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pucksandpower · 4 months ago

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Princess Protection Program

Logan Sargeant x Princess of England!Reader

Summary: when your safety is compromised due to escalating threats, the decision is made to send you overseas for your own protection, with one caveat: no one can know about your true identity (aka the fix-it fic we desperately need right now)

The sun streams through the ornate windows of Buckingham Palace as you pace anxiously in your private chambers. Your fingers fidget with the hem of your designer blouse, a habit you’ve developed when stress creeps in. The weight of the situation hangs heavy in the air, thicker than the plush carpet beneath your feet.

A sharp knock at the door makes you jump. “Come in,” you call, trying to keep your voice steady.

Your father, King Edward, enters with a grim expression etched on his face. Behind him, your mother, Queen Charlotte, follows closely, her usual poise wavering slightly.

“Darling,” your mother begins, her voice soft but strained. “We need to talk.”

You sink into a nearby armchair, bracing yourself. “Is this about the threats?”

Your father nods, his jaw tightening. “I’m afraid so. The situation has ... escalated.”

“How bad is it?” You ask, dreading the answer.

The King exchanges a look with your mother before responding. “Bad enough that we can no longer ignore it. The security team believes your life is in genuine danger.”

Your heart races, but you force yourself to remain composed. “What does that mean for me?”

Your mother moves closer, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “We think it’s best if you leave London for a while, sweetheart. Just until we can neutralize the threat.”

You stand abruptly, shaking your head. “Leave? But I can’t! I have responsibilities here, engagements planned for the entire summer!”

“Your safety is our top priority,” your father interjects firmly. “Everything else can wait.”

“Where would I even go?” You ask, exasperation creeping into your voice.

Your mother hesitates before answering. “We’ve been discussing options with the security team. We think it’s best if you go somewhere ... unexpected.”

You raise an eyebrow, curiosity momentarily overriding your anxiety. “Unexpected how?”

“Florida.”

You blink, certain you’ve misheard. “I’m sorry, did you say Florida?”

Your mother nods, a small smile tugging at her lips despite the gravity of the situation. “Your Aunt Maggie and Uncle George have that lovely beach house in Fort Lauderdale, remember? We visited when you were younger.”

“But ... Florida?” You repeat, still struggling to process the idea. “It’s so ... American.”

Your father chuckles softly. “Exactly. No one would think to look for you there. It’s the perfect cover.”

You begin pacing again, your mind racing. “For how long?”

“We’re not sure yet,” your mother admits. “But we promise to bring you home as soon as it’s safe.”

You pause, turning to face your parents. The concern in their eyes is palpable, and it hits you just how serious this situation must be for them to suggest such a drastic measure.

“Can’t I just stay here? Increase security or something?” you plead, making one last attempt.

Your father shakes his head firmly. “The palace is too exposed. There are too many variables, too many potential weak points. We need you somewhere more ... inconspicuous.”

You sigh heavily, knowing deep down that they’re right. “When do I leave?”

“Tonight,” your mother says softly. “We’ve already begun making arrangements.”

Your eyes widen. “Tonight? But I haven’t packed, I haven’t said goodbye to anyone-”

“I know it’s sudden,” your father interrupts gently, “but the quicker we move, the safer you’ll be.”

You nod slowly, reality sinking in. “I understand.”

Your mother pulls you into a tight embrace. “Oh, darling. I know this is difficult, but please try to think of it as an adventure. A chance to experience a different kind of life for a while.”

You lean into her hug, drawing comfort from her familiar perfume. “I’ll try, Mum.”

As she pulls away, your father clears his throat. “There’s one more thing. While you’re there, you’ll need to ... blend in.”

You furrow your brow. “What do you mean?”

“We think it’s best if you adopt a different identity,” he explains. “Just temporarily, of course. To throw off anyone who might be looking for you.”

“A different identity?” You repeat, the concept both thrilling and terrifying. “Like ... a commoner?”

Your mother nods encouragingly. “Exactly. You’ll be staying with Maggie and George, of course, but to the rest of the world, you’ll just be their niece visiting for the summer.”

You take a deep breath, trying to wrap your head around it all. “I suppose I could use a break from royal duties,” you admit with a small smile.

Your father’s face softens with relief. “That’s my girl. Always looking on the bright side.”

A knock at the door interrupts the moment. “Your Majesties,” a voice calls from outside. “The security team is ready for the briefing.”

Your father sighs. “We’d better go. Darling, start packing what you can. Someone will be up shortly to help you with the rest.”

As your parents move towards the door, you call out, “Wait!”

They turn back, concern etched on their faces.

“I just ... I love you both,” you say, your voice thick with emotion. “And I know you’re just trying to protect me.”

Your mother’s eyes glisten with unshed tears as she rushes back to embrace you once more. “We love you too, sweetheart. More than anything in this world.”

Your father joins the hug, his strong arms encircling both of you. For a moment, you’re not a princess facing a crisis, but simply a daughter cherishing her parents’ love.

As they reluctantly pull away, your father says, “Remember, this is only temporary. Before you know it, you’ll be back home, safe and sound.”

You nod, forcing a brave smile. “I know. I’ll make the best of it, I promise.”

With one last loving look, your parents exit the room, leaving you alone with your swirling thoughts and a suitcase to pack.

You move to your closet, running your hands along the rows of designer gowns and tailored suits. How do normal people dress in Florida? You wonder, realizing just how much you’ll need to adapt.

As you begin selecting clothes, a bittersweet excitement begins to bubble up alongside your anxiety. It’s terrifying, leaving everything you know behind, but there’s a tiny part of you that can’t help but wonder what adventures await in this unexpected journey.

You’re lost in thought when another knock sounds at the door. “Come in,” you call, expecting to see one of the staff sent to help you pack.

Instead, your best friend and lady-in-waiting, Olivia, bursts into the room. “Is it true?” She demands without preamble. “Are they really shipping you off to America?”

You sigh, nodding reluctantly. “Florida, to be exact.”

Olivia’s eyes widen. “Florida? Land of alligators and questionable fashion choices? Oh, darling, no.”

Despite everything, you can’t help but laugh. “It’s not that bad. I hope.”

Olivia moves to your side, helping you fold a blouse. “How long will you be gone?”

“I don’t know,” you admit. “Until they catch whoever’s behind the threats, I suppose.”

Olivia’s face softens with concern. “Are you scared?”

You pause, considering the question. “A little,” you confess. “But also ... I don’t know. Maybe a tiny bit excited? Is that weird?”

Olivia shakes her head, a small smile playing on her lips. “Not at all. It’s like your own personal Princess Protection Program, but with better weather and beach access.”

You snort, grateful for her ability to find humor even in the darkest situations. “I’m going to miss you so much, Liv.”

“Oh, please,” she scoffs, though her eyes are suspiciously shiny. “You’ll be having so much fun living your secret Florida life, you’ll forget all about little old me.”

“Never,” you promise, pulling her into a fierce hug.

As you embrace, Olivia whispers, “Just promise me one thing?”

“Anything,” you reply without hesitation.

“If you meet some devastatingly handsome American and fall madly in love, you have to tell me every single detail.”

You pull back, laughing. “Liv, I’m going there to hide, not find romance!”

Olivia winks mischievously. “The best love stories always happen when you least expect them, darling. Trust me on this.”

As you continue packing, chatting and joking with Olivia, the weight on your shoulders begins to lift slightly. Yes, you’re leaving behind everything you know. Yes, there’s danger lurking in the shadows. But with the love of your family and friends behind you, you feel a flicker of hope.

Whatever awaits you in Fort Lauderdale, you’ll face it head-on. After all, you’re not just any ordinary girl — you’re a princess. And princesses, as you’ve always been taught, are made of stronger stuff.

As the sun begins to set, casting long shadows across your room, you zip up the last of your suitcases. Olivia helps you change into a simple outfit — jeans and a t-shirt, clothes that won’t draw attention during your journey.

A soft knock at the door signals the arrival of your security detail. “Your Highness,” a voice calls. “It’s time.”

You take a deep breath, looking around your room one last time. “Well,” you say to Olivia, your voice barely above a whisper, “I guess this is it.”

Olivia pulls you into one last fierce hug. “Go show those Floridians what British royalty is made of,” she says, her voice thick with emotion. “And don’t you dare come back with an American accent.”

You laugh, wiping away a stray tear. “I’ll do my best. Take care of everything while I’m gone, okay?”

“Of course,” Olivia promises. “Now go, before I change my mind and hide you in my closet instead.”

With one last smile, you open the door. Your security team waits outside, their faces a mask of professional calm. As you follow them through the winding corridors of the palace, each step feels both like an ending and a beginning.

At the private exit, your parents wait. Your mother pulls you into a tight embrace, whispering words of love and encouragement. Your father, ever the king, maintains his composure, but you can see the emotion swimming in his eyes as he kisses your forehead.

“Remember,” he says softly, “no matter where you are, you carry the strength of your ancestors with you. You are a princess of the realm, even if you’re pretending not to be for a while.”

You nod, standing a little straighter. “I won’t let you down.”

“You never could,” your mother assures you.

With one last look at your family, at the only home you’ve ever known, you step into the waiting car. As it pulls away from the palace, you don’t look back. Instead, you fix your gaze forward, towards the unknown adventure that awaits.

Florida, you think with a mix of trepidation and excitement, I hope you’re ready for me.

***

The Florida sun beats down mercilessly as you step out of the air-conditioned car, squinting against the bright light. The humid air immediately wraps around you like a warm, damp blanket, a stark contrast to London’s typically cool climate.

“Welcome to Fort Lauderdale, sweetheart!” Your Aunt Maggie’s voice rings out, full of warmth and excitement.

You turn to see her hurrying down the driveway of an impressive Mediterranean-style villa, arms outstretched. Behind her, your Uncle George follows at a more leisurely pace, a wide grin on his face.

“Aunt Maggie, Uncle George,” you greet them, trying to infuse your voice with enthusiasm despite your jet lag and lingering anxiety. “Thank you so much for having me.”

Aunt Maggie pulls you into a tight hug, her floral perfume momentarily overwhelming your senses. “Oh, darling, we’re thrilled to have you. Aren’t we, George?”

Uncle George nods, giving you a gentle pat on the shoulder. “Absolutely. Our home is your home, princess. Er, I mean-”

“Just Y/N,” you remind him quietly, glancing around to ensure no one overheard. “Remember, I’m just your normal, everyday niece visiting for the summer.”

“Right, right,” Uncle George says, lowering his voice. “Sorry about that. Old habits, you know.”

Aunt Maggie loops her arm through yours, leading you towards the house. “Don’t you worry, dear. We’ve briefed all the neighbors. As far as they know, you’re our lovely niece from England, taking some time to experience life across the pond.”

You nod, grateful for their thoughtfulness. As you enter the house, the cool air conditioning washes over you, providing instant relief from the oppressive heat outside.

“Now,” Aunt Maggie continues, “I know this must all be very overwhelming for you. Why don’t you freshen up, and then we’ll give you the grand tour?”

“That sounds lovely,” you agree, realizing just how grimy you feel after the long journey.

Uncle George appears with your suitcases. “I’ll show you to your room. It’s got a great view of the pool.”

As you follow him up the stairs, you can’t help but marvel at the casual opulence of the house. It’s certainly luxurious, but in a relaxed, lived-in way that feels worlds apart from the formal grandeur of the palace.

Your room, as promised, is beautiful. Large windows overlook a sparkling pool surrounded by swaying palm trees. For a moment, you feel like you’ve stepped into a holiday brochure.

“I’ll let you get settled,” Uncle George says, setting down your bags. “Take your time, we’re on Florida time now. No rush.”

As the door closes behind him, you sink onto the plush bed, finally allowing yourself a moment to process everything. You’re here, in Florida, thousands of miles from home and everything familiar. The reality of your situation hits you anew, and you feel a lump forming in your throat.

A soft knock at the door interrupts your thoughts. “Y/N, dear?” Aunt Maggie calls. “I’ve brought you some iced tea. May I come in?”

“Of course,” you reply, quickly composing yourself.

Aunt Maggie enters, carrying a tall glass of tea so cold that condensation is already forming on the outside. She hands it to you with a warm smile. “I thought you might need this. The Florida heat can be quite a shock to the system.”

You take a sip, the sweet, refreshing liquid instantly soothing your parched throat. “Thank you, Aunt Maggie. This is delicious.”

She sits beside you on the bed, her face softening with concern. “How are you really doing, sweetheart? I can only imagine how difficult this must be for you.”

For a moment, you consider maintaining your composed facade. But something about Aunt Maggie’s gentle demeanor breaks through your defenses. “I’m ... scared,” you admit quietly. “And I miss home already. But I’m trying to be brave.”

Aunt Maggie wraps an arm around your shoulders. “Oh, my dear. It’s okay to be scared. What you’re going through, it’s not easy. But you are brave, just by being here.”

You lean into her embrace, allowing yourself this moment of vulnerability. “I just feel so ... out of place. I don’t know how to be a normal person.”

Aunt Maggie chuckles softly. “Well, I’ve got news for you. None of us really know how to be normal. We’re all just figuring it out as we go along.”

Her words bring a small smile to your face. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Tell you what,” she says, giving your shoulders a squeeze. “Why don’t you get changed into something cool and comfortable, and then we’ll show you around the neighborhood? It might help you feel more settled.”

You nod, feeling a flicker of curiosity despite your apprehension. “I’d like that.”

After Aunt Maggie leaves, you dig through your suitcase, realizing with a start that you have no idea what constitutes “cool and comfortable” in Florida. You eventually settle on a light sundress and sandals, hoping it’s appropriate.

Downstairs, Aunt Maggie and Uncle George are waiting. “Oh, don’t you look lovely,” Aunt Maggie coos. “Very Floridian chic.”

Uncle George grabs a set of keys from a hook by the door. “Shall we take the golf cart? It’s the preferred mode of transportation around here.”

You blink in surprise. “We’re allowed to drive golf carts on the streets?”

“Welcome to Florida, kiddo,” Uncle George laughs. “Different rules apply here.”

The next hour is a whirlwind tour of the neighborhood. You zip along palm-lined streets in the golf cart, waving at neighbors who call out cheerful greetings. Aunt Maggie provides a running commentary.

“That’s the Johnsons’ place — lovely people, but their dog is a menace to squirrels everywhere. Oh, and over there is the community pool, although everyone just uses their own pools, really. And that’s where we have our neighborhood barbecues ...”

As if on cue, a man watering his impeccably manicured lawn calls out, “Hey, Maggie! George! Don’t forget the barbecue tonight!”

Aunt Maggie turns to you with a bright smile. “Oh, that’s perfect timing! What do you say, Y/N? Feel up to a little neighborhood gathering?”

You hesitate, anxiety bubbling up at the thought of meeting so many new people. But you remind yourself that this is part of your cover, part of being normal. “Sure,” you say, trying to sound enthusiastic. “Why not?”

The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur of unpacking and preparation. Before you know it, you’re walking down the street with your aunt and uncle, a dish of something called “ambrosia salad” in your hands.

The barbecue is in full swing when you arrive. The air is filled with the smell of grilling meat and the sound of laughter and cheerful conversation. Children splash in a nearby pool while adults mingle, cold drinks in hand.

“George! Maggie!” A jovial man with a impressive mustache approaches, clapping Uncle George on the back. “Glad you could make it. And this must be your niece!”

You smile politely, remembering your cover story. “Yes, hello. I’m Y/N. It’s lovely to meet you.”

“Welcome to the neighborhood, Y/N,” the man says warmly. “I’m Bill, by the way. Now, let me introduce you to some folks. Can’t have you standing around like a wallflower, can we?”

Before you can protest, Bill is leading you through the crowd, making introductions left and right. You smile and nod, trying desperately to remember names and keep your story straight.

“And this here is Logan,” Bill says, stopping in front of a young man about your age. “Logan’s our local celebrity, drives race cars for a living.”

You look up, meeting a pair of startlingly green eyes. The young man — Logan — smiles, and you feel your heart skip a beat.

“Hi there,” Logan says, his voice a pleasant drawl. “Logan Sargeant. Nice to meet you, Y/N.”

“Hello,” you manage, suddenly very aware of your accent. “You’re a race car driver?”

Logan nods, a hint of pride in his smile. “Formula 1, yeah. I drive for Williams Racing.”

Your eyes widen in recognition. You’ve attended a few F1 events in your official capacity, though you’ve never paid much attention to the drivers themselves. “That’s impressive,” you say genuinely.

“Ah, it’s just a job,” Logan says with a self-deprecating shrug, though his eyes sparkle with obvious passion. “What brings you to our little slice of paradise?”

You launch into your prepared story about traveling abroad, surprised at how easily the words flow. Logan listens attentively, asking questions that show genuine interest.

Just as you’re starting to relax into the conversation, Aunt Maggie appears at your elbow. “Y/N, dear, come meet the Hendersons. They’ve got a daughter about your age.”

You turn back to Logan with an apologetic smile. “It was nice meeting you, Logan.”

“Likewise,” he replies, that charming grin still in place. “Hope to see you around, Y/N.”

As Aunt Maggie leads you away, you can’t help but glance back over your shoulder. Logan is still watching you, and when your eyes meet, he gives a little wave.

For the rest of the evening, you find yourself scanning the crowd, hoping for another glimpse of those green eyes. But between meeting what feels like the entire neighborhood and helping Aunt Maggie with hostess duties, you don’t get another chance to talk to Logan.

As the sun begins to set, casting a golden glow over the gathering, you feel a mix of emotions washing over you. There’s still a lingering sadness, a homesickness that sits heavy in your chest. But there’s also a tiny spark of excitement, a feeling that maybe, just maybe, this unexpected adventure might not be so bad after all.

Uncle George finds you as the party begins to wind down. “How you holding up, kiddo?” He asks gently.

You consider the question for a moment. “I’m okay,” you say, surprising yourself with how true it feels. “It’s all very different, but ... I think I might be able to get used to it.”

Uncle George smiles, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “That’s my girl. Now, what do you say we head home? I don’t know about you, but all this socializing has worn me out.”

You nod gratefully, suddenly aware of how tired you are. As you walk home with your aunt and uncle, the warm night air filled with the sound of cicadas, you feel a sense of calm settling over you.

This isn’t home, not really. But maybe, for now, it can be enough. And as you climb into bed that night, your mind drifts to a pair of green eyes and a charming smile, wondering what other surprises Florida might have in store for you.

***

The Florida sun has barely crested the horizon when you step out of your aunt and uncle’s house, running shoes laced tight. You’ve taken to early morning jogs as a way to clear your head and adjust to the new time zone. The neighborhood is quiet, save for the occasional chirp of exotic birds and the distant hum of sprinklers.

As you round the corner, lost in thought, you nearly collide with another runner coming from the opposite direction.

“Whoa there!” A familiar voice calls out, hands reaching out to steady you.

You look up, startled, into the green eyes of Logan Sargeant. He’s dressed in running gear, a light sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead.

“Oh! Logan, I’m so sorry,” you stammer, feeling heat rise to your cheeks that has nothing to do with the morning warmth.

Logan grins, his hand lingering on your arm for a moment before dropping away. “No harm done. I didn’t know you were a runner.”

You shrug, suddenly self-conscious. “I’m not really. Just trying to ... acclimate, I suppose.”

“To the heat or to Florida in general?” Logan asks, falling into step beside you as you both slow to a walk.

“Both, I think,” you admit with a small laugh. “It’s quite different from home.”

Logan nods understandingly. “I bet. I’ve been to England quite a bit since Williams is based there. Beautiful country, but yeah, not exactly known for its tropical climate.”

You’re about to respond when your stomach lets out an embarrassingly loud growl. Logan’s eyebrows shoot up in amusement.

“Sounds like someone worked up an appetite,” he chuckles. “Have you tried the coffee shop down on Atlantic Boulevard yet? They make a mean breakfast burrito.”

You shake your head, realizing you haven’t ventured much beyond the immediate neighborhood.

Logan’s face lights up. “Well, we can’t have that. What do you say we grab some breakfast? My treat, to make up for almost running you over.”

You hesitate for a moment, your ingrained caution warring with the genuine warmth in Logan’s smile. “I wouldn’t want to impose ...”

��Not at all,” Logan insists. “Besides, I could use a coffee after this run. What do you say?”

Against your better judgment, you find yourself nodding. “Alright, that sounds lovely. Thank you.”

The walk to the coffee shop is filled with easy conversation. Logan asks about your impressions of Florida so far, and you find yourself relaxing as you share some of your culture shock moments.

“Wait, you’ve never had a key lime pie before?” Logan asks incredulously as you approach the quaint storefront of the coffee shop.

You shake your head, laughing. “I had never even heard of it! Aunt Maggie was scandalized.”

Logan holds the door open for you, the aroma of fresh coffee and baked goods washing over you as you enter. “Well, we’ll have to remedy that. They make a pretty decent one here, actually.”

As you settle into a cozy booth by the window, you can’t help but marvel at how ... normal this feels. Sitting in a cafe with a handsome boy, discussing pastries and local cuisine. It’s a far cry from formal state dinners and carefully orchestrated public appearances.

“So,” Logan says after you’ve placed your orders, “what brings you to Fort Lauderdale? Your aunt mentioned something about you taking some time off?”

You nod, reciting the cover story you’ve practiced. “Yes, I wanted to experience life outside of England for a bit before graduate school. My aunt and uncle were kind enough to let me stay with them.”

Logan leans forward, genuinely interested. “That’s cool. Any specific plans while you’re here?”

You shrug, trying to appear nonchalant. “Not really. Just ... experiencing life, I suppose. What about you? Shouldn’t you be off racing cars somewhere exotic?”

Logan grins, a spark of excitement lighting up his eyes. “Usually, yeah. But it’s the summer shutdown right now. All the teams take a break for a few weeks. I always try to come home when I can.”

“That must be nice,” you say softly, a pang of homesickness hitting you unexpectedly.

Logan’s expression softens. “You miss home?”

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak for a moment. Logan reaches across the table, giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

“Hey, it’s okay. Homesickness is rough. But you know what helps?”

You look up, meeting his eyes. “What’s that?”

“Making some good memories in your new place,” Logan says with a warm smile. “And I happen to be an expert in South Florida fun.”

You can’t help but smile back. “Is that so?”

Logan nods solemnly. “Oh yeah. In fact, I’d be happy to be your official tour guide. If you’re interested, that is.”

Before you can respond, your food arrives. The conversation flows easily as you eat, Logan regaling you with tales of his racing adventures and you sharing carefully edited stories of life in England.

As you finish your meal, Logan glances at his watch. “I hate to eat and run, but I’ve got a training session in an hour. But hey, if you’re free later, maybe we could meet up at the beach? I could show you some of the best spots.”

You hesitate, knowing you should probably decline. But the thought of spending more time with Logan, of experiencing a slice of normal life, is too tempting to resist.

“That sounds wonderful,” you find yourself saying. “What time were you thinking?”

Logan’s face lights up. “How about three? I can meet you at the public access point near your aunt and uncle’s place.”

You nod, already looking forward to it. “Three it is.”

As you part ways outside the cafe, Logan gives you another heart-melting smile. “See you later, Y/N. And welcome to Fort Lauderdale.”

The rest of the morning passes in a blur. You help Aunt Maggie with some gardening, your mind constantly drifting to thoughts of green eyes and easy smiles. By the time 3 o’clock rolls around, you’re a bundle of nervous energy.

You spot Logan waiting by the beach access, a backpack slung over one shoulder. He waves as you approach, that now-familiar grin spreading across his face.

“Ready for Beach Life 101?” He asks as you fall into step beside him.

You nod, breathing in the salty air. “Lead the way, Professor Sargeant.”

Logan laughs, the sound warm and genuine. “Oh, I like that. Maybe I’ve found my post-racing career.”

As you walk along the shoreline, Logan points out various landmarks and shares local trivia. You find yourself captivated, not just by the information, but by the passion with which he speaks about his hometown.

“And over there,” Logan says, pointing to a stretch of beach dotted with volleyball nets, “is where I learned that I am absolutely terrible at beach volleyball.”

You giggle, the sound surprising even yourself. “Oh? Do tell.”

Logan dramatically recounts a particularly disastrous game from his teenage days, complete with exaggerated gestures. You’re laughing so hard you barely notice when you stumble over a piece of driftwood.

Logan’s arm shoots out, steadying you. “Whoa there. You okay?”

You nod, suddenly very aware of how close you’re standing. “Yes, thank you. I’m not usually this clumsy.”

“Must be my sparkling wit distracting you,” Logan teases, his hand lingering on your arm for a moment before dropping away.

As the afternoon wears on, you find yourself relaxing more and more in Logan’s company. He’s easy to talk to, genuinely interested in your thoughts and experiences. For a few blissful hours, you almost forget about the circumstances that brought you here.

As the sun begins to dip towards the horizon, painting the sky in brilliant oranges and pinks, Logan leads you to a quiet spot away from the main beach.

“This,” he says with a flourish, “is the best place to watch the sunset in all of Fort Lauderdale.”

You settle onto the sand, marveling at the view. “It’s beautiful,” you breathe.

Logan sits beside you, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from his sun-kissed skin. “Yeah, it really is.”

For a moment, you sit in comfortable silence, watching as the sun slowly sinks into the ocean. Then Logan turns to you, his expression suddenly serious.

“Can I ask you something?”

You nod, a flicker of nervousness igniting in your chest. “Of course.”

“Why do I get the feeling there’s more to your story than you’re letting on?”

Your heart races, panic threatening to overwhelm you. “What do you mean?”

Logan shrugs, his eyes searching your face. “I don’t know. There’s just something about you. The way you carry yourself, the things you say ... or don’t say. It’s like you’re holding part of yourself back.”

You look away, focusing on the horizon. “I’m just ... adjusting. To being here, I mean.”

Logan nods slowly. “I get that. And hey, if there are things you don’t want to share, that’s cool. I just want you to know that you can trust me. If you want to, that is.”

You turn back to him, struck by the sincerity in his eyes. For a wild moment, you consider telling him everything — who you really are, why you’re here. But the weight of your family’s expectations, the very real danger that drove you here, holds you back.

Instead, you offer him a small smile. “Thank you, Logan. That means a lot.”

He returns your smile, reaching out to squeeze your hand gently. “Anytime. Whatever brought you here, I’m glad it did. It’s been really nice getting to know you.”

As the last rays of sunlight disappear beneath the waves, you find yourself wishing you could freeze this moment. Here, with the sound of the ocean in your ears and Logan’s hand warm in yours, you feel more like yourself than you have in years.

But as the sky darkens and the first stars begin to appear, reality starts to creep back in. You know you can’t stay in this bubble forever.

“We should probably head back,” you say reluctantly, breaking the comfortable silence that has settled between you.

Logan nods, standing and offering you a hand up. “Yeah, I guess so. But this doesn’t have to be a one-time thing. Maybe we could do this again sometime?”

You smile, surprising yourself with how much you want that. “I’d like that very much.”

As you walk back along the beach, Logan’s hand brushes against yours. After a moment’s hesitation, you let your fingers intertwine with his. It’s a small gesture, but it feels monumental.

At the edge of your aunt and uncle’s property, you pause. “Thank you for today, Logan. It was ... wonderful.”

Logan’s smile is soft in the dim light. “I’m glad. And if you ever need a break from acclimating, you know where to find me.”

Before you can overthink it, you lean in and press a quick kiss to his cheek. “Goodnight, Logan.”

As you hurry inside, your heart pounding, you catch a glimpse of Logan touching his cheek, a dazed smile on his face.

In your room, you sink onto the bed, a whirlwind of emotions swirling through you. You know you’re treading dangerous waters. Logan is everything you shouldn’t want — a distraction, a complication, a risk to your cover.

But as you drift off to sleep, your dreams are filled with green eyes and the sound of waves crashing on the shore. And for the first time since arriving in Florida, you find yourself looking forward to what tomorrow might bring.

***

The gentle lapping of waves against the hull of the boat fills the comfortable silence between you and Logan. You’re sprawled on the deck, basking in the warm afternoon sun, while Logan sits nearby, his fingers absently tracing patterns on your arm.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Logan’s voice breaks through your reverie.

You turn your head to look at him, a soft smile playing on your lips. “Just thinking about how surreal this all feels. A few weeks ago, I never could have imagined ... this.”

Logan’s eyebrows quirk up in amusement. “What, lying on a boat in the middle of the Atlantic? Or spending time with an incredibly charming race car driver?”

You laugh, playfully swatting his arm. “Both, I suppose. Though I’m not sure about the ‘incredibly charming’ part.”

“Ouch,” Logan clutches his chest in mock hurt. “You wound me.”

Sitting up, you lean against the boat’s railing, taking in the endless expanse of blue around you. “It’s just ... I’ve never felt this free before. This ... unburdened.”

Logan’s expression softens as he moves to sit beside you. “What do you mean?”

You bite your lip, choosing your words carefully. “Back home, there’s always ... expectations. Responsibilities. Here, with you, I feel like I can just be myself.”

Logan nods thoughtfully. “I get that. It’s kind of like how I feel when I’m racing. When I’m in the car, nothing else matters. It’s just me, the track, and the speed.”

“That sounds exhilarating,” you say, genuinely curious. “Is that why you love it so much?”

Logan’s eyes light up with passion. “Partly, yeah. But it’s more than that. It’s the challenge, you know? Pushing yourself to the absolute limit, always striving to be better, faster.”

You listen intently as Logan delves into the intricacies of Formula 1 racing, marveling at the depth of his knowledge and the intensity of his enthusiasm.

“Sorry,” he says suddenly, looking a bit sheepish. “I tend to ramble when it comes to racing. I’m probably boring you.”

You shake your head emphatically. “Not at all! I love hearing you talk about it. Your passion is ... inspiring.”

Logan’s smile is warm as he takes your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. “Thanks. You know, it’s nice to be able to talk about this stuff with someone who actually listens. Most people just hear ‘Formula 1 driver’ and make assumptions.”

“What kind of assumptions?” you ask, curious.

Logan shrugs. “Oh, you know. That I’m some adrenaline junkie who doesn’t take anything seriously. Or that I’m living some glamorous, carefree life.”

You squeeze his hand gently. “But it’s not like that at all, is it?”

“Not even close,” Logan admits. “Don’t get me wrong, I love what I do. But the pressure ... it can be overwhelming sometimes.”

“How so?” You prompt, recognizing the weight in his voice.

Logan leans back, his gaze distant. “It’s not just about driving fast, you know? There’s the physical training, the technical knowledge, the media obligations. And then there’s the constant pressure to perform. Everyone always questioning whether you deserve your seat.”

You nod, understanding all too well the burden of constant scrutiny. “That sounds incredibly stressful.”

“It can be,” Logan agrees. “But then I remember how lucky I am to be living my dream, and it puts things in perspective.”

You smile, admiring his positive outlook. “That’s a wonderful way of looking at it.”

Logan turns to you, his green eyes intense. “What about you? What’s your dream?”

The question catches you off guard. For so long, your life has been dictated by duty and expectation. The concept of a personal dream feels almost foreign.

“I ... I’m not sure,” you admit quietly. “I’ve never really thought about it in those terms.”

Logan’s brow furrows in concern. “Really? There must be something you’re passionate about, something you’d love to do if you could do anything in the world.”

You ponder the question, thinking back to the interests and passions you’ve had to set aside for your royal duties. “I’ve always loved art,” you say finally. “Painting, specifically. But it’s always been more of a hobby than a serious pursuit.”

Logan’s face lights up. “That’s awesome! Have you painted anything since you’ve been here?”

You shake your head, a twinge of regret in your chest. “No, I ... I didn’t bring any supplies with me.”

“Well, we’ll have to fix that,” Logan says decisively. “I’m sure there’s an art supply store in town. We could go tomorrow if you want?”

The thought of picking up a paintbrush again sends a thrill of excitement through you. “Really? You wouldn’t mind?”

Logan laughs, the sound warm and genuine. “Mind? Y/N, I’d love to see this side of you. Maybe you could even paint me sometime,” he adds with a wink.

You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks. “I’m not sure you’d want that. I’m terribly out of practice.”

“I’m sure you’re amazing,” Logan says with such conviction that you can’t help but believe him a little.

A comfortable silence falls between you, broken only by the sound of the waves and the occasional cry of a seagull. You find yourself studying Logan’s profile, admiring the way the sunlight catches in his hair and highlights the strong line of his jaw.

As if sensing your gaze, Logan turns to you, a soft smile playing on his lips. “What?”

“Nothing,” you say, returning his smile. “I’m just ... happy.”

Logan’s expression becomes tender as he reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yeah? Me too.”

The moment stretches between you, charged with unspoken emotion. Logan leans in slowly, giving you plenty of time to pull away if you want to. But you don’t want to. Instead, you meet him halfway, your lips brushing together in a soft, sweet kiss.

When you part, Logan rests his forehead against yours. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while now,” he admits.

You laugh softly, your heart feeling lighter than it has in years. “Me too.”

The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur of conversation, laughter, and stolen kisses. As the sun begins to set, painting the sky in brilliant hues of orange and pink, Logan steers the boat back towards the docks.

“So,” he says as you dock, “what do you say we go on a proper date tomorrow? Dinner, maybe? After our art supply shopping trip, of course.”

You nod, unable to keep the smile off your face. “That sounds wonderful.”

As Logan walks you back to your aunt and uncle’s house, his hand warm in yours, you can’t help but marvel at how much your life has changed in just a few short weeks. The weight of your royal responsibilities, the constant fear from the threats that drove you here — it all feels distant, like a half-remembered dream.

At your doorstep, Logan pulls you close, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Goodnight, Y/N. Sweet dreams.”

“Goodnight, Logan,” you reply, reluctant to let go of his hand.

Inside, you lean against the closed door, your heart racing with a mixture of excitement and an emotion you’re not quite ready to name. For the first time in your life, you’re experiencing something that’s wholly yours — not dictated by duty or protocol, but born from genuine connection and shared moments.

The next few weeks pass in a whirlwind of stolen moments and shared adventures. True to his word, Logan takes you to the art supply store, insisting on buying you the best paints and brushes despite your protests.

You find yourself rediscovering your passion for art, spending hours capturing the vibrant colors and energy of Fort Lauderdale on canvas. Logan is always eager to see your latest creations, his genuine enthusiasm bolstering your confidence.

One evening, as you sit on the beach watching the sunset, Logan turns to you with a mischievous glint in his eye. “What do you say we go for a swim?”

You laugh, gesturing at your sundress. “Now? We’re not exactly dressed for it.”

Logan shrugs, his grin widening. “So? Live a little, Y/N. When was the last time you went swimming in your clothes?”

You think back, realizing with a start that you’ve never done anything so spontaneous. “I ... never, actually.”

“Well then,” Logan says, standing and offering you his hand, “there’s no time like the present.”

Before you can overthink it, you take his hand, allowing him to pull you to your feet. Together, you run towards the water, laughing as the cool waves crash around your ankles.

Logan pulls you deeper, until you’re both waist-deep in the ocean. The water is refreshing against your sun-warmed skin, and you can’t help but giggle at the absurdity of it all.

“See?” Logan says, pulling you close. “Isn’t this fun?”

You nod, wrapping your arms around his neck. “It’s perfect.”

As you float together in the gentle waves, the last rays of sunlight painting the sky in brilliant hues, you’re struck by a sudden, overwhelming realization. You’re falling in love with Logan Sargeant.

The thought should terrify you. After all, you know this can’t last forever. Your real life, your responsibilities, they’re all waiting for you back in England. But in this moment, with Logan’s arms around you and the vast ocean stretching out before you, you can’t bring yourself to care about the future.

“What are you thinking about?” Logan asks softly, his fingers tracing patterns on your back.

You look up at him, taking in the warmth in his green eyes, the gentle curve of his smile. “Just ... how happy I am right now. How I wish this moment could last forever.”

Logan’s expression softens as he leans in to kiss you. It’s a kiss full of unspoken emotion, of shared dreams and secret hopes. When you part, Logan rests his forehead against yours.

“Me too, Y/N,” he whispers. “Me too.”

As you float in the warm Florida waters, the stars beginning to twinkle overhead, you allow yourself to fully embrace the moment. You know that reality will intrude eventually, that the carefree days of this Florida summer can’t last forever. But for now, in Logan’s arms, you feel truly, completely free.

And for the first time in your life, you dare to dream of a future shaped by your own desires rather than the expectations of others. It’s a dangerous thought, a seed of hope that you know might lead to heartbreak. But as Logan pulls you in for another kiss, you can’t bring yourself to regret it.

For now, you’re just a girl falling in love under the Florida stars. And for now, that’s enough.

***

The sun is setting over Fort Lauderdale as you and Logan stroll hand in hand along Las Olas Boulevard. The street is alive with the buzz of restaurants and boutiques, but you’re barely aware of your surroundings, lost in thought about the conversation you know you need to have.

Logan’s voice breaks through your reverie. “Earth to Y/N,” he says, gently nudging your shoulder. “You okay? You’ve been pretty quiet tonight.”

You force a smile, trying to quell the anxiety bubbling in your chest. “I’m fine. Just ... thinking.”

Logan’s brow furrows with concern. “Anything you want to talk about?”

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself. “Actually, yes. Logan, there’s something I need to tell you-”

But before you can continue, a flash goes off nearby, startling you both. You turn to see a man with a camera, his lens pointed directly at you.

“Princess Y/N?” The photographer calls out, his voice a mix of disbelief and excitement. “Is that you?”

Your blood runs cold as more flashes go off. Suddenly, it seems like cameras are appearing from every direction, voices calling out your name and title.

Logan’s hand tightens around yours. “Princess?” He repeats, confusion evident in his voice. “Y/N, what’s going on?”

You feel panic rising in your throat. This isn’t how you wanted him to find out. “Logan, I can explain-”

But Logan’s already pulling you away from the growing crowd, his jaw set in a hard line. He leads you down a side street, away from the main thoroughfare, until you reach a quiet park.

As soon as you’re alone, Logan drops your hand, turning to face you with a mixture of hurt and bewilderment in his eyes. “Princess Y/N? That’s who you are?”

You nod, your heart racing. “Yes. Logan, I’m so sorry. I was going to tell you-”

“When?” Logan interrupts, his voice sharp. “When were you planning on telling me that everything about you has been a lie?”

“Not everything,” you protest, reaching for his hand, but he pulls away. “My feelings for you are real, Logan. That’s not a lie.”

Logan runs a hand through his hair, pacing back and forth. “I don’t understand. Why didn’t you tell me? Did you think this was funny? Playing at being a normal girl, slumming it with the commoner?”

His words sting, and you feel tears pricking at your eyes. “No! Of course not. It wasn’t like that at all.”

“Then what was it like?” Logan demands. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’ve been playing me for a fool this entire time.”

You take a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart. “I came here because my life was in danger. There were threats, serious ones. My family thought it would be safer if I disappeared for a while, if I lived like a normal person.”

Logan’s expression softens slightly, but the hurt is still evident in his eyes. “Okay, I can understand that. But why didn’t you trust me enough to tell me the truth?”

“I wanted to,” you say softly. “So many times. But I was scared. Scared of how you’d react, scared of ruining what we had.”

“What we had,” Logan repeats, his voice bitter. “And what exactly was that, Y/N? Or should I call you ‘Your Highness’ now?”

You flinch at his tone. “Logan, please. What we have is real. My feelings for you are real.”

“Are they?” Logan challenges. “Because the Y/N I thought I knew wouldn’t have lied to me for weeks. The Y/N I was falling in love with wouldn’t have let me make a fool of myself, talking about my problems like they were anything compared to being actual royalty.”

His words hit you like a physical blow. “Falling in love with?” You repeat, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan’s expression crumples for a moment before he schools it back into anger. “Yeah, well. I guess that just shows how stupid I’ve been.”

“You’re not stupid,” you insist, taking a step towards him. “Logan, I love you too. That’s why I was so scared to tell you the truth. I didn’t want to lose you.”

Logan laughs humorlessly. “Well, great job there. Because finding out like this? With paparazzi swarming us? That’s so much better.”

You feel tears starting to fall, but you make no move to wipe them away. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I never meant for any of this to happen.”

“What did you think was going to happen?” Logan asks, his voice softer now but still laced with hurt. “Did you think we could just keep playing pretend forever? That your real life wouldn’t come crashing back in eventually?”

You shake your head, feeling the weight of your reality pressing down on you. “No, I ... I don’t know what I thought. I just knew that when I was with you, I felt free. I felt like myself for the first time in my life.”

Logan’s expression wavers between anger and sympathy. “And who is that, Y/N? Because I’m not sure I know anymore.”

“I’m still me,” you insist. “The girl who loves art and quiet moments on the beach. The girl who laughs at your terrible jokes and feels safest when she’s in your arms. That’s all real, Logan. The only thing that’s different is my title.”

Logan scoffs. “Only your title? Y/N, you’re a princess. Do you have any idea what this means? The media frenzy, the scrutiny, the expectations ... it’s not just your title that’s different. It’s your entire world.”

You feel a flicker of frustration ignite in your chest. “You think I don’t know that? You think I haven’t lived with that pressure every day of my life? That’s why being here, being with you, has meant so much to me. For once, I got to just be myself.”

“But it wasn’t really yourself, was it?” Logan counters. “It was a version of you. A version without the weight of a crown.”

His words hit too close to home, and you feel your own anger rising. “And what about you? You talk about pressure and expectations like I couldn’t possibly understand. But I do understand, Logan. More than you know.”

Logan shakes his head, his voice rising. “It’s not the same thing, Y/N! I chose this life. I worked for it. You ... you were born into it. And you lied about it. To me, to everyone here.”

“I didn’t have a choice!” You shout, surprising yourself with the intensity of your emotion. “Do you think I wanted to lie? Do you think I enjoyed keeping this secret? I was trying to stay alive, Logan. I was trying to protect myself and the people I care about. Including you!”

Logan takes a step back, his eyes wide. For a moment, silence hangs heavy between you.

“Protect me?” He finally says, his voice low. “How does lying to me protect me?”

You take a shaky breath, trying to calm yourself. “The less you knew, the safer you were. And ... the more I fell for you, the more I wanted to keep you separate from that part of my life. To keep this — us — untainted by all of that.”

