, just lets himself exist there, held, needed, safe.

And then, barely audible — a whisper against her collarbone, like it slips out without his permission:

“I think I’m in love with you.”

Her hand pauses. Her breath catches.

He doesn’t lift his head, doesn’t try to explain. He just stays there, pressed against her, vulnerable and raw and utterly worn down.

She doesn’t say anything right away. Just holds him tighter, fingertips tracing circles on his back. That silence, Charles remembers, planted the first seed of doubt. Her heart is hammering now, but her voice stays soft, steady.

“I’m here,” she says quietly. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

He exhales shakily, like maybe that was all he needed to hear.

...

Sunlight filters in through the sheer curtains, warm and golden, casting slow-moving shadows across the sheets. She stirs first, stretching gently beneath the covers, her hair a tousled halo against the pillow.

He’s already awake — has been, for a while — lying on his side, one hand tucked beneath his cheek, the other resting lightly on her hip under the blanket. He watches her, quiet, peaceful, like the world’s slowed down just for this moment.

She blinks sleepily, eyes fluttering open, and finds him already looking.

"Hi," she murmurs, voice still thick with sleep.

Charles smiles. “Salut.”

She shifts onto her side to face him, tucking her arm beneath her head. “How long have you been staring at me?”

He pretends to consider. “Long enough to know you make waking up look unfairly beautiful.”

She groans, burying her face into the pillow. “Too early for compliments.”

“No such thing.” His voice is low and warm, fingers brushing up to trace the line of her jaw. “You’re gorgeous.”

She peeks at him through one eye, lips curving. “You said that last night.”

“And it was true then, too.” He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. “But now it’s morning and your voice is raspy and your hair’s a mess and I still think you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Her cheeks flush, and she tries to hide it, but his grin only grows.

“You’re unbearable,” she mumbles, but she’s smiling.

“Still gorgeous though,” he whispers, brushing his thumb across her cheek. “Monaco’s never looked better.”

She rolls her eyes, but leans forward and kisses him anyway, slow and sweet, the kind of kiss that says stay a little longer. And he does.

...

Charles had just stepped out of the gym in Monaco, towel slung around his neck, head ducked slightly, earbuds still in. He wasn’t in the mood to stop, especially not for her.

Her friend. The one Y/N never had anything kind to say about. Always brushing off mentions of her with a muttered, “We used to be close,” followed by a hard silence. The one who always seemed just a little too curious about Charles.

He sees her before she sees him, considers taking a sharp turn toward the marina path—but she spots him.

“Charles!”

He curses under his breath and pulls out an earbud. “Hey.”

She smiles a little too wide, crossing her arms. “Didn’t think I’d run into you here.”

“Yeah… I was just heading out.”

He starts walking, but she walks beside him, undeterred. “So, how are things with Y/N?” she asks, eyes narrowed in interest.

Charles doesn’t answer immediately. He doesn’t owe her anything—and Y/N clearly didn’t want her close.

“Fine,” he says shortly. “Is there something you need?”

She shrugs. “Just checking in. I mean, you’re kind of the prize of the year. I’m impressed she’s kept you hooked this long. It's been a year right?"

He stops walking.

“What?”

She tilts her head innocently. “Oh. She didn’t tell you?” A pause, then a smirk. “Right. She never liked being second best at anything. Not even bets.”

His blood runs cold.

“What are you talking about?”

Her smile is razor-sharp now. “It was a joke at first. Just a stupid dare. A 100k euros if she could get you to fall for her. But I guess things got... out of hand.”

Charles just stares at her, blinking like he’s been slapped.

“You should ask her about it,” she says sweetly, backing away. “I mean—if it’s all real now, she’ll have nothing to hide… right?”

She walks off, leaving him frozen there—sweat drying cold on his skin, chest tight, and heart pounding in a completely different way.

He doesn't move for a long time. When he does, he doesn't even realize where he's going.

...

“Don’t worry, I’ll win this bet and get a Leclerc-shaped trophy to prove it.”

...

She's at work when she gets the message.

Her heart drops to her stomach.

...

It’s storming when Y/n arrives.

Rain lashes the pavement, her hands trembling as she knocks on Charles' door. He opens it fast—like he’s been pacing, waiting, burning. His eyes are red. Not from the wind. From crying.

He doesn’t say anything. Just turns and walks back inside, leaving the door wide open behind him.

She follows him in, soaking wet, heart racing. “Charles, I swear—please, listen to me.”

He whirls on her. Eyes wide, voice cracking with disbelief and fury. “Is she telling the truth?”

“I—yes, but not like that, it wasn’t what you think—”

“No. No. Don’t you dare start with that.” He lets out a sharp laugh, filled with venom. His hands fly up, gripping his hair like he’s trying to keep himself from breaking something.

“How the fuck does your friend have more courage than you? She told me everything.She had the decency to tell me!”

“I was going to tell you, Charles, I swear on my life—”

“WHAT? That I was just a fucking bet to you? That none of this meant anything? You were just keeping me around to win?”

He’s full-on crying now. His voice shaking, broken.

“I told you things I’ve never told anyone, Y/N. I let you in. I fucking loved you.”

She takes a small step forward, reaching for his arm. “Charles, listen to me, please. It started as a joke but it changed—I love you, I—”

He flinches. Steps back so fast she freezes mid-reach.

“Don’t touch me.”

His voice is barely a whisper, but it hits like a scream.

Y/n is panicked, hands shaking.

“Please don’t do this…”

He takes a shaky breath.

“You used me. You fucking used me and then you stood there, in my house, acting like it was real. How many did you make after we fucked? And every time after that?"

“It wasn't just fucking and you know it. It was real. Everything after—I never got money, I never even cared about the bet after I met you—”

“Bullshit! Then explain the hundred thousand that showed up right after our first night together!”

“That wasn’t from the bet. That was… it was a personal payment, not related to you. I can show you—”

Charles cut her off, eyes wide

“You still think I care about receipts? I checked your bank account because I was going insane trying to prove you didn’t do this to me. I was trying to convince myself you were better than that. I was desperate to believe you. But every single thing just proves what I was to you: a game. You never even had the guts to come clean. You're just... a horrible person. I threw up when I saw the cheque."

His voice breaks again. And then comes the worst part—he laughs. A humorless, hollow sound.

“I even told my mom about you.”

Y/n feels something rupture in her chest.

Y/n's tears spilling. “Charles…”

Charles is barely holding himself together. “The least you could’ve done was tell me. Not kiss me with the same mouth that told people I was a fucking game. That's why you never told me you loved me back. It was all fake. A whole year..." He's backing off hand over his mouth. He feels like throwing up again.

She’s sobbing now, and steps forward again, desperate.

“I didn’t lie! Not once! I know what I did was horrible, I know, but I never—never—meant for it to go this far. It stopped being a game the moment I saw you smile. I swear to God, it was real.”

He looks at her, face blank. The anger is gone—but not because he’s calmed. He’s just empty.

“Then why didn’t you tell me the truth?”

“Because I was afraid of losing you.”

“You lost me anyway.”

She just stands there in the silence, the rain still dripping off her coat, mascara bleeding down her cheeks.Because the worst part isn't that he screamed. It’s that when he looked at her, there was nothing left.

"Leave."

"Charles, Please-"

"Leave! Before I press charges." He blurts out. His legs gave out, dropping down on a chair.

She stands in silence. This is the consequence to your own actions. She turns around and leaves.

After the screaming, after she left in tears, after his chest burned with too many unsaid things—he just sits in the dark. Numb.

By the time the sun rises, he's already packed her things into boxes.

Clothes. Books. That stupid mug she always used that said “Too Tired To Care” in chipped red letters. The one she insisted was lucky. The one he kissed her cheek over, sleepily, the first morning she stayed over.

He loads it all into the trunk of his car.

Then he texts Carlos.

“Can I crash at yours a few days?”

“Of course. You okay?”

Charles doesn’t reply.

He drives, blinking hard. The road is blurry. But not from rain.

His grip on the wheel is white-knuckled, knuckles stinging from where he punched the wall last night after she left. It hadn't helped.

His phone is face-down in the passenger seat. He hasn't opened any messages. Not hers. Not his mum’s. Not the ones from Lando or Arthur, asking if he’s okay.

The radio plays low in the background, some soft indie song they used to dance to while brushing their teeth.

His vision clouds again.

He wipes his cheek fast, angry at himself for crying—again—but the tears won’t stop. They just won’t stop.

Because all he sees is her.

Her laughing in his hoodie, barefoot in his kitchen. Her falling asleep in the passenger seat with her hand on his thigh. Her whispering "I feel safe with you" in his arms after a bad dream. Her teasing him in front of his friends. Her kissing his forehead when he had a fever and couldn't move from the couch.

Her.

His mum’s voice echoes in his head.

“She’s the one, isn’t she?”

He remembers smiling like a fool.

“Yeah. I think she is.”

He wipes his eyes again. It’s no use.

By the time he pulls into Carlos’ driveway, his face is blotchy and wet.

Carlos opens the door immediately, like he’s been waiting, sees Charles—and says nothing. Just pulls him into a hug.

And Charles, who’s been trying so hard to stay composed, finally breaks again.

Muffled, into Carlos’ shoulder. “She used me, man. And I loved her so fucking much.”

Later, in a colder tone—while trying to hold his breath steady:

He calls her.

She picks up.

Her voice is small.

She sounds like she’s been crying too.

“I need you to take your things by Sunday.”

Silence on the line.

“I packed them. I left them there. You can figure out the rest.”

“Charles, listen-"

“No.”

Pause.

His voice is shaking.

“Please just… be gone by Sunday.”

He hangs up.

He doesn’t throw the phone.

Doesn’t scream again.

Just sits there in Carlos’ guest room, staring at nothing.

Because he’s realizing now—

He can’t hate her the way he wants to.

And somehow, that’s worse than anything else.

part two - FLUENT IN LOVE

[james-bucky-barnackle]

Froyo

Synopsis: During a premiere red carpet with Drew, an interviewer’s question accidentally reveals that a seemingly ordinary dinner was actually Drew’s attempt at a first date covered by two random tiktoks. Pairing: Drew Starkey x Actress!Reader Word Count: IDK I'm too sleep deprived to count A/N: I know I still owe you guys a Gwayne Hightower fanfic, but the chokehold Drew fucking Starkey has on me is insane. btw, I realized this is the second time I've created a fic based on real people vs the normal Marvel character thingy I do. And to be honest, there's gonna be a lot more... so maybe I should make this a series considering they're all triggered by an interview and Y/N's always an actress lol. ALSO at the end, there's a poll on what you think should happen next, and best believe I'll do my best to write that.

There’s an edit circulating on TikTok of you and your co-star Drew Starkey from your red carpet interview together. You’re both starring in an Amazon limited series about college classmates who become close after witnessing your professor’s murder and are now on a shared mission to solve the crime. You’ve known him closely for a year now, but have been following his career even before that. I mean, who wouldn’t? The man is gorgeous. But of course, you couldn’t let him know that.

As shooting began, the two of you grew closer, and you decided to be professional and put that whole fascination aside. You’ve both even dated other actors and celebrities, which have also been topics for gossip channels and paparazzi photos. Despite all that, you’ve hung out plenty, mostly in groups but also during breaks in filming—often grabbing lunch and coffee together.

Today, you and Drew are laughing as you finally see the edit that’s been at the top of both your PR’s nightmare list.

You’re dressed in an elegant beige gown, skin-tight and slightly sheer, which Carrie Bradshaw would definitely call the naked dress. Your hair is pulled back in a low bun, bangs effortlessly framing your face. You’ve just arrived at the red carpet, taking your time to chat with interviewers. The first few questions are light, mostly about how fun it was working on set and, of course, what you're wearing.

After a few minutes, Drew catches up to you. He’s in a baby blue suit, sepia shades covering his eyes, smelling incredible. His presence is like a tight, warm hug—well, a little tighter on your chest. His voice sends tingles down your spine as he whispers, one hand casually placed on the small of your back.

“What did I miss?” He smiles at you and the interviewer.

“Oh, nothing much, I was just telling Amelia how you’re always late to everything.” You smirk, shooting a playful look at the camera. Amelia, your interviewer, raises her eyebrows dramatically, playing along. Both of you laugh as Drew backs away, feigning offense.

“I’ve been here since like—” He starts to defend himself.

“Like five minutes ago,” you say, rolling your eyes.

“Valid,” he agrees with a shrug, laughing.

Amelia continues her interview, moving on to ask about the possibility of a second season.

“I mean, yeah, I’d love to do a second season, for sure,” you nod, glancing at Drew, who’s nodding along, letting you take the lead. “But I’m not sure if it makes sense, since it was originally written as a one-season story. For that to happen, someone might have to die again so Kelsea and James can investigate something new.”

Kelsea and James are the names of the characters you play—who, of course, end up dating on the show.

“So you’re saying someone has to die for the two of you to get back together on set?” Amelia jokes, her deadpan delivery only making it funnier.

“I mean, I don’t know!” You laugh. “You’re twisting my words, Amelia!”

“I honestly think you just don’t want to hang out with me anymore, Y/N,” Drew chimes in, a playful pout on his face. “I’m hurt.”

“Is that why there wasn’t a second date?” Amelia asks, teasingly. Her tone is light, but the question lands hard. Drew’s eyes widen in surprise, his smile freezing as if even he didn’t see that one coming. He covers his mouth, trying not to laugh while you stand there, looking utterly confused.

“Second date? What?” You laugh, trying to figure out if this is some sort of red carpet joke you weren’t briefed on. You glance at Drew, who’s just shaking his head, still grinning but not offering any explanations.

You lower your voice, leaning towards him, “What is she—what date?” You chuckle awkwardly, trying to maintain your cool, though the confusion is clearly written all over your face. Drew glances at Amelia, then back at you, and you can tell he feels a little bad now.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity of awkward silence, Drew admits, “When we got dinner and froyo.” He says it so nonchalantly that it takes you a second to process.

“That was a date?!” you whisper-yell, smacking his arm, your jaw practically hitting the floor. “You said it was just dinner!”

��I know!” Drew laughs, his cheeks turning a little pink. “I said that because I thought you didn’t like me back! I was sending out signals!”

“What signals?” you ask, still reeling from the shock. “That’s unfair, you said it was just dinner! I feel so bad—I didn’t know!” You place your hand on his arm, squeezing it apologetically. You’re both laughing now, but you’re also genuinely flustered.

“I did tell you!” Drew protests. “I said, ‘Do you want to have dinner with me?’ And you were like, ‘Are we bringing Madz along?’ And when I said no, you were like, ‘Why?’”

“That is not enough, Drew!” You laugh, cheeks burning with embarrassment. Your PR team is probably dying, but at least this little moment might boost some publicity for the show. You actually remember the video Amelia might be referring to; your assistant had sent it to you a few months back. You found it interesting and even funny because you honestly thought it was just a fan shipping the two of you together—cutting together videos and photos of you and Drew when you were out to eat. You try to recall what that day was like and pick apart whatever signals Drew was referring to, but you really can’t remember anything different from the way he’s interacted with you since you two first met.

You realize the gag has gone on long enough and decide to wrap it up before the awkwardness can escalate further.

“Amelia, I’m so sorry about this,” you say with a dramatic sigh, trying to regain your composure. “Even while confessing his undying love for me, he’s still late. Men, what can you do?”

Drew, still chuckling, wraps an arm around you and presses a soft kiss to your forehead, his way of apologizing. You feel a warmth settle over you, even as your mind is still catching up to everything.

The camera flashes pop around you, and suddenly, those TikTok edits of you looking perpetually confused start to make a little more sense.

When the premiere starts, halfway through the screening, you excuse yourself to the bathroom. You check your makeup, but instead of heading straight back to the theater, you decide to take a moment. The whole "date reveal" situation has thrown you off more than you realized, and you need a second to process it. You stare at your reflection in the mirror, replaying the interview in your head. You haven't had the chance to talk to Drew about it since, and the thought lingers in the back of your mind. You don’t want another clueless moment to make it into the tabloids.

You wash your hands, fix your makeup, and prepare to head back out. But as you step through the door, you see Drew standing there, waiting.

“Well, look who it is—the jokester,” you say, crossing your arms with a mock grin. “Here to ask me out on another one-sided date?”

Drew smirks, stepping closer. “Huh? What are you talking about? I’m just here to pee,” he teases, nudging your shoulder.

“Not funny,” you mutter, rolling your eyes but feeling a smile tug at the corner of your mouth.

“Hey, I’m sorry.” His smile softens, and for the first time since the red carpet, you can tell he actually feels a little guilty. “I really am.”

“You should be!” You huff, but your tone is playful now, your annoyance melting away as you meet his eyes. "That was so long ago."

Drew takes a step closer, and you suddenly become very aware of the quietness around you. It’s just the two of you now, the noise of the premiere distant, almost forgotten. His gaze flickers to your lips for just a second, and your heart skips a beat.

“Y/N…” He hesitates, like he’s trying to find the right words. “About that second date…”

“You mean actual first date?” you correct him, raising an eyebrow, trying to keep your cool.

Drew pauses, then chuckles softly. “Yeah,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “Actual first date. What do you think?”

You stare at him, caught off guard. You weren’t expecting him to just put it out there like that. His easygoing nature usually means he hides behind jokes or avoids direct confrontation. But now, with no cameras, no noise—just you and him—he’s being sincere.

“You know,” you say, your voice quieter now, “if you made it clear the first time, I still would’ve said yes.”

Drew’s eyes widen slightly, and a smile slowly spreads across his face. “Really?”

“Yeah,” you nod, feeling a mix of relief and excitement. “Really.”

His grin widens, and there’s something boyishly excited about it, like you’ve just given him the best news of the day. “No froyo this time, I promise.”

“Good,” you laugh. “Because that wasn’t a date.”

“Duly noted.” He steps closer, his hand brushing yours, and this time it doesn’t feel accidental. His fingers curl around yours lightly, the touch sending a spark through you.

“You know, we could leave early,” he suggests, glancing back towards the theater. “Skip the rest of the screening, maybe grab some dinner… somewhere where I make it clear it’s a date.”

You bite your lip, considering it, but your eyes narrow playfully. “And deal with the wrath of our PR teams later? You must love living dangerously.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “You make a good point. But I promise, after all the photos, after all the interviews... we’ll do this right.”

You nod, smiling at him. “I’ll hold you to that.”

With that, you both walk back into the theater. His hand lingers on yours for a moment longer before he finally lets go, and even as you take your seats for the rest of the screening, the air between you has changed.

You glance at him once more, feeling that familiar warmth return, only this time, it’s not confusing or awkward.

The noise of the film dims around you, though you’re still hyper-aware of the room, the hundreds of eyes on the screen, and the occasional flash from the press in the back. Drew leans back in his seat, arms crossed loosely, but he’s not watching the movie either. Instead, he looks over at you, catching your eye.

You feel the heat rise in your cheeks, and you quickly face forward, pretending to focus on the movie. But then, from the corner of your vision, you feel him move slightly closer. The tension that was always there, that you’d pushed aside so many times, is undeniable now.

After the premiere ends, there’s the usual round of applause and the hum of people slowly rising to leave. Drew stands up first, offering you his hand, and even though you can stand up just fine on your own, you take it. There’s something about that gesture that feels significant—like you’ve crossed a line you didn’t realize you were approaching until now.

You’re both still in work mode, nodding and smiling at the industry people you pass, but the moment you’re outside, the cool night air hitting your face, Drew turns to you, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

“Alright,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “How do you feel about grabbing that dinner tonight?”

You blink, caught off guard by how fast he’s moving. “Tonight? We just got out of the premiere,” you laugh, though there’s excitement bubbling under the surface. “I know, but if I wait any longer, who knows what crazy schedules we’ll get caught up in again.” He steps closer, his smile genuine, warm. “I’ve waited this long to actually do it right. What’s a few more hours?"

“Alright,” you say, a grin breaking through. “Let’s do it. Dinner—our actual first date.”

His eyes light up. “Great. I know a place.”

The restaurant Drew takes you to is tucked away, quiet and intimate, and you laugh at how quaint it is, most of the other diners are old enough to be your grandparents. You feel comfort knowing most of them don't have phones let alone know who the both of you are. For all they care, you could be two kids coming home from a costume party just ending the night with a bite.

“So,” you say as you both sit down, menus in hand but neither of you really looking at them. “This is what a proper date feels like, huh?”

Drew leans back in his chair, grinning. “Better than froyo, right?”

You laugh, rolling your eyes. “Significantly better.”

There’s a moment of comfortable silence, the kind where you both just look at each other and realize this is happening—really happening. You’re on a date with Drew, and it’s not some PR stunt or a casual hangout. It’s real. And for the first time, you’re letting yourself want it. "You think they're wondering why we're over dressed?" You hide behind a menu. "Overdressed? Excuse me? This is what I wear everyday." Drew retorts, making you chortle.

“So,” you say, resting your chin on your hand, “What’s the plan after this? Froyo?”

Drew chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

“Not a chance.”

He grins, eyes glinting with that same playful energy you’ve always liked. “Well, I’ll make sure tonight’s memorable enough that it overshadows that.”

