#and it is a little overwhelming but mostly exciting

[arting-block]

𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 | vi x f!reader

❝maybe it was a good thing that she was angry at caitlyn. then she wouldn’t feel so bad, thinking about fucking you.❞

summary: you've seen vi around as a kid. always at arms length, observing from afar. now she's back, angry and bitter after her stunt with the kiramman heir. you see each other once more. this time as an opponent in the pit. or rather vi and reader fuck each other's lights out.

pairing: pitfighter!vi x pitfighter!reader

warnings: ARCANE S2 ACT 2 SPOILERS, SMUT, angst (unhappy ending whoops), porn with too much plot, depictions of violence, reader has tattoos and scars, afab!reader, mentions of alcohol consumption, unhealthy coping mechanisms, boxing being used as foreplay, switch!vi, switch!reader, slight brat taming, oral (vi receiving), biting kink, spit kink, knife kink (if you squint), light bondage, finger fucking, vi is obsessed with your tongue, you're obsessed with her fingers

words: 10.2K

a/n: i've crawled out of the trenches and spat out a smutty fic for my glorious muscle queen. there's some plot in there, but it's mostly just filler to bring out the tension teehee. if there's demand, i'll make a part two, maybe more ;). post divider credit: @cafekitsune

Your body felt cold as the nerves settled in. 

The crowd’s uproar can be heard above you, wild cheers and screaming that blends into nonsense. The thumping of shoes on the ceiling above you syncs with your wild heart. The announcer is amplifying their excitement, spewing out the bets in place. Two thousand golden hexes and five hundred silver cogs for you—Arachnid. You instinctively reached for your shoulder, where the design of your tattoo was exposed. The skin along your back rises as the cheers for you overwhelm the arena. Investors from Zaun come together for their favorite fighter. Yours keeps you on a tight leash, pushing you into each fight to get more, more, more.  

You adjust the bandages around your knuckles. You twist your body, stretching the aching muscles until you’re loosened up. Occupying your time before the gates to the tunnels lift. Your heart races, pounding against your ribs. You’ve been a pit fighter for a little over two years. Before that you were tumbling through the undercity engaging in street brawls for food. Fighting wasn’t new to you, yet you were bouncing off the walls with anxiety. 

You were in relatively good shape to fight. A few days of rest and some shimmer got you back on your feet from your last fight. Black Hog was a beast up close but you managed to put up a good show. Normally you wouldn’t be put up against someone of a different weight class, but you were desperate for money. You won the fight with a broken rib and bruised face. Your investor, Parvata, had a gleam in her eyes that soured your victory. 

“Seems as though the spider likes big game,” she drawled, taking a long drag of her cigar. “We’ll see how well you fare against Gord’s fighters. I hear he’s got a prodigy in his ranks. A girl, ex-enforcer, I hear.”

Gord was talking up a storm about his fighters, but you had a feeling the feud between Parvata and him went deeper. Your stunt with Black Hog proved to her that you had skill. A chance for her to settle the score. 

Parvata didn’t know much about Gord’s prodigy. You, on the other hand, had an inkling of who she was. 

You can’t exactly say you were friends with Vi growing up. Your parents knew Benzo and in turn knew Vander as well. Vi and her friends were often away, either in Piltover or across Zaun to gods know where. Interactions with her were rare and short-lived; cordial and surface-level. You exchanged names, glances, laughs, but you weren’t friends. You’ve heard whispers over the years. Vi getting arrested and going to Stillwater. A few years later she is barreling down Zaun with the Kiramman heir. Now the whispers are saying she’s back in Zaun permanently. Fighting in pits for low wages and shit beer. 

You crack your neck, feeling the bones pop and shift. Was she still the spitfire kid you’d see running through the slums? Does she still have her choppy hair brushed to one side? You roll your shoulders back, flexing the muscles, feeling them tighten under your damp skin. 

Will she even remember you?

More cheers erupt as the announcer lists off your opponent’s bets. One thousand golden hexes and eight hundred silver cogs. You have a feeling that more money would be added at the split second before the fight begins. You force yourself to take a few breaths. Focus. Focus. 

You hear the familiar blare of an alarm. A sharp, loud sound that cuts all noise. Your heart spikes—the start of the show. The walls start to vibrate with the noise of the crowd. 

The announcer taps his mic, bringing the attention of the people eagerly awaiting 

Metal gears whirr and the bright lights of the area spill into the tunnel. 

“Spinning webs of tangled limbs is her name!” the announcer says. “Speed and lethality is her game! Give it up for Piltover’s all-around champion—Arachnid!”

You step into the area with all the masked confidence you can muster. The sounds of the crowd are deafening. Hundreds of people crammed into their seats, pushing against one another to get a clear view of you. In their hands they wave black tickets with a red spider in the middle. The air is thick with sweat and alcohol. You pull on your bandage again, tightening the wrappings around your hand. Light patches of blood are dotted along your knuckles. 

“And now for the whirlwind that took this pit by surprise…” The crowd is at the edge of their seats, the noise is bordering on ear-splitting. “The Iron Fist of Zaun!” the announcer yells. 

The gates across from you start to lift and you see a shadow approaching the pit. Your breath catches in your throat. 

Haunting. Everything about Vi is so unlike what you imagined that your brows rise. Dark hair dye is messily applied to her usually vibrant pink hair. Smudges of black were smeared across her face like she applied it with her eyes closed. Your eyes can’t help but drift along her exposed neck, collarbone, and arms. Tattoos and bandages scattered across her skin. 

Vi’s step falters. A wave of shock passes her face before a narrow look settles into her features. 

The wide-eyed, toothy grinned girl was gone. Her dark lips curled down, her nose scrunches slightly as she takes apart the view of you. Wherever bandages don’t cover, you see an array of purple bruises and silvery scars along the canvas of her skin. The harsh lighting of the pit cuts her muscles in such a way that makes her look carved from marble. 

Your breath catches in your throat at her heavy, predatory gaze. Bright blue eyes never leave your face. 

DING!

The starting bell shocks you out of your nerves. In an instant your anxiety evaporates and an odd thrill overtakes you. Instinctively you raise your hands near your face, letting your arms and legs feel loose as you get into a fighting stance. Vi’s expression is unreadable as she leisurely walks the perimeter of the arena. Her eyes dip towards your body. She lingers on the spot near your exposed stomach, a jagged scar that disappears under your pants. 

You take the opportunity to attack. Vi mirrors your raised hands, expecting you to hit her head on. Instead, you duck at the last minute, colliding your shin to her knee. 

— — —

The bag of coins is hefty, more so than you’re used to. 

Your finger digs through the gold and silver; one thousand and fifty golden hexes; four hundred and fifty-five silver cogs. More than enough to cover rent and food for the next three months. 

You don’t bother with a jacket to shield yourself from the heavy downpour, opting to skip the festivities and head straight back home. Your usual thirty minute commute is delayed by the aches in your hip and abdomen. If you weren’t so well versed in getting hit, Vi’s punches would’ve been lethal. 

Gord had every right to brag about his fighter's prowess. Vi was by far the deadliest opponent you’d ever faced. The aim of the game is the knockout, not to kill, but you know the refs aren’t going to get between two skilled fighters with a lust for blood in their eyes. You were all teeth and nails, more animal than human in that pit. It was hard to get into Vi’s blind spots and even harder to accurately land any good punches. You were backed into defense for most of the fight. Vi probably hoped to tire you out before delivering the finishing blow. 

You can tell if someone fights because they enjoy it. There’s a crazed look in their eyes as they try to trap you into continually dodging or blocking their assault. You fight for survival, even if you have some love for the game. Fighting is what kept you alive all these years. It pays the bills, keeps a roof over your head, clothes on your back, food on the table... 

Vi is clearly using fighting as an outlet. You were just unfortunate enough to be her punching bag. 

In a maneuver that damn near pulled a muscle in your back, you used the wall for momentum to jump on top of Vi. Your legs wrapped securely over her hardened biceps and your arms locked her head. Your chest pressed against the hard planes of her traps.  You could feel the heavy thud of Vi’s heart. Choking someone out wasn’t as near of a spectacle as Parvata would’ve liked, but you won the fight without a concussion. 

The rain poured harder as your shaky hands fumble for your keys. The fight ended an hour ago. You let out a string of curses as you try to find the correct key you needed. Cold air stiffens your fingers and your exhaustion is starting to take over. Or so you tell yourself. 

Sweat, blood, and alcohol. That was what the pit smelled like. Thick and hanging on your tongue like smog. 

Your fingers finally latched onto the right key, jamming it into the lock and forcing your way inside. 

Vi was a furnace. Her back radiates warmth as if to scorch you alive. The imprint of her arms still aches between your thighs. Like the pit, she too smelled of sweat, blood, and alcohol. Bernie’s Brew, the cheap shit from the bar above the arena. But there was a sweet musk to her skin. More intoxicating than any liquor. 

The speed at which you rip your clothes off makes your already overused muscles burn more. There’s an inexplicable urge to scrub your skin raw, erasing the phantom smells of Vi off of your skin. You let the cold water fall onto your heated skin. 

You wondered if Vi could feel the burn of your core on her lower back. 

— — —

It takes one week for Parvata to start hounding your ass about returning to work. 

Pit fighting wasn’t all that you did, though it made you the most money. In between brutal takedowns you would run errands around Zaun for her. Debt collecting. In the sweaty arena, at least there was glory to be had when fighting. In the damp houses of the undercity where everyone is barely scraping enough money to even live, it sours your mood for the entire day. There’s no glory to forcing a single father to cough up his last few golden hexes. Which wouldn’t even make a dent in his debt to Parvata. The sight used to make you feel guilty. After a few years of it though, you’ve gotten used to the angry yelling, the sob stories, the begging for one more week to get more money. 

When you find yourself back into the pit, it wasn’t Vi you were up against. 

You ignore the pang of disappointment and let yourself run loose. All the tension and frustration from your day was unleashed. One of your better performances. A right hook slammed into your jaw and a knee found its way into your ribs. But you delivered a well-placed kick to the side of their neck. The lanky man with snake tattoos fell to the ground with a satisfying thud. 

DING DING DING

The ring of the bell announces you as the winner. You hear the chant of your name, the howls of laughter as Rondo is dragged off the floor still unconscious. 

Tonight’s crowd is exceptionally packed. Friday nights usually are. The harsh lights above you make the masses of people blur into a single entity. Various warbles of words blending together. You don’t know why you scanned the crowd. You don’t know why your eyes immediately drifted to your right, pulled by an unknown magnetic force. But it does. 

First you see a burly man with his arms crossed. His face is hard and his physique is like a brick; rectangular and sturdy. He’s looking at you in curiosity. 

Then you see the dark outline of Vi. Your skin burns when you realize she’s already staring at you. It’s hard to tell what she’s thinking. She doesn’t seem to be particularly impressed by you. Her hands are in her pockets as she holds your intense gaze. The man next to her leans over and whispers in her ear. Her eyes never leave yours as she replies. Their conversation is muddled by the cramped people around them. 

For a second, the smell of the pit mingles with the memory of you pressed against her. Her strong back flexing beneath you as she tries to buck you off. The wild look in her eyes when she realizes what you were doing. Your heart beats faster, and not because of the adrenaline. 

You break the spell between you, stomping into the tunnel and weaving towards the exit. 

— — —

It carries on for a few weeks. 

You can never tell if Gord is pushing Vi to fight more or if Vi willingly puts herself through hell every other day. The Iron Fist of Zaun is always in rotation, more so than any other fighter. It’s gotten to the point where people are betting how long Vi could remain undefeated. You’d assume that Parvata would try to push you to fight her again, just to win the bets against her. She doesn’t. With it, no good pay. 

You find yourself settled in the crowds instead of in the pit itself. You don’t join in on the cheers or booing. Guy after guy, match after match. A few missed punches, a nice fist to the face, and the sharp ding of Gord’s bell. Just when you think that there will be no more matches for the night, Vi comes slaughtering in view. 

You hate how you immediately perk up, watching how she goes for a punch that knocks a metal jaw off of someone. A single punch. In less than a minute the fight is over and the crowd goes crazy. Vi’s sweaty back faces you. Her entire upper back is exposed and you now have a clearer view of the beautiful tattoo that adorns her skin. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips. A cruel, taunting voice whispers that you wish to trace the wet muscle along the inked skin. Smelling her, tasting her—

You were unprepared for Vi to turn around and hone in on your spot in the crowd. As if she knew you were there, watching her from the shadows. You can’t help but observe the steady rise and fall of her sweaty chest. A bead of sweat making a tantalizing trail down her cheek and dropping between the swell of her breasts. Your mouth dries, suddenly parched. 

Something hot and wanting stirs inside of you. Vi must’ve seen it on your face because her usual scorned face shifts to a teasing smirk. 

A referee motions her towards the tunnels and Vi’s gaze momentarily leaves you. The spotlight is stripped away from you and you feel like you can finally breathe. Your clothes feel too warm—too tight along your body. Her gaze alone is a fire and you want to feel its burn. 

You part the crowd, trying to find the familiar door that leads down to the gate tunnels. 

A rough hand shoots out from behind, yanking you towards the exit. 

— — —

In a strange twist of events, Parvata ends up finding use for you outside of the ring. J’kepie’s bloodied body is dragged into the stale office and Parvata drips off the badge on his jacket. She drags you by the collar and jabs the pin into your leather jacket. Her insignia; a mountain range with a star above it. Head debt collector. 

“Consider this your promotion,” she growls, blowing smoke into your face. “Do well and you’ll get double the pay. Triple if you don’t ask questions” 

You know better than to fight her on this. So you nod. 

— — —

An entire month passes before you find yourself back in the pit. 

Debt collecting—you soon realized—was a misleading title. A glorified mercenary. If that bastard were still alive you would use your mechanical webbing to string him out on the lamppost by his neck. A client paid good money for J’kepie’s services, only to fail miserably. You weren’t allowed a day of rest,  swept up in Parvata’s circle. Caught in the webs of political alliances, drug wars, and hush money payments. After weeks of slaving away, you had finally stomped out the last of the client’s enemies. 

Your reward? Thirty-thousand golden hexes and a weekend off. 

You were at your wits end. The money you earned paled in comparison to the headache of cleaning up J’Kepie’s mess. You were constantly relying on yourself to do the work of over twenty people. You didn’t know how Parvata made it this long with such incompetent drones. At least she always kept true to her word. With the money you have saved up, you were able to buy a bigger home with a working shower. Food isn’t a scarcity anymore and your clothes were brand new.

You don’t know why your mind constantly drifts to the smelly arena tucked in the slums of Zaun. It’s not like you particularly loved fighting. It’s something to keep you occupied. Zaun was a vicious cycle of violence; of dirty tricks and guerilla warfare. In the pit, the only rules were to use your fist, your brain, and nothing else. Your only chance to take control of that cycle and make something out of it. 

Between the long days with blood caking your face, your mind wanders. Not to the thrill of the fight or the satisfaction, but to the angry phantom with piercing blue eyes and a warmth that rivaled the sun. She appears in your dreams with rough hands, calloused from years of fighting. Her fingers dance along any exposed skin; tracing your tattoos with the heavy weight of her tongue. Your back would arch, chasing her touch that she would so readily give you. Hoping that she catches your skin with her teeth, marking, biting—

Morning slips into night and your worn shoes carry you from your (somewhat) cushy apartment to the graffitied building that vibrates with music. Parvata doesn’t accompany you or even mentions for you to continue fighting. Too many loose ends to burn off. With her gone, no substantial money will be placed in your favor.  

You didn’t want the money. You were angry; itching to let off steam. To gather up your frustration and let it boil over the surface until there’s nothing left of you. 

At least that’s what you’re hoping for. 

“Sorry kid, all available fights are booked up.” 

You force an inhale, keeping your voice as even as you can. “C’mon, you know I’m one of Parvata’s. One fight that’s all I ask.” 

The old lady doesn’t lift her eyes from her book. Her eyes drift from one side to the next at a snail’s pace. “I know who you are, kid. Seems like you’re without your owner too. Doesn’t budge the fact that all fights are booked. Can’t you read?” She jerks a thumb to the sign next to her. 

NO SLOTS AVAILABLE

Below the sign was a list of the available matches. Your heart spikes at the words, “Iron Fist” being scribbled in for the first match. Her opponent is none other than Rondo. 

Gears start to turn in your head. 

With a final huff, the old lady tugs a metal string, pulling a sheet of metal over her kiosk. Your nails dig into your wrapped palm, trying to keep yourself from punching the glass. If your fist doesn’t connect to someone’s face soon, you are going to end up in Stillwater by midnight. Not even Pavarta would come save your sorry ass. 

“Fifteen minutes before it’s showtime!” the speakers blare out. 

People have already started to make their way inside through the front entrance. Red tickets in their hands, waving them around excitedly. A recurring color you’d see as you pass by. The sounds of music and cheering can be heard inside, enticing you in. 

You were going to fight whether that old bitch likes it or not.

— — —

Going through the crowd of people was going to shave down the limited time you had. There were multiple entries into the building reserved for staff and VIP members. Fighters typically use the main entrance or go through one of the VIP doors if they’re accompanied by their sponsor. Parvata was away doing gods know what and you didn’t want to fumble through sweaty bodies. The shortest route would be sneaking into the kitchen. 

The lock to the kitchen easily clicked open after a few twists of your hooked pin. Fridays means more people to feed so most of the staff were preoccupied enough to not care about you sliding between them. You breeze past chefs and waiters as you make your way through. A bit far removed from the main event, but you still have ten minutes before it starts. On the other side of the kitchen was a discreet door with small red trim on the bottom. No one looked your way as you opened it. 

The air is considerably colder here. You let muscle memory carry you through the damp corridors until the familiar waiting room comes into view. The door to the room opens and a tall man with snakes coiling his neck steps out. You quickly press against the wall, out of sight. 

A gruff voice calls out to the man: “Will you be back in time? Ten minutes is gonna go by real quick.”

“Just gon’ take a piss,” Rondo grunts, flicking the end of his cigarette to the floor. The door slams shut and he retreats further down the hallway.  

You use the shadows to your advantage, following him like a ghost.

— — —

Vi downs the last half of her beer. The third one today.

Her fifth fight this week. By anyone's standards, that’s too little time to recover. A restless night between each match and shit beer won’t do her any good, but she can’t find it within herself to care. Loris does at least. That’s good enough for both of them. The burn the beer leaves behind gives her the buzz she needs to carry on. Not enough to get her shit-face (not yet at least), but just enough for her body to feel loosened up.

To ease the pain Cait had left behind. Even if it’s only temporary. In the early days, all she could see was the dark blue hair and sharp face of Cait hiding between people. Her face lingered, festering the hurt in her chest until all she could do was sob into her pillows at night. She stopped, only because something else was distracting her. Keeping her afloat in the sea of her grief. 

Another ghost of her past. A hazy memory from bygone days. Where Powder was still her sister; Claggor and Mylo were still pains in her ass; Vander would pour her favorite juice after a successful trip. Sometimes Vi would come home to see you perched up on the bar. Your legs would swing on the stool as you talked to one of her friends. She would mostly see you with Ekko, letting him rattle off your ear until he couldn’t breathe. Rarely would she interact with you, let alone talk to you. She never would’ve admitted to it then, but she was intimidated by you. A pretty, shy girl with a bright smile is enough to make anyone fumble over their words. You were her first crush, for years she was haunted by you. She realized that far too late when your parents had died. You drifted from them. From Ekko, Powder, and her (even if you didn’t know it). You kept in touch with Benzo for a while before he too died. 

Vi wasn’t close enough to know where you’d gone. 

Her fondness for you lingered. During her years in Stillwater she thought of your animated conversations. Short-lived as they were, Vi replayed those talks in her head. Your laugh would tease her in dreams. Your soft hands tracing the scars along her body with love and care. Your kisses would be as sweet as your laugh. By the time Cait had busted her out of that dingy cell, the dreams fizzled out until you were just another memory in her mind. 

