#and it's only when you stop to pay attention

[illyrianbitch]

Breathe

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel has a panic attack. You help him through it.

Warnings: panic attack pov, symptoms of anxiety (heavy breathing, dissociation, bad mean internal narration), lots of talks of fear, breathing exercises, comfort/care

Word Count: 3.6k

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Azriel didn’t notice it at first— not really. 

But his shadows did. 

They curled in close, drawn silent and taut, as if bracing for something, getting ready to soothe him like a newborn babe.

It always started quiet. Or, it used to, when it happened more often. Like pressure building— something soft at first, something creeping.

Azriel shifted in his seat at the end of the table, half in shadow as he often was.  

He blinked once. Twice. 

He realized, rather quickly, that he was too warm.

Not the kind of warm that settled into your bones on a sunny day. Not comfort. No, this was the kind of warmth that crawled across his skin. Under it. Sticky, stifling. His leathers suddenly felt too tight, like his chest couldn’t fully expand. 

He shifted again, pushing himself to focus on Rhysand’s voice once more. On the words his brother, his High Lord, was speaking.

Nothing was wrong. Not really.  He was seated where he always sat, in the same chair, in the same meeting room, listening to the same details about the same rotations and intelligence reports. Nothing was out of place. Everything was all as doomed, as dismal, and as hopeless as it had been recently. 

They were losing a war. And Azriel knew it. 

The conversation turned toward intelligence failures– intercepted reports, broken leads.

Azriel couldn’t stop his thoughts from growing louder. Faster. Those were another failure on him. On his abilities, his spies. He’d fucked up. Again, and again. The one thing he was good at, the one thing he was supposed to do— and he couldn’t. 

No, no. Stop. He couldn’t afford to think like that. He’d been doing better. Azriel, deep in his rational mind, knew it wasn’t his fault. Not entirely, at least. Koschei was unpredictable. His devoted followers hadn’t been something anyone could’ve predicted — Children of the Blessed who had found another ruler to worship. Another god to bow to. That wasn’t on him.

But it was… wasn’t it? It felt like a failure.

His shadows stilled around him, began calling to him in the way only they could. But Azriel couldn’t pay attention. His mouth was dry now. His hands were cold.

And there was something curling in his chest. A pressure. A discomfort. A wrongness inside him, like something off-center. He was sure of it. A flaw, like some thread pulled too tight. 

Az tried to anchor himself. Tried to focus on the sound of his brother’s voices, the crinkle of paper beneath his hand. But his thoughts were racing ahead — spiraling. 

The room was too loud.

He gripped the edge of the table. Attempted to draw in a deep breath. When it resisted, when his lungs protested against the strain of his ribs— broken many times before, he opted for flexing his fingers. Uncurled them. Tried to breathe through it once more.

This was pathetic, Az thought bitterly, the sharpness of his own anger swallowing up all other thoughts. The soft voice that tried to tell him he wasn’t to blame for everything was drowned out. It sounded so much like a younger version of himself. And something else, too— a voice that sounded awfully like his mother. 

Azriel had been fine this morning. Hadn’t he? 

So why, now, was he in such pain? Why was his throat tight? Why couldn’t he breathe?

He needed to breathe.

None of this was real. It was all in his head. It would pass. 

He was fine, he repeated in his mind, even as his wings twitched– betraying him before he could catch them. A subtle flex at first, a slight stiffening in his membrane. Defensive, instinctual. 

He tucked them in closer to his back, as if he could subconsciously make himself smaller, less visible. 

He was losing it. Gods, he was losing it and he couldn’t even stand without drawing attention—without someone noticing, without Rhys or Cassian giving him that look.

His wings spasmed again—this time sharper, a visible shudder that raced down the spine between them. Panic, the primal kind, began to bleed into the edges of his breathing.

Not real. Not real. He clenched his teeth so hard his jaw ached.

He barely noticed when Rhysand’s voice faded into nothing, when the world outside of his own body dulled to a low hum. His vision blurred, not outwardly—no, that would’ve been merciful—but inside his mind. Thought tangled over thought until all that remained was one screaming, splintered thing: move.

Azriel refused to give in to that weaker, fearful side. He refused.

So, instead, he forced himself to lift his head– to act like he was still present. He gripped the edge of the table harder, forcing another breath through lungs that refused to expand. He forced his body to stay still even as every part of him screamed to run.

His eyes caught yours immediately.

You weren’t speaking. You hadn’t been speaking for a while—Az realized dimly that you’d fallen silent when he had.

You were staring at him, a brow furrowed in confusion, eyes darkened with worry. Real, devastating worry— written across your face like you’d felt his unraveling in your bones, like you knew exactly what he was fighting.

You always did that, Az thought briefly. Noticed things. Noticed him. Even when he tried to disappear, buried himself in shadows and distance and the anger only he knew how to hone, you still saw him.

And you were another thing he’d fucked up. Another thing, another person, he’d failed.

His panic hit him like a punch to the chest.

A wild, churning thing inside him lurched loose—sharp and wrong and too much.

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. 

Not here. Not now.

Azriel tried to push to his feet smoothly, tried not to let the room tilt sideways around him. The scrape of his chair on the floor was deafening. His wings flared slightly behind him — a startled, instinctive reaction — before he forced them down again with trembling effort.

He didn’t meet anyone’s eyes. Couldn’t.

He just needed to get out. Get out.

By the time he stumbled into the hallway, the panic was a roaring thing in his chest. His wings kept twitching, muscles seizing like they couldn’t decide whether to shield or flee. His shadows seemed to pulse in time with his heartbeat, gathering in dark, frantic swirls at his feet, then dissipating and flickering against the walls, like they were trying—desperately—to anchor themselves, to pull him out of the fear gripping him.

The world narrowed to the thud of his boots and the pain in his chest. He was shaking now — his hands, his arms, his breath. He couldn’t get a full inhale. He couldn’t slow down. His mind was spiraling. He didn’t know where he was going.

Get out. Just get out. Get out get out get out.

He reached the end of the corridor, but his vision was still tunneling. He staggered sideways, shoulder slamming into the wall. They were getting closer. Tighter.

Get out.

He needed air. Real air.

Needed out.

He winnowed. All instinct, like a broken wild animal on the run from something it knew it couldn’t beat. And then—he landed. He didn’t even know where he was going until the cold hit him.

Dirt. Grass. Night air.

He fell to his knees in it.

Hard.

It knocked the breath out of him. He doubled over, fingers clawing into the earth. Trying to ground. Trying to focus. Trying to breathe.

Stupid. Stupid. This doesn’t happen. You’re fine. You’re not a child.

But he couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t stop the rising panic clawing up his throat.

You’re a joke. You’re unraveling. You’re slipping and they’re going to see. You’re a liability. A fucking mess. You’re going to ruin everything—

He shouldn’t have been like this — he’d trained for worse, he’d handled worse. His shadows crowded him, trying to ground him, to pull him back, just as they did when he was three hundred and covered in blood. Twenty-two and angry. Eight and afraid.

It didn't work. They were just more noise. The pressure behind Azriel’s ribs sharpened. His skin itched. He couldn't tell if it was sweat or fear crawling over him.

A cold wind rushed over his skin, sudden and powerful. And for a second—just a second—it grounded him.

Then the panic surged again. Harder.

His fingernails dug further into dirt, the movement straining and pulling at the tight skin at his hands, the raw tendons and everything that was wrong with him. 

He couldn’t fucking see anything. Couldn’t focus. Azriel was sure his heart was breaking itself against his ribs. He pressed his forehead to the ground, desperate to disappear into it. The skin between his shoulders was buzzing, crawling with invisible ants. The old, familiar impulse to tear his way free, to snap bone and tendon if it meant getting out—getting away—scratching out the thing inside him he couldn't reach.

Somewhere, deep in the marrow of him, the boy he'd once been was crying. Somewhere, even deeper, the soldier he'd become was roaring at him to stay still, stay quiet, get over it.

Azriel was vaguely aware of the wetness on his cheeks. Of a choked gasp that sounded too much like him. His shadows were scared now, concerned, louder as if they were trying to be louder than the voice in his head. But it was no use. 

His body was too small and the panic was too big.

And then—

A sound. A shape.

His name, maybe.

But it didn’t sound right. Didn't sound like anything.

It felt, almost, as if Az was trying to hear underwater— trying to breathe it in and choke.

He jerked away from the voice, instinctual. He didn't want to be seen. Not like this.

But then it came again. Warm. Gentle. Familiar. His shadows darted towards it.

“Azriel?”

And for the first time, he felt it. Felt you.

His eyes blinked open—wild, unfocused—but the world began to sharpen.

Not all at once. Not clearly, at least. But enough. Enough to see you there, from the corner of his eye, approaching him slowly, breath white in the cold air. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, shook his head, and pressed his palms flatter against the earth. His wings half-flared without permission. 

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

It wasn’t working.

You’re weak. You’re not enough.

Your failures are going to get them all killed. Koschei. Koschei. Koschei. What if he kills them all? 

A flutter of heat brushed against his shoulder. He briefly registered the movement, somehow coherent enough to piece together the fact that you were crouching beside him. He could only imagine how pathetic he looked, a warrior, a spy— a feared male brought to his knees by his own damaged mind. 

For one harrowing moment, he wanted to snarl at you. To bare his teeth and tell you to go where you’re needed, to leave him alone— Because he didn’t want your pity. He didn’t want your help. He didn’t want to admit that he needed it. If he admitted it now, so vulnerable and exposed in front of you— embarrassingly so— you’d realize, for a second time, he wasn’t worth it. 

But he would never do that. He didn’t want to push you away again. 

A wave of shame hit him flat in the chest—flooding his system. Azriel forced his wings against his back until the muscles screamed. He gave a tight shake of his head, managed to say between jagged breaths, "I'm fine. Go home."

Your hand hovered at his back, near his wings. Gently pressed. He was shaking. 

He turned his face away. “Please.”

“Azriel,” you said again. Closer. 

Something crumbled in him when his shadows returned to his wrists, floating in soothing circles. He squeezed his eyes shut. Breathe. He just needed to breathe. Count, like his mother always taught him to. Trace the patterns of his shadows. 

But gods, it wasn’t working.

“I can’t,” Azriel rasped. His voice was barely there. 

A few seconds later, your hand was on his cheek, thumb brushing his jaw. You tilted his face toward yours.

“I’m right here,” you said. Your eyes were wide. Pleading, almost. Like he was lost and you were begging for him to find you again. 

And he would, wouldn't he? Find you, that was. In every lifetime. 

He blinked. It didn’t feel real. He didn’t deserve this tender touch.

 “Az, can you look at me?”

“I can’t—I can’t—”

“Can’t what?” 

You reached up, brushing a hand through the strands of his hair at the front — a soft, slow rake of your fingers like you were trying to soothe him back to himself. The touch startled him. His eyes opened wider, found yours again, even as his chest still heaved with shallow, broken breaths.

“I’m—” he sucked in a breath, but it hitched, harsh and shallow. “I’m not okay.  I’m— I’m scared and I don’t know what I’m doing and I can’t keep pretending—”

He was unraveling. Words spilling out of him like blood from a wound.

“I’m not enough. I’m not—stable. I can’t help with Koschei. I can’t find anything. People are dying. I’m letting everyone down and—fuck—” he squeezed his eyes shut. “I can’t breathe—”

You shifted without hesitation, lowering yourself to your knees before him, so you could meet him at eye level. Gently, delicately, you reached for one of his hands — still clawed into the dirt like an animal — and began to uncurl his fingers from the earth. He shifted his position with the movement. 

He blinked again at the sensation, disoriented, his brows furrowing as you guided his hand up and placed it over your chest. Over your heart. And covered it with your own.

“Feel that?” you whispered, taking an exaggerated deep breath. His hand rose with the motion. “All that air coming into my lungs. It’s really nice, Az. Refreshing. Don’t you think?”

He nodded. Or thought he did. It was hard to tell where his body was.

“I want you to breathe with me. Can you do that?”

He swallowed hard. His lungs still fought him. But he would try. Gods, for you — he would always try.

You inhaled again, slow and deep, and he followed — or tried to. Again. And again. Until something in his lungs finally loosened, like a muscle unclenching.

He closed his eyes.

The panic didn’t vanish. But it ebbed. Enough to come back into his body. Enough to feel the weight of the earth, the throb of his heart. The gentleness in your touch. His wings gradually relaxed. His other hand stopped trembling against the grass.

When he opened his eyes, he found yours already waiting.

And for the first time in what felt like hours, he could see you. Not through panic. Just… you.

His hand twitched under yours. You interlaced your fingers, pressing his palm against your skin even firmer. Finally, Azriel took a deep breath. A proper one. Felt the refreshing night air fill his lungs. 

And when you smiled — soft and aching and full of something he couldn’t name — he felt the last of the panic slip out of his bones.

He realized, with excruciating clarity, exactly where he was now. Realized that he was touching you. That you were so close. That somehow, impossibly, despite everything he’d ruined, you were here. 

He almost forgot to breathe again.

You shifted your free hand up slightly, brushing it back through his hair — a tender, absentminded thing, like it was instinct for you now. 

“There we go,” you said softly. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

Azriel took advantage of his proximity to take you in— the curve of your mouth, the way the moonlight caught the shine of your hair. How close you were to him, how real it felt. It was almost enough to make him believe he had died after all— that this was some kind of fragile heaven he wasn’t meant to keep, a dream created by a brain deprived of oxygen. 

He let out a breath. His body went lax, sinking into the earth. Into you.

You glanced back at him again, your hand still in his hair, and for a moment, neither of you moved. He studied your face like he could memorize it all over again — the faint crease between your brows, the tremble you were trying to hide in your jaw, the way your eyes softened when you caught him looking.

Something inside him cracked open wider.

His gaze dropped to your lips. Then to your eyes. And then his gaze dropped once more, landing on where his hand still rested over your heart, your smaller one covering his. Without thinking, Azriel brushed his thumb across your skin. A slow, reverent sweep. He felt it immediately— the sudden, sharp skip of your heartbeat under his hand. 

“Your heart,” Azriel whispered, “It’s...beating really fast.”

You let out a small breath, almost a laugh. “Yeah,” you murmured, giving him a sheepish, crooked little smile.

“Why?”

Azriel swore he caught the faintest tint of pink at your cheeks.

“It tends to do that around you.”

Something inside him stumbled, caught on a beat he didn’t recognize. "Oh," he breathed out.

A few moments passed. And then, slowly, you shifted — separating just enough to ease down beside him. Azriel mourned the loss of your touch, of his hand on your skin. He settled into a similar position, watching as you tucked your knees to your chest and rested your head lightly atop them. 

The silence that followed felt easy. Comforting. Azriel was grateful for it, despite his longing to touch you again. His breaths, now more regular, were still slowly coming back to him. 

You turned to look at him, your cheek pressed against your knees. “What happened, Az?” 

Azriel squeezed his eyes shut. Shook his head once, almost imperceptibly.

Out of everyone, you were the only one he'd ever truly opened up to about these episodes. These small attacks — flashes of terror, of helplessness — they'd started creeping back after the second war against Hybern. A strange, ugly pattern.

He hated them. Hated the way they made him feel: weak, broken, like he was still the trembling boy locked away in a lightless cell. But he’d been doing better. He had been. And now — this — it felt like a step backward. Like a fall from a cliff he'd barely managed to climb. He felt like a failure. Like a burden.

“I…I don’t know. I just…”

He looked at you then. Really looked. At the way your eyes urged him to go on. And somehow, his thoughts came easier. More honest. 

The truth was — Azriel had spent most of his life benefiting from the image of someone fearless. The cold, steady blade in the dark. The one who didn’t flinch.

But Azriel was afraid all the time.

He moved through his fear like a second skin — worked off it, thrived off it. Fear of losing someone. Fear of being weak again. Fear of being proven wrong. Fear of being left behind. It sat in him like something feral, something sharp-toothed and restless, always on the edge of recognition.

He knew fear the way an animal knew the shift of the wind before a storm.

And lately, it was starting to take more than it gave. 

He hated it. Hated that for all the years he'd spent learning to master it, it still had the power to master him.

“I hate this,” Azriel said finally. Barely audible. “I hate that I can’t control this panic. That it’s still in me. That I freeze. When I’m needed most.”

“You’re not frozen now,” you said. “You came back.”

He shook his head. “I’m supposed to protect people. I’m supposed to keep our court safe. That’s what I’m for. If I can’t do that... if I’m just afraid…then what am I?”

“You’re still you. Even when you’re afraid. Especially then.”

Azriel closed his eyes for a moment. Nodded, just barely. “I think you’re the only one who thinks that.”

“The fearless don't win wars, Az. They just die faster. The ones who love... the ones who are afraid — they're the ones who survive. They're the ones who save people."

He blinked, like you’d struck him, and a wave of relief ran through his body. Azriel let out a rough breath — almost a laugh. “Since when did you get so philosophical?”

You shrugged, a faint smile tugging at your mouth. “I used to date this guy…”

He arched his brow and you tilted your head, pretending to think. “Taught me a few things about war. About fear. About how important it is to find people worth being afraid for.”

Azriel’s mouth twitched upwards. “Sounds like a piece of work.”

You breathed a soft laugh and the quiet stretched again. He ran his fingers idly through a blade of grass, taking in the calm night surrounding him. 

“How did you know where I went?” Az asked.

Your arms were wrapped around your knees, chin resting on them, eyes tracing his shadows dancing along the grass. “I made a lucky guess.”

“Well… thank you," he said, his heart glowing. "For finding me.”

You glanced at him, your eyes softening as you replied,  “Always.”

Then you tucked your chin back onto your knees, looking up at the sky again. The stars spun lazy arcs overhead. Azriel watched you instead— for a few indulgent moments, at least. 

Eventually, Azriel’s gaze drifted from you, scanning the patch of grass beneath you both.  A soft smile tugged at his lips as the memory surfaced—of the first time he kissed you—here, in this exact spot.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

authors note: posting this randomly as i am...crawling...slowly....from the grave.... where uninspired writers.... and my abandoned wips.... go to rot...

as a girl who has suffered w panic attacks my whole life (thank u traumatic events!) i would rather die than have someone like...kiss me for example, but i cannot tell u how intimate those moments are after someone sees you so vulnerable and theyre just like so...casual abt it? so i simply had to write a lil something, idk anyways enjoy this random lazy ass work <3 onto my series i go!!!!

fun fact.... this is actually a scrapped scene from one of my drafted series (anatomy of dependence), that full exes to lovers, second chance romance, best friends to luvers goodnesssss!!!!

permanent tag list 🫶🏻 (im going to revamp this soon, so if you wanna stay on it, let me know!!)

@rhysandorian @itsswritten  @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon  @glam-targaryen 

@cheneyq @darkbloodsly @yesiamthatwierd @azrielsbbg @evergreenlark 

@marina468 @azriels-human @book-obsessed124 @bubybubsters @starswholistenanddreamsanswered 

@feyretopia @azrielrot @justyouraveragekleemain @marigold-morelli  @mrsjna

@anarchiii @alittlelostalittlefound @melissat1254 @secretsicanthideanymore

@m4tthewmurd0ck @beardburnsupersoldiers @isnotwhatyourethinking @tothestarsandwhateverend @raginghellfire

@angel-graces-world-of-chaos @acoazlove @paradisebabey @inkedinshadows @mellowmusings

@paankhaleyaaar @curiosandcourioser @thisrandombitch @casiiopea2 @w0nderw0manly

@rottenroyalebooks @jurdanpotter @casiiopea2 @gamarancianne @weesablackbeak

@booksaremyescapeworld @knoxic  @wynintheclouds @dacrethehalls  @louisa-harrier

[cressidagrey]

Daylight

Pairing: Lando Norris x Emilie Abadie (Original Character)

Welcome to a short side story, featuring Emilie and Lando, set in the White Horse Universe. There are specific scenes copy and pasted from White Horse, so it’s easier to follow along timeline wise.

Summary:

Emilie Abadie hadn’t planned on caring about Formula 1. Until she saw a boy with curly hair win the Miami GP in 2024. 

Warnings and Notes: 

we have now moved on from Charles bashing to bashing his whole family, Discussions of toxic past relationships, toxic families

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

Emilie Abadie hadn’t planned on caring about Formula 1.

In fact, she actively avoided caring about it— Mostly because of her best friend. 

Belle, with her soft green eyes and gentle heart, who had already survived too many years of being invisible in a family that only seemed to remember she existed when it was convenient. 

Belle, who was one of the best people Emilie had ever met, who had been born into a family that cared about podiums and trophies, about DRS and pit stops… and not about their daughter, their sister. 

Even Max Verstappen hadn’t changed Emilie’s dislike for everything Formula 1. 

Granted, of course, Emilie had googled him when Belle had first mentioned him to her. 

There had been some amusement somewhere in the back of her head that Belle had found a guy to date who had 2 World Championship titles and 4 dozen wins to his name, while Belle’s brother was still on his 5th career win after Austria 2022. 

Emilie didn’t care about Max’s wins. Or his podiums. Or whatever he did for a living. She’d seen enough of Belle’s face when she talked about him to know he was good—really, properly good—and that was enough.

But then came that Sunday in May, and Twitter exploded.

Emilie wasn’t even trying to pay attention. She was lounging on her balcony with an espresso, mindlessly scrolling between Vogue articles and TikToks of people organising their fridges. 

And then—suddenly—orange hats, all-caps screaming, and multiple photos of a grinning man half-drenched in champagne.

“HE FINALLY DID IT.”

“LANDO. FREAKING. NORRIS.”

Someone had posted a clip of him standing on the top step of the podium, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy, trying to keep it together while the crowd roared. And God help her, Emilie had clicked it.

He wasn’t even her type.

Too boyish. 

Too chaotic. 

Probably smelled like Monster Energy and nerves.

But he’d smiled like it meant something. Like it had taken years. Like he couldn’t quite believe the universe had finally let him have this moment.

And something in Emilie’s chest—usually locked up tight behind snark and cashmere—shifted.

She frowned.

Closed the app.

Opened it again.

Googled him.

Lando Norris. 25. British. McLaren driver. Five seasons. No wins—until now.

She even found a quote: “It’s about damn time.”

And still, Emilie was deeply annoyed to find herself staring at photos of this Lando person and wondering what his laugh sounded like in real life.

And that was exactly when she opened her texts and messaged Belle.

***

Text Messages: Emilie Abadie & Isabelle Leclerc

Emilie: Okay so… Question

Isabelle: That’s always a dangerous start.

Emilie: Who is this Lando person And why is everyone crying because he won something

Isabelle: Oh my God. You really don’t know anything about F1, do you?

Emilie: Absolutely not. I know Max drives fast, and you’re too pretty to be emotionally stable, that’s it.

Isabelle: Valid.

Emilie: But seriously. My entire timeline is full of sweaty orange hats and people screaming “HE FINALLY DID IT.” What did he do? Did he climb a mountain? Invent a vaccine?

Isabelle: He won his first Formula 1 Grand Prix. He’s been in F1 for five years. Always came close. Never quite made it.Everyone’s been waiting for this.He’s a good guy. Deserved it.

Emilie: Huh. He’s the guy with the curly hair, right?

Isabelle: Yes.

Emilie: And the jawbones?

Isabelle: Yes.

Emilie: And the voice that’s suspiciously hot for someone named Lando?

Isabelle: …Why do you care?

Emilie: I don’t!!

Isabelle: You do. You’ve never asked me about a single driver. Not once. And now you’re googling him like a concerned historian.

Emilie: I’m just… doing research. You know. investigating the cultural phenomenon

Isabelle: Uh-huh. Is this cultural phenomenon wearing a papaya-colored race suit and has curly hair?

Emilie: Fine. He’s cute. He looked happy. The bar is so low.

Isabelle: He is cute. And he should be happy. He’s a good guy.

Emilie: You sound like you’re trying to sell me a family dog.

Isabelle: He’s very sweet! Loyal! Thoughtful! Max calls him chaotic sunshine. I call him emotionally transparent. You’d like him.

Emilie: So a golden retriever.

Isabelle: With slightly better hair.

Emilie: Does he bite?

Isabelle: Only when provoked. Or when Max makes a joke about his height.

Emilie: Hmm.

Isabelle: Oh no.

Emilie: What?

Isabelle: You’re thinking about him.

Emilie: Absolutely not.

Emilie: This is slander.

Isabelle: This is me knowing you better than you know yourself. And I’m telling you: he’s a good one. A little chaotic. But real.

Emilie: He smiled like…like he waited years for this. I noticed that. I hate that I noticed that.

Belle: Yeah. That’s why people cried. It wasn’t just about the win—it was about him. He needed it. And he earned it.

Emilie: …Okay maybe I get the hats now.

Isabelle: Give it three days. You’ll be watching fan edits on TikTok and pretending it’s research. I have been there. 

***

Emilie tossed her phone down onto her table, flopping back into her chair with a groan.

God, what was wrong with her?

She never did this. Never caught herself noticing smiles. Never cared about people’s stories. 

She’d always been good at getting the guy.

Usually, she saw a man she liked, decided she liked him, and that was it. 

If she wanted him, she got him. 

Easy.

The harder part—the impossible part—was getting them to stay.

Not that she ever admitted that out loud.

They got infatuated with the packaging—pretty blonde, sharp tongue, quick wit—but none of them wanted to know what was underneath. Or if they did, they ran.

So she never gave them the chance.

Emilie knew what she was. What she had been taught to be: polished, pretty, disposable.

Raised by grandparents who valued appearances more than affection, she’d learned early that emotions were a liability. Her family was a cold, glittering mess of old money and colder expectations. 

Emotionally unavailable parents who vacationed in the Alps more than they parented. Her grandparents had raised her—fierce, stylish people who taught her how to dress, how to argue, how to build walls no man could climb. 

Emilie knew how to play the part—how to be charming, captivating, just unattainable enough to keep her pride intact when everything inevitably crumbled.

Old money. Cold manners. 

And Belle—sweet, gentle Belle—hadn’t been raised in a world much kinder.

Emilie still hated Belle’s family for that. For making her believe she had to earn love, that she had to be perfect to deserve being seen. Even now, even after Belle had found Max—the only man who seemed to see her fully and without condition—Emilie’s chest still burned with protective rage whenever she thought about it.

She’d watched Belle spend her whole life being overlooked. Forgotten. Ignored by people who were supposed to love her. And now she had Max, who looked at her like she was the whole damn world.

She was happy for Belle. Truly. Because Belle deserved good things—finally. Especially after growing up in a family that prioritized podiums over people. 

And Emilie, for all her sass and designer boots, had never liked the Leclercs. Not really.

Belle was happy now. Radiantly, irrevocably happy. And Max—grumpy, blunt Max—loved her like it was the only thing that had ever made sense.

Maybe that’s why Emilie couldn’t look away from a stranger’s victory lap on Twitter.

 Maybe, deep down, she still believed there were people worth betting on.

Even if she didn’t believe it for herself.

God help me, she thought grimly, dragging a hand over her face.

She was absolutely going to end up watching fan edits.

In three days. Tops.

Maybe two.

Lando Norris had looked like someone who didn’t think the world would ever give him a win.

And for some reason… she couldn’t stop thinking about that.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Isabelle: Max and I are getting married tomorrow. City hall. Just something small. Just for us. Will you come?

Emilie: EXCUSE ME???? TOMORROW??? CITY HALL??? SMALL???

Isabelle: Yes. No fuss. Just us. That’s all I want.

Emilie: Oh my GOD. You are not getting married like you’re renewing a driver’s license. You need flowers. A cake. A moment, Belle.

Isabelle: I don’t need any of that. I just want him. That’s it.

Emilie: Yes, yes, eternal love, devotion, blah blah blah. BUT. You are still getting married. You will wear a dress. You will hold a bouquet. You will eat something that tastes like joy and sugar and victory.

Isabelle: I’m not even sure what I’m wearing yet 😅 We haven’t thought that far ahead.

Emilie: THAT IS WHY YOU HAVE ME. Do you still have the white dress we got a few weeks ago? The one that made you look like a romantic novel with legs?

Isabelle: ...Yes.

Emilie: Good. Wear that. It’s perfect. Simple. Elegant. You. I’ll take care of the rest.

Isabelle: Em—no pressure, really. Please. I don’t want a production.

Emilie: This won’t be a production. It’ll be a love letter. With flowers. And maybe a three-layer cake.

Isabelle: Emilie 😭 You really don’t have to—

Emilie: Belle. You’ve planned everyone else’s birthdays, surprises, parties, and holidays since you were like what, twelve?! Let someone do it for you this once. Let me.

Isabelle: ...Okay. But just a little. No spark machines. No confetti cannons.

Emilie: Deal. But I am bringing champagne. And I will cry.

Isabelle: I wouldn’t want it any other way. 💛

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Lando Norris

Max: You have a camera, right?

Lando: …yes?? What kind of question is that?

Max: Like, a real one. Not your phone.

Lando: Yes, Max, I own a camera. Why??

Max: I need you to document something.

Lando: What kind of something?

Max: Just be at Monaco City Hall tomorrow. 10:30. Bring your camera. Wear a suit. Preferably not orange.

Lando: MAX.

Max: Yes?

Lando: ARE YOU GETTING MARRIED TOMORROW???

Max: Yes.

Lando: YOU’RE JUST DROPPING THAT ON ME AT MIDNIGHT???

Max: It’s 11:43.

Lando: Oh, my mistake. PLENTY OF TIME TO PROCESS THE FACT YOU’RE SECRETLY GETTING MARRIED.

Max: Not secretly. Just quietly.

Lando: Max.

Max: What.

Lando: I’M HONORED BUT ALSO PANICKING. Do you want, like, pictures or VIBES?? Do I need a tripod?? Am I the witness?? Do I bring champagne?? WHAT’S MY ROLE HERE.

Max: Your role is “friend with a camera who knows how to shut up.”

Lando: I can be that.

 Wait—can I still cry a little?

Max: Only if it’s behind the camera.

Lando: Deal. Lando:I don’t even know what shoes to wear for a Verstappen emergency elopement

Max: Don’t overthink it. You’re just the photographer.

Lando: You’re getting married in Monaco city hall and I’m the photographer?? What the hell kind of fairy tale speedrun is this?

Max: The efficient kind.

Lando: Who else is gonna come?

Max: Just us. People we trust. 