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[xomakara]

Second Chance at Love

SUMMARY |  Jongho’s twin daughters really want you to be their new mom ever since you have been taking care of them after their mom passed. They’re trying to play matchmaker between you and Jongho to fall in love, but in actuality, you and Jongho already have feelings for each other.

PAIRINGS | Jongho x Reader

GENRE/CONTENT/WARNINGS |  widow!Jongho, nanny!Reader, singledad!Jongho, dilf!Jongho, lots of fluff, smut, vaginal sex, unprotected sex (wrap it ya’ll!), face riding, creampie, impregnation, dirty talk, praise kink, pet names

RATING | Mature, 18+, NSFW

LENGTH | 7134 words

TAGLIST | @yourlocaljonghoe (tagging cuz I know you're waiting for it lol)

NETWORKS |  @illusionnet @atzhouse @cromernet @wonderlandnet

@k-vanity @othersideoutlawsnetwork

AUTHOR’S NOTE |  Hi, hello. Thanks @itsnotmydejavu for all the brainstorming. I really appreciate it! This was more fluffy that I anticipated lol. We really need more dad!teez fics out here~

ATEEZ Main Masterlist

"Joomi, I think we should make Daddy fall in love."

"With who, Jooeun? Y/N?"

"Yeah! Wouldn't Y/N be a great mommy? She already takes really good care of us! And she's mommy's best friend."

"Mommy would be happy if Y/N was our new mommy."

The two five-year-olds were huddled by the stairway, looking down the hall into the kitchen where you stood by the sink and Jongho cleared the table. After their mom passed away, the twins knew that their dad was struggling to raise them himself, he had no clue what he was doing. When you, their mom's best friend and their favorite person in the whole wide world, moved into the home to help out, they were thrilled.

They knew you had been close to their mom, but seeing how much you care for the three of them just proved to them even more that you are the perfect match to take over the role of their mother. You cook all their favorite meals, you read bedtime stories to them, and you even help them brush their teeth! You loved all three of them very deeply and would do anything for them. The girls admired you and adored your kind heart and the loving smiles you had for their dad and them. The girls noticed the way the two of you looked at each other when you thought no one was looking. Their dad had it bad and Joomi could tell that you did too. But you and their dad always insisted you were 'just friends' and that there was nothing more than that. So, being the bright children they were, Joomi and Jooeun put their minds together to hatch a plan.

If they made you two fall in love, you could get married, and become a family!

Their dad was walking into the kitchen. "How did their snacks go? Were the girls okay?"

You nodded. "Oh, it went wonderfully. The girls were perfectly sweet the entire time."

Jongho exhaled a sigh of relief. "I'm sorry for leaving. I had to stop by a client's office since we are having trouble meeting a deadline for a project that needs to be completed by Friday. If anything were to go wrong or anything would happen..."

You put a hand on his arm, stopping him from rambling. "Everything was fine. Don't stress yourself out, everything's under control here. You just take care of whatever work you need to do."

Jongho nods but hesitantly stops. "I'm...just afraid something will happen. The girls...they've been through enough. I feel bad for asking so much from you, I don't even pay you to take care of them or live in my home or-"

You chuckled. "Hush. No money is necessary to watch over the people I care about. Plus, this is more than a payment. You've given me a place to stay, food, and the company of two adorable girls. Now stop worrying."

The look Jongho gave you after that was too warm and sent butterflies fluttering throughout your body, but it made your cheeks heat up.

Joomi and Jooeun made small noises of "falling in love, falling in love, falling in loveeeee," over and over while they looked over at their dad and you by the stairway. They were careful not to be noticed by either of you and they were patient as they watched.

"Okay...you're right," Jongho breathed out a heavy sigh and you saw the way his shoulders visibly relaxed, his built figure leaning forward and closer to you.

You laughed. "Let's start planning a summer trip, okay? When things are not as busy."

He smiled. "That'd be lovely."

As soon as he said that, you heard the girls giggling by the stairs. "Were they listening to our conversation this whole time...?"

You covered your smile. "Probably."

Jongho scrunched up his nose, laughing to himself. "You know what they're trying to do, right?"

"I mean- they've been playing their games lately..." You let out a small laugh.

You can see Jongho shaking his head from behind you. The two of you walked up the steps, approaching the kids at the top and grabbing them. The girls screech playfully in shock, holding back a snicker at what their next plans could be. Jongho holds both of them in each arm, one girl in each, and you're unable to hold back your laughter at how precious they are. Jongho carries them both off to their bedroom, where he drops them softly on the big bed that the two girls shared. They're laying on their bellies, kicking their feet back and forth like fish, a huge grin plastered across both of their faces.

"I know your tricks, ladies. So do be a little less obvious about trying to play matchmaker." He scolded them playfully, hands on his hips and giving them a pretend serious look.

Joomi snorted, still kicking her little feet. "We've noticed you and Y/N."

"What does that mean?" He chuckled.

Jooeun flipped over, the bedsheets making a small swoosh sound underneath her as she laid down on her back. "You and Y/N have crushes!"

Your eyes widened. You felt yourself redden up. "Oh. Girls! No no no, your daddy and I are just friends. Best friends! Like, soooo best of friends!"

Joomi furrowed her little eyebrows. She glanced back and forth from you to her father. "You and Daddy love each other like mommy did, but don't kiss."

"Or...at least haven't kissed. Yet," Jooeun sang.

You let out a shaky sigh. "Where are they learning these things? Don't go saying things like that, the two of you."

Joomi nodded with a shrug. "Why not? Are you embarrassed?"

You let your gaze wander over to Jongho to look for some support on the matter. But Jongho was flushed and looking everywhere other than at you. It was obvious that this wasn't an easy conversation for either of you to have, much less in front of the twins.

Joomi noticed your actions and she smiled, snapping her head over to her father. "What? Are you embarrassed, Daddy?"

Joomi was giving him the same look she always did when she's trying to convince him to get something for her. With big puppy eyes, a wide smile, her bottom lip out with just a twitch at the end. Her eyebrows wiggle just a little, begging him silently and sweetly. She and her sister knew their father couldn't resist when they pleaded in that certain tone of voice, looking in their sweet little girl ways. They've played their games so many times, so why not try again?

"Joomi..." Jongho sighs, putting his hands on his knees, not being able to escape her large dark brown eyes. "What am I going to do with the two of you?"

The twins only let out tiny laughs, shrugging and hugging each other in the bed as Jongho stood. The girls love him very much and are grateful they have such a good father, despite their circumstances. Jongho leaves the room and you stay in the room with them, sitting on the bed, wanting to get to the bottom of where the girls' idea of a crush came from.

"Who told you about what a crush is?" you asked the girls after they sat themselves on the bed and changed into their PJ's.

"Uncle San!" Jooeun squeaks as the top half of her head peeks out of her PJ top.

You internally facepalmed, thinking about how Jongho's older cousin, San, was whispering conspiratorially with the girls after they asked him questions about life in a school filled with friends, crushes and parties.

"We thought you and Daddy liked each other," Jooeun had confessed innocently.

"Do you hate Daddy?" Joomi frowned, getting teary-eyed as her head pokes through the collar. "Do you hate us? Are you going to leave?"

You give her a hug, cupping her face with your hands and giving a sweet, reassuring smile. "No, no, no, sweetheart. Not at all, it's just complicated. Please don't say those things again, okay?"

It hurt, seeing the disappointed looks in their eyes and on their pouty lips, but you tried not to show it on your own face.

"Promise?" Jooeun had pleaded.

You took in a shaky breath. "Of course. Come now, time to get to sleep."

You helped the little ones into their beds, tucking the blankets around them and reading from a fairytale book as the light to their night-light flickered from the wall outlet. They slowly drifted off to sleep and you shut the bedroom door with a gentle click behind you. With a sigh, you approached the master suite across the hall and opened the door quietly, catching sight of Jongho flopped stomach-down on the mattress, buried with a duvet as you chuckled at the sight.

You clicked the bedroom door shut as you entered, stepping over to him. "The kids are asleep," you announced softly, moving to sit on the side of the bed and leaned over, poking his shoulder blade.

With a quiet huff, he rolled over, his face and shoulders now facing you. His fluffy hair lay flat over his eyes and a low sigh passed through his nose as his eyes shifted to meet yours, eyelids drooped.

A smirk found its way to the corners of his mouth. "Those two will be the death of me."

"You know we'll have to tell them about us eventually if they keep it up with their shenanigans," you warned him, laying yourself overtop of him.

"I was thinking of ways to approach the subject with the girls in my head just now." he revealed to you, reaching his arms around you. "I'm nervous that I don't know what they're really thinking or feeling."

Your hands came up and framed Jongho's cheeks. "Oh, Jongho...those girls are too smart. They even asked San about what crushes are.”

"San? Why'd they ask him?"

"That's not the point." you whispered, running your thumb across his soft cheek. "Do you think we should sit down with them? Explain?"

"Explain what? That their daddy and their nanny are secretly in love with one another because they can't stop sneaking kisses in secret places of the home?"

"Shut up." you said with a playful nudge at his chest.

"But you admit those kisses are nice." Jongho says as he sits up, dragging you onto his lap, the blanket sliding down his toned chest as his arms remain around you.

"Extremely," you confirmed, wrapping your arms around his neck as you feel the hands on your waist move to cup the underside of your thighs, adjusting the way you're positioned on him.

"Hey." Jongho brushed his nose with yours as a whisper against your lips.

"Hello," you replied with a giggle, already finding his mouth and leaning in with the full intent of kissing him again.

"Would you be happy with a widowed, single dad?" He continued to stroke the back of your leg with his fingers. "What it be wrong for me and the girls to be happy again?"

The tips of your thumbs draw little circles on the back of his neck. "Nothing is wrong with that, Jongho... I think Eunmi would be happy if you and the girls were finally able to move on and be happy."

"What if that happiness was with you? With us?" he asked, pressing his forehead against yours and rubbing his hands up and down your sides and you gently rub his back with your fingers.

You lean into the embrace and inhale, closing your eyes for a moment, then pulling away. "When Eunmi told me her last words to take care of you and the girls... I think maybe that was her way of telling me that it was okay for us to be happy. It's not like we're strangers. Not like we haven't been together before."

You and Jongho had known each other for years, and at one point, the both of you dated back in high school for a year or two but broke off your relationship for various reasons. You met Eunmi in college and ended up staying good friends with her throughout the rest of the years. And when you found out that Eunmi and Jongho started dating and eventually got married, you couldn't have been more pleased for the two of them.

You were never jealous that Eunmi and Jongho were together. Never jealous when they got married or when you helped Eunmi with the twins' birth. 

Never once.

Because you loved them dearly and you wanted them to be happy together.

When Eunmi fell sick and lost her fight with the sickness that plagued her body and spirit, she pleaded for Jongho to promise her to live his happiest life possible, and that meant starting a family all over again. Because she couldn't anymore. She couldn't raise their kids, or start over as husband and wife with Jongho, so the least she could ask for was for him and the girls to be happy. When you visited her in her final days in the hospital, she grabbed your hand and asked you a favor.

"If you love Jongho and want him to live a fulfilling and happy life... then please, look after him for me when I'm gone," she had begged with tears in her eyes. "You know how to take care of our girls, and if Jongho were with you and the girls are happy with you, I know he would be more at ease. With more help, with love...and if somehow the both of you were to fall in love all over again with one another...don't leave him, okay? Take care of him...take care of the three of them...love them, make them happy...my family is your family now."

That was over a little more than a year ago, and Jongho, although still hurt over his past love's untimely loss, was healing. So were Joomi and Jooeun. That was proven by the fact that Jongho was finally starting to love again, albeit slowly, after a while. The twins were right. They knew that he was happy when he was around you, just like he knew the twins were happier when you were around, just as their mother, Eunmi, knew the same thing.

And the last promise he made Eunmi on her deathbed was one that he will make sure he keeps.

Live his best, happiest life possible, even with the way that his life was now.

Even if it meant being with you, the woman he once loved before and recently was falling for again.

Your thoughts are interrupted by the feeling of your back hitting the plush comforters as Jongho shifts to pin you on the mattress below him. You look up and see the gleam in his eyes that have turned a shade darker from before. Your hands snake their way around his neck as he reaches and traps your face with his fingers and palms. A mischievous smirk danced across his features, his thumb rubbing the spot below the corner of your mouth, his index and middle finger rubbing at the shell of your ear. You shivered at his actions.

"Let's make them happy, Jongho..." you cooed, relishing in the soft, tickling touch of his fingers along your neck and shoulder. "Let's be happy, together, with them. Like Eunmi asked."

"I love you, you know that? I can't help but think that Eunmi knew what was going to happen, the whole time," he expressed with a big exhale as you pull him forward and close. "And she never once left me. Never doubted that I loved her even with my...previous feelings for you resurfacing."

"She loved you so, so much, Jongho. Don't ever think she didn't love you, or that she thought you didn't love her, despite the things that happened when we were in high school," you reminded him with a reassuring smile. "She loved you until her final breaths and beyond, and wanted nothing but a lifetime of happiness for you and your girls. You deserve that. Everyone deserves that. Including you."

"Do you love me too...?" he whispered against your lips, his thumb grazing your cheek.

"Always have, always will," you promised, smiling and finally pulling him in for a sweet kiss.

The next few days passed in a blur. The girls were constantly scheming or attempting to make you and their father become 'official' to their little eyes. You and Jongho would playfully play the fool, knowing their secret plans, and doing small things that would give them the belief that their tricks would work.

But in actuality, you and Jongho were having a good time trying to guess what would come next. One day, you woke up early and had just finished washing the dishes from breakfast. The girls scurried up behind you, wrapping their small bodies around your legs like adorable monkeys clinging to trees.

"What are you two up to, huh? Going to try and climb Y/N like a tree and claim that I stole your new favorite?" You hear Jongho joked as he leaned on the doorframe between the living room and dining room.

The twins giggled in unison at the ridiculous accusation as Jongho slipped closer, grabbing both girls from either side and tickling their sides as he lifted the twins up on his broad shoulders.

"Never! Our favorite is still you, Daddy!" the girls gasped in between fits of laughter as you watched on in amusement at their antics.

You rolled your eyes at the girls' silliness.

"Careful there. Make sure the two of you are hanging on tight," you playfully warned them as they straddled Jongho's shoulder blades.

The two girls immediately sat and hung on to Jongho for dear life, faces buried on either side of his head. You and Jongho chuckled at the adorable display of their devotion. You reached out and bopped the twins' noses in turn as they peered up, big bright grins adorning their cherubic cheeks.

The weekend is arriving soon, and with it, comes an overnight trip for the four of you.

"Are we there yet, are we there yet, are we there yet?" the twins cried out, looking out the passenger's-seat windows in anticipation.

"We'll be there soon," you laughed from the front seat where you were seated beside Jongho as he drove along the road to the campsite.

You and Jongho decided to take the kids camping, along with his friends and their kids to get a break from the bustling city life. His friend Mingi has a lakeside cabin and lots of land on which you can pitch a tent, start a fire, roast marshmallows, swim in the lake, and go canoeing or kayaking, just a few hundred meters away from the cabin itself. Jongho explained this to you as you looked out the window, smiling and watching the pine trees on either side of the vehicle whizz by at lightning speed.

Your thoughts drifted from the scenery out the windows to the scenery in the passenger seat beside you.

Jongho has his eyes focused on the road. His mouth was set in a small smile as he maneuvered the vehicle and focused on his driving, looking back into the rearview mirror to glance back and see his children giggling and talking amongst one another.

Then his dark brown orbs flickered over to your side briefly before his eyes landed back on the road before him. He turned and tilted his head towards you and his smile only got wider as his eyes crinkled at the sides, an adoring look settling over his handsome features.

"What's on your mind?"

"Not too much," you murmured, not realizing that you were being called out because of the pensive look you've been wearing on your face while looking out the windows. "Just thinking about stuff, you know, as a typical human is prone to doing from time to time."

"Got something you wanna share or something you want to keep to yourself?"

"Mmm...let me get back to you on that one."

Jongho let out a chuckle, shrugging and facing forward again. He kept his hand on your thigh the entire drive.

As soon as Mingi came into sight and everyone pulled up and parked in the driveway near his cabin, the twins were ecstatic. Unable to keep themselves in check as they jumped up and down and opened the door, they hopped out onto the ground and rushed towards him. Jongho's other friends' kids did the same thing and rushed forward, enveloping Mingi in a big group hug and pulling him downwards to smother his face and neck with affectionate kisses and screaming 'Uncle Mingi! Uncle Mingi! We're here!!' at the top of their lungs. A look of bewilderment crossed Mingi's features and he laughed heartily.

"Oh man, I wish I was that popular," San muttered as he watched the kids crowd the tall man, shaking his head.

"You're just jealous that Haru likes Mingi more than you," Wooyoung said teasingly, punching San's shoulder playfully.

"But I'm his dad!" San said with wide-eyes.

"And Mingi is his favorite uncle." Hongjoong pitched in.

"I've been replaced." San faked a dramatic swoon.

"Yunhee, make sure you get money from Uncle Mingi!" Yunho yelled at his daughter who only responded with a loud 'Got it!' from Mingi's front porch before turning around and giving her father a thumbs up.

You watched as the kids greeted Mingi on his porch and then he turned his attention to the adults and waved enthusiastically, pointing at the cabin door.

"Lunch is inside already and is ready whenever you guys want! Help yourself! We got games set up in the back if anyone wants to get their butts kicked in basketball or kickball. We also have kayaks in the back we can take out onto the lake. We've also got plenty of seating on the deck and some patio furniture. Make yourselves at home!" He announced, his voice booming out with laughter.

The adults nodded at him, not missing the mischievous twinkle in his eyes as he continued to yell at the kids. "KIDS. There's a small playground behind the cabin with a swing set, sand pit, slide, etc. and the water's right behind that. BUT-"

With that, the kids perked up and looked at him, eye-wide, eagerly hanging on every word that would leave his mouth.

"But~ If you don't behave well, Uncle Joong and Uncle Hwa are going to turn into super spies and capture each and everyone one of you!" Mingi announced in his serious adult's voice as he eyed the kids before continuing with, "Don't even try us! You can run, but you can't hide. Uncle Woo and Uncle Yeo have superhuman hearing and can detect trouble-makers from a hundred feet away. They'll be on you before you even realize it! Uncle Yunho and Uncle San have lightning reflexes! One little slip up and they'll snag you faster than your father can!"

The kids gasp and run past them in a hurry towards the playground that lay behind the cabin. The adults looked amused after their gleeful retreat, and it's not long before the noise of playful squeals and shrieks fill the air.

You and the rest of the adult pack burst into a fit of laughter at the fact that Mingi just riled the kids up into a frenzy. The others looked back and watched their offspring tear into the backyard. You watched a fond look cross Jongho's face, the smile reaching his eyes as he watched the scene in the back unfold.

"Jongho," Mingi said, interrupting Jongho and shaking him from his thoughts. "Are you and Y/N okay to share the bedroom in the back of the cabin? All the kids wanted to have a sleepover in the living room, and all the other bedrooms were claimed, save for one. I mean, I could sleep on the couch and one of you can take my bedroom..."

"It's okay, Mingi." Jongho smiled, pulling you to stand beside him and wrapping an arm around your waist, looking at you for approval.

"Ohhhhhhh~" the rest of the guys exclaimed, slapping him on the back, playfully. They were happy that Jongho was moving on.

"Wait," Wooyoung cried out, confused, "Wasn't there another room open?"

Mingi wiggled his brows. "Totally open."

“So why…” Wooyoung scrunched his face in confusion. Then his eyes widened in understanding when it clicked in his head. "Oh. Oh, damn!"

"Did you plan this or something, Mingi?" you laughed.

He holds his hands up. "Nah, the kids suggested sharing the sleeping arrangements. I would've switched our sleeping places around, but Joomi and Jooeun gave me puppy-dog-eyes and asked me to go along with their plan. Don't think any of the adults or kids here could resist a face like that."

"The twins and their shenanigans. Their mom was such a schemer so the apples didn't fall far from the tree," you said affectionately, remembering the woman you called your best friend.

"They take after Eunmi but their hearts are in the right place." Seonghwa laughed. "They know that you two like each other and have been wanting you two together for a long time. Guess today, we're accomplices to their 'Matchmaker-Twins'. Right, Captain?"

"Yes, we are," Hongjoong piped up.

You giggled at the remark, realizing that the others were in cahoots with the twins' scheme. You rolled your eyes, not surprised that all the kids and adults are in on the plans the two made for the day, the rest of the group joining in, egging the girls on, and enabling the twins to go along with their plots and plans.

After helping the twins and the other kids settle into their 'camping spots', and getting them properly settled in their temporary sleeping arrangements in the living room and putting them down for a nap, you and Jongho retired to the back room to relax in peace and quiet until the kids wake up again.

The two of you climbed into the bed and under the sheets, settling down on top of the covers. You and Jongho simultaneously sighing in relaxation and content. Jongho rolled over onto his left side and pulled your body, snug to his and against his chest, hooking his chin on your shoulder.

"Want to get a quick nap in?" you ask.

"I know something that will put us right to sleep," Jongho whispered, pressing a gentle kiss against your neck, right below your ear, causing you to shiver at the contact.

"Now?" You teased, a smirk playing across your features.