Logan’s expression softens slightly, but the hurt is still evident in his eyes. “Y/N ... I get that you were in a difficult position. I do. But relationships are built on trust. How can I trust you now?”

His words cut deep, and you feel fresh tears welling up. “I don’t know,” you admit quietly. “But I want to try. Logan, please. What we have ... it’s worth fighting for, isn’t it?”

Logan runs a hand over his face, looking suddenly tired. “I don’t know, Y/N. This is ... it’s a lot to process. I need time to think.”

You nod, your heart sinking. “I understand. I just ... I hope you can forgive me. Eventually.”

Logan looks at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “I hope so too. But right now I think we both need some space.”

As he turns to walk away, you feel a piece of your heart go with him. “Logan,” you call out, your voice breaking.

He pauses but doesn’t turn back. “Yeah?”

“I really do love you,” you say softly. “That was never a lie.”

Logan’s shoulders slump slightly. “I know,” he says, so quietly you almost don’t hear it. And then he’s gone, disappearing into the growing darkness of the park.

You stand there for a long moment, tears streaming down your face, feeling more alone than you ever have before. The sound of distant camera shutters reminds you that your private world has well and truly shattered.

With a heavy heart, you pull out your phone to call your aunt and uncle. It’s time to face the music, to deal with the fallout of your exposed identity. But as you dial, all you can think about is the look of betrayal in Logan’s eyes, wondering if you’ve lost him for good.

As you wait for your aunt to pick up, you gaze out at the Florida skyline, the twinkling lights now seeming cold and distant. For a fleeting moment, you allow yourself to imagine a different life — one where you’re just Y/N, an ordinary girl in love with a boy who races cars. But reality crashes back in as your aunt’s worried voice comes through the phone.

“It’s time to come home,” she says, and you know she doesn’t just mean back to the house.

Your summer of freedom, of love and normalcy, is coming to an end. As you give your aunt your location for pickup, you can’t help but wonder … was it worth it? The joy, the love, the heartbreak — would you do it all again, knowing how it would end?

As you spot your uncle’s car approaching, you realize with a start that yes, you would. Because for a brief, shining moment, you knew what it was like to be truly, completely yourself. And no crown, no duty, no threat could ever take that away from you.

***

The Florida sun beats down mercilessly as you sit on the porch swing of your aunt and uncle’s house, listlessly flipping through a magazine. It’s been a week since the paparazzi incident, a week since your world turned upside down. The threats back home have been neutralized, your security team assures you, but it feels like a hollow victory.

Your aunt’s voice drifts from inside the house. “Y/N, darling, are you sure you don’t want to come to the beach with us?”

“I’m sure, Aunt Maggie,” you call back, forcing a cheerfulness you don’t feel into your voice. “You and Uncle George go ahead. I’m fine here.”

As the sound of their car fades away, you let out a heavy sigh. Fine is the last thing you are. With only a week left before your scheduled return to England, you feel like you’re in limbo, caught between two worlds and belonging to neither.

The sudden roar of an engine pulls you from your melancholy thoughts. A sleek sports car you recognize all too well pulls up in front of the house. Your heart leaps into your throat as Logan steps out, looking as devastatingly handsome as ever in jeans and a simple t-shirt.

For a moment, you both freeze, eyes locked on each other. Then Logan takes a hesitant step forward. “Hi,” he says, his voice carrying a mix of nervousness and determination.

“Hi,” you reply, barely above a whisper. “What are you doing here?”

Logan runs a hand through his hair, a gesture you’ve come to recognize as a sign of his anxiety. “I ... I needed to see you. To talk to you. Can we ...” He gestures vaguely towards the porch.

You nod, moving over on the swing to make room for him. Logan sits, careful to leave space between you, and for a moment, neither of you speaks.

Finally, Logan breaks the silence. “I owe you an apology,” he says, his voice low and sincere. “The way I reacted when I found out ... it wasn’t fair to you.”

You shake your head, feeling a lump form in your throat. “No, Logan. I’m the one who should be apologizing. I lied to you, kept this huge part of my life secret. You had every right to be angry.”

Logan turns to face you, his green eyes intense. “Maybe. But I’ve had time to think. To really process everything. And I realized something important.”

“What’s that?” You ask, hardly daring to breathe.

“That it doesn’t matter,” Logan says simply. “Princess, commoner, whatever — it doesn’t change how I feel about you. Because the girl I fell in love with? She’s real. Royal title or not.”

You feel tears welling up in your eyes. “Logan ...”

He reaches out, taking your hand in his. “Let me finish, please. I talked to my family, tried to sort out my feelings. And I kept coming back to one thing — how I feel when I’m with you. How you make me laugh, how you challenge me, how you see me for who I am, not just what I do.”

“I feel the same way,” you whisper, squeezing his hand. “Being with you ... it’s the freest I’ve ever felt.”

Logan’s thumb traces circles on your palm, sending shivers up your arm. “I know we have a lot to figure out. The distance, the media attention, our careers ... it won’t be easy. But Y/N, I think what we have is worth fighting for. If you’ll have me, that is.”

You can’t hold back your tears any longer. They fall freely as you launch yourself into Logan’s arms, burying your face in his neck. “Of course I’ll have you, you idiot,” you mumble against his skin.

Logan’s arms tighten around you, and you feel him press a kiss to the top of your head. “Thank God,” he murmurs. “Because I don’t think I could bear losing you again.”

You pull back slightly, meeting his gaze. “I’m so sorry. For lying, for putting you in this position. I never meant to hurt you.”

Logan cups your face gently, wiping away your tears with his thumbs. “I know, sweetheart. And I’m sorry too, for not giving you a chance to explain. For letting my hurt and pride get in the way of what really matters.”

“And what’s that?” You ask, though you think you already know the answer.

“Us,” Logan says simply. “You and me. Everything else ... we’ll figure it out together.”

You lean in, pressing your forehead against his. “Together,” you repeat, loving the sound of it. “I like that.”

Logan’s lips curve into a smile. “Me too. Now, can I please kiss you? Because I’ve been dying to do that since the moment I saw you on this porch.”

You laugh, a sound of pure joy and relief. “I thought you’d never ask.”

As Logan’s lips meet yours, you feel like you’re coming home. The kiss is tender and passionate all at once, an apology and a promise wrapped into one. When you finally part, you’re both breathless.

“So,” Logan says, his arms still wrapped around you. “What now, Princess? Because I have to say, I’m a little out of my depth here. Is there some royal protocol for dating I should know about?”

You can’t help but giggle at the mix of humor and genuine concern in his voice. “Well, traditionally, you’d have to ask my father for permission to court me. Preferably while wearing a powdered wig and breeches.”

Logan’s eyes widen in mock horror. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

You pat his cheek affectionately. “About the wig and breeches, yes. About talking to my father ... that might actually have to happen at some point.”

Logan gulps audibly. “Right. Talking to the King of England. No pressure or anything.”

You snuggle closer to him on the swing. “He’ll love you. How could he not?”

“I hope you’re right,” Logan says, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Because I’m not giving you up without a fight, royal decree or not.”

You sit in comfortable silence for a moment, enjoying the simple pleasure of being in each other’s arms again. But reality begins to creep in, and you feel Logan tense slightly.

“Y/N,” he says softly. “What about ... I mean, you’re leaving in a week, right?”

You nod, feeling a pang in your chest. “Yes. The jet is being sent to pick me up next Saturday.”

Logan takes a deep breath. “And then what? I mean, for us?”

You sit up, turning to face him fully. “I don’t know,” you admit. “I want to make this work, Logan. More than anything. But I won’t lie to you — it won’t be easy.”

Logan nods, his expression serious. “I know. The distance, our schedules ... not to mention the media circus that’s bound to happen when word gets out.”

“Are you sure you want to deal with all that?” You ask, voicing the fear that’s been nagging at you. “It’s not too late to back out, to go back to your normal life.”

Logan’s hand comes up to cup your cheek. “Y/N, look at me.” When you meet his gaze, he continues, “My life stopped being normal the moment I met you. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. Whatever challenges we face, we’ll face them together. Okay?”

You lean into his touch, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. “Okay,” you agree softly.

“Besides,” Logan adds with a mischievous grin, “dating a princess might actually be good for my image. Think of all the sponsorship deals I could get.”

You gasp in mock outrage, swatting his arm. “Logan Sargeant! Is that all I am to you? A ticket to better endorsements?”

Logan laughs, pulling you back into his arms. “Busted. It was all an elaborate scheme to get my face on a tea towel.”

You can’t help but join in his laughter, marveling at how easily he can lift your spirits. As your giggles subside, a thought occurs to you.

“You know,” you say slowly, “there might be a way to make the distance a little more manageable, at least for a while.”

Logan raises an eyebrow. “I’m all ears, Princess.”

You take a deep breath, hoping you’re not overstepping. “Well, the F1 season isn’t over yet, right? There are still races in Europe ...”

Logan’s eyes light up as he catches on. “Races where a certain princess might be able to make an appearance?”

You nod, feeling a flutter of excitement. “It would be a good opportunity to show support for British motorsport. Purely diplomatic reasons, of course.”

Logan’s grin widens. “Of course. Very diplomatic. I’m sure the press won’t read anything into the Princess of Wales suddenly becoming a racing enthusiast.”

You lean in, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “Let them talk. As long as I get to see you, I don’t care what they say.”

Logan’s expression softens. “You really mean that, don’t you? You’re willing to face all the scrutiny, the gossip, just to be with me?”

You nod, your voice firm. “You’re worth it. We’re worth it.”

Logan pulls you close, burying his face in your hair. “I love you,” he murmurs. “God, I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” you reply, your voice thick with emotion. “More than I ever thought possible.”

As you sit there on the porch swing, wrapped in each other’s arms, you know that the road ahead won’t be easy. There will be challenges, obstacles, moments of doubt. But looking into Logan’s eyes, seeing the love and determination there, you know you can face anything as long as you’re together.

The sound of a car approaching breaks the moment. You recognize your aunt and uncle’s vehicle coming up the driveway.

Logan tenses slightly. “Should I ... do you want me to leave?”

You shake your head firmly. “No. Stay. It’s time they met the real you, not just the boy next door.”

As your aunt and uncle pull up, looking surprised to see Logan there, you stand up, hand-in-hand with the man you love. You’re ready to face whatever comes next, be it nosy relatives, prying media, or the complexities of a long-distance relationship between a princess and an F1 driver.

Because now you know — home isn’t a place. It’s not a palace in England or a beach house in Florida. Home is wherever you and Logan are together. And that’s a feeling worth fighting for.

***

The Florida sun is just beginning to peek over the horizon as Logan’s car pulls up to the private airstrip. The sleek private jet waiting on the tarmac is a reminder of the reality you’re about to step back into. Logan cuts the engine, but neither of you move to get out, both reluctant to face the inevitable goodbye.

“So,” Logan says, his voice barely above a whisper, “I guess this is it, huh?”

You turn to him, taking in every detail of his face as if trying to memorize it. “Not it,” you insist. “Just ... see you later.”

Logan manages a small smile, reaching out to take your hand. “Right. See you later. In England. Where you’ll be a princess again.”

You squeeze his hand. “I’ll always be me, Logan. Title or no title.”

“I know,” he says softly. “It’s just ... it’s going to be different, isn’t it? You’ll have responsibilities, obligations. And I’ll be ...”

“The man I love,” you interrupt firmly. “No matter what.”

Logan’s eyes soften at your words. “I love you too. I’m going to miss you so much.”

You lean across the center console, pressing your forehead against his. “I’m going to miss you too. But we’ve got a plan, remember?”

Logan nods, his breath warm against your skin. “Right. The plan. Want to run through it one more time? You know, just to make sure we’ve got it down.”

You can’t help but smile at his attempt to prolong the moment. “Okay, let’s see. You’ve got ten more races this season, right?”

“Yep,” Logan confirms. “Zandvoort, Monza, Baku, Singapore, COTA, Mexico, Brazil, Vegas, Qatar, and Abu Dhabi.”

“And I,” you say, sitting back slightly to meet his gaze, “will be making surprise appearances to as many as I can. To support British motorsport, of course.”

Logan grins. “Of course. Very diplomatic of you.”

“Then,” you continue, “once the season’s over, you’ll be spending more time at the Williams headquarters in Grove.”

“Which, coincidentally, is just a short drive from London,” Logan adds with a wink.

You nod, feeling a flutter of excitement despite the impending separation. “And I’ll make sure to have plenty of reasons to visit Grove. Lots of ... local businesses to support.”

Logan laughs, the sound warming your heart. “I’m sure the people of Grove will greatly appreciate the royal attention.”

“Then there’s Christmas,” you say softly. “I talked to my parents, and ... they want to meet you. Properly.”

Logan’s eyes widen slightly. “Christmas with the royal family. No pressure or anything.”

You cup his cheek gently. “They’ll love you, Logan. How could they not?”

He leans into your touch. “I hope you’re right. Because I plan on sticking around for a long time, Princess.”

“Good,” you say firmly. “Because I’m not letting you go that easily.”

Logan’s smile fades slightly as his gaze drifts to the waiting plane. “We should probably ...”

You nod, feeling a lump form in your throat. “Yeah. We should.”

With a deep breath, you both step out of the car. Logan moves to the trunk to retrieve your luggage while you take a moment to compose yourself. As he joins you, bags in hand, you’re struck by how domestic this feels — and how much you wish this was just a normal trip, not a return to a life an ocean away.

“Your chariot awaits, Your Highness,” Logan says with an exaggerated bow, trying to lighten the mood.

You roll your eyes fondly, but play along. “Why thank you, kind sir. Your service to the Crown is most appreciated.”

As you walk towards the plane, Logan’s free hand finds yours, intertwining your fingers. “You know,” he says casually, “I’ve been thinking about taking some flying lessons. Might come in handy for, oh, I don’t know ... surprise visits to England?”

You laugh, squeezing his hand. “Logan Sargeant, are you planning on becoming my personal pilot?”

He grins, that mischievous sparkle you love so much dancing in his eyes. “Well, I figure if I can handle an F1 car at 200 miles per hour, a plane can’t be that much harder, right?”

“I’m not sure that’s how it works,” you say, unable to keep the amusement out of your voice.

“Details, details,” Logan waves his free hand dismissively. “The point is, I’m going to find ways to see you. Even if I have to learn to fly, sail, or ... I don’t know, teleport.”

You stop walking, tugging on his hand to make him face you. “You know you don’t have to do all that, right? I mean, I love that you want to, but I don’t want you to feel like you have to change your whole life for me.”

Logan sets down your bags, taking both your hands in his. “Y/N, listen to me. You are worth changing my whole life for. But that’s not what this is about. It’s about finding ways to make our lives fit together. Because that’s what I want — a life with you in it.”

You feel tears pricking at your eyes. “I want that too. So much.”

Logan reaches up to brush away a tear that’s escaped. “Then we’ll make it work. Whatever it takes.”

You nod, leaning into his touch. “Whatever it takes,” you repeat softly.

The sound of someone clearing their throat breaks the moment. You turn to see the pilot standing a respectful distance away.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Your Highness,” he says, “but we need to begin boarding if we’re to make our departure time.”

You nod, straightening your shoulders. “Of course. Thank you, Captain. I’ll be right there.”

As the pilot retreats, you turn back to Logan. “I guess this is really goodbye.”

Logan pulls you close, wrapping his arms tightly around you. “Not goodbye. Never goodbye. Just ... until next time.”

You bury your face in his neck, breathing in his familiar scent. “Next time,” you murmur. “The Netherlands, right?”

“The Netherlands,” Logan confirms, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ll be the one in the Williams car, trying not to crash while looking for you in the stands.”

You can’t help but laugh, even as tears threaten to fall again. “Please don’t crash. I quite like you in one piece.”

Logan pulls back slightly, cupping your face in his hands. “No promises. You’re pretty distracting, Princess.”

Before you can retort, he leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss that takes your breath away. It’s tender and passionate, a promise and a farewell all at once. When you finally part, you’re both breathless.

“I love you,” you whisper, your foreheads still pressed together.

“I love you too,” Logan replies. “Now go, before I decide to jump in the cockpit of that plane and fly us both to some remote island where we can just be us.”

You laugh, reluctantly stepping out of his embrace. “Don’t tempt me. That sounds pretty perfect right now.”

Logan picks up your bags again, walking with you the last few steps to the plane’s stairs. “Your royal carriage, m’lady,” he says with another exaggerated bow.

You shake your head fondly. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You love it,” he counters with a grin.

“I do,” you admit softly. “I really do.”

With one last lingering look, you start up the stairs. At the top, you turn back. Logan is still there, watching you with a mix of love and longing that makes your heart ache.

“Hey, Logan?” You call down.

“Yeah?”

You smile, feeling a sudden surge of certainty despite the impending separation. “We’re going to be okay, aren’t we?”

Logan’s answering smile is like the sun coming out from behind a cloud. “Yeah, Princess. We’re going to be more than okay. We’re going to be amazing.”

With those words echoing in your heart, you finally step into the plane. As you settle into your seat, you watch through the window as Logan returns to his car. He stands there, hand raised in farewell, until the plane begins to taxi.

As the ground falls away beneath you, you close your eyes, already counting the days until the Dutch Grand Prix. The path ahead won’t be easy — you know there will be challenges, misunderstandings, moments of doubt. But you also know that what you and Logan have is worth fighting for.

You’re leaving behind the carefree summer days of Florida, returning to the responsibilities and expectations of your royal life. But you’re taking with you something precious — the knowledge that you are loved for who you are, not what you are. And that, you realize, is the greatest gift of all.

As the plane soars over the Atlantic, you allow yourself to dream of the future — of stolen moments at race tracks, of quiet evenings in London, of a love that bridges oceans and transcends titles. It won’t be easy, but then again, the best things in life rarely are.

You’re a princess and he’s a race car driver. On paper, it shouldn’t work. But as you drift off to sleep, Logan’s last words replay in your mind.

“We’re going to be amazing.”

And you believe him. Because with Logan by your side, how could you be anything else?

***

The Texas sun beats down mercilessly on the Circuit of the Americas as Logan adjusts his fireproofs, preparing for another round of interviews. It’s his home race and the pressure is palpable. He’s been struggling all season, the weight of expectations and the constant comparisons to his teammate wearing him down.

As he walks towards the waiting journalists, Logan can’t help but feel a pang of disappointment. You had told him you couldn’t make it to this race, citing royal obligations back in England. He understands, of course, but the thought of racing on home soil without you in the stands feels hollow somehow.

“Logan! Over here!” A reporter waves him over, microphone at the ready. “How are you feeling about today’s race?”

Logan pastes on his media-ready smile, falling into the familiar rhythm of pre-race interviews. “I’m feeling good, you know? It’s always special racing at home, and the energy here at COTA is incredible.”

“There’s been a lot of talk about your future with Williams,” another journalist chimes in. “Any comments on the rumors that your seat might be in jeopardy for next season?��

Logan’s smile falters slightly, but he recovers quickly. “I’m focused on doing my best in every race, including today’s. The future will take care of itself.”

As he continues answering questions, Logan’s gaze drifts over the bustling pit lane. Mechanics scurry about, making last-minute adjustments to the cars. Team personnel hurry back and forth, clipboards and tablets in hand. It’s a familiar scene, one he’s witnessed countless times before.

But then, something catches his eye. A flash of familiar hair, a silhouette he’d recognize anywhere. Logan blinks, sure he must be seeing things. But no — there you are, walking down the pit lane as if you belong there (which, he supposes, you do in a way).

“Logan?” The interviewer’s voice seems distant. “Logan, can you tell us about your strategy for today’s-”

But Logan isn’t listening anymore. His jaw goes slack, eyes wide with disbelief as he watches you approach. You’re dressed casually in a flowing maxi dress, your hair pulled back in a simple ponytail. To Logan, you’ve never looked more beautiful.

“I ... uh ...” Logan stammers, completely losing his train of thought. The interviewer follows his gaze, her own eyes widening as she recognizes you.

A hush falls over the pit lane as heads turn to watch your progress. You seem oblivious to the attention, your eyes locked on Logan. A brilliant smile lights up your face as you break into a run.

Logan barely has time to brace himself before you’re launching yourself into his arms. He catches you instinctively, spinning you around as laughter bubbles up from his chest.

“Surprise!” You exclaim, pulling back just enough to see his face. “Did you really think I’d miss your home race?”

Logan shakes his head in amazement, still not quite believing you’re here. “But you said ... how did you ...”

You grin mischievously. “I may have told a tiny white lie. Royal prerogative and all that.”

Logan laughs, setting you down but keeping his arms wrapped firmly around your waist. “You’re incredible, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told,” you reply with a wink.

It’s only then that Logan becomes aware of your surroundings again. The entire pit lane has gone silent, all eyes on the two of you. Cameras flash incessantly, capturing what must be the most undignified public display the Princess of England has ever made.

Logan feels a moment of panic. “Y/N,” he whispers, “everyone’s watching.”

You shrug, seemingly unconcerned. “Let them watch. I’m just a girl supporting her boyfriend at his home race.”

The casual use of the word ‘boyfriend’ sends a thrill through Logan. Despite the months you’ve been together, sometimes he still can’t quite believe this is real.

A throat clearing nearby breaks the moment. Logan turns to see James Vowles approaching with a bemused expression.

“Your Highness,” James says with a slight bow. “This is ... an unexpected honor.”

You turn to face him, your arm still wrapped around Logan’s waist. “Mr. Vowles,” you greet him with a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “I hope you don’t mind me dropping in unannounced. I was just so eager to see how our British team is faring.”

James nods, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. “Of course, we’re always delighted to host you. Perhaps you’d like a tour of the garage?”

“That would be lovely,” you reply, your voice sweet but with an undercurrent of steel that makes Logan’s eyebrows raise. “I’m particularly interested in discussing team strategy. And driver management.”

Logan feels you tense slightly beside him, and he suddenly realizes what you’re doing. His heart swells with a mixture of love and awe.

James seems to pick up on the shift in atmosphere as well. “I see,” he says carefully. “Well, I’m sure we can arrange a meeting after the race-”

“Oh, I think now would be perfect,” you interrupt, your smile never wavering. “After all, I’m quite invested in the success of this team. Particularly when it comes to nurturing young talent.”

Logan watches in fascination as James visibly squirms under your gaze. He’s never seen his usually unflappable team principal so wrong-footed.

“Of course, Your Highness,” James finally manages. “Shall we step into the hospitality area for some privacy?”

You nod graciously, but before following James, you turn back to Logan. “For luck,” you murmur, pulling him down for a quick kiss that leaves him breathless and the watching crowd buzzing with excitement.

As you walk away with James, Logan overhears snippets of your conversation.

“I do hope, Mr. Vowles,” you’re saying, your voice light but with a clear edge, “that Williams is committed to giving all its drivers equal opportunities to succeed. It would be such a shame if rumors of ... unequal treatment were to reach certain ears.”

Logan watches in awe as James nods frantically, clearly understanding the implied threat behind your words.

“And these whispers about potentially dropping Logan,” you continue, your smile never faltering. “I’m sure they’re just baseless rumors. After all, it would be terribly short-sighted to let go of such promising talent, don’t you think?”

As your voice fades into the distance, Logan stands rooted to the spot, a goofy grin spreading across his face. He’s vaguely aware of the chaos around him — journalists clamoring for comments, team members and rivals alike shooting him curious glances — but all he can think about is you.

You, who flew across an ocean to surprise him. You, who jumped into his arms without a care for protocol or propriety. You, who’s currently backing his team principal into a corner with a smile and a veiled royal threat.

In that moment, Logan Sargeant knows without a doubt that he has never been more in love.

A hand on his shoulder startles him out of his reverie. He turns to see Alex grinning at him.

“Mate,” Alex says, shaking his head in disbelief, “when you said you were dating a princess, I thought you were having us on. But that? That was ...”

“Yeah,” Logan agrees, still a bit dazed. “She’s something else.”

Alex laughs. “Understatement of the century. You better hold onto that one, Sargeant. And maybe put in a good word for the rest of us with her royal highness? I wouldn’t mind having that kind of backing in contract negotiations.”

Logan chuckles, finally snapping out of his stupor. “Sorry, Albon. This princess is spoken for.”

As Alex walks away, still shaking his head and laughing, Logan takes a deep breath. The pre-race nerves that had been plaguing him all morning have vanished, replaced by a surge of confidence and determination.

He may not know what the future holds — for his career or for his relationship with you — but in this moment, he feels invincible. Because no matter what challenges lie ahead, he knows he has you in his corner.

With renewed purpose, Logan heads towards the garage. He has a race to prepare for, after all. And now, more than ever, he’s determined to prove himself worthy of the faith you’ve placed in him.

As he reaches the garage entrance, he catches sight of you emerging from the hospitality area, James trailing behind you looking slightly shell-shocked. You spot Logan and wink, giving him a thumbs up.

Logan grins, blowing you a kiss before disappearing into the garage. He has a feeling this is going to be his best race yet. And win or lose, he knows he’ll have you waiting for him at the finish line.

And really, what more could a guy ask for?

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saucingitup · 6 months ago

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Kraken broadcaster JT Brown shares why Pride is so important to him and why he’ll be celebrating the LGBTQ+ community all month long

June is an exciting month. There’s Stanley Cup final hockey on the TV, the sun is shining down on Seattle, I hit the links on Father’s Day, and it's Pride month—a month dedicated to celebrating the LGBTQ+ community and commemorating the 1969 Stonewall Uprising in Manhattan. In our house, June is a busy month, but nothing gets celebrated harder than Pride.

Earlier this month, I had the honor of playing in the Seattle Pride Classic at the Kraken Community Iceplex. The invitation to share the ice with LGBTQ+ players from all over is an honor I don’t take lightly. Striking up a conversation on the bench between shifts, I turned to the player next to me. “Nice tape job. Canucks fan?” I said, noting the different colors of tape spiraling down the blade. “No, these colors represent one of the queer flags,” they said.

The bad news is I felt like an idiot. The good news is, I’ll always recognize that flag. Trying means stumbling, losing the puck, shooting wide (pick your analogy), but I’ve never been too proud to admit I caused the turnover and apologize. And we both laughed because sometimes falling on your ass is funny.

From ice to asphalt, the Pride celebration continues as my family and I will be at the 50th annual Seattle Pride Parade on June 30. As someone who is known for their flair for flashy game-day suits, it should not come as a surprise that I love an excuse to get dressed up. Throw in good music and free swag and you’ll understand why I don’t miss a pride parade.

And no one does pride quite like Seattle. It’s no wonder the Kraken pull up to the parade every year with a crew so deep I momentarily worry we’re going to hold up the parade. We’re out there flinging Kraken giveaways like someone is keeping score of how many each employee can hand out—I always aim for the high score.

Of course, being an ally isn't just flinging Kraken patches into a crowd or embarrassingly mistaking flag colors for rival team branding. A lot of it is just showing up.

I show up for my queer wife so she knows I support her even if I still don’t understand what “Brat summer” means. I show up for my kids so they know I love their authentic selves no matter what. I show up for my friends so they know they’re safe with me. I show up because there are LGBTQ+ people out there who are being stood up by the ones they love, by policies, by corporations, by strangers.

People always praise me for being an ally, but having been on the receiving end of bigotry, I know how much easier it is to stand on this side. When I fight for BIPOC equality, I am always lifted by the voices and support of the LGBTQ+ community. Every single time, they have supported me in my fight to help end racism in hockey.

They have been incredible teammates to me and so being one to them was never a choice I made, it was just something I did—and will continue to do with whatever platform I’m given. Everyone deserves the safety and support to live their authentic lives. When we lift up those who need us most, we all reap the benefits of a safer and more inclusive space.

This Pride month, I’d like to encourage others to show up—unabashedly loud and proud—for yourself and for others. Have a happy, safe, and fun Pride!

#jt brown #seattle kraken #hockey #nhl #pride #happy pride 🌈#pride month #lgbt #lgbtq

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caffeinewitchcraft · 8 months ago

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The Hero and Hope

Based off a world where everyone gets a Destiny they must fulfill. Bakers and Demon Kings (x) and Villagers (X). You? You are a Hero.

----------------

You are a Hero.

Nobody at the orphanage knows. The mark sets during the worst winter in three decades, when the windows have to be barred to prevent snow spirits from ripping them to shreds and the Director takes half the reserves and runs in the middle of the night.

Sarah, the only caregiver left in the rickety building, holds as many of the kids as she can while the snow spirits scream outside. You’d love to be in the circle of her arms, but you’re holding the door shut with as much strength as your eight-year-old arms allow.

She doesn’t tell you to get away from the door.

“It’s alright,” she says, voice trembling. Her brown hair, matted from the months indoors, hides her eyes. She croons to the younger kids like a bird, so softly and gently that you have to strain to hear it over the howling demons and roaring winds. “We’ll be okay. Our land’s Lord will send a Hero, you’ll see. We’ll be okay then.”

Your arms burn as intensely as your eyes. A Hero. Your stomach aches from hunger and your fingers sting from the cold. You aren’t sure how much good you’re doing keeping the door closed, but there’s something deep inside of you that tells you you must do something. The blows from the snow spirits outside vibrate up your arms, nearly throwing you back.

Heroes, you think, only matter if they show up.

Hope is traumatic. Eight-years-old and you’ve been returned from potential families twice. Three days ago, you found the beginnings of greenery in the woods behind the orphanage. When you excitedly raced back to tell the others that winter was ending, it was only to find the Director and most of the caregivers gone with a significant portion of the rations.

Then the storm clouds rolled in.

So that long, dangerous night, you don’t hope. You shut your ears to Sarah’s gentle comforts and the snow spirits’ shrieks. You focus on the burning in your arms, the blisters forming on your heels, the cold nipping at your fingers.

Hope is traumatic but trying is something you can do. You put your small body between all of the horrors outside the door and the other kids. You try to stand firm.

You don’t notice when the burning in your arms hides the arrival of a telling mark on your left bicep.

---------------------.

You are fourteen years old, one year shy of coming into your power, when a couple visits the orphanage intending to adopt.

Sarah is now the Director of the orphanage, awarded the position by the land’s Lord after that terrible winter six years ago. She’s different than she was then. You lost three kids to hunger before spring finally came and she held each one in their last moments.

You and Sarah never develop the close relationship she has with the other kids. But she always makes sure you have more meat in your meals than most and, when you hunt in the woods, you always let her decide how the food will be divided between dinner and winter stores.

“We’re Knights,” the potential adopters tell the Director. They’re a couple, a man and a woman with dark hair and muscular bodies. “Retired. We’re settling just north of here for good and are looking for a suitable child who can follow in our footsteps.”

Director Sarah looks at them coldly, leaning back in her chair and folding her hands over her stomach. If she notices you and two of the younger kids peeking through the crack in the door, she doesn’t say anything. “I apologize, Mr. and Mrs. Bahr, but it seems there’s a misunderstanding. We do not pair children with families based on their Destiny.”

“We’re not saying you do,” Mrs. Bahr says. Her gaze is cutting though her shoulders are relaxed. “Our Lord explained before we came. However, there is no rule against asking the children their Destiny, is there?”

Loophole. You pull away from the crack in the door, letting Hera and Josiah take your spot. You lean against the wall with your eyes closed. Orphanages aren’t allowed to disclose Destinies, but that’s where the protection ends. If someone sees a child’s Destiny or learns of it through some other means, that’s alright.

These people aren’t here to adopt because they want a child. They’re here to adopt for a guarantee. A guarantee of what remains to be seen. An heir like they claim? A prodigy for status? Or a weapon for them to control?

You listen for any other clues behind their motives, but the Bahrs don’t push the issue of Destiny again. They accept Director Sarah’s schedule for meeting the kids, even offering to host a picnic day at their estate as a treat. The couple wants to gain trust, you can tell, and by the end of the meeting it’s working.

Director Sarah sees them off to the door herself.

“We’ll wait for the invitation,” she says. She’s older now, her thin brown hair showing the beginning signs of going grey. But her handshake looks strong when she shakes Mrs. Bahr’s in farewell. “I’m sure the children will be thrilled.”

“I hope so,” Mrs. Bahr says. Her husband nods to the Director gravely, but Mrs. Bahr lingers. “I’m sorry if we came off a little…forward when we mentioned Destinies. Please believe me when I say that my husband and I aren’t so shallow. We are looking for a child – one we can call our own.”

“I see,” Director Sarah says. There’s a hint of warmth in her voice. “As I said, we look forward to your invitation.”

Mrs. Bahr nods and joins her husband in their carriage. They set off down the road without once having asked to meet one of the children on the first day of their introduction.

You can tell Sarah likes them.

“What do you think?” Sarah asks. She doesn’t turn from the road, even though the Bahr’s carriage is out of sight. “Isla?”

You don’t ask how she knows it’s you lurking in the shadows of the orphanage. Director Sarah is a Guardian. Her senses are elevated when it comes to those under her charge.

“I don’t think anything,” you say. You step out from around the corner with a sigh. No use hiding now. “They’re influential people if they were recommended here by the Lord himself. We’re fortunate.”

“You’re the right age for a Knight’s apprenticeship,” Sarah says.

“Hera hasn’t shown me her Destiny, but it’s probably something suitable,” you say. Hera is ten, one of the older kids at the orphanage. Last summer she lifted Josiah, only a year younger than her and already a head taller, out of the well before he could drown. “You should talk to her about what being part of a Knight family could mean.”

Sarah looks at you over her shoulder. The setting sun catches in her eyes, turning the warm brown into an unearthly amber. “I hope you can accept the possibility they might choose you.”

They won’t. “Aren’t I needed here?” you ask.

Sarah’s expression softens. “You are, Isla,” she says. She weighs her next words carefully. “But I am the one who’s responsible for all of you. I can take care of everyone. If the Bahr family is a good fit…”

“Sure,” you say flippantly. You shove your hands in your pockets and slink back into the orphanage. You don’t dare hope. “I’m going to help Josiah.” He’s on dinner duty tonight. He always cuts the onions too roughly. “See you later.”

You feel Sarah’s eyes on your back like a physical warmth.

-----------.

Being a Hero doesn’t change anything about you. You expected it to when you first noticed the mark but, even six years later, nothing’s different.

You aren’t kinder. When Josiah asks for your dessert, you steal a bit of his as punishment for even asking. When Hera asks for a bedtime story, you tell her one so scary that she has to sleep with one of the other girls. When Sarah asks you to fix the fence around the chickens, you whine and complain that you’re the only one who does anything around the orphanage.

“The curse of being the oldest,” Sarah says dryly. She hands you a hammer and a bucketful of nails. “Some posts were dropped off at the end of the lane. Make sure you’re back by sunset.”

Maybe you’re a little stronger than others. You can drag three posts at once and could probably drag more if you wanted. But another curse of being a Hero is that you’re very aware.

It’s not until you’re nailing a third rail to the fence that Mr. Bahr makes his presence known. You don’t turn even when he makes his steps purposefully heavy to avoid scaring you.

“You’re very strong,” Mr. Bahr says.

His shadow is long and thin, just like him. You observe it from your peripherals, unable to speak with the two nails you’re holding between your lips. You take your time pounding them into the wood. He’s arms, a sword at his hip, but his hands are loose at his sides.

“Good thing I am,” you say at last. You stand and turn in the same motion. He waited for you to finish without chastising you for not speaking right away. You perch the hammer on your shoulder. “Otherwise, the chickens would take over.”

Mr. Bahr laughs. Unlike when he was meeting Director Sarah, his face is relaxed and open. His blue eyes sparkle. “We couldn’t have that now, could we? I suppose we all owe you our thanks for preventing the coop’s coup.”

You want to laugh. You don’t. “Director Sarah won’t like you being here uninvited.”

“I just came to drop off an invitation,” Mr. Bahr says. He studies you for a moment and then smiles. “I hope you’ll accept, Isla.”

A chill races down your spine. How does he know your name? You wipe the sweat from your brow with a scowl. “Maybe I don’t want to be adopted.”

To your surprise, Mr. Bahr nods. “I can understand that,” he says. He looks up at the sky. The light is sliding from the sky, catching on the clouds and turning them a brilliant orange. When he looks back at you, he almost looks…sad. “Think of our invitation as a party, hm? No strings attached.”

For some reason your tongue feels heavy. It takes two tries before you can say, “I need to fix this part of the fence before dark.”

“Want some help?” Mr. Bahr asks.

“I couldn’t ask—”

“You didn’t ask, I offered,” Mr. Bahr says. He rolls up his sleeves and nimbly plucks the hammer from your grip. “I may be a Knight, but I’ve done my fair share of carpentry. Let me show you a few tricks.”

You listen quietly as Mr. Bahr shows you how to twist the nails to avoid splitting the wood. What would have taken you an hour to finish, he accomplishes in a quarter of one, talking to you the entire time.

It’s…odd to have an adult’s attention on you for such a long time. He’s careful not to get too close, always offering you the hammer to practice by setting it on the grass between you rather than handing it to you directly. When you manage to replicate his technique on your second try, Mr. Bahr is more excited than you are.

“Wonderful,” he compliments. He glances up at the sky. The first stars are twinkling. “I’ll be going now and you should too. Have a good night, Isla.”

Unlike the first time he said your name, it feels pleasant now. You mutter a goodbye and leave before he does, scurrying towards the orphanage with your bucket of nails clutched to your chest.

He’s gone when you think to check the road for his carriage. Did he walk here? Ride a horse?

You close and lock the orphanage’s doors behind you.

----------------.

The picnic isn’t scheduled until the middle of summer and it’s spring now. Still, it’s all anyone can talk about.

“We have plenty of time to get ready,” Director Sarah tells them. “The Bahrs will be dropping in from time to time until then. I expect everyone to be on their best behavior when they’re here.”

Josiah raises his hand. “I hear they live in a castle!”

“A manor,” Sarah corrects. “Given to them by our Lord for their years of service.”

“The Guard in town says they worked for the King once!” Hera says, wiggling in her seat. “Is that true?”

“You can ask them yourself,” Sarah says. She claps her hands together and starts urging the kids up. “It’s time for chores. Your assignment is posted by the kitchen…”

You stay seated at the breakfast table. You haven’t eaten your third egg or your last slice of toast. Your stomach feels queasy. You keep thinking about Mr. Bahr saying wonderful when you worked on the fence together.

You aren’t supposed to want to be adopted. You’ve had your chance and you ruined it both times. It’s not fair of you to imagine what it would be like learning swordsmanship from Mr. Bahr and what it’d be like to hear him praise you when you got the next move right. One of the other kids deserve that chance.

You can only do what you can do.

---------------.

Mrs. Bahr is alone the next visit.

No one recognizes her at first. She’s wearing a gown like a noble and her hair is gently flowing down her back rather than tightly pinned behind her head.

“I’ve received the Director’s permission to hold a lesson on writing,” she tells the children. She gestures to the bag she’s set on the table. “Come get a slate and a piece of chalk. We will work all together.”

The kids have never had slate and chalk before, not the real ones anyway. Sometimes you find a nice, flat rock they can draw on with charcoal, but it’s not as entertaining as what Mrs. Bahr brings. She watches everyone in amusement as they immediately start drawing instead of starting the lesson, flower and trees and swords.

“Look, Isla,” Hera says, tugging at your sleeve. You’re seated on the spare chair by the wall, away from the table. She twists from her spot to show you she’s drawn a shaky stick figure. “It’s you!”

Your eyes flick up to Mrs. Bahr. She’s not irritated by the distractions yet. You point with your bit of chalk at the drawing. “Which part of it is me?”

Hera points at a blob in the stick figure’s hand. “That’s the horned rabbit you brought home yesterday!”

You snort. The horned rabbit you’d killed yesterday wasn’t half the size of your body. “Are you sure that’s a horned rabbit? Looks like a turtle to me.”

Hera points to the stick figure’s face. “You can also tell it’s you ‘cause you’re frowning.”

“Hey!”

Mrs. Bahr claps her hands together. Instantly, she has the room’s attention. “I’m glad you all like my present. However, it’s time to get started.”

“Present?” Josiah asks.

“If you work hard today, you will be allowed to keep the slate and chalk as a present,” Mrs. Bahr says. She takes care to make eye contact with every kid. “Only those who work hard.”

It’s generous. You watch Mrs. Bahr from under your lashes as she talks everyone through writing the alphabet. It’s too generous not to be genuine. Try as you might, you can’t figure out any ulterior motive to spending so much on the kids. To look good? For who? For Director Sarah?

Director Sarah won’t be swayed by gifts like this even if the kids could be.

Mrs. Bahr stops well away from you, observing your slate from afar. “Very good, Isla. Do you know how to write?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Read?”

“Only a little.”

Mrs. Bahr hums. She doesn’t look disgusted by your stupidity or put off by your clipped tone. Your first family returned you when you told them. Mrs. Bahr’s lips curve. “Your letters are wonderfully steady. I can tell you will be a very good student.”

She turns before she can see you flush.

---------.

Over the next few months, there isn’t a week that goes by without at least one of the Bahrs visiting. They become a regularity around the orphanage to the point that even Director Sarah stops worrying about the state of their rooms with every visit.

“Kids will be kids,” Mrs. Bahr says when you ask her to wait while you tidy the toys in the parlor. “It’s alright, Isla.”

Your head spins. Sometimes, when one of them says something particularly bizarre, you feel like you’re outside your body. There was a time when they didn’t have toys to leave out in the visiting area. Thanks to the Bahrs, every child has a doll, a slate, a new set of shoes, and an abacus. You are still waiting for the strings that come with these presents.

There haven’t been any yet.

The kids love the Bahrs. Hera insists on baking fresh strawberry tarts for them after a day of gathering. Josiah carefully sounds out passages from their new books to show them that he’s still practicing his letters. Annie and a group of the younger kids spend all day weaving a flower crown for Mrs. Bahr that you have to confiscate before they can put it on her head.

“Go wash your hands,” you scold. Despite your tone, your hands are gentle as you push Annie to the schoolhouse. “Don’t touch your eyes.”

Annie blinks rapidly, trying to hold back tears. “I didn’t know it was poison, lady, I swear.”