***

Emilie Abadie had been awake since three in the morning. .

Not because she was nervous. She wasn’t the one getting married. 

It was Belle’s wedding. And that meant it had to be perfect.

Because Belle would never ask for perfect. Belle would shrug and say “just something quiet, just us” with that soft look in her eyes like she didn’t dare hope for more. But Emilie had spent the last seven years learning the difference between what Belle asked for and what she deserved.

And today, she deserved everything.

And perfection, as it turned out, required bribing a florist with a bottle of Dom Pérignon, whispering at a baker’s front door like a criminal, and coordinating a last-minute restaurant buyout with a maître d’ who still remembered Belle and Max’s first date like it had happened yesterday.

It was still early. The sun hadn’t quite cleared the rooftops of Monaco. But Emilie was already in motion—dressed, phone in hand, espresso in the other, a determined woman on a mission.

The florist had said it couldn’t be done. Snowdrops weren’t in season. They’d laughed—laughed—when Emilie asked.

Laughed. Emilie still remembered when Belle had told her about her favourite flowers. Fragile, quiet, perfect. Blooming in the cold, when nothing else did. Just like Belle. 

Emilie Abadie didn’t take no for an answer.

She made five calls. 

Then ten. 

Then offered double the price. 

Then triple. 

Someone from a specialty hothouse near Nice came through. A courier had arrived an hour ago, carrying a chilled box like it held diplomatic secrets.

Now, the bouquet sat in a vase on Emilie’s kitchen counter. Fragile white snowdrops, soft eucalyptus, and one or two sprigs of pale forget-me-nots.

Because Emilie was dramatic, and because Belle deserved to be remembered in every way that mattered.

The cake was next.

Not a tiered monstrosity. Just something beautiful. Elegant. White chocolate and raspberry with buttercream. The baker—an angel Emilie had gone to culinary school with for exactly three weeks—had rolled her eyes at the timeline and then agreed with a huff. “Only because it’s for Belle.”

Of course it was.

Emilie knew how much Belle had given. To her family. To her brothers. To Ferrari. To everyone except herself.

She’d watched Belle quietly shrink herself for years—make room for Lorenzo, for Charles, for Arthur, for Charles’ career, for the Leclerc family myth. 

Belle never asked for much. Never expected anything back.

So today, Emilie would give her everything.

The final piece fell into place just after sunrise: lunch at the restaurant where Max had taken Belle on their first date. The cozy one tucked behind the port with the ivy-covered terrace and the little hand-painted plates. Emilie had called the manager at 6:15 a.m.

“I need the whole place,” she’d said. “15 people. Three bottles of Perrier-Jouët Belle Époque. No fuss. No press. Max and Belle Verstappen.”

The Manager had paused and looked at Emilie:. “Ah,” he’d said, eyes twinkling. “For the couple who ordered the wine, then forgot to drink it because they were too busy falling in love?”

By 6:00, the venue was booked. The menu was set. The staff had already started laying out fresh linen.

Emilie checked the list one more time—flowers, cake, lunch, Max’s boutonnière, Belle’s shoes.

Everything was ready.

Emilie slipped her phone into her bag, gave the bouquet one last fond glance, and smiled to herself.

Because today—finally—was about Belle. Not Charles. Not their mother. Not a team or a trophy or anyone else’s spotlight.

Today was hers.

And Emilie Abadie would make sure not a single petal was out of place.

***

Emilie Abadie arrived with the force of a hurricane compressed into five feet and a few inches of blonde ambition and French fire.

She stood in the doorway like she’d conquered nations before breakfast, her icy blue eyes narrowing the moment they landed on him.

Lando’s stomach immediately did that stupid swoopy thing it did when he just knew he was fucked. 

She was Belle’s best friend. He had known that in an offhand way, had seen her make appearances on Belle’s Instagram and in stories Belle told…but Lando had never met her. 

“Why,” she said, voice crisp and imperious, “are half of you not wearing ties?”

Lando glanced around as if he might be able to blend into the cabinetry.

Too late.

“You,” Emilie snapped, pointing at him with all the grace and threat of a commander selecting someone for sacrifice.

“Me?” Lando squeaked.

She stalked toward him like a missile in heels. “You call that a tie? What is that knot? A shoelace? A cry for help?”

Lando glanced down at the pale blue mess under his collar. It did, in fact, look like it had lost a bar fight. “Technically… yes?”

Emilie sighed. Dramatically. Award-winningly. “Come here.”

He obeyed, despite every instinct screaming to flee. Blushing furiously, Lando stepped toward her like a man accepting his fate.

“You’re kind of scary,” he muttered.

“I’m not scary,” she replied, already undoing his tie with practiced hands, “I’m just French and disappointed.”

He stood still, heart hammering far too fast, hyper-aware of how close she was, of the way she reached up to fix the tie like she’d done it a hundred times. She smelled like roses and battle plans. Her fingers brushed his throat, adjusting the collar with delicate but precise movements, and Lando very seriously considered the possibility that this was what dying felt like.

“Can I breathe yet?” he whispered.

“When I say you can,” she said sweetly, tilting his chin. “Fashion is pain. Suffer with dignity.”

“I’m… terrified of her,” Lando muttered under his breath once she turned her attention elsewhere.

Max, still leaning casually against the counter, didn’t even blink. “You should be.”

And Lando was, but also… he was hopelessly in love with her. 

Or at least something very inconvenient and fluttery that made it hard to breathe when she was near. 

She was absolutely stunning in her sharply tailored outfit and meticulous energy, her blonde hair swept up, and her eyes laser-focused on whipping the room into shape. She’d turned wedding planning into a military campaign—and somehow made it look elegant.

But even as she herded grown men into order with eyebrow raises and verbal artillery, Lando couldn’t stop watching Max.

Because Max—who had never seemed interested in fanfare or spectacle—was getting married today. And he looked… happy. Genuinely, deeply happy in a way that made Lando’s chest go warm.

And Belle—sweet, gentle, quietly brave Belle—was the reason.

He couldn’t be happier for them.

Even if Charles was definitely going to kill him.

Lando had been trying not to think about that bit—the Charles-is-going-to-strangle-him-when-he-finds-out bit. Because once the truth came out, once Charles realized his little sister had married Max, and Lando had known, there was going to be hell to pay.

But he couldn’t bring himself to feel too guilty about it. Not when Max looked like that. Not when Belle had finally been seen the way she deserved.

The chaos in the room only paused when Emilie cornered Tom, who was valiantly attempting to pass off a cravat as formalwear.

“This is Monaco, not Pemberley,” Emilie said, already pulling a tie from her tote like Mary Poppins preparing for war.

Even Jos wasn’t immune. When Emilie raised her brows at him with military precision, he actually reached for the tie GP handed him—without protest.

“I like her,” Jos muttered, half to himself.

Yeah, Lando thought, hopeless and dazed. Me too.

Daniel’s cartoon tie didn’t stand a chance. Neither did his excuses.

“I have a lighter in my purse,” Emilie said, entirely too calmly.

And just like that, Daniel disappeared to change.

Only Oscar and GP escaped with their dignity intact. Emilie gave them a nod that could’ve launched ships.

Then Max—cool, unbothered Max—lifted his chin with the smugness of a man who had already tied his tie correctly.

“It’s crooked,” Emilie said, pulling him forward to fix it anyway.

Max didn’t even argue. Just let her do it, then shot her a crooked grin.

“You’ll do,” Emilie declared.

“You’re marrying my best friend,” she added. “You’re lucky I didn’t make you wear the floral pocket square.”

Lando snorted. Max only grinned. “Yes, ma’am.”

And then the world stopped moving.

Because the bedroom door opened.

Belle stepped out.

And everything else just… dropped away.

Lando forgot about his camera. Forgot about his tie. Forgot about the fact he was probably about to die by Leclerc rage.

Because Belle was breathtaking.

She looked like she belonged in one of those old black-and-white movies—ethereal and quiet, in a dress that shimmered like water, snowdrops tucked gently into her dark curls. Her eyes swept the room until they found Max.

And Max—his friend, the fiercest driver he’d ever known—just stood there like the ground had been ripped out from under him.

“Hi,” Belle said softly.

Max walked toward her like he couldn’t quite believe she was real. And when he told her she looked like a dream he’d never let himself have, Lando had to turn away, just for a second.

His chest hurt in a good way.

Maybe love didn’t have to be loud or dramatic or perfect. Maybe it could just be this. A quiet kitchen. A white dress. A soft “Hi.” The kind of thing that made a man forget how to breathe.

Daniel sniffled. Oscar told him to shut up.

And Lando—caught somewhere between awe and a slight panic over Charles Leclerc’s eventual reaction—just smiled.

Because one of his best friend had everything he’d ever wanted.

And Lando? Lando might be crushing on the tiny French hurricane currently terrorizing everyone with her sense of style.

But he had hope.

***

The wedding luncheon was held at a small, sun-washed restaurant tucked into one of Monaco’s corners. 

It was perfect, of course. Belle perfect.

The place where Belle and Max had had their first date. Where they had fallen in love and forgotten to drink the bottle of wine they had ordered it. 

Emilie sat at one of the long wooden tables, a glass of champagne in hand, watching Belle laugh over something Max whispered in her ear, her cheeks pink and glowing.

And for the first time in a long time, Emilie felt something unspool in her chest—something fragile and aching.

Belle was happy.

Finally.

After years of being treated like an afterthought by people who should have fought for her, she was loved by someone who saw her. It made Emilie both stupidly emotional and faintly murderous when she thought about the people who hadn't.

Her fingers curled loosely around the stem of her glass.

She didn't cry at weddings. That was not her brand.

But if she were going to cry, it would’ve been for this.

Someone bumped her elbow, breaking the spell.

She looked up—and into the bright, apologetic face of Lando Norris.

"Sorry! Sorry," he said immediately, holding up his hands like a man under arrest. "Didn’t mean to—uh, interrupt. Or spill anything. Or—"

He was wearing a navy blue suit, rumpled already, tie askew again even after her earlier threats. His curls were fighting a losing battle against whatever product he’d tried to tame them with. There was a crookedness to him—a kind of chaotic, restless energy buzzing just under his skin.

He looked like a golden retriever trying desperately not to knock over a priceless vase.

Emilie raised an eyebrow. Cool. Appraising.

She knew boys like him. Bright smiles. Quick laughs. Attention spans like sparklers: burning hot, burning out.

He should’ve been easy to dismiss.

So why wasn’t she?

"You’re safe," she said dryly, tipping her glass toward him. "For now."

Lando's grin widened, lopsided and a little breathless. "Good. I was warned you might have a taser."

Emilie allowed herself a small, sharp smile. "Only for men who deserve it."

His eyes—bright greenish blue, annoyingly nice eyes—crinkled at the corners. He shifted from foot to foot like he didn’t know whether to stay or retreat. She could practically see the gears turning in his brain, second-guessing everything.

Cute, she thought reluctantly. In that maddening, boyish way.

And real.

There was something startlingly unguarded about him. No polished script, no careful charm. Just... all messy heart.

"Can I—uh, sit?" he asked, nodding toward the empty chair beside her.

Emilie could have said no. Should have, maybe.

Instead, she tilted her head and said, "If you must."

He practically collapsed into the chair with relief, bumping the table and nearly knocking over a bread basket in the process. Emilie caught it one-handed, setting it upright with a sigh that was more amused than exasperated.

"Smooth," she said.

"I try," Lando said, flashing another grin. "But usually it goes like this."

They fell into an awkward, oddly endearing silence. The lunch buzzed around them: clinking glasses, bursts of laughter, Belle’s voice lifting and carrying across the room like music.

Lando fiddled with the edge of the napkin, sneaking glances at her when he thought she wasn’t looking.

Emilie noticed.

She noticed everything.

And it made her want to fold herself back into the armor she wore with men. The one that said: you can look, but you will never touch anything real.

But he wasn’t looking at her like she was an acquisition to win or a prize to brag about.

He was looking at her like she was a puzzle he was trying—hopelessly—to figure out.

She sipped her champagne. Let him squirm a little longer. Then, finally:

"So," Emilie said, tilting her head just enough to make him sweat, "are you going to make conversation, or are you just planning to stare at me and hope it counts?"

Lando blinked, then laughed—a quick, surprised sound that made something warm spark low in her chest.

"I was thinking... both?" he said, scratching the back of his neck. "You’re kind of intimidating."

"Good," Emilie said, leaning back in her chair with a smirk. "I work hard at it."

He shook his head, still smiling, eyes glinting with something that might have been mischief-or admiration.

Probably both.

And Emilie—who got whatever guy she wanted but never trusted any of them to stay—felt the faintest, most treacherous flicker of curiosity.

Maybe Belle wasn’t the only one who deserved good things.

Maybe.

But not yet.

For now, she just raised an eyebrow, tore a piece of bread in half, and said, "You’ve got five minutes to impress me, Norris. Don’t waste it."

Lando leaned forward like a man accepting a dare.

"Oh," he said, grinning wide and unrepentant. "I’m definitely going to waste it."

And to her absolute horror—

Emilie found herself smiling.

Real and warm and helpless against it.

Maybe chaotic sunshine wasn’t the worst thing to let into her life after all.

Emilie watched him over the rim of her glass, amused in the way one might watch a golden retriever attempt calculus. She was prepared for the usual: some half-flirty line, some brag, something easy to roll her eyes at and dismiss.

Instead, Lando immediately, and spectacularly, fumbled it.

“So, uh,” he began, sitting up straighter like he was about to give a business presentation, “I have a driver's license.”

Emilie blinked. “I should hope so,” she said dryly, “given your profession.”

“Yeah, but like,” Lando forged on, waving a hand vaguely, “I passed my first test. No minors. No majors. Totally clean sheet. Instructor said I was ‘shockingly competent.’” He smiled at her like this was an accomplishment that should win him a Nobel Prize.

Emilie couldn’t help it: she laughed.

A small one, sharp and unexpected, escaping before she could stop it.

Lando lit up like a Christmas tree. Actually lit up.

Encouraged, he kept going, words tumbling out like he couldn’t stop them if he tried.

“And—and I can cook a bit. Like, real cooking. Not just the ‘put something in the microwave and pray’ thing.”

“What’s your specialty?” Emilie asked, playing along, one eyebrow lifted.

He considered this with deep, theatrical seriousness.

“Pasta,” he said finally. “But, like, real pasta. I once made fresh tagliatelle for a girl I liked.”

Emilie smirked. “And did she survive?”

“She did,” Lando said solemnly. “She even asked for seconds. Probably because I didn’t tell her I dropped half the dough on the floor and had to start over.”

Emilie shook her head, sipping her champagne to hide the curve of her mouth.

God, he was awful at this. And somehow—somehow—it was working.

Not because he was slick.

But because he wasn’t.

He was throwing everything out there, a whole messy human open on the table, with no polish, no angles, no agenda except: please like me.

And it was dangerously, horribly endearing.

Emilie, who had been courted by men with yachts and family names older than democracy, who had been wooed with Cartier and poetry and private jets, found herself genuinely, terrifyingly charmed by a boy who thought shockingly competent driving was an acceptable conversation starter.

“You’ve got two minutes left,” she said lightly.

Lando gasped in mock horror. “Pressure’s on.”

He drummed his fingers on the table, thinking.

Then he leaned closer, lowering his voice like he was telling her a state secret."Okay. Here's the real selling point: I'm friends with Max, and you know what that means?"

She gave him a look that said choose your next words very carefully.

"It means," Lando said solemnly, "I have survived approximately fourteen near-death experiences involving go-karts, jet skis, and very questionable Red Bull stunts. So I'm basically immortal."

Emilie snorted into her glass.

"And," Lando added, beaming now, "I'm very good at getting bloodstains out of clothes. Just in case."

"You expect me to believe you're domestically capable," she said, eyeing him skeptically.

"I can use a washing machine," he said proudly. "Mostly."

"Terrifying."

Lando grinned wider, basking in the fact she hadn't told him to go away yet. His foot accidentally bumped hers under the table, and he yelped, jerking back like he'd been electrocuted.

"Sorry! Sorry—" he spluttered, flailing slightly. "Didn’t mean—"

"Relax," Emilie said, amused despite herself. "I don't bite."

She paused.

"Unless provoked," she added sweetly, echoing Belle’s earlier words.

Lando looked half in love already.

The realization hit Emilie like a cold glass of water poured down her back.

No.

No, no, no.

This wasn’t how it went. She flirted. She played. She walked away before anyone got the chance to look at her like that.

But Lando didn’t seem to be strategizing, didn’t seem to be measuring her up like some glossy prize. He just looked... happy. A little awestruck. A little proud of himself for surviving her.

It was stupid. And messy. And probably a terrible idea.

But when Belle caught her eye across the room and gave her a tiny, knowing smile—the same smile Belle had worn when Max had first reached for her hand like it was instinct—

Emilie thought, maybe, just maybe, she could let herself enjoy this. For today. For a minute.

For herself.

She set her champagne down and looked at Lando, who was still watching her like she might vanish if he blinked.

"Alright, Norris," Emilie said, sitting back with a mock-sigh. "You've survived the first round."

Lando brightened so much it was almost dangerous.

"And what’s round two?" he asked eagerly.

Emilie smirked.

"You’ll find out," she said, standing up, brushing invisible crumbs off her sleek dress. She leaned down, just enough to whisper near his ear:

"If you're lucky."

And when she sauntered off to steal a slice of cake before the toddlers got to it, she didn’t even have to look back to know Lando was grinning like he’d just won the Miami Grand Prix again.

***

It started innocently enough.

At least, that's what Lando told himself.

It was late, he was jetlagged, and he was lying in bed with one arm slung over his face, phone glowing much too brightly against the dark hotel room ceiling. He should’ve been asleep.

Instead, he was... scrolling.

Specifically, scrolling through Emilie Abadie’s Instagram.

In his defense, she’d posted a new story earlier that day—something about a bookstore in Paris—and he’d swiped up without thinking, curious. From there, well... it was a slippery slope.

He clicked on her profile. Scrolled a little. Then a little more. And a little more. Until suddenly he wasn’t just seeing today's cute coffee shop photo; he was deep in 2019 territory, where the grid looked different—less polished, more chaotic.

And there it was.

The Bikini Picture.

Emilie, standing on a beach somewhere impossibly blue, wearing sunglasses, a tiny black bikini, and a smirk that could have started wars. Hair loose, skin sun-kissed, hand holding some drink with a tiny paper umbrella in it.

She looked effortless. Untouchable. Dangerous.

Lando, because he had the survival instincts of a drunk moth around a flame, stared at it for too long.

And then, as if his thumb had a mind of its own—

He liked it.

The screen flashed red.

Hearted.

The panic hit instantly.

"NO—NO, NO, NO—" he yelped, scrambling like he'd just touched a live wire. He frantically unliked it—smashed the heart again until it turned back to grey—but it was too late.

He knew how Instagram worked.

She got the notification.

He sat there, paralyzed, mortified, vibrating with shame.

He had liked a bikini photo from five years ago.

He was that guy.

The type of guy who accidentally cyberstalked someone so hard he time-traveled.

Lando buried his face in his pillow and groaned loud enough to scare himself.

At some point, he gave up and texted Oscar.

***

Text Messages: Lando Norris & Oscar Piastri

Lando: Mate. I just liked a 2019 bikini pic on Emilie’s Instagram. Kill me.

Oscar: 😂😂😂

Lando: I’m actually dying. This is fatal. I’ve died.

Oscar: How did you even GET to 2019??

Lando: I was just looking!! And then scrolling!! And then it happened!! I didn’t MEAN TO.

Oscar: Famous last words.

Lando: I hate you.

Lando: I'm gonna throw myself into the sea.

Oscar: Before you do, serious question. You like her, don’t you?

***

Later, when Lando had the courage to crawl out from under his metaphorical rock, he found himself sitting in Oscar’s hotel room, tossing a mini water bottle up and down, trying not to look like he wanted to crawl into the mini fridge and hide.

Oscar just sat on the bed, arms folded, regarding him with the amused patience of someone who had absolutely seen this coming.

“So,” Oscar said, grinning slightly. “Emilie, huh?”

Lando groaned. “It’s not like that.”

Oscar raised a brow.

Lando dropped the water bottle onto the floor with a thunk. “Okay. Fine. Maybe it’s a little like that.”

Oscar didn’t say anything, just nodded sagely, like he was some ancient wisdom god instead of a 23-year-old who still ate cereal for dinner sometimes.

“She’s just…” Lando floundered for words, pushing a hand through his hair. “She’s scary. And beautiful. And scary.”

“You said scary twice.”

“It felt necessary.”

Oscar snorted. “Sounds like you’ve got it bad, mate.”

Lando slumped. “I don’t even know if she likes me. She could crush me like a bug if she wanted.”

“Would you be mad about it?” Oscar asked.

Lando considered it. “…No.”

Oscar laughed, then sobered slightly, watching him.

“You ever just know?” Lando asked suddenly, voice quieter. “That someone’s different? Like—you’re still kind of terrified, but you don’t want to run away?”

Oscar leaned back against the headboard, thinking for a second.

“Yeah,” he said finally. “With Lily, I knew.”

Lando glanced at him, genuinely curious.

“I mean, it wasn’t like lightning bolts or fireworks or anything,” Oscar said, shrugging. “It was quieter. Like... I realized I was happier when she was around. And when she wasn’t, it felt like something was missing. She made life easier. Not harder. You know?”

Lando nodded slowly.

“People talk about love like it’s supposed to be this huge, dramatic thing,” Oscar continued. “But honestly? The real thing’s just... peace. Trust. Someone you want to tell stupid jokes to at 2 a.m.”

Lando swallowed.

He thought about Emilie.

The way she made fun of him mercilessly, but smiled when she thought he wasn’t looking.

The way she laughed—not a polite, reserved laugh, but a real, from-the-gut laugh—when he told the world’s dumbest jokes.

The way he felt when she was near. Like maybe he could stop trying to be impressive and just... be.

Maybe it wasn’t supposed to be easy.

Maybe it was just supposed to be real.

“You think I’ve got a chance?” Lando asked, half-joking, half-serious.

Oscar smiled.

“You’ve already got one,” he said. “You’re just too scared to believe it.”

Lando sat back, heart thudding a little too fast, a little too hopeful.

Maybe he’d make an idiot of himself.

Maybe Emilie would laugh him off.

Maybe she’d crush him like a bug.

But maybe—maybe—he’d survive it.

And maybe, just maybe, it would be worth it.

***

Instagram Direct Messages: Lando Norris & Emilie Abadie

Emilie: So.

Emilie: I noticed you liked a little throwback.

Emilie: From 2019, no less. Deep cuts.  Impressive research skills.

Emilie: You know, you could’ve just asked me to dinner.  Would’ve been less creepy than liking my bikini photos at 2 a.m.

Emilie:  (But I guess this way was more entertaining.)

Emilie: You still can ask, by the way. If you’re brave enough.

Lando: Would you maybe want to have dinner with me? Without bikinis. I mean you can wear one if you want but not like a requirement— This is going badly.

Emilie: I’m free Thursday. Pick somewhere good.

Emilie: And try not to like any more photos from my past while you’re planning it.

Emilie: Or do. It’s cute. In a tragic way.

Lando: Bold of you to assume I won’t.

Emilie: Bold of you to assume I’ll say yes if you like the duck-face selfie from 2017.

Lando: Challenge accepted.

Emilie: Challenge lost.

***

Text Messages: Max Fewtrell & Lando Norris

Max Fewtrell: BRO. You saw it, right??  Charles fully crashed his soul mid-interview??

Lando: Unfortunately, yes. It was like watching someone remember they left the oven on... and also their sister.

Max Fewtrell: Iconic. Karun was like “her birthday, right?”  And Charles just downloaded a full panic attack.

Max Fewtrell: I screamed. Like—out loud. In public.

Lando Norris: It was kind of beautiful tbh. Like watching karma arrive with a mic and a production crew.

Max Fewtrell: Is his sister okay though? Do we know? Does she have a burner Twitter? I feel like she would.

Lando Norris:  She’s fine. Emilie’s with her.

Max Fewtrell: Who’s Emilie?

Lando Norris: ... She's Belle’s best friend.  Sharp. Dangerous. Possibly psychic. Says terrifyingly accurate things about my emotional state and then walks away in heels

Lando: She’s terrifying. Also brilliant.  And she’s like…scarily beautiful. 

Max Fewtrell: You have a crush on her, don’t you.

Lando: …I didn’t say that.

Max Fewtrell: YOU ABSOLUTELY DO OH MY GOD YOU DO This is the best gossip of the day and Charles had a meltdown on live TV

Lando: Shut up Also can we go back to Charles??

Max Fewtrell: No Because now I want to know why you know where Belle is And how you know Emilie’s with her And why you’re being so weirdly calm

Lando: …because I went to the wedding?

Max Fewtrell: THE WHAT

Lando: ...

Max Fewtrell: LAN THE WEDDING

Lando: Yeah. Belle and Max Verstappen. They got married. I was invited. Very small. City Hall. No media. Emilie picked the flowers

Max Fewtrell: MAX. VERSTAPPEN?!

Lando: Yes

Max Fewtrell:  YOU MEAN TO TELL ME CHARLES IS HAVING A BREAKDOWN ABOUT FORGETTING HIS SISTER’S BIRTHDAY AND DOESN’T EVEN KNOW SHE’S MARRIED TO HIS RIVAL???

Lando: Correct

Max Fewtrell: I need to lie down. And then I need popcorn And possibly therapy But also more of this

Lando: Same. Group chat is chaos Do not ask to be added It’s war in there

Max Fewtrell: This is better than Drive to Survive You’ve been sitting on this gossip for HOW LONG?

Lando: Long enough to know I value my life And Max Verstappen would kill me if I leaked it before they were ready

Max Fewtrell: Fair

Lando: You think Charles is spiraling now… Wait until he finds out Max is family now

Max Fewtrell: My god. This is better than Netflix.

***

Text Messages: Emilie Abadie & Lando Norris

Lando Norris

hey is belle okay?

Emilie: She will be. She’s hurting, but she’s strong. And she has Max. That helps. (And me, obviously. I threaten people on her behalf.)

Lando: yeah i’d be more scared of you tbh Lando:  but good Lando: she doesn’t deserve to feel that way Lando:  no one does

Emilie: this is very rude. I was not prepared for sincerity. Please warn me next time

Lando: sorry next time i’ll open with a meme but i meant it

Emilie: I know. That’s why I’m weirdly touched. Ugh. Gross. I hate this. Emotions are banned after 10pm.

Lando: it’s 9:58

Emilie: you’re on thin ice, Norris.

Lando: wouldn’t be the first time but thanks for telling me and tell her i said… i don’t know that i’m rooting for her and that she deserves  better brothers and maybe a pony idk what people say in these situations

Emilie: you’re doing fine she’ll appreciate it and so do I

Emilie: you’re a good guy, Lando.

Lando: 😳 wow ok i’m printing this and framing it

Emilie: Don’t push it. ***

The restaurant buzzed softly around them—quiet conversations, clinking silverware, candlelight glinting off glasses. It was the kind of cozy, tucked-away Monaco spot that felt private even when it was packed, the kind of place that made Lando loosen his shoulders for the first time in days.

Or, at least, it should have.

But honestly, Lando was too busy trying not to screw this up to relax.

Sitting across from Emilie Abadie—in a dim corner booth, with a bottle of wine between them and a shared plate of something fried—was more nerve-wracking than qualifying on a wet track.

She was devastating.

Not just in the obvious way, with her wild blonde hair and sharp mouth and the way she sipped wine like she was judging the entire country of France—but in the way she looked at him. Like she was trying to decide if he was worth the effort of knowing.

And God help him, he wanted to be worth it.

He was halfway through trying to come up with something clever when he saw her expression shift. Just a flicker—something hard and tight slipping across her face.

Lando followed her gaze.

Across the restaurant, standing up too fast, was Charles Leclerc.

And he was coming right for them.

"Uh," Lando said, sitting up a little straighter. "Is that...?"

"Unfortunately," Emilie said under her breath, setting her wineglass down with a soft clink.

Charles didn’t even hesitate. Just stormed across the room, panic practically pouring off him. He stopped at their table, ignoring Lando completely, and zeroed in on Emilie.

"Emilie," Charles said, voice tight, "we need to talk. About Belle."

Emilie didn’t even blink.

"I’m having dinner," she said coolly. "Sit down or leave."

Charles didn’t sit. He stood there, vibrating with panic and guilt and about four too many emotions for the room they were in.

“She posted a horse,” Charles burst out, voice climbing. “A horse! She never said anything! She’s still not answering me. You’ve seen her. You know. Why won’t you just—just tell me what’s going on?!”

Lando, still frozen in his seat, watched Emilie set her napkin down. Slowly. Precisely. Like she was a surgeon preparing for a very delicate operation.

Her smile disappeared.

And then—God help him—she destroyed Charles.

"You think you're owed answers now?" she asked, voice so sharp Lando actually felt it across the table. "After months of ignoring every warning sign? After standing in the same garage with her and looking through her like she wasn’t even real?"

Charles flinched.

Emilie leaned in slightly, not loud, but lethal.

"You want to know why she’s not answering you? Because you only want her when it’s convenient. When it fits your schedule. When it doesn’t mess up the perfect story you tell yourself about your family."

Lando sat back, eyes wide, utterly mesmerized.

He had seen Emilie be sharp before—sarcastic, teasing, merciless with Daniel’s cartoon ties—but this was something else.

This was fierce.

This was loyalty turned into a weapon.

And it was, without a doubt, the moment he realized he was completely screwed.

Because he wasn’t falling for her because she was pretty (although, let’s be honest, that wasn’t exactly hurting). He was falling because of this.

Because of the way she fought.

Because of the way she protected the people she loved like it was breathing.

Because he could see, in every word she threw like knives, how much Belle meant to her.

He had never wanted anything more in his life than to be someone Emilie Abadie fought for like that.

Charles opened his mouth, desperate, and Emilie cut him down again.

"You forgot her birthday," she said, each word a bullet. "And you think a few panicked phone calls are enough to fix that?"

Lando couldn’t even feel sorry for Charles at that point. Not really.

He was too busy being completely, absolutely undone.

"You don't love Belle the way you should," Emilie said, voice low and devastating. "You love the idea of her. The safe, quiet little sister who never asks for anything. Who never demands too much. Who lets you shine without ever threatening your light."

