#an unavoidable distraction really...

[furbs-and-prayers]

happy xerxes break birthday! ! remember when i was doing that lyric piece collection for the normal album?...

[outlanderalien]

Not sure if I'm sabotaging my relationship or not but I feel like I'm in the right ? Perhaps ?

[mariasont]

i loved lipgloss!!! i was wondering if i could pls request smth where spencer walks in the BAU unaware of the lipgloss on his lips from kissing bimbo!receptionist or on his cheeks from being kissed then everyone's like "👀☝️🤨" (english isnt my first language im sorry😭)

STICKY SITUATIONS - S.R

a/n: back with the lipstick trope yeehaw, can't tell you all how much i appreicate u all and how patient u guys are with me when i ghost for like 5 months at a time. thank you so much for the request sug <3

masterlist

pairings: spencer reid x bimbo!receptionist!reader

warnings: spencer daydreaming about inappropriate things! PDA!

wc: 1.1k

Spencer woke up feeling untouchable, like nothing in the world could shake him. The kind of invincible where even the sky didn't seem like a limit. You had stayed the night, as you often did, and yet every time he woke up with you beside him, it felt like walking on air. Today was no exception.

You made sure he was late today--both of you were. He blamed you entirely, though he didn't mind. You pinned him down with a thousand little kisses, laughing as you insisted that it's essential for a day filled with good luck, and how else was he going to catch all the bad guys without a little charm from you?

Spencer's body vibrated like it was attuned to some invisible, higher frequency, one you alone could set. The smile threatening to break free felt inevitable, like a law of nature, as his mind drifted to thoughts of you--so unavoidable it was as if trying to pinpoint an electron's exact position and momentum in time. 

He had half a mind to swing by the reception desk just to see you. Just for a second. He'd convince himself it was enough, even though it never really was. Today, though? There was no chance he'd make it to his meeting. Not when you were wearing that skirt--his favorite. The one that fit you like it had been hand-stitched by hand for you alone, showing off your thighs in a way that made him picture them around his--

"Reid, you're—," Hotch's voice snapped him back into reality, his brows down turning as he regarded Spencer with a curious frown before shaking his head. "Late. C'mon."

Spencer followed Hotch into the conference room, their entrance as routine as ever--or so he assumed. But the moment they stepped inside, something shifted. The air crackled with stifled laughter, a ripple of poorly contained snickers breaking out across the team.

He froze mid-step, confusion knitting his brow as he scanned the room. His gaze flitted from face to face, trying to uncover the source of their amusement. The laughter, he realized with growing bewilderment, was somehow aimed squarely at him.

His pulse quickened as self-awareness kicked in, and his eyes darted downward, trying to detect the anomaly that had captured everyone's damn attention. A loose thread? A stain? Panic bloomed in his chest as he mentally ticked through a list of possibilities. His sweater seemed intact--no wayward strings. His pants were fine, no errant coffee stains or wrinkles. And his hair--well, his hair always had a mind of its own, but it wasn't that unruly today. Right?

Bastards.

He cleared his throat. "Okay, what did I miss?"

Emily tried--and failed--to stifle her laughter, shaking her head in disbelief. "I think you might need to go to look in the mirror, lover boy."

Spencer didn't bother questioning her. No explanation would be offered, at least not freely. He knew he'd get no real answers from this group, and honestly, he wasn't even sure he wanted them at this point. Instead, he slipped out of the conference room and headed down the hall, his mind a muddled tangle of confusion.

He was so distracted--so consumed with trying to figure out what he'd missed--that he nearly missed the sound of quick, approaching footsteps. It was only at the last second that he looked up, just in time for you to collide with him. His hands moved instinctively, catching your waist as you stumbled forward, stopping you from toppling over.

Spencer's breath caught. Gods know if you'd fallen in those heels, you'd be lucky to escape with just a sprained ankle. But you didn't fall. Instead, you let out a startled giggle as you looked up at him wide-eyed.

"Whoopsie," you said with a smile. "Hi there, handsome."

The instant the words left your lips, you clamped a hand over your mouth, fighting back a high-pitched squeal of laughter.

Spencer, even more bewildered, furrowed his brows in confusion. "Okay, what?"

"Hold still," you instructed, though your voice wavered between stifled giggles. You reached up for him, your fingertips hovering near his face.

He followed your hand with his eyes, still clueless, until you gently cupped his cheek. Whatever it was on his skin drew another wave of laughter from you, and in response, he prodded at your sides, each poke sending you into another fit of delighted squeals.

"Hey, that's not holding still, Dr.!" you gasped, halfheartedly swatting at his hands while you finished wiping away the last bit of whatever had clung to his face.

"Whoopsie daisy," you said again, still brushing invisible flecks from his cheek, your voice reminding him of what he envisioned sunshine poured into a teacup would manifest as. "Aw, Spence, looks like I kinda-sorta-maybe left a tiny little lipstick stain behind."

Your tone was drenched in honeyed innocence, as if this kind of thing just happened and you had no earthly clue how.

Spencer's eyes narrowed. "Is that why I've been subjected to my team's thinly veiled harassment?"

Your eyes went wide, and you gasped as if you'd just witnessed a high crime. "They were giving you trouble? Oh my gosh!" You pressed your fingertips to your lips. "Do I need to have a word with them?"

The determination in your voice sounded all too serious, and he was a little scared that you were actually prepared to march back to that conference room in your pretty heels and give the entire BAU a piece of your mind.

Spencer nearly chocked on a laugh. Of all possible reactions, yours was the sweetest, most fiercely protective--and downright hilarious. He held up a hand in a placating gesture, lips curving into a boyish grin. 

"Hmm, I appreciate the offer," he murmured, gently tapping his chin with a finger as if considering it. "However, I think you might need to have a word with the real culprit who decided my face should double as her personal canvas this morning."

"Me?" You pressed a hand dramatically to your heart. "I would never! I mean, sure, I might've given you a million good-luck kisses before you left, and maybe one or two... or three of my lip gloss stains decided to stick around, but that's hardly my fault!"

You shifted your weight to the balls of your feet and wiggled your fingers in a helpless sort of gesture. "That's just how good my gloss is, y'know?"

"Right," he replied, voice quieter now, eyes warm as they traced your face. "Clearly the lip gloss is at fault. We'll have to issue it a stern warning later."

"Exactly! Don't blame poor, innocent me." You paused, lowering your voice conspiratorially, leaning close enough that he caught the faint scent of your perfume. "And if any of the team give you grief again, you know where to find me!"

Spencer hummed, placing a light hand on the small of your back, steering you gently away from the corridor.

"I'll keep that in mind," he murmured, smiling as if the world had just aligned perfectly in that very hallway. "But for now, maybe we should try to make sure I get back to my meeting... gloss-free."

taglist: @readergf @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179 @malindacath @broadwaytraaaaash @r-3dlips @m-indkiller @sunfyyre @sleepysongbirdsings @trulycayla @reiderrambles @averyhotchner @hbwrelic @sky2nd @messylxve @alexxavicry @doigettokeepyou @pleasantwitchgarden @kodzukenmaaa @hiireadstuff @dilflover-3 @spenciesslut @phoenix-le-danseur-de-pole @c-losur3 @theylovemelody @alahnizamolo @oliver-1270 @ssahotchbabe @savagemickey03 @justanotherbimboslxt @imoonkiss @spiderladyleah @estragos @khxna @spencerssoup @de-duchess @raysmayhem-72

join my taglist here!

[aajjks]

The Boy (II)

synopsis. All he ever wanted was someone to love.

pairing: yandere!brahms doll jungkook x fem!nanny reader. ft. Cha eunwoo.

genre: 18+ horror, smut, angst and yandere.

warnings. 18+ YÁNDÈRÈ, dàrk thèmès, dïstúrbíng thèmès, mèntïóns ôf à dàrk pàst, yn ïs só dàmn hórny, dóll, erríe thèmès, únsèttlíng thèmès, híghly sèxúàl thèmès, nèèdy, shàmlèss ýn, tsúndèrè èúnwòò.

wc: idek it’s long tho

fic note. Please keep in mind that this fanfiction is the exact copy of the movie from the same name “the boy” (2016) so if you find any similarities, that’s on purpose. Also viewer discretion is highly advised.

taglist. @tatumrileyslover @slut4jeon @strawberryberrygirl @starl0ver4 @darkcyclecreator @taekritimin123@erisuna @devilslittlehelper @introvertedsin @jadaocon1 @jungkooknippleanddicksucker @wowersblog@jincapableoflove @whothefuckisthishoe @avawants2havefun @sophipp1 @moonfloweronmars @crisle19 @ctrlsht@mrsjohnnysuh @ennvfv @kpopsmutty69 [open for more]

••••

The house is too quiet.

You didn’t notice it as much yesterday— not with Ji-seon’s perfectly manicured presence keeping you distracted or Jeong-hwan’s piercing gaze making sure you didn’t fuck up your answers.

Even though it had been a day, but you still got used to their presence and now that you’re all alone in this house…

You’re having some trouble

Especially now that they’re gone, it’s just you and this massive, eerily pristine house. You, a lifeless doll, and the suffocating silence pressing in on you like a weighted blanket.

Your second day begins with an unavoidable routine—the one they so kindly outlined in the rules. Rules that, frankly, feel absurd.

1. Wake JK up.

2. Get him dressed.

3. Prepare his meals.

4. Read to him.

5. Put him to bed.

You stare at the list on the old, slightly crinkled paper and sigh. “Jesus Christ.” You rub your temple, the lack of sleep from last night making your head feel like it’s stuffed with cotton. 

I should be getting paid double for this shit.

And honestly, when you think about it, it’s kind of triggering because… of your history that you don’t really like to think about anymore.

But you’re getting paid a lot of ridiculous amount of money for this so you’re willing to play along even if it triggers the fuck out of you.

With an exhausted groan, you shuffle towards the grand living room, where JK sits in his usual spot on the couch, his dark beady eyes fixed on you in a way that feels entirely too alive.

“Alright, little prince,” you mutter, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. 

“Time to start our day of make-believe.”

Nothing happens. Obviously. Because it’s a fucking doll.

Still, the weight of its stare makes you hesitate for a second too long before reaching for it. 

The porcelain skin is cold under your fingers, smooth and unyielding. 

You lift the doll carefully— half because you don’t want to break the weird rich people’s prized possession, and half because some irrational part of you thinks it might move on its own.

You carry him upstairs to the bedroom they set up for him, which looks far too elegant for a toy. 

The furniture is handcrafted, the bed is neatly made with expensive silk sheets, and the air smells faintly of lavender.

This is insane.

Still, you press on.

Dressing JK is an experience you never thought you’d have. Buttoning up a tiny sweater on a lifeless doll is humiliating in ways you can’t fully articulate. 

Fuck your life, even a doll has a better life than you.

“You know, I don’t even do this much for an actual man,” you scoff. “You should be grateful, JK.”

The doll, of course, says nothing. But as you move to fix his collar, you swear the corners of his lips seem… slightly upturned.

Your hands freeze. No. That’s ridiculous. I’m just sleep-deprived.

You shake the thought off and place him back in the chair by the window, as instructed.

This is your life now. Taking care of a doll.

It’s laughable.

The rules are just guidelines, anyways, and rules are always meant to be broken.

•••

By noon, you’re already getting restless.

You’ve done everything technically required— dressed the doll, made him breakfast (which was a complete waste of food), and even read a chapter from a dusty old children’s book you found on the shelf.

Now you’re sprawled on the couch, scrolling through your phone, but there’s no service. 

No Wi-Fi. No contact with the outside world.

Frustration bubbles up in your chest. You sit up, stretching your sore muscles, and glance at JK, who sits stiffly in his chair. 

“I doubt they’ll know if I take a little break.”

The doll stares.

You roll your eyes. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. You’re lucky I even got up today.”

The doll should remain motionless. It should stay exactly where you left it.

But when you look back at it after getting up, something feels… different.

The head is tilted ever so slightly to the left.

Your breath catches in your throat. Was it like that before?

Slowly, you approach the chair, fingers curling into fists. “You’re really fucking with me now,” you whisper.

JK doesn’t respond.

You hesitate for a moment before reaching out and adjusting the head back into its original position. “There.”

Then you turn around—

clunk.

Your heart stops.

You whip back around.

JK’s head is tilted again.

Further this time.

A shiver runs down your spine.

No. No fucking way.

Your pulse thunders in your ears as you back away, refusing to take your eyes off him. 

Your entire body is screaming at you to leave the room, to run, but you force yourself to breathe.

“This is just my imagination,” you whisper. “That’s it. I’m sleep-deprived, this house is fucking with me, and I need to get out of here for a bit.”

You don’t even bother “putting him down for a nap” like the rules say. Instead, you decide to explore.

•••

The house is massive.

You wander through the hallways, your footsteps echoing against the marble floors. 

The architecture is grand, intricate details carved into the moldings, chandeliers hanging like ghosts in every room.

But it’s the paintings that unsettle you the most.

There are so many of them. And they’re all of the same little boy—dark-haired, round-cheeked, with a bright bunny smile. He looks… sweet. Innocent, even.

And yet, the more you stare at them, the more something feels off.

Some of the paintings have his eyes looking straight ahead. Others have them slightly to the side. And a few—you swear to God—have his gaze locked directly onto you.

A cold shudder runs through you. 

Nope. Nope, we’re not doing this.

You turn to leave the room when—

“Pretty… stay.”

Your stomach drops.

You freeze, hands trembling as you whip around.

JK is nowhere in sight.

You left him upstairs.

Right?

You feel sick. Your hands grip the fabric of your sweater, the walls of the house suddenly feeling too close.

Something is wrong.

•••

You nearly jump out of your skin when you hear a firm knock on the front door.

You don’t even hesitate to answer it.

When you swing it open, Eunwoo is standing there, his hands in his coat pockets, his expression as unreadable as ever.

Your stomach clenches—but not just from fear.

Because of course even when you’re scared out of your mind, your body decides now is the perfect time to get turned on.

Eunwoo’s eyes sweep over you, taking in your disheveled appearance. “You look…” His gaze flicks down to your lips, then back up. “…tired.”

You lick your lips. “Tired isn’t the word I’d use.”

He steps inside, his presence commanding the space effortlessly. “Have you been following the rules?”

You huff, crossing your arms. “Why does it matter? It’s just a doll.”

Eunwoo’s jaw tenses. “It’s not just a doll.” His voice is low, cold. “You don’t understand what’s at stake.”

You raise a brow, shamelessly letting your eyes trail down his chest. God, he’s so fucking hot. “You really care about this thing, huh?” You take a step closer. 

“Maybe you should care more about me.”

Eunwoo doesn’t budge. He doesn’t even react.

That pisses you off.

You tilt your head, voice dropping into something sultry. “Don’t tell me you’re scared of a little distraction.”

Eunwoo stares, his expression unreadable—until his eyes darken.

For a second, you think he might actually give in.

Then—

“Yn…”

Your body freezes.

That voice. That mechanical, eerie��fucking voice.

You whip your head around.

JK is sitting on the couch.

You did not put him there.

Eunwoo doesn’t even flinch. Instead, he just exhales through his nose and adjusts his coat. “Follow the rules.”

And then— just like that— he turns to leave.

You’re left alone.

With him.

With JK.

And the second the door closes, you hear it again.

“Pretty… stay.”

A chill runs through your spine.

What the fuck have you gotten yourself into?

“Fuck this shit I’m hungry, let’s go check out the kitchen.”

•••

You are never eating in this kitchen again.

The ramen was fine. Actually, it was good, especially considering how you barely ate today. But the problem isn’t the food. The problem is the audience.

Because across the room, perched on the goddamn counter, watching you, sits JK.

You drop your chopsticks. “Nope.”

The word echoes in the quiet kitchen. You didn’t put him there. You didn’t put him there.

He was on the couch earlier. You remember because you kept side-eyeing him while eating your sad little meal, feeling his beady little stare drilling into your soul.

And now he’s here.

Perched. Looking. Waiting.

Your throat tightens, a nervous laugh bubbling up before you can stop it. “So this is it, huh? This is how I die? Starved, single, and haunted by a fucking toy?”

Silence.

Your stomach does an uncomfortable flip as the air shifts. It’s subtle, but you feel it—like the whole house just took a breath. The walls seem taller. The shadows stretch just a bit longer.

And then, soft and eerie, comes the whisper.

“Don’t forget…”

Your body locks up. A cold chill rolls down your spine, your skin breaking out in goosebumps.

Okay. That was new.

Your gaze snaps to JK, your heart hammering against your ribs. You heard it. Someone said that.

It wasn’t your imagination. It wasn’t your tired brain playing tricks. It was a fucking voice.

And yet, the doll remains the same—blank, expressionless, his tiny porcelain lips forever pressed into that neutral, unsettling almost-smile.

Fuck this.

You’re about to throw him in the oven. Maybe deep fry him. Maybe start a religion based on setting creepy dolls on fire.

But then, your eyes flicker to the list of rules pinned to the fridge.

6. Give JK a goodnight kiss.

7. Make sure JK is comfortable before bed.

Your entire body rejects the idea. Your soul leaves the chat.

Absolutely not.

A loud, frustrated groan leaves your lips. “Oh my God.”

This is beyond humiliating. This isn’t even a job anymore—it’s a prank. It’s gotta be. A weird, rich-people, fucked-up social experiment.

First the rules, then the mechanical voice, and now this?

You want to scream. You want to walk straight out of this house and never look back.

But the money.

The fucking money.

It’s ridiculous, the amount they’re paying you. It’s life-changing. And if all you have to do is follow some creepy-ass instructions to get it, then fine. 

Fine.

You slam your hands on the counter, glaring at JK. “You win, you little shit.”

And then, you pick him up.

Instant regret.

His body is solid, heavier than it looks, and the second his cold porcelain presses against your fingers, your entire body reacts.

A strange heat pools in your stomach.

Your breath catches. Your thighs clench.

You freeze. Oh no.

Not this. Not now.

This job is already ruining your sanity—you can’t let it ruin your self-respect, too.

But your body doesn’t get the memo.

The feeling spreads, slow and insidious, like a slow-burning fever. It’s not because of JK, obviously. 

But it’s him being here, the eerie tension in the house, the fact that you’ve been alone all day, untouched, unstimulated.

The thoughts you had earlier about Eunwoo don’t help. 

His sharp eyes, his broad frame, the way he completely ignored your flirting like an unbothered, frustratingly hot statue.

I need to get laid.

Or at least, you need to do something about this overwhelming heat crawling under your skin.

But not now. Not while holding the fucking doll.

You shake yourself off, gripping JK tighter, storming upstairs like you’re on a personal mission.

Put him to bed. Get this over with.

But the whole time, the feeling of being watched doesn’t leave you. If anything, it gets worse.

•••

somehow, you have managed to convince yourself that you just need a shower to make yourself feel right

And by the time you make it to the bathroom, you’re two seconds away from losing your mind.

Not just because of the creepy ass doll or the fact that your entire body is covered in goosebumps that won’t go away—no, no. That would be normal.

The real problem?

You’re fucking horny.

It makes no sense.