"Why do you think Mingi gave us the very private room in the cabin? I guarantee he put two-and-two together, plus heard my little munchkins' schemes, so..." Jongho retorted, continuing his little trail of pecks along the expanse of skin on your neck. You bit your bottom lip in anticipation. His mouth was trailing hot and open kisses along your exposed flesh, his tongue flicking at the curve of your shoulder. The trail continued downward until he was stopped by the cloth covering your skin. Jongho looked up at you. "What do you say, baby? Wanna?"

In response, you reach down to pull up the shirt you were wearing up and over your head. Dropping it to the floor next to the bed. "We need to hurry, though. Mingi said the kids are probably going to wake up in the next hour, maybe, to finish up their outdoor activities."

"An hour is more than enough time," Jongho murmured against your jawline, pulling you towards him and capturing your lips in a hungry, passionate kiss as you grind against his groin. "More than enough..."

The atmosphere grew heated rather fast and in no time at all, the two of you were bare of your clothes, warm skin touching warm skin, his lips chasing yours and yours chasing his, trying to feel him as close as possible. 

"Get your pretty ass up here. Ride my face." Jongho demanded.

"You're kidding," You choked out in disbelief, he shook his head at your words, his hands traveling down your curves.

"Nah, get up here. Sit on daddy's face." His words were a breathy moan against the crook of your neck and you felt yourself blush from head to toe.

"Jongho," you whined.

Jongho moaned desperately and pinned you to the bed, lifting you by the back of your thighs easily and throwing your legs over his shoulders as he laid back on the bed, his dark eyes burning into yours, "Please?"

"Are you trying to kill me?" You asked, giggling as he stared at you.

"Just turn around," Jongho chuckled, and the next second you gasped as his hands grasped you tightly and pulled you around to where his face was inches from your soaked core. "Hands on the headboard and keep still."

His firm demand sent heat shooting throughout your stomach and down into your aching pussy, and you quickly scrambled to grab onto the headboard. You almost jumped out of your skin as his tongue took a long, slow lick up the length of your slit, your grip on the wood tightening as he slowly began circling his tongue over your clit.

The wet heat that pressed against your sensitive bundle of nerves was almost overwhelming and you ground your teeth as Jongho began pushing his tongue against you rhythmically, licking and sucking at you as he tried to fuck you with his tongue. His ministrations were methodical and measured, never picking up the pace too much, but applying an immense amount of pressure every time he moved against you.

Your head was swimming at this point, the feeling of his soft mouth pressing against your drenched pussy was sending shockwaves of pleasure all throughout your body, causing your nipples to harden and your mind to reel. You couldn't keep yourself from whimpering slightly at the way his fingers dug into the soft flesh of your thighs, and your hips jerked downwards involuntarily in an attempt to feel his tongue deep within you.

A guttural groan erupted from within his throat, and it reverberated against you as his grip on your thighs became impossibly tighter. He pinned you against his mouth so that you couldn't squirm against him again, keeping you on his tongue so that it could continue massaging over every sensitive bit of your pussy.

And before you even realized what you were doing, you had clenched your thighs around his head, not allowing his head to budge from underneath your hips. He moaned against your flesh and picked up the speed of his movements, sloppily lapping at you and dipping his tongue deep inside, stretching your clenching walls, working your entire core in a way that was sending you barreling into a quick and intense orgasm. Your legs bucked out on either side of him as you moaned loudly, pressing his tongue deep inside of you.

"Gosh, Jongho! F-Fuck!" You moaned, pushing your hips down and riding his face vigorously until your entire core pulsed, sending warm shockwaves rippling through your whole body.

When you finally finished clenching your thighs around his head, Jongho managed to lift his head up just enough to begin sucking hard on your oversensitive clit. "Don't fucking move," He murmured against you.

As your head slowly spun, he held himself there, moaning against your wet flesh. Jongho would not allow you to recover, and his tongue never stopped its movements, continuing to lick at your walls as if he could drink every bit of you in.

"Taste so good…" He breathed, kissing your inner thigh gently.

"Oh please..." you whispered and gasped as the pressure of his mouth against you suddenly increased, Jongho moaning obscenely beneath you.

"You make the prettiest noises..." Jongho said as you felt his hot breath fan against your overly sensitive pussy, his mouth moving against you rapidly, almost as though it couldn't kiss you deeply enough. "Couldn't help but be noisy could ya? Little tease..."

"Baby, I can't cum again..." Your whole body was beginning to spasm now as the warmth between your legs threatened to burst again, his lips pressing hard against your clit and sucking deep and slow. Your vision was going white as the pressure built in you. You could feel yourself climbing toward yet another earth shattering release as you leaned against the headboard for support, knuckles turning white from your iron-like grasp.

But Jongho never let up, relentlessly dragging his mouth over your swollen sex and moaning hotly as he pleasured you, eyes closing in rapture as he lost himself in the taste of you. "Can you cum again? Can you cum on my tongue, beautiful?"

Your grip on the headboard tightened impossibly and before you knew it, you were cumming, your body jerking in time with your pulsing pussy, soaking him as you released everything within you.

Once your high fizzled out, and your heartbeat returned to a normal rate, you were feeling your body growing tired. Your fingers and arms and legs were sore. "Jongho..I need a break..." you sighed, leaning down to try and push his head away, your words sounding more desperate than you'd meant them. "I can't cum again like this, it's too much.."

"Then do you want me to fuck your pretty pussy?" Jongho asked, looking up at you through dark eyelashes as he circled his tongue against you. "I could kiss this pretty pussy all day long, but I don't think you can wait anymore."

You bit your lip hard at the words and glanced behind you to see Jongho pumping his thick member with his hand, still holding you in place with his other arm. "Please..." you murmured.

With a pleased groan, he helped turn you back around, moving both of you until he was positioned on top, spreading you wide apart and nudging his tip against your swollen entrance.

"Stop teasing me," you whined, the sight of his twitching length inches from where you needed it made you a bit crazy. Jongho chuckled lightly and captured your lips as he slowly pushed himself in.

You could not stop the moan that escaped your lips the second Jongho was balls-deep inside your pussy, your arms flying around his neck, clinging on tightly. He fit inside you so well, filling you up in every conceivable way, the tip of his cock hitting every hidden part of you.

His lips travelled along your neck and collar, sucking and kissing the soft flesh. Your mouth was still agape, hanging low with no sound, only letting out little gasps as his tip brushed past the deepest part of you, sending warmth radiating throughout every nerve-ending. 

"My beautiful baby.." Jongho hummed, pulling out gently before pounding into you, one strong arm wrapping around your hips and lifting them so he could pound against a different spot deep within you.

Suddenly it seemed to you as if Jongho's tip were brushing over your clit each time it pulled back before sliding deep into your entrance.

You gripped him tighter as his hips moved back and forth. Before you knew it, Jongho's name tumbled out of your lips as he hit a soft spot of yours. 

"Jonghooo..." you moaned, losing your mind.

"Gonna fill your pussy up with my cum...make you take it..." Jongho growled, snapping his hips up again with more force. 

"Wanna give you my kids. Would you like that? Add another to our family?" He groaned against your neck, squeezing your ass, then swatting it.

He pushed himself in as far as he could, biting your earlobe as his member twitched inside of you, "Tell me, baby. Do you like being a mommy to me and my twins, and being my pretty wife? Don't want anyone else...only my baby. I love you so much. You and my girls..."

"I love you and the girls too, Jongho. So, so much." You respond, feeling the tell-tale signs of the pleasure building deep within.

"Do you want to cum, my love? Gonna take every drop of daddy's cum inside?" he moaned into your ear. His husky voice was so hot, and the feeling of him, pressed into you, so unbelievably warm and powerful, caused your body to tense, and then go limp under his strong hands. "Want to give you a baby too, sweetheart. I'm ready for another set of twins, and another set after that, if I'm blessed with it."

And when Jongho slid his tip between your sensitive folds, hitting every raw spot he could as your body shook, that was it. The walls of your pussy contracted against him, a gush of his cum emptied inside of you, making its way to your awaiting womb, hoping for it to take seed and create more lives. You moaned and threw your head back, thrusting your hips upwards to meet his one final time.

Jongho grunted into your shoulder as he fucked his load into you, cumming as deep inside you as he could possibly go and taking deep breaths.

You wrap your legs around his waist, locking him against you and pushing his cock to the hilt inside your dripping walls, not willing to let a single drop escape. His pulsing cock makes your core pulse. The two of you stay as still as possible as you catch your breath, Jongho breathing hot air down your chest.

"Don't you dare pull out yet, Choi Jongho," you ordered firmly. You needed him close, wanted him near you. Jongho smiled up at you.

"Is that what you want?"

"Mmmmhhmmm..." you moan, and wiggle your hips to make his cock stir your insides. Jongho moaned back into the mattress and grabbed your waist tightly. You squeal in delight at his sudden movement, then press your lips firmly against his, claiming him as your own.

"Y/N...would you marry me?" Jongho asked softly a few minutes later, as he propped up on his left elbow and looked deeply into your eyes, stroking your hair gently. "Officially be the girls' mother and my wife? I was hoping..." 

He reached down beneath the pillows, and pulled something from underneath it. He looked shy as he revealed a black velvet box in the palm of his hand, holding it out towards you. "Would you, please?"

"Yes, Jongho." You say in response, watching him open the small, velvet box. Jongho exhales and a smile appears on his handsome features as he pulls the ring out of its housing, sliding the metal band on your ring finger of your left hand. "Absolutely yes."

It fit perfectly.

He crushed his lips to yours and you sighed into the passionate kiss, running your hands through his hair as his tongue pressed inside. It felt good, almost too good, but he pulled away and laid back on the bed. 

After a while of cuddling, kissing, and playing with his hair, Jongho buried his head in the crook of you neck. "I think we should clean the sheets, shower and just cuddle..." He said quietly. "I have a feeling that the girls will barge in once they're awake and we don't need them seeing this mess or smelling the room."

You hum in agreement. You and Jongho kiss softly, barely audible 'I love you's' being whispered between the two of you, your fingers running through his silky strands. You love this. You're so in love and you can't imagine not being with Jongho, and you truly love and adore his two girls.

After getting the room and the two of you cleaned, and the sheets changed and clothes pulled back on, the two of you laid comfortably in  bed in each other's arms.

Jongho turned so that he was hovering over you, one hand propping him up, the other lightly caressing your cheek and thumb tracing your bottom lip. He lowered his head and brushed his nose against yours, lightly pressing his lips against yours. He pulled away to see your cheeks a rosy tint of pink. He leaned his forehead on yours and chuckled. He went back in to continue kissing you.

The door flew open and the bed dipped as two weights jumped onto the end of the bed. Jongho rolled over, the twins landing in the bed, bouncing with their jump, laughing loudly. Joomi moved to sit on your lap, and Jooeun did the same with her dad.

"How was your nap?" You asked the girls, hearing the loud screams of the other children and their parents somewhere in the cabin.

"Good but we're hungry and Uncle Joong told us to wake you up for lunch, so we did! But we didn't run here. We walked." Joomi said.

"Yes," Jooeun agrees.

"Are you sure you walked or ran? I heard some feet scampering down the hall when I woke up," you smirked and booped their noses. They giggled.

"Y/N, are you and Daddy a couple now?" Joomi whispered in your ear. You heard Jooeun asking her dad the same thing.

You and Jongho both chanced a glance at the other before saying at the same time, "Are we?"

Jongho laughed before leaning in and giving you a small kiss on the lips. He also glanced at the girls who were jumping and cheering in your arms. "Why don’t we get you girls and Mommy something to eat?"

"I could hear them telling the other adults that their little plan worked." You whispered. The twins were talking your ears off, excited that you were going to be their new mother now that you and their daddy had finally gotten together.

"I love you." Jongho kissed you as the four of you walked together out to where the other adults were, to have their lunch.

"I love you, too." You kissed him back before kissing the top of the twins' heads. "And I love my new little girls so much."

The twins squealed and screamed louder, "Mommy, yay!" They both launched at you, hugging the life out of you.

"C'mon Mommy, lunch now!" Jooeun pulled you forward towards the table that had been set up for the lunch buffet style. Joomi held out her hands, palm open, to her dad. Jongho chuckled before interlacing his fingers with hers. The four of you walked towards the long table where the rest of your friends and the kids had already made their way to and piled their plates with their food, before sitting together and enjoying their food.

"Told you the plan would work!" The twins exclaimed, the adults laughing.

[bakugoushotwife]

kinktober day five: size kink

>>> so obviously there is no other option size kink and toji fushiguro are synonymous in my book! i do call him zen'in in this so i guess we can be mama fushiguro lmao! i hope you guys are having a good time with kinktober so far :D

>>> starring toji (zen'in) fushiguro x curvy!fem!reader >>> cw: size kink duh, daddy kink i'm not apologizing anymore, reader is stuck in a washer, doggy, oral (fem receiving), reader is used to shit men lol >>> wc: 2.3k >>> event masterlist

toji is massive, in every form of the word. he’s tall, towering over most people he comes across at his looming stature. most of the time, tall people were lanky and lean, slender with limbs that stretch for days. he didn’t fit the stereotype. toji was beefy, his biceps were the size of your head and his hands could cover your entire face. his arms aren’t where it stops either, his chest is broad; he’s so impossibly wide, always struggling to find clothes that fit him right. not that you mind too much of course, watching those poor t-shirts try to contain him rile you up to no end every time. he was always there to grab whatever you needed off of high shelves, changing lightbulbs and dusting the ceiling fans because it was all too easy for him to do. he was ridiculously strong, able to open even the tightest of jars and sweep you into his arms like it was nothing. it wasn’t like you ever overlooked toji’s size, it’s just that you never thought yourself all that small. 

in fact, you struggled with your figure a bit, never quite knowing where you fit in for most of your life. boys either made you feel too insecure over your size or only ever wanted you for that curvy and voluptuous figure. at first, toji was no different, knowing how to talk at a beautiful girl when he sees one. he approaches you, lays out some dirty and cheesy pick up line that’s not even remotely close to original, and is honestly surprised when you snort through your nose and roll your eyes. 

“i had more hope outta you, you were actually cute.” you sneer, quickly turning to keep walking down the quiet streets without any more trouble. and that was it–you really weren’t going to give him a second glance even though you admitted he was attractive? he had never really been turned down before, his looks alone enough to open any door. seems with a body like that you were used to gross one-liners. 

“hey, little lady, wait.” he said, his voice a little softer than it had been when he was hitting on you before. you had already walked a few feet away, but noticing the slight change in disposition, you halted. “maybe that was a bit much, i got ahead’a myself.” he says, tilting his head down in an apology. “let me make it up to ya?” 

your eyes narrowed at him. his arms were folded over his chest, the fabric of the struggling shirt expanding to its fullest potential. his hair ruffled a bit with the warm breeze that blew through, the color of his locks as dark as the night sky—though his eyes shone like the stars above too, something in the green expanses of the hazy orbs twisting your gut and making you decide that if anybody deserves a second chance, it was this sexy stranger. could you even be that angry at him for his lewd comment when you were eyeing him down too, only thinking of his physical attributes?

at your hesitation he speaks again. “let me walk you home. it’s late, and like i said, you’re very pretty.” he raises his brow as if asking one final time. you breathe some air out through your nose, suspiciously looking him up and down at the offer. “no funny business, just protection, little lady.” he swears with his hands by his head. 

you hum, nodding your head for him to follow you as you start walking, hips swinging and hair swaying. when he thinks back on it maybe he fell in love right here, watching you stomp towards your house with way more attitude than your tiny body should contain, doing your damndest to try and play hard to get. but toji’s no fool. he follows you, he increases his strides to catch up with a small effort, but he’s walking beside you with a smug look on his face. 

he makes meaningless chit-chat, learns about some of your hobbies and about your job. he gets your phone number, and apologizes one last charismatic time before you shut the door of your apartment and he’s walking back home, thinking of how he rarely plays the long game for a woman. but he knew you were worth it, the perfect little thing to brighten his days. 

unlike you, toji realized how tiny you were immediately. sure, you were curvy and your chest and ass definitely were not small–you even had a little tummy to you, but you were just so short and compact, he knew he could manhandle you like a toy. not to mention how cute and bratty you were, he was all but compelled to be your man and fuck that attitude right out of you. 

so the long game he played, talking to and courting you like a proper adult, though it isn’t long until you’re accepting him into your home and letting him tame that bratty streak of yours. 

and you’re so glad you decided to give the ginormous stranger another go. he earns his place in your heart and in your home in under a year, and you’ve been grateful for his presence around the house. he makes you feel safe and protected, your own personal security guard. no place could be safer than those hulking arms trapping you to a chest at least two times as wide as yours. his hands always felt so warm and rough against your frame, seeing them against your body always made you feel like the daintiest thing in the whole world. god, and the way those enormous fingers moved inside your little hole—

maybe that’s why you thought you thought you could rely on the burly man you’ve come to love to be the perfect boyfriend he’s shown you he can be, despite the weird looks you get walking around in public with toji zen’in. you never minded the whispers or the rumors of his reputation, you knew him better than anyone, another reason you thought that when you screamed out his name for help, that he’d come running to your rescue. 

to which in part, he did, to his credit. when he heard your voice far away in the laundry room hollering for him, sounding a little too afraid for his comfort, he was there in an instant. but rescuing? nah. he couldn’t help but laugh at your compromising situation. you’re face first in the top load washer, your top-half completely invisible, ass and legs squirming in the air. of course you’d fall in, the height of the washer was something you often complained about; you had to basically crawl inside the machinery to get clothes in and out, and it annoyed you to no end. now, the worst had happened and here you are. you couldn’t even just push yourself out due to how high your legs dangle, you’d surely fall. 

you know what they say, one man’s trash is another man’s treasure, and as good as toji has been to you, he can’t repress the perverted fantasy his mind drums up at the sight of your tiny body stuck in the washer. you kick your feet harder at the sound of his laughter, to which he can only belly chuckle harder.  

“you need some help, darlin’?” he teases, large hands wrapping around your ankles, halting your kicking immediately. he holds your legs there by his thighs, standing between them. he smirks down at your fat ass jiggling and recoiling as you try to squirm your way up the washer. he chuckles at your failures and the sounds of frustrations that follow, until you finally whine out for help. 

“toji— just get me out of here.” you pout flatly, folding your arms over your chest inside the barrel. he chuckles deeply again, sliding his hands up your bare legs until they came across the mounds of your ass. he squeezes the flesh almost tenderly. 

“but little lady,” he hums as he hooks his fingers under the waistband of your shorts and slowly drags them down your legs. he has to kneel to get the garment completely off, but he doesn’t mind. he decides kneeling is advantageous for him, especially once he sees your pretty little hole clenching around nothing, just eager to be filled. “ya look like a little toy from down here,’nd i’m thinkin i oughta play.” he has to spread your ass cheeks a little bit to see you in all your glory before he leans in to lick a stripe from glistening slit to your puckering asshole. he growls at the flavor, something he just can’t stop himself from doing no matter how many times he gets to taste you. you can feel the soft tickle of his hair against the insides of your thighs, the searing heat of his tongue making your squirm back against him in a desperate search for more. 

you should have known toji would be greedy, taking advantage of your inability to move and abusing that to the fullest. he laps at you, shoving his fat tongue into your tiny little hole, fucking it wider for his cock to use. after all these months of him fucking you open, you were still so tight and small. you hug even his tongue, silky wet walls making his eyes roll back a little bit. his large hands hold your asscheeks, kneading like a kitten making biscuits, even though it felt more like a lion pawing at you. you taste so good, it has his cock jumping against his zipper and begging for freedom. he decides to deny himself that simple pleasure, focused on driving more of those cute little whimpers from your lips. the tunnel of the washer was amplifying all your sounds, and he felt the torture of not having your tiny cunt wrapped tight around his cock every passing second. 

you were panting, beginning to feel dizzy from being nearly upside down. every stroke of toji’s tongue massaging your fluttering entrance and the intensity of his deft fingers flicking your clit combined sent you spiraling, both physically and literally, towards the edge. he can’t help but lean back and watch the way you fuck yourself back on his mouth for more, picking up the pace of his fingers to send you over your limit. it’s so cute to watch your thighs clench down and shiver as you cum, screeching and begging for his dick next. 

and who was the feared sorcerer killer to deny such a sweet request from his beloved? his pants are off, belt clinking against the floor. you ready yourself, feeling the rough warmth of his hands envelop your sides and his hips cleave your thighs apart yet again. he’s so strong, he doesn’t even have to use his hands to toss you around, positioning you exactly the way he needs you to fuck you into pieces. his cock splits your lower lips and he unceremoniously bottoms out, eyes clenched shut at how your tiny cunt grips him. your jaw drops with the feeling of being so full at once, his cock just as broad and long as the rest of him. he kisses your cervix before he’s even started moving and you’re already squirming and crying like always. the stretch burns, every time feels like your first with toji. especially like this, you’re bent in half and he’s so deep in doggy that you’re seeing stars—though that could be due to the dizziness swirling around your head. 

“so tight f’me like always, gorgeous.” he chuffs, drawing back to the tip and plowing his length back in, entranced by how you clench and release around him. you mewl your acknowledgement, your hips eagerly moving back against him for more friction, his strokes deliriously slow. 

he notes your impatience, amused. 