And there it was—the fatal blow.

Charles stood there like he had been hollowed out.

Good, Lando thought savagely.

He didn’t deserve her.

He didn’t deserve Belle’s softness—or Emilie’s fury on her behalf.

Emilie, calm as anything now, lifted her glass again like she hadn’t just torn him to pieces.

"Now," she said, "go back to your table. Apologize to Alexandra. And maybe—if you’re lucky—figure out how to be someone your sister actually wants to let back in."

Charles didn’t even argue.

He just turned and walked away, a shell of himself.

The moment he was gone, the restaurant buzzed back to life like nothing had happened.

And Lando just sat there, staring at Emilie like she’d hung the moon.

Because this was what undid him, completely and without mercy:

Not the beauty. Not the sharp tongue. Not even the way she teased him into laughing at himself.

It was this.

It was the way she loved.

Fierce. Loyal. Uncompromising.

It was the way she stood her ground, sword drawn, in defense of someone who needed it.

It was the way she made it absolutely clear that you didn’t get to hurt people she loved without consequences.

God, he was in trouble.

Emilie caught him staring and arched an eyebrow, setting her wineglass down with practiced grace. "What?"

Lando blinked, scrambled for something to say, something that didn’t sound like I might be in love with you.

"That was," he said, voice a little hoarse, "the most badass thing I’ve ever seen."

A faint, real smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "He needed to hear it."

"He did," Lando agreed. Then, quieter, "And Belle’s lucky to have you."

Something flickered across Emilie’s face at that—something small and vulnerable and quickly hidden.

She picked up her glass again, studying him over the rim. "Careful, Norris. Say too many nice things and I might start thinking you mean them."

"I do," he said simply.

And this time, she didn’t roll her eyes. Didn’t mock him.

She just held his gaze, steady and assessing, like she was weighing whether he was telling the truth.

Whatever she saw must have satisfied her, because after a long beat, she said lightly, "Good."

She took a sip of her wine. Then, smiling like she hadn't just broken and remade his entire world in under five minutes, she leaned in closer.

"Now," Emilie said, "where were we before the drama?"

Lando couldn’t even remember.

All he could think about was how wildly, desperately he wanted to kiss her.

***

Emilie sat back in her chair, wine glass light between her fingers, and tried to act like her heart wasn’t pounding against her ribs.

Like Lando’s words hadn’t just cracked something wide open inside her.

Belle’s lucky to have you. I mean it.

She didn’t know what she had expected—maybe some teasing, maybe a joke to defuse the moment—but not that.

Not sincerity.

Not him.

She should’ve brushed it off. Should’ve quipped something scathing and easy, should’ve knocked the moment off balance before it could land. But she hadn’t.

Because something about the way Lando looked at her—steady, certain, real—had made her hesitate.

Careful, Abadie, she warned herself. You know better.

Boys said things they didn’t mean. Boys fell in love with ideas, not people. Boys liked her because she was shiny and sharp, not because they saw her.

And yet... Lando hadn’t looked at her like she was shiny.

He’d looked at her like she was something solid.

Like he saw the messy, brutal, fiercely protective parts of her—and didn’t want to flinch away.

It was terrifying.

It was worse than terrifying.

It was hope.

"Now," Emilie said, forcing her voice back into familiar, teasing steadiness as she leaned across the table, "where were we before the drama?"

Lando blinked at her, like he needed a second to remember where he was. It made something traitorous and warm flicker in her chest.

"Uh," he said, a little breathless, "I think I was telling you about the time I accidentally set a microwave on fire?"

Emilie let out a real, surprised laugh. "You did what?"

He grinned—wide and messy and self-deprecating—and just like that, the intensity between them loosened into something lighter. Still charged. Still humming just under the surface. But lighter.

"I was fifteen, okay," Lando said, leaning in, elbows on the table. "And I thought you could microwave foil. Spoiler alert: you cannot."

"Oh my God," Emilie said, actually laughing now. "You’re lucky you didn’t set the whole house on fire."

"Almost did," Lando said proudly. "My mum nearly murdered me."

He told the story with his whole body—hands flying, eyes bright—and Emilie listened, smiling in spite of herself, feeling the last shards of her ice defenses start to melt.

He’s dangerous, she thought distantly. And not for the reasons you’re used to.

He was dangerous because he wasn’t pretending.

Because he didn’t want her to be less. Or smaller. Or easier to love.

He wanted this version of her—the messy, complicated, fierce version—and it felt so new and so scary she almost didn’t know how to hold it.

Halfway through his story about the microwave (and the resulting three-day grounding), Emilie caught herself staring.

Caught herself wondering what it would be like to lean across the table and kiss him.

Idiot, she thought, draining the last of her wine to kill the impulse.

But even as she set the glass down, her hand brushed against his—just lightly, just by accident—and Lando froze.

The air between them tightened again. Not heavy. Not sharp. But electric.

His hand stayed where it was.

Waiting.

Not grabbing. Not pushing. Just waiting.

An invitation.

An if you want to.

Emilie’s chest squeezed so tight she could barely breathe.

She wasn’t used to boys who waited.

She wasn’t used to being wanted without being hunted.

Slowly—so slowly she barely let herself think about it—she turned her palm up and let her fingers brush his.

His hand closed gently over hers, warm and callused and careful.

And Emilie, against every rule she had ever made for herself, didn’t pull away.

***

The night air was cooler than the restaurant had been, crisp against Emilie’s skin as they stepped out into the narrow Monaco street.

 The world felt smaller out here—quieter, sleepier. The kind of night you could almost believe was magic.

Their hands brushed once, then again. And then—without speaking—Lando laced his fingers through hers.

Just like that.

No fuss. No dramatics. No careful maneuvering.

Like he’d been waiting for permission, and now that he had it, he wasn’t letting go.

Emilie let herself be pulled along, hand in his, heart hammering an unfamiliar rhythm against her ribs.

It was terrifying.

It was wonderful.

Neither of them said much as they walked. The occasional motorbike buzzed by; laughter floated out of the bars they passed. But between them—just a quiet hum of something new.

When they reached a corner where the street narrowed and the light hit just right, Lando slowed.

Emilie slowed too, their joined hands swinging slightly between them.

Lando glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.

She caught the look—shy and reckless all at once—and her heart gave a traitorous thud.

"You’re quiet," he said, voice soft, like he was afraid to scare her off.

"Maybe I’m enjoying the peace," Emilie said lightly.

He smiled at that. Real and crooked. The kind of smile that made her want to hand over every sharp piece of herself without a second thought.

"You were incredible tonight," he said, after a moment.

Emilie huffed a laugh, looking away. "I was brutal."

"You were brilliant," Lando corrected. "You were exactly what Belle needed."

The words were so unexpected, so easy and true, that Emilie almost stumbled.

God, stop, she told herself. Stop falling faster.

But it was already too late.

When she looked back at him, Lando was still watching her with that same maddening, open expression. Like he liked her exactly as she was. All fire. All teeth. All soft, bruised, careful heart underneath.

They stopped under a streetlamp without meaning to.

It pooled gold light around them, softening the edges of everything. Making the world feel like it had shrunk to just this. Just them.

Lando’s hand tightened slightly around hers.

"Emilie," he said, and the way he said it—half a question, half a prayer—made something inside her crack open.

She should have said something sharp. She should have laughed it off.

Instead, she just lifted her chin and looked at him.

"Are you going to kiss me, Norris," she asked, voice deceptively cool, "or are you going to keep holding my hand like we’re on a third-grade field trip?"

Lando made a small, strangled noise that might have been a laugh—or a whimper—and then he was stepping closer, so close she could feel the heat of him.

"I’m working up to it," he muttered.

"You’re slow," Emilie said.

"You’re terrifying," Lando shot back, grinning.

And then—finally, finally—he kissed her.

It wasn’t perfect.

It wasn’t smooth or practiced.

It was messy and a little desperate and so real it nearly brought Emilie to her knees.

Lando kissed like he couldn’t believe he was allowed to. Like he wanted to be sure she knew she could push him away at any second—and like he was praying she wouldn’t.

And Emilie—fierce, guarded Emilie—kissed him back with all the reckless, terrifying hope she hadn’t realized she’d been carrying for years.

It was a soft, stumbling collision of mouths and laughter and fingers tightening on jackets—and it was, without a doubt, the most dangerous, precious thing Emilie had ever let herself have.

When they finally pulled apart, Lando rested his forehead lightly against hers, still holding her hand.

"You scare the shit out of me," he whispered, grinning.

"Good," Emilie whispered back.

But when he kissed her again—this time slower, sweeter—she let herself believe, for just one dangerous, dazzling second, that maybe she didn't have to be scary forever.

That maybe someone had finally seen her.

And wanted her anyway.

***

Text Messages: Max Fewtrell & Lando Norris

Lando: Bro. BRO. I’m going to throw up.

Max: ok congrats on what?? nervous breakdown? race win? what are we celebrating

Lando: i kissed her

Max: who

Lando: her

Max: MATE WHO

Lando: EMILIE

Max: WAIT wait wait wait BACK UP u kissed her??? WHAT DO YOU MEAN "I KISSED HER"???

Lando: we had dinner and i didn’t die and then she LET ME HOLD HER HAND and THEN SHE LET ME KISS HER

Max: mate i need a minute

 since WHEN were you even going on dates with her??? this is like finding out ur mate moved to another country and got married without telling u what do u mean you just had dinner casually WHEN WAS THIS PLANNED

Lando: it just happened kind of after i liked her 2019 bikini pic at 2am

Max: what the fuck

Max: YOU DID WHAT

Max: YOU DUMB IDIOT LEGEND

Lando: she slid into my dms after told me i could just ask her out next time instead of stalking her like a creep

Max: i’m crying i’m so proud u’re still an idiot but like a victorious idiot

Lando: i’m literally shaking bro like i kissed her and she kissed me BACK

Max: wtf and she didn’t mace you or slap you??? mate she might actually like you

Lando: i think she might

Lando: i’m gonna marry her

Max: ok buddy let’s aim for a second date first

Lando: i’m so fucked

Max: in the best way

[throttleheart]

⸻ ⸻ ⸻

Pillow Problems

Pairing: Lando Norris x fem!Reader

Genre: Fluff, best friends to something more

Word Count: ~2.2k

Summary: You can’t fall asleep without hugging a pillow. Lando finds out.

⸻

It starts as a casual movie night.

Nothing fancy. Just you and Lando in sweats, too much popcorn, and a ridiculous action movie neither of you are really paying attention to. It’s late — past midnight — and you’re both curled up on the couch under a shared blanket like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

Because with Lando, it kind of is.

You’ve been best friends for so long that sleepovers don’t even feel weird anymore. He’s crashed on your couch after race weekends more times than you can count, and you’ve stolen his guest bed on road trips whenever hotels were overbooked.

But this time… there’s only one bed.

Your bed.

“You sure you’re okay with me sleeping in here?” he asks, leaning against the doorframe, toothbrush in hand and curls still damp from his shower.

You roll your eyes. “Lando, I’ve seen you wear flip flops with socks. You think I’m going to draw the line at you borrowing my bed?”

He snorts and throws a hand to his chest. “That was ONE TIME.”

You toss a pillow at him. “Brush your teeth, Norris.”

Fifteen minutes later, the two of you are under the covers. You’re on one side, he’s on the other. very obvious pillow barrier stands between you, like a soft, cotton fortress of boundaries.

But there’s a problem.

You can’t sleep.

At all.

You stare at the ceiling. Then at the nightstand. Then at the outline of Lando’s face in the dark, just barely visible from the glow of your phone charger.

He’s still. Breathing slow. Definitely asleep.

And you’re… not.

Because — and this is ridiculous, so ridiculous — you can’t fall asleep unless you’re hugging something.

A pillow. A blanket. A stuffed animal. A person. Doesn’t matter. Your body just doesn’t shut off unless your arms are around something.

You try. You flip the pillow over. You bury your arms under it. You wrap the blanket tighter around yourself.

Nothing.

You’re one hour in when the whisper comes.

“Are you… okay?”

You flinch. “Jesus—you’re awake?”

Lando turns onto his side, blinking slowly. “You’ve been breathing like you’re trying to inflate a bouncy castle.”

You bury your face in your pillow. “I can’t sleep.”

“Why?”

You hesitate.

“Y/N.”

You groan. “It’s stupid.”

His voice lifts with amusement. “Now I definitely need to know.”

You sigh, dramatic. “I can’t fall asleep unless I’m hugging something, okay?”

Silence.

Then—

A loud, stifled laugh from the other side of the bed.

“Oh my god,” he chokes, “you’re like a human koala.”

You smack him with your pillow. “Shut up.”

“No, no, this is adorable. Do you need, like, a teddy bear? A weighted blanket? Should I draw a face on one of your pillows and pretend it’s me?”

“You’re the worst.”

He’s laughing, full and unfiltered now, twisting the sheets as he rolls away dramatically. “Y/N, my heart. All this time I thought you just liked cuddling me during movie nights, but you actually have a condition.”

You throw your hands over your face. “Please stop talking.”

Then—softly, after a pause—his voice shifts.

“…You could’ve just said something.”

You peek through your fingers. He’s looking at you now. Still teasing, but softer. Gentle.

“Wanna hug me?” he asks, cocking a brow like it’s the most casual thing in the world.

Your breath catches. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious,” he says, already sliding an arm out, inviting. “C’mon, koala girl.”

You glare. “If you call me that again, I’ll smother you with this pillow.”

He grins. “I’ll take the risk.”

You hesitate. Just for a second. Then you scoot closer, cautiously curling against his side, arm draping lightly across his chest.

And god — it’s perfect. His body is warm, steady, and somehow smells like mint and laundry detergent. Your muscles sigh in relief.

“You’re like a human radiator,” you murmur.

He chuckles, voice close to your ear. “You’re welcome.”

You fall asleep faster than you have in weeks.

And the next morning, you wake up still tangled in him — his arm heavy around your waist, face buried in your hair, breath soft on your neck.

You try to move.

“Don’t,” he mumbles, still half-asleep. “I’m your pillow now. Deal with it.”

And you kind of… do.

⸻

Sunlight spills through the half-closed blinds, catching dust motes in golden streaks as the room slowly warms with morning.

You’re awake.

Barely.

And very aware that you’re not alone in your bed.

Lando’s arm is still wrapped around your waist, heavy and warm and not even a little bit apologetic about being all up in your space. His chest rises and falls steadily against your back, his breath slow and even — he’s still asleep, or close to it.

You consider moving.

Really, you do.

But your limbs are lazy, your brain soft and sleepy, and honestly? He’s comfortable. Too comfortable. Like he was made to be a human-sized heating pad designed to be clung to.

His fingers twitch slightly at your hip.

You freeze.

“…You’re awake, aren’t you?” he murmurs against your neck, voice rough with sleep.

You sigh. “Yeah.”

He doesn’t move. Just hums. “Told you. Human pillow.”

You can hear the smugness in his voice, even through the sleep.

“I was desperate,” you mumble.

“Sure you were.” He yawns. “Could’ve hugged a pillow, but nooo. You went straight for me.”

You elbow him gently. “I tried the pillow.”

He just pulls you closer. “Mhm. Addicted now. No turning back.”

Your cheeks flush — and not just from the proximity.

You should pull away. You should. Friends don’t… do this. Or at least, you and Lando never have. You’ve always tiptoed the edge of this kind of closeness — flirty jokes, knee touches during movies, that weird moment last Christmas when you almost kissed but blamed it on mistletoe and wine.

But this?

This feels like something else.

You twist slightly to face him, only to find his eyes open, heavy-lidded and watching you.

“What?” you whisper.

He shrugs, smile lazy and lopsided. “Nothing. Just thinking.”

“About what?”

A pause.

Then, softly: “About how I could get used to waking up like this.”

Your heart stops. Completely.

He sees it. Feels it, probably. Because his smile shifts — less teasing, more vulnerable. More real.

“I’m not just saying that ‘cause you’re warm,” he adds.

You blink, the air suddenly too thick to breathe.

“Lando…”

“It’s okay,” he says gently. “You don’t have to say anything. I just— I think maybe this whole human pillow situation works both ways.”

Your fingers tighten in the sleeve of his t-shirt.

And just like that, the teasing melts away. The barrier between best friends and something else thins, bends, and threatens to break entirely.

“I liked waking up with you,” you admit, voice small.

He smiles again — that quiet, soft smile that doesn’t belong in interviews or podium photos. This one’s just for you.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Neither of you move.

Not yet.

Because the line is still there, but now you’re both standing on the same side of it.

⸻

You eventually untangle from each other.

Sort of.

By which you mean Lando finally rolls away only to immediately steal your pillow, shove it under his head like it betrayed him, and mumble something about needing a ten-minute nap before coffee.

So you leave him there — hair messy, half-asleep, wearing your hoodie like it’s always belonged to him — and shuffle into the kitchen.

Your legs feel weird. Your chest feels… floaty.

You touch your lips once when you’re sure he’s not looking.

Nothing happened. Not really.

But it almost did.

And it’s enough to change everything.

⸻

You’re halfway through cracking eggs into a pan when you hear the soft shuffle of feet.

Lando appears in the doorway, stretching with a sleepy groan, his hair a disaster and his eyes still heavy with sleep.

He looks like a dream you forgot you had. Like something that’s always been yours but never belonged to you.

“You’re cooking?” he mumbles, rubbing his eyes.

You shrug. “Seemed fair. You donated your body to science last night.”

He smirks as he comes up behind you, not even pretending to keep distance. He leans over your shoulder, chin nearly brushing your temple.

“That was a very important cuddle study,” he says into your ear, voice low and teasing. “Purely scientific.”

You fight a shiver. “Well, congratulations. You’re now certified as a human-size emotional support plushie.”

He chuckles, arms brushing yours as he helps you reach for the salt.

Silence falls. The soft sizzle of eggs fills the space. His presence is everywhere — beside you, behind you, in you — and it’s like neither of you know where to put all the things you want to say.

Then—softly, like it escapes without permission:

“You meant it last night?”

You turn your head slightly. “Which part?”

He doesn’t look at you. Just keeps gently stirring the eggs. “That you liked waking up next to me.”

You hesitate. Then: “Yeah. I did.”

A beat passes.

He nods, silent, and grabs a plate. You watch him.

He places a serving of eggs onto the plate and hands it to you without meeting your eyes. “Me too.”

Your fingers brush when you take it. Neither of you pull away.

He finally looks up.

And there’s that moment again — the one that feels like you’re both standing at the edge of something huge. Something terrifying and beautiful.

“Lando…” you start.

But the words don’t come.

Because part of you is still afraid. Of ruining what you have. Of hoping too much. Of the way your heart has never felt this calm around anyone else.

He sees all of it. You know he does.

So he just smiles, soft and sure.

And says, “It’s okay. I’m not going anywhere.”

⸻

You eat breakfast shoulder to shoulder.

There are no declarations. No kisses.

But there’s a shared mug of coffee between you.

A soft look that lingers longer than it should.

And when he picks up your extra pillow later — the one you clung to for years before last night — and tosses it to the corner of the bed with a smirk, all he says is:

“You won’t need that anymore.”

⸻

You’re not sure why Lando doesn’t leave that night.

He doesn’t say he’s staying.

He just… doesn’t go.

You wash dishes together after dinner like it’s routine, like he’s done it a hundred times — and honestly, maybe he has. He scrolls through Netflix while you wipe down the kitchen counters, making dramatic sounds of disapproval at your movie suggestions. He disappears into your room at one point and comes back wearing one of your oversized sweatshirts like it’s his.

No mention of going home. No keys. No shoes. Just… him. Staying.

Again.

By the time you brush your teeth side by side — like you did last night, like it’s just what you do now — there’s a low buzz in the air. That awareness. That heaviness. Like the next thing might tip the whole thing into something neither of you can come back from.

You’re quiet as you climb into bed.

So is he.

The blanket settles over the both of you, and your hearts race a little too loud for a room that’s supposed to be quiet.

Then, softly—

“D’you still need something to hug?”

You let out a soft breath. “Yeah.”

He turns toward you in the dark. “Okay. C’mere.”

You hesitate only for a second this time.

You move closer. Not just tangled up like last time, but facing each other. His arm slides around your waist like muscle memory. Your hand finds the soft fabric of his sweatshirt near his chest.

You fit.

Better than you should.

You’re not even pretending to sleep yet when he whispers, “I didn’t leave because I wanted to stay.”

You blink slowly. “I know.”

“And I didn’t stay just because of you needing a pillow.”

You smile faintly. “I know that too.”

A beat.

He breathes in. “I don’t want this to be a thing we don’t talk about.”

Your heart flips. “Me either.”

“I don’t really know when it started,” he continues, voice low, “but I’ve wanted to kiss you for a while now. It just always felt like… if I did, I might mess it up.”

Your hand curls into the fabric of his sweatshirt. “You wouldn’t.”

He moves closer.

You feel his breath against your skin, soft and cautious. One hand lifts to your cheek like he’s checking to see if you’ll pull away.

You don’t.

“You sure?” he whispers.

You nod.

And he kisses you.

It’s not rushed.

It’s not perfect, either — his nose bumps yours, your hand fumbles awkwardly as you find his jaw — but it’s real. It’s warm. And it means something.

You can feel it in the way his fingers tighten on your waist. In the soft sigh you let out against his mouth. In the quiet, trembling kind of relief that settles between you once you both pull back.

You stay close.

Foreheads pressed. Noses barely brushing.

You could say something. Make a joke. Ask what this means.

But you don’t.

Because he’s already whispering, “Okay. I’m definitely your pillow now.”

And all you can do is laugh — quietly, into the space between your mouths — before tugging him back down and whispering,

“Yeah. Mine.”

⸻ ⸻ ⸻

[engenlvr]

i miss you, i’m sorry | alexia putellas

pairing: alexia putellas x mila crnogorčević (oc)

summary: years ago she messed up the best thing that ever happened to her and now it's back in front of her she won't make that mistake again

tags: angst, fluff, acl's, firstlove!alexia, past relationship, exes that haven’t seen each other in years, orange coloured text means that it is spanish and blue is swiss german. i hate writing games so it will probably be written horribly.

word count: 10k+

it was match day.

an el clásico to be exact. barcelona vs real madrid. champions league quarter final. you’ve been to many of these when you moved to spain from switzerland when you were fourteen.

football was your favourite sport growing up your dad was huge on it he even tried to get you in the sport but it was horrible and you quit immediately. you traded playing the sport to taking pictures of it.

you cousin ana-marie was the whole reason why you were here today, sat next to your friend bella. you were beyond proud of the girl and everything she’s achieved in her career.

today she was going to play in front of a world record crowd for women’s football. thousands of people in one stadium to see the team’s kick a ball around.

when you were offered an invite to see her play you couldn’t decline it wasn’t just a big moment in her career but also yours if you could capture the right moment. there were times where you’d see her play and the stadium barely had any people but today was the stadium was basically full.

the two girls were sat in their barcelona shirts with the name crnogorčević on the back of it. the game was just about to start with just the whistle needing to be blown.

and when it did the twenty two players began to run up and down the pitch. the score was already 3-1 on aggregate but it didn’t stay like that for long with a lovely cross from barcelona’s number four in the seventh minute.

there was something about el clásico no matter what, they were entertaining the rivalry between the two clubs causing that. then came the penalty due to a hand ball which only added to the game. it ended up going in real madrid’s favour with it barely slipping passing pass the goalkeeper fingers.

but it wasn’t till the second half when you got really invested, it wasn’t your cousin getting subbed on the pitch that the game really started to interest you. and a goal from the opposing team, a goal that was a beaut even thought it was hard to say with your barça heart.

but with that goal you knew it was only going to motivate them more and it did. that goal drove the home team to get a few more in their name. but it wasn’t the second or third goal that caught your attention it was the fourth that did.

the way they played was so familiar but you couldn’t place who it was or if your even knew them. the confidence in their movement and passes, their confidence full stop was too similar. the was she bowed to the fans as they all cheered for her. you didn’t have the clearest of views from where you were sat but with that being said whenever you were taking pictures you don’t really pay attention to their face everything was blurred out.

the rest of the game was a blur all your thoughts on the teams number 11 who seemed to be everyone’s favourite and it wasn’t until the final whistle that you snapped out of that trance.

“that game was amazing, i mean all the goals was beautiful” hanna blabbed in excitement over the game as the two of you made your way down to the pitch now that everyone was gone “i mean you have to show me all your photos”

looking at the girl “you always see my photos before anyone else” if there was one thing that the spanish girl loved about you was that you knew someone on the team meaning that you could get her tickets.

the two of you met about three years ago and have been best friends since and it wasn’t until a year in your friendship that she realised that you knew ana-marie but that you were actually family.

“ana! i’m so proud of you” pulling the girl into a hug and not letting her go till she started to pull away to hug hanna.

“you were amazing” the spanish girl complimented completely in awe at the swiss girl’s performance today.

the three girl continued to chat about the match that happened, from the goals to saves that happened. you listed nodding every now and then to the teams number 10 caught your eyes.

“jenni?” eyes full of confusion as you walked to the dark haired girl “what are you doing here? you know when we met and you were all secretive about your job i didn’t know it was because you were a footballer” she pulled you into a hug completely shocked that the girl she thought about a lot after they last saw each other months ago.

“what am i doing here? i could ask you the same thing. i can’t believe your here” her eyes looked at you “you know ana she’s my cousin and she asked me to come see her play. i’m also a sports photographer and it was worth coming i mean it was beautiful to think so many people came to watch you play. but i don’t blame them”

“are you flirting with me?” she joked remembering how you where when the two of you met on holiday “your family is looking at us well more me but still”

you looked back at your cousin and friend who glanced at the two of you “i think she just shocked that i know another footballer i mean she was shocked when i told her that ana was my cousin like she screamed cause she she loves this team”

“and you? do you love this team”

“i guess i do i’ve lived here since i was fifteen and been to may of these games and my shirt” spinning around to show her the your name ( ana-maria’s name ) on the back “love everything about this club, in fact i know everything about it”

“well since you love this club so much out of the kindness of my heart i’ll give you my shirt” pulling the fabric off her body and handing it to you “and the team we’re going out tonight to celebrate the win you should come”

“i don’t want to intrude” shaking your head no “you won’t i promise i want you there and the team will love you”

jenni heard her name being called “look i got to go but please come”

“hanna how do u feel about going to a party tonight”

so that’s how the two of your found yourselves in the club full of professional footballers “not to sound like i’m using you or anything but i love the fact that you know footballers especially barça ones. but how do you know jenni” the dark haired spaniard asked while dragging you to the bar to get shots number, well she didn’t know.

“err, we met on holiday”

her head shot around “you slept with her” the words jumbled up in your throat trying to come up with lie but nothing worked and you knew that she could see right through you so you stopped “no, okay so maybe i did, but it was months ago and a total coincidence that i met her today. i didn’t even know she played for barça”

“well i’m happy that you know them cause girl this place has been booked out for months”

the swiss girl humed in agreement before picking up the shot and downing it clearly needing it after her best friend integration.

the footballers were scatters all around across the club. you have yet to see everyone on the team, only really talked to ana-maria, ingrid, mapi and of course jenni.

“i don’t blame you, she’s really hot”

“thank you, hanna. i’m gonna steal her for a dance” pulling you alonge with her before you could say by to the girl.

“you’re a hard girl to find” she whispered in your ear from behind, the way she spoke with such confidence in everything that she does.

“well i’ve been on the dance floor or at the bar”

your body up against hers, the way her hand run up your bare back due to your backless crop top you wore. the touch that caused goosebumps to appear. maybe it was the alcohol that enhanced all that you felt but you didn’t care, both of you didn’t.

“you look beautiful, your top with that small skirt of yours i love it” her fingers grazing the price of clothing as she named them “it reminds me of that night in kos. you at that club in that tight red dress that compliments you so well” pushing you hair to the side “i still think about that night, how good you were for me all night” her lips meeting your neck peppering kisses on it.

you finally looked away from the girl and looked at the table in front of you. your movements halted as you saw her, you saw alexia after all these years. after ten years you saw her and she was looking directly back at you. those eyes you used to wake up next to, those hazel eyes you loved looking at.

after ten years and she still had the same effect on you as if the two of you still knew one another. god you hated that she did, you hated that she looked more beautiful since the last time you saw her.

looking at her and you suddenly were a teenage girl and in love with girl and the two of you were in her room kissing each other every chance you had.

“i’m sorry, i’ve got to go” running out the club ignoring the calls not only from jenni but from hanna and your cousin as well.

you didn’t remember how you got there but there you were at beach the two of you used to always go to. looking at the rock which had the initials of the two of you and drawings that the two of you have put.

you felt a figure sit beside you, not even having to look as that scent was so familiar. the midfielder sat down beside you and the seconds she did you got up to walk away.

her hand grabbing your wrist to stop you from fleeing.

“no ale—alexia no. you don’t get to come here and touch me like nothing happened. you were horrible to me i stuck with you through everything the highs and the lows but then you took out all your anger on me and i tried to stay but it wasn’t just that. you never showed up. i was there at every important event of yours but you never came to mine even if i told you weeks in advance there was always something to stop you from coming but that night was it. i just couldn’t do it no more”

seeing her just brought everything up again, everything that you thought you had healed all those years ago but it didn’t, it still hurt.

“i don’t blame you” her voice sweeter than ever it still sounded like pure heaven to you but how couldn’t it. it was the voice that told you that she loved you and that she was gonna marry you and so much more. you couldn’t stand that fact that it still did “i would of done the same thing, walking out on me. i was a horrible girlfriend not just after he died but before as well. my need to just be the best ruined what we had and after years of having you by my side i was so used to having you there and i took it for granted and i thought you’d stay, no matter what but i pushed you too far but losing you made me see everything that i done and how wrong i done you. the trophies mean nothing if your not by my side”

her eyes were on you but yours were focusing on the waves and the sound it made it helped you slow the tears falling down your face “seeing you with jenni, my best friend. how close she was to you, her body up against your whispering in your ear and kissing you. i don’t ever want to see that. i used to be the one to do that to you and i want to make things right. there hasn’t been a day no a second where i haven’t thought about you and i’m going to make it right cause losing you made me realise how much i love you and need you in my life”

her words caused you to look at her for the first time since the club. you had a chance to really look at her alexia had changed her hair now blonde it complimented her but you miss her brown hair.

you often thought about what would of happened if you told the girl straight up how you felt whether you’d be at the match for her instead of ana-marie. whether you’d be there after every win and lost. whether you’d still go her family’s house chatting with her mum or going out with alba to gossip or if you’d still be with her.