“Oh,” Mrs. Bahr says, hand fluttering over her heart. She steps towards Annie. “Dear one—”

You give full body flinch when Mrs. Bahr stoops to hug Annie, but you don’t get between them. The Bahrs have won your trust in this. They won’t hurt the kids.

You sigh to hide your flinch when Mrs. Bahr stands. “Now Mrs. Bahr needs to wash. Poison ivy is no joke.”

“It is not,” Mrs. Bahr agrees. She ruffles Annie’s hair. “Go on, do as Isla says. Wash up.”

“We can go together,” Annie says with her big, blue eyes. She reaches for Mrs. Bahr’s hand and then thinks better of it. She tucks her hands behind her back and kicks at the ground. “If you want.”

“I’ll be right behind you,” Mrs. Bahr says, smiling.

Annie nods and races to follow her friends.

“I’m sorry,” you say as soon as Annie is out of ear shot. You busy yourself picking up the fallen flower crown and the various trimmings of poison ivy they’d used for foliage throughout it. You feel flustered. “They really didn’t know any better—”

“I know,” Mrs. Bahr says so gently that you have to look up at her. She’s frowning at your hands. “I’m more concerned about you. Should you be holding onto it like that?’

“I’m immune,” you say. You’re not worried that she’ll guess your Destiny from that. Lots of Villagers are immune to poison ivy, particularly the ones in this region who rely on gathering and hunting. “Since I’m in the woods so much.”

“Knights are immune too,” Mrs. Bahr says. She follows you away from the orphanage and to the tree line. “You’re quite the hunter, aren’t you? I remember Hera saying you slayed a horned rabbit.”

Heat comes to your face. You stomp ahead of her to deposit the flower crown in some denser foliage where the kids won’t be able to get it. “I get lucky.”

“I’d consider it unlucky to run across a horned rabbit,” Mrs. Bahr says. She examines the forest with interest. “A demon is a demon. Even adults have difficulty with horned rabbits.”

It hadn’t been difficult. You’d been armed with a sharpened branch and, when the rabbit leapt for you, you knew right when to stab. You clear your throat. “It was difficult.” Then when Mrs. Bahr doesn’t say anything, you add, “It was frightening.”

She believes you. She lays a gentle hand on your shoulder to get you to look her in the face. “The orphanage budget is enough that you don’t need to hunt, Isla,” Mrs. Bahr says. “I know I don’t like the idea of a fourteen-year-old out here alone and unarmed.”

“Almost fifteen,” you say, “and I had a sharp stick.”

“A sharp sti—” Mrs. Bahr cuts herself off with a deep breath. “Regardless of your…aptitude, Isla, it’s dangerous. I’ve spoken to the Director and she agrees with me. You aren’t to go hunting anymore.”

The forest suddenly feels too hot. The leaves overhead rustle, but you can barely hear it over the roaring of your blood. “Excuse me?”

Mrs. Bahr steps closer. “You’re a very strong girl, Isla, but it’s dangerous. If you want to go out with me or Mr. Bahr—”

You shake off her hand. “The Director agreed with you? She said I’m not allowed to go hunting anymore?”

“Out of concern for your safety.” Mrs. Bahr looks like she regrets saying anything. “Once Mr. Bahr and I explained to her what a risk a horned rabbit poses—”

You run away. Mrs. Bahr calls out after you, but you don’t stop. Beyond the sting of Mr. and Mrs. Bahr not thinking you strong enough to hunt, there’s a deeper hurt. The Director agrees. Really? Really?

“Isla? What’s wrong? I thought you were with Mrs. Bahr,” Director Sarah says when you burst into her office. She sets the papers she’d been reading down and frowns. “You look—”

“I’m not supposed to go hunting anymore?” you ask.

Sarah’s face blooms in understanding. “After what Mr. and Mrs. Bahr said about the increase in demons in the area, I agreed—”

“It’s summer,” you interrupt. You stalk up to her desk, your fists balled at your side. “It’s time to hunt.”

“The Bahrs have agreed to accompany you—”

“They only come once a week,” you say. You’re being so incredibly rude to the Director, but you don’t care. “I need to hunt three times that at least. The game has been moving deeper into the forest—”

“Where you are not allowed to go,” Director Sarah says, this time interrupting you. She steeples her hands in front of her. “I should have curtailed this activity long before this point, but I thought you needed it.”

“We need it,” you say. You can’t believe what you are hearing. “We need to store up rations, you know that.”

“Our budget allows us to purchase rations in town.”

“But what if that’s not enough? It’s better to have our own supply—”

“It will be enough.”

“It still doesn’t hurt to have some extra jerky—”

“The store we have will be enough.”

“But what if it’s not?!” You’ve raised your voice without realizing it, fists shaking at your sides. “The other kids are too young to remember o-or too new, but you and I do. That winter, we didn’t have enough. Why are you trying to stop me?” To your horror, your voice cracks. “I thought you understood.”

There’s silence in the room except for your panting breath.

“I’m sorry,” Sarah finally says. The sudden apology is enough to close your mouth against what you might have said. She meets your eyes. “You’ve always been so strong that I…Isla, you were a child. I will always be grateful for what you did that winter and for every winter since. I relied on you, a child, because I didn’t have any other option. We didn’t have another option. But now we do. We’re okay now, Isla. You don’t have to work so hard to protect us.”

“Yes, I do, I’m—” the Hero “—I can do it.” There is something inside of you telling you that that is what you must do. You think that it’s part of being a Hero.

((You’re worried that it’s because you’re scared.))

“My decision is final,” Sarah says. She picks up her documents and straightens them. “You are only to go hunting with an adult from now on. If I find out you went to the woods without one, there will be consequences.”

She’s using the same tone she uses on the other kids when they’re misbehaving. I mean business. You stare at her for a long, breathless moment. You jerkily turn to go.

Mrs. Bahr is hovering in the doorway. She looks guiltily between you and Director Sarah. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop…”

You shove past her and run to your room.

-------------.

Somewhat counterintuitively, as an orphan you’re never alone. You throw yourself face down on your bed.

A shocked silence swallows the occupants on the other bed.

“Is she okay?” Josiah asks Hera.

“It’s Isla,” Hera answers. There’s the rustling of bedsheets as Hera climbs out of bed and then the soft sound of socks on hardwood as she comes over. “You okay?”

You are not okay. There’s an intense war of emotions in your chest. Anger that none of the adults seem to think you’re capable. Betrayal that Sarah isn’t on your side. A sick fear at the thought of being unprepared for winter. And, now that you’ve run away so spectacularly, shame. They probably think you’re overreacting, but they’re wrong. They’re the ones who are being naïve. They’re the ones who—

A gentle hand on the back of your head freezes the thought. Hera pets your short, black hairs in an attempt at comfort. “It’s okay, Isla. You can just sleep. Sleep makes everything better.”

That’s what you tell the younger kids. The difference between you and Hera saying it? When Hera falls asleep, you work to fix the problem. If you fall asleep, no one is going to fix the problem for you.

You flip over, dislodging Hera’s hand. You look up at her as if seeing her for the first time. She’s ten, two years older than you were when the winter happened. She was four then. You want to ask her if she remembers, but instead you ask, “Do you think Sarah hates me?”

“What?” Hera’s eyes are wide. “No! What makes you think that?”

“Nothing,” you say. “It’s stupid. Forget I asked.” You turn on your side, your back to them.

“I know she’s worried about you,” Josiah says. He offers the information tentatively. “I overheard her and the Bahrs talking. Did they ban you from the woods?”

You don’t move. “What else did they say?” You’re afraid that he’s going to say they called you weak. Or, worse, a nuisance. “Did they say anything else about me?”

“Not really.”

Nobody hears anything useful around here. You close your eyes. “I just want to be alone for a little while. I—”

There’s a knock on the door. “Isla? It’s me, Marie. Can I come in?”

Marie? Too late you remember that that’s Mrs. Bahr’s name. She’s been trying to get the kids to call her be her first name. So far no one’s taken her up on it and she hasn’t pushed.

Hera opens the door. “Hi, Mrs. Bahr. Isla is being moody.”

You sit up with a squawk. “I am not!”

“If it’s alright, I’d like to talk to Isla for a moment,” Mrs. Bahr says to Josiah and Hera. “Alone.”

“Don’t let her yell at you,” Hera says as she passes Mrs. Bahr. “She never means it.”

You are going to strangle her. “I don’t yell!”

“That’s not an inside voice,” Josiah says. He dodges the pillow you throw at him, pulling the door closed behind him and Hera.

You are suddenly alone in the room with Mrs. Bahr.

You sit up further, pressing your back against the headboard. Mrs. Bahr doesn’t look mad. Her hands are clasped in front of her and she’s looking down at the floor. It almost looks like she’s the nervous one. You hug your pillow to your chest. “You can sit down if you’d like.”

Mrs. Bahr looks up at you. Her lips twitch. “Thank you, Isla.” She sits down on Hera’s bed gingerly as if afraid it wouldn’t be able to take her wait. When she’s settled, she says, “I wanted to apologize to you.”

Your arms tighten around your pillow. “Why?”

“Not for saying you shouldn’t hunt alone,” Mrs. Bahr says. She’s not a mind reader but sometimes it seems like she is. “For not understanding what hunting means to you. I would have approached things differently if I’d known.”

“Known what?”

“About what you’ve been through.”

The winter. That’s the only thing Mrs. Bahr could be talking about. She must have heard more of your conversation (argument) with the Director than you thought. “It was a long time ago,” you say. You really don’t want to talk about this with Mrs. Bahr. Not when you can still feel that winter’s desperation in your molars like a memory. “I’m fine.”

Mrs. Bahr is quiet for a moment. She studies you much like Mr. Bahr did all those weeks ago mending the fence. “I was a knight for 30 years, you know. I supposed it’s not weird that a Knight worked as a knight for so long. As soon as I came into my power at 15, I was compelled to hold a sword. To seek out evils and defeat them. To follow my Lord into battle no matter the cause.” She looks up at the ceiling. “I’ve had a lot of adventures and helped many, many people. But there was a time when I wanted to quit.”

You start. “You did?”

“I wanted to work in a flower shop,” Mrs. Bahr says. She leans back on her hands. “What a life it could have been! Waking up before the sun and hiking to the flower fields…I had my new house all picked out. It’d have a koi pond and a row of red rocks from the Harrow River. That’s where I met Ivan.”

Mr. Bahr. He’s been trying to get you to call him by his first name too. Unlike Mrs. Bahr, he’s much pushier about it. “What made you want to quit?”

“Exhaustion,” Mrs. Bahr says. She closes her eyes. “It seemed that there was a new threat to my Lord every day. An assassination attempt from a branch family. A territorial dispute. A new influx of demon beasts. It got to the point that I hardly left my Lord’s side for fear of returning to find him dead. He was the first Lord I swore my loyalty to. I always felt like I was failing those days. So I wanted to quit.”

You’ve felt like that before. Sometimes it seems like you never catch enough while hunting, that you’re never kind enough, that you’re never strong enough. You’ve never thought about working in a flower shop though. “Why didn’t you?”

“I did.” Mrs. Bahr laughs at your shocked expression. “I was in my twenties. They tell you things calm down after your teen years, but that’s not true. I handed in my resignation and fled for the nearest town.” Her smile softens. “Ivan followed me.”

“He was there?”

Mrs. Bahr nods. “We were sworn to the same Lord. He came galloping up with my resignation clutched in his hand. His face was so red!” She laughs. “’What does this mean, Marie? He was crying! You can’t quit! I haven’t beaten you yet!’”

“And that’s what convinced you to stay a knight?” you ask. That doesn’t help you. You don’t have a significant other to come racing after you.

“No,” Mrs. Bahr said. “Ivan didn’t know why I wanted to quit. I can’t do it, I said. I can’t keep the Lord safe. I’m not enough. You know what he said?”

You shake your head.

“He said, Of course, you’re not enough,” Mrs. Bahr says. She’s lowering her voice in imitation of Ivan’s. “You were never going to be enough.” You’re gaping at his harsh words, but Mrs. Bahr looks amused. “That’s why we have a squadron. The job is too big for one person. All you need to do is your part.”

You stare at her, not understanding.

“The world isn’t carried by one person,” Mrs. Bahr says. “I was so convinced that everything was up to me – the Lord’s safety, the next campaign’s success, or defense from monsters – that I buckled under the pressure. What I didn’t see that it wasn’t all my responsibility. I was part of a team. All I had to do was one part.”

You think of the winter night and holding the door shut. There hadn’t been anyone to help you then. Someone needed to comfort the younger kids. Someone needed to try and protect them. “What if there isn’t anyone else?”

“Then we do our best,” Mrs. Bahr says immediately. She meets your eyes. “But are you by yourself now, Isla?”

Yes. You open your mouth to tell her that, but the word won’t come out. Are you? Director Sarah looked so defeated when you accused her of not understanding. But didn’t she understand better than anyone else. You swallow. “No. There’s Director Sarah.”

“What does she do?”

“She takes care of us,” you say. “She makes sure the money we get goes to the right things.”

Mrs. Bahr smiles warmly. “That’s right. Who else?”

“…Hera,” you say. You remember she pulled Josiah from the well before Annie even had the chance to tell you what had happened. “She watches the younger kids.”

“She’s very good with them,” Mrs. Bahr says. “Who else?”

Your mind blanks. Who else? “Josiah. He helps us study.”

“And?”

And? “T-the Lord. He makes sure we have the funds for what we need.”

“Including winter provisions,” Mrs. Bahr agrees.

You frown. You suddenly see where this is going. “The amount of winter provisions he thinks we need.”

Mrs. Bahr hums. “What happens if he’s wrong?”

“That’s why I hunt,” you say. Maybe now she’ll understand. “So that we’ll be okay if he’s wrong.”

“What if you don’t hunt enough?” Mrs. Bahr asks.

Your chest is tight. You rub at your sternum and try to breathe deeply. “We starve,” you say. You wheeze and then clear your throat. “We’d starve, but that’s not going to happen. Because I always hunt enough.” I have to.

“This year,” Mrs. Bahr says, voice gentle and soothing, “say you don’t hunt anymore. The winter is harsher than expected and the orphanage’s stores are depleted. What do you think will happen?”

You laugh and gasp at the same time. “They’d all starve,” you say again. What doesn’t she get about that? “First the little ones then—”

Mrs. Bahr is shaking her head. “No, Isla, that’s not what would happen.”

Your temper flares. “That’s what always—”

“What would happen,” Mrs. Bahr says in her even tone, “is that Mr. Bahr and I would come deliver extra provisions to you.”

All the air is chased from your lungs. You feel eight again, small and vulnerable and cold. You’re shivering as you stare at her. “You would?”

“We would.” Gently, as if afraid she might scare you, Mrs. Bahr moves from Hera’s bed to yours. She puts a warm hand on your knee. “We’re a fortress. The Lord gives us part of the emergency fund in order to keep our stores and grounds ready for refugees. Mr. Bahr keeps fifteen percent more than the most generous estimate out of an abundance of caution. We would come and make sure nobody starved.”

For some reason, that makes you want to cry. You blink against the sudden heat behind your eyes. “Oh.”

“That’s why we don’t want you to go hunting,” Mrs. Bahr says. Her thumb rubs over your knee. “It was worth the risk before. You worked hard to keep everyone here alive. You are incredible, for that, Isla. I can’t tell you how much I admire your strength and your bravery. But things are different now. You don’t need to do as much as you did before. There are other people on your squad.”

But I’m the Hero, you want to say. Heroes are supposed to save the day, aren’t they?

Knights help save the day too.

You let Mrs. Bahr pat your knee for a long time. She seems content to let you think, her energy a pleasant hum next to you. A knot is untying in your chest. If you don’t hunt, it’s not the end of everyone. There will still be the funds from the Lord. Sarah’s always been excellent at stretching those as far as they need to go. And, if they aren’t enough, there’s something different this year. The Bahrs are here.

“You’d help us even if you’re only going to adopt one of us?” you ask.

Mrs. Bahr’s lips thin. She looks sad, but hides it quickly. “We’re Knights,” she says. “Even if we are retired. We’ll be here the moment you need us.”

You don’t hope. Hope is traumatic. But…

You believe her.

--------

(Part 2) (part 3)

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Thanks for reading! There will be a new part of Hope and the Hero every Friday!

If you'd like to read the whole story now, please consider supporting me on Patreon (X)!

There's also a new story up there, a sequel to my Dandelion villain story (X)

Summary: You are free of mind control for the first time in a year. The only things standing between you and your revenge are the heroes.

#my writing #second person #the hero and hope #long post #this part is 6k words and the entire story is almost 19k

2K notes · View notes

luveline · 5 months ago

Note

More spencer x hotch's sister? I love her relationship with hotch so much btw! Maybe spencer learns some of what she went through in her past?

“What did you get Haley for your six months?” you ask.

Aaron shakes his basket of fries. You can smell them from your side of the table, salt and grease from the fryer. He doesn’t need to see you looking, maybe he doesn’t care that you want one or not, he tips half of the basket onto your plate and shrugs. “It was a long time ago, I’m not sure I remember. For our first year together I gave her a promise ring, I think.”

“I don’t think I can get him a promise ring…” You swirl your drink with your straw. Fizzy bubbles rush to the surface. “A ring might be nice, though. Can he wear jewellery in the field?”

“One nondescript ring would be fine.”

“Maybe a necklace.” You stab a few of his given fries on your fork and smile. “I’m very stressed, but he’s been so kind the whole time. He never makes me worry about anything.”

“Spencer is kind.” Aaron glances to the side as a couple sits in the booth opposite. “Admittedly, I was worried. But you’re happy, so I’m happy.”

“Six months is a long time for no fights.”

“Honey, some people don’t fight.”

You toy with a stray piece of lettuce. “I’m really glad that we don’t, but I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“It won’t drop. You think I’d let you date Spencer if I suspected he was secretly evil?”

“There are a few things wrong with that question…” You wipe your mouth with a napkin. “Okay, it won’t drop. Can we get, um, dessert? Rocky road sundaes?” They’re Aaron’s favourite, so they’re yours, too.

Despite his assurances, you keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. You think about your conversation with Aaron for the days leading up to your six month anniversary with Spencer, which he aptly names your ‘half anniversary’. He doesn’t plan any surprises —he sends you a PDF with different options for everything. Five different restaurants with different options for courses, moods, and settings. There are notes for each place and why you might like them, and there are activities for each one afterwards based on the location. It’s so thoughtful it makes you feel sick. The other shoe looms, and looms.

You choose a smaller restaurant just outside of the busy city, with a beautiful outdoor eating area on a stone veranda. It’s lively but not crowded, secluded but not completely private.

Spencer tucks your seat in, and he kisses your cheek before he takes his own. When he does, he looks across the table at you, and says, “Wow, you’re so pretty.”

“You think so?”

“You’re beautiful.” He gives you one of his not so shy, almost cheesy smiles, like he wants to laugh. “Do you want your gift now or later?”

“Is it rude to say I want it now?”

“No, it’s not rude. I’ll feel better once I know you like it.”

He presents you with a box wrapped in dark blue crepe paper and rounded silver star stickers. There’s twine wrapped around it and bowed, too beautiful to want to open. You look between him and the present in awe. “This is real pretty,” you say softly.

“It’s nicer inside,” he says.

You unravel the twin carefully, and you take off the paper to reveal a large, flat box. You put the paper in your jacket pocket, folded primly to keep. Spencer waits patiently.

You press your thumbnail into the box’s seam and push.

It’s four pieces of jewellery. What catches your eye first is the sapphires, blue crystal with deep dark hearts pressed into the pendant of a necklace, the heart of a bracelet, and the main bodies of their matching earrings. All simple, elegant pieces, and compiled, their impressiveness is amplified. Your breath catches. You don’t need to be an expert in jewellery to immediately assign a ballpark price tag, and it’s a lot. It’s sort of startling.

But the price doesn’t matter half as much as the sentiment.

“Do you remember them?” he asks softly.

Fourth date. Hand in hand, you and Spencer walked through a shopping centre with iced drinks and churros, and you’d paused for a few seconds to ogle the jewellery display. You’d pointed straight at the sapphire bracelet and said, “That’s gorgeous. I think if I save, I can get it for Christmas.”

“I know it’s not Christmas,” Spencer says, “I’m sorry, I cheated. But I hope you like them.”

“Spencer, I love them, I love them,” —you reach your hand across the table— “I love you. Thank you.”

He smiles at you. “Yeah, I love you, too.”

You can’t stop yourself from getting up to hug him. He bends under your weight and holds your arms, doesn’t wince when you press the entirety of your face to his hair and breathe. “Thank you,” you whisper, kissing his forehead twice, “thank you, I love you.”

“I love you, too.” He takes your face into his hand before you can leave. “You like them?” he asks.

“I love them.”

His smile is everything. “I really did cheat, I wrote it down when we got home and you know I can’t forget the things I read,” he murmurs, pulling you in for a kiss.

Six months later and your heart still skips a beat. Doesn’t matter that he has an eidetic memory, what’s important is that he wrote it down.

You take another hug, to his delight, and return to your seat. Your presents wait in a bag under the table. Two books, one jewellery box. He goes for the smaller box first.

“It’s a ring,” you say, too nervous to let him discover it by himself. “I know you don’t often wear them, but I thought maybe it’s because it’s not something you’d get for yourself, and I think it would look good on you.”

He opens the box with a smile. So pretty, and exuberantly bright. “Oh, wow.”

“I don’t know if brands mean anything to you, but it’s Vivienne–”

“It’s beautiful,” he interrupts, “I love it. What finger do I wear it on?”

“Most wear it on their marriage finger, I think, but you obviously don’t have to do that.”

He slips it onto his ring finger, turns his hand one way and another, and there’s this joy that echoes all the way across the table from his very core. “Thank you. I love it, and now every time I look down I'll remember why you gave it to me.”

You spend a lot of time apart, what with both of you working. “I thought that, too.”

He takes the books next. His laugh is soft. “I’m not surprised.”

“They’re… they’re my personal copies.”

He startles at that. “They are?”

“Yeah. Uh,” —you point at the first— “that’s my favourite, and I think it could be your favourite too.”

“And this one?” he asks gently, slipping the first underneath the second.

“Aaron gave that one to me. I know what you’re thinking, okay, that I’m giving something to you I should really keep. Maybe it makes you uncomfortable, I don’t know, but I love you.” You lick your lips. “It’s nice to fall in love. And you’ve made it so easy.”

He stares at you, lips parted.

You panic. “It was hard, growing up, and I know everyone struggles but it was hard. If it weren’t for my brother… I feel like it sticks to me and you’ve never made me feel that way. You love me for me. I was convinced nobody would ever do that.”

“I know it was hard,” he says.

“Really hard, sometimes, but you aren’t. I’m never scared of you.”

He reaches across the table to touch your hand. “You aren’t supposed to be scared of anyone, angel.”

Warmth blossoms under his touch. You shake off the fog. “It’s not just about all of that, I swear, I really do think you’ll like them. But if I got it all wrong just lie to me, okay?”

“You didn’t get anything wrong, shut up,” he says. Spencer stands, his turn to hug you, but he goes about it differently. He tips your head back and he kisses you, and his nose is a pressed line in your cheek as he squeezes you to him. “I’d be surprised if anybody who’s ever met you didn’t love you. Okay? Thank you for trusting me with it.”

It, and not them, not the books.

He peels away. You beam at one another.

“Should we eat?” you ask, feeling pleased and shy at once.

He kisses you again, one quick peck. “Yes, we can eat.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction

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greg-montgomery · 7 months ago

Note

the latest hotch x sunshine reader fic?

u think u ate with that?

no.

U DEVOUREDDDDDD. GRRRRRRRRRRR

part 2 now mama i love u so much

bestieee thank you omg!!!! <3 i hope you like part 2!!

part 1

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

Spencer took a deep breath staring at his desk. On any other day it would be due to the amount of paperwork waiting for him, but this time it was a cup of his favorite coffee order, a muffin, and a chocolate croissant, all sitting right on top of the report he was working on.

He wasn’t ungrateful for the treats, but he would rather enjoy them if they weren’t accompanied by three pairs of wide eyes looking at him, while searching for answers in return.

Emily threw her head back dramatically. “Come on, give us something.”

“They’re on a date right now, aren’t they? That’s why he left early. I know you know,” Penelope said. “I know you do. Rossi knows too, but he won’t say anything.”

“Yeah,” JJ agreed, “Every time we ask he says nothing and just…smirks at us.”

“Please, you’re our last hope.”

Spencer took a bite of his muffin and smirked.

“You’re even worse than him,” Emily said and pointed at him.

“Come on, girls. Let’s go hack Hotch’s phone.”

“No, wait!”

Was it silly to start planning your wedding on a first date?

Maybe it was; you didn’t care. Because there was no way Aaron was not your future husband.

He did everything perfectly: he picked you up from your house, got you flowers, did not let you touch a door handle, paid for your dinner date, and let you play your music during the car ride.

Aaron also smiled a lot and the sight of it made you melt into your seat. It wasn’t often that a man gave you butterflies by just one look or with the sound of his laughter.

“What are you in the mood for now?”

The last thing you wanted was for the date to end, so instead of suggesting you walk back to his car you made a different offer.

“Let’s get ice cream!”

He chuckled, but you could already tell he would not say no to you. “Okay.”

You were walking side by side and even though you were already falling in love with his warm voice it was hard to pay attention to his words. Your mind was too occupied thinking about his arm swinging next to yours and how bad you wanted to hold hands with him.

Did he want it too? Would he think it’s childish to hold hands?

What if you just…did it?

Life’s too short, you thought and grabbed his hand.

Yes, you had not been paying attention to what he'd been saying but you did notice how he stopped mid-sentence when your hands touched. Was he mad?

Your heart was jumping against your chest, afraid you did something stupid. Aaron was quick to ease your anxiety, intertwining your fingers and squeezing gently your hand.

He wanted this too.

He cleared his throat. “So it’s um…a good chance to…”

With the side of your eye, you caught him turning his head to stare at you. You hadn’t wiped the grin off your face from the sudden hand holding yet, and he saw it.

His dimples made an appearance, and as your grin got bigger you noticed he blushed.

“Oh, shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything!” you giggled.

The sound of Aaron’s phone ringing interrupted your moment.

“Sorry, I have to get this,” he said.

You, of course, didn’t mind. Even though he hadn’t said so himself, you knew he had left right on time – early in Hotch’s terms - from work just for your date. Perks of being best friends with your date’s subordinate was getting to have this kind of inside information.

“Hotchner,” he said sternly.

You stayed quiet.

“What? I didn’t authorize this.”

Oh.

“No. And I trust this won’t happen again.”

Oh…Maybe you liked this side of him a little bit more than you should.

“Thanks,” he said, and hung up. “I’m sorry about that.”

I’m not.

“No, it’s okay! It’s fascinating observing you being a boss.”

“You like observing people?”

“Why, are you interested in hiring me?” you teased.

“Oh, I would never.”

“Why not?” you asked, acting offended.

“I would not be able to focus on a case with you around.”

You took advantage of the fact you were on a sidewalk and stopped walking, turning your body to face him. “And why is that?”

Aaron moved closer and dropped your hand only to cup the side of your head. His thumb moved back and forth on your cheek and his eyes on yours made you feel dizzy.

“Because you take my breath away.”

And with his next move he took yours. Maybe you’d actually faint if he didn’t pull you in and place his lips on yours.

Your hands moved to his tie with the intention of pulling him even closer to your body. His kiss was heavenly and you really wouldn’t mind if you were to stay like that forever.

Yeah…there was no way Aaron Hotchner was not your future husband.

#writing hotch fluff to deal with life!!#aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner #hotch #ask #hotch 🪐

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orangeblossomsintheair · 5 days ago

Text

LIONHEART (1/3) – LN4

summary : lando’s anxious journey as a dad-to-be

wc : 11k

an : this fic is kind of the antithesis of my whole “casual blog” thing but we close our eyes!! not beta read and quite a mess. it’s also longer so i hope that’s okay :>

Lando had always been confident.

On the track, in the spotlight, with a helmet on his head and a steering wheel in his hands. But when you told him you were pregnant, all of that certainty evaporated in an instant.

He just stood there in the middle of your kitchen, staring at you as if you’d just announced you were moving to Mars.

“You’re joking,” he said after a beat, his voice higher than usual, almost squeaky.

“Why would I joke about this?” you replied, holding up the positive test, your own emotions a mix of excitement and nervousness.

He blinked, his aquamarine eyes wide with disbelief, before breaking into a grin so wide it could’ve lit up the whole room. “I’m going to be a dad?”

“Yes, Lando,” you said, trying not to laugh at how genuinely dumbfounded he looked.

“A dad?” he repeated, as though saying it louder would make it sink in faster.

“Yes, Lando,” you said again, this time laughing outright.

He crossed the room in two strides, pulling you into his arms and lifting you off your feet.

He spun you around with an uncontainable excitement, his hoodie brushing against your cheek as he held you tight.

“This is insane,” he mumbled into your hair. “We’re going to be parents!”

“Careful,” you said, swatting at him lightly as he set you down. “You don’t want to shake the baby loose already.”

“Oh, right,” he said, letting go and stepping back. His head jerked up as he processed your words, looking alarmed. “Wait, is that a thing? Can I- are you okay? Are we okay? Is the baby okay?”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Lando, I found out like an hour ago. I’m pretty sure we’re fine.”

He paced the kitchen, running a hand through his curls as his grin came and went in waves. “A baby. We’re having a baby. Oh my God. Do you think it’s a boy or a girl?”

“I don’t know yet, Lando,” you said, sitting down on the couch to watch him spiral. “We’ll find out soon enough.”

“What if it’s twins?” he gasped, spinning around to face you. “Oh, I should call my mum. No, wait, too soon. We need to come up with a plan first. Have you eaten today? You need to eat. Should we go to a doctor? Ooh, they need to be a really good doctor if they’re handling my wife and baby. Should I buy baby books? Do people still read books, or do we just Google everything now?”

“Lando,” you said firmly, grabbing his hand to pull him to a stop. “Breathe.”

He took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly, nodding. “Right. Breathing. I can do that.”

He knelt down in front of you, his hands resting gently on your knees. “Sorry, I’m just… this is the biggest thing we’ve ever done.”

You smiled, brushing a curl out of his face. “It is. But we’ve got this, Lando.”

He leaned forward, resting his forehead against your belly, even though it wasn’t showing yet. “Hi in there,” he murmured, his voice soft and filled with wonder. “I’m your dad. I can’t promise I’ll always know what I’m doing, but I promise I’m going to love you more than anything in the world.”

—-

Lando had always been a man of routine– wake up, train, meetings, practice, race, repeat.

But preparing to be a dad? That was a whole different kind of race.

“I need a list,” he muttered one evening, pacing the living room while you sat on the couch, trying not to laugh. “No, like, several lists. One for baby stuff, one for the hospital bag, one for- what else do we need? Is there a book about this? Should I read a book?”

“Lando,” you interrupted gently, “you’re spiraling again.”

“I’m not spiraling! I’m… planning,” he countered, though the way he was raking his hand through his curls said otherwise. “We have to be ready, love. What if the baby comes early? What if I’m away for a race?”

You set aside the baby name book you were half-heartedly skimming and grabbed his hand, pulling him to sit beside you. “We’ll figure it out, okay? You’re doing great.”

He groaned, slumping against the couch. “Am I, though? I can barely keep my plants alive. How am I supposed to keep a tiny human alive?”

“First of all, I’m the one who keeps your plants alive,” you teased, earning a weak laugh from him. “And second, you’re going to be an amazing dad. You care so much already. It’s sweet.”

“But what if I miss something important?” he said, turning to you with wide, anxious eyes. “Like the first kick, or the first cry, or- or- what if you need me and I’m halfway across the world?”

You reached up to smooth his curls, trying to ease his tension. “Lando, you’ve already done so much. The private suite, rearranging your travel schedule to be here for every appointment… You’re balancing everything perfectly.”

—-

The next weekend, Lando was halfway across the world for a race.

He had tried to keep his focus on the track, but his mind kept drifting back to you, sitting at home with your feet propped up, texting him updates about every little thing- what you were craving, how you were feeling, and whether the baby had started kicking.

During a rare free afternoon between practice sessions, he found himself wandering into a bookstore. He had no real plan, he just knew he wanted to learn everything there was to know about being a dad.

The parenting section was tucked in a quiet corner of the shop, and as he stood there surrounded by shelves filled with brightly colored covers promising to teach him how to raise a baby, the weight of it all started to settle in.

At first, Lando was focused, scanning the titles with a determined expression. “The New Dad’s Guide to Baby Basics,” “How to Survive Your Baby’s First Year,” “Sleep Training 101.”

He picked up a few books, flipping through them as if the answers to all his worries might jump out at him.

He grabbed his phone, quickly dialing you.

“Hey, love,” he said, his voice soft and warm. “Quick question- do you think the baby’s gonna like white noise machines? Because this one book says they’re a lifesaver, but another one says they’re not necessary. And then there’s this other chapter about swaddling- do you know how to swaddle? Because I don’t.”

You laughed softly on the other end of the line. “Lando, you’re overthinking again. We’ve got months to figure this all out.”

“I know,” he sighed, running a hand through his curls. “I just… I want to be good at this. I want to be ready.”

And then, as he stood there in the middle of the bookstore, holding a stack of baby books, it hit him.

He was going to be a dad.

The thought wasn’t new. It had been there since the day you told him you were pregnant. But standing there, picturing your little family and the tiny person who was going to look up to him, rely on him, need him… it was overwhelming in the best way.

“Lando?” you said gently, pulling him back to the moment. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he said, though his voice cracked a little. He cleared his throat, his free hand gripping the book tightly.

“I just-” He laughed nervously. “It’s a lot, you know? I mean, I’m going to be someone’s dad. That’s huge. What if I mess up? I’m practically a child!”

You smiled, wishing you could hug him through the phone. “You won’t mess up. You’re already doing amazing, and the baby’s not even here yet. You care so much, Lando. That’s what matters.”

He took a deep breath, letting your words sink in. “Thanks, love. I just… I want to do this right. For you. For them.”

“You will,” you reassured him. “And for the record, I think the baby’s going to love white noise machines and your ridiculous dad jokes.”

Lando chuckled, the tension in his chest easing slightly. “You think? Because I’ve already got a few saved up. Want to hear one?”

“No,” you teased, laughing. “Save them for when the baby’s old enough to groan at them.”

He grinned, his confidence slowly returning as he balanced the books in his arms. “Okay, okay. I’ll wait. But just so you know, they’re gold.”

After that call, Lando left the store with an armful of books and a heart that was a little fuller, a little steadier.

He still had moments of doubt, of wondering if he was truly ready for this massive change in his life.

But one thing he knew for sure- he couldn’t wait to meet the little person who was already changing his world.

—-

Even as Lando threw himself into preparation mode with the same energy he brought to a race weekend, scouring books and online articles about parenting, he still often got hilariously sidetracked by baby-related gadgets and gear.

“Did you know they make mini race suits for babies?” he asked one night, sprawled across the couch with his phone in hand, his eyes wide with excitement.

You glanced up from your own book, raising an eyebrow. “Lando, the baby’s not even born yet. Don’t you think it’s a little early for racing gear?”

“But imagine the photos!” he argued, sitting up and holding his phone out toward you like it was the discovery of the century.

On the screen was a tiny race suit in McLaren orange. “Our kid’s first photo: full McLaren merch. It’ll be iconic!”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “Iconic or not, I think diapers are going to be a bigger priority than race suits.”

“Why not both?” he shot back with a grin, already scrolling to find more baby-sized racing gear.

“Oh my god, look at this! miniature headphones for the paddock! Our baby could be sitting in the garage, looking like a proper little team member.”

“Lando,” you said, trying to sound serious but failing as a smile tugged at your lips, “our baby isn’t going to be born straight into a Formula 1 garage.”

He gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. “Blasphemy! Of course they are. It’s practically tradition.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help feeling touched by his enthusiasm. He wasn’t just excited; he was genuinely looking forward to every part of being a dad, even the ridiculous ones.

That wasn’t to say there weren’t more.. unwise moments even with non-racing related baby items.

Like the time he came home from a race weekend with three identical diaper bags.

“Lando,” you said, holding one up. “Why do we need three of these?”

“They’re different brands,” he explained, looking genuinely confused as to why you were asking. “What if one of them is better? Or has more pockets?”

“Pockets?”

“Yeah! Babies need a lot of stuff, right? I saw a mom at the airport with one of these, and she looked like she had her life together. I want you to have your life together too.”

You burst out laughing, and he groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Stop laughing! I’m trying to be prepared!”

“You’re overprepared,” you said, setting the bags down and walking over to wrap your arms around him. “But that’s why I love you.”

But it also wasn’t all fun and games.

Lando was determined to be as supportive as possible, especially when it came to your comfort. He took “protective husband” to a whole new level during your first trimester, hovering like an overzealous pit crew.

“Lando, I can still carry my own bag,” you told him one morning as he practically wrestled your tote out of your hands.

“Nope,” he said firmly, slinging it over his shoulder like it was his new personal mission. “You’re carrying our future world champion. I’ve got this.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “It’s a tote bag, not a tire. I think I can manage.”

“Well, I’m not taking any chances,” he replied, puffing out his chest dramatically. “What kind of dad would I be if I let you strain yourself this early?”

“A sane one?” you teased.

He huffed, clutching the bag like it was a trophy. “I’ll ignore that slander. Now, where’s your water bottle? And your snacks? Have you eaten? Do you need to sit down?”

You groaned, rolling your eyes. “Lando, I’m fine. You don’t need to act like I’m about to collapse any second.”

“Not on my watch,” he declared, marching ahead of you with your bag.

“Do you even know how many articles I’ve read about pregnancy? You’re supposed to avoid heavy lifting, stay hydrated, and-”

“-and avoid stress,” you interrupted, smirking. “Which you’re causing right now with all this hovering.”

“I’m helping,” he corrected, spinning around to face you with a determined look. “And besides, you’d thank me if you saw the kind of stuff I’ve been reading. Did you know some women crave chalk during pregnancy? Chalk! What if that happens to you? I need to be prepared!”

“Lando, I’m not craving chalk,” you said, trying not to laugh.

“Not yet,” he countered, narrowing his eyes like it was only a matter of time. “But when you do, I’ll be ready with… I don’t know, chalk alternatives or something.”

“Is that what you’ve been doing on your phone? Researching chalk alternatives?”

“Among other things,” he said with a shrug, completely serious.

“Did you know we might need a whole new mattress? Pregnant people need optimal support. And I saw this thing about belly bands. Do you want one? I can order it right now. Oh! And don’t even get me started on prenatal yoga-”

You reached out to grab his arm, laughing. “Okay, slow down, Mr. Norris. You’re going to give yourself a stress rash before we even get to the second trimester.”

He looked at you sheepishly, his determination softening into a shy smile. “I just… I want to do this right, you know? I’ve never done this before.”

You softened, cupping his cheek. “I know, love. And you’re doing amazing. But you don’t have to do everything perfectly. Just… be here. That’s all I need.”

His shoulders relaxed a little, and he leaned into your touch. “Okay,” he murmured.

Then, after a beat: “But I’m still carrying the bag.”

“Of course you are,” you said, shaking your head as he flashed you that trademark cheeky grin.

From then on, Lando took his role as your personal assistant very seriously. He stocked the fridge with all your favorite snacks, some of which you hadn’t even asked for.

“I saw this article about pickles and peanut butter,” he said one day, holding up a jar. “Do you think you’ll want to try it? Should I get bread?”

“You’re the one who’s going to end up eating it,” you teased.

And when it came to appointments, he was like a man on a mission. He set reminders, packed snacks for the waiting room, and even insisted on bringing a notebook to jot down questions.

“I don’t want to forget anything important,” he said, scribbling furiously while the doctor explained prenatal vitamins.

“You’re going to end up with a full-on pregnancy thesis,” you joked.

“Good,” he replied, deadpan.

“Because I need to know everything.”

He was equal parts adorable and exhausting, but one thing was clear: Lando was already the most devoted dad-to-be you could have asked for.

—-

Lando insisted on attending every single doctor’s appointment, even if it meant rearranging his training schedule or skipping a media event.

He didn’t care what he had to move around, he was going to be there.

Your husband had always been incredibly aware of his public image, and he knew his absence in a lot of McLaren PR videos was beginning to be noticed.

The whispers started subtly at first, just a few fans commenting on his social media posts, wondering why he wasn’t posting as frequently, why he wasn’t sharing his usual behind-the-scenes content.

But over time, it started to get louder. On Twitter, the rumors spread like wildfire.

Fans questioning his commitment to racing, accusing him of not showing up enough for the sport.

He couldn’t give a damn, to be honest.

“I don’t want to miss anything,” he told you one day as you both waited in the ultrasound room.

He was fidgeting with the strap of his McLaren cap, spinning it around in his hands like it was the only thing grounding him.

“What if they show us something important, like the baby’s heartbeat, and I’m not here? I’d never forgive myself.”

“You’ll see everything,” you assured him, lacing your fingers with his and giving his hand a squeeze. “I promise you won’t miss a thing.”

He exhaled deeply but didn’t stop fidgeting. “Do you think they’re okay? Like, really okay? What if the baby’s too small? What if-”

“Lando,” you interrupted gently, giving him a pointed look. “Breathe. Everything’s fine. You’re panicking for nothing.”

He let out a nervous laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “Sorry, I just... I’ve never been this nervous before. Not even before my first race.”

When the ultrasound tech finally entered the room and began the scan, Lando nearly jumped out of his seat.

He leaned forward, his eyes glued to the screen, his hand clutching yours like it was a lifeline.

“Alright,” the tech said with a kind smile, turning the screen toward you both. “Here’s your baby.”

Lando froze, his eyes wide as the faint image of your baby appeared on the monitor. “That’s… them?” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

“That’s them,” the tech confirmed, moving the wand slightly. “And if you look right here, you’ll see their heartbeat.”

She pointed to a tiny flicker on the screen, and Lando’s breath caught. “Is that… Is that their heart?”

“Yes,” she said warmly. “That’s your baby’s heartbeat.”

