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ijustwannabecool · 2 months ago

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Somewhere Only We Know - Part 1

Lando Norris x Reader

Based upon this request:

Hi!!! First of all, I love love loooove your stories. I don't know if you're open to writing for Lando. Just wanted to maybe suggest this: we all know he's spiraling at the moment, maybe someone who he meets and steadies him? I know he has that typical athlete fboy image. But maybe someone who he changes for and really helps him mentally as well. Seeing that change from an outside perspective from people in F1 or fans would be pretty cool. Just a thought that popped up! Thanks! Will be anxiously waiting for your next uploads!

Summary... He wasn’t looking for anything when he found you — just a diner, a coffee, a moment to breathe — but somehow you became everything. This is the story of how he fell, how you stayed, and how together you built something louder than the noise trying to tear you apart.

A/N: I hope this story does justice to your request! I wrote it like a book, so it has chapters within the story. Also, the story was so long that I had to split it into two parts because Tumblr would not allow me to post it. I had such a blast writing it, and I hope you all have just as much fun reading it. As always, thank you so much for being here, for supporting these little worlds we create, and for sharing your love with the characters too.

Happy reading, and have a beautiful day today!! 🖤✨

If you enjoyed the story and feel like supporting my writing, you can donate a strawberry matcha through my Ko-fi! 🍓🍵 (No pressure at all — your kindness is already everything.)

Like, comment, reblog, enjoy (:

Chapter 1: Quiet Places

The hotel room was suffocating. Walls too close, lights too harsh, the buzzing in his head louder than anything outside.

Lando sat on the edge of the bed, hoodie half-pulled over his head, staring at the carpet like it might offer answers. His phone buzzed once. Then again. Group chats. Team messages. Notifications about another headline he didn’t want to read.

Partying again. Lando Norris spotted leaving club at 3 AM. Is McLaren’s golden boy losing focus?

He scrubbed a hand over his face, jaw tight. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t entirely true. It didn’t matter how lonely the nights felt after race weekends that didn’t go the way they were supposed to. It didn’t matter that sometimes the noise in his head got so loud, he just needed somewhere — anywhere — to drown it out.

Tonight, even the noise couldn’t fix it.

His chest felt tight. His breathing shallow. I need air.

Without thinking, Lando grabbed his room key, shoved it into the front pocket of his jeans, pulled his hoodie tighter around him, and slipped out into the night.

—

The city hummed in a way hotels never could. A low, steady thrum of life: streetlights blinking through misty air, taxis splashing through puddles, people moving in and out of places he didn’t know. It was cold — not winter cold, but enough to bite at his fingers.

He walked without a destination. Past neon-lit bars, past groups laughing too loud, past windows that showed lives he didn’t belong to. His sneakers splashed through a puddle, and he didn’t even care.

Just keep walking. Maybe if he kept walking, the buzzing in his brain would go quiet.

It didn’t.

Not until he saw it.

A diner. Tiny. Wedged between two dark shops, almost hidden except for a flickering OPEN sign that fought to stay alive against the night.

Above the door, in faded, curling blue paint, a small sign read: The Bluebird Diner.

There was even a little bluebird painted near the handle — tiny and easy to miss, but somehow it caught his eye.

Inside, the air smelled like coffee and pancakes. Warm. Safe. Real.

He tugged his hoodie lower over his forehead and pushed the door open, the bell above it giving a sad little jingle.

He slid into the booth furthest from the windows, shoulders hunched, head low. Just a guy looking to be left alone. He pulled out his phone out of habit, but the screen glare felt too bright. He turned it face-down on the table.

That’s when he noticed her.

Sitting alone at the counter, a few stools down, a girl — about his age maybe — stirring her coffee absentmindedly with a spoon. A book sat open in front of her, its pages stained and loved. She didn’t look up when the door jingled. Didn’t stare. Didn’t gasp. Didn’t even seem to care.

For once, someone wasn’t looking at him like him.

It was... strange. And weirdly grounding.

He stared at the laminated menu without reading a word, mind drifting somewhere fuzzier, quieter.

Until—

"You look like you lost a fight with a thunderstorm."

The voice came from the counter. Light. Almost teasing.

Lando blinked, looking up slowly. The girl — the stranger — was smiling at him, just a little. Not mocking. Just... seeing.

He coughed awkwardly, dragging a hand over his jaw. "Something like that," he muttered.

She nodded like she understood. Like she wasn’t going to ask for details.

"You want coffee?" she offered, tilting her mug slightly like a peace treaty. "It's terrible, but it’s hot."

A laugh — real, cracked around the edges — escaped him before he could stop it. The first laugh in what felt like forever.

He shook his head, smiling under his hoodie. "Sure. Why not."

The girl slid off her stool with a soft scrape of leather boots against tile. She crossed the diner in slow, unhurried steps, refilling her coffee mug behind the counter before grabbing a second chipped white cup for him.

No one else was there. No waitress in sight. Just the jukebox playing something old and sad, the rain starting to splatter softly against the windows, and her — a small anchor in a world that felt like it was spinning too fast.

She set the cup down in front of him without ceremony.

"No judgment," she said lightly, curling into the opposite booth seat without being invited. "Just company."

Lando blinked at her again, unsure whether to laugh, thank her, or pull his hoodie lower. Instead, he mumbled, "You always hand out coffee to sad strangers?"

She grinned into her mug. "Only the ones who look like they need it more than me."

A silence stretched between them — but not uncomfortable. A soft kind of silence. The kind that lets you breathe without pretending.

"I’m L—" He caught himself. Old habit.

She arched a brow, playful. "Let me guess. Lucas? Logan? Liam?"

He huffed a laugh, ducking his head. "Something like that."

She didn’t push. Didn’t pry. Just sipped her coffee like it didn’t matter.

"You don’t have to tell me," she shrugged. "You can be whoever you want here. Pretty sure that's the whole point of a place like this."

He stared at her for a beat longer than he meant to. Whoever you want to be. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone gave him that option.

The neon sign buzzed faintly behind her, casting a golden halo around her hair. She looked real. Solid. Untouched by the headlines and chaos he lived in.

"You from around here?" he asked finally, voice scratchy.

She shook her head, setting her cup down. "Passing through. Like you, I guess."

He wondered if she was running from something too.

Outside, a car whooshed by, sending spray across the pavement. The rain came harder now, drumming against the windows like a heartbeat.

The girl glanced at him again — really looked this time — and her smile softened into something quieter. More knowing.

"You don't have to tell me what's wrong," she said. "But if you want to — I’m a good listener. World's worst advice giver, though."

He barked a short, broken laugh.

"Good," he said, cracking a ghost of a smile. "I'm not looking for advice."

She leaned back in the booth, tucking one knee up against the vinyl seat.

"Then we’re a perfect match," she said, toasting him with her mug.

Lando watched her for a long moment. The way she didn’t push. The way she didn’t want anything from him. The way she offered nothing more complicated than a crappy cup of coffee and a seat across from her.

He hadn’t realized how much he missed that.

He wrapped his hands around the warm mug, letting the heat seep into his cold fingers. His hoodie still shadowed his face, but for the first time in days, maybe weeks, he didn't feel the need to hide.

Not from her.

Not here.

At The Bluebird Diner.

Somewhere between the broken race weekends and the headlines he couldn't outrun, Lando Norris started to breathe again. And it started with a stranger who never asked for his name.

———

Chapter 2: Rain Between Us

The coffee was terrible. Burnt, watery, exactly what you’d expect from a diner fighting to survive the 2 a.m. quiet. But somehow, with her sitting across from him, it tasted like the best thing he'd had in weeks.

He took a sip, grimaced, and set the cup down. She laughed under her breath, hiding it behind her own mug.

"Told you," she said, voice warm with amusement.

"You weren't kidding," Lando muttered, tapping a finger against the chipped rim.

The jukebox crooned something old and broken-hearted, a perfect soundtrack for the flickering neon, the rain outside, the shared silence stretching between them.

"So," she said after a moment, stirring her coffee like she wasn't even drinking it, "Mysterious Almost-Lucas. You just wandering, or are you running?"

The question was soft. Not a trap. He could lie if he wanted. Hell, he could get up and leave and she wouldn’t chase him.

Still — he found himself shrugging, the truth spilling out without much thought.

"Little bit of both," he said, voice rough.

She nodded like she understood. Like she'd been there too.

"Sometimes you have to get a little lost," she mused, tracing the edge of her mug with a fingertip, "before you figure out where you're supposed to be."

Lando watched her. The way she spoke without pretending she had all the answers. The way she sat like she belonged to no one and nowhere, perfectly at peace with it.

"You some kind of fortune cookie in disguise?" he asked, a ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth.

She grinned, playful. "Nah. I just read too much."

She tapped the battered paperback lying abandoned beside her coffee.

He squinted at the title, smirking when he caught it: The Art of Getting Lost.

"Seriously?" he asked, incredulous.

She just shrugged, her smile easy and unapologetic. "Like I said," she teased, "perfect match."

Time blurred inside the diner. Minutes folding into each other until the rain outside turned from a light patter to a steady downpour. Neither of them moved to leave.

It wasn’t until a particularly loud crack of thunder rattled the windows that she glanced at the clock and sighed.

"I should probably get going," she said, sliding off the booth seat reluctantly. "Before I turn into a pumpkin or whatever tragic fairytale ending is waiting for me out there."

Lando found himself standing too, his legs stiff from sitting so long. The diner felt too big all of a sudden. Too empty without her in it.

"Where you headed?" he asked before he could stop himself.

She shrugged, slipping on a worn denim jacket. "Couple blocks over. Motel with questionable sheets and even worse cable."

A part of him — the reckless part — wanted to offer to walk her there. The smarter part knew how dangerous that could sound.

She must've seen the hesitation flicker across his face, because she tilted her head, grinning.

"You can walk me to the corner if you want," she said lightly. "I promise not to scream stranger danger."

He laughed — a real, full laugh this time — and shoved his hands into the pocket of his hoodie.

"Deal."

—

The rain was cold, soaking into the edges of his sneakers almost immediately, but he didn’t care. They walked close but not touching, their shoulders almost brushing every few steps.

She didn’t pull out her phone. Didn’t rush. Just let the night wrap around them like a secret.

"This your thing?" he asked after a beat, pulling his hood tighter. "Late-night diners? Making sad strangers feel less sad?"

She smiled up at him, rain catching in her eyelashes. "Maybe," she said. "But only the ones who look like they might forget how to come back to themselves."

He looked at her — really looked — and felt something unfamiliar twist low in his chest.

Hope.

It scared him a little.

At the corner, under the orange glow of a flickering streetlight, she stopped and turned to him.

"This is me," she said, nodding toward the dim outline of a motel a few blocks down.

He nodded, unsure what to say.

For a second, neither of them moved.

Then, impulsively, she dug into her jacket pocket and pulled out a pen — the kind hotels leave on bedside tables — and grabbed his hand.

Before he could react, she scribbled something across his wrist.

A number. A name.

Y/N.

She capped the pen with a snap and smiled, a little mischievous.

"In case you get lost again," she said. "You know where to find me."

And then — before he could say anything — she winked, turned, and disappeared into the rain.

Leaving Lando standing there, heart thudding in his ribs, staring down at the ink bleeding slowly into his skin.

Somewhere between the cold rain and the bitter coffee, he realized: Maybe getting lost wasn’t always a bad thing.

Not if it brought you to someone like her.

Not if it brought you to the Bluebird Diner.

———

Chapter 3: A Rainy Day

The hotel room smelled like cold coffee and regret. The kind of night that clung to your skin even after you showered, the kind that weighed heavy behind your ribs.

Lando sat at the small desk by the window, hoodie still damp from the rain, staring at the smudged ink on the inside of his wrist.

Y/N. A string of numbers trailing after it.

The rain dripped down the glass in slow, tired patterns. The city blinked below, indifferent to the people trying to survive it.

He grabbed a notepad — the kind every hotel left on the nightstand — and carefully, almost reverently, copied the number down. His pen hovered for a second.

Save it in your phone, his mind whispered. Text her. Call her. Do something.

But his heart was a mess. He wasn’t ready. Not yet.

Instead, he tore the paper free, folded it in half, and slipped it into the back of his phone case — tucked safe behind the transparent plastic like a secret. A promise he wasn’t brave enough to cash in yet.

"For a rainy day," he muttered to himself, voice rough.

He set his phone down screen-side up, hiding the paper from view, and collapsed back onto the bed.

Outside, the rain kept falling. Inside, for the first time in a long time, Lando Norris let himself hope there might be more than headlines waiting for him. Someday.

—

Two Weeks Later

The world didn’t stop spinning just because he wanted it to. It kept roaring forward — race after race, city after city, good days and bad days bleeding into each other until he barely remembered where he was half the time.

The wins were loud. The losses were louder. And somewhere in between — when the engines went silent and the hotel rooms got too big — he thought of her.

The girl at the Bluebird Diner. The one who handed him terrible coffee and a better kind of silence. The one who smiled at him like he was a person, not a headline.

Sometimes he caught himself scanning crowds, stupidly, looking for a flash of her denim jacket or the soft curve of her smile. Sometimes he dreamed of rainy streets and cracked vinyl booths.

He hadn’t pulled the paper out. Not yet.

He kept telling himself he was too busy. Too tired. Too much of a mess.

But late at night, when sleep wouldn’t come and the weight of everything pressed heavy against his chest, he found himself reaching for his phone, fingers hesitating over the case.

One night — after a brutal race weekend where nothing had gone right — he gave in.

He peeled the phone case back slowly, like uncovering something sacred.

The paper was still there. Crumpled a little. Still holding her number like a lifeline.

His heart thudded against his ribs as he stared at it.

Now or never.

He opened a blank message, thumb hovering over the keyboard.

Paused.

Deleted it.

Started again.

Lando: Hey. Not sure if you remember me. Coffee at 2AM. Bluebird Diner. Bad jokes, worse coffee. I’ve been carrying your number around like a fool. Mind if I cash it in?

He hit send before he could lose his nerve.

Set the phone face-down on the bed like it was going to explode.

Paced the room. Ran a hand through his hair. Cursed under his breath.

It buzzed five minutes later.

He stared at it, heart in his throat.

Y/N: Hard to forget someone who made bad coffee taste better. Where to?

He smiled. Really smiled. The kind that cracked him open a little and let the light seep in.

Maybe getting lost wasn’t the end of the world after all.

Maybe it was just the start of something better.

———

Chapter 4: After Hours

He didn’t know what he expected.

Maybe that she wouldn’t show. Maybe that he would chicken out and turn back at the door.

Instead, he found himself standing in front of a narrow storefront tucked between a closed tailor shop and a boarded-up art studio. The only light came from a cracked neon sign above the door: Ink & Ivy.

Inside, warm golden light spilled over books stacked in messy piles, fairy lights strung haphazardly across the ceiling. It smelled like old paper and rain-soaked wood.

And there she was. Curled up on a worn armchair in the corner, thumbing through a battered novel, a soft, unreadable smile tugging at her mouth.

Y/N.

Something in his chest unclenched just seeing her.

She looked up when the door chimed, smile widening when she saw him.

"You made it," she said, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

Lando shrugged, shoving his hands deep into his hoodie pockets. "Had to," he said, voice rough from nerves. "Owed you a coffee, remember?"

She grinned and stood, sliding a bookmark into the pages before tucking the novel under her arm.

"You're in luck," she said. "They make a mean hot chocolate here. Coffee's still crap, though."

He laughed, following her deeper into the shop, past shelves that leaned under the weight of forgotten stories.

There was a tiny counter at the back — barely big enough for a cash register and an old espresso machine. No other customers. Just the two of them and the endless hum of rainy-night quiet.

Y/N ordered two hot chocolates without asking what he wanted.

He didn’t mind.

It felt... good. Being led for once instead of leading.

They settled at a small table by the window, mugs steaming between them.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

It wasn’t awkward. It wasn’t heavy. It was just... them.

Finally, she broke the silence.

"So," she said, stirring her drink, "did you find yourself yet?"

He smiled, a little crooked. "Working on it."

She nodded like she approved.

"I think that's the trick," she said thoughtfully, tracing the rim of her mug with a fingertip. "You don't just wake up one day and have all the answers. You kind of... stumble into them. Trip over them. Sometimes they show up in crappy coffee at 2AM."

He laughed, shaking his head. "You and your fortune cookie wisdom."

She tilted her head, pretending to think.

"Maybe I'm just psychic," she teased. "Or maybe I'm really good at pretending everything's fine."

He looked at her — really looked — and felt something tighten low in his chest.

There were shadows under her words. A mirror of his own. It made him want to know every story she kept hidden behind that easy smile.

"You don't have to pretend with me," he said before he could think better of it.

Her eyes softened, the kind of look that made you feel seen without saying anything.

"Neither do you," she whispered.

The rain outside blurred the city into watercolor smears of light and shadow. Inside, the world shrank down to just two people and a thousand unsaid things hanging between them.

He should’ve been scared of it. Of what it meant. Of what it could mean.

But sitting there — with a chipped mug warming his hands and her quiet presence filling all the empty spaces inside him — Lando thought maybe, just maybe, he didn’t have to be afraid.

Not tonight.

Not with her.

———

Chapter 5: Paper Moons

They stayed in the bookstore until the owner flipped the sign to "Closed" and politely pretended not to notice them still tucked into the corner.

Lando couldn't remember the last time he lost track of time without the roar of an engine or a schedule ticking in the back of his mind.

She made it too easy.

They talked about everything and nothing:

Their favorite childhood cartoons. The worst books they were forced to read in school. How pineapple absolutely does belong on pizza (her opinion) and how it absolutely does not (his).

At one point, while thumbing through a stack of battered travel guides, she glanced up at him, mischievous.

"So what is it you do, exactly?" she asked, tilting her head. "Professional traveler? Pizza connoisseur? World’s slowest book club president?"

Lando laughed, shoving a hand through his messy hair.

"Something like that," he said, half-truthful.

She narrowed her eyes, playful. "Mysterious again, I see."

"You wouldn’t believe me if I told you," he said, half under his breath.

She grinned. "Try me. My bet's still on undercover barista."

He laughed again — a real one, deep and rough and unfiltered. God, when was the last time he laughed like this without feeling like he had to perform it?

"I drive," he said finally, shrugging like it wasn’t a whole world. "A lot."

She arched a brow. "Like... truck driver? Racecar driver? Food deliveries?"

He barked another laugh, shaking his head.

"One of those," he said.

She studied him for a beat — not with suspicion, but with something lighter. Curiosity. Amusement.

Then she shrugged like it didn’t really matter.

"Well, I hope you're a better driver than you are a coffee drinker," she teased, bumping her shoulder against his as she passed by to the next shelf.

He smiled to himself, warmth blooming quietly in his chest.

She didn’t press. She didn’t treat him like a puzzle to solve. She just... accepted the pieces he offered and kept walking.

It felt like breathing again after years of holding his breath.

—

Later, they sat cross-legged in the aisle between "Travel" and "Mystery," flipping through a book of weird world records.

"Did you know," she said, tapping a finger against the page, "someone once stacked 500 doughnuts into a tower and balanced it on their forehead?"

Lando snorted. "New life goal."

She laughed, tossing a crumpled receipt at him. It bounced off his hoodie and landed in his lap.

He picked it up, pretended to examine it.

"Is this your phone number?" he teased.

She rolled her eyes dramatically. "No. It’s the bill for your terrible jokes."

He grinned — wide and boyish and unguarded.

For a moment, he let himself forget the cameras, the headlines, the pressure. For a moment, he was just a boy in a bookstore, sitting next to a girl who didn’t need anything from him except what he was willing to give.

And for the first time in a long time — he wanted to give it.

———

Chapter 6: In Between Places

They never made official plans. No "meet me at 8" texts. No set routines.

They just… drifted back into each other’s lives, night after night, like gravity pulling them in without asking permission.

—

One night:

They ended up back at the Bluebird Diner, squeezed into a booth so worn it sagged in the middle. A plate of soggy fries between them. A crumpled napkin-turned-scorecard as they argued over the dumbest trivia questions pulled from a beat-up game box the diner kept behind the counter.

"Name three countries that start with 'Z'!" Y/N demanded, pointing a fry at him like a sword.

"Zimbabwe, Zambia—" Lando started confidently, then paused, face scrunching.

Y/N leaned in, grinning wide. "Clock's ticking, racer boy."

He slapped the table dramatically. "There’s not a third one! That’s cheating!"

"Zanzibar," she said smugly, popping a fry into her mouth.

"That’s not a country!" he protested, laughing so hard he nearly knocked over his drink.

She shrugged innocently. "Maybe if you traveled more, you'd know."

He choked on a laugh, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Unbelievable. First you bully my coffee skills, now my geography."

She grinned and kicked him lightly under the table. "And you love it."

He couldn’t even deny it.

—

Another night:

They sat side-by-side on the hood of his car, parked on the edge of the city where the skyline blurred into open sky.

A half-eaten bag of gummy bears between them. A terrible playlist of early 2000s pop songs humming from the car speakers.

Y/N leaned back on her hands, head tilted toward the stars.

"Sometimes," she said softly, voice nearly lost in the night air, "I feel like I’m just... floating through life. Like I missed the turn somewhere but I’m too scared to go back."

Lando turned his head, watching her instead of the stars.

"I get that," he said, voice low. "I feel like that a lot too."

She glanced at him, surprised. He just shrugged, plucking a gummy bear from the bag and tossing it in the air before catching it in his mouth.

"You're not the only lost cause around here," he said, grinning crookedly.

She smiled — a real one, fragile around the edges.

And for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel so alone in the floating.

—

Sometimes:

They didn’t talk at all.

They just wandered through late-night bookstores, or old record shops that stayed open too late for no reason, or abandoned playgrounds where the swings creaked in the wind.

Sometimes Y/N would tell him about the cities she wanted to see but never had the money to visit.

Sometimes Lando would tell her stories about places he’d been — twisting them into ridiculous adventures just to make her laugh.

He left out the race tracks. The fame. The noise.

It wasn’t lying. Not really.

It was protecting something he wasn’t ready to lose.

Not yet.

—

One night:

Sitting on a swingset at some forgotten park, boots dragging lazy lines in the sand, Y/N turned to him with a thoughtful look.

"You know," she said, nudging his shoulder with hers, "you’re not half as mysterious as you think you are."

He raised a brow, grinning. "Yeah?"

She nodded sagely. "You’re just a guy who’s a little lost, a little tired, and way too competitive about trivia games."

He laughed, the sound bubbling out of him before he could stop it.

"Maybe," he said, kicking at the sand. "And you’re just a girl who’s smarter than she lets on and drinks way too much terrible coffee."

She gasped mock-offended. "I tolerate terrible coffee. There’s a difference."

He shook his head, smiling at her like she hung the stars.

And maybe, just maybe, she did.

Little by little, the walls between them cracked.

Little by little, they learned each other’s rhythms.

Little by little, two lost souls stopped floating alone.

And neither of them even realized it was happening — not until it was too late to turn back.

———

Chapter 7: Cracks in the Armor

The night had fallen into one of their easy silences.

Sitting on the swings again, bundled in too-thin jackets, hot drinks warming their hands, they watched the city breathe around them.

Somewhere far away, a siren wailed. Closer, the breeze whispered through the trees, tugging at Y/N’s hair.

"You ever think about just... leaving?" she asked, her voice soft and faraway. "Packing up and disappearing somewhere no one knows you?"

Lando stared at the dark sky.

"All the time," he said quietly.

She glanced at him, catching the rawness in his voice.

"You could," she said gently. "If you wanted to."