“alexia i— i don’t think that can happen” her eyes looking a bit sad at your words “no mila i will make us us again i’m not gonna give up on this on us”

standing up from where the two of your were sat, slowly moving away till you were by the right of her to say your last words to her “i’m glad you got everything you ever wanted” walking away but not before glancing back at her one more time.

those words hurt her more knowing you thought that she couldn’t fix this or that you didn’t want her to try at all but she had changed losing you changed her for the better “not everything” she whispered sadly looking directly at you. she let you slip away once but she wouldn’t let it happen again.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

october 2009

it was your first day at school in spain obviously you were beyond nervous, how could you not be in a place where the language wasn’t you first and only understood basic phrases.

if it wasn’t bad enough that you were the new kid you had to be the new kid who joined midway through the the term. everyone already had their established friendship groups and you would be there all alone.

your dad who was a football coach moved us here as being the coach of barça was something he couldn’t turn down, so that’s how you found yourself in barcelona. ever since finding out that you were moving you tried to learn spainsh and catalan but it was harder than you thought.

the halls were crowded with friends walking around making their way for lunch, while you walked in the complete opposite direction. lessons weren’t necessarily bad but you felt like the odd one out everyone speaking rapid spanish while you could only latch on to maybe a few words if lucky. having the teacher speak to the class and then you, which wasn’t to hurt you or make you feel separate but it did.

you had found a secluded space, the football stands. despite not being that good at the sport you felt comfort there. your dad often took you with him when he practiced. though you had never been here, every stand felt familiar and brought you comfort.

everywhere you went you had a camera always ready to capture a moment whether it was a person or scenery, taking pictures was what you were meant to do. your love for sports photography began with all the training sessions your day would take you to. when you were younger you would always complain about how boring it was but then your mum had the idea to give you a camera. and to their surprise the pictures you took were great, great enough to even be used for promo.

a brunette walked on to the pitch with a ball in her hands before going to do some football drills. the girl obviously didn’t notice you seeing as she continued to move effortlessly with the ball.

you could tell she was popular as every time someone walked pass they wave to her or have a conversation with her.

it was beautiful.

a scene worth capturing. she looked beautiful and confident in each stride. so you picked up your film camera and took multiple pictures of the girl who moved gracefully on the pitch.

she was perfected each stride except for the last which went straight for you and totally would of hit you if you hadn’t of ducked “i’m sorry, i didn’t see you there” she apologised profusely while running over to you. the language of that spoke from her lips confused you for a moment completely forgetting that you weren’t in switzerland anymore but spain “it’s okay” you face full of confusion as you didn’t know if you had said the words right.

and she continued apologising well that’s what you thought she was saying as you were completely lost and your face displayed it.

“your the new student aren’t you” finally switching to english which calmed your nerves completely “yeah, i’m sorry i’m trying to learn catalan but i’m not that good yet”

reaching for the ball behind you, grabbing it and handing it to her. you could finally look at the girl, hazel eyes which complimented her brown hair so well. “so why are you here and not eating lunch”

“i don’t really know anyone here. actually you’re the first person to really put in an effort to talk to me” shrugging your shoulders

“well you know me now”

the words spoken with a smile “alexia” putting her hand out for you to shake.

“mila”

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

present day

fate.

that’s what alexia liked to call it whenever the two of you seemed to bump into each other. at the coffee shop, in the middle of the streets, your weekly food shop and more.

obviously she was happy about seeing you but after you hadn’t seen her for ten years it was weird seeing her this often.

you slammed the door shut as you entered your flat which hanna was currently in “mila what happened for you to slamming that poor door?”

glaring at the girl with her comment “ugh i hate her why can’t she just leave me alone”

“who”

“i mean everyday i bump into her and she’ll be all happy acting as if nothing happened. asking me how my day was”

“again i don’t know who your talking about”

“it’s just why do i have to see her practically everyday—“

the spaniard grabbed your shoulders shaking them to stop you from talking “mila who? who are you talking about?”

“alexia” the words coming out slow “okay alexia who alexia jones, alexia smith. mila who’s alexia? i don’t know everything”

“alexia from the bar”

a look of realisation appeared on her face “alexia putellas!” you nodded “you know alexia what did you sleep with her or something how do you know her? why is it you who knows all the barça player and i don’t” whispering the last bit to herself.

“i kinda know her”

“yeah i’ve got that but how?”

“well i kinda used to date her” hanna’s face filled with shock cause if she was in your position she’d be telling everyone she knew “i know i should of told you but the break up was so messy we were so messy in the last few month’s. when we first met it was perfect like i was so in love and it only grew as our careers did. i’d go to her games and she’d go to my events everything was perfect. then her dad died and everything went down hill she’d start arguments over anything i did that showed that i cared. she missed my events and then i just left, couldn’t even tell her to her face or else i wouldn’t go through with it so i left her a silly letter, i left her when she needed me most”

“you used to date alexia putellas, the the caption of fc barcelona” completely ignoring everything but the first sentence

“yes hanna” slight annoyed at her for being up her name again “okay just making sure we’re talking about the same person here”

dropping yourself on the sofa and grabbing a pillow of yours to squeeze. at first hanna was going to make a joke about the two of you but she saw the way you looked over you bumbing into the captain and how much it really effected you in more ways than you wished.

“you want my opinion” looking at you and waiting for a sigh but you stayed still staring at the view form your window “okay well i’m gonna give you it anyway. well it’s clear that she still means something to you wether you want it to or not but you still love her and miss her and what the two of you had. well i don’t know alexia personally but i think if she really didn’t care about you and didn’t feel sorry she wouldn’t talk to you each time she bumps into you. i think you leaving really showed her how wrong her actions were and i think the reason she didn’t reach out is to respect your boundaries even if it hurt her.”

“all i’m saying is that it won’t hurt to at least talk things out so that the both of you can move on” pulling your head to her chests “just think about it okay”

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

february 2010

you learnt very quickly that alexia practically bleed blaugrana. you figured that out practically the first day you met.

at your old school when people found out who your dad was they would always ask for favours. like to meet the players and get stuff signed for them. so they never really wanted to be your friend.

so when you heard that you were gonna move to barcelona you made the choice to go by your mums last name instead of your dads.

though you didn’t want your mind to go there it did. you thought somehow she found a picture of you online and that’s why she started talking to you. but as the days went on she never asked for anything infact when she saw your face when she talked about the club she’d stop.

slowly you realised that maybe she was friends with you solely cause of you and not for your dad. that she actually liked you for you. most of your friends were ones from your childhood other than that you didn’t make any.

normally you wouldn’t use your dads connections for your own personal use. but it was alexia you were talking about, your alexia and seeing the smile that would come on her face would be so worth it.

alexia was gutted that she couldn’t get tickets to that game barcelona vs real madrid seeing as the game was a day after her birthday.

“alexia i have one more gift for you” pulling out the bag for behind you “mila i told you that you didn’t need to get me anything, you being here is enough” seeing as you already got her too much stuff in her eyes from new football boots which she instited that you took back and the only present she truly accepted was the necklace you bought for her.

your face could barely keep your emotions in as you were smiling so much “i know but you’ll love it i swear”

“open it please” pushing the bag more towards her. you watched as she hesitantly opened the bag and her face filled with excitement as she read what was on the paper.

“no you didn’t” she repeated before throwing herself your arms causing you to fall backwards on the floor “mila, i love you. best birthday present ever” she said while placing kisses on your cheeks which caused them to heat up.

her parents watched as the two of you hugged on the floor while her sister picked the piece of paper and showed her parent which only made their smile widen.

you were exactly what alexia needed. sure she had others friends that they thought were good enough for alexia but seeing you with her only made them realise that what they saw before was nothing like what the two of you had.

“but these were sold out how could you possibly get them and the first row” pulling away to look at you through her tear filled eyes before hugging you again “i have my ways and we even get to go on the pitch afterwards and talk to the players” you were meant to keep that last bit in but you couldn’t help it. seeing alexia happy makes you happy

“what did i do to deserve you”

what you didn’t know was the you buying the tickets was the best thing to ever happen to the two of you. after the game which barcelona won of course alexia’s words. you didn’t just get tickets for the two of you you also got tickets for her mum, dad and sister.

the lot of you made your way down the pitch. the clothes you wore which were simply a t-shirt and a pair of jeans and alexia said you should of worn the barcelona top she got you seeing as everyone but you wore one.

dragging her hand as you went on to the pitch and to your dad which she was yet to know was your dad “dad” shouting as you ran and hugged him “hi, i see you we’re finally brave enough to tell her who your dad is” whispering in your ear.

“ale, come here pls” telling the girl who stood confused next to her parents. she was really confused about her her mila knew the head coach of barcelona. “ale i’d like you to meet my dad”

“it’s nice to finally meet you alexia” bring the girl into a hug where she stood still in shock

“your dad. he’s your dad. the head coach of barcelona is your dad” pointing between the two of you “i’m sorry i should of told you but at my last school people only wanted to be friend with me cause of it and i just didn’t want that. i wanted to be sure that you were friend with me cause of me not cause of my day”

she stood still for a second her face emotionless, no tell of what she was feeling “no i get it, i’m glad that you trust me” pulling you into a hug. before you dragged her to meet the players.

safe to say that she need a minute after meeting the players. she pulled you into the bathroom, you immediately sat on the sink as you watched the girl just pace back and fourth thinking about the event that happened in the previous hour.

“mila” finally breaking the silence “i can’t believe that just happened. i always thought about how i would act if i met the players but i didn’t really think it would happen”

she stoped pacing and moved between the the gap of your legs. alexia knew that what she felt for you was stronger than her other friendships. She knew she loved you even at the start of your friendship. whether she meant it in the way she loved her friends or more she just knew that she did.

everyone your age had boyfriends, alexia claimed she doesn’t have one as she didn’t see the appeal. you on the other hand, had boys ask you out which you always declined. that was something that annoyed alexia but she’d never tell you why not that she knew why she hated it. you hadn’t been in a relationship since your boyfriend back in switzerland.

she loved you. your hair, your eyes the way you’d smiled or how you generally were intrigue in the silly stories she tell you. maybe it was the little to no distance between the two of you or the high from meeting her football idols that made her do it. but she did

alexia’s hand went to your cheek which you leaned into. her eyes flickering between your eyes and lips.

her lips were suddenly placed on yours moving but it was your turn to stand still in shock. when you didn’t reciprocate she moved away “mila, i’m sorry that was a mistake. i hope i haven’t ruined this—” placing your lips on hers showing her that you felt the same. your hand wrapped around her neck pulling you closer, wanting to feel more of her on you. the two of you seemed to forget that this was a bathroom as the two of you were lost in each other.

kissing your ex never felt like this, like you were on cloud nine.

“best birthday present ever” alexia spoke between kisses and went to deepen the last when a knock stopped it from happening. causing the two of you to laugh.

“we should go” you murmured kissing her and dragging her out of the bathroom.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

present day

unblock alexiaputellas

unblocked

unblocking was first thing you done since your talk with hanna. you told yourself that you were doing it to finally move on but part of you done it to i guess see her but at the some time not. watch her life from afar.

the second you pressed that button you saw ten years worth of memories that you could of been part of. her first cap for her country, days out with her family, winning the league and the one that hurt most her signing for barcelona. the one you promised to be there for.

milacc

hey

the notification on alexia’s screen caused her to drop her home phone in the changing room once she saw it. gaining looks form all her teammates especially once they saw her face.

alexiaputellas

hi

milacc

we need to talk

i know you have a team meet up tomorrow can I meet you there???

if not we can find a better date

alexiaputellas

no that fine

i’m sure all my teammates will be fine with you coming

milacc

perfect see you tomorrow

alexiaputellas

wait

how do you know about tomorrow?

milacc

ana-maria told me

alexiaputellas

how do you know ana

milacc

she’s my cousin

alexiaputellas

she’s the ana you said you always missed

makes sense now she’s exactly how you said she was

milacc

yeah

anyway i’ve got to go work is calling

bye

alexiaputellas

bye

see you tomorrow

when you texted her yesterday the meet up it was meant to be at a cafe, but once that heard how many people were coming they said the party was too big.

so you got a text from ana-maria saying that it was being held a alexia place. arriving at her place didn’t really setting in till you went inside.

hesitantly you knocked on the door, rocking back and forth on your feet. when the door finally opened it revealed alexia.

“hi” putting her into a small hug a hug in which she missed more than words could describe. she would of held on a little longer if you hadn’t pulled away when something fluffy ran towards you.

“nala, my baby. oh how i’ve missed you”

picking up her dog which couldn’t contain her excitement in your arms and kissing you’re face. now you’ve known nala since alexia first got her. she claimed that she got it for her but she also knew how much you loved dogs.

when nala was little she spent most of her time with you so she got very close to you and you would also joke saying that you were nala’s favorite ( you were ) even though alexia would never admit it.

obviously it wouldn’t be that bad seeing as you’d have ana-maria here with you so if you needed a break you’d could just go to her.

once fully being inside her place you muttered a quick hi to the other girls and giving jenni a small hug before sitting down and the only seat that was left was next to alexia.

once all the greeting and introductions were done you took a sip of the coffee that alexia got for you and it was exactly how you liked.

she remembered after all these years.

“so mila how do you know ana-maria?”

the two swiss girls looked at each other “she’s my cousin” they all looked between them and only then saw the similarities between the two.

you liked the girls they genuinely seemed like nice girls and you got on with everyone. alexia smiled while she watched you talk to her friends and imagined that this was the everyday norm. she imagined that you were her girlfriend and this was normal.

made her want this back even more.

while talking to the girls you had a proper look at her place. you noticed things that the others wouldn’t like the candle holder, the swiss book that’s you loved, flower pot and many more.

after years she still had your things littered around her place as if it was ours. alexia knew that it was wrong but she didn’t have you in her life and this was the best she would get.

jana came back through the bathroom door with a video camera in her hands and a sneaky smile “you’ll never guess what i found?”

alexia looked over at jana and what she was holding and launched herself at jana to grab it but failed “this has old video of alexia”

“jana no” giving the girl a serious look but that did nothing seeing as the girl started to play the video on the tv.

it was video that you instead on taking documenting you and Jaume’s journey to her games. it was a tradition every game you’d vlog your journey.

the clip was half played and you were stood in the stands cheering as alexia’s father recorded the two of you. alexia scored and instead of celebrating with her teammates she ran over to you and kissed you, a type of kiss that makes you lose train of thought.

your eyes stared at the video, frozen in place. you hadn’t seen this video since the two of you broke up.

the next clip cut to after the match where he was recording the two of you whispering sweet nothings to eachother sneaking in a kiss every now and then. so stuck in your own world you didn’t notice the camera turning from you to him saying ‘if alexia doesn’t marry this girl, i won’t believe in love. they’re made for each other”

then the screen went black.

you were stuck in your seat, you have never seen this clip before. did he really think that? that the two of you were made for each other. cause if he did he’d be shocked at how the two of you were now.

“what?” you questioned as jana looked at the you and the the scene repeatedly “the two of you look a like”

the realisation finally settling in for her and just as she was about to ask more questions the door opening stopped her. but what came next answered her question anyway.

“alexia you forgot your phone at my place” a voice called taking the phone from her bag, finally looking up to see you.

“mila”

then her sister shouted in joy before running over to you and wrapping her arms around you, completely forgetting about why she originally came here.

obviously you thought about the possibility of bumping in to her family but somehow it never did.

you loved alba with all your heart and missed her at lot more than you’d like to admit. the two of you got on so well it annoyed alexia seeing as her sister would always steal you from her. but it wasn’t just her you missed it was her family in general especially her mum. her food, her hugs, talks and so much more.

“i missed you so much. why didn’t you call or text i missed you so much but that put aside does this mean that you guys have sorted this out seeing as well in the same room together. oh i can’t wait to talk to mum, she’s misses you so much”

you tried to intervene to stop her from basically telling everyone what you didn’t want them to know but it was to late.

“alba, we’re not back together”

the joy slipped from her face sadness now replacing it. thought the two of you were speaking catalan most of girl’s definitely understood everything.

jenni looked at you, the scene from the club making sense. you walking out once you saw alexia “wait you and alexia were a thing?”

“she’s the alexia that broke your heart” ana on the other hand heard everything when the two of you broke up and let’s just say she didn’t want to be face to face with the girl.

“yeah erm we used to date when we were younger back at school and ana don’t start anything please” seeing the glare that was sent to alexia.

things started to click them for mapi “wait she’s the girl” whispering quietly to her best friends which she only nodded a yes to.

now mapi knew everything from the way the two of you met to how you guys broke up. she was the only one who knew why alexia would reject every girl that came her way, why she was extra quite and sad on your birthday.

grabbing the younger putellas sister and pulling her into the spare bedroom “i’m so sorry, i spoke without thinking. i was just so happy that i saw you two together i just assumed. i’m sorry”

“i’m not mad at you okay. i know you didn’t mean to say all that” smiling at the girl weekly.

sitting down to the bed that seemed to be alexia’s. you thought that your stuff outside her room was a lot but in here there was so much more, even some pictures of the two of you.

“she still loves you, you know” stinging next to you “she knows she messed up, trust me”

you finally looked at alba “you know i was the who found this place. we were looking for places for when barça finally signed her and i fell in love with this place the second i saw it” a small tear falling from your eye’s

“i thought that i could do this, be around her. but i can’t, i don’t know how to anymore”

alba pulled you back into the hug holding just like you held her when she first got her heart broken all those years ago.

and the two of you stayed there for a while, as you didn’t want to let go. her hugs always made you feel comfortable and you needed that right now.

finally re-entering the room with your makeup touched up. the room was a little tense with all that has been uncovered.

“so i slept with the both of you” were the words that finally broke silence. both yours and alexia eye’s widened.

you looked at jenni “oh please tell me your joking” she slowly shook her head no. everyone was quiet expect for alba who found the whole funny minus the part where they were talking about her sisters sex life.

“well at least tell me i was better” telling a joke trying to lighten the situation but jenni couldn’t tell that it was a joke and answered truthfully tilting her head towards you.

“jenni i was joking you didn’t have to answer that i was just trying to lighten the mood”

alexia didn’t think it was as funny mumbling some words in catalan “what” the words slightly harsh.

“it’s just that i taught you like everything” looking at you as if her words were factual “you taught me everything. no alexia who was the who was a virgin when we met not me, you. also i wasn’t the sex crazed one you were”

“no i remember it otherwise but what do i know plus i have proof” her words to the rest of the girls sounded like nonsense and to you as well till it all clicked “omg don’t tell me you still have that, ale. tell me that you deleted it”

the two of you seemed to forget that it want just the both of you and the rest of the team was there as well and well most of them understood everything.

“i forgot, okay”

alba who was currently sat in your lap finally spoke up making a joke as usual “well don’t tell me it was a sex tape?” laughing seeming as it was something that you as well as her sister would never do something like that.

but with the both of you stilling and looking around away awkwardly not meeting her eyes “your joking right”

“it was accidental” was the only excuse you could come up with. but it wasn’t a lie you only put the camera there so you could film her reaction but then one thing led to another.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

june 2010

from that day forward the two of you where inseparable always at each others house. you were always at ale’s games with her dad no matter what. you were there when she made her debut, there when she scored her first goal, there when she won games and there when she lost.

you and alexia were in the best place you’ve ever been. always staying at her place and kissing when ever the two of you were left alone. you didn’t know when you guys changed from best friends to girlfriend??? but the day after that game things changed since then.

you didn’t know what the two of you were but you loved it. the lovesick girls layed on alexia’s bed, with her head in your lap and you stroking her hair.

it was moments like these that you lived for the simplicity of them as all the two girl could think about was each other.

now since then your spainsh and catalan had improved immensely due to alexia who helped you every day with it. the truth was that alexia loved hearing you speak her language it made her love you even more.

“you know no matter what you the most important thing in my life” the brunette girl confessed.

“more important than football” jokingly already knowing that she’d choose football as it was such an important part of her life.

twisting her body to look at you directly at you “yeah, you come first no matter what” you’re face softening at her words that made you love her more if possible.

“really”

“yeah really”

moving up to kiss you, which slowly started to get more heated as she started to pull your shirt over your head and you doing the same to her.

the kiss getting more eager before alba walked in screaming in schock at what the two of you were doing, before covering her eyes. the two of you jumping away from each other and rushing to get your tops on so you were decent.

“the two of you” her finger pointing between both of you “you and alexia. mila and you” still in shock at the scene in front of her which was you hiding your blushed face in her pink pillow and ale glaring at her sister.

yes there was a you and alexia but at the same time there wasn’t as the two of you weren’t exclusive.

“yes alba me and mila. now please leave!”

“oh i’m so telling mum and dad”

“alba!!!”

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

present day

the girls finally left alexia’s home, leaving you alone with her. something that you dreaded being alone with her, something that use to be so normal and comforting for the both of you. but now it was the opposite unfamiliar and uncomfortable.

none of you have said a word for about twenty minutes, just looking at the wall looking at all the things that used to be yours.

“mila” your hands moving up to tell her to stop which she did.

“i don’t even know why i asked to talk to you.” laughing slightly at the situation “i can’t even be in the same room as you anymore without feeling uncomfortable”

alexia eyes filled with hurt as that was never something that she wanted to make you feel.

“hanna said i should listen to your side of this so i can move on. cause she says it’s killing me now.”

killing you

those words rang through her head.

she looked up at you “okay” her words very weak and sad

“i was a shit girlfriend, i remind myself of it everyday. alba reminds me as well and if she doesn’t someone else in my family says how badly i messed it up with you. you were— no you are my everything and i hate the fact i lost site of that. that being the best clouded what mattered most to me. you.”

tears started to fill your eyes even though you really didn’t what them to.

“before he died, and i’m not saying this is an excuse but i was under so much pressure and i just wanted to make him proud before he died. but in doing so i treated you so bad and im so ashamed of it and i deserve every bad thing that comes my way and more”

“he would of been proud of you no matter what alexia. he was so proud to call you his daughter”

tears finally fell from her eyes hearing you say that, cause if you said it it must of been true. on top of that you always knew what her dad thought, the two of you always got alone so well and that was one of the reasons alexia loved you.

twiddling your hand in your lap “why didn’t you ever try to reach out”

“i wanted to respect your boundaries even if it hurt me not to and i really wanted to but if you wanted to talk to me you would of and you clearly didn’t”

“i love you enough to leave you alone if that’s what you want”

and it was. at least that’s what you thought you wanted. and any time you thought otherwise you remembered exactly why you left all those years ago. but that wasn’t really her and you knew that but what’s gonna stop her from acting like that towards you again. so you said that even if you didn’t truly mean it.

“yeah that’s what i want”

the words not sounding convincing to any of you but neither of you said a thing. you got up and went home free of any thoughts of alexia and she only ended up having more thoughts of you even though every bone of her body tried not to.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

july 2012

everything slowly went downhill with the more goals she scored and games she played, the more she changed. while alexia career was growing so was your as you stated to post your photos online as it got recognition.

at the start she was happy at every achievement you had seeing just how happy it made you. whenever you had an exhibition and if she was free she was there and if she couldn’t her family we always be there no matter what.

slowly she would start missing them even if she had a day off and it was fine at the seeing as she had a packed schedule and was probably tired but after the fifth time it just became annoying her family would ask you where she was a you would have to come up with some stupid excuse seeing as you didn’t even know why.

then her dad died which expectedly changed her seeing how close she was to him. his death hurt you as over the years the two of you created a bond going to alexia games together. you kept it together until she was out, but instead of crying as everyone else did she took it out on you.

“ale, it okay to cry. it’s a natural thing to do you don’t need to hide that from me”

“god mila! why can’t you just leave me alone twenty four seven your on my case. i can never have a moment to myself. your always there even when i’m out your texting me every second trying to see how i am”

the words coming out of her mouth with no look of regret in her eyes or an attempt to apologise to you. “sorry, i’ll just go for a walk” your words said small and barley to be heard if it wasn’t for her being right next to you.

you tried to play this off as a one time thing but it wasn’t. it happened every day and a you put up with it until it was all to much.

you had to leave.

so while she was with her family one night you packed all your things leaving behind all the photos that you put up of the two of you, the decorations that you found and put up to fill the rooms and make it feel like home.

only leaving behind a letter.

alexia came home late that night going straight to the bed and stopping agh the door seeing as you weren’t laying in it, her eyes roaming the room to look for a sign of you only to see the wardrobe empty of your clothes. she rushed through their place searching every room for a sign of you but each one she saw less with each piece of your stuff being gone but a letter addressed to her.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

present day

it was late when you got the call. the ringing jolting you awake from your sleep. at first you were annoyed, who would call you at this hour but then you saw the contact name.

my albs 💞

she hadn’t called you since you broke up with alexia, so it must be important right? her words sounded all jumbled up due to your tiredness and the only words you got was.

“alexia, she’s hurt. please come”

and how couldn’t you, not when alba sounded like that, so you got on the next flight to england. your bags had clothes that didn’t even match due to how you just chucked your clothes in there.

when you got to the hospital, you saw both alba and eli standing outside of a room. the second alba saw you she ran into your arms holding you tight making sure you wouldn’t leave. the second you pulled away you immediately pulled eli into a hug from the first time in over ten years. that hug only made you realise just how much you missed her.

“what happened?”

“she’s done her acl” you paused when you heard that, obviously you knew how bad an acl was, ana knew a few people who did theirs and she would talk to you about how severe it could be. how it was something no footballer wanted to do in their career.

alba looked at you with guilt all over her face “i know that you said you wanted her to leave you alone, but she doesn’t want the surgery and we can’t convince her. she’s saying she deserves it and i don’t know why she would think that. but i know she’ll listen to you and do it if she asks you”

glancing through the glass at alexia who was sleeping and well she looked peaceful. she looks the same as she did when she was younger and you two would sleep at each other.

looking defeated “fine, i’ll do it. but only cause you asked”

opening the door and you were just about to enter when a hand grabbed your wrist “thank you mila” eli spoke softly really appreciating what you were doing even though she knew it wasn’t easy for you.

sitting on the edge of her hospital bed, gently grabbing her hand and whispering her name sounding hesitant which you were. you said you never wanted to see her again and here you are sat beside her going to convince her to get the surgery just to leave again.

after saying her name a few times her eyes started to open, blinking a few times to make sure she was really seeing her and it wasn’t the drugs she was on.

her voice was weak, barely to be heard “mila”

“yeah i’m here alexia, im here”

hearing these words she finally broke down, tears rolling down her cheeks as she collapsed in your lap.

“do the surgery ale, please” she immediately shook her head no “alexia please just do the surgery. you need to get it done okay”

“i can’t mila, i can’t. i deserve it okay i deserve this acl for every bad thing that i’ve done in my life” finally looking up at you “for everything i’ve done to you, this is my karma and im okay with that”

“alexia just do the surgery please. i’ll never be able to live with myself if you didn’t do it cause of me ale. so don’t do it for yourself do it for me please?”

she nodded weakly she could never say no to you even when you were teenagers. she held on to you tighter than even scared you were gonna disappear if she ever let go. but after a while the drugs did get the best of her making her fall into a sleep.

outside the room alexia’s family were met with some of her teammates who came to see how she was doing.

mapi was the first to speak up about what everyone was thinking “so she’s the girl alexia still in love with. also how’d you get her here cause last i heard she wanted nothing to do with ale”

“she doesn’t. i begged her to come because i knew she was the only one who could convince her”

their gaze fell on to the two of you. your hand stroking alexia’s hair as she rested in your lap. to alba and eli they just saw the teenage version on you guys, as they’d always catch you two like that. and to her teammates it looked like two girls who are still very much in love.

gently you picked up alexa’s arm trying your hardest not to wake her up. once free you glanced at her seeing her stir around for a bit then finally settling again.

alba and eli looked at you with a little hope in their eyes “so, did you get her to do it?”

nodding yes “she thinks she deserves it because of what happened between the us.”

“thank you, mila. i know this isn’t ideal so thank you for convincing her to do it” eli hugged you tightly to show her thanks.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

july 2012

dear alexia my love,

i’m sorry.

i tried to stay strong and stick with you but i couldn’t. each day i leave the house and i dread coming back knowing that the second i walk through that door your going to complain about something that i’ve done or that i annoy you to much and care about you to much. i’m sorry that i make you feel that way all i wanted to do was try and give you some sort of comfort in this hard time.

i don’t think in knew that i was gay when we first met but i knew that you were going to be an important part of my life. i think that i’ve loved you since that day.

i miss when we’d actually go out for dinner or even go to your parents so i could see your family who i’ve grown to love over the years. i miss when i’d got to your games and it would be care free seeing you balance me and football.

losing your dad was the hardest thing you’ll ever go through and i miss him to i haven’t show you as i try to stay strong for you but i miss him and i feel guilty saying that seeing as he’s your dad and he was only ever i guess my girlfriends dad. but i miss our weekly drives to your games where we’d laugh about anything and he’d teach me some more phrases in catalan as i’m still not completely fluent and in return i’d teach him some swiss german and even though his pronunciation wasn’t the best his heart was in a good place and he put in an effort.

in a time where you need me the most and need the ones you love most around you, well i think i’m one of them at least and i know deciding to leave you now of all times is cruel but i can’t go on like this.

i wish i could stay strong and make it through this rough patch but we weren’t good even before he died you’d miss my exhibitions you said you were going to and wouldn’t even tell me why and i’d have to lie to your family as to why you weren’t there but i can’t do this anymore i’m so sad in our relationship. i really did try to push through but every day i do something wrong in your eyes and i just let you shout at me.

that not healthy.

so goodbye ale i wish you the best in your life and i’ll love you forever. i really wish we could be better but maybe we’re just not meant for each other and that okay. in another lifetime we got married and had kids, you’ll get every award for club and country ( i still think you can do it in this one ) and i’ll be right by you’re side. but it’s just a dream, a what if.

i’ll never regret meeting you.

love from

your mila or just mila now i guess

and for the first time in weeks alexia cried.

she cried for you at first but slowly it was for her dad and then for her actions towards you. she saw it now and in the time where she needed you most to hold her and tell her it was alright you weren’t there and it was all her fault and she knew it was.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

present day

not that any of you guys saw it but alexia tearing her acl had one good thing come out of it and that was you talking to her again.

at first it was checking up on her, seeing how she was even making some food for her on her worst day.

you were the only person she let see that side of her.

being in her life again made it all worth it in her eyes. you actually smiled at her again instead of groaning in annoyance whenever you saw her.

the world finally saw alexia in love in her documentary. they saw the genuine smile that you brought to her face. they saw a side of alexia they’d never seen before, her being in love.

it showed you two just doing little things nothing that would indicate that you were together, but enough to know that she cared about you deeply.

the fans fought it made sense alexia ‘dating’ the coaches daughter of the men’s teams. it made sense to them why he’d always had a closer relationship with alexia, how he sent her a birthday wish or even how she’d be seen at the men’s game more than the others.

you’re dad never talked about her not after the first time where you burst out crying.

one episode stood out to her fans specifically it was an evening at eli’s place the two of you sat next to each other your head resting on hey shoulder. alexia whispering some joke about her sister in your ear which made you hit her saying that it was rude. then there was a clip of you dancing with one of her nieces while she looked at you like a lovesick fool.

it was late at night when she said she wanted to take you somewhere.