Lando’s eyes immediately welled up with tears. He blinked rapidly, clearly trying to keep them from falling, but one slipped down his cheek anyway.

“Oh my God,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “That’s them. That’s our baby.”

You reached up to wipe the tear from his cheek, your own eyes misty. “They’re perfect, aren’t they?”

“They are,” he said, his voice full of awe.

Then he turned to you with the biggest grin you’d ever seen, his face lighting up like a kid on Christmas morning. “They’ve already got your heart, don’t they?”

“And yours,” you added softly, squeezing his hand.

Lando laughed quietly, his free hand running through his hair. “This is insane. Like, actually insane. That’s a real human. Our human. I don’t even know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” you replied, smiling at him. “Just feel it.”

He nodded, his gaze drifting back to the screen. “They’re so small,” he murmured, almost to himself. Then he let out a shaky laugh.

“God, I hope they get your patience. And your smarts. And maybe your taste in music too, because mine’s questionable at best.”

“They’ll be a little bit of both of us,” you said. “The good and the bad.”

“And hopefully less of the bad,” he joked, his smile growing wider. “Although if they’re anything like me, they’ll probably be a little naughty regardless.”

He spent a few moments just staring in silent awe of the ultrasound before leaning over and pressing a kiss to your temple. “We’re going to be okay, aren’t we?”

You nodded, resting your head against his shoulder. “More than okay, Lando. We’re going to be great.”

For the rest of the appointment, Lando couldn’t stop staring at the monitor.

He asked the tech at least three times if he could get extra printouts of the ultrasound, and as soon as you left the room, he was texting the photo to his parents.

“You won’t believe this,” he said excitedly as he hit send. “They’re already perfect. I mean, look at them!”

You laughed, shaking your head at his enthusiasm. “You’re going to be insufferable, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely,” he replied with a grin, slipping the ultrasound photo into his wallet like it was his most prized possession.

—-

Lando stood in the kitchen, pacing around the table with the cake in front of him.

His hands were a blur, adjusting every little decoration as if this one cake would determine the future of the entire Norris family.

He wiped his brow for what felt like the tenth time, clearly worked up.

“You’re sure you’re okay with this?” Lando asked again, his voice laced with nerves, as he fiddled with the tiny blue and pink ribbons on top of the cake.

You raised an eyebrow, watching him with a grin. “Lando, it’s just cake. I don’t need a fireworks show or a parade. Just let me eat it. We’re finding out if we’re having a mini-me or mini-you today, not the cure for world hunger.”

He looked at you, eyes wide with mock concern. “I know! But this is important, okay? This cake isn’t just cake. It’s the cake that’s gonna reveal if our baby’s gonna have my style or your... I don’t know, your taste in TV shows.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, so my TV shows are the problem now? I seem to remember you binge-watching those ridiculous reality shows last week.”

Lando chuckled, adjusting the cake for the third time. “Fine. But I will not apologize for the occasional guilty pleasure, okay?”

Before you could fire back, there was a knock at the door, and Lando’s parents stormed in, as excited as ever, clearly eager to be part of the big reveal.

His mom was practically jumping up and down, already holding a bottle of champagne in one hand.

“Alright, alright, we ready for this?!” she practically shouted, already bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Lando, you didn’t mess up the cake, did you?”

Lando puffed out his chest, trying to seem cool, but you could tell he was as jittery as a kid before Christmas. “What do you think? I’m a pro. I’ve got this under control.”

His dad leaned in and clapped him on the back with a knowing look. “Sure, sure. It’s just cake, son. Don’t overthink it.”

“Easy for you to say!” Lando replied, rolling his eyes but clearly taking comfort in his dad’s easy confidence.

“Do I need to set up a tent or something for you? I can go grab the calm-down snacks,” his mom teased, already rifling through the bags of baby gifts she had brought with her.

Lando gave her a playful glare. “I’m fine, Mom. I’m just...you know, a little excited.”

He turned back to the cake, brushing his hands against his jeans as if trying to shake off his nerves. “Right. Big moment.”

You crossed your arms, trying to stifle your laughter at the drama of it all. “You know, you’re acting like you’re about to drive the final lap of a Grand Prix, not slice a cake, right?”

Lando shot you a look, half guilty, half defensive. “What do you mean? This is important, okay?”

“Yeah, because the world is watching,” you quipped, leaning against the counter with a grin.

“Absolutely! What if the cake doesn’t come out perfectly? What if it’s not the right color? What if-”

“Lando,” you interrupted with a chuckle, “I’m pretty sure it’ll be okay if it’s not perfect. It’s just a cake.”

He sighed dramatically. “You don’t get it. This is a moment. A huge one! I can’t mess this up.”

(Lando’s parents exchanged amused glances. “He’s got it bad, huh?” his dad whispered to his mom.

“Oh, you don’t even know,” she replied with a wink.)

“You’re really sure you’re not panicking?” you teased, nudging him, raising an eyebrow.

Lando flashed you a grin. “Nope. I’ve totally got it handled. This is the most important moment of our lives, and I’m... handling it.”

The room filled up with laughter and chatter as family and friends settled into their spots, everyone eager to be a part of the big moment.

The cake, a simple vanilla sponge with soft pastel decorations, sat in front of you all like a ticking clock. Lando’s hands hovered above it, shaking slightly as he gripped the knife.

You placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Lando, it’s going to be fine.”

He gave you a nervous smile. “Yeah, I know. I’m just- just a little excited.”

He cut the first slice carefully, holding his breath. His eyes darted between the cake and you, trying to gauge the moment, the color, the reaction.

“Is it-” Lando’s mom leaned forward, eager and almost bouncing in her seat. “Is it blue or pink?”

When Lando saw the blue filling spill out from the cake, it was like a switch flipped inside him.

His hands trembled for a moment, and then, without warning, his lips curled into a grin so wide it could have lit up the whole room.

He threw his arms up in the air, as if he’d just crossed the finish line, his chest puffing out like he’d just clinched a Grand Prix victory.

“YES!” he yelled, his voice carrying the excitement and relief of a race win. He even did a little fist pump, completely caught up in the moment, forgetting the cake still had to be served.

His family burst into laughter, but Lando didn't care. He was riding high on the adrenaline of the moment, his face flushed with joy. He turned to you, eyes wide and sparkling, as if the world had just handed him the greatest trophy imaginable.

“I’ve got a son! A SON! I’m gonna be a dad to a little boy!” he exclaimed, his voice rising in a playful tone, as if he was addressing a crowd at a podium.

“Lando, you’re not actually racing a Grand Prix right now,” you said, your laughter shaking your voice. “You don’t need to act like you just won Monaco!”

Lando paused for a split second, still grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Oh, but I am! This is my Monaco moment!”

—-

Before your son arrived, the two of you spent countless hours brainstorming names, debating, and laughing at your ideas, the excitement of becoming parents finally hitting both of you.

You sat on the couch in the private suite, your legs curled up underneath you as you flicked through baby name books.

Lando, sprawled beside you with his laptop open, occasionally paused to glance at you, a goofy grin on his face.

“You know what would be funny?” Lando said, his eyes lighting up. “If we named him after a race track. Like, Monaco or Spa.”

You raised an eyebrow, amused but skeptical. “Monaco? Really? We’re naming our kid after a place?”

Lando shrugged with a playful grin. “It’s iconic. Imagine saying, ‘This is my son, Spa Norris.’ Sounds like he’s destined to be a Formula 1 champion, right?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Yeah, that’s not going to fly. I’m not going to name our son after a race track, Lando.”

He pouted, pretending to be disappointed. “You’re no fun. I thought you’d be into it.”

You shot him a playful look. “Well, if you’re going to go that route, we might as well name him something like 'Aston' or 'Ferrari'.”

Lando dramatically gasped. “Ferrari Norris?” he echoed, as if he’d just had an epiphany. “That actually sounds pretty cool.” He immediately began typing it into his phone. “Imagine the headlines: ‘Little Ferrari Norris shows up at the karting track, stealing the show already.’”

You chuckled, giving him a teasing nudge. “Okay, okay. Let’s put a pin in that one, but seriously, we need something that isn’t a car or a race track. We need to think long-term. He’s not going to be five years old forever.”

Lando sat back, tapping his fingers on the side of his laptop, deep in thought. “How about Maximus? It sounds strong, right?”

You gave him a flat look. “You realize that would just end up as Max, and then we’d have to deal with every comparison to Verstappen and Max, right?”

Lando’s eyes widened slightly as you pointed out the potential issue. He paused, tapping his fingers on the laptop as he processed your words.

“Oh, right,” he said slowly, running a hand through his hair. “Maximus could be a disaster. Imagine our kid being called Max every time. He’ll spend his whole life being compared to Verstappen, and Max.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, not ideal. We’re already in the spotlight enough with you and everything, we don’t need to add fuel to the fire.”

Lando groaned, slouching slightly in his chair. “Okay, so no Maximus. What about... Thor? Sounds strong, right? A god or something.”

You blinked, trying to keep a straight face. “Lando, we're naming our kid, not preparing him for a Marvel movie.”

“I’m just saying,” he grinned, holding his hands up in mock defense. “Thor Norris. Sounds pretty cool, right? Imagine him on the playground.”

“Yeah, until he gets bullied for being named after a thunder god,” you replied with a teasing smile. “We want a name that’s strong, but also, you know, normal.”

Lando sighed dramatically, rubbing his temples. “Why is this so hard? This is supposed to be the fun part!”

“Because you're overthinking it,” you said, leaning over to ruffle his hair. “We don't need to make him sound like a superhero. We need something that suits him, something that feels right.”

Lando scrolled through a few more names on his phone. “What about Leo? You know, like the lion?”

You looked over at him, a thoughtful expression crossing your face. “Leo.. huh, I kind of like that.”

Lando met your gaze, his smile softening. “I do too. It feels strong. But it’s also… warm. I can imagine him growing up with that name.”

You smiled, already picturing your son, little Leo, chasing after you both in a go-kart, or laughing as he wore his tiny McLaren onesie.

“I think that’s the one,” you said softly, your heart warming at the thought of it.

Lando nodded, his voice quieter now. “Leo Norris. Yeah… I like it.”

You both sat there for a while, soaking in the reality that soon, you’d have a little one to love and raise.

A mix of excitement and nervous energy filled the air. But above it all, you both felt the quiet, comforting certainty that you’d chosen the right name.

“Leo Norris,” Lando repeated, his grin returning. “You’re going to be so cool, little guy.”

—-

By the time the baby’s due date was right around the corner, Lando had practically perfected the art of juggling his high-pressure career with impending fatherhood.

He FaceTimed you every chance he got during race weekends, even if it was just for a few minutes, to check in and ask how you and the baby were doing.

Every call was an opportunity for him to make silly faces at your growing belly, as if your unborn child could already understand what he was doing.

“How’s my little team doing today?” Lando asked, his face beaming from the screen, grinning like a kid with a secret.

You raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean, ‘little team’? It’s still just one person, you know.”

He paused, holding his hands up as though giving you a game plan. “It’s all about the future, babe. Right now, it’s just me and you, but soon, we’re gonna have our first real team member. And I’m gonna be the best team principal there ever was.” He winked, clearly enjoying the idea.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Uh-huh. Sure. First, you have to figure out how to change a diaper before you’re giving out performance reviews.”

Lando's grin faded slightly, and his expression became more serious. “I can change a tire under pressure, but... a diaper? You’re sure I’m gonna be okay with that?”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “You’ve changed car tires with a stopwatch ticking down. A diaper is like... one percent of the stress.”

Lando scratched his head, clearly still not totally convinced. “Yeah, but there’s a lot more wiggle with a baby than with a tire.”

You chuckled, hearing the nerves in his voice despite his usual cocky demeanor. “I’m sure you’ll manage. You’re gonna be a great dad. Besides, how bad can it be? Worst-case scenario, we just put him in a McLaren onesie and call it a day.”

Lando’s eyes lit up. “Wait, does McLaren make baby clothes?” he asked, suddenly distracted, pulling out his phone.

You sighed, trying not to laugh. “Focus, Lando, the baby comes first, not McLaren merch.”

But he didn’t hear you.

He was too busy scrolling through his phone, searching for baby-sized McLaren gear. “Just imagine! Tiny little race suits! Our kid’s first proper race suit! It’ll be legendary*”

You smirked. “Right, because that’s all a baby needs, to be decked out in McLaren gear. A future world champion and fashion icon.”

Lando nodded seriously, still scrolling. “Exactly. The sooner they start looking the part, the sooner they’ll feel the pressure to deliver.”

You shook your head, your lips curving into a smile. “You’re definitely going to spoil this kid rotten.”

“I’m just preparing them for greatness!” Lando declared, his voice mock-serious. “Besides, they’re going to have someone to look up to.”

You laughed, a soft teasing tone in your voice. “You mean you? The guy who keeps asking me if he’ll be cool enough for a toddler?”

Lando looked at you, eyebrows furrowing with mock panic. “I just want them to think I’m cool, okay? What if they’re disappointed? What if they grow up to think I’m just some guy who drives a car really fast and wears too many McLaren hats?”

You snorted, not even trying to hide your amusement. “Lando, you drive a Formula 1 car for a living. I think you’ll manage to impress a toddler.”

“Yeah, well, toddlers are tough critics,” he muttered, flopping back onto his bed. “What if they want a cooler dad? Like, what if they see some famous soccer player or something and think he’s way cooler than their dad?”

“Lando, the kid isn’t even born yet, and you’re already stressing about being the coolest parent?” You shook your head, trying to hold back laughter. “Relax. You’re gonna be the coolest dad, hands down.”

“You really think so?” Lando asked, his tone suddenly turning sincere, a soft smile curling his lips.

“Absolutely,” you replied, your voice full of confidence. “You’re gonna be amazing. And anyway, when they get older, they'll think you're the coolest just because you drive an F1 car. That’s literally a dream job for kids.”

Lando smiled at you through the screen, clearly reassured. “Alright, alright. I can live with that.” He paused for a moment, his

“I’m gonna train them up. Baby steps, right? First, it’s McLaren onesies. Then, they’ll be driving go-karts by five.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing. “I think you’ve got a few years before that happens, buddy.”

—-

Lando had been pacing the living room for what felt like hours, his hands in his hair and his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

You watched him from the couch, amused by how obviously he was working up the courage to say something.

Finally, unable to take his fidgeting any longer, you set your book down and raised an eyebrow at him.

“Alright, spill it,” you said, crossing your arms.

He stopped pacing, turning to you with a sheepish grin. “Okay, don’t get mad, but… can I tell Carlos?”

You blinked at him, confused. “Tell Carlos what?”

“The baby!” Lando blurted, throwing his hands in the air. “I swear I won’t say anything to anyone else, but I feel like I’m going to burst if I don’t tell someone. And Carlos, he’s my best mate in the paddock, you know? and I feel like I’m going to burst if I don’t tell someone. He’s good at keeping secrets! Remember when I told him about… well, you know…”

You smirked. “The time you accidentally spilled coffee all over Zak’s favorite race notes and blamed the wind?”

Lando groaned, running a hand through his curls. “Yes, that! He didn’t tell anyone!”

He leaned in closer, his big, pleading eyes locking onto yours. “Please, love. I need someone to talk to about this in the paddock. I promise it’ll stay between me and him. And you, of course. You’re the boss.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you said, shaking your head with a smile.

“But adorable?” he pressed, grinning mischievously.

You laughed, shaking your head at his antics. “Alright, alright. You can tell Carlos. But only Carlos. If I see headlines about ‘Baby Norris’ next week, I’m blaming you.”

Lando let out a victorious whoop, throwing his arms around you and pressing a kiss to your cheek. “You won’t regret this, I promise! I’ll handle it perfectly.”

“Uh-huh,” you teased. “Just don’t come crying to me if he accidentally tells the entire grid.”

“He won’t!” Lando assured you, already pulling out his phone. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a Spaniard to swear into secrecy.”

—-

Lando, despite his enthusiasm around friends and family, had always been the type to keep his personal life as far away from the media as possible, especially when it came to you and your pregnancy.

He’d pulled you aside earlier on, his brow furrowed in a mix of excitement and concern.

“I just want to protect you from all that stress, love,” he’d said softly, his hands resting on your shoulders. “The media’s only gonna make everything harder. Let’s keep it to ourselves and family and friends until we’re ready.”

You’d agreed, knowing his intention was to shield you from any unnecessary pressure.

So, you kept things under wraps, avoiding public appearances and letting Lando handle the media while you focused on your health and well-being.

But as your pregnancy progressed and your bump started to show, it became harder to stay out of the public eye.

At first, you’d manage to sneak in a few appearances, sitting in the background, away from the cameras. But soon, you started pulling back even more, skipping races altogether. The tabloids, however, didn’t miss a beat.

Lando was pacing back and forth in your living room, muttering to himself as he read through the latest batch of articles about him and your supposed divorce.

You could practically see the frustration building in him. He was giving off full-on whiny vibes, and you couldn't help but smirk at how ridiculous the whole thing seemed.

“I swear, they’ve completely lost their minds!” Lando groaned, throwing his phone down onto the couch with a dramatic flair. “What do they mean we’re getting divorced? Have they seen you? Why would I ever, ever, let you go?”

You leaned back on the couch, trying to keep your composure as he began pacing again. “Lando, calm down. It’s just the media. They love making stuff up.”

“No, it’s not just the media!” he whined, stopping mid-pacing to stare at you. “This is serious! They think I’m out here with a divorce like that’s even a thing. I’m happily married! You’re at home growing our kid, not plotting some dramatic breakup!”

You tried to hold back your laugh, but Lando’s whining was getting funnier by the second. “Babe, seriously, it’s not the end of the world. You’re acting like the tabloids are going to come for us with pitchforks.”

“I’m just-” He paused, running his hands through his hair like he was about to pull it out.

“I’m just trying to figure out how they got this idea. I’m not... like, I’m not perfect, but come on! Look at you! You’re gorgeous, and we’re over here living our best life, why would I ever let you go?”

You grinned, giving him a teasing side-eye. “Aww, are you saying I’m too good for you?”

Lando froze, turning to you with wide eyes. “No! I mean, yes, but no!” He huffed dramatically, flopping down onto the couch next to you. “You’re perfect! You’re the perfect wife! And you’re the one who makes everything better, and now they’re out here saying I’m getting divorced? No! That’s not how this works!”

You reached over, resting your hand on his, trying to hold back your own laughter. “Lando, babe, it’s just rumors. People are bored. They don’t know anything, and they’re making stuff up. Just ignore it.”

He looked at you like you’d just suggested the impossible.

“Ignore it? How am I supposed to ignore this? They’re making me look like the worst husband in the world! Divorce? I’ve been married for, like, what, five minutes? And now I’m already getting a bad rep? This is ridiculous!”

You snorted, finally giving in to the humor of the situation. “Okay, okay, so how are you planning to fix it? Go out there and shout from the rooftops?”

Lando sighed heavily, clearly still upset. “I don’t know! Maybe I should just do an entire press conference. ‘Hello, everyone, just in case there was any doubt, I’m not divorced! I’m happily married! And I’m going home to my gorgeous wife and our baby, who will totally not grow up to be a Formula 1 driver, I promise.’”

You couldn’t stop laughing now. “Babe, just post a picture of us and say ‘Still happily married’ that’ll do the trick.”

Lando groaned in frustration. “But why do I have to do that? Why can’t people just know? It’s like they’ve forgotten what happiness looks like. They’re just out here making up stories!”

You patted his leg, smiling fondly at him. “You’re cute when you get worked up, you know that?”

He shot you a look. “I’m serious! This is outrageous. I swear, if I see one more headline about our ‘divorce,’ I’m gonna lose it.”

“Alright, alright,” you said, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “Calm down. It’s just noise. We know what’s real.”

Lando pouted, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m not a fan of this noise. It’s too much, and I just want to be left alone to focus on being an amazing husband and father. Is that too much to ask?”

You smiled, giving him a reassuring squeeze. “No, love. It’s not too much to ask. But maybe, just maybe, try to ignore the headlines for once?”

He sighed dramatically. “Fine. I’ll try. But if they start talking about me again... I’m calling a press conference.”

—-

Lando had just finished a grueling race, his face flushed with exertion but still carrying that unmistakable grin.

He was on cloud nine, but he could already sense the usual flood of media around him. It was never just about the race with him, it was always about something else, something personal.

As he was making his way to the interview zone, one journalist, eager to get the scoop, stepped in front of him with a grin.

“Lando, congratulations on the win! How’s everything going with your wife? We’ve heard a lot of speculation recently, some rumors flying around about your relationship. Can you clear that up for us?”

Lando froze mid-step, his brow furrowing. The questions about his relationship with you had been relentless recently, but this, this was the last straw.

The media had taken their guesses and spun them into wild stories. He had kept quiet for as long as possible, but today, something inside him snapped.

“Rumors?” Lando repeated, voice low but filled with frustration.

He glanced over at his PR team, who were silently freaking out in the background, and then he turned back to the reporter, a small, sarcastic smirk pulling at his lips. “Yeah, here’s the thing.”

He paused, taking a deep breath. His hands were shaking from the adrenaline of the race, but his eyes were laser-focused on the reporter.

“Here’s the thing,” Lando said again, this time louder, looking directly into the camera, “I’m going to give a shout-out to my beautiful wife right now, and to hell with everyone else. To all the tabloids, the rumors, and the people making things up… fuck you. I love my wife. She’s amazing. We’re happy. Now, can we get back to the racing?”

Lando’s eyes burned with a mixture of frustration and determination as he stood there, refusing to back down.

The crowd of reporters and cameras around him seemed to freeze for a moment, unsure of how to react to his sudden outburst.

“Seriously,” he continued, his voice steadier now, but still tinged with that raw intensity, “I’ve kept quiet for as long as I can. I get it, you want the drama, you want the headlines.”

He glanced around at the sea of microphones pointed at him, his gaze intense. The silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by the hum of distant chatter.

“But I’m here to race,” he added, his jaw clenched. “So, let me make it clear. My wife and I are doing great. I’m not hiding anything from anyone. The only thing I’m focused on is the fact that I just finished on a podium position, and that's what matters.”

For a moment, he allowed himself to breathe, his chest still rising and falling from the aftershocks of the race and the adrenaline of the moment.

The reporter, still holding the microphone, looked almost shocked by Lando’s outburst, but before they could get another word in, Lando raised his hand, cutting them off.

“I’ve had enough,” he said firmly. “So here’s the deal. To everyone who wants to keep spreading rumors or digging into our lives. Don’t. And to my wife, if you’re watching this, I love you. You’re incredible.”

There was a brief moment of silence, and then, with a final glance at the camera, Lando broke into a grin.

“And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a celebration to get to. See you at the next race.”

With that, he turned, walking away from the reporters, leaving them dumbfounded and speechless. His PR team scrambled behind him, clearly trying to catch up and figure out how to spin this into something less... explosive, but Lando wasn’t having it.

He was done with the noise, done with the rumors. And if the media wanted a story, they could have that one because he wasn’t hiding his love for you, and he wasn’t going to let anyone tell a different story.

Back in the paddock, as he made his way toward the celebration, he pulled out his phone, sending you a quick text: “Hey, I may have just lost my cool on live TV but don’t worry, it was for you. Love you always 🧡”

As soon as the text sent, Lando couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all.

—-

When you saw the text pop up on your phone, you blinked at it for a moment, reading it over a few times to make sure you weren’t misinterpreting things.

You didn’t have a chance to misinterpret anything when you were bombarded by videos of Lando’s recent stunt by your friends and family.

You froze.

The sheer audacity of him, of his love for you, left you speechless for a moment.

Of course, Lando had always been passionate, always been the kind of person who wasn’t afraid to stand up for what mattered to him. But this?

This was a whole other level. You couldn’t help but let out a laugh, a combination of shock and amusement.

You immediately hit the video call button, your heart racing.

When his face appeared on the screen, he was still beaming with that grin he wore after a good race, sweaty, glowing, and impossibly handsome.

But then, his eyes widened when he saw the expression on your face.

“What?” he asked, still out of breath from the race, his grin fading a little. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

You couldn’t help yourself. “Lando Norris,” you began, trying to keep your voice steady, “did you just… tell everyone to fuck off on live TV?!”

His eyes grew comically wide, and he immediately slapped a hand to his forehead, groaning dramatically as if he was ashamed of his actions. “I swear I didn’t mean to-”

“Oh, you didn’t mean to?!” you interrupted, laughing uncontrollably, clutching your stomach from how hard you were giggling. “Lando, that was literally a full-on ‘fuck you’ to the media! And you said it was for me?!”

He flushed, sheepish but still trying to hide his growing smile. “Look, okay, I was just- uh- tired of the rumors, alright? And when they asked about you- about us- I just kind of... lost it. I wasn’t thinking. I just wanted to make sure they all knew how much I love you. How happy we are.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” you said, still laughing, wiping a tear from your eye. “You’re really doing a great job of showing that. It was the most Lando Norris thing you could’ve done!”

Lando leaned back against the wall, clearly embarrassed but still that familiar, playful Lando you knew and loved. “I didn’t think it’d go that far,” he muttered, but then his grin returned. “But you know what? Fuck it. They can say what they want.”

You let out a breath, finally calming down, though you were still grinning. “You are such a dork,” you said, shaking your head with affection. “But I love you for it. Seriously. I never thought I’d be watching you on TV yelling at the media like that.”

He puffed out his chest, doing a little dramatic bow. “What can I say? I’m just a man in love.”

“I’m starting to think you’re also a man who has no filter,” you teased, leaning in closer to the screen. “But I can’t deny, it’s kind of… hot.”

Lando’s cheeks flushed at that, and he let out a chuckle. “Oh, now you’re really making me blush. I can’t believe I just did that...”

“You definitely made a statement,” you said, the smile still playing on your lips. “The whole world now knows you’re not just a great driver- you're a very passionate husband, apparently. Also, good luck with your PR team after that one.”

“Oh, they’re probably freaking out right now,” Lando said with a knowing grin. “But hey, at least I got to make things clear.”

You paused for a moment, letting his words settle. “You know what, Lando? I really appreciate it. I know the media can be overwhelming, and I’m glad you’re doing what you can to protect us, even if it means embarrassing yourself a little. But just... maybe next time? You could, I don’t know, use a little less profanity?”

“Right,” he said, nodding seriously. “Next time, I’ll scream it in sign language. Less dramatic, more subtle.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart swelled with affection. “You’re impossible.”

“I know,” he grinned. “But I’m your impossible.”

—-

When the end of the racing season finally rolled around, Lando could hardly contain his excitement.

The grueling months of races, travel, and endless media commitments were finally over, and he was about to have a few weeks of uninterrupted time with you and the baby.

The weight of the season had been heavy, and now that it was over, he felt like he could breathe again, and it felt amazing.

For weeks leading up to the last race, Lando had been counting down the days.

The moment he heard the announcement that the season was officially over, his excitement bubbled over. He was practically buzzing with anticipation, his usual calm and collected persona giving way to a wide, ear-to-ear grin.

It was as if the pressure of racing and all the responsibilities had just melted away, and he was ready to dive straight into a new kind of excitement, one that involved a lot more time at home with you.

You were sitting on the couch, relaxing after your own busy day, scrolling through your phone, when you heard the familiar sound of

Lando’s boots hitting the floor. He was almost running, and his footsteps were light and fast, as if he couldn’t wait to see you.

“Babe!” he shouted, throwing his bag down with abandon, his voice practically singing with happiness.

Without a second thought, he rushed over to where you were sitting, scooping you up into his arms like you weighed nothing at all. He spun you around once, a burst of laughter escaping his lips.

“I’m home, I’m home, I’m home!” he repeated, his grin so wide it almost seemed to stretch across his face.

You couldn’t help but laugh as his excitement flooded the room, feeling the warmth of his embrace. "Well, I can tell you’re happy about the season being over," you teased, giving him a playful look as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

“I’m more than happy,” he replied, his eyes sparkling with joy. “I’m ecstatic. Finally, a break. No planes, no races, no media, just me, you, and... well, you know, our little one,” he added, glancing down at your belly with a soft smile.

“Sounds perfect,” you said, feeling the love in his words. “I think we both deserve a break.”

Lando nodded enthusiastically. “I can’t wait to just be home with you. I’ve missed so much of this year, and now I get to make up for it. I’ve got so many plans. We can do all the things we’ve been talking about, prepare the nursery, take walks together, have breakfast in bed, watch terrible movies... you know, all the usual relaxing stuff.”

You raised an eyebrow, amused by his enthusiasm. “Breakfast in bed every day, huh? That’s a bold claim.”

“I’m up for the challenge,” he grinned, a playful glint in his eyes. “I’m making the most of this time. No more rushing around, no more stress. Just time with you, our little one, and whatever chaos we manage to create together.”

He flopped down onto the couch beside you, pulling you in closer. His hand found its way to your growing belly, and he couldn’t wipe the smile off his face as he gently placed his hand there. “I’m so ready for this next chapter, you know? I know the last few months have been crazy, but this... this is going to be perfect.”

—-

Lando stood in the middle of the nearly-finished nursery, hands on his hips, looking ridiculously proud of himself. The room was stunning.

Soft, neutral tones, sleek furniture that didn’t scream “baby” but still felt warm and inviting, and subtle touches of personality like a tiny McLaren-themed mobile hanging above the crib.

“You know,” he said, turning to you with a grin, “I think I’ve outdone myself. Custom everything. No IKEA in sight. You’re welcome.”

You raised an eyebrow from where you were sitting on the plush nursery chair he’d insisted be upholstered with "only the softest fabric money can buy."

“You do realize you’ve spent more on this room than most people spend on their entire house, right?”

He shot you a mock-offended look. “Excuse me for wanting the best for our baby. It’s called quality assurance.”

He scoffed, gesturing at the solid oak crib. “This bad boy? Handmade by some guy in Sweden who’s apparently a genius with wood. And the changing table? Designed by an actual ergonomist! No sore backs for us.”

You tried to keep a straight face but couldn’t help laughing. “Lando, it’s a baby. They’re not going to care if their crib is custom-made or from IKEA. They’ll drool on it all the same.”

He gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. “Excuse me! Our baby deserves the best! The absolute best. I’m not about to put our kid in some flimsy crib where one tantrum could bring it down.”

“Pretty sure you’re the only one throwing tantrums right now,” you teased.

He ignored you, walking over to the rocking chair and giving it an experimental sway. “This chair, by the way? Perfect for late-night story time. I tested at least twenty before I found the one.”

“You sat in twenty rocking chairs?”

“Of course,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “What if I’d chosen one that squeaked or wasn’t comfy enough for cuddles? I’m thinking ahead, love.”

“Thinking ahead is spending three months’ salary on a nursery?”

“Investment,” he corrected, plopping down beside you with a satisfied sigh.

“And it’s not just the furniture. Look at the details. That mobile? Custom order. The wallpaper? Hand-painted by some artist in Italy. Even the shelves are organized by height so the books will be easier to grab when the baby’s older. I’m not messing around.”

You shook your head, still smiling. “It’s beautiful, Lando. Really. You’ve done an amazing job.”

“Of course I have,” he said smugly, leaning back. But after a moment, his expression softened. “I just… I want everything to be perfect, you know? For them. For you. I want this room to feel safe and special and like… like a little haven.”

Your heart melted as you reached out to take his hand. “It already does, babe. It’s perfect because you made it with love.”

“Also with a ridiculous amount of money,” he added, flashing you a cheeky grin.

You laughed. “That, too.”

Lando leaned down to kiss your forehead, his voice full of affection. “Anything for you two. Now, all that’s left is to teach the baby to say ‘McLaren’ before anything else.”

You laughed, pulling back to give him a playful shove. “Don’t push your luck.”

“Fine,” he said with a wink. “Second word, then.”

—-

When the day finally came, Lando was fresh off a meeting with his team, when your water broke in the middle of your living room.

“Now?” he yelped, nearly dropping the cup of tea he’d just handed you. His wide, panicked eyes darted between you and the puddle forming at your feet. “It’s happening now?”

“Yes, Lando, now!” you snapped, clutching your belly as another contraction hit.

He spun in circles for a moment, muttering to himself, “Keys, keys, where did I- oh, my God, this is happening.”

“Lando!” you barked, cutting through his panic.

“Yes, yes! Okay! Keys! Bag! You!” He grabbed the hospital bag you’d packed weeks ago, slung it over one shoulder, then hesitated. “Wait, do you need me to carry you? Should I-”

“Just get me to the car!”

In record time, he managed to get you into the passenger seat, though not without fumbling with your seatbelt for what felt like an eternity.

“I race cars for a living,” he muttered to himself, hands trembling as he buckled you in. “Why is this harder than a pit stop?”

“Because a pit stop doesn’t scream at you every five minutes,” you shot back, gripping the door handle as another contraction rippled through your body.

---

At the hospital, Lando was a walking ball of nerves. He practically burst into the maternity ward, announcing to the nurses, “My wife’s having a baby! Right now! Like, right now!”

One of the nurses calmly guided you to a room, giving Lando a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “First-time dad?” she asked with a knowing smile.

“Is it that obvious?” he mumbled, following behind like a lost puppy.

Inside the delivery room, Lando couldn’t sit still. He paced back and forth, running his hands through his hair. “Are they supposed to take this long? Shouldn’t someone check on her again? Is she okay? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Lando,” you groaned through clenched teeth. “But if you don’t stop pacing, I might strangle you before this baby gets here.”

He froze mid-step, holding his hands up in surrender. “Right. No pacing. Got it. I’ll just... stand here.”

Once he could actually think past his panic, Lando immediately whipped out his phone, his fingers fumbling over the screen as he dialed his parents. The phone barely rang once before his mom answered.

“Lando? Everything okay?” her voice was calm but laced with concern, likely from the sheer urgency of his call.

“Mum! She’s in labor!” Lando practically shouted into the phone, his words tumbling out at record speed. “Like, actual labor. Right now. We’re at the hospital. It’s happening!”

“Oh, Lando, that’s wonderful!” his mom exclaimed, her tone immediately switching to excitement. “How is she? How are you?”

“She’s... well, she’s in labor!” Lando replied, running a hand through his already tousled curls. “I think she’s fine, but I don’t know! She might be mad at me for pacing too much. I stopped though. Well, sort of. Anyway, can you and Dad get here? Like, now?”

“We’re on our way, love,” she reassured him with a laugh.

By the time his parents arrived, just minutes later, Lando’s initial excitement had given way to full-blown panic. He was sitting in the corner of the room, staring at his hands, muttering under his breath.

“Do you think the baby will like me? What if they don’t like me? What if I’m a terrible dad? Oh my God, I forgot to pack snacks! What kind of dad forgets snacks?”

His parents stepped into the room, his mom taking one look at him and immediately placing a hand on his shoulder. “Lando, breathe,” she said gently, her eyes crinkling with amusement.

He jumped up at their arrival, waving his hands around. “I can’t breathe, Mum! Do you know how much responsibility this is? I’m going to be someone’s dad! What if I drop the baby? What if I don’t hold them right? Or they cry every time they see me? I-”

His dad cut him off with a firm but comforting hand on his back. “You’re going to be fine, son. You’ve got this.”

Lando looked over at you, lying on the hospital bed, still managing to roll your eyes at his dramatics despite the situation. “Does she think I’ve got this?” he asked, gesturing to you.

You groaned, partly from the contraction and partly from his antics. “Lando, if you don’t stop spiraling, I’ll personally make sure you get kicked out of this delivery room.”

His mom laughed, stepping closer to you. “She’s got it under control, doesn’t she?”

“She always does,” Lando muttered, his wide eyes darting between you and the monitors. “But what if I’m not ready, Mum?” he whispered, leaning closer to his mother as if it were a secret.

His mom reached up, brushing a curl from his forehead. “You’ll be ready when you see your baby for the first time, Lando. Trust me. You’ve already proven you’ll do whatever it takes to be a great dad. Now stop worrying and be there for your wife.”

Lando nodded, taking a deep breath and straightening up. Then he turned to you with newfound determination. “Okay. What do you need, love? Water? Ice chips? A—”

“A calm husband,” you interrupted, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Right,” he said, nodding rapidly. “Calm husband. Got it.”

And for the next two minutes, he actually managed to stay calm. Until the nurse walked in and said, “Alright, it’s time to push.”

Then all bets were off.

---

When your son (your son!) finally arrived after hours of labor, the world seemed to pause. Lando stood frozen as one of the nurses handed him the tiny, swaddled baby. His hands shook as he cradled Leo against his chest, staring down at him in awe.

His aquamarine eyes were wide as he stared down at the newborn. “Wow,” he whispered, his voice shaky. “He’s... so small. Like, really small. Are we sure he’s okay?”

“Lando, he’s a baby,” you said, exasperated but smiling, the exhaustion hitting you in waves. “They’re supposed to be small.”

“Yeah, but this small?” he asked, carefully holding Leo as if he were made of glass. He glanced at the nurse for reassurance. “Is this normal? What if I break him?”

The nurse chuckled. “You won’t, Mr. Norris. Just make sure to support his head, and you’ll be fine.”

“Support his head,” Lando repeated, adjusting his grip like he was handling the most fragile trophy in the world. Then he looked down at your son again, a mixture of awe and terror on his face. “Hey, little guy,” he murmured. “It’s, uh... it’s me. Your dad. I’m new at this, so, uh, go easy on me, yeah?”

You laughed softly, despite the ache in your body. “He’s not going to grade you, Lando.”

“Good, because I’m already giving myself a D+,” he muttered, carefully sitting beside you on the hospital bed.

Lando looked up at you, his eyes glassy. “You did so good,” he said softly. “So, so good. Thank you for... for him.”

As the tiny bundle in his arm let out a tiny whimper, Lando instinctively rocked him, whispering, “Shh, mate, it’s okay. Daddy’s got you.”

“You’re a natural,” the nurse commented, smiling as she adjusted your blankets.

“Really?” Lando glanced up, his grin sheepish but full of pride. “Because I feel like I’m one wrong move away from dropping him.”

“You won’t,” you reassured him, reaching out to touch his arm. “You’re already amazing.”

He smiled, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. “You’re the amazing one. I mean, you just made a person. How insane is that?”

As he sat beside you, still holding him as if he were the most precious thing in the world.

You rested your head against his shoulder, watching as he studied every tiny feature of Leo’s face. “He’s got my eyes,” he murmured, awed.

“And your gap-toothed smile too, probably,” you teased.

He chuckled, brushing a fingertip gently over Leo’s tiny hand. “That’s not a bad thing. He’ll be unstoppable. Just wait until he sees his first go-kart.”

506 notes · View notes

usedpidemo · 4 months ago

Text

Codependency (Ive Yujin)

On one side, there’s a mansion worthy portrait of you on the wall. On the other, wards and recognitions from numerous governing bodies with your name plastered in remembrance. The public knows more about the brand than the people behind it; that’s how business works. Unless your name happens to be Musk, Bezos, or Zuckerberg.

You’re nowhere near their level of wealth and influence—far from it—yet this entire building’s future rests on your shoulders. It’s not as easy as it looks.

You’ve always credited your guardian angel for keeping you from harm your entire life. It sounds religious, but from personal experience, it’s real.

She’s guiding you from the secluded corner of your office.

—————

“And that’s how we’ll proceed with operations moving forward,” you say to the executives in the room—except they're not physically there. Their faces are projected on screen, joining from different countries, with some even joining from home. To be quite frank, you understand very little about your own presentation, and had your acting not been Oscar-worthy, there’s more that would appear absurd than believable. “Do we have any questions?”

For the most part, the top brass appear to be in unanimous agreement with everything that has been laid out. Not a single question, complaint, or rebuttal from anyone.

“Well done, officer. You seem to have a complete grasp and understanding of the situation,” says one of the chiefs, his ripe old age showing through his slow, strained tone.

Another suit, much closer to your age—albeit barely (he’s in his mid-forties)—adds, “We expect an immediate turnaround, otherwise we may have to cut even more of our divisions off. Should this plan fail, we anticipate closure of even more of our departments, including yours.”

It’s not the most concerning thing you’ve heard this week, but it’s definitely up there–at least top three.

Nevertheless, you remain firm and bow to your superiors as you end the meeting. “Thank you sirs. We will do our best.”

As soon as the video call ends, you let out this deep sigh of relief that’s been repressed the entire time. Thank goodness you have an entire building floor and private office to yourself.

“Well fuck me,” you mutter, seemingly speaking to the void, taking all the deep breaths you need, wiping the sweat across your head with some tissue. “Tell me I followed through on everything, right?”

“Yeah. Apart from mixing a few things, you mostly got it.” Yujin’s voice emerges from the far end of the room, covered in darkness, away from anyone’s view. The papers on your desk aren’t actually documents or paperwork. In reality, they’re pages of a manuscript with a few instructional, handwritten notes attached. It’s not even your own writing; they’re curated by none other than Yujin herself. “I’d say I wouldn’t have noticed, even if they were a little too obvious at times.”

“These conferences are fucking tiresome. Nauseating even,” you reply. Yujin opens up the blinds, and you stagger away from the immediate sunlight piercing through the room. Simply put, you just want to throw up after yapping all that incomprehensible jargon. “You know what—why don’t we switch places next time? I think you’d be better at this than me, like you already are with everything.”

An unusual comment for the director to make to his assistant, but it’s true. Yujin is so good in every department that it’s borderline farcical. She’s incredibly reliable to the point where you’ve basically deferred nearly every task to her, leaving you with the most boring parts of your job, which mostly comprises of company meetings and private calls. She’s a relatively new hire, having worked in your department for a little over a year, yet her rise up the ranks has been nothing short of absurd.

“Please, let’s not get carried away,” she softly laughs, flashing a lovely smile you never grow tired of seeing—and you see her as soon as you walk into the building till you clock out. “I’m fine with the research and paperwork. Regardless of what you want to believe, I think you sold it well.”

You slump back in your chair, somewhat bothered at just how unbothered Yujin is. How she’s able to take all your responsibilities that you should be doing, and without protest. One look at her features tells you all you need to know: that she’s happy to work for you. She could easily be in your position right now, putting you through this exact hell. She could be on that screen making those very threats on your job, in fact. Instead, she prefers to be your subordinate.