Cait was different. While you were just a daydream, Cait was something real to Vi. It wasn’t just a simple crush between the two of them. Not love either, but something different. A trust in each other. Someone to count on when the world turns against them. When the end of her gun slammed into Vi’s abdomen, it felt worse than any punch to her face. Cait took the trust between them, ripped it with her teeth, and spat it out without a second thought. When Cait left Zaun, a piece of Vi went along with her. 

Pit fighting seemed like the only natural outlet for Vi. Why not take the only thing she’s good at and use it to distract herself? It seemed like a good plan at the time. Loris didn’t say much about it, but he knew that she was stubborn enough to follow through with or without him. It worked well enough. Loud music and cheers drowning out the pounding of her heart and the whispers of Cait’s voice. 

But then you appeared across from her. A ghost turned real and tangible. The shy girl who would scream at the sight of any bug had grown up to be a fighter. Outwitting her strength in a way that stole her breath—literally. You were deadly, even as Vi had you cornered with whip-fast punches. When you jumped on her back, compressing her body between your legs, her head at the mercy of your arms, Vi’s anger evaporated. In a mere five minutes you did what no other substance could: make her forget about her heartbreak completely. 

Maybe it was a good thing that she was angry at Caitlyn. Then she wouldn’t feel so bad, thinking about fucking you. 

— — —

Vi enters the pit in sync with the announcer. 

Per routine she automatically starts to rake through the crowd. A mesh of excited faces with their mouths open, screaming her name until their throat grows hoarse. Vi would see your face at every match, watching like a hawk. Your visits grew shorter and shorter. A month ago you stopped coming. Still, Vi grazed over the seats, hoping to see you lingering in the shadows. 

When her eyes fail to see you, her shoulders sag imperceptibly. 

“Get ready for the Piltover Boxing Leagues’ middleweight fighter—Rondo!”. 

Her brain short-circuits when you walk to the arena. The crowd goes wild at your appearance, shouting your name in hopes you would look their way. Instead you held Vi’s shocked gaze. Something is different about you. A look of hunger flashes in your eyes, a determination that was absent when you first fought. Vi forgets about Caitlyn’s betrayal; the feeling of her lips pressed against hers; her toned, lithe body molding against Vi’s torso. 

Vi forgets it all when you stand in front of her. It was forever ago when she had that childhood crush on you. All pure, sweet, and innocent. Something else blooms in her body. Not love, trust, or the fleeting whispers of her old crush on you. A different feeling. A steady heat that slowly overtakes her body. A curiosity that nips at her mind. The urge to pick you apart, analyzing everything that makes you tick. To back you against the wall with nowhere to run. 

Vi’s attention was solely on you. Only you. There’s a spackle of blood across your face and a fading bruise near your temple. She raises her hands near face and you do the same. A charged energy ignites between you two and with it comes a newfound passion. A desire to win. 

DING

Your muscles snap into place as you bolt forward. Vi meets you halfway, sending a hard punch straight to your face. 

— — —

The lights above you strain your eyes. A dull ringing is present in your ears and you feel your body involuntarily swaying to the bass of the music. Vi is not much better. She’s breathing considerably harder now with a fresh bruise on her chest. There’s a noticeable strain in her hip from where you’ve kicked. For the better part of five minutes the two of you were locked into a series of punches, kicks, and scratches. Vi’s body was more rock than flesh. You jabbed every sharp corner of your body into her, slowing her down enough to send your elbow to the side of her head. Vi retreats, putting distance between you two. One of Vi’s hand wrappings came undone thanks to your teeth, leaving her bruised knuckles exposed. 

You circle each other, trying to catch your breath. Vi is terrible at guarding vital parts of her body, but she makes up for it in explosive punches and a speed that rivals your own. Your body is tense, threatening to lock up from exhaustion. You keep your fighting stance, watching Vi’s every move in case she tries to pull another fast combo on you. 

You’re starting to understand why people have a passion for this—the fight. Not just showing off cool moves or delighting in beating someone up just for the sake of it. Not for survival or just as a way to let out all the pent up energy in your body. 

For the first time in your life, you’ve met an opponent who is skilled. In most circumstances you are engaged with people who utilize strength or weapons with little regard to finesse. You stood out to Parvata for your ability to out maneuver, outwit, and overcome opponents who otherwise have the bigger advantage. The thrill that came from a fight would wear off and slowly that high became less and less potent. Each fight felt the same as the last. 

Fighting became a chore, a job to do in order to get money. Pavarta signs and you show up. Dull. Repetitive. Redundant. 

Vi was your perfect antithesis. A break in a mind-numbing routine. Where you attack, she finds a way to block. When you falter she’s hot on your heels. You know she remembers you. You can feel it in the way her gaze keeps falling down your body and back up to your face. Even as you’re trying to knock her teeth in. She doesn’t let her familiarity with you cloud her judgement and you find yourself appreciating it. You’re glad to know that with each punch, she truly means it. 

A blink is all it took for Vi to come swinging once more. You twist out of the way and ram your fist into her side. Vi grunts out, elbowing you in the back. The sharp angle of her joint sends a wave of pain. You fall to the ground, barely catching yourself with weak arms. Vi doesn’t give you time to recover. Her steel-toe boot kicks your side, hard enough to make all the air leave your lungs at once. Pain shoots everywhere. 

With a huff you bring your leg out, swiping her ankle until she’s on the ground with you. It’s a struggle to try to get on top of her. Her mouth in a snarl as she tries to fight you off. 

Much of her intimidation comes with her being on two feet. On the ground, however, she’s flailing. 

You force yourself past her arms and settle your weight on her chest. Vi tries to punch your abdomen but you redirect her punch. Your nails dig into the wrapping and undo it. When her other hand tries to land a hit, you take the loose end of her wrapping and bind her wrists together; caught in a web of your doing. You slam her bound arms above her head onto the concrete. The sound is so crisp that the ringing in your ears cease. 

Vi is full-on thrashing beneath you. She jerks and writhes, desperately trying to buck you off of her. It doesn’t work, of course. You lean closer, taking in the messy makeup, the silver nose ring, the small scars across her face. She’s surprised, her mouth parts to let out frustrated huffs. Her once soft blue eyes are overtaken by her dilated pupils.

She stops shifting beneath you and it’s then that you realize that you’re fully seated on top of her breasts. Your core is settled on top of her sternum, the wild pulse no doubt could be felt by her. The heat is all consuming. A sickening shock goes down your spine and with it comes the familiar ache of arousal. Vi’s gaze is no longer surprised or panicked. Hunger is written as clear as day in her darkened eyes. 

The referee runs beside you, slamming his hand on the ground. Once. Twice. 

The final slam declares you the victor. 

DING DING DING

— — —

Vi is no stranger to being roughly handled. Seven years in prison didn’t exactly go by smoothly. Hell, these past few weeks were filled with nothing but split knuckles and a mind-numbing headache. You were all coiled muscle and snapping teeth in the ring. Vi was wholeheartedly expecting to be dragged off to an empty room and be devoured by you.

But you continue to give her more surprises. 

“Let's get you cleaned up,” you say, leading her out of the building. A soft invitation that was so unlike your behavior when fighting. It’s the first time in years since she’s heard you speak. Directly at her, no less. Vi’s brows draw into a furrow and your lips tilt to a smile. “It’s a bit of a walk, but I know your place doesn’t have good heating.” 

The adrenaline from the fight starts to dissipate, and so does the innate want in her body. She can think clearly now.

Vi stops in her tracks, glaring. “Stalkin’ me much?”

“I’ve been fighting in that pit longer than you, Vi.” Her heart flutters with the mention of her name. You continue walking, kicking rocks out of your way. “It doesn’t exactly pay you much. I had two jobs and could barely keep the water running. Plus, you don’t seem to wash out that makeup.”

“I do.” She doesn’t. You give her a smirk to let her know that you see through her bullshit. You tug on her naked wrist. Warm and tender, like she’s a piece of glass. She lets you. 

You greatly understated how much walking there was to your place. Vi doesn’t complain in the slightest, especially if it means talking to you for longer. Occasionally you would point out a new restaurant that opened or a brothel that many Piltover elites would favor. You’re easy to talk to, she concludes. Sometime during the walk, your hands joined together. Wound tightly, swaying in tandem with your steps. She doesn’t deny that you’re an entirely different person, but there’s part of the old you that remains. You’re still talkative. A trait that Vi often finds annoying, but with you it falls under the category of endearing. Your smiles light up your face, as small as they are. 

Your apartment is better than Vi had pictured in her head. Spacious with high windows and modest furniture. It’s cozy, intimate. More so than when Vi entered Caitlyn’s home. In Piltover, Vi is painfully aware that she doesn’t belong. Everything bad in her life traces back to the gilded city with gleaming white buildings and blue skies. No matter how much money you seem to make (which Vi guesses is a lot more than you make it out to be), you’re a Zaunite through and through. 

Maybe the three mile hike through the Lanes was worth it, Vi thinks wryly.  

The lock to your door clicks shut and Vi is fully aware that she’s alone with you. 

You lean against the wall, kicking off your shoes. The perpetual twilight of Zaun makes your body glow. You peel off the jacket with that shiny gold badge, revealing your bruised body. Your tank top is tight along your chest, emphasizing your body in a way that makes Vi’s face darken. Her fingers curl inside of the pockets of her jacket, itching to touch you. 

“Something the matter?” you ask. A genuine question seeing as how Vi’s face is pinched, focused on you. The darkness of the room makes her look angry. 

Before you can open your mouth again, Vi crosses the room until she’s all that you see. Her hands, rough and calloused like you imagined, find the hem of your top. Your breath is caught in your throat, your body jolting at the contact. Her thumb gently follows the skin along your hip bone—the jagged scar that caught her attention all those weeks ago. You feel her trace imprint of your scar, her thumb teasing the edge of your pants where it continues. 

“Been wonderin’ how far this goes,” she murmurs. She flickers up at your face, hesitating just a bit. Waiting for your permission. 

Your face is warm and your smile is full of teeth. “Why don’t you fuck me to find out?” you challenge. 

Vi wastes no time in slotting your bodies together. Your response is immediate. Your hands slide up her abs, trailing upwards until they knot in her dark hair. Vi groans into you, and you take the opportunity to slide your tongue into her mouth. The sound she emits makes your spine tingle. Vi’s warmth is all consuming. Her hands are everywhere—your hips, the small of your back, your ass—mapping out your body’s topography with her eyes closed. She’s eager to have you close, to feel you, claim you. 

A bit too eager with the way she’s pressing against your lips so hard that you think they’ll bruise. But with the way she’s groping your ass you don’t even have the will to care. 

The leather jacket around Vi’s shoulders is pushed away by your hands. Using Vi’s hair as a leash, you tug her head back, forcing her to reveal her neck to you. You latch onto the soft patch of skin just below her jaw. Vi keens, gripping onto your hips like a vice. 

Her skin is still tacky with sweat. The salt dissolves with your open mouth kisses. Your teeth gently nip the hollow of her throat until the vessels beneath her skin breath. A mark; ownership. Vi jolts when she feels your tongue, hot and needy, drag along the column of her neck. If it wasn’t for your tight grip onto her, Vi is certain that her knees would’ve given out right then and there. 

You jerk her back, harder this time. Vi releases her hold on you. Her eyes are glazed over, her eyes dilated once again. You hook a finger onto a loop in her pants and drag her deeper into your apartment. Vi stumbles, trying her best to get her shaky legs to move faster. You barely felt her up and already she’s been reduced to a horny mess. 

Vi is far from inexperienced. She had a rotation of girls in her prison block vying for her attention, begging for a quick fuck in a supply closet or in the showers. She’s no stranger to being touched, to have a tongue slide into her mouth, or being groped. She doesn’t understand why it feels different when it comes to you. Why is she buzzing with excitement when the door to your room squeaks open? Why does her heart skip a beat when you shove her onto your bed? Why the fuck does she let out a pathetic whine when you lift up your tank top, revealing your bare chest to her? 

You crawl on top of her to kiss her again. It’s slower, precise, but equally as firm. Vi knows she’s strong enough to tug you closer, but the way your tongue keeps sliding against her own makes her head foggy. When you pull away, an obvious trail of spit connects you two. With a single hand you pop open the button on her jeans. Cold anticipation fills her. 

“Wanna take my time with you,” you say against her swollen lips. There’s a raw edge to your voice that lets Vi know that you’re desperate for her too. 

A glint of metal catches Vi’s eyes as you pull out a small knife from your pants. With the precision of a surgeon, you slice open the bandages that cover her chest. The muscles of her abdomen flex when your knife cuts a touch too close to her skin. The layers of wrappings fall open like a flower in bloom, revealing her bare torso to you. 

You kiss along her neck once more. Your lips carve a path down to the middle of her sternum. Wet, sloppy, occasionally accompanied by the glide of your tongue. Vi’s hips involuntarily jerk upwards, trying to alleviate the ache of her core. 

“You’re such a—ah—fucking tease,” she huffs. 

You hum against the underside of her breast. “So impatient,” you chide with a gentle nip of her skin. “Not unlike your fighting style.” 

All words of protest die in Vi’s throat when you take a nipple into your mouth. You swirl your tongue around the sensitive bud, watching Vi arch into you. You can’t help but grin at her disheveled state. You palm her other breast, twisting the hardening nipple with your fingers. One of Vi’s hands flies to her mouth, trying to silence the higher pitched gasps and moans. 

You pinch her nipple a little harder. “Cover your mouth again and I’ll stop.”

“It’s embarrassing,” she whines. 

You cup her clothed pussy, digging your hand harshly against the crest of her slit. The moan that escapes Vi is music to your ears. “I’m trying to be nice Vi. I want to hear every noise you make.” You punctuate your words with another roll of your hand. “Can you do that for me baby?”

A few more slides of your hand and Vi gives a weak nod of affirmation. Satisfied, you continue your trail down her torso. You’re a drug. You must be. Your lips alone are undoing her, fanning the flames of her desire in a way that no one else could. With every tender bruise, your tongue gently prods it with a cruel grin. Vi keeps her hands fisted in your sheets, trying to please your demands of hearing her. She’s not used to receiving; being at the mercy of someone during sex. It’s as foreign of a concept to her as living her life in Piltover with an ivory tower and silk clothes. She’s not used to being beaten in a game she’s good at, especially not to the same person. Not with fighting and certainly not through sex. But you managed to do it anyway. 

You’re an enigma to her. Opposite to her in such a way that leaves her aching. Oil and water, yet you find a way to compliment her. Separated by time, but equal when together. Her match in a ring, and her match in bed it seems. 

Vi lifts herself on her forearms, watching you with rapt attention when your mouth leaves her body. You move to her feet, undoing the tight laces of her boots and tossing them onto the floor. Once her other shoe hits the ground with a loud thud, you’ve finally reached the faint trail of hair under her belly button with a soft kiss. Your teeth catch the fly of her zipper and pull it down. The sharp sound made her heart pound faster. You tug onto her pants and underwear, Vi lifting her hips to help you slide them off her body. 

Cold air hits her cunt and she sucks in a breath. Your lips part in awe, seeing the proof of her desire leaking out of her entrance. You settle between her legs, placing your hand on the corded muscle of her thighs to keep her spread for you. You watch her opening clench around nothing, practically begging you to put your mouth on it. Apparently, you were staring a second too long. 

“You gonna watch or are you gonna fuck me?” Vi snaps, already fed up with your prolonged teasing. Her cheeks are flushed as her eyes challenge yours. “Don’t tell me you forgot how to eat pussy.”

Vi grins at your displeased face, happy to see your assured confidence crack just a little. 

You give her a sharp glare, but that only seems to stir a spark of rebellion against your cruel tyranny. You certainly can’t have that. 

So you press your thumb against her puffy clit and watch as her jaw goes slack. 

“Could you repeat that?” you ask with mock innocence. You let your thumb gather some of her slick and gently rub her crest. A wordless gasp leaves Vi as you continue your slow ministrations. “Something the matter, Vi? Spider got your tongue?” Your thumb is pressing against her harder, almost to the point of pain. You shake your head with faux sympathy, clicking your tongue. “Poor thing’s been neglected. I barely touched you and you’re already ruining my sheets. Maybe I should leave you here so I can prevent a mess.” 

A strained noise of protest escapes from Vi. Too caught up in pleasure to see past your obvious bluff.  “Don’t you dare…f-fuck! Don’t you dare stop—shit.”  

“You’re not in the position to be making demands,” you state, emphasized with a light pinch of her clit. Vi bucks her hips into your hand, trying to get as much friction out of you. 

“‘M sorry…won’t do it again—ah—promise!” 

As much as you want to prolong her suffering, you’re too selfish to deprive yourself of good pussy just to prove a point. Next time, you think to yourself. If there will be a next time. You push down that thought, focusing on the growing slick accumulating in your palm. Vi whines when your hand leaves, but quickly swallows any scathing words when she feels your tongue drag along her slit. Kitten licks and kisses along her pussy makes Vi more desperate. But it’s not enough to release the pressure in her core. You continue to tease her even as she’s starting to grow frustrated. You would prod her tight entrance with your tongue, only to retreat a few seconds later. You watch with a grin at Vi’s mounting frustrations, wanting to test her patience with you. 

When you latch onto her clit, sucking it gently, Vi damn near sobs in relief. 

You’re a god. That’s the only explanation. Your saliva holds a magical elixir that sends her nerves ablaze and makes her mind go blank. If this was a ploy to get her to join your cult, she’ll be attending mass every day of the damn week just to experience your mouth on her cunt, no questions asked. Your firm hold on her thighs keeps her from crushing your skull between them. In a few minutes she’s already starting to shake. 

When you add a finger to the mix, Vi is making sounds she never thought capable of. It takes a few tries to find the right spot, but when you do, you’re merciless. Your finger and mouth working in sync to bring her to the height of her pleasure. The pressure between Vi’s legs threatens to snap. Her body winding tighter, tighter, tighter—

Vi chants your name like a prayer. Broken wails that plead for your grace; to give her sweet relief to the pain you had also caused her. “Please, please, please! I can’t…fuck, I need to cum! Please—”

Who are you to deny a beautiful woman’s cries? You add in a second finger, never faltering in your brutal assault. Vi’s pussy clamps down on your fingers—the only warning of her impending descent. 

The pressure explodes outwards. Energy ripples through her body in powerful waves until she’s left shivering. Vi’s back arches off the bed as she cries out your name, her eyes rolling to the back of her skull. Her strong legs wrapping around your head, suffocating you with her body and essence. Cum gushes onto your face and fingers as you continue to fuck her through her orgasm. Only when she parts her legs and starts to jerk her hips away do you stop.

Vi is left shaky, her chest struggling to inhale deeply. Still, she hauls you from her legs and pulls you in for a kiss. She lets out a groan at the taste of her sex on your lips. 

You give her one more peck before pulling away slightly. “Forgotten how to eat pussy, huh?”

The look in Vi’s eyes tells you that she doesn’t regret it one bit. “Worth it to have you prove it to me.” 

“You’re a brat, you know that?” you say, exasperated. 

Vi grabs hold of your waist and rolls you on your back. She doesn’t bother teasing you with nips and open mouth kisses along your body. You were right to call her impatient as she fumbles with your belt. There’s a fire behind those blue eyes of hers, a look of ambition and cunning.  

Before you could question her motives, Vi grabs both of your wrists and mounts on top of you. You feel the clink of your belt as Vi wraps them around your wrists, tying them to your metal headboard. In the span of a few seconds, she manages to secure you to your bed, completely at her mercy. Her slick core rubs against your stomach as you helplessly pull against your restraints. 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” you ask. 

Vi’s hand travels appreciatively down your chest, stopping you giving your breasts a squeeze. “Repaying the favor.” She wears the same look as she does in the ring. Halfway between a glare and a look of curiosity. 

