#anchor man 2

[bienmoreau]

I think why people want the Trojans to get a red card, specifically defending Jean against the ravens, is because it shows the Trojans breaking their moral code to defend Jean, which could be significant, and I think it would introduce an interesting dilemma of how far they are willing to go to protect him from the raven’s toxicity. Idrk tho

I guess I can see that.. maybe.

For me it feels like it undermines something fundamental about who they are (especially who Jeremy is; from what we have so far, how seriously he takes being a role model/showing up as his bast self in public) and how they are presenting Jean with a new world view and reality of how it's possible to be, and how to protect, support and care for others. The idea that the others don't resort to violence to protect each other and still smash the opposition is important. That they don't display violence as a solution means that it is never presented as a possibility that it will one day be used against Jean.

Yes sure the situation of protecting him would be specific (and if it was something like Andrew saving Neil in TKM then even more so). But once they have shown they can and will resort to violence as a reaction that means he is no longer safe with them in the way he was up until that moment.

It also basically nullifies the promise he has made to them by signing the contract and committing to learning to play their way! And the tacit promise Jeremy has made to him to get them to championships by playing their way with him as part of the team!

But that's just my thoughts and maybe my mind will be changed on this (v unlikely ngl). But If that's what Nora decides to have happen in some way I'm sure she'll be able to write it in a way that carries us to that situation meaningfully and believably. It just isn't something I feel is needed at all for this story I guess ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[teamfortresstwo]

“Peter Lukas gets sent back to the regency era” “Jonathan Sims gets sent back to the regency era” valid points valid points but i raise you

Tim Stoker gets sent back to the regency era

[megaeratheefury]

wip wednesday ✍🏽✨

tagged by @ava-du-mortain / @swoleas 💞

last week i was writing a scene for a pit of snakes ch. 2 that only an eldest daughter with complicated maternal relationships could write 🤪

if you've been following me for a while you'll know that i take major issue with the loveless way tr*ck w*ek*s wrote the (asian) immigrant mother/immigrant child relationship between shathann and taash. a big reason why i'm writing a pit of snakes (besides my love for davmeria) is because i wanted to present some NUANCE to that sort of relationship. that inextricable love/hate; the balance between both the need and dismissal of each other's approval and care; where "i raised you to be strong, i've failed if you're weak" meets "don't direct that strength at me;" the infinitely reflective mirror of "this is who you could've been" and "this is all you can be"

tagging: @master-of-the-elements @outerspacekake @grapecaseschoices @pinayelf @mixupmycota 🩵

(also if you want me to start tagging you in wip wednesdays lmk!! i usually just go back through my activity to find the most recent mutuals in my notifs but i love it when people are like 'omg you got me to create')

[widowshill]

[affogato-analysis]

no because fr if your answer to "systemic oppression made me disabled and dying since early childhood, me and others" is "There's beauty in imperfections" love i think you dramatically missed the point.

Jayce's speech to Viktor was bad.

IMO

So, the final speech Jayce gave to Viktor about finding beauty in imperfection, and how our flaws make us human, that’s a fine sentiment but the specific examples he used ruined it. He used Viktors disease as an example.

Viktor was dying from a disease caused by Piltover mining in the fissures polluting the air. It was a preventable disease forced onto him by a corrupt system. He was slowly and painfully falling apart. “I can feel myself rotting” type stuff. Was he supposed to have appreciated that?

Jayce wants him to have appreciated the simple beauty of dying a slow painful death while your best friend is too busy being a councilman to be with you and your mentor is roadblocking your only possible cure. That was the imperfection that he was misguided to want to solve? The show is really saying Viktor was misguided, or not appreciative enough of being human, to not want to die young. He was giving up his humanity when he fought to live.

Viktor should not have just accepted it, that isn’t just part of being human. It isn’t a beautiful flaw you learn to love. He did nothing wrong by taking his life into his own hands and taking every possible chance to live. Even when no one believed in him.

I’m sure there are more charitable interpretations but that line really rubbed me the wrong way.

[toji-bunny-girl]

Big strong man Toji thinks he can’t do it after 2 months of fucking you. Every. Single. Day. You must be some undercover assassin trying to kill him by milking his cum and soul with your insatiable horniness and god-tier pussy.

Either way, he’s sure he’s going to die by your hands sooner or later. So, he’s decided to cut ties with you—saving the label ‘guilty of homicide’ off your record…just after this last fuck. It’s tragic, really. He’s finally found a pretty girl who can handle him, but he can’t handle her.

As sad as it sounds, he just had to do it.

The air is so hot that he could almost hear the sizzling of the molecules against his sweat-glazed skin from the back of his head. The sharp pain from how deep your nails sank into his flesh was the lone anchor that held him conscious. Everything was a blur and the only thing he could focus on was the aching tingle in his cockhead as his hips bucked from his nearing 5th orgasm.

Toji could somewhat feel your weight on and off his numb thighs, and your soft tongue came to lick the drool that leaked from the edge of his scared lips. God, you’re actually driving him crazy. “Baby, m’gonna die. Yer’ pussy milkin’ me to death.”

“Haa—mmn! T-This dick mine,” you whimpered out through your pants, slamming your ass down his flexed thighs and garnering two loud groans from the both of you. Fuck. That was hot. Your head lowered to suck and teeth at an unmarked spot on his neck, the way your tongue slowly slither up to his ears making his teeth sink into his lip to suppress another moan.

“Baby t-there’s nothing more—” it was clear you didn’t care to process his words when you sank deeper down his length, each thrust earning a loud sloppy squelch from your tightening pussy.

“Wanna feel good. W-want more, Toji!”

“Aah—shit!” He’s going to crash out if your tight little cunt stays sloppy and tight around him. The threat of another orgasm making his nerves go crazy and his cock goes painful from all the tingles. Toji doesn’t know what would happen to him if he were to cum in your warm cunny again—it’s going to drive him feral in the least.

“Cum w’me, Toji,” you were edging him nearer and nearer to the pit of engulfing pleasure, your sweet words and pretty voice ringing in his mind and god, he swore he could feel his good ol’ brain melting into slimy puddles. “F-Feel good with me, please—mmhp!”

“I’ll give you everything—haa. M’all yours, baby,” his tongue lolls out of his sloppy mouth and your pink muscles met in a messy wet dance. Everything is sticky and wet and hazy but it’s the closest thing to heaven Toji would ever reach. Hell is the place after death for him, and he’d come into terms that your addictive little nympho cunny is his lovely paradise on Earth <3

[luv-lock]

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤALIEN GIRLㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Yandere Mark Grayson x Fem Qu Reader Part 2

☆⁠ HEADCANON : Mark Knows You Were Weird. Cute But Still Weird. That's One Of The Reasons That He Loves You... The Thing Is That He's Your Mate And Mates Make "Babies"

☆⁠ WARNING : +18 smut, minors DNI, breeding kink? pregnancy.

☆⁠ NOTES : Qu is an alien species from the book All Tomorrows. You can learn more about her here. English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

Mark knew, on some level, that you weren’t normal.

But that never stopped him from loving you.

You were his, and that was all that mattered.

And well… it wasn’t like he was thinking much at all when you were looking at him with those wide, dazed eyes, lips slightly parted in confusion as he pressed soft, open-mouthed kisses down your stomach.

Not when he was between your legs, pressing your plush thighs apart, eyes locked on the glistening heat between them. You were already wet, slick coating your folds, and fuck—his mouth watered just looking at you.

Mark licked his lips. "You're so pretty, baby."

You blinked at him, tilting your head. "Mate…?"

His heart ached at how confused you looked. God, you really didn’t know anything, did you? His perfect, innocent pretty girl. All you understood was that he was yours and you were his, but everything else—well, he had to teach you.

That made his cock throb.

"I'm gonna make you feel good," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh.

Your brows furrowed. "But…?" You fidgeted, clearly unsure. "That… not for… making baby?"

Mark groaned. His hands squeezed your soft thighs, thumbs rubbing circles into your skin. You were so fucking cute. So perfect.

"I just wanna taste you," he said, voice hoarse. "Trust me, baby. You'll like it."

You made a small noise, still confused but trusting, and that was all he needed.

Mark licked a slow, teasing stripe over your folds, groaning at the taste of you. He felt you jolt, thighs twitching, a startled gasp leaving your lips.

"Mark!" Your fingers tangled in his hair, confused and overwhelmed.

Fuck. He needed to hear that again.

He latched onto your clit, sucking gently, and you whined, your whole body trembling. You were so sensitive. Every tiny movement of his tongue made you react, hips jerking, hands gripping him like he was your only anchor.

"You like that?" he murmured, lips brushing against you.

Your breath hitched. "Feel… strange…"

He chuckled, kissing your inner thigh. "Good strange?"

You hesitated, chest rising and falling rapidly. Then, shyly, you nodded.

That was all he needed.

Mark ate you out like a man starved. He licked, sucked, and kissed every inch of your dripping cunt, groaning every time you gasped or moaned his name. He wanted you like this forever—helpless, needy, completely at his mercy.

When he slid a finger inside you, your walls clenched so tight he nearly lost his mind.

"Fuck," he rasped. "You're so tight, baby. Gonna let me fuck you, yeah?"

You whimpered, clutching at his shoulders. "M-Mark…!"

He kissed you, swallowing your moans as he lined himself up. Your body clung to him, soft and warm, and when he finally pushed in—fuck—he nearly lost it.

You gasped, wrapping your legs around him, nails digging into his back. He could feel your walls fluttering around him, trying to pull him deeper, like your body knew he belonged there.

"Mine," he groaned, rocking his hips. "You're mine. Say it."

You whimpered, overwhelmed. "Y-Yours…! Mate…!"

"Good girl."

He started moving, slow at first, then rougher, deeper. He couldn’t help it. You felt too good. You were perfect—made for him, just like he’d always known.

And when he felt you tightening around him, trembling, gasping his name—he lost it.

He filled you up, holding you close, breathless and shaking.

You shivered, eyes blown wide as you felt it. Felt him spill inside you.

You liked that.

You really, really liked that.

Mark had no idea you were pregnant. Because you? You looked the same. No weird cravings. No morning sickness. Nothing. The only thing that changed was that you got even clingier. Mark would be sitting on the couch, and you’d crawl onto his lap. He’d be eating, and you’d steal his food. He’d be talking, and you’d lick his face to get his attention. "Babe—" "Warm." "Yeah, I know, but—Jesus Christ, stop biting my neck!" You were all over him. Touching him. Holding him. Curling up against him like he was your personal teddy bear. Mark, the horny dumbass that he was, did not question it. He just assumed you really, really liked sex.

Mark was completely, utterly, hopelessly in love with you. Which was really bad, because you weren’t human. You weren’t even close to human. And now? You were curled up against him, his. And Mark was happy. At least, until Nolan showed up. Nolan had just returned, stepping through the door, and then he saw you.

Mark should have known something was wrong the moment Nolan froze.

His father had seen a lot. Done a lot. But when he saw you his expression twisted.

"...Mark." His voice was tight. "Who is this?" Mark blinked. "Oh—uh, this is my girlfriend."

Nolan didn’t react. He just stared. At first, he didn’t know why, but something felt wrong. Something felt off. You were sitting on the floor in all fours, chewing on a fucking slipper. Like a feral animal. Mark sighed. "Baby, what did I say about chewing things?" You blinked up at him, slipper hanging from your mouth. "…No?" He groaned, rubbing his temples. Meanwhile, Nolan was staring at you. That was not a normal person.

Because something about you—about the way you moved, the way your eyes shined just a little too brightly—felt off. Unnatural. Dangerous. Mark didn’t notice. He just kept talking, completely oblivious. "She’s kinda weird, but she’s sweet, y’know? She doesn’t really get human stuff, but she’s learning. Right, babe?" You looked up, smiling, before biting his finger. Mark sighed. "Yeah, she does that." He didn’t say anything at first. Just watched. Observed. And then, later that night, he did some digging. And when he finally found what you were? He froze. Because you weren’t just some alien girl. You were a Qu. A Queen. The stories—the horrors—he read about your species made his blood run cold. Qu were monsters. Galactic horrors. They didn't care about power, they didn't care about respect or fear. They did not form relationships. They did not love. They consumed.

A species so terrifying that the universe pretended they were extinct. A species that rewrote DNA like a child scribbling over a book. A species where the queen ate its own males.

The next time he saw you, Nolan barely concealed his unease. Mark had left the room for a moment, and he turned to you, his voice low. "You can stop pretending now." You blinked. And then—your entire posture shifted. You sat up straight, spine elegant, hands resting in your lap. Your eyes—normally soft and stupid—were cold. Expressionless. Your lips curled into something that wasn’t a smile. "Oh?" You hummed. "Figured it out, did you?" Nolan didn’t react. "I know what you are." You chuckled. Soft. Delicate. But it did not reach your eyes. "And what will you do, Nolan Grayson?" You tilted your head. "Kill me?" He said nothing. You leaned in, voice gentle. "Try it." And then—your voice turned sweet. "I will rip the flesh from your bones. I will wear you as a coat and sit on a throne made of your ribs. I will fill your lungs with your own bile and make a feast of your insides. You will watch, helpless, as I unravel every nerve in your body, plucking each one like the strings of a violin." You smiled. Soft. Sweet. "And when I’m done? I will hand your skull to your son as a gift." Nolan stiffened. A chill ran down his spine. Because he knew—he knew—you weren’t lying. You meant every word. And when Mark returned, grinning at you like a dumbass, you immediately returned to your adorable, brainless self. "Mark!" You climbed onto his back, nuzzling into his neck. "Miss." He laughed, holding you. "I was gone for two minutes." You pouted. "Long. No like." Nolan could only watch. And the worst part? Mark had no idea what you really were.

He didn’t notice you were pregnant. You never told him. You didn’t get sick. You didn’t act any different. You still followed him around, still sat in his lap, still licked his face when you were happy. But then, one day, as you were lying on the couch, Mark paused. "...Are you getting fat?" Your head snapped toward him, eyes wide. Mark immediately realized his mistake. "WAIT—WAIT—WAIT—DON’T GET MAD—" But you just blinked. Looked down at yourself. Then poked at your stomach with curiosity. "...Fat?" Mark swallowed. Oh, shit. You were never concerned about your body before. Hell, you barely even cared about clothes. But now? Now, you were poking your stomach like it was an alien parasite. Mark gulped. "Uh… yeah, just a little?" You tilted your head. Thought for a long moment. Then shrugged. "Good." Mark blinked. "Wait… that’s it?" You hummed. "No care. Body… change." "...What does that mean?" You just smiled. Mark didn't like that smile.

— MASTERLIST ☆

— NEXT ☆ Part 1. Part 3. Part 4.

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, use or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

[itwasntimethatdidit40]

Not the real deal.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader Rating: +18, NSFW, MDNI Summary: Joel convinces you that there’s nothing wrong with a bit of grinding. Words count: 382, all dirty. Tags/Warnings: POV second person, cheating, implied but unspecified age gap, grinding, dry humping, I am not adding any more tags so as not to spoil a detail so you choose whether to read or not. A/N: no proofreading, English is not my first language and I'm sorry for any mistake. Look, I'm ovulating and I'm FERAL, this is why I wrote this. LOL

Thanks to anyone who will read this, I really hope you’ll like it!

Part 2

You're straddling Joel with your panties on.

Grinding your pussy along his length flat on his tummy.

Whining, rocking your hips back and forth, your panties drenched in his and your essence.

Your hands cup your tits, your fingers pinch your nipples.

He’s hard against your core, hot, his velvety skin slides easily on the fabric, your clit more puffy and swollen with each stroke.

Warm waves make your body vibrate, rising from your tummy to your chest, setting your face on fire.

Again and again.

You can't stop, it's a vertigo that blinds your mind, it doesn't let you think about anything else.

“Just like that, baby, go on, take what you need” he groans

His big, calloused hands rest on the curve of your soft thighs, grasping and squeezing, pulling you down on his groin, his gaze moving from your half-open lips moaning his name and your tits bouncing before his eyes.

You want more.

You need more.

You move your panties to one side, you can't be bothered to take them off.

Your pussy aches and cries and screams for him.

His cock is cocooned in your folds, stiff and leaking precum, the veins of his shaft pulsing against your center.

You anchor yourself to his legs to bend your back slightly and find an angle that stimulates your clit even more.

He snarls like a feral animal.

Your hips continue their lewd dance, your juices mixing, merging, dripping onto his balls and your thighs. The tight, thin skin on his uncut cock retracts and covers his engorged, angry tip in rhythm with your thrusts.

Your muffled moans bounce off the walls as he urges you on with a broken, hoarse voice that seems to come from deep within him.

You come, throwing your head back, eyes shut.

His name dies on your lips, strangled by your wails.

“It's nothing,” he had told you, ”it's not the real deal unless I put it in you.”

You let yourself be convinced by his words, naive and willing.

You undressed for him. “You can leave your panties on baby, it's okay.”

You got on the bed with him. The bed you share with another person.

It may not be real sex, but this is a real orgasm. Wet, desperate, annihilating.

Your husband will be home any minute now. Yeah, your husband. The son of the man who is still between your thighs.

Tag list: @aurorawritestoescape @milla-frenchy @baronessvonglitter @joelmillerisapunk @thundermartini @probablyreadinsmut @almostempty @harriedandharassed

Archive tag: @pedrostories

If you want to be added or removed just let me know and I’ll do it right away.

[wafflefries13]

Asking Out the Twisted Wonderland Cast (Multi TWST cast X Reader)

Summary: Sometimes, you can't just wait for good things to happen to you. Time to screw your courage to the sticking place and finally ask out that boy you like!

AN: I meant for these each to be like 200 word drabbles. Some of them kind of got away from me, lol.

Cross-posted on my AO3 TheGhostInTheKitchen

Warnings: Fluff, AFAB reader with she/her pronouns.

Part 2: First Dates

The sounds of the NRC cafeteria clattered around the group of first years. Utensils scraping on plates, sizzling from the open window to the kitchen, a hundred different conversations from all sides. Their small group sat clustered around their table, nestled close together to be heard over the general din. 

“I’m just saying,” Ace said, mouth half full. 

“You’re always ‘just saying’,” Deuce said. 

Ace shoved him. “I’m just saying, if you want to try out for the anchor position on the track team you have to actually ask for it. Get Coach Vargas and don’t stop bugging him until he sees what you can do! No one’s going to just wait for it to happen.” 

“And I’m saying it doesn't do any good to be a nuisance when I don’t even know if I’m good enough yet. I might as well wait till tryouts next semester.” 

“No, no, he’s right,” (Y/N) said, distantly. 

“Yeah!” Ace said. “Wait, right about what?” 

“You can’t just wait for stuff to happen to you. If you really want something you have to go and take it for yourself.” She stood abruptly, face determined. “I need to ask something.” 

Ace:

“Ace!” 

Ace jumped, brushing off crumbs from his jacket. “What? What did I do now?” 

“Do you want to go out with me?” 

Epel choked, Jack thumping him on the back. Deuce looked like she had just insulted his mother. Sebek rolled his eyes as he took another bite. Ortho gasped, leaning forward, eyes wide and excited. 

“I-What?” Ace stuttered, his face rapidly turning red. “Where the heck did that come from?” 

“You were just saying you shouldn’t wait for something you want. I like you, I have for a while now. So, do you want to go out?” 

Ace stuttered out a reply, slapping on his normal cocky smile but decidedly not meeting (Y/N)’s eyes. “I mean, yeah, of course you fell for me! It’s about time you said something. But, um, yeah, I’d like that. A lot.” 

“Well,” Deuce said, rolling his eyes. “It’s about time one of you said something.” 

“Hey!” Ace shouted. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

(Y/N) playfully shoved him. “Oh, please, don’t act like I haven’t noticed that you like me too. You’re not subtle about it.” 

“What made you think that?” 

“Ace, within the first week of me being here you asked to sleep in the same bed as me twice.” 

From another table, definitely not eavesdropping, Riddle fainted. 

Deuce:

“Deuce!” Deuce jumped at (Y/N) suddenly shouting his name. “I need your help with something. Can you come with me for a second?” 

“Oh, yeah, sure, of course.” Deuce ignored Ace’s pointed look. Deuce followed (Y/N) out of the cafeteria down the halls. “Where are we going?” 

(Y/N) suddenly turned around, Deuce almost colliding with her. Before he could apologize, she took his hands, looking up into his eyes as he felt blood rush to his cheeks. 