“need more, little thing?” he teases, licking his smirking lips at the sound of your pathetic whines and kicks. you nod eagerly, realizing he can’t see it. 

“yes, daddy, please! need you to make me cum–” 

before you can finish your sentence, he’s punishing you for asking for it. this angle is so unforgiving, you can feel every vein decorating his shaft as he destroys you, the tip colliding with your womb so hard it has your toes curling and vision going white. his grunts are so low and delicious, a reward for the perfect pussy you offer him nightly. it’s so good, he can’t stop until he beats your insides into the shape of the dick making you scream right now. 

your ass bounces around his thrusts, absorbing every snap of his hips into your unsuspecting and fragile body. he loves watching you break, like his own personal little doll.

“cum–daddy oh my god i’m gonna cum so hard!” you whine, thrashing. 

“oh coat this cock, babygirl.” he groans, feeling himself letting go, unable to fight back against your vice grip anymore. “cum with me, need to feel it.” his head falls back as you spasm around him, the vision of your little pussy accommodating his size too much to bear. 

“god, please toji!! cum, cum, i need it so bad.” you whimper, your voice so breathy and tired, so beautiful as you beg for his load. it’s already established that he can’t deny you, so he doesn’t. he slides his cock in and out of your slick one last time, hissing as his balls tighten and explode into your cunt, white-hot and heavy. it fills you to the brim like it always does, even when his enormous dick withdraws from you and the mix starts to escape down your thighs you still feel impossibly full. 

finally, he rights you onto your feet, his strong steady hands keeping you upright as you wobble a bit. when your vision stops spinning and you bring yourself to open your eyes again, you’re met with toji’s smirking face. his eyes are lazy with amusement and love as he looks at you, giving you an affectionate pat to the head. 

“kinda wanted to leave you there ‘nd keep usin’ ya like that.” 

[dilf-docs]

Misery Reigns My Lonely Neon Nights

old man!logan x younger fem!reader

summary: logan should've said no. should've just drove the pretty waitress home. that's his job. hers is to serve his cup of coffee to the brim. so why is he riding you to his house?

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap (cause we have a small daddy kink going on here.. hence the blog name BUT I DO HAVE A GOOD DAD), smut, this reeks of corruption kink for no reason other than me being a virgin whore, like he gets stalker-ish for a second but its logan howlett so we forgive him<3 ya está viejito, brief mention of suicide, sub logan edging on praising kink (if u squint), no protection but u gotta put the hat on the cowboy to ride the horse alr, riding, breeding kink??? angst (the depressing vibes are there cause they follow my writing like a shadow ijbol)

word count: 6,102 words (at the v crack of dawn.. i think i've gone insane FR it's 02:07 am and my brain its eating itself like im gonna start seeing logan in the corner of my room)

side note: newbie here after reading so many fanfics on tumblr but never publishing my own!! its hugh's birthday (well, its past midnight so no more but still!!! it was a couple hours ago) so i figured i should give it a try today cause that man does things to me ESPECIALLY as old man logan i can't lie and say the thought of him fucking me good and slow hasn't crossed my mind too many times 😩 we love sad hot old people in here so naturally my inaguration fic had to be done by him. also, i'm tired of scrapping for votes, comments, and interactions on wattpad so please treat me well during our first:// it's me moving to tumblr it's me hi i'm the problem it's me. i'm a feedback whore so pls leave tons of those!! also, english isn't my first language so if i make a grammar mistake pls do not tell me bc i have no respect for this language ―it just makes me cringe less to write smut on a language that isn't mine lol<3 but if there's any other mistake yes pls do tell me thank u OKAY BYE i needa quit yapping ENJOY dilf town<3

So it started something like this.

It was another simple nightshift for Logan. The weather humid, uncomfortably sticking the fabric of his white button shirt onto his skin. Even with the windows down. Those nights that the driving dragged on for long, like those cigarettes that now made him cough more than relax. The roads felt too long; his eyes too heavy.

Nothing new. Just about what to expect: money short, clients and traffic equally annoying. But that was the problem; nothing was new anymore.

He'd just finish dropping a customer close by, and since the tiring feeling didn't seem to leave his body just yet, a coffee wouldn't hurt. As a matter of fact, the need for a boost to make it home makes him get out of the car and limp his way into the first place his tired vision sees.

The rim of his recently adquired reading glasses slips as he climbs the stairs into the decades old diner, the decoration outdated. He understands; he feels the same way.

Neon lights flash his face when he enters the place and sits in the farthest booth he can find. The air is impregnated in grease and cheap coffee, but he waits at least fifty minutes to order, giving his body some time to rest. In the meanwhile, he tries to distract himself with the newspaper resting on the table, but God knows his eyes are too tired and his mind drifts every two words.

He hopes he doesn't get kicked out, judging from the attentive look he's receiving by a waitress resting on the bar. She looks as bored and tired as he does.

Maybe that's why he chooses her, raising his hand with order in mind. A black coffee. The waitress slides from her position and takes some steps to where he sits.

Her voice is sweet when she introduces herself, and Logan finds himself asking her again what her name is, pretending he's half deaf just to listen to it again.

"It's y/n" you repeat, oh so sickeningly sweet, he might have to skip on asking for sugar.

"Y/n" he savours the name on his lips, trying the tender sound, his eyes darting to the name tag, like he's confirming it. Testing to see if the young woman in front of him is real. Maybe his eyes linger a little too long, and the tip of your ears start to heat. Its the way he examines every feature on your face, like memorizing it in a sense, that makes you squirm. But maybe, just maybe, it's the small―brief, peak he gives to your exposed cleavage, pushing itself against the tight fabric of your uniform what truly gets your heart beating fast.

He looks like what your parents would warn you to stay away and your friends would talk behind your back. Rugged in a way that screams heartbreak, rough around edges your kind nature wishes to soften. It's unresonable to feel this way about a client you just met, but his aloof demeanor peaks your interest, so different from your usual costumers and familiar faces that pop up at the diner.

"Can I order you, darling?" his voice comes out deep, almost passing as a grunt. Just what you imagined it to sound. Why he's acting as his past self so effortlessly, after closing himself off to the point of going by entire days without talking more than three words, is concerning. Why the cute waitress who looks at him with doe eyes, expectant to take his order, is making him break the promise he made to himself not to get attached again―just live by enough to make it to the sea and put a bullet in his head.

"Well, that's just about my job" you joke, feeling confident for no reason. "But you can't order me".

"A damn shame" he chuckles, the sound deep, rumbling on his chest. It's been so long since he's laughed like that: carefree, without that pressing weight on his chest, that despite the sinking notion, sometimes feels more like a hole carved where his heart is supposed to be.

"So..." you trail off, unsure where to proceed after that sound that jolted your entire system awake, "what will you take?"

The banter dies, and Logan is dissapointed when she scribbles the dark coffee on her pretty round letter and walks away. He doesn't miss the sway of her hips, and almost calls her back just to hear her voice again. But he stops himself, because it's getting pathetic.

When she returns with her order, he almost regrets the comeback of his enhaced senses, her honeyed perfume mixed with the bitter smell of the freshly brewed coffee, creating an intoxicating mix.

His lips burn when he sips it, but that doesn't stop him from emptying the cup. Again. And again. All in the name for asking for more coffee, a magnetic force pulling him to the ground, making him forget he's a 200 and something year old man begging like a starved man for at least a fraction of her attention. He feels unworthy of your warmth.

He feigns interest on the newspaper when you return again (he's been stuck on the same paragraph ever since he sat down), the pot in your hands. If you've noticed he's emptied the cups faster than a normal person, you don't ask questions. He's thankful, but can see the amusement and confusion laced across your pretty face.

"More?" you ask, but it's unnecesary. He only nods, and you miss the chatter.

The closeness it's a challenge itself, the uniform's neckline practically shoved down his nose while she fills the cup to the brim. He hears his own heartbeat, the sound averting his attention from another "brief" glance at the cleavage. Is it intentional? Is your goodwill and act? Are you this cruel, playing with an old touch starved man like that?

God knows it's been long since he's had a helping hand during his relief hours.

He can't help it; he's a man, after all. So he seizes the moment and steals a glance. But his eyes meet yours, the wary green clashing with the cozy chocolate. There's warmth on your eyes, and he's looking at your tits like an animal. He pulls away, ashamed. The shirt feels a bit suffocating, and there's sweat on his forehead again. Great, you'll think he's a perv.

"Excuse me" you say, leaving his table. Logan is afraid of having fucked it up for thinking with this dick and not with his head. You were messing too much with his head, and now he'll pay the price. Fair, he thinks, for a perverted old man trying to woo a girl younger and far more innocent than him.

There's benevolance on her smile and blood on his hands.

The whole situation is stupid.

But then he's thinking of excuses (like saying it's his failing eyesight's fault) and something close to an apology, as if he cares a little too much about what you think. And then you come back.

"I forgot to bring you a napkin" she lies, leaving the piece of paper in the middle of the table. You laugh, and Logan let's you because 1. He deserves it, and 2. It's a sound as saccharine as the smell the freshly heated pies emit on the table across him.

You leave before he can even open his mouth, so all he's left with is the napkin that seems to have something written on it. Pervert, he reads, on the same calligraphy you scribbled on your bloc. He can't help but laugh, even with your watchful look on him.

That's how it continued.

Even if he had other rides and more energy to drive, he kept coming to the decaying diner just to see you. Almost as if he was forgetting his desperate need for the money, the boat goal further and further.

"You've forgotten about me" complained Charles, although his tone lacked of bite. "But I'm not mad that you've had".

He'd go on, rambling about living life but Logan just laughed. Yet, maybe he was right. Didn't even need his powers to know it.

Now, you? you simply couldn't get enough of your favorite costumer. Of his late stays until you closed, sometimes not muttering more than necessary, yet his company, even if curt, proved to be what you needed to make it through work, giving you a legitimate reason to yearn the before tedious night shifts.

Despite this two month weird relationship, Logan is as a stranger to you as he was the first day, no matter how many times you've tried to get him to talk. In the end, all your conversation efforts feel more of a monologue than a chat.

He knows about your mom and your dad, one strict the other dead. He knows most of your friends names, what you're studying and what you wanted to. Your dreams and your hopes, your aspirations, failures, and some other things you'd never say to anyone else out loud. All and nothing. And he listens, sometimes asking questions, but never about himself. He never takes the lead.

So frustration from the Logan enigma pours into you, the puzzle pieces layed out over your mind, consuming your thoughts. So now you're stubbornly cleaning the same grease spot on a table you've already wipped before, and that, coincidentally, it's the booth in front of Logan, the permanent resident of your head during these past weeks. You might as well make him start paying rent by now, his power and hold over you ridiculous.

"It's not going anywhere. Take it easy" he mocks you.

There's a bit of annoyance when you reply back, although it's mostly superficial. "Don't know what you're talking about" comes out your dry response, earning a low chuckle from him.

"How about you sit for a moment?" he offers, ignoring your apathy. "You're almost done cleaning up".

If his ever changing attitude isn't enough, closing this night's shift is as tiring.

Logan doesn't expect you to obey, but now you're sitting across from him, and a voice in his head says you maybe feel sorry for this lunatic old man.

You're so close, he can see the eye bags and sorrow you are far tired to try to hide.

"I have to finish cleaning" you explain, "we're about to close".

He doesn't know why he says it, or what takes over him when he says:

"I could wait for you"

He surprises himself and surprises you too.

"No need" you assure, and why does he feel so dissapointed. It's stupid. "My friend picks me up".

Ah, yes. The friend with the perfect stupid smile that picks you up every night. Not like he parks his car until you leave and sees the scene unfold each time, his white knuckle grip on the wheel a bit too much when the young boy opens up your door. Makes him see red, knowing he's your age and maybe the breathe of fresh air you need. Not a man far older, who bears too many sins and scars in and out.

"I see" he says after some minutes in silence, retracting his impulsiveness. "I'm sorry if I made you-"

"No!" you clarify hastily, "it doesn't bother me".

He smiles unconsciously in relief.

"Well, me neither. I insist. If you change your mind" he's practically begging, despite his monotone tone.

But you don't.

The place closes and Logan is forced to get in the car. He lights a cigarette, in no hurry to return home. The lighter lights up while the diner's light goes off. You and your boss come out, biding each other goodbye. She leaves and you're is left alone, hugging your body in the early morning cold. 

He sees you wearing particular clothes, for the first time. He takes a slow drag on his cigarette, eyes running up and down your bare legs, the fragile fabric of the skirt fluttering in the wind. He exhales, watching as you dials your phone several times, getting no response, obviously frustrated.

He mutters something under his breath, and maybe there is a God after all. He starts the car, approaching her, who has already noticed it, probably because of the noise of the engine.

She looks scared, but Logan rolls down the window so she can see it's him.

"Need'a ride?"

Just by his reverberant sound you could accept. But you try to play cool for a while, despite your aching bones and need to get home.

"He doesn't answer" he was right, "my friend".

I know, he wishes to say, but he's the same hot headed asshole who walked through the doors of the X mansion for the first time, so his tone will be laced with irony. He doesn't want you to see him as an intense hot blooded mouth.

I could take you. His head pounds but he shuts the emotions down.

He shoves the knot on his throat down and asks as casually as possible, "do you live close?"

"Just around the corner" you answer. A beat, your frame bending so he can see your face from the driver's sit, the cleavage saying hello again. How considerate of you. "Do you really want to do this?"

Do you really want to do this?

The question rings on his ears. It holds more than just the favor. Logan knows they have a certain tension between them that he no longer wants to ignore. For the first time it seems to be reciprocated; palpable, and he is surprised to hear his heart beating loudly, so accustomed to hearing others' with his sharp senses, constantly forgetting what his own sounds like. Yours also beats erratically, despite your calm composure.

You arch an eyebrow, amused. "I can't believe you waited for me. Your family must be worried."

Logan realizes you're trying to test waters. So he raises his hand discreetly and places it on the door, so you can see the lack of a ring. As expected, your eyes travel to his free finger, and he can swear he sees you breathe with relief, which is funny, because in case you hadn't picked up until now, Logan is very much fucking alone.

"In case you changed your mind," he answers. "I have nowhere else to be."

That is enough of an invitation for you to get in the car.

"I was going to open that door for you" he protests.

You only laugh as you buckle the seatbelt. "It's not that big of a deal, really. You've already done enough for me by doing me the favor".

"It's not that big of a deal" he repeats your words, "as long as I'm of help, that's enough for me".

He smiles wistfully, remembering better times. A part of him still aspires to be that hero everyone loved and remembered, something that clearly doesn't happen anymore (or if it does, it's rare), given the lack of recognition of his former identity in El Paso. He shakes his head, focusing back on the street in front of him. It's too late to get fucking sentimental.

"I like to help too…" you confess, meekly. Logan sighs, how could he not know? "My father used to say that I had the kindest heart he'd ever met. I hope it stays that way, and that when he looks down on me, he's proud".

It hurts Logan to see you be so hard on yourself, as if he didn't do the same.

"I bet all the customers in the place would say you're the sweetest thing they've met", he sees you smile from the corner of his eye, and can't help but emulate it. "Believe me, you're their favorite".

"Thank you, Logan" you say sincerely. However, the affliction that he hates to see crosses your face. So gloomy that you don't even seem the same person.

You wipe away an unexpected tear, but Howlett is faster and notices. You turn around, looking towards the window. Then, you catch a glimpse of his license.

"So… you're a driver" you try to break the silence that Logan has put without knowing why. Maybe to give you some space after being sentimental and opening up again to this closed off wall name Logan, but he knows it's a lie. He's scared. After wanting so much to be closer to you, he cowers, not trusting himself and what he would do trapped in a small space with such an attractive woman. Besides, the tension from the previous conversation was still there.

"You judging me now, honey?" the pet name rolls off his tongue before he catches it. He tries to play it cool, continuing the banter, carrying the same tone. "The only thing necessary to make you trust me was to give you a free ride?

"I'm in your car, Logan. I got in without thinking" you laugh. "I believe that's enough trust"

"Then, I'll keep doing you favors. Maybe if I do…" he trails off.

Your voice drops an octave, provocative. "Maybe what?"

His knuckles grip the steering wheel until they turn white.

"Maybe…" he hesitates, "maybe…"

"It's here" you point out. Shit, Logan curses, braking abruptly without meaning to.

"See you tomorrow" you bid as a goodbye, getting out of the car. Logan misses your smell.

So he sticks his head out the window, like a begging dog.

"How about now?" he says a bit forcefully.

Your face shows surprise and something else.

"You're getting attached" you reply, and he doesn't know why there seems to be sadness in your voice.

"I just keep coming back for the coffee" he defends himself.

You laugh, shaking your head "Now, then. For the coffee, clearly."

"I can leave" he says. Yet, makes no move to leave.

You sigh, giving him one last look. Surrender, he reads.

"You're a driver, right?" he nods, taking in every word coming of your pink plush lips. "Then let's drive off. Anywhere" your voice trails off, and you're just so tired of everything, you'll just let go yourself with the flow. "I'll go wherever you go..."

And this is how it ends.

When you wake up, it's almost dawn.

Logan had suggested you to sleep, claming the road where he was taking you to be long. He had covered you with his jacket, even if your body was burning from nerves.

Why had you agreed? Your mom would probably smack your head in search for some sense, and your reckless friends would encourage you to do it for the sake of a story. But something about Logan makes you feel safe, despite not knowing anything from him. It's sort of a sense of protection―like he would never hurt you, that envelops him. Everyone else would call you crazy; only you can understand that.

When your eyes adjust to the light, you realize you're in a line of cars.

"Did you bring me to the border?" you exclaim groggily, still in a sleepy voice.

"Good morning" he answers instead.

You rub yoou eyes, settling into the passenger seat.

"You're not going to kidnap me, right?" you question, half joking half serious.

Logan laughs, "Not only that. I'm also going to throw your body in a mass grave"

"It's not funny," you pout, although you're laughing too.

Once you've crossed the border, Logan drives a few more minutes, until he reaches a restricted area.

“I live here” he answers before you can ask, “saves rent and questions”

After opening the locks, you can better appreciate the place. Well, appreciate may not be the right word.

“It's an abandoned smelting plant” you voice out loud.

Logan just nods. You realize that he didn't like the comment, so you try not to talk about it anymore.

“Come” he gets out of the car, going to open your door. He offers you a hand, and you fail to hide your smile.

“You didn't miss this time, huh? Quite a gentleman” you praise. Then, add jokingly, “if you choose to kill me, at least I'll die taken care of".

“Stop talking nonsense and go inside” he scolds but smiles.

Inside, the abandoned plant is exactly what you expected.

"We're alone" Logan says, after leaving to check. He opens the door to his room, letting you in. There's not much inside, just a bed and scattered things. A yellowish light begins to filter through the broken glass. "I'mma change. Be right back".

You begin to explore your surroundings, to avoid thinking about the impact of the situation. Two things could happen: leave or stay. Maybe everything was going too fast, but you prided yourself on your spontaneity, often confused with impulsiveness. Others would say it was your naive nature: too innocent for your own good.

What had led you to accept without further ado? Was trust enough, that you had even fallen asleep in his car?

"S'rry for the wait"

You notice that Logan's gotten rid of his formal attire, leaving him in just slacks and an old white tank top. His muscles flex with every movement, making you swallow involuntarily. He still retains his extraordinary physique, despite his greying hair. She can't help but stare at the scars that cover his exposed skin, her fingers itching to trace them.

"Haven't they told ya' t's rude to stare?"

You look away, embarrassed. Logan walks over to the bed, bumping into you in the process, bodies barely touching. Still, an electric shock runs through you. You hug yourself, scared, aware of the effect he has on you.

"Logan" she dares to ask, "what are we doing?"

He finally looks at you. You feel naked under his intense gaze.

"What do you want us to do?"

His voice comes out low, like a growl. You stand in place stiff, unable to form a word.

"Come on, honey", the nickname comes out of his lips so easily, it hurts. "Are ya losing your voice now? Got into my car a while ago without thinkin', what's changed?"

You slowly approach Logan, each stride calculated. He watches you in silence, a silence as hostile as the wind hitting the broken windows, watching you remove your clothes, until all that's left is your bra and that skimpy skirt, as if you knew he liked it.

"Logan…" you whisper his name like a prayer, letting yourself fall on his legs. He holds you with his hard calloused fingers, like a promise.

Don't let me fall. Don't let me go. Don't leave me.

"Use your words, sweet thing" the trepidation condenses between, "we're grown up now, aren't we? Use your words"

If by words he meant feeling your lips against his, it's enough to have Logan following his impulses, using his strength to embrace your body until they feel like one, the scars on his hands feeling like your own. Your lips move in sync, and it's almost so casual, so learned, so meant to be, that fear appears in Logan, soon forgotten with the symphony of moans that come from your lips.

"Tell me" he pauses, breaking away from the kiss (something you don't like and express in the form of a pout), "what do you want?"

Logan tastes like cigars and whiskey, a combination you hate and the reason you quit your old job at the bar, but on his lips, it's an intoxicating taste.

"I want you, Logan" you whisper, hot breath against his skin, “you”.

He resumes the kiss, an electric shock of hunger and need between you: lips parted, colliding, teeth almost clashing against each other.