Vi shifts off of you, relieving your body of her weight. Instead she settles between your legs, much like how you did before. 

You tilt your chin out, glaring up at her. “You think that you’re in charge now just because you restrained me?” 

“I do, actually.”

You’d be lying if you said you don’t find it incredibly hot to be at the complete mercy of someone like Vi. Still, you hoped to have your streak of conquering Vi to be undefeated, at least for the night. Vi is too busy tracing her fingers along your body, mentally counting all the scars she could see on your body. You try to not let it show that her seeking fingers have an effect on you, however your traitorous skin erupts in goosebumps wherever her finger travels. Vi takes her time visually appreciating her body. She enjoys the feeling of warm flesh beneath her fingers, the subtle shivers whenever she finds a particularly sore spot. 

“So beautiful,” she whispers, almost to herself. “Been wanting this for so long.”

A shallow chuckle escapes you. “Since you saw me in the pit?”

You whimper softly when she kneads the soft mounds of your breasts.  Her brows furrow and her movements falter for a moment. 

“Before that,” she corrects, in a serious tone that shocks you. 

It takes a moment for the implication of her admission to hit you. You almost laughed at the ridiculous notion. You wanted nothing more than to be friends with Vi as kids. But any advance was met with hesitation. She would constantly avoid any prolonged interaction with you. You tried not to take it to heart; she always had a lot on her plate. You assumed she didn’t think you were cool and you’ve learned to make peace with that. Even if Powder constantly assured you that Vi didn't actually hate you…

Oh.

“I just…I thought that…y'know.” 

“Y’know what?” Vi asks. 

You force a steady inhale. “I thought that you didn’t want to be friends with me. I grew up thinking you secretly hated me.” Suddenly the immediate chemistry between you two in the ring starts to make sense. “Why didn’t you say anything sooner? When I saw you again I thought that you wouldn’t remember—”

Vi shuts up your rambling with a kiss. A dizzying, passionate kiss that steals what little air you have left in your lungs. You wrap your legs around Vi’s hips, bringing her closer. She lets you press your pelvises together, groaning in your mouth when you start to move. Her hips move in sync with yours, grinding against your heated core with fervor. 

Vi breaks the kiss but doesn’t stop the movement of her hips. “I thought about you every night since our first fight.” You let out sharp gasps when her hands return to your chest. “When I saw you in the stands, I wanted to drag you to the bathrooms and fuck you against the sink” Her hands finds your hips and presses you down to her pubic bone, hard enough to make you arch into her with a whine. “Let me have you. Even if it’s just for tonight.”

“Do it,” you say, your voice growing hoarse, “take me. I’ll be yours.”

There’s the unspoken meaning behind that declaration. A line that separates you two, once crossed it can have the power to destroy you from the inside out. You don’t seem to realize the weight of what you’re saying. Vi knows her mind is still conflicted on Caitlyn. She can’t bring herself to commit to hating her, but she can’t deny the toll it’s taken on her mind. Poisoning her. With you, the pain recedes, forgotten and pushed away. A distraction. A damn good one. 

When Vi kisses you again, she remembers all of the reasons why she was so drawn to you. You were more than just a pretty girl that she admired from afar. Her antithesis. Should she accept your invitation, wholeheartedly, you will have the power to be a weapon of her undoing. Vi should be scared of that. Not too long ago she poured her heart and bled for someone who ultimately discarded her. 

But then you moan out Vi’s name—breathy and desperate. A longing to rewrite your shared past between each kiss. A call to action. To finally answer one of Vi’s biggest what if? 

Vi runs past that separation between you two. Just for tonight, she promises weakly. 

In her haste to get your pants off your body, she snaps the button of your jeans and yanks the garment off along with your soaked panties. Her fingers run along your slit, teasing your entrance with the pad of her finger. 

“Please!”

Vi slides her middle finger down to the knuckle, curving ever so slightly. You jerk into her hand and Vi knows she’s found your weakest point. It’s like her fingers were made your pussy. She gives an experimental press of her finger, slowly building up a steady pace. Your tough demeanor chipping away bit by bit with each drag of her finger. 

You’re panting heavily. The squelching sound of your wet cunt fills the space between your bodies. Vi sets a moderate pace, enough to elicit moans, but not enough to satisfy. Vi must’ve seen the look on your face. 

“Let me take care of you, baby.” Her hand moves a touch faster, but you’re so wound up that any difference makes you cry out. “That’s it—that’s my girl.”

 A steady ache builds in your core at the name. You pull needlessly against the tight restraints, hoping that one more tug would be enough to free your hands. You want to touch her, to bring her closer to you bodies and fuck you properly. 

Vi laughs at your struggle. “Too much for you? Should I slow down?”

You shake your head vehemently. “More…give—fuck, give me more Vi. Need you…need more of you!”

The moment you feel her lips on yours, you also feel the addition of another finger deep in your cunt. The effect is immediate. Vi could barely kiss you with how loudly you’re moaning; jaw hung open, head thrown back, and your hips furiously meeting her fingers. She grabs your open jaw and forces you to look at her. Vi’s spit hits the back of your throat. When she sees you swallow—mouth closing and throat squeezing—she lets out a string of curses. 

A third finger makes your eyes roll to the back of your skull. Your thighs seize up and your chest tightens. You’re so, so close. You need something more. Just one more push and you’ll fall off the edge. 

As if Vi could read your mind, her hand leaves your face, pressing below your belly button, right where her fingers meet the spot inside of you that makes you see stars. The pressure from her other hand combined with her feverish fucking was enough make you cum—hard. Your body twists in on itself, trying to ride out the pulses of pure feeling. Blinding pleasure rips through your body like lightning, hitting you fast and leaving behind a burn. Your cum rushes out of you like a dam, coating Vi’s fingers. 

“That’s it baby. You’re taking me so well. My good girl,” Vi coos, slowing down in her assault against your cunt. 

It takes a minute to come down from your euphoria. Your body slowly relaxes as Vi eases her fingers out of you. You can’t help but whine at the loss. 

In an executive act of mercy, Vi tugs at the belt restraint, freeing your sore wrists. 

You feel warm. A hot, pulsating nerve that’s been rubbed raw. Never in your life had sex ever been that good. You don’t even think you’re even capable of making yourself cum that hard. Vi collapses beside you, pulling you to her chest. You breathe in the scent of her; sweat, musk, and faint traces of leather. 

“We’ll shower tomorrow,” she mumbles into the side of your head. Exhausted. 

You feel the lull of sleep start to take you too. You bury your face into her neck, letting yourself trace patterns along the muscles of her back. Her strong arms wrap around your body, caging you with her warmth. Her soft, bruised, scarred skin enveloping you. You lay like this for a while, listening to the slow staccato of her heartbeat. Vi’s breath evens out and soon she’s asleep in your arms. It doesn’t take long for you to fall asleep as well. 

— — —

At some point during the night, Vi twists away from you. You only notice when her voice starts to pull you awake. 

“Didn’t…didn’t mean to,” she whispers. Her face is scrunched up, pained. 

You’re unsure what the protocol is for someone having a bad dream. You want to smooth your thumb over her pinched brows, kissing her frown until her imaginary worries go away. But if Vi wakes up, would she talk about it? You’re paralyzed by the decision, you opt to simply stay on your side of the bed. If it gets too much then you’ll wake her. In the meantime, you’ll try to ignore her sleep talking. You only have the weekend off after all. Soon, Parvata will be knocking on your door, demanding for your services. The thought alone makes you exhausted. 

The bed shifts again and this time Vi’s arms find you. This time, your back is pressed against her chest, her lips ghosting over the top of your shoulder. 

“Sorry…” she murmurs into your skin. A longing spelled with each syllable. “Love…I love you.”

You’re frozen. Her arms around your waist feel like dead weight. A sour feeling is felt in your gut; the feeling that whatever comes out of her mouth will haunt you. 

Vi’s mouth moves again. Sounds pressed against your skin, trying to be let out. Then, you hear it. As clear as Piltover’s skies.

“Caitlyn.”

You felt your heart stop in its tracks. It’s the clearest word that came out of her ramblings. With it comes a shock of clarity that makes the room feel ten degrees colder. Caitlyn…why does that name seem familiar?

Kiramman. Caitlyn Kiramman. Vi’s supposed enforcer buddy before she would up in the pits. Responsible for the removal of one of the chem-barons and their followers. Not much is known about what exactly went wrong to have Vi end up back in Zaun. But one thing was clear. 

Vi was using you. To distract herself from the Kiramman heir. It wasn’t a desire to reconnect with you that led her to follow you. Seems as though sex was a better option than shitty liquor. You feel Vi nuzzle against your skin and you fight the urge to recoil from her touch. It’s not like you’ve staked your claim to her. She wasn’t your girlfriend. You didn’t establish any boundaries or attach any labels to what you were. She never accepted your invitation after all—”I’ll be yours”. 

You slowly maneuver your body until you’re facing Vi. She’s still sound asleep. The hard crease in the middle of her brows is gone, looking  more relaxed than you’ve seen her. You shouldn’t feel jealous. Vi isn’t your partner. And now you have confirmation that she most likely never will be. 

So you cling onto her. Pretending that just for tonight, she’s actually yours. 

[sensorydephrivation]

okay it’s been a few days and I think I have cooled down enough to make a post about my experience at tit! The actual review is still forthcoming mostly because I have too much to do and can’t really justify spending time on it rn but it’ll be done at some point. Gonna put the rest of this under a cut for length, there aren’t any spoilers or anything.

First thing, obviously I had a ton of fun! The show was incredible and it was equally incredible to get to meet other phannies irl and everyone who talks about the community at tit is 100% right, it really is a feeling I’ve had nowhere else. It doesn’t really surprise me that “people from an almost identical demographic group with a very specific common interest” is an audience that would make someone feel safe lol, but I do think there is something about phannies that makes this event so special and magical in a kind of hard to articulate way.

When I first got to the venue, I completely by coincidence ran into @fromemotoangel @lizardsmp3 and @laddersmp3 in the line which was very exciting and I felt like I was meeting celebrities lol. You guys were super great and I loved getting to hang out with you! We traded bracelets and chatted until we got inside the venue.

Once I got in I was like, immediately overwhelmed. I had planned on getting in the merch line right away because I was worried the photocards would sell out, but the person scanning tickets told me which direction my seat was and I just immediately headed that way. Honestly I kinda felt like everyone else there knew what they were doing and I didn’t, which obviously wasn’t true, but the fact that everyone I ended up talking to that night had been to other shows while this was my only one didn’t really help. Just as we got inside, the pre show started (after apparently a long delay), and I was surprised to hear dnp’s voices through the walls. Honestly it was like a siren song drawing me to the balcony where there were no doors and I could sort of hear the pre show. It wasn’t until I saw the merch line going all the way up the stairs that I remembered I had meant to be getting merch, lol.

Photocards were far from sold out thankfully and I ended up in a big trading circle with everyone which was super fun! While I was in line I also met @yonpote who gave me a cute drawing and a VIP bracelet. I wish we had gotten to talk more, you’re super cool!

Final photocards after several rounds of trading:

Then my friend and I found our seats for the show. I was worried we’d have a terrible view because we were in the balcony but I could pretty much see everything. There were some parts of the show that would’ve been a way better experience in orchestra but it was still plenty enjoyable from anywhere. The one disappointment was that we were too far away to scan the QR code that was onstage before the show so I couldn’t participate in that bit.

At intermission I just kinda went to the bathroom and had a drink and didn’t talk to anyone lol. I was really having fun but also super overstimulated by everything so I needed a few minutes of quiet.

After the show I hung out with @fromemotoangel and @yonpote a little bit more as well as some of their friends and got rid of my remaining bracelets! I kinda wish I had gone to stage door but it was okay, I did get to see the phour phus before the show lol. And that’s about it!

Final bracelets (some of these are mine lol):

I felt kinda wild on the way home like I couldn’t turn my filter back on after being with people who made me feel like I didn’t have to filter myself, which I think is a testament to just how comfortable I felt at the show. It was a really wonderful time and I wish I had the chance to do it again. Thanks so much yet again to everyone who spent time with me there, you guys are all such fun and wonderful people!

[operat0r]

The Tenno holds no memory of who or what suggested he pay Cetus a visit. Were he the sort to gamble, he may have begrudgingly placed his credits upon the Lotus, who remains ever eager to tug his strings one way or another across the stars. The particulars of this memory escape him, as so many others do, and it is only when he is attending to his weapons in orbit of Venus does the thought of passing nearby Earth even occur to him.

Conferring with Ordis confirms that his docket, nebulous as it has been these past days, could certainly allow him a detour from wherever it is duty takes him next. The Tenno considers it while he oils the barrel of the Vectis he's taken to lately. Slowly, slowly, his ship crosses into Venusian night.

New Loka can wait. The thought of dealing with the Perrin Sequence agitates him more than he thinks he can bear. Of the Red Veil, he remains uncertain and uneager for rendezvous, overdue as it may be. So, the matter is settled.

"Set a course," the Tenno says aloud in a ship near silent as a grave, and he prepares himself for planetfall.

-------

The very last thing he takes note of is the smell of it all.

Fondness for Earth is more instinct than anything. It is the home he cannot fully recall, the mother he knows only through hearsay and missives and histories available to him only by other accounts. Its atmosphere is bruised with toxins yet to heal, ugly whorls that, he is told, once existed only in cautionary tales well before planetary invasion was ever a possibility. That the planet is now infested by Grineer boils something deep within the Tenno, hateful without truly knowing why. This, too, is an instinct so deep it may as well be primal, and as the orbiter peels beneath atmosphere and crosses before the face of a singular, tremendous tower of suspiciously Orokin design, he prepares himself for the worst.

He hears the ocean before he disembarks. He hears other things, too: the barking of people from across the settlement, the shriek and laughter unmistakably belonging to children no older than he himself once was before the Void cracked he and so many others open. The Saryn he commands this day, jet black and indomitable in combat, barely makes it off the landing pier before he is rushed by young faces - young human faces, who babble excitedly at him in a language he does not recognize. And when they are chased off, herded by an older woman built like a barrel, thick in the middle with arms that look as though they could bend steel, the Tenno can only stare. Dark smears of blue enshroud bright, steely eyes, as well as a brow the Tenno only belatedly realized is arched, unimpressed.

She lifts a meaty, beckoning hand, and then she is gone, swallowed by the course of natives and travelers both that pour into Cetus.

Outside his consciousness, the Tenno hears Ordis chirp, "Oh, doesn't this seem like fun?"

-------

The sight of other Tenno has long since ceased to fill him with wonder. Not that it really ever did after the first few encounters: the novelty of their misfortune and the realization that it is shared lost its luster quickly enough, and when he crosses them in the field or upon the relays, he himself tends to keep his distance.

Here, they are impossible to avoid. It is a far cry from the clinical cleanliness of the relays, with their broad bulkheads and pristine corridors. Here, the ocean itself is drowned out by more chatter than the Tenno can remember hearing in his life; here, the narrow passages between tables and stalls and craftsmen hunkered down on small, rough-spun rugs are teeming with Warframes and people alike. Someone cries out about knives and dashes of viridian, cerulean, the colors to make the eyes of a lover shine bright and brilliant. Another hoists a sliver of some sort of flesh for the Tenno to presumably appreciate, though the color of it is immediately off putting. People in bloodied aprons cry over people with sharp blades, and then the people with pottery and stoneware and small jeweled keepsakes join in the cacophony, loud as seabirds, louder than the sea itself.

It is alive in a way the Tenno cannot immediately parse. This small settlement persists at the very edge of a world that, for all the galaxy knows, no longer welcomes them. Yet still they smile and laugh and raise their hands to greet the metal-and-curse beings that mill amongst them, weapons of war with weapons of war strapped to their spines. Yet still they live.

It is unlike anything he can remember. It is too noisy and too wet and there is a smell, he realizes, of salt and animal blood and sweat and strange fruits and hearth-fire, a bouquet so strong compared to the sanitized and recycled nothing of his vessel that he genuinely fears it will imprint upon and stain his senses permanently, that anything and everything forever more shall be overpowered by the smell of Cetus.

Another Tenno, cloaked in the form of a Rhino, gently buffets him aside. He tracks their form to a narrow stall near the center of the thickest part of the markets, where a young human is masked in the crude but unmistakable affectation of a Trinity. Behind them, rows of other masks are loosely hung upon a rack, where the Tenno can recognize Volts and Mags and something else, bulbous about the brow like some deep sea fish. The Rhino gestures, says something the Tenno cannot hear, something that makes the young stall-keeper laugh bright and loud and shameless.

There are worse smells, the Tenno decides then, watching small, delicate things pass between hands both living and false. The Rhino holds a Volt mask with care, as though it were still a living thing and not just carved from formerly living things. There are worse smells, the Tenno decides, than salt and sea and life.

[night-the-starfish]

ASTERACEAE.

[ofmermaidstories]

you said merms bloodlust and i thought "ooh merms vampire fic? 👀"

NO BUT SERIOUSLY i hope you are feeling better and good things come your way merms lovey <3

fun fact!! i actually had a massive vampire phase a million years ago!!! like, during the Twilight/Vampire Diaries hayday, LOL. everything i wrote back then involved vampires. fanfiction, original fiction—role-play. yeah!!! your girl here used to role-play with other people online!!! i’ve written teenage-girl-stumbles-across-sexy-bad-boy-vampire-who’s-old-enough-to-be-her-great-great-great-grandfather tropes. vampire highschools, ala Vampire Knight. Vampire Secret Societies. name a trope and i probably wrote a half-assed outline for it!!! if they had sharp pointy teeth and were driven by uncontrollable bloodlust into sucking on someone they cared about’s neck then i was there!!!

i’m kinda all vamped-out these days… i much prefer my bloodlust to come in the form like, a favourite character’s head being bludgeoned-in with a rock or something, LOL. just normal, non-blood drinking violence. 🥹🪓🫀🩸 idk if i’ll ever (seriously) write a vampire!AU for BNHA—maybe more drabbles, randomly. but to me the magic of a vampire story came with like, pairing it up with teenage girlhood (including but not limited to the connotations of the whole, blood-drinking-in-the-place-of-sex thing). and idk! it’d be hard to pull that off in a x Reader without like, flattening whichever BNHA cast member we picked for the Lead. and i write (and read!) fanfic because i’m interested in them, in their complexities and lives and the things that stretch out after canon. idk!!! now that i’ve said that, watch me pull a iida/reader/tokoyami vampire!AU outta my backside. 😭

(that’s a joke; i don’t have time. 😔 but also… 🧐 you could do some pretty interesting things with a set up like that… Dark Shadow could be like, part of Tokoyami’s vampirism? And between DS and his mutation—the bird-like qualities—he has to live lowkey. 🧐 whereas Iida could be the “youngest” in a clan of regimental, powerful vampires that have successfully infiltrated the modern world with fearless business acumen… hmmm. MUCH to think about.)

[fitzfunnymoments]

holy shit I’m actually about to start crying I may have just helped a lost Little Robots movie get on its way to being found

there’s even a review for it that reveals what it’s about oh my god https://web.archive.org/web/20071020225634/http://kidtoonfilms.com/reviews/lr_tbs.html

[worseteacupcircus]

i forgot that 1000 gecs is a masterpiece

[moonchopsticks]

uuuoooogghhh friend i invited out to drink with invited like 5 more people to the event and also asked to change it to karaoke and i have terminal can't say no disease so now i'm dreading going out to something i was looking forward to for weeks

[luveline]

Jade can I please get a chatty af yapper sunshine girlfriend with Sirius?? Like May be someone tells her she talks a lot so she's super quiet around him cuz she's worried he'll get annoyed and break up with her but poor Sirius he misses his chatty girl and just angst with fluff

thank you for requesting! fem, 1.4k

James Potter means well. Honestly, you don’t think he has a mean bone in his body, so you try not to take it to heart. 

