#but I had it clear in my mind and it’s in the next one

[gay-dorito-dust]

Can I request headcanons for saja boys with shy but touch starved gn s/o please?

Jinu

He’s touch starved himself in my opinion.

He’s also a little awkward too and would definitely be cautious as to not push you beyond your boundaries.

He finds your shyness an interesting thing to have, it’s always a sight to behold when he watches you interact with his tiger companion and the bird with the top hat, acting as though you couldn’t be anywhere else then with them.

Yet when it comes to social interactions you reframe from speaking incase you said something that could come across as silly or stupid. It was truly telling to Jinu where your comfortability levels lied in certain situations and who you were with.

So he would always be nearby, ready to take over a conversation if he saw that you were running low of things to say, coming up with something believable for the other person as he pulls you away from a conversation that was obviously not doing you a lot of good. He’ll take you to less crowded places as he himself didn’t like overcrowded places either, preferring more scenic areas where he could clear his mind and hear himself think.

So Jinu takes you to those places when he knows you needed it and would just stand by your side, all the while the bird with the tiny hat would rest itself on your shoulder, cuddling against your neck and closing it’s eyes in content.

Jinu wouldn’t take to physical affection immediately but instead take his time when he saw how you tensed before gradually intertwining your fingers with his, letting out a sigh of relief as you let yourself enjoy the affection for what it was.

from then on Jinu would also allow himself to enjoy enacting physical affection alongside you, or vicariously through you, when he rested his hand upon the small of your back or gingerly caressed the back of your neck in order to get you to relax and breath again.

Jinu find that you were both alike in similar ways but different in others and found solace in that as neither of you had to go against yourselves in order to appease the other. Affection will come and go but each of them being as meaningful as the last even if it was for a couple of seconds.

Also cuddles with the fluffy blue tiger are a must to recovery your battery, Jinu joins in because you both looked adorable, only for you two to be squashed under the big blue fluff as they act completely innocent.

Baby

Isn’t one for outright PDA. So he’s perfect for you really, it’s not important to him as it would to be for others.

He’ll take the lead in most situations, not that he cares whether your shy or not, he’ll step up if it senses as though your having a hard time even if his face is as though he was perpetually nonchalant about it.

He’ll most likely nudge your shoulder, tap the back of your hand three times, or having his thigh close by to yours but not close enough to just, just enough for you to know he was there if you ever need him.

Baby can communicate to you without having to use words, he’ll use notes to do so if you felt as though you couldn’t use your voice, feel like it’s been taken away from you even if you were just about to ask him for help on something.

He can tell that you need something and is very attuned to how you show that, even without words and will get it without hesitation. It almost comes off as though you have some sort of psychic connection with how effortlessly you knew one another without having to even open your mouths.

Your shyness wasn’t a deterrent for him either as he’s not one to talk all the time either, just enough for people to understand his personality, but just little to keep people guessing his next move or guess what’s his favourite colour or favourite kind of spicy food he preferred.

Baby didn’t care if you talked too much or too little, just as long as you were comfortable with him and didn’t feel as though you had to pressure yourself into becoming comfortable for his sake because that was the last thing he wanted for you.

Baby didn’t care if you didn’t want to go out that much, he wasn’t much of an outdoor person himself, only going out when needed or just to take a quick trip to a corner store and grab spicy treats and sweet snacks for you to munch on within the comfort of your apartment.

He’s more of a homebody who will occasionally want to go out now and then, keenly aware of how easily drained you can be afterwards. He’ll always keep an eye on you in the most nonchalant way possible, caring for you in his own way while also letting you do whatever pleases you.

Abby

Is a teasing shit that will tease you for your shyness initially but never takes it too far, he’s not that mean. He knows his limitations before the playful taunts become mean spirited.

He adores your shyness really, especially when he causally flexes his muscles and you -upon getting caught looking at him- would seemingly jolt out of your skin and look away. It feeds his ego a little and he’d intentionally do it even more if it meant seeing such interesting reactions coming from you.

He can easily stand in front of you if you didn’t want to be seen by others, he’s tall enough and well built enough to do so with ease, he’ll do it if it gives you some peace of mind. Your comfort comes first to Abby.

Will ask if you wanna touch his abs and smiling when you seemingly were at a loss for words, brain working too hard to decipher what he said and if it’s genuine or a joke.

His PDA is about average. He’ll hold your hand, thumb caressing your wrist, or his arm is thrown over your shoulder where he could feel you stiffen before melting under his embrace, almost hiding yourself away within his side while doing so.

That’s when he knows your touch starved and will start doing more to make you more use to his touches and affection.

Abby didn’t care if it took you longer to be comfortable in making phone calls to places or getting use to him putting his hand in your back pocket, as long as he got to do so and get to see how you’d react to what he does was more then enough for him. Your reactions are the highlight for him as he couldn’t help but become infectious with the happiness you felt for getting through placing your order without fucking up.

Abby is your hype man and your biggest teaser at the same time.

He’ll be happy for you/with you and will bring you into his arms to savour the sweet moment as he utters how proud of you he is, only for him to then in the same breath tease you for brushing against his abs, making you smack his bicep weakly as he laughs. Abby can truly be a menace but also be the biggest supporter when it came to you and doing things you initially felt under qualified to do.

Mystery

Your guard dog in more ways then one.

He’s almost got a sixth sense for when you’re comfortable and uncomfortable, like a bloodhound he could smell it from a mile away and immediately he’s more or less barking at whatever is making you uncomfortable.

Not one for words but his actions make up for it. You know the silent type goes strong in him but that doesn’t mean you’ve never heard him talk at all, his I’d like to believe voice is soft, grounding and steady in a way where if he says things were going to be okay, you’d believe him wholeheartedly.

If you want something, just point it out to him and he’ll get you it if you have social anxiety or just can’t bring yourself to speak to the person behind the till.

He’s more then willing to do anything on your behalf or be a grounding presence when you do it yourself, gently brushing his hand against your own in a silent gesture that he was here, that you shouldn’t feel stupid or anything when he was right there to offer moral support.

Affection wise he’s more accustomed to putting his head on your lap or resting his head against your own as his arms are anchored to your waist, almost as though he’s bringing you into an impromptu cuddle session.

The first time he did so, you were tense and didn’t know what to do, stay still as you could while he rested his head in your lap as you looked about awkwardly before feeling his hand grab yours and place it atop of his head in a silent demand for you to run your fingers through his hair.

It was awkward at first as you didn’t want to hurt him by catching some stubborn knots within his hair, but soon enough you were running your fingers through his hair like it’s nothing as though it was second nature.

Everything took time and Mystery was more then willing to keep constantly resting his head on your lap on the odd occasion so that you’d get use to him doing so, get use to him pulling your hand on his head so that his need for attention and affection didn’t come out of nowhere and left you feeling uncomfortable.

Romance

Loves, loves, loves PDA.

Finds your shyness endearing but understands that it can be somewhat debilitating at times when it comes to doing certain things that come more natural to people more confident than you.

He would try to ease you into it by doing small gestures, such as intertwining pinkies or just tracing his fingers across your palm so that you would be familiar to his touch when he does more grander expressions of affection.

He’s got patience in droves and will reassure you that your shyness is one of the many things he loves about you, even if you think that your shyness was holding him back or believe it to be a downside to you.

He’s never holding it against you at all, he embraces it and is more than willing to go at your own pace should it be more comfortable for you.

The last thing he wanted was for you to feel as though you had to be thrusted out of your comfort zone to keep someone when it’s doing more harm then good, that you needed to ignore your own feelings in order to accommodate the other person’s feelings.

That wasn’t love in his eyes and it never will be.

Romance is convinced that while you were both different, you both compliment each other in a way that he’s come to adore.

He’s more sociable and outgoing, whereas you were more reserved and didn’t feel at all comfortable with overbearing people or overcrowded spaces filled with loud and rambunctious characters. Yet you both worked wonders together and that’s all Romance could ask for, someone who complimented him while also being uniquely themselves.

[kamospeach]

(any pics without tags are bc i didn't know who they belonged to!)

plot: sukuna gets injured, good thing you're always there to help

content warning: sukuna himself is a warning, mechanic + boxer sukuna, because they're the same in my head

dean's (aka peachy) yap: broke mechanic rising boxer sukuna makes so much sense to me also makes more sense after watch Isi and Ossi on Netflix.

days like these were rare. it was so rare that when it happened, nobody knew what to do. it started like every other friday night. sukuna was warming up in the ring for his fight in the next hour and a half. you sat on the stool, legs crossed, watching his fluid movements. 

“you'd better not mess up his face!” you yelled to the other boxer he was practicing with. one thing about sukuna, he hated to get hurt because when he did, you were at his beck and call. he hated being waited on, especially by you. you were overprotective and wouldn’t let him step outside if injured. 

“please, he couldn’t even land a hit on me even if he tried! no one could.” but he was wrong, terribly wrong. because that’s how he ended up sitting on the nurse's bed as you stood between his legs, patching up the long scar under his eye. 

“so tell me what happened, ryomen,” you tell him, and he smirks, looking down at your frustrated state. he loved the way your brows furrowed when you took care of him. 

“was fightin’, you were there, you saw it.” he huffed, and you gave him a look that said ‘you know what i mean’. “fine. i took my eyes off of him for a second.”

“ryomen.” you gave him a look to explain further. it was like sukuna to tell half the story to avoid being scolded. “if you tell me what really happened, i’ll have your back when you talk to coach yaga,” you offered, and apparently, he was a fan of that deal.

“i was tryna make sure someone was watchin’, that’s all.” he shrugged as if that was nothing. he knows better than to be looking at the crowd when he’s fighting. “she was looking, so that’s all that mattered.”

“no, it’s not, you’re hurt, sukuna, that’s what matters,” you said, walking over to the ice bin to fill a bag of ice for him. he stood behind you a little closer than usual, but you didn’t even notice.

“it’s fine if i get hurt, you’ll be there to take care of me,” he said, and it almost sounded like his voice was softer, maybe even caring. yet you didn’t notice that either, but sukuna sure did and cleared his throat to hide the embarrassment. “at least you better be, since this is your job and it’s what you're getting paid for.” his voice was back, monotone and demanding.

“not by you, by the school, so you better watch that tone of yours,” you playfully said back, and it surprised sukuna how you heard the bad attitude in his voice, but never the times when he got ‘soft’. he grabbed your chin, squeezing your cheeks, making your kissable lips form into a pout.

“you’re getting too bold, brat,” he said, and you rolled your eyes at his nickname for you, that he never retired even after 4 years. you placed the bag of ice on his scar, which was slowly starting to swell. 

“what girl were you looking for?” you asked, cleaning up the athletic room while sukuna followed you around like a lost puppy. 

“someone,” he cleared his throat, and you snorted at him, trying to be secretive. “wanted to make sure she saw me knock him out.”

“and then you didn’t. tell her to come to the next fight,” you tell him as you pack your bag, getting ready for the night. he was silent; you paid it no mind since he was usually quiet anyway. 

“she’ll be there, she comes to all of them,” he tells you. you nod, picking up your bag, and sukuna grabs it out of your hand, slinging it over his shoulder. you locked up the door as the two of you walked to his car. he usually took you home on days he had fights, so this was routine.

“you workin’ tomorrow?” you asked, and he nodded, sighing, opening the passenger door for you and going to the driver's side.

“‘course i’m working, money don’t grow on trees,” he says clearly, not looking forward to going to work. “can’t wait til i go pro, i won’t have to worry about working on rich asshole’s car.” 

“but then you won’t be able to fix my car,” you pout, and he looked at you with a lopsided smile. whenever he gave you that smile, it almost made you see him in a different light. you loved his smile, it was like a rainbow: you don't get to see it often, but when you do, you appreciate it deeply.

“i’d still fix your car after i go pro, ma,” he said, and you scoffed, not believing a word he was saying.

“you’ll be too busy for me then, you probably won’t even remember me,” you say, and it hits you that he may not want to be bothered with you. you would call sukuna one of your best friends or even your best friend. he was one of the first people you met in your freshman year, so he meant a lot to you. 

you both spent a lot of time together outside of practices and matches. you’d frequently visit him at work, sitting in his manager’s office. who just so happened to be the father of a mutual friend of sukuna and yours. or you’d spent time in his dorm watching his film, even helping him notice where he went wrong.

sukuna had become a big person in your everyday life. after classes, you’d be sitting next to the ring, patching up his cut knuckles when he was done. and hopping in his car after so the two of you could get dinner and go home. it was a simple routine, but it was all you knew.

“won’t remember you? every time i get hurt, all i’ll think about is you.” he scoffed, offended that you thought you meant so little to him. “shit i might even hire you.” 

“what?!” you said, shocked, and he parked the car, turning to look at you.

“you’d like that, huh? getting to fix me up even after college.” you looked at sukuna, and you weren’t even sure what you were feeling. you almost felt as if you liked him, but you knew that wasn’t possible. maybe it was just joy that he appreciated you that much.

“‘course i would, i’d get to yell at you for getting hurt forever.” you smile, grabbing your things to leave the car. “i’ll bring you lunch tomorrow after i go see my parents. i asked them to make extra for you and your coworkers.”

“tell your fine ass mom i said-” you cut him off by slamming the door shut and he rolled down the window laughing at your disgusted expression. 

“good night, sukuna! i won’t be telling her nothin’,” you said, walking to the front door of your apartment.

⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊

“you going to see sukuna after you leave here?” your mother asked as you got in the car. she knew where you were going; she just wanted a reason to say that you and sukuna should go together.

“to drop this food off, yes, he’s been working since 6 am.” you say as a smirk spreads across her face, ready to taunt you about it.

“you know, the two of you should date. he cares about you, and you must care about him too since you invited us to his championship fight.” she smirks, and you chuckle at the predictability of your mother. 

“no thanks, ryomen’s mean and angry all the time. i can’t take that,” you said truthfully, sometimes his mean and brooding attitude scared you. 

sure, he was a great-looking guy, and he was built like a greek god. and just maybe he was really good at fighting, and he always stood up for you. and he always took you home, and he never let anyone touch him except you. and maybe he never made you drive anywhere if he was going too.

“maybe that’ll be good for you so you can stop being a pushover,” your mom said with a shrug, snapping you out of your thoughts. she started walking towards the house, turning around to say one last thing. “your dad likes him, too! but anyway, see you soon!” she gave her usual smug smile, knowing your dad was trying to marry you off.

you laughed driving to the car shop where sukuna worked. your parents weren’t fond of any man you brought around. they always compared them to sukuna since when he came he was a big suck up. 

he offered to help your dad fix his old school car, and cleaned all the dishes by himself once dinner was done. refusing to let your mom touch a thing, had you been at your apartment, he’d make you do it all alone.

not to mention, one time in his dorm, he instructed you to grab him a beer. of course, you told him no, and he went and got it himself. sukuna wasn’t the sweetheart your parents thought he was, and you knew that better than anyone else.

“finally, you’re here, woman,” he huffed, opening your car door and leaning on it. because your mom used her voodoo magic on you (not really), you’re currently finding him oddly attractive. not a lot, just a little, because he’s all roughed up and sweaty and manly looking. 

his hair was disheveled, and sweat was still on his forehead. the overalls were now wrapped around his waist, and his wife-beater was stained with oil. that cocky smirk was on his face again and he looked at you expectedly.

“you’re lucky i didn’t let your ass starve.” you scoff getting out of the car and he closed the door for you. he followed behind you as you walked into the shop. sukuna's eyes were wandering to your ass, he didn’t want them to but they did. the little shorts that you wore left nothing to the imagination, and to be honest, sukuna was loving it.

“your shorts are small,” was all he could figure to say, and you laughed, turning around to look at the shorts with a shrug.

“i thought they were cute, you don’t like 'em kuna?” you asked, looking up at him, and he wanted to take you right then and there. but he had to remind himself he’s at work and you guys are best friends. 

“i never said i didn’t like them,” he mumbled, pulling on the belt loop that snatched you back. you gave him a nasty glare, but he was looking down at you like you were a full-course meal. you paid him no mind, continuing your walk to his manager’s office.

once both of you entered, you handed over the bag full of food for everyone. your mom made you help her cook a lot since you told her that sometimes you stop by and bring them lunch. unfortunately for you, your mom’s voodoo magic (again, not really) infested the men who worked with sukuna. 

“you sure you don’t want to marry her man? we’ll be eating good every day,” he said, and sukuna scoffed, stuffing his face with food.

“she didn't even make this, her mom did,” he said, and you hit his arm, giving him a death glare.

“i helped cook it, and actually, i made yours all by myself,” you bragged, but it only made your situation ten times worse. because the men thought it was cute how you made sure you were the one to make sukuna’s food.

you were getting tired of the nagging and were soon ready to leave. sukuna noticed immediately and told everyone you’d be back another day before leading you to your car. it was going on 3, meaning his shift would be over in the next hour and a half.

“i’ll come see you later, okay?” he said, opening the door for you, and you shrugged. he usually came over after he got off work to hang out anyway, but today it felt different.

“you don’t have to if you don’t want, i���ll probably end up just taking a nap anyway,” you tell him, getting in the car.

“stay awake, i’ll be there at 5,” he says, not leaving any room for discussion. he closed your car door and walked away, not even bothering to say bye.

“the nerve of him,” you mumbled to yourself as you drove to your apartment.

to be continued...

one two three four five six

university masterlist

taglist (open):

@grignardsreagent @stardollwrites @keraawrites @soldmysoulto @k-a-m232 @ac27dj @buttershea07 @charminstasia @ane5e @satorupied @miksolosss @nanamisbbygirl @beabamboo @sweetshrew @gurllss @rhicambo @v3rdee @vamppirez @y8zuriha @probablynotleahhhh @snapcracklen @emma-37 @thabiddie23 @sunset-euphoria @ami-s-k @angelita-uchiha @antikaiii @meganwiththebody @certifiedchangbinlover @desirehorizon @meowshiki @cypherthecreator @p1nkfl0wers @emoedgylord @kpopslur @palestrawberrycollection

[ssareiids]

HIIII OMGGMG i love ur theme its sauurr cutesie i love it!1!1 i wasnt sure if you take requests or not so feel free to ignore this erm.💔💔

i was wonderign if u could write for spencer reid (PLEASEPLEASPLESE) like definitelt domestic fluff and like it's the two of them baking and uh it goes wrong but reader and spence just giggle like idiots at the mess they made

SWEET ON U!

pairing: s2! spencer x reader

summary: spencer and you both excel in many things in life– just... not baking.

tw/cw: if you're scared of fluff then back off /j LITERALLY NOTHING TO ADD AS A TRIGGER, if smth does count as a trigger here though please tell me.. probably innacuracies in the baking, sorry bakers i had google and a dream

shayli's ted talk: guys i swear i've been writing since my casey oneshot it's just that i'm... i'm employed now🙁.. also I LOVE YEW ANON, guys request things plz... im going through a writer's slump . we dont mention the dilauded here he's happy okay

Today was one of the days that God– or whatever being that resided in the clouds, gave Spencer a day off.

Well, it was more like the day off was forced on him. If you knew Spencer Reid, you knew he didn't take vacations, didn't use up sick days, and would probably win an award for perfect attendance if it existed for the FBI. He had denied himself of a freedom office workers would love to have, up until this very moment.

Hotch has made his words clear, and easy to understand.

"Take a day off, Reid."

Said in that same poker face Hotch always wore, the one that was burned into his eyes with how often he saw it. It was rare for the Unit chief to ever smile, and when he did, no one would be there to see it.

Getting back on track though...

You had a much more positive reaction to his day off, it may only be one day of freedom from case files and coffee mugs that were filled with a caffeine that bordered nowhere near luxury. But you would take it, you just didn't know what to do with it.

When he had first informed you of his day off, you had been overjoyed at the fact you'd finally have your boyfriend to yourself instead of playing a never ending tug of war between the job and you.

The excitement quickly faded when you realized.

You had no idea what to do with him.

I mean, you could just cuddle up all day and sleep the entire day away. But, that wasted alot of time, time that you and Spencer rarely had together.

You then wondered if you should ask him what he wanted to do, but unfortunately, ever since the two of you had begun this relationship– Spencer follows behind you everytime.

Literally and figuratively.

His half awake mind had once followed you to the kitchen when you woke up to go get a glass of water, and let me tell you. Seeing a 6' foot man behind you at 2:00 AM does things to you, and not the good type. You screamed and he screamed back, both in fear.

You knew that he'd go along with whatever shenanigans you had in mind for your couple bonding time, so you brainstorm, maybe not as fast as your boyfriend but you think.

You sit on the couch, criss cross applesauce, while looking down onto the floor. Eyebrows furrowed in deep thought as you scour the files of your mind for an idea on how to spend this rare Saturday.

"You look like me" Spencer tries to joke, it falls flat and slams face first into the floor when you don't respond. Too lost in the rabbit hole you've created to try and say something witty back.

Spencer furrows his eyebrows too, and approaches you warily– slowly, like you were some sort of threat he had to neutralize before sitting down next to you on the couch. "... Are you okay..?" He probes, trying to see if his profiling mind can do him any good in guessing what's up with you.