“I just wanted somewhere more private,” She said. “Deuce, I really like you. Will you go out with me?” 

“I-huh?! I mean, yeah, yes! I like you, too!” He rubbed the back of his head and looked away shyly. “Man, I wanted to ask you out first.” 

(Y/N) grinned. “Really? How were you going to do it?” 

“Well, my mom said that when my dad first asked her out he got her this big bouquet of flowers. But he ended up being allergic to them so he kept sneezing the whole time. She took him to the infirmary at their school and he had to write it down since his face was too swollen to talk.” 

“Well, I wouldn’t say no to flowers. Maybe we can skip the rest of that, though.” 

Deuce marched over to the cut out window of the hallway, opening out onto the quad. Reaching over, he plucked a fluffy pink peony from one of the bushes. He came back to (Y/N), suddenly very flustered, and held it out to her. 

“(Y/N),” He began. 

She clasped her hands together. “Yes?” 

“Would you do me the honor of - Ah!” Deuce yelped as a bee flew out of the peony blossom, shooting for Deuce’s face to sting him. 

Turns out, they did spend time in the infirmary. But, after (Y/N) kissed his cheek and gently held the flower, Deuce didn’t seem to mind too much. 

Trey: 

“Ow!” 

Trey paused outside the Heartslabyul kitchen as he heard the exclamation from inside. He was planning on testing out a new bread recipe his parents had sent him and wasn’t expecting anyone else to be using the kitchen that day. He peaked in, seeing (Y/N), Grim, Ace, and Deuce crowded around the island in the middle. (Y/N) was blowing on a burn on her hand, Grim rifling through the pantry for various sweets, and Ace and Deuce waving away smoke from a burnt pastry freshly pulled from the oven. 

“I told you!” (Y/N) said. “You can’t just raise the temperature for it to cook faster, it’ll just burn!” 

“Well, sorry for trying to make your confession go faster before you chicken out,” Ace said. 

“I’m not going to chicken out! Probably. Maybe. What if the pie burning is an omen?” 

“I wouldn’t read too deeply into it,” Trey said, entering the kitchen. The first years jumped, (Y/N)’s eyes going wide and she stared at the floor. 

“Well!” Deuce said, grabbing Ace and Grim and hurrying them out the door. “Omen or not, that’s our cue to leave. Good luck, (Y/N)!” 

Silence echoed around the two of them as the door of the kitchen thunked closed. (Y/N) fiddled with her fingers, still not looking up. Trey walked around the island, looking at the smoldering pie. There was a mostly neat lattice across the bubbling fruit, with extra crust cut into letters around the rim. 

“‘Trey,’” He read. “‘Will you-’”

“Ah! No, wait!” (Y/N) jumped forward, covering it with her hands. She jumped back as her palm accidentally hit the hot pie tin, giving her another burn. 

“Oh, wait, hang on.” Trey quickly went over to the sink, grabbing a clean towel and soaking it in cold water. He gently took her hand, pressing it to the burn. (Y/N) chewed her lip. “You know, I’d be happy to help if you want to try again. I’ve been wanting to try this new butter pie crust that’s good with custards and-”

“I really like you!” (Y/N) blurted out, face going as hot as the burn on her hand. “Would you want to go out with me? Please?” 

Trey tightened his grip on her hand, careful to avoid the injury. He smiled, laughing. “I was wondering if I should say it first. I guess you beat me to it. Yes, (Y/N), I’d love to go out with you.”  

Cater: 

Cater was relaxing in the Heartslabyul gardens, a can of red paint discarded beside him. He hummed something the pop music club had been working on as he scrolled through Magicam. He took a quick selfie, winking, tongue out with a peace sign, before refreshing his feed. 

He paused when he saw (Y/N) come across his dash. She was smiling brightly, one arm arched above her head and the other held down at an angle to create half a heart. The word ‘Will’ was written in bubbly cartoon letters in the middle. A few posts later, there was a second photo, an almost perfect mirror of the first to complete the heart. The word ‘You’ was written in the middle of this one. 

Cater almost felt like he was solving a puzzle as he searched the rest of his feed for more posts. Each had (Y/N) in a dramatic pose, adding another word to complete the sentence, ‘Go,’ ‘Out,’ ‘With’, ‘Me.’ When he realized it was a request to ask someone out, he couldn’t help but feel a little deflated. He shook his head. Of course (Y/N) would be crushing on someone. With all the adventures she had gone on during their time at NRC, it would make sense to develop strong feelings. He tried to quiet the voice in his head that hoped those strong feelings would go his way. Well, whatever, that just meant he had to keep a close eye on whoever had earned her affections, maybe give them a good threatening to treat her right while he was at it. 

Cater tapped on her name, taking him to her Magicam profile. It felt like just the other day when he was helping her set it up. He sighed at the happy memory. For a second, it occurred to him that the message (Y/N) had been spelling out in pictures didn’t end with a question mark. He thought it was weird. Was it a mistake? Then his eye caught on the latest picture, posted just a second before. 

It was a selfie of (Y/N) holding a large bouquet of yellow and orange flowers, marigolds, daisies, and buttercups. The majority of the frame was over her shoulder, showing Cater himself sitting against the hedges. His name was drawn in the same cartoon font with a question mark, surrounded by a heart.  

Cater snapped up, whirling around. He quickly whipped away the happy tears budding at the corner of his eyes as he saw (Y/N) waiting for him. The flowers were crushed between them as he scooped her up in a tight hug, both of them laughing. 

(They both carefully rearranged the flowers after to be presentable for the mandatory #TogetherForever couple photoshoot after.) 

Riddle: 

Riddle frowned at the commotion building from the Heartslabyul common room. He could make out the familiar rising sounds of Ace and Deuce’s voices. He began marching to the source of the racket, faltering a little when he heard (Y/N)’s voice joining in. Mentally scolding himself from eavesdropping  (it wasn’t eavesdropping, he was keeping tabs on his dorm mates, that’s it) he hovered near the cracked open door. 

“No, wait!” (Y/N) said. “We can’t use coral roses! I said pink!” 

Ace huffed. “What’s the difference?” 

(Y/N) tapped a small dark red book she was holding. “Coral roses symbolize desire, pink roses mean admiration and happiness. I’m not trying to scare him off before I can even ask him out!” 

Before he could even think about it, Riddle threw open the door, shouting, “Just what is going on here?” 

Everyone inside jumped. Riddle swept his eyes across the room, taking in the bundles and bundles of roses in multiple colors carefully poised on every surface. Ace and Deuce were meticulously balancing a bouquet in the chandelier, plucking out the offending coral colored roses. Cater was smirking in the corner, phone poised to capture everything. Trey chuckled behind his own large bouquet of yellow roses.. 

“Um,” She said, startled by his interruption. Taking a deep breath, she set the book down and picked up a bouquet of lavender roses, shoving them in Riddle’s direction. 

‘Lavender,’ He thought. ‘Love at first sight.’ 

“Riddle!” She said, probably a little too loudly. “I really like you! Would you go out with me?” 

The silence that followed was deafening. Cater tried to break the tension with a laugh. “Aww, (Y/N),” He said. “What happened to that whole speech you had?” 

“He surprised me!” She said. “Oh, wait, hang on, I still have it.” Without thinking, she shoved the bouquet in Riddle’s arms, searching her pockets to pull out a neatly folded piece of notebook paper. “Ahem. Riddle, I have struggled in vain and I can bear it no longer. These past few months have been a torment. I came to Heartslabuyl with the single objective to see you. I-” 

“Everyone out!” Riddle shouted. As the group scuttled to the door, he pointed at (Y/N). “Not you.” 

The door thudded behind them, Ace and Deuce giving a quick thumbs up and what was supposed to be a confident smile as they left. (Y/N) crinkled the paper in her hands. 

“It gets better,” She said meekly. “The speech. Although I guess in the movie it ends with a rejection too. I should have used the one from the end, or Shakespeare maybe. Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more - well, I guess you're not very temperate. Wait, let me try again.” 

“(Y/N),” He said. He held the lavender flowers tightly. “You know what this means?” 

“Oh, the flowers? Yeah, I, um, I’ve been studying.” She picked the book back up, shyly holding it up. Riddle could read the title now: The Queen of Hearts Guide to Courtship and Love. 

“You,” Riddle said, feeling his face heat up. He held up the flowers. “You mean it? Really?” 

(Y/N) took a step towards him, understanding softening the worry on her face. “Of course. I wanted to ask you out and I thought, well,” She waved at the multicolored roses, laughing. “Go big or go home, right?” 

“It certainly is a statement.” Riddle picked up a yellow rose with red tipping the petals and handed it to her. (Y/N) recognized the colors immediately as meaning ‘Falling in love.’ She gasped in happiness, jumping forward to wrap Riddle in a tight hug. 

Leona: 

“Ruggie!” Ruggie paused as he heard (Y/N) call his name. She jogged over to him where he held Leona’s typical boxed lunch order. “Hey, that’s for Leona, right? Do you mind if I bring it to him? There’s something important I have to talk to him about.” Ruggie considered it for a moment before shrugging and handing it over, but not before stealing a couple of chips to pop into his mouth as he strolled away. 

(Y/N) found Leona in his normal spot, a hidden alcove in the gardens in the biodome. He was laying on his back, arms crossed behind his head, and eyes closed as he dozed. He cracked his eye open as (Y/N) approached. 

“Hi,” She said, kneeling down beside him. 

“Hmm,” He replied. 

“I have something important to ask you.” 

“Are you going to try and make me get up?” “No.” 

“Alright, ask away.” 

“Will you go out with me?” 

Leona’s eyes snapped open. He pushed himself up on his elbows to stare at (Y/N), smiling sincerely at him, and maybe holding his lunch hostage until she got an answer. 

“I really like you,” She continued. “You’re brave and confident and know exactly who you are. Sure, you can be stubborn as hell, but you also really care about people close to you. Don’t make that face, you can’t fool me. You could have easily thrown me out when Grim and I needed someplace to stay when Azul took over Ramshackle, but you didn’t. You didn’t even kick us out when we were making so much noise and annoying you, you helped us break Azul’s contracts instead. You joined the Culinary Crucible because Epel did and you wanted to keep an eye on your team mate. Please, as if you ever need to learn how to cook, I know you can’t even use a microwave. And you pretend not to notice when Ruggie steals your credit card. And there was that time you followed all of us to Playful Land because you were worried we were going to get scammed. You didn’t have to do that, but you did. You’ve got a big heart of gold under that spiky exterior. And I really admire you for that. I… I really love you, Leona.” 

“Well,” Leona said, laying back down, tail flicking. “I suppose going on a date wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.” (Y/N) decided not to point out the content smile stretching across his face. She made a move to stand up, but Leona shot an arm out to hook around her waist, pulling her down next to him with an “Oof.” “Now don’t tell anyone else about all that,” Leona grumbled without any real heat. 

Ruggie: 

Ruggie was in Leona’s room, folding laundry while the house warden took a nap behind him. Ruggie stretched his arms above his head, sighing when there was a satisfying pop in his back. Suddenly, the door to the room slammed open. Ruggie yelped and Leona woke with an undignified snort. 

“Gah, what now?” Leona mumbled. 

“Ruggie!” (Y/N) said, standing in the doorway. She was panting as if she had just run across campus (she had). 

“Uh, what? Yeah? Whatever it was, I didn’t take it!” 

Unperturbed, (Y/N) marched over to him, taking both his hands in hers. “You did take something.” Ruggie frantically tried to remember if he had stolen anything from Ramshackle recently. He tried not to, knowing (Y/N) was pretty much as broke as he was. It didn’t seem fair. And maybe he liked her a little too much to swipe something. “You stole my heart!” (Y/N) continued dramatically. “Will you go out with me?” 

Behind them, Leona coughed to unconvincingly cover up a laugh. 

Ruggie’s ears flattened to his head in shock. He reached back and batted at his tail as if that would get it to stop wagging. “I - what? Are you sure? Me? What?” 

“Of course! You’re resourceful, you work hard, you’re clever, and you care a lot about your family back home. I really admire all that about you and more! Not to mention you’re super cute. So, will you go out with me?” 

“Oh, just say yes already, Ruggie,” Leona said, settling down to continue his nap. “At least then I won’t have to hear you being such a sap all the time.” 

Ruggie let out his signature laugh. He tightened his grip on (Y/N)’s hands. “Well, sure then, why not? As long as you’re paying, right?” 

Jack: 

Jack and Vil were out on their daily morning run. The sun was just beginning to rise over the horizon, casting the Night Raven College campus in a warm golden light. At their halfway point, they took a break, Vil stretching in his cooldown. 

“You sure you don’t want to keep going with me?” Jack asked. 

“No,” Vil said. “I’d rather stay slim than bulk up like you. I have my status to maintain. And besides, it looks like I would be interrupting something rather important.” He smiled knowingly and pointed with his chin a little ways down the sidewalk. 

Jack turned. He felt his tail start to wag on its own when he saw (Y/N) standing by one of the Great Seven statues, drawing circles in the ground with her foot. She looked up, breaking out in a warm smile when she saw him. Vil chuckled under his breath and waved as he headed back to Pomfiore. 

Jack clenched his jaw, willing his tail to stay still as he approached her. “Good morning. You’re not usually up this early, right? Is everything okay?” 

(Y/N) jutted her arms out completely straight, offering up the flowering Chin cactus in her hands. “Jack!” She said. “I really like you. I love how brave you are. I love how you’re dedicated to the people you care about. I love how you can be sweet and kind even when you try to act tough all the time. Would you go out with me?” 

“Yes!” Jack replied, almost before the words had even left (Y/N)’s mouth. He put his hands over hers, cradling the cactus. “I mean, yes, I would like to go out with you. Very much.” 

Azul: 

Azul jumped as (Y/N) slammed her hands on his desk in the VIP room of the Monstro Lounge. He quickly gathered his composer, pushing his glasses back up his nose. “Well, Prefect, to what do I owe the pleasure?” 

“I have a deal for you,” She said confidently. 

“Oh? I’d love to hear it.” 

Smiling, she whipped out a sheet of paper and slapped it on top of the other documents Azul had spread over his desk. On the top of the page in an elegant script were the words ‘Contract of First Date.’ Azul felt a lump form in his throat as his heart sped up. He quickly scanned over the rest of the ‘contract,’ outlining the proposed date. 

“Terms of the deal,” (Y/N) continued. “You, me, romantic night out. I know a guy in Craneport who said we could use one of their rowboats and I found this really cool pond with all these willow trees and fireflies. Plus I have this cute picnic basket all set up. Jamil has been teaching me how to cook, you know? Can’t say it’ll be as good as his, if we’re being honest about the terms of agreement. And the contract leaves an opening for future dates depending on the success of this one! Of course, success is not really a super definable term but you get what I mean. So, do we have a deal?” 

Azul covered his face with one hand, trying desperately to ignore how red his face must be at this point. He couldn’t seem to meet her enthusiastic and twinkling eyes. 

“I, uh,” (Y/N) continued, shyer this time as Azul scanned over the contract. “I really like you, Azul. A lot. So, will you go out with me?” 

He looked back down at the contract where her name was written in elegant script at the bottom with space for his next to it. He cleared his throat, bringing back his practiced (definitely not shady) businessman smile. With a sweep of his pen, he said, “It’s a deal.” 

Jade: 

(Y/N) marched across the cafeteria, determination in her eyes. She stopped in front of a table with Jade, Floyd, and Azul. “Hi!” She said, maybe a little too loudly with nerves. Jade and Azul looked up from their conversation, Floyd pausing his efforts in making a castle out of mashed potatoes. “Jade, I really like you. Do you want to go out with me?” 

“Oh?” Jade said, a brief moment of genuine surprise crossing his face before he schooled his features back into pleasant neutrality. “Well, what a pleasant surprise.” 

Floyd snorted and elbowed his brother. “Shrimpy’s got a crush,” He said in a sing-song voice. 

“I must admit,” Jade said, pouting with one hand on his cheek. “I always did imagine a more theatrical confession. Nonetheless, I happily acc-” 

“I can do that!” (Y/N) interrupted. Holding on to Floyd’s shoulder for balance, she climbed on top of the table. She clapped her hands loudly, shouting, “Attention! Attention, please, everyone! I have an announcement!” She cleared her throat as the room fell silent. “I would like to declare my unequivocal, utter devotion and love for Jade Leech.” She heard a choking sound below her but continued on. “I am hopelessly in love, helplessly enraptured, and absolutely head over heels. And it is my deepest hope that he could return my affections. Thank you.” With that, she hopped down, beaming. There was a smattering of applause and laughter from around the room. Epel whooped from back at the first year table. 

Jade’s hands covered his blushing face, fierce sharp eyes peeking out between his fingers. His mouth was split in a wide smile, sharp teeth glinting in a mixture of bashfulness, excitement, and desire. 

“Congratulations, (Y/N),” Azul said. “I can barely remember that last time Jade was actually flustered.” 

“Aww, look at him, he’s speechless!” Floyd teased. 

(Y/N) winced. “Sorry, was that too far?” 

Jade shot out with lightning speed, crushing her in his tight eel grip. “I should let you know,” He whispered to her. “I expect this level of dedication for the entirety of our relationship.” 

Floyd: 

Floyd darted through the stacks of the library. He could have sworn he saw Goldfish in here earlier, and he was in the mood to mess with the easily angered boy. And, while he didn’t find Riddle, he did pause as he saw (Y/N) between the books. He paused, pushing a few books aside to rest his chin on the shelf, an easy smile crossing his face as he spied on her. 

She was hunched over one of the study tables, a large book propped up and open in front of her. She was diligently working on something in her hands, tongue poking out between her lips (lips that Floyd found himself thinking about more often than he would admit), looking back up at the book in front of her every so often. 

Dropping down low, Floyd carefully made his way behind her, silent on his feet. Rising up to his full height behind her, unsuspecting, he jolted forward, wrapping her in a backward hug and pulling her back so the chair careened back on two legs. 

“Shrimpy!” He said, taking delight in her startled squeal. “Whatcha doin’?” 

“God, Floyd,” (Y/N) said, putting a hand to her chest to calm her raging heart. Her eyes suddenly went wide and she lunged forward to cover what she was working on with her arms. “Ah! Don’t look, don’t look! It’s not done!” 

Floyd grinned again. “Aww, it’s not nice to keep secrets.” His hands shot out, pulling out the thing she was hiding. (Y/N) covered her face as Floyd inspected the object. It was a thick piece of twine, various polished shells, sea glass, and dried shiny scales strung throughout. Although it wasn’t exactly neat, the way it caught the sunlight cast tiny rainbows and simmers around the library. Floyd peered at the open book. It was a cultural history of merpeople in the Coral Sea. The opened chapter described mer courting rituals and marriage traditions. Floyd started cackling as (Y/N) buried her face further in her hands.  

“How old is this thing?” Floyd asked, poking at the book. “I don’t even think my grandparents made courting charms.” 

“Shut up,” (Y/N) mumbled. “I was trying to… Forget it.” 

Floyd slipped the haphazard necklace over his neck, prying her hands away to hold them tightly in his. “I accept!” He said brightly. “This was for me, right? It better be, Shrimpy.” 

She smiled and flicked his forehead. “Possibly against my better judgment, I wouldn’t want to be with anyone else, Floyd.” 

Kalim: 

Kalim knew he should probably be studying, but every time he opened a text book or looked at the notes Jamil had oh-so-carefully marked and tabbed for him, he felt his eyes start to droop and mind get fuzzy. A good after lunch walk was just what he needed, and he definitely wasn’t just saying that to put off work. 

He stopped when he realized he had wandered outside Ramshackle dorm. Was that on purpose? Did he subconsciously come here, with the hope he might see (Y/N)? Kalim walked up to the front door, knocking before opening the door and calling inside. 

“Hello! It’s Kalim! Can I come in?” 

There was a squawk of surprise from the front sitting room. (Y/N) poked her head around the corner, flustered. 

“Hi. Sure, come on in. Uh, sorry, I’m kind of in the middle of something.” 

“Can I help?” Kalim asked, walking over to her. Peering into the sitting room, Kalim’s face lit up. Every available surface, and a few unavailable surfaces, were covered in colored and patterned paper. There were stacks and crowds of tiny paper birds littered between everything. 

“I don’t know if it counts if more people make them.” 