He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

"It’s harder than it sounds," he admitted. "When the world... expects things from you."

She nodded slowly, sipping her drink.

"You don’t owe the world anything," she said simply.

The words hit harder than he expected.

Like maybe — just maybe — she meant them.

He fiddled with the sleeve of his hoodie, debating.

Then — impulsively, stupidly — he said:

"I travel for work. A lot. Different countries every week sometimes. Cameras, interviews... noise."

He didn’t look at her when he said it. Couldn’t.

The air shifted between them. Not colder. Not tenser. Just... aware.

Y/N set her drink down carefully in the sand between them.

"You a rockstar or something?" she teased lightly, trying to keep the moment easy.

Lando huffed a laugh. "Not exactly."

She bumped his shoulder with hers, playful.

"Secret agent?"

He smiled a little, finally looking at her.

"Something like that."

Y/N studied him for a beat, the city lights flickering in her eyes.

She could have asked. She could have pushed.

Instead, she just shrugged, easy and sure.

"Whatever it is," she said, picking her drink back up, "you’re still the guy who sucks at trivia and drinks hot chocolate like it’s a competitive sport."

He stared at her, something hot and unfamiliar swelling in his chest.

"You’re not curious?" he asked, surprised.

"Oh, I’m curious," she said, grinning. "But... I figure if you wanted me to know, you’d tell me."

Simple. No pressure. No performance.

Just a choice — left in his hands.

For the first time in a long, long time, Lando felt like he wasn’t being cornered into being someone.

He could just be.

And maybe — Maybe that was the whole point of her.

A lighthouse when the rest of the world just wanted to watch him drown.

—

Later, as they walked back toward the car, Y/N kicked a rock along the sidewalk, hands stuffed deep into her pockets.

"You know," she said casually, not looking at him, "you’re kinda like a bluebird."

He blinked, thrown.

"A what?"

She shrugged, smiling faintly. "You show up when people need hope the most. You just... don’t know it yet."

Lando stopped walking.

Just stared at her.

The Bluebird Diner. The paper tucked behind his phone case. The way she made him feel like he was finding pieces of himself he thought he lost.

He laughed under his breath, shaking his head.

"You’re wrong," he said, voice rough.

She arched a brow. "Oh?"

He smiled — wide, real, and a little sad.

"I think you’re the bluebird."

She blushed, looking away, pretending to be annoyed.

"Great. Now I sound like a Disney character."

He laughed again, bumping her shoulder lightly.

But deep down — he knew he meant it.

Even if she didn’t understand yet, even if he couldn’t say it properly

She was his bluebird. And he was already terrified of losing her.

———

Chapter 8: The Fast Lane

It started with a text.

Lando: You busy tomorrow?

Y/N: Define "busy."

Lando: I know a place. Not far. Not fancy. Bring sneakers.

Y/N: ...You’re not going to murder me, right?

Lando: 50/50.

She sent back a laughing emoji, and he smiled at his screen for a solid minute before remembering he was supposed to be cool about this.

He wasn’t.

Not even a little.

—

The next afternoon was gray and crisp — a rare stretch of calm between rainstorms — when he picked her up.

No fancy cars. No entourage.

Just a beat-up old black SUV he borrowed from a friend because it didn’t scream his name at every intersection.

Y/N climbed in, wrinkling her nose playfully at the state of the floorboards.

"Should I be concerned about tetanus?" she teased, buckling in.

Lando grinned, heart kicking against his ribs.

"Only if you plan on licking the gearshift," he shot back.

She laughed — easy, bright — and he felt the knot in his chest loosen.

This was why he wanted her here. Because with her, everything felt... lighter.

They pulled up to a private karting track just outside the city.

Quiet. Empty except for a few staff members and a handful of guys milling around near the pit lane, helmets tucked under their arms.

Lando killed the engine and rubbed his palms against his jeans.

"Okay," he said, turning to her. "Don't freak out."

She raised a brow. "Should I be freaking out?"

He shrugged, trying to play it off. "I might have a bit of a reputation around here."

Y/N smirked. "Lemme guess. World's Slowest Kart Driver."

He barked a laugh, nerves unraveling a little.

"Something like that," he said, climbing out.

She followed, looking around curiously.

The place was small — nothing glitzy — but even she could tell it wasn’t some random rental track. It was built for serious drivers. The kind who lived and breathed competition.

A tall guy with a messy head of curls jogged over, clapping Lando on the back.

"Mate, finally!" he said, grinning. "And you brought a friend."

His eyes flicked to Y/N, friendly but curious.

"Max, this is Y/N," Lando said casually. "Y/N, Max."

She smiled easily, sticking out a hand. "Nice to meet you."

Max shot Lando a quick look — the kind that said we’re going to talk about this later — but just shook her hand and winked.

"Good luck surviving him on the track," Max said to her with mock seriousness.

Y/N snorted. "Oh, please. I can handle him."

Lando raised a brow. "Big talk for someone who’s never seen me drive."

She just grinned, all innocent. "Big ego for someone who needed a second coffee to beat me at trivia."

Max laughed outright, slinging an arm around Lando’s shoulder. "I like her," he said, loud enough for everyone nearby to hear.

Lando flushed — actual, real color flooding his cheeks — and shrugged him off, muttering, "Piss off," under his breath.

Y/N watched the exchange, a knowing smile tugging at her mouth.

She didn’t say anything.

But she saw it — the way Lando relaxed around these people. The way he lit up.

The way they lit up seeing him like this.

They geared up quickly — helmets, gloves, coveralls.

Y/N struggled with the zipper on her suit, muttering curses under her breath, and Lando doubled over laughing.

"Shut up!" she yelled, trying to wrangle the stubborn metal tab.

He was still chuckling when he came over and helped her, fingers brushing her wrist.

A tiny touch.

A stupid, electric jolt straight to his ribs.

He pretended not to notice.

She pretended not to blush.

Neither of them said a word about it.

On the track, she was... terrible.

Absolutely, gloriously terrible.

She stalled twice, took corners like a drunken giraffe, and very nearly spun herself into the grass on lap three.

But when she pulled into the pit lane, yanking her helmet off with a huge grin, Lando swore he’d never seen anyone look more beautiful.

"I almost died!" she announced proudly.

"You almost killed me," he corrected, laughing.

She shrugged, unbothered. "Minor details."

He looked at her — flushed cheeks, wild hair, laughing eyes — and thought:

This. This is what it’s supposed to feel like.

Later, sitting on the pit wall swinging their legs like kids, they shared a bottle of lukewarm water and watched the sky turn pink with sunset.

Max and the others were off somewhere, giving them space without saying they were giving them space.

"You’re... good at this," Y/N said, nodding toward the track.

Lando shrugged, pretending it didn’t matter. "Been doing it a while."

She sipped the water, thinking.

"Not just good," she said thoughtfully. "You look... happy out there."

He stared at her, thrown.

Because she didn’t say "famous." She didn’t say "fast." She said happy.

And he realized — with a pang so fierce it nearly knocked the air out of him — that he was.

When she was around, he was.

———

Chapter 9: Cracks in the Bubble

The second time Y/N got into a kart, she looked determined.

Deadly serious.

"Okay," she said, yanking her helmet down with a snap. "No more driving like a drunk baby giraffe."

Lando bit back a laugh.

"You sure?" he teased, hopping into his own kart with practiced ease. "I was kinda looking forward to seeing if you could set a world record for most spins in one lap."

She flipped him off cheerfully, gunning her little kart forward with a wild screech of tires.

He laughed so hard he almost forgot to start his own.

—

The next thirty minutes were chaos.

Y/N barreling into corners like she had a personal vendetta against gravity. Lando weaving around her, slowing down to tease her, tapping her bumper lightly with his kart whenever he passed just to mess with her.

She screamed fake outrage every time.

At one point, she tried to block him from overtaking by swinging wildly across the track like a Mario Kart character.

He narrowly avoided crashing into her, throwing his hands up dramatically.

"THAT'S ILLEGAL!" he yelled over the roar of the engines.

She laughed so hard she nearly spun out — again.

—

Eventually, red flags waved them back into the pit lane.

Y/N pulled off her helmet, hair a wild mess, cheeks flushed from adrenaline and laughter.

Lando pulled up next to her, helmet under his arm, grinning like an idiot.

"Improvement," he said, nodding seriously.

She beamed. "Didn't die this time!"

Max wandered over, towel slung around his neck, smirking.

"You guys looked like the world's worst synchronized kart dancers," he said, mock-stern.

Y/N bowed dramatically. "Thank you, thank you. We try."

Max elbowed Lando lightly. "Mate," he said in a low voice, smirking. "You're smiling so much it’s scaring the staff."

Lando rolled his eyes but couldn't wipe the grin off his face if he tried.

Max clapped him on the shoulder and wandered off, laughing.

Y/N watched the exchange, something soft flickering in her eyes. But she didn’t say anything.

She just tossed Lando his helmet and said, "Rematch?"

And he thought — not for the first time — I’m so screwed.

—

After they cleaned up and changed back into their normal clothes, Lando suggested grabbing a bite at the tiny café across the street.

Nothing fancy. Greasy fries. Plastic tables. Exactly what he needed.

They sat by the window, sharing a basket of fries, teasing each other about their "racing skills" when it happened.

A teenager — probably fifteen, maybe sixteen — walked past the window, did a double-take, and froze.

Eyes wide. Mouth opening slightly.

Lando stiffened automatically, years of instinct kicking in.

He glanced at Y/N — ready for the shift. The awkwardness. The questions. The change.

Instead, Y/N just smiled warmly at the kid, nudging the basket of fries closer to Lando like nothing was happening.

Giving him space.

Letting him decide.

The kid edged closer, nervous.

"Um... excuse me?" he said, voice cracking slightly. "Are you... are you Lando Norris?"

Lando smiled — small, tired, but real.

"Yeah, mate," he said, easy. "What's up?"

The kid fumbled a phone out of his pocket. "Could I, uh... get a photo? If that's okay?"

"Of course," Lando said, standing up and clapping the kid lightly on the shoulder. "No problem."

They snapped a quick picture. The kid practically vibrated with excitement, thanking him about ten times before hurrying off down the street.

Lando sat back down slowly.

Y/N popped a fry into her mouth, still acting like nothing had happened.

"You’re famous," she said casually, like she was observing the weather.

He stared at her, thrown.

"You're... not freaking out?"

She shrugged, smiling faintly. "Should I?"

He blinked, scrambling for words.

"I mean — most people — it’s just..." He trailed off, frustrated with himself.

Y/N leaned her chin on her hand, watching him with quiet amusement.

"I figured you did something cool," she said. "Didn't figure you for a kart salesman."

He barked a surprised laugh.

She grinned, kicking his shin lightly under the table.

"Relax, Speed Racer," she said. "I’m still gonna beat your ass at trivia next week."

He stared at her — open, vulnerable — and realized in that exact moment: She’s different. She’s safe.

She didn't want a piece of the spotlight. She didn't want anything from him except the pieces he willingly gave her.

And for someone who had spent years being looked at like a prize to win or a headline to write it was terrifying.

And it was everything.

—

Later, walking back to the car, Y/N bumped his shoulder lightly with hers.

"For what it's worth," she said, glancing up at him under the streetlights, "I think you're pretty cool. Fame or no fame."

Lando swallowed hard.

"You too," he said, voice thick.

Maybe more than pretty cool. Maybe the coolest thing that had ever happened to him.

———

Chapter 10: The Things We Carry

It started because he was curious.

They were sprawled across her tiny living room floor one night, surrounded by half-eaten pizza, empty soda cans, and the remnants of a half-serious movie marathon.

At some point, between arguing about whether animated movies counted as “real cinema” (they absolutely did, according to Y/N) and who had the worst taste in music (definitely Lando, according to Y/N), she pulled out a battered old sketchbook.

He caught the flash of it out of the corner of his eye — the frayed edges, the bent corners, the cover smeared with fingerprints.

"What’s that?" he asked, nodding toward it.

She hesitated. Just for a second.

Then shrugged, casual, like it didn’t matter.

"Sketchbook," she said, flipping it open and showing him a page without ceremony.

Pencil sketches filled the paper — messy but alive, full of motion and feeling. Faces. Cities. Dreamscapes.

Lando blinked, stunned.

"You did all this?" he asked, voice softer than he meant it to be.

She smiled, a little self-conscious. "Yeah."

He flipped through a few more pages, handling the book like it was made of glass.

"You’re insane," he said, awe creeping into his voice. "This is... this is amazing."

She shrugged again, brushing it off, but he could see the faint blush creeping up her neck.

"You wanna try?" she asked suddenly, tossing him a blank page and a pencil.

He stared at it like it was a bomb.

"Me? Draw?"

She grinned wickedly. "Come on, Speed Racer. How hard can it be?"

He narrowed his eyes. "Famous last words."

—

It was a disaster.

An absolute, hilarious disaster.

Lando’s hand cramped within minutes. His "dog" looked like a melting sock puppet. His "car" resembled a very angry toaster.

Y/N laughed so hard she nearly fell over, clutching her stomach as she tried — and failed — to offer helpful critique.

"Okay, okay," she wheezed between giggles. "Maybe stick to driving."

He threw a crumpled piece of paper at her, pretending to be offended.

But inside — he felt lighter than he had in months.

Because she didn’t care that he was terrible. Because here, in this tiny messy apartment, surrounded by pizza boxes and bad art, he wasn’t Lando Norris the racer.

He was just Lando.

And she was just Y/N.

Two people slowly stitching themselves back together in each other’s company.

—

Later that week, back at the McLaren simulator center, Oscar cornered him.

"Mate," Oscar said, arms crossed, smirking. "I don't know what's going on with you, but you're like... different."

Lando raised a brow. "Different how?"

Oscar waved a hand vaguely. "You're not snapping at the engineers every ten minutes. You’re smiling for no reason. You’re even letting Zac beat you at table tennis. It’s creepy."

Lando rolled his eyes, but couldn't help the small smile tugging at his mouth.

"Maybe I’m just... happier," he said, almost daring Oscar to make fun of him.

Oscar stared at him for a beat longer than necessary. Then he smiled — real and wide — and clapped Lando on the shoulder.

"'Bout time," he said simply.

And Lando felt it, deep in his bones — the way change sneaks in when you’re not looking.

—

The whispers started then.

Tiny things.

Jon joking during a debrief about Lando "finally being a human again." A mechanic muttering under his breath, "Whatever he’s doing lately, it’s working."

No one said her name. No one knew.

But Lando did.

Every smile. Every lighter step. Every deep breath that didn't feel like it might choke him —

It all traced back to her.

To the girl who handed him a terrible cup of diner coffee. To the girl who laughed at his terrible drawings and beat him at trivia. To the girl who never once asked him to be anyone but himself.

The things he carried used to be heavy. Expectations. Guilt. Fear.

Now he was starting to carry something else.

Hope. Home. Her.

And for once, he wasn’t afraid of the weight.

———

Chapter 11: The Space Between Us

It should have been just another night.

Pizza. A stupid romcom playing on her tiny TV. Them fighting over who got the last slice (he let her win, obviously).

Nothing special. Nothing earth-shattering.

Except, everything about her was starting to feel like home.

—

Y/N was sitting cross-legged on the couch, sketching lazily on a cheap canvas balanced on her knees. Not serious, just doodles, jokes, lines that curled and stretched into something messy and alive.

Lando sprawled beside her, feet kicked up on the coffee table, tossing a gummy bear up in the air and trying (badly) to catch it in his mouth.

He missed.

Again.

She snorted, not even looking up. "World-class athlete, huh?"

"Don’t mock me," he muttered, launching another gummy with more dramatic flair.

It bounced off his nose.

She laughed so hard she had to put the canvas down.

He grinned, basking in it — the sound of her laughter, the way her eyes crinkled at the edges, the easy way she existed around him without expecting anything.

God, he thought, chest tight, how am I supposed to tell her?

Because he had to.

He couldn't keep her in the dark anymore. Not when she mattered this much.

Not when he was falling for her so fast it left him breathless.

—

His phone buzzed.

He ignored it at first, tossing another gummy bear and — miracle of miracles — actually catching it.

"Finally!" she cheered mockingly, raising her arms like a referee signaling a goal.

He bowed deeply from the couch, grinning like an idiot.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

She frowned, reaching over and tapping the screen.

He moved too late.

A string of notifications flashed across it — Zak Brown: "Need you to review media schedule for Monaco ASAP." Jon: "Sky Sports wants the updated PR package, don't forget..." McLaren PR: "Final approval needed for your feature story."

Her hand froze mid-tap.

Their eyes met.

For a long second, neither of them said anything.

The movie kept playing — a background hum — but the room had shifted.

The bubble they lived in cracked just a little.

Not broken. Not shattered.

Just… cracked.

Enough to let the truth start to bleed through.

"You..." she started, voice slow, careful. "You're... not just a karting guy, are you?"

Lando swallowed hard.

"No," he said softly.

He sat up, hands knotting in his lap.

"I should've told you sooner," he said, voice rough around the edges. "I didn't want to lie, I just... I liked being 'just me' with you for a while."

She set the canvas aside, facing him fully now.

Waiting.

Not judging. Not running.

Waiting.

He blew out a breath.

"I'm a Formula 1 driver," he said finally. "For McLaren."

Silence.

Only the ticking of the clock on the wall, and the movie’s muffled dialogue filling the space between them.

Y/N blinked once.

Twice.

Then, to his complete shock — she smiled.

Small. Soft. A little sad, but sure.

"Yeah," she said, nodding. "That... makes sense."

He stared at her, heart hammering so hard he thought it might crack his ribs.

"You’re not..." He couldn’t even finish the sentence. Not freaking out. Not treating him differently. Not shrinking away.

She shook her head slowly.

"You’re still you," she said simply. "Still the guy who sucks at drawing and cheats at trivia and eats more gummy bears than anyone should legally consume."

He let out a breath that sounded suspiciously close to a laugh and maybe something else. Something wrecked and grateful and so in love he didn’t know what to do with it.

"You’re not mad?" he asked, voice breaking slightly.

She smiled wider, bumping his knee with hers.

"I’m only mad you didn't trust me sooner."

The words hit him like a gut punch.

Because she was right. And because she still wasn’t walking away.

She was still here. Still choosing him.

Lando scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to pull himself together.

"I’m sorry," he said thickly. "I was scared."

Y/N’s voice softened.

"I get scared too, you know."

He looked up sharply.

She shrugged, eyes shining with something he couldn’t name yet.

"Scared that if I let someone close," she said quietly, "they'll leave when they see the mess."

He exhaled shakily.

"I’m not leaving," he said without thinking.

The words slipped out — raw, unvarnished, real.

And she looked at him like maybe — just maybe — she believed him.

—

They didn’t say much after that.

They didn’t need to.

They just sat there knees brushing, hearts pounding, the space between them growing smaller with every shared breath.

And somewhere in that cracked, messy, beautiful night, Lando realized something he couldn't take back:

He wasn’t just falling.

He had already fallen.

———

Chapter 12: Somewhere Only We Know

The days after Lando told her the truth felt... different.

Not bad. Not awkward.

Just more.

More glances held a little too long. More touches that lingered longer than necessary. More silences that said everything without saying a word.

—

One night, they ended up at the same diner where it all began — the Bluebird Diner — tucked into their old booth, pretending not to notice how their knees brushed under the table.

Y/N doodled absentmindedly on a napkin, humming along to the jukebox in the background.

Lando watched her — the way her hair fell across her face, the soft curve of her smile — and felt something so sharp and tender in his chest it almost hurt.

He wanted to bottle this moment. Save it for when the world inevitably tried to tear it apart.

Because it would. He knew it would.

Nothing this good ever stayed untouched.

—

Outside, the night buzzed with the low hum of neon signs and distant traffic. They lingered by his car, neither wanting to leave first.

"You know," she said, voice light but eyes serious, "you don’t have to keep pretending the world isn’t watching."

He stiffened.

"What do you mean?"

She shrugged, kicking a pebble across the parking lot. "I mean... I see it. The looks. The whispers. The people snapping pictures when they think you’re not paying attention."

He looked away, throat tight.

"I hate it," he muttered. "I hate that it touches you, too."

She stepped closer, bumping her shoulder against his.

"Hey," she said softly. "You don't have to protect me from your world. I'm not afraid of it."

He closed his eyes briefly, fighting the surge of emotion that rose up.

"I'm afraid of losing this," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "This — us — whatever we are... it feels like the only real thing I have left sometimes."

She reached out, fingers brushing his hand.

"You’re not losing me," she said simply.

And he believed her. God help him, he believed her.

—

But reality had other plans.

The next morning, the headlines started.

Not full-blown scandal. Just... whispers.

Grainy photos snapped by some kid outside the diner. A blurry shot of Lando holding the door open for Y/N. Another one of them laughing by the car, heads tilted close together.

The captions were worse.

"New girl? Mystery companion? Has Lando Norris finally been tamed?"

Lando stared at his phone screen, a sick feeling curling low in his stomach.

It wasn't her fault. It was never her fault.

But he knew what came next. The curiosity. The questions. The pressure.

He couldn't — wouldn't — drag her into that world unless she chose it.

And he hated that choice was even necessary.

—

That night, he picked her up without saying where they were going.

Just,

"Pack a bag. Something comfortable. Trust me."

She didn’t question it.

Just grabbed a backpack, threw on a hoodie, and climbed into the passenger seat with a smile that cracked him open a little more.

—

They drove for hours — past city lights, past towns that flickered and faded, into the wild, open darkness of nowhere.

Finally, he pulled off a side road, tires crunching over gravel, and parked near a cluster of old cabins nestled against a quiet lake.

No paparazzi. No fans. No noise.

Just them.

The real world — the hungry, clawing, endless real world — left behind like a bad dream.

Y/N climbed out, stretching her arms over her head, staring up at the blanket of stars above them.

"This is..." she breathed, spinning slowly in the gravel. "This is magic."

He watched her, heart in his throat.

"It's ours," he said quietly. "Just ours."

She smiled at him — wide, unguarded, beautiful.

And in that moment, Lando swore he’d do anything to protect this. Her. Them.

No matter what came next.

Even if the whole world tried to tear it down — he was ready to fight for it.

For her.

———

Chapter 13: Everything All at Once

The swing creaked under them as they rocked lazily back and forth.

The mug of hot chocolate sat forgotten between them, the stars blinking overhead, the lake whispering against the shore.

Y/N tugged the blanket higher around her shoulders, nudging his side with her elbow.

"You’re quiet," she said softly.

Lando leaned back against the swing’s chains, staring up at the sky.

"Just thinking."

"That’s dangerous," she teased, a smile pulling at her mouth.

He snorted, bumping her back lightly. "Harsh."

She shrugged, grinning. "You set yourself up for it."

He smiled — real, wide, the kind that made her chest ache — and let the silence stretch for a beat before speaking again.

"You ever think about how small we are?" he asked quietly. "Like... look at all that," he gestured up at the sky, "and we’re just... here."

Y/N tilted her head, looking up. "Yeah. I think about it all the time."

"You scared of it?" he asked, glancing sideways at her.

She shook her head. "Nah. It's kinda beautiful, isn't it? Being small. Means you can still choose where you want to go."

Lando looked at her — really looked at her — and felt something shift low in his chest.

God, how did he get so lucky?

How did he find her when he didn’t even know what he was looking for?

—

He noticed her shiver, just barely, and before he even thought about it, he reached out and tugged the blanket tighter around her.

Their hands brushed. Paused.

Stayed.

She looked up at him, eyes wide, vulnerable.

He swallowed hard, his heart thudding so loud he was sure she could hear it.