“is the blindfold really necessary” you laughed while alexia hand guided you making sure you didn’t trip or fall. which was no help as you still managed to do so.

“yes now shush”

you finally came to a stop “okay perfect”

she gently pulled the blindfold off and place was too familiar. it was where you first met her.

looking at the pitch and seeing just how much has changed since you’ve last been here “how’d you ever get us in here”

“i said i’d come one day and talk to the team” you both knew how much she hated public speaking but if this worked it be worth it.

“so any reason you took us here of all places. we both know how much you hated school” and she did the only positive about going was that she got to see you.

and then she said it.

“i did it on purpose” you looked at her completely confused about what she was talking about “i kicked the ball at you on purpose”

“i saw you sat up there and you looked so cute and i just wanted to talk to you and the first thing that came to my mind was to do that cause then i’d have to come up and apologise”

you busted out in laughter at the confession and her rosey cheeks “i know” causing her face to be full of embarrassment.

“what”

“i’m not dumb okay. i saw how controlled you were on the pitch you wouldn’t make a silly mistake like that if it wasn’t on purpose. i just never said anything cause i knew you would be embarrassed”

her gaze was now anywhere but you. all these years you knew and you never said a word till ten years later. if alba found this out she’d be dying of laughter at how awkward her sister can be at times.

scratching the side of her neck “i thought i was was slick about it but i guess not”

“i found it cute” making her checks go ever darker “but i’m still confused as to why we’re here”

“yes i nearly forgot” talking a deep breath in to calm her nerves “give me another chance”

your eyes widened. sure you thought about alexia like that again since the two of you started talking but what if that happened again.

“i know that our story hasn’t been the easiest but your the love of my life okay. being without you all those years was torture and seeing you with my family only makes me want to be with you more. but i don’t want to rush you, i wanted to show you that i’ve changed and that i’ll never treat you like how i did before”

“so mila crnogorčević please be my girl again”

option one ) you could say yes and do what you honestly wanted to do since talking to her again. you were still very much if not more in love with her than ever. it would end with the two of you would get married and have kids or breaking up again but then at least you’d know it wasn’t meant to be.

option two ) say no and keep your heart safe from what you felt all those years ago.

you were torn you wanted to say yes but at the same time you didn’t.

but the truth was that you missed her. you missed when she’d grab your hand when she could tell you were nervous. you missed waking up from her kissing your back. you missed when she’d run straight for you after a match. you ever missed her annoying you over the littlest thing.

you just missed her.

“mila—” she didn’t even get to finish the sentence before your lips placed themselves on her’s exactly like her’s did in the bathroom in camp nou all those years ago.

“so i’m gonna take that as a yes” speaking between kisses not wanting to stop at all “yes alexia now shut up and kiss me”

and she did without a second thought.

[yintous]

꒰ 🦢 ꒱ ─── 𝓗EART TO HEART ㆍ₊⊹

gn! reader ; love is spoken through many different languages, such as words of affirmation, quality time, acts of service, gift giving, and physical touch. which language do each of the batboys speak? or rather, what is their favorite love language?

notes. fluff, established relationship, more content under the cut, kinda long?? idk i didn’t proofread much 😭 this is mostly inspired by one of my lovely mootie’s ask! :D [masterlist]

DICK GRAYSON, physical touch.

dick could NEVER keep his hands off you. at this point, everyone knows how clingy he is toward you

comes home to you and never stops looking forward for your touch. the moment your skin touches his, he feels as if he’s immediately grounded to earth.

the type to trace your facial features; the slope of your nose, your jawline, etc. if you have freckles, he’d count them to pass time

when sleeping next to you, he’s def the type to wrap his leg around your hip or waist to accumulate more warmth and to make sure you wouldn’t get away from him 😭 (he would NOT gaf if he was heavy for u either)

ADORES any kiss you give. whether it be on his cheek, his nose, his lips, etc— he loves to be kissed and wouldn’t pay attention to lingering lipstick marks. at this point, he wears them as a badge of honor

LOVES stroking your hair and getting his hair stroked. to him, it feels like an entrepreneurial trade deal. mutually beneficial and rewarding.

he gets veryyyyyy soft when you trace his muscles, it’s a small gesture, but it has such a big effect on him— when you do, he gets literal butterflies and he suddenly feels like a teenager indulged in puppy love again 😭😭

would occasionally wrap all of his limbs around you when he’s extremely exhausted from patrol

JASON TODD, quality time.

jason sticks to your side unconsciously. every room you go to, he has the instinct to just follow you. at times, maybe not instantly, but it’s always guaranteed that he’d end up in the same place as you

is in love with quality time as much as he is in love with you. no words can ever express his affection the same way quality time can

has a messily written and probably crumpled list where he has written down ideas of how he can spend time with you efficiently (and it lives in every pocket he has)

he has probably read articles and reddit stories about the topic too 😭 to really immerse himself in it

he never passes up the opportunity to get more time with you. it’s a silent gesture, but never hidden.

because of how much time he spends with you, the people (which probably wouldn’t be many people) that know about your relationship would be shocked if one wasn’t with the other

he LOVES feeling wanted too. like getting asked to go on dates, hanging out, etc.

if you ever reciprocate any of the same gestures, he’d fall in love even deeper

TIM DRAKE, acts of service

a firm believer that actions are better than words bc he thinks that his words may not be enough, so he resorts to committing acts of service for you

his acts of service can range from helping you carry your bags to analyzing what your hair type is so he’d know how to properly help you with it at 2 am in the morning

i feel like he loves taking naps with his s/o too… and when he does takes naps with u, he’d make sure your neck is resting on something soft such as a neck pillow or just a regular pillow before you fall asleep

memorized the way you like your coffee, including the amount of sugar (or the lack thereof) you want in it, the amount of creamer, if you prefer iced or hot, etc.

has this weird obsession of finding out your little icks and finding solutions to said icks

probably bought or made you a massager that people can only experience at least once in their lifetime (especially if ur body is the type to ache easily)

LOVES giving and receiving back massages. no elaboration whatsoever i just KNOW

DUKE THOMAS, words of affirmation

he never runs out of reassurance. he praises you like a devotee atp 😭

he has this sixth sense whenever you feel the slightest bit off

you get jealous? he’s immediately reminding you how much he loves and appreciates you. you need a motivation boost? he probably already prepared a whole list on why you shouldn’t give up

he LOVES LOVESS little praises. getting a small “good job” or “you’re doing great” is enough to boost his day and keep him sane for a whole WEEK. he loves giving them and loves receiving them even more

but at the same time i feel like he’d be the type to not really care about love languages?? probably the type of lover that doesn’t mind anything you do as long as the both of you are happy and satisfied

i think he’d be the type to also call you those REALLY cheesy petnames to tease you ironically, such as “honeybunch sugarplum raspberry blueberry pie” or somewhere along those lines 😭😭

jokingly flirting with him would probably make him happy too!! he’d def enjoy the lighthearted banter with his significant other as a way to escape from his life as a vigilante for awhile

© yintous do not copy, repost, plagiarize, or feed any of my work into ai.

[nemisuki]

𐔌✧.* ʀᴜᴍᴏʀꜱ .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

ೀ⋆ || When hiding your secret relationship leads to sneaky note passing and cutting classes ❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

. ♬ ݁˖ || inspo song : spotify version & yt version ᯓ★

ᝰ.ᐟ || katsuki bakugo x f!reader, she/her pronouns, pure fluff, physical touch, 1.4k word count •°. *࿐

Physical affection was certainly not what she expected from her grumpy classmate of all people.

Going out with the short-fused blonde undeniably led her to uncover the secrets behind the irritable third year — her secret boyfriend — and all the desires he truly craved from the depths of his soul.

Despite the boy being quick tempered, he had a side to him that she never would've imagined, a strong yearning to stay close to her.

She honestly found it a bit cute; how his unwavering gaze would always be on her from across the classroom, as if drowning out the murmurs of everyone else and solely focusing her.

Only to play it off when she asks him about it later, mumbling stuff like "Tch, you're just seeing things" or "I wasn't starin' idiot, something was in my eye."

But what he can't find an excuse for is when he'd subtly — at least what he considers 'subtle' — toss a crumpled ball of paper in her direction, the crushed parchment hitting her foot with a plop!

Y/N jolts out of her little daydream, looking around to see the culprit but is met with classmates either dozing off or paying attention to the lecture ahead.

All but one that is.

His crimson gaze bores into hers, flickering back and forth between her and the ball of paper, a silent message in his eyes as he returns his stare to the front of the classroom.

She slowly picks it up, carefully undoing the sheet to read the little note — his neat handwriting on full display — the blonde's words, no doubt blunt and straight to the point.

𓉘rooftop. lunch. be there.𓉝

It took all her strength to not burst out in laughter right that second, I mean, could he be any more cliche?

Her racing heart rate wasn't any more help with the situation, feeling elated at the romantic thought; that he'd want to spend even more of their free time together.

This continued for some time, Katsuki randomly handing her notes throughout the morning before lunch, giving her daily updates for where he'd like to see her next.

Sometimes it would be the field, an empty classroom or even the relatively empty library.

But her favorite was definitely the rooftop — and it seemed to be his as well — often meeting to have their mid-day meal under the warm sun and blue sky, away from all the prying eyes of friends and other students.

This time however, when they should be in class, she finds herself sneakily walking up the steps to meet him, after all, he was never really fond of study hall.

He frowns as she enters his line of sight, narrowed crimson eyes and all, looking at her as if she greedily took her time.

"You're late."

She sheepishly smiles, quietly closing the door behind her with caution.

"I'm sorry Katsuki! Deku was rambling on about potential improvements for my hero outfit, so I couldn't just leave midway—"

He scoffs.

"Course ya' can, it's the damn nerd! Told you to stop asking Izuku for help in the first place."

Y/N can almost see the waves of jealousy radiating off him at the mention of their green haired friend, no doubt about it as he takes a seat, his shoulders looking more tense than usual.

She shines a teasing smile.

"Are you jealous~?"

He writhes under her stare, avoiding her gaze and grumbling with heightened defensiveness.

"Jealous of the nerd? Psh, as if! Now c'mere."

She giggles and moves to take a seat beside him.

"Alright, alright."

With newfound joy, she happily discusses random topics as they sit together, the blonde responding with an occasional comment or two as the minutes go by.

He was always relatively silent for the most part.

At any rate, she did happen to notice him inching closer, it was always a habit of his, wanting the distance between them to practically be non-existent.

"Graduation is nearly here, and I would be lying if I said I wasn't nervous... what about you 'suki?"

He looks up to the sky with an unconcerned expression.

"I think it's finally about damn time for me to kick some villain's ass."

She smiles at his declaration, having no doubt he'll become an amazing hero after high school, however, she can't help but to feel a bit angsty at the thought of them being apart.

Once they graduate, they'll certainly have busy schedules, it won't be the same as now, always at each other's side.

The feeling makes her feel a bit sad; and he seems to catch onto her silence.

"Oi, what's wrong?"

His brows furrow, using his hand to lift her chin up, their gazes meeting and re-igniting the warmth in her body at the intimate gesture.

Katsuki Bakugo is a rough man, but at the same time, so incredibly gentle.

She leans into his palm.

"I'm just gonna miss this, you know? Being together all the time..."

"Tch, you idiot."

With an almost terrifying amount of raw strength, he easily scoops her up — with y/n yelping in shock — placing her right on his lap with pure devotion in his gaze.

Gently forcing her eyes to stay on him.

"Stop thinkin' 'bout that sappy shit, fuckin' course we're always gonna be together."

It was like the breath got sucked right out of her, pupils dilating with a mix of shock and affection, her face heating up at his serious look.

How could he say something so romantic with a straight face?

She shyly smiles, her arms wrapping around his neck, beginning to play with his — surprisingly soft — locks of hair.

"Does this mean I can work at your future agency?"

His eyes glint with something close to pride and approval, a subtle smirk ghosting over his lips as he leans closer, his gaze roaming all over her features.

"Only if ya' got what it takes. Do you?"

She chuckles, deciding to tease him and lightly rub her thumb across his mouth, feeling the plush skin underneath.

His grip on her briefly tightening in response.

"Maybeeee, is there no other way for me to be accepted~?

He bites back a smug smile, trying to act aloof as he raises a brow, only giving her butterflies in her stomach despite being the one trying to fluster him.

"You tryin' to flirt with the future boss to get yourself a position hah?"

Her breath hitches as he leans even closer, the distance between them long forgotten, her pulse reaching her ears.

The blonde scoffs.

"You outta' be punished."

She couldn't help the smile forming on her face as he closes the gap, eyes shutting closed as their lips move in unison, it was a bit funny; he speaks so rough yet his kisses are consistently tame.

His thumb gently caresses her cheek as they continue the gentle exchange of affection, her own fingers treading through his hair.

Y/N's earlier worries are now erased from her mind, because like his notes in class, his kisses have hidden messages, moving with purpose against her own.

A form of intimacy that leaves her breathless, their touches holding a thousand of unspoken words.

The moment comes to an end a few seconds later as the bell rings, signaling next period.

He reluctantly pulls away, slightly flustered, standing up and pulling her with him.

"...c'mon, we gotta go back before someone notices."

She hums, intertwining her hand with his as they descend down the stairwell, his hand tightly holding onto hers, as if making sure she won't slip away.

"I love you."

He stiffens.

Glancing back at her for a moment as they walk down the hallway of passing students — giving him the perfect coverage to protectively hold her close — looking forward with a hidden expression; one of adoration.

"...i love you too."

It was a faint mumble in the sea of chattering students, but she heard it, a bright smile appearing on her face at his words.

They returned to class just in time, letting go of each other's hand before they walked in, acting as if nothing ever happened.

Katsuki could only roll his eyes as some of their friends asked where he wandered off too, everyone suspiciously looking at y/n as well — given they entered seconds after each other — attempting to connect the pieces.

The blonde chooses to ignore such accusations, taking his seat with an annoyed frown, while y/n politely denies such claims with a 'innocent' smile.

Nevertheless, their gazes lock together even across the classroom.

Although the future may be unclear, it won't be as scary if they stay like this, soaking in their undying sentiment.

✦ ⎯⎯⋆ ˚｡⋆ ୨ masterlist || taglist || intro || socials ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⎯⎯ ✦

ᴀ/ɴ ||| hi my beautiful flowers! this is a bkg fic request from anon, hope u enjoy! i didn't mean to write it this long but oh well hehe.. now time for me to go, plus ultra! ᕙ( •̀ ᗜ •́ )ᕗ ᴛᴀɢꜱ ||| @leleyro @zaiban2989 @qyuin @sunnyalmighty (❁ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)

[jays-bonnie-on-the-side]

WHAT’S DONE IN THE DARK, COMES TO LIGHT

PAIRING : sam winchester x fem!reader | dean winchester x fem!reader

SUMMARY : sam and reader have been together a few months. after a night out with her friends, she comes back to the motel, determined to have sex with her boyfriend. too drunk to notice, she climbes into the wrong bed.

WARNINGS : estalished relationship. strong language. fluff. angst. smut. oral (m. receiving). unprotected p in v. daddy kink. misunderstandings. violence. cheating. pining. mutual jealousy. mentions of alcohol.

A/N : had this idea in the archives for a while and thought it was time to share it. hope you like it as much as i did. also, if you need a clue: y/f/n-your friend’s name, y/o/f/n-your other friends’s name. y/n/n- your nickname

You and the boys had a case close to the city your best friends lived in. So, after the gruesome hunt, you catch up with them at their favorite bar. The brothers decide to join, eager to celebrate your victory while meeting your childhood friends. You walk into the bar, hand in hand with your handsome and tall boyfriend, his brother following behind as you search for the girls. Their eyes land on you, and their faces drop.

“Hey!” You shout as you see them making their way through the small crowd.

Letting go of his hand, you wrap your arms around your two best friends. They squeeze you tight, having not seen you in almost a year. It felt so good to be in their presence. You loved the company of the Winchesters, but it was due time to see your girls. And with luck on your side, they dropped all their plans to get together.

“Ugh, I’ve missed you guys!”

They let you breathe, pulling away from the embrace. “We missed you!”

“We’re glad you made it in one piece!”

They knew you were a hunter. You couldn’t lie to them. When you dropped out of college after learning about the supernatural firsthand, you couldn’t find an excuse good enough to tell them why and where you were going; You didn’t want to either. They begged you not to join the life, but they knew that whatever they said, wouldn't stop you.

“Thanks to these two,” You turn and intertwine your fingers with his before facing them again. “Guys, this is my boyfriend, Sam.”

Their eyebrows raise, and their lips curl. “Boyfriend?”

Sam extends his free hand for them to shake. “It’s nice to meet you both.”

“You too,” they say as they each accept his strong hand.

Dean stands beside you, eyeing up the girls. You glance toward him, swallowing your annoyance as you introduce, “And this is his older brother, Dean.”

Like every straight woman, they stare at the gorgeous specimen with hungry eyes. You knew your friends well enough to know what they were thinking. You couldn’t blame them; He’s magnificent to look at. When you began working with the boys, you had the same thoughts, but they vanished once you started dating Sam.

Like his brother, he reaches and shakes their hands. You felt a strange tinge in your body when Dean’s touch lingers. Unsurprisingly, the girls liked it, and pretty soon, they were paying more attention to him than you. After ordering drinks, everyone moves over to the pool table, to play a game of Cutthroat. The match wasn’t much of anything; Dean took turns with them, his arms wrapped around theirs, taking his sweet time to show them how to align and hit the ball just right.

You roll your eyes, feeling jealous, and you aren’t sure why. After prying your eyes away from the scene before you, you lean into Sam. He wraps his strong arm around your waist, kissing the crown of your head. Given he’s much taller, you tilt your chin to the ceiling and meet his gaze. He gives you a small smile, already knowing your request.

He clears his throat and calls over to his brother, “Hey, man, it’s getting kinda late. I’m gonna head out. You ready?”

Dean looks up from your friend and over at Sam. “Late? It’s only 10:30.” Your boyfriend gives him a look, and he takes the hint. “Oh, right.”

“Well, I’ll catch up with you boys later,” Sam pulls you into an embrace, and you whisper in his ear, “Don’t wait up.”

He plants a sweet kiss on your lips before turning his attention to your friends. They smile and give him a quick discussion on the consequences of what’ll happen if he doesn't treat you right. Sam chuckles at their attempt to be threatening but understands where they’re coming from. He would never hurt you, and you knew that. They exchanged their goodbyes with your boyfriend before turning towards Dean.

“Well, ladies, it was nice meeting you. I hope to see you again soon.”

“Maybe we can catch up tomorrow,” “You know, somewhere more private.” They purr in his ear.

It had been a while since his last threesome, and though the attractive women were tempting, he had his eyes on another girl, one that already belonged to someone else. He knew he could never make a move, and he had no choice but to be okay with it. After all, he only has himself to blame for constantly putting his brother’s happiness before his own. He plasters a fake smile and shakes his head at the proposal.

“I would, sweethearts, but the world ain't gonna save itself.”

"You're so brave," one of them fawns.

You roll your eyes for what feels like the tenth time. Hell, you’re surprised they haven’t rolled out of your head already. However, you’re the tiniest bit relieved when he declines their offer. You wouldn’t know who to be more angry with: him or them. Your friends weren’t the kind to have one-night stands but Dean never would’ve guessed. Knowing so, they would’ve gotten attached if they weren’t already. He says a final goodbye before walking towards you and Sam.

“Let’s go before I regret it.”

Sam gives you one last kiss, one that leaves you wanting more, earning a side glance from Dean that no one catches. “Have fun.”

With that, the three of you watch as the handsome brothers leave.

“They’re so hot.”

“How you get any work done is beyond me.”

With a chuckle, you shake your head. “It ain’t easy.”

“I could take them both and not in a fight,” Y/F/N says.

Your eyes nearly pop out of your head at your friend’s quip. Y/O/F/N laughs in agreement. Your mouth had fallen open, taken aback by her blunt honesty. Could you blame her? Not one bit.

“Well? Aren't we all thinking it?”

“Of course not!” You squeak.

“So you’re telling me that you wouldn’t have a threesome with them if the opportunity arose?” she asks, eyebrow raised.

“I mean…” You shrug your shoulders, not wanting to lie but not wanting to tell the truth either.

“Ha! You totally would!”

Shaking some sense back into your head, you speak over the loud, drunken individuals. “I love Sam. I don’t think I’d be with him if Dean and I ever…”

“Fucked?” Y/F/N finishes.

“Yes.”

“I could!” Your second friend shouts.

“I’ll drink to that!” says your first one, holding up her shot glass and waiting for you two to do the same.

You clink glasses and down the hard liquor. The alcohol burns in your throat, almost making you regret drinking it in the first place. You missed your girls. You adored Sam and Dean, but you couldn't get as rowdy and loose in front of them as you needed to sometimes. A few hours had gone by, and you each had switched to water after one too many shots of tequila.

“You’re telling me…tha you‘n Sam…haven’t donnit yet?” Your friend slurs.

You nod but stop when your head begins to spin. “Not once. I think ‘e wants to take it ssslowww.”

“Nuh-uh! You have ‘ta have’a drink from that talllll glass’iv wat-ter.” Your other friend says before raising her empty glass to her lips. She frowns and waves the bartender over. “Can I have’a tall glass of waterr?”

You three burst into laughter at the “coincidence.” The fading alcohol makes you all tear up a bit, making the not-so-funny joke hilarious. The bartender comes over, and sets your friend’s hydration on the counter in front of her, paying half a mind to your boisterous trio. A few minutes had passed and the joke began to die.

“Seriously, Y/N/N. You need to’ride that man, like yesterday!”

“Yeah! You go back to that motel ‘n get dicked down!…Dick him down!”

Despite her words, you knew exactly what she was saying. With confidence, you stand from the bar stool. “Youknow what? I willl! ‘M gonna go and do my boyfriend!”

“Yeah!” The cheer.

After downing the rest of your water, you throw your share onto the bar. “All right, bitches. Ima go get laid,” You wrap your arms around their necks and pull them in for a hug. “I’ll see ya guys, tomorrow.”

“We want alllll the details.”

“You b-better not hold out on us.”

“I promise!”

Fortunately for you, the walk wasn’t long. The motel was down the street from the bar they chose. The cool air helped sober you up, not much but enough to see straight. Once the Impala’s in sight, you smile to yourself. You pull the key out and silently struggle to get it in the keyhole. Finally, you hear the lock click.

“Aha!” You exclaim before shushing yourself.

You push the door open to the dark room. Sam had gone to sleep over an hour before you showed but Dean was wide awake. He couldn’t sleep. He hadn't been able to since he realized he had feelings for you, his brother unknowingly beating him to the punch. The moonlight shined across the floor, eliminating the foot of the beds. You quietly shut the door, and stumble to your duffle bag near the table.

Assuming the Winchesters were asleep, you don’t bother going to the bathroom to undress. You kick off your shoes, holding on to the table to keep your balance. Dean squints in the dark and sees your shadow, watching in secret. You pull your shirt over your head and his eyes widen. He looks away, knowing he shouldn’t watch, but he can’t help himself.

You wiggle out of your jeans, and Dean practically drools. Though the darkness engulfs you, the moonlight peeks through the thin curtains, casting a perfect glow over your curves from where you stand. You were in nothing but your undergarments, causing his pants to tighten. He knew he was wrong for watching you, for wanting you, for being so turned on but it wasn’t his fault. He can’t be blamed for how he felt, especially when you were almost naked in front of him.

Unsure if it was the confidence from the alcohol or the anticipation, you eagerly stroll between the beds. Dean closes his eyes, fearing that you’d catch him staring. You lift the bed sheet and the mattress dips softly beneath your weight. He stirs, forcing you to stop. Once he stills, you move again, this time between his legs. You kneel in front of him, grabbing the front of his jeans. His large hands stop yours, squeezing gently.

“What’re doing?” He whispers.

You push them away, whispering back, “I want you.”

With haste, you unbutton his jeans and yank down his zipper, allowing his boner room to grow. You lower his boxers, enough to expose his untrimmed hair, and though he wants to stop you, his mind clouds with lust as you pepper his pelvis with kisses. He wanted nothing more than you to take him into your pretty little mouth. To feel your lips around him, your cheeks hollowing as you suck harder and harder—no! You couldn’t.

“We can’t, sweetheart.”

“Why not?”

“You’re drunk.”

He heard the drunken drawl and figured you only wanted him while under the influence. Though a pang struck his heart, he would never take advantage of you. Even if that wasn’t the case, even if you did want him, his brother was in the bed beside yours. No, he thought. We can't. He sighs, hating his decision but knowing it was the right one.

“But I’m sober enough to know I want this.” You straddle his hips, setting your heat on his erect and clothed member.

“We shouldn't…” He weakly fights but a gasp escapes once you move.

“Please,” You grind, enticing him with every word. “I want you so bad, baby. I’ve wanted you for sooo long. I’ve dreamt of your perfect cock inside me, filling my pussy with your cum. Please don’t make me wait any more. I need you.”

He bites his lip; He could spill his load right now if he chose to let go. Fuck! You had him so whipped. He couldn’t say no to you, not like this. But his brother invades his thoughts.

“But what about—?“

“What about him? I want you.” You feel his hesitation so you curl your fingers around his shirt, pressing your palms to his abdomen and sliding them up to his chest. You lean down and kiss his tattoo. “Don’t you want me?”

Without missing a beat, he answers, “Fuck, princess, I want you so bad.”

“So fuck me,” You sit up and grab his hand, bringing it to your damp panties. “I’m so wet for you, baby.”

He huffs in shock; You weren’t exaggerating. You were drenched, just for him. His thumb rubs against your folds, smearing the wetness against the soaked underwear. He runs his digit upward, applying light pressure to your aching clit, eliciting a quiet moan from your impatient body. He couldn’t fight it anymore. He needed you just as much as you needed him. He nods, and you see the shadow before you agree.

You nearly squeal with excitement but the quietness reminds you why it has to stay that way. After all, you didn’t want his brother waking up to the intimate and long-awaited scene. You return to your previous position and eagerly pull both his boxers and jeans down. With your face so close, his erection pops out, lightly smacking your cheek. The harmless slap goes directly to your core making it tingle with anticipation.

All you want to do is pounce and bounce on him, but you desperately want to swallow what he’s packing. You drag his pants to his ankles and he quickly kicks them off. Your hand wraps around his member and you’re thrilled by the size. He was thick but not too thick, long but not too long; Like you suspected: He was perfect.

He forces himself to keep still, letting you take charge. His breath quickens as he feels your own fan against his sensitive sack. You take his tightened nut into your hot mouth, sucking gently. His body flinches, not out of discomfort but out of immense pleasure. You stroke his twitching cock as you show love to his other testicle.

His breathing comes out in huffs; He isn’t sure how much longer he’s going to last and you haven’t even taken him in your mouth yet. As if you read his mind, your mouth travels upwards, your tongue licking the underside of his dick until it reaches the tip. Your mouth swiftly closes around it, tasting his delicious pre-cum. His fingers weave through your hair, desperately wanting you to go further but not wanting to rush you.

You get his unsubtle hint and take him down your throat, inch by inch. He throws his head back, loving the way your mouth feels. Needing air, you retract and breathe through your nose. You go down again, your cheeks beginning to hallow. Soon, you determine a steady pace, sucking harder with each bob.

The longer you pleasure him, the wetter you get. Your saliva escapes your mouth, traveling down his shaft and over his balls. He was so close, closer than he wanted to be. He was half tempted to cum down your throat but held off, wanting to fill you elsewhere. You’re so lost in giving him the best head he’s ever received, that you’re confused when he pushes you back.

“W-what? What’s wrong?” You whisper, dazed.

“Get on, sweetheart.”

Your pussy flutters at his words. Finally, you thought. Fingers hooked on the hem of your black lace thong, you drag it down your legs and toss it on the floor. You move so your knees are beside his hips and you hover above his erection. His tip brushes against your drenched folds, causing you to whimper.

His hands fly to your hips, helping you maintain your balance while trying to hide his eagerness. You’re so close to fulfilling his, and your, dreams of being deep inside you. Sure, he was always respectful of you, never objectifying you, but he’s a man after all. Yet, it was more than wanting sex. He wanted that connection; He craved it.

You reach between your legs and take hold of his awaiting phallus. Without prolonging it any longer, you align him with your entrance and slowly ease down. Your head falls back as you each moan softly, finally getting the touch you desire. His wet member and your soaked pussy allow a smooth acceptance and you’re damn thankful for the preparation. Your core meets his base, and you smile at being able to take him fully. After all, he’s bigger than what you’re used to.

He sheds his shirt and rubs your thighs as you adjust to one another. You place your palms against his torso, readying yourself to move. He positions his hands on your hips again, prepared to assist. You lift yourself, and he glides out of your tight hole. His breathing quickens as he watches himself disappear.