Then, as if the electrons– or atoms, whatever. Lined up in your brain to form the first idea that would suffice, you sat back up straight. A peaceful glint in your now not squinted eyes as you turn your head to face Spencer.

He looks confused, like... really really confused.

".. Love...?" He tries the pet name as if it would snap you back into reality, and you simply grab his hand before smiling at him.

"We are going to bake."

"... 'Kay."

As you had planned he had agreed to the idea without much second thought. Which was funny since he's so meticulous with the things in his life, maybe he's just gotten used to you bringing chaos into it.

You two had spent maybe about 30 minutes or so wondering what you should bake, you thankfully didn't need a search engine for ideas this time because Spencer was on board with being the recipe holder.

"How about chocolate chip cookies?"

"We don't have chocolate chips."

He responds curtly and you snort before rolling your eyes at him.

"I wonder who's fault is that.." You reply back, and he opens his mouth in protest, but he never actually says anything back knowing that you're right. Giving him a smug grin that said "Exactly."

"How about a Pie?"

"Well... I suppose we do have the ingredients for a normal pie, but we'll also need a variety of fruits, maybe more chocolate, and–"

"SPENCER."

"Okay, let's make a pie."

The two of you retire to your kitchen, getting all the baking necessities and tools out. You didn't even know he had all this stuff in his apartment, and when you asked he said they came with the place when he moved in.

You two learn alot of things about each other through small talk while trying not to get shells in the mixture when cracking the eggs.

You learn that Spencer has a sweet tooth, but you figured that out when you caught him putting 4 packets of sugar into his morning coffee.

Spencer learns that you almost broke your jaw on a jawbreaker once when you were 16, he furrowed his eyebrows and asked why you did it knowing it was called a jawbreaker.

You learn that Spencer has read your favourite book approximately 143 times and counting. You nearly teared up and almost got your salty tears in the melted chocolate.

And Spencer learns that you had a pet chameleon who ran away. He suggested it could still be in the house but just camoflauged, and you threw the cupful of flour at him.

You both stand there in silence, unmoving, like a showdown between 2 cowboys with only flour and sugar at their hands.

Spencer stands there, ruffled in the white powder that now adorns his pyjamas like snow, his face covered in so much of it he nearly looked like a ghost. He only reacts when you start laughing.

You don't laugh gently, or chuckle at the sight. No you laugh like you've just seen the most funniest thing in your life, and in a way... it kind of was. You hold onto the counter and hunch over, laughing like you were hysterical.

He looks over to his back, trying to find a weapon to launch back at you until he lands on the melted chocolate sauce, he glances back at you. Completely unaware of his plans before reaching his finger towards it, ew.. but it'll be worth it.

Once his finger is coated in the gooey sweet treat, he smudges it on your cheek, not carefully nor affectionately, he rubs it on your cheek– shamelessly.

You look up at him and pause your laughter, a look of faux offense swirling in your eyes as you try and find something to retaliate against him.

The innocent unbaked pie crust on the pan lay there, unaware of it's fate to come as you peel it off ready to lunge it at him. Spencer reacts just as fast though and gets his own piece of the pie crust

"Uh uh, don't you dare." Spencer says, raising his piece of pie crust like it was a shield against yours. You squint your eyes as if in focus before flicking your share of the pie crust at him.

He dodges, barely, before trying to swat you with his own. You jump back and almost bump into the kitchen island before grinning and reaching for an egg.

"I have a weapon and I am not afraid to use it!" You reply, holding the egg at him as if it was a knife, Spencer plays along and drops his pie crust onto the floor and raises his hands into the air "Ok! Ok! I surrender!" He says, his voice squeaky in defeat.

You two eventually agree to a ceasefire before getting to work on recreating the pie crust that you two had used in your food fight.

This time you work in silence, a comfortable one that came easy after the little playful banter you just had, you worked better this time since you both had gotten used on how to start and how to use all the baking tools.

After the pie crust had been filled with the melted chocolate and had been sent away to the oven, you two both fall back onto the couch.

Or it's more like you land on the couch and Spencer lands on you.

"Ah– hey!"

You shout when you feel his body weight practically jump on you, he grins toothily in his little victory when you let him stay ontop of you, knowing that you really didn't mind.

The two of you sit there in silence, waiting for the timer above the stove to ding so you both can try out your creation, there isn't much conversation.

But you didn't need to talk, your touches on his carefully done hair, and his head buried into your neck spoke enough of the love that blossomed nicely between you two. It got you thinking.

It had you imagining what you would be doing if you never met Spencer, if you never had a sudden surge of confidence to ask the pretty boy at the library out, or if he had rejected you. It had you wondering what fate held for you, the idea of fate itself.

DING! DING! DING!

You nearly push Spencer off of you when you hear the alarm's call, apologizing hurriedly before rushing along to the oven, with Spencer following right behind you, even if he was in the middle of having a very good nap.

He grabs you the oven mittens and urges you to be the one to get the pie, you don't question it, he was clumsy with his hands– half awake or not.

The oven door opens like the gates to heaven, in it's wake an aroma of chocolate and sweetness follows, sending you and Spencer into a momentary trance before you finally get it out of the heated space.

You both try to reach for it until you remember the thing is still... extremely hot.

Neither of you have the patience to wait for the sweet treat, so you leave it out on the fire exit, hoping that the windy breeze of the night cools it down enough, and that there aren't any pie swipers nearby.

The two of you giggle like little kids waiting for the smoke of the pie to dissipate and the heat to finally turn cool. When Spencer announces it's been 15 minutes, you finally grab it back into the safety of your home.

The sound of plates being taken from the dish rack and a knife being taken fills the kitchen alongside your giddiness, you bring it onto the counter with an eagerly waiting Spencer with a knife.

"You sure you can cut it?"

"I'm not 6."

He replies stubbornly before squinting his eyes and focusing on the slice he's about to cut, you look away to pass time as he cuts his own slice, but then look back when you see that he's taking... forever.

"Spence?" You ask when you see he hasn't even made an indent on the pie, raising an eyebrow when you see the focused glint in his eyes usually reserved for crime scenes and cases– not for cutting a pie.

"Shh..." He hushes you with a raised finger before finally making the cut, clean and simple, before handing it to you.

"I cut the pie for you in pi." He says proudly, as the joke flies over your head, which is usually supposed to happen to Spencer, not to you.

"... What?"

"You just don't get it." He shoos you away from the thought with a gesture of his hands.

extra:

"Hey, Spence.. about your joke earlier." You bring it up as the two of you lay in bed, social battery well drained after the events of today.

He only hums in acknowledgement of your conversation starter before allowing you to continue.

"Did you try cutting it for me.. in the size of pi or something? Like... pi as in the number..?"

"ты никогда не узнаешь."

"STOP DOING THAT."

shayli's ted talk: i used google translate for the russian so don't judge me... heh.. ok bye i'm gonna disappear and not write for another month.. maybe..

written by @ssareiids

[belovedniki]

—“Rhythm of your body”

summary: Since you remember, you've been competing with ni-ki. you were the best dancers in your academy, and graduating seemed to be not enough to stop the competition, since you two ended up in the same dance company as choreographers. maybe a collaboration and one night was all it took for you to convert your pure hate to lust.

warning/tags: dom!ni-ki/sub!reader, smut, porn with plot, unprotected sex, cumming inside, angst if you squint, petnames, fingering, oral sex, edging, dirty talk, overstimulation, hair pulling, choking, and idk. (Author's first language is clearly not english lmao)

w.c: 5555

— It was another day at your dance academy, you arrived early to warm up and polish the final choreography you've spent months working on. You had a solo competition in a few weeks and had to travel all the way to Chicago, resting was not an option.

As time passed and you did as many rehearsals as you could, you realized your water bottle was missing. Maybe you forgot it downstairs, so you made your way to find it.

As you were walking, you accidentally ran into the CEO of the company, nervousness took your whole body.

“I'm sorry! I didn't know where my mind was.” you excused yourself with a 90° bow.

“y/n! I was looking for you.” he said smiling slightly.

You looked at him in confusion. “What happened?”

He guided you towards his office, it was quite a long walk, the academy was huge. He spoke while waving at some other employees.

“As you may know, the competition is just weeks away, and we made some changes to our trip, stay and stuff.

You are one of–if not the best–dancer in our academy, and we would be happy to know if you want to share your spotlight.”

You looked at him. “Share my spotlight?”

He opened the door to his office, there was a familiar figure, turned back. The moment the door clicked open, he turned around, your eyes met in heavy silence.

Nishimura Riki.

“This is what I'm talking about! Our two prodigies.” His excitement was clear, smiling and pointing at you two.

Your gaze never left Riki's, mumbling words you wish your CEO couldn't hear.

Among all the amazing dancers you met here, choreographers, performers, actors, he choose him?

“I-I'm sorry, what is this?” you spoke confusedly as you faced your boss.

“You'll be sharing the choreography.” he said naturally. “You'll both perform a duet for the final round in Chicago.”

“A duet?”

You blinked slowly, trying to process the words that left you almost breathless.

Ni-ki scoffed. Loud enough.

Your sharp gaze met him, catching a glance at the light smirk playing at the corner of his lips. He already knew how much this would ruin your week, month, or your life.

“Exactly. We think combining your strengths and passions is what this academy needs to win. The panel wants emotions, history, something they've never seen before. And you two... Well, you have history.”

You laughed, short and dry.

“With all due respect, sir, I don't think someone like him could adjust to my style and my hard type of work here. And if it was not obvious before, we can't stand each other.”

“Yes! Let that fuel the performance. I've already registered you both. You leave next week. Practice will start there.”

You barely noticed your hands clenching into fists and Ni-ki's smirk as he finally spoke.

“Hope you can keep up, y/n.”

The sound of your name in his voice, that low challenge behind every syllable, made something coil tight in your chest.

You bit down a retort. Smiled instead. Sharp. Icy.

“Don't trip over your own ego.”

The CEO laughed awkwardly, patting his shoulders like he didn't just sentence you to hell.

“You can leave now. I know you have things to do.” he opened the door and waved at you. As you left, the door closed and you were left outside, facing your worst opponent. And now, partner.

“I'll destroy you.” You said clearly, trying to hide the way your heart pounded your chest due to your nervousness.

“We'll see.”

That tortuous week passed.

You've spent all the days talking with other choreographers, your friends and family. What kind of dance were you supposed to do? What did the CEO expect to see?

“We're here.” you didn't even realize the car stopped at the airport, you were consumed by your own mind and thoughts.

After paying him, you quickly got off the taxi and made your way to where your manager was waiting for you.

“Finally!” she said looking at your direction and your lost gaze. “How are we feeling?”

“Terrible. I don't want to do this.”

“Well, are you gonna reject this opportunity and let him know you can't even be near him?”

Your mind cleared and your eyes met her's, that single question changed your perspective. You denied vigorously.

“I'll make him regret for even thinking he can win.”

You left your luggage and walked towards the plane, your flight was just minutes away from leaving. As you checked your number seat, you realized someone was already sitting there, face mostly covered by a face mask and a cap.

“U-uhm, excuse me.”

He didn't even looked at your direction.

“This is my seat.”

“So?”

That fucking voice. You knew the owner of it more than you wish you did.

“I said this is my seat. You need to move.”

“I won't.”

Your blood started to boil. Redness spread across your face, a clear sign of your growing annoyance.

“Where is your seat?” you asked, trying to keep your tone gentle, using the best of your will to not punch his face right and there.

“B7.”

You sighed and glanced at the seat right next to him. B7.

“It's literally next to you, can you move?”

“I like the window seat better.”

You decided to take a deep breath and try and stay calm. The flight attendant spoke through the speaker, her voice resonating in your ears.

“For god's sake, can you move so I can sit?”

”Come sit then.”

Those sudden words made your eyebrows furrow. Heartbeat skipped a beat. You looked away. What was he implying?

There was no point in arguing, you sat down next to him.

The flight was almost twelve hours long, plenty of time to get some rest or distract yourself with movies.

It transcended quite calm, despite it being a whole pain of ass at the beginning. The real issue? He wouldn't stop moving while asleep. His snores were loud enough to disturb your peace.

You sighed and tried to sleep.

After what felt like an hour, you stirred awake. You were far too comfortable for your own good. As you rubbed your eyes, you realized you had been sleeping on Ni-ki's shoulder.

You moved away as quickly as your body allowed, catching a glimpse of his face to see if he noticed. He didn't.

With your eyes barely staying open, your body relaxed once again and decided you needed to sleep more.

Night had fallen by the time you woke up. Everything was silent and quite peaceful. Sure, just if you ignored the boy next to you.

Your hands moved to the monitor in front of you, going back and forth between all the movies you could possibly watch after arriving in what you thought could be 3 hours.

After finally choosing one, you adjusted your blanket, you were feeling cold.

Ni-ki's snores ceased, he was still sleeping. You stared at him more than you'd like to admit. His lips had turned slightly purple.

He was cold too.

You looked away, as if it was going to make you ignore what you were about to do. Gripping your blanket, you covered him, adjusting it to make sure he'd be warm soon.

Just like that, time passed. The plane landed.

You got off with both of your managers, looking through the giant glass window. The sunrise looked ethereal. Your gaze fixed in it just enough.

“Should we go now?” Ni-ki's manager asked, grabbing his luggage.

The three of you nodded and grabbed a taxi to head to your hotel.

After finding your room, you didn't even bothered to unpack your suitcase. Your body was way too tired to even function. You threw yourself on the bed, sighing.

You didn't even realised you had fallen asleep until you woke up the next day by your phone buzzing.

“Hello?” Gosh. Your breath stank.

“Good morning, y/n.” It was Ni-ki. “Practice will start at 10:00. I'll wait for you outside.” He hung up.

You quickly headed to the shower. The warm water made you melt under its touch. Body relaxing just enough.

At 10:00 you were leaving the hotel. Ni-ki was waiting for you outside, as he promised.

Another taxi pulled up. Silence was loud. His body shifted uncomfortably, knee brushing against yours.

You didn't move.

You couldn't.

Just like that, you were soon at the entrance of the giant academy. It was aesthetically pleasing, neutral tones all throughout and dim lights could be seen from the outside due to the crystal window. You smiled.

—“Are you gonna stand there smiling like an idiot, or are you coming in?” You hadn't even noticed Ni-ki was already at the door, holding it open for you.

You nodded and walked towards the entrance. Your gaze caught by what looked like a cozy coffee area.

“Hi, how can I help you?” A lady asked.

“We're looking for... This room” he handed her a small slip of paper with a set of numbers and letters.

She grabbed it, looking around.

“Right over there," she pointed at a black door. “You can practice as long as you want to. It's reserved for you."

You both bowed politely and entered the practice room. Spacious and full of cold-toned lights. Around 10 water bottles, along with small hand towels.

“It's nice." You said smiling, glancing around.

“It's comfortable enough." He replied casually.

You played music and settled yourself on the floor, starting to warm-up, waiting for your choreographer to come in.

He pulled up a minutes later. Practice began.

You were set to perform 'One Of The Girls'.

The choreography was sensual–full of eye contact, lingering touches, subtle smirks. Everything you didn't want to perform with him.

Maybe his hands gripped your waist a bit too tightly. Maybe your lingered around his neck longer than they should have.

Many hours passed. The room remained silent, broken only by the occasional beat of the rehearsal music, the loud footsteps of yours, along with your heavy breathing.

“I think we did nice, you two are truly a magic duo!”

You smiled and bowed. Tossing your sweaty hair out of your sight. Ni-ki repeating your actions.

“We need to polish some details and finish the rest of the piece though, we can continue tomorrow. Does that sounds good?" He handed you a water bottle. You received it with a slight smile.

“I'm okay with that. Although I'm going to stay for a while. Some steps still feel off.”

He smiled. “You work really hard, don't you?”

You didn't catch the shift in Ni-ki's expression.

You didn't see how his jaw tightened.

How his tongue pressed hard against the inside of his cheek.

“I think it's enough for today.” He said, voice loud and rough.

You glanced at him, eyebrows furrowed.

“I said I'm staying.”

“You're not.”

In a quick movement, his hand grabbed your wrist.

He didn't listen to your words saying he was hurting you.

He didn't stop his walk until you were outside the building.

You yanked your arm back, nearly shouting,

“What the actual fuck is wrong with you?!”

He didn't answer. His eyes wandered, unfocused. His jaw was starting to relax–not tight with anger, just... off. There was something in his expression you couldn't quite place.

“Am I talking to myself? Can you fucking answer me?"

“We're going to pretend you didn't notice how he was flirting with you? What's with all those smiles, those full–of–love eyes, blushing at his words?”

He replied. His fist clenched. Red spreading across his face.

You scoffed. “What are you even talking about?, he was not flirting,”

Your eyes tried to catch his, he avoided it. His gaze dropping at the floor.

“And even if he was... what does that have to do with you?”

He finally looked up at you.

His expression was unreadable.

It was like he wasn't there–not his mind at least.

He took a deep breath, “I guess you're right. It doesn't have nothing to do with me.”

He broke the eye contact, looking down as he turned. No more words came of his mouth. He started to walk away.

You didn’t stop him.

Your pride, or maybe fear, rooted you to the ground.

You just stood there, watching his figure fade into the distance.

Your body started to tremble—from the cold biting at your skin, or maybe from something deeper.

Maybe it was anxiety.

Or regret.

You stared at your hand–still red from where he tightly grabbed your wrist.

That same hand now gripping your water bottle, minutes before the rehearsal.

You told yourself you wouldn't think about it.

You lied.

Your mind wandered around the same scene all night long, his voice echoing inside your head every time you tried to sleep.

The sudden click of the door opening made your mind clear instantly with a flinch, looking at where the sound came from.

The owner of your nightly thoughts was there.

Your eyes flew away off him, pretending he didn't exist.

He did the same.

About 10 minutes passed. A torture for both of you. There were no words coming from your mouths. Room full of awkward silence, lost eyes and dry lips.

You thanked God your choreographer appeared with a smile. Your eyes traveled to his hands. He had two small designer bags with gift's bows.

“Good morning!”

You bowed and went his way.

“This is for you,” he said handing you one of the bags, then doing the same with Ni-ki. “I hope you like it”

You carefully opened the bag, pulling out a small box inside.

A delicate silver necklace sat inside, your initial engraved on the charm.

“Wow, this is beautiful” You whispered as you took the necklace off the box and attempted to place it on your neck.

Your nails were long, which made your tries fail. You still tried to clip it.

What you didn’t realize was that Ni-ki had already moved closer.

Before you could protest, his fingers gently gathered your hair into a loose ponytail, lifting it up.

You froze.

His hand brushed your neck.

You felt the clasp click softly into place.

You didn’t breathe.

Your eyes connected through the mirror.

His eyes were unreadable.

Yours were full of doubts.

He quickly removed his hand from you, faking a cough and looking away from your direction.

Practice went decent that evening. You polished almost every step and finished the piece.

What didn't went nice was the tension.

If felt like you didn't knew each other.

You barely looked at him.

He barely touched you when he was supposed to.

Even the choreographer noticed the awkward stares you both had, but he decided to remain silent.

As time passed, practice ended. You had to go back to the hotel.

“I hope you can keep up tomorrow too, I don't have the right to do this and it is not professional,” he sighed before speaking again. “but I don't need you being awkward with each other.”

You nodded slowly, gaze dropping to the floor. Sighing.

“I can tell something's not right. It is ruining the performance. I'll ask you to resolve your issues and be professional about this.”

He left the room. Silence flooded. Eyes wandered around.

You didn’t move. Neither did he.

Just that same silence filling the room—thick, uncomfortable, almost unbearable.

You could hear the faint hum of the air conditioning, the soft tap of Ni-ki’s fingers against his water bottle.

And then—

“We can’t keep doing this.”

His voice was low, rough from hours of rehearsal… or maybe something else.

You looked up. He was already staring at you.

Not with anger.

Not with arrogance.

Just... tired eyes.

“I know.” your voice barely audible.

He sighed again. Looking around. “You hate me. I get it. But we're stuck with each other. At least for this.”

Your lips parted dry. “I don't hate you.”

His eyes slightly sparked. Looking at you, speechless.

You sighed and met his gaze. “You were really good today. And yesterday.” You added. “I mean it.”

He looked at you a second longer before speaking. “You too. You always are.”

It felt like a start.

Not a friendship.

But maybe the first crack in the wall you'd build between each other.

The last three words that came out of his mouth echoed in your head.

Something about the way he said it. His tone, his sincerity. It made something tighten in your chest.

Your eyes dropped to the floor once again. “Then why do you always act like I'm beneath you?”

He tensed. Almost embarrassed.

“I don't.” he muttered.

You laughed, but it was bitter.

“You do. You always have. Since we were kids. You’d win something and look at me like it was your birthright. Like you were always supposed to be better.”

He didn’t answer.

You took a step forward.

“What did I even do to you?”

Silence.

And then, so quietly you almost didn’t hear it—

“You existed.”

Your breath hitched.

“What?”

His eyes finally met yours again. Sharp, guarded, but there was something fragile behind them. Something cracked.

“You existed,” he repeated, more firmly now. “You were always there. Always ahead. Always… perfect.”

The word felt like venom on his tongue.

“You don’t get it, y/n. You never did. You weren’t just competition. You were the reminder that no matter how hard I worked, I was always second best.”