Kalim sat on one of the plush chairs, picking up a flowery piece of paper. “If what will count?” 

“It’s an old superstition from my world. If you can fold 1000 paper cranes, your wish will come true. Or something like that.” 

“Ooh, origami! I’ve made decorations using that before! I’m not super good at it, but I’ll help if you want.” 

(Y/N) smiled and sat next to him and Kalim felt his heart flip. “Yeah, I’d like the company.” 

They lost track of time folding cranes, the sun beginning to set high above the dilapidated house. They talked the whole time, jumping from topic to topic, joke to joke, without any real sense of flow. It was warm, there in the small room, not only due to the crackling fireplace. 

“So,” Kalim asked eventually. “What wish were you wanting to make? If this dosen’t work out, I can help you with it!” 

(Y/N) suddenly went bashful, turning away to pay extra attention to the folds of her bird. “I…” She muttered. She took a deep breath, turning to fully face Kalim. “I was going to ask you out. You have all these elaborate decorations and parties all the time. I was going to string all of these together and hang them in your room then ask you out. But, now that you’re here… Kalim, would you go out with me?” 

Kalim dropped the paper crane, flinging himself across the couch to wrap her in a tight hug. “Yes! Yes, yes yes! Oh, I would love to! Huh, I guess that means I need to cancel that order of doves now. That’s how I was going to ask you out next week. Hey, we both thought of birds! That must mean we definitely belong together, right?” 

Jamil: 

“Be right back,” (Y/N) said, standing from the first year cafeteria table. She walked across the cafeteria until she stopped in front of Kalim and Jamil. 

Jamil was shoving a napkin at Kalim. “Careful, you’re going to get sauce all over your shirt.” 

“It’s fine, I’ll be careful! And besides, it’s a pretty color, right? Oh, hey, (Y/N)!” 

“Hi,” She said, looking solely at Jamil. “Jamil, I really like you. Would you want to go out with me?” 

Kalim gasped, hands to his cheeks as he looked excitedly from Jamil to (Y/N). Jamil sucked in a sharp breath, clenching his hands. “I…” He started. “I’m sorry, (Y/N). I can’t.” 

“Oh.” Jamil looked down, but not before he caught the hurt confusion on (Y/N) face. “That’s okay. Thanks for hearing me out. Bye, guys.” She walked back to her table. 

Jamil only looked up again when Kalim slapped his arm. “Jamil! That was your chance!” 

Jamil scowled. “There is no chance. I said no, she accepted it. Drop it.” 

“But you told me you liked her!” 

“I said no such thing.” 

Kalim waved his hand dismissively. “I read between the lines.” 

“There were no lines!” 

“Jamil.” He looked up at Kalim. It wasn’t often the other boy used such a serious voice, or had such a set expression on his face. “You can’t keep doing this. You can’t keep yourself from being happy because you feel like you don’t deserve it.” 

Jamil flinched back, standing suddenly. A million retorts zipped through this mind at once, all of them falling flat and dying on his tongue. Before he could say something he would regret, heart thundering in his ears, he fled the cafeteria, ignoring the stabbing looks from the first year table as (Y/N)’s friends gave her sympathetic pats on the back. 

Jamil couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned in his bed, listening to the soft, even breathing of his roommate. Huffing in annoyance, he threw off the covers and left his room. He thought he would just take a walk, just get some fresh air. Without paying attention, Jamil’s feet took him out of Scarabia, across campus, and, before he knew it, in front of Ramshackle dorm. His fist hovered in front of the door, internally debating whether or not he should knock. He startled when he heard talking behind him, spotting (Y/N) and Malleus making their way up the pathway. 

(Y/N) stopped when she saw him. “Oh. Hi, Jamil.” 

“Hi,” Jamil said, limply lifting a hand in greeting. 

Malleus looked down at Jamil, glaring. “Viper.” It sounded more like an insult than his name. 

“Did you need something?” (Y/N) asked. “It’s kind of late. Is everything okay?” 

“I-” Jamil started. “I need to talk to you.” 

Malleus stepped in front of (Y/N), but stopped when (Y/N) put a hand on his arm. They had a quick and quiet conversation, Malleus nodded and walked away. (Y/N) came up to the front door, opening it for him. 

“I’ll make some tea,” She said as they stepped into the entryway. 

“Wait-” Jamil said, catching her hand. Everything tumbled out of him all at once. “I wanted to go out with you. I like you, so much so that it scares me sometimes. That’s why I said no earlier. I just think - I thought you would - should - do better than me, after everything that’s happened. But I -” He paused, only realizing now how out of breath he was. (Y/N) looked up at him and he felt breathless all over again. “I want to do better. I want to be better, for you if not for anything else. I know I probably don’t deserve it but, (Y/N), will you go out with me?” 

(Y/N) laughed, wiping away tears at the corners of her eyes with the heel of her hand. “Yes, I’d like that a lot.” 

Vil: 

Something was wrong, Vil could feel it. After all the chaos of his time at Night Raven College, he had almost developed a sixth sense for this type of thing. 

Vil narrowed his eyes, sweeping them over the Pomfiore sitting room. A group of students were sitting around one of the tables, studying. A few others were in front of the fireplace. A couple others were performing some viral dance for a Magicam reel. Nothing seemed amiss here. 

Vil walked down the hall of the dorm, heels clicking against the marble floor. With a missed step, Vil realized he hadn’t seen Epel or Rook in quite some time. That was… concerning. He quickened his walk. 

Vil almost gave himself whiplash as he passed by the ballroom. The door was cracked open ever so slightly so he could peer through. He felt slightly ridiculous, eavesdropping as if he wasn’t the caretaker for the dorm and all those in it. But his thoughts faltered as he observed the scene inside. He found Epel and Rook, as well as several other Pomfiore students, constructing elaborate sets out of painted cardboard and repurposed decorations from the dorm. Was that…? Something about this all seemed eerily familiar. 

“Wait, wait! You’re early!” (Y/N) said. She appeared in front of him, waving her hands to try and block his view. She grabbed his hand, tugging him out of the room. “Don’t look!” She pushed him back into the hall, disappearing back into the ballroom. A second later, she emerged with a chair, setting it down and waving to it. “Just another few minutes.” The door clicked closed behind her before Vil could say anything. He thought about barging in, demanding an explanation. But his curiosity got the better of him. And besides, he always loved to see what (Y/N) got up to. Huffing in amusement, he sat down, crossing his legs at the ankles. 

A while later, Epel, Rook, and the other students fled the ballroom, giving Vil knowing looks as they passed. With skepticism, Vil stood up and made his way inside. Standing in the doorway, he was suddenly hit with a wave of nostalgia. Taking a better look, he recognized the replica set. It was from one of his first ever movies, a children’s adventure called The Heist of the Everlasting Rose. This particular scene was set in a museum where the Everlasting Rose was kept. It had been a supporting role, where, ironically, he had played a child actor in part of a crew to steal the titular Rose to pay for the main character’s sister’s surgery, or some other such justifiable nonsense like that. It was his first big screen production, although it was a relatively low-budget and minor movie. He remembered after the film had come out he and his father would pour over reviews praising his performance. At that moment, he felt like he was on top of the world. 

Vil was brought out of his reminiscing by (Y/N)’s voice. “Hello, sir!” She said. She had put on a tour guide’s jacket, once again modeled after the one in the film. “Welcome to the museum! We have our prized exhibit right this way.” Vil smirked, humoring her, if nothing else than to see where this was all going. Linking their arms, (Y/N) brought him through the makeshift museum. “Legend has it that this rose was given by a cursed prince to his beloved, who saved him from the brink of death with its magical powers. Since then, it has been a symbol of pure and everlasting love.” She carefully lifted the cloche from the silk flower, tiny fairy lights arranged around the base. She held it out to him, one hand dramatically pressed to her chest. “And now, I’d like to give it to you, Vil, to profess my everlasting love. Would you go out with me?” 

Vil couldn’t help it, it was all too much. The extravagant set, (Y/N) memorizing specific passages from such an old and now obscure film, the entire production. He burst out laughing, pressing the back of his hand against his mouth, eyes closed. “Well,” He said, catching his breath. “After such a wonderful effort, how could I possibly say no? Yes, my dearest (Y/N), I would love nothing more than to be with you.” 

Rook: 

“(Y/N), you’re gonna shoot your eye out.” 

“No, it’ll be fine. You have to take risks for the sake of love.” 

“Oh, Seven, we don’t need two of you.” 

Rook’s ears picked up, hearing Epel and (Y/N) talking in the back gardens of the Pomefiore dorm. Smiling, he crept around to (definitely not) spy on them. (Y/N) was struggling with a large bow, an arrow flopping around as she tried to aim it. Pomfiore had a small target practice area set up in the back of the dorm. (Y/N) was trying, emphasis on trying, to shoot arrows at one of the red and white round targets. After her latest arrow struck the ground in front of the target, Epel sighed and walked to the target, collecting other fallen arrows. He stabbed them into the target in the shape of a heart, a letter with Rook’s name pinned to the bullseye. 

“Don’t say I never did anything for you,” Epel said. 

“Oh? And what favor are you performing, Monsieur Pommette?” Both of them jumped, Rook smiling wider at the surprised squeak (Y/N) made. 

“You’re on your own, (Y/N)!” Epel said before rushing off. 

(Y/N) huffed. “Traitor,” She said under her breath. She turned to Rook. “Hi.” 

“Bonjour, Trickster.” 

“You’re, uh, early. I thought you were going to be at your club for a while longer.” 

Rook waved a hand. “There was an unexpected explosion and we had to evacuate. But I am much more interested in what you’re up to here.” 

“Ah, well…” She trailed off, limply pointing to the letter stabbed in the target. She covered her face with her hands, heat rushing to her cheeks as Rook elegantly plucked the letter up and began reading. 

(Y/N) could basically see the hearts forming in his eyes as he finished reading her confession. He dramatically clutched the love letter to his chest, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead. “Oh, mon amour le plus cher! Comme c’est merveilleux de lire vos sentiments les plus caret! Je n’ai jamais vu quelque chose d’aussi beau!” 

“So,” (Y/N) asked nervously. “Is that a yes?” 

“Oui, oui! One thousand times oui!” He cheered as he gathered her in a swinging hug. 

Epel: 

Epel found the first note the day after (Y/N)’s announcement in the cafeteria. Whatever she had wanted to do was apparently pretty important, as she had grabbed Grim and they left immediately. Epel hadn’t seen her the rest of the day, but he would recognize that handwriting on the paper wrapped around his dorm room handle anywhere. 

He looked around to make sure no one was watching before unfolding the paper and reading. ‘Epel, I have something important I need to ask, but before that I have a simple task. Take this first note of the set and go to the place we first met. Love, (Y/N).’ Epel tried not to think too much about that ‘Love’ part. Where did he and (Y/N) first meet? At this point it almost felt like they had known eachother forever. 

Would that be, maybe, the well in the quad? Epel remembered meeting her, Ace, Deuce, and Grim there when he was rehearsing singing, using the well’s acoustics. But, no, they had seen each other somewhere else first. Epel blushed in embarrassment at the memory. He had been crying, frustrated to hell and back with Vil’s lectures right after coming back from winter break. He’d run into them at the Great Seven statues. 

Epel went to the statues, deciding if he didn’t find anything there he would try the well. But, lo and behold, another note was waiting at the base of the Fairest Queen’s statue. He read, ‘Epel, Congrats on finding your second clue! By now you have an idea of what to do. For the next place I want you to go, think of the place we lived side by side before the show. Love, (Y/N).’ 

That one was easy, Ramshackle dorm. As Epel sprinted across campus, both notes held tightly in his fist, he reminisced about spending his days training for the VDC in Ramshackle. Most of the time there seemed like torture, running endless dancing drills, feeling constricted by Vil’s lessons whose purpose he still didn’t fully understand at the time, worrying about the whole dorm falling down around his ears at any moment. But there were plenty of good moments too. (Y/N) making them - Vil approved - breakfast in the morning, her encouragement at each of their rehearsals, how she would slip them treats when Vil and Rook’s backs were turned to help boost their mood. 

Sure enough, Epel found his next note on the Ramshackle front gate. There was another rhyme instructing him to go to another location, also connected to his and (Y/N)’s relationship and past. That lead to another and to another and another, each unlocking a precious memory between the two. Eventually, he unfolded the final note, the sun just starting to set, casting NRC in beautiful golden light. ‘Epel, I hope by now you get to see exactly how much you mean to me. We’ve been through a lot and I’ve enjoyed every and I’ve enjoyed every second, and… Okay, I can’t come up with any more rhymes. Just turn around!’ 

Lowering the paper, Epel turned, opening his arms just in time to catch (Y/N) in a big hug. They spun around each other for a second with the momentum, finally coming to a stop and looking to each other's eyes. 

“Hi,” (Y/N) said. “Did you like my scavenger hunt?” 

“You’re bad at rhyming,” Epel said with a crooked smile. 

She wacked his shoulder. “Hey, I meant what I wrote, though. I really like you, Epel. Would you go out with me?” 

Epel squeaked her tight. “Only if you promise not to write any more poetry.” 

Idia: 

Idia was holding out in his room, huddled under a blanket, his phone clutched tight in his hand. He was watching a live stream from his favorite idol group, Premo. He smiled as the group answered fan questions, talked about their upcoming tour, and demonstrated how to perform some of their most famous dance moves. 

The viewer chat scrolled across the side of the screen. Donations and chat reactions popped up in various animations across the screen. Idia hit the donate button, sending a flurry of roses blooming along the edges of the screen. He smiled as the idols thanked Gloomurai for his support. 

One of the idols leaned over, checking the chat feed. She gasped, flapping a hand at the others and enthusiastically pointing at what she was reading. They all started smiling and giggling, whispering to each other. Idia shuffled closer, as if that would let him read whatever message they had gotten. 

“Hey, everyone!” One of them said. “We’ve got a super special shout-out! This is from (Username) to… Gloomurai!” 

Idia’s heart raced as he sat up in bed, blanket draped over him. (Username), (Username)... Wait, he recognized that. That was your username! He had helped you set up your account to the MMO he played a while ago. He remembered helping you through the intro stages, stumbling over the tutorials. He had laughed at your frustrated frown as you died on the same boss for the third time. 

“Aww,” The second idol said. “This is sweet. It says, ‘Gloomurai, I thought about telling you this in person, but I wasn’t sure when that would actually be. And sometimes big feelings require big gestures. I like you, I really, really like you. I think I have for a long time. I love your smile, I love your hair, I love your brain, I love that you’re such an amazing big brother. Will you go out with me?’ Well, Gloomurai? Tell us your answer! We’re waiting on pins and needles here!” 

“Oh, wait,” The third idol said. “There’s more. It says, ‘PS, check your door.’” 

Idia yelped as he shot up, the blanket falling to a heap on the floor. Heart thundering in his chest and head starting to go fuzzy. He almost felt like he was in a daze as he walked with trepidation to his door. Slowly opening it, Idia saw a basket placed just in front. It was filled with his favorite snacks, small acrylic standees of characters from his favorite games and anime, and studded with bluebells, irises, and blue asters. A large paper heart was pinned to the front with her and his initials drawn in the middle. Hair flaring pink, he quickly brought the basket back into his room before any of his dorm mates would notice. 

He heard commotion from his phone, Premo and the chat all eagerly awaiting his response. He sent in another donation with a simple, “Yes.” The idols cheered and squealed. 

He swiped out of the livestream, opening his messaging app. (Y/N)’s name popped up with a new message, a cheering emoticon with three blue hearts. 

He subconsciously covered his face as he smiled wide, typing back, “You’re so cringe. Can’t wait for the date.” 

Silver: 

(Y/N) sprinted across campus, heading whipping around to try and catch a familiar shimmer of silver white hair. She skidded to a stop when she saw a black Diasamonia coat draped over a low tree branch, a pair of shined boots sticking out behind the trunk. 

(Y/N) rounded the old oak tree. “Silv-! Oh, sorry.” 

Silver was reclining against the tree, hands folded across his stomach, chest rising and falling with deep even breaths, eyes closed and lips slightly parted as he slept. A few songbirds and a pair of squirrels congregated around him, looking up with big eyes at the newcomer. 

(Y/N) shifted her weight from foot to foot before screwing up her courage and sitting down next to Silver. She shuffled down so she laid next to him, still leaving enough room to not cause too much of a scandal if anyone walked by. She settled down, closing her eyes and relaxing, taking in the sounds of the woodland animals around them, the talking of other students in the distance, the wind whispering through the trees. 

A short while later, she heard stirring next to her. (Y/N) blinked awake quickly, propping herself up and leaning back on her hands as Silver woke up beside her. 

“Hi,” She said. “Would  you want to go out with me?” 

Silver blinked the sleep out of his eyes, looking up at her. “I must still be dreaming,” He muttered. “If I am, then…” He reached forward, cupping the back of her head and pulling her down. She gasped as their lips brushed. Silver’s eyes suddenly shot open and he jerked back from her as if burned. “I- uh-” He studded, pale skin turning a ruby red. 

(Y/N) giggled at his embarrassment. “Well, I guess that’s a yes, right?” 

Sebek: 

“Be right back!” (Y/N) said as she suddenly stood from the first year cafeteria table. Before anyone had a chance to say anything, she was off like a shot. 

“Any idea what that was about?” Epel asked. The others shrugged. 

Grim reached over to snag half (Y/N)’s sandwich from her discarded tray. “Probably going to go ask out that boy she keeps talking about,” He said nonchalantly, mouth full. 

Sebek choked, standing fast and slamming his hands on the table so all their plates and cutlery clattered. “What!” 

“Chill, man,” Ace said, waving him down as people across the cafeteria turned to stare. Ace smirked. “Unless you’re particularly invested in (Y/N)’s love life?” 

Sebek blushed and slammed back into his seat. He picked his knife and fork back up and started sawing at his Salisbury steak. “No,” He snapped. “(Y/N) can do whatever she wants. What do I care?” 

“Sure,” Epel said. 

(Y/N) reappeared in the cafeteria a short while later, Malleus in tow. She was talking with him, gesturing with her hands. Malleus had a wide, amused smile, nodding along. 

Sebek stood again, at attention for his prince. “Good afternoon, Lord Malleus!” He said. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your presence?” He scowled at the other first years rolling their eyes at his formality. 

“Hello, Sebek. I’ve come to give my blessing.” 

“Blessing?” 

“Sebek!” (Y/N) said brightly. She took both his hands in hers as he sputtered and blushed. “I really like you. Would you go out with me?” 

For once, Sebek was speechless, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. (Y/N) squeezed his hands tighter as Malleus chuckled next to them. “Well, Sebek? It’s not polite to keep a lady waiting.” 

Life seized back into the knight. He tightened his grasp on (Y/N), pulling her closer. “Yes! Absolutely! I mean, ahem, I accept your offer of courting, since you went so far to get my lord’s blessing, after all.” 

Lilia: 

Lilia wouldn’t call what he was doing skulking, exactly. More like surprise chaperoning, keeping an eye on the youngsters of Night Raven College like a good upperclassman should. And, if he just so happened to pop out and scare the living daylights out of whatever unfortunate student happened to be nearby, well, more fun for him. 

So it wasn’t especially surprising when he heard Silver and (Y/N) talking to each other in the courtyard. As a sly smile stretched across his face, he floated to a hiding place in the shadows of the flying buttresses, resting on his stomach to kick his feet, chin resting in his hands, as he observed the two. 

“You want my permission?” Silver asked, an amused smile on his face. 

“Of course!” (Y/N) replied. “I wouldn’t want to make it weird by dating him while we’re all still students together.” 

Lilia faltered. That was the problem with spying, sometimes you heard things you didn’t want to. So the Prefect was romantically interested in someone, eh? And if they were asking Silver for permission, it must be someone close to him. Sebek, maybe? Or, oh dear, Malleus? Lilia knew for a fact that both of the boys thought of (Y/N) as a close and dear friend and nothing more. His heart panged in sympathy at the idea of rejection. And, if he was being honest with himself, it panged with something else as well. 

“You don’t think he’s a little old for you?” Silver asked teasingly. 

“Maybe I like a silver fox,” (Y/N) teased right back. 

Silver laughed. “I don’t think I ever want to hear my father described as a silver fox ever again.” 

Lilia lost his concentration, falling with a yelp against one of the chandeliers hanging in the hallway. 