His fingers hesitate with a delicacy that belies his rough touch, the tips of his worn fingers lifting the fragile cloth of your skirt first, revealing soaking wet panties he goes crazy just at the sight of. The smell is sugary, sicklingly, so now he's hard and pulling at the clasp of your bra first, exposing your nipples, which he rolls and pinches mercilessly. A gasp escapes you—then another, and another as Logan pushes his thigh between your legs. The friction is delicious, almost painful against your pulsing center.

His hand firm up his position, securing itself onyour bare legs as you digs her nails into him. His labored moans turn into a guttural growl.

“You think I’m not capable?” he mocks, stealing another moan from her, “that I can’t keep up with you, you pretty young thing?”

You deny it, but Logan takes it upon himself to show you that he can take you like he's in heat, the ghost of his old self taking over in his almost animal way of fucking you, hips arched, muscles flexed and tense, his teeth appearing every time he opens his mouth, reminding you of fangs. They dig into your exposed skin, leaving bruises that will take time to disappear from your shoulders and neck, marking what belongs to him.

The hardness of his skin meets your soft when he grabs you by the waist.

"Look at you" it slips from his tongue, ecstatic. He's a goner, saliva dripping from the messy and sloppy kisses he leaves through your collarbone, "so good and so pure. I bet you're innocent, that you haven't seen what I've seen..."

His pupils darken, a strange mix between torment and desire in his gaze. Hungry and violent.

"Will you let me show you how's a real man s'ppossed to treat a woman?"

He feels shame settle in his belly, the hunger to possess her almost virgin body fueling his dark desire of errasing her sweet smile until she's an unintelligible mess of sobs. To show her what she would complain about, so she'll never slettle for less. So you can feel what it's to be taken care of―handled. And then he'll fill you up with his seed, so no other man will take what's his. His sweet little thing. Oh, he's so going to hell for this.

But maybe he likes pain.

"That's it, honey" he plays with the fabric of your wet panties, pulling at the loose threads in the delicate fabric. "Let me show you".

You take it off, and Logan lies back against the bed, spreading his legs and unbuttoning his belt and pants―a clear invitation to repeat the previous position, except this time, his hands are on top of your hips, squeezing the soft skin. He doesn't take his eyes off you, his gaze reserved only on you. If the adrenaline from before pushed you, now the confidence gained motions you to finish the task. It's just the push you need, remembering that this is what it feels like to be with a real man as you throw a leg over his hips, sitting your ass right on top of the bulge marked on his underwear.

“Right… there…” he barely manages to formulate a coherent train of words, the years of lack of help in attending to his needs leading to overstimulation, “good girl.”

The compliment makes you increase the pace of your hips, his labored breaths a sound so rich and so manly it makes you squirm.

You need it desperately, rubbing your increasingly wet clit against him, riding the fabric. His scruffy beard barely hides the smug smile that graces his lips.

“Like this?” she whispers, and Logan can no longer contain himself, staring at his sweaty, ripped body failing to please her completely. It feels so good it aches, and he can't believe this is how he's ended. But if that means having your pretty face on top of him, covered in his marks, dripping on your joint sweats, well maybe it isn't so bad.

“How can I repay you, honey?” he pleads. He'll try he's best. He just wants to give you a glimpse of the way his whole world has light up ever since he stumbled in that greasy diner.

“You said you were going to show me” it comes out almost as a purr, expectant, “and I’m waiting”.

Logan takes it as his cue, pulling down his underwear until his member is exposed, chuckling darkly when you swallow at the sight.

"Don't tell me you're scared already" he teases, "look how you have me… you can't leave me like this…"

You stifle a scream as you feel every inch of his thick cock enter your sensible walls, trying to fit his member inside of your needy body.

"So tight for me" he stammers, using his hands to keep you in place, on top of him. The only sound in the silence of that place that smells of death is that of their skin colliding―vulgar, the obscenity highlighted by being the only thing that can be heard in the small room.

Even though his stamina has dropped over the years, he thrusts into you relentlessly. Logan fucks you senseless, his balls buried deep in your dripping pussy, a constant rhythm of avid suction with each entry to your walls.

He takes a moment to see you as you take something from the nighstand he doesn't remember putting there.

"Look what I found" you whisper in the middle of your moans. Logan recognizes the shine of metal in front of his eyes, "so Wolverine?"

You say it so easily, like it's not the first time. With acceptance; it scares him.

Do you recognize him? Are you not scared? Why haven't your eyes go from curiosity and kindness to cold and rejection?

He should panic, rip off his dog tags from your hands and pretend he doesn't know who he used to be, but he's so deep inside you and so enraptured, he can only manage to gently take them from between your fingers and put them around your neck, the cold metal against your warm, bare skin creating an electric shock.

"I want to see them on you"

He likes to watch it hang over his face while you're on top, panting heavily as she repeats his name, slurring her words. It dangles with every thrust, the silver glistens in the seeping sun, just like the sweat that adorns her skin.

"Are you that needy of your old man? " he teases, caressing her. He smacks the curve of his ass, “You want more?”

His veiny length makes quick work of your needy hole, more moans escaping your lips.

“Shit,” you curse, wincing at the pain that begins to increase. “Yes, Logan. Just like that. Nobody ever treated me like that, nobody's made me feel like this-”

He moans, pleased with the praise, seeing he isn't as lacking as he thought. Making you feel good is his priority, but he won't lie and say he doesn't want to feel it too.

In an attempt to distract yourself, your eyes try to focus on him: searching his features, memorizing every scar, every wrinkle, every little grey hair.

“You’re perfect, Logan,” you mumble through a moan, the confession hiding more than you want to say and more than he cares to admit.

Before he can process it though, the fire in his stomach signals the arrival of his impending orgasm.

There's something delightful about the way you can barely speak, a mess of moans that sound like his name, eyes half-lidded and lips swollen alongside your messy hair.

He feels almost sick to be consuming something that doesn't and shouldn't belong to him. He doesn't deserve to have such a beautiful, young woman riding him while she clings to him like he's the last thing in this world, him: a worn, old man who can't keep up with her.

His member spasms, and it's got you feeling it all inside your walls, causing him to close his eyes in the process as well.

It's too soon, Logan thinks in shame, but it's been so long and you feels so good, he let's it go:

Thick whips of his cum shoot out of his member, drawing out more than you would've imagined. You don't have much time to think about it, for the orgasm hits you immediately, fingers curling and eyes rolling to the back of your skull.

Logan feels his tip getting wetter, and the extra lubrication is a nice finishing touch.

“God,” he gasps, “what a mess…”

You avoid looking at him, taking one of his hands in yours, kissing the red and violet painted knuckles. If you do, you'll give away what you feel, the same way her memory burns in Logan's chest, more now than ever, as his mouth tastes just like you.

Dependency.

Devotion. Absolute. Sick.

Maybe that was what he felt. This weird feeling. That abyss piercing his chest but never killing him (so much for regenerating...), pressing his heart with a crushing force whenever it threathened to beat again. Logan was content with rather nothing, always a man who didn't ask for much, and since the death of his family―the X-men, less.

"You should go" he mutters in defeat, the shame washing over. Even if he'll miss your warmth, even if he doesn't want you to leave at all. "It's for your own good, y/n. Pretend you don't know me and turn around. Go away" he insists yet gets stuck on his words, "you're not stupid. Then you'll know it's good for you and you'll never speak to me again"

He looks at the ground, cowardly, because he wants your lust filled warm look to be the last memory he remembers. Not whatever look you're giving him now.

So Logan closes his eyes and counts to ten. When he opens them, you'll be gone. It'll be a dream, something too good to be true. Short lived, like every good thing in his life.

"Logan..." you calls his name. So softly it seems like a breath.

You're still here.

"Logan" you call again, more firmly.

"Logan" you don't give up, cupping with one hand his face gently, "look at me".

When he looks up, he comes across a heartbreaking vision. You cry, tears falling like waterfalls down your cheeks. But that's not the most devastating thing, no: it's the look in your eyes, as if you've shared his pain. As if you've had suffered the same things he had suffered; a twisted reflection of him.

"Of course I understand you" you take his hands, and Logan feels that same strange warmth he felt the first time when your hands brushed his with the diner's menu. "I've also lost people… people I loved. Don't you think it hurts me to see the world go on as if nothing happened? Everyone forgets, Logan. But I can't; there's not a day that goes by when I don't think about them"

For a moment, you stop crying, and the hidden internal turmoil he tried so hard to decipher finally makes sense.

"I don't know what you've been through either, but I can promise you, that I understand you more than you think…" it seems like you'll say something else, but you stop and say instead. "Think, Lo: would these people want to see you like this?"

"It's what I deserve" he murmurs barely, his voice constipated but without shedding a single tear.

"It's not what we want, Logan. Please" you sniff, pained "stop being so hard on yourself".

"I'm not who you think I am" he insists. You're still naked on his bed, and he feels dirty for having you like this. For taking you to his home and fucking you raw out of your innocence. "I'm not a good person."

"No, Logan" you seem hurt by that statement. You trace one of his most recent scars with a touch so compassionate, that he feels your fingertips burn, "you are a hero".

Your words were so sweet, so comforting. He wanted to sink into your lap, which smelled like flowers and tasted like safety. A home; a life that had been taken from him. He wanted to believe everything you said―feel who you believed he was. Not this pathetic, tired and apathetic version of himself, but the old version: the version that inspired respect, that despite his tough exterior, had a family he loved. Because he had a heart. Now he feels like he has no soul: no purpose, nothing.

But maybe you are the answer.

Before he can change his mind, you blurt out “can I stay?”

That morning, in that old bed that creaks under his weight, Logan discovers that feeling alive again isn't so bad.

credits: divider @kodaswrld / gif @userparamore

[ronearoundblindly]

Midnight Kiss

Steve Rogers x reader

Just a little ditty in honor of the upcoming holiday. Warnings for suggestive language and bad puns. It's just cute, awkward, and chivalrous...until it isn't. If you couldn't deduce it from the title: they kiss lol. WC 1.5k+

He's happy to see the team having fun, but this isn't exactly Steve's 'scene.' Granted, his 'scene' flew the coop long ago, when his generation aged out of large, raucous celebrations, or rather, Steve never had any true social scene because he never really lived .

He's still trying, he swears; it's just...

really. damn. loud.

The lights are somehow too dim and too bright all at once. Everyone is happy and blitzed and dressed to the nines and leaning on the closest stable object. Any minute now, he'll bow out and call it a--

There's an ear-piercing cackle from a woman in a '2024' gold-streamered headband not two yards to his right, and she tips backwards, shoving an innocent passerby straight into his solid side.

"Sorry," you squeak, rolling your eyes because the word wasn't loud enough to shame the drunk woman beside you, but you're facing him, too, unable to see she's about to make it worse.

The woman snorts and laughs harder, toppling over because her party of friends have the reaction time of sloths, their hands full of dainty champagne flutes and mini-snacks.

Steve instinctively pulls you out of the way, his broad, strong arm wrapping your waist and pinning you to him.

"Oof," you grunt in alarm, the woman's drink spilling over your shoulder.

Hors d'oeuvres, Steve thinks sullenly, that's what people call them these days.

The woman doesn't apologize, and neither do her friends.

He counts a full five seconds before anyone in the small group even raises a hand to help the woman still giggling on the floor. Mostly, Steve is now concerned with the glass shards near your feet.

He's all for having fun, he's all for letting off a little steam, but he is not a fan of sloppiness. That's not a generational trait; that's simple courtesy.

"Ok, 'nough of this," he mutters, an itchy irritation scurrying up his body while he tries not to take over care of the woman. Instead, he checks your legs with a glance, sees the open toes of your strappy sandals, and hoists you into his arms.

He walks away from the bar, sound of crunching fading with each step, and finds a tiny bench--the only spot not occupied--where he can set you down.

Steve can't hear your shock or protest because his blood races past his ears. That was the last straw. He's annoyed now.

"Stay there," he commands, putting up a finger that gets shockingly close to touching your lips since you leaned in to speak. "I'm getting some napkins."

The bartender is oblivious, and why should he not be? The man is one of two serving over a hundred guests, give or take, for hours and hours. Steve doesn't bother getting his attention. He stretches a long arm over the bar top and grabs a stack of cocktail napkins.

It might as well be toilet paper.

He dabs and dabs at the sleeve of your dress, but the napkins dissolve and turn to damp pills. In his day, those results would make excellent spitballs to pass the time in class. They aren't so trendy on your black velvet.

"I thought this would work." He doesn't know what else to do but keep dabbing, so he anxiously continues, not noticing the precarious proximity to your chest until you put a hand on his.

You have kind eyes, he thinks, even though he can't fully make out their color in the mood lighting.

"Please, don't--" finally one of the woman's group yells over a quick sorry "--don't bother with that," you finish. "It's just a dress. You can go back to your people, Captain."

He scrunches his brow. He sometimes wants to introduce himself; he wouldn't always use his rank, but he rarely gets that luxury. "You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah." You nod. "Was heading out anyway. I'll just sit a sec and then leave."

Sounds like the highlight of my night--leaving.

Instead, Steve stands to his full height and scans the busy room for any of his team. He shrugs to himself since, who's he kidding, no one will miss him if he disappears early. He's put in the appearance. He's made enough small drunk talk. Yikes, does he wish alcohol still affected him...

"I'll walk you out," he offers, careful to modulating his volume when one song abruptly ends and another starts lower.

At first, you don't take his hand, and your first two steps seem sturdy.

Then your weight crumples after a deep hiss.

Steve has you back up and carried to the bathroom in a flash. It's lit so he can actually see and muffled so he can actually hear, thank goodness.

Glass did sneak into your shoe, and it easily poked through the ball of your foot. He's so quick to find it that not one whole drop of blood has even eased out of the wound by the time he's pulling the shard out. His bare hands pinch the sizable chunk.

He's careful, slow, and gentle. He's also a touch proud that you make very little fuss, only squirming in discomfort while he works.

"All better," he says, dropping the glass into the trash bin. "We'll just wash it and...you alright?"

You're already pushing yourself off the counter top.

"You shouldn't put weight on it yet." Steve gingerly lifts your leg at the knee to keep the foot from touching the bare tile floor.

"Yeah, but--" you make a face "--you set me down in water."

Steve's eyes bug out. "I--oh gosh--so sorry, I--let me--" there are no paper towels, only an air dryer "--shit."

Defeated by modernity again, he sighs. "I just...I can get more napkins and maybe a first aid kit from--"

The crowd outside is starting to yell. They're counting, backwards, and there's no way anyone will understand what he's asking for in that chaos.

"Ten!"

Steve meets your eyes.

"Nine!"

He can see their full color now and that your dress isn't black. It's a very, very dark maroon velvet. Wetness is easily visible though, since your sleeve seems fully black at the shoulder.

"Eight!"

He points to the door. "Somebody I can get for you?"

You shake your head.

Not that he was fishing for your relationships status, but he's encouraged nonetheless.

"Seven!"

"Only me," you shrug, "braving the party for a thrill..."

"Same."

"Six!"

"How was the year?" he cracks with a smile.

You tilt your head. He's distracted by the cute gesture.

"Five!"

He stares.

"Four!"

"Not great," you admit.

Steve thinks while he stares.

"Three!"

Actually, no, that's a lie. He doesn't think; he just acts.

"Tw--"

He swoops in, big palms cradling each side of your face, soft lips pressed to yours for just an instant, but only because he wants more.

Unless tortured, Steve Rogers will never admit that he didn't plan for one instant where his tongue was not involved. He absolutely wants to taste you. He absolutely wants to own you, just for these few seconds. He absolutely wants to hear you moan in encouragement, the sound crystal clear in isolation from the party.

The roar of the crowd is soft static compared to that racing blood of his.

He pushes himself closer, his bent arms getting in his way, so Steve props up with a palm on the--oh wow, that is wet--counter. His thumb touches the soggy velvet covering your hip and thigh.

He'll buy you a whole new dress if only you lace your fingers in his hair, if only you take his bottom lip between your teeth, if only you whine just like that again.

By 'again,' he means in a few seconds, and maybe tomorrow, and, for good measure, whenever after that.

A loud thud on the door knocks him out of his lip-lock trance. It's not a single restroom, so he suspects another overly inebriated patron since no one comes through the door.

But now some sense is knocked into him, too.

He chews on his swollen lips for a moment, nervous to look up. He hopes you don't regret it, and he hopes you know that he does not, can not, and will never regret that kiss.

Your sated sigh breaks the tension after a beat. "Starting this year off right," you mutter, "at least for me..."

"Yeah," Steve chuckles, glancing at the door before finally taking in your lounging form, "the gang is gonna love how I ended up in a ladies' bathroom at the stroke of midnight, necking a stranger."

You snort.

"Don't leave out the part where I was wet for you, head to toe, huh?"

Too bad the florescent lights are bright enough to show his raging red blush, but he clears his throat with a deep growl.

"They'll never believe me..."

Steve sweeps you up into his arms again.

"...unless I take you as proof...and to get a bandage, of course."

You snatch up your shoe and purse, but he won't let this Cinderella run off. You'll be right here against him all night.

"Well, go ahead and splash my other shoulder," you tease. "I can't be lop-sided."

Steve grins, already adding more and more things to list of what he'll do for you, to you, and with you. The list can include parties, too, if this is how wonderfully sweet and silly they can all be.

Happy New Year, indeed...

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @spectre-posts @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @deandreamernp (My taglists are all jacked up again, so if you are missing from the list and/or want to be tagged, please let me know!)

[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

[shegatsby]

Love Thy Enemy

Summary; Y/N Atreides had always been a stranger to the entire galaxy, her bed wasn’t her bed, her home wasn’t her home due to the fact that she was sent to accompany and be sisters with Irulan. She had limited access to her actual family and over the years they grew distant. She thought she would be like Reverend Mother, alone, yet powerful, and soon she would realize that there was no need of being alone when a wild creature had his eyes on her for a long time.

A/N; Hi my little doves, I've missed you, I'm in love with my work lol I really enjoy writing this series so don't forget to share your thoughts with me. Don't worry, there will be SMUT in the future chapters. Sorry for any typos English isn't my first language.

TAG LIST IS OPEN! (Text me if i forgot to tag you little doves 🕊️ ♥️)

Warnings; Violence. Angst. Enemies to lovers. Female Bene Gesserit Reader x Feyd-Rautha,reader is reffered to as she/her.

Words; 2.232K

Chapter Four- ‘’Misery Begins’’

Giedi Prime, House Harkonenn

The air felt heavy in her lungs, the planet was orbiting a black sun, thus, everything outside looked black and white, no wonder these people were raised like animals, planet’s harsh conditions shaped their characteristics. The second she stepped out of the ship she hated every single thing but kept a firm stance.

Now she was settling in the guest quarters, the wedding was to be in 7 days and thankfully Harkonnen traditions says that they, under any circumstance, cannot stay in the same room.

Y/N had few of her personal maids and the rest was Harkonnen servants, all dressed in black with bald heads and pale, thin figures. Y/N noticed the looks she got from them, an outsider…

Inside the fortress one could see colors yet Harkonenns choose to keep it simple, her chambers consisted of a bedroom,  a small living room, and bathroom. Without a word she moved to the velvet armchair which was facing outside, she didn’t want to engage in any conversation with anyone, ‘’Prepare my bath.’’ She ordered without looking at any of them and then moved to the desk in her bedroom to write a letter to her family saying that she landed on the planet safely and everything was fine of course she knew that every letter she would sent was going to be read by Feyd-Rautha’s most trusted politicians, maybe even by himself so she kept the letter short. ‘’Send this to my family.’’ She gave the metal, thin device which was the letter to a servant, ‘’Yes my Lady.’’

After her bath which consisted of warm water and bath oils she brought from home, she smelled fresh and felt better. She was on her desk reading when her door was knocked, ‘’Yes?’’

A servant girl entered, she looked sickly pale and thin, her eyes on the floor, her hands interlaced on her thin stomach, ‘’Na-Baron wishes to dine with you my Lady.’’ It wasn’t a wish, it was an order. ‘’The trip have made me exhausted, please tell Na-Baron that I desire to rest.’’

She noticed the girl’s change of body language, her eyes rose to look at her ladyship pleadingly.  Y/N kindly smiled at the girl, oblivious to what was going to happen, she dismissed the servant girl.

The black sun of Giedi Prime shone bright just like the day before, Y/N decided to do some reading, learn more about the planet’s ecosystem. She had a light breakfast, the air still stingy in her lungs, she didn’t have much appetite.

Y/N Atreides was on her desk, taking notes and reading and her door knocked, ‘’Come in.’’ she was focused on the old books, ‘’My Lady.’’

‘’Yes?’’ she turned to face a man, he was a guard in his dark uniform. ‘’Na-Baron has a gift for you. He insists that you should open it after I am dismissed.’’ A strange request but what wasn’t strange about him anyways?!

Y/N couldn’t read the guard’s expression, his face was a blank slate, however he look more pale than usual skin color, was he ill? ‘’Thank you, place the box on the floor and you may be dismissed.’’ He did what he was told. She stood up and approached to the metal box, there was a strong smell of iron coming from it, it appeared there was no lock, no writings. Just in case, she placed the portable force field on her hand, activated it and tested it, working just fine.

Her hand went to open the metal box and her first reaction was to scream in terror, and her second reaction was to run to her bathroom and throw up her breakfast, shaking uncontrollably, on her knees like a wild animal.