Unfortunately, your attempts to do so don’t work. They really, unquestionably don’t. By the time you’re outside of Sirius’ flat that afternoon, James’ small comment is all you can think of. 

“You’re so chatty I’m surprised you don’t run out of breath,” he’d said. Not without love. You’d bumped into him in Sainsbury’s and ended up talking for ages about one thing or another, you know him well, you’d even say you were friends, though he’s of course Sirius’ friend rather than your own. “But I’m the same. God, Sirius used to hate how much I talked, he’d be sick of me. I think I numbed him to it over the years.” 

You can’t imagine it. Sirius and James are best friends. With Remus, they’re the most in love threesome of friends you’ve ever met, and it’s nice; it makes you very proud to have a boyfriend who cares for others as deeply as Sirius cares for them. It’s like a constant demonstration of how he’s a good man. 

But you’d never stopped to consider that they weren’t always so seamless, and you’ve regrettably never considered that your constant talking is something that could put him off. 

You talk to Sirius about everything. There isn’t a word to describe the excitement of having someone waiting to listen to you every single night. You could tell him every detail of a day down to what colour socks you wore and you know he’ll sit there listening with his hand on the small of your back, or his fingers twined between yours. You’ve never felt so loved as to be able to just talk about everything and have him talk back. 

But… what if, this whole time, he’s been wishing for a little bit of quiet? 

What if eventually, the talking becomes too much? 

He must be with you for a reason. You aren’t holding the poor guy hostage, he acts like he’s mad for you ninety percent of the time (while the other ten percent is spent sleeping on your shoulder). 

Like now —you knock his door and you can hear him scrambling up from the sofa, the sound of a book dislodged or a remote hitting the rug, you’re not sure. The door yanks open and Sirius smiles at you, pulling you in through the gap with a familiar hand on your hip. 

“Hey,” Sirius says, tucking you against his side, “hey, did you get lovelier over the weekend?” He shoves the door closed and gives you a hug with one arm, pausing in the hall. “Sorry I couldn’t see you. I don’t think we should miss another weekend.” 

You have a lot to tell him. It’s been ages since you spent nearly three days apart, but James’ conversation stays at the front of your mind. 

You decide to be less overwhelming, but not less loving, curling your arm behind his head to pull his cheek down for a kiss. “I don’t think so, either.” 

Sirius tilts his head away from you in an invitation for more kissing. 

You’re at home in his flat. You take off your shoes and hang up your jacket. You change into a pair of jogging bottoms with loose legs and let him hoist you onto his bed for a few stolen kisses, though he isn’t propositioning you, and you end up laying across his bedspread with one of your legs in his lap as he tells you about his days without you, his thumb sliding with pressure down your calf. 

“Mostly I wished I’d asked you to come over anyways, even if it was just to sleep together at the end of the day. Maybe next time we can do that?” he asks. 

“Of course we can.” You smile at him indulgently. “I’d come over for twenty minutes if it was all I could get.” 

“Or I can come to you,” he says, “even if it’s just twenty minutes.” 

He smiles, a beaming thing, and leans down slowly for a soft kiss. 

“So,” he asks, his breath on your lips, “how was your weekend? Lonely?” 

“So lonely,” you tease lightly, eyes fluttering closed as he continues his massaging of your leg. “But it was okay. I missed you, really, and didn’t do much else.”

“No?” he asks. 

Your voice takes on a shine as he squeezes your knee, “Missed your hands.”  

“I missed your everything.” He grabs for your forearms and pulls you into a sitting position. “But everything was okay?” he asks more seriously. 

“Everything was fine.” 

He raises his eyebrows, but eventually lets them relax. “Well, okay. Good, sweetheart, I’m glad it was okay.” 

He persuades you into the kitchen to sit with him as he makes dinner, refusing to let you help, and yet insisting you be there in the same room, as though you’d like to be anywhere else. Sirius makes your favourite of his usual rotation, offering you spoonfuls for tasting, gaps of silence stretching as he struggles to find new conversation. You start answering his questions but remember time and time again that Sirius could become totally sick of you. He might already be. 

Sirius puts the food on a low heat and washes his hands. He wipes them dry, but when he takes your face, dampness lines the inside of his fingers. 

“I’d like for you to tell me what’s wrong,” he says gently, stroking at the line of your startled frown, “before it gets worse. Do you want to talk about it?” 

“Nothing’s wrong.” 

“Please don’t, lovely. If I’ve done something wrong, please tell me. I want us to last forever, and we can’t do that if you won’t tell me when I upset you.” 

“It wasn’t you,” you say instinctively, then regret it. 

“So someone has?” he asks, still so gentle as his hands coast down your neck like he’s sculpting you, coming to rest on the slopes leading to your shoulders. “You can tell me anything. You don’t have to keep it to yourself… please.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Sweetheart.” He frowns deeply. Couldn’t look more upset. “Of course I’m sure. Why wouldn’t I be?” 

You chew it over, not wanting or willing to cause ructions between Sirius and his oldest friend. “Well, I saw James today at the shop, and… we were talking about you…” 

He waits. “And?” 

“And he told me you– you don’t like talking. That you didn’t like talking, that James used to make you sick of it. So I know I talk too much and you’ve never made me feel like I shouldn’t, but I guess I got into my head thinking you’d get sick of me, too.” 

“When we were younger I didn’t like much of anything.” He curls an arm behind your neck to hold you in place, but it’s not a dominant sort of movement, only protective as your noses inch together. “Did you ever read that poem by Bukwoski? Let It Enfold You?” 

“What?” 

“I’m not very good at explaining myself. I thought if you knew the poem, you’d–” He laughs near your cheek. “I hated everything. It wasn’t James’ fault. He did make me sick of it sometimes, but I just wanted to hide from everything.” He breathes out slowly. “I’ve never wanted to hide from you. I can’t get sick of you. Do you get that? I can’t get sick of you. Listening to you is the best part of my day, you’re my personal chatterbox.” 

“Chatterbox,” you repeat teasingly. 

“You could talk for Wales,” he says. “And I love it, I don’t want you to stop, because I’ll never be sick of it.”

“I don’t want it to be some secret resentment.”

“I don’t resent you for anything. I knew exactly who you were when we met and I love it.” He takes your face again. “I love it,” he repeats. 

You steal a little kiss against the corner of his lips. “What was the poem?” you ask. 

“I’ll find my book, and you can read it to me. What do you think?” He takes a slow kiss as you had in the same place, words like honey. “I miss your voice.” 

He’s basically pleading. It’s not like Sirius to plead, but you pull it out of him. 

“Can I have my dinner first?” 

“The one I made while you deprived me?” he asks. “Yes, if you must.” 

He takes another kiss, but you’re happy to give it. 

[httpsserene]

𝐦𝐚𝐦𝐚 𝐲 𝐩𝐚𝐩𝐚 - 𝐥𝐧. 𝟒 (& 𝐨𝐩. 𝟖𝟏)

summary: you and lando are blessed with a beautiful baby boy. content warning: fluff, humor, slightly suggestive at times, and mainly crack/shitpost energy. reader owns & works in her bakery in monaco. images used are not mine. pairing: lando norris x fem!black!reader (& platonic oscar pastry) genre: smau & written fic combination (it's a longgg one)

author's notes: y'all i'm warning you i took it too far this time. it's long aslllll. but it might be the best thing i've ever offered to f1 tumblr in my entire career.

grab a snack, drink, and tuck yourself into a comfortable position xxx

join the taglist | requests & feedback | table of contents ↻

imessage • preseason 2023

That’s how you find yourself outside of the MTC in the mid-morning two days later. You’re mildly…exhausted, after commandeering the kitchen in Lando’s Silverstone flat to make a sickening amount of banana bread to feed all of McLaren. After tipping your Uber to the MTC double what the ride costs (for allowing you to stuff his car with a hundred pounds of your decadent treat and helping you unload them into the lobby), you’re greeted with warm welcomes and hungry eyes from the staff. Eager to eat, they’re quick to find you a couple of carts to help you move all the banana bread to the communal area. You’re walking backward to make sure none of your sliced loaves fall, smiling with all the workers as they follow you through the building. Setting up shop, you hand out your sliced banana bread, chatting and catching up with everyone as they sing praises over your sweet treat. Word travels around the MTC quickly when it comes to you bringing baked goods and it comes as no surprise to you when you see a perplexed and overwhelmed Oscar Piastri join the line. You’re bursting with excitement and anticipation by the time he’s picking up his slice.

“Thank you for the banana bread,” Oscar expresses softly, his smile boxy.

“Oh, of course,” you dismiss his gratitude lightly, struggling to keep your cuteness aggression at bay, “I’ve been doing this for the factory since Lando joined–and I figured it would be a good welcoming gift for you!”

“Wait–are you Lando’s girlfriend?” Oscar chokes on his bite of bread.

You rush forward to pat his back, ordering for someone to get him a glass of water; you would hate to be responsible for the death of Mclaren’s rookie driver. When his airways are cleared, you exchange proper greetings and you are quick to make sure Lando has been treating him well. 

“Honestly, I should’ve known it was you” Oscar chuckles, “Lando cannot stop talking about you. Zak had to establish a rule that only allowed him to mention you two times an hour.”

“That must have been rough for him,” you snort dryly, “the rule was five times an hour last year. Anyways, Oscar–who do you main on Mario Kart? This could make or break our friendship.”

You find yourself enamored with Oscar as the conversation goes on. He stands and keeps you company as you continue to hand out banana bread. It’s mostly you doing the talking; Oscar’s quiet, a man of few words but he listens well. He has a sarcastic sense of humor that is similar to Lando’s yet completely different: Lando’s jokes are loud, Oscar’s are hushed. He’s humble, shy even, flustering when you lightly tease him. You’re well past having Oscar as your friend—you’re convinced that he’s achieved little brother or son status.

“Banana Bread!” Zak shouts as he walks up to the two of you, Lando at his side, “Please tell me this is your homemade version?”

“I would never settle for store-bought banana bread,” you gasp dramatically, “It’s homemade as always, Zak. This time I did my grandmother’s recipe instead of my own.”

The CEO practically jumps with glee and rushes to grab a couple of slices–he’s only had this version of the dessert once, and swore it changed his life. Lando walks to you, pressing a kiss to your temple before nodding at Oscar.

“What do you think, love, “Lando hums to you softly, “Did he pass the test?”

You blink up at him and whisper, “I invited him over for dinner tonight—do you think we can use one of the printers here to print out adoption forms?”

bahrain • 2023

After qualifying, it felt like you and Zak were the only people in the garage who remained optimistic for race day. Lando was less than pleased with placing 11th; he parroted words of positivity and hope for improvement but in the privacy of your hotel room he crumbled. He buried his face in your neck muffling just how low his expectations for this season are. You tried to convince him it was too early in the season—the first race weekend—to make that decision but, he was too in his feelings to see reason. 

Oscar was disappointed in himself for placing 18th. When he took off his helmet after returning to the garage, you could see the doubt in his skills lingering through his eyes. You pulled him to sit with you as you continued to wait for the second session to begin and gently reassured him that this wasn’t an accurate representation of his skills; Formula One is a massive change from Formula Two. Oscar nodded at your reassurance but you could tell he was still freshly in shock at his “terrible” performance so your logical advice wasn’t believed. 

On race day, however, you found your positivity dip as well. Oscar DNF’d on lap 13 and rage filled the spot that optimism used to inhabit. The Australian was handling his retirement better than you were; he brushed off everybody’s apologies and went straight to reviewing his data and watching Lando’s race—you, however, wanted to snap at any of his mechanics that walked by. It wasn’t like Lando’s race was any better if you could call what he was doing a race. Slow pit stops, six pit stops at that, the fast lap gamble failure, finishing last, and being two laps down from the race leader…Zak took one glance at you and quickly made himself scarce.

You rode back with both of the boys to the hotel and nearly cried for them with how down the mood was. On the walk to your rooms, Oscar attempted to exchange goodbyes with you and Lando before you cut him off.

“Uh-uh, nope,” you shook your head, “I pre-ordered dinner for us. Come eat?”

Oscar stuttered, “O-oh? I don’t want to intrude–”

“Oscar Jack Piastri,” both he and Lando winced at the sound of his full name, “I’m not going to let either one of you go to bed on an empty stomach. You’re going to eat dinner with me and Lan and you’re going to drink several glasses of water so I can make sure you’re properly rehydrated. Understood?”

“I would love to have dinner with you guys,” Oscar blinked at you in fear, “Also, how do you know my middle name?”

You laughed as you unlocked the door, holding it open for both of the boys as you walked in, “I had a wonderful conversation with your mother, of course.”

“When did you meet my mom?!”

australia • 2023

You were on the edge of losing your voice as you screamed and cheered with Nicole Piastri and Adam Norris for both of the McLaren boys and their double points finishes. The two drivers finishing in the midfield felt like the team had figured something out for Oscar’s home race (if you ignored how almost half of the drivers retired their cars). The Piastri’s invited everyone to a local restaurant to celebrate Oscar’s first points in Formula One, but before you and Lando headed out, the two of you nearly lost your minds.

The two of you forced him to pose with his car and take several pictures with it, strongly suggesting that he smiles big and wide for the camera. Fernando and Lewis walked by and burst into laughter, claiming that you and Lando were treating Oscar like a child. So, obviously, the two of you committed to the bit. You guys cooed and called Oscar’s name, clapping and jumping to pretend like he was a toddler whose attention needed to be grabbed to have him look at the camera. The rookie cringed in embarrassment, cheeks burning red as he tried to convince you guys to stop making a fuss over him.

Lando gasped, sickened at Oscar’s words, “Oscar! How could you say such a thing to your mother and me? We only want to celebrate our boy!”

You nodded furiously in agreement, nearly breaking character at the dumbfounded look that rose to the Australian’s face.

“What the fuck,” Oscar blurted out, yet he continued to smile for your camera.

“Oh my god!” You said appalled, “Lando did you teach our son that foul language?! I told you not to curse in front of the baby!”

instagram • bakewithyn • april 6th • melbourne ⚑

liked by, oscarpiastri, landonorris, mclaren, markwebber, and 413,257 others

bakewithyn: happy birthday oscar 🥳 there’s no birthday gift like scoring your FIRST EVER POINTS in f1 at your HOME race but !!! i’m super happyyy you enjoyed the 🐨 cookies i made for you (lando helped ig 😐) 🤗🤗🤗

tagged oscarpiastri

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📌 yninstagram ps! these are limited edition cookies at my bakery for oscar piastri day!!! first come first serve until sell out! all proceeds go to the australian koala foundation as it was oscar’s personal request 😇

➥ user charitable king shit fr 👑

➥ user FUCK i wish i was rich enough to visit/live in monaco

➥ user don't worry, they're nearly sold out already and the bakery opened three hours ago !!!!

nicolepiastri these were so tasty! i wish i had your baking skills

➥ yninstagram tysm mama piastri !!! i'm blushing

➥ user mama piastri???? im crying

user the koala photo with the bow 😩

➥user what r u talking about?? i only see a picture of oscar with a bow?

➥ user fr i only see oscar 😵‍💫

user "lando helped ig" what did he do? look pretty the entire time you baked LMAO

➥ landonorris actually i was allowed to put the ingredients in the bowls AND preheat the oven too 😤

➥ landonorris and i always look pretty wtf

➥ user omg...yn gave him the toddler tasks 💀💀💀

oscarpiastri the cookies were so good! they nearly tasted better than my first points felt

➥ yninstagram omg high praise from the man himself 🤯

➥ oscarpiastri had to fight my sisters to make sure they didn't only leave me with crumbs

➥ user oh i understand that eldest sibling battle

➥ user my little sisters bite i think they have rabies

➥ user oh what a shame. euthanasia is an option 🤗

miami • 2023

The energy after Miami was rightfully terrible. The car is shit; Lando lost a position from where he qualified to make him P17 and Oscar maintained his P19. It’s hot, and humid, and everyone in the garage is miserable. McLaren is a family. When the boys don’t do good, everybody understands and feels their pain. Nobody likes seeing the boys with frowns on their lips and sadness in their eyes, but it’s becoming a usual appearance during this season. So to turn those frowns upside down, you went on a hunt for some cold treats. You got Lando a frozen lemonade and Oscar an ice cream sandwich—it’s a safe choice, you hadn’t necessarily thought about asking him what kind of ice cream he prefers. 

You found Oscar staring at the wall, eyes focused forward but his mind somewhere else. You tapped him gently on the shoulder, offering him a small smile when he looked at you. He tried to offer you a smile of his own but couldn’t manage to hold it for more than a couple seconds. You presented the ice cream sandwich to him and he looked at you in surprise, as if he couldn’t believe you would give it to him.

“F-for,” his voice cracks awkwardly, “For me?”

You hummed, ruffling his hair and taking a seat on the couch next to him, “No, for the King of England. Yes–for you Oscar.”

He thanked you shyly and quickly began to unwrap the packaging, munching away happily. You took a second to text Lando your location and inform him of the frozen lemonade waiting for him, and when you turned to look back at Oscar—the kid was a mess. He wasn’t even a quarter of the way through the dessert sandwich and you’re convinced he managed to spill more of it than he ingested. The ice cream was painted across the lower half of his face and dripping down his hands–you caught a drop of it with a napkin before it fell and stained his shirt.

“Jesus, Oscar!” you scolded him, “I look away for two seconds and you make a mess!”

Oscar shrugged at you, feigning innocence, but you saw the staple redness of embarrassment begin to tint his chubby cheeks. You snapped your fingers in remembrance before you moved to rifle through your purse, Oscar staring at you with wide eyes as he continued to snack away. You exclaimed in delight, showing off a pair of wet wipes you remembered to bring with you. Oscar accepted the offered wipes and you watched carefully to make sure he removed all the smudges of ice cream from his hands and face.

“Hi, lovely girl,” Lando approached you, throwing himself onto the sofa next to you. He gave you a soft kiss on the lips and temple before grabbing his now lemonade slushy and taking a look at Oscar.

“Woah, mate,” Lando teased, “Did you lose in a fight against the ice cream sandwich?”

Oscar rolled his eyes and ignored Lando as he finished cleaning up. Once he was done, you gathered all of the dirty wipes on the table to be thrown away. You and Lando both watched Oscar as he ate the rest of his snack in fear of another mess occurring—and, then you had a bright idea. Leaning forward, you took a dry napkin and tucked it into the collar of his McLaren polo, creating a makeshift bib. 

“Lando, remind me to get our son ice cream in a cup from now on!”

twitter • may 14th

instagram • landonorris • may 23rd • monte carlo ⚑

liked by, bakewithyn, charlesleclerc, fernandoalonso, and 502,113 others

landonorris: does it still count as a date night if your boy and his best friend are building legos in the next room🤨

tagged bakewithyn, oscarpiastri, logansargeant

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user "your boy" WTF DOES THAT MEAN ‼️‼️‼️

user they're building legos before the race weekend starts 🤧

user has oscar been staying with lando since last week?

➥ user i thought he was just sleeping over for one night 🧐

adamnorris does this make me a grandfather?

➥ user what the hell is happening

➥ landonorris um? surprise haha 😀

bakewithyn it's a great date night! it's comforting knowing ozzy's in the next room over

➥ bakewithyn i have separation anxiety :)

➥ landonorris me too omg this was my best idea ever

➥ user this is like a reverse 13th reason- it's like my 1st reason i'm glad to be alive

➥ user ozzy 🫠

landonorris logan and osc just went silent. chat, should i be worried?