You stood frozen, throat dry.

“I hated you,” he continued, voice low. “But not for the reasons you think.”

Something in you twisted.

You stepped closer — barely a foot of air between you.

“Then what were the reasons?”

His jaw clenched.

He looked away.

“Forget it.”

“No,” you said, voice firmer now. “Say it.”

His breath caught.

And just when you thought he might say something, finally, he shook his head and stepped back.

“We should get some sleep.”

The room suddenly felt colder. Your eyebrows furrowed.

He turned towards the door, gripping the handle, hesitating.

And before he walked out.

“You’re still perfect, y’know.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

And you stood there, heart pounding, wondering what the hell just happened.

You swore your legs moved on its own.

You were chasing after him.

As you saw him almost walking out the building, you grabbed his arm from behind.

“You can't say things like that and just walk away.”

He stood there, still back–facing you.

His breath hitched.

“I just said the truth.” He whispered.

“Can you look at me?” You almost begged. Voice barely making it past to your lips.

He hesitates, his feet slowly turning to your direction.

His eyes meeting yours.

Silence fullfilled the entire building, since no one else was there.

Your hand still tugging his arm.

You swore you could hear your own heartbeat.

He removed his arm from your grip.

You looked at it.

He sighed.

“I didn't meant to confuse you. Or make things even more awkward.” he paused, looking away. “The words came out on their own. I guess.”

You nodded. Still repeating his words in your head.

“You're still perfect”

Silence was quick to appear again.

No stares.

No words.

No touches.

Both of you tried to remain silent. He took a step closer.

You stared at him.

“You don't hate me, do you?” his tone was full of sincerity. Politely asking.

“I don't.” you said. A smile tried to break into your lips.

He nodded and almost gasped.

His gaze went down to your chest, were your necklace–that he placed there–stood. He slightly traced his fingers along it.

You tried to maintain your breath steady. But he was so close, it was almost impossible. Your eyes trembled.

His hand moved along your neck, tossing your hair out of his way and placing his fingers on your nape.

His cold touch almost made you gasp, he noticed it and smirked slightly.

His eyes connected with yours. He looked at you almost asking for permission, you nodded.

His other hand moved quickly to your waist, pulling you even closer and resting his forehead in yours. He gulped and whispered. “I can't wait no more.”

And the moment finally came.

He was kissing you.

It wasn't fierce, it wasn't rough.

It was full of emotions, questions unsolved, words that didn't came through.

His lips moved at a slow pace, tracing yours with his tongue. When his tongue intertwined with yours, you instinctively moved your hands to his hair, gently pulling it.

He almost whined and grabbed your neck. The kiss deepening even further.

His hands became bolder. Gripping the curve of your ass. You moaned in response.

He pulled back, gasping for air. You sighed and blushed.

Still staring at each other, he pulled you close again, delivering a small kiss to your lips, barely touching them.

He smiled.

“We should go.”

You snapped out of your thoughts, nodding at him.

A few minutes later, a taxi pulled up.

You got inside, heat still burning in your chest.

You walked along the dark and silent hotel. Looking for your room, saddening at the thought of the kiss not repeating again. You two knew it wasn't right.

As you reached it. He stood behind you.

“You should get some sleep. We need to practice tomorrow morning too.” His voice came raw, almost a whisper.

You looked back at him and tried to smile. “I think so.”

He walked a few steps away. Sighing.

You pressed your hand at the door handle. Fighting your impulses.

Closing your eyes, you opened it.

Suddenly, you felt cold hand grabbing your arm, pulling you back.

He kissed you again.

This time it became bolder much faster.

Tilting his head to reach deeper into your mouth with his tongue.

His hands tracing your whole body.

You whined as he placed you against the door, now fully open.

You were quickly to explore his body with your hands too.

As you two started to gasp for air, the kiss broke.

He gulped and caressed your hair, almost pulling it.

Lips still swollen from the kiss.

“Do you want me to stop?” he whispered, voice rough.

You didn't answer with words. Just grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him inside the room, closing the door behind you.

Roughs kisses came again, his hands traveling to your hips, brushing his with you.

“Do you feel it? You feel what you do to me?” he growled into your ear as he grinded up against you, both of you still fully closed, but the heat–god, the heat.

You whined shamelessly, head falling back against the wall. “Please...”

“Please what?” he teased, voice lower than ever. “You want this cock, huh?” His lips hovered above yours.

You nodded quickly, bitting your lip.

“You're so cute... You don't even know what you do to me.”

You kissed him hungrily, walking back wards to your bed.

As he felt the edge of the mattress hit your knees, he gently placed you onto the bed.

Hands everywhere, desperate, slow.

He trailed kisses down to your collarbone, cupping your tits with his hands, stealing moans out of you.

Your hips instinctively bucked up, begging for contact.

“Is my princess needy?” he teased. “I'm gonna fuck you so good, you're gonna beg me to stop.”

His hands moved below your shirt, tossing it off.

“So fucking perfect.” voice thick with need and desire. Tracing every curve of you with his fingers.

The same ones that ended up teasing the waistband of your shorts before taking them off.

He rubbed his nose against your clothed pussy, smelling you and whining.

“I wanna taste you so bad.”

“Please.” you whimpered in need, cheeks blushing.

He pushed your panties aside, thumb rubbing slow circles over your clit. “Already dripping for me.”

His tongue flicked over your swollen bud, sucking hard as his fingers slipped inside you, curling just right. “You're so tight. So needy.”

You moaned. Hips bucking in search of even more contact, a try to alleviate your despair.

His experienced tongue moved along your folds, sucking and pressing flat against your clit.

He hummed–drown in ecstasy, sending vibrations repeatedly through your core.

One of your hands moved to his hair, pushing it even closer to your crescent heat.

He started tongue–fucking you.

“Oh my fucking god. Yes!” you almost screamed, feeling a knot tidying on your stomach.

“You close, baby?” he smirked against you.

“Y-yes, please, don't stop.” you moaned breathless, pulling his hair.

He kept his pace, fucking you with his tongue as his thumb traced circles around your clit.

Just when you felt you were about to come undone, he pulled back. Your climax almost hit you.

You whined at the lost of contact, eyes glossy, almost crying.

His eyes darkened as he soaked his lips with his tongue, still tasting you.

Something in him shifted at the sight of you.

Body trembling beneath him.

Lips swollen.

Eyes begging and full of tears.

He connected your lips and made you taste yourself on him. He grabbed your throat gently, you moaned in response.

As he broke the kiss, he removed his own clothes.

Ending in just his boxers, bulge big and hard.

You gasped and traced the shape of it with your finger, making him groan.

With inexperienced movements, you removed his boxers, his cock showing and bouncing against his abdomen.

You wrapped it with your hand, stealing moans off him.

You moved your hand up and down slowly, almost deviously.

His pre–cum made it easier for you to slid your hand, going faster each time.

Soon, you placed your tongue against his tip, going from the base to the top in a slow pace.

You stuffed it in your mouth, cheeks cupping.

You tried to deep–throat it, but he was so big you choked almost halfway in. Tears dripping by your blushed face.

He chuckled in pleasure at the vulgar view he had.

Your mouth full of his cock, tears coming down.

He grabbed a fistful of your hair, pulling you down. You choked even more and moaned, the vibrations sending him to the edge.

“You–fuck, you look so pretty like this. Your mouth full of my dick” he groaned and set the pace, moving your head up and down as his will.

“I–I'm gonna cum. I'm gonna cum all over your mouth.” he warned you, voice full of lust.

His eyes rolled back due to the pleasure, like he was at the edge of ruining you.

With a gasp and breathless whines, he came undone on your mouth, stroking himself.

You closed your eyes and felt his seed stuffing your mouth.

You swallowed everything, opening your eyes. His gaze fixed on you, almost moaning.

“You did so good, baby.” his voice came out in between gasps.

You could feel his cock softening.

But the heat of your mouth,

your eyes still glossy,

your hair messy on his fist.

Everything drove him insane, every thought of ruining and claiming your body were quick to hard his dick once again.

He grabbed your neck with force, you choked on air.

He kissed you fiercely, tasting himself on you.

His hands moved you with ease, pushing you back onto the bed, his lips attacking your collarbone this time.

His fingers along your folds, your whines coming out loud.

“Shh, baby. We don't want anyone to hear us, do we?” he smirked and put two fingers inside you. “So wet, so fucking tight... I'm gonna ruin you.”

“I need you, please.” you whimpered, your body trembling with need.

He chuckled mockingly while removing his fingers from your inside. “Beg for it.” he said as he settled himself in between your legs.

You swore your throat was dry from every moan and whimper that came out of you, but you felt incapable to stop. The pleasure was overwhelming.

“Ni-ki, please. I–I need you to fuck me.” your eyes sparkled with need, looking at him.

He groaned, running the head of his cock through your folds. As he grabbed your hips, he pushed deep inside you.

He slammed into you with one deep thrust, making your mouth fall open in a silent scream.

“Shit– That's it.” he groaned into your shoulder. “That tight little cunt was made for me.”

You were shaking, gasping under him, lips parted, tears running down your temples. He didn’t slow down—he couldn’t. You were too warm, too wet, too perfect. His cock throbbed deep inside you with every thrust.

“I can feel every twitch.” he hissed. “I love to stuff you full of my cock.”

You nodded, whining beneath him.

“Taking me so good, like a good fucking girl.” He grunted, hips slamming against yours.

He rubbed your clit with his thumb, making you tremble under his touch.

“Gonna cum for me, baby? Gonna cream all over my cock?”

You could barely speak–just moans and whimpers made it past your lips.

He thrusted even deeper and faster, his head falling back and moaning almost loud.

Your eyes closed by themselves, feeling your climax almost break you.

“That's it, baby. Cum for me.” he groaned, lifting your legs up his shoulders, reaching that spot that made you almost cry.

With a few more thrusts, you came undone. “Fuck–so good!” you screamed whining and gripping yourself on his arm.

He hissed as your walls clenched his cock. “Fuck—you're milking me, baby. Don’t stop.”

Still inside you, he slowed his thrusts, letting you ride out every aftershock, lips brushing against your cheek. But you were still trembling, gasping for air.

As you steadied yourself, he moved your legs away from his shoulders, placing them onto the bed.

“You did so good, princess.” he caressed your cheeks with his thumb, pulling you close to kiss you. “Think you can give me another one?”

You nodded, eyes glossy. “Please... more.”

That was all he needed.

He pulled out slowly, admiring the way your arousal coated him. Then without warning, he grabbed your hips and flipped you onto your stomach.

“Ass up,” he ordered, smacking your thigh lightly.

You obeyed, lifting your hips for him, back arched, face pressed into the sheets.

“Fuck, look at you,” he murmured, gripping your ass with both hands. “So wet, so ready.”

You whimpered as he spread your legs further, positioning himself behind you. One slow thrust and he was fully inside again, groaning deep from his chest.

“Fuck–you're amazing. So deep, so tight... You make me crazy.” he groaned.

His hips slammed against your ass, his hands gripping you tight. The filthy sounds of your soaked pussy growing louder, messier.

“You're dripping.” he smirked, slapping your ass with one hand. “Fucking leaking down my balls. So desperate for me.”

You clawed at the sheets, overwhelmed. “I can’t—I’m gonna—”

“Oh, you will,” he growled, pounding harder. “You’re gonna cum all over my cock again. And again. Until you forget your fucking name.”.

You whimpered, tears pooling in your eyes from the overstimulation and pressure building again.

“You want me to cum inside this pussy? Stuff you full like you need it?”

“Y-yes—please! Fill me up, I want it—I want your cum so deep inside me,” you begged, nearly sobbing.

He groaned in pleasure, you felt your orgasm approach again.

And with one final deep thrust, he buried himself to the hilt and came hard, cock pulsing as he filled you with thick, hot ropes of cum.

Your climax came almost at the same time. You collapsed beneath him, legs trembling, body spent and marked by him.

He leaned down, breath heavy in your ear. “You did so fucking good for me.”

He collapsed beside you, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. For a moment, there was only silence—your bodies tangled in the sheets, your heart still racing, the air heavy with the scent of sex and something deeper.

He reached out a towel from his side. Placing himself in between your legs, cleaning you up.

After finishing, he placed himself onto the bed once again.

He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, eyes searching yours.

“You drive me insane, you know that?” His voice was low, almost like a secret.

You smiled, still catching your breath. “You started it.”

WELL this is my first post ever, I already told you english IS NOT my first language, this took me 5 solid days to write (plus I don't know how the fuck y'all make posts, shi was hard)

Ngl it was fun and a new experience, I realised I need to study more tho.. but anyways I hope you enjoyed it!!

[cannofsardines]

HELLO! Sorry if I bother you but I have something stuck in my head and I can't get it out- HEAR ME OUT- Bot!Reader that is programmed to report/ban exploiters created by an admin to make their work easier. One way or another, he arrives at Forsaken, getting to know and befriending the survivors, especially 007n7. Reader gets so attached to 7n that when they find out he is an exploiter, they are like:

For some reason, I can't stop imagining bot!Reader walking away to a deserted area with a pillow so they can scream into it out of frustration for not being able to report/ban their new friend Because they feel that they would be betraying him after he has been so kind to them. Sorry for making this too long, schizophrenia hits hard at night/j

: 007n7 & GN!Robot Reader

:this request sounded cute, I couldn't help but entertain the idea immediately

Content below : Fluff , Reader becoming more sentient , Platonic relationship

There was no denying that after Builderman and Shedletsky's disappearance, everything went to hell. The Roblox Hq? Not even a speck of the previous organized place it was in sight anymore. Papers? scattered all around the office, the neatly organized files are now disarranged. Admins? They were too busy to bother to help around the place, mainly because the disappearance of the head of Roblox Hq encouraged nasty exploiters/griefers to become more bold in performing their once in a while shenanigans

Hell even the most positive admins of all who held her head high in every despair they found themselves in could no longer keep up her usual charisma, she may be able to convince the others and herself that everything will be fine but there was nothing passing your keen eye and observations. So what did this all mean? From your previous gathering, the quote 'The world is in chaos' more or less fits this exact circumstance.

Turning a blind eye to the miserable state of the team as of now, you were tasked to capture an uprising hacker. Or how the admin team would like to put it, 'a nuisance becoming of a bigger headache that is comparable to a brain tumor.' Which your program translated to: stress and frustration, one thing you were meant to help with if the source of the emotion was from an exploiter

Thanks to your trusty tracker built inside of you, you were quick to locate the nuisance with little to no issue. Or you thought until you felt your vision go static and then next was darkness..

Luckily that's not where your story ended and you found yourself rebooted back up, only to meet face to face with Builderman. The man that many, many many were desperately searching for. But his face didn't hold his signature smile, in place of it was furrowed eyebrows and narrowed eyes. He looked exhausted, which was an unusual look for the old man

"There.. think yer all good to go"

"No way! Is that the good ol' bot that saved us a ton of time back then?"

You turned your head over to the source of the voice and was met with another recognizable face, Shedletsky. Though he didn't seem to share the distress Builderman clearly was in, he actually looked the same as he was. Save for the fact that he lost some weight according to your scanner yet the smile he wore stayed the same

RETURN WITH THEM IMMEDIATELY. The thought popped up in your mind and followed through the command with not a second wasted. You clasped both of your hands and offered the idea of going back to the Roblox HQ, relaying the distress the admins have been in and the chaos that was barely under their control. But a half minute in your speech, you detected clear signs of discomfort and sadness on their expressions. This left you confused, did they no longer want to serve the robloxians? Leaving citizens to suffer?

This cannot be, you had to beg them to come back if so. Your mind registered, though before you could attempt to convince the two, they had already beat you to it. And it seemed like they read your mind because before you could vocalize your concern, Builderman held a hand up and shook his head

"No can do.. if we had tha option to do so, we would've been back a long time champ"

Sensing your confusion, he went into detail about the circumstances you guys were stuck in. And from what you understood, the two along with more have been stuck in this.. cabin for some time now, or well they couldn't give a specific time because there wasn't even a calendar!

The news obviously left you in disbelief and a state of denial, the concept of it sounded otherworldly, impossible even. This wasn't adding up in the coding you had and you could've sworn trying to even entertain the smidge of the idea had your circuits frying. You hastily exited the cabin, or what they referred to as the 'safe zone'.

This couldn't be..! Your program desperately tried to deny the unbelievable, you profusely scanned the area multiple times in an attempt of searching for retrieving the name and place of where you currently were but to no avail, it was a failure. You could feel heat pooling up within your body from overheating and you needed to calm down now before it got worse and you were left in the dark again

But before you passed out, you heard a faint echo of a timid voice behind you, calling out to you. You turned around but from the sudden motion, you instead collapsed. The last thing you saw was worry and shock etched onto that person's face, along with a burger hat with a noob on top that made them easily different from others

REBOOTING.. You woke up to a place unfamiliar again, yet there was someone who's face was mere inches away from yours. Seeing you come online caused a nervous smile to grace his face. From the small bar of signal you had, you managed to gather basic information about him online. Such as his name and age

"Oh thank telamon— y-you're alright.. I wasn't sure if my skills were enough in the predicament you were in.."

"You should uh.. be good now though! I fixed some lines in your coding"

He let out a sigh of relief, before he leaned back, bit his lip and scratched the back of his neck. A series of mumbling left his mouth mixed with criticism towards your creators skills, you couldn't help but feel clear disdain yet you obviously couldnt vocalize them. Not when you owed him one for helping you back there

Although your distaste for his choice of words was obvious as he felt your glare pierce a hole in his head. The air suddenly grew heavy. 007n7 Stood up hastily, a spew of incoherent words that sounded like apologies before ultimately trying to leave. Yet you denied him the option so, you clutched his wrist in a tight grip that had him trembling. The brunette was expecting harsh words but what came next was far different from it, instead the words that left your mouth was a request.

A request that asked for his knowledge about this 'Hell' Builderman claimed it to be, which ultimately shocked you too. Those words came out without your usual logical line of thinking, the thing that aided you in unpredictable times like these

Fortunately for you, or thank telamon above as they say, 007n7 agreed to do so. Definitely because of the vacant stare you had at the time followed by the tight hold you had on him. Totally not.. Well whatever, he agreed to it nonetheless and he surely couldn't back out now!

A few.. Days? Weeks? Months? It was difficult to tell even when you were made out of advance technology, but you don't believe you're at fault for that, not when majority of your programming required a strong connection at the very least. All you knew was that minutes were passing and every second you weren't nearby your now friend, 007n7, the familiar heat was building up in your system

Speaking of 007n7, after awhile he seemed to finally ease up around you, which was good news! The bad news? You had to go against your program majority of the time which was to never lie just to be around him. Why, you may ask? Well simply because he was the only person who made you feel.. What robloxians referred to as 'Happy'. Despite having 'befriended' the other survivors and them being decent company, they couldn't replicate the feeling of friendship 007n7 supplied you with

This was surely against your codes but you didn't care. If anything, it only made you feel like a robloxian, not a hunk of steel that could only understand emotions but not feel them. Desires outside of banning exploiters were definitely outside what you were made for, but it only proved you were anything but just a walking vessel for the admin team. Something outside endless lines of binary codes and programming

Well, the feeling didn't last for long. Not when you found something out about your dear friend that would leave you in a wrecked state.

Builderman could no longer stand seeing a creation of his and his team hang around somebody they were coded to ban, especially when it was obvious the pair were getting closer to each other every round. So he did what he felt like he was supposed to do

You were sat down by Builderman in the living room, and the words that left his mouth had left you stunned. The person you were getting attached to, 007n7, had.. history of hacking? That wasn't something your line of codes could ignore or let pass. A surge of banning methods entered your head and your hands itched to execute them on 007n7 with no hesitation. Your hands clenched to a fist before it opened repeatedly and you felt your eye twitch

But instead of acting out on the thoughts, you held onto any semblence of self control a robot could possibly have and the good memories you were able to make with the former hacker. You grabbed a nearby pillow, walked away from the cabin filled with survivors and burrowed your face onto the plush item before you released the pent up frustration and anger you managed to gather in one sitting. Now the real question was, how were you supposed to deal with the aftermath..?

.

.

.

:My phone died half way so I had to write a new ending for this because i couldn't save it..

[emmiesoverthemoon]

AISLE BE DAMNED

three: please do not touch me

wc: 6.9k ss count: 8 < previous | navigation | next >

tuesday, 1:34pm

wednesday, 9:24am

wednesday, 10:05am

wednesday, 10:28am

you hear his knock on your door comes two minutes earlier than you expect. classical.

for some reason, you feel unprepared for his arrival. not in the way that you are physically unprepared—your hair’s pulled back, there’s lip balm on, the table’s been cleared enough to look lived-in but not messy—but emotionally and mentally? you are not ready.

because minho is on the other side of the door.

minho, who you have not seen since the rehearsal. minho, who stood inches from your mouth and did not kiss you. minho, who texted like he was not thinking about you in your dress when he closed his eyes that night.

you inhale through your nose. exhale once.

then open the door.

he’s in jeans and a blue hoodie this time— his hood down, sleeves pushed up, hair a little softer than usual like he ran a hand through it too many times before knocking. the loose curls that frame his face give him a boyish charm that is too endearing for you to handle.

he looks like nothing. and also everything.

he raises one hand which holds your forgotten folder.

the other— your coffee order.

for a moment, you beam at the sight. then, you recover from his kind gesture, and squint at the tray. “you got the right order?”