You just had the most unsettling dinner of your life, spent way too much time arguing with a porcelain freak, and still—your body refuses to cooperate.

Your nerves are shot, your thighs press together every time you move, and worst of all—Eunwoo.

Eunwoo being an asshole should not make him hotter.

But goddamn, did he look good tonight.

That stupid cold expression, the way his jaw clenched whenever you spoke, the way his voice dropped when he scolded you like some strict, brooding villain straight out of a fantasy novel—

Ugh.

Maybe you should just throw yourself into the nearest well and be done with it.

With a deep breath, you rip off your clothes and step into the shower.

The second the water hits your skin, a soft sigh slips past your lips.

Oh, that’s nice.

Heat runs down your spine, melting every tense muscle. Steam curls around your body, thick and intoxicating.

You tilt your head back, letting the warmth sink into you, washing away everything from today— the exhaustion, the unease, the sheer insanity of this house.

It’s just you in here.

Alone.

Finally.

Your fingers drag slowly down your neck, your collarbone, heat pooling low in your stomach.

It’s fine. You deserve this.

It’s not like there’s a fucking ghost watching you, right?

You exhale, the steam making your skin tingle.

Your mind drifts immediately—

Eunwoo’s voice. Low, commanding.

“Follow the rules, yn.”

A shiver rolls down your spine.

You don’t want to follow the rules.

You want to break them.

You can practically see him, standing outside the shower, fully clothed, watching. That blank expression, that disapproving look. His lips parting just slightly as he takes you in, dark eyes flicking lower—

God.

Your fingers twitch, a slow press against your hipbone.

He’d be so strict with you. He wouldn’t just let you do whatever you wanted—no, he’d make you follow the rules. Wouldn’t even touch you unless you begged for it.

Your breath hitches.

You bite your lip, hand sliding lower, heat growing—

Click.

Your entire body freezes.

That— That sounded like the fucking door.

No. No, no, no.

Your breath stops. Your skin prickles.

Water pounds against the tiles, drowning everything else out.

You can’t even turn around.

Click.

Your stomach drops.

That wasn’t just the wind. That was—

That was inside the bathroom. A violent shudder rips down your spine.

Your hands shake as you peel the shower curtain back—

And your breath dies.

The bathroom door is open.

Just a few inches.

A sliver of darkness beyond it.

The air is too cold.

Your pulse pounds against your skin, your legs trembling under the hot water.

You swear you locked it.

Didn’t you?

Your heart is in your throat. Your body still aches, heat thrumming through your veins—but now, it’s laced with something else.

Something primal.

Fear.

You clutch the shower curtain, your mouth dry.

You are not alone.

You feel it.

Someone is watching.

And then—

“Pretty, pretty, stay… stay.”

The whisper is right there.

Behind the curtain. Inside the fucking bathroom.

Your body jerks. A choked gasp rips from your throat.

You don’t think. You don’t breathe.

You just grab a towel—

And run.

You don’t stop.

Your feet pound against the cold floor, water dripping from your skin as you clutch the towel around you. Your breath comes out in ragged gasps, your heart slamming against your ribs.

That voice. That fucking voice.

You don’t look back. You don’t even blink until you crash into your bedroom door.

Shit—

Your hand shakes as you grab the knob, your entire body screaming at you to move, to lock yourself inside.

And then—

Knock.

Your stomach drops.

The knock is slow, deliberate.

Right on the other side.

A violent shiver rips down your spine.

It’s not the wind. It’s not your imagination.

Something is there.

Your fingers clench around the towel, water still trickling down your thighs. Every inch of you is tense, skin burning with leftover heat—

Knock.

Okay. Okay, okay, okay.

You can’t just stand here like a fucking idiot.

You squeeze your eyes shut, swallowing down your fear.

And then, with a deep breath—

You open the door. Your entire body jerks.

It’s not a ghost.

It’s Eunwoo.

Holy shit.

He stands right there, dark eyes flickering over you, his expression unreadable. His face is blank—cold, unimpressed.

And you?

You completely forget about everything.

The fear? Gone.

The horror? What horror?

The fact that you were seconds away from pissing yourself? Irrelevant.

Because Eunwoo is here.

And you are barely wearing anything.

A wicked heat pools low in your stomach.

He looks good tonight. So good.

That stupid expensive coat, those broad shoulders, the way his jaw tenses as he looks down at you—

God.

If he wanted to take advantage of this moment, you would gladly let him.

Your lips part, your entire body still buzzing with adrenaline and… something else.

Use it.

You let out a slow breath, tilting your head just slightly, making sure the damp towel hugs every inch of you perfectly.

“Eunwoo,” you murmur, your voice just soft enough. “Did you come to check on me?”

His jaw tightens.

“No,” he says flatly.

Cold. Rude. Unfazed.

And you love it.

Your stomach twists, heat flaring in your chest.

He is so fun to mess with.

You take a slow step closer, just enough for the towel to shift over your thighs.

“Well,” you breathe, voice smooth, “I appreciate the concern.”

“I’m not concerned.”

He says it so fast, so deadpan, that you actually giggle.

The audacity of this man.

“Mm. If you say so,” you hum. “But you did show up at my door.”

Eunwoo just stares.

Like he’s debating whether to entertain this or just walk away.

His gaze flickers—just for a second.

And you see it.

The way his throat bobs, the way his fingers twitch at his sides.

Oh, he’s trying so hard to act like he’s not affected.

You almost feel bad for him.

But mostly?

You just want to see how far you can push.

Your hand loosens on the towel, your skin still damp, heat rolling off your body.

“You should come in,” you murmur.

Eunwoo exhales through his nose.

“No.”

“No?” You pout. “Not even for a drink?”

“No.”

You bite your lip.

“You’re really no fun.”

His eyes darken, but his face remains blank.

“I’m staying the night,” he says.

Your stomach flips.

Oh.

Oh, that’s interesting.

You blink up at him, trying so hard not to smirk.

“Staying?” you echo.

Eunwoo nods, still completely expressionless.

“Mr. and Mrs. Jeon asked me to.”

Right.

The Jeons. Your actual employers. The whole reason you’re here.

You totally forgot about them.

But honestly?

That’s not your problem.

Because now—

Now, Eunwoo is here.

And he is going to be so much fun.

•••

Eunwoo doesn’t wait. He just walks in.

No hello. No Can I come in? Just boom—he’s inside, like he pays rent.

Which he doesn’t.

You watch, still clutching your towel, as he scans the room with sharp eyes, looking for—what? A hidden crime scene? Your black-market organ-harvesting operation?

“Where’s JK?” His voice is flat, uninterested in anything that isn’t made of porcelain.

…Are you serious?

You blink. “I—I don’t know? Where he always is?”

Eunwoo finally looks at you.

Well, not at you. Past you. Through you.* Not even sparing you a glance below the neck, as if you aren’t standing there, soaking wet, in nothing but a towel.

Your jaw drops.

You just had the most terrifying, borderline supernatural shower experience of your life, you’re practically naked, and all this man can think about is—

“The doll is in his room?” He cuts through your internal crisis like a knife.

“Uh, yeah?”

“Did you follow the routine?”

…The routine.

The routine that consists of treating a doll like a human child.

You squint at him. “Why are you asking like it’s life or death?”

Eunwoo doesn’t even blink. “Because it is.”

You snort. “Right, of course. If I don’t brush his teeth, he’ll develop cavities.”

Eunwoo looks exhausted already. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Did you or did you not follow the rules?”

You shift on your feet, trying to suppress the absolutely ungodly urge to eye this man like a piece of prime steak.

Focus, yn. Focus.

“Listen,” you sigh dramatically, stepping closer—closer than necessary, really. “I tucked him in. I read him a nice bedtime story. I kissed his forehead.” You place a hand on your heart. “I’m the picture of maternal instinct.”

Eunwoo gives you the flattest look you’ve ever seen. “You forgot to change his clothes, didn’t you?”

You pause.

“…He has outfits?”

Eunwoo exhales through his nose like he’s regretting every life choice that led him here. “Yes. He has outfits.”

You resist the urge to laugh.

Barely.

“Wait, wait, let me get this straight,” you say, grinning. “You’re seriously telling me you came all the way here, in the middle of the night, to check if I changed the doll’s clothes?”

Eunwoo looks you dead in the eye.

“Yes.”

And that’s it. No hesitation. No shame. No realization that this is, in fact, a batshit insane thing to say out loud.

God, he’s so serious about this.

And it’s so hot.

You step even closer, tilting your head. “You know, for a guy who looks like he should be modeling for luxury cologne ads, you sure do care a lot about—” you gesture vaguely “—porcelain toddlers.”

Eunwoo doesn’t move. “Are you following the rules or not?”

You lick your lips. His gaze doesn’t drop once.

How rude.

“How about,” you say sweetly, “we stop talking about the doll and start talking about you staying the night?”

He raises a brow. “And why would I do that?”

You smirk. “Because I might be scared?”

“No, you’re not.”

Your smirk falters.

Okay, rude and perceptive.

You try again, biting your lip. “Maybe I just want some company?”

Eunwoo gives you the most deadpan look of all time.

And then—without a shred of hesitation—

“The doll is company enough.”

You gasp.

“Did you just compare me to a fucking doll?”

“Considering you’re both brainless? Yes.”

Your jaw drops.

Eunwoo just turns away, completely unbothered. “I’m staying the night to make sure you don’t mess up again. Go put on some actual clothes.”

You stand there, towel-clad, seething.

And so fucking turned on.

•••

I can smell you.

The damp heat of your skin. The soft, lingering scent of your shampoo. The faint traces of sweat where your body burns beneath that useless towel.

You’re flushed— your cheeks, your chest, your thighs. I see all of it.

And you don’t even realize what you’re doing to me.

How fucking obscene you look, standing there in front of him, teasing, tempting, like you’re offering yourself. 

Like you’re waiting for someone to grab you, press you against the cold walls of this house, and take you apart.

But not him.

Never him.

He doesn’t deserve to look at you, to hear your breath hitch when he steps closer. 

He doesn’t deserve the way your lips part, the way your fingers clutch that towel like you know what you’re doing.

But I do.

I deserve it. I deserve you.

And I will have you.

You’ve already given yourself to me, in ways you don’t even understand.

 Every time you touch the doll, every time your fingers linger on his cheek, every time your voice dips into something soft, something affectionate..

You’re touching me. You’re speaking to me.

And you don’t even know it.

But you will.

I watch you now, legs shifting, thighs pressing together as if that will help. As if anything but me could ever give you what you need.

Your body is betraying you, isn’t it?

I know what you want. I know how badly you want it.

The frustration in your movements, the way your fingers tremble when you adjust your towel, the way your breath comes out in soft, shallow little pants.

You’re aching.

Dripping.

Begging.

You just don’t know who you’re begging for.

But soon.

Soon, you’ll understand.

And when you finally do, when you finally look at me, see me for what I am—

There will be no more teasing. No more waiting.

No more towels.

[jihyoruri]

❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ 𓍢 NOBODY KNOWS kim minji x reader

👛★ ͘ ⴰ ever since summer 2022 new jeans has been at the top of the world surpassing and creating records and getting biggger and better every month but then SM Entertainment drops a new girl group stardom out of knowhere on everyone’s heads “surpassing and creating records” just like a certain group, causing a rivalry in the media and between the groups behind closed doors.

in which behind the secret of rivalry between stardom and new jeans, there’s an even bigger secret between their leaders.

PARING — kim minji x idol!reader

last. masterlist. next

★ ͘ PAGE#2 attention — ❝drop the question, drop the drop the question want attention ❞

“tell me tell me, t-t-t-t-t-tell me,”

before the rivalry between new jeans and stardom was established by the media, there was a small moment that lasted about a week or two where the two groups really admired each other.

minji raised a brow, her gaze flickering to hyein, who was singing her heart out to the song blasting from the radio.

seemed like every station, every playlist, and every corner of the industry was saturated with something from the new sm group. they were everywhere, their voices unavoidable, their presence undeniable.

yet, despite the growing buzz and competition that was bound to follow, minji couldn’t deny the tiny flicker of admiration that sparked every time their music played, especially towards a certain member that caught her eye.

she nodded her head to the beat, her phone tucked discreetly in her hand as she scrolled through articles about the leader of the new hit girl group.

yn, huh? the name was everywhere lately. from what she’d read, yn was the third oldest in the group, just a year younger than minji herself. oh, and she was jang wonyoung’s cousin?

minji huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head. guess charm really does run in the family.

to be honest, minji couldn’t quite pinpoint why this girl had captivated her so completely. maybe it was because they had something in common, they were both the anchors of their groups, the ones everyone leaned on.

or maybe it was something else entirely, something she didn’t want to name. was this... some sort of celebrity crush? the thought made her groan softly, burying her face in her hands.

she’d even gone on a deep dive last night, scouring the internet to see if yn had some kind of private instagram account.

and now, knowing there was a very real chance of bumping into stardom today, minji felt her stomach twist. the thought alone made her knees weak, her heart racing in a way that was entirely out of her control.

minji wiped the sweat from her forehead as she stepped off the festival stage, still caught in the adrenaline of their performance. so distracted, she didn’t even notice hyein coming to an abrupt stop in front of her until she stumbled into the younger girl.

“oh my, watch it—” she started to complain, but the words caught in her throat as her attention shifted. her group members stood ahead of her, bowing politely to five girls making their way onto the stage.

minji’s breath hitched when her gaze locked onto the one person she’d been simultaneously dreading and hoping to see.

yn.

her eyes widened in surprise, and she quickly bowed, a nervous laugh slipping out before she could stop herself. her heart raced as yn’s smile was as sweet as the photos no, sweeter and somehow even more captivating in person. her heart pounded harder as yn returned the bow, maintaining eye contact for just a moment longer before she turned and walked toward the stage, her members following close behind.

the roar of the crowd as stardom stepped into the spotlight jolted minji back to reality. she blinked, still feeling the lingering effect of yn’s smile, when hanni’s confused voice cut through her haze.

“what’s up with you?”

“nothing,” minji mumbled, though her flushed cheeks and the way she quickly looked away said otherwise.

hanni wasn’t buying it, glancing between her and the stage with suspicion, “okay…”

meanwhile, minji’s gaze drifted back to the stage despite herself. yn was front and center now, her presence magnetic, her smile dazzling under the spotlight. minji’s pulse quickened again, her thoughts a jumble of admiration and frustration.

how was it possible for someone to look that good after just walking onto a stage?

“it’s nothing,” minji repeated more to herself, finally managing to tear her eyes away. she turned to her group, her face flushed as she tried to act normal.

danielle appeared, gently placing a hand on minji’s shoulder. “we should head back to the green room,” she said, her tone calm “we should relax before it’s time to leave.”

relieved for the distraction, minji nodded quickly. “right, let’s go.”

as the festival wound down and the final performances wrapped up, the girls gathered their things and prepared to leave. minji, however, felt a sudden urgency tugging at her.

“i’ll be right back,” she mumbled, slipping away from her members. hanni called after her, but minji didn’t stop. her mind was elsewhere, her nerves still buzzing from the day’s events. she told herself it was just the adrenaline, but deep down, she knew better.

wandering the maze like halls backstage, she searched for the washroom, her thoughts a jumble. she turned a corner too quickly and collided with someone, nearly losing her balance.

“oh!” she exclaimed, stepping back in surprise, and then froze.

standing in front of her was the very person who’d been living rent free in her mind all day. yn.

yn smiled at her, the kind of smile that could light up an entire room or in this case, make minji’s heart skip about five beats. “sorry about that,” yn said softly, her voice even more melodic in person. “I didn’t mean to bump into you.”

“n-no, it’s fine,” minji stammered, her cheeks heating up instantly. she was suddenly hyper-aware of everything, her messy hair, her slightly sweaty face, her awkward posture. she felt like a complete mess in front of someone who looked effortlessly perfect.

yn tilted her head, her smile widening just a little. “by the way, your group’s performance earlier was amazing. you really know how to command the stage.”

“oh, uh, t-thank you!” minji said, her voice a pitch higher than usual. she cleared her throat, trying to act composed, but her awkwardness only made her feel more flustered. “y-you guys were great too. I mean, obviously. the crowd loved you.”

“thank you,” yn replied, her voice warm and genuine. there was a moment of silence, and minji felt like she might spontaneously combust under yn’s gaze. but then yn continued, her tone a bit more hesitant. “actually, I been wanting to talk to you.”

minji blinked, her heart racing. “me?”

yn nodded, looking almost shy for a moment. “yeah. stardom just debuted, so everything’s been kind of overwhelming. i’ve been trying to make some friends in the industry, and... well, I was wondering if it’d be okay to exchange numbers?”

minji’s brain short circuited. yn wanted her number? she opened her mouth to respond but no sound came out. she was like a fish out of water, gaping awkwardly.

yn let out a soft laugh, her smile turning playful. “is that a yes? or...?”

“y-yes!” minji blurted, nearly dropping her phone as she fumbled to unlock it. “yes, of course. let me just—uh—here.” she finally managed to hand her phone over, her fingers brushing against yn’s. the touch was brief, but it sent a jolt through her, and she quickly pulled her hand back, feeling like her entire face was on fire.

yn took the phone with a small, amused smile, typing in her number with ease. “there you go,” she said, handing it back. “now I have yours too.”

“great,” minji said, her voice cracking slightly. she cringed inwardly, clearing her throat again. “I mean, that’s great. really great.”

yn chuckled softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “you’re cute, minji,” she said casually, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

minji froze, her eyes widening. “c-cute?”

“mm-hmm,” yn said with a wink before taking a step back. “i’ll text you later. don’t ignore me, okay?”

minji could only nod, her brain too scrambled to form an actual response. yn gave her one last dazzling smile before turning and walking away, leaving minji standing in the hallway, clutching her phone like it was some kind of lifeline.

as yn disappeared around the corner, minji exhaled the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. her heart was still pounding, and she felt like she might melt into a puddle on the floor.

“what just happened?” she whispered to herself, her lips curling into a small, involuntary smile.

and that was the beginning of yn and minji’s relationship, a quiet spark that turned into something neither of them could ignore.

it started with innocent texts that turned into late-night calls, which led to moments where they’d sneak away during events just to talk without prying eyes. before they knew it, they weren’t just friends they were something more.

minji sat on a park bench, bundled up in a hoodie and a cap pulled low, her heart racing as she spotted yn walking toward her. yn had insisted on meeting somewhere lowkey, and the park was perfect. as yn approached, she held up a bag of snacks with a grin.

“I didn’t know what you liked, so I got a bit of everything,” yn said, sitting down beside her.

minji laughed softly, her shoulder brushing against yn’s. “you didn’t have to do that.”

“of course I did,” yn said, handing her a packet of gummies. “i’m trying to impress you, remember?”

minji’s cheeks flushed, and she tried to hide her smile by looking down at the snacks. but yn noticed, leaning closer with a teasing glint in her eyes. “is it working?”

minji’s voice came out barely above a whisper. “maybe.”

they were backstage another festival , tucked away in a quiet corner where no one could see them. yn had stolen minji away during a break, her excuse being “to show her something.”