If that wasn’t enough of an example, she’s gathering the papers on your desk, putting them back together, good as new. Then she brings you a cup of water from the dispenser. She’s enumerating a list of other, just as unintelligible things that may or may not be important to your discussion earlier. Meanwhile, you’ve been sitting in that chair, your thoughts wandering aimlessly, thinking about anything that isn’t work. It’s almost noon, yet your mind just wants to check out for the rest of the day.

“Um—sir? You okay?” Yujin waves a hand right in your face, snapping you from your tired daze.

You tilt up to her gaze, eyes weary. “Yeah. I’m just—tired.”

“Do you want me to leave? I’ll go and sort out the upper management on your behalf if you’re not feeling well.”

“Don’t.” You rise from your seat, telling her, “I’ll take care of it. Go and have lunch,” as you point at your wristwatch, both hands closely pointed at the top.

“You sure? You should go have lunch too,” she replies, showing an alarming amount of concern that it’s almost comical. “Don’t worry about me.”

Shaking your head, you respond, flashing a light grin to reassure her, “I can talk to them at any time. T your break. I’ll call you when I need anything.”

—————

Truth be told, you didn’t want to see her for the rest of the day, let alone seek her help.

Yujin is only one call away. After all, she’s your assistant, down to working right outside your office. She’s working on whatever nonsense you’ve assigned her, showing no signs of slowing down. Meanwhile, you can barely call today productive; you’ve only completed two pages of a draft for next week’s presentation. In the time spent between slowly chopping away and stalking her from behind the door, her pretty profile a sight for sore eyes, she’s probably completed this week’s assignments and halfway through the next. She’s that efficient.

Hours pass, until the day finally ends at five. At exactly the top of the hour, she lets herself into your office, her pleasant attitude still in full bloom. “Already completed all the tasks for today. How about you?”

Yujin is not even trying to gloat—not in the slightest—yet it sounds like a punch to the gut. You can only slam your chin flat on the desk in despair, shooting a tired glare at her. She tries to muffle her chuckle, trying to keep herself professional, not realizing you’ve already seen through her facade.

“You want me to help you out? I don’t mind working an hour longer if you need it.” She’s peeking her head over the laptop display, examining for the proof of concept—or lack thereof. “Didn’t I tell you to leave this five plan strategy to me?”

This amount of confidence should leave you battered and deflated. And yet, there’s a sense of relief knowing Yujin will get the job done no matter what you ask of her. It’s enough to turn that frown into a faint, encouraging grin.

“I guess so,” you tell her, putting down the screen. Getting up from your chair, you close the window blinds and block out the setting sun. “Maybe I’m just tired of deferring all my responsibilities to you, that’s all.”

Her smile looks innocent, demure even, it doesn’t make sense as to how irrevocably kind she is to you. As far as you know, your employees consider you as shrewd and as scummy as your superiors. Forget that you’ve been working here longer; they consider everyone that isn’t their fellow rank a corporate dirtbag who’d step over others the first opportunity they can. It’s a vicious cycle. To have someone like Yujin feels like an anomaly.

“Don’t worry about it, that’s why I’m getting paid right?” she answers back, pressing her palms on your desk. “Just do what you can and I’ll handle the rest.”

You’re pouring an espresso into a cup, before offering the drink to her. “We should talk, Yujin,” you say, filling up a separate glass with your own. Your fourth shot. “You got a minute or two?”

“Sure. I always have time for you.” Yujin sits up, taking the drink into her hand, crossing her leg. It’s nearly impossible to look anywhere else but on them. As if she couldn’t be any more perfect, in mind, character, and body. “Is there anything bothering you lately?”

Sitting across her with only a desk separating you, the words never come out. You’ve got plenty on your mind: the messy state of your department, the unreasonable expectations and demands of your superiors, the possibility of losing your job—and Yujin. She’s sitting right there, ready to hear you out, but you never find the conviction to confess your worries. The next few minutes are awkward silence, only broken by the occasional stir of teaspoon and the sip of coffee. It isn’t that she renders you speechless, though one would fairly assume as to why: she’s pleasant to look at, among other things. It also helps that her outfits have been getting skimpier over the past few weeks. Unsurprisingly, you let the flagrant violation of the dress code go unpunished.

“Sir? Is everything okay?” Yujin leans her head forward, noticing that you’re lost in thought. She places her cup on the desk. “What’s wrong?”

Your eyebrows instinctively rise. That glimmer of hope you showed moments ago disappears. What’s left is despair. “I think we might be fucked, Yujin.”

“Fucked? What do you mean by that?”

“We’re fucked. Like, we could be out of a job fucked.”

“Explain?” Yujin cannot comprehend it—then again, anyone else would react the same way. “Didn’t we give the board a five step plan earlier today?”

“We did,” you reply, finally mustering the strength to meet her eyes. “But here’s the thing: we don’t have the financial or human capacity to execute the plan. At least, in the time they demanded.”

“And? We did the research and even the hypotheticals!” You’ve never heard Yujin raise her voice even once—until now. “What could go wrong exactly?”

“They think we can course correct years worth of bad financial decisions in just a few months. That’s the problem. Either way, we’re fucked.”

“I don’t believe you.” Yujin forcefully rises from her seat, threatening to flip the desk. If she only had the strength. “After all the time I spent working on it, you want to wave the white flag and give up?”

You don’t really know how to answer her. At least, in a way that’s remotely graceful and easy to understand.

“I’m sorry, Yuj, but no matter what—”

“I’m trying—so fucking hard—” she huffs, her fist clenching, trembling violently— “to carry your fucking ass so that we could keep our livelihoods. And not just me or you, but also the hundreds working for us! I know you fucking hate their guts because they’ve said nothing but terrible things about you, and even if none of that is true because I know you better than anyone else in this fucking building, at least have the decency to salvage whatever’s left instead of being a fucking coward for once!”

Yujin doesn’t notice that she’s been outright screaming into your face. You’re taken aback, utterly in disbelief at what she just aired out. If she wasn’t kindness incarnate, she likely would have pulled you by the shirt and choked you till you passed out. She blinks. The realization hits, and she begins to crumble.

“Sorry” is the only thing she can say, in quiet mumbles, slowly falling back onto her chair. Her hands cover the lower half of her face, completely mortified. Her eyes are on the verge of tears before giving out and crying waterfalls. Eventually, she lowers her head out of shame.

Even before entrusting her with such a demanding assignment, you knew there was nothing other than divine intervention that could save your job. This wasn’t what you signed up for, and neither did Yujin. For the most part, this was only to save face. Your face. The board of directors didn’t have any objections after all, and were mostly agreeable with every step of the plan. Either that or their old age is catching up and they hardly understood a thing at all. Like you.

Nevertheless, it doesn’t excuse you from criticism. This is on you, and you should be held accountable. Instead of rightfully performing your part, you weighed down someone else with your burden. It’s the wake-up call you need.

Yujin shouldn’t feel guilty saying all of this and having to apologize. She’s crying on your desk, still softly apologizing between tears, “Sorry—I’m really sorry—” and your heart fucking drops.

It’s a terrible feeling.

“Yuj, please stop crying,” you mutter, caressing her shoulder. Seeing her look so defeated brings you more distress than anything, including the thought of losing your job. “I should be the one apologizing for putting you through all this. You’re right—”

“I’m so sorry.” She’s still asking for forgiveness, your words mostly going unnoticed. “I just wanted to—”

“You’re right, Yuj. I’m a coward. I’ll admit, I honestly wanted to resign the moment they brought this up. If they couldn’t do a damn thing about it, how else would I know? Seeing you figure out a way made me realize just how much I depend on you to save my ass. I should be the one saying sorry, not you Goddammit, Yuj. What would I do without you, honestly—”

She tilts her head up, her sniffling and sobbing unceasing, resting her head on your chest. “I’m sorry. What I said is still out of pocket and I wasn’t in the position to say—”

“Shush, Yuj. Stop apologizing for being right,” you reply, brushing her hair. “Look. We’ll go forward with your plan. You can write up the whole thing and I’ll present it your way. I won’t muck up in front of the directors, okay? Don’t worry about it. I’m not gonna quit.”

“Really?” She lifts up her eyes, doe-looking and glimmering.

“Yeah. Might as well go down with a sinking ship, so please stop crying,” you say, smiling. “You made me feel like shit and I don’t like it.”

Yujin laughs. Heartily.

—————

Even though that should havd been enough to appease Yujin, in your eyes, it wasn’t. You had to make it up to her in other ways.

“This place serves really good food,” you tell Yujin, digesting the sights and scents of the relatively small eatery. Meanwhile, Yujin sits beside you, eating to heart’s content without a care. “I can see why you love it.”

“How’d you know this was my favorite place to drop by after work?” she asks, chomping down on the last stick of her barbecue.

“I have my sources,” you tell her, playfully grinning, unwilling to admit that you’ve been watching from behind your car’s windows for some time now.

“Don’t tell me it’s Wonyoung, boss.” Yujin pouts, flustered and embarrassed. “I swear to God, I can’t trust anything with—”

“It isn’t her, don’t worry,” you chuckle, amused at her red-faced look.

“I really appreciate the offer,” she remarks, finishing the remaining half of her drink. “You shouldn’t have.”

“Hey, it’s the least I can do for my hardworking assistant,” you reply, gesturing to the lone cook for the bill. The charges go up to the hundreds, with most orders belonging to her. While she’s chomping away at the end of a large meal, you secretly foot it on her behalf. How she maintains her figure while consuming this much food, you’ll never know. And when she calls for the tab, she’s told that it has already been paid in full.

“Now you’re just being extra,” she says, facing you, looking insulted by the kind gesture, but in a playful way. Appreciative regardless. “I already told you we’ll pay for what we each ordered.”

Looking at the stack of empty plates on her side—when compared to yours—some part of you believes that to be false. You don’t even have to say anything for her to realize she’s not one to fulfill her own word either.

“Okay—I would have paid 25 percent.”

You can’t place any blame on her. She laughs—at herself. She’s so charming, a pleasure to watch, that you would let her slide, had this not been your intention right from the start.

“Stop.”

You end up laughing with her too.

—————

“Seriously. Don’t lie, you promise you won’t just suddenly quit on us?” Yujin asks, staring at you as you walk toward your parked vehicles outside the eatery. “This feels like a way to soften the blow.”

Both of you stop right in front of your cars. “Not at all,” you tell her, staring directly into her eyes. “What else do I have to do to prove that I’m not quitting?”

“I don’t know, sir. I mean—you, suddenly asking me to eat out—” she rolls her eyes away, skeptical— “You’ve never done that.��

The cold nighttime air sweeps all over you. Chilly, you rub your arms together, partially regretting the decision to cover Yujin with your coat. She’s relatively unfazed, warm in your garment; even more surprisingly, it fits her perfectly like a glove.

“I wouldn’t leave if it means I lose you, Yujin.”

It’s not the words you wanted to say. Every part of that sentence leaves your lips effortlessly. A little too effortless.It’s an unconfessed confession, waiting for the right moment to be spoken. Sure, she may interpret it as merely you being codependent on her when it comes to work, but there’s no way there isn’t some kind of other, deeper meaning behind them.

“Lose me? What does that mean?” She asks, even more curious. Of course, Yujin isn’t the brain of your operations for nothing. It isn’t surprising when she figures you out. “You like me, don’t you?”

Just like that, the tables have turned. You can’t deny your feelings any longer.

You gently nod. Perhaps the killing blow could be softer if you find closure, right here, right now.

She leans forward, both of you unable to do anything other than to stare into each other’s deep, longing eyes. The tension between you is the only source of heat in the midst of a cold, lonely night.

By all accounts, the relationship between you and Yujin is strictly professional. Apart from a few trips abroad, you keep all conversations business related. Mind-numbing, confusing agency jargon. It’s a helpful practice in keeping your space; no matter how attractive she may look and saccharine she may sound, no amount of pleasantry can make company discussion remotely close to entertaining. You’d rather play with the blinds in your office. She’s doing her part too: clock in at nine, clock out at five on the dot. It’s a healthy routine. After hour talks between you are rare. It’s common practice to maintain a firm working relationship. It’s also just common sense. Good organization begins at the top.

Moments like these are strong reminders on why you avoid crossing that line. Yet you don’t stop—not when she’s the one making the first move.

You kiss. Your lips stay a little longer than they should. The taste lingers.

You find solace in each other's warmth, in a comforting embrace. She rests her head on your chest, her hands gripping into your shirt tightly. Deep down, you both recognize you’re on borrowed time. Whether through your promotion or your release, you won’t be together for much long. Countless hours spent together, so many occasions—the opportunities are being handed to you on a silver platter, only for you not to take the chance.

Not anymore. You won’t make the same mistake again.

—————

Driving her home was easy; finding your way into your room was half the battle.

“It took us this long to share a room, huh?” Yujin huffs against your face, finding and capturing your lips even in an erratic, volatile environment. She’s pushing you against the wall, her palms having an iron grip on your cheeks, pulling you close and wildly kissing you. The entire trip up to your apartment floor has been nothing but shaky kisses and clothes slowly scattering from the elevator to your front door.

“We should have done this a long time ago,” you manage to mutter, holding her face away for a brief respite to answer, only to be forced back in once again. Any semblance of professionalism between you is abandoned for fiery, passionate lovemaking, future relationships be damned.

The most surprising thing is how it isn’t as messy as it may look. See, despite the bite marks on your skin, the wrinkles in your clothes, and the rather loud, unceremonious manner you enter your apartment, you’re still in the process slowly unraveling. There’s a conscious effort to make sure neither side comes out completely in ruins. A silent agreement between you.

Her hands lay claim to your shirt, threatening to tear you apart if you don’t do the same to her. She lifts her head when you quickly peel through her long skirt; you dive in and make it yours. The crack in her voice as she mewls tickles your ears just right. Slowly spreading her legs wide, pulling the panties down her well defined thighs. In response, she tugs at your shirt, popping a few buttons loose. It isn’t as easy as it looks to have Yujin pinned against the wall; she’s actively fighting, trying to seize back control. If she can’t have her way with you, at the very least she can rein you in. Only now do you realize the danger your little escapede.

With her slender legs wrapped around your waist, you can only do so much. Yujin can’t stop kissing you, leading your gaze to anywhere but her pretty, lust-ridden expressions. She wants this more than you do. Against your desires, you end up in the kitchen, propping her on the bar counter as lipstick covers your entire face. The brief respite when she catches her breath gives you ample time to unbutton the rest of your shirt before tossing it aside—something you don’t give her the decency to finish.

While she’s still staggering, lost in her own thoughts, you take her by the shoulder and leave a fresh mark on her neck. A distraction. More importantly, your fingers feel their way around the back of her dress, find the touch of metal—and yank. The zipper follows, the lengthy garment gradually coming undone, until Yujin pushes the rest of it off her shoulders and to the floor. Your eyes gleam like starlight as her bra reveals itself, taking countless mental snapshots at that moment.

Not even her attempts to redirect your attention can pull you away.

You push her down on the marble surface. The bar is big enough to fit you both. Joining her atop the counter, your gaze wanders down her divine figure—and you don’t know where to start. Everything about Yujin is designed to be as perfect as humanly possible. No one should be flawless.

“How can you be any more perfect, Yuj,” you mutter, eyes roaming everywhere, soaking in the immaculate sight before you. “How did I not want you any sooner?”

Yujin’s hand traces down your arm. “You could have just asked. My previous employers did. It was a regular part of the job for me.”

You’re shaking your head. Imagine that—an employer taking advantage of their employee offering themselves without any restraint. You would never—except you already did. Your previous assistant can vouch.

“Don’t feel sorry. I want this just as much as you do,” she adds, pulling you towards her face for a soft kiss, clearing all doubt. “Besides, you’re not that much different from any of them. Why stop now?”

“Not that different? Were they just as codependent on you as I am?”

Nodding in agreement, she laughs.

“God fucking dammit.”

You sigh. Yujin continues laughing. What a momentum killer. And the worst part is, it’s self-inflicted and completely avoidable. You should have just kept going, kept her speechless.

Still, it’s not the end of the world. You’re on top of Yujin; she has no intention of leaving you anytime soon. Most importantly, she’s unhooking her bra while you’re caught up in your feelings. “But—there’s one difference: I actually love working for you. I wouldn’t mind letting you use me.”

“You love working for me? Why?”

She’s biting her lip, grabbing you by the back of your head. “You’ll find out yourself. You know what to do.”

“What? How?” The word comes out panicked, desperate.

Yujin shakes her head, the smirk on her lips twisting, wicked. “You know how.”

At first, finding what she means proves to be a struggle. After all, Yujin’s not the mysterious type. She always tells you everything straight, condenses complex conversations into digestible servings for easy consumption. It’s not in her character. Yet, one look at what’s in front of you—her naked frame casually lying beneath yours, her hands running all over your bare self—the realization hits you like lightning, and you’re mentally punching yourself for being so dangerously oblivious.

You kiss her on the lips again. You can’t get enough. You’d happily stay in this position all night long. Except that isn’t what she wants. She wants you to go further.

So you sink further and further down. The closer you get, the more she opens up. A sloppy trail follows your lips, from her chin, to her collarbones, to her chest and navel, and everything else in between. She’s soft to the touch, so flexible and malleable—every part of her, you make yours. Then you get to her core, her inner thighs spreading, and watch as it unravels before you, quivering, soaked, needy. You look into each other’s eyes, hers anticipating. There’s a craze behind your irises, as if some repressed need is crawling back to the surface. It’s slowly driving you wild.

Your name drips on the edge of Yujin’s mouth—a sign of impatience—before suddenly cracking at the point of impact. She rolls her head back, her voice reduced to an airy sigh as your tongue licks up her slit, her entrance, in a slow upward motion. It takes every ounce of your willpower not to devolve into a hungry, primal mess. Her thighs close in and clamp you down, suffocating you while you become more familiar with the sensation and taste of her dripping cunt.

If only you could hear the full extent of her moans, turning a pitch higher with each passing swipe and slurp. You’re humming into her core, satiated and fulfilled with the taste of her slick in your mouth. Yujin’s hands stretch out for help, for stability as pleasure gradually overwhelms her. Propped underneath her thighs, your hands dig under to reach places that your tongue can’t. She grows erratics, restless, moved by your presence inside her.

“Fuck!” The profanity escapes her lips instinctually, like it’s always been a part of her. She’s writhing, jaw slack, her back arched over the bar, her hands now grasping on your hair, then on the edges again. On your side, the pressure her thighs bring leave you suffocating. It’s too much. You should be begging for your life; instead, you’re enjoying every minute, slowing your pace every now and then to savor the feeling.

Despite her state, she’s caught you by the wrists. They do little in stopping your tongue from consuming every inch of her, and you end up pushing her forward. You grip her by her thighs and spread her wide. She can’t resist. Fresh air has never felt more soothing to the lungs. By the way you have her legs dangled up in the air, you’re threatening to pull a nerve. She’s screaming, crying out in desperation,

Still, it doesn’t change the outcome. Yujin finally loses herself completely and comes undone. She cums—blasts jets of slick all over your face and mouth. The counter pools with the aftermath of her orgasm, and you lick it all up, sanitation be damned.

When you finally emerge from the depths of her tight, drenched cunt, she remains a mess, stamina completely drained, body still trembling from her massive climax. You’d think after that, she would be incapacitated for the night, until—

“Wait.” Yujin deeply exhales, pulls you by the wrist. You aren’t exactly going anywhere. As if struck by lightning, she suddenly rises up. A shit-eating grin forms on her lips, as if the damage wasn’t enough to take her down. There’s a familiar look in her eyes—the gaze of a woman who needs more.

She flicks a sample of her slick from the spot on the counter and laps it up, still eying you with unceasing lust. You remember her words, the question to ponder: “You’re gonna tell me now?”

Yujin blankly stares. The question lingers for a little while. “Tell you what?” she replies, the tone convincing enough to feign innocence.

“Why you love working for me.”

She smiles again, a teasing look. “You’re halfway there.”

“What does that mean?” As you try not to overreact, your assistant turned one night stand tries to stifle her laughter. It almost goes unnoticed, until— “Yuj, you’re really getting on my nerves with all this vaguery bullshit going on.”

“It’s part of the fun, is it not? Do you want me to give it straight?”

“Yes! Like always!”

Yujin leans close. One hand reaches for your pants, the other still attached to your wrist. She appears like she’s going for yet another kiss, when she stops right next to your ear and whispers, “I want you to fuck me. Use me,” before drawing herself away.

On the surface, the stare you give her looks cold. Deep in your mind, the words resonate and ring louder and louder. Four words. “Fuck me—” “Use me—” The arousal bubbles up, manifests on your cheeks. The next few minutes can go so many ways, more than you can imagine. In your eyes, she’s still your assistant, a friendly, dependable worker whom you consider a close acquaintance more than anything.

The thing is: you’ve already gone far past the point of no return. Her gaze is enticing—demanding—you to keep going.

There’s no stopping now.

Yujin casually follows you to your bedroom, hand in tow. The rest of your clothes lie discarded in the kitchen—boxers, pants, and all. Gone are the nerves and hesitations; the attitude you have towards her is different. “Lay down,” you command her, voice steely, and she obliges, the bed flopping with the slight crash of her lithe figure. You won’t ever grow tired of staring at her naked body, regardless of it’s position.

She lays flat on her tummy, observing you rummage through your large closet of suits, pulling a red tie from one of the drawers. “Not the first time I’ve had something wrapped around my neck,” she remarks, raising a curious eyebrow, crooked smile unyielding. “Stylish, just like you.”

“I wasn’t asking for your input.” You’re never this stern towards Yujin. You toss the necktie on the mattress before joining her atop the bed. “Turn around.”

Like the good girl she is, she obliges. That’s Yujin for you; she’ll always follow everything you tell her, no questions asked. On her fours, her plump ass glides face up, in complete view. Another temptation, another part of her to claim as yours. Regardless, you’re in no hurry; you’ve got the rest of the night.

With your erect cock in hand, you line the tip against her sopping cunt. She winces, moans at the contact. “Oh, fuck—” she whines, lifting her head up, her nails pressed into the sheets. As inviting as the call of her tight, wet pussy is to you, you make an organized effort to resist the immediate lull to fuck her hard.

Even holding her figure with your other hand proves to be a nightmare. Her body enraptures you in hypnotic ways. The arch of her back, the curve of her ass, the hourglass frame—it’s a feast for the eyes. You could take your sweet time and worship every little part of Yujin and she wouldn’t mind, but in the midst of your blinding daze, she’s calling to you. Again.

“Are you just gonna admire me or are you gonna shove that big cock in me?” She faces you with a mischievous grin. “I don’t mind both.”

Suddenly, you remember your position in this relationship. You grab her by the throat, face her away again. “Quiet. I don’t want to hear any more from you unless you’re taking this fucking cock.”

Showing a little resistance, she tries daring you, “Then f—fuck!”

Her jaw goes wide, frozen in place, her voice abruptly cutting as you undercut her with your cock. You’re no better; pleasure sets your muscles ablaze as you thrust into her inviting cunt. It shows in the deep groan spilling from your mouth. Little by little, you plunge ever so deep until you feel yourself buried to the hilt. That’s when you finally let out this breath of relief—but not for long.

Her pussy clenches hard. Her heat proves to be suffocating beyond measure. If you don’t act quickly, she could end you in seconds.

“O-oh God—”

You slowly, painstakingly pull back before throttling your hips into her. Taking these short breaths, every little move you make is precarious. It’s not that she’s resisting you—far from it—but it’s you resisting the urge to cum so soon. Your mind tries to think of anything other than what’s right in front, but even that proves to be nearly impossible. The ripple of her ass, the slight wobble of her breasts, the twisting grip of your hand on her otherwise soft skin—

“So fucking tight. Holy fuck, Yuj—” You manage to mutter before you’re reduced to groans again.

All you can focus on is keeping yourself together while you’re slowly crumbing away. You find a rhythm in the midst of the madness, pounding away at your assistant’s cunt, your senses overrun by pleasure and the satisfying sound of your skin slapping skin. Elsewhere, your hands can’t seem to find solace in just one area. They’re everywhere; from her hair, to her throat, to the arch of her ass, to her hips, the imprints stay new, eventually creating a patterned sequence that immediately breaks.

You’re fucking these strained cries and prasies out of Yujin’s sweet lips, and it’s quite the mouthful. ’More,’ ‘harder,’ ‘so good—’ until it reaches the point where her voice is so worn from your chokehold that she can only speak in high pitched mewls. Another cycle you wish would never end.

Slowing your pace, you reach for the necktie, gently tying it around her neck while preventing your rhythm from disrupting. “You’re such a fucking perfect woman, you know that?” you mutter in her ear, kissing the helix and indulging in the scent of her perfume mixed with sex and sweat. “Perfect listener, perfect assistant, perfect body—”

Pulling yourself away from her, you yank the tie along—your makeshift leash. Her body tilts all the way up, a sharp screech suddenly filling the bedroom. You’re not sure if its from the pull or just her moan. Either way, you have her in your grasp. Brushing her hair aside, you mumble, “Actually, I don’t know how to use a tie like that. I just wanted to remember what it’s like to be the boss. Your boss.”

It should have sounded flat, like all your other attempts at being convincing. And yet, she leans her ear backward, trying to recapture your lips. Teasing a little, your lips make what’s considered the most minimal of contacts, before you push her to her fours. You don’t intend to pull on the tie again, but you’re still holding on to it like your most prized possession—and it may as well be Yujin.

“Of course,” are her first words uttered in a while that aren’t some combination of profanity and praise.

Grabbing her by the midsection, the rhythm of your thrusts quickens. You feel it. The imminent collapse. And it’s not just the bed quaking and creaking from your sex. She’s pleading now; ’So close,’ she tells you, begs you to let her cum all over your cock. In any other scenario, you’d acquiesce. Here, with all the authority, you’re going to assert your power a little.

“Say it. Say it and I’ll let you cum all over me,” you demand, your hand climbing up to her chest, grabbing at her breast, folding her up slightly that her grip on the sheets transfers to the headboard. “I wanted you so fucking bad for so long.”

“Anything for you. Just let me cum!” she cries out, on the verge of falling apart. Dangerously close.

“Tell me I’m yours.”

“I’m yours!”

“You know what I meant. Say it again.”

“I’m yours! I’m yours!”

Hearing her declare that she belongs to you with such conviction almost upends you too. You almost give in, but narrowaly escape thanks to your utter resolve. The smirk on your face is priceless.

“Perfect. Now cum.”

Just like that, her body reacts at the drop of your command, as if it was hardwired into her. Yujin goes numb—fidgeting, cumming all over your cock—as you continue to pound into her cunt. A single word echoes, going quieter with every incantation: ‘Fuck,’ she whines, caught reeling in her orgasm and catching every breath possible.

Eventually, it comes to a standstill, the only thing left is for you to crash. Lucky for her, you’re not that far off. You’ve let go of the tie, holding onto her shoulders instead. So now it’s her opportunity to turn the tables on you again.

“Fucking give it to me—oh I need it now, oh God—” Yujin begs, barely keeping herself upright in the aftermath of her climax.

And you just crash down on her, slamming her deep into the sheets, turning her around as you fuck callously, clamping her neck, her moans ringing into your ear. She has a leg wrapped arond yours—as if you had any intention of pulling out. You’ve spent enough time away from her pretty face; now you want to watch her take all your load deep in her pussy.

Yujin’s mouth melds in the shape of a moan as the pressure finally overwhelms you. Burying yourself deep in her, you’re still pumping, fucking your cock as you blast thick load after thick load in her warm, creamy cunt. The sensation leaves you breathless, hanging onto her for dear life as you wait for the moment to pass. Though it may seem like a couple of minutes, the feeling lingers far longer than you can imagine. She milks you of all your worth, drawing every last drop from your throbbing cock until your body can’t move any longer.

Eventually, your bodies wind up together, limbs tangled, wrapped around each other in a warm embrace. The comfort you both needed after a long day.

—————

You gaze down at a tired Yujin. Hours ago, you were the one holding onto her; now she’s the clingy one, wrapping an arm over you. “I really need to know, Yuj.”

She mumbles into your chest. “What is it?” You feel her soft lips leave lipstick marks on your skin.

You’re brushing away loose, dark strands of her hair to get a better look of her pristine, shiny face. “Why do you love working for me?”

After the passionate night you just had, you still have the gall to ask such a frivolous question. The answer should be obvious by now.

She looks up, smiling—a pleasant, friendly gleam, one you immediately recognize as soon as you walk through those office doors. “Because you’re the first boss I’ve ever worked for that isn’t a total asshole. Also, you’re good at everything.”

You raise an eyebrow and frown. “That’s not—”

“You know what I meant, boss.” The smiling turns into teasing. You realize, then you laugh.

You should be basking in the afterglow of sex, but daylight peeking through your curtain says otherwise. You’re so tired, you can’t move a muscle, let alone grab the phone from the living room to tell the time. All you know is that you should be at work by now, and so should Yujin.

The ring from your phone can be heard loud and clear, even a room and clothing pocket away. As you try to lift your head, Yujin meets you halfway, kissing you before laying you back down.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll write up your leave of absence. Besides, I could use some time off too,” she says, inching her face close to yours.

The notion frightens you. Yujin, your most reliable assistant, never missing a day that isn’t considered a holiday, not by your side when you need her.

And you need her now more than ever.

“Time off? When?”

“From now. Until you say we’re done.”

—————

(A/N: :bsadcorner:)

(Missing IVE's first proper world tour will always be one of my K-pop low points, even if I already watched and even shared an interaction with them. Goddammit, I can already expect the prices and perks for their next tour will be even more expensive than it already is. Sigh. Anyway, I hope they get their well deserved time off. Thank you for reading!)

#smut #kpop smut #ive #yujin #an yujin

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sammakesart · 13 days ago

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Solavellan, or the Tale of the Dread Bridegroom

The reason I have always been drawn to the Solas and Lavellan romance in the Dragon Age series (besides having a deep love for villains and dramatic cheekbones) is because it brings to mind my favorite type of fairytale: the animal (or monster) bridegroom. The most famous of these would probably be Beauty and the Beast. However, the Solavellan romance felt more similar to my favorite iteration of this type: East of the Sun and West of the Moon.

In the tale, a young woman is married to a monster… or so she thinks. He is keeping his true identity a secret from her. He brings her to an enchanted castle, and everything is actually pretty great for a time. Then she grows too curious. She discovers his true identity—he’s an attractive man! And a prince! He is forced to leave her and return to his evil witch-queen stepmother. Our heroine, who has fallen in love with her revealed prince, sets out to find him and save him from his wicked stepmother. She has to make a perilous journey. She faces trials and tribulations. She frees her prince, breaks the curse, and they leave together to live happily ever after.

There is also another tale that has many parallels to the Solavellan romance. The myth of Eros and Psyche, which is the blueprint for the animal bridegroom tales. It follows the same general plot, but I’d like to highlight a few differences. This is a myth about a god falling in love with a mortal, and that mortal becoming a goddess herself in the end after proving herself and winning her god-husband back.

In the myth, Eros is sent by his mother, Aphrodite, to trick Psyche into falling in love with something hideous for a perceived infraction against the goddess. Basically, Psyche had too many admirers who were worshiping her as the second coming of Aphrodite. Eros falls in love with Psyche instead, and spirits her away to a castle. She discovers his true identity. He flees. She faces trials. Etc and so forth. Eros and Psyche are reunited. She is given the drink of immortality, and joins her husband in the realm of the gods as a goddess in her own right so they can be together as equals.

It was the kind of ending I wanted for Solas and Lavellan. A heroine falls in love with a cursed prince and saves him. A mortal falls in love with a god, a doomed by the narrative pairing if there ever was one, but in the end, she triumphs, and she joins him as his equal.

Those are very simplified synopses, but you can see the parallels. Solas, in a reversal of the beast-husband trope, is keeping half of his identity secret from Lavellan, but it’s the beast (the Dread Wolf) side of himself he is keeping a secret. He takes Lavellan to his castle, Skyhold. They begin to fall in love. They kiss in a dream. They kiss on a balcony. They dance at a ball. Very fairy tale romance. They’re happy. Until they’re not.

When our heroine discovers Solas’s true identity, that he is Fen’Harel, the Dread Wolf himself (who does indeed turn into a giant wolf monster as we see in Veilguard), he must leave our heroine, and she cannot join him. What can Lavellan do? Well, swear to save him, of course! And if that is what she chooses, she sets out on her own journey of trials and tribulations to rescue her monstrous prince. But he is not just the prince or the monster, he’s the villain as well. Delicious.

Lavellan is Solas’s heroine, his knight in shining armor. Funnily enough, you can make a joke about “riding in on a shining steed” to Solas during an early conversation with him. She can also flirt with him later during this conversation. What is that flirt option? “You can trust me.” She tells him she will protect him… however she has to. Solas here is the damsel in distress, the prince who needs saving, and she will save her prince from his tower (or his regret prison) however she has to.

What trials does our heroine have to face, you ask? Besides the tracking him down, of course. Well, let’s see. Trials always come in threes.

Three times Lavellan reaches out to him, and asks him to stop. She tells him that whatever he is facing, they can face it together. “Whatever you need, we can find together.” “Let me help you, Solas.” “I am walking the dinan’shiral with you.” And it’s like he’s under a curse to reject her, but every time he reminds her he loves her, because he wants to be saved. He wants to be with her. “I cannot do that.” He does love her. “I wish it could, vhenan.” He wants their love to triumph. “Ir abelas, vhenan. I cannot.” One more time, my heart. Ask me one more time. He is under a geas, but screaming as loud as it will let him: Save me! I love you!

(I do not think he is under a literal geas in the story. It is more of a psychological one, one he has put himself under to justify his wrongdoings to himself.)

It also is very fitting that the rule of three is what it takes to stop him: Mythal, Rook, and Lavellan. Past, present, and future. Though it was Lavellan who found the first statue which kicked off the quest, the spark of hope that he could be saved still.

It also appears that Solas reaches out to Lavellan three times on his own. He orchestrates a meeting in Crossroads to explain. He visits her in dreams, though from an endless distance. He sends her a letter, reaffirming his love for her and telling her he wanted to be with her, and that his feelings will never change.

So the fourth time she reaches out, after the (metaphorical) curse has been lifted, there is no rejection. She’s won. He only offers a warning. She must choose him freely and with full knowledge of what is to come. She does. They perform a wedding ceremony of their own making and share a bloody kiss. Peak cinema.

It’s a darker fairytale, where the heroine falls for the prince, the monster, and the evil sorcerer all in one. And she wins. She gets everything she wants.

I’m just very passionate about fairytales. I wrote many a paper on them in college. Nothing pleases me more than a good retelling that captures the essence of what fairytales are truly about.

I think too many critics are trying to view Solas and Lavellan’s romance through the lens of a real life, modern day relationship. But fairytales are the realm of allegory, not reality.

We are in the realm of the mythic. Here be gods and monsters, princes and evil sorcerers. And Solas is all of those things. Lavellan is the heroine of all time who ends the story having saved the world (again), and is now ascending to godhood (there is an Andraste and the Maker parallel here, I swear), and she’s rescued her true love to top it all off.

I see a modern trend of no longer giving heroines love stories, and I dislike it. Because love stories in fiction are rarely ever about just finding a man. It’s about accepting the whole of yourself. I think of the heroine’s journey. The reconciliation with the masculine and the darker aspects of yourself. Women are told they must always be good. Make the right choices. Nah, let her fall in love with the villain and be selfish. Let her make out with her monster covered in blood as a treat.

I think monster romance has become so popular lately because, subconsciously, women feel like there is a monster inside of themselves that they have to hide from the world, lest you be judged for being imperfect, ugly, monstrous. Monster, and by extension villain, romance lets you fall in love with the dark other as the ultimate form of self-acceptance. (This is not an experience exclusive to women by any means, but I can only speak to my personal experience as one.)

Our heroine didn’t make the polite, respectable choice. She fell for the monster, the villain, and chose herself in the end. She didn’t choose a man. She wasn’t chasing after him, begging him to love her, in the hope of getting him back. She was pursuing him in her quest to stop him in order to save the world. She was just also in love with him and hoped he could be saved. Hope is a powerful thing, but this age has made people cynical. Let her have a little hope. Sometimes it’s all we have.

I do believe she would have killed him if she had to. And he would have killed her if given absolutely no other choice, or perhaps let her kill him for an extra layer of angst. Interestingly, I think Lavellan would have been able to live with that choice, but I don’t think Solas would have been able to. It would have destroyed him, fully twisted him into Pride, and he would have lost any hope of being able to “come back.”

I am fascinated by the fact that Lavellan and Solas are quintessential hero archetypes. The type that will not sacrifice the fate of world for their love, but will sacrifice their love for the world and for the “greater good”—as they see it. Only Solas has twisted himself into the villain. He’s a dark mirror of the hero. He is the hero, reversed. Thus, he dooms the world in attempting to save it. Repeatedly. (“He’s a tragic deuteragonist!” I scream, as they drag me away.)

Lavellan is the upright hero. She will save the day, or die trying. She will sacrifice her love, which is why I think it’s incorrect to say she gave everything up for him. She says in her second conversation with Rook that she would not join him in his Fade Prison. “To give up the world for him? No. We’ve got to save it first.” She will not give up everything for him. She will not doom the world to be with him. But after the world is saved… well, then. That’s a different story. She wants to be with him. And together, they can find balance.

They were both made and shaped into figureheads. Weapons. Legends. A hero and a villain. They’ve had the fate of the world on their shoulders multiple times over. There *is* no place for them in this world. But in another world... they can find their true selves away from well-meant misunderstanding and mindless worship.

This is an apotheosis of Lavellan’s own choosing. I will not be your Herald. I will be a god on my own terms.

Solas never saw Lavellan as anyone other than who she is. He knew she was not the Herald, and he never treated her as such. He was uniquely able to understand her plight. He too had been given a title once and was later consumed by it. Dread Wolf.

Where else can two people like them go? Especially where they can be together in peace?

However, I don’t see this as the end for them. They are just onto the next adventure, this time together. And they’ll be unstoppable. The narrative had to make them exit stage left. No enemy could possibly win against them. They are too powerful. Lavellan is stronger than the narrative itself. The narrative had doomed her love, and she went: “No, I don’t accept that. I will save the world, win my prince/monster/villain, and now we’re leaving. Thanks!”

And Solas? We saw how devoted he was to Mythal. But Mythal never chose him. She twisted him into Pride. Used him as a weapon… and he destroyed the world for her. Twice. And was trying for a third. Just imagine what he could accomplish now with Lavellan, who chose him. Who encouraged him to be Wisdom. Who does not stand above him, as his goddess—but beside him, as his wife. Yeah, the writers had to put them in the Fade Prison. Their combined power was just too strong.

And I don’t believe for a minute they’ll be trapped in that regret prison forever. Solas tells us how to escape, and now he is in the right state of mind to accomplish it. Solas will do his court-ordered therapy. Lavellan will get a much needed vacation in dream land… then they’re going to heal the blight with the power of love. Or something. They just needed to be nerfed long enough for BioWare to squeeze a few more games out of the franchise. Then Solas and Lavellan will be set free to find a secret third option for the Veil, remove it safely, and Sandal’s prophecy will finally come true: “One day the magic will come back. All of it. Everyone will be just like they were. The shadows will part, the skies will open wide. When he rises, everyone will see.”

This is not to say I don’t have plenty of critiques for how Solas and Lavellan’s romance was written and concluded in Veilguard. But I think it was always going to be disappointing in some regards because it’s very difficult to conclude your heroine’s story from a new hero’s point of view in a new hero’s story. She will lack the agency she needs in this kind of tale because she has been relegated to a minor NPC, and she (and we) can hardly get a peak into Solas’s state of mind. How I wish we could have asked him endless insightful questions, instead of just pointing fingers. How I wish while Rook was in the prison, we could have controlled our Inquisitor for a quest or two and had a private conversation with Solas. The writing overall was a huge letdown for me. But I still love my once doomed couple, now together forever. I always will.

#This is very long but I had a lot of thoughts and had to get them out #Solavellan

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fetusgooseandjuice · 8 months ago

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Soulmates

Pairings: Knight!Natasha Romanoff x Princess!Reader

Summary: A silly dream you and Natasha shared as kids turns out to be your destiny.

Word Count: 5.05k

Warnings: Injuries — (broken bones, cuts, bruises)

Author’s Note: Another one that’s been collecting dust. At this point I’m just deep cleaning my drafts I hope you like it 💕

Mini-oneshots: Forever | Promise

Natasha and you had been raised alongside each other since birth.

As the royal heir you were born the kingdoms Princess, and would one day step up after your parents stepped down from their positions as King and Queen.

Meanwhile, once Natasha became of age her father began her training as she was meant to become the young Princesses Royal Knight.

Both of your families had always been close friends. Natasha’s father was your father’s best solider, so you and the redhead had practically grown up together.

The bond between your two families meant that you and the young knight spent a lot of time together. So much time that as you grew up, you and Natasha inevitably fell for each other and only continued to as you got older.

Your parents knew you two had something special from the gecko, but no one knew if it was just puppy love, or if it’d turn out to be the love story you’d only ever hear about in books.

That thought always took up a space in your mind, just like it was right now.

How you got so lucky to be the one in a billion to actually live one of those love stories.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Nat! Natty, wait for me!” you call out to the slightly older girl.

Natasha always teased you for being younger than her even if it was only by a few months. She stopped in her tracks and turned around, waiting a moment for you to catch up to her as your feet quickly patted against the pavement outside.

“Sorry, princess,” she gazed at you once you reached her. “I’m just really excited to see where our parents are taking us.”

Your cheeks flushed a pink tint at the pet name and your heart fluttered. People were supposed to formally address you as Princess since that’s who you were, but whenever Natasha called you that you both knew it had a different meaning.

Natasha always had such a soft spot for you. Some might call it puppy love, but both of your parents believed it was the cutest thing to ever exist.

As she had a couple inches over you, you had to latch onto her arm and lean up on your tippy-toes to peck her cheek. This time it was Natasha’s turn to blush.