Y/N Atreides didn’t know how many minutes or decades she had spent in that position, finally one of her old maids came for her rescue. ‘’My Lady…’’ she was an old woman with white hair and motherly touch, ‘’It’s okay now..’’ she was rubbing Y/N’s back gently and whispering kind words.  ‘’Is it-‘’ she sobbed, ‘’is it gone?’’

‘’I took care of it my Lady.’’ She helped Y/N stand up and leave the bathroom. The metal box which had the servant girl’s head was gone and yet she could feel her eyes watching her every move. She threw the shield on her hand and marched out of her chambers. There was a solider guarding her chambers, ‘’Where is Na-Baron?’’ she asked trying to control her tone. ‘’He has a meeting with Baron Vladimir and Glossu Rabban.’’

‘’Take me to him.’’ She said, could feel the anger on her chest, so hefty. ‘’But my Lady-‘’

‘’Take me to him.’’ She used the voice on him, the guard, without a word started to guide her to the meeting room. The corridors of the fortress were mostly black, some grey and white here and there, there were guards on watch duties, servants cleaning or carrying stuff. It was so different than the environment she grew up in, in Caladan or Emperor’s planet was vivid and thriving, here it was just… lifeless. She cursed her fate.

There were two guards on the doors of the meeting room, ‘’Open.’’ She used the voice again and the doors were opened slowly, Baron Vladimir was sitting on a metal chair which was placed on marble steps, towering over Glossu Rabban and Feyd-Rautha who were standing and looking up at him, listening to him as if their lives depend on it.. well.. they weren’t wrong. Baron was surprised to see her. ‘’Lady Y/N!’’ he announced which made the boys look at her direction but she refused to look at them, her focus was on Baron. ‘’What a lovely surprise, I hope you quarters to your liking.’’ Y/N bowed in courtesy, ‘’Thank you my Baron, you are the most generous.’’ She had to control her anger and she was doing a good job, keeping things formal. She had to be respectful to the family otherwise her position let alone her life would be at stake, she remembered Feyd’s words; ‘’Try to humiliate me again and see what happens, little dove.’’ The room was barren with only a long marble table and chairs, the curtains were closed and white glowglobes lighting the room, no carpets, no ornaments. ‘’What do we owe the pleasure of your visit?’’ he asked, she could see he was trying to understand her moves. ‘’I must speak with Na-Baron. It is urgent.’’ Finally she turned to face him, even though he was standing far away she could see his body reacting to her words, he was alert and an animalistic shine on his eyes. ‘’Feyd, please escort your wife-to-be to a more secluded area and discuss.’’ His uncle said and Feyd bowed to him quickly, ‘’Yes uncle.’’ And then he turned to her, marching like a soldier, he held her arm and escorted her out of the room, his grip was tight, he made her follow him. Since there were guards and servants everywhere she didn’t dare to utter a word.

Y/N had no idea where they were going, the fortress was a maze and every corridor looked similar. They reached a door, Feyd dismissed the guards and opened the heavy black door. Quite frankly he threw her inside, before she got a chance to look around she spit her venom. ‘’What is wrong with you?!’’ Feyd looked puzzled, ‘’Did you really beheaded that girl just because I refused to dine with you?!’’ she could feel her whole body shake in anger, being in his presence disturbed her equilibrium. ‘’Oh, that.’’ He remembered, his behavior made it worse for her. ‘’Yes, that!’’ He didn’t close the space between them, his hands behind his back. ‘’Did I upset you, little dove?’’ was he mocking her? ‘’Upset?!’’ Y/N couldn’t believe her ears, what happened to that sweet boy she met years ago?

He started to move towards her like a predator, he was much taller than her, towering above her she had to look up to meet his icy blue orbits. Years had turned him into a killing machine, what a shame. She hoped to see remorse in those beautiful eyes but found nothing. Back of his hand found her heated cheek, touching ever so gently, it made one wonder how could he behead an innocent girl and then touch his wife-to-be like a tender lover. ‘’This is what happens when you reject my orders.’’ His voice calm and collective. ‘’I hate you!’’ and she pushed his chest but had no impact so she moved away from his aura. That’s when she noticed that they were in his quarters of the fortress, she remembered the fact that he dismissed the guards, no one to help her if things were to took a turn. ‘’You hate me?’’ he asked, still calm. ‘’What else… do you also fear me?’’

‘’No.’’ she simply answered. His none existent eyebrows rose, his pupils dilated ever so slightly, she noticed how still he was, like a statue. His nostrils flared with a passion she could not placed.

‘’No? So you don’t fear me.’’ He repeated back, folding his arms, he wasn’t angry, only curious. ‘’Not at all?’’

‘’You aren’t allowed to hurt me.’’ Her voice higher than his.

‘’Not allowed?’’ he tilted his head, his voice low and husky, ‘’and how can you be so certain of such?’’ a slight smile pulled at his plump lips, ‘’What makes you so confident in that?’’ he knew his own intentions but he was curios of what went on within her pretty head. There was a certain aura about Y/N that intrigued Feyd, he was watching, listening and studying her.

‘’Let me go back to my home.’’ She whispered, even she didn’t believe herself but that was her intention, to go back and ride her horse, walk in the lush gardens, laugh with her other Bene Gesserit friends. ‘’You assume you have the final word where you go.’’ He chuckled, his voice lower than before. ‘’I decide where you go.’’ His gaze grew sharp like an animal, ‘’I decide what you do. And what I decide..’’ Feyd laughed again, ‘’You’re going to obey.’’

‘’I had a life before you took me, I had a family and friends and, and..’’ she could feel her eyes getting blurry, ‘’And?’’ he insisted, ‘’I had a partner, a lover, and you scared him away!’’ she was practically yelling at this point, female rage taking over her body. ‘’A lover? Don’t make me laugh little girl. If he was so in love with you-‘’ he opened his arms looking around, ‘’where is he? Why isn’t he here defending your honor and saving you from me?!’’ with the mention of Y/N’a former partner Pyramus, Feyd-Rautha wasn’t so calm anymore, he could feel rage rising in his body.  

‘’Because of you! You scared him and he ran! Otherwise he would be here-‘’

‘’Don’t be that stupid Y/N! He wasn’t so scared when I offered him a deal.’’

And with that Y/N was confused, ‘’What deal?’’

Feyd-Rautha was pacing in the room in anger, he couldn’t believe she was still ‘’in love’’ with that low life, waste of space. ‘’I offered him a supply of spice which will outlive him and his children and his children’s children. A generation wealth so to speak.’’

Y/N was shaking her head in rejection, her gaze focused on the floor, ‘’No, no,’’ she whispered, not believing what Feyd was suggesting. ‘’Yes Y/N! Your lover didn’t hesitate a second and took the deal.’’

‘’Then why did he try to escape with me?!’’ she yelled in pain, her heart was torn into pieces, ‘’I wanted you to see how pathetic he was and I staged it.’’ Feyd’s chest heaving with anger and he was so passionate to prove her he was right, he turned to go to the next room and brought back a metal device, he opened it, ‘’Here, he signed the deal.’’ She took it and saw the spice deal written on it, millions of gallons.. and Pyramus’ signature at the bottom…

Feyd grabbed the metal device and threw it on the couch near him, ‘’Not going to lie, you weren’t cheap.’’ And she slapped him.

Feyd-Rautha was slapped by a woman for the first time in his life, he froze for a second, shocked to see how bold she could be. He was even turned on a bit. With both of his hands he grabbed her delicate shoulders tightly, he was much stronger than her. ‘’LET GO OF ME-‘’

Feyd-Rautha didn’t care what she wanted, ‘’I might hurt you physically Y/N, but I would never do that to you. I would never sell what’s mine for something else. Do you hear me?!’’ his voice was rough and irritated her ears, her body was in shock and her shoulders hurting her. ‘’I would never leave what’s mine behind and walk away, I am a man, see me as a man not that little boy you met years ago!’’

Was that a love confession, no it couldn’t be.. someone like Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen couldn’t possibly feel something so pure and innocent, or was it just being possessive and showing her that her life was in his hands till death do them apart. The stress overcame her body, her vision was getting darker and the last thing she saw was Feyd’s pretty eyes.

Tag List;

@superchatnoir07

@mamawiggers1980

@landlockedmermaid77

@moonsoulk

@crystalskiesandcherrywine

@palomavz

@beebeechaos

@jeong-uwu

@tian-monique

@avidreader73

@aleemendoza2425-blog

@taleah

@oneandonlybbygrl

@flower-frog

@or-was-it-just-a-dream

@howibecameabadassbitch

@monstresshorn

Thank you for reading. :)

[impactedfates]

Hello. I'm sorry if this is sudden but I was wondering if you took story requests and if you do, could you make a platonic Dan heng IL story with the reader being the child of his previous incarnation Dan feng, the reader is great at telling stories and they would use the power they inherited from their mother to change the shape of pieces of paper into different people and monsters. (I was pretty inspired by the movie Kubo and the two strings) Jing Yuan is the one to tell Dan Heng about the reader even though he doesn't know them very well, but Jing Yuan felt like Dan Heng had the right to know about the reader especially after the reader had an encounter with Blade. (If this is too much that's completely understandable and I wish you a good day/afternoon and or night😊)

A/N - These 2 requests are kinda similar in a way. So I thought to mix them together in the one fic!! I hope that's alright to the two anons who requested (づ ◕‿◕ )づ This isn't my best work, love-hate relationship with it, leaning more towards hate but I hope youse enjoy this anyways (hopefully lol)

W.C: 1149

Warnings: Wrongful imprisonment, reader was forced to stop aging with a potion, hints at abuse/torture but not said.

Extra: Reader is a child and there for shorter then most characters, Reader has horns and a tail (Vidyadhara)

“Dan Heng, there you are. I’ve been looking for you everywhere”

Dan Heng looked up from the book he was reading and stared at the white haired male.

“General?”

“Please, we’re far past formalities. In any case, there’s someone I think you should meet”

The raven haired male closed his book before it away and stood up, raising a small eyebrow at the General, crossing his arms, he spoke, inquiring more about what he meant.

“Who? I don’t think I was invited to anything”

“Your kid…well more specifically Dan Feng's kid”

Dan Hengs eyes widen just the slightest fraction, slightly taken aback by the information, but he agrees to go meet the child of his previous incarnation.

Jing Yuan offers to walk with him to where they were staying, while also providing information about them to make the “reunion” a bit more bearable in a way. Their name is [Name], although not technically biologically his, they did have his genes, Dan Heng wasn’t gonna question that.

[Name] was stuck in the Shackling Prisons for a while now. Ever since Dan Feng had been banished from the Loufu, some cloud knights thought it wasn’t enough and decided to imprison his kid as well, it wasn’t until Dan Heng came back and got the banishment lifted that they came clean.

Dan Hengs eyes grow concerned, looking at Jing Yuan.

“And the cloud knights?”

“Punished, they didn’t get any permission to send anyone to the prison. I released [Name] already, so all there is left is for you to meet them…don’t feel pressured to take them in as your kid though…I know you don’t wanna be tied to your past incarnation”

Dan Heng nodded a bit slowly, continuing to follow Jing Yuan by his side as the two continued walking. It wasn’t a long walk but Dan Heng still thought hard about what he’d do.

Eventually the sounds of kids clapping and cheering reached his ears, he looked up and caught sight of a shorter Vidyadhara talking to some of the younger Foxians. Their hands folded some paper, creating a paper crane before they clasped it fully around their hand, and out came an actual bird.

“And the bird flew away to meet with their family! Then they lived happily ever after”

The Vidyadhara chirped with a smile as the kids around them clapped, urging them to tell another one. Another story.

“[Name]! There you are, I brought over your fath- I mean…your fathers reincarnation”

The small Vidyadhara turns their head and looks curiously at the General before their eyes landed on Dan Heng. Their eyes widened a bit before they slowly walked over. And koala hugged his leg. Dan Heng was taken aback by this action but did not push the kid off, instead slowly leaning down and patting their head awkwardly. He was frozen in place due to the sudden hug.

Jing Yuan chuckled at the sight, before turning to leave.

“I’ll leave youse two it then, if you need help. You know where to find me”

“Papa?”

Before Dan Heng could even reply, the kid spoke one word that made him freeze a bit more. He never did like when people connected him to his past. Always telling people he wasn’t ‘Dan Feng’

“I’m not him…sorry…I’m Dan Heng”

“Papa!”

The kid pouted at him, eyes looking at him with puppy eyes, Dan Heng averted his gaze and tried to change the subject.

“Let’s…explore the Loufu together”

.

.

.

“Papa look! It’s a dragon plushie, can I have it please”

[Name] begged their father, looking up at him as they tugged his shirt.

“Again…not your papa but…sure, any particular reason why you want it?”

“I want to be able to cuddle you at night if you’re not there”

Dan Hengs eyes widened a bit as he looked away with an embarrassed blush. He wasn’t even in his Vidyadhara form but then again, the kid seemed to adamantly believe that he was their father.

Still, without a second thought he took out his wallet.

.

.

.

“Bellybog?”

“Belobog, like bell-o-bog”

Dan Heng speaks, guilding [Name] on how to pronounce the place. He didn’t know how it happened, but one minute he brought the kid on the express, the next March insisted they bring them to Belobog to see the snow.

“They’ve been stuck in that yucky prison for who knows how long, they gotta see the snow…oh! And build a snowman, we should have a snowball fight as well and-”

March proceeded to talk about the possible games and things they could do once they landed. So here he was helping [Name] with building a snowman.

“We should give it horns!”

“Horns?”

“Like you Papa”

He stiffened a bit at being called ‘Papa’ once more, sighing out. He takes two sticks and sticks them on the snowman's head to resemble horns.

“I’m not Dan Feng”

.

.

.

“Sooo, you have a kid now?”

Came a teasing voice, Dan Heng sighed and turned his head to Himeko who was helping to feed the kid some new things. Pom Pom wanted to see what the kid would like to eat, so Himeko was helping.

“Not mine…”

“But they see you as their father, you don’t see them as your kid?”

Dan Heng was quick to shush Himeko as the shorter Vidydhara looked curiously up at the two. He thanked the aeons they were still learning a few things due to the isolation, though…he did feel bad about it still.

Himeko could only laugh softly…until a crash was heard on the other side of the train. She muttered under her breath, something about March and the Trailblazer being irresponsible and prone to cause accidents, yet a smile was still painted on her face.

“Here Dan Heng, little [Name] here just needs to try one more things, you feed it to them”

She said, gently pushing the chair the child was sitting on to Dan Heng, he made no objections, simply sighed and fed the kid.

“Papa?”

“Hm?”

“I love you, I’m happy you’re back”

Dan Heng froze his movements at his kids' words, which in fact gave the kid some time to climb onto his lap and cuddle themselves in it, wrapping their tail around their body. They slowly fell to sleep with a smile on their face.

Dan Heng took a bit to process everything but sighed, carefully standing up and bringing the kid to his room so they could have a better sleep.

.

.

.

.

.

.

“Dan Heng, you left your-”

The red haired woman's voice died down as she saw the scene in front of her, with a knowing smile, she slowly closed the door and walked away, shushing the other passengers.

What lay in the archives was a small Vidydhara resting with their eyes closed, sleeping peacefully. Their bed? A taller Vidyadhara with his arms around the kid, cradling the kid as his tail rested around him as well.

OEDNIOFBS, the more I read this the more I hate it help :sob:

For anyone who has requested before this post, apologies for taking so long but I'll be working on it soon don't worry!!

[ihatealimore]

Rainy Day

(Word count: 1,633) (I wrote this a awhile ago on a rainy day and forgot about it lol)

Standing near the exit of the Hunter Association building, you glance up at the sky visible through the window. The rain is pouring down, drenching everything and everyone unlucky enough to be caught outside without an umbrella.

"Damn... I can't believe I forgot my umbrella," You complain, frustration evident on your face as you watch people scurry by in their attempts to stay dry, "At this rate, it doesn't look like it's going to let up anytime soon."

You let out a sigh as you lean against the glass, "Should I just... make a run for it?" You wonder to yourself. Your apartment is only a couple of blocks away, not too far from here.

You pull your jacket up over your head to cover yourself from the rain. Reaching out for the door handle, you're about to push it open when a familiar voice calls out from behind.

"(Y/N)!" His voice echoes through the near-empty hall of the building.

Your hand freezes on the handle, head turning at the sound of a familiar voice. Your eyes meet Kurapika's and you raise an eyebrow in surprise, "Kurapika?"

"(Y/N)," Kurapika starts, his brow furrowing, "Were you planning to just walk out into that downpour without an umbrella?" He questions incredulously, making no attempt to hide his exasperation.

Seeing you prepared to run out into the storm unshielded fills him with concern. He's always known you to be reckless, diving headfirst into dangerous situations without much thought for your own wellbeing.

"It's not just a drizzle outside," He reprimands sternly as he crosses his arms over his chest.

An irritated sigh escapes your lips, your grip tightening on the door handle, "Yes I was," You retort stubbornly, shooting him a defiant look, "It's not like I have much choice now, do I?"

Ever since your heated argument with him a few days ago, your interactions have become like this. A constant back and forth, an unending tug-of-war of words filled with tension and stubbornness. The disagreement was long forgotten but the hostility still lingers. Every conversation seems to turn into a battle of wills where neither of you want to give in or admit fault.

"There are always choices, (Y/N)," He counters as he steps closer, the distance between you and him now significantly reduced, "It wouldn't kill you to consider your own safety for once."

You bristle at his words, your eyes flashing with indignation, "I'm not some helpless kid, Kurapika."

"I never said you were," Kurapika shoots back, his tone stubbornly calm, "But acting recklessly won't get you anywhere either."

"This conversation is pointless," You snap at him as you turn to leave again, pushing against the door.

Before you can take another step, Kurapika reaches out, his hand wrapping around your wrist in a firm yet gentle grip. The metal chains dangling from his hand clink softly with the sudden movement, echoing through the quiet hallway. His touch startles you and you freeze mid-step, looking back at him over your shoulder with an expression of surprise and mild annoyance.

He opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, struggling to form a coherent thought. He wants to say something - anything that can wipe that annoyed expression off your face, but he's at loss for words; a rare occurrence for someone as articulate as him.

Finally, he clears his throat and speaks up, "I have an umbrella," He states matter-of-factly as if that should be obvious by now. A small beat of silence follows, though he presses on, "And I don't mind walking you home."

You stare at him for a moment, caught off guard by his response. The rain outside seems to fade away into background noise as you try to process what he just said.

"Are you serious?" You ask incredulously, your eyebrows shooting up in surprise, "You're willing to walk me home? In this weather?"

"Yes, I am," The blonde-haired man answers without hesitation. His grip on your wrist loosens, but he doesn't let go completely, "I said it before, didn't I? There are always choices. This is mine."

You blink at him, your irritation momentarily forgotten. His earnest declaration leaves you briefly speechless, "Fine," You finally grumble, averting your gaze from his, "If you insist..."

"Good," He states, releasing his grip on your wrist. His gaze lingers on you for a second longer, then he strides over to retrieve his umbrella from the stand near the door, "Shall we?" He prompts, offering you a small, rare smile. 

When you nod in response, you and him walk together toward the exit.

Once outside, he opens his umbrella with a swift movement and holds it high above both of you, protecting you from the steady downpour. The raindrops patter against the fabric, creating a soothing rhythm as you start your journey home through the rainy streets.

The silence between you two is thick and tangible, blanketing the air as you walk. Under normal circumstances, Kurapika doesn't mind quiet moments like these. In fact, he would usually welcome them. But with you...

He glances at you, taking in your side profile under the dim streetlights. The rain continues its steady rhythm on his umbrella, but it does little to ease the awkward tension.

As the silence drags on, his mind swirls with thoughts. Should he apologize again? He had already said sorry after the argument, but clearly, things still aren't right between the two of you.

Out of the corner of his eye, Kurapika spots a car driving past. Without missing a beat, he subtly switches positions with you to stand on the side closer to the street. The action is instinctive and protective, saving you from a potential splash of water as the vehicle speeds by. It's a small gesture but one that speaks volumes about how much he cares for you.

"Thanks," You mutter quietly, your gaze remaining fixed on the sidewalk ahead.

"No need to thank me," Kurapika replies easily.

With another extended stretch of quiet, the tension becomes unbearable for Kurapika. He sighs heavily, releasing a breath he didn't even know he was holding.

"(Y/N)," His voice carries a tone of sincerity and regret that's hard to ignore, "I'm sorry... Again."

You remain silent for a beat before finally letting out a sigh of defeat, "I... I'm sorry too," You admit begrudgingly. 

Kurapika can't help but feel a sense of relief wash over him, "I'm glad to hear that."

"Guess we're both too stubborn for our own good," You quip with a faint smirk.

A small, wry smile tugs at the corners of Kurapika's lips, "I suppose we are."

For a moment, both of you simply stand there under the umbrella, caught in your shared understanding.

As you and Kurapika continue your journey, the atmosphere lightens considerably. The rain lessens to a soft drizzle, and the gentle sound of it hitting the umbrella is calming, almost soothing.

Your conversation flows easily now, filled with casual banter and shared laughter. By the time you approach your apartment building, you and him are smiling despite the dreary weather.