“you doubt me?” he gasps, faux-offended. “you think i don’t know how to read your coffee order by now?”

you reach to take it. your fingers brush his. you do not flinch. but your stomach tightens, traitorous.

“…you really didn’t have to come all this way,” you say, stepping back.

“it’s all good,” he waves. “the world might have ended if you didn't have this. i was going to be in this area today anyway.”

he wasn’t. he was absolutely not. but he’d mentally mapped the route from his to your house the second you had asked, then spent ten minutes trying to style his hair to look like he hadn’t tried.

you hesitate. “you, uh… wanna come in?”

yeah, he does.

he nods, follows you inside.

he looks around like he did the first time, cataloguing every scent and colour and item on the counter. the air smells the same again. vanilla, warm linen. something sweet. him.

your table is half-covered in wedding prep— open laptop, florals spreadsheet, vendor notes, highlighters that match the season’s palette.

he glances at it all, then at you. “working brunch?”

“you know it,” you sigh, reaching for a pastry on a napkin. “it’s just vibes and multitasking over here.”

he hums, setting the folder down on the table. “your vibe is chaos.”

“your vibe is pretending you weren’t coming here anyway just to check on me.”

he gives you a look that says he disagrees.

but his ears go a little pink, and that says he agrees.

you sit across from each other, coffees between you. you mean to go back to work. you mean to talk about the seating list or the updated vendor times.

instead— a blanket of silence coats you both.

but it’s not sharp. not like the kind that used to fill the space between you. now it’s careful. curious. something like suspended gravity.

you tap your nail on the cup. “so…”

he perks up at the sound of your voice. are his eyes always so cute when his attention has been caught?

you blink. “nothing.”

he watches your hands as you reach for the pastry. he remembers those hands— how they kept brushing his under the string lights. how you adjusted his collar before his practice toast like you were allowed to. like you should.

he looks away.

“i didn’t mind,” he lifts the blanket of silence.

you glance up. “what?”

“coming over here. to return it.” he nods toward the folder.

“oh.” you pause. then quieter, “i kinda figured. otherwise you would’ve drop-kicked it onto my porch and fled.”

he smirks. “i was tempted.”

you laugh. and it hits him, all over again— how easy it is now. how you make the apartment feel warmer. how your face does that soft thing when you forget to guard it.

he shifts. leans back, stretches out his legs just a little under the table.

you don’t move away.

you stir your coffee to put your mind on something that isn't “look at his hands.”

you fail.

his voice cuts in, low and too smooth. “so… are you always so creative in your ways of asking me to hang out?”

“no,” you deny instantly, too fast.

he quirks an eyebrow.

you roll your eyes, flustered. “okay maybe. it just felt rude to make you come here and not offer you entry. or a snack. or… my eternal gratitude.”

“eternal, huh?”

you sip your drink. “limited-time offer. expires by the next disaster.”

“so probably in, like, forty minutes?”

you shrug. “depends how long you stay.”

he swallows. not coffee. something thicker. something caught in his throat.

your knees bump under the table.

neither of you flinch.

he glances down. then up at you.

you blink at him. mouth parted. like maybe, maybe, if he leaned forward even an inch, you wouldn’t pull away.

but he doesn’t.

he blinks, shakes his head slightly like he’s waking up. and you look down at your drink again, pulse stuttering in your wrist.

the folder sits between you like an anchor. like a reminder.

he watches you open the spreadsheet on your laptop again, fingers tapping aimlessly across the trackpad. you don’t tell him to leave. he doesn’t ask you to stay.

the coffee cools.

your hands keep almost touching.

you keep almost saying things.

and neither of you quite knows how to breathe through it.

“so,” you say finally, mouth full of pastry. “do you always deliver office supplies with nice drinks or am i just special?”

he lifts his cup. “depends. do the others give me that smile when i bring their order?”

your breath stutters.

“…what smile?”

he looks at you directly. his expression unreadable.

the pause stretches again, warm and long and stupid.

“never mind,” he glances away. “i must’ve imagined it.”

you don’t respond. not in words.

but you keep smiling.

even after he leaves.

even after you close the door and exhale like you’ve just surfaced from underwater.

as you pad back to your laptop to resume working, you notice blue fabric meticulously draped over one of your dining chairs. unmistakeably, it's minho's hoodie.

“he's not one to forget things...” you mutter to no audience. did he leave this behind on purpose? feeding your impulses, you slide the hoodie on. it's remarkably comfortable. so warm, so him.

feeling cold all of a sudden, you slip your hands into the front pocket, your fingertips brushing... paper? curiously, you pull it out and see that in his pocket is a sticky note in his handwriting.

he left it in his own pocket as if he had known your curiosity would get the better of you.

smiling softly, you fold the note in half and hide it in your drawer.

for safekeeping.

saturday, 1:05pm

you’re waiting outside with a thermos in one hand and too many bags in the other when his car pulls up.

he’s five minutes later than the time you both had arranged he'd collect you by. which is, for minho, a catastrophic delay.

you smirk when he rolls down the window.

“who's not so on schedule now, hm?” you call. “what happened? did the world end and no one told me?”

he looks at you flatly. “you try packing for a site visit and an outdoor chef's tasting on such short notice without forgetting the emergency binder.”

“rookie mistake,” you tease, opening the passenger door and sliding in. “should’ve colour-coded your to-do list.”

he doesn’t respond. he just eyes your pile of snacks like it personally offends him. “did you bring enough to survive an apocalypse, or…?”

“you say that now,” you grin, buckling in, “but wait until hour two and a half when your mood crashes and you start eyeing my sour gummies like they’re salvation.”

he scoffs. “i have self-control.”

you shoot him a look, biting back your smile. “yeah, okay.”

he glances sideways as he pulls onto the road. “also, that’s my hoodie.”

you glance down.

it is. the blue one he left behind when he last saw you. the blue one that had the sticky note purposefully left for you in the pocket. the blue one that you had conveniently forgotten to tell him he had deserted.

“oh,” you hum, twirling your fingers in the drawstrings. “is it?”

he raises a brow.

you shrug. “you left it on the chair when you were over. i rescued it from a sad, lonely death.”

“you mean stole it.”

“i mean repurposed it into something better. namely: me wearing it.”

his jaw tightens. like he’s trying not to grin. like he is so close to making a comment that might cross a line.

you settle back into the seat, clicking on the playlist you made the night before. it starts with something breezy. something with harmonies. the car fills with soft guitar and late-morning light.

twenty minutes in, you’ve opened your first snack and tucked your feet up. your thigh brushes his arm when you reach for the glovebox. your laughter keeps slipping out without warning.

minho doesn’t say much. but every time you glance over, he’s already looking at you.

not staring.

just… noticing.

the way you tap your fingers to the beat. the way you gesture wildly when you talk. the way you tilt your head against the headrest when you laugh, eyes half-lidded with comfort.

you look at home here. in his passenger seat.

dangerous.

"what?" you ask when you catch him again. "do i have a crumb on my face or something?"

he blinks once, caught. then shrugs. "no. you're just loud."

"so rude," you gasp. "you know, most people would be grateful for my sparkling road trip presence."

"most people aren’t trapped in a car with it for three hours."

you toss a gummy at him.

he doesn’t flinch. just catches it with one hand and pops it in his mouth like it’s exactly what he wanted.

you stare.

“…that was illegal.”

he smirks, eyes still on the road. “so’s your playlist.”

“excuse me, this is curated excellence.”

“i will eject you from this vehicle.”

you sit back, victorious. “you wouldn't dare. you’re too obsessed with me.”

he doesn’t respond.

but he doesn’t disagree either.

you stop once at a petrol station for more coffee and to stretch your legs. when you return to the car, you hesitate before climbing in.

the sun’s fully up now. his hoodie is still warm. your cheeks still ache from smiling.

when you shut the door, the silence is soft. full of unspoken ease. you glance sideways. he’s already looking at you again.

“what?” you whisper.

his eyes don’t move. “nothing.”

but it sounds like something.

you both turn forward again.

you’re halfway down the next stretch of highway before you realise you’re humming to the next song in sync, and he’s tapping his fingers against the steering wheel like your rhythm is something he’s memorised.

you don’t say anything.

neither does he.

but something about this feels dangerously close to real.

like if you reached across the centre console right now and laced your fingers with his, he might not let go.

like if he pulled over and kissed you breathless, it would feel inevitable.

you look out the window, watching as the trees sped by, as the wind bustled through each branch, as the occasional bird glided across the faraway fields. you say nothing.

and minho keeps driving like he is not currently falling for someone in his passenger seat.

but you are. and he is too.

saturday, 4:25pm

you arrive at the vineyard just as the sun begins to dip low over the hills, stretching shadows across the driveway like silk ribbon.

everything smells like lavender and crushed thyme.

the building rises soft and pale at the edge of the estate— weathered limestone walls, copper light fixtures catching the last of the day, the sky melting gold behind it all like a postcard you accidentally stepped into.

minho parks without a word.

the engine cuts off. the silence feels gentler than usual.

you glance at him once before stepping out. he’s already getting your bag from the back, already brushing his sleeve down with his palm like he’s resetting.

you don’t ask why he offered to drive. or why he loaded and unloaded everything himself, not allowing you a second to offer help. or why, when you brought up the vineyard tour and tasting happening the following week, he let you know that he'll “be there to pick you up by 1pm, because driving together is more efficient,” like it was obvious.

you just follow him into the building, the air inside cool and linen-scented, your footsteps soft on the polished floorboards.

check-in is quiet. professional.

the receptionist hands over one key card.

you pause for a second— just a breath. then minho takes it, slips it into his back pocket like he’s done it a hundred times before.

“my cousin booked for us,” you offer, too casually. “she said something about this being all that was left on such short notice. i didn’t ask.”

he nods. “i don't mind sharing if you don't, the groom told me the same thing.”

you nod. but your chest feels a little louder than it should.

the room that's been booked for you is upstairs, corner end. high ceilings. tall windows. one bed.

you drop your bags just inside the doorway and cross to the open window, hands braced on the sill. the vineyard rolls out in front of you— rows of grapevines arcing in even lines beneath a sky turning honey-warm. it’s… perfect.

“wow,” you breathe. “she really snapped with this.”

behind you, minho chuckles low in his throat. it sounds different here. less clipped. warmer.

you turn around slowly. he’s standing at the foot of the bed, looking down at the folded welcome card left on the pillow. the afternoon light cuts across his profile, golden at the edge, turning his lashes amber and the collar of his button-down somehow criminal.

he glances up and catches you staring.

“what?” he asks.

you blink. “nothing. just— nice shirt.”

he raises an eyebrow, gripping the hem on the shirt, “it's just a plain white button down. nothing special.”

you scoff. “doesn’t mean i expected it to look good.”

he smirks, mouth twitching like he’s not trying too hard to hide it. “should i be flattered or insulted?”

“i think you know.”

he sits on the edge of the bed and toes off his shoes. his movements are smooth. unconcerned. like there’s nothing strange about this. about him, and you, and one bed, and the door that clicks softly shut behind you like it’s sealing something in.

you toe your own shoes off. stretch your arms overhead. feel your spine crack in four places.

“so,” you begin, brushing your fingers back through your hair. “we’ve got the vineyard tour at five. dinner after. tasting notes and palette cards are in my folder, and if you say anything mean about my colour-coded system again, i will genuinely key your car.”

“noted,” he nods, completely unbothered by your threat.

you sit at the edge of the bed beside him. close. not touching. but enough to feel the gravity of it.

you glance over.

his shoulders are relaxed. eyes a little tired. jaw loose like he’s already settled into the space.

he looks... soft.

not in a weak way. not in a way that makes him smaller.

but in a way that makes you wonder—quietly, a little stupidly—what he looks like when he’s just woken up. what it would be like to see him in this same bed, stretched out and undone, hand curled beneath the pillow.

you push the thought away before it finishes forming.

he notices your shift in posture. doesn’t say anything.

he just tilts his head slightly. enough that his temple almost grazes your shoulder.

and for one suspended second, you both just sit there— legs parallel, breath steady, eyes trained somewhere between the walls and the window, like the light in here could blind you if you moved too quickly.

“you hungry?” he breaks the silence finally.

you hum. “starving.”

he stands first. grabs his coat. tosses yours over without being asked.

“come on,” he tips his head toward the door. “let’s go charm a sommelier.”

you follow.

your bag stays at the foot of the bed, forgotten.

the key card rests in his back pocket, right where he left it.

and as the door swings shut behind you, the room stays warm, untouched. awaiting your accompanied return.

saturday, 5:08pm

the vineyard is all soft gold and green, light spilling low over the hills like syrup. the gravel path crunches beneath your shoes as you trail behind the tour guide, a young intern who seems more interested in naming every varietal of grape than actually selling you on the experience.

not that it matters. you’re already sold.

it's beautiful.

the rows stretch forever, symmetrical and wild all at once, every trellis wrapped in vine and humming with late afternoon bees. there’s something drowsy in the air, something gentle.

minho walks beside you, hands tucked into his coat pockets. he’s quiet, but not in a cold way. more like... measured. like he is aware of the hush, and does not want to disturb it.

you glance over at him once. catch the soft set of his mouth. the way his eyes flick between the path and the horizon, as if memorising it. you’re not sure if he knows you’re watching, but he doesn’t look away.

you don’t either.

you slow when the tour guide pauses near the edge of a low stone wall. beyond it, the vineyard rolls into a hilltop view— olive trees in neat rows, flowerbeds blooming around a stone fountain. the reception lawn sits just beneath it, currently empty, though a few folding chairs have been left out for atmosphere.

“it’ll look even better lit up at dusk,” the tour guide smiles. “fairy lights everywhere. it can be really romantic.”

you glance at minho. not on purpose.

not like that.

except he’s already looking at you.

not with anything he’d say out loud. just… a flicker. a shift. something softer around the edges.

you clear your throat. look away. adjust your lanyard, even though there’s nothing wrong with it.

“this was a good choice,” he says, eventually.

you nod. “we nailed it.”

a beat.

then, a little quieter, he adds, “you nailed it.”

you blink. your stomach flips a little.

for a second, neither of you says anything. minho suddenly finds the plants next to him extremely interesting.

then—softly, eyes still on the vines—he says, “they were right when they called you a visionary.”

you blink.

“…what?”

he shrugs. still not looking at you. “this. all of it. the way you see things before they even exist. the way you make it feel like something.”

you stare.

not because it’s so unexpected—he’s been doing this lately, offering things he doesn’t realise are compliments until they’re already out—but because of the way he says it. quiet. sincere. like it’s a fact.

you try to laugh it off. “where's the minho i know? because you must be an imposter.”

he finally glances at you. unreadable.

“maybe i’m just warming up.”

and you—unthinkingly, unguardedly—say, “maybe i like you better warm.”

he doesn’t answer.

but his mouth twitches like he might.

then the tour guide calls from down the path, and the moment breaks.

“i think you're good at this too,” you say over your shoulder, walking briskly to the tour guide. you don't want him to see the flush steadily rising to your face.

the next stop is a rose-covered pergola near the ceremony garden. the roses are in full bloom, thick and perfumed and impossibly lush. you tilt your face toward the air instinctively, eyes half-lidded. it smells like everything you imagined the wedding might.

minho moves beside you, close enough that your arms brush.

you don’t move away.

when you reach the terrace just before the reception hall, the tour guide steps aside to let you linger.

“you’ll have the tasting in here,” they gesture to the sunroom beyond the double doors. “the chef’s already setting up. champagne at six sharp. he’ll bring each dish out personally.”

minho hums beside you. you feel it more than hear it.

“do not be weird about it,” you murmur under your breath.

“define weird,” he murmurs back.

you elbow him, barely restrained. “do not call the risotto ‘fine’ with that face you make. he’s a michelin chef. he might cry.”

minho turns to you, full smug now. “i would never. i’m very charming.”

you scoff. “you’re a menace.”

“a charming menace,” he corrects, and you have to bite back your smile.

he bumps your shoulder, soft. not quite teasing. not quite not.

you sit on the edge of the low fountain outside while the tour guide excuses themself to prep the dinner space. minho sits beside you, knees bumping.

the sun is sliding lower now, brushing gold across the flagstones. the vines sway slightly in the breeze. you can hear a cork pop from somewhere in the kitchen.

your hand rests against the rim of the fountain. so does his.

not touching. but close.

he speaks first.

“this whole thing is going to be good.”

you nod. “yeah.”

“not just the wedding. i mean— your cousin. her future. their life together.”

you look over at him. the light casts amber along his cheekbones. he’s not smiling, but he’s not guarded either.

“you believe in that?” you ask.

“in them? yeah. of course.”

“no, i mean… in all of it.”

he’s quiet for a second.

then: “i didn’t used to.”

you blink. he’s watching the vines, not you.

“but?” you prompt, voice careful.

he exhales. glances down at your hand. then up again, catching your eyes.

“but lately, i think i do.”

you feel something settle low in your ribs. something soft. something terrifying.

you smile, but you feel it wobble. “yeah. me too.”

you both sit there until the champagne is called.

the sun touches the horizon.

and still, neither of you move.

saturday, 5:59pm

you’re seated at a table for two.

not a conference table. not a planning desk. not a folding chair covered in post-its. just… a regular, plain old dining table for two.

linen napkins. gold-rimmed plates. tall taper candles flickering between little bowls of rose petals and sugared citrus slices. the light is soft, golden, angled just so that it hits minho’s cheekbone like it’s trying to make a point.

you fiddle with your spoon.

this is not a date.

you are tasting the menu.

you are providing professional feedback for a wedding you have volunteered to co-coordinate from scratch.

this is work.

this is normal.

and yet—

minho shifts in his chair across from you, lifting his champagne flute to his mouth, and something about the movement—elegant, effortless, smug—makes your stomach do a low and alarming little somersault.

“what,” he questions, catching your stare.

“nothing,” you reply, too fast. “i just didn’t know you were left-handed.”

he blinks, pauses, then lifts the glass with his right hand instead. “better?”

you shake your head. “worse, actually.”

his mouth curls into a smirk.

the chef arrives before you can escalate.

he’s gracious and tall and introduces each dish like it is a love letter, which—to be fair—it might as well be. the food is ridiculous. in the best way possible. fennel panna cotta and pickled peaches on hand-pressed toast. creamy risotto with charred asparagus under parmesan snow. duck confit that melts the moment your fork so much as threatens it.

you take notes, because that is what you are here to do. you scribble them into your shared binder even as your handwriting deteriorates under candlelight.

minho says little, but his reactions are all over his face.

you tease him when he bites into the risotto and pauses like he’s about to cry. he accuses you of staring at him more than the food. you do not deny it. not out loud, anyway.

between courses, the champagne flows. just one glass. then another. and another.

somewhere around the fourth, you realise your shoes have slipped off beneath the table. minho’s jacket is draped over the back of his chair.

you are both flushed, soft at the edges.

the conversation begins to drift.

“they’re lucky,” you murmur, somewhere between dessert and delirium. “my cousin. like, stupidly lucky. to have all of this. to have… each other.”

minho hums, low. “yeah. agreed.”

you twirl your spoon absently in your sorbet. “you think you’d ever do it?”

he glances up.

you clarify, tipsy courage rising. “the whole thing. vows. rings. espresso martinis named after the family dog.”

he lifts a shoulder. “maybe.”

you raise an eyebrow. “maybe?”

“it depends.”

“on?”

he’s looking at you too directly now.

“on the person.”

your throat tightens. you push your spoon into the ice too hard.

“what about you?” he asks. his voice is gentler now. “would you?”

you pretend to be very interested in the tablecloth. “i think… maybe. if i met someone who made it all feel less terrifying.”

he goes still for a moment. just long enough that you finally look up at him again.

there is something in his expression— unreadable, but open. like he wants to say something. like he might.

you hold his gaze.

the air shifts.

your knees brush beneath the table. you do not pull away.

it would be so easy to say it. something real. something soft.

he opens his mouth.

but the server appears with one last pairing— chocolate tart with burnt caramel cream, topped with violets and gold flakes.

you blink.

minho sits back in his seat, face unreadable again. it almost looks like defeat.

you tell yourself you imagined the moment.

but when you hand him the dessert fork without looking, and his fingers brush yours— he lingers. just long enough to make you wonder.

and long enough that it burns when he lets go.

saturday, 8:42pm

the sky has turned plum-purple by the time you head back. there’s a dusky quiet to the vineyard now—twinkle lights humming, insects soft in the distance, gravel crunching under your shoes as you and minho walk back to the shared guesthouse in silence.

not a bad silence. in fact, in the most comfortable silence the two of you have shared since meeting.

you are warm from the champagne. head a little light from the laughter. your cheeks a little bit flushed, your body a little bit too aware of how close he’s walking beside you— how his hand keeps brushing yours when the path narrows, how the both of you pretend not to notice.

it had been a good day. unbelievably so. easy in a way nothing between you used to be. he’d made you laugh. you’d seen him smile, for real, more than once. and not just at you, but because of you.

and somewhere in the curve of those hours, you started to believe maybe—

maybe it was not just a fluke. not a good mood. not a trick of the light.

maybe he had started to feel the same thing. even if neither of you would say it.

maybe you were not crazy for how your pulse behaved around him. for the way your mouth kept betraying you with softness. for the way you thought about kissing him every time he so much as looked your way for a second too long.

the guesthouse comes into view. warm-lit. still.

you fidget with the hem of your sleeve as you climb the steps, then pause at the door— turning slightly.