“Lilia?” (Y/N) asked with a gasp. 

Lilia smiled, trying to regain poise as he floated down to them. “Looks like I’m not as slick as I used to be. Now, what were you two discussing just now?” 

(Y/N) look startled. Silver gave her shoulder a reassuring pat and left with a wave. Just the two of them now, (Y/N) took a deep breath, building up her courage. 

“Lilia!” She said, probably a little too loudly with nerves. “I really like you! Would you go out with me?” 

Lilia chuckled, leaning close to enjoy the shy and flustered look on her face. “Well, if you have my son’s blessing, how am I to refuse? Besides, I think I rather like being called a, what was it you said? A silver fox?” 

Malleus: 

Malleus looked up from his book, looking around his room for the source of the noise that disturbed his studying. There, another sharp ‘ping’ from across the room. He looked to the window, noticing a small pebble hitting the glass. He walked over and opened the window, dodging just in time to miss another pebble. 

“Oops! Sorry, Horton!” He looked down, a smile automatically crossing his face at (Y/N)’s voice. But his expression quickly changed to puzzlement as he looked down at her. (Y/N) was standing in the courtyard of the Diasomonia dorm, inside a giant heart made of dozens of tiny tea candles. 

In a swirl of green light, Malleus appeared next to her on the ground floor. She jumped a little bit at his sudden appearance, but quickly recovered herself and beamed up at him. He felt his heart flip in that pleasant way it always did when he was near her. 

“What’s all this?” 

She cleared her throat dramatically, dropping to one knee. “Dearest Horton, you have bewitched me body and soul. I would like to officially court you. Would you do me the absolute pleasure of accompanying me on a date this weekend?” 

Malleus blinked down at her for a moment, basking in the admiration and adoration filling her eyes. He laughed, reaching down to take her hand and pull her to standing. “My, how formal,” He said. 

She smiled, shrugging. “I wanted it to be memorable. Couldn’t manage the fireworks, though. Sorry.” 

“I can rectify that.” With an elegant sweep of his hand, sparks erupted from Malleus’s fingertips, shooting into the dark sky around the dorm to explode in fantastic colors. Students from in the dorm leaned out windows to admire the impromptu show. 

Malleus drew (Y/N) closer to him, admiring the multicolor flashes playing across her face. “I would adore being anywhere with you.”

[bunny-jpeg]

the jailbird (2)

prisoner!simon 'ghost' riley

part 1 | original text post

cw: (former) prisoner!simon, civilian!reader, romance & fluff, smut, size kink, sane and consensual, roleplay, rough sex, spanking, bondage & gags, tattoo kink, dom!simon, sub!reader

bunny says: love the fic? leave a comment! really love the fic? suggest your own! reblogs are encouraged!

-

living with an ex-convict was interesting. he still woke up at the crack of dawn, and as a result you were up too. he didn't know where anything was in your apartment, he hated that he had to wake you up but he didn't know where the spoons were.

you were happy to help him and spend some extra time together before you went to work. the more you were around him, the more you realized how big he was compared to you.

even his hands were much larger than yours. he loved to wrap you up in his arms and hold you while you were making yourself some breakfast. those strong tattooed arms around your middle as you flipped eggs.

sometimes he'd bury his face in your neck and visibly relaxed. he was still dealing with his fair share of trauma from the previous events of his life. and while it often left him stressed, he found comfort in you.

"you're my anchor, love." he said within the first week of his return to society.

you simply smiled and tried not to blush too hard as you said, "well, si. i'll happily be your anchor, as long as your mine."

"you're anchor, your rock, your foot solider, your lover." he said as he kept his gaze on you. since he had been living with you, you found his expression had softened a little. he could relax here.

"my husband." you reached out for him. he took your hand and kissed the top of it before he held it for a moment then returned it to you.

simon had a long road ahead of him, being on the inside for so long was going to cause some problems. but, he knew even if he had nothing. he had you.

it was almost five months into living together and he managed to get an interview working in small parts manufacturing. while it was tedious, they didn't need to look at his criminal record. which greatly excited him.

when he came home from the interview, he told you that it went well. that they seemed to like his dedication and were impressed when he mentioned his time in the military. he said, "got the whole 'thank you for your service'." as he held you and kissed you deeply.

it felt like your little lives were coming together. but the one thing you hated to admit to yourself. you sort of had a dark side, it wasn't anything too aggressive or 'evil'. you thought that simon was the perfect boyfriend, he'd never hurt a hair on your head.

but the idea of being with a criminal sort of had a sexy ring to it. to be with the bad boy. you almost felt embarrassed to admit it when he'd come home with flowers for you, or when he smiled at you. or when he held your hand when you went out. with you he got to be a person with love.

deep down you wanted to know the depths of your boyfriend. you wanted to know what a man like him, with his skill set, was capable of. you wanted it to burn, ache and hurt.

it took a lot of courage, you communicated with your boyfriend about a little make believe. while hesitant at first, he slowly started to warm up to the idea. you knew he was open to it when he came home from one, actually the first day at his job, with a bundle of bondage rope.

"the blue looks good on you." he remarked as he finished tying you up on the bed. he had your arms behind your back with you on your side and one leg tied to the bed post.

you looked at him, those eyes of yours were so alluring. you tried to move your leg but was stuck to the bed. he smiled down at you and tapped the ball gag in your mouth.

"but it doesn't matter what you want. right?' he asked, "i've searched a long time for you. you're not an easy woman to catch." he got between your legs, and hiked one leg over his shoulder as he started to aggressively lick your cunt. it was already dripping from the act of him tying you up.

there was no escape for you, even if you somehow got out of the bondage. he was almost twice the size of you and could do some damage if he wanted to.

you squirmed and whimpered around the ball gag as he took long, hard licks against your clit. he wanted to make sure his girl was wet enough for his large cock.

"maybe i should breed ya. bring you back to the boys all fat with my brats.' he purred, "i don't think they can throw ya in the can if you're pregnant. but who knows, you got pregnant by a thief." he continued to lick your sweet cunt. he was in heaven.

he really was so much bigger than you. he overpowered you, he could keep you down and fuck you until he had his fill, and there was nothing you could do about it. you were bound and gagged like a good girl.

he kept at it, he even teased your hole with his thick fingers until you were squirming more with your moans getting louder. he slapped your ass and gave you a stern look over your pussy. he gripped your leg over his shoulder. "shut up." he growled, "i don't need ya causin' a scene. i'd hate to go back to prison because you can't keep your trap shut up."

you hole clenched and he chuckled. he patted where he smacked and grabbed at the flesh before he went back to his feast between your legs. it didn't take long before the slick between your thighs got all over his face.

he pulled away and sat up on his knees. he stared down at you with your thigh wrapped around his waist. he was going to fuck you at a weird angle, but it was the only way he could keep his little prize tied up. he wiped is face, "you are the best thing i've caught." he said, "stolen a lotta loose change, but they're nothin' to the sweet taste of your cunt." he got his cock out his sweatpants and started to rub it against your slick pussy. he let out a harsh sigh from the sensation, "they should be keepin' ya behind the vault door." the tip slipped in for a moment and you clenched around it.

you whimpered and tried to pushed yourself down on his cock, but it was hard to do that when you were so tied up, he pushed the hair out of your eyes, your leftover wetness got on your cheek from his movements.

"but, you need to know." he said, "you're mine to do whatever to. your mommy and daddy aren't gonna save ya. you fell in love with a bad man and now you're lettin' him fuck your cunt raw. what's gonna happen at christmas when you're all swollen with my brats. riley boys are lil hell raisers." he went back to rubbing his cock up against your slit, "you'll be mine forever. my little prize. i should've taken ya a long time ago. just snatched ya up off the train. keep ya to myself." his tongue was getting loose from the buzz of pleasure in his brain.

you whimpered around the gag and almost cried out when he slipped his large cock into you easily. you felt it in your guts and his pace was much more brutal than the other times you've made love. that was the difference, you made love before. this was dirty, primal sex between a criminal and his captive.

the sounds of sex filled the air, paired with simon's heavy breathing. his heart was thumping steadily as he pushed his cock as deep as it would go. he loomed over you as he drilled himself into you. you were a comfortably tight fit around his cock.

you dug your nails into your palms from the immense pleasure and yelped when he slapped your ass. you whimpered when he leaned further into you to get closer into your personal space. his pace was brutal and it excited you.

"i'm a bad man." he said lowly, his voice close to your ear, "my worst crime is tainting such a precious angel." he held onto your calf as he bent your hips the closer he got. his voice was hot, "fill ya right up, make sure no other man has a chance to get ya knocked up." his tattooed hand went to your stomach which he gave a small rub, "my girl carryin' my boys."

your eyes almost rolled back from the heat in your body. you were almost drooling around the rubber gag in your mouth. it was dirty, it was filth. if anyone saw the state you were in, they would be shocked!

your head felt full of lust, you felt your lover so close to him. you knew despite the roughness and the harsh words, the entire scenario was safe. you knew you could get out of this if you needed to. but it wasn't getting to be too much, it was just enough.

the wetness between your legs and the flips in your stomach only excited you. to have such a large man be so domineering. it made you feel small in a good way. it was almost like being bound made you feel protected.

that you could lay yourself over to him and he'd cherish you. even if you were his little 'prize' for the evening. the hottest part was the pace at which his cock was battering your womb.

you whimpered against your gag and felt the heat rush through you. you held onto your palms as best as you could with your arms bound. the entire situation left you spinning, there was no wonder that orgasm crept up on you so easily.

with a loud moan around your gag, you climaxed around his cock. the tightness of your cunt mid-orgasm milked his cock till he was seeing stars. he came inside of you, his seed hit against the back of your womb.

the feeling of being able to do so left him a little slack-jawed. but he kept it together, even if his cheeks were flushed. when he finished, he slowly pulled out and started to untie you. his hands were shaky from the after effects of his orgasm.

he took the gag out of your mouth and pulled you in for a kiss when he finished untying you. he fell into bed with you and laid on top of the covers with you. he held you gently and kissed your face. he gave you gentle praise as he kept you in his arms.

when he looked at you, all was right in the world. you held onto him and pressed kisses against his face. after care consisted of tea and a small snack followed by a shower together, where he washed every part of you.

even though you were capable of doing it yourself, you still appreciated how detail orientated he was in the manner of getting you clean. little did you know that biology was working its magic and simon's seed found home in your cervix.

you better hope that the line about the riley boys being hellions was untrue or you'd have your hands full. it didn't help that when simon's hand grazed your stomach as he washed you that you blushed and tucked yourself closer to him.

mama riley did have a ring to it.

[hotniatheron]

you cannot be old in peace on here, why are you writing slam dunk self insert. what are you.....a 45 year old man in love with michael jordan?

[kiyawritesforf1]

Against the Odds

Pairing : Lando Norris x Single Mom!Reader

Summary : Six years after walking away from love, Y/N finds herself drawn back into Lando Norris’s orbit—but with a son to protect and a heart still healing, risking it all again might be the hardest race she’s ever faced

Words : 2.5k

PART 2

The Monaco sunset painted the marina in hues of gold and pink, the air thick with salt and the hum of luxury. Y/N stood near the yacht’s railing, her sundress hugging her curves as she kept an eye on her three-year-old son, Theo, who waddled dangerously close to the edge. “Theo, buddy, stay back here with Mommy, okay?” she called, her voice a mix of warmth and exasperation. At 31, Y/N carried herself with a quiet strength—six years of life beyond Lando Norris had sculpted her into a woman who knew her worth, a single mom who’d fought for every inch of her independence.

She hadn’t planned on being here, surrounded by Formula 1’s elite at this post-race party. A friend in the paddock had insisted, promising Theo would love the cars and the vibe. He’d been buzzing all day, his tiny McLaren cap—a gift from that same friend—tilted adorably on his head. Y/N didn’t know much about racing, but the names floated around her: Verstappen, Leclerc, Norris. Especially Norris. She’d seen him earlier, laughing with his team, all boyish charm and reckless energy. At 25, he was too young, too wild—yet her eyes had lingered longer than they should’ve.

“Need a hand with the little man?” a voice broke through her thoughts. She turned to find Lando Norris leaning against the railing, a beer dangling from his fingers. His dark curls were mussed by the breeze, and his hazel eyes glinted with something playful yet piercing. He was shorter than she’d imagined, but his presence was magnetic.

Y/N tilted her head, a smirk tugging at her lips. “I’ve been wrangling him for three years. I think I’ve got it, Norris.”

He grinned, crouching down to Theo’s level. “Hey, mate, you like McLaren?” Theo nodded, clutching his toy car tightly. “I gots a car too!” he chirped, holding it up proudly.

Lando’s face lit up. “That’s a fast one! Faster than mine, I bet.” He ruffled Theo’s hair, then glanced up at Y/N, his gaze catching on the curve of her neck before meeting her eyes. “He’s a cool kid. Takes after his mom, I reckon.”

Her pulse quickened, but she kept her tone light. “Flattery’s cute, but I’m not here to be charmed by a racer six years my junior.”

He stood, unfazed. “Good thing I’m not just any racer, then.”

The air shifted, a spark flickering between them. She should’ve laughed it off—should’ve remembered the life she’d built, the responsibilities that anchored her. But there was something in his stare, a hunger that mirrored a part of her she’d buried long ago.

The party pulsed around them, drivers and guests mingling under the stars. Max Verstappen cornered Lando near the bar, his voice cutting through the noise. “P3 today, mate. You’re off your game—too busy eyeing the scenery?”

Lando smirked, glancing at Y/N as she sat with Theo asleep in her lap. “Some scenery’s worth it.”

Max followed his gaze, then snorted. “She’s got a kid, Norris. You sure you’re ready for that kind of lap time?”

Y/N caught the exchange, sipping her wine. Max’s eyes met hers, and he gave a nod—half warning, half amusement. “Watch out for him,” he said, loud enough for her to hear. “He’s a handful.”

She arched a brow. “I’ve handled worse.”

Nearby, Charles Leclerc joined in, his charm effortless. “Lando, she’s out of your league, mate. That’s a woman, not one of your grid girls.”

“Shut up, Charles,” Lando muttered, but his eyes stayed on Y/N, a quiet intensity simmering beneath his playful exterior.

She shifted Theo’s weight, her mind churning. They were right—he was young, reckless, a world apart from her. She’d clawed her way out of a broken relationship, built a life for her and Theo. Lando was a fling waiting to happen, a headline in the making. Yet the way he looked at her—like she was more than a mom, more than her past—stirred something dangerous.

“Mommy, I sleepy,” Theo mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

“Okay, baby,” she whispered, brushing his hair back. She glanced at Lando. “Know anywhere quiet on this floating circus?”

He nodded, stepping closer. “Follow me.”

Below deck, the cabin was small, the hum of the party muffled. Y/N laid Theo on the bed, tucking a blanket around him as he curled up with his car. Lando watched from the doorway, his presence filling the tight space.

“You’re good with him,” he said, his voice softer now. “It’s… I dunno, impressive.”

She straightened, brushing her hands on her dress. “Three years of practice. You get used to it.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s easy.” He stepped closer, the air thickening. “You’re not what I expected, you know. Six years older, a kid, and you’re still—”

“Still what?” she challenged, her heart thudding.

“Still the hottest woman I’ve ever seen.” His voice dropped, raw and honest.

Her breath caught. “Lando, I’m not some fantasy. I’ve got baggage—real baggage.”

“I don’t care.” He was close now, too close, his hand hovering near her arm. “I’ve been thinking about you all night.”

She should’ve stepped back. Theo was right there, her life was right there, and Lando was a risk she couldn’t afford. But her body betrayed her, leaning into the heat of him. “This is a bad idea,” she whispered, even as her hand found his chest.

“Then why does it feel so good?” He tilted her chin up, and their lips met—slow at first, tentative, then hungry. His hands slid to her waist, pulling her against him, and she melted, her fingers tangling in his curls. He tasted like danger, like freedom, and she hated how much she craved it.

Theo stirred, a soft “Mommy?” breaking the spell. She pulled away, breathless, guilt flooding her. “I can’t do this,” she said, stepping back. “Not with him here. Not with… us.”

Lando’s chest heaved, but he nodded. “I’ll wait.”

The next day, the McLaren garage buzzed with pre-race energy. Y/N had reluctantly agreed to bring Theo—her friend’s idea, a treat for his car obsession. He tugged her hand, eyes wide. “Mommy, look! Big cars!”

“Yeah, baby, they’re super big,” she said, smiling despite the knot in her chest. She hadn’t slept, replaying that kiss, the war inside her. Lando was a fantasy, a reckless dream. She was a mom first—always.

Then she saw him, race suit tied around his waist, grinning as he spotted them. “There’s my VIPs!” He scooped Theo up, spinning him around. “You ready to see my car, mate?”

Theo squealed, “Yes! Vroom vroom!”

Lando set him down, leading them to his McLaren. “This one’s mine. Fastest car here, right, Theo?”

“Super fast!” Theo clapped, bouncing on his toes.

Y/N watched, her heart twisting. He was good with Theo—too good. It made it harder to push him away. “You don’t have to do this,” she said quietly.

“I want to.” His eyes locked on hers, steady and sure. “Both of you.”

Daniel Ricciardo strolled over, smirking. “Lando’s playing dad now? Mate, you’re in deep.”

“Shut it, Dan,” Lando shot back, but his cheeks flushed.

Daniel winked at Y/N. “He’s smitten. You’re trouble, though—MILF vibes. Poor kid doesn’t stand a chance.”

She laughed, but the word trouble echoed in her mind. That’s what this was—trouble she couldn’t afford.

That night, Theo was asleep in their hotel room, his toy car clutched in his hand. A soft knock pulled Y/N from her thoughts. She opened the door to find Lando, hair damp, eyes searching hers.

“I shouldn’t be here,” he said, stepping inside as she shut the door. “But I can’t stop thinking about you.”

She crossed her arms, defenses up. “Lando, I’m a mom. I don’t get to be reckless. Theo’s my world.”

“I know.” He closed the gap, his voice low. “But you’re still a woman. You deserve to feel that, too.”

Her resolve wavered. She’d locked that part of herself away—desire, need—after Theo’s dad left. Lando saw it, saw her, and it terrified her. “You’re too young. This can’t work.”

“Age doesn’t mean shit,” he said, cupping her face. “I’ve dated girls my age—none of them were you.”

She kissed him, hard and desperate, pouring every doubt, every fear into it. He groaned, hands roaming her back, her hips, pulling her flush against him. They stumbled to the couch, her straddling him as his fingers traced her thighs, slipping under her dress. “You’re driving me insane,” he murmured, lips grazing her neck.

She arched into him, heat flooding her, but guilt clawed at her mind. “Lando, wait—what am I doing?”

He stilled, breathing hard. “What do you want, Y/N?”

She didn’t know. She wanted him—God, she did—but the stakes were too high. “I need time,” she whispered.

He nodded, kissing her forehead. “Take it. I’m not going anywhere.”

Weeks passed, their connection growing in stolen moments. Lando called after races, his voice a lifeline. “Theo asked if I could drive him in my car today,” he’d laugh, and she’d hear Theo in the background: “Lando, go fast!”

One weekend, he showed up at her place with a toy steering wheel. “For my co-driver,” he said, winking at Theo, who shrieked, “Me! Me drive!”

Y/N watched them play, her heart aching. Theo adored him, and Lando fit too easily into their lives. But the world noticed—paparazzi caught them at a park, headlines screaming: Norris and the Mystery Mom. Her phone buzzed with judgment, friends warning her: “He’s a kid, Y/N. This won’t last.”

She confronted him one night, Theo asleep upstairs. “This is insane, Lando. You’re 25. You should be out there, not tied to us.”

He grabbed her hands. “I don’t want ‘out there.’ I want you—both of you. I don’t care what they say.”

Tears pricked her eyes. “I do. I can’t ruin your life.”

“You’re not.” He pulled her close, kissing her slow and deep. “You’re making it better.”

She surrendered, their bodies tangling on the couch, a slow burn of need and love. His hands worshipped her, her doubts fading in the heat of him. When they lay spent, he whispered, “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

And for the time being she believed. But was it really the truth ?

Also requests open !!

[cressidagrey]

White Horse - Chapter 2: April 2023

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Isabelle Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen is a World Champion. Isabelle Leclerc is invisible.