The pain of him stretching you out is drowned by the alcohol in your system. If it wasn’t for the liquor, you could’ve sworn you were just drunk on him. It doesn’t take long before you create an unholy rhythm. He was captivated by you. The way your hips roll and your body bounces…It was intoxicating. The line between the best ride he’s ever gotten and it being you was blurred. No, it’s definitely her talent.

What he wouldn’t give to see you and not your shadow. His hand cups your covered breast, squeezing lightly. When it doesn’t suffice, he reaches around and unhooks your bra. After tossing it with your underwear, his fingers twiddle your hardened nipple. Groans and quiet moans fall from both your lips but once his other hand moves to your front, you forget why you were trying to remain silent. His thumb instantly finds your clit, eliciting a loud whimper.

“Shh, sweetheart. ‘Don’t want to wake him up, do you?”

“No, Daddy,” you whine. “‘M sorry.”

The nickname sent chills down his spine and he wanted more. It wasn’t the first time a woman had addressed him that way in bed but you were the only one he wanted to hear it from. It egged him on, so much so that he found himself thrusting up into you, taking control. I’ll show her who her daddy is, he thought.

You moan again, just above a whisper. The hand he used to fondle your breast goes back to your hip, guiding your body up and down, up and down. His hips meet yours and his thumb adds more pressure. You begin to squirm above him, the pleasure raking over your body as it also builds in the pit of your belly. Heavy pants mix with the sweet sound of skin slapping—a symphony to your ears.

With his rhythm so vigorous, and your aching thighs, you were ready to topple over. His thumb rubbed harsh circles on your sensitive clit, making your eyes roll to the back of your head. You were so close and so was he, but he refused to cum before you did. His hips snap up, hitting your G-spot with every thrust. Your nails dig into his skin, as you teeter on the edge of your most powerful orgasm yet. Fuck, keep going, Daddy, you thought what your mouth just couldn’t say. Just like that. He knew you were close by the way your walls clenched around his shaft. Just a few more—

“Dean, seriously? You—” The lamp between the two beds is switched on, blinding you and your partner.

Your high’s disrupted. You squint in the light, and when you see your boyfriend sitting up and across from you, your eyes widen. W-what the—? Your head whips to see the man still buried deep inside your guts. D-Dean?!

Suddenly, you become very sober. With a gasp, you push yourself off your deceiver. His mouth was agape, a mix of shock and guilt. We weren’t that loud, were we? But that wasn’t the point. No, he just had sex with his brother’s girlfriend.

Sam’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head. The combination of moans, the collision of skin, and the mattress bouncing had awoken him. He groaned to himself, annoyed his brother would have sex in the same room he lay asleep in. Unable to ignore it, he decides to stop the fornication. What he didn’t expect was to find you on top.

“What the fuck?!” He shouts, throwing off his covers.

“Baby, i-it’s not what you think.”

You’re terrified. It wasn’t your fault, you thought Dean was Sam. In a way, it wasn’t Dean’s, either. He assumed you wanted him. You begged him. It didn’t matter. It was both of your faults. You should’ve known it wasn’t your boyfriend and he should’ve told you no and stuck to it.

“Sammy,” Dean holds his hands in defense. “Hold on a second—“

Sam leaps toward the bed, striking Dean across the face.

“No!” You cry, trying to pull your boyfriend away.

He lands another punch across his brother’s face. And again. You continue your pleas but he doesn’t listen. All he can see is red. You and Dean try to stop his violence but his strength overpowers you both.

“Baby, stop!” You tug his arm once more but he shoves you away.

He doesn’t mean to do it so hard. The force pushes you off the mattress. The room spins, not because you hit your head, but because of the alcohol and complexity of the situation. The possibility of you being hurt, of him hurting you, breaks through his fit of rage. He stops his punishment against Dean’s countenance and checks on you.

You sit up and see Sam with a worried look. Seeing you’re fine, he steps into his shoes before grabbing his duffle bag, and the keys to the Impala. With as much haste as you could gather, you begin to stand. He stomps to the door, throwing it open then storming out. You quickly wrap a sheet around your body before running out of the motel after him.

“Sam, wait!” You jog towards him, trying to catch his attention. “I swear it’s not what it looked like.”

He stops abruptly, and you run into his back. You stumble as he turns on his heel, “Really? ‘Cause it looked like you were fucking my brother!”

You shake your head frantically. “I thought it was you!”

“What? How the fuck do you get him and I confused?!”

“I—It was dark, I was drunk—I am drunk. I forgot which bed was ours,” he stared at you wildly. “Baby, I would never cheat on you. I’m yours, only yours.”

He chuckles darkly, sending shivers down your spine. “Yeah, well, not after this.”

Sam spins around and in a few strides, he’s beside the Impala. The door creaks open and he throws his bag into the passenger seat. He hops in and shuts the classic door behind him. You run towards the car, and put your hand against the glass. Tears begin to well in your eyes, afraid he’s serious. How could he not be? His girlfriend and his brother…the perfect recipe for disaster.

“Please, don’t go. We can work this out,” You plead, your eyes reflecting the desperation.

He ignores you and starts the engine. It roars to life and you’re petrified of the sound. You know if he drives away, it’ll haunt you forever. And that’s what he does. You begin to pound on the window, following the car as it backs out. The tears spill over and your breathing is erratic.

“Don’t go! Please! Sammy, don’t leave! Please, baby, I love you! No, no, no!”

Your boyfriend peels out of the parking lot, leaving you a crying mess. You didn’t know what to feel most ashamed of: The fact you cheated on your loving partner or how good it felt before the light turned on. Back in the motel room, Dean gets dressed. He touches his sore cheek, flinching from the pain. He had heard your confession and he couldn’t have been any more devastated. You thought he was his brother.

What was he thinking? He should’ve known better. It wasn’t the first time he’d taken the girl Sam liked away but this was the first girlfriend. He couldn’t help himself; He’s in love with you. You should’ve been his for the start.

He isn’t sure which is worse: That he might’ve lost Sammy for good, or that he doesn’t regret what happened.

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[suuuupernovaaa]

healer

Summary: Joel survives.

Warnings/tags: fluff, age gap, jackson joel, HEA always

MASTERLIST

Fuck. Shit. Christ. There’s blood everywhere. She shot him. She shot him, fuck, right in the leg.

I’m going to vomit. Or pass out. I don’t know which. That bitch, that menacing little bitch, is prancing around and yapping, she won’t shut the fuck up.

She doesn’t know I have a gun.

She doesn’t know I have a gun.

She doesn’t know I have a gun.

I’m not quick or stealthy but no one seems to be paying attention to me - all eyes are on Joel.

On Joel. Bleeding on the floor. Joel, in pain. Joel, suffering.

I shoot the man right in front of me first, quickly, giving it little thought, and turn the gun to her next. Quickly. Through the shoulder and she goes down, then another through the neck.

Two. I’ve killed two people today.

Joel is suffering. Joel is bleeding. Joel is staring at me as chaos erupts in the room.

Six Months Later

Joel sits on the porch, a cup of coffee in his hand, rocking back and forth in his chair as the sun rises.

It’s going to be a warm day, he can feel it already. It eases the aches in his muscles, especially his knees, when it’s warm like this.

She emerges from the house, holding her own cup of coffee, dressed in only shorts and a t-shirt, the same outfit she fell asleep in the night before.

She places a kiss on his forehead and sits next to him in a matching chair. She looks beautiful this morning. Her beauty is the quiet kind, that sneaks up on you, and then overwhelms you. It’s not just her face and her body, it’s her voice and her gentleness. The way she cares for those around her, especially Joel and Ellie. The way she’s so thoughtful and always kind, so worried about how people are feeling. There aren’t many people like her left, not how.

Six months later and she still has nightmares about the killings. Even in this world, nearly 35 years old, she’d never killed. She’d never wanted to, not until it came to saving him.

She did it then without so much as a second thought, and Joel lies awake at night thinking about it.

He knows she does too. He tries to soothe the ache with words, but sometimes they aren’t enough.

She smiles over at him. “What are you thinking about, sweetheart?”

He takes a sip of his coffee and looks out at the orange sky. “You, darlin’. As usual.”

She laughs and reaches over for his hand, gripping it so tightly. He knows her nightmares aren’t just about the lives she took. They’re about losing him, too. He still doesn’t understand why she loves him so much, but he’s stopped trying to figure it out.

“I had a nightmare,” she tells him, her smile cracking a little.

He clears his throat, then sets his coffee down. Joel pats his lap. “Come tell me,” he says.

She obliges, moving from her chair to the safety of his lap and arms, and rests her head on his shoulder as she talks.

She’s such a small thing, light as a feather, he feels so driven to protect her and keep her safe. Sometimes it’s all he can think about.

The nightmare is different this time. He expects her to say she dreamed about that day, or about living without him, but this time, the nightmare was that he lived, but left anyway.

“Where the hell did I go?” Joel asks, and she cannot stop herself from laughing.

“Well, I don’t know! Probably to one of the many women in town who admire you,” she says teasingly, and he rolls his eyes behind his crooked glasses.

“Sweetheart, you’re the only one who wants my tired, old ass.”

She sits up and presses a kiss to his cheek.

“What I can’t figure out is why you want me at all,” he adds.

She shakes her head. “No more of that. You know why I love you. You know I’d do anything for you.”

He squeezes her tight, his arms around he waist, and she presses a kiss to his lips, gently at first, but as it often does, it deepens and grows urgent.

“Gross!”

They pull apart to see Ellie walking by the porch, her bag slung over her shoulders “Go inside, please.” But she waves as she jogs off, and Joel waves back.

“That’s a good idea,” his love says, looking back to him. “Let’s go inside and I’ll show you just how much you mean to me.”

He stands up, holding her in his arms like a bride, and walks towards the door.

“The day I say no to that, darlin’, is the day I truly die.”

[technofeudalism]

that last video was filmed November 9th, 2019. leftists spent an entire primary cycle trying to explain to people like this that Joe Biden was a segregationist, racist piece of shit. then when they tried to nominate him again in 2024, leftists tried again. both times we were told to shut the fuck up and know our place or called Russian psyops.

Joe Biden has over 40 years in politics. he obstructed Civil Rights progress in the United States and eulogized Strom Thurmond - a segregationist - who he considered to be a good friend of his. Joe Biden is a public figure and was the former Vice President of a man with the nickname "The Deporter in Chief." all of the writing was on the wall and everyone talked about it in detail. Bernie Sanders was an option in 2019 and liberals said he couldn't win over and over until he was pushed out by Jim Clyburn and the DNC.

furthermore, i love how this energy is put off when someone is shitting on people for being so stupid and blindly loyal to the Blue Team but this type of "this is just inflammatory and unproductive" talk doesn't get rolled out when someone is making fun of "Leopards Eating Faces" of conservatives. let's try this the other way around:

"I HATE the energy that this post was written with. Like being passive aggressive towards people who thought Trump would do good things doesn't do anything????? but piss people off???? This shit is not productive it's just inflammatory."

do you feel the same way about this sentence? do you feel the same way about people holding up Trump to conservatives' faces and going "Hey, you stupid fuck. Look at what you fell for. Do you feel stupid?" or do you only reserve this type of scolding when someone says something bad about someone that YOU got tricked by because you don't want to feel like you're just as easily duped as the MAGA guy?

maybe listen to what people are saying next time when they try to explain to you that you're being starry eyed and overly idealistic about politics rather than telling them that they should keep their mouths shut and stop trying to sabotage "The Good Guys." maybe pay attention to the world when there's not a Republican in office or an election on the horizon. maybe have some fucking principles.

on today's episode of "i only pay attention and pretend that i give two shits about the sanctity of human rights when there's a freaking Cheeto in the white house"

“While the administration should be lauded for its efforts to provide children and families access to the court system, its failure to ensure legal representation has produced a massive due process crisis,” said Talia Inlender, Deputy Director of the Center for Immigration Law and Policy (CILP) at the UCLA School of Law. “It should be obvious that immigration court proceedings are far too complex for children to navigate without legal representation, especially when the consequences are so dire. The Biden administration must take swift action to ensure legal representation for all children in immigration court.”

The report’s key findings include:

In a five-month period in FY 2022 alone, almost one third of immigration court cases initiated by the Biden administration–more than 80,000 in all–were against children, over 30,000 of whom were under the age of 5, according to the Transactional Records Access Clearinghouse (TRAC).

Studies show that unrepresented unaccompanied children are at least five times more likely to be ordered removed than children with access to counsel. 

By the government’s own account, 44% of unaccompanied children and 51% of families on the Dedicated Docket lack legal representation.

The vast majority of removal orders entered against children are for failure to appear: Approximately 72% of removal orders against families on the Los Angeles and Boston Dedicated Dockets were issued in absentia, with over 48% against children, many under the age of six. Worse yet, 86% of removal orders issued against unaccompanied children were for failure to appear.

Immigration courts under the Biden administration ordered more than 13,000 unaccompanied children removed in absentia between Fiscal Years 2022 and 2023.

The report details how the Biden administration’s treatment of children in immigration court is unlawful, and calls on the Biden administration to: prohibit in absentia removal orders against unrepresented children; terminate the Dedicated Docket; and ensure legal representation for all unrepresented children in removal proceedings.

In handwritten cursive, a Russian immigrant named Marina wrote out the story of the day U.S. Customs and Border Protection agents took away her 1-year-old baby while she was being held in a detention facility in southern California. “I cried and begged, kneeling, not to do this, that this was a mistake, not justice and not right,” she wrote. “She was so little that no one knew anything about her. I was very afraid for her and still am!” This didn’t happen during the Trump administration, which separated more than 4,000 migrant children from their families under its controversial “zero tolerance” policy. Marina was separated from her baby in April of this year. The 40-year-old former restaurant manager came to the U.S.-Mexico border with her husband, mother-in-law and child to seek asylum. More than eight months later, she and her mother-in-law remain in federal immigration custody in Louisiana. Her husband is detained at a different Louisiana immigration facility. And Aleksandra is over a thousand miles away, being cared for by strangers in foster care in California. Aleksandra is one of around 300 children the Biden administration has separated from their parents or legal guardians this year, according to two government sources who asked not to be identified because they hadn’t been authorized to speak about the separations. Most of the cases involved families crossing the southwestern border, the sources said. These numbers haven’t previously been reported. Similarly, 298 children were separated from their parents in 2023, according to a government report to Congress published on Tuesday, even as overall migrant crossings have declined. According to the report, the average amount of time children separated between April 2018 and October 2024 have spent in federal custody before being released to a sponsor is 75 days.

Biden responds to Bernie Sanders' immigration plan: "We shouldn't abolish ICE. We should reform the system. ICE is not the problem. The policies behind ICE are the problem, and that's easy enough to fix if the President knows what he or she is doing."

unfortunately Joe never got around to fixing the Gestapo agency but he tried his gosh darndest and he isn't Drumpf so i guess the pride in being an American was still secure at that point for most liberals. i'm sure that when the next charlatan says the same thing that they'll retain this energy, right? right??

[yvaineseleneposts]

Eyes on you

A/N: Filth.. that's what this is. It started with a plot but after a while... it became smut

Requested: no

Pairing: Nico Hischier x Reader

Words: 8k

Warning(s): smut

Hockey wasn’t really my thing. I barely knew the rules. But when my two best friends begged me to come to a New Jersey Devils game — "because omg, Jack Hughes is so hot" — I didn’t have much of a choice.

I wore a plain black hoodie and jeans, feeling totally underdressed compared to my friends, who were decked out in jerseys and glittery face paint. They buzzed with excitement, pointing out players during warmups, while I leaned back in my seat, scrolling through my phone.

Until something — someone — caught my eye.

Down on the ice, a player in a red jersey with the number 13 skated lazily by the boards. His helmet was off, revealing messy brown hair and a boyish, insanely handsome face. He was talking to a teammate, laughing — but then he glanced up at the stands. Right at me.

I quickly looked away, heat rushing to my cheeks.

He’s probably just looking around, I told myself. Not at you.

But when I risked another glance, there he was again. Smirking. And then — a wink. Quick and casual, like it was nothing.

"Are you even paying attention?" one of my friends asked, nudging me.

"No," I said honestly, still staring.

Warmups ended, and the game started. I tried to focus on the puck, on the noise, the crowd, the action. But every time number 13 — Nico Hischier, I realized from the jumbotron — skated by our side of the rink, he glanced up at me. More than once. Sometimes he’d send a crooked smile. Other times, a quick wink. I even caught him adjusting his helmet with exaggerated slowness, like he was showing off.

My friends noticed eventually.

"Is Nico Hischier flirting with you?" one of them hissed, wide-eyed.

"I—I don’t know," I stammered, feeling like I was about to spontaneously combust.

The Devils ended up winning, and when the final buzzer sounded, the players flooded the ice to celebrate. Most waved at the crowd, tossing pucks and sticks to the fans. Nico skated right to the boards, directly beneath where I was sitting. He looked up, helmet tucked under his arm, and shot me a grin that could’ve melted ice.

Then, without hesitating, he pointed right at me — you — and tossed a puck up into the stands. It landed perfectly in my lap.

A note was taped to it.

"Meet me by the players' entrance? :) –Nico"

I blinked. My heart nearly jumped out of my chest. My friends were screaming. I could barely breathe.

All I could think was, I don't even know how hockey works... but I think I just scored.

The entire walk to the players' entrance felt unreal. My heart was hammering against my ribs, my palms were sweating, and I couldn’t stop glancing down at the puck in my hands like it might disappear.

"This is insane," one of my friends said for probably the tenth time. "Go!" the other one nudged me forward, practically shoving me toward the small group of people waiting by the ropes.

Security guards stood nearby, only letting a few people through. Some had backstage passes, others looked like family. I hovered awkwardly at the side, unsure if I should even be here.

But then the door opened — and there he was.

Nico. Still in his gear, though his helmet and gloves were gone. His dark hair was damp, curling slightly at the edges, and there was a soft flush on his cheeks from the game. He scanned the small crowd once, and then his eyes landed on me. Instantly, a slow, devastating smile spread across his face.

Before I could even react, he jogged over.

"Hey," he said, his accent making the simple word sound ten times more attractive.

"Hi," I managed, my voice way too small.

He laughed softly, like he could see right through my nerves. "You got my puck?"

I held it up wordlessly, feeling like a complete idiot. He chuckled again, then reached out, his fingers brushing over mine as he took the puck for a second — just to turn it in his hand and show me the note still taped underneath.

"Good," he said, eyes sparkling. "I wasn’t sure you’d come."

"You... were actually looking at me?" I blurted before I could stop myself.

He leaned in a little closer, lowering his voice just for me. "Yeah. I was hoping you’d notice."

Every inch of my skin felt like it was on fire.

For a moment, we just stood there, grinning at each other like idiots. Then he shifted the puck back into my hands, his fingers lingering a little longer this time.

"So..." he said, almost shyly, "Would you wanna maybe grab a coffee? Or... something less sweaty than this?" He gestured at his gear with a sheepish smile.

I laughed — real and breathless. "I'd like that."

His grin widened. "Good. Give me ten minutes? I’ll be right back."

And just like that, he was gone — jogging back inside, throwing a playful wink over his shoulder. I stood there clutching the puck to my chest, completely dazed, as my friends squealed behind me.

I had no idea what I'd just gotten myself into. But for once... I was really excited to find out.

I sat in the corner of a small café a few blocks from the arena, still clutching the puck Nico had given me like it was a good luck charm. My friends had peeled off — after way too much giggling and dramatic winking — leaving me alone to process the insane fact that Nico Hischier, actual NHL captain, had asked me out.

The bell above the door chimed, and my heart immediately kicked into overdrive.

He walked in, freshly showered and changed into a black hoodie and jeans, looking unfairly good. His hair was still damp, curling slightly at the ends, and even without the gear, he had that same confident, effortless energy that had me hooked from the second I saw him on the ice.

He spotted me instantly and grinned, walking over with that easy, athletic stride.

"Hey," he said, sliding into the seat across from me. His knee brushed mine under the table, and I forgot how to breathe for a second.

"Hi," I managed, smiling way too big.

Up close, he was even more ridiculous. His skin still had that post-shower glow, and I couldn't stop thinking about how he looked earlier — messy hair, sweaty, flushed from the game, laughing and winking at me like he knew exactly what he was doing.

I shifted in my seat, feeling my face heat up.

"You warm?" he asked, a teasing glint in his eye.

"Maybe a little," I mumbled, hoping he couldn’t read my mind.

He laughed — low and smooth — and leaned back in his chair, stretching his long legs so they nudged mine again, deliberately this time.

"So," he said, tapping his fingers against the table, "You a big hockey fan, or...?"

"Not really," I admitted, smiling sheepishly. "My friends dragged me. They're obsessed with your teammates."

He smirked. "And you? Did you find someone to obsess over?"

I knew he was flirting. I knew it. And still, my stomach flipped like I was free-falling.

I looked him dead in the eye and said, "Maybe."

That earned me another one of those lazy, devastating smiles. He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice in that way that made it impossible to focus on anything else.

"Good," he said. "Because I was hoping it would be me."

The tension between us tightened, the air practically buzzing. I couldn't stop thinking about it — the way he looked dripping in sweat, the way he moved on the ice, powerful and controlled, like he could do anything he wanted. Including completely wreck my entire sense of sanity with just a look.

He watched me, his gaze heavy, and I knew he could tell. He knew.

"So," I said, trying to be brave, my voice a little breathier than I meant, "Is this where you tell me you're as good off the ice as you are on it?"

The look he gave me in that moment — slow, heated, dangerous in the best possible way — sent a shiver straight down my spine.

"Why don't you find out?" he said, so casually it made my stomach twist.

I bit my lip, leaning back just enough to make him chase a little.

"Maybe I will," I teased.

He laughed under his breath, eyes glinting. "Careful," he said. "I play to win."

I stirred my coffee just to have something to do with my hands, because if I kept staring at him — at the muscles under that hoodie, at the way he looked like he could ruin me with just one kiss — I was going to do something very, very reckless.

The coffee cups sat forgotten between us, long empty. Neither of us made a move to leave — it was like we were both waiting for the other to say it first.

Finally, Nico leaned in, his voice low and smooth. "Come on. Let me walk you back." Not a question. A promise.

I nodded, heart hammering. Outside, the air was crisp, the night alive with city lights and the fading buzz of the game. He tucked his hands into his hoodie pockets as we walked, close enough that our arms brushed with every step, a casual kind of intimacy that made my skin hum.

We didn’t say much. We didn’t have to. Every glance, every small smile was electric.

My mind kept betraying me — flashing back to the rink, to the way he looked drenched in sweat, messy and flushed and a little cocky. I wondered how he’d look even more wrecked. What his hands would feel like on my hips. What it would feel like to tug that hoodie over his head and—

"You keep looking at me like that," Nico murmured, his voice curling around my nerves, "and I'm gonna do something about it."

I sucked in a breath, the world around us narrowing to just him. His accent, that lazy, confident swagger, the heat in his eyes like he was already imagining it too.

I stopped walking. He did too, turning to face me, barely a foot away. I could feel the warmth radiating off his body, smell the faint trace of soap and something darker, something him underneath it.

"You should," I whispered before I could lose my nerve.

For a second, he just looked at me — like he was memorizing the moment, every inch of it. And then he closed the distance in two slow, deliberate steps.

His hand brushed my jaw, tilting my face up to him, his touch firm but careful, like he was giving me one last chance to pull away.

I didn’t. God, I didn’t even think about it.

Nico kissed me like he played hockey — intense, powerful, absolutely all-consuming. His mouth was hot against mine, demanding in a way that made my knees buckle slightly. I clutched at the front of his hoodie, pulling him closer, and he growled low in his throat, deep and rough and perfect.

His other hand slid to my waist, fingers digging in just enough to make me gasp against his lips. He took advantage immediately, deepening the kiss, slow and dirty and breathtaking.

It was the kind of kiss that didn’t just set your skin on fire — it burned straight through your bones.

When we finally broke apart, he rested his forehead against mine, both of us breathing hard. His thumb traced lazy circles over my hipbone, possessive and tender all at once.

"I’ve wanted to do that since I first saw you," he muttered, voice rough with want.

I laughed, breathless. "You winked at me like five minutes after seeing me."

He grinned — that crooked, devastating smile — and pressed another quick, teasing kiss to the corner of my mouth. "Exactly."

I leaned into him, feeling dizzy, drunk on the way he felt, the way he wanted me so blatantly. I didn't know where this was going — didn't know if this was crazy, reckless, or the start of something real.

He kept his hand at my waist as we walked the last few blocks, his thumb brushing lazy, teasing circles against my side like he couldn’t not touch me. Every few steps, he’d glance down at me with this look — dark, smirking, like he was just barely holding back.

I was not doing much better.

Every time our bodies brushed, every time his hand tightened, every time I remembered the way his mouth felt on mine, a fresh wave of heat rolled through me. I couldn’t stop thinking about how solid he was under that hoodie, how he moved with this quiet, confident strength — and how easy it would be to lean into him again, to let him wreck me in the best way.

We stopped outside my building.

I turned to him, heart hammering so loud it drowned out everything else. The streetlights painted golden highlights over his hair, his skin, and when he looked at me — eyes heavy-lidded, mouth slightly parted like he was thinking about kissing me again — I nearly forgot how to stand.

"I should..." I said, trailing off, but not moving toward the door.

"You should," he agreed, stepping closer.

Neither of us moved.

The space between us crackled, stretched so thin it could snap.

His hand slid from my waist up to the small of my back, pulling me flush against him with one smooth, unhurried motion. My hands landed against his chest instinctively — and holy hell, he felt even better than I imagined. Solid. Warm. His heartbeat thudding under my palms.

"You coming up?" I heard myself ask, voice way too breathy, way too hopeful.

He gave me a look that made my stomach twist — dark, hungry, a silent I was hoping you'd ask.

"Only if you want me to," he said, his mouth ghosting along the shell of my ear.

I shivered.

"I want to," I whispered.

That was all it took.

Nico’s hand slid down to my hip, fingers curling tight, and he kissed me again — harder this time, less careful, like he was done pretending we were just flirting.

I barely remembered fumbling with my keys, dragging him through the door, up the stairs. All I knew was the way his hands roamed like he was already memorizing me — the way he pushed me gently against the wall of the hallway, kissing me slow and deep until I was gasping into his mouth, clinging to the front of his hoodie like it was the only thing keeping me standing.

When we finally stumbled into my apartment, he barely gave me a second to kick the door shut before he was on me again.

His hoodie bunched under my fingers as I pulled him closer, desperate to feel him, to get under his skin the way he was already under mine. He nipped at my bottom lip, soothed the sting with a kiss that left me dizzy, drugged on him.

"God," he muttered against my mouth, "you're gonna drive me crazy."

"You started it," I shot back, dragging my nails lightly along the nape of his neck.

He growled low in his throat — actually growled — and in one swift motion, he lifted me by the hips, setting me down on the kitchen counter like I weighed nothing. I let out a breathless laugh, threading my fingers through his hair as he bracketed my body with his own.

"I’m not planning on stopping," he said, voice rough, dangerous, thrilling. Neither was I.

The second Nico set me down on the counter, he was on me again — kissing me like he couldn't stand the space between us.

It wasn’t neat or careful anymore. It was messy. Hungry. Real.

His hands roamed without hesitation, sliding up under my shirt, calloused fingertips dragging along my bare skin and leaving a trail of fire everywhere he touched. I gasped into his mouth, arching into him instinctively, needing more, more, like breathing wasn’t enough anymore unless it was through him.

"You're dangerous," I whispered against his lips, my fingers curling into the soft fabric of his hoodie.

He grinned — wild and breathless — and tugged the hoodie over his head, tossing it to the floor without breaking the kiss. And god — seeing him like that, in just a fitted black t-shirt stretched across his chest and arms — it knocked the air clean out of my lungs.

I ran my hands over his torso, feeling the solid muscle under my palms. The way his stomach tensed when I touched him made something primal spark deep in my gut.

He dipped his head to my neck, dragging his mouth along my skin — slow, almost lazy — before sucking just under my jaw hard enough to make me whimper. It was possessive, a little rough, and it lit every nerve ending on fire.

"You smell so good," he muttered against my throat, voice dark and low and wrecked.

I tilted my head back, giving him more access without even thinking, threading my fingers into his hair and tugging just enough to make him groan — low and filthy and completely, utterly undone.

His hands slid under my thighs, dragging me closer to the edge of the counter. Our hips collided, and when I felt how hard he was already — when he let out a ragged breath against my skin — my whole body flushed, hot and desperate.

"You have no idea what you do to me," he said roughly, hands tightening on me like he could anchor himself that way.

"Show me," I whispered.

It was all he needed.

He kissed me again, fiercer this time, stealing the air from my lungs. His hands slid up under my shirt again — this time dragging it slowly, deliberately over my head and tossing it aside — leaving me bare to him in nothing but my jeans and bra.

He pulled back just enough to look at me — really look at me — and the way his eyes darkened made my pulse thunder in my ears.

"Beautiful," he said simply, like it wasn’t even a question.

He kissed down my neck, across my collarbone, taking his time, making sure I felt every brush of his mouth, every scrape of his teeth. One hand splayed across my back, holding me steady, while the other skimmed along the waistband of my jeans — teasing, playing — making my breath hitch with every second he dragged it out.

I tugged at the hem of his shirt in retaliation, earning a low chuckle against my skin.

"Impatient?" he teased, voice low and gravelly.

"You're one to talk," I shot back, tugging harder.

He pulled back just enough to strip his shirt off in one smooth motion, revealing a body that looked like it had been carved by the gods — broad shoulders, cut abs, every line of him screaming strength and control and something just a little dangerous. And all of it was mine. Tonight, at least.

Nico leaned in, his forehead resting against mine, his thumb tracing lazy, reverent circles along the exposed skin of my waist.

"We can slow down," he murmured, his voice a little rough, a little strained. "If you want."

I looked at him — really looked at him — and something in my chest twisted painfully sweet. Because underneath all the heat, all the hunger, he was still giving me a way out. Still asking for permission. Still choosing to be soft when he could so easily be reckless.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him back down to me.

"I don't want slow," I whispered against his mouth. "I want you."

He groaned like I'd broken something inside him — and when he kissed me again, it was with the full weight of that desperation, that hunger he'd been holding back. Neither of us had any intention of stopping.

The second the words left my mouth — "I want you" — something shifted between us.

It was like a dam breaking. All the heat, all the tension that had been simmering exploded into something raw and unstoppable.