“you’re going to love this,” yn said, pulling out her phone and showing minji a goofy video she’d saved.

minji laughed, covering her mouth to muffle the sound. “why is this so bad, but so funny?”

yn grinned, leaning in closer. “because you secretly have terrible taste.”

“excuse me?” minji gasped, playfully shoving yn’s shoulder. yn just laughed, and for a moment, it felt like they were the only two people in the world.

it was pouring rain, and minji had just finished practice when yn showed up outside the building, holding an umbrella that barely shielded her from the downpour.

“what are you doing here?” minji asked, rushing to her.

“I missed you,” yn said simply, her hair damp from the rain. “I figured you’d need some company.”

minji stared at her, speechless, before breaking into a soft smile. “you’re crazy, you know that?”

“crazy… I was crazy once,” yn joked, earning an eye roll and a laugh from minji.

they were just about ready to be open about their relationship, to tell their members the truth when it happened.

the article dropped like a bombshell: “stardom and new jeans: the battle of the biggest girl groups.” it praised stardom’s rapid rise, noting their dominance in brand deals, chart success, and social media presence despite debuting only a few months prior. the piece compared the two groups relentlessly, fueling a brewing rivalry that neither group had asked for.

what started as subtle shifts turned into something more. hanni and yuri exchanged sharp glares whenever they passed each other, and side comments became a common occurrence during events.

the media picked up on the tension, and headlines screamed about a feud between the groups. only hyein seemed immune, much to minji’s amusement though she suspected hyein might secretly be stardom’s biggest fan.

now, minji found herself in the stardom dorm, the quiet hum of the heater filling the room. yn was curled up on her lap, her arms wrapped loosely around minji’s shoulders. the dorm was empty, giving them a rare moment of peace.

“we definitely need to keep this a secret,” yn said softly, her fingers absentmindedly playing with the hem of minji’s hoodie.

minji sighed, resting her chin on yn’s shoulder. “I know. your members don’t like me—or any of us, really. and my members, except for hyein, definitely don’t like you or your other members.”

yn chuckled lightly, though there was a hint of sadness in her voice. “yeah. yuri would probably lose her mind if she knew you were here right now.”

“and hanni…” minji trailed off, shaking her head. “let’s just say it wouldn’t go over well.”

they sat in silence for a moment, the weight of their situation pressing down on them. but then yn leaned back, her eyes meeting minji’s. “we’ll figure it out,” she said with a small smile.

minji nodded, her heart swelling at yn’s optimism. “yeah, we will.”

for now, their relationship would remain their little secret, tucked away from the world, and from the people closest to them.

[hitlikehammers]

The One Where Wayne Munson KNOWS BETTER Than to Lend Air to IDLE GOSSIP

(and does it anyway on accident and ends up thinking his 💕boy's boy💕 might be ✖️stepping out) ——(1/3)

Wayne Munson’s lived his life mostly free from the hubbub of small town gossip. Some was unavoidable in his tiny holler as a boy; more was part and parcel to the service, and plain keeping half-sane in war—anything for a distraction. After all that though, Wayne’d had more’n his fill of even a teaspoon of hearsay, and compared to where he came from? Hawkins, Indiana was small potatoes for keepin’ his nose clear out of it.

Which is all to say he don’t mean to collect any of the latest scuttlebutt on his way just to town after he gets off his shift with the sun barely a glimmer, just past 5 for Leah’s to be open for a better cup-o-joe than the sludge he gets on the floor. All he wants is a hot nightcap because he knows damn well his boy didn’t pick up more grounds before Melvald’s closed last night, and Wayne doesn’t want to see his bed until he’s had a full mug of fair-to-middling coffee.

And honest: he don’t think that’s more than he’s earned to ask.

But it is more than he bargained for signing’ up to, when he sees the only other people in the diner at this hour on a Saturday.

Because the only other people are a girl he don’t know, though he can’t see her real well from the back, which only really means he sees her coffee date full-on and much too well in exchange because they’re leaned in and they’re being all touchy across the table, voices low but not too low—he don’t think they even noticed him come in, let alone come to wait close enough to hear ‘em while he insists on saving the lovely Leah herself the trip to a table when he can damn well carry his own drink, thanks kindly.

“You’re gonna have a coronary if you keep hiding this.”

The girl sounds…she sounds the way Wayne remembers his Mamaw sounding when she was about to hit his Grampy up the head over some harebrained such-and-such. Exasperated, but all from a deep well of unshakable loving.

Which is what perks up Wayne’s attention, and then churns his insides quick right-next, because—

Well. The boy this young lady’s being all over-fond at for his antics is Steve Harrington.

Who, for all that Wayne understands, is meant to be his boy’s boy.

“No, no,” Steve’s shaking his head, tone bowstring-taut; “I’m gonna tell him.” Kid sounds resolved for all of half-a-second before he’s groaning, running hands over his face: “Or, I mean—”

The thunk of the boy’s head to the tabletop clatters the cutlery, and if Wayne weren’t already clued into their conversation, he’d be wholly absolved for dropping eaves given how the noise echoes through the mostly-empty establishment bar-to-door.

“Dingus,” the girl says, and it drips with concern, with affection, with a deep choler that, again, sings loud of married-couple.

Which twists Wayne’s guts all the more to hear.

Because she’s talking to Wayne’s boy’s boy.

“I’m gonna, I promise,” Steve sounds not unlike a man on his way to the gallows, even more when he sighs deep as anything and traces out his lips with his fingers, hands shaky even out the corner of Wayne’s eye for a distance as he hisses low:

“Fuck.”

And Wayne, see, he don’t like borrowing trouble. He meant it about keeping his nose clean of the gossip and the hearsay. So he makes sure he reminds himself good in his own head that he don’t know the facts here, and jumpin’ to conclusions don’t do no favors to nobody.

It don’t do nothing for the way that what he does know, what he sees and hears with his own god-given senses in the now, don’t add up too kindly for the Harrington boy.

Not least because it seems to be adding up poor indeed for Wayne’s boy.

“Do you think he’ll—”

“Steve,” the girl’s voice goes softer, but also frantic almost, as Wayne sees her reach across the way and gather Steve’s hands with a familiarity to the motion that wouldn’t make sense unless…

Unless they’re something special to each other.

Wayne’s watched Eddie reach out for Steve that way. He’s watch Steve do the same. So it…it just don’t make sense—

“You’re shaking,” the girl says, all kinda pitiful, and Wayne’d seen it before, but now he chances a look again and: oh.

Boy’s a leaf in a cyclone.

“It’s a big deal,” Steve rasps out near under Wayne’s ability to hear it.

But he does hear it.

“You need to just lay it out,” the girl tells him, earnest now and more of that than any irritation, any frustration put-upon or otherwise; “be up front with him.”

And it ain’t fair, yet, even if all the signs are pointing that direction; but Wayne likes Steve. He doesn’t want to think the worst of him. And he doesn’t, really, in his heart, think Steve could do or be the worst, from all he’s learned and seen—Wayne’d had uncharitable thoughts about it he kid, before he knew better, based on hearsay which one more time, he don’t countenance as a rule, and he’d been taught better and quick from the second he saw Steve at his nephew’s bedside, and heard the only thing he’s proud and happy to have dropped in upon uninvited:

You nearly fucking died yourself dragging him out, Steve, what the hell—

That Henderson squirt, scolding Steve something fierce.

So Wayne reminds himself this boy loved his boy enough to risk himself to bring Eddie home. Before they were anything to one another. And Wayne knows damn well they’re both something to each other, now. It don’t make sense that Steve wants to…be up front about a notion with Eddie that could hurt.

But then: care can look a lot of different ways, and can change over time. Ain’t nobody to fault for that. And much as Wayne can’t quite believe the Steve he’s gotten to know these past many-months could swallow hurting his Eddie…

Wayne’s been proven incorrect about people more than enough in his life to know better than to think it’s impossible to be wrong about a man’s heart.

“Oh, I’m sure that’ll go over fucking fantastic,” Steve’s huffing, rolling his eyes—apparently he don’t want to be up front with the person they’re talking about. Wayne tries to remind himself that they’ve not flat out said it’s Eddie yet. Wayne shouldn’t go making assumptions.

“Why not?” the girl’s pressing him. “Be honest, with him,” then her tone does go a little judgemental; “you can’t honestly think he doesn’t suspect—”

“I really don’t think he does,” and it’s a strange thing, because no matter the words themselves, it don’t sound like Steve’s meaning to be deceitful about a thing. Kinda sounds a little like he’s mourning, like he’s just in a kind of pain. “If he did, then at least maybe I’d have some kind of,” he waves his hand in the air, looks frantic, at loose ends all around; “heads-up for where his head’s at.”

And they’re both quiet for a spell, and Wayne looks for Leah in the back, knew she was getting food ready and was happy to wait—for better or worse with the conversation he’s been privy to without permission unspooling at his side—but he’s starting to feel antsy for all that he’s hearing, and the way he can’t quite tamp down associating it all with Eddie, with touchy things Steve might have to tell Eddie—

“Tell him by the end of the weekend.”

And now: think he might have to tell, encouraged so damn strong and single-minded by his lady friend with her hand on his arm.

“That’s fucking tomorrow!”

“End,” she’s narrowing her eyes sharp enough Wayne notices more in the shift of the room than to see it head-on; “of,” and then she’s smacking Steve’s arm to emphasize hard enough it rings out; “the weekend.”

Then Wayne notices how her posture shifts, and she leans closer again, so much affection, and easy with it, and welcome for it, no doubt about it:

“I don’t like seeing you like this,” she says low and earnest; “especially not when the thing you’re like this about is,” and then her tone shifts to something bright, near-on hopeful, even:

“It’s such a good thing, Steve.”

“I mean,” Steve mumbles, kind of miserable really; “of course you think so.”

And Wayne don’t like where his head goes for things the girl who’s watching Steve with such soft eyes might think to be good, might think while she’s touching him so close and —

“He’ll,” and she huffs a touch before going all heartfelt again: “Eddie is going to—”

And the moment his plausible deniability about the subject of the discussion is gone, Wayne gives up waiting for his coffee at the counter and…retreats to the corner by the door, far as he can get from whatever’s said next. He’d leave, honest, but the truth of the matter’s this:

He can’t be expected in good faith to figure out how to bring any of this up with Ed if he don’t have no caffeine in him.

☕ 👀 ☕

✨ part ii >>>

For @thefreakandthehair, who requested 'Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.' at my HOBBIT-STYLE BIRTHDAY MONTH PROMPT FEST—and since this is almost a YEAR LATE, could I possibly offer it as a normal-amounts-of-late birthday gift, more than as an egregiously-and-unforgivably-late prompt fill for you?

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @askitwithflours @awkwardgravity1 @bookworm0690 @bumblebeecuttlefishes @captain--low @depressed-freak13 @dragoon-ze-great @dreamercec @dreamwatch @estrellami-1 @finntheehumaneater @goodolefashionedloverboi @grtwdsmwhr @hiei-harringtonmunson @hbyrde36 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @live-laugh-love-dietrich @mensch-anthropos-human @nerdyglassescheeseychick @notaqueenakhaleesi @pearynice @perseus-notjackson @pretend-theres-a-name-here @pukner @ravenfrog @sadisticaltarts @samsoble @sanctumdemunson @shrimply-a-menace @slashify @stealthysteveharrington @swimmingbirdrunningrock @theheadlessphilosopher @theintrovertedintrovert @themoonagainstmers @theohohmoment @tillystealeaves @tinyloonyteacups @tinyplanet95 @warlordess @wheneverfeasible @wordynerdygurl @wxrmland @yourmom-isgay @1-tehe-1

NOTE: it's important to me that you know that Wayne's accept belongs to nowhere, and is just the voice of someone I knew as a kid, who also sounded like a little of everywhere and then again nowhere. so if you think some turn of phrase doesn't fit what you think you're reading in terms of dialect? it's just that this way of stringing words together is—with intention—its own amalgam of places and times

divider credit here and here

[luna-azzurra]

Dunno if you already did this, but can you do one about showing characters processing something or in deep thought. I always fall into the trap of "their eyebrows furrowed".

Oh, I totally get that! It’s so easy to fall into the whole "their eyebrows furrowed" thing, but there are way more ways to show a character deep in thought.

First, try switching up their body language. Instead of focusing on their face, have them fidget, maybe they’re tapping their fingers, messing with the hem of their shirt, or pacing a little. These small movements show they’re distracted or thinking hard about something without always going for the obvious expression.

Example "She twisted a strand of hair around her finger, eyes locked on the floor as if the answer might appear there."

Next, think about their eyes. Are they staring off into space, completely zoned out? Maybe their eyes flicker back and forth, like they’re mentally working through something. You can use their gaze to show that their thoughts are elsewhere, without even needing to mention their face.

Example "His eyes drifted past the window, staring at nothing, the world outside a blur as his mind raced." Or "She narrowed her eyes, her gaze shifting from one corner of the room to another, piecing together the clues in her head."

Another good trick is to dive into internal sensations. You can describe how their thoughts are racing, their chest feels tight, or their stomach twists with uncertainty. Maybe their mind is replaying a conversation or trying to make sense of something confusing. Little details like that can really pull the reader into their head.

Example "His thoughts were a tangled mess, one question bleeding into the next until he couldn’t keep track anymore." Or "She kept replaying his words in her mind, over and over, trying to figure out what he really meant."

Also, silence can be super effective. Maybe they stop talking mid-sentence or give short, distracted responses to people around them. It’s like their brain is too busy to focus on the conversation, and that can show how deep in thought they are.

Example "When Jake asked her a question, she didn’t even hear it. Her mind was too far gone, trapped in a spiral of what-ifs." Or "He nodded absentmindedly, not really listening, his focus somewhere far from the conversation."

And don’t forget about small physical reactions! Maybe they’re feeling a weird heaviness in their chest, or a knot in their stomach forms as they overthink. Physical sensations tied to emotions can really ground the moment and make it feel more real.

Example "Her chest tightened as the weight of the decision settled over her, heavy and unavoidable." Or "A dull ache formed behind his eyes, the pressure of too many unanswered questions closing in."

So yeah, there’s lots of cool ways to show deep thought without just saying "eyebrows furrowed", Mix it up and it’ll feel way more natural. :)

[kisses4reid]

date night | ·˚ ༘ aaron hotchner ,,

summary - you’re late for date night after your own kindness distracts you, but aaron doesn’t care as long as you’re with him.

genre - fem!reader x aaron, reader has a job not at the bau (you can decide), fluffy fluff, date night, selfless reader, angst if you squint really close??

warnings - light swearing, r being rained on, blabbering and near crying, haley doesn’t exist neither does jack

w/c - it’s short. trust me.

a/n - pov: pia asks for requests, starts writing those requests, and instead uploads an original fic. enjoy!!! (this is from a year ago so beware the writing. i just need to upload something before the engagement goes down 😭)

It got dark quicker this evening. A storm was approaching, you could tell by the drizzle outside of your office window. Your colleagues were already packed up, waiting for you, and you shot them a small smile and scurried to pull on your jacket.

In the elevator there was a rumble, a girl you had begun to get close with gripped your arm obviously scared and you looked at her concerned. Her eyes batted at you and all you could do was squeeze her arm in reassurance - you weren’t going to point out her fear in an elevator of office men. She looked great, a nice dress shirt, hair done nicely. You recalled her giddy whispers from that morning, I have a date tonight!

The excitement felt weirdly familiar, you couldn’t put your finger on it.

And although the restaurant she was going to was close by, you still worried about the rain.

See, you often opted for the outdoor afternoon stroll, but now the dark clouds had rolled over and it felt more like walking home at night with no moon as your guide.

You waved your friend goodbye and stepped out from the covers of your office building, into the rainy street with a thin pink umbrella overhead. Your small heels clicked against the roads, your jacket barely saving you from the chill, and you set off to your fiancé’s apartment. Your apartment now, you reminded yourself.

The trees lining the avenues and backroads swayed in the rain that was starting to pound harder, and the puddles you avoided started to get, well, unavoidable. You had always loved rain. Spending the weekend snuggled against the large window of your apartments living room with a good book and a warm drink was one of your favourite things to do, but right now you slightly cursed the storm and wondered why you didn’t check the weather app this morning like you always do.

Your sole focus was seeing your fiancé, and yet when your attention catches on a struggling older lady, you can’t help but step through mud to help.

“Shit.” A shorter lady, maybe in her late 50’s, was pull a wagon of flowers and plants along the sidewalk, and each step she took, the back left wheel would spin uncontrollably or not spin at all.

You scurried over and approached the woman, talking from across the wagon, “Can I help you with this?”

The woman’s face crinkled with relief and she nodded furiously causing you to smile back.

Helping people was your way of paying back the world for how well it treated you (most of the time). Your parents were constantly helping others and you had no choice but to follow suit. And at times your friends had to tell you to calm it down, saying you were being selfless and sometimes even a pushover.

That didn’t stop you.

“Thank you so much! My legs are getting too old for this.” You pulled the wagon up by its back legs and moved with the woman to pull it under cover, closer to what you assumed to be her flower shop. She locked up the store promptly and thanked you again but you stopped her.

She was dressed in a lovely floral dress, a thick cotton apron and small ballet flats and you just couldn’t stand to see that outfit go to waste. You held out the handle of the pink umbrella, rain immediately dampening your hair.

The lady held a wrinkled hand to her heart and placed a red-lipsticked kiss on your cheek. Your heart sank slightly, realising you would not be coming home in the state you wanted to. It wasn’t like Aaron would care, it was your own worries about ruining the apartment’s carpet and probably the elevator too.

You started down the street, not attempting to avoid puddles or mud anymore, just attempting to hide under bus stop covers when you could. The rain was truly heavy now, but luckily you were only a block away from your apartment.

“Hi Aaron Hotchner.”

“Hi Y/n Hotchner.” His hair was combed nicely and he was still in his work suit, he looked stoic and so manly - you placed a chaste kiss on his lips. His large hands took your jacket off and a cheeky smile slipped on his face. “Why are you drenched?” He asked, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. He definitely remembered you taking your umbrella before you left for work.

“Oh I,” you sighed, knowing you would get a small scold for your actions, “I walked in the rain.”

Aaron sighed, knowing you were lying for your and his own good. “Why didn’t you call me?”

You pouted, “I didn’t know if you’d be home.” You moved yourself further down the hall, Aaron trying but failing to keep you back. He clenched his fists as you stopped at the end of the hall in shock, you were supposed to close your eyes.

You held a hand over your mouth and let your eyes wander the room. Your dining table was decorating with candles and petals, there was an amazing smell coming from the kitchen and suddenly you felt the whole world crash onto you. How could you forget about date night?

“Oh my god, Aaron. Aaron, I am so sorry I completely forgot, oh my god.”

Aaron moved in front if you, a small smile adorning his handsome face, “Hey it’s okay, I understand it was raining and your umbrella magically disappeared. I only got here 10 minutes ago, I wasn’t waiting or anything.”

“Aaron I ruined it I mean- Look at me!” You looked down and extended your arms to motion at your whole being. Drenched dress, stuck hair, a shivering disaster.