"I don't want to lose this," he said suddenly, voice rough and broken around the edges.

Y/N’s fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie, anchoring herself to him without even realizing it.

"You’re not going to," she whispered back. "You’re stuck with me now."

He let out a shaky laugh — part relief, part terror — and leaned in before he could talk himself out of it.

The kiss was soft at first.

Gentle.

Almost hesitant.

Like asking a question neither of them had the words for yet.

But she answered — God, she answered — pressing closer, threading her fingers through his hair, breathing him in like he was air and she had been drowning.

The swing creaked under them, the blanket slipped off their shoulders, but neither of them cared.

They were too busy trying to memorize the shape of each other.

—

When they finally pulled apart, foreheads resting together, Lando closed his eyes and whispered against her skin.

"I think I was falling before I even knew it."

Y/N smiled — small and stunned and beautiful — and whispered back,

"Me too."

He kissed her again because there was no other way to survive it.

Because love had been blooming quietly between them for weeks — in stolen glances, stupid trivia games, late-night coffee, and messy drawings.

And now it was here.

Messy. Breathless. Unstoppable.

Everything. All at once.

———

PART 2

#f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #lando norris #lando x reader #lando x you #lando x y/n #lando norizz #lando imagine #landoscar #mclaren #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris x y/n #lando norris x oscar piastri #lando norris x oc #reader x lando #reader x lando norris

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323cutie · 6 months ago

Note

Ok not to give tonal whiplash from the sweetness of Woo and Jongho to absolute freak nasty thoughts buuuuuut… I was rereading the sextape with Wooyoung post you did a while back and it got me thinking… say it is a video call with Sannie… how the hell does he even react to that? And how likely is to end with you in bed with both of them one night because he can’t fucking get the images out of his head? And how encouraging would Wooyoung be about it? And how sweet and hard and comforting and also mean would they be together? -🐍

so uh. Um. yeah. splitting this up into 2 parts i couldnt help myself. nonnie ur killing me.

cw ୨୧ erm. sex tape? phone sex? threesome? kind of dubious consent on san's end so tread with caution but he gets into it, blowjobs, one line abt face slapping, a teeny bit of hair pulling, wooyo is an instigator and a brat, finger sucking, masturbation (male, referenced), dirty talk

18+ mdni!!

"Say hi, baby."

Wooyoung's voice is hazy and disconnected, whiny behind the flash of his phone. It takes a little too long for you to even register what he said, prompting a light slap to your cheek from him, and you pull yourself off of his cock to look at where you're pretty sure the camera actually is.

"H-Hi, Sannie," you say, breathless, swallowing what spit collected in your mouth from sucking Wooyoung off. You don't really know what to say, so you let Wooyoung push your hair out of your face and blink wetly up into the light. There's a muffled sound and then you hear San for the first time since he picked up the phone.

"Fuck," he curses, voice obviously strained even through the speakers. From behind the flash you catch a glimpse of Wooyoung's savage smile. "What is -- Wooyoungie, what are you --"

You guide your mouth back onto Wooyoung's cock and sigh at the weight of it on your tongue. He groans and uses his free hand to hold your hair back, speaking, but not to you: "Thought we'd -- ah, fuck -- put on a little show for you, Sannie," he says. You look past the phone at him and his breath hitches. "Wanted to treat you."

"Treat me?" San breathes, and you take Wooyoung's cock just a little deeper to see what both of them will do. The reaction is immediate, a sharp tug on your hair and a moan from Wooyoung simultaneous with the whimper you hear San let out. "This is..."

You pull back and Wooyoung lets you. "Wanna look good for you, Sannie," you say. Your voice is hoarse but you don't think they care.

Wooyoung jumps in immediately. "Looks so pretty, huh?" He eggs San on, hand squishing your cheeks together then pushing two fingers into your mouth. "Perfect for sucking cock, right?"

The noise San lets out is obscene, something crossed between a bitten back whimper and a gasp. Addicting, and you want to hear it over and over again. After half a second, he says, "fuck, yeah, so pretty. So beautiful."

The praise warms you. "You touchin' yourself, Sannie?" You ask, the first few syllables crowded by Wooyoung's fingers in your mouth until he takes them out. There's panting, then another glimpse of Wooyoung's grin, and San must have nodded. You wish you could see him. Probably looks just as pretty as he says you are, red faced and wrecked, eager to feel.

"Go on, then," Wooyoung says, tapping the tip of his cock against your lips -- a prompt, a reminder. "We said we'd give him a show."

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mrypotter · 1 year ago

Text

Mirror, Mirror, On The Wall

Harry James Potter x fem!reader

Summary: Slowly throughout your years of Hogwarts, and if the other person looks at the same time, you see your soulmate’s image in the mirror.

Warnings: Mention of Dementors? And kissing- that’s all??

Note: Wrote a soulmate one for Draco, now it’s Harry’s turn!

Masterlist

Request Requirements

[Story ends at Fifth Year]

First Year (Age: 11)

“This is stupid, Ron.” Harry found himself muttering, staring at his untidy hair in the mirror. His reflection seemed to be mocking the boy, each second making him want to look away.

“No it’s not.” Ron insisted, staring at his bright red hair, freckles and all. He looked just like the rest of his family: flame-like hair and freckles scattering his cheeks.

“It kinda is, especially since we’ve been looking at ourselves for 10 minutes. I think I look okay, but I swear I saw my nose change form and I don’t know what it actually looks like anymore.”

Ron finally tore his eyes off the mirror, turning towards Harry. He titled his head, scanning his friend for a split second. He shrugged. “Looks like your nose to me. Not that I stare at your nose when I talk to you.”

“You’re doing it right now.” Harry replied instantly, unable to stop the grin pulling at his lips.

“Shove off, will ya? You asked.” Ron answered. Harry laughed.

Ron ended the daily mirror session with crossed arms, a grumble forming on his mouth as he sat on his bed in a dramatic way. “Never gonna see her.” He muttered.

Harry shrugged, and, with one last hopeful look in the mirror, joined Ron on his bed, legs dangling off it.

“Sure it’s fine- we just have to look at the same time.”

Ron scoffed at Harry’s attempt at assurance. “Yeah, like that’s ever gonna happen. You’d really think girls stare at themselves in the mirror all day.”

Harry once again shrugged, not really educated on the behavior of girls. When he saw a pretty one he’d stare for a while and go pink in the ears, but look away before she could notice.

“I couldn’t know, Ron.”

“Whatever. Come on, we have to go see what Hermonie’s up to. Reading a a ten million paged book I ‘spect.”

Second Year (Age: 12)

“I think I look about normal now, how about you?”

Harry was looking at himself in the mirror, watching the last of the transformation from one of Draco’s disgusting friends back to his normal self. Ron’s ear was still a little big but they both watched it slowly shrink.

“‘Bout back to normal. That was weird.”

Harry couldn’t help but agree, but he also couldn’t help but look at his normal face for a bit longer than usual, trying to catch a glance at her.

“Lookin’ for her again?” Ron figured, raising a brow as he looked at Harry from the corner of his eye, now looking at the mirror too.

“Yeah… but it’s no use.” Harry decided, looking away. Ron went up to the stall Hermione was in, and let’s just say what was happening definitely distracted Harry from the mirror.

Third Year (Age: 13)

“We’ll bring you lots of sweets, Harry.” Hermione promised, looking pitiful at the boy while her and Ron got ready to head to Hogsmeade. Ron nodded, eager to leave but still look like he felt bad.

“Yeah,” he confirmed. “Loads.”

Harry bid them goodbye and started to wander around the castle, the Marurders map in his hands as he looked at where everyone was. The dots moved frantically as people made their way about, each labeled with a name so Harry could see everyone on the grounds.

He went to his dormitory first, setting the map down temporarily before glancing at the mirror recklessly. He knew she was probably at Hogsmeade right now, giggling with friends as they shopped for candy after candy so looking at a mirror was the last thing on her mind. He wondered what she looked like, and the more he stared at himself instead of her the more he wanted to know.

“Come on,” he muttered, watching his lips move in the reflection. “Just look in the mirror.”

Oh but she was. Just never at the same time as he.

Forth Year (Age: 14)

“Harry Potter.”

Harry wanted the ground to swallow him. Every pair of eyes were on him, his cheeks turning a soft red. Hermione shoving him brought him out of his trance, encouraging him to go up to Dumbledore.

He stood up in wobbly legs, making his way to the Headmaster. The man handed him the piece of paper that had “Harry Potter” written on it, and gestured Harry to go to the back room with the rest of the champions.

The boy did so, meeting Cedric, Fleur, and Krum’s confused gazes, their eyebrows furrowed.

He stood there hopelessly, watching as people around him decided what they should do.

The dread news of having to compete was high, so high that he didn’t notice the mirror on the other side of the room. If he looked into it, for just a glance of time, he would’ve noticed sparkling eyes and bit lips, longing for a glimpse of him.

“Good luck, Harry.”

Harry turned around, the sweat on his hand almost causing his wand to slip out onto the ground. The girl stood in front of him, twiddling with her fingers but she still had a kind hopeful smile on her lips.

Harry couldn’t help but smile back even though he didn’t know her.

“I hope you do well.” She added. Harry’s smile stayed the same, constant and genuine. “Thanks,” he replied. “I’m gonna need all the luck I can get.”

She smiled a little wider, making straight eye contact for the first time in their conversation, since she was too nervous before so she avoided his gaze. His bright green eyes connected with her soft ones, and Harry didn’t fail to notice the gentle flush that spread on her cheeks. What he did fail to notice was that her eyes would be vaguely familiar if he just looked in the mirror .

Fifth Year (Age: 15)

“Okay, everybody. Today we’re gonna learn about the Patronus Charm, which fights off a Dementor. In order to cast it, you have to think of a happy memory. Very powerful and strong. Think of the happiest moment in your life, and keep it clear in your mind.” Harry instructed, watching everyone wave their wands, happy moments in time flooding their thoughts.

The girl, far in the back, thought back to when she met Harry’s eyes, longing for the reflection of herself in them, hoping they’d be meant to be. It was too bright outside that day to tell, but the moment burned in her mind every day since then, the beauty green in his eyes taking the time to look at her, the moment she felt special.

The picture of him alone and his bright eyes was pictured in her mind, just like every day, but clearer for this moment.

“Expecto Patronum!”

A mighty clever fox whispered out of her wand tip, legs taking a stretch as it ran around her, causing a soft giggle to escape her lips.

“Fantastic!”

His voice rang in her ears, and she looked at him, the blurry whip of the silver fox being ignored as she scanned the room for the acknowledgement. Her shoulders sank a little when she found out he was talking to Neville instead, eyes leaving him and landing back on her fox who was still running in circles around her.

“Thanks for helping me clean.” Hermione told Harry, some things around them knocked over after the practice of the Accio Charm, a charm casted to bring a desired object to the wand owners hand.

“Of course.” Harry responded, watching Hermione leave as she soon said she had to use the restroom.

“Have you seen her yet?”

Harry flinched at the second voice, turning to see the girl who wished him luck before the First Task, staring hopelessly in the mirror.

He walked over to her, watching her eyes scan the mirror, noticing how she was biting her lip. Her eyes were sparkling despite the emotion that seemed to be crowding them.

“Nope; been trying since First Year, in fact.”

Harry looked into the mirror at the exact moment she turned away and looked at him in disbelief. “Really? First Year? I thought I was the only one.”

Harry chuckled, glancing at her face.“Well I didn’t know about it until my friend Ron told me.”

It was then it was silent, Harry not seeming to be able to look away from her eyes. She then smiled tightly, looking back at the mirror. He followed suit, looking at the same reflective surface as her, behind her shoulder.

He then saw no one but himself despite her looking too, then her face clear next to him, every detail but she seemed clear as a ghost, present but not. The boy blinked, making sure he wasn’t just seeing things, and he wasn’t. She was there, and he was there too in her vision because they both gasped at the same time, soft and surprising.

She looked at him, and he at her.

“All this time…”

“We’ve already knew each other…” he finished.

“That’s crazy.” She muttered, this time looking at him instead of the mirror.

He cleared his throat but didn’t make an effort to look away nonetheless. “So, did you accomplish the Accio Charm?”

“Yeah…” she muttered, more like whispered, her eyes moving down to his lips but looked back up to his eyes, her own swirling with something but Harry couldn’t tell what it was.

“Good…” Harry whispered back, taking a step closer.

“Did the Patronus Charm as well.” She added for conversation, since in this moment she couldn’t stand the silence. Harry nodded in acknowledgment, a sign to let her know he heard her, but they both knew he was half listening, his gaze on her mouth as well.

“Why’d you ask?” She found herself asking, not having the courage to lean in first, though if she could make any wish in the world at the moment it would be for the courage to do so.

“Just wondering…..” Harry muttered, breaking the space between them, soft lips touching hers. Her eyes fluttered shut, the warmth of his lips and face against hers surrounding her being and thoughts. His lips were smooth and soft, like pillows that she was laying on.

He broke apart first though, but only to turn his head to get a better angle, leaning in again as they found a soft gentle rhythm.

She dropped her wand, the clatter startling neither of them as her hands went up to his neck, pulling him impossibly closer, fingers diving into his hair, a soft sigh escaping him at the sensation.

They came apart for air, their lips still brushing against each other as they longed for the long lasting contact. She licked her lips, her tongue accidentally touching his briefly, another soft sigh coming out of his mouth.

This moment didn’t feel real to her, someone so special didn’t deserve her, but he was there and that was his choice; she could hardly believe it.

“We should go to the Common Room…”

Harry muttered against her mouth.

“Yeah… we should…” she replied, but neither of them made an effort to move away from each other, in fact their lips connected again, moving in softer movements than before, but the strong feeling in her chest was all the same.

#imagines #stories #x reader #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #harry james potter x reader #harry james potter x you #harry james x reader #harry x reader #harry p x reader #harry potter imagine #harry potter x reader #harry imagine #harry pottah #harry james potter #harry potter #harry #harry x you #harry x y/n #harry potter x y/n

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strwbmei · 1 year ago

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omg…never knew i needed corruption kink with ROBIN. just wanna make her insatiable and ruin her for anybody else- make her ALWAYS wanting u inside of her and more >>>

im all on board with this pathetic!sub robin agenda. pls 🙏

Prior to your relationship, Robin hasn't even touched herself. Maybe she's tried once or twice, but she always found it to be a waste of time, mostly because she couldn't get herself off. Robin would be the splitting image of those genuinely sweet, innocent girls you see on TV. The type of girl to prefer passionate, romantic sex. The type of girl to believe in waiting after marriage to do anything of the sort.

Of course, she still upholds this image to other people. You could bring her to dinner with your friends or even your parents, and she'd still be all smiles with everyone (other than the slight tint of pink on her cheeks) despite you making her give you a handjob under the table. Well, technically you aren't really "making" her do anything. Sure, you're the one to ask first, but Robin always says yes.

You could pull her into your lap and make her cockwarm you, and her sweet and innocent facade wouldn't falter a single bit. Sometimes you can't help but see it as a challenge to fuck her in front of everyone right then and there to show them what a slut she really is, but alas, you save that thought for another day. After all, aside from singing, Robin is also a natural at acting. Perhaps those few seconds of hesitation before she agreed to your demands were also a part of her mask.

Her poor cunt just feels so empty, clenching and fluttering around nothing when you're not inside of her. Robin can try to relieve the arousal that always seems to be pitted inside of her stomach, but it's just not the same. She can ride the biggest dildos, but she's only reminded of how you were the one who trained her to be able to take them in the first place. No toy can fuck her the way she wants; the way you've conditioned her to want. You've completely and utterly ruined her for anyone else.

#strwb drabbles #hsr #hsr smut #hsr x reader #x reader #smut #honkai star rail #honkai star rail smut #honkai star rail x reader #robin x reader #robin hsr x reader #hsr robin #robin hsr

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takakuras-left-ball · 6 days ago

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꙳¤٭⁎﹡꙳＊ "𝗗𝗼𝗻𝘁 𝗯𝗲 𝗮𝗳𝗿𝗮𝗶𝗱, 𝗜'𝗺 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗶𝗻𝘀𝗮𝗻𝗲 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗶𝗿𝗿𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝗮𝗹…

…𝗕𝘂𝘁 𝗶𝘀𝗻'𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗮𝗺𝗲?" ＊꙳﹡⁎٭¤꙳

Dividers from @uzmacchiato

Kaji Ren x reader

Warnings: violence, kinda hurt/comfort

Note: the image at the end is what caused this, from the creator @beesleeps ! I was gonna have like a super angsty ending with this that matched the image more but I am too emotional for that today maybe next time.

Kaji really never intended to end up in this situation, and for a while he genuinely believed he could prevent it. Saying it now, it seemed stupid. After all what did he expect? He was a member of Bofurin, and on top of that he wasn’t exactly unknown outside of that either. Still, he really never wanted you to have to see him fight. But here he was, a handful of assholes surrounding the two of you. The way they circled him, it was hard for him to keep you away from them, but he could feel your hands tightly gripping the back of his jacket, your voice trembling as you softly spoke his name. He knew you were safe. He had pulled down the headphones around his neck, but still carefully pushed the candy around in his mouth, the paper stick shifting across his lips before speaking. His voice was strong and direct and his eyes swept over the people he could see without turning too much. “If you’re looking for a fight, you picked the wrong time. I’m busy.”

“Aw, c’mon man, don’t be a buzzkill.” One of them grinned with undeserved confidence. “Don’t worry, your friend back here can get a little action too.” The second voice came from behind him, his eyes sharpening instantly at the words as he went to turn, but it was just a second too late. He could feel your hands get ripped from his jacket, a startled cry of his name was the last thing he could make out before his mind just…went blank. He hated this feeling, he worked so hard to learn how to keep himself under control, diligently working to improve himself for his team, his friends, and for you. Especially for you. He’d been so careful, and now it was happening again. And with you right there too. You…

Your broken voice finally pushed through the cotton in his ears, the muffled sounds finally slowly clearing up. He knew it wasn’t over, he could feel someone grabbing him before the red had cleared from his vision, but he wouldn’t let any of these bastards keep him from you. He’d heard you say something, but things were still so muffled when he’d heard your voice. But he was sure it was probably…

Your mind was racing, these people were here to fight your boyfriend, you knew that much. It could be something related to Bofurin, but you also knew that Kaji had a bit of a past. You didn’t know much, and it really wasn’t important to you. What was important was that you stayed close to him. Of course, that Idea was promptly ruined when you heard the words from the guy right behind you. “Don’t worry, your friend back here can get a little action too.” You felt the bruising grip on your arm and in a split second you’re being yanked away, only able to shout out his name as you lose your grip on his jacket. You think you hear the crack of his lollipop between his teeth mix with your voice. You started to panic, but your mind didn’t even have time to. It just looked like a blur, then the hand on your arm let loose. As you stepped forward, turning to look back at the same time, you spot Kaji. But he seems off, his teeth bared and eyes wild, you can see the glint in his eyes as two other guys charge at him, but in seconds they’re on the ground. His fists are merciless, it’s nothing like what you’d seen from his fighting before. He didn’t let you watch, and on the rare occasion he didn’t know you were nearby, you’d still never seen him fight quite like this. It was feral, unrelenting fists and feet flying faster than perceivable. But still, you know it is your beloved boyfriend, and he’s doing this to protect you. Telling yourself that didn’t stop the way your body trembled, your eyes locked onto the fight like watching a train wreck in action. He grabbed one of them as some of the others began to run off, the boy’s shirt balled tight enough to turn his knuckles white, though through the tattered skin and blood you couldn’t see that. It was the boy who’d first grabbed you. You really weren’t sure if Kaji even knew that, though. You watched his other fist raise, and heard the sickening crunch under each blow, one after another. You had to stop him, you knew Kaji wouldn’t want this if he was in the right state of mind. You rushed forward, reaching out to grab his arm, hoping to stop the next blow from landing. “Ren, please stop!” Your arms wrapped around his as it was lifted, and you watched the hand holding the other boy’s shirt loosen and allow him to fall. But something wasn’t right. When your eyes met his, it looked like they were looking right through you, and you felt your blood run cold.

“Ren!” He heard you clearly that time, your voice desperate and frightened, crackling with tears he could hear before seeing them. You sounded so close, like you were right there. Finally, for just a moment he paused, his fist wound tight, ready for the next blow. Though as the clouds of red finally faded from his vision, he felt frozen. This was all wrong. Your hair, tightly clenched between his fingers as his fist that was meant to protect you was only moments from striking you. The tears cascading down your cheeks poured from eyes filled with terror.

That look. The look in your eyes right now, he was far too familiar with it. The way people looked at him before, waiting for him to snap. But he was never supposed to give you a reason to look at him like that. And now…

A sharp inhale cut through his thoughts, releasing you suddenly as he watched your body crumble to the ground, curling up to yourself, soft sobs of relief slipping past your lips and into his ears. He felt his chest clench. He stared at you with wide, horrified eyes. Taking a moment to finally move, shifting slightly closer to you, his voice trembling as he went to call your name, but his words caught in his throat as he caught the slightest motion. You flinched, you flinched away from him. He didn’t dare move again, but he felt so lost. He wanted to comfort you, to tell you it was alright, that you were safe. But how could he do that when he was the reason you were so afraid? He almost hurt you with his own hands when he’d promised to always protect you. His thoughts were interrupted when his eyes met yours, wet and fearful, but a glimmer of hope behind them that made his heart ache all over again. “Rennie…?” Your voice was so soft and fragile, like if he moved too suddenly or spoke too loud you would just fall apart. Maybe that’s why his voice came out so quiet. He could blame that instead of the tears in his own eyes. “I’m…so sorry-” He didn’t get to finish yet again, this time because of the way you lept to cling to him, unable to reach his arms with him standing and you on the ground, so you latched onto his leg, small choked sounds and sniffles still slipping out.

He could never forgive himself for this, how could he? And how could you possibly still cling to him like he was your lifeline? Like you could still possibly love him after this? He knew you were forgiving, but your kindness had to have limits! He didn’t move, unsure of what to do, what he should do. When your words finally broke him from the spell he was under, he was shocked to find it was possible to feel worse. “It’s okay, Ren. It’s not your fault, I shouldn’t have grabbed you in the middle of a fight, I’m sorry.” How could you possibly think to apologize to him? After what he did, and after what you saw, you should be screaming and running from him. And he definitely shouldn’t be crouching down, pulling you into his arms as tears begin to fall from his own eyes. And he shouldn’t be hiding his face in your neck, begging for your forgiveness on the ground of this dirty tunnel surrounded by bodies. But he was, and you with your own tears and body trembling hold him tightly. After some time has passed, at some point you had ended up in his lap, his body completely shielding you from view and elements, arms securely around you as he still hides his face in your neck. You decided to break the silence finally, a shaky smile finding your lips. “It’s okay, I’m not mad, Ren. I know next time-” “No.” You were almost startled by how quickly he interjected, but his voice was still soft and quiet, making an effort clearly to be less frightening for you right now. “There won’t be a next time like this. I won’t let it happen. You can be mad, or scared. Whatever you need. I’ll understand.” He fell silent again for a moment more before hearing you sniffle again, though somehow your voice seemed stronger than before. “I was scared… But, I’m not scared of you, Ren.” He didn’t understand why you were so understanding with him, why you were so gentle and forgiving. Or even why you loved him. But he’d be forever grateful you did. And he’d make sure to make this up to you for the rest of your lives together. He’d make sure to keep getting better, to keep learning how to control that part of himself. He never wanted to see you look at him like that again, and if he had anything to say about it, he wouldn’t give you a reason to.