She watched her family give up everything for Charles’ career—Arthur’s karting, their father’s savings, even her childhood horse. She understood. She never asked for more.

But Max does. He notices the things no one else does, listens when no one else will, and puts her first in ways she never imagined. With him, she isn’t an afterthought—she’s a choice. And for the first time, she realizes she doesn’t have to be invisible.

Warnings and Notes: 

...I am definitely blown away by the reception this story got. I did not expect that AT ALL, so thank you very much...and here you have Chapter 2! Warnings: we have now moved on from Charles bashing to bashing his whole family, Bad Real Estate decisions, Max being a simp for his girl, discussion of former toxic relationships...I think that's it? If I missed something, let me know.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

"Isabelle," Max murmured against her lips, his hands firm but steady on her waist.

She barely heard him. Not when he kissed her like this—slow and deep, his thumb brushing over her hip, his body warm and solid against hers. She curled her fingers into his shirt, pulling him closer, tilting her head to kiss him harder. When he groaned softly, she took it as encouragement, pressing up against him and reaching for the hem of his shirt.

But just as her fingers grazed the skin of his stomach, Max caught her wrist, pulling back slightly.

"Wait."

She blinked up at him, lips parted, breath uneven. "What?"

His hands slid from her waist to her arms, a soothing touch. "We don’t have to rush."

Isabelle frowned. "I know we don’t have to. But I want to."

Max exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "I don’t want you to think this is just about that."

She froze, her mind stuttering over his words. "What?"

He studied her carefully, thumb rubbing small circles into her skin. "I like you. A lot. And I want you to know that I’m serious about this."

Isabelle stared at him, something in her chest tightening. No one had ever said that to her before. Every other boyfriend had been eager, had expected, had—

She swallowed. "You don’t… want me?"

Max’s expression softened, his grip on her tightening just slightly, like he wanted to anchor her in place. "Of course I do," he said, voice low, almost reverent. "I just don’t want you to think that’s all I want."

Her breath hitched.

She had never been anyone’s priority. Never been someone who wasn’t easy to forget, easy to leave behind. But here was Max, the most wanted man on the grid, telling her he wanted her—but not just her body.

Something like disbelief flickered in her chest. "You’re serious."

Max huffed a quiet laugh, brushing his nose against hers. "Very."

Isabelle swallowed again, her throat tight, and let herself relax into him. She let herself believe him.

"Okay."

Max smiled, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead. "Good."

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Max Verstappen

Isabelle: Max.

Max:  Good morning, Schatje.

Isabelle: Don’t start. Did you actually buy that penthouse?

Max: Yes.

Isabelle: And did you demand that I be the only architect allowed to work on it??

Max: Yes.

Isabelle: Do you have any idea how bad this looks?

Max: What’s bad about wanting the best?

Isabelle: MAX.

Isabelle: Do you know what people at work are saying now??

Max: That I have excellent taste in architects?

Isabelle: They think I got this project because of Charles.

Max: … What?

Isabelle: Oh yeah. The rumors are great. Apparently, I’m here because I’m a Leclerc, not because I actually worked for it.

Max: … That’s stupid.

Isabelle: Tell that to my coworkers.

Max: You think I’d let Charles pick my architect?

Isabelle: No, but they don’t know that.

Max: Then tell them.

Isabelle: Oh sure, that’ll go well. “Actually, my brother had nothing to do with it, my boyfriend just demanded that I be the only one allowed to work on his project.” That sounds so much better.

Max: Ok, maybe that doesn’t help.

Isabelle: You think??

Max: I just wanted to work with you.

Isabelle: Yeah, and now people are whispering about nepotism and favoritism and how I’m only here because of my family name.

Max: They clearly don’t know you.

Isabelle: I KNOW. But it’s still frustrating. I’ve worked my ass off, Max. I didn’t want my name getting me jobs. I wanted my work to.

Max: And it has. That’s why I picked you. Not because of your name. Because I trust you.

Isabelle: You could have given me a heads-up, you know.

Max: And you would have said no.

Isabelle: That is not the point.

Max: But would you?

Isabelle:: …

Max: That’s what I thought.

Isabelle: You really bought that penthouse just so I could design it?

Max: I bought that penthouse because I liked it. But I only wanted you working on it.

Isabelle: You’re impossible.

Max: And you’re brilliant.

Isabelle: Thank you.

Max: Always.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Isabelle: You are NOT going to believe what Max did.

Emilie: That sentence could mean literally anything.

Isabelle: He bought the penthouse. THE penthouse. The one we talked about once in passing.

Emilie: …Okay, that’s insane, but also, congrats? You love that place.

Isabelle: THAT’S NOT THE POINT.

Emilie: Oh, I think it is.

Isabelle: He also demanded that I be the architect working on it. Wouldn’t sign anything unless my name was on the project.

Emilie: HAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

Isabelle: It’s not funny!

Emilie: No, it absolutely is.

Isabelle: People at work are already saying I only got the project because of Charles!

Emilie: Oh. Yeah, I can see that.

Isabelle: Which is wrong. Because I didn’t get it because of Charles. I got it because of my boyfriend, which is somehow worse.

Emilie: You say worse. I say deeply, deeply romantic.

Isabelle: Emilie.

Emilie: Isabelle. 

Emilie: Your rich, lovesick boyfriend is out here spending millions just to have an excuse to see you every day, and you’re MAD?

Isabelle: I AM TRYING TO BE PROFESSIONAL.

Emilie: He is trying to wife you.

Isabelle: I hate you.

Emilie: No, you don’t. Now tell me—when’s the housewarming, and how much champagne should I bring?

***

Instagram Story – @/isabelleleclerc

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Max Verstappen

Isabelle: You CANNOT keep doing this.

Max: Doing what?

Isabelle: Abusing your “professional client” status to drag me to fancy lunches.

Max: I’m not abusing anything. We have important business discussions to conduct.

Isabelle: You mean the penthouse where you’ve approved every single one of my plans without question?

Max: Exactly. We need to make sure I have no doubts.

Isabelle: You just want an excuse to take me to a Michelin-starred restaurant.

Max: And?

Isabelle: That’s not how professional client-architect meetings work.

Max: It is when I’m the client.

Isabelle: Max.

Max: You don’t have to say yes.

Isabelle: …

Max: But you want to.

Isabelle: That’s not the point.

Max: Just think of it as me paying you for your excellent work.

Isabelle: That’s what your actual payments are for.

Max: But those aren’t fun.

Isabelle: MAX.

Isabelle: People at work already think I got this job because of Charles. Now you’re making it worse.

Max: First of all, you got this job because you’re brilliant.

Max: Second, if they think that, they’re idiots.

Max: Third, I booked a table with a view.

Isabelle: Max.

Max: Don’t pretend you don’t want to come.

Isabelle: That’s not the point.

Max: You didn’t say no.

Isabelle: …

Max: I’ll see you at one.

Isabelle: I officially regret ever mentioning my favorite restaurants to you.

Max: That was your mistake, not mine.

Max: But I’ll make it up to you with dessert.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Isabelle: You will not believe what Max is doing.

Emilie: Oh, this is already good. Go on.

Isabelle: He’s using the penthouse project as an excuse to take me to fancy lunches.

Emilie: …And the problem is???

Isabelle: Emilie. People at work already think I got this job because of Charles. If they find out I’m going to Michelin-starred restaurants in the middle of the day with a client, I will NEVER hear the end of it.

Emilie: Okay, but is he actually talking about the penthouse during these lunches?

Isabelle: He pretends to for about five minutes. Then he just orders my favourite foods for me and acts like we’re on a date.

Emilie: …So you’re saying you’re mad because your boyfriend is taking you on nice dates and feeding you good food?

Isabelle: THAT IS NOT THE POINT.

Emilie: Oh, I think it is the point.

Isabelle: I just—he’s impossible!

Emilie: What restaurant was it this time?

Isabelle: Le Louis XV.

Emilie: Isabelle.

Isabelle:

Emilie: You are sitting here complaining to me after being wined and dined at ALAIN DUCASSE’S RESTAURANT???

Isabelle: I AM TRYING TO BE PROFESSIONAL.

Emilie: Shut up and tell me what you ate!

***

Isabelle laid out fabric swatches on the table, neatly arranging them in rows. “These are the options for the curtains,” she said, keeping her voice professional. “I’ve chosen materials that complement the lighting and textures in the space while also being durable.”

Max picked up a swatch at random, turning it over like he’s actually considering it. “Yeah… so which one do you like best?”

Isabelle sighed. “That’s not the point, Max.”

“But it kind of is,” he countered, leaning back in his chair. “You know what looks good. I trust you.”

She exhaled, trying to keep the conversation on track. “My job isn’t to pick what I like, it’s to give you the best options based on your preferences and the space—”

“My preference,” Max interrupted, “is to not think too hard about curtain fabrics. So, tell me, which one would you put in your own place?”

She pressed her lips together but eventually pointed to a light cream fabric with a soft texture. “This one.”

Max immediately nodded. “Perfect. We’ll go with that.”

“That’s not how this works,” Isabelle protested.

“It is now.” He grinned, tapping the swatch like the decision is final.

She gave him a look but moves on, pulling out samples for the kitchen backsplash. “Alright, for the tiles—”

Max smirked. “What do you like best?”

Isabelle groaned, dropping her head into her hands. “You are impossible.”

Max chuckled, thoroughly enjoying himself. “I don’t see the problem. You have good taste. I want my place to look good. This seems like a win-win situation.”

Isabelle lifted her head, giving him a flat look. “Max.”

“Yes?”

“You are literally paying me to make these decisions for you based on your preferences, not mine.”

Max shrugged. “Yeah, but my main preference is trusting you.”

She stared at him, unimpressed. “That’s not how this works.”

“It is when I’m the client.” His grin was infuriatingly smug.

Isabelle sighed, shaking her head, but she couldn’t quite hide the small smile creeping onto her face. “Fine. But if you hate something later, I’m telling everyone this was your fault.”

“I won’t hate it,” Max said easily, glancing at the tile samples. “So… which one would you use in your own kitchen?”

Isabelle groaned dramatically. “You are impossible.”

Max just smirked. “You already said that.”

Isabelle rubbed her temples like she’s trying to ward off a headache. “You know, most clients want a functional, cohesive design that suits their lifestyle.”

Max leant back against the kitchen island, watching her with amused eyes. “And I want a functional, cohesive design that you think looks good.”

“That’s not—” She exhaled sharply. “Okay, fine. I’d go with the marble option for the counters. It’s classic, it won’t date badly, and it works with the natural light in here.”

Max nodded like that’s exactly what he was going to pick anyway. “Perfect. Marble it is.”

Isabelle narrowed her eyes. “You’re just agreeing with me so I stop arguing with you.”

“Maybe.” He grinned. “Or maybe I actually value your opinion.”

She huffed, flipping through the fabric swatches again. “Alright, what about your bedroom curtains? Darker shades are better for blocking light in the mornings.”

Max hummed, looking over the options. “Which one do you like?”

“Max.”

“What? You just said you’re designing for functionality. You clearly think one of these is the best choice.”

She muttered something under her breath, then points at a deep navy fabric. “This one. It’ll keep the room dark, and it’s not too heavy for the space.”

“Done.”

Isabelle levelled him with a suspicious look. “You’re making this way too easy.”

Max shrugged. “I told you. I trust you.” He gestures around the penthouse. “Besides, I plan to spend most of my time here with you. Might as well make sure you don’t hate it.”

She stilled for half a second, but then rolls her eyes like she’s not affected. “Professionalism, Max.”

Max just smirked, reaching for another set of samples. “Alright, Miss Leclerc, what’s next?”

Isabelle pointedly ignored the way her stomach does an annoying little flip at his words and refocuses on the task at hand. She flipped open her notebook, determined to keep things professional. "We still need to finalize your living room furniture. You said you wanted a sectional, right?"

Max nodded, leaning slightly over her shoulder to glance at her notes. "Yeah, something big enough to stretch out on. And for the cats."

She glanced up at him. "And for guests?"

Max blinked. "I mean, sure. If I have guests."

Isabelle sighed. "Do you ever think about designing your space for other people?"

"I am thinking about other people," he countered easily. "I’m thinking about you. You like to sit in the corner with a book, so we should get one with a deep chaise. And you like soft blankets, so whatever fabric we pick needs to feel nice."

She stared at him for a beat too long. "You—" She shakes her head. "You notice a lot more than you let on."

Max shrugged. "I like watching you."

Isabelle blinked rapidly and turned back to her samples before he could see the flush creeping up her neck. Professionalism. She needed to focus.

"Okay," she said, clearing her throat. "Fabric choices for the sectional—"

Max leant forward, already grinning. "Which one do you like?"

Isabelle groaned, slamming her notebook shut. "You are impossible."

Max just laughed. "I’m making sure my designer is happy with her work. That’s important, right?"

"That’s not how this works."

"Sure it is," he said breezily, nudging her shoulder with his. "If you think this place should feel like me, then I think it should feel like you, too."

Isabelle gripped her pen a little too tightly. "You’re insufferable."

Max grinned. "And yet, here you are."

Isabelle exhaled slowly, flipping through the swatches with more force than necessary. “Fine. You want my opinion? This one.” She pulled out a deep green fabric, soft under her fingers. “It’s comfortable, durable, and it won’t clash with anything else.”

Max reaches out, rubbing the fabric between his fingers. “It’s nice.” Then he grins. “You just like it because it’s your favourite colour.”

She paused. “That is not why I picked it.”

“Sure,” he said, clearly unconvinced. “But I remember you said you like green because it reminds you of home. And I want you to feel at home here.”

Isabelle’s fingers tighten around the fabric. “Max—”

“So, green it is,” he cut in before she can say anything else, grabbing the sample and setting it aside. Then he leans back, smug. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You have to stop doing this.”

“Doing what?”

“Acting like this apartment is for both of us.”

Max tilted his head. “Well, you are spending a lot of time here.”

“That’s because I’m working.”

“Uh-huh,” he says, unconvinced. “And when the project is done?”

Isabelle pressed her lips together, not wanting to answer that question. Because the truth is, she didn’t know. She didn’t want to think about finishing this penthouse and walking away.

Max must have sensed her hesitation because his expression softened. “You know, you don’t have to leave when it’s done.”

She swallowed, trying to ignore the way her heart pounds. “Max.”

“I’m just saying,” he said, voice light but eyes serious. “I don’t mind having you around.”

Isabelle forced herself to focus back on her notebook. Professionalism. Boundaries. She had to remember them.

But as she moved on to the next decision—choosing dining chairs—she couldn’t  help but feel like she’s already losing that battle.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Isabelle: Max is going to drive me insane.

Emilie: What did he do now?

Isabelle: He refuses to make a single decision about the penthouse. Not one.

Emilie: Oh, this is going to be good.

Isabelle: I showed him flooring samples, and he just said, “Which one do you like best, schatje?” I asked him about the kitchen walls, and he went, “I trust your taste.”

Emilie: He’s so in love with you, it’s actually disgusting.

Isabelle: EMILIE, I NEED HIM TO HAVE AN OPINION.

Emilie: He does. His opinion is that your opinion is the only one that matters.

Isabelle: That’s not how this works! He’s the one who has to live there!

Emilie: You will be the one living there with him, if he gets his way. He’s just pretending it’s not obvious.

Emilie: He’s setting up your future home together and letting you build it exactly the way you want. That man would let you paint the walls hot pink if it made you happy.

Emilie: He’s letting you pick everything because he wants you to feel at home.

Emilie: Tell me I’m wrong.

Isabelle: I hate you.

Emilie: No, you don’t. Now, if you suggested, hypothetically, that the whole kitchen should be neon green, how fast do you think he’d say yes?

Isabelle: He wouldn’t even hesitate.

Emilie: This man is whipped.

Emilie: He’s so gone for you. It’s actually hilarious.

Isabelle: This is a nightmare.

Emilie: Just be glad he’s not insisting on Red Bull colors.

Isabelle: I take it back. It could be worse.

***

Instagram Story – @/isabelleleclerc

****

"I think I’m falling in love with him."

Isabelle hadn’t meant to say it out loud. It just slipped out, quiet and uncertain, as she sat across from Emilie at their usual café.

Emilie, mid-sip of her drink, slowly set her cup down and arched an eyebrow. “No shit.”

Isabelle groaned, dropping her head into her hands. “I mean too fast,” she muttered. “It’s too fast.”

Emilie leaned back, unimpressed. “Define ‘too fast.’”

“I don’t know.” Isabelle exhaled, sitting up and fiddling with the edge of her napkin. “It’s like—I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. For something to go wrong. For him to change.”

Emilie just stared at her for a long moment before sighing. “Belle. He’s treating you better than your own family ever did. That’s not ‘too fast.’ That’s just right.”

“That’s not—” Isabelle started, but Emilie held up a hand.

“Let’s review,” she said, counting on her fingers. “He listens to you. He remembers things you like. He makes time for you. He prioritizes you. That’s the bare minimum of what you deserve, Belle. And you know damn well you’ve never had it before.”

Isabelle swallowed hard.

Emilie’s expression softened. “Look, I get it. It’s scary when someone actually cares about you, especially when you’re used to being the afterthought. But Max? He’s not going anywhere. And you? You’re not falling too fast. You’re just finally being caught.”

Isabelle exhaled, staring down at her coffee.

“Also,” Emilie added, smirking, “you’re absolutely screwed, because I think you’ve been in love with him for weeks.”

Isabelle groaned again, and Emilie just laughed.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Isabelle: Emilie. I think something is wrong with Max.

Emilie: Oh god, what happened??

Isabelle: He just gave me flowers.

Emilie: …And???

Isabelle: There’s no occasion. No reason. He just handed them to me and said, “Thought you’d like these.”

Emilie: Isabelle.

Isabelle: And then he pulled out my favorite wine. Already chilled. Already opened. Just there.

Emilie: Isabelle.

Isabelle: AND THEN he sat with me. No phone, no distractions, just me. He asked about my day. Actually listened.

Emilie: Isabelle.

Isabelle: WHY DO YOU KEEP SAYING MY NAME.

Emilie: Because you’re being so stupidly loved and acting like it’s a problem.

Isabelle: I just don’t know what to do with it. I feel like I should be doing something in return??

Emilie: You are. You exist. You let him love you. That’s enough.

Isabelle: But I’ve never—no one’s ever—

Emilie: I know. But this is what it’s supposed to be like.

Isabelle: …It feels weird.

Emilie: You’ll get used to it.

Isabelle: Will I?

Emilie: Yeah. And then one day, it won’t feel weird at all. It’ll just feel like love.

Isabelle: …Huh.

Emilie: Huh, she says. Like I haven’t been telling her this for years.

Isabelle: Shut up.

Emilie: Nope. Now go drink your fancy wine and let your boyfriend adore you.

Isabelle: …Fine.

Emilie: That’s my girl.

***

Instagram Post – @/isabelleleclerc

Comments:

@/arthur_leclerc: ??? From who?

@/charles_leclerc: Since when do you get flowers??

@/emilie_abadie: 👀👀👀

@/F1GossipQueen: OMG IS ISABELLE SOFT LAUNCHING A BOYFRIEND???

↳@/paddockprincessx: We are watching this situation VERY closely.

@/leclercsiblingtea: The Leclerc brothers seem deeply unsettled by this turn of events. 

@/lorenzotl: Be honest. Did you buy these for yourself?

***

Isabelle wasn’t trying to snoop.

She was just tidying up a little while Max was in the kitchen—because, frankly, he lived like someone who was always on the road (which he was). That’s how she spotted the iPad on the coffee table, screen still on. She had only glanced at it in passing, but then something caught her eye.

French lessons.

Her first reaction was confusion. Then amusement. Then something warmer, something that made her heartbeat do something a little ridiculous in her chest.

“Max?” she called out, picking up the iPad.

“Yeah?” His voice floated back from the kitchen, followed by the sound of the fridge opening. “Do you want some water?”

She walked in, holding up the iPad like it was evidence in a trial. “Are you secretly moving to Paris?”

Max turned around, brow furrowing. “What?”

She waved the iPad at him. “Since when are you learning French?”

His face did not do a good job of hiding his guilt. His eyes flickered to the screen, then back to her, and he shifted on his feet like he was debating snatching it out of her hands. “Oh. That.”

“Yes, that.” Isabelle crossed her arms, fighting a smile. “What’s the story, Verstappen? Career change? Planning to start giving post-race interviews in French?”