As you reach the entrance, Kurapika lifts the umbrella away from him, shaking off the residual raindrops and closing it with hastily. Tucking the now-closed umbrella under his arm, you both enter through the revolving doors into the lobby, effectively saving yourselves from the bad weather outside.

"Thanks for walking me home," You say sincerely, "I appreciate it."

A light blush creeps up his cheeks, but Kurapika manages to maintain his composed demeanor, "It was the least I could do."

Just as you're about to bid him goodnight and head upstairs, you notice something. His whole shoulder on the side facing the rain is drenched. It takes you a moment to realize that he must've held the umbrella more over you, not caring if he himself got wet.

The realization stops you in your tracks and you're at a loss for words.

"You..." You start, shaking your head slightly, "You're such a hypocrite," You complain but there's no heat to your words. If anything, they're filled with fondness.

A soft chuckle escapes him as he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, "Perhaps," He admits with a slight shrug, "But it was worth keeping you dry."

You roll your eyes, a small smile dancing on your lips, "You're hopeless," You reply, shaking your head in amusement. But then you hesitate, finally sighing and gesturing to the elevators, " Come on. You can dry off upstairs."

A look of surprise crosses Kurapika's face at your invitation, however it quickly shifts into a grateful smile, "Thank you," He says genuinely as he follows your lead.

You and him make your way upstairs in comfortable silence. Upon entering your apartment, you quickly disappear into the bathroom and return with a towel. Before Kurapika has a chance to react or protest, you're already patting down his soaked shoulder. Your actions are firm yet tender, an unspoken gesture of care that leaves him momentarily speechless.

He watches you in a stunned silence, his heart beating slightly faster at the unexpected contact. Kurapika swallows hard, feeling warmth spread through him at your actions.

"Thanks," He repeats once again, this time more softly.

"Just take care of yourself, okay?" You respond, shooting him a stern look. Withdrawing the towel, you fold it neatly and place it on the back of the couch. As you move past him toward the kitchen, you wonder, "Do you want something warm to drink?"

"Some tea would be nice."

The evening winds down with the both of you settled comfortably on your couch, a movie playing softly in the background. You're seated close enough for your shoulders to brush occasionally, an intimacy neither of you seem to mind. 

As the movie plays on, you gradually lean closer him until your head rests comfortably on his shoulder. Kurapika sips his tea quietly as he watches the screen, all while being acutely aware of you nestled against him. It's not how he expected tonight to end in the slightest. Not that he has any reason to complain.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for playing music in my shared apartment?

🎵🎧 so I can find it

I live in a shared apartment with two other girls (L and S). It is a student apartment because we are all university students, but it's not provided by the school. Just an apartment complex that markets to students.

I've been with my boyfriend for almost a year, and he comes over on weekends sometimes and we hang out or go to dinner, do homework, and yes, have sex. I have tried to be the ideal roommate. I never use my speakers to play music, only headphones. I have shushed my boyfriend when he laughs super loud during TV shows. Meanwhile, both of my roommates have a habit of playing loud music, burning candles and incense, having half a dozen people over and doing karaoke super loud and late at night with the only warning "having some friends over later."

Last weekend, my roommate L allowed her friend over to work on their small business stuff in the common area (L was not at the apartment, she let the friend in and then went to work). The friend had the TV playing in the living room, and my boyfriend and I keep pretty quiet when we're having sex. I guess we were louder than we thought, because I got a text later from L basically reading me the riot act for making her friend uncomfortable and being inconsiderate. The friend seems nice, I didn't intend to make him uncomfortable. L also said that there have been several times that she or S have heard my boyfriend and I, and that it's "fucking nasty" and I need to be more considerate of the fact that we share a living space. I thought this was pretty hypocritical given that I am almost always super quiet because the walls are thin, and neither of them bothers to keep the noise down.

But I'm not trying to start a fight, so I told her I didn't realize we could be heard and I would make an effort to prevent it in the future.

So. Last night was Valentine's. (Wrote this when the ask box was closed lol) My boyfriend and I went out to dinner, spent some time playing a board game in my room, and then I turned on some music on my speakers, turned it up loud enough that it would have masked normal conversation volume, and we had sex. The music was loud enough that, unless we spoke directly into one another's ears or raised our voices, my boyfriend and I couldn't hear each other.

I got a furious text this morning because I only played music when it was obvious that we were banging, so that made it gross to L, like I was broadcasting what I was doing to the rest of the apartment. I told her that she should do what I did and buy some headphones, and otherwise she could decide whether she preferred to hear my music or to hear me getting laid.

She said I'm disgusting and to grow up.

On the one hand, it WAS obvious that I was playing the music to mask the sounds. I don't like music during sex, but I was trying to be considerate (even if I was pissed). I don't think that I should have to stop having sex in my own home that I pay for, especially when I am already making efforts to keep it pretty quiet. L seems to think that I shouldn't do it at all while someone is home, but S is almost ALWAYS home, and tbh, I don't think it's unreasonable to want to have some intimacy with my boyfriend in my own home, especially on Valentine's Day. But I'll admit, part of me felt pretty spiteful & vindicated when I started the music, so AITA?

What are these acronyms?

[mamaestapa]

Let Me Make It up to You

•pairing: Joe Burrow x reader

•series summary: Y/n Hubbard, the younger sister of Cincinnati Bengals Defensive End Sam Hubbard, finds herself in a difficult situation after a steamy hookup with her brothers best friend, who just so happens to be the quarterback for the Bengals. In just nine months their lives will be changed forever. How will Y/n and Joe manage to to go through parenthood together? more so, how will Sam take the news he is going to be the uncle of his best friends baby?

•chapter summary: It’s the day of your OB appointment and you decide whether or not to hear our and forgive Joe for the past couple of days

•word count: 5.8k

•warnings: pregnancy, some angst, crying, fluff, SMUT—foreplay, unprotected p in v sex, make up sex, breeding kink if you squint?? could be really hot could also be cringe, IDK lol

series masterlist

——————————————————

April 13, 2023

5 months pregnant

"Good morning, Y/n." Tee greeted with a pearly white grin as you walked into the kitchen. You returned the smile, wishing him a good morning as well. As you walked into the kitchen, the delicious smell of bacon frying on a skillet and golden brown pancakes cooking on the griddle filled your nostrils. You sighed contently as you sat down on a barstool.

"It smells wonderful Tee." You said, eyeing the bacon that was stacked onto a plate. Tee smiled, "Thanks. It's all for you," he opened a cupboard and pulled out a plate, handing it you, "figured you and Baby Burrow-" he paused, correcting himself, "Baby Hubbard Hubbard-Burrow, whatever you call him. Could use a nice breakfast before your appointment." He finished, that sincere smile still on his face. You smiled sweetly at him, "That's really nice of you, but you didn't have to do that."

"Yeah I did," Tee nodded, picking up a piece of bacon and popping it into his mouth as he put two perfectly prepared pancakes onto your empty plate. "You've been through a lot these last couple days, it's the least I could do."

Tee has been such great company these past few days. He's always there for you, whether it's for a shoulder to cry on or to indulge in your cravings with you. Tee is truly a great friend, and you are so thankful to have him with you during a time like this.

You put a generous amount of butter and syrup on your pancakes as you replied. "I should be the one doing this for you Tee," you said, gesturing to the plethora of breakfast foods sitting on the kitchen counter. "You're the one that's letting me stay with you for so long, taking care of me and making sure I'm OK."

Tee sat down across from you, smiling softly as he said, "Y/n, it's nothing. I know you'd do the same for me, plus," he gestured over to you, "I had to make sure my nephew was taken care of."

A small smile pulled at your lips. This baby was already so loved by so many. You were extremely thankful that your baby boy was surrounded by so many great people that were excited to be his honorary uncles.

"Well, thank you," you placed your hands on your swollen tummy, "He and I appreciate it very much." Tee smiled, "You're welcome. Now, finish your breakfast. You've got an important appointment in less than hour." You chuckled slightly at Tee's command, not hesitating at all to dig in to the delicious breakfast that he had prepared for you this morning.

After you finished up your breakfast with Tee, you brushed your teeth and came back downstairs, going into the entryway to put your shoes on. As you walked past the kitchen, Tee followed you to the entryway of his home, leaning against a wall and crossing his arms over his chest as he watched you slide your shoes on.

“You sure you don’t want me to go with you?”

You shook your head, smiling softly at him, “I’m sure. I told Joe he could go, so I won’t be alone.” Tee raised his eyebrows at your words. “You sure that’s a good idea, Y/n?”

Not really. You think to yourself.

“I don’t know. I wasn’t going to let him go, but he guilted me into saying yes.” Tee furrowed his brows this time at your words. “He guilted you?”

“Yeah.”

“How did he guilt you?”

You crossed your arms over your chest, “He said it was his baby too and he that he deserves to be there. Plus, he referred to the baby as Peanut,” a small frown etched its way onto your face, “Joe hasn’t called the baby Peanut in months and it made me feel guilty I guess.”

Tee just hummed at your words. He glanced at his phone and pointed at the door.

“You might want to get going.”

You smiled, “Yeah, I will.” You walked up to Tee and got up on your toes, placing a soft kiss to his cheek. It was purely platonic—something you’ve done many times to Tee and Ja’Marr when you say goodbye or before you say something sentimental. You pulled your head away from Tee, a smile on your face as you again thanked him sincerely.

“Thank you for everything you’ve done for me these past couple days, Tee. You’re a great friend, I appreciate it.”

Tee smiled and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a hug. He squeezed you gently as he said, “Of course. Anything for you and the little man.”

You pulled away from Tee, both of you wearing smiles as you looked at each other. You said goodbye and told him you’d be back later, unsure on a time since you didn’t know how long your appointment would be today. You left the house and got into your car, plugging in your phone and turning on your favorite artist as you drove to your OB appointment.

When you pulled into the parking lot of the doctors office, you immediately noticed Joe’s car parked in his usual spot in the parking lot. A small smile pulled at the corners of your mouth as you looked at the car parked in the spot. He called it his spot at your doctors office since he always parked there so you didn’t have to walk a long ways. You parked and took a deep breath as you unbuckled your seatbelt and got out of the car. You walked into the doctors office, smiling at the nurse that sat at the front desk.

“Hi Y/n,” she smiled, “You’re all checked in.”

You smiled and thanked her, slightly confused at how you were already checked in—until you saw Joe, who perked up in his chair at the sound of your name being said. He must've checked you win already. The two of you made eye contact, his blue eyes locking with yours made your breath hitch in the back of your throat. You hadn’t seen Joe in days. As much as you were upset with him, you couldn’t deny that it felt good to see him. You hated to admit it, but you did miss him a lot. Your baby boy did too. Both of you had a hard time sleeping at night without Joe being around. Your unborn son would only calm down at night if Joe talked to your belly. Something about the sound of his daddy’s voice calmed your baby, and it calmed you, too.

Joe smiled softly at you as you sat down in the chair next to him in the waiting room. You returned the smile as an awkward silence fell between the two of you. Neither one of you really knew what to say to the other. Joe soon broke the silence with a simple hello.

“Hi Y/n.” He said softly, “It’s good to see you.”

“Hi.” was all you said as you looked over at him. Joe rubbed his palms on his shorts as his eyes trailed down your body, stopping once they got to your tummy. You watched his chest rise as he took a deep breath. You could tell he wanted to reach out and greet the baby he hasn’t talked to or felt move in days, but he held himself back. Joe’s eyes moved back up to yours, the two of you sharing so many unspoken words just from one look. Joe was about to say something when a nurse came out from the back and called your name.

“Y/n Hubbard?” She called out, eyes looking around the waiting room. A wide grin grew on her face as her kind eyes landed on you. You stood up and returned the smile, following her out of the waiting room. You got to the doorway that lead into the hallway when your footsteps suddenly stopped. You felt a pang of guilt as you turned around and noticed Joe was still sitting in the chair, his shoulders slumping slightly as he watched you walk away from him. You took a breath as you prepared yourself for what you were going to say to him.

“You can come too.” You said softly. His blue eyes lit up as he sat up in his chair. “R-really?” he asked, sounding taken aback by your words. You nodded, a small smile pulling at your lips. “Yeah.” Joe couldn’t help the hopeful smile that appeared on his face as he stood from the chair. His eyes welled up with tears and his chin quivered slightly as he walked up to you. Joe was filled so many overwhelming emotions right now. He didn’t think you’d want him in the room with you, but he was so happy you allowed him to. You could tell he was trying to hold back tears—which he successfully did, but you knew him being in the room with you today was totally unexpected for him.

You and Joe followed the nurse back to the room. Joe couldn’t keep his eyes off of you as the nurse took your vitals. He was so happy you let him come to appointment today despite everything that’s happened, but he was even more happy that you let him be in the room with you.

“Doctor Montgomery will be in shortly.” The nurse said with a curt nod. You smiled and thanked her before she walked out of the room, Joe doing the same.

Once the door latched, you looked over at Joe. Being in the same room as him again and looking into his beautiful blues made you feel so guilty. Guilty for the way you reacted when he got home, and guilty for how you’ve been treating him the last couple of days. You never gave him a chance to explain himself or the photos. It took you a couple days of sulking to realize that you overreacted, and that you were in the wrong in this situation. You should have never accused him of the terrible things you had accused him of. You should have given him the chance to explain himself before you stormed out. You felt terrible, and you knew Joe deserved an apology from you. You just hoped he would accept it. You hurt him a lot more than you thought you did.

“Joe,” you said softly, “I’m sorry.”

Joe shook his head, wetting his lips before he spoke quietly, “Let’s not talk about it right now.” Your heart dropped with disappointment. However, you nodded in agreement at his words. You could talk about it another time. The doctors office isn’t the place and now is definitely not the time to have a serious conversation like the one you needed to have. The two of you sat in silence as you waited for Doctor Montgomery to enter the room. A couple minutes passed before you heard a knock on the door. Doctor Montgomery entered the room, smiling widely as she greeted both you and Joe. She sat down in the chair and put hand sanitizer on her hands, rubbing them together as she spoke.

“How have you been Y/n? Feeling good?”

“I’ve been great,” you smiled, putting a hand on your bump, “baby boy and I are happy and feeling good.”

“Great.” she said with a sweet smile as she reached over to grab her clip board. “Today should be an easy appointment. No ultrasound today, but we will be listening to his heartbeat.”

You and Joe smiled. Hearing your baby boys heartbeat was always wonderful. It was such a comforting feeling, hearing your sons heartbeat. It always left you content knowing that he was safe and healthy in your womb.

Doctor Montgomery had you pull your sundress up so that she could put gel on your belly and find your unborn baby’s heartbeat with the fetal doppler. She put the wand over your lower belly, spreading out the gel as she searched for the baby’s heartbeat. You held your breath as you waited for the sound of the baby’s heartbeat to fill the room. As your OB moved the wand around to the left side of your lower bump, a loud whooshing sound came from the doppler. Wide grins appeared on all of your faces at the sound.

“There he is. Hi baby.” Doctor Montgomery cooed with a smile as she held the fetal doppler against your skin. Joe reached out to grab your hand, which you instantly grabbed and entwined your fingers with his. A smile pulled at his lips from the sound of his sons strong heartbeat and from your actions. Joe was so glad you weren’t pushing him away. He was hopeful that this appointment today would make things between the two of you better, and go back to the what they were before.

Doctor Montgomery took the doppler off of your belly and gave you a towel to wipe the gel off. After you wiped the gel off of your tummy, your OB took measurements of your bump, checking to see if you and your baby boy were growing at the rate you were supposed to.

“Everything looks and sounds perfect, guys. Y/n, you’re measuring a little small, but it’s nothing I am concerned about at all. Baby boy might be a little smaller than the two of you were anticipating.”

Joes face grew concerned at your doctors words. “How small is he measuring?”

“I originally estimated that he’d be around eight pounds when Y/n gives birth. But now I think he’ll be closer to seven.”

You and Joe nodded at her words. It's not much of a difference, but pushing out a seven pound baby sounds much better than pushing out an eight pound baby…

“Like I said,” she assured, “I’m not concerned at all. This is good news for you, Y/n.” You chuckled, pulling your dress back down. “Yes it is. Pushing a seven pound baby out of my girl parts sounds much better.”

Doctor Montgomery and Joe both chuckled at your statement. Your statement was true though. The rest of the appointment finished fairly quickly since there was no ultrasound. Soon after Doctor Montgomery left the room, you and Joe left the doctors office together. Joe walked you to your car, thanking you for letting him come into the room with you today. You sat down in the seat and just looked at Joe. The two of you staring at each other, feeling the tension grow between you as neither of you exchanged a word. Joe sighed deeply as he put his hands in his pockets.

“So, you going back to Tee’s?” He asked, voice quiet. You wet your lips and nodded, “Yeah.” Joe just nodded, his lips forming into a straight line. It broke his heart just a bit to hear that you were still going back to Tee’s after the interactions at your appointment today. While it made him a little disappointed, he was willing to wait. He was willing to wait for you when you were ready to come back home.

“Well,” he said, voice soft as he spoke. His eyes were locked on your belly momentarily before they traveled up to your eyes, “I’ll be waiting for you at home when you’re ready.” With that, Joe walked away from your car and over to his. You watched as he got in the drivers seat and shut the car door. Many thoughts pondered through your mind as you watched Joe drive away from the doctors office.

Seeing Joe today made you feel all sorts of emotions, the biggest being guilt. It made you wonder if you did the right thing by leaving so suddenly, and not even giving him a chance to explain himself. You sat in your car and thought about what to do.

Do you really want to go back to Tee’s?

Do you think you can go back to Joe’s? Should you go back to Joes now?

As you thought about what to do about your living situation for now, it hit you. Even if you were still a little upset, you needed to do the right thing—the right thing for you and your baby boy.

~time skip~

“Hold on, I’m coming!”

The door swung open, making your breath hitch as you made eye contact.

“Hi Joe.” you breathed out. His eyes widened in shock. He was surprised to see you at his door step. His mouth hung open slightly before he spoke. “Y/n, hi.”

You shifted awkwardly, “Can we talk?” Joe paused for a second, still in shock to see you at his doorstep. “Y-yeah,” he said, stepping aside, “Of course.”

You walked into the house, your suitcase trailing behind you. Joe smiled to himself as he turned around and shut the door. You showing back up with your suitcase was a good thing, maybe even a great thing. Joe locked the front door and followed behind you, reaching out for suitcase.

“Here, let me take that.”

You stopped walking and let go of the suitcase, letting Joe take a hold of it and take it upstairs for you. You followed behind him, going off in the opposite direction once you were upstairs. Joe went to put your suitcase in your room while you went into Joe’s room instead. You walked around his room, smiling to yourself as you noticed the pictures Joe had placed on his night stand. There was a picture of you and Joe from gender reveal, the two of you were grinning happily as you looked at the blue confetti surrounding you. The second picture was your favorite, it was an ultrasound photo from the night of Emmas baby shower. You traced your finger over the black and white silhouette of the baby.

“I look at that picture every night.”

You jumped slightly at the sudden sound of Joe’s voice. You pulled your finger away from the photo and turned around, smiling slightly at Joe.

“You do?” you asked, voice soft. Joe nodded, quirking a smile, “Yeah. Always reminds me that he’s OK and healthy.”

You hummed softly and sat down on Joe’s bed, a slight frown on your face as you looked at him. It felt good to be back home and with Joe again. However, you couldn’t help but still feel terrible for how you treated him the last couple of days. Joe crossed his arms and walked up to where you sat on the bed. He let out a sigh as he uncrossed his arms and slowly lowered himself onto the bed next to you. Both of you looked at each other at the same time. It was obvious that the two of you had many thoughts and words that you needed to share.

"Joe," you said softly, your eyes welling with tears, "I am so sorry." Joe nodded, acknowledging your apology. He cleared his throat before speaking wholeheartedly "I'm sorry too."

You shook your head, "You have nothing to be sorry for. I was the one that was overreacting. I accused you of awful things, and I believed stupid rumors I found on Instagram fan pages. I was the one that hurt you, Joe. You have nothing to be sorry for." You said, voice trailing off to a whisper. Joe frowned softly as he reached out to grab your hand, "It's my fault you felt like that for days, Y/n."

"No it's not, I overreacted." You said, voice growing quiet. "I saw those pictures of you and Alexis, and all I could think was that you didn't love me because you could have someone like her instead."

Joe frowned, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion, "What do you mean?" 

"Look at me Joe. I'm huge and I'm too emotional. I don't look like the girl you loved months ago." You said gesturing to your body.

Joe's frown deepened. How could you say things like that about yourself? In Joe's eyes, you were the most beautiful woman in the world. You always have been, and always will be. No one compares to you.

"Sweets, you're not huge. You're pregnant, your body has to grow a bit and make room for our baby. And you're not too emotional." he softly assured you, "all of this you're feeling is normal, Y/n."

You watched as Joe hesitantly brought a hand to the center of your belly. So many emotions were shining through his beautiful blues as he looked into your eyes. Your eyes showing the same emotions as you placed a hand on top of his. A small smile pulled at the corners of Joe's mouth.

"You're beautiful, Y/n. Even more now that you're pregnant with my baby."