“What do you mean-“

“My makeup is trashed, and- and my hair. There’s leaves in my hair! I’m wet and now your suit’s wet and- oh Aaron I’m so sorry, I don’t look like a good date at all.” Shoulders slumped, eyes tearing up, you looked down at your feet and felt your heart attacking your ribs.

“You don’t have to be sorry honey. I should be the one sorry, I didn’t think to come find you so you wouldn’t have to walk home in the rain.” He placed two fingers under your chin to lift your gaze back to his, and moved his other hand to pluck out a leaf from your hair.

“I ruined our date.”

“No you didn’t.” Aaron talked smoothly and low, as if you coming home looking like you’d been to hell and back wasn’t concerning him at all.

“Aaron I look horrible.”

“You look…”

“Awful? Hideous? Like Poseidon put me on a hit list?” You brought a hand up to wipe your eyes of slightly smudged mascara before Aaron’s larger hand caught it.

“You look beautiful. You look gorgeous, like always.” His eyes stared deep into yours, his hand squeezing around yours.

“… Thank you.” You sniffled, “You should just break up with me now.”

“Eh, that engagement ring was too much to let you go that fast.” He twisted your hand slightly to smile at the dazzling ring on your left hand. His hand moved from your face down to your waist and leaned in to place a loving kiss on your trembling lips before he caught a glance of something and paused. “How’d you get that red mark on your cheek?”

“Oh- I helped a lady out with her flower cart because it was stuck in the rain. And then I gave her my umbrella, and she kissed me on the cheek.”

He pulled back, sighing, “Y/n…”

“Her dress was very pretty, and I could tell her hair was freshly permed, okay. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t have done the same.” You crossed your arms over your chest and smiled cheekily.

“You’re unbelievable.” He couldn’t help but smile, he knew his girl was unforgivably selfless. Aaron took your hand and lead you to your bedroom so you could change for your date.

“I know, I’m sorry.”

He leant against the doorframe, “I meant it as a good thing. Let’s eat, and then we can shower, and you can tell me about your day was.”

You opened your closet and sighed, “I’m really sor-“

“Don’t say sorry. You can apologies but wearing something nice and complimenting my subpar cooking.” He shot you a charming smile that warmed your heart and exited to set up the food, all you could think of is how lucky you were to have him.

taglist (open!!) - @jeffswh0re @reap3erslov3 @candyd1es @0108s22m @aurorsworld @theoraekenslover

[azrielwingspan]

SOON (THEO NOTT X READER)

Summary : Theodore Nott was just another Slytherin asshole to most of Hogwarts. But to you, he was something much much more.

Themes : Mild kissing and swearing.

A/N : This is my first Theo fic AHHH. Just thought I would give it a shot. Let me know how it is!

P.S.- This is strictly a one shot. There will be no part 2.

"He is quite charming isn't he?" Ginny commented sneaking a glance at Theodore Nott. Seated at the Slytherin table between his usual rowdy gang of friends, he smirked at something Lorenzo had said.

"I think the word you're looking for is enigmatic, Gin. For all we know, he could be Voldemort in disguise." you stated flatly, stabbing a piece of potato on your plate. Earning a smack on the arm for using You-know-who's name so boldly, you ignored Ginny's attempts at convincing you to attend the party being thrown tonight.

"Help me understand why you're so bloody against the idea?! Is it because you have to bring a date?" she raised her eyebrows in question.

"That may be a part of the reason." you refused to meet her owl like stare, instead choosing to focus on the copy of the Daily Prophet in front of you.

"Why would that be an issue ? I can name five people off the top of my head who would say yes instantly." she prodded further, thankfully choosing to redirect her gaze towards the mail she'd received. Taking advantage of her momentary distraction, you snuck a glance at Theodore again. The sleeves of his uniform were rolled upto his elbow and you greedily took in the sight of his veiny forearms.

"What are you looking at?" Ginny broke you out of the reverie, your eyes immediately flitting towards the shawl Pansy was wearing.

"Pansy's new shawl. I can't recall which store I've seen it in but it looks very familiar." The lie rolled out smoothly, misleading Ginny. The pang of guilt ,that never lessened in impact, hit you yet again.

"Oh. Yeah, it does look quite familiar now that you mention it." She went off on a tangent about clothes and you let out a relieved sigh.

Ginny couldn't know. Not for now atleast.

The morning went on, your focus elsewhere during most of the classes. Ginny hadn't brought up the party again but you knew it was unavoidable. You were definitely acting quite strange. Not being the one to turn down an invite, your sudden refusal to attend this massive party did come as a surprise to your friends.

You had your reasons. Utterly selfish reasons.

However as the evening rolled by, Ginny had cornered you into agreeing. On bringing up the issue of the date, she'd simply shrugged and said "I took care of it."

That did not sound very reassuring.

It was worse than you had expected.

"CORMAC MC FUCKIN LAGGEN ?!?" you hissed at Ginny , your back to the boy in question.

Ginny looked away sheepishly and said "He told Hermione who told me that he had a thing for you. So I thought you guys could talk? I mean you don't have to really. Just drop him off in a corner."

"Drop him---" pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration, you whipped around to face Laggen and gave him a saccharine smile.

"Nice to meet you Laggen but I'm not interested."

He looked astounded, trying to wrap his head around the rejection. After a few seconds, he managed to sputter out "We haven't talked yet. How can you--"

"Yes. Yes I can. You have my permission to tell everyone I'm your date but please don't approach me again. Bye." you sauntered off into the party, Ginny keeping up behind you.

"Where's Harry anyways?" you asked, straining your neck to see past the crowd.

"Running late. Neville set his pants on fire so Ron and Harry are helping him out."

Shaking your head in amusement, you let your eyes run around the room searching for him.

There.

Theo sat on the couch near the fireplace, one arm thrown around the back , a glass of amber liquid in the other. The smoke from Mattheo's cigarette made his figure hazy.

"I'm gonna go grab a drink." Ginny said her voice floating by. You nodded distractedly , your attention held captive by Theo.

As if sending your presence behind him , he turned his head around and met your eyes. Slight confusion marred his face making his eyebrows furrow. He hadn’t expected you to be here.

Signalling to you with a quick nod of his head, he excused himself from his group of friends and made his way to his dorms. You stayed down for a couple more minutes , getting yourself a drink to throw off suspicion.

“Hey, I didn’t think you’d come tonight. Ginny change your mind?” Pansy popped out of the blue , startling you.

“Uh.. Pansy, hey. Yeah you know how Gin is.” Pansy was a bit of a talker. Aware that this conversation could go on forever , you tried to come up with an excuse. “Hey listen, I’ve got to use the bathroom real quick. I’ll find you again alright?”

Not waiting for a response , you made your way in the direction of the bathrooms and took a sharp turn in the opposite direction once you made sure Pansy had redirected her attention. Sneaking up the stairway to the boys dorm, you took a moment for yourself outside Theo’s dorm room, straightening out your clothes.

“Took you long enough.” His voice drawled as you entered his room, the familiar surroundings providing a sense of comfort.

“Pansy almost started a conversation.” You said laughing lightly at his wide eyed expression.

“Didn’t take you long then.” He corrected his previous statement , prowling towards you.

“No. I guess it didn’t.”

Wrapping an arm around your waist, he pulled you into a searing kiss that had you holding onto his shirt for balance. The words 'I missed you' played at the tip of your tongue struggling to be let out.

He nipped at your lower lip , a breathy sigh leaving you as you tangled your hands in his hair.

"Cormac Mc fuckin Laggen? Seriously?" Theo muttered , lowering his head to place soft kisses across your jaw. Leaning your head back to give him more access, you let out a soft laugh. "That's exactly what I said. Ginny is the real culprit."

A strangled moan left your lips as he sucked at your neck, immediately soothing it with a sloppy kiss. "T-Theo..you idiot. That's gonna leave a mark." He just hummed in response seemingly lost in the pleasure. Tugging his head back, you made him meet your gaze head on.

"If we stay up here for any longer, they'll suspect." A shiver passed through you as his hands trailed lower and cupped you arse, pulling your hips to his. "Let them." he said dropping his head to capture your lips once more.

"THEO, YOU IN THERE ??" Blaise Zabini's voice boomed through the door making you jump. A string of Italian curses left Theo's mouth as he ran a hand through his hair.

"Yeah give me a minute!"

Cupping your face in his hands, he leaned down to your face placing you at eye level. "It'll all be over soon alright? We won't have to hide anymore. We can be free." The promise in his eyes lit a spark of hope within you, a rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins.

"Soon." you whispered , your eyes fluttering shut as you placed a kiss on his Dark Mark.

[scuderiahalf]

always you — mick schumacher

pairing. mick schumacher x verstappen!merc racing engineer!fem!reader

summary. mick had always been inexplicably tied to you, no matter what distance grew between you. even if it took over two decades for you to figure it out, it had always been mick. it would always be mick. 5.4k, 18+

playlist. "invisble string" by taylor swift, "the perfect pair" by beabadoobee, "moves" by suki waterhouse, "i wanna be yours" by arctic monkeys, "let the light in feat. father john misty" by lana del ray

warnings. pining, mick is kind of very much pitiful in this alright, smut, l-bombs, sort of sub!mick, google translated german, almost choking, oral (fem and male receiving), penetrative sex

masterlist.

. . .

"I'm telling you what the data says, and it says you're wrong, so follow the damn line, George."

Mick fought a smile as you told George off over the radio. Toto cast you a look that you didn't even seem to see, let alone acknowledge. The team principal didn't look all that surprised when you didn't take your eyes off the screens of data you were getting input from.

In the next lap, George's lap time dropped nearly a second thanks to your suggestion. George didn't offer an apology for doubting you and you didn't expect one; you only expected him to be consistent in how he attacked turns seven and eight, to continue following your instructions.

Mick had observed your and George's relationship over the last few seasons you had been working with him. As George's racing engineer, you had quite a close working relationship with the Brit.

Off track, you were good if unlikely friends. Where George was all pretense and propriety and politeness, you were nothing but brutally honest, succinct, and to the point. But you were close in age and often seen together chatting and laughing.

On track, you were pretty much the same, if not even more blunt, if that was possible. George fed off your no-nonsense attitude, communicating clearly and without any of the fluff normally gracing his conversational skills.

Mick admired how well you worked with George. He admired just about everything you did. You could sit there doing absolutely nothing and F1TV would catch Mick staring at you like a lovesick fool again.

He still doesn't know how he hadn't seen the cameraman filming him as he watched you from across the garage two weekends ago. People kept referring to him as "Heart Eyes" Schumacher and he really could not blame them after seeing the clip of himself watching you.

You hadn't said anything to him about it. In fact, you hadn't said anything to him all season. Or during pre-season. Or in the two years prior when he was driving for Haas. Or in the thirteen years it had been since your dads had their falling out.

Mick would have liked to talk to you. He would have liked to talk about nothing or everything like you used to. He would have listened to you ramble about statistics and analytics and anything you wanted, even if he didn't understand a word of it.

But you had looked at him maybe three times since he signed on as Mercedes reserve driver. You either didn't remember or—more likely, knowing your keen mind—you didn't care about your shared history.

Even if it was in your childhood and so much had changed since then, Mick still remembered. He remembered playdates and shared family vacations and spending every second together that you could before your dad dragged you away.

He remembered noticing how different your dad treated you than his dad treated him. He remembered sleeping over once and hearing your dad screaming at you until you ran to your bedroom in tears. He remembered telling his dad about it all.

He remembered how he was the one to ruin everything.

You didn't seem to remember any of it—or, at least, you never seemed to reminisce on it. Never got caught up staring at him wondering how things could have been different. Never got distracted by unexplainable yet unavoidable and likely unrequited feelings for someone that was once your friend over a decade ago.

When he was with Haas, your lack of interaction could be excused; you were on different teams. Since he had signed with Mercedes, it felt like you had purposefully been ignoring him for months.

He could approach you. He could simply walk up to you at any point when you weren't fully absorbed by readout screens and analytic diagnoses and strike up a conversation.

He didn't want to push his luck. He didn’t fully understand why you wouldn’t talk to him but he also didn't want to make you uncomfortable.

If being near you meant never truly being close to you again, Mick could live with that. Ultimately, you owed him nothing, so he could watch from afar and adore you silently. He could be content with that.

After all, it was his fault that everything fell apart in the first place.

.

"Hey, heart eyes! Come here!"

Mick hesitated before making his way to where Lewis was in the VIP section of this Friday night's club of choice.

"Hi?"

"I can't help but notice that you're pathetically in love with your race engineer."

"She's George's engineer—"

"That’s beside the point. Anyway, I think your girl could use some saving."

"She's not my girl."

Lewis hadn't said your name. Mick didn't need him to.

Mick leaned on the balcony railing beside Lewis, looking down over the crowd on the main floor of the club. He found you embarrassingly fast. You were wearing a black shirt, pink shorts, and sandals.

He had seen you come in earlier with your brother and thought you were probably the prettiest girl there that night. If you were put in a room with the world's top models, Mick would still think the same.

On the floor below, your personal space was being invaded by a dark-haired man in glasses. You looked incredibly uncomfortable, glancing around for anyone you knew who you could latch onto and get away from the man who was talking at you incessantly.

It wasn’t even a conscious decision on Mick’s part. One second, he was watching you from the VIP balcony and the next, he was pushing his way through the dance floor to get to you.

The unnamed glasses man put a hand on your back, touching the sliver of exposed skin between your shirt and shorts. You visibly tensed up.

Before he could think better of it, Mick called your name and pretended to stumble into you and the man.

“Hey! I’ve been looking for you.” He played up being drunk as he stuck himself between you and Glasses. “Hey, mate, how’s it going? Who are you?”

“I’m Nolan. And we were having a conversation.”

Mick had to hand it to ‘Nolan,’ he was persistent. “My bad, I guess. Y/N, your brother’s looking for you. Come on.”

He walked off and you followed after him. He hadn’t really thought this far ahead. He hadn’t been thinking at all. He was running by the seat of his pants and hoping he didn’t end up making things worse.

Last time he had thought he was helping you, he didn't speak to you for thirteen years.

“My brother left an hour ago.”

“I know.”

Mick kept walking towards the stairs up to VIP.

You kept following.

Maybe this time, things would be different.

.

When Mick was 11, he mentioned to his mom that your dad yelled at you and made you cry. That same day, his dad sat him down and asked him to tell him everything he knew about how Jos Verstappen treated his children.

He had told him everything he knew because he didn’t know why he shouldn’t. If his dad wanted to know, it had to be important. Maybe he would be helping you by telling his dad.

A week later, Mick was playing with you in the backyard when your dad started yelling. Except that time, he wasn’t yelling at you or his most frequent target of your older brother Max, he was yelling at Mick’s dad.

That day had ended with your father dragging you away from Mick. Mick remembers thinking he had grabbed you so roughly; didn’t it hurt to be seized by your arm and jerked around like that?

Jos didn’t care. He just yelled at Mick’s dad to stay away if he had such an issue with how he raised his children. So, the Schumachers stayed away. The last memory Mick had of you was with tears streaming down your face, begging your dad not to make Mick leave.

A little less than ten years later, Mick was a Formula One reserve driver. That same year, you had graduated early from university and earned a spot as a Williams performance engineer. Then, you went to Mercedes in 2021 and took over as George’s racing engineer at only twenty two years of age while Mick was racing with Haas.

"I thought you hated me."

You looked up at him, mouth full. "What? Why would I hate you?"

"For telling my dad about everything. For tearing us apart."

You swallowed your mouthful of sandwich, sat across from him in Mercedes hospitality on your lunch break.

After that night in the club, you and Mick rekindled your old friendship. You looked at him, now. You smiled at him and talked to him and sought him out just to sit and talk during your break.

Getting a second chance to be your friend was more than Mick ever thought he would have.

"Mick, that wasn't your fault. My dad... it's complicated. But our dads' falling out wasn't your fault. I never blamed you for it. You know that, right?"

No, he had not known that. He had spent the last thirteen years blaming himself for losing you. He had assumed you would blame him, too, for ending your friendship because he had spent so long as a self proclaimed scapegoat.

"Mick."

"I know that now."

"Mick!"

"I— Okay, I know it's stupid but I have always blamed myself for the whole situation. Then, when we both were getting into F1, you never reached out."

"You never reached out, either!"

"I know that but I figured you wanted nothing to do with me, so I never tried to talk to you."

"You're so daft sometimes, Schumacher."

Mick took your empty insult without argument.

After spending every free second he had with you over the last several weeks, he realized how dumb he had been. He never thought of himself as the melodramatic type but he had really been going through it when he thought you were avoiding him.

"I've never been the smartest when it comes to you."

You just scoffed at him and ate more of your sandwich.

The next day, it was a double podium for Mercedes with Lewis in P2 and George in third. With your brother on the top step of the podium, you were elated, grin broad and voice loud over the radio as you congratulated George for a race well done.

Then, you looked around the garage. Mick didn't know why until your eyes found him along the back wall. You were looking for him. You smiled (at him) and he was smiling back before he even had to think about it.

Being with you had always been easy. As kids, you never argued. You shared toys and always managed to find some weird, convoluted way to mash what you both wanted to do together.

Now that you had gotten over whatever misunderstandings that kept you apart for the last few years, it was easy again. There was never anything you two couldn't talk about. There was never awkward silence. There was never any want to not be near each other.

Mick spent all night celebrating Mercedes' 2-3 finish with you. It was easy to spend hours by your side, to stand too close, to look at you for too long. Once he had a few drinks, it was all too easy to speak his mind around you, lips loose and heart full.

"I missed you."

"I missed you, too, Micky."

"I mean I really missed you. All the time. I would think about you sometimes and miss what we used to have."

Your eyes were soft and focused only on him. He was barely tipsy from the alcohol but he was definitely drunk on you.

"Then, we were both in F1. But it was the pandemic and I was still worried you didn't want to see me. Then, when I was with Haas, I was so scared to approach you."

"Did I do something to make you think I hated you?"

"No, I was just in my head. And those months preparing for the season with Mercedes were the worst. You were so close but I was still too scared to talk to you."

"I wanted to talk to you, too," you admitted. "I thought about doing it sometimes but... I don't know. We hadn't spoken in so long and I was always so busy. I guess I was scared, too."

"I wish we had spoken sooner. We could have had this so much sooner."

"Had what sooner?"

"I don't know." That was a lie. "This. Us."

In all honesty, Mick didn't know what you two were. To anyone who asked, he would say old friends. But you were much more than that.

When he was ten, Mick kissed you for the first time. He had been in love with you since before he even understood what it meant. There was more heartbreak in the severing of your friendship than your families knew, more than either of you had known at that point.

And now, you were together again. Friends again. Except, friends don't sit knee to knee for hours at a time, wholly absorbed in nothing but each other in a raucous club with post-race celebrations going on all around them.

Friends don't let friends ghost their fingertips over the exposed skin of their shoulders, rest their hands on each other's thighs, play with the ends of their hair or the hem of their clothes.

"I missed us." Mick wondered if you knew what he meant by that.

You smiled (at him, again). "Me, too."

You were so close to him. Any sort of respectable distance was out the window. Your thighs were pressed together. You were sat sideways, head resting in your hand as you leaned an arm on the back of the couch.