#wind breaker #furin high #satoru nii #wbk #kaji ren #wbk kaji #kaji x reader #kaji ren x reader #kaji ren x you #winbre #hurt/comfort #fanfic

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theonottsbxtch · 9 months ago

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TEACHER'S PET PT.2 | CL16

an: i don't even have anything to say i'm just giggling atp, also this one is really long i apologise, i got carried away

wc: 9.1k

warnings: heavy infidelity

part one

The morning sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting soft stripes of golden light across the bed. The room was quiet, save for the gentle rhythm of Logan’s breathing beside her, his arm draped comfortably around her waist, holding her close. She blinked, the last vestiges of sleep still clouding her mind, her body warm and drowsy beneath the blanket.

But as her consciousness sharpened, the remnants of a dream clung stubbornly to her—vivid, unsettling, far too real.

Professor Leclerc.

Her heart gave a startled lurch as the images resurfaced, unbidden. His hands, firm on her waist. The soft, gravelly sound of his voice whispering her name, lips brushing her ear. Her skin felt heated under his touch, the press of his body against hers too close, too intimate. She had seen his face clearly—his dark, intense eyes focused solely on her, the way his mouth curved into a knowing, devastating smile.

The dream had felt so real, too real, and her pulse raced as she lay there, her breath catching in her throat. The weight of Logan’s arm around her suddenly felt suffocating. She shifted slightly, trying to shake the dream away, to rid herself of the guilt that came rushing in like a wave, but it was no use. The images clung to her, sticky and wrong, making her feel hot with shame.

How could she have dreamed about him? Her professor? Her much older professor.

And worse—she’d liked it. In the haze of sleep, she'd been swept up in it, wanting more, her body responding in ways that horrified her now.

This is wrong, she told herself fiercely. I have Logan. I love Logan. This isn’t supposed to happen.

Her body tensed under Logan’s arm, and she swallowed hard, trying to calm the flurry of emotions threatening to consume her. She didn’t move, didn’t want to wake him, but her mind was racing, her heart pounding far too fast for such an early morning.

How could she face Logan after this? He was lying there, holding her so gently, so lovingly, completely unaware of the tangled mess of thoughts in her head. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair to him, and it wasn’t fair to herself. The guilt gnawed at her, twisting her insides.

Just as she thought she could push the dream aside, bury it deep enough to forget it, Logan stirred beside her. His grip on her waist tightened slightly, and his sleepy voice drifted toward her, soft and familiar.

"Morning," he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep. His lips brushed the back of her neck as he nuzzled closer, pulling her tighter against his chest. "You okay?"

The question hung in the air like a challenge, and for a split second, her stomach dropped. Could he sense something was wrong? Could he feel the way her body had gone rigid beneath his touch, how her breathing had changed?

I’m not okay, she thought, the words screaming in her mind, but her lips remained sealed.

"Yeah," she whispered, forcing a smile he couldn’t see. "I’m fine. Just... just waking up."

Her voice sounded thin, unconvincing even to herself, but Logan didn’t seem to notice. He pressed another kiss to her shoulder, a tender, affectionate gesture that sent a new wave of guilt crashing over her. He was always so good to her—kind, loving, steady. Everything she needed.

So why was her heart still pounding with the memory of her professor? Why did the dream still linger, like an ache she couldn’t quite shake?

Logan’s arm loosened, and he shifted beside her, rolling onto his back. She could feel him stretching, the mattress shifting beneath them, and she used the moment to slip out from under the covers, desperate for some space.

She stood, her legs shaky as she padded quietly across the room toward the dresser. The early morning chill hit her skin, waking her up fully, but it did nothing to shake the feeling clinging to her chest. Her reflection in the mirror caught her off guard, her face flushed, her hair messy from sleep. She looked... guilty. Like the dream had left a mark on her that couldn’t be erased so easily.

Behind her, she heard the soft rustle of sheets as Logan sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes. "You sure you’re okay?" he asked, his voice a little clearer now, more awake.

She froze for a split second, then busied herself with picking out clothes for the day. "Yeah, just thinking about everything I have to do. I’ve got a lecture this morning." She kept her back to him, not trusting herself to face him just yet.

There was a pause, then the creak of the bed as Logan stood, moving toward her. His arms wrapped around her waist from behind, pulling her close again, his chin resting on her shoulder. His warmth was familiar, comforting, but it only made the knot in her chest tighten.

"Don’t stress," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her neck. "You’ll get through it. And if you need to talk to your professor again about your essay, just go for it. I’m sure he’ll be understanding."

Her body tensed at the mention of Professor Leclerc, and she felt her breath catch in her throat. The dream came flooding back in vivid detail, and she bit down hard on her lip, trying to shake the thought of it. She couldn’t let Logan see how shaken she was.

"Yeah," she muttered, reaching for a sweater, eager to put some distance between them. "I’ll figure it out."

Logan gave her waist a reassuring squeeze before stepping back, oblivious to the turmoil bubbling beneath her calm exterior. "I’m gonna shower. Let me know if you want to grab coffee before you head to class."

"Sure," she said quickly, avoiding his gaze as she started pulling on her clothes. "I’ll let you know."

She heard the bathroom door close behind him, the soft rush of water starting up moments later, and finally let out the breath she’d been holding.

She stood there, her hands gripping the edge of the dresser as she stared down at the hardwood floor, her mind racing. What was wrong with her? How could she have let herself dream about him? It was just a dream, she tried to remind herself—dreams didn’t mean anything. But the way her body had responded, the way her heart still thudded in her chest, told her otherwise.

This is wrong, she thought again, trying to steady herself. I have Logan. I love Logan.

But as she pulled on her jeans, slipping her feet into her shoes, her thoughts drifted to Professor Leclerc again, the memory of his voice, the way he’d looked at her during their meeting, the soft intimacy of his office. She hadn’t imagined that tension. There was something there, wasn’t there?

She shook her head, trying to clear it. She needed to focus on reality, on her relationship with Logan, and on her lecture this morning. She couldn’t afford to let her mind wander like this.

But as she grabbed her bag and headed for the door, her heart still racing, she knew that shaking off the professor wasn’t going to be as easy as she’d hoped.

The lecture hall was already buzzing with low chatter as she slipped inside, taking a seat near the middle, far enough back to blend in but close enough that she could still see him clearly. She hadn’t eaten breakfast, her stomach too twisted with nerves to manage food, and the coffee she’d grabbed on the way with Logan sat untouched beside her, growing cold.

Her eyes drifted toward the front of the room, where Professor Leclerc was setting up for the lecture. He moved with the same deliberate grace as always, flipping through his notes, adjusting the laptop screen, completely at ease. He was wearing a crisp white shirt today, the sleeves once again rolled up to his forearms, his blazer draped neatly over the back of his chair and for a second she wondered if it was on purpose. He looked as composed as ever—professional, distant.

And yet, she felt it again, that strange pull tightening in her chest as she watched him. Her mind flashed briefly to the dream from the night before, and she swallowed hard, forcing herself to focus. This was just a lecture. Nothing more. She was overthinking things, letting her mind play tricks on her.

But as the hall began to settle, students quieting down as the lecture was about to begin, she could feel his attention shift. He glanced up, his eyes sweeping the room before landing on her. The moment their gazes met, her breath caught in her throat.

He didn’t look away immediately. There was a pause—just a beat too long—and it sent a shiver down her spine. The same unreadable expression lingered on his face, but there was something in his eyes, something that made her heart race. He looked at her like he knew something she didn’t, like there was a shared secret hanging between them, unspoken but undeniable.

She quickly averted her gaze, her cheeks flushing. Focus on the lecture, she told herself, but it was harder than it should have been. Her body was tense, every nerve aware of him standing at the front of the room, knowing he was aware of her too.

Professor Leclerc’s voice cut through the silence as he began the lecture, his tone smooth and authoritative, commanding attention as he spoke. He moved effortlessly from topic to topic, discussing the intricacies of Derrida and the complexities of post-structuralism, but she could barely focus on the content. Every now and then, she would feel his gaze flick toward her, brief glances that lingered just long enough to make her heart race again.

It wasn’t just in her head, was it?

As the lecture progressed, the feeling of being singled out grew. He would pose questions to the class, his eyes scanning the room, but they always seemed to return to her, as though he were waiting for her reaction, her response. Even when he wasn’t looking directly at her, she could feel the weight of his attention, like a low hum beneath the surface of everything he said. It made her shift uncomfortably in her seat, her fingers fidgeting with the pen in her lap.

At one point, he asked a question, something about Gustav Courbet’s intentions behind a painting of which the title she missed, and though several hands went up around her, his eyes locked on hers. Her pulse quickened, but she didn’t raise her hand. She didn’t trust herself to speak right now, not with the way her thoughts were tangled up, not when she felt like her face was on fire under his gaze.

He didn’t call on anyone else. Instead, he lingered in that moment, his gaze heavy on her, as though waiting—expecting something. The silence stretched out for what felt like an eternity before he finally moved on, but the tension in her chest only tightened further.

The rest of the lecture passed in a blur. She couldn’t focus, her thoughts too muddled by the quiet intensity between them, the way he seemed to be paying her special attention without saying a word. When the class finally ended, students began packing up, the rustle of papers and bags filling the room. She exhaled slowly, her body tense, her mind still reeling from the subtle but undeniable connection that had pulsed between them the entire hour.

Just as she stood to leave, she heard his voice, calm but unmistakably directed at her.

"Miss."

She froze, her heart skipping a beat at the sound of her name. Slowly, she turned to face him. He was standing near his desk, his hands resting on the stack of notes, his gaze fixed firmly on her.

"Could you come to my office for a moment? I’d like to discuss the next assignment with you."

Her pulse raced. The words were simple enough—nothing inappropriate, nothing out of the ordinary for a professor to ask of a student. But the way he said it, the way his eyes held hers, made her stomach flip. It wasn’t a request. It was an expectation.

She nodded, her voice catching slightly as she replied. "Of course."

He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, then turned away, gathering his papers and slipping them into his satchel. She watched him for a moment, feeling the weight of the decision she’d just made. This was just a discussion about an assignment. That was all. It was professional. Normal. But deep down, she knew it didn’t feel that way.

As she slung her bag over her shoulder and began making her way toward the door, her mind was already racing ahead, imagining what the next conversation would hold. The pull between them had only grown stronger, more insistent, and as much as she tried to push it away, the anticipation gnawed at her, pulling her deeper into a situation she wasn’t sure she could control.

This wasn’t over.

Not yet.

She found herself walking toward his office without hesitation, as though her feet were moving on their own. The hallway was quieter now, most students having filtered out after the lecture. Her mind raced, buzzing with too many thoughts at once—none of them clear enough to grasp.

When she reached the door, she paused, her heart thudding in her chest. His name, Professor Charles Leclerc, was printed neatly on the plaque beside the door, the same as always. Yet, somehow, it felt different now, like the air around his office held more weight. Her hand hovered above the door for a moment before she gave a soft knock.

"Come in," his voice called from inside.

She pushed the door open, slipping inside and closing it quietly behind her. The room was warm, lit by the soft glow of a desk lamp, the blinds half-drawn to block out the harsh daylight. It smelled faintly of coffee and old books, a subtle comfort in the otherwise unfamiliar space.

Professor Leclerc was seated behind his desk, but as soon as she entered, he looked up, his eyes settling on her with that same intensity she’d felt during the lecture. His blazer was hung over the back of his chair, and his sleeves were still rolled up, revealing the strong lines of his forearms. He adjusted his glasses slightly, a gesture that shouldn’t have made her stomach flip the way it did.

"Miss," he greeted, gesturing to the chair across from his desk. "Please, sit."

She obeyed without hesitation, lowering herself into the chair and setting her bag on the floor beside her. The office was small, intimate, lined with bookshelves and papers that seemed to overflow with the work of a man deeply immersed in his subject. But it wasn’t the room that made her nervous—it was the man sitting behind the desk.

He leaned back slightly, his eyes never leaving her. "I’ve been thinking about your last essay submission," he began, his voice low and thoughtful. "You’re very talented, you know."

The compliment landed softly, and for a moment, she didn’t quite know how to respond. She hadn’t expected praise. She had expected to be critiqued, corrected, told where she had gone wrong. But instead, his words hung in the air between them, warm and heavy, and she felt herself relaxing into the chair without meaning to.

"Thank you," she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I mean it," he continued, his eyes searching hers. "You have a sharp mind. Your analysis of Toulouse-Letrec’s Rosa La Rouge—especially the way you approached strokes—was far more nuanced than most of your peers. You see things others miss."

Her heart fluttered in her chest at his words. The way he spoke, the way he looked at her—it was like he wasn’t just praising her work, but her, the person behind the words. And it did something to her, something she wasn’t prepared for.

She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks, the quickening of her pulse. His praise was intoxicating, soothing something deep inside her she hadn’t even realised needed soothing. Something she realised she was starting to crave. Her anxiety about the essay, her insecurities about her abilities—all of it seemed to melt away under the warmth of his approval.

"I... I wasn’t sure I got it right," she admitted, feeling a little breathless.

He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the desk, closing the space between them. "You did," he said, his voice soft but firm. "You have real potential. If you keep pushing yourself, I think you could write something truly remarkable. Something I’d imagine may end up in this very university’s library, on my shelves"

Her stomach flipped again, and she found herself holding her breath. The room felt smaller, more intimate, with the two of them sitting there in the quiet, his voice weaving around her like a spell. There was no one else here. Just him and her.

"I want you to take that approach further in the next assignment," he continued, his gaze still locked on hers. "Dig deeper into the painting. Trust your instincts. You have a unique perspective, and that’s something you should lean into. Don’t be afraid to take risks with your analysis."

She nodded, but the words barely registered. All she could think about was the way his voice sounded, the way his eyes seemed to see through her. Her body felt warm, too warm, and her mind was spinning in directions she didn’t want it to go.

For the first time in weeks, she didn’t feel the guilt gnawing at her. She didn’t think about Logan or about how inappropriate this was. All she felt was the rush of satisfaction, the undeniable pull of his attention. It was like nothing else mattered in this moment.

"You have a real gift," he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "I hope you know that."

Her breath hitched, and before she could stop herself, she murmured, "I... I don’t know."

His lips curved into a faint smile, his gaze softening as he leaned back in his chair. "You will."

For a brief moment, she let herself get lost in it—the praise, the closeness, the way he looked at her like she was something special. It was heady, overwhelming, but she wanted to stay in it just a little longer. She felt seen, in a way she hadn’t in a long time.

And then her phone buzzed in her bag, shattering the moment.

She blinked, her body jolting as if she had been pulled from a dream. With shaking fingers, she reached into her bag, pulling out her phone. The screen lit up with a message from

Logan:

Dinner on me tonight?

The words hit her like a punch to the gut, and all at once, the guilt came crashing back, hard and unforgiving. Her stomach twisted violently, the warmth that had settled over her evaporating in an instant. She stared at the message, her heart sinking.

Logan. Her boyfriend. The man who loved her, who had kissed her goodbye that morning without suspecting a thing.

What am I doing?

Her chest tightened, and she quickly shoved the phone back into her bag, her hands trembling. The weight of what had just happened—the way she had let herself be swept up in the moment, how easily she had forgotten everything else—hit her all at once, and it felt suffocating.

"This is wrong," she thought, the words repeating in her mind like a mantra. This is wrong.

Her cheeks burned with shame, and she couldn’t bring herself to meet Professor Leclerc’s eyes anymore. She could still feel his attention on her, but it felt different now. Too heavy. Too close.

"Is everything alright?" His voice was calm, but there was a hint of concern laced into the question.

She forced a smile, though it felt brittle. "Yeah," she lied, her voice strained. "Just a text from... my boyfriend."

There was a pause, and though he didn’t say anything, she could feel the shift in the air. The subtle tension between them thickened, and she stood abruptly, her movements jerky.

"I should go," she said quickly, grabbing her bag and slinging it over her shoulder. "I... I have another class."

Professor Leclerc didn’t stop her. He merely nodded, his eyes still on her, watching as she fumbled with the door handle.

"Take your time with the assignment," he said softly, as she opened the door. "And if you need anything... you know where to find me."

His words lingered in the air as she hurried out of the office, her pulse racing, her mind a chaotic mess of emotions. She could feel the guilt clawing at her, sharp and unforgiving, but there was something else there too—something she didn’t want to admit.

As she walked down the hallway, her phone still buzzing faintly in her bag, she couldn’t stop thinking about him.

And that terrified her.

The restaurant Logan had chosen was cosy, the kind of place they’d been to a dozen times before—intimate without being pretentious, with soft lighting and the smell of fresh bread lingering in the air. Normally, it would have been the perfect setting for a relaxed evening, a break from the stress of her assignments and the constant hum of campus life. But tonight, something felt off. She couldn’t shake the tension that had followed her since the meeting with Professor Leclerc.

Logan was already at the table when she arrived, sitting near the back corner of the restaurant, his eyes lighting up when he saw her. He smiled, that warm, familiar smile that usually put her at ease.

"Hey, you," he said as she slid into the chair across from him. "Thought you were gonna ditch me for a second."

She forced a smile, but her mind was still racing, the earlier conversation with Charles. Professor Leclerc replaying itself on a loop. "Sorry," she said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Got a little caught up with something."

"No worries," Logan said, waving it off. "I already ordered drinks. Figured you’d want a glass of white?"

"Perfect," she murmured, her eyes flicking briefly to the wine list before drifting over the restaurant. She needed to calm down, to focus on the moment. She was here with Logan. This was where she was supposed to be.

The server arrived with their drinks, and Logan launched into an easy conversation about his day—something about a project on his course, a deadline that was stressing him out. She nodded along, trying to keep up, but her mind kept slipping, wandering back to the way Professor Leclerc had looked at her during their meeting, the way his voice had sounded when he praised her. The praise had felt personal, intimate in a way that wasn’t just academic.

She took a sip of her wine, trying to drown the thought.

Logan was mid-sentence, something about his coursemate, when she heard it. A voice she recognised, low and distinct. Her body tensed before she even turned her head, as if it knew before her brain had fully registered it.

Professor Leclerc.

He was sitting a few tables away, near the window, his back partially turned toward them but still unmistakable. His hair was slightly tousled, his sleeves rolled up as usual, though this time he wasn’t wearing his glasses. He was with someone—a woman, blonde and striking, with a sharp jawline and an air of confidence that made her feel immediately inadequate. She was leaning in toward him, laughing at something he’d said, her hand resting lightly on his arm.

Her heart skipped a beat.

The air felt too thick suddenly, the warmth of the restaurant stifling. She couldn’t stop staring at him. He looked different, more relaxed, like the weight of his role as professor had been shed for the evening. His posture was looser, his smile—something she rarely saw in the classroom—came easily as he listened to the woman beside him.

Logan was still talking, but his voice felt like background noise now. The clatter of silverware, the low hum of conversation around them—it all faded into a dull hum as her focus narrowed in on Professor Leclerc. Her gaze flicked to his date, jealousy spiking unexpectedly in her chest. She had no right to feel this way—he wasn’t hers, and she had no reason to think of him as anything other than her professor. But the way he’d spoken to her earlier, the way his praise had made her feel seen, made it impossible to push the thought away.

What if she were the one sitting across from him tonight?

She imagined it—sitting in that dimly lit corner with him, his attention focused solely on her, his voice low and intimate as he praised her work again, only this time not just her work. What if he looked at her the way he was looking at the woman beside him, with that easy smile and soft eyes? What if he reached across the table, his hand brushing against hers in a way that felt deliberate, intentional?

The thought sent a shiver down her spine. She could picture it so vividly—the quiet closeness of the restaurant, the way they’d linger over their meals, talking about anything and everything, his gaze never straying far from hers. They’d share a bottle of wine, his hand eventually resting on hers, the warmth of his touch sparking something undeniable between them. The thought of it, of being on a date with him, filled her with a strange, exhilarating mix of desire and guilt.

"Hey, you okay?" Logan’s voice broke through her thoughts, and she blinked, startled, her gaze snapping back to him.

"Huh? Yeah, sorry." She forced a smile, taking another sip of wine to steady herself. "Just... zoned out for a second."

Logan grinned, leaning forward slightly. "That’s because I’m boring you to death with sports science talk huh?" He chuckled, reaching for her hand across the table. "Let’s change the subject. How was your day?"

Her stomach twisted as his hand covered hers, the warmth of his touch grounding her in reality—reminding her of who she was supposed to be with. This was Logan. Her boyfriend. The man who cared for her, who had planned this dinner just to make her feel better after a long week. And yet, all she could think about was how his hand felt so different from the one she imagined touching hers across the room.

"It was fine," she lied, her voice feeling tight in her throat. "Just, you know, busy with classes."

She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks again, and before she could stop herself, her gaze drifted back toward Professor Leclerc. He hadn’t noticed her—he was too engrossed in his date, too caught up in the moment with the woman beside him. They were laughing now, the kind of soft, private laughter that felt like a secret shared between two people. Her chest tightened.

She shouldn’t be here. Or rather, she shouldn’t want to be there—at that table with him, feeling his attention wrap around her like it had in his office earlier. But she couldn’t stop imagining it, couldn’t stop wondering what it would be like to sit across from him, to be the one making him smile like that.

Her phone buzzed on the table, and she looked down to see a message from her professor in the university’s online system. The timing was cruelly coincidental. It was just a simple reminder about office hours and the upcoming assignment, but it was enough to make her pulse quicken again. He was here, just a few tables away, and yet his presence loomed larger than Logan’s, filling her mind completely.

Logan was saying something about plans for the weekend, but she barely heard him. The noise of the restaurant seemed to swell around her, disorienting her, making it hard to focus. She could feel herself slipping, her thoughts spiralling in directions she didn’t want them to go. She wanted to be present with Logan, to enjoy the dinner he had planned for them. But every time she looked at him, all she could think about was Professor Leclerc, sitting so close yet impossibly far away, on a date with someone else.

It should have been her.

Her stomach clenched at the thought, the guilt returning in a wave so strong it made her feel lightheaded. She wasn’t supposed to be thinking like this, not about her professor, not while she was on a date with her boyfriend. But the pull was too strong, the fantasy too intoxicating to resist.

She smiled at Logan, though it felt hollow, the guilt gnawing at her insides.

"I’m really glad we’re doing this," Logan said, his thumb brushing over the back of her hand. "We’ve both been so busy. It’s nice to just... you know, take a breath."

"Yeah," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "It is."

But as she glanced over at Professor Leclerc one last time, watching the way he leaned in toward his date, his eyes shining with interest, she couldn’t help but wonder if she’d ever be able to take that breath.

Because as long as she kept thinking about him, about what it would be like to be in his orbit like that, she wasn’t sure she could.

She couldn’t remember how the rest of the evening had gone. She barely remembered what she had eaten, let alone what Logan had talked about through the main course. Her mind had been elsewhere, circling back to the professor’s presence across the restaurant, the tension between them thick and suffocating. She was painfully aware of his every movement, his every glance in the corner of her vision, but she tried to push it all aside and focus on Logan.

But now, standing outside the restaurant, a cold breeze cutting through her coat, her thoughts were more chaotic than ever.

Logan had just received a call from one of his mates—Alex, someone from his football team—who was apparently too drunk to get home on his own.

"I’m so sorry, babe," Logan had said, guilt in his eyes as he slipped his jacket on. "Alex is a mess. He’s stuck on the other side of town, and there’s no way he’ll make it home without help."

"It’s fine," she’d assured him. "Really."

Logan had pulled out his wallet, fumbling through some cash. "Here, this should be enough to get you a cab home." He pressed the notes into her hand, squeezing it gently. "I’ll see you later, okay babe?"