Max sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I live in Monaco. Figured it was time I actually learned, you know, the main language people speak here.”

Isabelle narrowed her eyes. “Uh-huh.”

“What?” He shrugged. “It makes sense.”

“It does make sense.” She took a step closer. “Except you’ve lived in Monaco for years and have never cared before.”

Max glanced at the iPad again, like it would somehow save him. When it didn’t, he exhaled, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Fine. Maybe I had another reason.”

Isabelle raised an eyebrow. “And that reason is?”

His ears were turning pink. “You.”

She blinked. “Me?”

“You switch to French when you’re with your family,” he muttered, looking anywhere but at her. “Or when you’re distracted. Or when you get really excited about something. And I—I wanted to understand you better.”

Oh.

Oh.

Isabelle stared at him, warmth flooding her chest. “Max…”

He sighed again, clearly bracing himself for teasing. “Look, if you think it’s stupid—”

“I don’t,” she interrupted, her voice soft. “I think it’s… really sweet.”

Max relaxed slightly, still wary. “Yeah?”

She smiled. “Yeah.” Then she nudged him. “Okay, say something.”

He groaned. “Now?”

“Yes, now.”

Max hesitated. Then, after a deep breath, he said—slowly, carefully—“Je veux tout comprendre de toi.”

I want to understand everything about you.

Isabelle’s breath caught.

She looked up at him, and suddenly, the teasing was gone. Her heart was thudding, her fingers itching to reach for him. “Max.”

He shifted again. “Did I say it wrong?”

She shook her head. Then, without thinking, she leaned up and kissed him.

Max made a startled sound but recovered quickly, his hands finding her waist, pulling her closer. When she finally pulled away, his grin was dazed.

“So,” he said, slightly breathless. “That was because of the French, huh?”

She laughed, tucking her head against his shoulder. “Guess you’ll have to keep practicing.”

Max tightened his hold on her. “Done.”

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Isabelle: Max is learning French.

Emilie: ???

Emilie: Like YOUR Max? The one who has lived in Monaco forever and has survived just fine with English and Dutch?

Isabelle: Yes!!!

Isabelle: I found his iPad open with some French lesson on it, and when I asked, he said he lives in Monaco so it was about time he learned.

Emilie: That… does make sense.

Isabelle: But then I pressed him, and he admitted he’s actually doing it because of ME.

Emilie: Oh.

Emilie: Ohhhh.

Emilie: Isabelle. He’s in LOVE love.

Isabelle: I don’t even know what to do with this information.

Emilie: Girl, you kiss him stupid, that’s what.

Isabelle: I already did that!!!

Emilie: Good. Keep doing it.

Emilie: Good for him. He’s putting in the effort. He’s out here grinding on Duolingo just to impress.

Isabelle: That’s what’s shocking me the most… Nobody has ever done that for me before.

Emilie: Well, he’s not just anybody, is he?

Isabelle: No. He’s Max.

Emilie: Exactly. And Max Verstappen? He doesn’t do anything halfway.

***

Text Messages:Max Verstappen & Gianpiero Lambiase

Max: Need your help.

GP: If this is about strategy on a Monday at 11 in the evening, I’m hanging up.

Max: It’s not.

GP: Then what?

Max: Isabelle’s birthday is coming up. I need a gift.

GP: …You do realize just because I’m married, I’m not a fountain of romantic wisdom, right?

Max: Who else am I supposed to ask?

GP: Literally anyone else?

Max: You’re the only one I trust not to be an idiot about this.

GP: I feel like that was a compliment and an insult at the same time.

Max: Just help me.

GP: Alright, what are you thinking?

Max: Something personal. Not just perfume or a handbag.

GP: Already doing better than most.

Max: That’s a low bar.

GP: True. Jewelry? Something meaningful?

Max: I was thinking emeralds. Her birthstone. And it matches her eyes.

GP: …Wow. You’re actually in deep.

Max: Not the point.

GP: Sure, sure. Bracelet? Necklace? Something she can wear every day?

Max: Yeah. Probably a bracelet.

GP: Go for it. But just so you know, if you keep setting the bar this high, you’re making the rest of us look bad.

Max: Not my problem.

GP: Yeah, that tracks. Let me know what you pick.

Max: Will do. Thanks.

GP: Anytime. Just remember, I’m charging a consulting fee next time.

***

Text Conversation: Max Verstappen & Emilie Abadie

Max: This is Max. Isabelle’s Max.

Emilie: …Hello, Isabelle’s Max. To what do I owe the honor?

Max: I need help. It’s about Isabelle’s birthday.

Emilie: Go on.

Max: I need Isabelle’s wrist size.

Emilie: …What.

Max: Her wrist size.

Emilie: That’s it? No explanation? No context? Just casually asking for her wrist size like that’s a normal thing?

Max: Yes.

Emilie: I don’t trust you.

Max: That feels unnecessary.

Emilie: UNNECESSARY? MAX, I HAVE SPENT YEARS FIGHTING A LOSING BATTLE AGAINST HER FAMILY’S COMPLETE INABILITY TO GET HER A DECENT GIFT.

Max: …

Emilie: Charles once got her a Ferrari-branded umbrella. ”In case you ever come to a race and it rains.”

Max: …

Emilie: Arthur once got her a stuffed animal from an airport gift shop, because he nearly forgot entirely one year. Just straight-up forgot Belle had a birthday.

Max: …

Emilie: Lorenzo got her candle last year. A SINGLE. GENERIC. VANILLA. CANDLE. SHE DOESN’T EVEN LIKE VANILLLA; SHE GETS HEADACHES FROM IT.

Max: That’s actually embarrassing.

Emilie: Thank you. But I’m not done.

Max: Oh no.

Emilie: Their mother gave Isabelle a cookbook.

Max: That’s… not the worst?

Emilie: It was a diet cookbook.

Max: …

Max: What the hell.

Emilie: EXACTLY.

Max: And you’re saying this happens every year?

Emilie: EVERY. YEAR. Max, I have a Google Doc. I have an entire spreadsheet dedicated to “How to Make Sure Isabelle Actually Gets Something Nice.” I am fighting for my life out here.

Max: Not anymore.

Emilie: Wait.

Max: Attachment: Image of three emerald bracelets

Max: I’m thinking emeralds. It’s her birthstone. Matches her eyes.

Emilie:

Emilie:

Emilie: MAX EMILIAN VERSTAPPEN.

Max: What.

Emilie: YOU ALREADY PICKED OUT OPTIONS???

Max: I was narrowing it down.

Emilie: NARROWING IT DOWN. LIKE A FUNCTIONING HUMAN MAN. LIKE SOMEONE WHO ACTUALLY PUTS THOUGHT INTO GIFTS. LIKE SOMEONE WHO KNOWS HER FAVORITE GEMSTONE AND HOW IT MATCHES HER EYES.

Max: …Yes?

Emilie: DO YOU UNDERSTAND HOW INFURIATING THIS IS FOR ME. I HAVE BEEN CARRYING THIS FAMILY.

Max: So you don’t know her wrist size?

Emilie: FIFTEEN CENTIMETERS. 

Max: Appreciate the help.

Emilie: Oh, and just for future reference—her ring size is 50.

Max: …

Max: Just for future reference?

Emilie: Just saying. You never know.

***

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/F1GossipQueen: 🚨 UM. Just saw Max Verstappen in a jewelry store in Miami. He was looking at bracelets and asking about emeralds.

@/OversteerAndTears: Not me immediately googling “Max Verstappen girlfriend emerald jewelry” like I’m gonna find something.

@/SoftForMax: Max Verstappen. In a jewelry store. Asking about emeralds. Who is she.

@/F1GossipQueen: He was so serious about it too. Like asking the salesperson about different settings and cuts.

@/CheckeredHeart: SETTINGS??? DIFFERENT CUTS?!?!

@/F1GossipQueen: Yes!!! And he was like, “She likes emeralds, but I want something subtle.” Like WHO, MAX??

@/FastCarsAndDrama: “She likes emeralds.” SHE??? I’M GONNA THROW UP.

@/MaxIsMyGOAT: So we’re just casually learning that Max Verstappen not only has a girlfriend but knows her jewelry preferences well enough to mention them in a store???@/OrangeArmy82: Maybe it’s for his mom or sister. We don’t know it’s for a girlfriend.

[kwilquib]

Unscripted Desire

Part 1

Part 2

Bae Suzy x Reader

Switching POV

Word Count: 8.9k+

A/N: had go split into two because of block limit.

The hotel bar exuded quiet luxury, its polished mahogany counters gleaming under the soft glow of crystal chandeliers. The scent of aged whiskey mingled with hints of expensive cologne, a far cry from the smoke-filled dives she usually avoided. Suzy sat at the counter, her manicured nails idly tracing the rim of her crystal tumbler, the ice inside melting slowly. The amber liquid glided down her throat—smooth, refined—but it did little to quell the fire simmering in her chest.

She didn’t need to look at the screen to know what was playing. She had heard the gasps, the whispered murmurs, the way the bartender had hesitated before refilling her glass.

But still, she turned.

“Top actress Suzy caught in scandal—exclusive photos leaked!”

The news anchor’s voice was like nails on a chalkboard. The massive screen above the bar displayed a montage of her face—smiling on red carpets, caught in the glare of paparazzi cameras. Then, the latest ones—blurry but damning. Her, exiting a luxury hotel. A man’s silhouette beside her. A rumor spun into a wildfire.

Her grip tightened around the glass. Bastards.

The sound of ice clinking in glasses and the occasional hum of jazz music no longer masked the shift in atmosphere. A low murmur spread through the bar like an infection.

"Is that really her?"

"No way, it’s Suzy, right?"

"Damn, she’s even hotter in person—"

She exhaled sharply, tilting her head down as she adjusted the brim of her cap. But it was too late. She could feel the stares now—some subtle, some bold. A group of men at the far end of the bar were whispering, one of them already raising his phone.

Shit.

Suzy threw back the rest of her drink and slammed a bill onto the counter, not bothering to wait for change.

“Leaving so soon?” the bartender asked, wary.

She flashed a practiced smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Yeah. Not really in the mood for company.”

She could feel it now—the shift. It always happened right before someone got brave enough to approach. Right before someone tried to talk to her, or worse, tried to touch.

Sliding off the barstool, she pulled her coat tighter around her body and moved toward the exit, ignoring the hushed conversations behind her.

Outside, the cold air hit her like a slap. She took a deep breath, her fingers trembling slightly as she pulled out her phone. The screen was flooded with missed calls—her manager, her agency, even her mother. The scandal was spreading like poison.

And she had nowhere to go.

Her apartment? No chance. The press would be swarming the entrance.

Hotels? Cameras everywhere.

She started walking, head low, ignoring the flash of a camera from across the street. She needed to disappear—just for a night.

Lost in thought, she didn’t notice the dark figure leaning casually against the alley wall up ahead.

Not until it was too late.

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

You drag your feet along the dimly lit street, shoulders heavy from another grueling day at the accounting firm. The subway entrance is just two blocks away when you hear it—a sharp intake of breath, followed by hushed, urgent voices spilling from the alley ahead.

You slow your steps, instincts prickling.

The sounds come first—muffled struggles, the scrape of boots against the pavement, a low chuckle laced with something vile. Then, a woman’s voice, sharp with defiance but tinged with the tremor of fear.

"Let me go."

Your gaze sharpens.

A slim figure is pressed against the cold brick wall, three men surrounding her. One grips her wrist. Another blocks her escape. The third, holding a camera, sneers.

"Come on, sweetheart. You’re already all over the news—what’s one more little scandal?"

"We know what kind of girl you are."

"Bet you’re just playing hard to get."

Your fingers twitch. You take them in—calculating.

The man gripping her wrist leans in, voice dripping with amusement. The second stands close, predatory. The third lingers just outside the fray, the lens of his camera gleaming.

And then there’s her.

Dark hair in wild disarray, lips parted, chest rising and falling too fast. Her dress is bunched at her thighs where they must have grabbed at her. But her stance is defiant—legs set, shoulders squared. She’s fighting. But she won’t win.

You step forward. Slowly. Deliberate. The scrape of your shoes against the pavement finally catches their attention.

The one holding her tenses first, his head snapping toward you. "The fuck do you want?"

You don’t answer. Your eyes flick between them, then to her. She sees you. Measures you the same way you did her.

"You lost, buddy?" the second sneers.

You pull out your phone, raising it just enough for them to see the screen. "Police or tabloids first? Either way, your faces are going viral."

A beat of hesitation.

"Fuck, let’s go, man. It’s not worth it," the one with the camera mutters.

That does it.

The grip on her wrist loosens. The men exchange glances before slinking into the shadows, muttering curses under their breath.

Silence.

You exhale, already turning to leave. But she’s still there, still pressed against the wall, watching you. Really watching you.

Chest still rising too fast. Adrenaline still humming beneath her skin. But now there’s something else in her gaze. Something keen.

"You okay?" Your voice is quieter now, but firm.

Her lips part—then curl. A slow, deliberate movement, the ghost of a smirk.

She trails her fingers down her arm, smoothing over her own skin as if only now remembering it belongs to her. "That was... brave of you."

Something in the way she says it makes your pulse thrum.

Her dress is still askew, one strap slipping off her shoulder, the curve of her collarbone gleaming under the dim light. When she exhales, it’s slower now—measured. A performance.

For you.

She shifts, subtly, her thigh brushing against yours as she steadies herself. "You didn’t have to help me."

"You wanted me to?"

A pause. Then, a soft laugh. "I wanted someone to."

Your fingers twitch.

She tilts her chin up, her mouth so very close now, her scent—something faintly sweet, something warm—curling around you.

And then, barely above a whisper: "Are you going to take your reward?"

"Don't care." The words come out before you can stop them, exhaustion stripping any patience you might have had. "What the hell were you thinking, walking alone in an alley at night? Are you trying to get hurt?"

She blinks, caught off guard. "Do you... not know who I am?"

"Should I?" You rub your temples, already regretting stepping in. "Look, get a cab or something. It’s not safe here."

You turn to leave, already thinking about your bed, your alarm clock, the miserable morning ahead.

"Wait—" she calls after you, indignation flaring in her tone.

But you don’t stop. Whatever mess she’s in, it’s not your problem.

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

Desperation makes people do crazy things. That's what Suzy tells herself as she trails the stranger through the dimly lit streets, keeping just far enough behind that he doesn't notice. Her heels click softly against the pavement—a sound that would normally make her self-conscious, but right now she's beyond caring.

She watches him climb the stairs of a weathered apartment building. Third floor. The kind of place she wouldn't have looked twice at before tonight. But right now? It might as well be salvation.

Her phone buzzes again. Another message from her manager: "Where are you? The press is everywhere. Your house is surrounded."

Decision made.

She catches the door before it locks, following his path up the worn stairs. The carpet is threadbare, the walls a dingy shade of beige. She finds him just as he's unlocking his door—303.

"Hey!"

He startles, turning to face her with wide eyes. "What the—"

She doesn't give him time to finish. The moment the door cracks open, she pushes past him into the apartment.

It’s small– painfully small. A one-bedroom unit with an open living space, a kitchen tucked neatly to the side, and a couch that looks well-worn but comfortable. The floor-to-ceiling windows should make it feel spacious, yet to her, the walls seem too close, the ceiling too low.

But it's private. Anonymous.

And right now, that's all that matters.

Perfect.

"You can't be here," he says, voice tight with disbelief. "How did you even—"

"I followed you." She drops onto his couch, letting her body sink into the worn cushions. They smell faintly of laundry detergent. "I need a place to stay."

"This is not a hotel." His jaw clenches. "Get out."

She reaches for the remote on his coffee table, flipping on the small TV mounted to the wall. As if on cue, her face appears on the screen—the scandal still breaking news. She gestures at it dramatically. "See that? That's why I can't leave. You saved me back there. That makes you responsible."

"That's... that's not how this works." But she can see the fight draining from him, replaced by pure exhaustion.

She pulls her legs up onto the couch, making herself comfortable. "One night. That's all I'm asking. By tomorrow, my agency will have handled everything." She hopes.

He stares at her for a long moment, and she holds her breath. This is crazy. She knows it's crazy. But she's out of options.

Finally, his shoulders slump. "Fine. One night. Then you leave."

Relief floods through her, though she keeps her expression neutral. "Deal."

He mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like "I must be losing my mind" as he disappears into what she assumes is the bathroom.

Suzy lets out a long breath, sinking deeper into the couch. Around her, the tiny apartment feels like a fortress—the first safe space she's found since this nightmare began.

Her phone buzzes again. She turns it off without looking.

Just one night, she thinks. One night to breathe. One night to figure out her next move.

One night in this stranger's apartment, where nobody would think to look for Korea's biggest star.

She closes her eyes, listening to the sound of running water from the bathroom. For the first time since the scandal broke, she feels her muscles begin to relax.

Maybe desperate choices aren't always the worst ones.

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

You sat at your desk, eyes flicking to the clock, counting down the minutes until the workday ended. Each second dragged like molasses, the fluorescent lights overhead doing little to keep your exhaustion at bay.

Then—your phone buzzed.

"When are you going home?!?"

You sighed, barely sparing the message a glance before turning back to your screen. You weren’t in the mood. Home wasn’t any better than work, anyway.

Another buzz.

"I’m bored. I’ll be waiting outside your office."

Your fingers paused over the keyboard. A bluff. Typical Suzy, always demanding, always expecting. As if the world revolved around her whims. You dismissed the message and refocused on your task.

Then, another buzz—this time, a photo.

Annoyed but curious, you unlocked your phone.

It was a selfie. But it wasn’t her face that made your stomach drop—it was the background. The ground floor of your office. The reception desk, crystal clear behind her.

She wasn’t bluffing.

"Unbelievable," you muttered under your breath, shoving your chair back.

You shot up from your seat, raking a hand through your hair.

"Sir?" you called out, barely masking the irritation in your tone. "I know it's a little early, but can I clock out?"

Your senior barely looked up but caught the urgency in your face. He sighed, waving you off. "Go ahead."

Not wasting another second, you grabbed your things and rushed to the elevator, pressing the button impatiently.

The moment the doors slid open, you strode into the lobby—and there she was. Suzy.

Leaning against the reception desk, chatting with the receptionist like she had all the time in the world. Carefree. As if she hadn’t just disrupted your entire evening for no reason other than her own boredom.

Despite her attempt at going incognito—oversized hoodie, cap pulled low, and dark sunglasses—there was no mistaking her. The way she carried herself, the subtle air of confidence, the effortless way she drew attention even when trying to avoid it.

As you got closer, her voice drifted to you.

"Can you call someone for me? It's urgent."

"I can look up their name for you," the receptionist offered with a polite smile.

"His name is—”

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

A sudden grip on her wrist. Firm. Quick.

Suzy blinked, momentarily startled, before a slow smirk curled her lips.

Ah. There he was.

She turned her head lazily, meeting his sharp, irritated gaze. Annoyance simmered just beneath the surface—he was trying to keep his cool, but oh, she could see it. The frustration, the barely restrained anger.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, voice tight, forced into some semblance of calm.

She tilted her head, feigning innocence. "I told you, I was bored. You shouldn’t have ignored me."

She watched him grit his teeth, his fingers twitching against her wrist before he let go. How amusing. He always acted like she was some kind of nuisance, an inconvenience in his neatly arranged life. But despite all that? He was here. Right where she wanted him.

Her eyes gleamed with satisfaction as she pressed her car keys into his palm, ignoring the exasperation and tightening his expression.

She pressed her car keys into his palm, watching his expression shift from exasperation to disbelief. "I’m hungry. Let’s eat."

"You could’ve just ordered something. Or gone through a drive-thru," he said, voice sharp.

She ignored him.

Because despite all his resistance, all his frustration, she knew.

He was going to follow her.

And that—more than anything—made her smile.

The drive was tense.

The low hum of the engine and the occasional sound of turn signals were the only things filling the silence between them. He gripped the steering wheel a little too tight, jaw locked as he focused on the road ahead.

Suzy, on the other hand, sat comfortably in the passenger seat, one leg crossed over the other, tapping her fingers idly against her knee. She was entirely unbothered by the thick cloud of irritation radiating off of him.

"You know," she finally broke the silence, her voice laced with amusement, "I'm paying, so you can relax."

He exhaled sharply through his nose, fingers flexing around the wheel. "That’s not the problem, Suzy."