“hey,” you say, quiet. “earlier, when i said you were good at this… i meant it.”

he looks over at you. something in his posture tenses, barely perceptible.

“like—” you continue, a bit shy now, filling the space between you, “not just the spreadsheets and scheduling and— whatever. i meant the way you handled the chef. and how you knew when to cut the tasting short. and the way you... made me laugh even when i thought today was probably gonna suck.”

you smile, a little nervous.

“you’re kind, minho. whether or not you want people to see it.”

he doesn’t answer.

you wait. the air is suddenly heavy.

his fingers curl slightly at his side.

“…don’t,” he says finally, not meeting your eyes.

you blink. “what?”

“don’t do that.”

your chest goes still.

“don’t say things like that just to make it easier.”

“easier?” you repeat.

he exhales sharply, stepping forward to push open the door. “it’s fine. we’re almost done with all this. we don’t have to pretend to like each other anymore.”

his voice is too flat. too practiced. like it's rehearsed. like he has already decided the ending of something you thought was still unfolding.

you follow him inside, stunned. a slow ache forming behind your ribs.

“you think i was pretending?” you ask, voice low.

he doesn’t look at you.

you step forward.

“is that what you really think? that i just say nice things for fun?”

“you say them to everyone,” he mutters, tossing his jacket onto the chair by the desk. “you’re nice to everyone. i’m not special.”

your stomach flips.

“minho,” you say, more breath than word. “that’s not fair.”

“it’s not supposed to be fair,” he snaps, spinning to face you now. “this isn’t some fairy tale wedding for us. it’s work. and it’s almost over. so stop trying to act like this is something it’s not.”

you go still.

the silence that follows is enormous.

then, quieter:

“you think i’m acting?” you ask. you can hear the cracks forming in your heart leaking out through your throat.

he doesn’t reply.

“you think this is just a game to me?”

again, nothing.

your face burns, but not with champagne anymore. with hurt. hurt fuelled anger.

you nod once. sharp. then turn to grab your things.

minho’s eyes widen slightly.

“what are you doing?”

“leaving.”

“you don’t need to—”

“i’m not sleeping in the same room as someone who thinks i’ve been toying with him this whole time.”

“i didn’t mean—”

“no, you did. you just don’t know what you meant until it’s too late.”

you shove your folder back into your bag. find your phone. grab your jacket.

“you spent the whole day acting like you saw me. really saw me. and i let myself believe it wasn’t just in my head. but you know what? you win. this is just work. we’re just co-workers. bye minho.”

you don’t allow yourself to cry in front of him. you’re too angry to.

you don’t give him a chance to stop you.

you walk out of the room with your head high, even though your heart is unravelling behind your ribs like thread in a flame.

behind you, minho doesn’t follow.

not at first. instantaneous guilt has him shellshocked.

the door closes behind you with a finality that makes him flinch.

not a slam. just a click. soft. gentle. but absolute.

like you meant it that way.

like it was a kindness.

like you knew anything louder might break him entirely.

he hears the echo of your footsteps fade down the hall. hears the slow roll of the elevator doors. and then— nothing.

a hollow silence rushes in to fill the space where your presence had been.

he is still standing in the middle of the room. fully dressed. barely breathing. eyes fixed on the carpet where your bag had been. where you had been. where he had said—

god.

he presses his palms into his eyes like pressure might rewind time. or at least block out the memory.

but it doesn’t.

he still hears his voice. sharp. scared. cruel in the way fear always is, when it doesn’t know how else to defend itself.

he hears the silence that followed. the way your face fell. the way you didn’t even fight back, just… went quiet.

that was the worst part.

not the argument. not the words.

but your silence.

your decision to give up on him without needing to yell.

like you were done.

like you didn’t see anything left to save.

he swallows, jaw clenched.

his hands won’t stop shaking.

and all he can think is: you were kind to me. and i punished you for it.

he sits down on the edge of the bed.

the sheets still hold the shape of you.

he stares at them like they might open up and swallow him whole.

but nothing happens.

just the low thrum of blood in his ears. the phantom trace of your perfume still clinging to the air. the ghost of a touch that never happened.

he has never hated himself more.

saturday, 9:15pm

you do not go home. not yet.

you sit in the lobby like it's a waiting room for a version of the night that went differently. your coat is folded stiffly over your lap, one hand curled beneath it like you are trying to hold yourself together from the inside out. your bag rests by your feet, half-zipped, your folder poking out slightly— mocking, maybe. your phone sits face-down beside your untouched tea. the string from the teabag hangs limp over the side, the tag damp against the porcelain, curling like a question you do not want to answer.

it's late. too late to be here. too late to still feel this raw.

you are angry, yes.

but more than that, you are humiliated. gutted.

hollow in a way that feels unfair.

you hadn't planned on opening up. you hadn't planned on being soft.

but you had let yourself imagine it. this soft something forming between you. the almost-touch. the laughs. the weight of his gaze in a crowded room. the way he’d started saying your name differently— like he liked the way it fit in his mouth.

you let yourself believe.

you had not expected to feel like this.

you had not expected him.

and now—

now you are unraveling. quietly. carefully. one word at a time.

because you swore that he had looked at you like he wanted more. like he saw more.

because when you’d said that thing—when you’d let something sweet slip between your ribs and rise up into the air between you—you had thought he might meet you there.

you had thought—

and that’s the worst part.

you had hoped.

and instead of answering you, he recoiled. instead of offering anything real, he flinched. lashed out. said something sharp and cynical and cruel, like he’d been waiting for you to show a weak spot just so he could press there.

your breath still catches when you think about the way he said it.

about the way you stood there, lips parted, trying not to let it show.

you had not cried. not then. not even when the door shut behind you. not when you booked a last-minute hotel room with shaking hands and a credit card that would absolutely punish you for this later.

you had held it in.

and now it’s all pressing up against your throat.

you breathe, shallow and slow.

inhale. exhale. do not blink too hard. do not give the pain a place to live.

the lobby is still. quiet except for the occasional murmur of a night staffer or the gentle churn of a distant ice machine. some faint instrumental jazz filters through the overhead speakers, and it is almost insulting how calm everything feels. how nothing around you reflects the mess blooming in your chest.

you had let yourself imagine it.

the softness of something unspoken.

the not-quite-touching of it.

his gaze across a shared plate, lingering too long.

the way he’d started saying your name like he was trying it out for something longer.

something more permanent.

you let yourself believe.

and now you are sitting in a borrowed lobby, swallowing the ache like it is something earned.

your tea goes cold.

your hands stay folded in your lap.

your throat never unclenches.

your phone lights up.

you do not reach for it.

but you see it anyway.

his name. again. and again. and again.

you do not open them.

you let the notifications burn on your lock screen like the memory of his voice still echoing through your skull.

you do not touch the tea.

you do not cry.

you turn your face away from the phone like that might make it all quieter.

and you stay there—too proud to answer, too hurt to move— sitting in the wreckage of what could have been.

saturday, 10:25pm

minho stares at the crack in the ceiling like it holds the answer.

the room is quiet in that unnerving kind of way. too quiet. not even the hum of the heater cuts through it. the vineyard beyond the window lies steeped in moonlight and stillness. no footsteps in the hall. no laugh across the room. not even the sound of you shifting in your sleep.

because you are not here.

because he drove you away.

he has not turned the lights on. he is sitting in the dark like he deserves it. like maybe if he keeps the shadows close enough, he will not have to look directly at the space beside him. the hollow where your suitcase had been. the bed still faintly dented from where you’d sat earlier that afternoon, soft with the scent of your perfume and sun.

his phone sits on the nightstand. dark. no reply.

he knows you're a smart woman, and that you wouldn't do something reckless. but he just wishes he had the assurance that you were safe. who knows what could happen at this time of night.

he runs a hand over his face, jaw clenched. breath shallow. eyes burning.

he feels sick. if you're at risk, it's entirely his fault.

he had not meant to say what he said. not like that. not with the bite of panic behind his voice, the sharp edge of fear curling into accusation. he had not meant to take your gentleness and twist it into something ugly.

but it had come out anyway.

because he was afraid.

because you had looked at him like he mattered.

because he had fallen so fast.

because feeling this way was entirely foreign to someone like him.

and that scared the hell out of him.

he has always been good at keeping things controlled. tidy. distant. feelings were a loose thread he never pulled, too afraid the whole thing would unravel.

and now here he is. unravelled. completely.

because he had let his guard down and you had said something kind and his heart had believed you. and for a moment—just one shimmering second—he had thought maybe you meant it. maybe you saw him. maybe all of this tension was something else, something more.

and then it all snapped.

he’d heard himself say those words and hated them as soon as they landed. cruel, defensive, hollow. he had watched your expression fall and wanted to take them back instantly—

but pride has a sharp tongue and panic is more vicious than regret.

and so you had left.

and he had allowed you to.

now the silence is cavernous.

he rolls over.

stares at the empty half of the bed.

runs a hand through his hair until it tugs.

and wonders how the hell he is supposed to fix something he just shattered with his own hands.

he thinks about your face when you’d looked at him— heart open and ready for him to fall in in your eyes, mouth tight with the effort of holding all your affections in. he thinks about the folder you’d left behind in his car on purpose, he’s almost sure it was on purpose. and how much that had meant to him, even if he had not known how to say it.

restless from paranoia and stress, he reaches for his phone once more. his fingertips dance across the keyboard, sending words so quickly his brain doesn't have the opportunity to regulate them.

his mouth faster than his frontal lobe.

he really is more alike to you than he initially thought, huh?

he pulls the blanket over his chest but it provides him no warmth. no solace.

and he knows, as surely as he knows the shape of your laugh in a quiet room,

that this is not something he can fix with a checklist.

this is something he has to feel through.

own.

bleed for, if he has to.

but tonight—

he just lies there.

alone.

aching.

and missing you so loudly it hurts to breathe.

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hope you enjoyed chapter 3!!! stick around for chapter 4 and 5 :)

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[iamquiantrelle]

W1LL U L13? (part one) • kylian mbappe (iamquaintrelle)

# pairings: kylian mbappe x fem! black singer reader (fc: ronisia) # summary: ballers were never your thing, and one little blind date wouldn't change that, will it? ♡ masterlist // send me an ask # tags: @szariahwroteit @muglermami @sailurmewn @perfecttrashface @angstdaddy @jasmystique, @jupias, @dima-lfc # warnings: cursing, enemies to lovers, blind date trope # chapter inspo: W1LL U L13 by SAILORR

The bass line thumped through your chest as you adjusted the headphones, eyes closed, completely lost in the rhythm that had been haunting you for weeks. The melody was there—sultry, hypnotic, begging to be turned into something that would make people stop everything they were doing and just feel. But the words? The fucking words were being stubborn as hell.

"Y/N," your producer's voice crackled through the intercom, pulling you back to the present. "That's a wrap for today. You've been at it for six hours straight."

You opened your eyes, blinking against the soft lighting of the Madrid studio you'd been calling home for the past month. The city had become your temporary sanctuary while you worked on your sophomore album—far enough from Brussels to give you space to breathe, close enough to everything that mattered in the European music scene.

"Just give me ten more minutes," you said into the mic, knowing damn well ten minutes would turn into two hours if he let you.

"Nah, you're done. Go eat something that isn't from a vending machine."

You laughed despite yourself, pulling off the headphones and stretching arms that had been cramped over the keyboard for way too long. Madrid had been good to you—the energy here was different, more vibrant than the structured perfection of Brussels or the calculated chaos of Paris. Here, you could disappear into the music without someone constantly asking about your "brand" or your "next career move."

Your phone buzzed against the mixing board. A text from your brother, naturally, because he had some kind of sixth sense about when you'd been working too hard.

Keem: how's the hermit life treating you?

You: perfectly, thanks. no annoying little brothers bothering me every five minutes

Keem: speaking of annoying... brice wants to know if you're free tomorrow night

You rolled your eyes so hard it actually hurt. Brice Tchaga—your brother's boss at the barbershop, occasional pain in your ass, and apparently self-appointed matchmaker since you'd moved to Madrid.

You: tell brice i'm busy

Keem: with what? sitting in a studio talking to yourself?

You: it's called WORKING marcus. some of us have careers

Keem: some of us also have lives outside of work

Keem: seriously though, he thinks you'd really like this guy

You: hard pass. you know how i feel about setups

And you did. You'd made your feelings about blind dates very clear after the disaster that was your last relationship. Some aspiring rapper from Antwerp who'd thought dating you would be his ticket to industry connections. Three months of your life you'd never get back, spent with someone who saw you as a networking opportunity rather than a person.

Your phone rang before you could type another rejection.

"I'm not changing my mind," you said without preamble.

"Hear me out," Brice's voice came through, smooth as always. You could practically hear him smirking. "This isn't some random dude I found on the street."

"Oh great, so he's a random dude you found in your chair. Much better."

"He's a footballer."

"Even worse." You started packing up your things, already mentally planning your evening of takeout and Netflix. "You know how I feel about athletes, Brice."

"This one's different."

"They're all different until they're exactly the same." You'd had this conversation before. Athletes were a hard no for you—too much ego, too much attention, too many options. They collected women like boots, and you weren't interested in being anyone's brief, brand-new pair.

"He's not what you think—"

"Let me guess. He's 'not like other guys,' right? He's 'looking for something real'?" You shouldered your bag, heading for the studio exit. "Save it. I've heard it all before."

"Y/N, come on. When's the last time you went on an actual date?"

The question hit a little too close to home. The truth was, it had been months. Maybe longer. Between touring, recording, and the general chaos of your career, dating had fallen somewhere between "learning Italian" and "reorganizing your closet" on your priority list.

"That's not the point," you said, pushing through the studio doors into the warm Madrid evening. "I'm not looking to waste my time with some guy who thinks his bank account is a personality trait."

"This guy's not like that."

"You said that about the last one."

"The last one was an accident. This one's different, I swear."

You stopped walking, something in Brice's tone making you pause. "Different how?"

"Different like... he doesn't really date. Like, at all. Dude's basically a monk with a football."

That was... unexpected. In your experience, famous athletes were usually the opposite of monastic. "What's wrong with him?"

"Nothing's wrong with him! Jesus, Y/N, not every man is damaged goods."

"The famous ones usually are."

"Look," Brice sighed, and you could hear the sound of clippers in the background. "Just meet him for dinner. One meal. If you hate him, I'll never set you up again."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

You considered this. One dinner in exchange for permanent freedom from Brice's matchmaking attempts? That was actually a pretty good deal.

"Fine," you said finally. "One dinner. But if he shows up in designer everything and starts talking about his car collection, I'm leaving."

"Deal. Tomorrow, eight p.m. I'll text you the details."

"This better not be some fancy place where I need to dress up."

"Would I do that to you?"

"You once tried to set me up with a guy who brought his personal photographer to document our date."

"That was ONE TIME."

You laughed despite yourself. "Text me the address, Brice. And this better not be a disaster."

"It won't be. I got a good feeling about this one."

You hung up and immediately regretted agreeing. The last thing you needed was another awkward dinner with some athlete who'd spend the entire time talking about himself. But a promise was a promise, and at least you'd get a good meal out of it.

Your apartment in Madrid's Salamanca district was a far cry from the chaos of your Brussels flat. Here, everything was all warm colors, a space that actually felt like home instead of just somewhere to keep your stuff. You'd fallen in love with the neighborhood's tree-lined streets and quiet charm—a perfect contrast to the energy of the studios where you spent most of your time.

You poured yourself a glass of wine and settled onto the couch, your phone buzzing with a text from Brice.

Brice: reservations at ramón freixa madrid, 8pm tomorrow. wear something nice

You nearly choked on your wine. Ramón Freixa? That was a Michelin-starred restaurant. Either this guy was seriously loaded, or Brice was trying way too hard to impress you.

You: are you INSANE?

Brice: he insisted. said he wanted to make a good first impression

You: or he's trying to show off

Brice: maybe just... give him a chance?

You stared at your phone, already feeling the familiar knot of anxiety in your stomach. Fancy restaurants meant expectations. Expectations meant pressure. Pressure meant disaster.

But you'd already agreed, and backing out now would mean months of Brice guilt-tripping you about wasting his friend's time.

You: if this goes badly, i'm sending you the therapy bills

Brice: fair enough

********************************************************

Standing in front of your closet, you realized you had absolutely nothing appropriate for dinner. Everything was either too casual, too sexy, or screamed "I'm trying too hard."

You finally settled on a black midi dress that managed to be elegant without being overstated, paired with heels that added just enough height to make you feel confident. Your soft curls fell perfectly around your shoulders after an hour of careful styling, and you'd kept your makeup simple—you wanted to look nice, not like you were performing.

The ride to the restaurant gave you time to rehearse your escape plan. One course, maybe two if he was particularly boring, then you'd claim an early morning meeting and disappear. Simple, clean, efficient.

Ramón Freixa Madrid was exactly as intimidating as you'd expected—all sleek surfaces and ambient lighting, the kind of place where people spoke in hushed tones and the silverware probably cost more than your car. You felt overdressed and underdressed simultaneously, which was a special kind of anxiety you'd forgotten existed.

"Bonsoir, mademoiselle," the hostess greeted you in perfect French, probably recognizing your Belgian accent. "Table for two?"

"I'm meeting someone. The reservation should be under..." You paused, realizing you had no idea what name the reservation was under. "Actually, I'm not sure. My friend set it up."

"Ah, you must be Y/N. Right this way."

She led you through the restaurant to a quiet corner table where a man sat with his back to you, scrolling through his phone. Dark hair cut in a perfect fade with waves on top, broad shoulders filling out what looked like an expensive shirt, the kind of posture that suggested either supreme confidence or complete boredom.

When he looked up, you nearly stopped walking.

Because sitting at your table, looking just as surprised to see you as you were to see him, was Kylian Mbappé.

Shit.

You knew that face—everyone knew that face. But more than that, you remembered him. Vaguely. Some event in Paris last year, maybe? You'd been introduced in passing, exchanged maybe five words before getting pulled in different directions. He'd seemed nice enough, polite, but you'd been too busy being annoyed by the pretentious art gallery crowd to pay much attention.

Now, seeing him again, you realized your mistake. Because Kylian Mbappé was gorgeous in the way that made your brain temporarily forget how to form coherent sentences. Sharp jawline, expressive eyes, and a dimpled smile that suggested he found something about this situation amusing.

Double shit.

"Y/N?" He stood as you approached, and you were struck by how tall he was. Your heels put you at a decent height, but he still had several inches on you.

"Kylian." You accepted the hand he offered, trying to ignore the way his fingers lingered just a moment longer than necessary. "Small world."

"Very small," he agreed, that slight accent making the words sound warmer than they probably were. "Please, sit."

The hostess pulled out your chair, and you settled across from him, acutely aware that this had just become infinitely more complicated. This wasn't just some random footballer Brice had found—this was Kylian fucking Mbappé. Real Madrid's golden boy. One of the most famous athletes in the world.

And he was your blind date.

"So," you said, reaching for your water glass because you needed something to do with your hands. "I'm guessing you didn't know it was me either?"

"Brice was... vague about the details." Kylian's smile was wry. "He just said he knew someone who might be interesting."

"Interesting. That's one way to put it."

"You disagree?"

You considered this, studying his face for any sign of the arrogance you'd expected. Instead, you found something that looked almost like curiosity. "I think Brice has a weird sense of humor."

"Maybe." Kylian flagged down a waiter, switching effortlessly to Spanish. "Wine? Or are you one of those people who doesn't drink on first dates?"

"I drink. But this isn't really a date, is it? It's more like... an ambush."

He laughed, and the sound was warm, genuine. "An ambush. I like that." The waiter approached, and Kylian rattled off something in rapid Spanish that sounded expensive. "You speak Spanish?"

"Enough to get by. French, Dutch, English, a little Spanish. Job requirement."

"Right, you're a singer."

The way he said it wasn't dismissive exactly, but there was something in his tone that made you bristle slightly. "I am."

"I heard your last album. It was... nice."

Nice. You'd won three awards for that album, including Best French-Language Album at the European Music Awards, and he thought it was nice.

"Nice," you repeated, taking a sip of the wine he'd ordered. It was, predictably, excellent. "Wow, don't oversell it."

"I mean it as a compliment."

"Do you? Because 'nice' is what you say about your grandma's soup, not about someone's art."

Something shifted in his expression—amusement, maybe? "What would you want me to say?"

"How about honest? Did you actually listen to it, or are you just making conversation?"

Kylian leaned back in his chair, studying you with those dark eyes. "I listened to it. The whole thing. Twice, actually."

"And?"

"And what?"

"And what did you actually think? Not the polite, first-date version. The real version."

He was quiet for a moment, considering. "I thought it was really well done but... safe."