She had nodded, watching as he quickly waved down a cab for himself and disappeared into the night to go get his friend, leaving her alone outside the restaurant. The dim street lights flickered overhead, casting long shadows across the pavement. She hugged her arms around herself, the wind biting at her skin as she waited for her own ride.

The city streets felt empty at this hour, the noise of the restaurant fading behind her as couples walked by, arm in arm, laughing and chatting. She glanced at her phone, not knowing exactly what she was waiting for, there were three cabs on the same street. But as she stood there, shifting on her feet, she felt a familiar presence before she saw him.

"Miss," a voice said, low and smooth, and she froze.

She turned slowly, her heart skipping a beat as her eyes met Professor Leclerc’s. He stood just a few feet away, his hands casually in his pockets, the streetlight casting a faint glow over his face. He wasn’t wearing his blazer, and his hair was slightly ruffled from the wind. His date was nowhere in sight, and she felt the air around them shift, the same electric tension that had been in his office earlier tightening between them.

"You’re out here alone?" he asked, his gaze flicking to the empty space beside her where Logan had been moments before.

"Yeah," she murmured, her throat suddenly dry. "Logan had to go pick up a friend. Drunk."

He took a step closer, his eyes dark and unreadable in the dim light. "And he just left you standing out here?"

"I’m was about to get a cab," she said, her voice quieter than she intended.

His eyes lingered on her, taking in the way she hugged her arms to her body against the chill. His proximity was unsettling, too close for comfort, and yet she didn’t move. She couldn’t. She felt like a moth drawn to a flame, knowing it was dangerous but unable to pull herself away.

"You look cold," he said, his voice soft but with an edge of something else—something unspoken.

She swallowed hard, her pulse quickening. "I’m fine," she lied, her body betraying her with a slight shiver.

He stepped even closer, the space between them shrinking to nothing. She could feel the warmth of his body now, the way his presence seemed to wrap around her like a blanket. Her heart raced, every nerve in her body suddenly alive, aware of how close he was—too close. She could smell the faint scent of his cologne, the sharpness of it filling her lungs with each breath.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The city felt distant, the noise of passing cars and pedestrians muffled in the background, as if the world had shrunk to just the two of them. Her skin tingled, and she felt a dangerous pull toward him, an urge to close the gap between them completely, to cross the line she’d been so carefully trying to avoid.

"You shouldn’t be out here alone," he said, his voice low and intimate. His eyes held hers, something heavy and unspoken passing between them.

"Shouldn’t you be with your date?" she asked, her words slipping out before she could stop herself. Her voice came out shaky, laced with nerves.

His lips twitched slightly, a shadow of a smile, but there was no humour in it. "And shouldn’t you be with your boyfriend?" he reminded her softly, his eyes locking onto hers, as if daring her to acknowledge what was happening between them.

Her stomach clenched, guilt flashing through her like a jolt of electricity. This was wrong—so wrong—but the pull between them felt inescapable, like gravity drawing her closer no matter how much she fought it. She was standing in front of her professor, her body reacting to him in ways she couldn’t control, and her boyfriend was miles away, oblivious.

The thought hit her hard, guilt swirling inside her. But it didn’t stop the way her heart raced, the way her skin burned under his gaze.

"You shouldn’t be out here," he said again, his voice a little softer now, almost tender. "Let me give you a ride home."

She blinked, her thoughts scrambling. She should say no. She knew she should say no. But the words wouldn’t come. Her breath hitched in her throat as his eyes searched hers, waiting.

"I—I can get a cab," she stammered, though even she didn’t sound convincing.

"You could," he agreed, his voice steady and calm, but his eyes never left hers. "Or I could take you home. It’s late."

There was a moment of silence, the weight of his words hanging between them. Her heart pounded in her chest, her mind screaming at her to walk away, to leave before this went any further. But her body wasn’t listening. Her body was leaning into the moment, craving the intimacy she knew was wrong.

Before she could stop herself, she nodded.

"Okay," she whispered.

The word was barely out of her mouth before he turned, gesturing for her to follow him. She trailed after him, her legs feeling shaky as they walked to his car, which was parked further down the street. The city lights flickered overhead, the wind biting at her skin, but she barely felt it now. All she could feel was the heat between them, the unspoken tension that had simmered for weeks now threatening to spill over.

He unlocked the car, and she slid into the passenger seat, her hands trembling slightly as she buckled her seatbelt. The car was warm, the leather seats soft beneath her, and the moment he sat down next to her, she felt the air shift again, thickening with unspoken things. She could barely breathe.

He started the car in silence, the hum of the engine the only sound between them as they pulled away from the curb. For a few minutes, they didn’t speak, the city lights flashing by in a blur. She stared out the window, her mind a chaotic swirl of thoughts and feelings she didn’t know how to untangle.

"You’re quiet," he said, his voice breaking through the silence.

She glanced at him, her heart thudding in her chest. "Just… thinking."

He gave a soft hum in response, his fingers tapping lightly against the steering wheel. "About what?"

About you.

But she couldn’t say that. She couldn’t admit that her thoughts had been consumed by him ever since the restaurant, ever since he’d gotten too close. Instead, she shook her head slightly, looking away again.

"Nothing," she lied. She was getting really good at that lately

He didn’t push her, but the silence that followed felt heavy, thick with things unsaid. She could feel his gaze flick toward her occasionally, and each time, her pulse quickened. She knew she shouldn’t be here, in this car, with him. She had a boyfriend. He was her professor. But none of that seemed to matter anymore. Not with the way her body responded to his presence.

The car slowed as they approached the University Accomodations, and she felt a strange mix of relief and disappointment as they neared the end of the ride. Relief because she knew she was playing with fire, disappointment because she didn’t want the moment to end.

He pulled up to the curb, the car idling as he glanced over at her. She hesitated, her fingers gripping the door handle. For a moment, neither of them moved.

"Thanks," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t respond right away. His eyes lingered on her for a moment, his gaze intense, searching. The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken things, and she felt her breath catch in her throat.

"You should go," he said softly, but there was something in his voice—something that made her feel like neither of them really wanted her to leave.

She nodded, fumbling with the door handle. "Yeah."

But even as she stepped out of the car, her heart still racing, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something between them had shifted irreversibly.

She stepped out of the car, closing the door with a soft thud, the cold night air biting at her skin. She could feel the weight of everything pressing down on her—her emotions, her guilt, her confusion. Every step toward the door of her building felt heavier than the last, like she was walking away from something that was about to slip through her fingers.

She paused for a moment at the entrance, her hand trembling as it hovered over her keys. It was stupid, but part of her wanted to look back. To see if he was still sitting in his car, watching her walk away. But she knew that would be a mistake. She needed to go inside. She needed to end this.

Just as she was about to force herself forward, she heard the car door open behind her.

"Miss."

Her breath hitched at the sound of his voice, low and firm in the quiet night. She turned slowly, her heart thudding in her chest as she saw him standing by the car, his figure bathed in the glow of the streetlights. He was holding something in his hand—her phone.

"You forgot this," he said, his eyes locking onto hers as he started walking toward her, the phone held out like a lifeline.

She hadn’t even realised she’d left it behind. Her heart skipped a beat, her pulse quickening as he closed the distance between them. He stopped just in front of her, too close—again, too close—and the world seemed to narrow, leaving only the space between them.

"Thanks," she whispered, her voice shaky as she reached out for her phone, her fingers brushing against his hand. The contact sent a jolt of electricity up her arm, and suddenly, the air between them felt thick and charged, every nerve in her body on edge.

For a moment, neither of them moved. The night was still, the city around them quiet, but all she could focus on was the heat radiating from his body, the way his eyes were fixed on hers with an intensity that made her forget to breathe. She could feel her resolve slipping, the line she’d drawn in her mind fading into something hazy and indistinct.

"You should go inside," he said softly, but his voice was rough, like even he didn’t believe his own words.

She nodded, but her feet stayed rooted to the ground, her phone now clenched in her hand. Her eyes flicked down to his lips, and she immediately cursed herself for it, for even letting her mind go there. But the tension between them was suffocating, pulling her in like gravity, and the rational part of her brain was screaming to leave, to walk away before she made another mistake.

And yet she didn’t move.

He took a step closer, and her breath caught in her throat. His hand hovered near her, like he was resisting the urge to touch her, the space between them so small it felt like any second it would dissolve completely.

"This is wrong," she whispered, her voice barely audible, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

"I know," he said, his voice equally low, but there was a tightness in his tone, like he was battling something inside himself. His eyes flicked down to her lips, and for a split second, she saw the crack in his restraint, the moment where control started to slip.

Her pulse raced as the tension reached a breaking point, the air between them crackling with a dangerous energy. Her heart pounded in her chest, and she knew—knew—that she should step back, walk away, stop this before it went any further. But her body was frozen, her mind clouded by the weight of his presence, the heat of his gaze.

Then, before she could think, before she could remind herself of all the reasons this shouldn’t happen, he reached for her.

It wasn’t hesitant. It wasn’t tentative. His hand slid around her waist, pulling her flush against him, and the moment their bodies touched, a spark ignited, sending a rush of heat coursing through her. His other hand came up to her face, his fingers brushing lightly along her jaw, and the touch made her head spin. She felt like she was standing on the edge of a cliff, the ground beneath her crumbling.

"Professor—" she breathed, her voice barely a whisper, but the word died on her lips as his mouth crashed against hers.

The kiss was hard, intense, and it knocked the breath from her lungs. She melted into him before she could think, her hands instinctively finding their way to his chest, feeling the warmth of his body through his shirt. Every inch of her was on fire, her skin burning where he touched her, her mind lost in the sensation of his lips on hers, his body pressed so tightly against hers she could feel the rapid beat of his heart.

His fingers tangled in her hair, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss. Her own hands slid up to his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his shirt as if she needed to hold onto something to keep from falling. The world around them faded into nothing—no city, no streetlights, no boundaries. Just him. Just this moment.

The kiss was overwhelming, a heady mix of desire and urgency, and it felt like everything inside her was unravelling. She kissed him back with an intensity that matched his own, all the weeks of tension and unspoken longing exploding between them in this one stolen moment. Her body responded to his like it had been waiting for this, aching for this, even though her mind knew it was wrong.

It was wrong.

The thought crashed into her, and for a split second, reality snapped back into focus. She was kissing her professor. She had a boyfriend.

Her heart twisted, guilt slamming into her chest like a tidal wave, but even as the realisation hit, she couldn’t stop. She didn’t want to stop. His hands were still on her, still pulling her closer, his mouth claiming hers like he’d been holding back for too long, and her body was betraying her, responding to him in ways she couldn’t control.

But it couldn’t last.

With a sudden gasp, she pulled back, breaking the kiss. Her chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath, her lips tingling from the intensity of it. His hands stayed on her waist for a moment longer, like he couldn’t quite let go, and his breath was ragged as he stared down at her, his eyes dark with desire.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The weight of what had just happened hung between them, the air thick with tension, but also something else—something more dangerous. She could still feel the heat of his lips on hers, the way his body had felt pressed so tightly against her. Her head spun, her thoughts a mess of confusion and guilt.

"This..." she whispered, her voice shaky, "this was a mistake."

He didn’t respond right away, his gaze still locked on her, his breath still uneven. Finally, he exhaled, his hands slipping from her waist. His jaw tightened, but his eyes softened just slightly as he nodded.

"I know," he said quietly, though there was a reluctance in his voice, like part of him didn’t want to admit it. "I know."

She stepped back, putting a little more distance between them, though her body still ached from the loss of his touch. Her mind was reeling, trying to process everything—what had just happened, what it meant. She wanted to say something, anything, but the words wouldn’t come. The guilt was already creeping in, wrapping around her like a vice, suffocating her.

Her phone buzzed in her hand, and she looked down to see a message from Logan: "He’s home now. Be home soon."

Her stomach twisted, the guilt flooding her all over again. She swallowed hard, the weight of what she’d just done crashing down on her.

"You should go inside," Professor Leclerc said, his voice softer now, quieter. His gaze flicked down to her phone, then back to her eyes, and she could see the flicker of understanding there. He knew. He knew what this meant, what they’d both just crossed.

Without another word, she nodded, turning away from him. Her legs felt weak, shaky, as she walked back toward the door of her building, her heart still racing in her chest.

She didn’t look back as she stepped inside.

But the kiss lingered. The heat of it, the way his lips had felt on hers, the way she had wanted more even though she shouldn’t have. And she knew, even as the door closed behind her, that she wasn’t sure how to stop herself from wanting it again.

The door closed behind her with a soft click, but the echo of the kiss still buzzed through her body. She felt unsteady, her heart still racing as she leaned against the cold wall of her apartment building’s lobby. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to slow her breathing, to erase the memory of his lips on hers, the warmth of his body pressed against hers.

But it wasn’t that easy.

Her phone buzzed again, still in her hand, Logan’s new message lighting up the screen.

"Love you x"

She blinked at the text, the words twisting in her chest like a dagger. She felt sick—her stomach knotting painfully as the reality of what she’d just done sank in fully. She had crossed a line, a line that should never have been crossed. She had kissed her professor. And not just kissed him—wanted it, craved it, even as her mind screamed at her to stop.

Her fingers tightened around the phone, her knuckles turning white. She could still feel the weight of Professor Leclerc’s touch, his hand on her waist, the way he’d pulled her so close. It had been magnetic, a pull she couldn’t resist. But the guilt...the guilt was crushing now.

This was wrong.

She had a boyfriend—a good one. Logan was sweet, reliable, someone she could trust. He had never given her a reason to doubt him, never hurt her. And yet here she was, standing in the lobby of her apartment building, flushed and trembling from a kiss with another man. Her professor. A man she shouldn’t have been thinking about in that way at all.

She pushed herself off the wall and started walking down the hallway, her steps shaky. The apartment she shared with Logan was just a few floors up, and she needed to pull herself together before he got home. Her mind raced as she thought of him walking through the door, greeting her with that warm smile he always had after a long day. The thought made her chest tighten with guilt, but at the same time, she couldn’t stop thinking about Professor Leclerc. How his eyes had darkened when he looked at her, how the heat of his body had set her alight in a way she hadn’t felt in so long.

She stopped at her door, her keys fumbling in her hand. She didn’t want to face Logan tonight, but she had no choice. Taking a deep breath, she forced the guilt to the back of her mind and unlocked the door.

The apartment was quiet, and as she stepped inside, it felt almost suffocating. She kicked off her shoes and set her bag down, her mind still buzzing with everything that had happened. She went to the bathroom, splashing cold water on her face, hoping it would help clear her head.

Staring at her reflection in the mirror, she barely recognized herself. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips still tingling from the kiss, and there was something in her eyes—a glint of something dangerous, something she didn’t want to acknowledge.

What is happening to me?

She pressed her hands to the cool porcelain of the sink, her breathing shallow as she tried to push away the images that kept flashing in her mind—Professor Leclerc’s hands, his lips, the heat of his body.

Before she could spiral any further, she heard the sound of the front door opening. Her heart jumped into her throat as she straightened up, quickly drying her face with a towel.

"Hey, babe," Logan’s voice called from the other room. He sounded tired but happy, as if nothing in the world was wrong. "Sorry I was long. Alex was a mess."

"Yeah, no problem," she replied, her voice strained as she forced herself to smile and walk out of the bathroom.

Logan was in the kitchen, setting down a new bottle of wine and two donuts. His smile lit up his face as he looked at her, completely unaware of the storm inside her. He crossed the room, wrapping her in a warm hug.

"I got your favourite," he said, kissing her forehead. "Figured we could have a cosy night in since our nice dinner out was ruined."

The warmth of his embrace made her stomach turn, the guilt nearly suffocating now. She closed her eyes for a moment, leaning into him, trying to convince herself that this was enough. That this was what she wanted.

But then, her mind betrayed her again. She thought of Professor Leclerc, the way he’d looked at her when he handed her the phone, the feel of his lips crashing against hers. It was wrong—so, so wrong—but it had awakened something inside her she hadn’t expected.

Logan pulled back slightly, his eyes searching hers. "You okay?" he asked, his brow furrowing in concern. "You seem a little...off. Are you sick?"

"I’m fine," she lied, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. "Just tired, I guess. It’s been a long day."

He nodded, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Well, let’s eat these donuts. It’ll help."

They sat down on their shared bed, Logan talking animatedly about how fucked Alex was and his plans for the weekend. She tried to focus, to engage with him like she normally would, but her mind kept drifting. Every time she looked at him, the guilt gnawed at her, but every time she looked away, her thoughts returned to the kiss. She kept replaying it in her mind, the heat of it, the way it had made her feel so alive.

Halfway through dinner, her phone buzzed again. She glanced down, half-expecting it to be another message from one of her apps. But it wasn’t. It was from Professor Leclerc. A private message from her fucking University service.

"Did you get home okay?"

Her heart skipped a beat, her fingers trembling slightly as she stared at the screen. She shouldn’t respond. She knew she shouldn’t respond. But her body reacted before her mind could catch up.

"Yes. Thanks again for the ride."

She pressed send before she could stop herself, her pulse quickening as the message sent. She looked up, realising Logan was watching her, and her stomach twisted.

"Who’s that?" he asked casually, taking a sip of his wine.

"Just a classmate, she’s also struggling on Leclerc’s essay," she lied again, feeling the weight of the lie settle over her like a heavy blanket. She hated how easy it was becoming to deceive him.

Logan smiled, oblivious to the war raging inside her, and continued eating. But she could barely take another bite of her donut, her stomach in knots as she waited for a reply.

And then, a few seconds later, her phone buzzed again.

"Anytime."

Her heart pounded as she read the message, her mind spinning. She knew she was in too deep, that she was teetering on the edge of something dangerous, something she couldn’t come back from. But even now, with Logan sitting right across from her, she couldn’t stop thinking about Professor Leclerc.

She couldn’t stop thinking about how wrong it was.

And how much she wanted it to happen again.

part three

#f1 #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 smau #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc angst #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fanfic #original character #formula one x reader #ferrari formula one #ferrari formula 1 #ferrari #charles leclerc #logan sargeant #williams racing #carlos sainz #teacher au

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evilminji · 2 years ago

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Ya'll know our BELOVED? Little Baby Man?

The noodliest ghosty boy?

What if he WAS Baby? It wouldn't be the first time Danny's enemies plotting gave him offspring. Only this time it's not a clone! It's a proper GHOST baby. Like Lunch Box.

Who's the other parent I hear you ask?

Pretty human-centric view point there buddy, to assume Ghosts NEED two participants to make an offspring. OR are limited to two! Just cause Lunch Lady And Boxie are a couple doesn't mean that's the standard!

We lack data here! ASSUME NOTHING. *sciences harder in your direction*

*awkward cough*

*shuffles notes*

ANYWAY! The child! All it would really take is one(1) VERY poorly timed ambush attack. Imagine if you will, a cell. How does it multiply? While not even close, the simplistic images ARE pretty good as an explanation!

But isn't that just an ecto-clone? You say?

Close!

But THOSE? Are hollow bags of GOO!

No CORE! *slaps the chalkboard behind me*

However! If you wanted, say, a precious bundle off joy? Well, nothing can come from perfect void! You must contribute the building blocks of LIFE! And what are those, my students, in ghost biology??!

Two vital pieces! The Ectoplasm aaaaaaand? That's RIGHT!

The CORE!

A critical and ever vital part of ghost biological function.

Which, like every OTHER part of the body, is malleable. One could, say, make it smaller. Create part of a proto core. OR, should one be ALONE in this process, a FULL protocol.

Upon which, ectoplasm latches, builds, develops and grows. Becomes its own soul.

Now! Do Not mistake me! There is a WILDLY vast difference between the formation of a core and a shattered core. Between willing life and untimely second death. It is not, and never WILL be, easy to create the soul of a child. Tampering with your core is PAINFUL, dangerous, and leaves you WILDLY vulnerable.

There is a REASON Neverborn are so precious.

Buuuuut..... *pulls out a book labeled "Curses Though The Ages"* we must ALSO consider the famed Fenton Luck(tm).

Consider! Where would be the "safest" place to practice making clones of yourself? A place that's wide open. No one wearing white likely to take pot shots at you while your attention is divided in multiple places at once. No parents blowing up the basement at a delicate moment and leaving you trying to hide that extra arm for a week...

Maybe you forget... oh yeah... OTHER GHOSTS.

So there Danny floats. In the Zone. DISTRACTED. His core HUGE from all that recently Royal business as it tries to digest it. Feeling bloated. Trying to work off some energy, as it were. Then who should come along? Why, the universes BEST HUNTER of course! To say *gun powering up noise* :) HI :)

Like buddies DO.

Danny doesn't see him.

Danny is mid-split.

At his limit, honestly. Already made as many copies as he usually can. Is trying for ooooone moooooore..... when...

PAIN. Something cracks.

He loses concentration. Tries to curl in on himself.

Both 1.5 of him tries. He loses hold of the "clone's" Ecto. Somethings free floating leaving his chest along with it. Behind him, Skulker is freaking out. That was MEANT to be on opening volley. A gentle little "hey, come fight me". That crack sounded SERIOUS.

Danny can't breathe. It's like the portal all over again. He curls tighter and tighter. Feels the crown, which was not THERE until this moment, press down tight and gripping onto his head. Thrumming. And then... something feels like a muscle releasing.

His core is... smaller? He'd been watching its progress, it couldn't have digest so fast... how did it lose so much... mass...

Danny feels all the blood drain from his face.

He nearly died.

Again.

His... his soul... WHERE IS HIS SOUL?? That's a piece of him! A part of his SOU-!

He spins around... only to meet the eyes off a blearly blinking, noodlish, cartoon like gremlin with his color scheme. Who's floating along like they're in zero-g. Just... drifting in a slow circle.

They yawn at him with a mouth full of teeny tiny baby fangs. Then chirp.

That's his Son. He doesn't know how, he doesn't know WHY, but he somehow instinctively... just... KNOWS?

They blep.

Danny looks a Skulker. His eyes hold MURDER.

"You're paying child support."

"......yes sir."

@hdgnj @stealingyourbones

#dp x dc #dc x dp #dpxdc #dcxdp #dc x dp prompt

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ghostdiva · 10 months ago

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youtube

ok so the new trailer for episode 3 just dropped. big hype. here are some theory's, notes, and observations.

also I took a lot of screenshots...

anyway here we go.

so the adventure is set to be "The Mystery of Mildenhall Manor". Now, I do think that Caine is gonna be the quest giver this time, sending the gang to find something inside the spooky, probably haunted manor.

small guess is that they gotta find Matilda, one of the ghosts haunting the manor, and trap her in a vacuum. idk why, it's literally just a hunch.

Jax also takes a moment to harass Pomni with a vacuum, which just makes me think of Luigi's Mansion.

anyway, the gang (minus Zooble) are gonna go in the manor and try to find whatever they're looking for, and either by agreement or random set of events, the gang is gonna split up, Pomni and Kinger being paired up. I don't really know if Ragatha, Gangle, and Jax stick together or not, as they're not really shown much in the trailer.

I am inclined to believe it is a set of events that separates the gang tho.

it's the one of the reasons I can think of that'd make Pomni climb on the door like that.

I mean... outside of the very spooky decorum.....

which Pomni has a pretty reasonable reaction to

btw, I fucking love Pomni's cartoon physics with the squash and stretch rubber-hose animation. it's so expressive and fun to watch.

anyway, it seems Caine is determined to have Zooble go on adventures. so he literally sits them down and tries to therapize them.

though with Caine being an AI with very little knowledge of how the human mind works, this goes predictably horribly.