He could sit up a little straighter and that was all it would take to reach your lips. He was seriously debating doing it.

Then, your brother smacked the back of your head as he was walking past, said something to you in Dutch that had you cursing at him in the same language.

"Hey, Mick," Max tossed at him with an uncomfortably knowing grin.

"Hey, Max."

Suddenly faced with the older brother of the woman he was just been fantasizing about kissing in the middle of a public space, Mick felt his face grow hot. He couldn't quite make eye contact with the eldest Verstappen child.

"Go away, Max," you told your brother with a glare.

Kelly took pity on you, dragging her boyfriend away.

"What did he say?" Mick asked you.

"'Get a room.'"

Mick laughed nervously, shifted away from you slightly. "Sorry, I—"

"Do you want to get out of here?"

Being with you had always been easy. It was maybe the easiest thing Mick had ever done to nod his head yes and let you drag him out of that club.

You sat too close in the cab ride back to the hotel. He stood too close in the elevator up to his hotel room. You held his arm as he fumbled with the keycard to get the door open.

You pushed at his chest to get him to sit on the edge of the bed. He went down willingly, kept his eyes on you the entire time. You stood between his legs, pushed his hair back, let him lean into your touch.

"Is this okay?" you asked.

Were you seriously asking that? He had turned into putty in your hands from just a few touches. You hadn't even kissed him yet.

"Mick," you insisted at his silence.

"Yes. It's okay. It is so okay. Don't stop. Please."

He couldn't find it in himself to be embarrassed by just how easily you had reduced him to begging.

Above him, you smiled before leaning down to press your lips to his. His neck was craned back; you had a hand on the back of his head and one on his shoulder to keep him in place. He let you dictate the pace, let you kiss him however you wanted.

It was slow at first, just your lips on his. You set the tempo low, moved your mouth at a torturous pace. You sucked his bottom lips between both of yours. When your tongue finally poked out, he let his jaw slacken, let you lick into his mouth without a need to fight against it.

You slid your tongue against his. The exchange of saliva was erotic and messy and left Mick panting against you. He gripped the backs of your thighs, adjusted his hips, tangled his fingers in the hem of your dress.

Mick slipped into German as he got lost in want. "Liebe, bitte. Bitte, ich brauche dich." [Baby, please. Please, I need you.]

And you—brilliant, keen, genius you—knew what he was saying. When did you learn German? Did you remember enough of it from all the time you had spent with his family as a child? He had no clue.

"Sei geduldig. We will get there." [Be patient.]

"I have been patient for years. Please, Y/N."

You kissed him again to shut him up, faster, harder, sloppier this time. Your hand slid over the column of his throat, just resting there as nothing but a reminder. He keened into your mouth, the vibration getting caught by your hand.

"I love you," he gasped, out of breath.

You drew back.

Mick's heart stopped.

"You love me?"

He swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing against your hand. "Yes. I have since we were kids. I don't— I don't want this if this is all it will be. I want everything with you. I want you to love me, too."

Somehow, it was still easy for him to lay all his cards on the table, to let you see everything and wait for your verdict. He was terrified, yes, but he trusted you implicitly.

He loved you and only you—he had only ever loved you this desperately and wholly, thirteen years apart be damned.

"I'm in love with you," he said.

You seemed breathless and speechless all at once.

He knows he said too much. It was definitely overwhelming to have all of that said to you with no warning but once he started, he couldn't stop. He had kept it all to himself for so long, watching from afar, never able to get close to you.

Now, here you were. He only hoped he had not read into things that were not there. He looked up at you, ice blue eyes wide and hopeful, patiently awaiting your response.

"I love you, too," you said on an exhale. "I'm in love with you, too. I thought I was crazy for it but I think I've always loved you."

Mick was not entirely convinced that this all wasn't some sick wet dream he would wake up from in the morning. He didn't care. He couldn't care, not when you slid your hand up to his jaw, held his face so gently, looked at him like he hung the stars in the sky.

"It's always been you, Mick."

He couldn't stop himself anymore. He pulled you close, guided your legs to either side of his hips, held your head and kissed you.

Dominance was shared this time as you kissed each other. You sighed into his mouth, a contented and wanting sound. You rested your arms on his shoulders as your tongues danced. His hands pushed up higher under the skirt of your dress, squeezing the soft skin of your upper thighs.

"Okay?" was the simple question he asked before taking things any further.

"Please."

Supporting your weight, Mick lifted you out of his lap and laid you out on your back. Hovering over you, he slid a hand up your dress to your hip. He caught the waistband of your underwear, glanced up at you to make sure.

You nodded.

He got both hands under your dress to pull your underwear off. He pushed your legs apart and you let them fall open, exposing yourself to him and he nearly moaned at the sight alone.

You were laid open and not quite bare with your dress still on but your pretty pink folds were in clear view. He had never expected to have you in any way, let alone spread open and ready to be ravished, but to say he hadn't imagine it two hundred times over would be a lie.

He moved down your body to kiss your left thigh, first closer to your knee then moving up so the soft, supple skin of your inner thigh. He let his breath fan over your pussy, felt the way you twitched at the sensation. Then, he kissed back down your right leg, trailing kisses down to your knee.

"Mick," you urged.

He bit back the repetition of your words about patience from earlier, instead deciding to be nice and lift your knees up over his shoulders, slide his arms under your legs to warp around and hold them in place, then settle in between your thighs like he had nowhere to be for quite some time.

Your folds were glistening in anticipation by the time his lips met them. He kissed over your aching core one, two, three painfully slow times before finally letting his tongue slot against your clit. His lips moved in tandem with his tongue, sucking and licking at the little bundle of nerves until you threw your head back and choked out a throaty moan.

"Mick—please."

That was all the encouragement he needed.

Mick dropped his head to slide his tongue down between your folds, to press at your entrance over and over, lapping at your pussy in a way that could not care about saliva and slick dripping off his chin.

His nose nudged at your clit. Every breath in was nothing but the scent of you ingraining itself in his brain in a way he will never forget. He would never want to forget a single thing about you in that moment.

Not your scent or the taste of your cunt on his tongue. Not the feeling of your fingers tangling in his hair, not pushing or guiding just holding onto him like you just wanted to have your hands on him in any way you could. Not the way you breathed his name halfway between a moan and a cry, or how you arched your back as you were overwhelmed with bliss.

You were coming apart on his tongue and lips and nothing else. If he could save the taste of you and get high on it every night he would. If he could bottle the feeling of you trying not to squirm under the pleasure that he was bringing you, he would drink himself dumb a thousand times over.

"Mick—!"

He hummed in perfect contentment as you cried his name in warning. Your muscles tensed, legs tried to close around his head as he worked you closer and closer to the edge. He just dug in more, ate you out more fervently, slipped his tongue inside of you until you were gasping from the feeling of it.

When he made you come the first time, it was with a cry of his name and panting moans as you bucked your hips up against his face. He worked you through it, kissing and licking at your clit until you were pushing at his head to pull him off.

When he lifted his face from between your thighs, his face was wet, covered in you and he loved it. You laughed breathlessly as you saw him, still shaking slightly from your orgasm.

"Jeez, Mick. When did you learn to go down on a girl like that?"

He was a little lightheaded and a lot pussy drunk, but he still knew better than to mention any girl he'd been with before. "I want you to be the only girl I ever go down on again."

"Good answer," you said, and pulled him up to kiss you as a reward.

You could probably taste yourself on his lips but didn't seem to care as you kissed him hungrily. You tugged at his shirt, so he pulled it over his head. You ran your hands over his torso unabashedly, feeling his stomach and shoulders, bringing goosebumps to his skin as you ran your fingernails down his chest.

Despite having you crumbling apart under his mouth not three minutes ago, when you climbed into his lap and started kissing his neck, Mick felt like he was short circuiting.

Your dress had fallen back over your hips to hide it but he knew you were uncovered underneath the silky fabric. If his pants were off, he could be inside of you right now.

He slid the straps of your dress off your shoulders as you gripped his jaw and tilted his head to the side to kiss at his neck some more. He went pliantly, moaned softly at the feel of your teeth tugging at the sensitive skin where his neck met his clavicle.

He reached around to your back to unzip your dress. When you slid your arms out of the straps and he pulled the top of the dress down, he was finally able to get his hands on your boobs, taking big handfuls of each.

You were still kissing and licking his neck, teasing your teeth against his skin every so often. When he ran his thumbs over your nipples until they were hard under his fingers, your breaths grew shaky. He carefully let his nails drag over the firm peaks, pinched them between his thumbs and forefingers and tugged until you were arching into him.

"So handsy," you commented breathlessly.

"I want to touch every inch of you until you can recognize me by feel alone."

Mick dropped his head between your breasts, kissed the skin there and the side of your boob before you pushed him back. He whined as you deprived him of becoming acquainted with another part of yourself he already knew he would never get enough of.

Then, you stood and stepped out of your dress to leave yourself bare. He couldn't find a reason to complain.

He was prepared to slide to the floor at your feet. Then, you beckoned him toward you.

You had him sit at the edge of the bed again. You dropped to your knees. You popped the button of his pants. You pulled his boxers down just enough, and then his cock was stood at full attention just in front of your face.

He cursed under his breath. You heard it and smirked before licking up the underside of his cock. You wrapped a warm hand around him, stroked him a few times while kitten licking at his tip.

"Y/N. Liebe, please. Y/N, please."

You were not as easily convinced to dive in and give Mick what he wanted as he was with you. You didn't change what you were doing, just continued to let the tip of your tongue dance along the top of his cock while your hand moved on him slowly.

You finally closed your lips over the head of his dick and Mick could have come from that and nothing more. You popped him out of your mouth with an audible noise. Mick groaned; you would be the death of him and he wouldn't even fight against it.

You shot him a Cheshire grin. The sight was lewd and unbelievably hot: you, with a hand around his cock and a big smile on your face like you enjoyed nothing more than sucking him off. Mick was going to combust if he wasn't inside of you in the next two minutes.

"Y/N—"

He tried to tell you as much but your mouth was on him again and he couldn't get the words out. You swirled your tongue around his head, then your jaw opened and and you took as much of him in your mouth as you could. It was warm and wet.

Your tongue flexed against the underside of his dick when it hit the back of your throat. He could feel himself press into your soft pallet until you had to come up for air with a slight gag.

He couldn't bring himself to make you stop when you went back in for more. His breaths were short and labored, legs tense under your free hand as he mentally and physically had to hold himself back from coming down your throat.

He could imagine how you would gag around him when he did, pulling up to take his load just behind your lips instead. You might open your mouth after he had finished, show him your handiwork as it was pooled on your tongue before swallowing it all.

"Y/N, you have to stop. I'm going to come."

You took him out of your mouth to press a sloppy kiss to his cock. You pouted up at him as you let his length rest against your face. He could feel your eyelashes against it when you blinked.

"You don't want me to make you come?"

"I don't want to be spent yet. Come lay down for me?"

You let him pull you off the floor, kissed him as you crawled up the bed and laid yourself out on your back. He managed to kick his pants and boxers off while searching his suitcase for a condom then get back over to you without tripping over his own feet.

You giggled at his eagerness. Your hands ran over his chest as he ripped the packet open and slid the condom on. Your legs were already parted for him as he positioned himself.

He glanced up at you, not nervous but checking in. Your gaze was set on where your two bodies were about to fit together, hungry and expectant. Who was Mick to deprive you of what you wanted?

Entering you was as easy as anything with you was. You were still soaked from Mick's saliva and your own fluids. Your mouth fell open and your walls fluttered around him. A moan croaked past your lips as you gripped his arms.

"Holy shit, Mick."

He had to be sure, so he asked, "Are you alright?"

"I'm in fucking ecstasy. Oh my god, baby."

Mick started moving his hips, long, slow strokes in and out as you keened beneath him, panting from almost nothing at all. He could live off the noises you made for him. He snapped his hips against yours, was rewarded with a gasp and startled little mewl and your fingernails digging into his biceps.

"Mick, please."

He continued the same slow pace. In and out, almost languid, near torture but so worth the desperate way you pulled at his shoulders and hips, physically trying to get him to speed up, to give you more.

"Mick. Go faster."

"I love you." Anything for you.

He made a smooth transition from rolling his hips against yours to making them a piston, pace and weight faster and harder. He bore down on you heavier. You cried out, dragging your nails down his back to only spur him on.

He sat back, pressed down on you with his hands on the backs of your knees to fold you in half. You couldn't easily get away from him when he had you pinned down like this, thighs spread wide and pussy bared to be split open on his cock. You tipped your head back and moaned loudly.

"You've got to try and be quiet, baby," he told you; you were still in a hotel.

"You're making it really difficult."

Mick grinned but eased off just a bit. "Sorry—"

"Don't you fucking dare. Fuck me, Schumacher. Fuck me hard."

So, he did.

.

You were sticky, shaking, and more than satisfied when Mick was through with you. Three more orgasms, four different positions, and five I love you's later, you had passed out against Mick's chest after he had carefully wiped you clean.

The next morning, you and Mick came down for breakfast together. Max was already there; you usually ate breakfast with your brother if you were staying in the same hotel because there wasn't much time to see him elsewhere on race weekends.

When he clocked the way you and Mick were so casually close together, the little looks you kept sneaking, he smacked a hand on the table and pointed an accusatory finger in your face.

"I knew it!"

Mick went red.

You just rolled your eyes. "Shut up, Max."

. . .

a/n. this was partially inspired by this one max fic i read a while ago that i couldn't find again. it's schumacher!reader x max and reader is the one to tell michael about how jos treats max then reader and max reconnect years later. i think it was inspired by "seven" by taylor swift.

if anyone can find it/the author lmk and i'll give credit! hope you enjoyed <3

edit: credit is due to @mastermind123 (who i cannot tag for some reason) and their story, seven. go read it; it’s so cute!!

[zeroxxlhero]

Is It A Crime? • Cassandra Kiramman

Warnings: 18+ characters, pining, milf!lover reader, cheating, age gap, gn reader, flirting, alcohol consumption, one-sided jealousy, secret relationship, pussy eating, hair pulling, doggy style, praising, overstimulation, gn reader but has a penis, rough sex, unprotected sex, slight possessive tendencies, guilt cheating

Pairings: Cassandra Kiramman x You

Fandom: Arcane (League of Legends)

Would it really be a crime for a married woman to sedate the yearn she couldn’t find in her marriage?

The ballroom gleamed in shimmering golds and ivories, a sea of delicate crystal chandeliers casting soft, mesmerizing light across the polished marble floors. The air was thick with the sound of clinking glasses, murmured exchanges of politeness, and the subtle notes of a string quartet playing in the background. The gathering was sophisticated, an event that catered to the highest echelons of society, each guest dressed to the nines in the finest fabrics money could buy.

Cassandra Kiramman, standing among them, was no exception. Her gown, a stunning creation of deep sapphire blue silk, flowed around her form like liquid. It hugged her curves, emphasizing her regal stature, while the plunging neckline was tastefully designed, offering just enough allure without being too revealing. A delicate diamond necklace sat at her throat, catching the light with every slight tilt of her head. Her dark hair, meticulously styled in soft waves, framed her face, but even then, her piercing eyes remained the focus of her allure.

Her poise was perfect, as expected. A queen amongst lesser mortals, her presence in the room was undeniable. She moved with effortless grace, exchanging pleasantries with various guests—politicians, businessmen, dignitaries—but all the while, her attention remained elsewhere, focused on a single figure across the room.

You.

You were the kind of person who demanded attention without ever asking for it. Dressed in an impeccably tailored black suit, the fabric hugging your shoulders and tapering down to your waist in a way that screamed both power and subtlety, you were the epitome of charisma. Your hair complemented your face and the dangerous glint in your eyes. Every word you spoke, every gesture you made, seemed to draw the crowd in like moths to a flame. You were charming, disarming, and undeniably magnetic, the kind of person people wanted to be around, to impress.

The host, a well-known socialite with an inflated sense of self-importance, hovered around you with a rapt attention, practically clinging to your every word. She laughed too loudly at your jokes, her hand lingering too long on your arm as though she were the only one to understand the subtle layers of your charm. Cassandra clenched her jaw as she watched, though she would never let it show. Jealousy was an emotion she seldom allowed herself to indulge in, but with you, it was unavoidable. The way the host leaned in just a little too close, her eyes wide and eager—Cassandra wanted to push her away, to remind her that she was nothing more than a passing distraction. But she held her tongue.

Her fingers gripped her glass tighter, the cold crystal digging into her palm. Her emerald gaze followed you across the room, her breath slowing, her pulse quickening. You stood there like a god amongst men, your effortless charm and quiet confidence commanding the space around you. Every person you engaged with melted into the background, as if they were mere pawns in a game you had already won. The host was a reflection of your influence—captivated, helpless to the magnetism of your presence.

And that was when you caught her.

Your eyes met hers across the ballroom, an instant connection in the sea of faces. It was subtle at first, a glance that could have been mistaken for anything—just a momentary flicker of acknowledgment. But Cassandra knew. She knew you had seen her. And in that fleeting instant, her breath hitched. She could feel the weight of your gaze on her, your eyes locking with hers like a magnetic pull she couldn’t escape.

The room around her seemed to dissolve, the laughter, the chatter, the music—all fading into a muffled hum as the two of them became the center of their world. You had that look in your eyes, the one she knew all too well: the knowing, smirking glance that suggested you were fully aware of her silent watching, her longing, her desperate need to pull you closer.

And then, as though toying with her, you flashed that smile—a slow, deliberate curve of your lips that held a thousand unspoken promises. It was the kind of smile that made her pulse race and her breath catch in her throat. It wasn’t just charming; it was dangerous, seductive, like a whispered secret shared between only the two of them.

The host babbled on beside you, oblivious to the silent exchange unfolding, but Cassandra’s world had narrowed to a single point. The soft hum of the ballroom returned, but she was no longer fully present. The others, the endless flow of conversation and pleasantries, were nothing but background noise. Only you existed in this moment, and you knew it.

Her heart drummed in her chest as she tried to steady herself, but it was impossible. The jealousy was a searing heat, coiling in her gut, but there was something deeper, something far more potent in her response to you—desire. A yearning so intense it burned through every layer of composure she had carefully crafted over the years. You were her secret, her forbidden indulgence, the one thing in her life that made her feel alive in a way nothing else could.

And then, as though to seal her fate, you did it again. Your eyes lingered just a moment longer, a slight nod of acknowledgment to your secret connection, a silent promise that no one else could understand. Cassandra’s breath faltered. She could almost hear the playful teasing in your smirk, the way you knew she would react. How you would always be the one to keep her on the edge, always the one to control the ebb and flow of your unspoken affair.

Cassandra’s grip on her glass tightened until her knuckles turned white, but she didn’t care. Not anymore. The night would pass like all the others—filled with empty conversations and polite interactions—but this time, it would end with you. It always did.

As you turned your attention back to the host, Cassandra fought to regain her composure, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that the rest of the world no longer mattered. The event, the guests, the endless sea of superficiality—it was all a blur compared to the dark promise in your eyes. She would play her part, as she always did, but she knew the night would end with the two of them—just the two of them—hidden away from prying eyes, lost in the dangerous thrill of their forbidden relationship.