“Well, now we can go down there together.” you said and gave her a sweet smile that made her heart double in beats per minute.

Both of your mothers playfully shook their heads to themselves as they made their way over to you, watching the interaction.

“She’s a smooth little girl.” Melina commented with a chuckle.

Your mother chuckled, “Yeah, I don’t know where she got that from because it definitely was not her father.”

You two on the other hand were completely oblivious of their presence as you became immersed in chasing each other around the castle garden, your loud giggles rumbling through air.

“Don’t let him hear you say that.” Melina laughed along with your mother.

The two women watched as Natasha caught up to you and pulled you into her arms. “They’re too cute.” your mother cooed and Melina nodded her head, smiling widely.

At some point Natasha had picked a yellow flower from the grass and place it in your hair with sophistication, admiring how it just accentuated your already beautiful features.

She brought you into a tight hug and dramatically pleaded, “Marry me, Y/n! Marry me so nothing will ever come between us and we can be together forever and ever!”

“Yes! A trillion times yes, Natasha! I will marry you even if it’s the last thing I do!” You theatrically declared, mimicking a woman in a television show.

Natasha pulled back and leaned in with her lips exaggeratedly puckered out way too far and cheeks puffed out so much they could’ve popped, but before she could reach yours she was lifted up into her father’s arms.

“Alright, you little player. You’re not quite ready for that one just yet.” Alexei teased the young redhead.

Natasha scoffed. “I am not a player! Y/n is my fiancé and I am going to make her my wife! I put a flower on it and everything!” she argued with a pout.

That was when your own father scooped you up into his arms and spun you around. “Aren’t you just the enchantress? You’ve got little Natasha all lovestruck and heart eyed. Poor girl.”

You giggled before you heard Natasha call out in annoyance. “I am not little!”

Amused looks spread across your mothers’ faces at the precious scene. At the time, no one knew that your’ and Natasha’s pretend was destined to become a reality.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

(Time jump to around 11 years old)

“Nat, are you sure you know we’re you’re going?” you asked, hesitation evident in your voice as she guided you by your hand through the trees.

This would be the third time you asked her this question, so she playfully rolled her eyes at your uncertainty.

“Yes, Y/n, I come here all the time after training. Stop worrying your pretty little head so much, you’ll give yourself a headache.” Natasha assured.

Normally her sweet talk would have you swooning, but this time you were too distracted by the uneasiness you felt about where you were. Natasha had dragged you out to the forest behind the kingdom, saying she had something special that she wanted you to see.

You two had snuck away when your parents were busy, so no one even knew where you were, but you of course agreed because you trust the redhead with everything you have.

“Okay, we’re here.” Natasha’s voice brought you out of your thoughts.

You looked around in confusion, seeing nothing besides an abnormally large tree.

“What is it that you wanted to show me?” you finally spoke.

The young knight chuckled at your slightly furrowed eyebrows, “Follow me.” was all she said before beginning to climb up the tall tree.

“What— Natasha what’re you doing?”

“Come on, this is the only way you’ll see it.” she attempted to encourage you.

You were still very unsure about it so you just watched from the ground as she made her way up the tree. She eventually stopped and made herself comfortable on one of the limbs. “I don’t think this is a good idea.” you projected your voice up to her.

“Come on, Y/n, trust me! The view is beautiful from up here. It’s like you can the whole world!” Natasha called down to you.

You contemplated once more before finally giving in. You followed the path you had watched the redhead take and began climbing the tree. However, you had only made it about halfway when a branch you had grabbed onto began to snap.

Before you could even yell for Natasha like you had originally intended, the branch snapped completely and you yelped instead as you fell.

Your mind had barely registered the young knight calling out your name when you hit the ground. The air was knocked out of your lungs, but you noticed the sharp pain that shot up your arm the most.

“Y/n!” Natasha panicked, and when she heard you cry out tears she quickly made her way down to you.

The words to ask you what was hurting were on the tip of her tongue, but that question was answered when she saw you holding your arm and a few scratches on the side of your face.

Natasha didn’t know what to do.

You were sobbing and clearly in a lot of pain, so she lifted you into her arms bridal style and ran as fast as her legs would take her back to the kingdom without causing you any further discomfort.

Ignoring all the looks from passing townspeople, she bolted up the castle stairs and rushed inside.

“Mom! Mom, dad, where are you! Mom!” Natasha frantically searched every room for either of your parents.

They must’ve heard her shouting because they exited the meeting room and saw the young knight running straight towards them with you crying in her arms.

“Natasha, what happened?” Melina asked her daughter with furrowed eyebrows.

“I wanted to show Y/n this really nice view, but we had to climb a tree in order to see it. She didn’t even want to do it in the first place but I convinced her to, and she fell and I think she hurt her arm.” Natasha explained to the four adults as your father gently took you into his arms.

She began to tear up and followed them to the infirmary, “I— I just wanted to show her something I thought she’d like. I didn’t mean for this to happen, I didn’t mean for her to get hurt.”

Your mother placed a comforting hand on the young girls shoulder to get her attention, “It’s okay, Natasha. We know you’d never put her in harms way on purpose, but you did good bringing her back because now we can help her.”

Natasha wiped away the tears in her eyes, although it was no use because more began to fall anyway, “It’s all my fault, I’m the one who took her out there to begin with. She’d be okay if it weren’t for me.”

“Now, now, Natasha. Stop being so hard on yourself. I’m sure Y/n won’t blame you once she’s all patched up.” Your mother reassured, and she was right.

A couple hours later your parents informed the young redhead and her parents of your condition. The force of the impact when you hit the ground had broken your arm, and you had a few light scratches on your cheek that should quickly fade.

The doctor gave your parents some medication to help with any pain you had, and allowed them to take you back to your own bedroom. When Natasha was asked if she would like to see you she of course said yes, but couldn’t ignore the nerves she felt.

Would you be upset with her?

Your mothers led Natasha to your bedroom and opened the door for her to enter, but she hesitated. She felt as though her feet were glued to the floor.

“Are you sure?” the knight in training asked. “I don’t think she’d want to see me.”

Your mother crouched down to Natasha’s height to look at her. “Can I let you in on a little secret?” she said and Natasha nodded. “Between you and me I think you’re the first person she’d wanna see.”

The young girl sat with those words for a moment longer and contemplated before finally stepping into you room. When she reached your beside she realized that you were sound asleep.

Natasha’s eyes scanned the peaceful expression on your face. Your eyelashes just barely brushed against your cheeks, and your slow breathing was heard through the quietness of the room.

Her gaze traveled down to the white cast around your arm and a sense of guilt washed over her, but she tried to disregard that feeling and just focus on you.

She noticed a lock of hair that had started to fall in front of your face, so Natasha tucked it behind your ear. However, she regretted that decision when your eyes fluttered open and met hers.

Your lips pulled up into a small smile. “Hi, Natty.”

“Hey,” she practically whispered.

You frowned at her vague and quiet response. “What’s wrong?” you wondered.

Natasha sighed and let her eyes travel back to your injured arm. “I’m sorry. I should’ve listened when you said you didn’t wanna go up, and now you’re hurt because of me.”

“Hey,” you sat up and placed a hand over the young knights hand. Her heart skipped a beat at the contact and she met your gaze again. “It was an accident, Nat. I don’t blame you for this, and I’m okay now.”

“I know. I just hated seeing you in so much pain knowing I talked you into doing it.”

You looked at her with soft eyes that instantly calmed her racing mind. “Well you did carry me all the way back, so I guess that makes up for it. All of those extra hours you put into your training finally paid off.” you both giggled.

Maybe this whole situation wasn’t as bad as Natasha convinced herself it was.

“You wanna sign my cast? It looks kind of boring right now.” you asked.

Natasha smiled and nodded her head, looking around the room for something to write with. She spotted a red marker on your large dresser and grabbed it before returning to your side.

She gently took your arm into her hand and signed her name, attempting to draw a few hearts around it, but they just ended up uneven and lopsided.

Nevertheless, they were special.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

(Time jump to 16 Years Old)

“Mom!” Natasha called out as she rushed down the stairs, nearly tripping on the last step whilst she tucked her maroon button-up shirt into her black slacks. “Does this look okay? Should I try on a different one?”

Melina examined the outfit her daughter was wearing before smiling at her, “You look wonderful, sweetheart. Stop worrying so much, you’ll make yourself sick.”

“Are you wearing my pants?” Yelena said as he walked into the room alongside Alexei.

Natasha glared at her sister while slipping on the jacket and straightening out the collar of her shirt with the help of Melina.

“Your mother is right, honey. I’m sure Y/n will love it.” Alexei chimed in.

Today was your sixteenth birthday, and your parents thought it would be the perfect opportunity to throw a ball to celebrate this milestone. Everyone in the kingdom received an invitation in the mail, but the Romanoffs were obviously at the top of the guest list.

Natasha was no doubt nervous. She so badly wanted to make an impression on you, but would never admit it to avoid her family’s very unfunny jokes.

Unfortunately for her, she didn’t have to disclose that information in order for her parents and sister to know that she and the young princess always had a thing for each other, even as little kids.

“Oh, so that’s why you stole my pants.” Yelena smirked. “So you could impress your little girlfriend.” she spoke in a teasing tone.

The young knight rolled her eyes, “She is not my girlfriend.”

“Well I suggest you try to change that before someone else decides to sweep her off her feet.”

Before Natasha could retaliate Melina saved her the trouble, “Alright you two, let’s get going before we’re late.” She ushered her family out the front door and gave Natasha a reassuring squeeze to her shoulder.

People were still making their way inside when they arrived. Your parents stood at the entrance welcoming people into the castle, and their eyes lit up when they saw their most dearest friends walking up the steps.

“Melina, Alexei, Natasha, Yelena! You’re finally here, thank you for coming!” Your father greeted the family while your mother gave each of them a quick hug.

“You all look lovely tonight.” she said.

“Oh, the same goes for you two as well.” Melina returned the compliment.

Your mother looked towards Natasha, “Y/n is still in her room getting ready and should be down in just a few minutes, but you’re welcome to go find her if you’d like.”

Natasha nodded, “Thank you, Mrs. Y/l/n.” she responded before moving past them to make her way to your room.

She knocked on the door and smiled to herself when she heard your comforting voice call out.

“Just a second!”

A few moments later the door opened and you stood face to face, “Nat!” you exclaimed happily and pulled her in for a tight hug.

“Hey, birthday girl.” Natasha chuckled. “Am I interrupting anything?”

You let her go and shook your head, “Not at all. I’m just about ready anyway.” you answered and returned to your spot in front of your mirror.

Natasha migrated further into the room and rested against your bed frame. “Well, you look amazing.” she said.

You turned to look back at her with a smile on your lips, “Thanks,” you replied and took in her attire. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”

The young knight smiled and looked down while you went back to fixing your hair. Natasha tried her best not to stare, but that was proving to be difficult as she kept lifting her head to glance at you.

She decided to break the comfortable silence to distract herself. “Is now a good time for me to give you your gift? I know it’s not time to open presents yet, but I think it’ll look good with your dress.”

You looked back at her again, “Nat, you didn’t have to get me anything.”

“I knew you’d say that, but I wanted to.” Natasha moved to stand behind you before meeting your eyes through the mirror.

When she pulled something out of her pocket and gently placed it around your neck, you realized that it was a necklace, the charm attached shimmering in the light.

You looked down at the piece of jewelry in awe, “Oh Nat, it’s beautiful.” you said and turned around completely to face her.

“It looks even better on you.” she flattered. You couldn’t stop your cheeks from turning a light shade of pink and Natasha grinned at the effect she had on you.

It took a moment for you to gather your composure before taking her hand in yours. “Come on, there’s an entire party downstairs and I wanna see what kind of food they have.” you both giggled as you dragged her down the stairs and to the ballroom.

Hours later the party was now in full swing. You had received happy birthday wishes from so many people you lost count, and ate so many different desserts that you’d probably have a stomachache the next day.

When people began setting down their drinks to find space to dance, Natasha looked towards you and thought she’d take the opportunity to ask you to dance with her.

“May I have—” she started to say, but was interrupted when a young boy around your age approached you.

“Um, excuse me, Princess. Would you like to dance with me?” he asked, clearly nervous considering his fidgeting hands.

As much as you wanted to decline his offer, you felt obligated to accept as you were the kingdoms princess. You looked at Natasha with an apologetic expression and told her you’d be right back before following the boy.

Anyone that looked at the redhead would be able to tell she was annoyed— it was written all over here face.

So when she made her way over to her family, Yelena raised an eyebrow. “What’s up with you?”

The young knight sighed and crossed her arms over her chest, “Someone else decided to sweep her off her feet.”

All she could do was watch as you kept getting pulled away to dance with people. Whenever a song ended and you tried to make your way back over to her, someone else was by your side asking to dance. To both of you, it felt like forever before you were finally back together.

The song came to an end you were practically speed walking to where Natasha was standing off to the side in a successful attempt to avoid getting pulled away again.

“Hey, I’m so sorry. I swear they just kept coming out of no where.” you breathed out, gulping down your glass of water to catch your breath.

Natasha smiled and shook her head, “It’s okay, is it my turn now or are you too worn out?”

You playfully rolled your eyes and laughed, “Don’t be ridiculous, Natty.” you took her hand and led her to an empty space amongst other dancing people.

Her arms encircled your waist while yours wrapped loosely around her neck. Neither of you exactly knew how to dance, so you just gently swayed with the music.

The young knight found that the annoyance she was feeling early could no longer be felt now that she finally had you. She was too happy to focus on anything except you— but there was one other thing on her mind.

“Can I ask you something?” Natasha said.

You hummed, nodding your head. “Of course, Nat.”

She sighed contently and tightened her hold on you. “I think we both know that we’ve felt something for each other that’s more than best friends, even as little kids. I mean my parents still won’t let me forget about that time I asked you to marry me when we were what? Six?” she spoke and you both laughed at the memory.

“And I did say yes. Actually, if I recall correctly I was pretty enthusiastic about it too.” you giggled.

“Yeah, you were.” Natasha grinned. “But I wanted to know if you’d maybe wanna make our relationship official. You know, so I can be the only one you dance with at parties like these.” she asked hopefully.

You looked at her with a smirk plastered across your face and raised eyebrows. “Are you asking me to be your girlfriend?”

“Well— yeah…I am.”

You smiled and laid your head on her shoulder, “I’d love nothing more, Nat.” you said and your answer brought an even bigger grin to her face.

What you didn’t know was that your mothers were watching the scene unfold from across the room, sipping on glasses of expensive wine.

Your mother playfully shook her head, “Like true soulmates.” she spoke and Melina hummed in agreement.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

(Two years later)

“Do you have to go?” you said sadly.

You stood on the dock clutching onto the young knight as if she’d disappear into thin air if you let go while she held you just as tight. Both of your families stood around talking, watching the saddening encounter.

Natasha was about to leave for her first ever commission. It was an overseas assignment for her to prove her ability to protect the kingdoms Princess, so as much as she didn’t want to leave you, she had to.

The young knight cupped the back of your head with one hand and pressed her nose into your hair, basking in the comforting scent of your shampoo to soak up her last few moments with you before her departure.

“You’ll be okay, Y/n. Three weeks, and then I’ll be back with you again.” she assured.

“Three weeks without you is too long.” you said. You and Natasha had always been inseparable, so it was hard knowing that she’d be so far away.

“I know, princess, I know.” Natasha whispered into your hair. It was only when she heard you sniffle and felt tears wetting her neck that she pulled back to look at you. “Hey,” she cooed and cupped your cheeks.

“It’ll go by so fast you won’t even remember I’m gone. Yelena promised me she’d keep you company, and she basically is me because she’s my sister, so hopefully you won’t miss me too much.”

That made a small smile pull at your lips. “No offense to Yelena, but no one could ever compare to you, Nat. I’ll miss you so much, and what if you get hurt over there?” you said.

Natasha smiled and kissed your forehead, “I’ll be okay, princess. It’ll all be okay, I promise.”

Her thumbs swiped under your eyes to wipe away your tears before she closed the distance between the two of you and connected your lips.

You both knew you had to keep it short and sweet considering both of your families were still there.

“I love you so much, Nat.” you whispered.

She gazed lovingly at you, “I love you more, my beautiful girl. So much more.” the words fell from Natasha’s lips ever so softly.

You were unfortunately brought out of your little bubble with Natasha much sooner than you would’ve liked when over her shoulder, you caught sight of Natasha’s commander walking off of the ship and towards you.

He cleared his throat, now catching everyone’s attention. “I hate to do this, but the captain’s ready. It’s time to go, romanoff.” he announced.

Your heart dropped as you’d been dreading this moment.

“Yes, sir. I’ll be just a second.” Natasha said.

He nodded his head and walked back onto the ship.

The young knight turned to you and sighed, “I guess that’s my cue.” she said and you nodded in understanding.

Natasha let go of you to approach her family, giving her parents and a hug as well as your parents. She exchanged words with them that you couldn’t really hear before making her way back over to you.

She delicately cupped your face in her hands and pressed her lips to yours once again. You both poured all of your love and passion for each other into the kiss, knowing it’d be the last one until she got back.

You pulled away and rested your forehead against hers. “See you in three weeks?”

“See you in three weeks.” she promised.

You let Natasha go and watched as she boarded. The ship departed soon after.

The castle suddenly became quieter for you with the young knight gone. You of course had to continue with your usual duties and responsibilities because life goes on, but it wasn’t the same without Natasha around.

What made it bearable was that you still had your parents to go into town with every Tuesday and visit all of your favorite spots like normal, conversing with the workers there that you’d become good friends with over the years.

Yelena kept her word and would hang out with you whenever you had free time to distract you from the thought of Natasha being overseas. Melina and Alexei were great as well and did whatever they could to help.

With all of that combined, everything turned out to be okay just like Natasha had said.

And the young knight made good of her promise to you because three weeks later, your father had knocked on your bedroom door, pulling your attention away from the book in your hands to inform you that Natasha’s ship had just returned.

You jumped out of bed so fast, not even bothering to mark your page as you rushed out of the castle and down to the docks. You probably looked like a madman with the way you were running, a huge smile plastered on your face.