➥ user i'll bet my life savings that one of them has a lego shoved up their nose 😬

➥ user when kids go quiet it's never good !!!!

qatar • 2023

You cried an embarrassing amount of times this weekend. Your son won his first sprint race in his Formula One career, and his father—your boyfriend—was up there on the podium with him to celebrate. It seems like you have to make another special dessert for your bakery to celebrate both of your boys, but you can worry about brainstorming ideas when you stop crying into Andrea Stella’s shoulder in the middle of the pit lane. You’re sure that your face will be posted all over Twitter in a couple of hours.

A part of you wished that Lando had won the sprint race, just as he probably wanted the same thing. But, as both of you made eye contact with each other over Oscar’s head, the Australian rambling endlessly as he hugged his trophy on your hotel room floor, both of you knew that there was no better outcome this weekend than Oscar getting a taste of victory. Lando’s win will come in due time. A P2, P3 finish on Sunday was just the proof everyone needed of McLaren’s improvement and the threat they may pose to Red Bull next year. 

são paulo • 2023

You had the Grand Prix playing on your phone as you did some prep work for the bakery. The race ended and you couldn’t help but feel happy, yet relieved for the race to be over for different reasons. Lando had a wonderful drive today, and Oscar had the opposite; you were just glad it wasn’t a DNF for him.

You had only just begun wiping down the counters when the sound of the post-race show is interrupted by the ringtone you have set for Oscar. You paused quickly, scooping your phone up to answer.

“Hi, Ozzy,” you cooed gently, “How are you feeling? Sorry about your race buddy, that was unfortunate.”

“It happens, I guess. I feel like shit, mostly. Like I let the team down.”

“No way, Oscar! You’re not letting anybody down. Your race result today wasn’t the result of your skills, it was the result of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was a racing incident. If anybody tells you differently, let me know. I’ll rip their vocal cords out.”

Oscar’s laugh crackled through the receiver. “Yes, mum. I’ll let you know. I really want some of your chocolate chip cookies, they’re the perfect bad race remedy.”

“Well, I’m flying out in a few hours to meet you guys in Brazil so I can celebrate Lando’s—sorry, excuse me—your father’s birthday with him. I think there may be some time for me in my schedule to make some cookies with you.”

“Really? We should make some for Lando too! Wait, before you leave, I left his birthday gift—”

“—In our apartment, I remember! I already packed it in my luggage, I wouldn’t forget.”

“You’re the best, seriously.”

“Mhm, I know. Also, we should share some of these cookies with Charles too, his radio message made me cry.”

“Okay, he can have one cookie.”

“Oscar Jack,” you said dryly.

“Yes, sharing is caring or whatever. He can have like...two.”

instagram • bakewithyn • november 13th • las vegas ⚑

liked by, mclaren, landonorris, f1, oscarpiastri and 353,764 others

bakewithyn: happy birthday to lando norris. he's a pretty cool guy, a great dad, and the perfect boyfriend. love you lots, baby, and i'll love you forever xxx

tagged landonorris

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user wait is this a pregnancy announcement 😨

user this is giving engagement reveal

charlesleclerc bro. if i didn't know you guys i would think your caption was serious 😣

➥ bakewithyn get pranked LOL XD

➥ user oh i feel like i just got catfished

➥ user wait so lando didn't propose nor did he put a baby in her 😒

➥ user I WANTED A BABY NORRIS

➥ user oscar exists? he's literally their child

oscarpiastri no fr i thought i was about to learn i had a sibling otw from this post

➥ bakewithyn ozzy we would've told you???

➥ landonorris you literally bought the card for me

➥ oscarpiastri a boy can hope for a younger sibling can he not :(

➥ bakewithyn so close 😚 no you can't! hope that helps xo

➥ landonorris sorry osc, it's your mum's decision 🤷‍♂️

➥ user does this mean lando wants an actual kid

mclaren admin was terrified ngl 😅

➥ mclaren i thought you really posted an engagement and pregnancy reveal without letting me know 😭

➥ landonorris sorry admin, i'll keep you in the loop in the future

➥ user landoyn engagement soon??????

twitter • november 18th • las vegas ⚑

twitter • preseason 2024

miami • 2024

Lando had you pinned to the wall in his driver's room, with his hands tangled in your curls and his mouth devouring yours. Your moans are muffled into his lips as you grind against his thigh. You tried to multitask, struggling to pull his driver’s suit down. Lando lifted you slightly, encouraging you to wrap your legs around his waist and neither of you cared to pull away at the sound of your foot hitting his P1 trophy and knocking it over. One of his hands fell from your hair to grasp at the smooth brown skin of your neck, his palm acting as a warm weighted choker on your throat and you broke away from the kiss to moan. 

“Fuck, Lando—get naked,” you whined desperately, “we don’t have much time for you to tease me right now!”

Lando laughed as he moved to press kisses along your jawline and behind your ear. You felt his lips part on your skin, his breath ghosting over you causing goosebumps to rise, but it’s not his voice you hear.

“Lando, they need us for pictures—OH MY GOD WHAT THE FUCK,” yelped Oscar, the sound of his hand smacking over his eyes reverberating around the room.

You shrieked in surprise, pushing your boyfriend away from you as you speedily readjusted your clothes. Lando positioned himself in front of you, his back facing you allowing you a little more privacy as he speedily fixed his suit around his waist.

“Learn how to knock, kid,” Lando huffed, no shame found in his words, “You interrupted my winning celebration.”

You screamed in dismay, slapping the back of Lando’s head and Oscar began to stumble out of the room, bumping into the doorframe as he still covered his eyes.

“Yeah, knock in the future, I understand,” Oscar sounds like he’s about to cry, “I feel like I just saw my mum and dad having sex!”

instagram • bakewithyn • may 12th • mama's house ⚑

liked by oscarpiastri, alexandrasaintmleux, landonorris, and 551,012 others

bakewithyn: LOOK AT MY SON 🥺🥺 PRIDE IS NOT THE WORD IM LOOKING FOR 🗣️🗣️🔊🔊 (happy mother's day to all the beautiful mamas x)

tagged oscarpiastri

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oscarpiastri did dad get you anything 🙃

➥ user 👀👀👀

➥ landonorris well i would've if SOMEBODY told me we were celebrating this year 🤬🤬🤬🤬

➥ oscarpiastri i didn't know i *had* to tell you

➥ user wowwwww lando

➥ user shameful honestly 😕

markwebber happy milf day

➥ markwebber *mother's day sorry typo

➥ bakewithyn what the fuck ☠️☠️☠️

➥ user that was not a typo mark

➥ user sir u are not slick LMAO

➥ bakewithyn i mean...oscar wouldn't mind a step dad, his fatther didn't get me anything today :(

➥ landonorris AYO BABY PLEASE 🧎‍♂️

oscarpiastri you know what would be an even better mother's day gift? getting a puppy 🤭

➥ bakewithyn we are not getting a puppy ozzy.

➥ landonorris should've clued me in osc i might've convinced her for you

➥ oscarpiastri :[

monaco • 2024

You’re about to crash THE FUCK out. At first, it was a little half-joke. Oscar’s home race in Australia, his 1/16th home race in China, and his 3/16th home race in Italy. You originally thought his tweet about “searching for his Monegasque roots” was cute, but you didn’t expect Charles Marc Herve Perceval (Demon Spawn) Leclerc to step into your playing field.

Who the hell does he think he is? Offering to adopt your son? And, Oscar is going along with it? And, the Miami Grand Prix account making a “Certificate of Adoption?” You started to like Miami after Lando won there; and now they’ve betrayed you. Every fan jumped on the bandwagon, thinking that this was the most adorable thing to happen. Like Oscar hasn’t been your child the minute he stepped foot into the MTC in Silverstone. Like he didn’t give you a Mother’s Day present? The Monegasques have some nerve; you were close with Charles and Alex but, now they’ve encroached on your and Lando’s territory. You’re committing several murders today. 

You laughed hysterically when Oscar joined Lando and you for lunch, mentioning that Charles and Alex invited him to eat with the rest of the Leclercs at family dinner after qualifying. You agreed to let him but not without making sure Charles and Alex are qualified for the job. Lando also cornered you in the kitchen and persuaded you to allow Oscar to go; swaying you with the idea of a real date night. You never realized just how much time you guys spend with your son. When’s the last time you guys had a break from being “mum and dad?" It was an appealing offer, but you were serious about clarifying expectations to the thieving couple.

twitter • may 25th • monaco

instagram • bakewithyn • may 25th • date night ⚑

liked by charlesleclerc, landonorris, nicolepiastri and 236,978 others

bakewithyn: a little night off from parenting was needed x

tagged landonorris

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user okay mamiiiii

user all parents deserve to relax !!!

oscarpiastri do you even miss me ☹️

➥ user damn he goin through it

➥ charlesleclerc i literally just got him to smile and now he's crying again 😒

➥ landonorris your mum and i love you lots osc

➥ oscarpiastri :]

alexandrasaintmleux take full advantage of having no children in the house 😈😈😈

➥ charlesleclerc leo will keep him distracted for as longggg as possible 😏

➥ user lando only needs about three minutes 🥱

➥ user wow that's a really long time fr

oscarpiastri mama y papa

➥ user mama y papa

➥ user mama y papa

➥ user mama y papa

instagram • landonorris • june 16th • daddy's home ⚑

liked by oscarpiastri, angryginge, bakewithyn and 436,812 others

landonorris: father's day done right. my child and his mother made a cake for me, family photo slide two, and my son slide three. what more can a man want.

tagged bakewithyn and oscarpiastri

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user this man never misses a chance to call himself daddy

user too fucking funny 🤸🏾‍♀️🤸🏾‍♀️

bakewithyn happy father's day, daddy xxx

➥ user OHMYGOD 😖🤢🤮

➥ user on my internet⁉️⁉️⁉️

➥ landonorris even happier now x

user this new wave of parents concerns me...

oscarpiastri the cake was good wasn't it???

➥ landonorris it was perfect, seriously

➥ oscarpiastri i know you both said there's no way we'd get a puppy but hear me out i've thought of something better

➥ oscarpiastri working on giving me a younger sibling :]

➥ user YES BABY NORRIS ‼️‼️‼️

➥ landonorris @/bakewithyn ?

➥ bakewithyn ask me again in a couple of years

© httpsserene2024

[rose-tinted-kalopsia]

≡;-꒰ 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 ꒱₊˚ ପ⊹ 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆 & 𝑫𝒆𝒆𝒑𝒔𝒑𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝑩𝒐𝒚𝒔 𝑷𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒀𝒐𝒖

── mdni sexual content ; headcanons on how the boys would act with you (afab!reader) when you have a praise kink. inclusive of: praise (obv), pet name usage, dirty talk, teasing, general foreplay, vaginal sex, overstimulation.

featuring : rafayel, sylus, xavier, zayne, caleb, jeremiah, luke, kieran.

an : this was a request i put off a liiittle bit bc i had to think of how i wanted to approach the prompt, but! it was super superrrr fun, and i maybe wrote a little bit more for each of the guys than i intended hehe <3

taglist : under the cut !! (SIGN UP HERE)

KO-FI JAR / COMMISSIONS

ʀᴀꜰᴀʏᴇʟ

praise from rafayel is raw.

undeniably, during the day, there's a little part of him that would be a little shit about it—tease you to wit's end, preying on your little praise kink like it's a shiny little pearl he's found for him to play with. good girl~ here, pretty girl~ there… there'll be a little sing-songy tone to his voice, a teasing lilt, and sometimes it's more than you can take—sometimes you'll snap out of embarrassment, sometimes you'll maybe shove him away, sometimes all you can do is puff your cheeks up and do a little hmph. but really, it doesn't work out very much—"you're such a cutie, miss bodyguard."

but then there's a little switch that flips when the both of you are alone.

because the love that he has for you is overwhelming.

you're more than just a pretty girl, more than just a good girl, more than just the teasing little praises he's been singing all day just to rouse a reaction from you.

you're the love of his life. you're perfect to him.

and he's pounding into you as you writhe and moan beneath him, his hair clinging to his forehead, lips parted in heavy pants… his eyes are heavy-lidded with desire, but there's nothing more obvious in those pretty pretty magenta eyes of his— than how much he truly treasures you. his voice is breathless when he speaks, he doesn't stop the movement of his hips, so lost in drinking in the sight of you splayed on his bed like this—and maybe, all he can say is, "beautiful."

because sometimes, sometimes, he's just not the best with words. maybe he can't bring himself to form a coherent thought anymore but that; how beautiful you are, how ethereal, how perfect. between strings of moans of your name, maybe it's all he can say. but it's pure, and raw, and genuine in every sense of the word, almost like a cry tearing from his chest, because what he really means when he snaps his hips down to yours and fills you up with every last drop of his cum, is—i love you.

ꜱʏʟᴜꜱ

praise from sylus is enough to steal your breath away.

it's unexpected, mostly a surprise—albeit a pleasant one. and it's really not that he wouldn't do it often. it's quite the opposite, in fact; he'd do it often. because he knows. he knows exactly how to get you going, how to rile you up… and it's something that he would capitalize on, since your reactions have always been thoroughly endearing to him as much as they were amusing.

by this, i mean, it doesn't just stay in the bedroom. not at all. it slips into simple, everyday things. and that's why it's so unexpected for you.

after successfully completing a mission, he'd walk over and pull you towards him by the waist: "good job, sweetie." a basic task done in front of him, maybe something as simple as making yourself—or both of you—a meal, and: "what a good girl you are." the back-and-forth bickering you would sometimes have might end with him tapping a finger to his cheek, a little up, a glance of appreciation—"you're adorable when you're excited, sweetie." or maybe sometimes he'd walk up behind you and wrap his arms around your waist, lean in to have his lips graze over the shell of your ear… "do you know that i'm quite fond of you? such a good, good girl for me."

he'd chuckle at the stutter in your motions, the flush on your cheeks… and he'd know you're defaulting to thoughts of the bedroom. especially when his voice would dip, all low and sultry, that satisfied, satisfied smirk on his face. 90% of the time, he'd get what he wants—which means you underneath him, fisting the sheets as he ravishes you whole; tongue, and teeth, and fingers… and more. of course, he'd aim for nothing more than to give you pleasure, and he knows how to make it better with just a few added words of praise.

"you're doing well, kitten. that's right, just like that… you make it so easy for me to worship you."

maybe he's conditioned you with it just a little bit.

xᴀᴠɪᴇʀ

xavier's praises are soft, but very direct.

he's not one to cut corners, not when it comes to the way that he sees you. like sylus, it slips into little, everyday things, half with the intention to rile you up, and half to genuinely just say what he's thinking. but as direct as his statements would be, he'd sometimes play a little coy. the irony is never lost with you. and yet, he'd do it anyway. all casual statements, blinks of innocence, smiles that would indicate he had zero idea of the effect he had on you.

you knew otherwise, though.

"you did really well," he'd say after a fight with a wanderer, "all that training really paid off." he'd nod, that familiar little nod that you know so well—to everyone else, it's so completely normal… and to you, it would have been, had the twinkle in his eye not been present, had his touch against your hand not lingered for a little bit longer than usual.

"i like your perfume today, it's nice," is how he greets you in the morning sometimes, with a smile that would have looked completely innocent—it not for the half-step he took closer to you, if not for the little twitch in the corner of his lips, if not for the way he'd reach over to move your hair from your face.

"your dress is pretty. i think it really fits you." a cute little compliment, no? you'd have taken it as such, but you wouldn't have missed the way his eyes would rake over your body, even with the slow, innocent blinks he'd give you afterwards. it doesn't matter that he offers you his hand for you to take, it doesn't matter if he brushes it off like he didn't just have every thought in his head on display for you. because at the end of the day, all of this turns into your fingers intertwined, you pressed up against your pillow, his head buried into the crook of your neck as he pumps his cock into you.

"mmmh… you're so good for me, angel, feel so good, so good…"

a little incoherent, not all that audible, but you can still hear it. he'd nuzzle into your skin, vibrations of his voice sending shivers through your body… there's something in him that doesn't quell him to stop, losing himself in how good you feel, how good you are. "you smell so good… you taste just as good, too, angel… you're so soft, so pretty, so pretty, so pretty, so pretty… nmh, don' want to stop…"

ᴢᴀʏɴᴇ

the way zayne praises you is quiet. gentle.

it's the kind that flows seamlessly into your ear like a soothing little melody… yet, his voice would carry with it a certain level of firmness, indicating that you have no other say in the matter. because he means it—and that's that. it's the kind of praise that's reassuring every time he'd say it, no matter how many times he'd say it. he's your safe haven. he knows how to make you feel better about yourself. insecurities? doubts? worries? gone, immediately. because that's the way it is with him.

it doesn't matter what about you he's praising, nor does it matter when. it's used less as a trigger for your pleasure, and more for him to be unfiltered with you. it doesn't matter if he's seeing you for a dinner date and you're all dressed up, it doesn't matter if he's coming home to you in your pajamas with messy hair and no makeup at all. it doesn't matter if you lose at a little board game the two of you had been playing, it doesn't matter if you'd won nearly half the stall at the carnival that day, doesn't matter if you're on the phone with him and there's a beat of silence as you listen to each others' breathing. it doesn't matter, either, if he's all the way inside of you, slow, rhythmic thrusts, lips attached to your ear—it doesn't matter if his hands had found their way to your chest, fondling and kneading at the soft flesh.

he'll whisper sweet words into your ear, always, whenever he gets the chance.

and at night, he holds you close, hushed words perfectly timed with each and every thrust. they aren't sweet nothings. they're sweet everythings. because he knows that these words are exactly what you need from him, exactly what you need to feel loved, and appreciated, and cared for. with zayne, praise is as genuine and as pure as it gets—sure, he'll cherish the way you whine in response, the whimpers that fall from your lips… he knows that it gives you an extra bit of pleasure, but that's a plus. more than that, he'd never fail to convey how much you mean to him. it's the perfect opportunity for him. just to hold you close, and make love to you like this, quiet, hushed little words of affirmations…

good girl. you take me so well, my love. you feel so good, darling. you're perfect for me.

ᴄᴀʟᴇʙ

praise from caleb is a little infuriating, but it works.

perhaps it's because you're much too used to bickering with him, all these playful little fights about anything under the sun that could usually end up in a fit of giggles—but praise from him comes off a little more like a tease sometimes, a little bit borderlining on mocking. not because he doesn't mean well, but, because… it takes a while for you to realize he's being genuine about it. he probably has to drill it into you himself—repeat it a few times, eyebrow raised, amusedly gauging your reactions. he'd watch you turn from a scoff, to a look of confusion, to the gradual realization that dawns—"caleb!" a gasp of surprise, and maybe you hit his shoulder a little, maybe he has to laugh.

but he means it.

he means it when he calls you beautiful, means it when he says you make him proud. he means it when he tells you how much you mean to him, means it when he tells you that there's no other person he'd rather be around like this, than you.

and he'd look you straight in the eyes when he says it again—repeats it, probably, for the nth time that day, trying to make you understand that it's real.

he repeats it even when he has you sinking into the mattress, pinned down by his weight, legs raised to his shoulder as he fucks himself into you. "yeah, you like that, right, pipsqueak? you're all beautiful like this, taking me so deep… fuck, i can't get enough of you. you're the only one for me, baby." he'd lift a hand to delicately trail down the side of your cheek, and you'd be astonished at the blatant swirl of lust and love settled deep in his eyes—filthy words punctuated with praise; he just can't help himself around you.