Eventually, you excused yourself from the conversation you’d been having and began weaving through the crowd toward her, your movements as smooth and deliberate as a predator closing in on its prey. Cassandra’s heart thudded in her chest, but she remained perfectly still, her exterior calm and unshaken.

When you reached her, you tilted your head, offering a smile that was equal parts charm and mischief.

“Madam Kiramman,” you said smoothly, your voice low and rich, “I couldn’t help but notice your… captivating presence this evening.”

Cassandra arched a brow, refusing to give you the satisfaction of seeing how deeply your words affected her. “Is that so?” she replied, her tone cool and measured. “I hadn’t realized I was the topic of your amusement.”

Your smile deepened, and there it was again—that damnable knowing glint in your eyes. “Oh, you’re far more interesting than you let on,” you said, stepping just a fraction closer, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. “And far more interesting than anyone else in this room.”

Cassandra felt her breath catch again, but she refused to let it show. Instead, she allowed a small, enigmatic smile to curve her lips. “Flattery will get you nowhere,” she said softly, though the warmth in her cheeks betrayed her.

You chuckled, the sound low and intimate, sending a shiver down her spine. “Who said I was trying to get anywhere?” you replied, holding her gaze as if the rest of the world had fallen away. “Maybe I just wanted to get closer to you.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, but her lips remained sealed. She knew you were playing a game—one she’d grown accustomed to over the years. This was a mood she would feign until you pushed her, until you escalated the teasing to the point where she couldn’t help but respond. Cassandra wasn’t one to be easily coaxed, but with you, it was always different. She had always been susceptible to your games, to your charm. You had a way of breaking down her defenses, and it both enraged, aroused, and thrilled her in equal measure.

She huffed, rolling her eyes, looking away for a moment. “Always the entertainer,” she remarked, her words laced with a subtle annoyance. She didn’t like how easily you had shifted the attention to her.

You leaned closer, deliberately, your breath warm against her ear as you spoke, your voice low and almost intimate. “I could say the same thing about you, Cassandra. Always pretending not to want what you can’t have.”

Her breath caught in her throat. The words, the way you said them, sent a shiver through her. She turned her head to look at you again, her expression now a careful mask of indifference. “You’re delusional if you think I’m playing your games.” But her voice was softer now, the edge of frustration bleeding into something else—something raw, something almost desperate.

You could see it—the way her eyes flickered with a mixture of annoyance and desire. It was always the same. She’d put up the front, pretending to be unaffected, but you both knew the truth. It was a dance she couldn’t resist, one she always played until the very end.

You moved just a little closer, your presence overwhelming, intoxicating. The space between you seemed to shrink, the air thickening with unspoken tension. “I don’t think it’s me who’s delusional, Cassandra,” you murmured, your gaze never leaving hers, your words deliberately slow, teasing. “You think I don’t see it? That I can’t feel the way you want to touch me? The way your body responds when I’m near? It’s written all over you.”

She stiffened, her breath hitching at your boldness. Every word you spoke seemed to pierce her, each one a calculated strike designed to bring her to the edge. She could feel the heat in her cheeks, the subtle tightening of her chest, the way her pulse quickened against her will.

“I don’t know what you think you’re implying,” she said, her voice strained as she tried to hold onto the shreds of her composure, but you could hear the falter in her tone.

You smirked again, and this time, you didn’t hold back. Your hand, almost absentmindedly, brushed against the small of her back, a fleeting touch that was deliberate enough to make her heart race. “I think you know exactly what I’m implying. You’ve been playing at being the picture of elegance, the perfect host, the model of restraint. But it’s just that—a game. And we both know you don’t like losing.”

Her eyes flashed with a warning, but the effect of your words had already sunk in. The heat in her chest spread lower now, coiling in her stomach. She hated how you saw through her, how you always had this uncanny ability to break through the layers she built around herself.

“Don’t,” she warned quietly, though there was no force behind it. Her voice was barely above a whisper, but it was still a clear command.

But you only leaned closer, now your lips brushing against her ear. “You’re never going to tell me no, Cassandra. Not when I’m this close. Not when you want me just as much as I want you. You know this… as much as you try to fight it.”

The words hung in the air, thick with the electricity between them, heavy with the desire neither of them was willing to fully acknowledge. Her chest tightened, and though she hated the way her body betrayed her, she couldn’t deny it. She wanted you. More than she cared to admit.

Her breathing was shallow now, her thoughts clouded. She felt the pull of you, the undeniable tension that had always existed between the two of them. There was no denying it anymore. She could try to play her part, to keep up the pretense of disinterest, but you had stripped that away with just a few words.

The moment hung between them, each second stretched thin as Cassandra fought to keep her composure. But you knew—you knew—that her walls were crumbling, and it was only a matter of time before she surrendered to the very thing she’d tried so hard to deny.

You leaned back slightly, your lips curling into that infuriatingly confident smirk. “I’ll be waiting, darling,” you said softly, your voice laced with both promise and challenge.

The evening had passed in a blur of fake smiles and perfunctory conversations, but nothing had mattered. Not the event, not the guests, not the endless stream of handshakes and pleasantries. All that lingered in Cassandra’s mind was the weight of the words you’d left her with, the pulse of desire that had only grown more insistent as the night wore on.

She had barely made it back to her place before the familiar pull of temptation drew her in once more. She couldn’t ignore it anymore—not the way her body responded to you, the way her mind always returned to those heated exchanges, those words, that smirk. The game was never over, and she knew, deep down, that she would lose every time.

Her heels clicked against the floor as she approached your door, the familiar tension coiling in her stomach. Her fingers moved to the handle, steady but with the faintest tremor—an indication of just how much you had gotten under her skin. When the door swung open, there was no fanfare, no grand display—just you, waiting in the shadows, the same smirk on your lips, that same unreadable look in your eyes.

You didn’t need to ask. You never did. She walked in without hesitation, as though this was the most natural thing in the world. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, its warm glow casting long shadows on the walls. The room was quiet, intimate—exactly as it always was when they met. The bed was already made, the sheets a soft, inviting contrast to the dark ambiance of the room.

You shut the door behind her, your movements languid, deliberate, but there was no rush. Neither of them had any need for pretense now. Not here. Not in the place that had become theirs.

Cassandra moved deeper into the room, her gaze never leaving you. She was still wearing the evening dress, the sapphire fabric clinging to her form like a second skin. She looked like she belonged in a different world—one of opulence, of control. But here, in this dimly lit space, that world fell away, leaving only the two of them and the unspoken tension that had been building all evening.

Without a word, you gestured toward the bed, your eyes dark and heavy with something more than mere desire. It was an invitation—one she had accepted countless times before. Cassandra didn’t need to be asked twice. She moved toward the bed with the grace of a queen, her fingers unzipping the back of her dress slowly, deliberately. Every movement, every shift of her body, was calculated, as though she were stripping away her control piece by piece.

She turned to face you once more, her eyes meeting yours. The look in her eyes was a mix of defiance and need—an undeniable hunger that had taken root in her from the moment she’d crossed your threshold.

You didn’t speak at first, merely watching her, letting the silence stretch between you, thick with unspoken promises. There was no rush, no need for more words. The game had been set, and now it was just a matter of who would make the first move.

When she finally stepped out of the dress, the cool air brushed against her skin, but it was the heat between them that made her heart race. Her body, so carefully composed and controlled in the outside world, was now exposed in more ways than one. But with you, there was no judgment. Only the weight of desire and the pull of inevitability.

You took a step closer, your eyes tracing the curve of her body, the way the firelight danced off her skin. “You really thought you could keep resisting, didn’t you?” you murmured, your voice low and teasing.

Cassandra’s lips curled into a small, almost imperceptible smile, but it was tinged with something darker—something that told you she was past the point of pretense. “I wasn’t resisting,” she replied softly, her voice thick with a mix of frustration and longing. “I just didn’t want to make it this easy for you.”

You chuckled, a low sound that sent a ripple of anticipation through her. “You never make it easy. But it’s fun to watch you try.”

She moved closer now, her breath mingling with yours, and you let her. You always let her take the first step, always let her think she had the upper hand, but you both knew it was an illusion. The power between them was never equal—it never could be. You had her wrapped around your finger, even if she refused to admit it.

When she finally reached you, her hands moved with purpose, the edges of her fingers grazing the sharp lines of your jaw before trailing down to your collar. Her touch was electric, a silent promise of what was to come. “You never learn,” she said, her words like a challenge, but you knew better. You always knew how to make her lose herself in the moment.

With fluid motion, you unbuttoned your shirt, the fabric falling away from your chest, revealing the strength and the muscle beneath. But it was the look in your eyes that held her—the raw hunger, the darkness that mirrored her own.

Without a word, you pulled her toward you, your lips crashing into hers, the kiss deep and possessive. The fire crackled louder now, its flames dancing with the same intensity that burned between them. Everything else—the world outside, the rules they both pretended to follow—faded into nothing. There was only the heat of the moment, the undeniable force of attraction that had brought them here again.

A paradise of punishment.

That’s what it felt like as you guide Cassandra back to the bed, your mouths never separating even as you’ve got her pinned underneath you. Her tongue was coaxing itself into the hot, addicting cavity of your mouth that could be doing other things to her body, such as alleviating the mounting tension between her thighs.

You push Cassandra back onto the bed, admiring the way her hair fans out across the white pillow, a stark contrast to her pale skin. She watches you with lidded eyes, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths, anticipation heavy in the air between you.

You trail your fingertips up the inside of her thigh, the skin warm and smooth beneath your touch. Cassandra's legs part for you, eagerly inviting your touch higher. As you reach the junction between her legs, you can see a damp spot blooming on her panties, evidence of her desire.

You hook your fingers in the waistband, tugging the lacy fabric down her legs and off, leaving her bare before you. You take a moment to admire the sight of her, the delicate folds of her pussy glistening with arousal, a temptation you can't resist.

With a low growl of appreciation, you drop your head between her thighs, your lips brushing against her slick flesh. Cassandra bucks at the contact, a gasp torn from her throat as your tongue delves into her heat. You lap at her like a starved beast, lapping up her wetness as if it's the finest ambrosia.

Cassandra's hands fly to your hair, her fingers tangling in the strands, holding you closer. You let her guide you, nuzzling into her core as you seek out the small bundle of nerves at the top of her clit. You circle it with the tip of your tongue, applying just the right amount of pressure to drive her wild with sensation.

"Oh gods, yes," Cassandra gasps, her head falling back against the pillows, her hips rocking against your face. "Don't stop, please..."

As if you could, even if she asked.

Your mouth and tongue work in tandem to push Cassandra closer to the edge. You lap at her, your tongue delving deep to gather her sweetness, only to pull back when you feel her tensing, her release just out of reach.

You ease two fingers into her slick pussy, curling them to stroke along her inner walls, seeking out that special spot that will make her see stars. You can feel her fluttering around your digits, her body desperate for more friction.

But still, you deny her, keeping your touch maddeningly light and teasing. Cassandra's frustrated whimpers and needy moans fill the room, music to your ears. She's so close, you can feel it in the way she's clenching around your fingers, the way her thighs are trembling with the effort of holding herself back.

"Please, I can't...I need to...please let me cum,"

At her desperate pleas, you pull your fingers from her, admiring the way her walls clench around nothing, trying to pull you back in. You can't help but smirk, savoring the way she looks, spread out and desperate before you, begging for release.

You raise your hand, letting it hover over her sex, your palm just brushing against her sensitive flesh. Cassandra's hips buck, trying to chase the contact, but you deny her, maintaining the tantalizing distance between your skin and hers.

"Do you want to cum, Cassandra?" you ask, your voice low and teasing. You punctuate your question with a light tap to her clit, the shock of sensation making her hips jerk off the bed. But before she can even form a response, you've moved on, letting your palm graze along her clit in a mockery of what she really wants.

You keep up the teasing touches, each pass of your hand sending sparks of denied pleasure racing through Cassandra's system. She's writhing now, her hands fisting in the sheets as she struggles to maintain control. Each time her hips twitch towards you, seeking more of your touch, you pull away, leaving her aching and empty. It's a delicious form of torture, one that has Cassandra babbling and begging, her words tumbling out in an incoherent rush.

You lean down, nipping at her inner thigh, your teeth scraping against her delicate skin. You can taste the salt of her sweat, the musk of her arousal. It's intoxicating and addictive, and you can't get enough.

But still, you hold back, determined to push her to her limits and beyond. Because that's what she needs, what she craves. To be taken apart and put back together again, remade in your image.

You dip your head, your tongue delving deep into her soaked folds, lapping at her like a starved beast. Your fingers join in the fray, pumping in and out of her slick channel in a relentless rhythm. Cassandra's world narrows down to the feel of your mouth and fingers, the pleasure cresting higher and higher with each flick of your tongue, each curl of your fingers. She's panting now, her chest heaving, her nails digging into your scalp, holding you in place as you feast on her.

You can feel her clamping down around your fingers, her walls fluttering and pulsing as her climax approaches. She's so close, teetering on the precipice, her thighs trembling, her breaths coming in sharp, short gasps. You double your efforts, sucking hard on her clit, fingering her roughly, determined to push her over the edge.

"That's it, Cassandra, let go," you encourage, your words vibrating against her sensitive flesh. "Cum for me, show me how much you love my tongue on your sweet cunt." Your dirty talk is the final push she needs. With a hoarse shout of your name, Cassandra comes undone, her release slamming into her like a runaway train. Her back bows off the bed, her body going rigid as wave after wave of ecstasy crashes over her. You don't let up, keeping your fingers pumping into her, your mouth latched onto her clit as you ride out her orgasm with her.

You can taste her release flooding your mouth, the tangy-sweet musk coating your tongue. It's addictive, and you find yourself greedily lapping up every drop, not wanting to waste a single precious essence. You can feel Cassandra twitching and shuddering beneath you, her body overwhelmed with sensation.

You take a moment to admire the blissed-out expression on Cassandra's face as she comes down from her high, her hair damp and tangled against her temples, her cheeks flushed a pretty pink. She's beautiful like this, thoroughly ravished and sated, and you feel a swell of usual pride at being the cause of her pleasure.

Slowly, tenderly, you press soft kisses along her inner thighs, your lips trailing up her body like a map of your desire. You pay homage to each peak and valley of her form, from the sharp jut of her hipbones, to the soft swell of her belly, to the gentle slope of her breasts. Cassandra shivers beneath your ministrations, her skin pebbling with goosebumps in the wake of your lips.

You finally reach her mouth, hovering over her with a smug grin.

"You did so well, Cassandra," you murmur against her lips, your voice low and approving. "So perfect, taking everything I gave you and begging for more." You trail your fingers down her side, marveling at the way her muscles twitch and flex beneath your touch, responsive and wanting. You can feel her arching into you, her body seeking contact, skin on skin friction.

Your mouth slants over hers, capturing her lips in a deep, languid kiss. You sip at her bottom lip, your tongue darting out to trace the seam of her mouth. Cassandra yields immediately, her lips parting on a gasp that you quickly plunder with your tongue. You kiss her deeply, thoroughly, pouring all of your praise and adoration into the press of your lips against hers.

When you finally break away, Cassandra is breathless, her pupils blown wide in her flushed face.

“Turn over for me,” you muttered, gently taking her arm and guiding her to roll over onto her hands and knees, putting her ass on display for you.

You take a moment to admire the view, your eyes roving over the gentle curve of her back, the swell of her ass presented invitingly for your touch. You can see your handprints blooming across her skin, reminders of your claim over her, your mark of possession.

Slowly, almost gently, you bring your hand down on one upturned cheek, the sharp slap ringing out in the charged air of the room. Cassandra gasps, her hips jerking forward at the sudden sting. But you don't give her time to recover, instead laying down a steady rhythm of strikes, each blow sending her back arching higher, her nails scrabbling for purchase against the sheets.

By the time you're done, Cassandra is a wreck, her ass red and glowing beneath your touch, her thighs quaking with the effort of holding herself up.

You position yourself behind her, one hand on the small of her back, the other guiding your hard shaft to her entrance. With a deep breath, you sink into her welcoming heat, groaning at the way her walls stretch and mold around you. You take her slowly, savoring the feel of her silken passage enveloping you, inch by exquisite inch.

When you finally bottom out, you still for a moment, burying your face in the crook of her neck, breathing in the scent of her hair. "Fuck, Cassandra, you feel incredible," you rasp, your voice rough with pleasure. "So good, so perfect."

To drive home your point, you punctuate your words with a slow, deep roll of your hips. Cassandra moans, her back bowing, pushing her ass more fully against your lap.

"Please," she whimpers, "More. I need more."

You begin to move, your thrusts deep and sure, each stroke reaching that sweet spot deep within her that makes her see stars. Your hand drifts between her legs, your fingers finding her swollen clit and rubbing in firm, steady circles. Cassandra's cries of pleasure mingle with the slick sounds of your joining, the noises obscene and erotic in the quiet of the room.

You nip and kiss along the elegant line of her neck and shoulder, worshipping the skin with lips and teeth. "That's it, take what you need," you urge, your voice a low, seductive purr. "Take my cock, let me feel you come apart." Each roll of your hips brings you deeper into her welcoming heat, your dick grinding deliciously against her front wall.

Your pace remains languid, each smooth thrust savored, prolonging the blissful glide of your dick in and out of her pussy. You can feel every inch of her fluttering channel, the velvety walls gripping you like a silk glove, as if trying to keep you deep inside for all of eternity.

There is no rush, no urgency in your movements, only the primal need to experience this connection as fully as possible. You are drunk on the feel of her, the scent of her skin, the taste of her on your tongue. This moment of intimacy is all that exists in your world, Cassandra beneath you, surrounding you, completing you in a way you never knew possible.

Without warning, you change the pace, your hips snapping forward to bury yourself to the hilt in one hard thrust. Cassandra's sharp cry of surprise quickly gives way to a low moan as you set a brutal rhythm, your dick pounding into her willing flesh with bruising force. Each slam of your hips against her rear sends ripples through the supple globes, the obscene sight only spurring you on.

You can feel your orgasm rapidly approaching, the pleasure cresting with each pass of your cock along her front wall. You reach around, your fingers delving between her legs to find her aching clit. You pinch the swollen bud roughly, sending sparks of pain and pleasure shooting through her. Cassandra thrashes beneath you, her back arching, her fingers clawing at the sheets. She's babbling now, a constant stream of moans and pleas falling from her lips.

You fist your hand in her hair, wrenching her head back as you continue your relentless assault on her body. The change in position allows you to sink even deeper into her welcoming heat if that were even possible. Cassandra's moans turn to wails, her throat hoarse from the force of her cries.

You can feel your release rushing toward you like a runaway train, your core drawing up tight inside your body. You're close, so close, and you know it won't be long before Cassandra falls over the edge with you. You can feel her starting to spasm around you, her walls fluttering wildly as her orgasm takes hold.

With a final, vicious twist of your fingers on her clit, you send her hurtling into bliss. Her back bows, her body going rigid as ecstasy consumes her. Her cunt clamps down on you like a vice, trying to wring your own release from your body with its greedy grip.