I imagine Zooble tries on some level to convey to Caine the ludicrousness of their situation. stuck in a digital world getting repeatedly traumatized by meaningless adventures that seem to do more harm than good. though I get the feeling Caine would miss the point, leading Zooble to correct him, and/or get upset at him for not understanding. watching this verbal fight happen between these 2 will probably lead to us, the viewer, understanding more about Zooble.

anyway, back to the manor with this cute little guy.

look at him, he's so cute and squishable. unfortunately this guy is the only cute and squishable NPC here because Pomni and Kinger seems to really be going through it.

they're mostly poking around, opening drawers and stuff. maybe they're looking for a key to get back with the others or something? who knows.

they both probably stumble around in the dark for a bit, both figuratively and literally.

they might end up stumbling into an antagonist NPC, which is the only way I can explain some of these screenshots.

it looks to me like Kinger is facing something. I mean, He's missing an eye in the first one, smacking something with a gun in the second, and looking really worried in the third. Plus the fist 2 have similar lighting so I'm inclined to believe those 2 pics come from clips in close time frames to each other.

there's also another image that has similar lighting...

now... this may sound weird, but I think that either Pomni got Possessed somehow, or something tried to take her shape. Possession seems more feasible since we know at least 2 of the NPC's in this adventure are ghosts, and at least in media ghosts are known to possess people. seeing as digital circus seems to love pulling from video game mechanics, this wouldn't surprise me at all.

this would also kind of explain why in the "POMNI WAKE UP!! IT'S TIME TO GO ON AN ADVENTURE" video, in the "Kinger with a shotgun" clip, he seems to be hitting Pomni with the gun. it makes a lot more sense if Pomni ends up getting possessed somehow, forcing Kinger to hit her in order to defend himself from the ghost.

this also could tie back to the worried look on Kingers face in the screenshot before Possessed Pomni. Cause he'd know what he has to do, even though he doesn't want to hurt Pomni.

Hell, I'm pretty sure Kinger even openly protects Pomni in this episode.

because of the shot in the trailer taken from this hole's perspective

not only is Pomni hiding behind Kinger, but he has one of his hands out in front of her, as if to protect her from whatever is in that hole.

also in regards to guns, Kinger isn't the only one who gets to have a gun.

Pomni gets to wield a shotgun too, and it's likely to help both herself and Kinger fight off whatever was after them in the hole.

Ghost possession and gun-slinging aside, I do think that Pomni and Kinger have a little heart to heart in this episode.

boy doesn't that screenshot look familiar. reminds me of episode 2 with the blue lighting and concerned expression on Pomni's face. That scene in the test room where Pomni comforts Gumigoo. this time tho, she's comforting Kinger. it almost makes me wonder if this will be a reoccurring theme, with all the other characters eventually having a heart to heart with Pomni, and Pomni comforting them.

it'd really make her live up to her quote in episode 2 "I guess I just don't want you to feel like you're nothing. I don't want anyone to feel like that".

the only thing I do still have questions about, is wtf is Kinger looking at here?

I mean, it looks like the eyes of a ghost, if they could make their eyes glow like that.

ya know what, maybe he's looking at a mound of pillows or something.

yeah, like that.

#long post #the amazing digital circus #tadc #tadc kinger #kinger #the amazing digital circus kinger #the amazing digital circus pomni #tadc pomni #pomni #the amazing digital circus episode 3 #tadc episode 3 #tadc ep 3 #tadc theories #they're more like guesses #also gooseworx was right #this episode isn't for kids #this shit looks so unsettling #Youtube

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phoenixeclipse-lmkau · 29 days ago

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When i read the introducción to your Soulmate AU, i imagine a Reader as a profesional dancer, renowned in the human world, until word of her talent began to ears of demons, and she started to gain popularity among them as well.

She dedicated countless hours to practicing dance. Everyone thought it was simply because she was passionate about her career, but only Spirit, Pigsy, and Tang knew the truth. They knew she also danced to avoit thinking about her soulmates and, in a way, to find a new kind of love through her art, in the end, that was what made her stand out.

I pictured them attending the performance only because one of their sworn brothers had dragged them along. At the very least, they made sure to buy seats far from those disgusting mortals. With sneers and cruel words, they referred to the act of a human, until they felt that sudden tug in their chests.

"Is she here?."

From high above the crowd, they scanned the audience. It could be anyone.

The curtain opens and the lights come on.

And there she is.

Dressed in red, moving as delicacy as rose petals.

When the performance ended, everyone applauded in amazement. Reader simply bowed as the curtains closed.

Then she collapsed to her knees, clutching her chest, breathless.

They are here.

They saw me.

It had taken everything she had to ignore the pull in her chest and keep going with the performance. She knows they hate humans, so why they are here?

"I need to get out of here", she muttered, shuffing to her dressing room, feet aching. She need to leave with Spirit as soon as posible.

The Rose of the Stage

Sun Wukong sat beside his mate with an annoyed expression across his face. How on earth did his beloved, human hating mate actually agree to come to this… thing. He didn’t even know what it was called. Nor did he really care.

Still he was dressed in one of his better suits, a dark golden undershirt, with a black jacket with golden trim, black pants and shiny black shoes. Both his jacket and his shoes had a golden interior lining. On the back of his jacket was golden embroidery of a split monkey face, half him and half his mate. His golden hair was pushed back slightly from his claws coming through it and his claws were sharpened just for the day. Around his neck was a golden chain, on the end of it was a red and gold charm, a powerful staff artifact he had ‘acquired.’ And around his ring finger was a golden band, simple but carved with his mate’s name and enchanted with his mate’s magic.

He hated his sister in law’s snide remarks about his appearance when he didn’t put on his better clothing for big events. Though after finding out what they were doing today, he regretted wearing such nice clothing.

However he couldn’t deny that he liked seeing his mate dressed up like this. He decided to wear a dark purple undershirt with a black jacket as well. His own jacket also had an interior lining of gold. Each of his ears were pierced with simple golden rings. On his back was the same embroidered image as his own. His fur was also pushed back, bright white framing his face, and his dark purple flared mask. And around his neck was a small lantern, with a faint dark glow around it. His shadow lantern, something he had created long ago. But Wukong found himself turning his attention down to his wedding band, empowered with Wukong’s own magic.

“Stop moping brother, this is known as one of the best shows made by humans that is,” Princess Iron Fan spoke as she stared down at the stage from their balcony seats.

Wukong snapped out of his daydreaming and looked up at his mate who wore a grumpy scowl across his face. He was clearly no more interested with the performance before him than he was.

None of them wanted to be around the crowd that sat below them in rows of seats, all facing towards the center of the stage. The show was delayed, yet another thing that annoyed Wukong off. He found himself looking at his watch, this was supposed to last another hour. And it wasn’t as if they hadn’t seen a few of the mortals dance around the stage, there were several, not that they were all impressive.

“You say that as if we’ve seen something good,” Macaque responded smoothly as he glared down at the stage before turning his attention to his sharp claw like nails.

“There is only one more person, I’ve heard that she is a wonderful dancer. So much so that she has even been invited to my father’s next dinner. I wished to see if she is all that they’ve made her out to be,” Princess Iron Fan responded, her dark black gaze watching her brother carefully to make sure he didn’t do anything stupid.

Macaque rolled his eyes, that’s when it happened. His eyes, which closed for just a moment snapped open, and his whole body straightened. He could feel Wukong do the same next to him. The same feeling that he felt any time he was with his husband, the same feeling that brought him together with the love of his life. The same feeling that he never thought he would feel towards another.

SHE was here! He barely refrained from jumping to his feet, all while his eyes snapped around the crowd below. Who? Where? Why? She would surely leave any second, the moment she felt the pull, she was sure to turn and go the other way. They needed to find her! What was he thinking? They didn’t need her- As the thought came to mind the stage in front as the center light flickered to life.

Both his and Wukong’s world seemed to freeze. Wow. The bright golden light streamed down onto the stage to a figure who was sitting on the stage, head bowed and her hands stretched out before her.

Lifting your head, you moved with an elegant grace. There was gold on you wrists, and the hem of your dress seemed to shimmer like gold as you twirled around the stage. He could almost feel the wound on his neck pulse, his eyes staring in shock at the lavender flower that decorated your neck. Or the gorgeous sunflower that decorated your arm, the same place a bullet grazed Wukong earlier that day.

“Who- Who is that?” Wukong barely muttered, jaw mostly dropped in shock at the woman before them, he wanted to be closer. Mortals be damned, he wanted the front row, he wanted to be the ONLY row.

“Hmm? This is the Rose of the Stage, Reader,” Princess Iron Fan responded, her eyes turning to her brother and her brother in law with slightly narrowed eyes. Their reactions were… strange.

Macaque’s hand suddenly grasped his husband’s wrist, both to stop his mate from jumping over the railing and to calm himself. He needed to think clearly, damn that dress hugged your curves. It made you look like a rose, gold and red a perfect combination on you. Your hair styled up in a beautiful updo that didn’t seem to come undone even with all of your swift, beautiful movements.

They had said they wouldn’t search for you, they didn’t need to. They had each other, they didn’t need you and they knew that you didn’t want them. Why try to chase someone who had such clear distain for them even when you didn’t know them. Blood trickled down his lip as his claws bit into his mate’s wrist, not that his mate seemed to notice. His eyes snapped to your wrist and he watched as another flower bloomed across your skin. Even as the feeling was sure to catch your attention, your graceful movements never wavered.

“That’s her,” Macaque found himself muttering as he stared down at you.

Wukong didn’t respond, not at first. “Yeah, that’s her.”

A thought dawned on Macaque as he stared down at the beautiful woman who had already captured his mate’s and his own attention. Their soulmate who had been pushing them away… was mortal? He wanted to throw up, the woman who had quite literally haunted many of their dreams, was a mortal human. He should hate that, he should reject her just for being- you were so graceful, and so calm. Oh how he wanted to be closer to you.

Human be damned, Wukong could work with that. His eyes wide and almost wild as there was a rose thrown onto the stage. His eyes snapping to the man who threw it, dark and dangerous feelings bubbled in his chest. Eyes darkening at the very thought of her accepting such a thing. Soon more roses were tossed up onto the stage as you ended your performance. With that the curtains fell close in front of you, and you vanished behind them.

“Now what was with your reactions?” PIF asked, turning her head towards her brother.

She wasn’t graced with a response as Macaque stood up, all but dragging his mate behind him as he stormed out for the balcony. Their backs were followed by his sister’s eyes, but she didn’t stop them, merely narrowing her eyes as she tried to think of what could have possibly made those two react in such a way.

>>>

The curtains fell in front of you, and you all but collapsed. Your knees hit the ground and you slammed your hands into your chest, trying to stop the harsh tugging that had started at the beginning of the show. They were here, somewhere. Those two were here, why the hell were they here!?

You clenched your hand to your chest hard, it had taken absolutely everything in you not to look around, not to find the other fragments of your shared soul. As you finally caught your breath you were on your already sore feet in a matter of moments, and running off of the stage, back to your dressing room. Right passed Spirit who called after you and followed closely behind until you were back in the safety of the small space you had used just an hour before cheerfully.

“They’re here. My soulmates are here,” You muttered and immediately your friend went to grab your belongings, not wasting a moment of time.

It was fine, everything was fine. It’s not like they would actually look for you. You told yourself this several times before opening the door to leave and freezing in your tracks. Two sets of glowing eyes staring back at you with shock. So you did the only logical thing that came to mind, you slammed the door hard in their faces.

#dead dove do not eat #sun wukong x macaque #yandere sun wukong #yandere macaque #shadowpeach x reader #sun wukong x reader #macaque x reader #Soulmate au #Soulmate lmk au #art #Fanart #soulmates #love at first sight #Fanfic #Sun Wukong #Six Eared Macaque #Reader #¿ - ask

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selfishdoll · 2 years ago

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WHAT A WASTE ! ft. feitan portor ೀ ׅ ۫ . ㅇ

▌ you wanted it so bad, you don’t get to stop. 𐚁֙࿐ㅤㅤ it’s a shame, truly a shame; you being unable to contain yourself whilst your classmate examined your body for an assignment. but it’s fine, really— feitan doesn’t mind completing a detailed exam.

AUTHOR’S NOTE 𐚁֙࿐ㅤㅤ i’m sure assignments like these are not actually done but i got the idea randomly when seeing fanart of him. also expect more works of feitan, chrollo, & maybe the other adult characters except hisoka. also he wasn’t as mean as he should have been because i’m a very sensitive person & it shows in my writing 😭. and always please excuse any typos & grammar mistakes. 4K+ WORDS

Snap! The sound of the thin gloves had you jumping for a split second, eyes carrying away from the phone taking in your position on your bed to the man standing just a few feet away from you. Feitan Portor, a classmate you’ve never got the pleasure of talking to. Which wasn’t surprising at all, given he ignored just about everyone in class.

Eyes focused on his notes, the textbook, or glued to the images of the human anatomy your professor would plaster upon her smartboard. Those were the only instances you could remember of the unimpressionable man.

Yet now, here he was; in your room adjusting the gloves on his hand whilst you waited ever so patiently.

Becoming a surgical resident was a grueling process on its own, but having to work with the most quiet man alive just made it even worse. You felt so uncomfortable, wondering if you should speak or not— if it was alright to breathe.

As, no matter where you looked, said, or did; he seemed to be agitated.

Or maybe that was just his face, who knows?

A step in your direction caused the thoughts to dissipate, eyes flicking over to the man that stood off to the side of you. His eyes looked at you expectantly, impatience enveloping his gaze. Such intensity caused a sheepish sorry to escape your glossed lips, pushing off the slippers you wore with a hum. You then turned your body to lay across your plush blankets, arms stuck to your sides whilst your head rested on your pillow. A soft breath flew from your nose, tensing the moment he stepped closer.

The idea of the group project was being able to label the muscles of a human off paper. You were sure this type of assignment was for closer students but you drew the short end of the stick. Then again, it wasn’t too bad; Feitan didn’t seem like the perverted type— you highly doubted he would take advantage of such a situation.

His form moved closer, knees pressed against your bed as his hands hovered above you. Feitan’s eyes fell to your legs, mentally deciding to start there first.

Which.. wasn’t the best for you.

As his hands dragged up from his ankles and further; lips moving to utter the muscles beneath your skin— you felt a warmth brew inside you. Was it the feathery touches? Maybe you were touched starved even..

Either way, as he got closer and closer to your middle; you felt the heat threatening to spill over. Fuck.. you were done.

His hands were.. warm, the feeling seeping through the thin blue gloves he wore— large, a complete contrast to his smaller form, which barely reached your bust. They ghosted you perfectly, teetering between respectful and disinterested as they brushed your covered hip. Maybe you really were touch starved, or maybe an inkling of attraction towards the man rested deep within you. Either didn’t matter given the little gasp and flinch that escaped you was clear as day.

Feitan’s hands stopped just on your lower stomach, eyes snapping to your face. Oh, was he annoyed. Aggravated you had interrupted him whilst attempting to complete the assignment. Your manicured fingers bundled the plush blankets beneath you, lips parting slowly to speak;

“‘M sorry..”

“Your constant twitching is bothersome.” The man hissed softly, eyebrows brushing close as his face turned to glance back down your body. “A single touch and you’re trembling..” Feitan spoke, actions solidifying his words the moment a hand grasped your hip, thumb pressing into your plump, covered skin. The warmth you felt from his hand was stimulating, trickling between your legs— causing the plush limbs to push together. An action the man caught easily.

An annoyed sigh escaped him, hand withdrawing from your body whilst his eyes bore into your form. “What a waste.. getting aroused during an exam, specifically when we were so close to being done.”

“I am not.. I am not aroused.”

The man sucked his teeth at your words, eyebrows pushing even closer together as irritation formed his features. Feitan remained unmoving for a moment, simply staring you down before he leaned over, taking your cheeks in a tight grip and lifting you a bit off the bed. “So you’re not only a slut, you’re a lying one at that.”

A hiss tugged his words, fingerprints pushing into your heated skin whilst his eyes stared you down— daring you to deny. A stranger he was, nothing more than a classmate yet; here you were, so open and pliable for him. Staring up at him as if the venom spewing from his lips were the sweetest things ever.

Your head tilted down just a tad, gripping the sheets as you struggled to hold his gaze. “‘M not a slut either.”

“A pervert then—“ Feitan countered easily, fingers tapping against your skin while tilting his head. The moment your lips pulled into the tiniest pout a grin was pulling his own, thumb reaching over to press against your glossed mouth, “— is that more fitting? You laying here; waiting so desperately to be touched..” Feitan removed his hand from your face slowly, watching in amusement at the way you tried to follow his grasp.

“What a display really.. the only thing that is missing, is you begging.”

The anticipation welling inside you was threatening to explode, thighs pushed close as the heat rose within the room. Feitan enjoyed such a sight, piercing eyes taking you in— interest for once swirling in his irises. Finally, his eyebrows rose, even going as far as tilting his head.

Breath escaped you as you took him in, Feitan Portor your classmate and very much a stranger. And despite such formalities here you were, gripping the sheets, lips parted as pretty pleas escaped you.

Feitan sighed softly reaching down once again, taking your cheeks in his hand; a grasp you’ve already come to adore. “Speak up.” He hissed, fingers pressing into your hot chubby cheeks whilst his gaze never left you.

“Ple..please Feitan, please— I need you..” You cried out, eyes dipping down as the embarrassment settled in. Feitan didn’t allow this to settle for long, hand dropping to collect your chin more and pushing you to force the gaze.

“Need me?..” His tone was airy, a snicker even passing through his lips; such sound causing further shyness to trickle down your spine. “We’ve only just met.. just interacted,” Feitan drawled and not so gently pushed you to lay across your bed, crawling over your form. Your legs parted to rest on other side of him, gripping the sheets in excitement.

“And yet, you need me. Such a desperate thing, aren’t you?” Feitan dipped down close, hands pressed on either sides of your head, hovering just above your face. He watched as your eyes fluttered close, surely expecting a kiss. Instead his face was dropping to your neck, teeth sinking into your skin abruptly.

The hiss, mixed gasp that escaped you was loud, hands flying to his black shirt whilst he sucked and bit into your skin; dark marks forming from the attention. His hands moved across your body, falling down to your thighs— sliding under them to push them even wider. Once satisfied he was moving in closer, pushing your dress up to your stomach whilst using his free hand glide across your covered slit. Your hips rose to find friction, yelping the moment he pinched you lightly.

“Quit moving..” Feitan huffed, fingers pressing just a bit harder against your covered wetness, finding your clit and slowly stroking it. The little sparks of pleasure were sweet but barely enough, the burning impatience brewing inside you caused a whine to escape your throat. The dark-haired male clicked his tongue, eyes flicking from your thighs to your face. “Impatient slut..” He hissed, hand pulling from your covered, wet cunt.

You wanted to whine again, but instead— Feitan forced a sharp yelp out of you the moment his palm struck your pussy. Your thighs closed around his hand, tears springing into your eyes as the pleasure and pain combined into a single, sickeninly sweet feeling. The grin on his face was telling, clearly delighted by the high pitched cry that escaped you so freely.

A sound he chased; pushing at your thighs again and slapping the exact same spot. A wet sound entered the room, followed by an even sharper cry from your mouth. Your body rose up off the bed, cunt throbbing from the attention as your heart pounded against your chest.

A snicker, one far too sinister escaped the man above you, pushing your thighs back down to the bed. “Hurts doesn’t it?..” The humor was clear in his tone, pushing you even wider as his eyes trained on the prize between them. “As if I could tell, making such a mess all over your sheets.” Feitan claimed, reaching over and finally; peeling your ruined panties from your body.

The undergarment was tossed to the side, his thumbs pulling your folds as his eyes focused completely on your wet sex. Clit throbbing, hole clenching around nothing, you truly were such a mess.

“Feitan..” You spoke softly, nearly shifting under his gaze if it wasn’t for the quick glare he sent you. You decided to simply bunch your dress up in your hands, eyes fluttering closed the moment his fingers gliding across your abused slit.

Slowly, the man collected your arousal onto his still gloved fingers, the thin latex pressing against your wet cunt. And without warning, two digits were pressing into your awaiting hole; sinking all the way down to his knuckles. Feitan didn’t wait for you either, scissoring and thrusting them in and out of you— the soft squelches soon filling the room.

Your moans escaped you freely, acrylics gripping your dress as your legs threatened to close. His fingers hit all the right places as precise and calculated as he was with suturing. So perfect.. fuck, so so perfect; you felt your brain getting hazy, cries of pleasure escaping as his fingers pushed against your hot gummy walls— essence spilling with each push.

As if the pleasure couldn’t get any better his thumb lowered to your begging bud, teasing it for a moment just to hear you whine— right before rubbing harsh circles into the sensitive button. Feitan’s eyes captured it all, free hand gripping your other thigh to assure you didn’t move an inch.

If you wanted.. needed him so bad, you would be sure to take everything he gave you.

Once the third finger pushed in, you were thrown off the edge; groaning at the sudden stretch yet moaning as it worked in tandem with the other fingers. He played with you so easily, pushing spots with just his fingers— much deeper then your own has ever reached.

“F—fuck.. Feitan.. feels soo good—!”

Feitan grinned down at your display, listening to the breathy praises that continued to escape you. How you begged so much for a release, hips rising to meet the thrusts of his fingers; withering beneath him. “What a fucking mess..” He drawled, eyes flicking to his hand to watch your sticky arousal coating the blue latex. This only caused his expression to deepen, quickening the pace of his hand whilst hanging his head; mouth brushing against your ear.

“This was the only thing you were thinking about, weren’t you? The moment I walked into your bedroom, you were just itching to feel me.. such a perverted slut— [Name].”

His words, tone, the way his fingers bullied your insides; Feitan was just so fucking mean. Yet here you were, eyes rolling to the back of your skull while the loudest moan escaped you, making a mess of his hand. Your arousal trickled down his fingers to his palm, ruining his glove even further.

However, even as your orgasm raked through your body his fingers never stopped moving; pushing you further and further, sensitivity rising as breathy whines escaped you. Forgoing his threat from earlier, your hand lowered to his wrist. With each movement the muscle was tensing, your thumb pressed against his pulse to feel his rapid heartbeat— in sync with your own.

“Ca—can’t fuck it’s too much!”

Such noises fell on deaf ears, his pace continuing but not moving your hand. The man wouldn’t dare say he enjoyed your grasp around his wrist.

“Too much?..” Feitan mocked, gripping your thigh when you attempted to shut your legs. The pretty whines escaping your throat was answer enough, his eyes gleaming with excitement as his thumb continued working circles into your clit; fingers never faltering inside your wet walls.

From just his fingers, just his fingers you were so lost. A fucking babbling mess whose long forgotten the entire purpose of him being in your room.

Your stomach tightened, the feeling bordering on painful, as your next orgasm got closer and closer. Pushing through the pain, your hips rocked against his fingers, desperate for the euphoric feeling again— only for it to be snatched away the moment he removed his fingers.

Your clit throbbed, hole fluttering around nothing as your hazy gaze soon focused on the man between your legs. The annoyed moan that escaped you was shameless, lips slick with your saliva pushed into a pout. “Why’d you.. I was so close!” You spoke, watching his eyelids lower.

Feitan moved to hover over your body, hands sinking into the spaces beside your head whilst pressing his hips to your own. “Said it was too much, right? Or are you already too fucked out to remember?” His hips moved slow, grinding the hardon within his pants into your wet, uncovered slit, your essence darkening his bottoms.