"mmm, pretty cunt all wrapped up around me… shit, i love you so damn much, why're you so perfect?" his hips would snap up so roughly, in contrast to the gentle caresses he'd leave over your body, in line with the way he's brought you up to orgasm after orgasm. "you're doing so well, baby, c'mon. you can cum again, just one more f'me…"

ᴊᴇʀᴇᴍɪᴀʜ

jeremiah's praises are a little bit… inconsistent.

not that you never know when you're going to get them, because he does it quite freely—pretty often, mostly whenever he feels like saying nice things about you, which, well… happens to be quite a lot.

but you never know how you're going to get them.

he's big on compliments, always has been. so sometimes it's extremely easy for him to whip out a few words of praise. maybe he saw a flower that reminded him of you. he'd send it over with a sweet letter detailing what you mean to him. or maybe he'd send a simple text, just a little "thinking of you today, princess!" to make you smile. sometimes, he'd give you a little kiss on the cheek, on the nose, say an equally simple "hey, you look beautiful today." or on other days, he'd play a little bit coy, maybe sending a little wink your way after some cheesy compliment disguised as a pickup line—playful, a little bit of a little shit about it, and these are the ones that probably get you the most flustered.

but as much as he prides himself in his way with words—literature lover at heart, poetry lover first before anything… well, sometimes he doesn't have words. not when it comes to you.

because, how can he? sometimes he's too overcome with emotion—the fact that you're here, the fact that you're with him, the fact that he can actually cup your face and look into your eyes and say with conviction that he's finally with the girl he loves more than anything else in the world. even more than flowers. even more than words.

and it's such times that he's more flustered than you. nevermind your praise kink—sometimes he's the one tripping over his words, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly and flushing in embarrassment when the words won't come out right. there's a little less of the nonchalance, the playfulness. he tries to be more serious, but it backfires, because he is serious—about you, about both of you, about your relationship… and about how much he loves you.

so even in intimate moments, your body flush against his; even in the way that he kisses you, so tender and loving and sweet… even when he rolls his hips against yours in a slow, gentle motion, even when he'd make love to you under the dim lights of his bedroom… sometimes, his words just fail him. sometimes all he can do is look into your eyes and breathlessly moan out your name. sometimes he has to dip down and nuzzle into your chest, whining out something incoherent—something like a mushed up string of i love you's if you really listen closely enough.

there's a little less praise to go around.

maybe he'll call you pretty, maybe he'll call you perfect… maybe he'll say a little something about how good you feel, but they're lost and broken into moans, and maybe you're both too into it to really register anything he's saying. because for all that he prides himself with his words, he's really just a little too lost in the feeling of you to bother.

(in the end, it's easier for you to get his praise outside the bedroom…)

ᴋɪᴇʀᴀɴ

praise from kieran is… rare.

he's not used to it; not at all.

part of him maybe thinks he should do it more—well, no, he knows that he probably should, especially when he knows it makes you feel good. he'd admit it to himself that he likes getting you all flustered, enjoys knowing that he has a certain effect on you, that even a simple little praise is enough to give him such a reaction. but words of affirmation aren't particularly his thing, and it just… doesn't happen very often. if it did, it would happen randomly, with nothing too elaborate, maybe even just said in passing—mostly because he doesn't want to draw attention to it. there's a part of him that feels a little bit embarrassed about being so direct with his words like that.

still, it happens nonetheless, sometimes. and when it does happen, it's really truly almost as if there's nothing else you can think of but him. his words. the fact that he's actually really, truly, legitimately praised you.

pretty. just one word. he has you pinned against the wall, something of a knowing smirk visible on his lips as his fingers trace the curve of your jaw and dip lower.

good girl. two words, two fingers dip into your mouth for just a moment… and he's so pleased when you let him. so what else can he do but kiss you? what else can he do but press his body up against yours, feel the way you practically melt against him like this?

he's remembering truly just how much his praise gets to you, and it spurs him to act further—low grunts about how good you feel when he hoists a leg up to his waist so he can slide himself into you, all snug and comfortable in your wet heat... he could praise you for how well you take him, little words about how you're absolutely the best—"mmm you're driving me crazy, angel… just like that. good. fucking. girl."

it's rare, and he doesn't do it often. but maybe, sometimes, when he does start… it's a little bit difficult to stop.

ʟᴜᴋᴇ

one thing to be established is: luke's praises are constant.

they never stop. you hear them so goddamn much. in fact, maybe part of you even feels a little used to it.

it happens nearly all the time, as many times as he can think to—sometimes a little bit teasing, sometimes just to get under your skin a little, sometimes maybe a teeny bit (a lot) obnoxious about it… or, sometimes, in a softer tone, a little more genuine than usual. but the root of it really remains to be that he'll take every little opportunity to throw a compliment your way. especially when he realize it affects you a little more than he originally thought. because the way your heart rate accelerates? the way you'd freeze in place for even just a tiny tiny moment, every single time? even the way your cheeks heat up, maybe sometimes the way your eyes would dart away from him to look at anything else in the room… it gives him pure joy, and it only makes him want to do it more.

"heyy, pretty little miss hunter!" in simple, everyday settings? he'd be so casual about it when he sees you, maybe throwing a little wink your way. the grin on his face would be so telling about how much he just knows. "you look cute today!" or, "that thing you did just now was really cool!" or even just, "what's my pretty girl up to this time, huh?" and it gets your brain blanking in seconds.

but it doesn't compare to the bedroom—a quiet place where he's softer, gentler… where all you can hear are his praises, about anything and everything, hands moving over your body in tender, petting caresses. "your skin's super soft," he'd mumble. "did you use a new shampoo, or something? smells real nice." and he'd dip his head into your neck, lick at the sensitive patch of skin… his hands would slide between your legs, rubbing teasing circles over your clit. "mmm… tastes good… feels good…" he'd dip his finger in, gathering your slick, chuckling at how much there already is— "damn, sunshine, so wet for me? that's what i like to see."

it's a little infuriating, in a sense. he finds every little thing to praise, but… he means it. there's so much of you to praise. it's more than just how well you take his fingers, his tongue, his cock; it's more than just how good you feel or how good you're being for him… it's just, everything. he wants to say what's on his mind with you, and especially behind closed doors? he's got a whole lot of thoughts, and all of them happen to be good things about you.

taglist! @interstellar-inn @pixelcafe-network @hunters-association @ononpetitecroissant @darlingdummycassandra @milkandstarlight @thoupenguinman @valyvinny @rafayelsheart @jellyroom2 @chemiru @ywnzn @pepprrmint @angel-jupiter @cordidy @oharasmommymilkers00 @rafayelsgf @rafslvr @spotted-salamander @love-and-deepstrays @m2ichaelis @keioxo @theanbitchless

© rose-tinted-kalopsia. all rights reserved. do not: steal, copy, repost, reupload, modify, or claim any of my works as your own, regardless of credit given. absolutely do not use my works for AI training and other related purposes.

[k0yaz]

idk if you write for more than one character at a time, but can i please request the male hashira x gn reader headcanons for when their crush sits on their lap? mostly fluff maybe slight spice? thanks

when you sit on their lap hcs

Pairing(s): male hashira x gn!reader (except muichiro)

CW: sfw, slightly suggestive, gn!reader, lap sitting, very suggestive on tengen’s part, slight mention of thigh riding and grinding

A/N: again, I am so sorry this took awhile because I was on vacation I will be working on what’s in my inbox now <33

Gyomei is weirdly calm about it

Probably because he’s blind or cause he doesn’t have a hard time keeping his composure

He’ll adjust himself so you have a more comfortable position to sit in

Keeps his arms wrapped around your waist or torso to help you balance on his thigh or wherever you’re sitting down

Rests his chin onto your head occasionally

Sometimes forgets to tell you to get off, and you guys just remain in that position for a long time just talking like normal

Another hashira would have to see you two and point it out in order for you to finally get off

Gyomei would apologize if necessary and let you off calmly

“Y/N, I enjoy you sitting on me, we should have more conversations like this.”

Sanemi on the other hand is a little more aggressive…

When you sit down on his lap, he’s completely flustered, his face bright red and hot

He’d yell at you to get off, even though he made no effort to get you off

We know you enjoy it Sanemi it’s okay

If you got off, he’d growl under his breath and try to scoot himself closer to you until you sat back on him

If you stay on his lap, he averts his eyes from yours, and grits his teeth while blushing furiously

After some time of awkward silence of him holding your waist and you cuddling him in his lap, a thread basically snaps inside him, and he pulls you close to him, burying his face into your neck

Sanemi would plant your hips down using his bare hands, and press his teeth to your neck, making sure there’s no space between the two of you

“You got me all hot and bothered, Y/N. Now take responsibility you damn brat.”

Rengoku would have a fairly normal, but excited reaction

He would laugh loudly and hug you tightly, smiling up/down at you as you’re situated on his lap

He allow you to rest your head onto his shoulder in a loving manner

Bro literally can’t stop smiling the whole time you’re on his lap

You two just sit there in a joyful manner, hugging each other tightly while laughing and smiling casually

Rengoku definitely holds onto you as tight as he can after atleast 10 minutes of cuddling

He just can’t get enough, you’re too cute

Probably also presses an overwhelming amount of kisses to your cheek every 20-30 seconds

You can literally feel him smiling against your skin as he kisses you

“Y/N! We shall do this again after our next mission!”

Tengen is definitely the most suggestive and flirtatious with this

As soon as you take a seat on his thigh, he smirks and pulls you into him without hesitation

His arms are locked around your waist as he leans into you with a depraved expression

Constant teasing while you’re on him, no doubt about it

Like, he kisses you everywhere accessible, and grips your waist tighter

When you’re on his thigh, he moves his thigh up and down a little, and helps move your waist back and forth against him

Basically allows you to grind on him if you’re okay with it

Teases you by leaning back and placing his arms to rest against a nearby surface as you keep your movements against him up

“Come on Y/N, don’t keep me waiting.”

Giyuu is quite calm and unfazed when you sit on his lap, similar to Gyomei

He just sits back, and occasionally rests his hands onto your waist or shoulders

Poor guy hasn’t had much affection, and is hella disliked so he just stays quiet the whole time

But, he does hold you tightly. It may not be something huge, but you can feel his affection and love in his embrace

Rests his head onto your shoulder

His breathing is calm and slow against your skin as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, with his chin situated between your shoulder and collarbone.

If you try to get up, he’ll let you, but not before asking you to hold him a bit longer

Maybe, just maybe, he’ll smile against you if he feels comfortable with your body pressed against his on his lap

“Y/N…I love you. Don’t leave me, please.”

Obanai remains silent, but it’s no secret that he’s flustered.

He looks away bashfully and squeezes his eyes shut, trying to avoid eye contact with you since it’s too embarrassing for him

He sighs heavily, trying to maintain his composure with you literally seated on his lap

His face is tinted a bright red, not even his bandaged mouth can hide the heavy blush dusting his cheeks

When you look over, you can literally see Kaburamaru giving Obanai a “you’re a fucking pussy” type stare

I guess that causes him to finally look at you and make eye contact

When he does gain some sort of confidence, he rests his hands onto your shoulders, and eventually wraps his arms around your torso, pulling you closer

He pulls you a little too close- putting you chest to chest with him, and his arms locked around you tightly and squeezing you

If you point out the fact that he’s hugging you too tight, he’ll get embarrassed and quietly apologize, before loosening his grip around you

Just let the man hug you and tough it out okay

“I- Y/N…I’m at a loss for words..?”

A/N: hehheehhe did y’all miss me I’m back <3

I’ll come clean and admit- although I came back recently, I have been writing shit for myself the past week or so?

OKAY DONT BLAME ME I NEED TO THERE ARE NO GOOD FANFICS THAT ARE WELL WRITTEN OR HAVE ANY EMOTION I NEEDA TAKE MATTERS IJTO MY OWN HANDS LMFAOAOS 😭

[luludeluluramblings]

Smalltown!Neglected!Meta!Reader x Yandere!Batfam ☁️ Part Four

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Part One ☁️ Part Two ☁️ Part Three ☁️ Part Five ☁️ Part Six ☁️ Part Seven ☁️ Part Eight

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Warning: Obessive behavior, Yandere tendencies, su*c*de/death.

A/N: Finally adding warning labels. We’re getting somewhere. I’ve had some of this written out, but had to add some stuff in to drive it home. Reader’s coping skills are failing, but everyone’s starting to get obsessive. Also, I’ve been fighting myself on drawing art for this. (I’m a bit out of practice.)

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Reader has basically called befriending Damian and Jason a lost cause.

Bruce still avoids reader. And, everyone else is still busy with what Reader assumes is Batwork. (Which is fine, Reader is fine. It’s not like they’re stuck in the manor pacing the halls every damn day.)

Cass and Duke’s get back from their respective missions. They weren’t gone too long, but they’re come back a bit roughed up. They debrief with Bruce and then have to go back to being civilians.

Reader is waiting to comfort them. Not to confront them. Reader’s more concerned with how Duke has a mild limp and how Cass’s knuckles have some bruising than them ditching. Plus, reader is still not completely sure that her family is Gotham’s vigilantes. They need to confirm.

But, Duke and Cass both appreciate Reader checking on them and not asking questions. Cass suspects Reader suspects something, judging by Reader’s body language. But, it’s nice for someone who’s naturally soft to be soft with you.

Duke appreciates how Reader treats him so, normally. In a way it reminds him of his childhood, when things were easier. He has a normal friend now, completely mostly free of Gotham’s crazy.

Reader is happy their back, but disappointed that they won’t be going to the school gala. In fact, a few family members make comments about how it sounds like a waste of time.

Bruce, however, is actually happy Reader is excited. And, Reader gets even more excited when one of their new friends ask to be their date. Reader’s date is so genuinely excited about going to this Gala with Reader. (Uh-oh, that’s not good.)

Some of Reader’s other friends, the more haughty and wealthy ones, tell Reader that they should’ve picked someone more… refined. Which Reader defends that their Date is perfectly sweet and good looking to boot.

But, this leads Reader to decide not to tell anyone in the family about their date. They don’t want to hear the same thing from their Gotham family. Reader does inform BFF, younger brother, and Nana of their date. For some reason, BFF was a bit disgruntled, and even Nana tried to convince them it was probably best not to go. Younger Brother was encouraging reader to have fun. (But he was whispering into the phone, and asking Reader if he could come visit them soon. Please. People are acting weird here. Is everything okay, do you need me to come home. No. No. Don’t— It’s fine. I just wanna come visit you.)

But, reader was committed to going and enjoying their date and wearing their custom made outfit.

That night, Reader was given Bruce’s permission to get ready at one of their friends’ houses. Reader was practically spoiled by their friends, it was almost a bit overwhelming. Their date meet them at the Gala escorting them inside and having a wonderful time. (I hope it last. It’s not going to though. How sad.)

At the end of the night, their Date escorted them home. To end a near perfect night Reader got a kiss. A long and pretty heated kiss. Right in front of the Entrance camera.

Tim had pulled up the camera feed when Reader got home, at Bruce’s request, just to check on Reader. (He was going to do it anyway.) The entire family was winding down from Patrol in the Batcave when the feed came on. Leaving them all to get a front row seat to Reader’s little act of rebellion.

(That’s all this was, right. Just a little act of rebellion. This won’t happen again, obviously. They won’t fucking let it.)

Bruce is livid. It doesn’t help that Jason wolf-whistles to further enrage him. (Jason is making plans to break someone’s leg though. Possibly the Dates. How fucking dare they corrupt you, that’s his job.)

Stephane is honestly impressed, didn’t think Reader had it in them. (How cute! I wonder what we could get up to together.)

Duke, sweet Duke, didn’t want to see that. His (best) friend getting tongued down on camera. He’s going to need bleach and therapy. (Why would you do that? When you can just game with him. You’re his bro. Gross.)

Cassandra is… understanding. Reader has needs. Reader wants affection. That’s fine. But, not that one. Pick someone else. (Llet her pick, actually. You can’t read people like her, you need someone better. Someone you she can trust. She needs to approve of them first.)

Dick is more disapproving, but he understands. Still, this changes how he sees Reader. Sweet innocent helpless Reader has a wild side. (But still reader is clearly helpless, obviously they don’t know what they’re doing.)

It also changes how Barbara sees Reader. Or confirms. Barbara runs under the assumption that Reader is more like Bruce than anyone realizes. (She’s not wrong, but it’s not in the way she thinks.) Bruce is a bit of natural flirt, he just hides it in his ‘Brucie’ persona. Reader apparently takes after that. (Damian sure didn’t.)

Damian, is disgusted, disappointed, and disapproving. He doesn’t doubt Father will scold you, but your date needs to be dealt with and all other suitors as well. (He’ll take care of it. He’s your brother, that’s his job.)

Tim, however, is legitimately jealous. He wanted to see this side of reader first. He got a glimpse of it before, but he wants it for himself now that he sees the full thing. (Also, right in front of the camera? Did Reader know it was there? If they did, would they be okay with Tim filming them more? Just to observe, please.)

Tim immediately starts pulling up all the information he can about Reader’s date. Without Bruce’s prompting this time. Bruce does nod in approval before marching to the entrance. Intent on putting an end to this and giving Reader a firm talking to.

It goes, horribly. Date is forced to leave and Bruce tears into Reader. (What happened to the outfit I bought you? Why didn’t you tell me you had a date? I didn’t approve of this. I don’t care that you’re back on time or that you’re old enough, you’re my child! Mine! You get my approval first.)

Reader stays composed, barely. The good news is that the brutal scolding is the only consequence Reader faces. (Bruce is more upset about Reader not seeking his approval than doing something he disapproves of. He’s your father. He should have a damn say. Would you have done this to D̴̖̞͑̊̓a̷͎͗̇d̸̜͍̩̓̎d̸̪̩̟̆̎y̶̛̼̌? Why are you doing this to him?)

The bad news, Reader’s date’s life is over. With just a few clicks from Tim and approval from Bruce, Date’s family company falling apart. Reported to the government, lawsuits filed by third-parties. Hidden debts needing to be collected NOW. Any misfiled taxes? Found and reported. And, most importantly, all calls and ways for Date to contact reader again, blocked.

Socially and financially, Date’s life is ruined in less than twenty-four hours. Worst of all, Reader doesn’t know. They’re still on cloud nine about the night, despite Bruce’s lecture. But, come Sunday morning, two days later, things fall apart.

Date is reported dead. Apparent suic1de just the night before. The financial implosion of the family was named the apparent reason.

Reader is distraught, confused, and hurt. What happened? What’s going on? This can’t be happening. I don’t want to lose anymore people I care about. I don’t want to lose someone like Momma and Daddy again.

Reader’s Gotham friends console Reader, saying it’s not their fault. That Date struggled with thought before. Don’t blame yourself. (They weren’t worth your time.)

Surprisingly enough, it’s Dick that finds reader having a borderline breakdown.

Dick clings and coddles and coos, but this time. Reader clings back. Reader clings back tight. Desperate for comfort. Which is surprising for Dick.

Most of the family tends to brush off his attempts at comfort until they hit rock bottom. For once, this isn’t someone hitting rock bottom before they need him. This is someone that’s just genuinely sad and overwhelmed and needs wants him.

Dick also ran under the assumption that Reader was allergic to affection, like Damian and Bruce. But, apparently, that wasn’t the case. It’s a nice feeling. To have someone not fight him when he tries to be comforting. Someone who is happy to take it. Of course, he doesn’t stay long. Once Reader pulls themselves together he’s got to get back to Buldhaven, but this time he leaves a bit slower. (But, him leaving somehow makes Reader feel worse.)

[girliemattitude]

— - 3 Times you and Matt were caught by the cameras (Fans)- — M.S - —

A/N: Do you guys actually want a pt.2 of ‘guilty as sin’???? I just don’t know how to continue it 😭 A/N (2): This is my work please don’t steal it <3

………………………………………………………………………………….……………………

1. “Night out”

The venue pulsed with a mix of blue and red lights, casting vibrant shadows across the room. Influencers mingled, their conversations a constant hum beneath the thumping bass of the music. I spotted Matt standing against the wall, a cup of root beer in his hand, looking as out of place as he always did at these events. He'd only come because I convinced him, promising it would be fun.I made my way through the crowd and sidled up to him, teasingly nudging his arm. "Come on, Matt, let loose a little," I urged with a playful smile. Before he could protest, I took the cup from his hand and finished his root beer, even though it wasn’t my favorite drink. Setting the empty cup on the floor, I grabbed his hands and started to sway, pretending to dance. He gave me that side smile that always made my heart skip a beat. "You’re impossible, you know that?" he said, but his voice was warm.Ignoring his mock complaint, I placed his hands on my waist and intertwined mine on his shoulders. The music was infectious, and soon, Matt began to move with me. As he relaxed, he rested his head in the crook of my neck, planting a sweet kiss there. I shivered at the touch, feeling a rush of affection. He pulled back slightly to look at me, then leaned in to give me a few soft pecks on the lips.