"That’s it, that's it, let go," you groan, your voice strained with the effort of holding back your own release. You pound into her mercilessly, each thrust aimed at pushing her further into the abyss of ecstasy. "Cum for me, Cassandra. I want to feel you coming undone on my cock."

As if your words are a direct order, Cassandra's orgasm crashes into her again, her walls spasming wildly around your pistoning cock. You can feel the flood of her release gushing out to coat your thighs, the proof of her pleasure dripping down to pool on the sheets below. But you don't stop, don't let up, knowing she has more to give. You set a punishing pace, each stroke hitting that sweet spot inside her that makes her scream. Your grip on her hips is bruising, holding her in place as you use her willing body for your own gratification.

You slam into Cassandra with bruising force, the headboard slamming against the wall with each powerful thrust. You're losing yourself to the base instincts of pleasure, chasing only the feel of her slick, tight walls fluttering around your throbbing dick. You push her further into the mattress, the pillows scattering across the floor in your wake.

Cassandra's moans are getting higher, more desperate, her body shaking under the onslaught of sensation. "I can't- I can't take it!" She sobs, her fingers scrabbling for purchase on the sweat-slick sheets. But you're beyond hearing, focused only on driving her higher, pushing her toward another shattering climax.

You can feel your own release building at the base of your spine, your balls drawing up tight against your body. You're so close, teetering on the edge of oblivion.

With a last, vicious thrust, you hit that spot inside her that sends her careening over the edge. Cassandra's back arches, her body going rigid as her orgasm crashes into her with the force of a tsunami. Her pussy clamps down on you like a vice, the rhythmic pulsing milking your cock as she squirts around you, her release gushing out to coat your thighs and pool on the sheets below.

The sensation is too much, pushing you past the point of no return. With a hoarse shout, you spill yourself deep inside her, your seed jetting into her waiting womb in thick, copious ropes. You collapse onto her, your spent cock pulsing inside her fluttering channel as you both float down from the dizzying heights of pleasure.

You flip you both onto your sides, pulling Cassandra flush against your chest, your cock still nestled snugly inside her. You can feel your combined releases slowly starting to seep from her, trickling down her thighs to make a sticky mess of the sheets. The sensation makes your spent cock give an interested twitch.

You begin to move slowly, languidly, each roll of your hips sinking you back into her velvety heat. Your hand roams her curves, tracing patterns on her hip, her thigh, exploring every dip and swell of her body. "You're perfect, you know that?" you murmur against her temple, your words a rough purr in the quiet of the room.

Your praise, combined with the gentle glide of your cock along her hypersensitive walls, has Cassandra shivering and gasping. She's overstimulated, and sensitive, but she can't bring herself to tell you to stop.

You take your time, drawing out each delicious slide of your shaft in and out of her welcoming heat. This isn't about the chase, the frantic race to the finish. This is about savoring, about imprinting every moment into your memory so you never forget the perfection of her body against yours.

You press open-mouthed kisses along her shoulder, tasting the salt of her skin, breathing in the unique scent that is uniquely Cassandra. Your words of praise are punctuated with the soft, wet sounds of your coupling, the obscene noises making your spent cock give a valiant twitch of interest. "So good for me," you groan, your hand slipping down to cup her breast, to tease the tight bud of her nipple.

“Look at me,” you reach out, your fingers gently tilting her chin up to look at you. Your eyes meet, gazes locking in an intimate dance. You lean forward, pressing a soft, chaste kiss to the corner of her mouth, the gentle touch at odds with your still-pumping hips. Cassandra's eyelids flutter closed, her breathing hitching as she melts into you, into the cocoon of warmth and security you spin around her.

You can feel yourself starting to coax another orgasm from you again but you don't rush, don't seek to increase your pace. You simply roll your hips in languorous figure-eights, grinding against that sensitive spot inside her that makes her toes curl and her mouth fall open on silent gasps. You're making love to her, in the purest, most basic sense. Body and soul, mind and heart, all intertwined in this timeless dance of passion.

You both reach the pinnacle of bliss simultaneously, your releases washing over you like tidal waves. Cassandra's walls clench around your dick, milking you for all you're worth as spurt after spurt of your seed pumps into her welcoming pussy. You cling to her, anchoring yourself against the overwhelming pleasure with desperate fingers digging into her hips.

Through the haze of your own ecstasy, you manage to murmur words of praise, your voice hoarse but tender. "That's it, cum for me, sweetheart. Let me feel you. You're so beautiful like this."

Despite the intensity of your shared climax, you keep your pace steady, continuing to slowly roll your hips in smooth glides as you ride out the aftershocks. You hold her close, your heart pounding against your ribs in tandem with hers as you both gasp for breath in the aftermath of your mutual rapture.

You can feel your softening dick slipping from her body, a rush of your combined fluids gushing out to mingle with the damp sheets. The evidence of your coupling is everywhere, from the red marks on her skin to the slight soreness in her well-used muscles. But in that moment, as you both cling to each other, basking in the warm afterglow of your passion, none of that matters. All that exists is the two of you, together in perfect harmony. You press a soft kiss to her temple, breathing in the scent of her hair.

"You okay?" you ask softly, your tone more question than statement. Cassandra hums in response, her fingers drawing lazy patterns on your chest.

"Mmhm. That was...intense." You can hear the smile in her voice, the contentment. It makes your heart swell, a fierce, possessive pride flooding your veins. Satisfied and sated.

The only sound is the soft rise and fall of your chests as you both struggle to catch your breath. The moment is peaceful, content, two souls intertwined in the aftermath of passion. But like all good things, the tranquility can't last forever.

A shadow passes over Cassandra's face, her eyes growing distant. "We can't do this again," she says, her voice flat and emotionless. It's an old refrain, one you've heard countless times before. And like all the times before, you know it's a lie. A lie she tells herself to protect her heart, to ward off the vulnerability of truly opening up to someone else.

You don’t call her on it, simply pull her closer, tucking her head under your chin and stroking her hair. "Mmhm," you respond, your tone placating. "Of course, we won't."

"I'm serious, we can't do this again." The words are hollow, devoid of conviction. "I have a little girl, a husband—a family at home. I shouldn't be here, with you." Cassandra's voice wavers, her resolve crumbling under the weight of your assured gaze.

"Come on now, don't start that again." You nuzzle the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her hair. The scent of home. "You belong here, with me. It's where you were always meant to be." She knows you're right. No matter how much she might want to believe her own protestations, she always finds her way back to you in the end.

Your words are soft, but there's an undercurrent of steel beneath the tenderness. You know you have her, that it's only a matter of time before she's crawling back into your bed, into your arms.

Cassandra pulls away, disentangling herself from your embrace with a soft wince. She rises from the bed, gathering her discarded clothes and pulling them on with mechanical movements, as if she's done this a thousand times before. You can see the guilt weighing heavily on her shoulders, the shame twisting her features into an ugly mask. "I'm sorry," she whispers, the words choked and tight. "I'm so sorry. What I'm doing...it's not right. I have to go back."

Tears prick at the corners of her eyes, but she blinks them back, refusing to let them fall. You watch her, your expression impassive, knowing it's all just talk, that she'll be back in your bed sooner rather than later. But you let her go through the motions, for now.

You allow her little performance, knowing it's just a phase. She'll be back, as she always is. Drawn to you like a moth to a flame, no matter how much she might try to resist. You witness her silent struggle, the inner turmoil written plainly on her face as she warily eyes the door. Part of you wants to pull her back, to wrap her up in your arms and never let go. But you know that's not the way to win this game. No, you need to play the long game, wait for her to come to you of her own accord.

It's a test, in a way. To see if she can resist the temptation you represent, if her morals are stronger than her lust for you. But you're not concerned. You've done this dance before, and you know it's only a matter of time before she's back in your bed, begging for your touch.

[luneariaa]

ᯓ★٠ ࣪⭑ "WERE YOU ASLEEP?" ✧ KENJI S.

✰ — mentions of you having some troubled thoughts during the night, implications of self-doubt(?), momentary phone calls, sweet and comforting kenji, pretty much self-indulgent.

. dividers by @/cafekitsune 🌙!!

IT WAS late at night, and yet, your mind itself refused to let you rest, preventing you from getting your own desired slumber. Your sole figure could be seen standing just by the balustrades of the balcony— breathing in the twilight air contentedly despite your turbulent mind.

These thoughts get too much sometimes, allowing yourself to at least try and loosen yourself up for the night— attempting to soothe any present aches and other unneeded distractions, especially from deep within.

You just wished that you'd never end up acting on them— hopefully not. Bad days are normal, so to speak. They'll pass, and eventually, everything will be better again. There's always light at the end of the tunnel, after all, so you keep holding on to that no matter how hard it may get at times.

The will to live is still reasonably strong, even when life itself isn't so kind to you. It gets exhausting, but you'll be there even with tons of struggle that you have to endure in the process.

Taking the phone out of your pocket, you glanced down at the clock, which shows it's exactly at two. Your sleeping schedule is unavoidably messed up, and you knew that you'd probably get an earful of scolding later on.

Breathing out ever so slowly, your fingers almost too subconsciously made their way to your contacts folder— which isn't that much, and ultimately pressed on one of the displayed names.

KEN.

Should I call him, or not?

After a fair minute or two of mentally debating whether to make a call to him, despite it being quite late at night— you did it, in the end. You just needed to talk to him for some unexplainable reasons, even when you don't really have any specific topics to talk about this late.

The phone didn't even need to ring twice when it was being picked up immediately, much to your surprise. Like, at this hour too?

"Hey— that was quick."

"Hey too," he chuckled facetiously over your words, maintaining his push-up position but on one hand. "Wouldn't want to miss a call from my favorite lady ever— and you're lucky I wasn't even asleep yet."

This piqued your interest. "What were you even doing?"

"Just doing some workout. Y'know, the usual." Ah, of course, he would. Even if Kenji already has those toned, healthy physique, he will always try to keep his body in a perfect shape.

"At a time like this? Gosh, you're questionable sometimes." A faint mirth could be heard on both sides of the phone call; sharing a laugh with one another.

"But anyway—" Kenji grabbed the towel nearby and wiped the sweat off his face, still maintaining his hold on the phone. "What's up? Couldn't sleep, hm?"

"Kinda. Got distracted, as usual." You couldn't contain the smile from forming upon your face, already feeling some of your worries gradually alleviated just from hearing his voice alone. "Glad that you aren't asleep yet too."

Kenji grins through the phone, even when you aren't there to witness it— eventually taking a seat on the nearby chair to rest for a while.

"Yeah."

"But seriously, are you alright?" His tone turns a tad bit more apprehensive, just in case since it's a pretty late hour too.

"I am, don't worry."

"It's just that— my thoughts are being quite a bother for some reason. But yeah, it's probably because well, it's late past midnight."

He nodded for a bit from the other side, seemingly understanding of your situation as it happens to him sometimes too.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

His simple offer made you think for a few seconds there, not knowing how to reply to him just yet.

"Well.."

"It's just something like— I don't know. Out of all people, you're the only one who stayed the most by my side. I'm so grateful for it, and sometimes, I still can't get used to it for some reason."

"You're too good for me."

He sighs softly, leaning his back slightly against the chair. "Hey, c'mon, don't say that. I did all of this because you genuinely deserved it."

"You deserve nothing less, trust me."

Even when he's unable to catch any glimpse of it, you grin so broadly, feeling touched by his words all over. You're quite the lucky one since it's not really a side he shows to anyone that often, and it radiates warmth; endearing, even.

"You're always the sweetest."

"And so are you, sweetheart."

He asserts tenderly, "That's the least I could do for you. You deserve only the best, and I mean it."

"I'm just glad that you decided to call me, even at this ungodly hour. Even if I'm asleep, just know that I will always try my best to answer."

"I know." You chuckled briefly, before pausing for a bit, contemplating over your next words.

"It's kind of a mess, I just—" Your previous smile drops without a warning, trying your best to remain composed, not wanting to have a sudden mental breakdown on a call with him like this. Why do the emotions have to rush through you like this?

With a quick clear of your throat, you added further. "It makes me confused sometimes, and I just.. Don't know on what to do."

He could notice the hint of shakiness within your voice alone; expression softening ever so slightly yet noticeable— not to anyone but to himself— seemed to understand the internal struggle you're possibly going through at the moment.

"And that's alright. It happens to each of us at times. It's bound to happen in one way or another." Kenji admittedly wasn't really good at giving advice and stuff, but he's willing to try his best to do so, because it's you.

"You don't have to rush things; the world can wait. Sometimes, it's best to let them be, and know that not everything is in our control."

"It's not your fault, if that's what you're wondering."

"I may not get it fully as to what you're thinking and going through right now, but please, remember that you're not alone. You have me."

You allow each of his words to sink in within your mind, making sure to process everything in, and let the deep realization hit you after. You're aware that he's just trying to help you— which you fully appreciated on, and even when it's quite hard to act based on someone's advice at times, you cherish his efforts.

Because no one really did that for you. No one was willing to go that far for you, yet here he is— willing to break through your walls no matter how long it takes and how you've set it up. Taking it slow, he still respected your boundaries despite everything, yet never once gave up on your well-being.

Before you could even give out your own response, his voice came through the phone once more.

"You know what— gimme a few minutes. I'll be there."

Your eyes widened in utter disbelief, like at an ungodly hour like this-?

"Ken, you don't have to do that, it's pretty late."

Despite your attempts of trying to reason with him, it merely falls on deaf ears; rolling his eyes without you knowing. "And you think that's gonna stop me, sweetheart?"

"I'm not gonna let you miss your needed sleep because of your thoughts and inner struggle, okay? And that's final."

Leaving no room for any arguments, he added a few words as his last statement. "I'll be there in a few minutes. Don't fall asleep just yet, love."

You have no choice, but to simply follow along and concede with him, feeling appreciated deep down; unable to suppress the feeling of warmth and solace from resurfacing within you.

@luneariaa. do not repost; reblogs are welcomed. all rights reserved.

[littlestarlightseverywhere]

A Little Help

Pairing: Lucien x Reader

Summary: When Lucien’s lover is overcome with pain from her cycle, only one thing can help

Warnings: None (period pains, maybe??)

Notes: So random and not developed at all, just a small little blurb to help get me out of my writer’s block <3 Taking a brief break from my usual Azriel brainrot to give Lucien some love

The pain was neither kind nor forgiving in the way it permeated her dreamworld before she even had the chance to wake.

It slowly pulled her from her slumber until she found herself no longer under the duvet beside her furnace of a mate, but clutching the cold bathroom tile for an ounce of relief instead. The torment was relentless, spasm after spasm seized her lower belly until she couldn’t help but moan into the toilet.

Her elbows rested on either side of the porcelain bowl, a weak hand propping her head up as she rode out the last wave of torture. In an effort to take her mind to some place far away from the misery, she tried to recall what she had been dreaming about.

She was somewhere pleasantly warm with endless golden light bathing every surface. Lucien was there. Near a lake, perhaps, as the sound of gentle water lapping over itself felt right. Feyre was around too, with Nesta and Azriel– a holiday? She tried harder to recall more details, paint a picture vivid enough to distract her, but the effort was fruitless. There was nothing she could do and the knowledge of it left her so helpless, so irritated. Suddenly, the fact she was crouched at the toilet bowl repulsed her, the light in the washroom was far too bright on her eyes this late in the night, and all she fucking wanted was a damn second to breathe.

“Love?” His deep, sleep-leadened voice pulled her from her thoughts. She slowly opened her eyes to find Lucien standing at the threshold of the washroom, eyebrows furrowed disquietingly.

“Sorry if I woke you,” she meant to sound calm– totally cool, totally collected, like she totally had it all under control. But it was hard to put up a front with Lucien when her body so naturally relaxed in his presence, so it really was unavoidable that her voice instead came out depleted and small.

“Oh baby, do you need the toilet?” He didn’t waste a second in crouching beside her, placing a large hand on her back. When she took a moment to reply, he slowly ran his hand up and down the length of her spine, trying to soothe her in any way he could. He knew he was utterly useless in this situation. Lucien hated seeing his mate in this pain. When she was otherwise injured, at least he could see what was wrong and fix it. Physically mend a cut, salve a burn. He could hardly reach into her and soothe her from the inside, though she knew he would if he could.

He did not even want to think about what he would do if he had to go through this every six months. To be honest, Lucien didn’t think he, nor any male for that matter, could handle it, at least with as much grace as she does. He made sure to tell her this each time she was on her cycle because it always earned a small smile from her when nothing else could.

“Can you please get me a cloth?” Without hesitation, he went into the cabinets for find one for her.

“Do you need help?” Lucien asked, handing her a thick pad.

She quickly shook her head. “I can do it, can you just put my hair up? I feel like I’m going to pass out.”

Lucien quickly took the hair tie around his wrist and gently twisted the hair curtained around her face into a loose bun at the back of her head.

“Better?” He asked, kissing the back of her shoulder. She let her head drop slightly when the cool air kissed the back of her neck, whispering a breathless, barely-there thanks.

“Can you get up?”

She nodded, but she lifted her arms anyway. Lucien took the cue, sliding his arms underneath her to slowly help her up from the ground, heart breaking at her groan. She felt the flood as soon as her legs straightened, along with a fresh cramp tearing through her muscles, and grabbed onto Lucien as hard as she could. He didn’t even flinch, only waited with her until she was ready to move.

“I can carry you if you need me to,” He offered.

“No, I can walk,” he couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth, that even at her most vulnerable she could be so stubborn. He’d be lying to himself if he said her bullishness wasn’t what drew him to her in the first place. “Just, don’t let go of me.”

“I’m not letting go, love.”

Slowly, he helped guide her to the bed, where she collapsed into the covers. He climbed in next to her, pulling her body gently into his. Lucien knew when another wave of pain would come over her with the way her body tensed under him, and he gently squeezed her hip where his hand rested to remind her he was right there.

“How bad is it right now?” He murmured into the top of her head into her hair.

“Lucien I can’t even think of anything else right now,” Her voice was so small, so unlike her. “Every time feels worse than the last.”

He felt an anger that almost wasn’t his ripen in his chest at her anguish, but he quickly subdued it, reminding himself it was not about him at this moment– he would let himself feel it, alone, after she finds some peace.

“I’m sorry,” He cradled her head in his chest, feeling her erratic breathing against his torso as she fought to maintain her composure against the relentless cramping. “You’re doing so good.”

Her hand softly held his wrist as the pain subsided slightly. “Luc, can you do the thing?

She was so exhausted, so out of it, she couldn’t even describe what she needed, but with Lucien, she never needed too. He always knew.

“Of course, love. Get on your back for me.”

She did as he said and guided his hand to her lower belly, right where the cramps would come and go as they pleased.

“Here,” she lightly instructed him, the weight of his heavy hand a welcome pressure. “I’m sorry, you must be so tired too.”

He shifted on his side and propped himself up on one below so he could look at her face as he said to her, “You don’t need to worry about me love.”

She smiled at him, finding comfort in how safe he always made her feel. She did worry about him. All the time. She worried when he went over the wall where the humans were. She worried when he returned to the Spring Court to check on Tamlin. She worried when he went into town, when he worked on their house, and even when he laid asleep beside her. But however much she worried for him, Lucien worried for her an unfathomable amount more. Becoming Lucien’s lover was like becoming a celestial body of the universe, for she’d never known what it felt like to be someone’s world until she became his. Lucien never let her forget it, not in the words he spoke to her or the things he did for her.