But you didn’t care because you got to the docks right on time to see Natasha walking off the ship. When her eyes locked on you she grinned widely and dropped her bags to meet you halfway as you practically leaped into her arms.

~~~~~~~~

(Time jump a few years later/present day)

You turned off the faucet and shook your hands to rid them of dripping water before drying them completely with the hand towel hung on the wall. A gentle smile sat on your lips, one that hasn’t left your face since the night began.

It was the day that you could only dream of as a little kid.

Literally.

You opened the bathroom door and started to walk out, wanting to get back to the after-party before you missed out on too much of this important night when you felt a gentle grip on your wrist.

Whoever grabbed you had pulled you back into them so your back was against their front, but you didn’t panic too much because you immediately recognized the familiar cologne of your wife whom you just tied the knot with merely a couple hours ago.

She wrapped her arms arms around your torso and pressed a feather light kiss to your neck. “There you are, my love. I lost you there for a moment, I missed you.”

You giggled as her breath tickled your neck. “I was only gone for a few minutes, Nat.”

“A few minutes too long. But now that I found you, I can have a moment with you alone before we go back to everyone.”

You hummed and relaxed back into her, letting out a content sigh as you admired the shining ring that Natasha had slid onto your finger after vowing to you that she would spend the rest of her life by your side.

That this was forever like it was always meant to be.

“I can’t believe we’re actually married.” you whispered out.

Natasha smiled against you. “I know, it feels so surreal. Six year old me would be over the moon right now.”

You both laughed at that. It probably was true.

“You know our moms always called us soulmates.” Natasha said as she reached to take your left hand into hers, staring at the ring and smiling to herself at the memories coming back to her.

“Yeah,” you giggled, “They were right though, weren’t they?”

The redhead sighed happily, “They were.��

You two basked in each other’s presence in silence for a moment as Natasha pressed small kisses to any part of your skin she could reach. You giggled whenever her lips touched a ticklish spot.

“We should probably go back out there now. Before people start thinking we abandoned our own wedding.” you joked.

Natasha chuckled, though continuing her ministrations, “We can spare a few more minutes, right?”

You playfully rolled your eyes, “No, we cannot. Because you’re going to get carried away and then we’re going to actually abandon our own wedding.”

The redhead groaned when you began pulling away from her, but you made it up to her by pressing a kiss to her lips which seemed to satisfy her for now before taking her hand and leading her back to the after-party.

“There you guys are!” Yelena said once she saw the two of you, “We’ve been looking for you. It’s time for your guy’s first dance.”

She dragged you both over to your parents where they were waiting.

You couldn’t help the smile that seemed to take over your face.

Everything was perfect as can be, and now you get to enjoy it all with your soulmate.

~ end ~

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha marvel #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanov #natasha x y/n #natasha x reader #natasha fanfic #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff mcu #natasha alianovna romanova #natasha romanoff x female #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff fluff

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ryuzakistoe · 29 days ago

Text

Could This Be? (Sae Itoshi x fem!reader)

angst, fluff, slow burn, Sae Itoshi, language, smut (heavy?) fem!reader, trigger warning, hopeless/over thinker reader..?, BTW THIS IS GONNA BE A LONGGG ONE.

Yeah there's fingering, orgasms, dominate Sae, big-cocked Sae, somewhat submissive reader?, dirty talk (somewhat?), y’know all the usual.

a/n: give me ideas for who and what to write about next please🙏 cuz I got nothing.

Also, sorry if I made any mistakes on here as I have had not checked for any spelling mistakes or anything. I rushed to try and get this published because well…yeah it’s been a while.

____

(no song for this sorry😢)

Love.

It’s something everyone craves. The warmth of comfort, the security of knowing someone is truly there for you. It’s that feeling of having someone by your side, someone you can open up to without fear of judgment. It’s knowing there’s a shoulder you can lean on when life feels heavy.

Who wouldn’t want that? Everyone longs for that one person who understands them deeply, who stands by them through everything. It’s a natural part of being human.

Yet, finding true love isn’t always easy. Lustful desires can cloud our vision, making it hard to distinguish between the fleeting thrill of lust and the enduring presence of love.

Lust satisfies only for a moment, but love—love endures.

Too often, people mistake lust for love, deceiving themselves into thinking the temporary excitement is something lasting. But in truth, love is far deeper, something that grows and remains, far beyond the surface.

They convince themselves that this so-called "love" they’re experiencing is genuine, when, in truth, it’s anything but.

Then, there are those who have never been loved properly at all. As humans, we often twist the meaning of "love," reshaping it into something that barely resembles true love.

It’s disgusting, really.

The world is far from perfect, and it’s filled with deceivers and liars who spread only flames of falsehood and venom. It’s painful to think that someone like you has crossed paths with these people.

Many have tried to explain what "love" is supposed to be—pleasure, satisfaction, joy, delight, even lust. They use these words to describe love, and it’s horrifying to see how they’ve mistaken and misrepresented it.

What they experienced wasn’t real love at all. Just a shallow, distorted version of something far deeper and truer.

It’s pitiful. The "love" they’ve experienced is etched so deeply into their minds that they believe it’s real. But it isn’t.

Love is so much more. It takes many shapes, each unique to the person, and it goes far beyond fleeting pleasure or satisfaction. Some have been led to believe otherwise, brainwashed into confusing love with something shallow and empty.

They’ve never truly experienced love.

And yet, you, too, fall into this category. You’ve never been loved as you deserved.

These days, it seems like all men want is sex and pleasure. Many of the men you’ve dated claimed to “love” you, but those words quickly unraveled into hollow promises. What they felt was just a lustful attraction, nothing more.

Your heart has been broken more than once by these pretenders, each time leaving you with more questions than answers.

One day, they’d say they loved you; the next, they’d avoid you entirely. And to think, you even lost your virginity to one of these fucking scums.

They left you shattered, vanishing the moment they got what they wanted.

One guy, in particular, slipped past your defenses, convincing you he was different—that he was actually worthy of this "love." He manipulated you in countless ways, claiming it was all in the name of love. He told you that having sex, intimacy, and leaving yourself vulnerable, was the ultimate proof of love.

You were conflicted, torn by doubt, but a deep need to be loved pushed you to trust him. Yet, the days that followed left you miserable and broken, as he cut off all contact after that night.

All you wanted was to be was loved…

One by one, each guy took what he wanted and left, only adding to the ache and emptiness.

You stopped believing in love and began to hate yourself in ways you never had before.

Was love even real? Was it just a fantasy made for movies and stories, something exaggerated beyond reality? No one could convince you otherwise. All those voices claiming to know what love is, how it’s supposed to feel—they seemed almost delusional to you now.

You found yourself pitying them, those blind and hopeless creatures, chasing an illusion you no longer believed in.

What a bunch of animals.

…🌺…

You worked at a small bakery not far from home. Despite everything going on, you couldn’t afford to be broke. Thankfully, this job gave you just enough to scrape by each week. Barely.

You took the night shifts for the extra pay—just in case. A car was out of the question on your income, but that didn’t matter much; work was only a short walk away.

What they didn’t pay you enough for, though, were the rude, bitchy, demanding customers who tested your patience daily. They complained, ordered you around, and acted as if you were their work-slave, to solely serve their every whim. You were surprised you hadn’t lost your mind by now—probably thanks to your coworker or best friend might I say.

“Heyyy, Y/nnie! How’s my favorite girl?” she called out, wrapping you up in a tight hug.

Her name was Yuko. Annoying and overly extroverted as she could be, though you were grateful to have her around.

Her dark, disheveled hair, bounced as she ran toward you. “Hey, Yuko…” you managed, barely able to breathe under her tight hug. Despite her size, she was surprisingly strong.

Yuko’s eyes widened as she realized she was squeezing the air out of you, and she quickly let go. “Ha… sorry, Y/n!” she muttered, rubbing the back of her neck in embarrassment.

“Nah, you’re fine, Yuko,” you said, smiling as you met her gaze.

Your first shift here had been lonely. You hadn’t bothered much with the other coworkers, and they hadn’t really reached out to you either. You’d all just been there to do the job—nothing more.

You hadn’t really minded keeping to yourself, never making an effort to connect with your coworkers. They hadn’t shown much interest in you, either.

Then came Yuko.

She approached you, eager to get to know you better—though, to be fair, she did that with everyone. She was friends with nearly all your coworkers, and now she’d set her sights on making you her next.

You couldn’t deny that her bold personality drew you in. Something about her was captivating, though you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. Was it her loudness? Her confidence? Her outgoing spirit? Whatever it was, you felt yourself drawn to her.

And Yuko felt the same. She sensed there was something different about you, something intriguing, and that made her all the more determined to befriend you.

Who would have guessed that this mutual interest would spark such a strong friendship between the two of you?

You weren’t just another coworker to her—Yuko considered you her best friend. And, honestly, you felt the same way about her.

“I just couldn’t resist squeezing the life out of you, Y/n! You’re just so precious and adorable!” Yuko gushed, clasping her hands together with a loud smack.

“Yuko… you use that excuse every single day,” you sighed, shaking your head.

“Do I? Mmm, I don’t recall…” Yuko hummed, feigning innocence with a coy smile.

You let out a small huff, clearly seeing through her act. With a playful glare, you waited, knowing she’d slip up soon enough.

Sure enough, not even ten seconds passed before she let out a whine, squirming a little under your gaze. “Ah, Y/nnnnieee… how do you always figure me out?” she grumbled.

“You’re just that bad at lying, Yuko.” You chuckled softly, watching as she crossed her arms, giving you a mock-offended glare.

“I am not that bad at lying!” she retorted, pouting.

Lost in your banter, neither of you noticed the soft jingle of the bell signaling someone’s entrance.

“Sure, Yuko, whatever helps you sleep at night—”

“Are you going to take my order, or are you two just going to keep bickering?”

Both of you froze, turning toward the voice with wide eyes.

"Ah… my apologies, sir. Sorry for not paying attention," you muttered quickly, stepping over to the register to take his order.

The man let out a faint hum, as if to agree that yes, it was your fault. Inwardly, you stifled a groan—you could already tell he was going to be one of those bitchy customers.

"Anyway, what can I get for you, sir?" you asked, glancing up.

Your gaze lingered, almost unconsciously taking in his appearance, a habit you’d developed with customers. He had reddish-brown hair and a lean build, at least from what you could see. His eyes, a striking green-teal, were narrowed slightly, showing not a hint of emotion.

You almost paused, a bit envious of his long, dark lashes. What a lucky guy, you thought.

Overall, he gave off an air of indifference, like nothing around him could bother him in the slightest.

“A salted kombucha tea will do,” he replied, barely looking up from his phone.

“Anything else?” you asked, glancing up at him again.

He slipped his phone back into his pocket, meeting your gaze with an intensity that made it feel as if he was sizing you up, too.

“That’s all,” he said, hands shoved casually into his pockets.

You quickly typed in his order, breaking eye contact, though you could still feel the weight of his stare. It was… unsettling.

“And your name?” you asked, grabbing an empty cup, trying to brush off the strange tension.

“Sae Itoshi,” he muttered.

Sae Itoshi? The name struck a chord, tickling the back of your memory. You’d heard it somewhere before, but couldn’t quite place where.

“Alright, your drink will be ready shortly. If you could, please wait over there,” you said, gesturing toward the spot.

Sae’s gaze followed your hand, and without a word, he walked to the designated area.

With the empty cup in hand, you stepped away from the register and started preparing his drink. Just as you began brewing the tea, Yuko appeared at your side, looking as energetic as ever.

“Did I hear that right? That was Sae Itoshi?!” she practically shouted, wide-eyed as she leaned right into your face.

Already feeling the beginnings of a headache, you nudged her back. “Yeah, why are you so surprised?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Yuko looked at you like you’d just sprouted a second head.

“Are you serious, Y/n?” She scoffed, gripping your shoulders in exaggerated disbelief. “You call me clueless, but you don’t even know who Sae Itoshi is?”

“That, my dear Y/n, was none other than the Sae Itoshi—the famous football player!” Yuko exclaimed, rocking you back and forth.

No wonder the name had sounded so familiar. What were the odds that a famous soccer player would show up at a small bakery like yours?

“Okay, okay, you can let me go, Yuko!” you yelped, clutching the cup tightly to avoid spilling the drink.

Reluctantly, she released you but continued her excited rambling. “Do you realize how rare this is?” she squealed, practically sparkling with enthusiasm.

“Yeah, I guess it’s pretty rare,” you mumbled as you got back to preparing the drink, hoping she’d settle down.

But Yuko just stared at you, her expression twisting with utter disbelief. What’s with everyone staring today?

“The hell, Y/n? How are you not excited about this?! A famous athlete is literally in our shop right now! Out of everywhere, he chose here!” she ranted, poking the side of your head for emphasis.

You swatted her hand away. “Keep your voice down, Yuko,” you sighed, trying to focus.

But Yuko, unfazed, only leaned in closer. “And not only is he famous, he’s one of those hot athletes!” she gushed, ignoring your attempt to quiet her. “How can you stay calm when we’re literally in the presence of a sexy celebrity?”

You groaned, turning to face her. “Yuko, please. Let me finish this, okay? I really don’t need the noise right now.”

She huffed, dropping her shoulders dramatically. “Fine, whatever, Y/n. You’re so weird,” she muttered, leaning against the counter beside you.

A brief silence fell—until Yuko finally spoke up again. “So… how big do you think his dic—“

“Yuko!” you blurted, stopping her before she could finish.

“What? I’m just curious! Can’t you let a girl imagine these things?” she pouted, crossing her arms with a mischievous glint in her eyes. She knew you were already done with her antics.

“At least keep those thoughts to yourself, Yuko. And you call me weird,” you scoffed softly, snapping the lid onto the drink.

Yuko chuckled, clearly pleased with herself for getting under your skin. She lived for teasing you.

You took a steadying breath, picked up the tea, and headed over to Sae Itoshi, feeling a touch nervous to be serving someone so famous.

“Here’s your tea, sir,” you mumbled, holding the cup out to him.

He glanced up from his phone, his eyes settling on you as he reached for the drink. His fingers brushed against yours, warm and slightly rough, sending a surprising jolt through you. Shaking off the thought, you added, “That’ll be 595.31 yen.”

“Right.” He gave a soft hum and pulled out the exact amount, placing the yen in your hand before taking a sip.

You noticed his eyes widen just a fraction as he savored the tea, clearly caught off guard by the taste.

“This is surprisingly good for such a cheap drink,” he muttered, taking another sip.

You let out an irritated huff. Did he really have to say it like that?

“Glad it suits your taste buds,” you grumbled, resisting the urge to roll your eyes.

He ignored your tone. “Did you make this yourself?” he asked, studying you with unexpected interest.

Caught off guard by the question, you raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, I did. Why?”

His gaze held yours as he replied, “No reason. I just didn’t expect it to turn out this well.”

Another rude remark. Will you ever get a break from these customers?

He took another sip, looking mildly impressed. “I might reconsider coming by again for another cup. You make good tea—for a baker.”

You were sure steam was coming out of your ears by now. You just wanted him out of the shop. “Thanks, I guess,” you muttered, barely concealing your frustration.

“No problem,” he said nonchalantly, strolling out the door without a second glance.

You let out an aggravated sigh. The nerve of that guy.

Slumping your shoulders, you turned and headed back to where Yuko was waiting. The moment she spotted you, she practically skipped over.

“Sooo, Y/n, what’d you think? Pretty sexy, huh?” she laughed, leaning against your shoulder.

“Sure, I’ll admit he’s good-looking,” you muttered, rolling your eyes. “But he’s an absolute jerk. Seriously, how do people put up with him?” You groaned, burying your face in your hands.

“Woah, woah, Y/nnie, what exactly happened?” Yuko asked, pulling back to look at you.

You sighed, pulling your hands away from your face. “He practically insulted me—multiple times. And I don’t even think he realized it.”

Yuko studied your face as you ranted, wide-eyed. Clearly, you were more annoyed than usual.

“Well, look on the bright side, Y/n—he probably won’t come back! …Sadly,” she added, mumbling the last part.

“About that…” you muttered, avoiding her gaze.

Yuko’s mouth dropped open, and she grabbed your face, forcing you to look at her. “You’re telling me he’s coming back?! Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh—!”

“Yuko!” you exclaimed as she released her grip, realizing she’d been squeezing your face a little too hard.

“Sorry, Y/n,” she chuckled sheepishly, taking a step back. “But seriously—is he really coming back?” Her eyes were wide, fixed on you like a hawk.

“Well… yeah, he said he might, but I don’t know if he actually meant it,” you murmured, recalling Sae’s words.

Yuko let out an exaggerated groan, tugging at her hair. “Aww, come on, Y/n! Way to get my hopes up!”

“Sorry, Yuko,” you sighed. Not that you were actually sorry.

“Doesn’t mean he won’t, though! Ooh, maybe I can get his number too! I can already picture our future together—wonder how he looks naked in bed—”

“Yuko!” you shouted, interrupting her with a mix of surprise and annoyance.

“Just messing with you, Y/n!” Yuko cackled, wrapping you in a tight hug.

You couldn’t stand how easily she joked about such… lustful things, though you’d never admit it to her. It always made you uncomfortable.

“Aww, I love you, Y/n!” Yuko said dramatically, burying her head in your neck.

That, too, made your stomach turn. You hated it.

Why did everyone toss around the word "love" so casually, like it was just a meaningless phrase? You couldn’t wrap your head around it.

…🌺…

The soft, familiar comfort of your bed enveloped you as you collapsed onto the mattress. A sigh escaped your lips as you began to settle in for the night. It was already 12:05 AM, meaning your shift would start in just six hours.

You let out another sigh, staring at the ceiling, letting your thoughts wander.

Then, out of nowhere, Sae Itoshi’s face flashed in your mind.

Without thinking, you grabbed your phone and searched for his Instagram profile.

What the hell are you even doing?

You scrolled through his posts, which were mostly just photos of him scoring goals, looking effortlessly cool. What is wrong with you?

Your finger hovered over the screen as you clicked on his followers and the people he followed. It was a list of other famous football players, each name more recognizable than the last.

Are you out of your mind?

You navigated through all the social media apps, searching for his name, scrolling aimlessly.

Stop.

You froze, suddenly aware of what you were doing.

“What the hell am I doing?” you whispered to yourself, a wave of realization washing over you.

Why were you so fixated on finding Sae Itoshi online? Was he really that intriguing? Was he worth all this time and energy?

What exactly was so captivating about him?

You had no answers.

With a frustrated sigh, you closed out of every app that featured his name and set your phone down beside your bed. You plugged it in to charge, then wrapped yourself tightly in your blanket.

But despite the warmth, sleep eluded you. Instead, you lay wide-eyed, staring at the ceiling.

What made you do this? Why was Sae Itoshi still on your mind?

Why were you suddenly so desperate to know who he was?

You let out a weary groan, squeezing your eyes shut, hoping sleep would finally drown out the endless questions swirling in your mind.

And after what felt like an eternity, it finally worked. Your thoughts began to fade, and sleep claimed you.

…🌺…

“Well then, Y/nnie, who’s excited to see Sae Itoshi?! I know I am!” Yuko exclaimed, practically bouncing with energy.

“Sometimes you’re too much, Yuko,” you replied, rolling your eyes.

As expected, Yuko was absolutely ecstatic about the prospect of seeing Sae Itoshi again. But could you say the same? You weren’t so sure.

“Come on, Y/n! This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity! You’ve got to make the most of it!” Yuko urged, clasping her hands around yours with a grin.

“Well, I’d like to make use of my lifetime not obsessing over some famous football player,” you sighed, trying to sound indifferent.

What a lie.

“Gosh, you’re so boring, Y/n!” Yuko huffed, releasing her grip on you. “You’re hopeless,” she added with a teasing tone.

You scoffed. “Me, hopeless? I’m just trying to make enough money to survive out here,” you grumbled.

“Aren’t we all?” Yuko replied, taking a step away from you and heading off to serve other customers.

You sighed, watching her go, then rested your elbows on the counter in the back. Your phone came out of your pocket, and you began scrolling through social media absentmindedly.

Then, once again, that all-too-familiar thought of him crept into your mind.

What is happening to you?

You found yourself on his Instagram page, scrolling through his posts without even realizing it.

Just then, you heard a voice—one you knew all too well.

“You must have a really hard time noticing your customers waiting.”

Your eyes widened in shock. You quickly whipped your head up, and there he was—that stupid jerk—standing right at the register, waiting for you to take his order.

Sae Itoshi…

You quickly turned off your phone, hoping he hadn’t caught you scrolling through his profile just moments before.

Taking a deep breath, you walked up to the register, forcing a neutral expression.

“The same thing?” you asked, trying to sound casual.

“Yeah,” Sae replied, his tone as calm as ever.

With just one word from him, you got to work, preparing his tea with a practiced speed.

It didn’t take long, and within less than 10 minutes, his drink was ready.

“That’ll be—”

“Here.”

Sae handed you the money without missing a beat, then swiftly took the drink from your hands, taking a slow sip.

A satisfied sigh escaped him as he swallowed, clearly enjoying the tea.

You couldn’t help but watch him, eyes lingering on the way he drank.

This guy…

Noticing your stare, he pulled the cup away from his lips and casually spoke, “Y’know, instead of just wandering around looking at my page, you could always just follow me.”

His voice was quiet, almost teasing, but you couldn’t tell if he was joking or serious.

Nonetheless, your eyes widened at his words.

Fuck…he caught you.

“Uh… yeah, I’ll keep that in mind…” you mumbled awkwardly, the words barely escaping your lips.

You could feel your face burning with embarrassment. This is so humiliating.

Then, just as you were trying to regain some composure, Sae spoke again.

“Give me your phone.”

His words hit you like a punch. What the hell? Why would he want your phone?

“May I ask why?” you asked, raising an eyebrow, the confusion evident in your voice.

“I just want to see something,” he replied, his tone flat and unreadable.

You should’ve known better. You shouldn’t give a stranger your phone. It was basic knowledge, after all. But something about his calm, indifferent demeanor made you hesitate.

Strange, you thought, but you didn’t argue.

With a subtle sigh, you pulled your phone from your back pocket, unlocked it, and handed it to him.

Sae swiftly swiped your phone from your hand, his fingers moving quickly as he typed something and tapped on the screen.

“Here,” he said, handing the device back to you.

You took your phone, still confused, and looked up at him. He met your gaze with a calm, unreadable expression.

Without thinking, you broke the eye contact and immediately glanced at what he had done on your phone.

Your eyes widened.

You were now following Sae Itoshi.

"You needed my phone for this?" you asked, your voice laced with confusion as you shifted your gaze back to him.

He took in your baffled expression, his head tilted slightly.

“Yeah, it’s not that hard to click ‘follow,’” he replied nonchalantly, his tone almost taunting.

You glared at him, feeling a frustrated vein pulse at your temple.

Did he really not care how he affected people?

Actually nevermind. He probably didn't.

Now, you were really starting to believe that people probably were paid to put up with this egotistical jerk.

“Whatever. Is that all you needed?” you asked, forcing the frustration down as best as you could.

It was getting harder and harder to ignore his blunt, cutting words.

“Yeah, i guess.” Sae shrugged, his eyes drifting away from you to inspect the decorations and furniture around the shop.

You let out a quiet sigh of relief, grateful that he wasn’t pushing any further.

But, of course, Sae caught it.

His gaze snapped back to you, a hint of curiosity in his eyes. “What? You that eager for me to leave?”

“Somewhat,” you replied, not even hesitating.

Sae’s eyes narrowed slightly as he processed your blunt answer. His brow quirked, clearly not expecting such a direct response. He shrugged it off casually.

“Too bad. I’m coming back.”

Naturally, that soured your mood tenfold. But, oddly enough, you didn’t feel as annoyed as you’d expected hearing those words.

Odd…

"If you're done ordering, please step out of line," you sighed, shoulders slumping. You were already growing tired of his antics.

"Didn’t even get a chance to check this place out, and you’re already kicking me out? What poor customer service," Sae commented casually, holding up his empty cup in front of you. "Might as well throw this away for me, yeah? Thanks." His tone was light, as if he barely noticed how much he was testing your patience.

You let out a frustrated grumble, muttering under your breath as you snatched the cup from his hand, shooting him a glare before turning to the trash can.

Just as you tossed it away, you looked up to see Sae already strolling out, unbothered.

You felt yourself visibly relax as Sae’s figure disappeared from sight.

Seriously, could that guy be any more irritating?

But your brief moment of relief didn’t last.

"Y/NNIEEE!"

Perfect—just what you needed.

"Ah, my beautiful Y/n, how did your date go with Sae Itoshi?!" Yuko teased, a mischievous grin on her face as she draped an elbow over your shoulder.

"Really, Yuko?" you groaned, nudging her off.

"What? Didn’t go as planned?" Yuko pouted dramatically, raising her hands to her face and pretending to wipe away imaginary tears.

"Sometimes, Yuko, you do too much," you mumbled, glaring at her, hoping the hint of annoyance in your tone would get through.

"Y/n, you’re such a peculiar one. Most girls would go crazy by just seeing that guy! I mean, every time I catch a glimpse of him, my heart practically explodes!" Yuko rambled on, forming a heart with her hands and placing it over her chest, mimicking a rapid heartbeat.

"C'mon, Yuko, you know why—" you paused mid-sentence.

She didn’t know. Yuko didn’t know about the pieces of your past you’d left unspoken, buried somewhere you hoped no one would find.

She didn’t know about the heartbreaks you’d endured, the ones that had chipped away at you until even the thought of love felt distant, hollow. She didn’t know about the countless nights spent piecing yourself back together, the silent battles, the disappointments that had left scars no one could see.

Yuko didn’t know about the lies you’d had to believe, the ones that wrapped around you until you could hardly tell where the truth ended and the facade began. She had no idea how those things had worn you down, until something as simple as liking—or even loving someone, felt like too much to ask.

No, she didn’t know any of it. You’d never told her. And maybe you never would.

"Huh? No, I don’t know why. What do you mea—"

"Oh, uh, never mind, it’s nothing," you said quickly, cutting her off, hoping she wouldn’t pick up on the edge in your voice.

But you knew Yuko wasn’t stupid. You could feel her gaze linger on you, her eyes clouded with confusion and curiosity, studying you, knowing something was going on.

Yet, she knew when to let things be.

"Alright, if you say so, Y/n," Yuko murmured softly, letting it drop.

You looked away, voice barely above a whisper. "Yeah."

You exhaled, feeling a small release as her gaze finally drifted from you.

"Anyway, I’ll get back to my shift, Y/n. Talk to you later!" Yuko said with a small smile as she started to walk away, her curiosity saved for another time.

You gave her a quiet nod and returned to your work. Just a couple more hours, and you’d finally be able to go home.

…🌺…

Here you were, lying in bed, getting ready to drift into a deep slumber.

Slipping into your nightwear, you wrapped yourself snugly in your blanket, instantly enveloped in warmth and comfort. Reaching for your phone on the nightstand, you lazily glanced at your notifications.

“Sae Itoshi is now following you.”

Your breath hitched. For a moment, you thought you were imagining things. Was this real?

Heart pounding, you tapped on your profile and checked your followers.

Nope, it wasn’t a mistake. It was real.

But how? How did he even know your name?

Oh. Right. The nametag.

You tossed your phone aside with a sigh, sinking deeper into your bed.

You couldn’t quite pinpoint what you were feeling. There was happiness, maybe even excitement, but it was tangled up with annoyance and a faint thread of confusion.

Why would he follow you? He didn’t seem like the type to care about someone like you. It didn’t make sense.

But the real question lingered: how did you feel about all of this?

It was strange. These emotions felt foreign, like opening a book you hadn’t touched in years. And yet, they felt… good. Comforting, in a way.

But also terrifying.

You couldn’t remember the last time you let yourself feel like this. What if it led to the same pain, the same destruction? Wasn’t it safer to keep your guard up, to not let anyone in?

“The hell are you doing to me,” you groaned, burying your face into your pillow, trying to escape the overwhelming storm of emotions crashing over you.

…🌺…

"Let me guess—the same thing?"

"Yeah."

You let out a small sigh, already knowing the routine as you headed to the back to prepare his drink.

He came in every day, like clockwork. It was almost comforting in its predictability, though he never switched things up—always the same drink, no pastries, nothing else.

As you handed him his order, you asked, "Do you want anything else, or…?" You already knew the answer but asked anyway, half out of habit, half hoping for a surprise.

"No," he replied flatly, his tone as cutting as ever. "Though it’s pretty stupid of you to even ask. I mean, isn’t it obvious by now? I get the same thing every day."

Ah, yes. Classic Sae. Always quick with the unnecessary criticism. What a great way to dampen your already mediocre morning.

"Well," you muttered, brushing off his remark with a hint of irritation, "it’s just that you always get the same thing. Don’t you ever want to try something else?"

Your tone betrayed your annoyance, but honestly, could anyone blame you?

"If I wanted something else, I would’ve asked for it already, don’t you think?"

Now he was just being a smartass.

"I get that," you scoffed, barely holding back your frustration, "but wouldn’t you want to at least try something different?" Your fists clenched at your sides, a subtle outlet for the irritation bubbling inside you.

Sae paused, his gaze steady as he studied you for a moment. Then, with a sigh, he finally said, "If I buy something else, will you stop nagging me about it?"

"I mean… I guess?" you replied, your uncertainty creeping into your voice. A simple "yes" felt too eager, but saying "no" would make it sound like you were intent on pestering him forever. You weren't a begger. Especially not to him.

Sae gave a curt nod and glanced at the display, scanning the selection before pointing at a pastry. "That one looks decent."

Your gaze followed his finger to the pastry in question. "Alright, then," you said, moving to grab a paper bag. Carefully, you placed the pastry inside, sealed it up, and handed it to him.

"That’ll be 645.87 yen," you muttered, barely meeting his eyes as you extended your hand. He handed you the money without a word, his expression unreadable as ever.

You let out a relieved sigh, assuming this was the part where Sae would leave, as he usually did.

Usually.

Just as you thought your morning might finally return to normal, Sae took a step, then stopped and turned back to face you.

You blinked, confused. Wasn’t he done here? Apparently not.

“Before I forget,” he began, his unwavering gaze fixed on you, “I have a match coming up against this program called Blue Lock. I want you to come watch.”

Your eyes widened slightly, your mouth parting in disbelief.

Did he just… personally invite you to his game?

“Wait… what?” you mumbled, still trying to process his words.

He let out an exasperated sigh, his expression tinged with impatience. “I said I want you to come to my match. You’re not deaf, are you?”

And just like that, your initial shock morphed into irritation.

Great. Just great.

“Well, can you blame me? It’s not every day a famous player invites someone they barely know,” you grumbled, narrowing your eyes at him.

Sae shrugged, resting a hand on his hip. “I don’t have anyone else to invite,” he admitted casually. “Besides, you’re not all that bad to talk to.”

Your eyebrow shot up. “What’s that supposed to mean?” you murmured, your tone skeptical.

He met your gaze without hesitation. “You’re someone I enjoy talking to. I’m sick of people who act all formal and fake around me, putting on some persona just because of who I am.” His voice was steady, almost nonchalant. “Not to mention the crazy fans. It’s exhausting.”

He paused, then added, “It’s refreshing talking to someone who doesn’t act like that.”

You didn’t know how to respond. Was he being serious? Judging by his expression, he didn’t seem like the type to lie about something like this.

Your chest tightened, your heartbeat picking up speed.

Were you nervous? Happy? Flustered?

It was hard to tell—everything about this felt foreign, yet oddly familiar. It left you feeling strangely vulnerable.

“Our conversations are also quite pleasant,” Sae added, his tone as flat as ever.

You blinked, your expression instantly deadpan. Did he really just call our “conversations” pleasant?

What a ridiculous statement. The only thing you two ever did was bicker—and by bicker, you meant he annoyed you to no end. Pleasant? Hardly.

You let out a sigh, equal parts confused and exasperated, before replying, “Sure, Sae. I’ll accept your invite.”

The words left your mouth before you could really think about them. Why had you said yes? You could’ve said no—you should’ve said no. That would’ve been the normal response. The usual you response.

But instead, you’d said the opposite.

Strange.

What’s been up with you lately?

"I'll text you the details," Sae said, snapping you out of your thoughts.

And with that, he finally left, pastry in hand, leaving you to process the whirlwind of emotions he'd stirred up.

…🌺…

One day.

The match against Blue Lock Eleven was just one day away.

It was strange—this was the first football match you’d ever been excited about, and honestly, it didn’t feel like you at all. You’d never cared much for sports. Until now.

Was it the thrill of having a big shot like Sae personally invite you to one of his games? Or was it the curiosity of experiencing a live sports match for the first time?

Probably a little bit of both.

But alongside the excitement, there was something else. Nerves.

Actually, scratch that—you were really nervous.

You’d have to go alone—not that being alone bothered you most of the time, but this was different. It would’ve been better to bring a friend.

Maybe Yuko? She could always go, right?

But then again, Sae had personally invited you. That probably meant he’d already arranged for a seat—most likely close to the field. And with how packed the stadium would be, there’d hardly be any open seats nearby. Everyone would be scrambling to get as close as possible.

You groaned, letting your head hang low in frustration.

Looked like you’d just have to suck it up.

“What’s got you looking so down in the dumps?”

You lifted your head, only to be met with none other than Yuko herself.

Speak of the devil.

"Nothing much. Just… thinking," you replied, straightening up to regain your composure.

Yuko raised an eyebrow and stepped closer, stopping just within arm's reach. "About what?"

"Just about an upcoming game," you murmured quietly, crossing your arms as you tried to mask your nerves.

"Why would you be stressed over a game?" Yuko asked, her expression turning confused as she looked at you.

You sighed, feeling the weight of your thoughts. It wouldn’t hurt to tell her, right?

"Well, it’s just that Sae Itoshi invited me to watch one of his games and—"

"WHAT?!" Yuko screamed, cutting you off mid-sentence.

You immediately felt your face flush in embarrassment as her loud shout turned every customer and employee's attention toward you both.

"Yuko! Keep it down!" you hissed, quickly covering her mouth to stop any further outbursts.

"Sborrey," Yuko mumbled, her voice muffled as you kept your hand over her mouth.

You slowly pulled your hand away, gripping her shoulders as you gave her a stern look. "Yuko… please don't shout like that," you grumbled, scolding her gently.

"Mmm, I’ll try," she awkwardly chuckled, a sweatdrop forming on her forehead.

"Anyway… what about Sae Itoshi?" Yuko whispered loudly, leaning so close to your face that you could feel her breath.

"I said, Sae Itoshi invited me to one of his games," you repeated, trying to stay calm.

She froze for a moment, eyes wide. "He… he personally invited you?!" Her voice trailed off in disbelief as she spoke loudly.

"Yuko!" You shot her a glare, but before you could speak again, she broke into a grin that looked almost too wide.

"Yes, he personally invited me," you murmured, now feeling even more awkward under her intense gaze.

"Oh my gosh… OH MY GOSH! Y/n, do you have any idea how lucky you are?!" Yuko practically shouted, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Any girl would kill to have THE Sae Itoshi invite them to his game! How’d you do it? Did you seduce him? Or did you promise him se-”

"Yuko!" you shouted, quickly cutting off whatever inappropriate thought was about to escape her lips.

"Sorry, Y/n… but seriously, tell me! How?" Yuko urged, clasping her hands together with excitement.

You looked away, scratching your chin, before meeting her gaze again. "Well, he just said he enjoyed talking to me and then invited me," you said, trying to downplay the whole thing.

Yuko’s expression immediately dropped, and she stared at you, incredulous. "Are you kidding me? That's it? No love confession or anything?"

"Um… no," you replied, still staring at her, not entirely sure how to react to her reaction.

"Ugh, that's so lame!" Yuko huffed, tugging at her hair in frustration. "Y/n, I thought you were better than this!"

"What do you mean—?"

"Never mind!" Yuko cut you off with an exasperated sigh. "Well, regardless, this is the first time I’ve heard of Sae Itoshi taking an interest in someone he barely knows enough to invite them to his game." She grinned mischievously, raising her eyebrows up and down as she looked you over.

"Yeah… I was kind of shocked myself," you replied, brushing off her teasing with a nonchalant shrug.

"He's definitely interested in you, Y/n!" Yuko exclaimed, grabbing hold of your arm in excitement.

You deadpanned, staring at her in disbelief. Really? The Sae Itoshi, interested in you? What a joke.

But even as you dismissed it, you couldn’t help but wonder. Why had he invited you? Sure, maybe it was because he enjoyed talking to someone who wasn’t fawning over him like the rest of the world, but was that really all?

Is that really all it took?

"You're funny, Yuko," you murmured, gently shaking her off.

"Aww, c’mon, Y/nnnieee!" Yuko whined, practically bouncing on her feet. "He invited you! He could’ve picked anyone else who was 'sane,' but he chose you!" She emphasized the word sane with a teasing grin.

"Yuko, you’re just making this into something it’s not. It’s probably nothing," you said, brushing it off as you started to move away and continue your shift.

If Yuko could, she would have slapped some sense into you.

She hated when you were this oblivious. "You’re hopeless, Y/n," Yuko groaned, shaking her head as she let you do your thing.

With that, Yuko left, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

Great. Now her words were swirling in your mind, filled with what ifs.

It felt strange—almost disorienting—as your heartbeat quickened along with the rise of these thoughts.

This was definitely not like you. It only made you feel more stressed and confused.

Maybe Yuko was right. You really were hopeless.

Although who could blame you, after everything you've been through?

…🌺…

SAE! SAE! SAE! SAE!" The crowd roared his name, their voices blending into a thunderous chant as the prodigy scored the first goal.

You were completely mesmerized, entranced by his skill. For a moment, you forgot all about the nerves that had been eating at you since this morning.

…(right before the match)…

Come on, Y/N, you'll be fine," Yuko had said earlier, her tone reassuring. "But what if I get lost?" you had asked, chewing on your lip. "I highly doubt that," she replied with a smirk.

Yuko had been trying to comfort you as she drove up to the entrance of the stadium. Since you didn’t have a car, she’d offered to drop you off. Out of the kindness of her heart, she even gave you a full pep talk on the way.

You sighed, sinking further into the passenger seat. "I just don’t get why you can’t take the day off and come with me," you murmured.

Rolling her eyes, Yuko shot you a look. "Y/N, I have another job. I don’t exactly have the luxury to tag along with you today.”

You knew about Yuko's other job. She had told you just yesterday when you asked her to come with you. Still, the idea of navigating a building packed with thousands of people on your own felt overwhelming.

"As much as I love you, Y/N... you need to get out of my car. I'm going to be late," Yuko said, leaning over to push open the passenger-side door.

The word love made you flinch slightly. You weren’t used to hearing it, at least not like that.

"Yuko..." you mumbled, watching her gesture impatiently at the open door.

"Y/N, you’re going to be fine," she said with a firm but reassuring tone. "Just ask someone for directions!"

You hesitated for a moment before sighing. "Fine. Since when did you want me gone so badly?" you asked, feigning offense as you shot her a playful glare.

"Ever since you started making me late!" Yuko shot back, her voice exasperated but light. "Come on, Y/N!"

She kept nudging you to get out, her urgency growing by the second. Despite yourself, you couldn’t help but laugh a little as you finally stepped out of the car.

"Okay, okay!" you chuckled softly as you finally stepped out of Yuko's car.

You shut the door with a solid slam and turned toward the stadium entrance. Glancing back one last time, you caught Yuko waving at you before she drove off. A frown crept onto your face as your attention shifted to the massive doors ahead.

Taking a deep breath, you stepped inside. Instantly, it felt as though someone was twisting your insides. The nerves hit hard.

You wandered through the bustling halls, clutching your ticket like it was a lifeline. But the moment you found your seat, it was like someone flipped a switch. All those negative emotions—gone, replaced by excitement and anticipation.

_______

“GO SAE!" you shouted along with the crowd as he made a goal, cupping your hands around your mouth as if that would make your voice reach him. Deep down, you knew he couldn’t possibly hear you over the deafening roar of the fans chanting his name.

Still, you couldn’t help but grin. You hadn’t expected to enjoy this, not really. But here you were, caught up in the moment, cheering louder than you thought possible.

You smiled, your gaze fixed on the prodigy dominating the field. Admiration filled you, though you couldn’t tell if it was just for his skill—or if there was something more.

From your reserved seat—the one he had bought for you—you watched him intently. And then his eyes found yours.

Your breath hitched as Sae locked eyes with you. The moment stretched, and the longer it did, the warmer you felt, your cheeks heating under his piercing stare. Was that a good thing?

Your palms grew clammy, your heart racing wildly in your chest. And then, just as you thought the intensity might be too much, he smirked. It was a sly, almost teasing look, as if to say, Did you see that?

Your eyes widened slightly as you took in his expression. For the first time, you saw something beyond boredom or disinterest—even anger—on his face. It was subtle, but it was there—a spark of something you couldn’t quite name.

Still, you preferred this over his usual expressionless gaze. That smirk, that piercing look—it made you feel something.

But as much as you enjoyed it, you hated it too. It felt familiar, painfully so. And familiar wasn’t safe. It was dangerous.

You’d felt this way before, and it hadn’t ended well. It left you shattered, broken in ways you swore you’d never let happen again. You couldn’t afford to risk those consequences a second time.

Forcing yourself to breathe deeply, you tried to steady your thoughts, keeping your composure as you held his gaze. Part of you wanted him to look away, to release you from the unspoken tension. Yet another part... didn’t.

It was as if the gods decided for you when Sae finally turned his attention back to the field.

You exhaled sharply, feeling your heart begin to slow. But even as relief washed over you, those lingering feelings—the ones you tried so hard to suppress—still churned within, refusing to let go.

It seemed these lingering "feelings" would take their time to fade, refusing to settle easily.

_______

“Come on, just give me your number, pretty boy!"

Sae didn’t even acknowledge the man’s bold remark, brushing it off as if it hadn’t been said.

Your attention shifted to the source of the comment—a guy with blond hair, the tips dyed pink. He stood out, to say the least. Odd, maybe, but he certainly wasn’t shy.

The game was already in its second half, and you felt more alive and energized than ever. You never imagined you’d enjoy something like this—not in a million years.

The next match was about to start, and you could feel the tension crackling in the air. It radiated from the players on the field and the roaring crowd around you.

They were tied.

This next goal could decide it all.

You sat on the edge of your seat, anticipation coursing through you. Deep down, you hoped for U-20 to win.

Not that you cared too much about the outcome—your loyalty was simple. Sae was on U-20, and he was the only reason you even knew about the team.

Your eyes widened as the player named Shidou seamlessly linked up with Sae. Together, they were nothing short of monsters. Their aggressive, fast-paced gameplay was unmatched, almost unreal. With every precise pass and powerful stride, they closed in on the goal.

But fate had other plans.

In a sudden turn of events, Blue Lock Eleven intercepted the ball. Before you could fully process what was happening, a player named Isagi launched the final shot.

The ball hit the back of the net.

For a heartbeat, the stadium fell silent. Then, chaos erupted—screams, cheers, and a deafening roar from the crowd.

You exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. The tension had gripped you so tightly it felt as though the game had you in a chokehold. It was exhilarating—every second of it.

As the crowd began to disperse, you quickly gathered your belongings. But before heading out to meet Yuko, you decided there was one thing you had to do. You needed to see Sae.

Walking down the hallways, you peeked into every room, hoping to find Sae in one of them.

By the time you reached the last door, there was still no sign of him. Where the hell was he?

Letting out a frustrated huff, you pulled your head back and turned to leave. But before you could take another step, you bumped into someone.

"Ah—I'm sorry! Please forgive me, I wasn't paying attenti—"

"Do you always apologize this much, or what?"

You froze. That voice—of course, you knew that voice.

Your head snapped up, and sure enough, there he was. Sae.

"Oh, it’s just you," you said, letting out a breath. "I’ve been looking for you."

"For what?" Sae asked, his sharp gaze fixed on you, his tone as unreadable as ever.

Was he really this dense?

"To congratulate you. Why else?" you said, arching a brow at him.

Sae locked eyes with you, and once again, your heart betrayed you, picking up speed as the silence stretched. Finally, he spoke.

"What’s there to congratulate? We lost," he said flatly.

"Still, you played well," you replied earnestly.

"I guess," Sae muttered, his tone dismissive.

Your jaw tightened. Somehow, he always found a way to get under your skin.

"Could you show a little more gratitude than just ‘I guess’?" you grumbled, shifting your weight onto one foot, irritation bubbling over.

"And what do you want me to say?" he asked, his sharp eyes glancing over your figure.

"A simple ‘thank you’ would be nice," you shot back, your tone dripping with frustration.

Sae stood there, quiet for a moment. Then, in a low voice, he murmured, "Thank you."

It wasn’t much, but it was enough to catch you off guard.

You couldn’t help but smile at his response. “That’s much better. See? It wasn’t that hard, was it?” you teased, your smile unwavering.

Sae took in your smile, then shot back with a snarky reply, “What, do you want me to pick an answer that’ll satisfy you?”

Your smile faltered, and you stared at him, baffled. What was his deal? “Never mind... forget I said anything,” you muttered, letting out a sharp sigh.

A heavy silence fell between you both. It lingered, uncomfortable, as neither of you knew what to say next.

Just as you were about to break the silence, Sae spoke first

“Its best if i get goi-“

“Would you like to have dinner with me sometime?”

Sae quickly mumbled as he cut you off, his voice quieter than usual, almost as if he regretted asking.

You blinked, stunned, processing his words slowly. “Huh?” you whispered, your heart skipping a beat. It took a moment for the question to fully sink in. Did he really just ask you that?

Did Sae Itoshi—the Sae Itoshi—just ask you out to dinner?

You stood there, unsure whether you had heard him correctly, your mind racing. Sae, the same guy who had been so indifferent and sharp with you, was now asking you to dinner? The idea felt so out of place, yet somehow, it didn’t seem like a joke.

The silence stretched again, and you wondered if he was waiting for your response.

“Uh, Sae, can I ask why?" you muttered, still reeling from shock.

Sae let out an irritated grumble before responding. "I said it before, didn’t I? You’re the only person who doesn’t go crazy over me. Is it wrong to want some company?" His tone made it clear he was turning this back on you.

"Well, not exactly, no—"

"Then why is it such a problem for you?" he interrupted sharply.

You stood there, staring at him, utterly confused. Why was he blaming you now?

"It’s not a problem," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. "It’s just… surprising, that’s all."

But Sae wasn’t ready to let it go. "Why is it such a shocker?" His agitation was growing more obvious.

"It’s not—actually, never mind," you sighed, feeling the frustration creeping in.

You knew this conversation wasn’t going anywhere, and continuing would only make things worse.

Sae let out a satisfied hum, as if your response had confirmed everything he wanted to hear.

Silence crept back in, heavy and uncomfortable. You shifted your gaze elsewhere, refusing to look at him. Something about meeting his eyes made your stomach swirl uneasily.

It was the opposite for Sae, though. His piercing gaze stayed locked on you, sharp and unrelenting like a hawk stalking its prey. He hadn’t looked away from you once.

"So? Your answer?" Sae’s voice cut through the quiet, calm yet demanding.

You responded quickly, almost too quickly. "Uh, yeah. I can. Sure.

Sae's eyes narrowed slightly. You hadn’t even looked at him when you spoke, and for some reason, that ticked him off.

"Why don’t you look at me when I’m talking to you?" he asked, his voice laced with irritation. It was clear he wasn’t just annoyed—he was genuinely angry.

Wow. What a way to cross boundaries, huh?

Still, he had a point.

Why weren’t you looking at him? Why did your palms feel clammy when he stood so close? Why did your heart race like it was trying to escape your chest? Why were you all fidgety?

It couldn’t possibly mean you liked him.

No, of course not. You were just… nervous. Right?

It had to be nerves. This was the longest time any guy had spoken to you, after all. Most of them usually got what they wanted and left.

Actually, thinking about that now made you feel ridiculous—like you were some kind of attention seeker.

Or maybe it was because you felt so small, so insignificant, under the weight of his gaze. His presence was overwhelming, suffocating—a constant reminder of how much larger than life he was. A big shot. Someone untouchable.

And yet, that only made you feel more pathetic.

But what did you really feel?

Maybe—just maybe—he had grown on you. Maybe you had caught feelings. But was it because he stayed longer than anyone else ever had? That thought alone made you feel queasy. It felt wrong.

Desperate.

Attention seeker.

The words echoed in your mind like a cruel whisper. You hated the sound of it. You didn’t want that to be the truth.

But what if you did like him? What if it wasn’t just nerves, or loneliness, or some desperate grasp at the closest thing to affection?

You’d considered the possibility, of course. You weren’t naïve enough to ignore it. But you refused to let it be true.

You weren’t ready—not for this, not for him, not for the chance of heartbreak all over again.

You’d been through it countless times before. And you weren’t sure you could survive it again.

If that’s how you felt—if you really did like him—but he ended up taking what he wanted and leaving like all the others… would you even be able to pick up the pieces this time?

The thought alone was unbearable, and it crushed any shred of hope you might have clung to.

It dampened your mood, dragging it into a deeper, darker place. You wanted to pull back, retreat while you still could. But it was too late now.

"Did you even hear me? What’s up with you and being deaf?"

His sharp tone cut through your thoughts, snapping you back to the present. The weight of your emotions dulled, if only for a moment, as irritation took their place.

"I'm not deaf," you muttered, your voice dripping with frustration.

"I doubt that," Sae shot back without missing a beat.

Resentment bubbled inside you, but before you could fully process it, Sae’s voice broke through again. "At least you’re looking at me now."

That stopped you cold.

He was right. You were looking at him now.

Your emotions screeched to a halt, forced into submission by the weight of his words. You didn’t even realize when you’d started meeting his gaze, but now there you were, staring back at him.

It felt like standing in the middle of a battlefield, with nowhere left to run.

"That aside, what time should I pick you up?" Sae asked casually, as if the question was of no real importance to him.

Your eyes widened. Right�� you’d agreed to the dinner he offered.

"Uh… anytime in the afternoon is fine," you mumbled, struggling to find your voice.

"5:30 then?" he suggested, his tone as nonchalant as ever.

"Yeah, that should work," you nodded, quickly running through your mental schedule.

"See you on Sunday, then," Sae said abruptly before turning on his heel and walking off, his dismissal clear.

"Yeah… Sunday," you murmured softly, even though you knew he couldn’t hear you. He was already out the door.

The moment he left, you let out an exhausted sigh, your body finally relaxing. You hadn’t even realized how stiff you’d been.

But before you could fully unwind, your phone buzzed in your pocket. With a weary hand, you pulled it out, unsure of what—or who—was waiting for you now.

"Yuko 🤡."

The contact name flashed across your screen, pulling you out of your thoughts. Right—Yuko was supposed to pick you up.

You stared at the screen for a moment before silencing the call, deciding not to answer. There wasn’t much to say anyway, and your head felt too cluttered to hold a conversation right now.

Shoving the phone back into your pocket, you hurried toward the exit. Each step felt heavier than the last, as if the weight of the earlier exchange with Sae was dragging behind you.

You needed air. You needed to think. And maybe—just maybe—a way to stop the relentless pounding in your chest.

_______

As you stepped out of the building, the familiar sound of Yuko’s voice greeted you.

"Why didn’t you answer my call?!" she exclaimed, leaning halfway out the driver’s side window, her dramatic tone impossible to miss.

You rolled your eyes, suppressing a tired smile. "What about it? I’m here now, aren’t I? Be grateful I even saw your call."

Yuko gasped, hand to her chest as if deeply offended. "The audacity!"

You chuckled softly, shaking your head as you opened the car door and slid into the passenger seat. Her over-the-top antics were a welcome distraction from the weight still lingering in your chest.

"Sooo," she began, eyes glinting with curiosity as she waited for the seatbelt to click, "how was the game?"

"It was good," you replied, sinking into the seat as the exhaustion caught up to you. "Better than I expected."

Yuko hummed, pulling onto the road, but her sideways glance told you she wasn’t entirely convinced by your answer.

"Better than you expected, huh? Was it because Sae Itoshi was there?" Yuko teased, her grin wide as she navigated the familiar route to your beloved sanctuary—home.

You groaned, tilting your head against the seat to glare at her. "No, it wasn’t just because he was there," you grumbled, your tone sharp enough to match your annoyance.

"Oh, really? Well, if you say so…" she chuckled, clearly not buying it.

"Believe what you want, Yuko," you huffed, rolling your eyes. You knew she wouldn’t let it go, but you were too drained to argue.

"Okay, okay," she said, feigning surrender before flashing you another sly glance. "So, if it’s not because of Sae—according to you—what made it better than you expected?"

Her words hung in the air for a moment.

You hesitated, staring out the window as you mulled over her question. The truth was painfully obvious: it was mostly because of Sae. But you’d rather bite your tongue than admit that out loud.

Finally, you hummed, masking your thoughts. “The players were really skilled, and the game was super intense. I was honestly very impressed by their amazing footwork.”

Yuko raised an eyebrow, sparing you a glance as she drove. "Mmm-hmm. Sure, it was all about their footwork," she said, her tone dripping with playful disbelief.

You crossed your arms and leaned back, determined to let the conversation end there. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

You weren’t lying about the players’ skill. They really did keep you on the edge of your seat, and the game had been incredible.

"But damn… now you’re making me regret not going," Yuko groaned, dramatically slumping her head onto the steering wheel. Luckily, you were stopped at a red light. "Having more than one job sucks!"

You laughed, unable to help yourself. "It was a fun game," you admitted, watching her over-the-top display.

Yuko sighed heavily, the light turning green as she straightened up and began driving again. "Rub it in why don’t you," she muttered, though her grin betrayed her fake annoyance.

It didn’t take long for the car to fill with her usual nonsense—playful jabs, ridiculous theories, and random observations that seemed to come out of nowhere.

You quarreled the whole way home, with her spouting dumb, shitty jokes and exaggerated stories, while you did your best to tolerate it—barely. Still, there was a comfort in the banter, her chatter distracting you from the quiet heaviness that had lingered after Sae.

By the time you pulled into your driveway, you felt lighter, even if just a little.

…🌺…

Seeing the taillights of her car disappear into the night, you let out a heavy sigh and dropped onto the couch. The weight of the evening pressed down on you as you tossed the apartment keys onto the coffee table. The sharp jingle and dull clack of metal meeting wood cut through the silence, a momentary distraction as you sank deeper into the plush cushions.

Your expression darkened, a frown tugging at the corners of your lips. Why? Why was it always Sae that haunted your thoughts, filling your mind with questions you didn’t want to answer? No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake the lingering echoes of your earlier conversation with him.

The date you’d agreed to—it was just two days away. The thought twisted your stomach into knots. You wanted to back out, to call it off before it began, but the idea of standing someone up felt even worse. Disappointment was something you despised, even more so when you were the one responsible for it.

A frustrated groan escaped your lips as you buried your face in your hands, rubbing at your skin with rough, almost punishing force. Agitation bubbled beneath the surface, a bombardment of emotions you couldn’t quite name. The room felt suffocating, the silence too loud, and yet all you could do was sit there, wrestling with a decision you didn’t know how to make.