You weren’t given a second to dwell on his words or even muster a reply. Because the moment his hips moved yours were as well, head knocking back against your blankets as the light pleasure danced up your spine; stirring you inside. Your hands rose to bunch his shirt in your fingers, shaking underneath him as the desperation oozed from your heated body.

Feitan’s hand rose, taking your braids in a secure hold, pulling your head up from the bed to bring you a breath’s away. “Humping me like some bitch in heat.. So fucking needy.” A hiss hugged his words, as if aggravated from your actions. However, he was far from irritated, far from angry— enjoying you far too much.

You just looked so pretty like this; wet trails running down your chubby cheeks, dress and blankets wrinkled, with your legs wide— a clear invitation to ruin you even further. The sight was.. unbelievable, one he was delighted to keep all to himself.

“Feitan, please..” You dragged, hips pushing against him more, craving the friction and something else. He should have slapped your thigh or even pinch you for your impatience but fortunately for you, Feitan was just as needy. A huff escaped you as he released your hair, hands dropping to your hips. You silently questioned this, only for him to pull you up, you in his lap with his legs hanging off the bed.

You hovered above his lap, watching intently as he shoved off his bottoms; revealing his hard, long length. The tip was bubulous and red, a contrast to his paler skin. What’s more, pretty white pearls of precum oozed from the slit, twitching from the cool air in the room. Your hands found his shoulders, eyes flicking to his face as nerves settled in the pit of your stomach.

Feitan didn’t do much to ease your anxiety, even finding it a bit comical. His hand rose, shifting under your dress to stroke the dimples etched into your lower back. “What’s wrong?.. Don’t tell me you’re backing out now, [Name].” He watched as your eyebrows pushed together, lips pulled into an annoyed pout.

“I’m not..” You huffed softly, nails digging into his skin as your hips lowered just a smidge, jumping the moment his tip bumped against your throbbing bud. “Just.. g—give me a second.” You spoke, hips moving, lining his cock up with your entrance. A whimper escaped you the moment his tip breached the warm space, sinking down slowly whilst more breaths escaped you.

His hands were steady on your body, holding you up and watching in excitement as you trembled. Your walls clenched around him, slick coating his length as you reached just the middle. The stretch teetered between painful and pleasurable, eyes closed shut as you allowed yourself a moment of rest. A moment that dissipated rather quickly, given Feitan lifted his hips; shoving his length the rest of the way inside.

You tipped over, leaning into him as a sharp whine escaped you. You fisted his shirt, seated completely in his lap as huffs escaped you. “Feitan—!” You cried out, feeling his hand lift to the back of your head, taking your braids in his hand as he lifted you from his form.

“Such a crybaby..” Despite his words, his eyes searched you for any discontent or actual pain, lip tucked behind his teeth. When he found neither — ignoring the light feeling in his chest — the man’s hand fell to your hips, gripping the plump flesh. His fingers dug into your sides, lifting you up off his length until only the tip resided inside— before pulling you back down.

The moan that escaped you was far too sweet, nails pushed into his skin as your hips began to move without restraint. You were so uncoordinated, so fucking messy as you bounced up and down his cock; whimpers thrumming from your throat. The sounds carried around the room; the wet slaps each time you slammed down, your desperate moans, and the subtle grunts Feitan would release every so often.

With each moment of your hips his tip was striking the sweet spot inside you, your walls clenching around his slick length— fresh tears beading and threatening to spill over. A hand rose from your hip, driving up the plane of your stomach to grip one of your breasts; pinching and rolling your nipple between his fingers just to hear your voice pitch.

Feitan, Feitan, Feitan! His name was falling from your lips like some type of prayer, knees digging into the mattress as the pleasure consumed your body. You were so fucking lost, lost in the throes of it all with only him to guide you. A faulty anchor he was, pulling you deeper and deeper; leaving your mind so hazy and bleak.

The show you were unveiling was such a delight, the man far too happy to have the front row seats. He pushed closed, hips rising to meet your drops as he grew just a breath’s away. “Keep clenchin’ me so much.. you’re close aren’t you?” Feitan’s voice was ragged, feeling your breath fan across his face. The whimpers that escaped you was enough of an answer, his hand rising to your throat to simply hold— placing his lips onto your own for the first time this afternoon.

The kiss was as heated as the rest of the room, as intense as the moment his hands settled onto your skin. Feitan’s tongue intruded your mouth, licking into the wet cavern to claim as his own. And the moment you attempted to pull away to breathe, his teeth were sinking into your bottom lip; swallowing you back up.

It didn’t matter if you were on top or not, you and him both knew who was in control.

Your hands rose, curling into his black tresses as you felt your peak approaching quickly. You moaned and whined into his mouth, legs shaking as the band tightened deep in your stomach. The tears were flowing freely now, Feitan releasing you this time to hear the haste babbles that escaped you.

“Fu..fuck Feitan! I—I’m gonna come—!” You cried out, the bounces becoming even messier. You felt his hot hands fall to your ass, slapping a cheek as if encouraging you to ruin yourself even further.

“Fucking minx..” Feitan hissed out, eyebrows pinched close, cock twitching within you. “Make a mess than.. don’t hold it.” The confirmed huff was enough for you, creaming all over his dick as you arched into him. The feeling caused a shiver to run down the man’s spine, hissing as you clamped around him.

As you rode out your high, your movements slowed— lurching forward the moment his palm slapped your ass again. The high-pitched whine that threatened to escape was quickly overshadowed by his words;

“I never said stop, did I?” His hand traveled to your hair again, tugging just to hear you whine again. “You wanted it so bad, you don’t get to stop.” Feitan spoke, gripping you to keep you grounded before lifting you up and off his length. The added fact he was matching each thrust was enough for you, head tossed back as the moans slipped from your bruised lips freely and shamelessly— eyes meeting the back of your skull.

The breathes that escaped you was strained, the pleasure far too much but you being unable to run from it. It seems his height went to his strength, holding you so fucking tightly you couldn’t move an inch. Leaving you defenseless, making you take every inch without mercy. The sensitivity dissipated quickly, leaving behind unadulterated ecstasy that caused stars to invade your vision.

Proper words no longer escaped you, babbles of his name and praises replacing such intelligible speech. But Feitan knew enough what you were trying to say, grin still plastered on his features, like some type of madman.

You were sore all over, struggling to keep going but so desperately chasing the release that was bubbling inside of you. You fell forward, forehead brushing his own as his tip brushed your cervix. The pain mingled with the pleasure easily, cunt pulsating around him as you felt yourself grow closer and closer.

In the past hour Feitan had grown to know your body. Each twitch, spasm— everything. He didn’t need to be warned of your climax, especially since he felt the way your walls clenched with urgency. Such a feeling pushed him closer to his own end, blunt nails etching crescents into your sun-kissed skin as he rose up off the bed; fucking you even harder.

The two of you leaned forward for a sloppy, messy kiss; moaning and groaning into the other’s mouth. The hurried slaps of skin on skin contact intensified for a split moment before stuttering as the man spilled inside you.

This was enough for you, coming on his dick again; your releases mixing together and trickling down his cock. Slowly, the two of you pulled back from the kiss; a string of saliva connecting your lips.

Your chests brushed against each other, breath heavy and fanning against the other. The flat of his palms pushed against your waist, pulling back to look at you. “Get off me.”

“Give me a moment to breathe, Fei.” You spoke, used to his harsh tone by now. Despite the small annoyed sigh that escaped him, the man didn’t push you off; even leaning back onto his hands and allowing you to remain in his lap— length still inside your wet sex.

A pleased sigh escaped you, arms tightening around his neck as you leaned into him fully. His eyes darted to the side of your face for a moment, an unreadable expression crossing his features.

A comfortable silence covered the room for a moment before Feitan spoke again, amusement etched into his words;

“I wonder if the professor will like our.. exam.”

Your eyes flew open at this, glancing down at the grin plastered onto his features. Sure enough, the moment you turned, you spotted your phone on your tripod— still recording.

The next ten minutes was spent fighting the shorter man for your phone, him managing to grab it, and you pleading for the video to not be sent.

FEEDBACK & REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED <3

#mani writes ━━ ★#black!reader #mdni #feitan #feitan x reader #feitan x reader smut #hxh smut #hxh x reader #feitan x female reader #feitan x female reader smut #hxh x female reader #hxh x female reader smut #x black reader #feitan x black reader #feitan x black reader smut

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seafoamreadings · 6 days ago

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week of june 29th, 2025

these are written predominantly for the *rising* signs but they are also intuitively "channeled" enough that they should work for any dominant energy you have! (try your sun if you don't know rising, or more advanced readers can try moon, anywhere you have a stellium, etc and see what works best for you!)

aries: the end of this week has neptune going retrograde in your sign. the retrograde overall is not something to fear but do be prepared for 'strangeness' around the station on the 4th. also be advised that this glamorous yet sometimes deceptive planet remains in your sign until october even with that retrograde.

taurus: your ruler venus heads for uranus at the end of your sign; they conjoin on the 3rd. don't make permanent aesthetic or relationship changes but at the same time, it's good to be willing to experiment. do things that make you happy. by the end of the week you find some new financial or material blessing even if small.

gemini: venus graces your sign from friday, just as neptune also turns retrograde in your social eleventh house. it's a really good time to be among friends, although do not expect people *not* to be fickle. you may also enjoy dabbling in a friends-to-lovers scenario?

cancerians: assess what needs to be trimmed away like split ends vs what you want to keep for the long haul. you don't have to actually cut any cords yet, but think about it. and if you want to cut ties already, it's not a bad time for it.

leo: the best advice for you this week is have fun without getting carried away; your image is a central focus in some ways and things become public unexpectedly. so it's important to live in integrity and assume you're being watched.

virgo: do not neglect this week's sun-ceres square. it may not be the best time to harvest or complete a project. if you can leave the fruit on the vine just a little longer, continue to nurture it. on the other hand don't let it go to waste. if there's no chance it can survive from here, better to pick it now.

libra: enjoy closeness with a partner or other important people in your life, perhaps including some you have not been in contact with for a while. meanwhile, avoid combining resources or taking/giving loans for a week or so at least.

scorpio: you may find that a close relationship reaches some kind of startling climax this week. the nature of the result, of course, depends on many personal factors but the upheaval will be shocking either way and probably not a lot of comfort until it passes. if this is not about a relationship with an individual it may relate to your outlook on interpersonal relationships more broadly. it's unlikely to be subtle.

sagittarius: keep a focus on eighth house themes this week. with saturn still pretty much squaring jupiter although more loosely i would advise against loans (borrowing or lending) but after a couple weeks it could be a good time to combine resources with someone else, eg a shared bank account with a spouse. meanwhile it's not a bad time to look into real estate options or even just moving to a new rental house if that's more your speed.

capricorn: without being overtly capricorn/saturn vibes, the astrology is broadly supportive to you due to its strongly cardinal nature at this time. at the same time, those cardinal planets may square your planets. so business is being taken care of and that's your style but also, you may butt heads with some folks in the process.

aquarius: your ruling planet has long been in an uncomfortable position clashing with traditional taurean vibes. next week at last it moves into your fellow air sign, and much more change-positive, gemini. this week though is an urgent push and pull between what you might want to keep or how stubborn you want to be vs good healthy changes.

pisces: venus moves into your 4th house ahead of uranus (who follows next week.) make your home comfy and cozy before the arrival of uranus who will shake things up one way or another. it is good to have a sanctuary in such times.

watch the transit posts in real time to have the best guide through your week. want a little more? have a look at my patreon or ko-fi.

check out my etsy for a private reading or fill out this form to set up a reading through venmo, cashapp, or paypal. private readings are currently closed, but will return in late august :)

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blainesebastian · 1 year ago

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safe

words: 7,823 ship: austin butler x female reader rating: R (for violence) summary: obviously inspo is coming from seeing bikeriders and this image and my extensive knowledge of sons of anarchy. you don't have to watch that show to read this, but it takes place in that sort of universe, with inspo from the show *u* just wanted biker austin x you notes: feel free to visit my austin masterlist warnings: none, but check the rating.

Every time Austin thinks he knows exactly who you are, you throw him through a wash cycle on steroids. You came back to Charming, a place you said you’d never step foot in again, for what? It’s certainly not for fucking him, that’s for damn sure. As much as he loves you, still after all this time, Austin knows you have to be running away from something…because running towards what you want with full abandon has never been your strong suit.

And you’re certainly not returning to St. Thomas for the great fucking medical plan.

“I just needed a change of scenery.” You tell him in those mint green scrubs that always highlight the perfect swell of your ass.

Austin rolls his eyes but doesn’t tell you that he thinks you’re full of shit.

Chicago’s too fast paced, maybe you’ll try New York—there’s a beautiful, hopeful smile on your face—like you don’t know that the minute you stepped foot back in Charming that you’d never leave. You’ll get sucked back into the black hole of this place and you’ll never be able to find your way out. Will probably die here.

Whatever—it’s really not Austin’s problem anymore, is it? You are not his girlfriend, he’s not responsible for your happiness or your decisions. That ship sailed a long time ago when you left straight out of high school—went to a fancy college, got your medical degree, and began a new life.

Without him.

And yet Austin also understands the utter pull of you, consistently keeping him directly in your orbit, your wants and needs incredibly important because they always have been. Which is why Austin doesn’t believe you when you say that you didn’t come back for any sort of reason.

He doesn’t believe this ‘change of scenery’ nonsense.

You patch up a split knuckle, dig out glass—Austin doesn’t even flinch, just watches you the whole time like he doesn’t have blood on his face. You have no idea what he’s gotten into lately—and you don’t want to know.

“Think I’m gonna make it doc?” He asks, a small smile tugging the corners of his mouth.

You hum lightly, “Barely.” And pour the antiseptic without warning him.

You hate that you came back here, back home—but Austin’s always been your safe place.

“I think you’re scared.” Austin says one evening while dropping you off at your dad’s house, empty now, a living and breathing reminder of all the shit you went through in high school.

You never wanted to live here, in your drunken father’s home, always more satisfied with the concept of burning the thing down. Yet here you are, taking off Austin’s motorcycle helmet and handing it back to him, looking for your keys to get inside. You’re living here, attempting to reorganize and rebuild the place to make it your own.

“I think you don’t know me as well as you used to.” You throw back and there’s a hint of teasing there, like you don’t want to turn this conversation into something serious.

Austin rubs one of his eyebrows, itching for a cigarette but now’s not the time, he’s not staying long. “I think…I’m the only person who does know you.” He’s not afraid to admit that. You’ve done this dance so many times that you practically own the rights to the choreography.

You’ve proven time and time again that you’ve got nails and teeth sunk into one another, so wrapped up that you can’t unravel it as hard as you try. No matter how much time or distance passes between you two. It’s so beyond anything that Austin can put into words—he doesn’t really believe in soulmates or fate but, if he did, he thinks him and you could put a definition to that.

That’s why Austin knows that you’re never going to leave Charming, not really anyways.

You’ll be in love until it kills both of you, figuratively or quite literally.

“That’s the real reason you came back, isn’t it?”

You sigh softly—after a long day, your hair is a little unruly on the top of your head. You’re ready for a long hot shower and to get out of these scrubs. Austin only wishes he could assist with that. He lets his eyes travel over your form, purposely checking you out when you look at him. But you both know it’s more than just a sexual attraction here, that Austin defaults to that because it’s easier for him to work out in his head. While it’s very clear that there’s only one face he sees when he’s inside of someone, no one will ever know or understand him as you do.

That line of deeply knowing goes both ways.

“I told you why I came back here.”

Austin smiles a little and starts his bike. Fine, if you wants to play this game, he’s got nothing but time.

“Right,” He puts his helmet on, making sure it’s fastened. “I just don’t believe you.”

And he backs the bike out of the driveway and goes home.

Austin doesn’t figure out what’s going on until you ask for a ride home in the middle of the day. It’s a little weird, to say the least, he’s in the midst of things with the club, his club leader riding his ass about certain decisions he needs to uphold as Vice President. But literally, he couldn’t be bothered less, not having one iota of a regret driving his bike to the hospital to pick up you instead.

You seem a bit frazzled when you climb on the back of Austin’s bike, your arms squeezing around his waist just a little too tightly. Austin frowns, looking over his shoulder as he hands you the helmet to put on,

“You alright?” He asks.

You nod quickly, forcing a soft smile, “Yeah, just a long shift. M’tired.”

“You didn’t drive today?” Austin starts his bike—not that he’s complaining.

“Oh I did but the…it’s making a weird noise when I use the break.”

Austin raises his eyebrows, putting a pair of sunglasses on. “You know I work at a garage, right?”

You let out a soft laugh, the sound fluttering Austin’s stomach even after all this time. “Just take me home.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He does a fake salute before pulling out of the hospital parking lot.

Austin’s got this wicked sense of observation mixed with paranoia—and he’s convinced this is why it makes him a decent V.P., being able to notice when things are off, when things appear altered than how they should. Sometimes catching tiny mistakes and misnomers are the difference between a good deal going sour, life and death.

So he instantly picks up on the fact that there’s a car following you both, all the way from the hospital to your house. Even though the vehicle doesn’t stop, it passes and parks a little further down, but it’s there, nonetheless.

You get off the bike, handing the helmet back to him, a soft coy smile on your face that makes Austin want to kiss you. Your hair is wild, cheeks a bit pink from the wind blowing, beautiful and stunning all at once.

“Thanks.” You say, adjusting your satchel from sitting on your back to your hip, “Think I’m finally getting used to this thing again.”

Austin hums a bit, parking it before he slips off the bike. He runs his hands through his hair, removing his riding gloves and pocketing them, before adjusting the leather cut that sits easily on his shoulders.

Easy and yet heavy sometimes, all at once.

“Yeah I never understood why you hated ridin’ it, I’m an excellent driver.” Which, alright, he’s a decent driver—he goes through turns too fast but he tries not to if you’re on with him.

You’re distracted though, not picking up the bait, glancing around your driveway as if you’re…looking for something, or someone. Austin licks his lips, putting the helmet on the back of the seat.

“Hey, this uneasiness that I’m sensin’ right now—have anythin’ to do with that car that followed us from the hospital?” He motions with his chin to the car he’s referring to idling down a few houses.

Your entire body suddenly goes rigid, eyes widening over Austin’s words. You follow Austin’s direction down the street and you look sick when your eyes land on the car. There’s this instinctual step back, like you’re afraid, and Austin moves closer to touch your arm.

He steadies you, squeezing gently, thumb running along the inside of your wrist, “Hey, what’s going on? Who is that?”

You sigh, running a shaking hand over your face. You swallow and finally bring your eyes to meet Austin’s, “His name is Rick—when I was in Chicago, I—I met him at a conference and we went out a few times. When I tried to end it, it got violent and he started stalking me,” You shake your head, embarrassment clear on your choked voice even though you have nothing to be ashamed for. “I tried getting a restraining order but you can see how well that worked out.”

Austin feels himself go cold, which is never a good sign. That’s how his rage works, like a slow ticking clock, never heated, never like an explosion of emotion. It sits on him calmly, like a wave lapping the shore of a beach. He straightens his shoulders, shaking his head as he goes to turn and address this fucking asshole who can’t take no for an answer.

“Austin, no,” You reach for him, managing to tug his arm to stop him from walking, “Rick’s—he’s an ATF agent and dangerous.”

Austin almost scoffs because so am I, but he knows what you mean. You know exactly what kind of business his club does and getting involved with an ATF agent will only bring trouble down upon everyone.

But Austin’s so fucking angry that he doesn’t care, he’s always felt like he’s had the uncanny ability to think in steps ahead, consider his future, but if you’re here? You’re a part of that future now. And he’s not going to let this Rick guy think he can just follow you here all the way from Chicago and threaten you.

“Go inside, Y/N.” Austin motions to the house, not looking back as he walks towards the car in question.

Rick, who has fucking binoculars, drops them quickly when he realizes Austin is approaching the car and not stopping. He also seems to get the point when Austin pulls his weapon of choice, a hunting knife, from the holster on his jeans and sticks right through the grill of Rick’s car.

Rick quickly gets out, his face red with pinched anger as the car begins to smoke. “Vandalism, deadly weapon.” He snaps and slams the car door closed. He’s shorter than Austin and a lot angrier, which is amusing to him, “That's six months in County, asshole.”

Austin can see what you maybe thought about this guy. He’s handsome with his strong jaw and cropped hair, eyes intense. Any member of law enforcement gives off a false aura of calm because they’re supposed to be people anyone can trust. It’s almost ironic that you feel safer with a criminal. Almost.

He throws shit right back at Rick as he takes his knife out of the grill, putting it back in the holster, “Violating a restraining order? You'll be in the cell next to mine.” He grins then, licking his lips as his eyes skitter over Rick’s body, “They reach how to suck dick in ATF school?”

Rick laughs, not even looking remotely interested but Austin doesn’t care. He’s trying to make him uncomfortable because clearly he doesn’t give a shit about doing the same to you. Besides, Austin knows that he’s not really angry about the car, or even about Austin approaching him per say, he’s pissed off that someone is getting in the way of him fucking around with you.

“Badass biker.” Rick tuts, shaking his head as he looks over Austin, like it would be a pleasure of his to ruin his life.

Austin is not fucking scared of this piece of shit, “You harassing Y/N? That ends here.” He tells him, “Or the next time it won't be this car that I'm drainin’ fluid from.” He goes to take a step back because regardless of the stance Rick is pulling, he can tell that he’s rattled him just a little bit.

All of this is probably a terrible idea given the situation that the club is in right now but he refuses to let you take the brunt of dealing with this asshole alone.

“You threatening a federal agent?” Rick snaps out, pissed off that he’s been made to look like an idiot. Which, Austin doesn’t think that’s too far of a stretch, really.

He turns, giving Rick a good once over before taking a few steps into his space. He purposely uses his height difference to look down at him when he speaks, “I'm threaten’ you. Go away—it's my last warning.”

As Austin walks away, he just hopes it’s enough.

Things slightly escalate from there. Rick does not fuck off like Austin hoped or intended but he supposes he shouldn’t exactly be surprised, either. He suspects that he might hang around, maybe show up at your work, but what he doesn’t expect is when Rick surprises him when Austin is attempting to run errands. And not just any type of errand, though most don’t know that, but he’s not really just visiting this deli because he enjoys the chipped ham.

Rick wanders in as Austin talks to the butcher, their conversation shifting to something safer because of the company.

One thing happens after another, Rick gets in his face and Austin can’t control his temper even though he knows he should—that this is one giant trap to catch him off guard. And yet he falls right into it because the minute Rick opens his mouth about you, Austin’s fist is flying through the air.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Rick smirks, sticking his hands in his pockets as he stands by one of the display cases with meat inside, pretending to look interested. “Y/N and I have unfinished business…and I intend on talking that out with her, in bed, with her spread out beneath me.” It’s very much a whether you like it or not attitude and Austin hits Rick so fucking hard that he sails through the glass window of the deli.

Not his finest moment.

And yet he has zero regrets as he sits in a police interview room, icing his right fist as another ATF agent graces him with his presence. Greg Thornson with his bony-ass frame, closing the door with his foot because he’s knee-deep in a file that no doubt has every wrongdoing he’s ever committed since high school.

The usual dog and pony show that any of these police agents try to shake them up with.

Austin’s so used to this, he knows his expression screams ‘boredom’ and that for some reason makes Greg smile, putting the file down on the table. He sits across from him, regarding Austin for a moment and he bites his tongue on saying anything he might regret.

The point in all this is to get back to you, not to end up in a holding cell for the night. So he straightens his shoulders and looks right back at Greg, a challenging look to his eye.

The shorter smiles, “So, we’re not going to hold you—even though you assaulted a federal agent.”