"I just wanted takeout anyway," she continued as if he hadn’t spoken, "so we can eat at home."

His eyes flicked toward her, disbelief flashing across his face. "Home?" he repeated. "Whose home?"

"Yours, obviously," she said easily, stretching her arms behind her head.

And just like that, he had enough.

"You’re unbelievable," he snapped, his patience finally cracking. "You act like you own me, like you can just decide things for me. What part of this makes sense to you, Suzy? You show up uninvited, you drag me out of work, and now you expect me to do something you could've done alone?"

"You’re being ridiculous," she muttered under her breath, but he caught it.

He let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Oh, I’m ridiculous? That’s rich coming from you."

Her head snapped toward him, eyes narrowing. "I don’t see what the big deal is. I just wanted to eat with you. Why are you acting like I did something horrible?"

"Because you don’t ask—you just decide things for me," he shot back. "You don’t care what I want, Suzy. It’s always about you."

Suzy scowled. "That’s not true."

"Really? Then tell me—when have you ever considered what I wanted?"

She opened her mouth, then closed it, a flicker of hesitation crossing her face. She hated that. Hated how he always had something to throw back at her.

"Well, I want to be with you," she declared, as if that alone should settle it.

He clenched his jaw. "And that’s exactly the problem. You act like I don’t have a choice in the matter."

She scoffed. "You’re just making excuses. What, are you scared of me or something?"

"Scared of you?" He laughed, shaking his head. "No, Suzy. I just don’t want to deal with your entitled attitude."

That struck a nerve.

She turned fully to face him, brows furrowing. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," he said, exasperation bleeding into his tone. "You walk around like the world owes you something—like I owe you something."

Her fingers tightened around her arms. "I owe you something?" she echoed, tone sharper now. "I don’t see you complaining when other people throw themselves at me. But when it’s you, suddenly it’s a problem?"

"Because I’m not one of your fans, Suzy."

That shut her up for a second.

But only for a second.

"You’re acting like I’m forcing you at gunpoint," she snapped. "All I’m doing is giving you my time. Do you know how many people would kill for that?"

"There it is again," he muttered, gripping the wheel. "Your time. Your attention. It’s always about you."

She huffed, rolling her eyes. "If you hate it so much, then why are we still here?"

"Because you won’t leave me alone!"

His voice rose, frustration boiling over. Suzy flinched slightly at the sharpness of it. But instead of backing down, she doubled down.

"God, you’re so dramatic," she muttered. "I thought you were different."

He scoffed, shaking his head. "Yeah? Well, I thought you would change after your hiatus, but here we are."

The moment the words left his mouth, he knew he’d gone too far.

The car went deathly silent.

Suzy's expression froze, the usual fire in her eyes flickering out for just a second. Her fingers clenched against her arms, nails pressing into her skin.

He could feel it—the shift. He hit a nerve. A deep one.

She swallowed, staring ahead, jaw tight. "Pull over."

"Suzy—"

"Pull over."

He exhaled through his nose but did as she asked, guiding the car to the side of the road. The moment it stopped, she pushed the door open, stepping out without another word.

He closed his eyes, running a hand down his face. "Shit."

After a moment, he unbuckled his seatbelt and stepped out, finding her standing by the side of the car, arms crossed.

"Look," he started, sighing, "I shouldn’t have said that."

She didn’t look at him. "No, you shouldn’t have."

He rubbed the back of his neck. "I’m sorry."

Suzy let out a long breath, finally meeting his gaze. She studied him for a moment before nodding. "Apology accepted."

A beat of silence.

"But I still stand by what I said," he added.

Suzy’s lips twitched, somewhere between a smirk and a scowl. "So do I."

Of course she did.

And somehow, despite everything, despite the argument, despite the tension still lingering between them—he knew she wasn’t going anywhere.

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

As you pull into the parking spot outside your apartment, Suzy is already moving. Before you can even turn off the engine, she’s out of the car, slipping into the night like she’s done this a hundred times before.

You curse under your breath, grabbing the takeout bags and hurrying after her, but she’s fast—too fast for someone who claims to have nowhere else to be.

By the time you catch up, she’s crouched by your doorstep, fingers deftly adjusting the potted plant where you keep your spare key. She doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t fumble.

Just lifts it, plucks the key from its usual spot, and unlocks the door with the ease of someone who belongs here.

Like she’s done it countless times before.

She steps inside without looking back, already shrugging off her jacket, already shedding the pieces of her disguise, leaving a trail of familiarity in her wake.

And for a second, you just stand there.

Watching her move through your space like it’s hers. Like she’s always been here.

You tiptoe around her mess, careful not to disturb the chaos that has overtaken your once-pristine apartment. The space you kept meticulously tidy—your sanctuary—now feels like occupied territory, claimed by the nation’s so-called first love. She lounges on your couch, lazily flipping through TV channels as if she belongs there.

“When are you leaving?” you ask, setting your takeout on the table with a little more force than necessary.

She sighs, not even looking at you. “Again?” Her voice carries the weight of someone more exhausted by the question than by her own intrusion.

“You said one night. That was the deal,” you remind her, trying to catch her gaze, but she refuses to meet your eyes.

Instead, "I'm going to shower!" she announced, a touch too brightly, seemingly ignoring your last comment.  She stretched languidly from the couch, her shirt riding up to reveal a sliver of her stomach.

Her eyes met yours briefly, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths.  She moved with a deliberate slowness, her already short shorts riding even higher with each step.  As she walked past you, she stretched again, exaggerating the movement, highlighting her petite frame. The stretch pulled her shirt further up her back, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of skin, while her shorts dipped precariously low, almost to the edge of her hips.  It was a performance, a subtle display designed for your eyes only.

Reaching the bathroom door, she paused, holding your gaze captive. You watched, unsure of what she was planning next.  Suddenly, she moved again, as if initiating another stretch. But this time, the movement was different, more deliberate. She fully lifted her shirt, letting it fall to the floor with a soft thud. Then, she reached for the waistband of her shorts, slowly pulling them down, deliberately showcasing the curve of her backside.  Beneath the shorts, she wore lacy underwear, the delicate fabric barely concealing her form.  The striptease continued as she slowly raised each knee in turn, carefully removing her panties, teasingly obscuring your view of her most intimate area.

Finally, she stood nude, her back to you.  As if sensing your captivated gaze, she turned her head just enough for you to see the edge of a grin playing on her lips.  It was a look of both triumph and something else… something you couldn't quite place.

With a final, lingering glance, she slipped into the bathroom and closed the door, leaving you in a state of heightened anticipation.

The bathroom door clicks shut, and you finally let out the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

This wasn’t new. Not really. Ever since she decided your apartment was hers too, Suzy had been toying with you—testing boundaries, pushing limits. The casual touches, the way she’d stretch just enough to let her shirt ride up, the way she’d pretend innocence after every single deliberate move.

But tonight? Tonight was different. Tonight was bolder.

You drag a hand down your face, exhaling sharply. The image of her peeling off her clothes, that teasing glance before she disappeared into the bathroom—it lingers, searing itself into your mind against your will.

You should be used to this.

You aren’t.

Shaking off the heat curling in your stomach, you turn to the mess she’s left behind, grasping onto the one thing you can control—order.

Her jacket is draped over the armrest like she owns the place. A scarf is tangled with her purse on the floor, one of her shoes discarded near the door while the other is kicked under the coffee table. And her clothes—why the hell were they everywhere? A hoodie thrown onto your chair, a sweater half-off the couch, socks abandoned completely.

You crouch, grabbing her shirt and folding it with a little too much force, jaw tight as you work.

She’s done this before—left her mark, made herself comfortable, like she’s waiting for you to snap, waiting for you to do something about it.

You never do.

Not in the way she wants.

But tonight… tonight is testing you.

The sound of the shower running is background noise, but your mind betrays you, conjuring up images you shouldn’t entertain. You shake your head, focusing on picking up the wreckage of her presence instead.

Because this? This is her entertainment, tormenting you, a game.