Time seemed to blur as we danced, lost in our own little world amidst the chaos of the party. I pressed my back against his chest, his hands firmly on my waist, his head resting on my shoulder. Every so often, I’d lift a hand to caress his face or run my fingers through his hair, feeling his contentment mirrored in my own. Dancing with Matt, feeling the gentle sway of our bodies in sync, I felt a rush of emotions. The warmth of his breath on my neck, the softness of his lips against my skin—it all made me feel flustered, my heart racing in the most delightful way. His closeness, the way his hands moved gently on my waist, sent shivers down my spine. I could feel a blush creeping up my cheeks, my breath hitching slightly as the intimacy of the moment enveloped us. Unbeknownst to us, the room was filled with influencers recording and taking pictures of themselves, Matt and I on the background of most of them.

The next morning, social media was buzzing with videos of us kissing and dancing. Fans of Matt, who were always curious about our private relationship, were thrilled to see this rare glimpse into our lives. The comments were filled with excitement and joy, many expressing how happy they were to see Matt looking so relaxed and in love. As I scrolled through the posts, I glanced over at Matt, who was still asleep beside me. A smile tugged at my lips, knowing that even though he hated these events, last night had been worth it for both of us. Matt stirred beside me, blinking his eyes open as he reached for his phone. Moments later, he sat up, his face a mix of amusement and concern.

"Did you see this?" he asked, showing me a video of us dancing and kissing.I laughed softly. "

Yes, babe, don't worry. It's all good," I replied, leaning over to kiss his cheek. "They’re mostly good comments anyway."

He sighed, relief washing over his features. "I just didn’t want you to feel overwhelmed by it." I snuggled closer to him, feeling the warmth of his body against mine.

"I’m not. Last night was perfect, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything."

2. “Madison’s concert”

Matt and I had been looking forward to Madison's concert in L.A. for weeks. The anticipation had been building, and when the day finally arrived, we were buzzing with excitement. As we walked towards the venue, the energy of the crowd was palpable. When we arrived, fans immediately recognized Matt and his brothers. They cheered and called out their names, waving eagerly. A few fans even shouted out my name, making me blush as we waved back at them. It was a surreal experience, and we soaked in the moment before finding our seats.

As the concert began, we stood, eager to immerse ourselves in the music. Madison took the stage, and the crowd erupted in applause. A few songs in, I was singing along, my voice blending with the thousands of others in the venue. The atmosphere was electric. Suddenly, I felt Matt's arms wrap around me from behind. He pulled me close, his warmth seeping into me. Gently, he moved my hair to the side and leaned down to plant a lingering kiss on my exposed shoulder. I shivered at his touch, leaning back into him and intertwining my hands with his on my stomach. The music, the crowd, and the intimacy of the moment made everything feel perfect.

We didn’t noticed but a few people around us had noticed our tender moment and started recording. We were lost in our own world, completely unaware of the attention we were garnering.

The next morning, we woke up to a flood of notifications. Our moment at the concert had been shared across multiple fan pages. Videos and photos of Matt hugging me and kissing my shoulder were everywhere. Fans commented on how sweet we looked together, and the unexpected attention made us smile.

3. “Pizza place”

Matt, Nick, Chris, and I decided to have a relaxing evening out, heading to our favorite pizza place. It was a quiet spot with just a few people, which was a relief. We could feel comfortable without the usual buzz of fans asking for pictures. Not that we minded it was just nice to have a break sometimes and feel like normal people. As we waited, Nick started to complain about how long it was taking for our pizza to be ready and Chris was being his goofy self. Matt, sensing my slight boredom, pulled me into a side hug, resting his head on my shoulder and making an exaggerated exhausted face. I couldn't help but laugh a little at his playful demeanor. He kissed my cheek a few times and squeezed my waist tightly. I gently pulled away to look at him, fixing his hair with one of my hands. We smiled at each other, and in that moment, it was clear how in love we are. The whole moment was being recorded by a girl in the corner. By the time we got home, clips of us laughing at something Chris said and our sweet moment were already all over the fan pages. Fans commented on how happy and in love we looked, and while it was a little overwhelming to see ourselves online again, it was heartwarming to know that our happiness resonated with so many people.

………………………………………………………………………………….……………………

[vividxpages]

☁️🎀 being pregnant with Jace as your boyfriend ⋆ ˚｡౨ৎ ⋆˚🧸ྀི

a positive pregnancy test and the brightest smile you have ever seen on Jace’s face. careful first weeks and a growing secret within you, kept safe by the love of your life who can’t believe he’s going to be a dad. sneaking glances at each other across the dinner table at his parents’ place when you ask for another plate because you’re simply. so. hungry.  him accompanying you to your first doctor’s appointment and listening so intently to everything that’s being said, taking notes even.

little baby socks and bookmarked advice books on Jace’s nightstand. your feet in his lap as you read together on the couch, his hands absently caressing your legs. wanting to learn as much as possible together before your little one arrives.

him noticing when you tend to spiral into sudden emotions when your hormones are a complete mess and tend to overwhelm you. being there for you whenever and however you need him. you, wanting to make a birthday cake for the twins, but the dough came out of the oven with a little tear in its side and just bursting into tears. Jace taking you in his arms and gently comforting you, although you are well aware you’re being silly. (he says you aren’t.)

pregnancy cravings. it’s the middle of the night and you are craving muffins? Jace gets up and makes some for you. You long for that one fancy salad this super exclusive restaurant downtown serves? Jace drives through the whole city to get you this specific order (and probably dessert). falling asleep on the couch and being woken up by a little snack platter he made for you, carefully cut fruit and your favorite chocolate.

telling his family and giggling with each other beforehand, because now you can finally tell (and not really hide it anymore). being surrounded by so much joy from his parents over their grandchild and his brothers being excited to become uncles.

baby clothes and Jace being obsessed with them. little designer pieces that are ridiculously expensive or the cheesiest print you can imagine. going shopping with you once your clothes start not to fit you anymore and hyping you up so much and boosting your confidence.

doing a picture book together of the road until the baby’s arrival and tearing up at the sweet little notes he writes to his child on the empty pages. Jace bringing home fresh fruit that should be the baby’s size by now. playing boy or girl? nearly every day during the last trimester, mostly when you are right on the brink of falling asleep. him telling little stories to your baby, how much it’s loved and how everyone can’t wait to finally meet it. painting the baby’s room together and him calling you sexy in your comfy overall fit.

being his little spoon as he carefully splays his hand over your stomach, protective and adoring of your body. his hands always on you in one way or the other, supporting your lower back or softly caressing your arm when he senses your nervousness sometimes.

the months passing so effortlessly and beautifully until you both welcome your little angel into the world and your family is complete...

[sleepyparalysisdmon]

Want You Back

If you’d ask Wonwoo if he regrets divorcing his ex wife, he’d normally say no. They’re on good terms and make a great team co-parenting. But there are little things that make him miss what it was like back then. 

Pairing: Wonwoo x female reader

Genres: mostly angst, a little fluff, a little smut, exes to lovers, second chance

Word count: 7k

TW/CW: MDNI, contains smut with no mention of protection. Discussion of unplanned pregnancy, birth complications, postpartum depression, and divorce. I tried to handle these topics delicately, but if they’re sensitive for you, maybe skip this one.

A/N: Wonwoo is so girl dad coded.

On Saturday morning, Wonwoo barely has time to knock on the door before it's flying open and a little body is flinging to his legs. Jieun is five and insists she’s not a baby anymore, but he still leans down and picks her up. She’s got pink, glittery ribbons in her hair and even a little bit of glittery makeup on her eyes and it makes Wonwoo smile. “Hi sweetheart,” he says, kissing her cheek. “Been into Eomma’s makeup?” 

She’s squirming out of his arms as soon as the door is closed behind him. “She did it for me! It’s for our daddy daughter day!”

“Well, I love it,” he says gently. “What did you want to get into?”

Jieun is thinking seriously. He’s seen that face before, but usually not on her. He’s about to get hit with a big ask. “I can’t pick between ice cream or boba. Or the park or the museum.” 

Okay. Not a huge ask. Wonwoo shrugs. “Why not all of it?” This elates Jieun and she’s sprinting for the door. A couple tongue click make her halt when her hand hits the door knob. 

“Shoes and coat, baby. It’s cold out.”

Wonwoo faces his ex wife. Y/N is dressed in comfy clothes for a day at home. Despite the light scolding, she looks entertained by Jieun’s excitement. Y/N smiles at Wonwoo. “She’s been up since 5am, yapping about the day with you.”

Her words aren’t spiteful at all, but sometimes he wishes it was. Maybe he’d know what to do with it then. Wonwoo slaps on a smile to hide his uncertainty. “So that means you’ve been up since 5am,” he says simply. 

Y/N rolls her eyes. “The princess wanted her hair and makeup done.”

“She comes by it naturally,” Wonwoo teases. Y/N has stepped closer to take a pair of sandals from Jieun and replace it with sneakers, but on the way, she shoves at Wonwoo playfully. He can’t help but laugh because he barely rocks on his feet at the force.

Once Jieun’s coat and shoes are in place and she’s been smothered in kisses, Y/N steps back. Wonwoo waits for the typical warning. “Be careful, drive safely, and don’t let her have too much sugar or else none of us will be sleeping tonight. You’re included in that. Call me if you need me.”

Wonwoo nods lightly. He’s never been offended by these reminders because he’s aware some men in his position might be reckless (and that might be the entire reason they’re in his position in the first place).  Y/N’s warnings don’t come from a place of lack of trust, but rather overwhelming concern for Jieun. “I think I got it, but you know you’re my first call. Relax today, okay? You’ve had a long week.” Jieun is tired of their chatting, and tugs hard on his hand towards the door. Wonwoo loads Jieun into the car and then glances back and waves to Y/N one more time before he gets into the car himself. 

~

It was over before it really began. They met at a bookstore approximately seven years ago. Wonwoo was debating on picking up the latest in a series he’d kept up with for years but had kind of fallen off the wagon for, and had even been flipping through the book to help make the decision when he heard a curse from the end of the aisle. He blinked repeatedly because it was clear the curse was directed at him and she was pretty. Really pretty. Y/N had frowned as she approached. “You wouldn’t happen to be buying that, would you? I think it’s the last in stock and I can’t find it anywhere else.” Wonwoo had made his decision pretty quickly after that, handing the book over to her, but not before starting a conversation. 

They’d hit it off quickly. Wonwoo wasn’t the type to ever be described as warm, at least not to someone that didn’t know him well. But Y/N was very warm and it did something to him. He laughed and smiled more. He was more emotional. He grew an appreciation for things he’d never cared much for, if only because he liked seeing her happy. 

And then came the surprise. Within a year of dating, they were pregnant. They were in agreement to keep the child, but they had a hard time agreeing on what things would like in this new life they were catapulting towards. They felt pressured to get married and it only seemed like a reasonable choice at the time. It was a small wedding, if only because Y/N had wanted to do it fast before she started showing much, afraid of the reactions that they might get if she was farther along in a wedding dress. They bought a small house and moved in together. 

The last trimester of pregnancy was Y/N’s personal hell. She was at a high risk for birth complications and no amount of bed rest made her feel better, mentally, physically, or emotionally. Wonwoo did the best he could to comfort her but he felt helpless. And then the birth… It was traumatic and Wonwoo had been asked at one point to make some hard decisions. Ultimately, none of that had mattered because both mother and child recovered quickly after a couple weeks in the hospital. 

But that experience had changed him and he didn’t know how to articulate it. Still didn’t five years later, really. So he was there, but not really. He got up to change the diapers and make the bottles in the middle of the night, but there was an insurmountable distance between him and Y/N. Y/N had been struggling with postpartum depression and was like a zombie most days because of the medications she was on. When Y/N had candidly asked him late one night if he was happy, he’d been honest and said no. 

He didn’t fight her on it when divorce papers were placed in front of him later that year. Jieun wasn’t even a year old yet. It was a peaceful separation because they really felt no bitterness towards each other and wanted to keep it that way for their daughter. Wonwoo eventually moved out to an apartment nearby, but he was present at the home they once shared at least a few times a week. He and Y/N split daycare runs and now elementary school runs. If one parent couldn’t take time off with a sick JIeun, the other would work it out. Somehow they made a better team when they didn’t have to think about what they were to each other. Their connection was Jieun and Wonwoo was fine with that. Most days, anyway. 

~

On Sunday morning, Wonwoo knocks on the door. It’s Y/N that opens it this time and she’s already scolding him to just let himself in because he has a key for a reason, but he shoves an iced coffee in her face. She moves out of the way, taking a sip of it. He can tell she’s judging it. “I know your coffee order, Y/N. I made sure they got it right,” Wonwoo huffs, lugging in a bag of dirty laundry. He hates using the shared laundry room in the dingy basement of his apartment complex and Y/N had insisted he just bring it over here for years. Today he’s taking her up on that offer because the machine here seems to eat fewer socks. The coffee is a bribe in case she’s suddenly changed her mind. Regardless, he starts a load before she can think to argue. 

Y/N slides him a plate of pancakes when he sits at the kitchen island. “Thanks,” he said simply. “Any plans today?” 

Y/N sighs. “I have to go get my car serviced. Check engine light came on a couple days ago and I just haven’t gotten around to it yet. I guess it’s good you’ll be here with Jieun?”

Wonwoo doesn’t glance up at her as he eats. “Leave me your keys. I’ll do it today. But next time, just let me know. We could trade cars for the day while I take it in.”

“Wonwoo, you don’t have to do that,” Y/N insists, frowning at him. She hates to inconvenience him, always has. It drove him up the wall when they were together and it still does from time to time, because she’s never once been an inconvenience. 

He stares at her for a few beats. “I’ll just take your keys, Y/N. I don’t want you or my child in a car that might give you problems.” 

When he’s putting his plate in the dishwasher, a keyring slides across the counter in front of his face. “Tell me how much it is and I’ll pay you back.” He knows she only gave in because he mentioned Jieun. He won’t be telling her how much it is and he hopes she forgets. 

~

It’s Wednesday and it was Wonwoo’s turn to pick up Jieun from school. Y/N is flying down the hall and to the front door and Wonwoo thinks it’s to scoop up Jieun - and it is, at first. When Jieun whines and squirms away from her, Y/N moves onto Wonwoo, gripping his elbows excitedly. “It’s here!” Wonwoo can’t help but raise an eyebrow and smile. The ‘it’ in this situation could be so many things. A cute magnet for the fridge. A new keyboard for her desk. A new blanket with some anime character printed on it. It takes so little to excite Y/N and it’s something that Wonwoo’s always loved. 

He lets her lead him to the dining table where she must have been working today. Her laptop is set up alongside multiple notebooks and a box. She whips something out of the box and puts it two inches from his face. Once he can finally see it, he gleams. “The advanced copies are here?” Y/N is a writer and has published a few works, but this one has been a labor of love that Y/N had asked him to beta read last year before it got sent to her publisher. He thinks she’d be his favorite author even without their previous relationship or shared child.

Y/N is grinning widely. “Yep. Open it!”

Wonwoo gives her a look before flipping a few pages. He knows what’s coming because she’s done it for each printed work so far. The title page is always left blank save for the printed text, because she prefers to sign the dedication page for his copies. Wonwoo’s eyes water a bit behind his glasses because he’s mentioned in this one too, just like the last three, along with a kind handwritten message. He can’t spend too much time looking at it now in front of her but he will later. He closes it and admires the cover. “This is great, Y/N. I’m still buying a copy though.”

Y/N gasps. “Why? You’ve already read it. And you always get the first advanced copy.”

Wonwoo shakes his head in entertainment. “Y/N, I preordered it weeks ago. Another copy is coming either way.”

Y/N huffs. “Wonwoo, what you already do is enough. You don’t have to do that.” 

This is an old fight, one that’s come up every time she’s published something since the divorce. She thinks he still purchases her books because he wants to financially support her in anyway he can. It’s never been about that truly because that’s just a given. He’s just proud of her work and wants tangible reminders of it. Besides, he wants to say none of it is nearly enough. Guilt has been gnawing at him for years that he doesn’t do enough for her and maybe never did. Jieun is sprinting back into the room with a binder and pencil. “Appa, can you help me with my homework?” They drop the argument. 

 ~

It’s Friday and Wonwoo lets himself into the house, apologizing profusely. He got caught up in something at work and it had almost slipped his mind that he had agreed to keep Jieun for the evening while Y/N went out. However, his apology falls on deaf ears because no one is in the living room, or even on the first floor. “Where are you guys?” He yells at the foot of the stairs. ‘Bedroom’ is shouted back, so that’s where he goes. 

He tries not to come in here if he can help it. It doesn’t feel like its his space anymore because it’s not. So he hovers in the doorway of their once shared bedroom and smiles at the sight. Y/N is sitting with her back to the door, but Wonwoo can see that Jieun is the picture of concentration as she puts some blush on Y/N. It draws him into the room further than he normally would dare to go. “What’s happening here?”

Jieun narrows her eyes at him like he’s blowing her careful concentration. “I’m doing Eomma’s makeup for her date.” 

Y/N’s tone is admonishing, as if they’ve already had this discussion. “Ji, it’s not a date. I told you, we’re just getting some dinner as friends.” Her explanation doesn’t matter because Wonwoo refuses to acknowledge how his heart plummeted. It’s been four years. It’s a totally reasonable time to start dating again. 

Jieun doesn’t care for the explanation either, because she’s done with Y/N’s makeup, prancing out of the room. Y/N looks a little embarrassed when she stands up and Wonwoo bites back a laugh. “That bad, huh?” 

“It’s… bright,” he says gently. Y/N huffs, picking up the makeup bag and going into the bathroom. Wonwoo trails her. He feels like he has to say something. He supports Y/N. He always has. He’s happy for her, whatever she chooses. He’s determined to be. “So, a date, huh?”

Y/N’s embarrassed smile sinks a bit in the mirror as she tries to tame the artificial pink on her cheeks. “Not a date… But he’s nice. We met him in the park the other day. Jieun really enjoyed playing with his dog, so we got to chatting.”

“And his name is?” Wonwoo teases, though it kind of burns his tongue.

“Seungcheol. It really is just as friends. It’s what I insisted on,” Y/N presses and it makes Wonwoo shake his head. 

“But you don’t have to. If you want to go on a date with him, you should.” 

They’re staring at each other intensely. He doesn’t understand her. She’s the one that got a lawyer first and started divorce proceedings. So when she frowns and asks, “And you’d be okay with that?” He isn’t sure how to respond. He doesn’t know what kind of answer she’s looking for.  He settles for, “If you’d be happy, then yes,” but it feels unsatisfactory for so many reasons. 

Y/N looks like she wants to say something, but Jieun is yelling about someone being at the door and that she’s not supposed to open it for strangers. Y/N curses, patting her cheeks in the mirror one more time before grabbing her sweater and rushing down the stairs. She doesn’t thank him anymore for taking care of Jieun when she has something to do, mostly because it always leads to an ‘equal parent’ conversation. Another old fight. Wonwoo stays in the kitchen as to not have to face Seungcheol picking her up. He simply yells bye from there and sighs deeply when he hears the door close behind them. 