Like now, as he gently pulled up her night shirt and laid his large hand over her lower belly, she felt his palm heat up over her, bringing almost immediate relief to the pain. Her hand rested on top of his, absentmindedly running her fingertips over his calloused knuckles. It wasn’t lost on her, the way her cycles were much easier on her, with him. There was only so much that could be done to ease an inescapable pain, but Lucien had still found a way for her.

“Too hot?” He checked in after a few minutes of her silence.

“No,” she mumbled. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

He watched her melt into the covers, the features of pain recede from her face. He’d never been called perfect before he met her. Not with his long red hair, his whirring eye, his scar. The girls wanted a Rhysand or a Cassian, even a Tamlin at some point. Never had he felt perfect, it was never even a word in his vernacular, but things were different now. He’d started to believe he could achieve something close to perfect, if only for his mate who deserved nothing less.

He’d helped so many people, done so much good, with his fire magic. Still, nothing felt as meaningful and important as when he was able to use it to help his mate. Even the times where he’d used his powers to hurt and destroy, she always gave him a way to remember he is not these things at his core. This– using his fire magic to warm the pain he could not physically reach– is who he was. She knew that, and so really, who gives a fuck if no one else did?

“I love you,” he spoke softly, knowing she probably didn’t hear it. From the open window, a breeze sighed into the room, carrying his words into the sky for the stars to hear instead, but they already knew.

Lucien did not sleep until she did. He didn’t mind the lack of sleep at all, though. On nights like these, he took the opportunity to reflect. In the very beginning he struggled to sit with his thoughts, plagued by so many created against his will. Now, it came easier to him with much more to be thankful for, to live for, than before.

Nothing is so difficult anymore, he thought to himself as he watched her finally find peace in her sleep beneath his touch.

[optimisticgardenhologram]

Not to be some sort giant simp, but because it's his birthday I wanted to write something nice and complimentary for him. But also genuinely and objectively as possible I think Mello is actually a fair bit more humane (or maybe the better term is "less cold-blooded") than he gets credit for?

The evidence:

1. He was very genuinely upset when they are informed of L's death, and doesn't even think about the matter of the successor-ship until Near speaks up alluding to it.

2. After Sayu was rescued/traded from the mafia she's asked to help in the investigation by providing any details of her experience. However she can't because she says she neither saw nor spoke much to her kidnappers. This indicates Mello (as the mastermind of all things related to this project) told the mafia members that they were to stay away from her and generally left her alone. She's a tool to him to achieve his ends but he takes no pleasure in using her this way nor has intention to cause her any additional harm, fear, suffering than is already an unavoidable part of being kidnapped and held hostage across the world.

3. When Soichiro confronts him with the Death Note by announcing Mello's real name and then actually starts writing, Mello could have killed him on the spot faster than Soichiro could write. He had access to the gun next to him in the open desk drawer. You can tell that even in this case he doesn't want to shoot Soichiro, and though Mello's hand hovers over the gun ready to grab it, he does his best to talk Soichiro down instead. Then he apologizes to Soichiro and thinks about how he never intended for Soichiro to die but at the same time he shouldn't have joined up with Kira. There is an important difference here between the anime and the manga; in the anime he tells this to Soichiro aloud which might be interpreted as a way to distract Soichiro while Jose prepares to fire, but in the manga because it's unspoken we know it wasn't meant as a distraction, but genuine regret and remorse.

4. When Mello crashed the SPK, Lidner wasn't really a hostage. She'd already been helping him secretly for a while and continues to do so afterwards; and she -wanted- Mello and Near to work together and was trying to help them do that - meaning she'd have gladly brought them together regardless. But they role-played her like one to cover for her in front of her colleagues, make it seem like she was being forced into it rather than reveal the truth that she was a double-agent.

5. While Mello frequently brandishes his gun as a threat and for coercion, he never actually fires it. Still no one ever doubts that he would use it if needed. Despite fanon often portraying him as a trigger happy nut-job, the canon demonstrates how controlled and coldly resolved he truly is.

6. A pretty commonly repeated sentiment on social media discussions is that unlike Near, Mello doesn't work well with others because he's too much of a lone-wolf and too insecure to work in a team because he would make everything about dominance and power struggle.

I really don't think this is right. Despite stubbornly refusing to work with Near, the evidence shows he's pretty good at getting along and working with other people. Like in the mafia he seems perfectly happy to let Rod Ross be top-dog; he doesn't appear to have any interest in being a big shot and throwing his weight outside of matters directly involving the notebook. Rod Ross is the one to give orders, dole out discipline, and is generally in charge, and he trusts Mello because Mello's proven his value as a loyal team member over time.

He also works well with Halle and Matt who both appear to be there by choice, neither are in the least afraid of or deferential to him and they seemingly work on equal terms together as opposed to a hierarchical boss/subordinate relationship, which for example so prominently characterizes Near's interactions with his group.

With Matt in particular he's way more patient than is even reasonable to expect, given how it seems like Matt spends a lot of time whining, slacking off, and messing up - no shade meant on Matt (love him dearly) but going by the manga that is what we see. But Mello never scolds him or gets angry or snappy. Mello's internal monologue does show that he's annoyed but he doesn't externalize it, doesn't lash out and is patiently long-suffering when it comes to Matt's shortcomings. He basically just accepts the situation being what it is and moves on. And of course is regretful and sad when Matt dies.

We don't see much of Halle and Mello's interactions as they mostly take place offscreen/off-page but from what there is they seem very casual and comfortable with each other and Halle was very clearly emotionally affected by his death and speaks up for him in 104, believing he sacrificed himself intentionally. Basically, Mello's issues and anti-social behavior stemming from his inferiority complex is SPECIFICALLY centered on and triggered by Near. With everyone else he was able to work very effectively, and they hold him in high regard and can maintain good relationships with him.

7. He seems to have sympathy for Misa and is judgmental about the way Light weaponizes her trauma and idolization.

8. Although she's on his enemy's team, he felt enough pity for Takada provide her a blanket when he orders her to undress, which directly contributes to his own demise. I believe he knew (intended as part of his plan) that X-Kira would kill her to stop her from talking, so it was a small gesture that is practical in that it could make her more willing to quickly cooperate, but also give some small comfort during the short remaining time of her life.

None of this makes him not-evil or villainous, but I do think he's genuinely a more compassionate person than he's typically cast as. Certainly the least villainous of Death Note's wide cast of villains. As it's noted in the Japanese wording of Volume 13 he's "not pure evil" and he "has a pure heart and acts mean to get the attention of the person he likes" (scream). I don't think Ohba intended any of the Wammy's characters to be either pure good or irredeemably evil.

[bratbarzal]

Cheet-spo (cheeto inspo)

this blurb was literally unavoidable after these pics!!! we love cheet-spo!! my hc that they were a dog family is firmly dead and buried!! CHEETO MY PRECIOUS LITTLE ANGEL!!!!!

(no comments on those last two looking like T I know your game)

anyways enjoy this sweet little on your side lore drop, obvs set way after the actual fic lmao

"Why is there a live animal on the couch with our daughter?"

Nico probably should have been listening out a little better for Poppy to get home - especially considering the pretty big secret he's been keeping from her all day, responding to all everything good? texts with as many kitten-less photos as he could take, careful of any stray hairs that might have been visible on their daughter's clothes.

Maybe if he'd have been on top of it, he could have made it all look a little better - perfected the whole bed and litter box set up so that he looks like the kind of person who can actually be a responsible cat-dad instead of leaving all the new purchases in a heap by the couch, too distracted with all the playing him and Lina had done. Little soft mice and cat teasers strewn across the floor, discarded once Lina did her tell-tale tired crawl into his lap.

Or maybe he wouldn't have left his daughter half-unsupervised with the pet, but he can still keep an eye on everything where he stands in the kitchen, and she's historically gentle with all animals. Plus, all the kitten has done all day is play and explore, and it seemed pretty exhausted - 10 minutes for him to get the dishes done before Poppy got home was all he really needed to sweeten the deal, he thought.

But she's a little earlier than he anticipated.

Or maybe she's not, and he had just lost track of time as he so often does when him and his daughter have their rare full days together, just the two of them.

"Don't be mad," he holds his hands up, soapy residue dripping down past his wrists as he holds a plate in one and a sponge in the other. "Google said that a pet is a great way to teach babies how to share space with another living thing. It's meant to help them be more responsible."

"I swear we've talked before about Google, baby," Poppy huffs, "You don't think you could have talked to me first before you went and got a cat?"

"Well, it kind of ended up just happening." Nico winces, realising he probably should have called, or texted, or even just spoken to her about it at any point before bringing the little fur ball home.

"Right," she snickers, "You just happened upon that tiny Pinterest cat over there." Poppy hook her thumb back toward the perfect view of his little Lina Bug cuddling up to the creature, blinking sleepily as she watches TV with it in her lap.

"Well we were out walking today, and there was this adoption drive at the park, and what was I supposed to do, Poppy, tell her no?"

"Kinda." Poppy laughs, and Nico's thankful for the turn of her lips, because he really doesn't want her to be upset with him. It really had been a spur of the moment thing - if he'd have known the drive was at the park, he might have gone a different route.

Plus, Lina's walking so well now - toddling along at a safe distance where he doesn't always have to hold her hand but he still wants to - and she had found all the animals before he had any chance to stop her or do anything about it.

He thinks that he and Poppy are actually pretty lucky it was the cats that caught her eye - god help them if they had to have a puppy in the house.

"And you don't always come across kittens that cute at the shelter, you know, it was a no-waiting-around kind of situation." He defends himself, drying off his hands with a towel before he throws it to the side.

The cat really is adorable - picturesque like Poppy said; fluffy as hell, despite the fact the lady at the shelter called it a shorthair, and a gorgeous grey colour.

"Was it really?" Poppy's pretty eyes are narrowed his way, glinting under the dim light in the kitchen, the rest of her glowing in tandem, it seems.

"Yes. She's been asking me for a kitty for a while, now," he smiles softly, opening his arms for her to walk into, hands splayed out on her hips when she's close enough and tugging her the rest of the way until she bumps straight into him. "Like non-stop, and she's convincing, babe, you know that, one flash of those big brown eyes and I fold."

"I'm familiar with the technique." Poppy snarks, her hands swatting at his chest before she uses them to hold him back, trailing around the side of his neck and playing with the hair he's been meaning to get cut for a few weeks now. "You know she's calling you Kitty, right? She wasn't asking you for a cat."

"Me?" He frowns, "Why would she be calling me Kitty?"

"Monsters Inc, babe," Poppy raises a brow in amusement, her fingers coming down to slide gently along his bulky forearms, tickling delicately as she goes, pushing against the dark hairs that line them all the way from past his elbows to just past his wrists. "You're big and fuzzy like Sully, and she's tiny and adorable like Boo."

"Oh," Nico pouts, thick brows slanting in the middle as he peers over into the living room, where their daughter is cuddling with the little ball of fur in her lap, calm and quiet as Bluey plays on the television. She wears her hair in little pigtails that he is sure were much neater when he did them earlier in the day - he's getting better at piggies or bunnies, he swears - and he can see it, now, with the context. She'd been asking him for piggybacks, more, too. She'd even thrown a sock at him when he changed her earlier and darted off in a clumsy run, a combination of screams and giggles ricocheting off the walls. "Was that her logic or yours?"

"Is there even a difference?" Poppy scoffs, turning in his hold as she watches the scene, too, her head resting back against his chest.

"Probably not," he chuckles, his arm extending around her frame so that he can hold her there, and the two of them stay in that position for a minute or two, a blissful, serene silence filling the air around them. "Can you try make this next one a little more like me?" he asks, lips pressing to her temple and his hands coming to rest on Poppy's stomach, fingers flexing around the swell of her bump and a reminiscent smile tugging at his lips at the feeling.

"I don't know, I think she's a lot more like you than you realise." Poppy's sigh is a little dreamy, probably in the same headspace as him, he thinks, her body lax and melty in front of him until it all of a sudden isn't. "Watch this."

Poppy peels herself from his body and heads straight for Lina, smiling soft as she kneels beside her, reaching out to stroke along the cat's back whenever their daughter leaves her space to do so.

"Hey Lina-Bug," he hears, Poppy's tone soft and melodic, specific to his little girl's ears. "What do you think you're gonna call your new kitty, huh?"

"I fink," their baby girl's voice is sweet too, dragging out the word as she takes a moment to ponder her answer, Poppy's eyes darting knowingly upward to meet his at the sound of the subtle mis-pronunciation. "Möckli."

Nico can't help the snort that comes out at the name, fist coming to his face in an attempt to conceal his amusement as he watches Poppy's face slowly turn in recognition.

It's what he'd called the kitten when he had belted the carrier in the back of the car beside Lina after they left the shelter, earlier. She'd picked the fattest one in the litter, it's face all rounded and the abundance of fur doing little to lessen it's plump-ness.

He keeps forgetting what Poppy tries to remind him - that tiny ears pick up everything.

But at least he'd only called it little chunk, and not something rude or inappropriate.

"That's very cute, baby," Poppy coos, tickling at the kitten's chin and smiling herself when it starts to purr back. She does the same to Lina's chin, which doubles when she giggles a little in response. "Five more minutes then I'm gonna take you to bed, okay? I'll let you put your kitty to bed, first."

"Okay, mama." Lina hums back sleepily, neck craning to look past her mommy to watch the TV again, absentmindedly running her own chunky little hand along Möckli's back.

"You're right," Poppy scoffs as she returns to his side, "Not like you at all."

"I don't know what you could possibly mean," he opens his arms for her to slot back into them before he wraps them back around her - her back to his front, his chin resting on the crown of her head, and her hands coming up to stroke at his arms again. "Möckli is cute."

"Don't get attached, she'll have a new name by the morning."

"Tell that to baby Lulu in your belly," he chuckles, deep and hearty as his hands travel back, "She hasn't changed her mind on that one, yet."

"I'm not naming our baby after Luke." She huffs, body melting straight back into his again. "I don't care that Lina and Lulu sounds like some sort of cartoon dream team."

"It's not me that you have to convince, babe." Nico shrugs, "I don't make the rules around here, anymore."

[gamesetattach]

Been churning out some self-indulgent Jannik Sinner reader-insert fics, there's such a lack of content on here that I figured I might as well post them.

Some of them less are less flushed out than others, and the premises can overlap sometimes... and it's different from my full effort writing style... but hey, I hope someone can enjoy them.

Gonna use this post as a masterlist eventually.

JANNIK SINNER FIC MASTERLIST

Comfort Zones and Conveniences, Part 1 - A one-night stand turned into a unavoidable fixture

Comfort Zones and Conveniences, Part 2 - An unproductive resistance to progressing the relationship

In Flight - An airport is the perfect place for chance encounters and first impressions

Amidst the Chaos - Coordinating the logistics of tennis tournaments is not for the weak, but run-ins with sweet Sinner are starting to make it more worth it

The Blind Leading the Blind - Reader goes on a set up double date against her better judgment and it's goes just about how she expected (very poorly), but there may have been one saving grace...

Coach Me Good, Sinner - Quick-witted reader has a ball at a tennis bootcamp led by none other than Jannik Sinner. And he finds her to be a pretty good time, too.

When World's Collide Series Masterlist - Williams newest racing strategist is shaking up the F1 world, and also... Jannik Sinner's?

Coach's (Honorary) Kid - Blurb of reader being introduced to Jannik through her longtime family friend and his coach, Darren Cahill

The Little Things - Short and sweet, a snapshot of Jannik's small gestures in his and reader's established relationship

It's You - Soulmate AU where all the things reader feels, Jannik does too, and vice versa. And that's because (spoiler) they're soulmates! And they meet!

Crushing Feelings, Part 1 - Reader tries to handle her growing, unrequited crush on Jannik Sinner; any distraction is welcome, no distraction is working...

Valentine's Special - Navigating long distance is lame, and also hard and sad. And apparently Valentine's Day is also lame, but that's secondary.

The Space Between Us - Jannik cold shoulders reader? Fine, be that way... but why is he that way, you ask? Well, little do you know...

You Always Know - Passing time through Sinner's ban isn't easy, but having reliable reader around helps. What they are to each other isn't quite describable, but it's real.

That One Night - Being a part of Lewis Hamilton's team means reader gets to meet a lot of athlete hot-shots, including the Jannik Sinner. They hit it off and get it on for a night, and that's kinda it... or is it??

Pleasant Distraction - Quick blurb where Jannik's run of the mill practice gets a surprise interruption by reader and her work and, suddenly, she's the most interesting thing on court.

What Do You See - Slightly withdrawn reader is tasked to photograph Sinner for Nike's newest campaign, she takes a beat to warm up and is... intriguing to say the least. Jannik certainly thinks so.

Unwinding, Unravelling (Release) - Life can be stressful!! The reader here can attest to that. Luckily her neighbor takes her in and... uh you know... takes care of her.

Night Owl - Boo, insomnia! Burning the midnight oil can be addicting, but it adds up real fast. Jannik quickly becomes reader's incentive to get some sleep.

Through Wins and Losses - A condition of being a pro-tennis power couple is supporting each other unconditionally, duh.

Crushing Feelings, Part 2 - Okay, so now that year-long unrequited crush has resolved itself... and the recovery so so sweet.

Lost in Translation - Working a job and being the only non-Italian surrounded by native speakers? Yeah, that comes with some close calls and consequences.

It's Never Just Coffee - Based on Chappell Roan's song, this fic follows the vicious cycle that is reader and Jannik's relationship. They just can't seem to escape it.

An Old Friend - Jannik's got his own busy life, and reader really does too, but they're good friends and get together when they can. And there's always been a little spark there, if they're being honest with themselves... To bad reader's never around long enough to explore it. +Can be read as standalone or a prequel to You Always Know

Rest and Relaxation - After making it the finals of a tournament, reader's body is wrecked with exhaustion. She spends her few days of reprise in between travel recovering at home with Jannik.

A Little Taste Before - Jannik has an idea to occupy the little idle time he has with reader before one of his matches... and he wants to act on it bad. Reader tries, and fails, to be the voice of reason.

Reps and Races - Preparing for the upcoming F1 Academy season means putting in the hours at the gym, and so reader is up in there. A new member joining makes her feel a little more inclined to go, though.

On the Record - A master of working the crowd and connecting with the players, sports commentator reader is often seen on screen for post-game interviews. The people eat it up, especially when it's Jannik up there with her.

No Words - Reader does the thankless work that is Sports PR. Jannik humors her, but with a lot of insistence, and it's not much more than that. Until he really sees her in all her glory...

Frustration - After taking a loss especially hard, reader takes out on her willing and understanding friend. Note that friend here actually means friends with benefits...

Thesis on Tour - Ph.D. student reader takes her work on the road every now and then, so she can spend time with her dear dear boyfriend.

*Updated 3/21/25

4-5 fics out every week, posted at 9:00 PM PST

Thanks very much xx