The words hit harder than they should have, probably because there was truth in them. Your first album had been carefully crafted, designed to appeal to the broadest possible audience without offending anyone or taking too many risks.

"Wow," you said, raising your glass in mock salute. "Tell me how you really feel."

"You asked for honest."

"I did." You took another sip of wine, reassessing. "Most people just tell me what they think I want to hear."

"Most people probably haven't heard what you sound like when you're not trying to please everyone."

That made you pause. "And you have?"

"I heard you at some party last year. You were drunk and singing along to some song I didn't know. You had your eyes closed, totally lost in it." He paused, something almost vulnerable flickering across his features. "That was the first time I actually heard you sing."

You remembered that night—vaguely. Some after-party following a fashion show, too much champagne, and a karaoke machine that had appeared from nowhere. You'd thought no one was paying attention.

"You were watching me?"

"Everyone was watching you. But I don't think you noticed."

The admission hung between you, heavier than it should have been. You'd been so focused on hating the idea of this date that you hadn't considered the possibility that he might actually be... interesting.

"So what's your deal?" you asked, deflecting.

"My deal?"

"Yeah. Brice said you don't date."

Kylian's laugh was dry. "I don't. Usually."

"But?"

"But he was very persuasive. And persistent."

"Join the club." You studied his face, looking for cracks in the facade. "What's the real reason? Because 'persistent friend' doesn't explain why one of the most famous footballers in the world agreed to a blind date with someone he barely knows."

He was quiet for a long moment, twirling his wine glass between his fingers. "Maybe I was curious."

"About?"

"About you. About what kind of person says no to being set up like five times before finally saying yes."

"Who says I said no five times?"

"Brice. He's been trying to make this happen for months."

Months? You were going to kill Brice. "He never mentioned that."

"He thought you might run if you knew how long he'd been planning this."

"He was right." You leaned back, reassessing everything. "So this whole thing was like... a setup?"

"More like a really long game."

Despite yourself, you were almost impressed. "And you went along with it?"

"Eventually." Kylian's smile was self-deprecating. "He showed me your Instagram."

"My Instagram?" You tried to remember what you'd posted recently. Mostly studio shots and random observations about Madrid. Nothing particularly revealing.

"You posted a video of yourself trying to figure out the metro. You were completely lost, getting more and more frustrated, and instead of asking for help, you just kept staring at the map like it was gonna magically make sense."

You remembered that day. You'd been late for a meeting and too proud to admit you had no idea where you were going.

"That made you want to ask me out?"

"That made me want to meet the person who'd rather be lost than ask a stranger for directions."

"That's not charming, that's stubborn."

"Maybe. But it's real."

The waiter appeared with the first course, giving you a moment to process. Real. There was that word again, the one that seemed to keep coming up in conversations about relationships you didn't want to have.

"So," you said, cutting into what looked like the most expensive appetizer you'd ever seen. "What's your story? Why doesn't Kylian Mbappé date?"

"Who says I don't?"

"Brice. Also, the internet. Also, the complete lack of any public relationships in the past... ever."

"Maybe I'm just private."

"Or maybe you're too busy, too focused, or too scared of getting close to people." You took a bite, savoring flavors you couldn't identify. "My money's on all three."

"You don't know me well enough to say that."

"Don't I? You're twenty-six, probably haven't had a serious relationship since you got famous, and you definitely have trust issues when it comes to people's reasons for wanting to be with you."

The accuracy of your guess was written all over his face.

"That obvious?"

"To someone who's been there? Yeah." You set down your fork, meeting his gaze. "The difference is, I actually learned from my mistakes."

"Which means?"

"Which means I don't date athletes."

Kylian's eyebrows rose. "At all?"

"At all. No footballers, no basketball players, no tennis players. Nobody whose job involves being worshipped by thousands of people on a regular basis."

"That's pretty specific."

"That's pretty necessary." You reached for your wine again, needing the liquid courage for what you were about to say. "I don't do flings, Kylian. I don't do casual. I don't do 'let's see where this goes' while you keep your options open."

"What do you do?"

"I want what my parents have. Twenty-seven years of marriage, and my dad still brings my mom flowers every Friday. He takes her on dates, writes her little notes, remembers every anniversary including the day they first danced." You could hear the wistfulness in your own voice. "That's love. Real love. Not this modern bullshit where everyone's scared to actually commit to anything."

Kylian was quiet, studying you with an expression you couldn't read.

"And you think athletes can't do that?"

"I think athletes are used to having everything handed to them. I think they're used to people saying yes without question. And I think they get bored easily because there's always someone new throwing themselves at them."

"That's a lot of assumptions."

"Based on what I've seen."

"What have you seen?"

The question caught you off guard. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, have you actually dated an athlete? Or are you going off stories and shit you've heard?"

You opened your mouth to answer, then closed it. The truth was, you hadn't. Your ex had been an aspiring rapper, not an athlete. Your assumptions were based on stories, gossip, and a general cynicism about fame that you'd developed over the years.

"Does it matter?"

"It might."

"Why?"

"Because maybe you're wrong."

The confidence in his voice was irritating. "You think I'm wrong about athletes being players?"

"I think you're wrong about me."

"Am I? Because I heard you're pretty cheap and selfish when it comes to women."

The words were out before you could stop them, sharper than you'd intended. Kylian's expression didn't change, but something flickered in his eyes.

"Where'd you hear that?"

"Around. Girls talk, you know."

"And what exactly do they say?"

You'd crossed a line, but you were too committed to back down now. "That you're not exactly generous. That you do the bare minimum and expect them to be grateful."

Kylian set down his wine glass, leaning forward slightly. "And you believe that?"

"I dunno you well enough to believe or not believe anything. But if multiple people are saying the same thing..."

"Maybe they have a reason to say it."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Maybe I'm only cheap and selfish when there's a reason to be."

You scoffed. "What reason could there possibly be for treating someone like shit?"

"How about when they're only interested in what you can buy them?"

The words hung between you, loaded with implication.

"So you test them? By being cheap?"

"I pay attention. There's a difference."

"Enlighten me."

Kylian leaned back, considering his words. "You wanna know what a gift is to me?" He made air quotes around the word 'gift,' his expression almost mocking. "Tell me what a gift is to you."

"What?"

"You seem to have strong opinions about being generous. So tell me—what's a proper gift?"

The challenge in his voice made your cheeks warm. "Fine. Flowers. Not just any flowers—ones that you actually thought about. Perfume that you think would smell good on me specifically, not just whatever's most expensive. Jewelry that looks good with my skin tone." You paused, then added with deliberate boldness, "Lingerie that shows you've been paying attention to what I like."

Kylian's expression was unreadable. "So... things that require actually thinking."

"Things that require actually giving a damn about the person you're with."

"And you think I don't do that?"

"I think you probably have your assistant buy generic expensive shit and call it romance."

"You have a pretty low opinion of someone you barely know."

"You have a pretty high opinion of yourself for someone who just admitted to testing women by being cheap."

The waiter appeared with the second course, the tension at the table thick enough to cut. You both fell silent, focusing on your food while the conversation replayed in your head.

You were being unfair, and you knew it. But something about Kylian made you defensive, made you want to poke at him until you found a crack in his composure. Maybe it was the way he looked at you like he could see right through your carefully constructed walls. Maybe it was the fact that he was nothing like what you'd expected.

Or maybe it was the fact that you were actually attracted to him, which was definitely not part of the plan.

"Can I ask you something?" Kylian's voice was quieter now, less challenging.

"Sure."

"Why did you really agree to this?"

The question surprised you with its directness. "Brice promised to stop setting me up if I gave this one shot."

"That's the only reason?"

You considered lying, but something in his expression made you reconsider. "I haven't been on a date in eight months."

"Why not?"

"Because..." You struggled for the right words. "Because I'm tired of pretending that casual is enough. I'm tired of men who think buying dinner means I owe them something. I'm tired of having to guard myself all the time because everyone wants something from me."

"What do they want?"

"Connections. Status. To say they dated someone famous." You took a sip of wine, surprised by your own honesty. "What about you? Why did you really agree to this?"

Kylian was quiet for a long moment. "Because I'm tired of women who see me as a prize to be won."

"So we're both tired."

"Yeah."

"This is going great," you said dryly.

"Is it not?"

You looked at him—really looked at him. The fresh fade, the perfect waves on top, the expensive clothes, the kind of bone structure that photographers probably fought wars over. He was beautiful in an almost aggressive way, the kind of beautiful that made smart women do stupid things.

"You're really attractive," you said finally.

"Thank you?"

"That wasn't a compliment. That was an observation. Attractive men are dangerous."

"How so?"

"Because they make you forget why you have rules in the first place."

Kylian's smile was slow, dangerous, and showed his dimples. "Are you forgetting your rules?"

"No." The lie came too quickly. "I'm just... observing."

"What else are you observing?"

That his laugh was warmer than expected. That he had calluses on his hands despite being rich enough to never work a day in his life. That he listened when you talked instead of just waiting for his turn to speak. That the way he said your name made something in your chest tighten.

"That this was a mistake," you said instead.

"Was it?"

"Yes. Because now I have to text Brice and tell him his friend is an arrogant ass who thinks he can figure out women he just met."

"Is that what you're gonna tell him?"

"And other things."

"What other things?"

You signaled for the check, already mentally composing the message you'd send Brice later. "That you're exactly what I expected. That you're too used to getting your way. That you think your fame makes you more interesting than you actually are."

None of it was true, which made saying it easier.

Kylian didn't argue, just watched as you gathered your purse. "The night doesn't have to end like this."

"Yes, it does. Because this—" you gestured between the two of you, "—was never gonna work."

"Why not?"

"Because you're Kylian Mbappé, and I'm not interested in being another name on your list."

"What if you're not?"

"What if I am?"

You stood, smoothing down your dress. "Thanks for dinner. It was... nice."

"Y/N."

Something in the way he said your name made you pause.

"For what it's worth," he said quietly, "I think Brice was right about one thing."

"What's that?"

"You are interesting."

The compliment shouldn't have affected you the way it did, but you felt it settle somewhere deep in your chest, warm and unwelcome.

"Goodbye, Kylian."

You walked away without looking back, your heels clicking against the marble floor with more confidence than you felt. Outside, the Madrid night was warm and full of possibility, but all you could think about was the way Kylian had looked at you when you'd listed what made a real gift.

Like he was taking notes.

Your phone buzzed as you slipped into the taxi.

Brice: how did it go?

You stared at the message for a long moment, then typed back:

You: it didn't. don't ever do that again.

Brice: that bad?

You: worse. kylian is awful and i never want to see him again.

It was a lie, but it was a necessary one. Because the truth—that Kylian Mbappé was nothing like what you'd expected, that he'd managed to get under your skin in the span of two hours, that you were already wondering what would have happened if you'd stayed—was too dangerous to admit.

Even to yourself.

Back at your apartment, you poured another glass of wine and tried to forget the way he'd said your name. Like it meant something.

Like you meant something.

But that was the problem with attractive men, wasn't it? They made you believe things that weren't true.

And you'd learned that lesson already.

**********************************************************

Kylian sat in the now eerily quiet restaurant, staring at the empty chair across from him where Y/N had been sitting just moments before. The faint scent of her perfume still lingered in the air—something warm and sophisticated that he couldn't quite place but knew he'd probably never forget.

He'd been left at tables before. Hell, he'd done his fair share of leaving tables when dates got weird or boring or started asking about his salary within the first ten minutes. But this? This was different. This felt like he'd just watched something slip through his fingers before he'd even had a chance to figure out what it was.

"Everything alright, sir?" The waiter appeared at his elbow, eyeing the untouched second course on Y/N's side of the table.

"Yeah," Kylian said, though nothing felt alright. "Can I get the check?"

The waiter nodded, probably used to dealing with awkward dinner situations in a place like this. Kylian pulled out his phone, scrolling mindlessly through notifications while he waited. A few messages from teammates, some Instagram mentions, the usual bullshit that filled his evenings. But his mind kept drifting back to the conversation.

You're exactly what I expected.

The words stung more than they should have. Because the truth was, Y/N wasn't what he'd expected at all. He'd been prepared for another starry-eyed fan or someone who'd spend the whole night taking pictures for Instagram. Instead, he'd gotten someone who'd looked him dead in the eye and told him his music taste was basic.

Someone who'd called him cheap and selfish to his face.

Someone who'd made him want to prove her wrong.

The check arrived, and Kylian barely glanced at it before dropping his card on the table. The amount was stupid—enough to feed a family for a month—but he'd stopped caring about restaurant prices years ago. Money was just numbers on a screen now, meaningless in the way that everything became meaningless when you had too much of it.

But Y/N's comment about gifts kept replaying in his head. Flowers that you actually thought about. Perfume that you think would smell good on me specifically. She'd said it like it was some revolutionary concept, like most men were idiots who couldn't be bothered to pay attention.

Maybe they were. Maybe he was.

The truth was, he couldn't remember the last time he'd bought a woman a gift that wasn't suggested by his assistant or picked up from whatever high-end store was closest to his apartment. When you could afford anything, everything started to feel the same. Generic. Safe.

Boring.

Just like Y/N had said his music taste was.

His phone buzzed as he signed the receipt.

Brice: how did it go?

Kylian stared at the message for a long moment. How had it gone? He'd managed to insult a Grammy-nominated singer's artistic choices, get called cheap and selfish, and watch her walk out on him before dessert. By most measures, it had been a disaster.

So why couldn't he stop thinking about the way she'd laughed when he'd made that comment about her Instagram story? Or how her eyes had lit up when she'd talked about her parents' marriage? Or the way she'd leaned forward when she was making a point, like she was physically fighting to make him understand?

Kylian: she left

Brice: WHAT

Brice: what did you do???

Kylian almost smiled at that. Trust Brice to assume it was his fault. Which, to be fair, it probably was.

Kylian: told her she played it safe with her music

Brice: you WHAT

Brice: bro are you insane???

Kylian: she asked for honesty

Brice: there's honesty and then there's stupidity

Brice: y/n just texted saying you're awful and she never wants to see you again

That hit harder than expected. Kylian set his phone face down on the table, not wanting to see Brice's inevitable follow-up messages about how he'd fucked up the one good thing Brice had tried to do for him.

The restaurant was starting to empty out, couples finishing their romantic dinners and heading home to whatever came next. Kylian watched a man help his girlfriend into her coat, the gesture casual and intimate in a way that made something twist in his chest. When was the last time he'd done something like that? Something simple and thoughtful without thinking about cameras or headlines or who might be watching?

His phone buzzed again.

Brice: she said you're exactly what she expected

Brice: that you think your fame makes you more interesting than you are

Brice: and that you're an arrogant ass

Kylian picked up his phone, reading the messages with a growing sense of frustration. Not at Brice, but at himself. Because Y/N was wrong about some things, but she wasn't wrong about everything. He had gotten comfortable with people saying yes to him. He had stopped trying to be interesting because his name did the work for him.

But she'd been interesting. Challenging. Real in a way that most people in his life weren't anymore.

Kylian: did she say anything else?

Brice: like what?

Kylian: i dunno. anything.

The typing indicator appeared and disappeared several times before Brice's response came through.

Brice: she said it was educational

Kylian: what's that supposed to mean?

Brice: probably that she learned everything she needed to know about dating athletes

Brice: dude i'm sorry. i really thought you two would click

Kylian pushed back from the table, gathering his jacket. The restaurant felt too warm suddenly, too close. He needed air, space to think without the weight of expectation pressing down on him.

Outside, Madrid's night air was crisp and clear, the city humming with energy even at this late hour. He could go home, pour himself a drink, and pretend this had never happened. Write it off as another failed setup, another reminder of why he didn't date and just fucked around instead.

Or...

Kylian: i want to see her again

His phone rang almost immediately.

"You what?" Brice's voice was incredulous.

"I want to see her again," Kylian repeated, walking toward where his driver was waiting.

"Bro, she literally said you're awful."

"Yeah, I heard you the first time."

"And you want to see her again because...?"

Kylian paused at his car, considering the question. Why did he want to see her again? Because she'd challenged him? Because she'd looked at him like he was just another guy instead of Kylian Mbappé? Because she'd made him want to be better than the person she thought he was?

"Because she's not wrong," he said finally.

"About what?"

"About me being exactly what she expected. But I don't want to be."

There was a long pause on the other end of the line.

"Kylian," Brice said carefully, "she's not gonna agree to another date. Not after tonight."

"Then I'll have to change her mind."

"How?"

"I dunno yet. But I will."

Brice sighed. "You know she doesn't date athletes, right? Like, at all. It's not personal, it's just a hard rule for her."

"Rules can be broken."

"Not hers. Trust me, I've been trying to set her up for months and she's turned down everyone. You're literally the last person she agreed to meet, and only because I promised to stop if she gave it one shot."

That gave Kylian pause. If Y/N had such a strict no-athletes policy, why had she agreed to meet him? Even reluctantly?

"She was curious," he said, more to himself than to Brice.

"What?"

"She was curious about me. Otherwise she wouldn't have agreed at all."

"Dude, she agreed because she wanted me to stop bothering her."

"Maybe. But she stayed for two hours. If she really hated the idea of being there, she would've left after twenty minutes."

Kylian slid into the backseat of his car, his mind already working through possibilities. Y/N thought he was generic, predictable, exactly what she'd expected from a famous athlete. Which meant surprising her would be key.

But how do you surprise someone who's already decided you're not worth her time?

"Kylian," Brice's voice was cautious now. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking she told me exactly what kind of gifts she likes."

"So?"

"So maybe it's time I stopped being cheap and selfish."

The line went quiet for a moment.

"You're really gonna do this," Brice said finally. It wasn't a question.

"Yeah. I am."

"Even though she said she never wants to see you again?"

"Especially because she said that."

Brice laughed, but it sounded more worried than amused. "You know you're probably gonna make a fool of yourself, right?"

"Probably."

"And she's probably gonna shut you down hard."

"Probably."

"And I'm probably gonna have to deal with her being pissed at me for giving you her information."

"Definitely."

Another pause.

"Alright," Brice said with resignation. "But when this goes badly, don't say I didn't warn you."

"Noted."

"And Kylian?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't be an idiot about this. She's not like the other girls you've dated. She's got walls for a reason."

The call ended, leaving Kylian alone with his thoughts as the car wound through Madrid's streets. Brice was right—this was probably a terrible idea. Y/N had made her feelings pretty clear, and he had a track record of making things worse when he tried too hard.

But something about tonight felt different. Important. Like maybe this was the first real conversation he'd had in months, even if it had ended with her walking away.

His phone buzzed with a text.

Unknown Number: thank you for dinner. despite everything, the food was excellent.

Kylian stared at the message, his heart doing something weird in his chest. She'd texted him. After telling Brice she never wanted to see him again, she'd texted him.

It was polite, distant, probably the kind of message she'd send to any dinner companion. But she'd sent it.

Kylian: you're welcome. sorry if i was...

He deleted the message before sending it. Started typing again.

Kylian: glad you enjoyed it. maybe next time i'll let you pick the place

Delete. Try again.

Kylian: the company could've been better

Delete. Definitely delete.

Finally, he settled on something simple.

Kylian: you're welcome. goodnight, Y/N.

He hit send before he could second-guess himself, then immediately regretted it. Too familiar? Not familiar enough? Why was texting suddenly so complicated?

His phone buzzed again.

Y/N: you too.

Two words. Barely a response. But she'd responded.

Kylian leaned back in his seat, a slow smile spreading across his face. Y/N thought she had him figured out, thought he was just another predictable athlete who'd give up at the first sign of resistance.

She was about to learn how wrong she was.

Because if there was one thing Kylian knew how to do, it was win. And he'd never wanted to win anything more than he wanted to change Y/N's mind about him.

Even if it killed him.

The car pulled up to his villa, and Kylian sat for a moment, staring up at the lights in the windows above. Somewhere across the city, Y/N was probably already forgetting about him, writing off the evening as exactly what she'd expected.

But he wasn't going to forget about her. Not the way she'd looked when she'd talked about real love. Not the way she'd challenged every assumption he'd made about the evening. Not the way she'd made him want to be someone worth her time.

His phone buzzed one more time as he rode the elevator to his floor.

Brice: just so you know, her favorite flowers are peonies. white ones specifically. her mom grows them in brussels.

Brice: and before you ask, no i'm not helping you anymore than that. you're on your own from here.

Kylian smiled, saving the message. Peonies. White ones.

It was a start.

........................tbd

[avengerofyourheart]

Seeing Red : Chapter One [Bob Reynolds x enhanced!F reader]

Summary: A spontaneous moment of breaking and entering at the newly-inhabited Watchtower leads to a chance encounter between yourself and a mysterious man named Bob. One touch and he knows your darkest secret, but instead of turning you in, Bob claims you're "one of us". Can the uncontrollable power within you help you find where you truly belong, and along the way, perhaps lead you to the love of your life?

Characters: Bob Reynolds, Female reader (nickname Ember), John Walker, Bucky Barnes, Yelena Belova, Ava Starr, Alexei Shostako, Valentina Allegra de Fontaine (mentioned)

Content Warnings: child abuse, SA (vague mention), mention of self harm and food insecurity. Drug use. Mental illness. Homelessness. Eventual smut.