And you’re not going to let her win.

~~~

The last beads of water slide down her skin, slow and indulgent, tracing the shape of her body like tiny, obedient servants before vanishing between her thighs. The steam still clings to the air, swirling around her like a curtain before finally retreating, revealing glimpses of her reflection in the mirror.

Suzy grins. There it is. The spark of victory. The proof of her power.

Because she saw it. The way his jaw went tight, the way his fingers curled around his shirt, gripping it like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. He thought she didn’t notice—thought he was still untouchable, still above her games. But tonight, oh tonight, he slipped.

He lingered.

And that? That was a win.

She hums to herself, a playful little tune as she watches her reflection, trailing a finger down the length of her arm like she’s congratulating herself. Because why not? She earned it.

That man had the nerve to dismiss her, to act like she was just a nuisance in his life. Like she wasn’t the most exciting thing to ever happen to his boring, colorless world. Like she wasn’t a gift, generously bestowing him with her presence.

Ungrateful.

And yet, despite all his protests, all his tired sighs and sharp words—he looked. He always looked.

Suzy giggles, the sound light, teasing, full of mischief.

"You can’t ignore me forever, you know."

She tilts her head, admiring herself from different angles, brushing her damp hair back over her shoulder.

Perfect. Every inch of her was designed to be admired, and after tonight? He’d have to admit that. He’d have to admit that he’d been wrong about her. About everything.

She bites her lip, not out of shyness—please—but because she loves the anticipation. The thrill of knowing she’s gotten under his skin, past his walls, into that stubborn little head of his.

Just a little more.

She reaches for her bathrobe, slipping it over her damp skin, the silk clinging in all the right places. She doesn’t bother tying it tight. No, no, no. That would ruin the fun. It stays just loose enough, just dangerous enough, like an invitation waiting to be answered.

Then, with a final wink at herself—because really, who deserves it more?—she steps toward the door.

Suzy’s joy immediately faltered as she stepped out of the bathroom, her grin freezing in place. There he was, diligently setting the table, his back to her, completely unbothered. No lingering glances, no tension in his shoulders—nothing. He wasn’t even waiting.

How dare he?

She had given him a show, hadn’t she? Deliberately undressing in front of him, her back turned just enough to tease, to tempt. She’d felt his eyes on her—or at least, she thought she had. The memory of it had fueled her confidence as she stepped into the shower, imagining him squirming, resisting, wanting. But now? Now he was just… setting the damn table.

“You’re out of shampoo,” she said, her voice sharp with annoyance, though it was mostly to mask the sting of his indifference.

He paused, his hands hovering over the plates for a moment before he straightened. “How?! I bought that four days ago—” His voice caught, as he glanced at Suzy, just barely, but it was enough. A tiny crack.

Suzy’s grin returned, slow and triumphant. She waited, her eyes narrowing as she braced for the rest of his sentence—some excuse, some flicker of emotion. But it never came. Instead, he simply turned back to the table, his movements calm and methodical, as if she hadn’t just emerged from his bathroom, damp and glowing and perfect.

Baffled. Confused. Frustrated. Annoyed. The emotions churned in her chest, each one sharper than the last.

Just when she thought she’d finally cracked him, just when she thought she’d seen the faintest hint of vulnerability, he’d reverted to his usual self—dismissive, unimpressed, utterly unappreciative of her grace and beauty.

“You’re going to eat like that?” he asked, his tone casual, as if nothing had happened. As if she weren’t standing there in his bathrobe, the silk clinging to her skin, her hair still damp and curling at the edges.

Suzy’s jaw tightened, but she forced herself to smile, her steps slow and deliberate as she approached the table. She didn’t take her eyes off him, searching for any sign of a crack in his nonchalance—a twitch of his lips, a flicker of his gaze, anything. But there was nothing. Just the same infuriating calm.

She sat down across from him, her movements deliberate, her robe slipping just enough to reveal the curve of her shoulder. He didn’t look up. He was already eating, his focus entirely on his meal, as if she were nothing more than a mildly inconvenient guest.

The silence stretched, thick and heavy, until Suzy couldn’t take it anymore.

“You’re not gay, are you?” The question slipped out before she could stop it, her voice saccharine-sweet, but her knuckles whitened around her fork. Pathetic, she scolded herself. But she needed an answer—any answer—to explain why he refused to look, to want, to break.

He paused, his fork hovering mid-air. For a heartbeat, she saw it—the faintest twitch in his jaw, the shadow of something raw flickering behind his eyes. Then it vanished. He set his fork down with deliberate calm and met her gaze. “I’m not playing your games. You should’ve realized that by now.”

The words were a slap. Suzy’s smile cracked, her chest tightening. Games? This wasn’t a game. This was survival. If he could resist her, what did that make her?

She stared at her plate, the food now repulsive in its mundanity. Why couldn’t he see her? The steam from the meal curled upward, mocking her, and suddenly the room felt suffocating.

Then it hit her—a jagged, desperate epiphany. He hadn’t thrown her out. He hadn’t called the cops, hadn’t sold her secrets to the ravenous press. For all his scowling and sighs, he’d let her stay. Let her linger.

Because he wants to, her pride hissed. Because he’s lying.

The last drops of water had barely cooled on her skin when she stepped out of the bathroom, her silk robe clinging to her damp body. Suzy knew exactly what she was doing. She always did.

“Are you really unaffected by me?” she purred, rising from her chair, letting the robe slip dangerously off one shoulder. She circled the table like a predator, her bare feet silent against the floor, her movements slow, deliberate.

He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. But something flickered behind his eyes—something dark, something warning.

She ignored it.

“You can pretend all you want,” she whispered, gripping his chin and tilting his face toward hers, forcing him to meet her gaze. Her thumb traced the hard line of his jaw, feeling the tension coiled beneath. “But you’re enjoying this. Admit it.”

“Suzy.” His voice was quiet. Too quiet. Like the silence before a storm.

Drunk on her own confidence, she pressed closer, her breath warm against his skin. “Admit I’m under your skin. Admit you think about me—”

His hand shot up, fingers wrapping around her wrist in an iron grip. The suddenness of it made her gasp, her practiced composure slipping for just a moment.

“You want to know what I think?” His voice was low, controlled, but laced with something that sent a shiver through her. “I think you’re pushing boundaries you don’t understand.”

She tried to hold onto her sultry smile, but it faltered when he stood, towering over her, his presence suffocating in the most intoxicating way.

“I—”

“No.” He cut her off, backing her against the wall with slow, deliberate steps. His other hand came up to her throat—not squeezing, just resting there, a silent reminder of control she no longer had. “You wanted my attention? Congratulations. You have it.”

Her breath hitched. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. She was supposed to be the one in control, the one making him unravel.

“What’s wrong, princess?” His thumb brushed against her racing pulse. “Isn’t this what you wanted? To break my control?” He leaned in, his breath hot against her ear. “Or are you finally realizing you might have pushed too far?”

Her lips parted, but no sound came.

“You didn’t think,” he murmured, his voice darkening. “You never do. You just take and push and demand, thinking there won’t be consequences.”

Then he kissed her. Not sweetly, not like in her carefully crafted fantasies. This was raw, deliberate—punishment wrapped in pleasure. His grip tangled in her hair, holding her still as he devoured her, bruising and possessive.

She whimpered, hands fisting in his shirt, caught between pulling him closer and pushing him away. This wasn’t her game anymore. This was him showing her exactly what happened when she got what she asked for.

When he pulled back, her breath was ragged, her lips swollen. The smug confidence she wore like armor had cracked completely, leaving her wide-eyed, vulnerable.

“Still think I’m unaffected?” His gaze was dark with satisfaction. “Or should I show you exactly how affected I can be?”

Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her body betraying her even as her mind scrambled to reclaim control.

He didn’t give her the chance.

With a slow, deliberate movement, he tugged at the knot of her robe. The silk slipped from her shoulders, sliding down her body like a whisper, pooling at her feet.

She was bare before him, her skin flushed from heat and the chill of the air. A shiver ran through her as his hands found her shoulders, his touch light yet commanding.

He leaned in, lips grazing her neck, his breath warm against her skin. A small, involuntary whimper escaped her lips.

He pulled back, his gaze never leaving hers, then lowered his head—his breath now ghosting over her breast. Then, without warning, his lips closed around her nipple, his tongue flicking against the sensitive peak before sucking deeply.

“Ah… Hnng…” Her moan broke through the silence.

She tried to grasp onto her confidence, forcing a teasing smirk. “I should’ve known you were this hungry—”

The words died on her lips as he latched onto her again, silencing any attempt at control.

Her legs pressed together, squirming against the growing ache between them. Her hands hovered over his body, unsure where they belonged—her thoughts a haze, her senses overwhelmed. A strange sensation started at her toes, tingling, winding its way up until her head felt dizzy, like she was melting into him.

Then he stopped.

She barely registered the ragged sound of her own breathing, her gaze locked on him—not with desire, but with the dazed fixation of a predator realizing it’s become prey.

“You think I’m doing this to make you feel good?” His voice was low, almost clinical, as he pinned her wrists above her head with one hand.

“I’m n-not—” The lie fractured as his free hand slid down her ribcage, fingertips branding her skin. Her body tautened, betraying her, hips arching toward him before she could stop herself.

“You’re right,” he rasped, his breath hot against her ear. “This isn’t about me. It never was.” His palm closed over her breast, thumb circling her nipple with deliberate, agonizing slowness. “It’s about you learning what happens when you shove your way into someone’s life and demand they perform for you.”

She gasped, teeth sinking into her lower lip to stifle a whimper. Don’t. Don’t give him this. But her traitorous body strained against him, heat pooling low in her stomach.

“Keep your hands here,” he ordered, tightening his grip on her wrists. “Or I stop.”

“Stop then,” she hissed, the last shred of pride sharpening her voice. She shoved weakly against him, but her muscles felt liquid, useless.

He laughed—a dark, humorless sound—and nipped the curve of her neck. “You don’t want me to stop. You’ve never wanted anything real in your life, have you? Just applause. Just proof.” His fingers pinched her nipple hard enough to sting, and a broken noise escaped her throat. “Here’s your proof, Suzy. You’re ordinary here. Just flesh. Just need.”

She hated him. Hated how his words slithered under her skin, hated how her thighs trembled, hated the slick ache between them that throbbed in time with his touch. Most of all, she hated the part of her that craved this—the part that wanted him to dismantle her, piece by performative piece, until nothing was left but the raw, shameful truth:

She’d rather be ruined by him than ignored.

So she let herself break.

Her hands, once limp with shock, clawed at his shirt—buttons scattering, her nails scraping skin. She bit the inside of her cheek, hating how badly she craved the heat he’d denied her.

“You’re already wet,” he muttered, fingers skimming her thigh, blunt and deliberate.

Her breath hitched, but she forced a smirk, lifting her chin. “I—maybe. So?”

His lips curled, as if amused by the pathetic excuse for defiance. “So? Liar.”

A sharp gasp broke from her as he slid a finger into her, ruthless.

Her fingers trembled against his belt, but she yanked at the leather anyway, snapping it free. “You talk too much,” she muttered, pretending her voice wasn’t shaking.

“You begged for this,” he said, pressing another finger inside, harder this time, until she was pinned between him and the wall.

“Hnnng…Fuck…” The sound slipped before she could stop it. Humiliating.

His grin was immediate, infuriating. Heat crawled up her neck, but before he could throw another taunt, she grabbed his waistband and yanked—pants and boxers falling in one sharp pull.

His cock sprang free, thick and hot against her stomach as he leaned in, claiming her mouth. The kiss was different now. Deeper. More. And yet his hands never withdrew from between her legs, never let up, never let her breathe.

She was spiraling too fast, losing ground. No, no, no—she wasn’t supposed to be the one drowning.

The climax built, tight and unbearable, until—

He broke the kiss. Just like that.

Suzy chased his lips, her mouth grazing his chin, his jaw, anywhere—but he turned away, leaving her gasping at nothing.

“Contraceptives,” he muttered, already heading for the kitchen counter.

“Oh.” The word slipped out small and stupid. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, cheeks burning. Since when did she forget herself like this?

Her body ached with frustration, but she refused to stand there waiting like some desperate, abandoned thing. So she followed, her bare feet slapping against the floor. “Hurry,” she breathed, though she’d rather die than admit it was a plea.

He turned, a condom packet pinched between his fingers, his expression unreadable. Then, without warning, he hooked an arm under her knees and lifted her.

“Wait—!” Suzy yelped, arms flailing before instinct had them locking around his neck.

His heartbeat.

She could hear it, rapid and relentless against her ear. Or maybe it was hers. She couldn’t tell anymore. Their breaths, their heat, their hunger—blurring together.

He laid her down, shadow swallowing her whole as he climbed over her. But instead of moving, instead of tearing into her the way she swore she wanted, he just... stared. His gaze traced her face, slow and searching, like he was trying to memorize something she didn’t even know she was showing.

It made her skin prickle. “What?” she snapped.

“Nothing,” he murmured, voice softer than she’d ever heard it. “Just wondering how someone so loud can feel so small.”

Suzy’s throat tightened.

She wanted to scoff, roll her eyes—fire back with something smug and clever. But the words tangled, refusing to come.

Before she could untangle them, he kissed her again. Slow, deliberate. His hands cradled her face, gentle in a way that terrified her.

Here’s your refined scene, keeping Suzy’s teasing nature but also her struggle with honesty and vulnerability:

Because fragility was the one thing she couldn’t fake.

“Just—just do what you want already,” she stuttered, hating how weak she sounded.

He hovered over her, their faces so close she could feel his breath against her lips. Her nipples, tight and sensitive, pressed against the heat of his skin.

Instead of answering, he kissed her—just a tap, far gentler than before. Almost sweet.

“Aren’t you a little impatient, Suzy?” he murmured, the tease running straight through her, twisting low in her stomach.

It was the first time he’d said her name with a smile.

Her heart fluttered.

No. No, no, no. She refused to react to that.

Before she could come up with some snarky retort, he pulled back, dragging his lips down her body. His movements were slow, deliberate, each inch of space he put between their faces only making the anticipation coil tighter inside her.

Her breath hitched when he settled between her legs.

“W-what are you doing?” she asked, already knowing.

She knew exactly what he was about to do.

Yet she asked anyway, unprepared for the moment it would actually happen.

“W-wait, at least let me take a shower first,” she blurted, grasping at anything to stall, to breathe, to think.

A snicker rumbled from below. “Didn’t you just take a shower?”

Heat flooded her face. She wanted to disappear.

Before she could find another excuse—

“Haahn—!”

His tongue swept over her folds, slow and deliberate.

“Ahh! god—!”

A sharp jolt of pleasure shot up her spine as he played with her clit, teasing, circling, pressing.

“W-wait… I—ah! Ahhn! Hnghh!”

Then—

“Hiiic!”

She flinched, her entire body jolting as he sucked, her back arched upwards, the sound indecent, shameless.

Blinking down at him, her breath ragged, she found him already watching her. Smirking.

“You’re really sensitive, Suzy.”

His words lit a spark of defiance in her. He was teasing her, toying with her, and she wasn’t about to let him get away with it.

She sprang up, her body still trembling from his touch. “It’s your turn now.”

He raised a brow, amusement flickering in his eyes. “What?”

“I said—it’s your turn now.” She tapped his shoulder with her foot, her legs still parted, unintentionally exposing herself more than she realized.

His gaze darkened. “Oh?”

“Let’s see how patient you are,” she challenged, tilting her chin, her voice laced with quiet amusement.

A slow smirk spread across his lips, but he said nothing.

“What are you waiting for? Lie down.” She guided him onto his back, effortlessly shifting their positions. Now, she was on top.

Kneeling between his legs, her eyes flickered downward, and—

Oh.

His cock stood between them, thick and rigid, a sight she was no stranger to. And yet, something about him—about this—felt different.

Her fingers moved without hesitation, wrapping around him with practiced ease, stroking with a steady rhythm. He was warm, heavy in her grasp, the weight of him familiar yet somehow new.

She had done this before—many times. But never with him.

And now, with the heat of the moment slowed to her pace, she had the chance to take him in, to truly feel him.

Her fingers barely met around his girth.

Her breath hitched.

He was bigger than she expected, thicker than she was used to.

A challenge.

Her lips curled slightly as she leaned in, her breath ghosting over his length. Her strokes remained measured, deliberate, teasing. She knew exactly what she was doing—what effect she had on him.

With her free hand, she traced the tip, swirling a finger through the precum, watching the way his muscles tensed beneath her touch. A soft chuckle escaped her as she tucked her hair behind her ears, preparing to take him in.

Slowly, she let her tongue slip out, teasing him before finally making contact—

“Nggh…” A deep grunt rumbled from his chest, his cock twitching in response.

And then—

A sharp pulse, followed by a hot splash across her cheek.

She stilled, eyes flicking up to meet him. His breath was ragged, his fists clenched at his sides.

A wicked smirk tugged at her lips as she dragged a finger through the mess on her skin, bringing it to her mouth, letting her tongue flick out just enough to taste him.

“You’re really sensitive,” she murmured, her tone dripping with satisfaction.

His jaw tightened.

And just like that, she knew—she had him.

That moment of vulnerability, of losing control, it was hers to wield now. The tables had turned, just as she had wanted. Before, she had been overwhelmed by him, caught in his pace, his touch. But now—now, he was the one left breathless beneath her.

Her strokes slowed, teasing, deliberate. She leaned in, lips just barely grazing his length, reveling in the way his muscles tensed, in the sharp breath he sucked through his teeth.

Yes.

This was the power she had been after.

But just as quickly as she seized it—

The world flipped.

A gasp escaped her as he moved with speed she hadn’t anticipated, his hands gripping her waist, turning the entire game on its head. One moment she was on top, in control—

The next, her back was against the sheets, his weight caging her in.

His knee parted her legs effortlessly, pressing between her thighs as he loomed over her. That smug dominance had returned to his gaze, lips curling with something dark and knowing.

She shuddered, realizing—

She had only borrowed control for a moment.

He had merely let her think she had won.

“Suzy,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire, eyes dark and impatient. “Did you enjoy your little game?”

Her breath hitched.

She could feel him—his cock resting heavy against her stomach, a silent promise of what was to come. It pulsed against her skin, a relentless reminder of the inevitable.

Heat coiled low in her belly.

She wanted him.

She needed him.

Her breath hitched as she watched him roll the condom on, the slow, practiced motion only fueling the fire already burning inside her.

Hesitation warred with longing, nerves tangled with impatience. But pride had no place here—not when every inch of her ached for him.

She was ready to surrender.

She parted her lips, ready to plead, to beg—

“Ready?”

His voice cut through the air, low, rough, edged with impatience.

It was the question that could have once been her escape. The opening she had looked for before.

But that moment had passed long ago.

Now, there was only him.

Her fingers threaded through his hair, a silent answer—a confirmation, a submission, an invitation.

It wasn’t him who had been in her grasp—

It had been the other way around all along.

With her silent permission, he wasted no time. Strong hands spread her open, parting her folds as the tip of his cock pressed against her entrance.

“Ngh… Fuuuck!”

He pushed inside, inch by inch, stretching her, filling her. A gasp tore from her lips as her walls clenched around him, adjusting to his size. His heat seeped into her, a sensation that was both overwhelming and intoxicating.

Her feet quivered. Her fingers curled into the sheets, while her other hand covered her mouth, muffling the cries threatening to spill free.

The sudden, intense pleasure blinded her. Her eyes clenched shut, darkness swallowing her vision, but she wasn’t alone—she could feel him.

Moving.

Slow at first, each thrust deliberate, controlled, but quickly gaining speed.

“Hnngg…” She bit down on her lip, her breath shaky, her body at his mercy as he drove into her over and over again.

Her world narrowed to the sounds around her—their ragged breaths, the rhythmic slap of skin against skin, the creak of the bed beneath them, the rustling sheets.

She could feel everything.

The firm grip of his hands on her thighs. The way her body shifted with every deep thrust. The friction of him inside her, stretching her, claiming spaces untouched before.

And then—

A jolt of pleasure shot through her as his thumb found her clit, circling it, pressing, teasing.

“Hnng… No, n-not there—”

Her eyes flew open, and she found him staring at her, gaze dark, unwavering, drinking in every tremor, every reaction.

Heat flooded her cheeks. His focused attention made her feel bare in an entirely new way.

But he didn’t stop.

If anything, her protest only encouraged him. His movements deepened, his thrusts grew stronger, reaching deeper than she thought possible.

“Hnng!!”

Flustered, she covered her face with both hands, as if shielding herself from his gaze—unwilling to let him see just how undone she was becoming.

His pace slowed—a brief respite.

A chance for him to catch his breath.

And for her to regain a shred of sanity.

Her hands trembled as they shielded her face, as if trying to ground herself, to control the heat creeping up her skin. But he didn’t let her. His hands, warm and firm, gently pried hers away, forcing her to meet his gaze.

Her breath hitched. His eyes, dark and unwavering, held her captive.

Slowly, he guided her hands to his lips, pressing soft, lingering kisses against her fingers, her palms. The sensation sent a shudder through her, and before she could stop it, a whimper slipped past her lips.

“Hnngh…!”

The attention she had craved so desperately now felt overwhelming—almost unbearable.

"Why… why are you looking at me like that?" she asked, voice unsteady, flustered.

A grin tugged at his lips, his intensity never faltering. “Because I want to see your beauty, Suzy.”

Hearing her name from his lips hit her harder than she expected. It wasn’t just the compliment—it was the way he said it. Soft, tender. A stark contrast to the raw dominance he had shown before.

She had heard her name spoken countless times, but with him, it felt different. More intimate. More real.

The simplicity of his words, the sincerity in his voice—it was exactly what she had longed for. And yet, now that she had it, she felt shaken, unprepared for how deeply it unraveled her.

“What?" she breathed, struggling to process it.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he leaned in, his breath warm against her neck, sending a tremor through her body.

“W-wait—” Her protest barely left her lips before his mouth claimed hers.

His tongue slid past her parted lips, and instinctively, she met him, matching his rhythm as if it had always been this way. As if her body already knew how to respond to him.

His hands skimmed down her legs, shifting, lifting her hips with effortless control.

The brief pause between them shattered.

Their break was over.

His hips drove into her once again, a deep, deliberate thrust that stole her breath.

Her moans were swallowed by his mouth, his kiss consuming, demanding.

The force of him pushed her deeper into the bed, her body molding to his movements as he pressed her into the mattress. His pace was relentless, each thrust pushing her closer to an edge she wasn’t ready to face.

His lips left hers, trailing down her neck, sucking, biting—leaving his mark.

“Hnnng… I can’t… I—” Her plea was barely a whisper, drowned out by the rhythm of their bodies colliding.

His kisses turned into nibbles, teasing, devouring. Desperate to stop his assault, she tried to push his face away, only for him to seize her wrists, pinning them against the sheets.

Now her hands became his focus.

He kissed her fingertips, grazed his teeth along her knuckles, breathed in her scent as if memorizing it. Then he sucked gently, tongue flicking over her skin, his eyes never leaving hers.

“You look gorgeous like this, Suzy,” he murmured, admiring the wrecked state he had reduced her to.

His voice cut through the symphony of their skin slapping, the slick sounds of their bodies moving together, the ragged breaths and muffled moans.

Heat flared across her skin. She wanted to say something—anything—but before she could, her body jolted.

“Ah—!!” Her cry broke free, louder than before, almost a scream.

He had reached deep, pressing against a spot she hadn’t known existed.

Her vision blurred. Her thoughts fractured.

She was unraveling, pleasure crashing over her in waves so intense she could barely hold on.

“I’m… close…” His voice was rough, strained, barely comprehensible. But she didn’t need to hear it.

She could feel it.

His cock throbbed inside her, primed to explode.

And then—release.

Heat surged inside her as his climax tore through him, his body tensing before he spilled into the condom.

Her walls clenched around him, milking every last drop, her own ecstasy cresting in tandem.

Her mouth parted in a silent scream, her entire body seizing in pleasure so sharp it was almost unbearable.

For a moment, there was nothing. No thoughts, no words—only sensation.

Her consciousness floated, her body trembling, spent, utterly wrecked.

Then—his lips were on hers again.

Soft this time. Gentle. A stark contrast to the madness from moments ago.

With the last remnants of her energy, she kissed him back.

Slowly, the kiss melted into something tender, something lingering. A silent exchange of satisfaction, of fulfillment.

Her breathing slowed.

Her consciousness drifted.

And before she could fight it, sleep pulled her under.

Part 2 ---->

[mrs-weasley-reid]

REGRET STING

Spencer Reid x bau!reader ↳ part 2 here

Synopsis: You have always been there for Spencer. Turns out, he's never going to be there for you. Word Count: 1k+ WARNING: Angst. A/N: one of my many drafts... enjoy 👀?

You love Dr. Spencer Reid.

As a colleague, a friend, and, well, a respected man.

Granted, you spent most of your days with a small herd of profilers, but you were great at hiding your feelings for him, if you do say so yourself.

You watched him smile awkwardly with love from one woman to the other. Then, there was Maeve. He was in love with her. You didn't need your profiling skills to lead to that conclusion.

It broke your heart when you heard Spencer's plea. It broke your heart when he couldn't even function properly. And your heart broke for him as you watched him fall on his knees, crying over Maeve.

So you chose friendship. You always have, after all.

You became his anchor. His support. His best friend.

You were there for him. You were there when he was ready to open up. You lent him your shoulder. You became his personal napkin, soaking up all his tears in the hopes that it would lessen the pain, even just a little bit. You kept him company, dragging him out of his apartment to bring him anywhere besides the gloom in his empty home.

And without him, or you, knowing, you gave him your heart. You were in love with Dr. Spencer Reid.

It made you feel guilty, but it was inevitable. Who would've known you could fall deeper than you already were? Not even you, apparently.

And yet, you remained the person he could cry on for two years. You pawned him a shoulder for a long, drawn-out two years. Shoving your feelings in the back of your mind as if it wasn't anything important to you.

The deeper you fell for him, the faster the team caught up with your feelings.

JJ figured it out first when she saw the ends of your hair as you walked into Spencer's apartment the first year of Maeve's death. Spencer had been unresponsive to everyone but not to you. You managed to get him to open his door just by the sound of your footsteps. She knew, then, that he was in good hands.

Emily and Derek noticed how you felt at the same time. You were all on a case, and an officer who awfully looked a lot like Maeve emerged. You were protective of Spencer and knew exactly what his reaction would be. So you had everything he needed and offered to work with him before Hotch could even mention it. Of course, along with that was Penelope getting a confirmation about your feelings for Spencer.

Rossi always knew. He always saw the way you would giggle silently to yourself whenever Spencer sassed his statistics into them. One time, he saw you clean Spencer's desk before everyone arrived. And he suspected that you did so a while back before he caught you.

Hotch? He noticed, but he said nothing unless you verbally told him. He thought you weren't ready to openly admit your feelings to the team yet, so who was he to mention it?

And so it goes...

Emily would grin whenever Spencer gave you coffee every morning. Derek would wiggle his eyebrows whenever he caught your gaze on Spencer, then gossip about it with Penelope, which led to her teasing you 'til sundown. Rossi, at times, tried to ease your feelings when they surfaced. Your solid companion whenever you felt down. And Hotch was ever a menace, stern face or not. He would partner you and Spencer up, specifically on the days when your feelings for the genius were oddly stronger.

So, you could only imagine the heartbreak when Spencer arrived one morning with the wrong order of your coffee and a wide smile as he told you that he was going out on a date.

You immediately showed your protest. Of course, Spencer wasn't happy about it. What was worse was he didn't know why. And worse than that was you couldn't tell him why.

Or so you thought.

"I don't understand why you're making a big deal out of this," Spencer followed you as you walked around the bullpen.

"You just met this woman, Spence. I think it's safe to say I'm worried. You don't even know whether this person is safe." You lied. You had to. He didn't need to know you didn't want him to go on a date because it would break you.

Spencer crossed his arms, knitting his eyebrows as he felt offended by your words. "I'm a profiler and have 187 IQ. I can take care of myself." He stated, earning a couple of stares from the other agents.

You mirrored his actions, "Really?" You challenged, nodding in his direction, specifically to his tie. "You can't even properly tie the same tie you've been wearing for years. It looks like you haven't done laundry either because, as far as I can remember, you've been wearing that same vest for the past three days. Are you going to wear that on your date?" You raised a brow.

Emily's eyes blew wide, pursing her lips to eat her laughter in. She looked away in hopes that the urge to burst into fits of laughter would subside. Unfortunately, Derek was doing the same thing, and they both snorted at the same time.

"Obviously, I'm not going to wear this on the date. This is clearly not about how homeless I look like. Just be honest with me and tell me why you're so against me being happy." Spencer's voice climbed an octave higher. He was frustrated and confused, and you both knew how much he hated both.

You closed your eyes and sighed deeply. You really had no other choice, do you? You turned around to face Spencer, "I'm in love with you." You confessed, hoarding the entire bullpen's attention.

Spencer chuckled, shaking his head, "Right, nice joke."

"I'm not joking." It offended you a bit. How much he compared your confession to a silly joke.

Spencer's face darkened. He uncrossed his arms and dipped his hands inside his pockets. His next words broke your heart, "I'm very disappointed in you."

Your eyes widened. Your mouth fell open as you heard your heart break into pieces, so loud you couldn't get a sense of what more he was saying.

"I came to you for two years to mend. You became my best friend because I thought I could trust you. And now, you're in love with me? Did you help me just so you could gain my affection?"

It stung. The silence that fogged the bullpen was deafening. Emily wanted to claw Spencer's eyes, but JJ was fast to hold her back.

Derek began to move beside you, "Reid, don't—"

Your manic laugh cut him off.

Spencer's eyebrows narrowed, "What?" His voice was far from the gentle one you were used to.

"You know what, Reid?" You scoffed, running your tongue on your lower lip to control your anger. "You're right. I was there for you. I was there to lend you a shoulder to cry on. I was there to keep you company. I made you smile. I even made you laugh! And sure, you're very disappointed in me because, god forbid, I fell for the genius prodigy. With the 187 IQ you're boasting, imagine my disappointment when you can't even figure out that I have feelings for you."

The bullpen fell silently dead as you stared at Spencer with such hatred it made his stomach climb on his throat. He has never seen you so... disgusted.

You couldn't take it. You couldn't look at him in the eyes anymore. You felt like you were going to throw up the longer you stood in the center of it all.

His words insulted you. And it hurt like a bitch.

There were many possibilities on how Spencer could've responded to your feelings, but this was beyond your limit.

You bit your lower lip, hesitant yet eager to spill the next words that came out of your mouth. "For the record, I regret falling in love with you." And with that, you left.

An offer from another unit had been sitting in your inbox. And despite having no plan to leave such a beautiful family of colleagues, you filled out the transfer form. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew that you needed an out sooner or later. And Spencer's insensitive reaction was just the right motivation you needed.

The Monday after your outburst became the BAU team's worst nightmare.

Spencer immediately noticed your absence. He knew. Of course, he did. You were always the first person to greet him as you spun around in your seat. It was rare for you to be late.

You haven't contacted him for days, either. And he didn't have the guts to do it first. He has been drowning in guilt and couldn't figure out how he'd make it up to you. He realized how unfair he was to you, albeit too late.

Everyone arrived one by one, and there was still no sign of you until Hotch cleared his throat, "Let's start."

Penelope stumbled, hesitating at the sight of your empty seat. "What about..." She softly muttered yet loud enough for everyone to hear.

"Agent..." Hotch sighed as he spoke your name. He still remembered how you went back to his office while everyone was out for their lunch break and submitted your transfer request. "She officially transferred to unit 4, violent criminal apprehension program... today," Hotch announced, much to his dismay.

Derek's eyebrows knitted, glancing outside the window of the conference room to your desk. "Are you kidding? Her stuff is still here."

Hotch took a deep breath, glancing at Spencer for a moment. "She said they were unnecessary items." He cleared his throat and gestured for Penelope to continue what she was doing.

Regrets stung Spencer like a thousand bees.

Most of the things that clattered on your desk were things that you both shared. His pens that you never gave back. Post-it notes he left for you that had no importance, but you kept them up on the wall of your cubicle. A photo booth picture of the two of you from one of Rossi's Christmas parties. The small bookshelf on top of your desk overflowing with Spencer's annotated books.

"But she didn't even tell us. She didn't say goodbye." Penelope exclaimed. Her eyes matched the frown on her lips. She couldn't help but talk about you. After all, they were your family for many years.

"Could you blame her though?" Emily scoffed, giving Spencer a glare.

Spencer messed up. Big time. And he has no idea how he would make it up to you.

reid masterlist | masterlist