Nico kissed me hard, hands roaming everywhere at once, desperate and greedy like he couldn’t get enough. His fingers dug into my thighs, pulling me closer until I could feel every hard line of him pressing against me, making my whole body throb with need.

My hands slid over his bare chest, his muscles flexing under my palms. God, he was solid everywhere, built from years of pushing himself to the limit — and now he was here, unravelling at my touch.

"You're killing me," he muttered against my skin as he kissed his way down my neck, his voice rough and broken.

"Good," I gasped, tugging at the waistband of his jeans.

He growled low in his throat — and fuck, the sound went straight to the pit of my stomach — before grabbing my hand and guiding it lower, letting me feel exactly what I was doing to him.

I bit my lip hard enough to hurt.

Nico pulled back just enough to yank my jeans down my legs, tossing them aside with a dark, determined look that made my heart nearly stop. He was breathing hard, his chest heaving, his hair a mess from my fingers — and he looked at me like he wanted to ruin me.

"Look at you," he rasped, letting his gaze drag over every inch of exposed skin. "So fucking perfect."

I reached for him again, and he caught my wrists, pinning them lightly to the counter behind me. Not rough. Not harsh. Just enough to make me squirm, to make me ache with how badly I needed him.

"You gonna let me take my time?" he murmured, leaning in, his mouth hovering over mine.

I nodded breathlessly — or maybe whimpered — not even sure anymore.

"Good girl," he whispered, and Jesus, the way the words rolled off his tongue made my whole body tense with anticipation.

He trailed kisses down my throat, over the tops of my breasts, leaving a slow, hot path until I was gasping, arching into him. His hands finally released my wrists, sliding down my sides, thumbs tracing maddening circles against my hips.

And when he finally peeled away the last scraps of clothing between us, Nico didn't rush. He took his time, hands and mouth worshipping every inch of me, making sure I felt just how badly he wanted me.

By the time he finally pushed inside me, I was already trembling — mindless with need, clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping me anchored to the world.

He moved slow at first, deep and deliberate, making sure I felt every stretch, every pulse of him against me.

"Fuck, you feel good," he groaned into my neck, his breath hot and ragged.

I could barely breathe, barely think. All I could do was feel — the drag of his hands over my skin, the overwhelming heat of his body against mine, the way he filled me perfectly, like he was made for this, made for me.

Nico kissed me fiercely, like he needed to claim every inch of me, like he needed me to know that tonight, I was his — and he was absolutely mine.

We lost ourselves in each other, the rhythm building higher and higher, rougher, needier, until I was right on the edge, clinging to him helplessly.

"Come for me," he rasped against my lips, voice pure sin. And when I did — when the pleasure crashed over me so hard it made me cry out his name — he followed with a low, broken groan, holding me so tight against him like he never wanted to let me go.

We stayed like that for a long moment, tangled together, hearts pounding out of control. And when he finally pulled back just enough to meet my eyes, he smiled — soft, real, and completely wrecked in the most beautiful way.

"You're trouble," he said, brushing his nose against mine.

I laughed, dizzy and drunk on him. "You started it."

He kissed me again — slow, sweet, addictive — and for the first time all night, I wasn’t thinking about anything else.

After, we just stayed there for a while — tangled up, breathing hard, clinging to each other like the world outside didn’t exist.

Nico shifted first, brushing my hair back from my face with the lightest touch, like he was scared he might break me now. His fingers traced slow, lazy patterns along my skin, calming the frantic beat of my heart.

"You okay?" he murmured, voice rough with exhaustion but still full of that low, tender heat.

I nodded, too blissed out to form actual words. Instead, I leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to his jaw, feeling the stubble scrape against my lips, feeling him hum low in his chest in response.

He scooped me up effortlessly — like it was nothing, like he needed to keep me close — and carried me to the bed without even asking. Dropped me onto the mattress with a little bounce and a grin that made my whole body warm again.

I laughed, pulling him down with me.

He settled over me, heavy and real, his body a comforting weight. He tucked his face into the crook of my neck, breathing me in like he never wanted to forget this.

"Don’t wanna leave," he mumbled against my skin, voice thick and slurred with sleep.

"You don't have to," I whispered, threading my fingers through his messy hair.

He sighed — this deep, content sound — and tightened his arm around my waist, dragging me closer until there wasn’t a single inch of space between us.

For a while, we just laid there in the dark. His heartbeat steady against my side. His hand tracing slow, idle shapes over my hip. His breath fanning warm over my collarbone.

It should've felt overwhelming — all this sudden closeness, all this heat that hadn’t burned out yet — but it didn’t. It felt right.

Nico shifted again, lifting his head just enough to look down at me. His hair was tousled, falling over his forehead, and his eyes were soft, almost sleepy — but still burning with something fierce underneath it all.

"Can I see you again?" he asked, his thumb brushing my cheekbone.

I smiled, feeling my heart flip over in my chest. "You better."

He laughed — this low, rumbling sound that made me want to kiss him all over again — and leaned in, pressing the sweetest kiss to the corner of my mouth.

"You’re dangerous," he whispered against my skin. "More dangerous than you know."

I smiled against his lips. "Good," I murmured. "You deserve a little danger."

He kissed me again — slow and deep, like he was memorizing the way I tasted, the way I breathed, the way I felt against him.

And somewhere in the haze of kisses and soft laughter and whispered promises, we drifted off — tangled up in each other, hearts beating the same rhythm.

The last thing I felt before sleep claimed me was the slow, careful way Nico pulled the blanket up around us — like he could shield me from everything bad in the world — and the warm, lazy press of his mouth against my shoulder as he breathed against my skin:

"I’m not letting you go."

____

The first thing I felt when I woke up was warmth.

Solid heat pressed against my back, a heavy arm draped over my waist, fingers curled lazily against my stomach like he hadn’t moved all night. I blinked against the soft morning light spilling through the curtains, feeling a smile tug at my lips before I even opened my eyes.

Nico.

Still here. Still tangled up with me like it was the most natural thing in the world.

I shifted slightly, and he stirred — nuzzling his face deeper into the curve of my neck, muttering something low and half-asleep in Swiss German that I didn’t understand but made my chest ache anyway.

God, he was lethal like this. Barely awake, hair a complete mess, voice rough and deep and wrecked.

I turned just enough to see him — sheets kicked low on his hips, bare chest rising and falling with every slow breath — and nearly forgot how to breathe altogether.

Before I could even think about moving, his hand tightened around me.

"Where you goin'?" he rasped, voice thick with sleep, a little accusatory.

"I wasn’t," I said softly, tracing a light line down his arm. "Just... looking."

At him.

At this.

At the stupid, unfair fact that he looked even hotter like this — relaxed and rumpled and somehow even more dangerous than he was on the ice.

He cracked one eye open and gave me a slow, lazy smirk that made my whole body flush all over again.

"You like what you see?" he teased, voice still heavy with sleep.

"Maybe," I said, pretending to shrug. "You’re okay, I guess."

He laughed — that low, rumbling sound that went straight to my thighs — and in one smooth motion, rolled me onto my back, hovering over me.

"You’re a terrible liar," he murmured, leaning down to kiss me — slow and deep — like he was already thinking about round two. And honestly? So was I.

His hand slid up my thigh under the sheets, lazy but deliberate, making my breath catch in my throat.

"Thought we were getting breakfast," I said, though my voice was already shaky.

"We are," he said, dragging his mouth along my jaw, down my neck. "Eventually."

"Nico—"

"You," he said, pressing a kiss just above the swell of my breast, "are my breakfast."

I let out a breathless laugh — and then gasped when he bit down lightly, just enough to make me arch into him.

Any thought of pancakes or coffee or literally anything else disappeared instantly.

He kissed his way lower, slower, taking his time like he had all the hours in the world — and honestly, if he kept touching me like that, I wasn’t about to argue.

I tangled my fingers in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan against my skin.

"You’re trouble," he muttered, voice dark and full of heat.

"You love it," I whispered, pulling him up to kiss me again.

And he did. I could feel it in the way his hands worshipped my body, in the way he kissed me like he was starving for me, in the way he held me like he never wanted to let me go.

And as the morning sun poured over us, painting everything gold and soft and new — I realized something.

I was absolutely, completely in trouble.

And for once in my life... I didn’t mind at all.

____

It was supposed to be simple. Just dinner — casual, normal, easy.

But nothing about being with Nico was ever easy.

He picked me up looking like he just stepped out of a goddamn magazine. Black jacket, fitted white tee, jeans that clung to him in all the right places — and that smile. That smile that made my knees go a little weak the second he laid eyes on me.

"You’re lucky I showed up," I teased, slipping into the passenger seat.

He reached over immediately, hand landing on my thigh like it belonged there. And when he squeezed — casual but very intentional — I barely swallowed a sound.

"You weren't getting away that easy," he said, voice low.

The drive to the restaurant was a blur — mostly because his hand never left my thigh. Sometimes sliding a little higher, sometimes just resting there, always warm, always possessive. Every casual brush sent a jolt straight through me, until by the time we parked, I was already dangerously close to crawling into his lap.

And he knew it.

He grinned as he killed the engine, leaning in so close I could feel his breath against my ear.

"Patience," he whispered, voice like gravel and honey.

"You're evil," I whispered back, heart hammering in my chest.

"You're the one who wore that dress," he said, eyes flicking down my body like he wanted to eat me alive right there in the damn parking lot.

Dinner was a joke.

Neither of us could concentrate.

Nico sat across from me at the tiny corner table, but he might as well have been on top of me. His foot brushed against mine constantly under the table — not by accident. His knee pressed against mine. His fingers found any excuse to graze my hand, my wrist, my thigh.

Every time I looked up, I caught him watching me — dark-eyed and starving, like he was counting down the minutes until he could get me alone.

"You're not even trying to hide it," I said at one point, laughing into my wine glass.

"Why would I?" he said shamelessly, leaning closer, his voice dropping. "Everyone here should know you're mine."

My face heated instantly, but the way he said it — low and rough and so sure — sent a full-body shiver down my spine.

Somehow, somehow, we made it through dinner.

But the second we were outside, Nico had me pinned against the car, mouth crashing onto mine like he hadn't tasted me in weeks.

The kiss was brutal — hot and claiming and so, so good. His hands slid down to my hips, yanking me closer, grinding his body into mine like he didn’t even care we were in a public parking lot.

"You’re killing me," he muttered against my lips, breathing hard.

"Good," I whispered, smiling against his mouth.

He kissed me again — deeper, slower this time — like he was trying to brand himself into me.

And when he finally pulled back, his forehead resting against mine, his chest heaving, he whispered it so quietly I almost missed it:

"I’m already yours."

The second Nico got the door open, he was on me.

He slammed it shut with one hand, the other already dragging me back against him, his mouth crashing onto mine in a kiss that was all teeth and hunger. No hesitation. No patience. Just raw, messy, desperate need.

I barely had time to gasp before he backed me into the wall, pinning me there with his whole body, grinding into me like he wanted to fuse us together.

"Fucking finally," he growled against my mouth, hands everywhere at once — sliding up my thighs, under my dress, tugging the straps down with reckless urgency.

"You’re so fucking hot," he muttered, kissing down my throat, biting gently at my collarbone. "Been thinking about you all night. All fucking day."

I moaned, head tipping back to give him more access as he yanked the dress down to my waist, baring me to him completely. He groaned when he saw I hadn’t worn a bra — deep, guttural, almost pained — and before I could blink, his mouth was everywhere.

Sucking, licking, biting — like he couldn't decide what he wanted more. His hands squeezed my ass, lifting me easily, and I wrapped my legs around his waist instinctively, gasping when I felt how hard he was through his jeans.

He carried me like that, lips never leaving my skin, all the way to the bedroom — threw me down onto the bed and stood there for a second, just looking at me.

His chest was heaving. His eyes were dark.

"Strip," he said, voice hoarse and rough in a way that made my stomach drop.

I peeled the dress off the rest of the way, baring everything to him, feeling the heat of his gaze like a physical touch.

Nico swore under his breath, yanked his shirt over his head, and stripped out of his jeans so fast it was almost comical — almost — except for the fact that fuck, he was stupidly, unfairly gorgeous.

Toned. Golden. Every muscle tense and ready and so fucking hungry for me.

He knelt on the bed between my legs, running his hands up my thighs so slowly it made me whimper.

"You have no idea what you do to me," he whispered, before dipping his head — and then his mouth was there, hot and devastating and relentless.

I cried out, hands flying to his hair, tugging helplessly as he licked and sucked and drove me absolutely insane. He worked me with maddening precision, not letting up until my legs were trembling and I was gasping his name over and over again like a prayer.

When I finally shattered, Nico didn’t give me a second to recover.

He crawled up my body, mouth crashing onto mine again, and I tasted myself on his lips. It was filthy. It was perfect.

"You’re mine," he said again, rough and breathless, as he lined himself up against me.

And when he finally pushed inside — slow, deliberate, deep — I couldn’t hold back the loud, broken moan that ripped from my throat.

He moved slow at first — hips grinding deep, making sure I felt every inch, every deliberate drag of him stretching me open.

"You feel so good," he growled into my ear. "So fucking tight. So perfect."

I was already spiraling again, clinging to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin, trying to pull him even closer.

"Faster," I gasped. "Nico—please—" That broke him.

He snapped his hips harder, rougher, fucking into me with a brutal rhythm that had the headboard slamming against the wall and filthy, desperate sounds filling the room.

My body was on fire — every nerve ending lit up, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of him — his hands, his mouth, his filthy praise spilling into my ear like gasoline on the flames.

"Taking me so good," he rasped. "So fucking perfect for me. Mine—mine—"

It wasn’t long before I was falling again, harder than before, my whole body convulsing around him.

Nico groaned deep in his chest — the most broken, beautiful sound — and with a few more desperate thrusts, he followed, spilling into me with a rough, gasping curse.

He collapsed on top of me, chest heaving, forehead pressed into the curve of my neck.

For a long moment, the only sound was our ragged breathing, our racing hearts.

Then, finally, he lifted his head — messy hair, flushed cheeks, swollen lips — and looked down at me like I was something sacred.

"You’re not leaving," he said, voice still wrecked.

It wasn’t a question. It was a promise.

I smiled, threading my fingers into his sweaty hair, tugging him down into a slow, lazy kiss.

"Wasn’t planning on it," I whispered against his mouth.

And from the way he kissed me after that — slow, deep, endless — I knew we were just getting started.

I barely had the strength to move — but apparently, Nico had other plans.

Still breathless, still pressed against me like he couldn’t stand even an inch of space, he kissed a slow, lazy path along my jaw and murmured against my skin:

"Come shower with me."

I hummed, pretending to think about it. "I don't know," I teased, voice wrecked. "I might need a stretcher."

He laughed — low and rough and stupidly hot — and before I could protest, he scooped me up bridal-style like I weighed nothing.

"You can rest after," he said, voice dark with promise. "Not done with you yet."

Oh, fuck.

I clung to him, heart pounding again, feeling the heat in his body like a second skin.

The bathroom filled with steam almost immediately — the water hot, the air thick — but Nico didn't even set me down right away.

He pressed me back against the cold tile, his body a furnace against mine, kissing me slow and filthy like we had all the time in the world.

His hands slid over my slick skin — everywhere — fingers tracing every curve, relearning me like he couldn't believe I was real.

"You’re so fucking pretty," he murmured against my mouth, hands squeezing my ass, grinding his hips into me shamelessly.

"Thought you said you wanted to shower," I teased breathlessly, raking my nails down his back just to hear him growl.

"Changing plans," he muttered, and then he dropped to his knees — in the shower, water pouring over him — and buried his face between my thighs like a man starved.

I cried out, grabbing onto his messy hair, anchoring myself as his tongue worked me over — relentless, filthy, worshipping.

The water ran down my body, mixing with the slick slide of his mouth, his fingers digging into my hips to hold me still.

I was already oversensitive, already wrecked from before, but he didn’t seem to care. He wanted more. He wanted everything.

When I came — hard, shaking, sobbing his name into the echoing steam — he didn’t let up. Not even a little.

He licked me through it, slow and devastating, until I was slumping against the wall, barely able to stand. Finally, he rose to his feet, mouth glistening, eyes dark and blown wide with hunger.

"You’re gonna kill me," I whispered, laughing weakly.

He just grinned, that dangerous, heart-melting smile, and lifted me again — caging me against the wall, his cock sliding against my thigh, hot and so fucking ready.

"Not until I’ve had my fill," he growled, voice rough, wrecked.

And then he was inside me again — fast, deep, brutal — slamming into me with wet, filthy sounds that echoed off the tile walls, his fingers digging bruises into my hips.

The water washed over us, but it didn’t cool the heat even a little. It only made it messier… hotter… more out of control.

He fucked me like he couldn’t get deep enough, couldn’t get close enough, panting my name like a prayer, like a curse.

"Mine," he gritted against my mouth, pounding into me so hard the shelves shook. "You’re fucking mine."

"Yours," I gasped, clinging to him, giving him everything.

And when we came — together, wild and shattering and almost too much — it was everything.

When the world finally stopped spinning, Nico kissed my forehead — soft, reverent — still buried deep inside me. Still holding me like he would never let go. Still whispering my name like it was the only thing he ever wanted to say. And honestly? He didn’t even have to. Because my body already knew, I was his.

Completely. Hopelessly. Forever.

[m0nnypie]

I'VE GOT MY EYES ON YOU

Finnick Odair x fem!reader

Summary: Just the pov of Finnick loving you over the years, and remembering everything about you

Warnings: cute but with a bit of angst on Finn's part. Other than that, all happiness and love.

a/n: Well, excuse any spelling mistakes, English isn't my first language. And I tried my best to make it as much like Finnick as I could, but this is my first fic of his lol. Anyway, I hope you like it and enjoy <3

Words: 1.8k

Finnick remembers the first time he saw you. He was eight and you were only six. Your father had gone to see his for some reason Finnick can't remember — not least because he hadn't been paying attention to them. What he does remember is you glaring at him. It made him laugh, which only deepened your frown.

He imagines it was because you didn't like him very much at the time. He didn’t blame you. With your older brother constantly saying that no boy was any good, it was hard to be friends with anyone he was always badmouthing. Finnick didn’t blame your brother either — in a world like theirs, any protection, even unnecessary, was better than none. Still, nothing changed how cute and funny he had found you at the time. After that day, you never met in person again.

The time he considers the second was when his name was called at the reaping. He remembers your eyes glued to him; you were twelve, and he was fourteen. He could feel your pity seeping through his skin. He didn’t blame you — after all, like it or not, it was still the Hunger Games. But knowing that you were looking at him made it almost funny to him, and it was with that thought in mind that he entered the arena.

The third time was when he returned home victorious. Of course, there were lots of people congratulating him — his relieved family and everyone else — but the only thing he saw was you, walking toward him. He didn't think it was of his own volition, considering you was with your father and brother, but as soon as you approached, you wore the best, most beautiful smile he had ever seen you give. And for the first time in years, you spoke to him.

"Congratulations on winning, Finnick. I'm glad you're back... well, we're glad."

He could see the smile on your father’s face, though he couldn’t say the same for your brother. Not that he minded. So he just smiled back at you — not the smile he reserved for the Capitol, but a real smile.

"Thank you. I'm glad to see you too."

He saw you get embarrassed, and he wanted to laugh at that. But he wouldn’t — not in front of your father. Not yet.

For the rest of the day, he listened to his father talk about how much your father complained about you, because you wouldn't stop talking about Finnick. His father laughed as he ruffled his hair affectionately. And it’s not like Finnick was going to complain.

Everyone said it was normal for girls to have a little crush on boys who won at something — at least, that’s what the people he knew told him. Maybe that’s why, two months later, it was as if Finnick no longer existed to you. You were back in your own world, with your friends, without him. Not that it bothered him — not really.

The next time he really saw you, you were sixteen, and he was eighteen. He was a mentor now, and when your name was called at the reaping, he could see on your face how much you hated it. Most people didn't care or thought that a dead kid from District 4 wouldn't make much difference, since you wasn’t a Career or someone important. Finnick hated it — but he would never say so.

He also remembers how, for whatever reason, you didn't put any effort into your training. He thought it was because of what everyone thought of you as a tribute, or maybe you just didn't give a damn about dying in the arena. He didn't admit it at the time, but he had been terrified that you wouldn't make it out of the arena alive. He also remembers how surprised everyone was by your training score — including him. It was a ten. He remembers it clearly, and you didn't seem to mind.

On the day of the Games, all you did was say goodbye to your stylists. You didn't look in anyone else's direction, but he didn't blame you. If you were going to become one of the last survivors, there would come a point when you would have to kill someone. It wasn't something everyone wanted to face.

He remembers seeing you in the arena — you did well. For the first few days, you kept to yourself, hiding and trying to survive. But at some point — he can't say exactly when — things changed. Perhaps it was when the male tribute from your district was killed, or when you saw a pair of boys, just twelve years old, die.

It wasn't a change that anyone on Capitol had noticed. But Finnick knew you well enough to say that the deaths of people you barely knew had affected you. He still remembers when one of the tributes from District 4 was a twelve-year-old boy - you didn't know him, but you still went to say goodbye. You were only fourteen.

And at that very moment, you had just thrown an axe into the head of the boy from District 3 who had killed the twelve-year-olds. You hadn't thought — you had just acted. Obviously, this had a positive consequence for you in the Capitol's eyes, because a while later, you were sent food that would last for about four days.

He remembers the exact moment you won. He wanted to say he was relieved, but that wouldn't be fair to you. Until you left for District 4, you didn't say a single word to him. Perhaps because no one was looking at you with such high expectations anymore, you felt confident enough to speak.

"Do you regret killing those people to survive?"

"No."

He had to be honest; he couldn't lie. But after that, he didn't hear your voice again for the rest of the journey — you didn't even look at him. Still, when you arrived in District 4, you acted as if you were fine, as if you didn’t care.

He also remembers when you became friends. It was a good thing — a big step, considering that before, you wouldn’t even look him in the face. Now he understood why. Even though it hadn't seemed like it before, you had lots of friends. You were funny, entertaining, and you cooked extremely well. Finnick admitted that he envied your food — and he couldn’t lie about that.

He obviously remembers the following year, when the two of you were mentors. You were only seventeen, but you didn't seem bothered about directing two people toward a possible death. He saw how hard you worked not to get attached to either of the tributes, because if they didn't come back, you wouldn't feel guilty. But when Annie returned, alive and safe, he also saw you break down. You hugged her as if she were going to disappear. And he didn’t blame you for that either. Over the next year, no one ever brought up the subject of Annie becoming a mentor.

When you were nineteen, things went to another level. Once ignored, now he was kissed when no one was watching — well, that was a breakthrough. He remembers every kiss, every smile. He also remembers when you woke him up at dawn to help Annie. He didn't mind; he was spending time with you and helping a friend.

While he was making tea, if he looked over his shoulder, he could see you hugging her, whispering what sounded like a lullaby — the kind you sing to babies when they can't stop crying. He could see how much you loved and cared for Annie, and that always made him fall in love with you a little more, even if he didn’t know it at the time.

He certainly remembers the time he told you he loved you. You had just turned twenty-one. You said it back. And you held each other for the rest of the night.

He also remembers the 74th Hunger Games. He saw your relief when those two young people, madly in love — though he didn't believe in that farce — survived together. You didn’t know them, but you were obviously happy for them.

He also — sadly — remembers the Quarter Quell. When his name was called, he had imagined it would happen. But that day, once again, he saw you. Annie had been called, and before Mags could volunteer, you did. He saw you hugging Annie, comforting her as he heard her whisper "sorry," but you just smiled at her. And as you hugged, he heard you say:

"I'm sorry, but I couldn't let that happen to her again."

"I know..."

He didn’t know. No — actually, he did. He just didn’t want to admit it, because admitting it meant facing the reality that this year, he’d be going into the arena with you. And he didn’t even want to think about that.

In the arena, he did everything he could to protect you, Katniss, and Peeta. He really wanted the plan to work. He believed that you would be fine if they separated. But when he woke up, you weren’t there with him. You were in the Capitol with the others. For the first time in years, he wished he had died in that arena when he was fourteen.

He felt it the moment he got you back — you weren’t really there. He spoke to you, but you didn’t listen. And if he tried to touch you, he saw you despair, screaming as if he had hurt you. And he felt that way — he felt guilty for letting the Capitol lay even a single finger on you. They told him to take it easy. He wanted to tell everyone to fuck off, but when he looked at you, he knew they were right.

At that very moment, he was keeping you company, obviously giving you space — he didn’t want you to get hurt. But when he heard you calling him, he admitted he was desperate; you hadn’t even looked him in the face for days. So probably, if you had asked him to get down on his knees and beg for forgiveness, he would have — even if he didn’t need to. But he held back.

"Finnick?"

"Yes, dear? Do you need anything?"

"I'm sorry..." It came out as a whisper.

"Hey, hey, what are you apologizing for? You have nothing to apologize for."

"I..." You didn’t manage to finish before tears welled up in your eyes.

"Hey, hey, please don’t cry..." He tried his best to comfort you without having to touch you. But before he could decide what to do, you hugged him — a little hesitantly, but you hugged him. And at that moment, he collapsed. He shouldn’t have cried — not when you were in such a fragile moment — but he couldn’t help it.

For a moment in his life, he had thought he had lost you, that he would never see you again. And at that moment, he decided he would never let go of you — not with the possibility of losing you again. He would never let that happen. He would always see you now.

[aerithsfair]

langdon x mel jealousy headcanon that i need to write down cause it won’t leave my brain

it’s thursday, both mel and langdon have two hours left of their shift. it’s been relatively less hectic shift and they’re both looking forward to going home to enjoy taco night with becca when two gurneys roll in.

a fight broke out at a bar. one man, early thirties, has a broken nose, black eye and took a bottle to the cheek. the other has a dislocated shoulder and shards of glass lodged in his hand. they both jump at the chance to each take a patient. it’s only half way through langdon’s assessment with the second man involved when he hears laughter coming from the other room, and he’s instantly honed in. mel’s laugh has always had that affect on him.

she’s suturing up the last of the cuts on his eyebrow when he walks in (he doesn’t need to be there, really, but it’s been almost forty five minutes since the patient was brought in and the laughing hasn’t stopped.) dana is also in the room, typing away on the computer when she spots him leaning against the doorway. if he noticed her he doesn’t make it known, eyes instantly fixated on the other woman in the room (because it always is, dana thinks with an eyeroll).

the patient, ron, doesn’t even attempt to look at the man near the doorway, eyes locked on dr. king while she’s smiling at some cat joke he made.

“dr. langdon, how nice of you to join us.” dana says. it’s a tactic to avoid the very constricting tension she feels in the room right now. she hears ron hiss under his breath.

“i was just checking in, ” langdon replies, trance breaking. he looks down at his wrist to a watch he doesn’t have. “and to remind dr. king that her shift is almost over.” (it’s not his job.)

“thank you, dr. langdon.” mel replies with a gentle smile his way. “just finishing the last of the stitches…and ron, you should be good to go!”

“wow, dr. king.” ron says. he doesn’t break, eyes still focused on mel. pays no attention to the other doctor at the door when he says, “is there a way i can thank you? maybe over coffee—“ but mel’s phone goes off before she has a chance to stop anything, looking at the caller id before excusing herself to take the call. it’s only when they watch her walk out the room does the patient seem to notice dr. langdon’s presence.

“god,” ron huffs, slumping back down on the pillow. he looks up at langdon. “if fighting is what i have to do to end up back here with her..then damn….” langdon jaw tenses and dana thinks any more pressure will end up with him on one of these beds. the patient continues obliviously, “hey, man, do you know if she’s seeing anyone?”

dana lets out a scoff and instead of the last minute paper work she should definitely be doing, she continues to look at the screen, scrolling up and down on the same page and listens when frank, who tries to be polite, state “it’s, uh, unprofessional of me to give patients personal information regarding other staff.” there’s a pause, and then dana swears she hears a grin form on his face when he says softly “but, yeah, she is.”

“but it’s not serious right? i mean come on, i didn’t see a ring on that finger. what fucking idiot wouldn’t—“ langdon is too busy focused on being polite and professional and doing his best to not get fired again, but it just keeps going and going. ron asks to leave his number, if he can get a pen to write it down on anything or anywhere when mel walks in again, discharge papers in hand and wound care instructions. he tries again to ask her out for coffee which makes langdon snort so loud he has to hide it with a cough, but mel is a professional and simply replies that she doesn’t date her patients. but ron tries again, by asking if she has any time off this week to watch his band play just as friends. and it has langdon coughing up a storm trying to mask his laughter he has to exit the room.

dana has decided she has enough of the show and entertainment material to relay to perlah and princess tomorrow morning. she claps her hands to get everyone’s attention, “dr. king is a very busy woman who needs some sleep. so i’ll take over any further questions you may have, bud. starting with the healing process..” mel takes it as her cue to hastily exit out of the room.

langdon insists he’s fine when she comes over to ask if he’s okay. he reassures her but jokes about having competition. to which she replies that there isn’t any and that langdon’s jokes are way better. they hold hands as they walk down the hallway to clock out and only part when they have to go to the lockers.

he’s waiting for her by the exit that leads them through the crowded waiting area and into the front of the building when he notices her little admirer had stayed. they make eye contact just as mel bounces up next to him, “ready for taco night!?” she says excitedly and not like they didn’t just finish a twelve hour shift. he looks down at her, a goofy grin on plastered on his face and from his peripheral can see ron is just about to move towards them, when the arm that instinctively goes around her shoulder stops him. it’s been thirty minutes since his shift has ended and frank doesn’t have to be polite or professional anymore when he locks eyes with ron again, pulling mel closer and intertwining their fingers. he places a kiss to her forehead and smiles when ron sits back down in his chair, looking completely dumfounded.

[satorella]

Note: It’s implied that Reo & Y/n are 21+

“𝐀𝐬 𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐥, 𝐰𝐞’𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞.”

𝐑𝐞𝐨 𝐌𝐢𝐤𝐚𝐠𝐞.

Professional Athlete by day, and Co-CEO of the Mikage Corporation by night.

Or in other words, your boss.

Reo had it all. From looks, to brains… fame, fortune, stability, a career…

There was maybe one thing he was missing, not a big deal or anything, but he was sorely lacking in the romance department.