Austin purses his lips and lightly shrugs his shoulders, not saying a goddamn word. He knows exactly what story Ronnie Peterson, the deli owner, gave to the police.

“Mr. Peterson corroborates your story that Rick Clarington came at you first.” Greg sounds not moved at the slightest by that but Austin doesn’t care.

He smiles, “Can I go now?”

Greg hums but before Austin can stand and leave, “Why does Clarington have a hard-on for you?”

“Who doesn't?” The corners of Austin’s mouth twitch up but then sighs—Thornson might enjoy a little game of distractions but Austin’s goal is to keep himself as much under the radar as possible. So he shifts gears, giving him a long look, “You know why.”

Greg smiles, closing the file in front of him. Austin obviously doesn’t know Greg very well, other than the briefest of introductions when he first walked in (just what he needs, another ATF agent up his ass), but he can tell that he’s in this job title for the ‘cat and mouse’ game of it all. Austin’s not a typical criminal, he doesn’t squirm, especially when he knows that that’s the goal Greg has with this conversation.

He’s digging, pulling at straws, anything to give him the upper hand.

“You're right, I do.” Greg taps the table with his fingertips, “Y/N L/N, the charming ingenue. High school sweethearts, right?”

Austin’s face gives nothing away but he does nod softly in confirmation, “Yeah.”

He can literally see the wheels turning in Greg’s head, the shorter making an impressed noise as he glances down at Austin’s bloody knuckles, “She fears for her life so she comes back home to the only man she knows loves her enough to protect her.”

His expression matches stone, unsure of what Greg wants out of this other than to just catch him off guard, but he’s literally got nothing to say as far as he and you are concerned. There’s also not that much to tell—he and you were dating in high school; it was one of the strongest connections he’s ever had to anyone. And that hasn’t changed—Austin doesn’t think it ever will.

“A guy…” Greg trails off for a moment, “who would have no problem punching a federal agent through a glass window.”

“The glass window part was an accident.”

Greg lets out a soft laugh, nodding, “So Ronnie the butcher says. Rick apparently pulled a weapon on you—made threats, you had no choice.” There’s practically disbelief hanging on every syllable.

Austin shrugs again, flexing his sore fingers against the ice pack, “Well, if that’s what Ronnie said.”

Greg licks his lips, glancing over his shoulder as the door opens up, another officer with paperwork to detail the statement Austin gave. He nods his head, knowing he’ll have to let him go soon, despite the sparring conversation.

“Beautiful, really, it is. I wish I had that kind of pull over for someone. You're a lucky man.”

Austin feels something ugly dig under his skin at the sentiment because he knows it’s not a compliment by any means. He refuses to give Greg the satisfaction that he obviously craves but a few thoughts do worm their way in the back of Austin’s mind: did you come back to Charming because of him? Because you knew what he’d do the moment Austin learned about Rick threatening you? Because you felt safe? Wanted? Loved here? Does any of that really matter since you’re back? Austin may feel slightly manipulated given the situation but…even if you only came back for this very reason, you’re still here, aren’t you?

Somehow, that’s all Austin cares about.

“You done?” Austin asks, a little steel to his voice.

Greg smiles and nods lightly, Austin getting up from the table and leaving the ice pack behind.

Austin leans against the back of your couch, watching the you pace for a few moments. He’s not trying to pressure you into talking or anything, he’s practically got the CliffsNotes of what’s happening anyways. In general, he’d just like to touch base with you because it’s been a week since Austin’s made threats at Rick and nothing has really happened (other than that lovely conversation with Thornson, time he’ll never get back, but he supposes that’s his fault for throwing a punch at a federal agent).

Austin suspects anything else is only a matter of time. Rick doesn’t seem like the type to respond to warnings well or go away quietly.

“I’m confused, what else did you want me to do?”

You stop pacing, looking up at Austin with an almost startled expression as you’re drawn out of your thoughts. You’re in a pair of blue jeans and a nice button-down sheer blouse—so different than the scrubs you usually wear but just as beautiful.

“I didn’t want you to do anything.”

Austin narrows his eyes, “Right, really?”

You give him a look as you slowly cross your arms over your chest. “What is that supposed to mean?”

He lets out a slow breath, leaning up from the couch. He doesn’t want to argue with you at any rate and maybe he is letting the conversation with Thornson get to him, but the longer Austin thinks about it, the more it starts to make sense.

Austin rubs the back of his neck, “I think you know exactly what it means.” He raises his eyebrows, taking a long look at you, someone he’s always known like the back of his hand and yet feels so distant to him within this conversation.

“Did you come here because you knew what I’d do to Rick?”

Your mouth opens and closes, “Know…what’d you do?” You scoff, “You—you haven’t done anything.” And there’s the slightest hesitancy in saying that, like there might be something you don’t know.

Austin shakes his head, confirming with a single, “No,” Then, “I haven’t. But push comes to shove, you know I would.”

It doesn’t take much for Austin to figure out how you feel, you practically wear all of your emotions directly on your face. And okay, given this reaction, maybe that’s not why you came home but are you really going to act like that’s not some sort of benefit?

“I didn’t come back for you.” You state and it’s not supposed to sound cruel—that’s not who you are. Meanwhile, Austin on the other hand makes it his mission to dig underneath people’s skin, to read them and know them to understand how to hurt them.

“I didn’t even know if you’d still be here.” You sigh, taking a step towards where Austin is standing, “But if you’re asking if I came back to the last place I felt…put together? Safe? Then yes. That’s why I came back.”

Austin smiles ever so softly, picking his hand up to cup the side of your head. There seems to be a distinct moment where you close your eyes, a rush of relief, a breath you didn’t realize you were holding being released from your chest. “And none of that has to do with me?”

You let out a soft chuckle, shaking your head but you don’t pull away, even when Austin slips one of your loose strands of hair around your ear. You turn your head to press a kiss to Austin’s palm, his other hand moving to bracket the other side of your face. His fingers eventually slip down to hold the sides of your neck, rubbing along the skin soothingly.

“Maybe just a little bit to do with you.” You smile.

Austin licks his lips, smirking, pressing your foreheads together and leaving them to rest for a few long moments. There’s a familiarity there that pulls him in, keeps him treading water, keeping them connected in such a way where it’s hard to tell where you end and Austin begins. He’s never been so much a part of someone and vice versa.

“Regardless of what happens,” Austin says after a moment, “I’m not gonna let anythin’ happen to you, okay?”

You swallow and nod, your noses grazing as he tips your chin.

And that kiss you share feels like home.

It’s a pretty regular night at the clubhouse, another party in half swing where everyone is either piss drunk or on their way to being it. Some other members are playing pool or taking shots directly off of women’s chests, some practically fucking croweaters on the commune couches. Austin is so used to seeing this shit that, at this point, it’s just another Thursday night.

Sam, one of his club leader’s right-hand men, leans against the bar with a boyish grin that deflects from all the terrible things he’s done. The blood Austin has seen in that long blonde hair, the way his hands close around another man’s throat, the bullets he’s fired, the knives he’s cut with. It’s so ironic because you’d never think any of that just by looking at him,

“You don’t want to get in on this?” He asks, motioning to the intoxicating chaos.

Austin takes a brief look around, lifting his beer and taking a sip. “Even if there were half naked women practically throwing themselves at me? Nah,” He pauses, “Just not in the mood tonight.”

Austin’s known Sam nearly his whole life—they grew up together, been through all possible scenarios of the term ‘thick and thin’. Sam sticks around because he knows Austin will take this crown someday, will lead this club, take the reins, or whatever the fuck all this means. He didn’t know his father, not really, only through all the observations and stories and photographs from others.

How is he supposed to figure that shit out?

He doesn’t want it, inherited club royalty or not. Austin would be more satisfied with running away, with taking you out of this fucking place, far away from Charming where no one knows either of you. Starting over like a brand-new book, writing their own chapters.

Even though he knows how unrealistic that is. Doesn’t mean he wants it any less.

“Is this about Y/N?” Sam asks, breaking his concentration.

Austin blinks, considering the question as he takes a long sip of beer. Isn’t it always? Sam can read him far too well and of course knows all about you, what you mean to him—what you’ll always mean to him. He was there when you both first met, when this whole thing started, when you both clutched onto one another tight and refused to let go.

You coming back has just thrown him through an impossible loop.

“No,” He straightens his shoulders, putting a wall up between him and Sam with a grin that masks his face, “Just can’t find anyone who sucks dick as well as you do.”

Sam snorts out a laugh and grabs a bottle from behind the bar to pour shots, “It’s the lips.” He teases.

Austin takes a shot with his friend when he pours it and then decides he’s gotta get out of there before he ends up spending the night with a faceless nobody and a wave of regrets. It’s funny how he hasn’t really thought like that in a while and that definitely has to do with your influence in being back.

He takes a step outside and breathes in the cool Californian air, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. Austin lights a cigarette, taking a long drag that puffs like fog into the atmosphere—he and you have not decided anything about one another. But he knows you, you and him can pick up right where you left off.

It’s hard not to.

His burner cell starts buzzing in his pocket and there’s a half smile on his lips as he sees your number—case in point.

Austin barely gets through a greeting when you are choking out I need you. He has no idea what’s going on and part of him doesn’t want to ask but the sound of your voice causes a sheet of ice to cover the entire inside of his chest as he throws down the cigarette and walks quickly to his bike.

“What happened?”

You sniffle over the line and sigh out syllables that make Austin’s blood run cold, “Rick. Please, can you just—”

“I’m on my way.” Austin hangs up the call, starting his motorcycle and pulling out of the garage parking lot with barely a second thought.

Austin has no idea what’s going on, no clue what he’s walking into but he doesn’t care either (which he may or may not regret later). He didn’t have you elaborate over the phone, wanting to concentrate on getting here faster instead. He parks his bike and rushes off the thing, nearly knocking it over as he goes to the front door of your father’s home and knocks.

You throw open the door, half dressed—bra, underwear, a long sweater barely over top, face with tear tracks on them and—and a gun hanging loosely in your fingertips.

“Jesus Christ,” Austin mumbles, eyes wide and confused as he takes a look at you and slowly closes the front door, “What the fuck happened?”

Though…based off the way you are dressed and the time of night—Austin swallows down a bout of anger as heavy as a cinder block to take care of what’s right in front of him.

“I couldn't stop him.” You shake your head, your entire face pinching. Austin sighs and wraps a strong arm around your shoulders, drawing you into your chest. He squeezes you, his hand working firm circles along your spine, “He came in-in through my back door and just—”

Austin shakes his head, holding you even tighter against him, his jaw working as he puts two and two together. You must have been getting ready for bed or something close to it and Rick put the drop on you.

“Did he—”

A whimpered noise leaves your lips and you press your face further into Austin’s neck. His one hand comes up and laces his fingers through your hair, shushing you gently. He pulls back after a moment—you both need to get ahead of this disaster, whatever is awaiting him, Austin will take care of it.

“Where is he?” He asks, cupping your cheek. He removes a tear track with his thumb.

You sniffle, “The bedroom—”

A short breath leaves Austin’s lips, glancing down at the gun that’s still in your hand. It must be your father’s because you never have been interested in weapons before, not even for means of protection. Whatever happened, it must have been bad enough that you needed to defend yourself.

“Give me that.” Austin takes the gun from you, walking down the long hallway that leads to the bedroom.

Nothing really prepares him for what he sees—the bedroom is a mess, sheets disheveled and Austin really fucking tries to not picture you struggling on top of them to push Rick off. A chair is overturned, broken glass from picture frames falling off the nightstand, and Rick on the ground in the corner—his pants are undone and he’s got his shirt off.

He’s currently holding onto his gut to keep his insides from pouring out, panting, face a sheet white and sweaty. And then he makes eye contact with Austin, a struggled laugh leaving his lips like, you’ve got to be kidding me.

“Oh you stupid bitch.” Rick spits, referring to you, “You called him?”

Austin does his best to assess the situation, figuring out what’s best for you with all of this. He’s used to putting himself in the line of fire at this point, at burying himself so deep that there’s not a way out. He could give a shit about Rick surviving or not—there’s only one person that needs to end up on the other side.

You are kind and good and leading a decent life beyond all of this and if Austin has one goal? It’s to make sure none of this pain, blood, or filth, sticks to you.

You tug on Austin’s sleeve, yanking him back into the hallway and away from the scene, “I didn’t know what to do, I shot him, Austin.” You try to explain, your hands shaking so bad as you run them through your hair. Austin shakes his head, wanting to tell you that he doesn’t have to clarify anything, “I had to. What do I—what do I do? What do we do?”

Austin runs his hand along your shoulder, squeezing, glancing back in to Rick because…there’s really only one of two things you could do. And he’ll give you the other option just in case you want to entertain it.

“Okay, okay,” Austin soothes, getting you to breathe for a moment before he continues, “We call this in—you're not going to get charged, he is.” There’s a choked laugh from Rick—the only saving grace is that you have that restraining order in place. Austin takes a long look at you, cupping your one cheek. He waits until your eyes meet his, wanting to make sure you understand what he’s saying.

“They're gonna patch him up, he'll do a few years for assault. But then he's gonna be out—free to do this again.”

He barely gets the last word out before there’s a visceral reaction from you, a choking sob where you grab Austin’s leather jacket and dig your fingers into it, “No,” You snap out, nearly pushing him away despite the fact that Austin only pulls you closer, “No, he can't do this again, Austin. Please.”

Austin rests his lips along your forehead, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment as he takes a steadying breath into his lungs. There’s only one thing to do then—because clearly, Rick is beyond reason or idle threats.

Not to mention that bullet wound in his side really complicates things.

“Butler’s your solution?” Rick spits from the other room, making you hold onto Austin tighter.

“I can't do this.” You whisper against Austin’s neck, breath hot along his skin, “Please.”

If Austin was going to approach this with a cool head, all of that goes out the window when Rick opens his mouth again. The combination of you shaking against him, the heat of your body pressed along his own, the way your hands are pulling at his clothes in an attempt to ground yourself—and then Rick’s fucking mouth, spouting disgusting language towards you that he can’t accept in a levelheaded manner.

“You pathetic whore—”

Austin takes two long strides, aiming the gun right at Rick’s head and fires.

The blowback spatters blood all over the wallpaper in the bedroom and there’s a soft curl of smoke leaving the gun, metal hot to the touch. He can hear you yelling over the slight ringing in his ears. Austin lets out a sharp breath—this is not the first time he’s murdered someone in cold blood and it certainly won’t be the last.

At least this time it actually feels like it’s been paired with a purpose.

Austin stares at the blood for a long moment, watching it roll down the ugly wallpaper before backing up slowly. He puts the gun on the dresser and turns to where you are standing in the hallway, wide eyed like a deer in headlights, hands over your mouth.

Austin gently tugs you away, forces your sight off it and takes you back into the living room.

Austin takes a shallow breath and hands you a short glass of scotch, which you take with trembling fingers. You tip it back into your mouth quickly and almost choke on the swallow, coughing, but Austin figures you might need to take it like that. He motions to hold the glass out and when you do, he fills it up again.

You sniffle, shaking your head as you run a hand over your face. Austin knows how you’re feeling without you even needing to say anything. While this might have been the only choice, the right choice, you didn’t want Rick to meet an end like this. You continue to be a better person than him—Austin thinks he got exactly what he deserved.

And he regrets none of his actions here tonight, especially if this means you are safe.

Austin runs a hand along his jawline—it’s still dark out, if he’s going to clean this up, he needs to get started.

You glance up at him, wide eyes somehow a shade darker than he’s ever seen them. Austin tries to offer you the smallest of smiles, something comforting, even though it feels a bit strange on his face.

“I’ll take care of this.” He assures you.

You scoff out a choked noise— “What does that mean?”

Austin shakes his head, not giving you a verbal answer. Honestly, it’s better if you don’t know, just in case, so you can claim some kind of ignorance with all this. You seem to catch on within that moment, making a soft noise of discontent as you cover your face with both of your hands. There are so many things that Austin wants to say, to be able to tell you, but he doesn’t know where to start.

This nightmare is over though—it may not seem like it, but it is.

Austin turns to walk out of the kitchen and check your garage for supplies when he feels fingers wrap around his wrist. He stops, looking down at your hand, following it up your arm until he looks at you again. Austin watches you stand, taking a soft breath in, grounding yourself in the touch of his skin and your proximity.

This can’t be easy for you; Austin knows this is why you ran away from Charming in the first place—so you wouldn’t have to wonder what kind of terrible shit he was getting himself into with the club and Austin finding a way to apologize for it. Though, this ironically has nothing to do with the motorcycle club.

He moves his thumb to brush over the inside of your wrist, his high school sweetheart, the girl he’s loved since he was sixteen, his soulmate regardless of tragedy that most likely follows.

“Thank you,” You whisper and step into Austin’s space, “I love you.”

Austin hums softly and nods, leaning his head down to press your foreheads together. “I know.” He teases lightly and despite everything that’s happened, he can feel the hint of a smile on your lips as you kiss.

A week passes, and then two, and eventually Austin feels like he can draw oxygen into his lungs without looking over his shoulder. At this point, he knows how dispose of a body—an unfortunate byproduct of the work he does. The goal is to make it look like Rick’s just left, disappeared, with the threat of violating his restraining order, he decided it was best to fuck off out of Charming and you for good.

That should be a story that’s easily passible, since no one from Charming P.D. or that aggravating ATF agent have kicked down any doors demanding questioning of any sort.

Austin’s limited exposure about the whole thing, just him and you know, that way there can be no blowback on the club. Even then, Austin’s the only one who has details about the murder weapon (and where it is) and what truly happened to Rick (as in, where his body is buried). And it’s going to stay like that.

The man is exactly where he belongs.

Austin pauses in front of a freezer in the grocery store looking down at a set of steaks. He knows that it’s not exactly your favorite thing to eat but…he’s feeling weirdly celebratory and he can cook it in a way that you will enjoy it. Lots of pepper, garlic, onions—grilling it outside (maybe at his house instead of your father’s place), beer, mashed potatoes. You both can turn that into a good night, maybe even get back on a track that makes sense.

As long as you both avoid any more capital murder, should be just fine.

“Huh, never pictured you as a fillet kind of guy.”

Austin’s eyes roll back into his head as he turns to see Greg Thornson hovering nearby. Spoke too soon.

He doesn’t see any other agents milling around to make a grand arrest, or sirens and SWAT cars pulling up outside the grocery store windows. So he supposes that’s a bonus. And yet—

“Shouldn’t have to pound meat out for it to be tender.” He says wryly, dropping two steaks into his basket. Austin moves out and around Greg, who doesn’t even appear to be shopping—what, did he just track him down for a not-so-friendly chat?

Austin’s assuming that this isn’t an interrogation but Greg very much seems like the kind of agent that tries to catch you off guard and unaware. He’s probing just by being in his space, nonchalantly following him around the store, pretending to look at things he has no intention in buying.

“Putting a nice dinner together for Y/N?” Greg asks curiously, picking up a can of lima beans.

Austin sighs evenly, slowly making his way towards the front of the store. The quicker he cashes out, the faster he can leave this disaster behind. He glances over his shoulder at the indifferent question,

“Yeah—I know this might be a foreign concept to you, goin’ on dates.” Austin says with a smile to his face but it’s anything but kind. Greg’s eyes dart to Austin’s, fire burning along his irises, and then Austin adds a cushion to the blow – “Cause you know, you’re married to your work and all.”

Greg hums but his smile is all pinched, “I’m surprised Y/N’s even staying put.”

Austin moves to set his basket down near the conveyor belt, unpacking his groceries so that the cashier can ring him out. He offers a small smile at the girl, despite his annoyance with the ATF agent behind him. He slips his wallet out of his back pocket, glancing at Greg as he comes up into his line of vision,

“She’s a runner. Isn’t that why Y/N found herself in Chicago in the first place? Wanted to get out—find things this little pissant town couldn’t offer? Bigger dreams than what you’ve got here, Butler. Smart, beautiful women like Y/N? They get bored. They want more.”

Austin swallows, his hand that’s out of Greg’s line of sight is clenching his fingers into a fist. He refuses to give away that Greg’s words are hitting a particularly raw nerve. You did run away—because that’s what you do. When something gets too hard or real or intense, you make a run for it, that last time landing you in Chicago. And yeah, you ended up with a medical degree to show for it, but you also trailed back to Charming with a psycho ex.

He watches the cashier scan in his items, the muscle in Austin’s working. Despite the fact that Y/N’s seemingly tied to this place for the foreseeable future, Greg unfortunately has a point. And that digs under his skin more than anything else.

Austin pays the cashier and picks up his grocery bag, “Why don’t you let me worry about Y/N, yeah?” He throws back at Greg, moving to leave the store. He then pauses, a sudden thought occurring to him as he turns to look back at the ATF agent.

Greg’s decided to buy a pack of chips near the checkout aisle, pulling out a few ones from his wallet.

“Hey,” Austin says, gaining Greg’s attention. The smile he gives him is slow and patient, somehow innocent on the edges like he’s about to talk about the weather. “You ever hear from Rick?”

It takes a moment for the question to settle on Greg’s face, the light somehow disappearing from his eyes, the silent conversation passing between the two men as Greg realizes Austin is asking this question for a very specific, deadly reason.

Austin licks his lips, shrugging his one shoulder, his gaze hardening, “Dangerous being a Fed.”

He slowly backs up, getting ready to turn out of the grocery store. He’s delivered more direct threats before but he is in public, and the look on Greg’s face still registers the same. Realization masking fear—makes it completely worth it. Austin clutches the grocery bag in his hand and puts his sunglasses on as he leaves the store to walk back to his truck.

They understand one another now.

Austin looks at you over his shoulder as he cooks dinner in the backyard of his home, in comfortable clothes that look a lot like jeans and a t-shirt, minus the leather cut. You’re leaning against the patio door, in a yellow sundress, watching Austin with a soft, fond expression, sipping on your beer.

Austin’s struck with the sudden thought that it could always be like this—warm, and safe, and comfortable, cooking dinner with beers and pretending his business doesn’t get him involved with unsavory people or situations.

Sometimes it feels like they can survive in that version of themselves, even though it’s all a lie.

You move into the yard and set your beer down, pressing into Austin’s side as he looks at the grill.

“You’re overcooking the steak.”

Austin crinkles his nose, peeking under the grill hood just a little, “No I’m not.” He opens it up all the way and while he doesn’t cook steak very often, they look perfectly fine. You use that opportunity to reach for the tongs and Austin playfully taps your wrist,

“I got it, they’re fine.”

“Oh you know how to handle meat, do you?” You tease, your hand resting on Austin’s waist instead.

Austin bites down on his lower lip as he grins, cupping your cheek to lean down and kiss you. “Class act, Y/N.” He pulls back after a moment, closing the grill lid after flipping the steaks once.

He moves to grab his own beer, taking a long sip. Despite everything you’ve been through, you seem to be doing okay. You don’t really bring up Rick at all and Austin doesn’t ask—maybe that’s a good thing, finally moving past that chapter in your life.

And even though Greg’s commentary in the grocery store rattled him a little bit, it does feel like you’re on solid ground now. That you’re not going anywhere—that they’re a team, no matter what might come their way.

Austin lets out a soft sigh, taking a step towards you. He rests his hand on your hip, angling you towards his body so he can look down at you. He waits until that gaze falls upon his own,

“No more running.”

You nod softly and press yourself on your toes to kiss the corner of Austin’s mouth, “No more running,” You agree. Austin leans down to press their foreheads together. “I’m here.”

And for better, or for worse, Austin believes you.

#austin butler #austin butler x you #austin butler x female reader #the bikeriders #mccall writes things

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