You smiled softly at his words, making Joe's smile grow a bit more. He slowly rubbed your bump as he continued to pour his heart out and hopefully fix the situation he put the two of you in days ago. "For as long as I've known you, you've given me everything I could have asked for. I don't want someone 'like Alexis', when I already have someone like you."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you listened to Joe's words. All of the sadness and resentment you felt about him was completely gone now as you looked into those beautiful blues you loved so much.

"Let me make it up to you," Joe whispered, his eyes full of love as he gazed at you. He reached out and placed a hand on your leg, tracing his long fingers up to your bare thigh where the hem of your short dress was. He gently squeezed your thigh as he looked into your eyes, "Let me prove to you how I really feel about you, Y/n."

The mood in the room changed dramatically as the two of you could feel the emotional tension release and the sexual tension grow between you both. Your heart swelled as that familiar warmth pooled in your belly. You hadn't felt like this in months. The last time you felt this way with Joe was the night your baby boy was conceived... Speaking of your baby boy, as much as your body desperately wanted to be touched by Joe, you couldn't help but worry about what it may do to your unborn baby. Would it hurt him? Would it hurt you? Will it make you go into pre-term labor? What about bleeding? You cant go through that again.

"What about the baby?" you asked softly, voice growing worried, "I don't want to hurt him." Joe shook his head as he moved his hand off of your thigh and back to your bump. "He'll be fine mamas. I'll be gentle, promise." A sly smile pulled at his lips as he said those words. You just nodded softly, your nod giving Joe permission to show you how he really felt about you.

As you have a nod, Joe leaned forward, hovering his lips just over yours before he slowly brought his head down and crashed his plump lips to yours. The two of you immediately moving your mouths in sync as if it was second nature to both you and him. You haven't shared a moment like this in months. Your bodies were aching, dripping with desperation for the others touch. Joe pulled away from you and brushed the pad of his thumb across your cheek, gently wiping away the tear that rolled down your cheek.

"I love you Y/n." he whispered wholeheartedly. Your heart swelled with an overwhelming feeling of love as Joe gently pushed you against the mattress of his bed. He hovered over you once again as he brought a hand down to your shoulder. He rubbed his hand down the soft skin of your arm before bringing it back up to where the sleeve of your dress was. Joe pulled the sleeve down your arm just enough to expose your bare shoulder. He eyed you as he brought his lips down to your shoulder, sucking at the exposed skin. Your breath hitched as Joe moved from your shoulder to your chest and your neck, making sure to leave love bites as he moved to each location. Joe's hands toyed with the neckline of your dress as he pulled away from you. His lustrous eyes showed an intense gaze as he looked down at you. His body language begging for you to let him take the little sundress off of your body.

"Take it off, please." You breathed out, your quiet voice desperate as you spoke. Joe eyed you as he gently pulled the blue sundress down your body. His blue eyes trailed down your body as he took in your changing features since the last time he's seen you in such an intimate setting.

Your previous flat tummy was now round with a twenty week baby bump, a bump that he put there. A bump that he loved so much. Your breasts had swelled a couple sizes bigger since the last time he's seen them, too. They fit your body perfectly, even more than they did before. Joe felt a sense of pride as he took in your new features. Your body, the body of the woman he loved, was preparing for the baby boy—his baby boy growing in your belly. It was a sight that made Joe's excitement grow more and more.

"You are so beautiful," Joe purred as he hesitantly took his eyes off of your growing belly. You blushed deeply as Joe smirked and pushed your body down onto the bed, careful not to be too harsh with his movements. He didn't want to hurt you or his baby. He's done that enough the past few days.

Your breath hitched as Joe placed his hands on both sides of your baby bump as he started to generously suck and kiss at the buds on your swollen breasts. You whimpered involuntarily at the feeling of his tongue moving against the sensitive area. Joe pulled his mouth away from your breast with a pop. His face growing with concern as he brought all of his attention onto you, making sure you were OK. "Did I hurt you?"

You hastily shook your head no. "Feels good," you said, "Really good."

Joe smirked slightly and went back to loving on your breasts. He made sure to swirl his tongue over your darkening nipples before he took each one in his mouth, sucking on the bud generously before releasing his mouth with a gentle pop. After loving on your breasts, Joe left a trail of kisses from the center of your chest and down your swollen tummy. As he left a gentle kiss just above your belly button, the baby kicked at the contact of the Joe's lips. A wide grin pulled at his lips as he chuckled softly.

"Hey little man," Joe whispered into your skin before leaving another gentle kiss to the same spot he did before, “I’ve missed you so much.” You couldn't help but smile as you watched Joe communicate with his son while he showed you how much you meant to him. All of the anger and sadness you felt toward Joe was completely gone, and taken over by nothing but love and pure happiness.

Joe brought his head up to yours, gently smashing his lips onto yours. The two of you kissed passionately as your hands found their way up to Joe's slightly grown out, dark blonde waves. You tugged gently at his hair as your mouths moved in sync. Joe groaned against your lips at the feeling of your soft hands pulling his hair. You brought a hand away from Joe's hair, letting it slowly trail down his broad, muscular back before you hooked your finger under the hem of Joe's Bengals t-shirt. You tugged at the material of the shirt as Joe pulled away from you, gently tugging your bottom lip with his teeth as he detached his lips from yours. He smirked down at your figure laying underneath him as he took his shirt off in one swift motion, doing the same with his shorts. Both you and Joe were left in nothing but your undergarments, which those too, were removed shortly after Joe took his articles of clothing off.

Joe gazed down at your bare body, making sure to keep his gaze longer on all of his favorite parts of your body.

Your eyes...your lips...your breasts...your baby bump... your legs.

Joes intense gaze made you shy away, your hands immediately covering your swollen breasts while you clenched your legs together to hide your most intimate area. Joe gently pulled your arms away from your breasts, shaking his head at you.

"Don't shy away from me Y/n," he leaned down to kiss your breasts before he kissed your lips, "you're beautiful." You smiled and brought your hands up to his back, your nails slowly digging into his tan skin as he moved his head down to your dripping core. He maintained eye contact with you as he licked a stripe up your folds, teasing you, making you moan in pleasure and beg for more.

"Mph, Joe..." you whimpered out, "please.”

Joe chuckled as he moved his face away from your bottom half. He moved back up so he was face to face with you. He looked at you with a look of love as he spoke softly.

"If you want me to stop, just tell me OK?" You just nodded. Enough of the talking, you needed him badly.

Joe placed a kiss on your nose, making you smile sweetly up at him. His hand brushed over your belly as he positioned himself against you, lining up his erection with your entrance. He maintained eye contact with you as he pushed himself into your wet folds, the sounds of your small whimpers and moans filling the bedroom from the intimate skin on skin contact. Neither you nor Joe have been touched like this in months.

As Joe thrusted into your hips, your nails scratched down his bare back, leaving just the slightest hint of red scratch marks on his light skin. Your breathing quickens as his thrusts grew deeper. You were a whimpering mess underneath Joe. He couldn't help the smile that tugged at his lips as his ears filled with the sounds of pleasure you were making. Joe loved the sounds you made...

Joe's thrusts continued as both of you had beads of sweat dripping down your face and your body. The sounds and smell of sex was quickly filling the room. As Joe made love to you, he kept his blue eyes glued on yours, constantly praising you. He praised you for how well you were taking him.

"You're taking me so well, sweets." You moaned as your hands tugged at his unruly waves with each thrust Joe took. "That's it..." He grunted out.

Joe reminded you how much he loved you, and how much he loved your body—especially your bump. Joe was making you feel like the only girl in the world.

Joes thrusts grew deeper to the point where he was hitting your cervix, each thrust making you whisper in pleasure and beg for more. You could feel a familiar warmth pool in your belly as your chest rose and fell with each shaky breath you took.

"Joe," you moaned out, "I'm so close." Joe nodded, letting out a light moan as he spoke, "That's it," he thrusted again, placing a hand on your tummy, "cum for me, mamas."

Joe maintained eye contact as he slowly reached out to grab your hand with his, the two of you lacing your fingers together as you rode out your high and came down on his manhood. You squeezed each others hands as your face contorted into a look of pleasure as you came. Your moans soft as you were in a complete state of bliss from being fucked by Joe. Soon after you came, Joe did too as your bodies moved in sync. The two of you together in this intimacy just came naturally. You knew Joe's body and he knew yours just as well. The two of you sharing moments like this was like it was meant to be.

Joe buried his face into your neck and grunted as he came inside of you. His cum mixing with your own, dripping out of your folds and onto the bedsheets beneath you. The two of you stayed entwined together, your hands interlocked and foreheads touching as you both caught your breath and recovered from your intense orgasms.

“I love you Joe.” You said as your chest was still heaving with each breath you took. “I love you too.” He said, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips. Joe pulled himself away from you, getting out of bed and sloping his underwear on. He walked into his bathroom and grabbed a washcloth, bringing it out and cleaning you up between your legs—which you were extremely grateful for. After cleaning you off, he leaned down to gently kiss your belly, your baby boy kicking in return. The action made both of you and Joe chuckle happily. Joe tossed you your panties and crawled back into bed next to you. He wrapped his muscular arms around your body, placing his hands on your swollen tummy. Oh how he missed this…

“I’m glad you’re back home, Y/n. I missed you and baby boy so much.”

You smiled, “I know. We missed you too.” You turned around in Joe’s embrace, taking in all of his features. His blue eyes, his button nose, his pink lips. You loved all of Joe’s features just as much as he loved yours.

“Can I stay here with you tonight?” You asked, voice hopeful as you asked your question, “I missed you Joe.”

Joe kissed your forehead making your heart swell, “Of course, you don’t have to ask.” He spoke softly.

You smiled and turned back around, snuggling yourself further into Joe’s warm and comforting body. The two of you hummed contently, happy to be in each others arms after being away from each other for so long.

You still had to discuss things with Joe, but you knew that could wait for the morning after. For now, you were going to enjoy the moment of being back in your home with your favorite person laying next to you while the two of you—from the outside of course, embraced the baby growing in your belly.

hey loves!!

so y/n and joe have made up (in multiple ways😉) and the angst fest is over!! yay!

well, its over for now…

we’ve still got over a little less than 30 chapters left, and they can’t all be fluff can they? we’ve got a lot to get through babes. i hope you’re all up for everything i’ve got in store for ya!😉

i apologize if the smut was cringe, i’m not the best smut writer in the world lol. but we needed some more in the story and i thought this would be the PERFECT chapter for it because who doesn’t love some lil makeup sex in a story?!

anyways, i hope you all enjoyed this chapter!! i’ll have more coming soon. thank you for your continued love and support with me and this series!! i love and appreciate every single one of you☺️🤍 also, thank you for being patient with me with this update today. i had things come up throughout the day where it made it difficult for me to write, so that’s why this update is super late today. i promise the next one will be earlier!

tags: @dandelionwrites8 @joeburreauxsworld @theflawedwriter @mrsshiesty @ann288 @ijustcrypretty @theoneandonlyfanz @wickedfun9 @venus-b @hummusxx @stainednailpolishremover @a-moment-captured @alternativemadchen @erinmartin1987 @sirlewisworld @kkrenae @unhingedfangirl @sublimemusic-rebel @meameagirl @ilovejoeburroww @hallecarey1 @j-worlds-blog @blinkloverx3 @jordyn14 @kristencochefski1125 @ryiamarie @unsaidjaelinrose @sinners-98-world @ozwriterchick @evernova @fangirl-madz @jackharloww @fantasywritersstuff @emherb10

[flwerfield]

The Unseen Link

Young justice team x GN! (Meta/Psychic) Reader

AN: This is my first time writing so forgive me if its awful or something LOL. This is just something I kinda thought of on a whim. PLS give me feedback if i should update it or any ways to improve writing ^^ I'm open to feedback and I'd love to start writing more so if you have any ideas pls pls type them

Word count: 1.9k

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My earliest memories aren’t of toys or lullabies — they’re of faces. Ones I have never seen before, but somehow knew. Strangers whose lives played like films behind my eyes. Every time someone entered a room, I knew more than I should’ve: where they’d been, what they’d lost, who they once were.

Your family noticed early. But they weren’t afraid — they were fascinated.

The [L/N] family was old money. Older than the Waynes and Kanes . Where Bruce’s legacy built towers and headlines, your family's legacy was quieter — museum wings, forgotten libraries, old world artifacts, and anonymous charities. You weren’t raised for fame. You were raised for inheritance — of knowledge, of responsibility, and of control.

House [L/N], nestled in the East Gotham Highlands, it is a sprawling Gothic mansion with towering stone spires and hidden passageways, steeped in mystery. Its vast libraries are filled with ancient texts on memory, psychology, and forgotten sciences, while its walls seem to hum with echoes of its long, secretive history. The estate, with its maze of rooms and strange architecture, feels like a living, breathing relic — a monument to a family that thrives in the shadows.

Despite the formality of the estate, your parents loved you. Distant in manner, perhaps, but never cruel. They saw your gift not as a burden but as something to be shaped. Tutors came and went. Psychologists. Researchers. But your favorite people were always the staff.

You still remember Miriam, the old housekeeper who hummed lullabies as she dusted the shelves in the west wing.

She’d been with the family for decades, though you noticed how hollow her smiles had become. One day, she dusted right past you without a word — her aura muted like gray glass.

You reached out. Just touched her hand. 

And for a moment, you felt it — the weight of her grief, the memories she buried of her husband, gone 15 years ago to a war no one remembered anymore. The echo of her husband’s arms around her shoulders — a memory long buried in grayscale. Her joy was packed away with old photos and unloved heirlooms.

You didn’t mean to interfere. But something inside you reacted. Your power reached out and pulled at that thread. Not changing it. Just restoring it. Giving her something to feel again. 

You wove a new memory into her mind: a warm summer day, sitting beside him in a park that may or may not have ever existed. A memory soaked in sunlight and laughter. One that made her hum again — not mechanically, but with life.

She blinked. Looked down at you. And for the first time in years, Miriam smiled like the sun.

That night she sang while cooking, made extra desserts, and told stories of when your father was small — things she’d never shared before.

You didn’t tell anyone what you did. You just felt... right.The warmth of Miriam’s smile lingered long after she left the room, a quiet reminder of the power you held — a power that both soothed and unsettled you.

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 But as the years passed, the weight of your abilities began to feel heavier, the boundaries between others' memories and your own growing ever thinner. It wasn’t long before the visions started to change, darker and more urgent, like a warning you couldn’t outrun.

Then, on that fateful day at Gotham Academy, the first spark of something real ignited — a flicker in your mind, followed by the unmistakable scent of smoke. You felt it before it happened, the growing pressure in the air, the crackling heat behind the walls. It was as if the fire had already claimed the building, and you were only just seeing its shadow.

By the time the alarms blared, you had already begun to move, driven by a feeling that you had to save them — and maybe, just maybe, stop the inevitable from unfolding.

You'd been sensing it all week — a tension in the air. A flickering in your mind. Your dreams kept resetting, looping the same hallway, the same smell of smoke. The same heat.

On the day it happened, you already knew where it would start — behind the science lab’s wall panel. A hidden fault. A delayed trigger.

But no one listens to the kid who hums secrets the world hasn’t told yet. .

So when the fire came, you were already moving. Calm. Focused. You helped your classmates out one by one, ignoring the confusion in their eyes.

You almost made it out too.

But then you heard her.

Leila, the quiet girl from literature class. She was still inside — trapped in the library wing, her leg pinned under a collapsed shelf.

You didn’t hesitate.

The fire was spreading fast, smoke thick as ink, alarms screaming into chaos. You found her. Lifted the shelf. Pulled her out.

“Go!” you told her. “Just run. Don’t look back.”

She listened. You smiled as she vanished through the broken doors, backlit by the firelight.Then the smoke swallowed you. And from within it — hands. Gloved. Silent. Surgical.Your vision blurred. The world tilted. And just like that...You were gone.

🙤 · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ꕥ · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · 🙦      🙤 · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ꕥ · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · 🙦

Time since abduction: 2 years

You were thirteen when they took you. Now you are fifteen.

The van was waiting behind the school, just beyond the emergency responders. The fire at Gotham Academy had thrown everything into chaos — smoke, panic, and a perfect distraction. You’d saved a classmate, pulled her from the flames. You were supposed to walk out after her. But instead, you disappeared into smoke and shadow.

They called it "Facility 13." A LexCorp research site long since buried in corporate paperwork. No official oversight. No contact with the outside world. Only locked doors, security drones, and walls that felt like they breathed when you weren’t looking.

Your room wasn’t a cell — not technically. It was clean, furnished, even pretty. But everything was padded in soft grays, and the cameras never stayed off you. 

They ran tests daily. Neural probes. Dream induction. Memory transference. You were hooked up to machines that mapped your thoughts like constellations. They made you relive moments from your childhood, over and over, until they bent into new shapes — simulations of grief, of rage, of joy — watching how far you could stretch reality before it snapped.

You don’t know how many versions of yourself lived and died in those rooms. But they always left a trace — like echoes in a hallway, just out of reach.

Some nights, you could still feel the fire. Hear the screams. See your parents' faces — distorted by memory, faded like old film.

And every time you tried to hold onto a name — your name — it slipped through your fingers like ash.

Then, one day, the dreams changed.

You started seeing them.

They came to you in fragments — a boy forged from steel and silence, a girl with a mind made of stars. A shadow in a mask that moved like a riddle. A spark wrapped in golden speed who outran the world. A prince of pressure and tide, his silence heavier than waves. And a hunter whose arrows never missed, eyes sharp enough to cut through lies.

🙤 · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ꕥ · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · 🙦   🙤 · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ꕥ · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · 🙦

With-Young Justice Team 

The anomalies had been growing.

Dreams shared across entire apartment blocks. Children reciting events they hadn’t lived. Pets reacting to people who never entered the room.

“This is more than a psychic flare,” Miss Martian said. “It’s like... someone woke up too fast and left the dream open.”

“Robin, do you have coordinates?” asked Aqualad.

“Yes, a LexCorp facility outside Metropolis. Supposedly shut down five years ago. But I traced a dead satellite relinking to its firewall last year. And some consistent access to the network.”

“So we’re busting ghosts?” said Kid Flash, cracking his knuckles.

Artemis’s eyes narrow, the sharpness in her gaze never wavering. “Or saving someone who never had the chance to fight back.” Artemis muttered.

With the Bioship cloaked. The team dropped fast and quiet.

They moved like a ripple through shadow — disabling guards, slipping past cameras, overriding security doors.

What they didn’t know was that you already knew they were coming.

You had seen them in a dream the night before.

As the team breached the final security checkpoint, the air seemed to thicken, alive with the hum of technology and the heavy sense of something else lingering. Superboy’s muscles tensed, his instincts on edge, feeling like they were being drawn into something much bigger than a standard rescue mission.

Robin scanned the cold, clinical hallway. “This place feels off. It’s like they’ve been hiding something… or someone.”

Robin taps a few keys on the monitor, his eyes narrowing as he processes the information.

“Project Echo... that’s what they’ve been calling you. Located in Cryo-Room 6”

Aqualad nods firmly, his expression steady.

“Alright, team. Let’s head to Cryo-Room 6.”

They reached the door to Cryo-Room 6. The door slid open with a hiss, revealing a stark, sterile chamber, illuminated by faint blue light from flickering screens and suspended, glass-like pods. Inside, you rested in one of them — surrounded by quiet machinery, the soft hum of life-support systems maintaining your slumber.

You were encased in a translucent cylinder, suspended like a relic of the future, while the world around you remained frozen in time. The team stood still for a beat, the weight of the scene settling in.

Aqualad was the first to move, stepping forward cautiously. “This… is where they’ve been keeping them.”

The pod’s console was simple but heavily locked down. Kid Flash practically buzzed with impatience, his fingers itching to get to work. “I’ll get it.”

As Kid Flash manipulated the console, the team exchanged looks, uncertainty and concern filling the space between them. Finally, with a soft hiss, the pod’s glass casing slid open, revealing [Y/N] inside, still and serene, a strange aura of power coiled around their form like a secret waiting to be unlocked.

The moment the pod opened, the atmosphere shifted. The room seemed to breathe with the stirrings of something awakening, the energy thick in the air. Miss Martian’s eyes widened, her hand hovering just above the stranger's face, feeling an invisible bond snap into place.

Robin stepped forward, analyzing the readouts on the nearby screen. “This is unlike anything we’ve seen before.”

Without warning, Aqualad knelt beside the pod. “They’ve been keeping them in stasis… waiting for something.”

“Hello?” Miss Martian steps forward carefully, hands raised. “We’re not here to hurt you. My name is—”

“M’gann,” you interrupt gently, your voice echoing like a soft ripple. “Or Miss Martian, if you prefer. But I remember you better when you smile.”

She stops, stunned.

Kid Flash blinks. “Okay… that’s unsettling.”

You rise slowly. The restraints have already disengaged. Your eyes are ancient. Gentle.

“You all wore different faces last time,” you say. “But your hearts still feel the same.”

Superboy narrows his eyes. “What are you?”

You look at him, a strange fondness in your expression.

Your eyes flicker — not glowing, but remembering.

And then you smile.

“I’m what happens when the world tries to burn you away.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

AN: pls lmk how i did and if i should continue it or if u wanna see like maybe the reader becoming apart of the team/meeting the justice league. Or maybe a relationship with another member on the team