One would think he’d have all the women flocking to him, and he did! But none of them were genuine. Never really wanting him, for him.

There was only ever one other woman (aside from his mother) that actually, truly, cared about him. And that was you. His wonderful, capable, and beautiful personal assistant who’s been by his side since day one, since the day he became his father’s right-hand businessman.

He was a good boss, a good guy in general. He took care of your sick pet’s Vet bills, came to your aid when you got in a major car accident (he got you the best lawyer ofc), the list can go on and on. So of course, you paid him back in kind with what you do best: handling ALL of his affairs, and with no complaints. Not even in your head.

Sure, it was your job. But you went above and beyond for him, just as he did for you. There were times where you’d pick him up late at night from the bar or a club, driving him home and getting him all cleaned up and into bed. Even in a drunken state of mind, he was a gentleman; never once trying to pull a move on you. Instead, he had a bouquet of flowers sent to your apartment the next day as a thank you, along with pastries from your favorite bakery.

Yes, he indeed knew what you liked. He’s a man who pays great attention to details, which is one of the things that made him a pleasant man to work for.

Your mother would even tease you sometimes, referring to him as your “ceo boyfriend.”

“Your ceo boyfriend has good taste in flowers.”

“Again… he’s my boss, not my boyfriend, mother!!”

No doubt, Reo would be an amazing boyfriend to some lucky lady out there one day…

“Good morning, Miss L/n. What time will the boss be in today?” Was a common question around the office. Reo juggled soccer and business every day; leaving you in charge for a couple of hours in the mornings, until he came in around noon whenever practice was over.

“You’re too good to me, y’know that?” Reo says as he now settles in his fancy office chair that you’ve been sitting in all morning. “Just doing my job, sir.” You nodded, tidying up the last bit of folders on his desk. He gently grabs your hand in an attempt to stop you, “You’ve done enough. Go home, Y/n. Thank you.” “B-But…” You tried to protest, but he shakes his head. “I’ll call you if I need anything.”

You were halfway finished packing up your briefcase, when he spoke up again. “Oh by the way, I met your mother after practice.” “Y-You what?” “Yeah! You mentioned she was a seamstress right? She dropped off our new uniforms today. I knew she looked familiar.” He had your full attention now, your hand on your hip. “Did… did she talk to you?” “Sorta. She was kind of in a rush, so I didn’t wanna keep her. But she knew who I was! Agh, what was it that she said…”

Please don’t let it be what you think it is…

“She called me your ceo boyfriend! Heh! She’s funny. I see where you get it from.” He smiles to himself, looking down at his desk.

Asdfghjkl ohmyfuckinggod your mom is soooo DEEEAAADDDD!

You blinked at him. Mortified. Back of your neck feeling hot. Palms sweating. Throat was dry. You feel like you could almost pass out from the embarrassment.

“Mr. Mikage, I can explain-” …Hold up, did he basically just say you were funny?

“No worries, Y/n. The thought has crossed my mind before.” He shrugs, chuckling. “W-What thought?” You cleared your throat. “What you’d be like as a girlfriend. I mean, you take good care of me now just as your boss, what more if you were actually someone’s partner?” He explains. “They’d be a lucky son of a bitch, that’s for sure.”

There was a moment of silence as you guys just blinked at each other. Eyes locked and unwavering. “Listen, Y/n…” “Yes?” You had a slightly hopeful expression on your face. “Would you want to have lunch with-”

“Knock knock!~” Reo was interrupted by Chris Prince, one of his soccer colleagues, entering his office. “What’s the point of announcing ‘knock knock’ if you decide to just waltz in anyways?” Reo sighs in slight irritation. “No time to waste in waiting for a response when I know you’re here, mate.” Chris smirks, then sets his sights on you. “Oh? What do we have ‘ere then? Ah! You must be the lovely assistant Reo’s always raving about, yeah? Chris Prince. A pleasure.” He takes your hand and kisses the back of it. You smiled politely, before turning back to Reo. “I’ll head on out now. Nice to meet you, Mr. Prince.”

The two men watched you exit Reo’s office. “You think she’d be interested in Prince water?” Chris breaks the silence. “Shut up…” Reo sighs.

…

“Oh honey, how’s your assistant doing? We haven’t seen her in a while. Why didn’t you bring her along with you? I’ve been dying to ask her for the recipe for that one dessert she brought on Thanksgiving…” Reo’s mother says as she looks through her menu.

(He was actually trying to invite you yesterday, but that Brit interrupted him from shooting his shot😑)

“I’m surprised. She’s usually always by your side.” His father chimes in. “Hard at work as always, I assume?”

“Ah,” Reo clears his throat, setting his menu down. “Y-Yes. She was actually the one who booked this restaurant for us… she’s great at finding nice places like this.”

“She has good taste.” His father comments as his mother nods along in agreement. “I’ll let her know you guys think so.” Reo sips on his glass of champagne; trying to hide the small, fond smile forming on his lips. His parents liked you, which said a lot… seeing as they were kinda like those judgy type of rich people you see in movies. But thankfully, you have a good relationship with them.

“Y/n, I need you for a moment.” Reo calls from the intercom, a couple days later. After a few moments, you appeared in the doorway of his open office. “Yes?” “Can you book me a massage? Practice has been intense lately, and my back is killing me.” You came in closer, noticing his discomfort as he rubbed the back of his shoulder. “Of course. But for the time being, would you like me to help you with that, sir?” He looked up at you with a raised brow, “Oh? Are you good with your hands like that?”

(Hehe🤭)

“I know a thing or two. Come.” You beckoned for him to sit over on his black leather sofa. You stood behind him and placed your hands on his shoulders, gently working to loosen his knots. “Oh wow, you’ve got a big one.” You focused on the spot in between his neck and shoulder. “Oh?” He swallowed hard at that. He wondered if you even realized what you had just said sounded… well… y’know.

You didn’t LOL, too focused on your task of trying to relieve him.

“Ahh- Right there.” He hisses when you rub over another spot on his back. “Here?” You go over it again, and he lets out a low groan. “Mmph… yeah. Can you press harder?” “I don’t wanna hurt you…” “It’s fine, Y/n. I’m a strong man.” He reassures you. “Alrighty then.” You do as he says, massaging him a bit rougher. “Does this feel okay?” You check in. He lets out another groan… or was it a moan? Whatever, you took that as a ‘yes’ to your original question. “Feels so good… don’t stop…” He sighs.

Now it was your turn to wonder if he realized what he was saying.

You figured thirty minutes was good enough. You managed to work out most of Reo’s knots and kinks in his back within that time.

“Okay Mr. Mikage, I think this quick little session should’ve done the trick, for now anyway.” As you moved to take a step back, you were suddenly being hauled over the sofa and into Reo’s lap. “Eeek! What’re you doing!?” You squealed when you saw the position you were in. “Thank you so much.” He held your body tight, face pressed into the crook of your neck.

You knew Reo was dramatic, but not to this extent.

“Uh,” You blinked, “G-Glad I could help, sir.” You cleared your throat, awkwardly patting his back. “Not just for the massage, but in general. You deserve a raise.” He mumbles against your skin.

Yeah, everyone can agree with that. But you were fine either way.

“Mr. Mikage?” “Hm?” “May I ask why you’re-” You were about to ask why he was holding you in such an intimate way, until he looked up at you. The softness in his eyes made you lose your train of thought.

Has he ever looked at you this way?

He looked into your eyes expectantly, waiting for you to continue. You shook your head of those thoughts and composed yourself, “Uh… do you still want me to book you that massage?” He thought for a moment before answering, “…No.” You nodded, tilting your head back a little to look through the open door of his office; making sure no one was snooping around in the hallway, before hesitantly wrapping your arms around him… cradling his head. “Okay.”

You guys stayed like that for what felt like forever, to the point where he had fallen asleep right there in the crook of your neck; still holding you.

This was… nice.

Awkward at first because you didn’t know what the hell was going on, but now that it’s been a while, you were starting to appreciate the warmth of his body against yours…

You and Reo had to have known about the connection between you. I mean, how can you not see it?

It shows in the way he listens to you intently, never breaking eye contact; his gaze occasionally dropping down to your lips as you go over some important documents. “Did you get all of that, sir?” “Mhm.” Sometimes, he wonders if they feel as soft as they look.

The way you automatically think ���Oh! Mr. Mikage would like that.” When you see something he indeed would like.

Or when Reo goes “Y/n would kill me if she found out I ate all that sugar!” “Who?” “Oh, sorry. I was talking about my assistant.”

You’re definitely the first person (the only one really, since Nagi never answers lol) that he texts/calls when he hears/witnesses some tea…

“Y/N! I know it’s Saturday, but you’ll never guess who I just saw kissing someone… who isn’t her husband💀 Call me back asap!”

Then there was the way he always smiles to himself whenever you were the topic of any conversation, even just slightly mentioning you.

Oh, and when it comes to his soccer games? “Hey! You watching the game?” He texts you during halftime, only for you to quickly reply with a photo of you and the whole office wearing his jersey, “LET’S GOOO!”

You guys were just constantly thinking about each other, without even realizing it. But you know who did?

Both of your parents.

Although you guys try to shrug it off, there was no fooling them. They would argue that you two were just too stubborn to realize what was right in front of you.

Too young and dumb.

“They’ll get it eventually.” Your mother and Mrs. Mikage chuckle over the phone.

…Wait, since when did they ever exchange contacts?!

© 𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒-𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓. 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝.

Join my tag list!📋

(𝑷𝒊𝒏𝒌 𝑳𝒐𝒄𝒌 discord server👯‍♀️)

[mvst4far]

Sam Monroe x f!reader

SUMMARY: Spending the morning with Sam after sleeping over for the night.

WARNINGS: Brief sexual reference (no smut), pill/drug use and a make out with Sammy 💋

Sam stirs beside you with a moody groan, removing his forearm from covering his eyes as he abruptly sits himself up─accidentally stirring you awake in the process.

"God, can you be anymore louder?" You sigh, rolling over to face away from him as you desperately attempt to fall back asleep.

"Shit, my bad," He grumbles apologetically and scratches the back of his neck, kicking the covers off before lazily standing up from the bed.

Somehow, and with weeks of begging, Sam had convinced his mom to let you sleepover for a night. The two of you were allowed to hang out in his room, of course, but you just weren't granted the access of sleeping in the same bed. His mom knew what he was like─especially with his teenage hormones and occasionally finding stiff socks hidden under his bed.

God knows what you two do when you're alone.

Of course, the first thing this emo boy goes for is a stash of pills he keeps hidden in the beside table. He quickly untwists the cap and shakes out a singular pill─placing it onto the palm of his hand before chucking it into his mouth and gulping it down his throat.

His addiction got so bad, that most of the time you'd have to step in and sit through long, uncomfortable conversations. He didn't like opening up at all, but it felt somewhat natural with you.

"Sam," You groan, stretching one of your arms out as you continue to lay on your side.

Sam's head snaps towards you over his shoulder, quickly screwing the lid back on and stuffing it back into the drawer of his beside table. "Yeah?" He clears his throat, trying his best not to sound suspicious as he turns around to face you.

"What are you doing?" You ask.

"Nothin'. You hungry? I can get my mom to make you somethin'."

You sigh and shake your head as he changes the topic. "No, m'okay." You murmur back, your voice lacing with sleepiness.

He nods, standing awkwardly for a moment with his fingers drumming against his thigh. "You tired?" He asks, pointing out the obvious like a dumbass.

"Mhm," You sleepily respond, face nuzzling into the soft pillow that had a lingering smell of Sam's cologne.

Sam almost felt bad that he was keeping you up by continuing to talk to you. He couldn't help it though. It just felt natural speaking to you. And once he started, he couldn't stop.

"So," He starts, staring at your figure lying peacefully on his bed. "What do you wanna do today?" He finishes, shifting on his feet covered with white socks.

"I don't know." You grumble, starting to sound a little more annoyed at his never-ending ramblings.

Sam immediately picks up on the change of your tone, realizing he may have messed up a little. "Sorry," He runs a hand through his black hair, suppressing anything else he wanted to say.

౨ৎ

It didn't take long until Sam had somehow convinced you to pay attention to him instead of sleeping. Even though it was only nine in the morning, he couldn't help his hormones. They sparked a lot more around you─which often got him in trouble.

Sam's lips moves against yours with urgency, his fingers digging deeply into your hips as he firmly holds you down to straddle his lap. With your fingers running through his hair─occasionally scratching his scalp, he couldn't resist but whimper in the most pathetic way possible.

It was a religious occasion for you two to be making out randomly. Didn't matter the place, or the time, since Sam could only keep his hands to himself for so long.

He pulls away with a exasperated exhale, his lips plump and pink. "I was thinking we could hit up the park today. I wanna get high, but I can't do that in my mom's house." He says breathlessly.

You chuckle at his random suggestion, shaking your head in amusement. "We're in the middle of making out, and the only thing you can think about is getting high?" You scoff, making it clear you were teasing him. "Wow, Monroe. Way to make a girl feel special."

Sam clicks his tongue against his teeth, rolling his eyes at your tease. "C'mon, you know I didn't mean it like that," He huffs, almost glaring at you like a defeated puppy.

You burst out into giggles, your hands resting at the nape of his neck. "Yeah, I know you didn't." You admit, shrugging your shoulders.

Sam didn't even have the time to respond before your lips crashes back onto his with desperation─almost latching on him like a leech.

He immediately reciprocates into the kiss, his head tilting to the side to seek a deeper angle while he pushes you flush on his lap. Even though you were basically in control by being on top, he managed to show some dominance with his strength.

And all it did was turn you on even more.

After a few moments, Sam pulls away once more─leaving him completely breathless. "Just to make sure... we are going to the park later, right?" He asks once again, holding you still.

"Sam!" You huff in disbelief, slapping his bicep.

"What?! I was just askin'!"

two posts in one day, i am feeding you guys 🥀

taglist: @alealuvshayden @anakinstwinklebunny @divineani @estranged-girl

[bunnyclawzz]

Can you do more hyperfem reader x Mohawk mark??

Yesyesyes!! I lovee mohawk Mark so much, I might make this a little series😋

Opposites!

Mohawk Mark x Hyperfem!reader

Going shopping with you would be a full-time job to anyone who wasn't him. He never got bothered when you would ask to go. Yeah, he had those snarky little comments, but her never actually meant any of them

"Maarrkk? Can you come to the mall wi-" he didn't even let you finish asking for his company before he cut you off in a rude yet affectionate way. "Stop asking me like I'm ever gonna let you go alone. The hell do you even need from there anyways?" he questioned without even looking up from his phone. His response had a warm grin blossoms onto your face, the kind of smile that he could tell was there without needing to turn to check. A soft hum leaves your glossed lips before you reply. "Wanna get new clothes for spring. Maybe early summer shoppin' too. Maybe we can get some for you too!' you'd offer all enthusiastically as if you were the one paying for any items. He turns his head to face you, raising an eyebrow at you with a slanted head "..Sure. Whatever you pick, princess" he spoke, purposely using the nickname that always made you feel all warm inside and out.

Just like clockwork, each and every time you were shopping with him he would follow you around like a stray dog. He'd carry whichever drink you had chosen for the warm afternoon-weather it's a iced soda, a boba tea, or an overly sugared iced coffee, it's in his hand while you wander around whichever shop caught your attention first. "Hmm.." you buzz softly, eyes scanning around for just a moment. Your soft hand takes his rough and hard-skinned one to lead him into a store that makes him look like an action figure stuck into a dollhouse.

"Mark," you began as you lifted a lacy pink baby doll top up into his view "do you like this?" you questioned as your free hand ran along the pastel fabric. He had no time to respond before you continued on with the questions. "Or do you like the yellow one better? Oh-they have blue! You like blue, right?" He couldn't hold back the big smile that plastered across his face as you trailed on and on about the colors of the tops that had your attention. "I do like blue, yeah, but you shouldn't just get something 'cause it's a color I like" You're silent for a few seconds, clearly up in your head thinking about something. After just another second you click your tongue and shake your head, you voice coming out like the curb of a morning bird. "Nope!" You said, popping the 'p' in the word as you set the pink top down and reached for the French blue colored one instead, "Already got an outfit for it planned in my head." He chuckles at your words. His hand reaches out to take the top, holding it up to your body in attempt to get a visual. "Yeah? Can't wait to see it on" He said in a low murmur as he eyed you up.

Just around an hour into the trip you had your own drink in hand, sipping contently as your boyfriend followed you around whilst carrying all your shopping bags, all full of items purchased by him. Store after store, changing room after changing room and giving endless input and compliments and watching you swatch an endless amount of lippies only to buy you one new lipstick and a new mascara tube-how could he not spoil you? You're the one thing in his life that is absolutely perfect in and out, he has to treat you as what you are. "Princess," he began with a soft sigh, "Come on, we're sitting at the food court for a minute. Just the sound of those shoes tells me they're uncomfortable" he said as he gestured to the open-toed kitten heels on your feet. He barely let your brain process the words, just quick to take you by the wrist and tug you to the first open seats he could find.

"Alright," he spoke again, "I"m getting you a burger and fries. Do you want a new drink?" You didn't respond for a few seconds. Your eyes got glued to him, admiring him and all he does for you for just a few seconds before you answered. "...get me a lemonade?" "Got it" he said as he leaned down to kiss the top of your head. "I'll be right back, just sit and rest your feet for a few minutes."

Upon meeting Mark, the weirdo-punk with the spiky mohawk and short temper, you never thought you'd like him, let alone date him. You would've never dreamt that being paired with said weirdo would lead to you being treated like royalty and being absolutely spoiled rotten whenever he could. Can’t help but adore his very unlikely girlfriend

[paxaz535]

Just for Now

chapter 5

synopsis : when a group of students go on a school field trip are suddenly forced into a deadly real-life game of Mafia at a retreat center. They receive a message that tells them the game has started, and the only way of survival is by eliminating classmates and identifying the Mafias.

——

note : and if i say this is probably the best thing i’ve written so far.. ?

(shorter chapter ONLY because im trying to spread this series)

——

As the murmurs started up again and people began whispering in pairs, Paige stood up and walked over to you.

“Can we talk?” she asked, quiet enough that only you could hear.

You glanced around. No one was paying attention yet.

You nodded, following her down the hall, away from the group.

She stopped just outside one of the smaller side rooms and leaned against the wall, arms crossed. The hallway was dim, quiet, like the game couldn’t reach you here.

“You really think it’s me?” she asked, no smile, no flirt, just straight honesty.

You met her eyes. “I don’t want to think it’s you.”

“Then don’t.”

“That’s not how this works, Paige.”

Her jaw tightened. “You know me. You’ve seen me. If I was playing dirty, you think you wouldn’t know by now?”

“That’s the problem,” you said, voice lower. “I don’t know. Not anymore.”

She stepped closer. “Then trust what you feel. Not what they’re trying to make you see.”

And just like that, she was gone—back down the hallway, swallowed by the buzz of the lobby again.

You stood there a second longer, heart in your throat.

Then came Marcus’s voice from inside: “Are we doing this, or what?”

You decided to check someone.

Not because you thought they were Mafia—more like the opposite. You needed to start crossing people off your list. Narrowing it down. Giving yourself room to breathe.

Still, something inside you whispered not to check those four.

Paige. Azzi. Nika. Aaliyah.

Why?

Why did part of you not want to know the truth?

Was it fear? Was it trust? Or was it something worse—something like hope?

You pushed the thought down and clicked on Kk’s name.

Kk’s occupation is: Citizen.

Cool.

Relief. Slight, but real.

You returned to the circle just in time to see everyone with their phones out, the voting options on each screen.

One by one, everyone started to vote.

You hesitated with yours.

Marcus? Sarah? One of the four? Nora?

You looked up, eyes catching Azzi’s for just a second.

She winked.

Your hand shook a little as you hovered over the screen.

Then, you pressed the name.

It was time.

The votes rolled in:

Stormi — Marcus

Paige — Marcus

Nora — Azzi

Jamie — Paige

Sarah — Marcus

Marcus — Sarah

Amari & Ines — Marcus

Allie & Morgan — Nora

Aubrey — Marcus

Aaliyah — Marcus

Nika — Marcus

Azzi — Marcus

Ayanna — Marcus

Ice — Marcus

Jana — Nora

Caroline — Nora

Ashlynn — Marcus

Kk — Marcus

And finally—

Rose — Nora.

Your name.

Your vote.

The final one.

As soon as it landed, Nora looked at you.

Her face—tight, confused, hurt.

Like you’d pulled the floor out from under her.

You couldn’t hold her gaze. Not for long.

Your stomach twisted. But you went with your gut. You had to. That’s what this role was. That’s what this game was.

Still, the guilt sat in your chest like a weight.

And the worst part?

You weren’t even sure if you’d made the right call.

Majority, Marcus.

The intercom crackled to life.

“With the most votes, Marcus will be executed.”

No one moved.

Marcus exhaled slowly. No argument. No begging. Just a deep, worn-out sigh as he stood up.

He didn’t look at anyone as he walked toward the hallway—just kept his head down, footsteps heavy.

Then, just as he disappeared behind the corner—

A scream.

Raw. Terrified. Real.

You flinched. A few people gasped. The room held its breath.

And then, the intercom spoke again:

“Marcus was… a citizen.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Your stomach dropped.

Because now that you all know Marcus wasn’t Mafia…

Then the four specific ones who voted him out?

Might be the very people you’ve been trying not to suspect.

And worse?

You might’ve just helped them win.

-

“She needs to die,” Aaliyah said, her voice cold and certain. “And she needs to die tonight.”

The room fell quiet.

Azzi and Paige exchanged a glance, tension already thick. Nika leaned against the wall, arms crossed, unreadable.

“She’s getting too close,” Aaliyah continued. “If we don’t get rid of her now, she’s going to figure us out.”

“She already is,” Nika added. “She voted smart last round. She’s watching us.”

Azzi shifted. “We can’t do anything unless all four of us agree. You know the rule.”

Every Mafia vote had to be unanimous.

No vote, no kill.

“Then agree,” Aaliyah snapped, looking directly at Paige.

Paige’s jaw clenched. She didn’t move.

“I’m not agreeing,” Azzi said, arms crossed. “Not tonight.”

Nika looked between them, fuming. “You’re letting your feelings get in the way.”

Paige turned sharply to Nika. “And you’re not?”

Nika raised a brow. “Excuse me?”

“If it were Stormi’s name on the table, you’d be the first one saying no,” Paige said, her voice suddenly sharper, more raw than they were used to. “Don’t act like you’re above this just because it’s me and Azzi.”

Nika went quiet.

Azzi looked between them, unsettled.

Aaliyah shook her head in disbelief. “So that’s it? No vote tonight? We’re just gonna let her live?”

“No vote,” Paige said, looking down. “We’re going to let her live.”

The room stilled.

No one spoke. No one moved.

They all knew what that meant.

No kill.

“So then who?” Nika asked, her voice growing impatient.

“Nora’s also off the table,” Aaliyah replied, cutting through the tension. “If we kill her, then you might as well consider one of us dead.”

She was right. Nora had already gotten too close to the truth.

“Aaliyah’s right,” Paige said, voice quiet but firm. “Nora’s off the table. If we kill her now, it’ll confirm everything.”

Aaliyah nodded, her tone cold. “Exactly. We can’t risk it.”

There was a heavy silence. They all knew they needed to make a choice—someone had to be eliminated, but the wrong decision could expose them all.

Then Azzi spoke, her voice calm and steady.

“Jana.”

Everyone’s eyes snapped to her. Was she seriously suggesting someone?

“Why?” Nika asked, eyebrows furrowing.

Azzi leaned back slightly. “She’s been quiet. A lot of people been quiet, yeah, but she’s… different. Keeps to herself. Doesn’t stand out. She’s blending in too well. If she’s not Mafia, she could be a threat to us. People like her always make it to the end.”

Paige frowned, clearly not convinced. “She’s been too quiet, yeah. But why her? She hasn’t done anything to make her seem dangerous.”

Azzi’s eyes narrowed. “That’s exactly why. No one’s looking at her, and that makes her the perfect choice.”

The others stayed silent for a beat, processing her words.

“I also noticed something about her,” Azzi continued, her tone growing more deliberate. “Remember when Aubrey got voted out and everyone went all haywire?”

The group nodded, recalling the chaos that had followed Aubrey’s elimination. The tension was thick in the air that night, accusations flying left and right.

“Jana didn’t react. Didn’t hear a peep. Literally, everyone else said something but her.” Azzi’s gaze shifted between them, a challenge in her eyes. “Is that not weird?”

The room fell into silence as everyone turned this over in their minds.

Paige frowned, her mind working through the memory. Aubrey and Jana had been close. For Jana to say nothing when Aubrey had been voted out? It was unusual. Too calm, too detached.

“I think Azzi’s onto something,” Paige murmured after a long pause. “Jana usually reacts to everything. She should’ve reacted to Aubrey, but she didn’t.”

Aaliyah, who had been quietly listening, finally nodded, her expression thoughtful. “It’s strange, sure. Could be nothing… or it could be something.”

Azzi wasn’t finished, though. “And let’s not forget, she’s always observing. Never makes waves. But she’s quietly watching. That kind of behavior doesn’t sit right.”

Nika leaned back against the wall, crossing her arms. “True. The quieter they are, the more dangerous they can be.”

Everyone shifted uncomfortably as Azzi’s words hung in the air.

Paige’s gaze lingered on the others, her thoughts racing. They’d all agreed on the decision before, but now, something felt… heavier.

“Do we agree?” Aaliyah asked, breaking the silence. “Do we go for her?”

Paige looked at Azzi, then at the others. She nodded slowly. “I think we do.”

-

Another day, another person’s name to hear on the intercom.

“During the night, the mafia used their skill to execute Jana.”

Jana? That’s… weird.

You blinked, trying to process the news. It didn’t make sense. Jana had been… quiet. But why would the Mafia target her?

“Jana was the doctor.”

Oh. Oh.

Your stomach dropped as the full impact hit. Jana wasn’t just some quiet person in the background—she was the doctor. The very person who could’ve saved lives, who had been the key to keeping people alive. And now she was gone.

Holy shit.

You felt a mixture of confusion, shock, and a tinge of fear. The Mafia had killed the one person who could protect others. The game had just become a lot more dangerous.

You glanced around, watching the others’ reactions.

When the four—Paige, Azzi, Aaliyah, and Nika—heard that information, something shifted. A look of relief passed between them, barely noticeable but there. They’d been wanting to kill the doctor. Now that they had, it felt like a weight had been lifted, like they’d made a big move in the game.

But you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

You were still here. You were still a problem.

The Mafia might have killed the doctor, but they’d left the cop alive. The one person who could potentially stop them. You weren’t stupid. They knew you were a threat, and you knew they were gunning for you next.

But for now, you were still here.

And you weren’t going down without a fight.

-

“This just doesn’t make sense to me.”

You were sitting with Stormi, Kk, Ice, and Sarah in the lounge, away from everyone else. You knew they were all citizens, so you felt comfortable talking openly.

“Why would the mafia kill the doctor and not the cop?” Ice asked, frowning.

You glanced at her. “In a way, they didn’t know Jana was the doctor. They probably killed her because she was quiet,” you reasoned.

“Hell, I didn’t even know,” you admitted. “I hadn’t had a chance to check her occupation.”

Everyone fell silent, the weight of the situation settling heavily over the room.

The longer you sat there, the more the silence grew suffocating. You could see it in everyone’s faces — confusion, fear, the creeping realization that none of you were truly safe.

Stormi was the first to speak. “If they’re just picking people off for being quiet, we’re screwed. Half of us aren’t even talking that much anymore.”

“Exactly,” Sarah said, hugging her knees to her chest. “It’s not about roles anymore. They’re guessing.”

“Which makes it even more dangerous,” Kk added, her voice barely above a whisper. “It means none of us can predict who’s next.”

You leaned back against the couch, trying to think. If the mafia was killing at random… how were you supposed to protect anyone? Your role gave you information, sure — but if you didn’t act fast enough, it wouldn’t matter.

“I’m not saying I am— ’cause I’m not — but if I were mafia, I would’ve killed you by now, Rose,” Ice said bluntly.

Her words hit harder than you expected. That question had been sitting heavy in your mind for a while now.

Why haven’t they taken you out?

It didn’t make sense. You agreed with Ice. If you were mafia, you would’ve taken out the police officer the second you found out. Everyone knew you were the Police — so why hadn’t they taken their chance?

“We’ll be right back,” Stormi said as she grabbed your arm and pulled you toward the corner of the lounge.

The others barely reacted, slipping into a nervous conversation among themselves. Everyone was still on edge.

You stumbled a little, confused. “What—?”

“I’m gonna need you to be completely honest with me,” Stormi said, her voice low and serious. She stared you down, her hand still gripping the front of your shirt.

You furrowed your eyebrows but nodded slowly, glancing down at her tight grip before looking back up at her face.

“Have you checked Paige, Azzi, Nika, or Aaliyah?”

Your heart dropped.

Why so specific?

“No. I haven’t,” you said.

Stormi sighed.

“Any reason why you haven’t?”

You were silent.

Why hadn’t you checked?

Were you avoiding something?

“I—”

You cut yourself off.

“Wait, is this about—”

Stormi closed her eyes. She let go of your shirt, dropping her hands to her sides.

“Why haven’t you checked them, Rose?” she asked again.

You swallowed hard, feeling stuck.

Then finally, you said it:

“The same reason that if it were you, you wouldn’t check Nika.”

Stormi froze.

She knew you were right.

She knew you hadn’t checked Paige and Azzi because you didn’t want to find out something you couldn’t undo.

“I don’t wanna believe it,” you muttered.

“Then check Aaliyah,” Stormi said.

You looked at her, confused. “Stor—”

“You don’t want them to die, right?” she interrupted.

By them, she meant Paige and Azzi.

And she was right.

You didn’t want them to die — but deep down, you had a sinking feeling that hope wouldn’t last forever.

You nodded.

“And I… I don’t want Nika to go,” Stormi admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

She was really starting to fall for her, and the thought that Nika might be Mafia was already tearing her apart.

“I liked Aaliyah. She was cool. But it’s time.”

You knew she was right.

So you did what you had to do.

You pulled out your phone and tapped Aaliyah’s name.

Aaliyah’s occupation: Mafia.

Fuck.

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