~

It’s two weeks later on a Saturday. Wonwoo is out with Mingyu for lunch. He’s checked pretty far out of the conversation because he’s made the mistake of mentioning Y/N’s non-date. Mingyu offers to set him up with a friend of his. He promises she’s sweet and funny and reads. When Wonwoo doesn’t react to these promises, it becomes a lecture about moving on and being happy. Wonwoo insists that he is happy, but it falls on deaf ears. 

His phone buzzes violently on the table and he holds up a finger to Mingyu with an apology. “Hey Y/N.” He pointedly ignores Mingyu’s eyes narrowing.

“Appa?” Jieun asks.

Wonwoo frowns. She’s not using an excited ‘steal mom’s phone to call dad and ramble about what happened in the park today’ tone. She sounds so serious that it makes Wonwoo’s gut twist. “Ji, honey. Everything okay?” He tries to keep the tone light, so she’s not afraid to answer. She might clam up if he shows his anxiety and he’s determined to be a person she can go to for help.

“Something’s wrong with Eomma.” Wonwoo’s already standing up to put on his coat. 

“Hold on, baby.” Wonwoo gives a short excuse to Mingyu, who despite his mixed feelings about Y/N does seem concerned. Enough to offer to go with him to help anyway. While Mingyu goes to pay the bill, Wonwoo steps outside. “Tell me about it. What’s wrong?” Wonwoo asks gently.

“I don’t know,” Jieun says worriedly. “She says she doesn’t feel good. I don’t know what to and she won’t tell me.”

Wonwoo all but busts into the house with Mingyu on his tail. Y/N is in the downstairs bathroom vomiting and Jieun is doing her best to comfort her, but she looks incredibly relieved when Wonwoo enters the room. Gently, he guides her to Mingyu and takes her spot. Y/N must be able to tell it’s no longer Jieun rubbing her back and holding her hair after the door closes because she starts crying. She’s always hated being sick, but she hates making Jieun worry more and she was holding it back while Jieun was in the room. Wonwoo knows because he feels the same. 

When she sits back with his help, he doesn’t really think much of her leaning into him. His arm is already around her anyway. “Been a while since we’ve been here, huh?” He teases if only to lighten the mood and get her to stop crying because it’s painful to see. She elbows him weakly. “What was that about?”

“Migraine. I woke up with it. You know how it goes when it gets bad.” 

He does. Between the horrible morning sickness with Jieun and the migraines she suffered from anyway, they’d found themselves just like this on many occasions in this very bathroom floor. 

“Thanks for coming.”

Mindlessly, he presses a kiss to the top of her head. “All you or Jieun have to do is call.”

~

It’s Christmas Eve and Wonwoo has just put Jieun to bed. Y/N says she has a long night ahead of her wrapping presents for Jieun. Wonwoo considers leaving because there are just some things that he doesn’t want to push. This feels too ‘Mom and Dad are together’ of them, even if Jieun isn’t even awake to see it. They’re still a team, but they rarely work on anything together. They tend to split the jobs between them instead. 

Still, the mountain of boxes in the bedroom floor makes him second guess leaving. He leans against the door frame and watches Y/N sort through the sea of boxes. “Did we go a little overboard this year?” He jokes. Y/N gives him a sheepish smile. 

“What can I say? She’s at that age where she can tell us what she wants, and we’re both total suckers.” 

She’s right. All Jieun has to do is bat her big eyes and pout up at either one of them. A good, “Appa, please,” usually does the trick even he was trying to be strong. 

“Do you need some help?” Wonwoo finds himself asking. He’s not a great gift wrapper, but he can hand her boxes and tape. And it feels totally unfair to leave her with all of this when he’s contributed half of these boxes to the pile.

Y/N smiles and shakes her head. “No, you should go get some rest. You said you’re visiting your family tomorrow, right?”

The question burns and he knows she doesn’t mean it like that. She doesn’t have family around so it would just be her and Jieun tomorrow morning. Wonwoo said he’d visit family, yes. But he finds himself biting the inside of his cheek. “You two are my family too.” 

Y/N releases the box and frowns at him. “Wonwoo, I promise I didn’t mean it like that. You’re welcome here anytime, literally. But you see us all the time and you don’t get to see anyone else that often.” 

“And if I want to bail on them and help you wrap presents instead? And watch Jieun open them in the morning?”

Y/N gives him a long look, before finally picking up the tape dispenser and holding it out to him. “Then come on.” 

~

Much later, Wonwoo finds himself somewhere he hasn’t been in four years. Y/N had insisted it was too cold to sleep downstairs on the couch. “It’s not like you haven’t slept in this bed together before.” She means it as a joke but his mind races when she shoves some of his old clothes into his hand. 

It must be weird for her too, because she’s still awake. He’s about to excuse himself and find a couple blankets to take downstairs when she speaks up. “I’m sorry for how that sounded earlier. You are my family. I know we’re… complicated sometimes. But that doesn’t change anything.” 

Wonwoo glances at her. He hasn’t seen her like this in a long time, lying next to him with messy hair, and it gives him a rush of emotions that he has to beat down. “I know. I know we’re complicated sometimes, but I still love you and Jieun more than anyone else in the world. Of course, I’d rather be here.”

Y/N chuckles. It sounds a little watery and he’s not ready to see her cry. “We love you too. You’re the greatest dad and there have been so many times I wish things were different for us. For Jieun.”

Wonwoo rolls to face her. “Do you regret it?” He’s afraid of the answer.

“I don’t know? Neither of us were happy. I’d hate to think that we might still be like that if we had stayed together, and what it might have done to Jieun. But sometimes the lines blur for me.”

“Me too,” Wonwoo says simply. He gets it. The urge to hug and kiss and hold her like when they were together. The desire to take care of her. The need to fall into bed with her like they did in their tragically short relationship and let her warm him up. He recognizes that some of it is just what he should do for the mother of his child. A toxic relationship between them would negatively impact Jieun and they’ll have none of it. But every time he leaves the house to go to a quiet apartment, he feels a mixture of relief and pain. Sometimes he wants to stay, like he is tonight, just to get over the fear of getting close to that blurred line again and see what happens. 

“Wonwoo? Have you dated any?”

“No,” Wonwoo says bluntly. “Mingyu tries to set me up but I’ve avoided it.” 

Y/N hesitates. “If you say it’s okay for me to date, then it would be okay for you as well. There’s no double standard here.”

He can’t imagine being with anyone else, so he says so. Y/N finally looks at him, eyes a little watery. “Still?” He simply nods and she bravely slides over to him. His arms fold around her automatically. “It gets lonely, doesn’t it? Our situation?”

“Lonely?” He questions though he gets it. He just likes to hear her thoughts. 

“It’s not just about things like sex. It’s about the daily intimacy. I don’t get nearly enough hugs anymore because I’m too busy giving them. How silly is that?” Y/N chuckles into his chest. 

“It’s not silly at all,” he says easily. The second part doesn’t come out so easily. “So there’s been no one in any capacity?” Y/N shakes her head in his chest. Something possesses him to press a kiss to her head. “Me neither.” 

His words make her lift her head and look up at him. Out of habit, no matter how old it is, he grazes the side of her face. It’s also an old habit to lean down and kiss her. Warmth blooms in his chest when she kisses back. It takes very little thought to see where this is going. She starts shedding his clothes and hers are right behind his. When he pushes himself into her, he thinks he could cry at the little sounds she makes because they’re the same. It’s the same when he tells her he loves her and she says it back. It’s the same when she comes hard around him and he follows quickly after. It’s also the same to shower together afterwards. 

They don’t talk about it. Wonwoo wonders if she’s just as lost for words as he is when they climb back into bed. They don’t talk about it in the morning either, but Wonwoo can’t resist finding little reasons to touch her. Brushing up against her in the kitchen while they make breakfast. Sitting close with an arm around her as they watch Jieun open gifts from the couch. Sneaking a little kiss on her cheek on his way out later that night. Once he’s had a taste after so long, he remembers how much he loved it. It’s like a knife in his chest to go back to his quiet apartment. 

~

It’s the middle of January, in the middle of the night, when Wonwoo’s phone rings. He’s groggy but his eyes shoot up when he sees who’s calling. She would never call this late if it wasn’t an emergency. “Y/N?”

Her breathing is a little jagged on the line. “Wonwoo, Jieun is sick.”

He knows this, Jieun has had the flu for a few days now, but Y/N wouldn’t panic like this for just anything. He’s up and pulling on clothes fast. “Talk to me, baby.” The name comes out before he realizes it but Y/N doesn’t say anything about it. 

“She’s got a high fever and I think she’s dehydrated. She’s so out of it that she won’t really talk to me.”

Wonwoo doesn’t know exactly when he hung up the phone or how fast he drove, but he finds Y/N hovering over Jieun’s bedside. He decides they’re out of their element when he sees the thermometer and scoops up Jieun. “Let’s just go to the hospital.” 

Y/N grabs her things swiftly and they’re in the car within a couple minutes. Wonwoo’s nerves are shot already. He doesn’t want to take Jieun to the hospital because it brings back too many memories. But hospital staff say nearly an hour later that it was the right decision. They want to keep Jieun for a few hours at least to reduce the fever and get her rehydrated. 

Outside of the exam room, Y/N cries into his chest. He does his best to soothe her, but everything he says is to soothe himself too. How Jieun came into this world was traumatic and both parents feel raw about it to this day, particularly since they’re standing in the same hospital that they were in five years ago. 

The next morning, Mingyu brings him a bag of clothes because he won’t be going back to his apartment any time soon. Jieun will still need a few days of careful monitoring at home and Y/N’s hands haven’t stopped shaking, even when they’re on the way home later in the afternoon. He reaches over blindly and holds them in her lap as he drives. 

~

It’s Valentine’s Day and Wonwoo is regretting agreeing to this. Mingyu’s been applying a lot of pressure lately to date. He has no excuse not to go when Y/N encourages him to, saying she doesn’t have any plans and will be home with Jieun having a girl’s night. Wonwoo hesitantly asked if Seungcheol hadn’t tried to make plans with her and she’d simply shrugged and said ‘It wasn’t going to work’.

So Wonwoo finds himself seated in front of a woman named Seoyun. Mingyu didn’t lie. She’s pretty, seems sweet, has a good sense of humor, and likes to read. Wonwoo is entirely unsettled by all of it but does his best to be polite. When he says nervously that it’s been a while since he’s dated, she waves it off and asks about him. He keeps it simple. He talks about his job and his daughter. Seoyun doesn’t seem put off by the mention of Jieun but carefully asks if the mother is in the picture. He smiles and simply says, “Yes, she is and we’re on good terms.” If he were to ever entertain bring someone else into Jieun’s life, Y/N’s presence is a non-negotiable and they should know it right away. 

“Do you mind if I ask why it didn’t work?” Seoyun asked hesitantly. It occurs to Wonwoo that Mingyu might not have mentioned this little snag. She might not have agreed to go out with him if she did. 

Nonetheless, Wonwoo keeps that answer brief as well. “We were only together briefly before we found out Jieun was on the way. We rushed to get married but quickly decided that it wasn’t making us happy.”

This seems to make Seoyun relax. He’s sure she was expecting some sob story about infidelity or money problems - the typical things that make people divorce. She tells him that she owns a bakery. When she tells him the name, he has to pretend like he’s never heard of it, despite the fact that his and Y/N’s little wedding cake came from there years ago and Seoyun probably made it herself. 

He walks her to her front door at the end of the night and Seoyun smiles at him. “I don’t expect a second date.”

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow. “Oh. Was it something I said?” He’s not hurt, just curious. 

Seoyun chuckles. “No, nothing like that. I had a great time and you seem like a nice guy. I knew you would be because Mingyu had so many nice things to say about you. I just know when someone’s still in love with someone else.” Wonwoo feels his face pinch and Seoyun chuckles again. “It’s okay, really. I get it. You and your ex have history and you still care. Maybe you can even fix it one day.”

Wonwoo’s mouth is dry. “I don’t know if she wants that.” And the idea of asking feels like standing on a ledge. 

Seoyun smiles kindly. “Just think about it. People have stressful periods of their life and some relationships don’t endure. But I’m a believer in right person, wrong time.” She wishes him good night and goes inside. He’s a little dazed the rest of the night. 

~

Mingyu calls Y/N and says he needs uncle time a few weekends later and Y/N promptly hands Jieun over at the door an hour later. Y/N and Mingyu aren’t exactly friends, but they have some mutual respect for each other. Mingyu is suspicious when Wonwoo calls to ask if Y/N indicated what her plans were, but simply says ‘chores’.

Wonwoo lets himself into the house. Y/N is standing on the kitchen counter when he enters the room and jumps when he grabs ahold of her legs. “Hey! What are you doing here? Jieun is out with Mingyu.”

“I know,” he says vaguely. “The better question is what are you doing all the way up there?”

Y/N huffs. “Switching out my mugs.” Wonwoo hums. She’s collected coffee mugs for years and brought a not-so-small collection with her when they’d moved in together way back when. She had seasonal and holiday mugs that had to be shuffled around between the rack on the counter and the upper cabinet periodically. 

“Wish you would just let me do that,” Wonwoo teases, though it does make him nervous to find her climbing on things. It always has. 

Y/N snorted. “I would have if I knew you were coming over. But I’m almost done.” When she closes the cabinet, Wonwoo lifts her off the counter and places her on her feet. It makes her giggle and his chest feels warm. 

“What? Didn’t think I could still do that?”

She shoves him by the chest but he stays stationary, his hands still pinned at her waist. Y/N picks up two floral mugs. “Which one do you want?” 

“Black,” he answers shortly just to piss her off and he’s delighted when it works. 

“You took those with you. Bright, seasonal mugs are all we have here.” She twists towards the coffee pot and starts it up because she knows he doesn’t actually care what the coffee is in. Wonwoo is still standing close, hands on her waist. “Not that you’re not welcome anytime, but what brings you here? I just have chores to do today so you run the risk of being put to work if you’re here,” she jokes with her back to him still. 

“You, actually. Can we talk?” 

She peeks over her shoulder, looking up at him. She looks confused. “Oh, okay. What about?”

“Us?” 

He feels her stiffen and she turns to face him fully. “Is this a good ‘us’ or bad ‘us’ conversation?” It’s a fair question. She needs to know if she needs to gear up for a fight. 

“I think it depends on how you take it, but I’d like you to hear me out.” 

“Vague as ever,” Y/N huffs and he can tell it’s mostly a joke. “Let me get coffee for us first.” 

~

They’re seated on the couch next to each other and Wonwoo doesn’t know where to start so he starts lamely. “I’m sorry.”

Y/N’s eyebrows pinch together. “For what?”

“For not being a good husband. I wish I could go back and do so many things over again.”

Y/N bites her lip. “Wonwoo, we were both at fault.” Wonwoo shakes his head at her. 

“No, not equally anyway. You were suffering. With the pregnancy, with the birth, and with the postpartum depression. You needed my help and I checked out mentally and emotionally. I might have still been here physically, but I offered so little otherwise.”

Y/N’s eyes get watery and she puts the mug down on the coffee table, because her hands are shaking a bit. They always do when they talk about that period of time. “You were suffering too. The whole thing was just as much of a surprise for you. And then the pressure you were under at the hospital that night. It was a lot. All of it was.”

Wonwoo shakes his head again. “That’s just it.” He swipes a hand down his face. He hates thinking about that day much less talking about it, but he’s held onto this for five years now. “Things moved fast before that, yes. But something clicked off in my brain when that damned doctor asked me to pick between you or the baby. It’s an impossible decision that I felt like I’d get wrong no matter what. And I couldn’t even talk to you about it because you were a little busy bleeding out.”

He has to stop talking about the details because it feels like a knife twisting in his chest. He’s about to cry, something he rarely does, but this has been building for years now and he doesn’t want to stuff it back down anymore. “And then we get home and all I could picture is what it might have looked like if it hadn’t all worked out. What would I have done to come home without either of you? Or neither, totally alone?” He chuckles bitterly. “It’s so stupid because I have no room to complain. You were the one that almost died. But I couldn’t unsee it. The panic was all I could feel for months afterwards. It just wouldn’t go away and I was numb to everything else. So when you asked if I was happy, I said no, but I should have explained.”

Y/N is silently crying now. “What would you have said?” 

“That I love you too much to lose you. So I let you go. God, it makes no fucking sense when I say it like that. I thought it was what you wanted when you handed me the papers so I signed them.” He’s crying in frustration now, and he feels like he doesn’t deserve it when she wraps her arms around his shoulders, pulling him in. She runs a hand through his hair and he breaks. 

She’s one of the few people he’d let go like this in front of, but he’s still embarrassed when he pulls away. She stays close. “So, what now?” She hesitates. “Do you… want things to change?”

“Selfishly, yes.” 

Y/N chuckles. “First of all, you don’t have a selfish bone in your body.” She cuts him off when he opens his mouth to argue. “Second of all, what do you have in mind?” 

“Can we try again?” The question is weak but she nods and he feels like he could cry again. She’s crawling into his lap just as fast as he’s pulling her in. Once she’s straddling him, his arms fly around her and his lips slam into hers. It’s desperate and fast and it takes a single tug of his shirt from her for him to yank it off impatiently. She’s matches his impatience perfectly, tugging at their clothes to get the most important pieces out of the way until she’s crawling back into his lap and sliding down on him. He moans loudly into her neck at the warmth. 

And then she’s riding him fast and he feels blinded by it. The intensity of it has him hurtling towards an orgasm fast and he reaches for her clit to get her there too. Afterwards, they sit boneless on the couch. He’s still buried inside of her and she’s laying on his chest. “I love you.” 

His heart is in his throat when he says it back, and then he’s standing up with her still attached to him. She squeals and it makes Wonwoo feel so fucking light as he climbs the stairs, throwing her onto the bed. He’s on her in seconds and he doesn’t think he’ll ever get enough. He doesn’t know how he’s lived without it for four years. She urges him into a brutal pace that has her crying out and coming hard more than once. When he’s done, he moves to get them into the shower and she pulls him back down and curls into his side. “No way, we’re staying here for a while.”

Wonwoo laughs, kissing her hard again. 

~

It’s another small wedding, but this time it’s relaxed without all of the pressures they had before. Jieun is the flower girl, but she’s still kind of confused by the whole concept of them getting married. She doesn’t understand how things would even change. Wonwoo moved back in promptly after he and Y/N got back together. Jieun didn’t really seem to notice, which Y/N assured Wonwoo was a good thing. That meant he’d already been so present that the change was imperceptible to her. 

Mingyu is giving a speech. Wonwoo and Y/N didn’t do the groomsmen/bridesmaid thing, but Mingyu still felt compelled to give one because he was certain he would have been the best man If the wedding had been any bigger. Mingyu is surprisingly warm to Y/N now. It seems he’s seen the error of his ways and accepted that being with her makes Wonwoo happy. There was a lot that Wonwoo didn’t tell him back then that he’s told him now. 

Wonwoo looks at Y/N when they toast and clink champagne glasses, but raises an eyebrow when she just pretends to sip it. He grips her thigh lightly and leans over when the music starts again. “You don’t have to pretend to drink it, baby. I don’t want you to get sick again.”

Wonwoo had gotten a call from Y/N first thing this morning. She was late and she was panicking. He abandoned the rule that the bride and groom shouldn’t see each other before the ceremony and went to her hotel room. A few tests later and the results were confirmed. She’d tearfully asked if he wanted to call off the wedding and his vehement denial had startled her. She’d asked him a dozen times and he had to kiss her breathless for her to get it. 

She still looks nervous sitting next to him. “Don’t have any regrets, do you?” 

He pulls her face to his and kisses her hard. He can be soft later, but she needs to understand the intensity of his love right now. “I’m with you. We’ll figure it out.”

“You’re not upset? Really? Even after how things were with Jieun?” She’s getting tearful again. 

“No, I’m not upset. I’d love to have another child with you. But I’ll be picking you if I’m asked again, okay? It’ll always be you.” 

Y/N nods and this time she’s the one kissing him hard. He won’t be letting her go again.