You dropped your hands into your lap, staring blankly ahead as your thoughts swirled like a relentless storm, each one louder and more suffocating than the last. The idea of possibly liking him—or worse, getting attached—clawed at your mind. It was a question you couldn’t stop asking yourself, no matter how much you wanted to bury it.

You clung to the hope that it was merely the second option, attachment. Even though you despised both possibilities, the latter felt like the safer bet. Safer, because it didn’t require vulnerability. Safer, because it didn’t come with the promise of heartbreaking pain.

But the thought of giving yourself to someone—as a lover, as a partner—sent a wave of nausea through you. It was too much. The mere idea of trusting someone with the fragile pieces of your heart again was unbearable. You’d rather push them away, let them detach cleanly and painlessly, than risk being left exposed, broken, and abandoned once more.

Hope? No, that was long gone. It had slipped through your fingers like sand, scattering into nothingness long before tonight. You had stopped believing in the gentle caresses and warm embraces of true love. Those things weren’t meant for you. They were for people who hadn’t already been shattered. People who hadn’t spent years picking up pieces they could never fit back together.

You slumped further into the couch, letting the weight of that realization press down on you. The silence wrapped itself around your thoughts, heavy and suffocating, as the void within you grew wider. If love had ever been a possibility, it wasn’t anymore. And you’d made peace with that. Or so you told yourself.

…🌺…

As the hours passed, your anxiety and stress got worse.

You were basically going to have a ‘date’ with Sae in less than 24 hours. And of course with the weight of this realization—it didnt help as Yuko was nagging your ear off as usual.

”Oh come on Y/n, are you even listening to me?”

“Sorry Yuko, what was that?”

You were pulled away from your thoughts as Yuko called you out.

Yuko gave you a slight scowl before returning to her unnecessary speech. However, as soon as she started speaking, your mind subconsciously ignored her words as you began to think about it Sae once more.

It started to become a habit now—thinking about Sae. It was indeed a troublesome habit you’ll admit, but you couldn't help it.

It’s weird. A guy with few words who started showing up at the place you worked at not that long ago—now starting to take such an impactful and heavy toll on you? It was something you could have never predicted.

“And then she thought it was a good idea too—Y/n!” Yuko shouted, grabbing your attention once more.

Your gaze snapped back to Yuko as you were met with an angry look. “Sorry Yuko.” you apologized.

“Are you serious Y/n? Is my story not that entertaining to you?” Yuko spoke as she took a step closer.

“No that's not it all. It's just…somethings been on my mind lately.” you spoke earnestly.

“Spill.” She demanded, not wasting a breath.

You let out a soft chuckle at her antics as you basically gave her a rundown on the encounter with Sae.

_______

“Y-You mean…its an actual DATE?!” Yuko shouted as a very unnatural, wide grin overtook her face.

“Uh I guess..” you sweatdropped, taking a step away from Yuko.

Yuko squealed like a fangirl as she ran up to you, squeezing the life out of you as she gave you her signature hug, pushing your face down to the plush of her breasts.

“Yuko! That's enough…” You mumbled out as she had you caged in.

Yuko reluctantly let you go as she gave you some space.

“Y/n, I told you. WHAT DID I SAY FROM THE BEGGINING! This man is into you! And its Sae Itoshi out of all these men!

“Yuko…its just a friendly date. He's not into me like that…I think.” You spoke with a bit of uncertainty.

“Why are you in denial Y/n?! I have never heard from the media or anywhere of Sae Itoshi inviting a girl he just met not that long ago to dinner just for ‘friendly talk’. I am telling you he's into YOU!” Yuko rambled on, getting some sense into your head.

“Yuko…i think your overlooking this maybe a bit too much,” you mumbled as you tried to drop Yuko’s accusations.

Yuko paused. She slowly turned her head towards you with a deadpan expression. “Are you fucking with me right now?”

“Y/n…are you fucking serious right now?” Yuko spoke with an alarming calm tone.

Yuko took a couple step towards you as she stared you down. An unreadable glint flashed in her eyes as she stood quiet. “If I could Y/n…i would beat you senseless if it means I can finally get this through your head. Its a shame I love you too much to do that.” Yuko finally spoke as she let out a sigh.

“Do I take that as a threat or…” you mumbled, slightly startled by her actions and words.

“Nope!” Yuko chuckled as she stepped away from you. “Ill let you be Y/n. But trust me when I say he’s interested.” Yuko voiced as she looked at you.

“How can you be certain though Yuko?” you spoke.

Yuko smiled at you before she left. Her steps slowly receding as she gave you one last glance before leaving you to do your job. “I know men, Y/n.”

…🌺…

“I'll pick you up. What's your address?"

"It's *****”

"Alright. I'll be there in about 10 minutes."

You set your phone down on the nightstand, releasing a shaky exhale. Even texting Sae was nerve-wracking.

Rising slowly from the couch, you headed into your bedroom to give yourself one last look in the mirror. You didn’t want to seem underdressed—not for a date with Sae. Oh, especially not with the Sae Itoshi.

Dragging your feet across the creaking floorboards, you pushed open the bedroom door. You stopped short in front of the full-length mirror, taking a moment to steel yourself.

You stared at yourself, your own reflection staring back. But the image before you felt foreign, like a mask you no longer recognized. The girl in the mirror seemed whole, unbroken, but you knew better—everything she showed was a lie. Beneath her composed surface was the weight of every heartbreak, every whispered promise that shattered like glass.

You saw your past in her eyes, a pool of anguish and betrayal. Men who touched but never stayed, who spoke of love yet only took what they wanted—leaving nothing but fragments of yourself behind. They had used you, consumed you, and discarded you, their intentions never pure, their affection hollow. You craved love, dreamed of it as something beautiful, but each experience taught you the same painful truth: love wasn’t real. It was an illusion, a cruel trick life played to make you believe in something that didn’t exist.

And yet, as much as you wanted to give up, as much as the mirror whispered that hope was foolish, you couldn’t stop the ache. The craving for love was carved within you. You wanted to be held, cherished, seen—not for what you could offer, but for who you were. But with each passing day, fear groped tighter around your heart. What if love would only break you again? What if the cost of trying was more than you could bear?

You longed for someone to prove you wrong, to show you love wasn’t just a fantasy crafted by movies and books. But even that hope felt dangerous. Could you risk it? Could you open the door to your heart one more time, knowing it could destroy you if it all fell apart again? If someone could rewrite what love means to you, would you let them?

It was odd. Very odd, indeed, that in the midst of such vile and upsetting thoughts, Sae appeared in your mind.

But why?

Why was it him who came to mind?

You’d only known the guy for barely two months. Was that really enough time to feel yourself growing... attached? The thought was confusing—so confusing it made your head spin.

A frown crept across your face. Yes, confusing was the perfect word. It was almost impossible to imagine Sae and love in the same sentence. The word felt foreign and distant, like it belonged to a language you could never hope to understand.

The sudden chime of your doorbell snapped you out of your thoughts. Sae was here. How much time had passed?

You grabbed your belongings in a rush, practically stumbling to the front door. Pausing for a moment, you let out a deep breath, steadying yourself. The nerves were hitting you like a shit ton of bricks, threatening to overwhelm you.

But you could manage. At least, you hoped you could.

You opened the door, and there he was—Sae Itoshi, standing casually yet exuding that air of quiet confidence he always seemed to carry.

Your eyes trailed over his figure, taking in his outfit: a brown blazer layered over a plain white T-shirt and a pair of fitted black pants that somehow managed to look both fitted and effortlessly relaxed.

As you took in his appearance, it seemed he was doing the same to you.

“You actually look decent for once. I was half-expecting your outfit to be as bad as those crappy work uniforms,” Sae remarked, his tone as dry as ever.

Of course. Not a single day passed without at least one of his signature insults.

“Thanks. You don’t look bad yourself,” you muttered, biting back your irritation—a skill you’d honed to near perfection in these past two months.

Sae let out a low hum, a sound that could almost be mistaken for agreement. The corners of his lips tugged upward ever so slightly, a ghost of a smile flickering across his face. “The car’s outside. Let’s go.”

You gave a short nod and stepped out, pausing only to lock the door behind you. The cool night air greeted you as you followed him down the path, nerves still fluttering in your chest but your steps steady enough to keep up.

You followed behind Sae as he led the way to his car, his confident strides making it clear he expected you to keep up. When you reached the sleek vehicle, he headed straight for the driver’s side without so much as a glance in your direction.

What a gentleman.

Suppressing an irritated sigh, you opened the passenger door yourself and slid into the seat. As you settled in, your gaze drifted—unbidden—to Sae. His hands, calloused and veined, gripped the handle firmly as he opened his door. Slim, strong, and steady, they were surprisingly... attractive.

A sudden warmth rushed to your cheeks, and you blinked, snapping yourself out of it.��Really? Were you seriously paying attention to his hands? This wasn’t like you. But, embarrassingly, you could now understand Yuko’s endless rants about the appeal of a man’s hands.

You shook the thought away, pressing your lips into a thin line as Sae slid into the driver’s seat. He shot you a brief glance, his teal eyes sharp, curious, but ultimately uninterested enough to probe further.

“So, uh... you have a destination in mind?” you asked, your voice cutting through the awkward silence.

“Of course. I wouldn’t have invited you if I didn’t have a place in mind, would I?” Sae replied, his tone matter-of-fact as he started the car.

“Yeah...” you mumbled, feeling a little embarrassed by your question. Why was it always so hard to hold a normal conversation with this man?

The drive was quiet at first, the low hum of the engine filling the space. But you couldn’t help noticing Sae glancing at you every so often, his teal eyes flicking toward you before quickly returning to the road. It wasn’t subtle—he was clearly taking in your appearance.

The attention made you squirm slightly in your seat, the silence growing heavier with every glance. Finally, you broke it. “Do I have something on my face or...?”

Sae’s gaze shifted fully to you for a brief moment, his expression calm but entirely unreadable. Caught in the act, it seemed. “No,” he said, his voice as smooth and detached as always. “I’m just... still surprised you managed to look this put together outside of your uniform.”

“Put together?” you repeated, eyebrows raising as you tried to determine whether or not to be offended.

“Yeah. You look good.”

The words landed like a wave out of the blue. Your eyes widened, and an undeniable blush crept across your cheeks.

Sae Itoshi—the Sae Itoshi—just said you looked good.

You opened your mouth, searching for a response, but nothing came out. All you could do was turn your gaze toward the window, attempting to hide the warmth that flooded your cheeks. Meanwhile, Sae returned his attention to the road, his expression as unreadable as ever, as if he hadn’t just sent your heart racing.

Your stomach churned, a confusing mix of queasiness and ecstasy, while your heart hammered relentlessly in your chest. You hated it—and enjoyed it at the same time.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Sae glancing at you through the faint reflection in the window. A quiet chuckle escaped his lips, low and rich, breaking the silence in the car.

The sound sent a shiver down your spine. It was a rare, almost musical laugh that you hadn’t heard from him before.

Your ears perked up instinctively, and before you could stop yourself, you turned to look at him. Sae’s face, usually so composed and indifferent, held the faintest trace of a smile. The corners of his lips curved softly, and even his sharp teal eyes seemed to soften, crinkling ever so slightly with the expression.

His smile—rare and beautiful—was utterly mesmerizing. His smile resembled something of a masterpiece, delicate and breathtaking, like standing before the most sacred painting in a museum. The kind of art that pulls you in, making the world fade around you, leaving only the singular beauty in front of you. The curve of his lips, the gentle crinkle at the corners of his eyes, the faintest hint of warmth softening his usually stoic expression—it all felt impossibly sacred. It was the kind of sight that engraved itself into your memory, refusing to be forgotten.

"You laughed," you whispered, your voice barely above a breath, as if speaking too loudly would shatter the fragile perfection of the moment. Your gaze stayed fixed on him, wide-eyed and awestruck, unable to look away.

His expression shifted, the corners of his mouth faltered yet still tilted upward, though now tinged with faint curiosity at your reaction. You barely noticed. The sight of him like this—so unguarded, so human—had stolen every ounce of your focus, making your chest ache with something you couldn’t put into words.

“Am I not allowed? Why is it such a shock to you that I can smile?” Sae asked, the same soft expression lingering on his face as he spoke.

Your face flushed with embarrassment. “No, that’s not what I meant! It’s just... I’ve never seen you make any expression other than annoyance or indifference,” you said earnestly, your words tumbling out before you could stop them.

Sae tilted his head slightly, as though your statement was absurd. “I’m not some expressionless robot. You do realize that, right?” he replied, his usual sarcasm laced with a surprisingly lighthearted tone.

Before you could open your mouth to defend yourself, his voice cut in again, smooth and unbothered.

“Well, would you look at that—we’re here.”

_______

The restaurant was... nice. No, very nice. The kind of nice that made you sit a little straighter in your chair and second-guess your outfit. Everything from the polished marble floors to the soft glow of chandeliers above screamed luxury. You couldn’t help but feel out of place.

You’d never set foot in a restaurant like this before—linen napkins folded like origami, waiters moving with the precision of dancers. It wasn’t hard to imagine that Sae frequented places like this. He looked perfectly at home, his tailored outfit exuding effortless sophistication. Even his so-called “casual” attire seemed worlds apart from your own, and the subtle glint of jewelry he always wore hinted at an expensive taste you couldn’t begin to comprehend.

"Have you decided what to order yet?" Sae’s calm voice broke through your thoughts. He was still scanning the menu, his expression unreadable as ever.

You glanced back at the glossy menu in your hands, the rows of elegant dish names doing little to help your decision. "No, not really," you admitted, glancing up at him. "Everything looks good. I can’t decide."

Sae set his menu down, his gaze shifting to you with that steady confidence of his. "Then order whatever you find even slightly appetizing," he said, as though it was the simplest solution in the world.

You hesitated, your eyes lingering on him as you wrestled with a pang of guilt. "Are you sure? Is that okay...?" you asked softly, your voice trailing off. The weight of the prices on the menu and the sheer grandeur of the place were making you second-guess everything.

"Y/n, I have more than enough to cover the meal," Sae said, his tone as casual as ever. He leaned back slightly, glancing around the restaurant with an almost bored expression. "I could buy this entire place if I wanted to."

Wow. Nothing quite like Sae's unintentional flexes to remind you just how wide the gap was between your lives. Standing next to him on any given day was enough to make you feel like an unemployed, wandering vagabond.

"Ah, right. I forgot how disgustingly rich you are," you grumbled under your breath, a sigh slipping past your lips as you slouched back into your chair.

He didn’t react, just offered you a faint shrug as if to say, Well, it’s true.

Soon enough, the waiter returned, and you gave your order, still feeling a pang of guilt for indulging in food you weren’t even sure you’d like. But as the thought lingered, you steeled yourself. Actually, no—screw the guilt. If Sae wanted to flaunt his wealth and bring you to a place like this, the least you could do was enjoy it. Think of it as compensation for dealing with his bluntness and lack of tact on a daily basis. Yes, this was your reward.

Still, the moments after the waiter left were... awkward. Sitting across from Sae in silence was like waiting for a storm that may or may not ever hit. The quiet wasn’t necessarily tense, but it wasn’t exactly comfortable either. You debated pulling out your phone but ultimately decided against it. It would feel rude, and you weren’t about to be that person.

To your surprise, Sae broke the silence first.

"So," he began, his voice low but steady, "how was your day?"

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift. "Uh... it was fine, I guess. Nothing exciting," you replied, wondering what had prompted him to initiate small talk.

He nodded, his gaze fixed on you in a way that made it clear he wasn’t just asking out of politeness. "Do you have any pets?" he asked next, his tone still casual but carrying a thread of genuine curiosity.

The question made you pause. This was... new. Sae wasn’t exactly known for his conversational efforts, and yet here he was, actively engaging. You decided to roll with it. "No, I don’t, but I’ve always wanted a dog," you admitted, a small smile tugging at your lips. "What about you? I can’t imagine you having time for a pet."

He shrugged again, the corners of his mouth twitching ever so slightly. "You’re right. Too much effort," he said simply, though there was a faint amusement in his tone.

The conversation had been flowing smoothly, surprisingly so, until Sae’s next question brought it to an abrupt halt.

"Have you dated anyone?" he asked, his voice casual but direct, the weight of his gaze making it impossible to avoid.

Your eyes widened slightly at the unexpected question, and for a moment, you froze. Quickly, you composed yourself, forcing a small, nonchalant smile onto your face. "Yeah, actually. I’ve dated a couple of people," you replied evenly, though your voice carried a faint tension that betrayed you.

Sae’s sharp eyes didn’t miss it. He wasn’t just observant—he was a prodigy at reading between the lines, piecing together the truths people tried to hide. The brief flicker of discomfort that passed over your face before you answered didn’t go unnoticed. He didn’t pry, though. Instead, he filed it away silently, as if respecting a boundary you hadn’t explicitly set.

"Well, what about you?" you asked, seizing the opportunity to shift the focus onto him. Your tone was light, almost teasing, though a part of you was genuinely curious. "Have you dated anyone?"

Sae leaned back in his chair, letting out a quiet hum as if considering how much he wanted to say. "Not really," he began, his tone even. "Just a couple."

You raised an eyebrow, surprised by his candor.

"The girls I dated were... aggravating," he admitted with a sigh, tilting his head back and closing his eyes briefly. His expression was calm, but the faint furrow in his brow suggested lingering annoyance. "They wanted too much. Too clingy, too demanding. I couldn’t stand it."

A small chuckle slipped past your lips, the sound light and unrestrained. "That’s surprising," you said with a laugh, covering your mouth with the back of your hand as if to stifle it.

Sae opened his eyes at your reaction, turning his attention to you. For a moment, he didn’t speak, his gaze steady as it lingered on your face. He studied you—the curve of your smile, the sparkle in your eyes that hadn’t been there a moment ago. Finally, he broke the silence. "How so?"

Your laughter quieted, but a playful smile lingered as you met his gaze. "Well, you don’t exactly look—or act—like the type of guy who indulges in relationships," you admitted, leaning back slightly in your chair.

Sae cocked an eyebrow, his expression unreadable at first. Then, a small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "Really? That’s funny, because at first, you didn’t look like the type of girl to even know what a relationship is," he quipped, the smugness in his tone unmistakable.

You blinked, caught off guard by the remark, before narrowing your eyes at him. "Oh, come on," you muttered, deadpanning as you leaned forward. "That’s so unfair."

He chuckled softly, the sound rare but genuine, and you couldn’t help but feel the tension in your chest ease. "Jokes aside," he said, his smirk fading into something more sincere, "you’re quite the looker. You’re on the attractive side, you know." His tone was casual, but his gaze held steady, focused entirely on you. "I’m not really surprised you’ve been in relationships."

A faint blush spread across your cheeks as his words settled in, leaving you flustered in a way that made your heart race. Sae always had this way of throwing you off balance, his calm yet blunt remarks stirring a confusing mix of emotions. Why did he affect you like this? You glanced away shyly, mumbling, "Thanks, I guess... you’re not bad yourself."

You fiddled with the hem of your shirt beneath the table, trying to focus on anything but the heat rising to your face. But, of course, Sae couldn’t let you off that easily.

"I know I am," he said, his tone dripping with casual arrogance. "My looks are way above average, after all."

You snapped your head up at his words, a small grunt of frustration escaping your lips. Your narrowed gaze locked onto him. "You know," you grumbled, crossing your arms, "I liked it better when you were expressionless."

But even as the words left your mouth, you knew they weren’t true. If anything, you lived for the rare moments when Sae’s stoic mask slipped, revealing hints of his humor, his smugness, or even just his rare smiles.

Sae’s lips twitched slightly, a hint of amusement playing at the corners of his mouth as he shrugged. "Life doesn’t always give you what you want," he remarked, his voice calm and measured but laced with the slightest tease. "Guess you’ll just have to deal with it."

The sheer smugness in his tone made your irritation bubble over, and an exasperated scoff slipped from your lips. You glared at him, but Sae remained unbothered, his smirk now fully formed as he leaned back in his chair.

He was enjoying this—enjoying the way he was getting under your skin, the way he could pull these reactions out of you so easily

After a round of playful—and not-so-playful—bickering, the food finally arrived.

The dishes were plated with such precision and artistry that they looked almost too good to eat. Almost. The aroma wafted up, rich and tantalizing, and your mouth watered instantly. Your excitement was palpable, your gaze flitting from one dish to the next as the waiters carefully placed them on the table. Words failed to describe the sheer joy your taste buds anticipated, and your expression said it all.

Sae glanced up from his plate, his eyes settling on you. A soft chuckle, barely audible, slipped past his lips as he took in the sight of your excitement. It wasn’t loud or mocking—more like a quiet, amused acknowledgment of how endearing you looked. From his perspective, it was as if this was your first real meal. He found himself wanting to memorize the moment, the way your eyes sparkled, your lips curving into an unconscious smile at the sight of the food.

You didn’t waste a second. Grabbing your utensils, you dug in, the first bite sending a wave of satisfaction through you. The flavors were indescribable—rich, balanced, and utterly heavenly. Each morsel seemed to melt in your mouth, and your body visibly relaxed with each bite.

Meanwhile, Sae hadn’t touched his food. He rested his chin on one hand, watching you with a soft, almost imperceptible smirk. He wasn’t sure what was more fascinating—the way you seemed utterly transported by the meal or the unguarded happiness on your face. You were like an open book in this moment, and he found himself… intrigued.

When you finally noticed his lack of movement, you paused mid-bite, narrowing your eyes at him. "What?" you asked, your voice muffled by food but still laced with suspicion.

Sae shook his head slightly, his smirk growing. "Nothing. Just… you really like your food, huh?"

"Of course, I do," you shot back, quickly swallowing so you could defend yourself properly. "It’s amazing! How are you not eating yet?!"

"I was just enjoying the view," he remarked casually, his tone as calm as ever, though his words carried a teasing edge.

Your cheeks flushed, and you glared at him. "Well, stop staring and eat your food before it gets cold," you muttered, your irritation half-hearted.

Sae finally relented, picking up his utensils and diving into his own meal. The two of you ate in companionable silence after that, the earlier tension easing into something more comfortable.

Between bites, your gaze flickered to him, catching the subtle way his posture relaxed, the way he seemed content. Maybe it was the food, or maybe it was the company, but the moment felt… nice. Natural.

And though neither of you said it aloud, the quiet comfort of eating together spoke volumes on its own.

…🌺…

"The food was great. I really enjoyed it," you said as the two of you walked toward his parked car. The evening air was cool, and the soft glow of the streetlights painted everything in a warm, muted hue.

Sae glanced at you, his hands casually tucked into his pockets. "It sure looked like you enjoyed it, considering the way you stuffed your face," he remarked, his tone as deadpan as ever.

Your face instantly flushed a deep red, embarrassment creeping up your neck. "Hey!" you shot back, turning toward him with wide eyes. "You can’t criticize me for that! This was… new to me! I was just… excited, okay?"

The words tumbled out in your attempt to defend yourself, but the more you spoke, the more you realized how ridiculous you sounded. You huffed, crossing your arms as you stole a glance at Sae, waiting for his response.

But he didn’t say anything. Instead, he just looked at you, his expression softening as a warm, genuine smile spread across his face.

It caught you completely off guard.

The embarrassment that had been bubbling inside you vanished almost instantly, replaced by a strange, calming warmth. There was something about the way he smiled—rare and unguarded—that made everything else seem trivial. For a moment, it was just the two of you, standing there in the quiet evening, and all the teasing, awkwardness, and uncertainty faded away.

This whole evening had been… different. Odd, yes, but enjoyable in a way you hadn’t expected.

Sae opened the car door for you, gesturing for you to get in. As you slid into the passenger seat, you found yourself sneaking one last glance at him, his faint smile lingering in your mind.

Maybe this wasn’t just dinner. Maybe it was the start of something more.

_______

"That’s your apartment, right?" Sae asked, pointing toward the familiar building as he brought the car to a stop.

"Yeah," you replied with a nod, unbuckling your seatbelt and stepping out of the car.

To your surprise, Sae stepped out as well, his movements casual as he fell in step behind you. You turned to face him, your brows furrowing in confusion. "What are you doing?"

He met your gaze, hands shoved into his pockets, his tone as calm and nonchalant as ever. "Walking you to your apartment. Isn’t that how you’re supposed to treat a lady?"

You blinked, caught off guard by his unexpected reply. Of all the times for him to act like a gentleman, now was the moment he chose? His words felt both sincere and teasing, leaving you feeling both confused and slightly amused.

Shaking your head, a small laugh escaped your lips. "Whatever," you muttered, rolling your eyes but unable to hide your smile.

The two of you walked up to the building together. As you reached your door, you fished around in your pocket for your key. The sound of metal jingling filled the air as you finally pulled it out and unlocked the door, turning the key with a satisfying click.

Pushing the door open, you stepped inside and turned around, expecting Sae to leave. But he was still there, standing just outside the doorway, his expression unreadable.

The longer he stood there, the more awkward the moment became. You felt a twinge of guilt, unsure if he was waiting for something or simply being polite. After a beat of hesitation, you sighed and pushed the door open wider, gesturing for him to come in.

"You might as well come in," you said, your voice soft but resigned.

Sae raised an eyebrow, as if slightly amused by your reaction, but he didn’t say anything. With a small nod, he stepped inside, his presence instantly filling the space in a way that felt both strange and oddly comforting.

Sae kicked off his shoes at the entrance and stepped further inside, his eyes sweeping over the room. His gaze lingered on the various pieces of decor and furniture, taking everything in with an unreadable expression. One by one, his eyes moved from the small bookshelf in the corner to the slightly mismatched throw pillows on the couch. Finally, he spoke, his voice calm and measured. "So this is your apartment, huh? Cozier than I expected."

You turned your gaze sharply toward him, a familiar irritation bubbling within you. It seemed Sae had an unmatched talent for making even his compliments sound like backhanded remarks. "You always think so little of me, don’t you?" you grumbled, crossing your arms as you watched him continue his casual inspection of your space.

Sae glanced at you briefly, unfazed. "I judge based on what’s shown on the outside," he said with a shrug, his hands still buried in his pockets. His tone was neutral, almost indifferent, but you could sense a hint of teasing beneath it.

Letting out a sigh, you brushed past him and made your way to the couch, the plush cushions welcoming you as you sank into them. You stretched out slightly, the tension in your body melting away as you made yourself comfortable. "Well, I guess that makes you the ultimate judge of character, huh?" you muttered, your voice tinged with sarcasm.

You slouched into the couch, exhaling a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. The day had been long, but the quiet hum of the apartment seemed to melt the tension from your body. You turned your head, and your gaze was immediately captured by Sae's piercing teal eyes, watching you with a calm intensity.

A strange warmth bloomed in your chest, fluttering like an unspoken secret between you. "So," you started, your voice laced with casual curiosity as you fought to push the feeling aside, "why did you willingly step into my apartment? Not exactly your usual scene."

He tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable as always. "Why not? I was bored." Sae's reply was as nonchalant as ever, but the way he strolled over to join you on the couch betrayed a certain comfort in being here. He sank into the cushions beside you, letting out the faintest of sighs, as if your living room had somehow become his sanctuary. "Besides," he added after a beat, "it was pleasant hanging out with you. I wasn’t ready for that to end yet."

His words struck you harder than you cared to admit, and a maddening blush began to creep up your cheeks. You quickly turned your head, a small, nervous laugh escaping your lips as you scrambled to keep your composure. "So, you're saying I'm fun to be around, huh?" you teased lightly, hoping the playfulness would mask the sudden erratic rhythm of your heart.

For a moment, Sae’s face remained impassive, but then a subtle smile curved his lips—rare and fleeting, like a secret he allowed you to glimpse. "More or less," he said, his voice low but tinged with an undeniable warmth.

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything, it felt charged, like the pause before a thunderstorm. You weren’t sure if it was the proximity, the way his knee almost brushed yours, or the way he looked at you as if he could see past every wall you’d carefully built.

"You’re full of surprises, Itoshi," you murmured, leaning back against the couch. The teasing edge in your voice was softer now, replaced by a quiet curiosity you couldn’t quite hide. "Never thought I’d hear you admit to enjoying anyone’s company."

He glanced at you, the corner of his mouth twitching as though considering whether to respond. Then, without warning, he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, his eyes locked onto yours.

"Maybe you’re an exception," he said simply.

The words hung in the air between you, heavy with implications you weren’t sure either of you were ready to unpack. Your heart skipped a beat, and for once, you didn’t have a clever retort.

The faint sound of rain began to patter against the window, filling the silence. You turned your gaze toward it, your mind racing. "Exception, huh?" you finally murmured, trying to sound indifferent, though your voice betrayed the faintest waver.

He didn’t reply immediately, and when you dared to glance back at him, you found him watching you again, his expression softer now. "You don’t have to overthink it," he said, his tone a touch gentler than before. "I just… didn’t feel like being alone today."

Something in his admission made your chest tighten, but instead of pressing him further, you simply nodded. "Well," you said lightly, offering him a small smile, "good thing you’re here, then. I wasn’t planning on being alone either."

The rain continued its rhythmic melody, and as the evening stretched on, the distance between you seemed to shrink, both physically and emotionally. Neither of you said much, but in the quiet company of one another, there was a sense of understanding that didn’t need words.

The two of you sat in a comfortable silence, the hum of the television filling the air. You glanced over at Sae, wondering what was running through his mind. After a moment, you decided to break the quiet.

"So, Sae," you began, your voice trying to sound casual. "Do you want to do anything, or...? I imagine you’re probably getting bored by now."

His eyes met yours, his gaze unwavering. He looked... contemplative, as if he were lost in thought about something important, though he didn’t seem eager to share.

"I’m fine," he mumbled after a long pause, though his words didn't match the slight tension in his expression. It was clear there was something on his mind, something weighing him down, but he wasn’t ready to say what it was.

You nodded, respecting his silence, and leaned back into the couch, glancing out the window. The evening sky was a soft mix of dark colors, but your mind kept drifting back to him. The way his demeanor shifted, how he seemed a little distant.

After a second, you decided to try again, pushing past the silence. "So, tell me about your career," you asked, your voice gentle but curious. "What’s it like—"

Before you could finish, Sae’s hand shot out, and in one swift motion, he grasped your chin, gently but firmly, and tilted your face towards his.

Your breath caught in your throat, and your heart skipped a beat. You were so close, your eyes wide in shock as you stared at him, feeling his breath against your skin. The moment hung between you like a fragile thread. You were frozen, not sure what was happening or what had made him do this.

He stared into your eyes, his gaze flicking briefly to your lips before meeting your eyes once more. Every movement of his felt deliberate, almost like he was studying you, and you couldn’t look away. It was as if the world had paused around the two of you, the silence between you thickening with each passing second.

You felt your heart pounding in your chest, its rapid beat deafening in your ears. It was as though your entire body was on edge, strung taut with anticipation, and yet you couldn’t move. You were frozen, caught in the intensity of the moment.

Sae shifted his grip, his fingers tracing your jawline before he cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing gently beneath your eye. The touch was soft, almost tender.

And that’s when you saw it—love.

You almost flinched at the thought. His eyes were so focused, so soft, as if they were seeing you in a way no one ever had before. There was something vulnerable in the way he looked at you, something raw.

Love?

The word echoed in your mind, heavy and foreign. You hadn’t used that word in so long, not with anyone. And certainly not with him. It was difficult to fathom that someone like Sae—so guarded, so distant—could feel that way, could look at you like this.

The panic started to rise in your chest. If this was what he felt—love—then what did that mean for you? For this? You weren’t sure if you were ready to love again. Not like this, not so suddenly, and not with someone who seemed so far removed from the idea of it.

It felt as though the weight of the world was pressing down on you, immense and overwhelming. Would you let him love you like this? Could you let him?

More importantly, could you let yourself love him?

You weren’t ready. Every thought in your mind screamed for you to pull back, to protect yourself from whatever this was. What if Sae broke you? What if you let yourself fall into this and it all came crashing down, just like before? You didn’t want to be broken again. You didn’t want to be tossed aside, left alone to pick up the pieces of a love that wasn’t real.

It hurt. The weight of your own fears, of what could happen, felt suffocating. You didn’t know what to do, torn between wanting to return his feelings and the fear of what would happen if you did. You wanted so badly to let love consume you, to let him pull you in, but you couldn’t ignore the voice that warned you against it.

What if he was just using you?

You couldn’t risk it. The idea of being hurt again, of losing yourself in someone else only to be discarded, was too much to bear. But still, the desire to let go, to give in, lingered within you like a quiet ache. Were you really this hopeless? Pathetic, even?

Tears threatened to spill as you felt Sae’s palm still resting against your face, his touch a tender reminder of everything you wanted but couldn’t allow yourself to have. You tried to swallow the lump in your throat, but it was no use. The tears slowly began to fall, too overwhelming to hold back.

Sae’s eyes widened in surprise at the sight of you, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, his other hand moved to cup the other side of your face, his touch gentle and careful, as though he was afraid of breaking you, too.

With a softness that took you off guard, Sae wiped away the tears that slipped down your cheeks, his fingers brushing lightly against your skin. You didn’t know what to make of it. It was so different, so unexpected. No one had ever been this gentle, this affectionate with you before, not in the way Sae was. His touch felt like he was holding you together, not pulling you apart.

Sae’s gaze softened as he looked at you, his eyes full of something you couldn’t quite place—gentleness, sincerity, something that made your heart flutter in spite of the walls you had built. "Y/n," he whispered, his voice calm, almost tender. "Please don’t cry."

Quiet tears continued to fall, each one carrying the weight of everything you’d been holding back for so long. His thumb gently traced your reddened cheek, and his face leaned in closer, his presence both soothing and overwhelming. The warmth of his touch felt so different—so real.

"You don’t have to cry," he murmured again, his voice low and soft, carrying an unmistakable sense of care. "Y/n… I don’t know what happened for you to tear up like this, but I promise you… whatever happened in the past, I won’t replicate it." His words were sincere, the kind of promise that, for a brief moment, made the pain inside you seem a little more bearable.

For a split second, you searched his face, desperately trying to find any hint of insincerity, any trace of deception hidden beneath the calmness in his eyes. But there was nothing—nothing that suggested he was lying. His tone was steady, unyielding.

Could you trust him? Could you really let him in?

The vulnerability he was showing, the way he was looking at you, it warmed your heart in a way that felt so foreign. So safe. It was everything you didn’t know you needed, and yet it was right in front of you.

"You promise…?" Your voice was small, shaky, as the uncertainty you’d been carrying for so long finally slipped into your words.

Sae’s eyes softened even more, and he lowered his gaze slightly, as if he could feel the weight of what you were carrying, of the hesitation in your voice. He didn’t speak for a moment, just letting the silence stretch between you two, as if understanding how deep the scars of your past must have been.

Whatever had happened to you, whatever pain you’d endured before—it had clearly left a mark on you. A deep, unhealed wound that made it hard to trust, to let anyone close. Sae understood that, and for the first time, you saw that in his eyes: understanding, not judgment. Compassion, not pity.

"Yes," he finally said, his voice firm but gentle. "I promise."

The sincerity in his words felt like a lifeline, like the first breath of air after being submerged in water for too long. And in that moment, despite the storm of emotions inside you, you allowed yourself to believe him. Maybe you didn’t have all the answers, but you could take this one step.

You could let him in.

(Song recommendation: Im Yours - Isabel LaRosa)

Sae's smile softened at you, a warmth in his gaze that spoke more than his actions ever could. Then, without a word, he leaned in, slowly pressing his lips to yours. The kiss was soft at first, gentle as though testing the waters, but it quickly deepened as his hands moved to the side of your neck, holding you closer, grounding you in the moment.

Your hands instinctively moved to his chest, resting against the firm muscles you could feel even through his clothes. The warmth of his body against yours was intoxicating, and you couldn't help but be drawn further into him.

For a moment, Sae pulled away, just enough to catch his breath, but his eyes never left yours. And then, just as quickly, he recaptured your lips in his, this time more urgent, more insistent.

His tongue gently brushed across your lips, a silent request, and you gasped, heart racing at the intensity of it all. He took that moment to slip his tongue into your mouth, and it was like electricity sparked between you. His tongue moved against yours in a slow, deliberate dance, each movement an invitation to fall deeper into him, into this moment.

Everything else faded away. The world outside, the thoughts racing through your mind—none of it mattered now. All that existed was the heat between you two, the closeness that felt like it had been building for so long.

Sae groaned softly into your mouth, his hand threading gently through your hair, tugging just enough to send a shiver down your spine. There was hesitation in the movement, as though he was aware of the fine line between desire and discomfort, but the tension in his touch made your pulse race.

The gentle tug on your hair pulled you back slightly, causing your lips to break apart for a fleeting moment. But before you could gather your breath, Sae's lips were back on yours, this time with a bit more force, more urgency. The kiss deepened, and the pressure pushed you slightly back onto the couch. Sae didn’t hesitate—he used the shift in position to his advantage, quickly climbing over you, his body covering yours, pinning you gently but firmly to the soft cushions beneath.

His legs shifted, placing themselves outside of yours, trapping you in place with a controlled intensity that made your breath catch. His chest pressed against yours, the warmth of his body melding with yours as you felt his weight settle over you.

After a moment, Sae reluctantly detached his lips from yours, his breath coming shallow and quick. He gazed down at you, his eyes no longer just filled with tenderness or care. There was something new there. Something darker, deeper. Lust.

His voice was soft, almost hesitant, but there was an undeniable edge to it. "Y/n... would you let me?" he murmured, his gaze never leaving yours, his body still hovering over you, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off of him.

A wave of emotion swelled within you, something foreign and stirring. Sae had asked for permission—something none of the others had ever done. Usually, it was a matter of taking what they wanted without a second thought, but not Sae. His consideration, his respect, made you pause. Maybe this was different. Maybe this could be different.

Your heart fluttered, a warm smile spreading across your face as you met his gaze. "Yes, Sae. I will."

Sae’s smile mirrored yours, soft and genuine, before he placed a tender kiss on your cheek—a silent thank you. There was an unspoken understanding between you now, a connection that was more than just physical. It felt like trust, like a promise he was making without words.

He stood, slipping off his blazer with a fluid motion, letting it fall carelessly to the floor. Then, without hesitation, he pulled off his shirt, revealing his toned, muscular chest. The sight made your breath catch. He was... built. Strong, defined—everything about him was a reflection of strength, of control.

Your eyes lingered on his body, taking in every detail. You could feel the heat rise in your cheeks as you tried to focus, your heart racing in your chest.

Sae noticed your reaction, a playful chuckle escaping his lips. His eyes twinkled with amusement, yet there was something more behind his gaze, something deeper.

"Don’t worry," he murmured, his voice low and soothing, yet filled with a hint of confidence. "It’s all yours, Y/n. You’re going to have to get used to it."

Your cheeks burned with a deep blush at his words, but before you could process it fully, his lips were back on yours, pulling you into the kiss with a hunger that matched your own.

As the kiss deepened, your hands instinctively trailed up the firmness of his abs, feeling him shiver beneath your touch. The sensation of his skin under your fingertips made your pulse quicken. Sae groaned into your mouth, his tongue seeking entrance, and this time, you didn’t hesitate—your lips parted, allowing him to deepen the kiss.

It was a kiss that was both aggressive and tender. Sae’s neediness was noticeable, desperate even, but there was a gentleness in his touch, a carefulness that kept the intensity from crossing into something too overwhelming. He was savoring the moment, as if he was afraid of breaking something fragile.

His hand moved to the collar of your shirt, his fingers pausing, hesitating just for a brief second. He broke the kiss, his gaze locking with yours, silently asking for permission.

A soft laugh escaped your lips at the look in his eyes—this was different, this was him. There was no pressure, no rush. Just the quiet, mutual understanding between you two.

You nodded, giving him the confirmation he needed, and without another word, Sae yanked your shirt off in one swift motion, tossing it carelessly to the side.

Now, with both of you half-dressed, skin brushing against skin, the weight of the moment settled around you. Sae’s chest pressed against yours, his heartbeat as erratic as yours. The closeness was dizzying, but it felt right.

You shifted, slowly leaning up as you looked into his eyes, silently acknowledging what was next and what he wanted. Sae's gaze flickered down to you, a silent question in his eyes, asking if you were ready.

You nodded. Sae's hands trembled slightly as he reached behind you to unclasp your bra, the lacy garment falling away to reveal your perfect, plump breasts. His gaze raked over your exposed skin, drinking in every inch of you as he felt a familiar heat building low in his belly.

"Fuck, Y/N..." Sae breathed, his voice rough with desire. "You're so perfect."

He leaned down, his chest pressing against yours as he claimed your mouth in a bruising kiss. It was hungry and desperate, as if you were the only thing keeping him chained to this earth.

One large hand came up to cup your breast, thumbing over your nipple almost earnestly. Although being gentle, there was nothing gentle about the way he wanted to touched you - he wanted to possess you, to mark you as his and his alone.

A low groan escaped your lips at his touch, and Sae's cock twitched eagerly in response. The sound of your pleasure was like music to his ears, spurring him on.

Sae's hands continued their sensual massage of your breasts, thumbs circling your nipples until they pebbled beneath his touch. Each stroke of his fingers sent sparks of pleasure racing through your veins, stoking the fire building between your thighs.

Breaking away from your lips, Sae latched onto the smooth column of your throat, his mouth hot and demanding against your skin. He sucked and nipped, leaving a trail of marks in his wake as he made his way lower.

When he reached your breast, Sae took your nipple into his mouth, tongue swirling around the sensitive bud. He suckled greedily, the wet sound obscenely loud in the quiet room. Your back arched off the couch, a needy moan spilling from your lips.

He pulled off with a lewd pop, smirking up at you with pure, unadulterated lust. But there was something else in his eyes too - a tenderness, an adoration that made your heart skip a beat.

This time, you met his gaze head-on, not looking away. Because despite everything, despite the scars on your soul, you knew you were safe with him. Cherished.

Sae's smile widened as he took in the sight of you - flushed and panting, your body laid bare before him. He had done this, reduced you to a needy, senseless mess with just his hands and mouth.

"Look at you," he purred, fingers dancing along the hem of your pants. "So beautiful like this.”

He glanced up at you, seeking permission even in the heat of the moment. That was Sae - always making sure you were okay, that you wanted this as much as he did.

"Please," you breathed, lifting your hips in silent offering.

Something dark and possessive flashed in Sae's eyes as he slowly unbuttoned your pants, dragging the zipper down with agonizing leisure. He peeled the fabric away, leaving you clad in nothing but panties.

A noticeable dampness revealed your growing arousal, drawing Sae's attention. His breath hitched, his jaw tightening. An irresistible urge surged within him—he needed you.

Sae tossed your panties aside carelessly, leaving you completely exposed and vulnerable beneath his intense gaze. Every inch of your bare skin was on display for him, a feast for his hungry eyes.

Bending lower, he nuzzled into your inner thighs, kissing and licking a path towards your core. You trembled beneath him, hands fisting in the fabric as he inched closer to where you needed him most.

Your body jerked at the contact, instinctively trying to close your legs. But Sae's strong hands on your hips held you open, keeping you spread wide for his ministrations.

"Open for me, Y/N," he commanded, his voice a heady mix of sternness and care.

Obediently, you let your thighs fall open, granting him unrestricted access to your most intimate places. Sae grunted approvingly as he took in the glistening pink of your aroused sex.

Gripping your knees, he pushed your legs back and apart, forcing you into a position of total surrender. The new angle had your entrance on full display.

"So gorgeous, Y/n,” he murmured appreciatively. "And all mine."

Slowly, teasingly, he slid a single finger into your dripping core. Your back arched off the couch as pleasure sparked through you, a needy moan spilling from your lips.

Sae crashed his mouth to yours, swallowing your moans as he fingered you with increasing intensity. Your velvety walls gripped him like a depravity, fluttering and clenching around his plunging fingers.

"You're so tight," he grunted against your lips. “I love it. You’re so good to me Y/n.”

He curled them just right, rubbing mercilessly against that sensitive bundle of nerves deep inside you. Your hips bucked wildly, seeking more of that friction, chasing the pleasure only he could give you.

Sae obliged, plunging his fingers faster, harder, driving into your soaked heat with relentless precision. Lewd squelching noises filled the air as he fucked you with his hand, the vulgar sounds spurring him on.

"That's it, Y/n," he groaned roughly. " ‘m gonna make you feel good.”

He could feel you tightening, your inner muscles starting to flutter and ripple around him. Your moans grew higher, needier, and Sae knew you were close.

Sae's fingers stilled as he felt your walls start to quaver, signaling your impending orgasm. He slowly withdrew his hand, denying you that release.

Your eyes fluttered open, hazy with need and confusion. "Sae? Why did you stop?" you murmured breathlessly.

He smirked down at you, his voice low and commanding. "Not yet, Y/N. I want to feel you come undone on my cock."

With quick movements, Sae unbuckled his belt and shoved his pants down, kicking them off impatiently. He stood before you, clad only in a pair of straining boxer briefs. The sizeable bulge at the front left no doubt as to his arousal.

You sat up slowly, eyes widening as you drank in the sight of his powerful body. Sae's smirk widened at your reaction. He grabbed your hips, pulling you flush against him as he guided your hands to the waistband of his underwear.

"Pull them down for me, Y/N," he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Trembling with anticipation, you hooked your fingers under the elastic and slowly dragged the fabric down.

Your eyes widened as Sae's impressive length sprang free, bobbing mere inches from your face. It was thick and heavy, the bulbous head already glistening with precum. A thrill of excitement mixed with nervousness raced down your spine. Could you really take all of that?

As if sensing your hesitation, Sae cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. "Don't worry, Y/n. You can handle it," he reassured, his voice a low rumble. "I'll start slow, ease you into it.”

He pushed you back onto the couch, his larger body covering yours. You felt trapped beneath him, pinned in place by his solid weight. Sae reached between your bodies, grasping his throbbing cock and giving it a few slow strokes.

Then, with agonizing leisure, he placed the tip against your entrance. You held your breath, every muscle tensing in anticipation. This was really happening.

"Tell me when, Y/N," Sae murmured against your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. "Remember, I'm yours. You're in control here."

He sealed his lips over yours in a long kiss, his tongue delving deep inside. You moaned into his mouth, your hands fisting in his hair as you lost yourself to the sensation.

When he finally pulled back, you were both panting harshly. Sae's eyes bore into yours, dark with desire but also filled with a tender understanding. He would follow your lead, let you set the pace.

All you had to do was say the word.

“Make me feel good, Sae," you breathed against his lips, pulling him in for a quick, heated kiss.

"Of course. Anything for you," he murmured back, a small smirk playing on his lips.

Sae's tip nudged against your entrance, teasing you. You squirmed beneath him, aching to be filled. His large hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as he slowly pressed forward.

"If you need me to pause at any point, just say the word," Sae reassured, his voice low and soothing. "You can tell me anything, and I'll do it. This is all about you, Y/N."

You nodded, trusting him. Then, with a slow, deliberate push, Sae sheathed himself inside you. A low groan rumbled from his chest as your velvety walls stretched to adjust his girth.

He gave you a moment to adjust, peppering kisses along your jaw and neck as he waited patiently. When he started to move, it was with shallow, careful thrusts. Each roll of his hips sent sparks of pleasure shooting through your core.

Sae's breath came in ragged pants as he pounded into you, his brow glistening with sweat. Each thrust drew a groan from his lips, especially when your walls clenched around his throbbing shaft.

"Fuck, Y/N... so tight," he grunted, his pace growing more erratic. "Feels…amazing”.

You could only moan in response, your head thrashing on the fabric of the couch as he hit that perfect spot inside you over and over. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the room.

"S-Sae," you gasped out, wrapping your legs around his waist.

His name coming from your lips made him eager, slamming into you with ease. The new angle had him nailing your G-spot with overwhelming precision, sending bolts of electric pleasure zinging through your nerve endings.

Sae's breath came in harsh, ragged pants as he pounded into you, chasing his rapidly approaching climax. The way your walls clenched around his throbbing shaft, the sting of your nails scratching his back, the breathy cries of his name falling from your lips - it was all driving him wild with lust.

"S-Sae..." you stammered out, your voice high and needy. "I'm so close..."

He could see it in the glazed look of your eyes, feel it in the way your body was starting to tremble and tighten around him. Sae knew he wouldn't last much longer either.

"Me too, Y/n," he grunted, his movements growing sloppy and erratic.

With a final, powerful thrust, he buried himself to the edge, grinding against your G-spot. At the same time, he reached between your bodies to circle your swollen clit with his fingers.

Sae let out a low, satisfied groan as he felt your warm essence dripping down his softening cock. With a final, shallow thrust, he pulled out completely, shooting his load onto your lower abdomen.

Exhausted, he collapsed on top of you, nuzzling his face between your breasts. His arms wrapped around your waist, holding you close as he caught his breath. You both lay there in the afterglow, the only sound the soft panting and huffing filling the room.

No words were spoken for a long moment, the silence comfortable and intimate. You gently ran your fingers through Sae's hair, massaging his scalp soothingly. He let out a contented hum, burrowing further into your embrace.

“Sae..." you murmured softly, breaking the quiet.

"Hm?" he mumbled, his voice slightly muffled by your skin.

You bit your lip, suddenly feeling vulnerable. "Everything you said... did you mean it? About me being yours, and you wanting to take care of me and make me feel good?"

The words tumbled out in a rush, tinged with uncertainty. In the heat of passion, it had all seemed so real, so intense. But now, in the calm aftermath, doubt began to creep in.

Was it just dirty talk, empty promises made in the act of lust? Or had Sae truly meant every word, genuine in his desire to cherish and care for you?

You needed to hear him say it again, unclouded by the haze of sex. You had to know if this was something real, something that could grow into more than just a physical connection.

You held your breath, waiting for his response, your heart fluttering with a mixture of hope and fear.

Sae lifted his head from the plush of your breasts, his teal eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that stole your breath. "I meant every word, Y/N," he murmured, his voice low and earnest. "I'll take care of you, I promise."

A small, shy smile tugged at the corners of your lips, hope blooming in your chest. Sae's hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing tenderly over your cheekbone.

"I like you, Y/N. More than you know. Maybe even love,” he confessed, his gaze never wavering. "These past two months, spending every day with you at the bakery... I've fallen for you. Hard."

He let out a soft chuckle. "To be honest, you're the only reason I keep going there. Just to see you, to be near you, even if it's only for a few minutes."

Your heart swelled at his words, a warm sensation flowing through your entire being. This was everything you'd secretly hoped for, dreamed of, but never dared to believe could be real.

Until now.

Leaning into his touch, you let yourself get lost in the depths of Sae's eyes, seeing the sincerity and affection shining there. In that moment, you knew with absolute certainty what you wanted, what your heart craved.

You wanted this. You wanted him.

The walls you'd built around yourself, the barriers you'd made to keep people out and protect your fragile heart... they crumbled to dust, swept away by the force of your feelings for this incredible man.

Now, it was time to let him in, to entrust him with your heart and let yourself be loved in return. No more holding back, no more running from what you truly desired.

"Sae..." you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion. "I... I think I'm falling for you too. I want this, I want you. I'm ready to let you in.”

You gazed up at Sae, your heart swelling with a love so profound it threatened to burst from your chest. In his warm teal eyes, you saw a reflection of everything you'd ever wanted, everything you'd been searching for all these years.

Comfort. Affection. Devotion. Love.

With Sae, you felt safe, cherished, whole. Like all the broken, jagged pieces of your soul had finally clicked into place, forming a beautiful painting of love and trust.

"Let me be in your life, Y/N," Sae murmured, his voice raw with emotion. "Let me love you, the way you deserve to be loved."

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, overwhelmed by the depth of his words. How had you gotten so lucky, to find someone who saw past your walls, your wounds, straight to the tender heart underneath?

"And I shall let you love me, as I will love you, Sae," you whispered, a radiant smile blooming on your face.

This was everything you'd ever wanted, everything you'd never dared to dream possible. A love that healed, that uplifted, that made you feel invincible.

With Sae by your side, you finally felt complete. Like you'd found your home, your haven, your happily ever after.

"I'm yours," you breathed, reaching up to cup his cheek. "Now and forever."

Sae surged forward, capturing your lips in a searing kiss that poured every ounce of his love, his commitment, into the press of his mouth on yours. You melted into him, losing yourself in the exquisite taste of his devotion.

In that perfect moment, the rest of the world fell away. There was only you, only him, only the infinite love binding your hearts and souls together.

Forever and always.

a/n: omg im so sorry this took so long I didnt expect it to take a while😭

Btw sorry if the ending is rushed and crappy I just wanted to end it since it was getting too long. Plus…he was a bit too ooc for me🙁

I was originally going to make two parts but somehow I didn't so it took longer to post!!! I'm so sorry!!!

I should've made this a wattpad instead…yo wait hold up⁉️ I should make a wattpad‼️

Regardless…SAE IS SO FINE WHAT. He looks so scrumptious in these new bllk episodes😫 (Rin’s better tho. THE BETTER BROTHER!)

Yum😋

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