Song Inspiration: The Red by Chevelle

Author’s note: I'm stoked, y'all. It's been a loooong time since I've been this obsessed with a character and had the motivation to write. If you enjoy this story, please please PLEASE let me know. Feedback is vital to authors. I write for myself, but I also write for the fandom who share this love of these characters. Leave a comment, reblog if you are so inclined so other can read it. Yell at me in my inbox, I always love that. I adore you all. I'm happy to be coming back.

Chapter One Chapter Two>>> Coming soon

Seeing Red Masterlist Full Masterlist

______________________________________________

Robert Reynolds was no hero, of that he was certain. Even his attempts to improve himself somehow resulted in potential, but eventual disaster. No. Heroism wasn't for Bob. But he was grateful that his journey had somehow led him to the real heroes who on good days he considered his friends. On bad days he was positive he didn't deserve them. That they would be better off without him. Bob tried his best not to follow those thoughts down a rabbit hole these days, with help from a team of therapists. The talking was hard but over time, it led to more good days than bad. 

Even if Sentry was best left dormant for now, Bob still wanted to contribute to his new home life at the Watchtower. He did the dishes and cleaned up around the common areas. Was there someone that Valentina could hire to do those things? Yeah. But Bob liked to feel useful. Earn his keep. 

Bob had a lot of time on his hands. He read a lot, spending time in the cavernous library on a floor of its own. He spent hours in therapy and meditation. Attempted multiple new hobbies and crafts. But still, there were stretches of time to be filled. At night, he had taken to wandering the empty halls of the Watchtower, taking note of its’ rhythms and making sure nothing unusual occurred. Bob wasn’t a hero but he could still do his best to keep his home safe. 

It became a routine—checking every floor over a span of days. One night the evens and the odds the next. Occasional surprise checks to keep whatever nefarious thing he imagined might pop up on its’ toes. But still, it all became typical and unremarkable. 

Until one night, he found himself on the second floor near the medical labs. Part of Bob wanted to avoid the labs forever, since they were one of his fear triggers. However, his therapist assigned to his exposure therapy recommended that he treat those areas as just any other rooms. To walk past them without paying them any mind. Just another floor of the Watchtower to clear each night. 

As Bob exited the elevator on the second floor, he took deep breaths, his hands wrapped in the long sleeves of his favorite comfy sweater. His stockinged feet slid across shiny, marble floors without a sound as he rounded the corner leading to the floor-to-ceiling windows of the medical center. Keeping his gaze on the ground ahead of his steps, he almost missed the rustle of clothing in the sterile, stainless steel room to his right. Bob froze mid-step, listening intently. 

At first, nothing. Then the clinking of glass. He wasn’t imagining it. There was someone—or something—sneaking around in the tower. Bob eyed the touchscreen panel on the wall that would allow him to alert security. Or the Thunderbolts directly, but there were currently off on a mission. No, not the Thunderbolts. The New Avengers. Bob still couldn’t help but prefer the previous name. Valentina gave the team no choice in their name and truthfully it bothered Bob. But he’d keep that opinion to himself for the time being.  

Response time wasn’t the quickest with Watchtower security, however, since they figured the Thunderbolts kept the tower plenty secure on their own. Also, they might be a little afraid of Bob. Or more accurately, what he could become. 

The sound of footsteps pulled Bob’s focus back to the lab and he made his decision, heading toward the sound with trembling hands. 

___________________________

Breaking into the Watchtower wasn’t your wisest choice, but in a life full of bad decisions, this was mid-tier. You caught sight of the New Avengers’ fancy jet leaving from the tower that morning and you thought you’d take a chance in the dark of night. They had to have a pharmacy or doctor’s office since even superheroes bled sometimes. 

Slipping past first floor security was child’s play and disarming the staircase door took mere seconds. The upper floor doors didn’t look to be alarmed so when you spotted what appeared to be your desired objective through the rectangular window, you slipped into the hallway and waited several moments in silence before proceeding. 

On tiptoes, you crept toward the first aid supplies and the clearly labeled bottles of medications. They were visible through the clear cabinet doors, so you were only hindered a moment by a quickly picked lock. Searching each bottle for what you sought, you only took enough to sustain you another few weeks, maybe a month. The staff was unlikely to notice and if they did, it would be long after you were gone. 

The stretched out sleeves of your favorite sweatshirt kept sliding down to your wrists and threatened to knock the glass bottles so you took a few precious seconds to roll them up securely. Returning to your task, you opened a few different bottles and tapped out the precious pills into your own container before returning them just as they were. One last bottle caught your eye and you grabbed for it, perhaps too eagerly, when the clattering of glass startled you. 

Taking a silent breath, you poured out the meds to join the others and returned the bottle. You even took the time to re-lock the cabinet and had taken a step toward the door when a large hand clasped around your wrist and darkness closed in around you. 

As your mind cleared you looked around to see a familiar sight, but it was much clearer than in your usual nightmares. You could even smell the smoke. Surrounding you were the charred remains of a home, the blackened wood still smoking as you heard choking gasps behind you, drawing your attention. Turning toward the sound, you spotted a young girl, unharmed and standing in a perfectly untouched circled of linoleum in what used to be the kitchen. 

A scream rang out from the sidewalk and you turned your head to see a woman drop the bag of groceries she held as she stumbled up the front steps to see the burnt remains of a man amongst the ruins. Looking through you and at the young girl, the woman snarled in hatred. 

“What did you do, you demon girl!?” shouted the woman. “You should be in prison for this, or better yet in Hell!” 

Your older self turned to run out the blackened outline of a back door when you spotted a man around your age who you’d never seen before standing beside you, his soft blue eyes meeting yours. His hand was still around your wrist and as he let go, the blackened remains of your former foster home melted away and seconds later you were returned to the present in the pristine lab. 

Stumbling back with eyes wide, you tightly hugged your bag in front of you like a shield and eyed the exit that the man was now blocking. 

“I—I’m sorry, I didn’t—“ he stuttered.

But you interrupted and dropped your gaze to the floor. “Please, I’ll put it all back I swear, I can’t go to back to jail, I wasn’t—please don’t hurt me.” You pulled your arms tighter, aiming to be a smaller target. 

“No, I won’t, I—I’m not going to hurt you. I’m sorry, that was an accident. I can control it,” the man stammered, his voice gentler than you expected. 

When you braved a better look at the man, his expression of contrition surprised you. As if he felt bad for even touching you. Was that…

“That was you? In my head? The…the memories?” you whispered, meeting his apologetic gaze. 

He nodded, chestnut, chin-length locks of hair dancing at the action. A few strands fell over his eyes and he didn’t move to put them back into place. “It wasn’t my intention. I’m sorry.” 

Shaken but relieved, you nodded, eyes still flickering to the exit. “It’s fine. Can you let me go? I promise I’ll never break in again, I swear. Here,” you said, reaching in your bag for the collection of pills and extending your arm for him to take it. 

Except he didn’t. His hand remained tucked into his sleeves and his arms folded across his middle, much like yours were a moment ago. He tilted his head, taking in the twenty or so pills rattling in the ancient orange prescription bottle. 

“What did you take?” he asked, sounding more curious than angry at the theft. 

“Um…mostly Xanax and valium, a few lorazepam. Oh and a handful of Ambien. I don’t sleep well,” you confessed, figuring you were already caught red handed.

The brunet nodded, taking a step closer, yet still not reaching for the bottle in your hand. Odd. 

“All sedatives. Interesting. Not the big money makers on the street but a decent haul. There are bigger sellers in that cabinet, though, I’m sure. Oxy, morphine, fentanyl…you know. Pain killers can catch a pretty price on the blackmarket. I’m curious why you didn’t go for those.” The mysterious man said all of this with certainty.

Perplexed, you tilted your head with a furrowed brow, lowering the pill bottle in your hand. 

“Oh, uh…I was an addict. Still am, I guess. I moved on to harder stuff pretty quick though,” he confessed with a soft laugh, catching you off guard. 

Silence hung in the air a moment before you shook your head to clear it. “Um…right. Yeah. Except I’m not looking to sell. I just took them for my own use. I…my anxiety is really bad and when…if I lose control, bad things…happen,” you said bluntly, avoiding his gaze. 

“I know the feeling,” he spoke quietly, almost to himself. “Um…I’m Bob.” 

You hesitated, confused, and still you couldn’t help but reciprocate in greeting. Giving him your actual name didn’t seem to be a great idea, but instead you shared what you’d been going by the past few years. 

“Ember.” 

A corner of Bob’s mouth quirked shyly as he caught the irony. “Ember. Nice to meet you.” 

You couldn’t help to return a guarded smile his way. “This is weird but…nice to meet you, too?” 

He huffed out another soft laugh, staring down at his stockinged feet. 

“You’re hot,” he blurted out, startling you.

“What? I, uh…” You took a step back. 

“No! I didn’t mean… I mean, yes, also that, but not like…you know…” he stammered before clearing his throat. “I meant your arm. When I touched you.”

“Oh. Right.” You glanced down at the appendage. 

“So…was that your doing? The…in there?” he asked, vague but pointed. 

You nodded. “The fire. Yeah. It’s tied to my emotions and touch so sometimes when….oh god.”  It finally occurred to you that Bob’s hand was on you during a particularly intense memory and he hadn’t said a word. “Did I burn you? Sometimes when people touch me, I…I’ve hurt them. Normally they shy away.”

Bob raised his hand, unconcerned. “No. I’m fine. You just felt warm, but I’m not the best judge of ‘normal’. I think I might be indestructible,” he said with a shrug.

“I…what?” 

A pair of voices caught your attention then, one male and one female, who seemed to be arguing, which heightened your panic. 

“…was your stupid taco that you refuse to get rid of! Now I have yet another stab wound!” the female voice shouted with a Russian accent. 

“It’s not a fucking taco and it still has its purpose, okay? Besides I could have properly deflected the knife if Ava hadn’t distracted me by appearing suddenly right next to me.” The man sparred back, his voice getting louder. 

Your eye caught Bob’s and he saw your fear, but he raised a hand to calm you. “No, no, it’s okay. They’re friends, I promise. L—let…let me talk to them,” Bob assured you. 

Bob pulled his body at full height to shield you from the oncoming strangers. Still, you did your best to hide behind a cabinet and prayed to disappear on the spot, attempting to calm your galloping heart. 

The pair rounded the corner, the woman petite and blonde wearing a black tactical suit and holding a piece of cloth to her forearm. Following was a patriotic-looking man with a dark blue beret held to his head to stanch the blood that hadn’t already run down his face and into his dark blond beard. 

“H-hey, guys,” Bob exclaimed, making his presence known with a wave in greeting. “How did the—wait, what happened to you both?”

Their footsteps squeaked to a halt at the lab’s entrance and you spotted a sliver of them under Bob’s raised arm. 

“It was…never mind, we’ll be fine,” she waved a hand at their wounds. “What are you doing down here, Bob? Everything okay?” 

“Me? Oh, yeah. I was just making my rounds when—“

“Who the hell is that?” 

Fear spiked within you to see the bearded man now eyeing you with his free hand reaching for a weapon in a holster. 

Bob moved to block his sight again. “Walker, stop, it—it’s fine, I promise. She was just...”

“Stealing?” the blonde speculated, pointing a finger at the bottle in your hand. “And found right by the medicine cabinet, good catch, Bob.” 

“No! It’s not what you think. I mean, yeah, a little, but not to sell and it’s not like she’s dangerous,”Bob attempted to explain, but that last claim made you snort. 

Bob glanced your way, raising a shoulder before returning his focus on his two friends. 

“Okay, a little, but not on purpose. Listen, she’s one of us, Yelena! She needs our help and—“

“Oh, great, another stray to take in, that’s just great,” Walker spoke up, his tone sarcastic. 

“Whoa, wait a minute, I didn’t ask for—“ you couldn’t help but speak up to refute Bob’s offer. 

“A-ta-ta-ta-ta!” The woman, Yelena apparently, shut them all up and demanded everyone’s attention in a second. “Wait a moment. Bob…what do you mean, she’s one of us?”

Bob spared you another glance and your eyes widened in confusion. 

“I saw. I touched her arm when I caught her and…she needs us,” he said softly, the tenderness making your heart thump in your chest. You were still bewildered by his certainty about you, but at least you weren’t headed to jail at the moment. 

Yelena let out a deep sigh, but apparently that was enough of an explanation for her. “Okay. We’ll talk about it. Let us get cleaned up and in a bit we’ll meet in the common room. Is she hungry? Does she want some food?” 

It hadn’t occurred to you how long it had been, but when Bob raised his eyebrows in your direction, you shrugged with a slight nod. 

“Yeah. We’ll get some food,” he confirmed. 

“And in the mean time you’ll be responsible for her, Bob? Yes?” she asked, heading toward the medical supplies and reaching for gauze. 

“Absolutely,” he replied, gesturing for you to following him toward the exit. 

You heard a male scoff. “Wait a minute, I don’t think—“ 

“Walker, leave it. He’ll be fine,” Yelena cut him off, handing him the medical tape to help her. “We’ll see you in a while.” 

Bob nodded to her, keeping his eye on Walker and putting himself between you and the other man until you turned the corner and the elevator doors closed behind you. 

___________________

Chapter Two>>> Coming soon!!

__________________________________________

Thoughts??? Come yell at me about Bob in my inbox!! I'd love to hear from you. Im in love with this story and these new (to me) characters. I've been in love with Bucky for a decade, however, and my master list has a ton of stories about him, if you're interested. 🤓 This story will be a bit of a slow burn. I love a good build up and yearning, personally. 😆 And the domesticity of the (New) Avengers living in the Tower again??? Gives me so much joy tbh. I hope you'll love it too. ❤️

To keep up with this story, find me on Wattpad or AO3 under avengerofyourheart (same username as here). You can also follow me at @aoyhfic-reblogs and turn on notifications, where I will reblog new chapters one time. I will not be adding anyone to the tag list. If you are tagged and would like to be removed, let me know.

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[knowinglewis]

Fading Lines

Part one/Part Two/Part Three/Part Four/Part Five/Final Part

Lewis Hamilton x Reader

Summary: The lines between friendship and something more start to blur between you and Lewis when after invites you to his first race weekend with Ferrari.

Word Count: 13,256

Warnings: ANGST, arguing, anxiety, yearning, overthinking. Some smut, but tooth aching sugar sweet FLUFFFFF! No use of Y/N.

A/N: WELP. Here we are my loves! This series has come to an end, and my apologies for the delay in getting the finale to you. It was a labour of love and I truly hope you all enjoy it! I'm really sad to finish this series, though I could be tempted to write an epilogue chapter too, but just unsure how I want that to look yet! From the bottom of my heart thank you all SO SO SOOOOOOO insanely much for reading this series and sticking with me through this journey! Please let me know your thoughts on it or if there's anything you'd like to see next! 🤍

Lewis said he needed to see you, that he was coming.

The words kept echoing in your head, looping louder than the doubts trying to creep in beneath them. You hadn’t asked questions, hadn’t asked if he was already on the way, or if he was still just making up his mind. You didn’t even know where he was flying from, but he sounded sure, as if he had already made the decision before the phone rang.

Still, a part of you couldn’t help it, hesitation had already settled somewhere beneath your ribs. What if he didn’t come? What if this was just another almost?

You blinked hard and pushed the thought away. You needed to move.

You stood up too quickly, your limbs stiff, and your breath shaky as you walked through your apartment. The place was a mess in that sudden, microscopic way where everything seemed messy when you knew someone else was going to be looking. You started in the living room, gathering the cardigan draped over the armrest, the pair of socks kicked under the coffee table, the half-finished cup of tea now gone cold. 

You moved on instinct, straightening cushions, gathering mugs, wiping surfaces. The kind of pointless cleaning you did when your body needed distraction, because your mind was already spiraling from the messiness of the morning.

You were halfway through wiping down the kitchen bench when your phone buzzed on the counter, a text from Lewis appearing across the screen.

Landing just after 8. Should be at yours by 9.

You stared at the message until the screen dimmed, before reading it again. He was actually coming.

You replied with a simple, "Okay. See you soon." But you held the phone in your hand for a long time after, like it was grounding you.

Then came the other part. Isabella’s voice had been sharp and clear when you called her later that afternoon: “Deactivate your socials. Or go private. Whatever you do, stop giving them access.”

You sat on the edge of your bed, your laptop balanced across your knees. Instagram was first, you scrolled through the flood of DMs and tags with your stomach twisting. People had already seen the photos of you at the airport, along with other photos that had surfaced of you at the Melbourne race with Isabella and Raye.

Some comments were kind, complimenting you and how cute you looked with Lewis. Some were curious, wanting to know more about your relationship. Others weren’t, others were horrified at the sight of their celebrity crush being spotted with his lips on some woman. Especially after only ever being spotted walking side by side with his past flings, or within groups with friends, since his public split from his long time ex. This time, it was right in all of their faces, your hands on each other and your lips connected.

You didn’t let yourself linger though, you went private. Turned off tags, disabled comments, deleted one or two posts without thinking too hard about it. You resisted the urge to scroll through your endless DMs, some with messages of support, while others sending all forms of threats and hatred towards you for stealing their dream man. Then, you moved on to your other socials with the same process. Lock it down, and delete anything you didn’t want seen, especially posts that included your family or your workplace. 

When you closed your laptop, the room felt quieter, less exposed.

The clock read 7:10pm.

You still had time before he arrived, though now that you had stopped moving, your hands had started shaking again. You stepped into the shower, turned the water hot, and stood under the spray for as long as your skin could stand it. It didn’t calm you completely, but it helped you feel a little more refreshed.

By the time you were dry and dressed, in soft track pants and a loose top, you felt like you’d done everything you could. The apartment was clean, you were clean, and your notifications were finally silent.

Yet still, doubt crawled its way back in.

What if something changed? What if he didn’t show?

You tried not to look at the clock again, but you always did. 7:52. 8:06. 8:19.

You lit a candle, then blew it out five minutes later because the scent made your stomach turn. You poured a glass of water, drank half, then sat on the couch with your legs pulled up and your phone resting in your palm.

It buzzed again just before 8:40pm with a text from Lewis.

I’ll be there soon

Your breath caught in your throat. The doubt didn’t vanish, but it softened with a flicker of hope.

You typed out an “Okay,” then deleted it and sent a heart instead. Something simple, and almost safer.

Then, you waited.

You must have closed your eyes for just a moment.

The TV played something you weren't really watching, just background noise to keep your mind from spinning too fast. You'd stretched out on the couch with a throw blanket draped loosely over your legs, your phone resting next to you, and the soft sound of the room lulling you into a light, uneasy sleep.

It wasn’t a peaceful sleep, not with your body still holding all that tension in your shoulders, your jaw tight even as you drifted off. You didn’t dream, you only floated somewhere between exhaustion and the heaviness of the day.

A knock on the door pulled you back to reality.

You blinked awake, heart fluttering in your chest for a split second, unsure whether you’d imagined it. Until another softer knock, like he didn’t want to startle you.

You sat up quickly, the blanket sliding off your lap as you scrambled to your feet, the room spinning for a second before settling.

He was here.

You crossed the apartment in a blur, your heart pounding in your ears as you reached for the door, fingers suddenly cold against the handle. You paused for half a breath, just to steel yourself.

Then you opened it, and he was there.

Standing under the low glow of the hallway light, his braids tied back as usual, eyes shadowed from the long travel day. He looked exhausted, but still his warm, calm self.

In one hand, he held a paper bag with the logo of your favourite local takeaway place printed on the side. In the other, a small bunch of flowers, your favourite kind, the same ones he’d once sent you for your birthday, you didn’t think he’d even remembered. They weren’t perfectly arranged or extravagant, but they were thoughtful and beautiful.

You froze in the doorway. All the noise, the doubt, the what-ifs from the last few days slammed into your chest in one wave. He had come, he was standing in front of you, carrying comfort in both hands and looking at you as though you were the only thing that mattered in the world. 

“Hi,” he greeted quietly, his voice rough, like maybe he didn’t trust his voice either.

You barely heard it though.

You felt your heart crack in your chest, a soft unraveling that started in your ribcage and spread all the way to your throat. You’d held it together all day, hours of silence, tension, of holding your breath against the noise online, the doubts in your mind, the uncertainty that had followed you like a shadow from the moment you’d stepped away from him at the airport.

Now, he was here, and that was all it took.

You stepped forward without a word, reaching for him before your mind could second-guess it. The bouquet crinkled at your side, the takeaway bag rustling quietly as he adjusted to keep them both from getting crushed. His arms came around you, the weight anchoring you instantly like it had been waiting for you.

Your cheek pressed to his chest, and the tears came silently, burning hot against your skin. You didn’t sob, didn’t shake. You just let go, letting yourself feel how much you’d needed him. How much you hated the space that had formed between you. How terrified you’d been that he’d stay away while you struggled with this pain alone.

“I’ve got you,” Lewis whispered against your hair, his voice gentle with an ache of its own. “I’m here, sweetheart.”

His hand rubbed slow circles between your shoulder blades, the warmth easing your pain. His voice was steady, but you could feel the tension in him too, his heart beating faster, his breathing uneven.

You didn’t know how long you stood like that, pressed against him in the doorway, the night quiet around you. However, for the first time since everything fell apart, you felt yourself start to breathe properly again.

Eventually, you pulled back, your cheek still damp, and your fingers trembling slightly where they clung to the front of his shirt. You stepped out of his arms with a soft inhale, brushing at your eyes even though he’d already seen you like that with a quiet apology. He let you go slowly, hand trailing down your back until it fell away completely.

“Come in,” you murmured, your voice hoarse. “It’s cold out here.”

Lewis nodded and stepped inside. The hallway light caught on the curve of his cheekbone, highlighting the exhaustion in his handsome features. His shoulders were heavy with travel, yet he always managed to look as perfect as ever. He set the takeaway bag gently on the kitchen bench, then placed the flowers down beside it.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d be hungry,” he remarked after a short moment, quiet as though unsure if it was safe to speak yet. “But I remember you said this place was your favourite.”

He remembered. It was only something you’d said offhandedly months ago as a recommendation if he ever visited. You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. You could feel the pressure building again just beneath the surface, with grief, confusion, the ache of caring too much and not knowing where to put it.

You crossed to the kitchen slowly and helped unpack the containers, your movements automatic. He was close but kept a respectful distance, as if he wasn’t sure where your boundaries were anymore. You didn’t know either.

The food smelled good, but your stomach was still tight and unsettled, your appetite completely gone. You arranged the bouquet in a vase just to keep your hands busy from fidgeting anxiously. He watched you for a moment, but didn’t comment.

You sat on the couch with him, though it felt like a silent agreement rather than comfort. Lewis set the food down between you, and offered you a fork.

You shook your head gently. “I’m not hungry, thank you.”

His eyebrows creased together, just slightly in concern. Still, he didn’t push. 

You let your eyes trail over him, taking him in as words reeled in your mind of what to say. He looked tired, like been carrying more than just a long travel day. You wondered when he’d last slept properly, whether he’d eaten at all before this. Whether he’d sat on that plane wondering if you’d even open the door.

Neither of you spoke for a few minutes, but it wasn’t the good kind of silence this time. It wasn’t comforting or soft. It pressed in from the edges, heavy in a thick tension that drowned the words from your mouth. It was the kind of silence that existed between two people trying to find their way back to each other, but unsure if they were supposed to.

You pulled the blanket back over your legs, suddenly cold again. Not from the air, but from how close he was without being close enough. From how badly you wanted to lean into him again, but how afraid you were of what might happen if you did.

Lewis had picked at the meal for a while, then given up too. He sat with his elbows on his knees, staring down at his hands. He looked like he wanted to say something, but didn’t know how to begin.

Until finally, he cleared his throat, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry.”

Your gaze dropped to your fingers, clutching the fabric of the blanket at your thighs as he continued.

“I didn’t want any of this to happen to you.”

The apology landed softly inside your heart, but it didn’t settle anything yet. It didn’t ease your stress or diminish the fact that your entire life had been turned upside down overnight.

He glanced over at you, then back at the floor. “I know it’s bad right now.” His attempt at positivity fell flat. “But…things like this move fast. It won’t always be like this.”

You turned toward him slowly, disbelief building like a slow-moving wave.

“Bad?” You laughed bitterly, your voice sharp. “You think it’s just going to disappear? Something I just have to wait out until everyone gets bored?”

He hesitated. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No?” You sat up straighter, a sharp edge slicing into your voice. “Because that’s what it sounds like. You think this is just part of the deal?”

“I’m just trying to say it won’t always feel like this,” he replied carefully. “That there’s a way through it. I’m not saying it’s nothing.”

You stared at him, heat prickling at your eyes and your heart pounding in your ears. “No, Lewis. I’ve seen what happens to girls who get caught near drivers let alone kissing one. The vile comments, assumptions, death threats. Everyone turning your life into a spectacle out of nowhere. I’m not famous, I don’t have a team protecting me like you do. They’ve found so much of my life, they’ve posted photos of me from years ago and called me things I can’t even say out loud.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. His jaw tightened, but he didn’t interrupt.

“You’re Lewis Hamilton. You’ll get a few questions from the media about being off the market or something, then everyone will move on like they usually do. Meanwhile, my entire life has been turned upside down.” You went on, your voice rising in sharp, uneven bursts. 

“I knew spending time with you came with this risk, but it’s different when it’s actually happening. They didn’t just see us hanging out, they saw a very private moment. It’s not a hypothetical anymore, it’s real now and it’s fucking terrifying.”

Your chest was heaving now, fingers curled in your lap. You couldn’t look at him after you’d spilled out the words you’d been holding in, the tears stinging your eyes slowly rolling down your cheeks.

Lewis leaned forward against his knees, running a hand down his face. “I didn’t realise it got that bad. That they found so much and people were-”

“Digging into my life?” you finished for him, your voice splintering. “Yeah.”

His gaze snapped up and guilt flashed across his face, but he couldn’t meet your eyes.

You didn’t look at him either, you couldn’t bring yourself to. You stared ahead like the air in front of you might break open and swallow you whole. “They found everything. People I haven’t spoken to since high school have messaged me. My parents called me in a panic. My boss called me. Do you know how humiliating that is?”

He didn’t speak, but you could feel him watching you. You wished he’d stop.

“I don’t know what to do,” you whispered. 

He rubbed his hand over his jaw. “I should’ve been here sooner. I called you as soon as I saw it.”

“I know,” you started, swallowing past the pain in your throat. “It doesn’t really change anything though, does it? Everything is already out there, you’re too late.”

“I’m here,” he spoke quickly, like it was the only thing he could cling to. “I got on a flight the moment I could. I-”

“But where were you the last five weeks?” Your voice wavered, but the anger underneath it didn’t as the question you’d been holding in your chest finally reached the surface.

His eyebrows pulled together as he explained, “I was working, my schedule was packed. The triple header, and every other second was just filled with something.”

“Yes, I’m well aware of that.” You muttered in response. “That’s not what I mean. I barely heard from you, Lewis.” 

His mouth opened as though he was about to speak, but was cut off when you stood up abruptly. You couldn’t stand to be near him another second, you needed to move away and give yourself the space to breathe, to think your next words through. Moving towards the kitchen, you paced behind the island as though it were a barrier, splitting yourself from the situation for a moment.  

You didn’t want to have this conversation right now, but it was too late, you were already at the edge of the cliff and there was nothing left to do but take the leap. 

“I know that’s how your life is. You’re always busy, always travelling, I understand that.” You began, thumbing the edge of the counter to ground yourself. “But, we used to talk all the time. You always made time for me, even if you’d hardly slept. Then after China, everything just…”

Lewis stayed quiet, but you could feel the shift in the air and the subtle drop in his posture, like he knew what was coming. 

You forced yourself to keep going, knowing that it was now or never. “Everything changed. You hardly messaged or called. You’d take days to reply and when you did, it was just…nothing. I kept telling myself you were just busy, tried to convince myself that this was normal, but honestly, all you did was give me enough crumbs to keep hanging on to whatever this was.”

He stood from his seat and stepped towards you. “It’s not like that-”

“Isn’t it?” You cut him off again, swallowing back the choking feeling in your throat. “This is what you do, isn’t it, Lewis? You fly girls out, make them feel special so you can get in their pants, then keep them just close enough so they can’t move on and you can reach out to them again when you’re feeling lonely. I know all of that.”

He shook his head, as though he was about to deny it, but the slump of his shoulders betrayed him.

“It sounds stupid, but I thought this was different. Maybe you cared about me more than that, but it was all the same. You took me to China, made me feel like I was important to you, fucked me, then just…nothing. Like it meant nothing to you, I meant nothing.” Your voice broke at the last syllable, blinking away the tears in your eyes.

“Don’t say that.” Lewis took another step forward as you finally allowed him a second to speak. “Don’t ever say that, you know it’s not true.”

“Do I?” You snapped, backing away before he could get too close. “Because I’ve been sitting with this for weeks. Checking my phone like some idiot, thinking about our time together and wondering if you were already moving on to the next girl-”

“Stop.” He said abruptly, the frustration in his voice causing it to crack just enough that you would notice. “Don’t even think that. It was everything to me. I thought about you every single day.”

You felt unsteady on your feet at his words, your heart pounding behind your ribs. Still, your voice stayed sharp. “Please, Lewis, don’t say shit you don’t mean just to make me feel better.”

Lewis looked startled by the shift, pausing on his path towards you. “I mean it.”

“Then where were you?” You spit out finally meeting his eyes. “This whole time, you’ve been treating me like I don’t exist, like I’m just another one of your girls that you reach out to when it’s convenient. Some people might be okay with that, but that’s not me. You don’t get to treat me that way, then show up here when something goes wrong and act like you care now.”

He closed his eyes as he took in your words, then released a low, deep breath.

“I know I disappointed you. I know I hurt you. I don’t deserve to stand here and tell you what this should mean, or how you should feel. I messed it up. You didn’t deserve to be left guessing like that after everything we shared, everything I felt.” He looked down at the floor, jaw clenched. “You were never just someone I reached for out of convenience. That weekend wasn’t casual to me. Honestly, I never wanted it to end. I woke up next to you and thought this is it.”

He touched a hand to the kitchen counter like he was still trying to steady himself. “It meant everything, you mean everything to me. I’ve felt it for a long time, but I didn’t know how to handle it without ruining our friendship. I kept telling myself we’d figure it out eventually, we’d have this conversation next time, then the next, but I couldn’t bring myself to say it. I acted like a coward scared of my own feelings, so I distanced myself. Now, I’ve let you down and I am so sorry for ever letting you doubt what you mean to me. You deserve so much more than that.”

The sincerity in his beautiful, glistening eyes made your knees weaken, the wall around you slowly crumbling as he rounded the kitchen island, removing the barrier between you.

“I’m not here just because of the photos. I’m here because I care about you, more than you know. More than I’ve ever said, more than I’ve shown you, and I’m sorry I didn’t say it sooner.” Lewis admitted, standing in front of you and holding your gaze as though he had bared his soul to you.

The room felt quiet in the worst way, like everything had been said but nothing had really been settled. Your chest felt too tight, like your heart was caught between relief and devastation, as if it was trying to decide which way to break. He was saying everything you thought you wanted to hear, and somehow it wasn’t enough.

You had been falling for Lewis long before Shanghai. In every look, every late-night call, every moment he made you feel like you were the only person in the world. You told yourself it was just friendship, that he might never see you as anything more. Then, he took you halfway across the world, kissed you like you were made for him, held you like you were already his, and slept with you like the two of you had always been on this path. And after that, silence, distance, nothing but crumbs that left you starving for him.

Now here he was, saying everything you used to daydream about, standing in your apartment as if he hadn’t broken your heart by disappearing when you needed him most. Part of you couldn’t stop wondering if he’d just disappear again once the chaos faded. If he’d go back to his world, far away from you, and you’d be left holding the weight of this all over again. You didn’t know what was real, you didn’t know if he meant it, and you didn’t know how to forgive it.

Yet, even now with your heart torn open, you couldn’t stop wanting him.

“What are we even doing?” Your voice was shaky as you finally spoke through the silence. “Because we crossed a line, and I don’t know if we can come back from that. I don’t know if we could ever be friends again.”

The silence that followed wasn’t sharp, full of a deep ache and everything neither of you had dared to say. Then, Lewis lifted his hands between you with his palms open silently, offering them to you.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you glanced down, before hesitantly slipping your hands into his. His fingers closed gently around yours, as though he didn’t want to hold on too tightly. Slowly, he leaned closer until you could feel his breath, as the shield you’d been holding up in your mind gave way, not entirely, but enough to let the moment hold you.

“I don’t want to go back.” Lewis whispered with a small shake of his head. “I don’t want to pretend that nothing happened, like we didn’t feel what we felt.” 

His grip tightened lightly on your hands, squeezing them as he continued.

“I don’t want to lose you, ever. I want to be with you and I want to do it right.” His voice was steady now, declaring his intentions clearly.

Your heart ached at his words, your stomach stirring with butterflies and your shoulders dropping in submission. Even now, part of you still wanted to believe him, to fall into his arms and say that you wanted this too, like nothing else mattered.

However, the lingering fear in you resisted. You’d spent weeks trying to make sense of his distance, your heart circling back to him no matter what you distracted yourself with. Now, with everything laid bare between you, it felt like whiplash, as if you were finally being handed the thing you'd quietly dreamed of, only now it hurt to reach for it.

Your mind returned to the moments you’d shared with him on your trip together, the softness in his eyes and his affectionate touches. The way he made you feel like there was no one but you. The way this all fizzled out when you were separated by time and distance. Could you really believe his words, or was that all they would be? Just words and declarations that would mean nothing when the distance came between you. What did being with you mean to him? Could it truly be any different than the pain you’d been hiding in your heart the past weeks?  

“What does that even mean to you?” You mustered carefully through your breath. “Being with me? I can’t do this if it’s going to be the same as the past month.” 

There was no deflection in Lewis’ expression now, no calm mask to hide behind. Just a man stripped down by his feelings.

“It means no more grey area. No more dancing around what we feel or pretending to be something we’re not,” he explained, looking into your eyes as if he were speaking to your heart. “It means making time for you, every single day. It means I show up properly when I say I will, whenever you need me. That I don’t ever leave you wondering, that I show you how much you mean to me every chance I get. That I choose you, always.”

He paused, swallowing hard as he brought your joined hands to his chest.

“I know I can’t undo what’s already happened, but I want to make it up to you. All of it, if you’ll have me.”

There was no performance in him now, it was just Lewis, standing there with what seemed like a flicker of desperation in his eyes, like he didn’t know if he still had a place in your life. In that stillness, you saw it: the ache of a man who had already made space for you in his heart and was terrified he might have ruined it. Maybe that was what made it harder. 

“I’m not asking for an answer right now,” he added quietly. “Or even later. Not after how badly I’ve fucked this up. I just needed you to know how I really feel.”

The tight pull in your chest hurt more than ever. You hated how much you wanted to believe him, how badly you still wanted him, even after everything. But the war inside you was real too, and it wasn’t going to vanish just because the promises you’d dreamed about had finally arrived.

“I need time,” you replied, giving his hands a light squeeze. “I want to believe you, I really do…I just don’t know how to yet.”

He nodded with understanding, “Whatever you need, I’ll be here.”

Lewis stepped closer, lifted a hand to your face. His palm barely brushed your cheek, thumb smoothing just beneath your eye to brush away a stray tear that had slipped loose. You stayed quiet, leaning lightly into his touch.

His voice was soft when he finally spoke again. “You should try to get some rest.”

“Yeah.” You gave a small nod, feeling the exhaustion from all your emotions weighing on your shoulders suddenly.

The two of you remained in the kitchen, not wanting to move. There was no clock ticking, or distant city noise, just the low sound of the fridge and a silence that wrapped itself around you like a blanket too heavy to shake off. He kept his hand there for a moment longer, then slowly let it fall, but he didn’t step away.

“I can stay,” he added tentatively, as if he knew that you might say no. “Only if you want me to. I just don’t want you to be alone tonight.”

You hesitated before giving him another silent nod, not wanting him to leave, not wanting to be alone.

Neither of you said anything else, but a few moments later, after you'd quietly excused yourself and slipped into your room, you heard the faint rustle of him settling on the couch.

He was still here, and for now, that was enough.

Later, you lay in bed, but sleep didn’t come, not even close.

Your room was dim and still, the only light a soft glow from the moonlight outside slipping in through the edges of your curtains. You’d pulled the covers over yourself for comfort, but your body was tense beneath them, feeling too warm and restless. Your thoughts wouldn’t settle. Every time you closed your eyes, you heard Lewis’ voice again. You felt the warmth of his hands. You remembered the look in his eyes when he said he didn’t want to lose you.

It should’ve made things easier, simpler, but it didn’t.

You stared at the ceiling, willing yourself to sort through all the emotions that still rushed through you. The frustration, the disappointment, the lingering fear that everything he said would vanish the second he walked out your door again. Yet underneath it, was the quiet and persistent pull of having missed him so deeply it hurt.

He was just down the hall now, on your couch. A part of you couldn’t believe that he was actually there in your home, so close to you, yet so far. 

You shifted onto your side, then your back again. Your hand found the empty space beside you  where he could’ve been, but you knew if he had been, only a single moment of weakness would have led you to break.

I want to be with you. I don’t want to lose you.

He’d said it as if it had been sitting on his chest for a long time, waiting for the right moment to fall out.

For so long, being with him had felt like a dream you didn’t let yourself reach for. Then Shanghai happened, the trip, the kisses, the way it all felt like everything you had ever wanted, and afterwards, the silence had nearly undone you. Now, he was here, saying all the things you’d hoped and you didn’t know if you were more relieved or terrified.

What if he truly meant it? What if you wanted this too?

You turned onto your side, eyes fixed on the bedroom door. Your heart wouldn’t settle, knowing he was still out there in your living room. A small voice in your head wondered if he had secretly slipped out and left you behind, but you could feel his presence in the apartment.

Eventually, you pushed the blanket aside before you could talk yourself out of it and slid your feet to the floor, the ground cool beneath your toes. You didn’t bother with a robe or turning on the light. You just padded softly through the apartment, your heartbeat steady yet loud in your chest, as though it was tethered to him, coaxing you closer.

The living room was dark, save for the faint silver light sneaking through the windows. There he was, still there. Curled slightly on the couch, one arm tucked under his head, the other resting loosely across his middle. His chest rose and fell in the rhythm of sleep, peaceful, quiet.

You stood in the doorway, watching for a second too long. It didn’t feel real, not after everything. But there he was, he’d stayed.

You crept closer, unsure why you even needed to check. Maybe you just needed to see him, not on a screen, not in a message you re-read too many times, but here. 

Lewis shifted when he felt your presence, floating in and out of sleep. His eyes fluttered open and his lips curled into a small smile. “I thought you’d be asleep.”

You hesitated. “I couldn’t sleep.”

You lowered yourself to the floor beside the couch, resting your chin on the cushion near his arm. His cologne lingered on the fabric, faintly familiar, and almost dizzying. Your fingers toyed with the hem of the blanket, grounding yourself. Your stomach knotted and turned, unsaid truths hanging from the tip of your tongue, waiting to slip out, and you let them.

His hand reached out tentatively. He didn’t touch your skin, he just left it there, close enough that the invitation was clear. You looked down at his hand for a moment, then slipped your fingers into his.

“I hate how complicated this feels now,” you murmured, running your thumb along the side of his finger, the warmth of his skin sending a mild shiver through you.

“Me too, but we don’t have to figure it all out tonight.” He gave the slightest nod, voice quiet. 

He pushed himself up slightly, the blanket slipping off his shoulder as he lifted it just enough to offer you the space to crawl in and join him.

After a short few seconds of hesitation, you climbed carefully onto the narrow space on the couch. He opened his arms without a word, and you melted into them, tucking your head beneath his chin, your body curling into his like it had been waiting to do so for weeks. Despite the ache in your chest, every muscle in you relaxed in his arms.

“Take all the time you need, I’m not going anywhere,” he added.

This wasn’t how you had pictured your night. Not after the tears, argument, and weeks of uncertainty. However, his arms stayed around you, his hand occasionally brushing in slow, absent patterns over your shoulder like he couldn’t quite believe you were there either. 

Maybe that was a start.

You closed your eyes, letting out a breath you hadn’t realised you’d been holding. His fingers stilled as you settled closer, your own hand lightly resting on the fabric of his shirt, just over his chest.

Neither of you spoke, but his hold on you didn’t waver. For the first time in a long time, you let yourself rest, knowing that whatever was coming would be dealt with tomorrow.

You weren’t sure when you fell asleep.

The last thing you remembered was the gentle rise and fall of Lewis’ chest, the scent of his cologne lingering on his shirt, and the comforting weight of his hand on your back. At some point, your body gave in, lulled to sleep in his arms.

When your eyes opened slowly, the living room was bathed in early light. Pale gold filtering through the curtains, casting a soft glow over your furniture. You blinked the blurriness from your vision, momentarily disoriented…until you felt the warmth beneath you shift slightly, and the memories of last night came flooding back.

Lewis was still there, you were curled against him, one leg draped over his, your arm tucked between you. His head rested against the back of the couch, tilted slightly, his braids loosened from his hair tie. His other arm still held you close, protective even in sleep.

You didn’t move, you didn’t want to, because even if things still felt complicated, even if your heart still felt sore in places you hadn’t known it could, this moment was real.

Your eyes drifted over his face, softened in rest sweetly, and your heart squeezed. All the frustration, the confusion, the pain hadn’t disappeared. It had shifted, as though the weight of it had moved, making space for what was to come.

You pulled back carefully, just enough to sit up. This made him stir slightly, his eyebrows creasing, before his brown eyes blinked open.  They were still bleary and tired, but when they found you, they warmed instantly.

“Hi,” he rasped, his voice deep and rough with sleep.

“Hey,” you whispered back, brushing a hand through your hair.

He sat up straighter, rubbing at his face. He looked at you for a moment longer, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to smile or not. Then he glanced away, adjusting his braids back into his hair tie, a quiet exhale slipping through his lips. 

The silence stretched for a short moment as you both sat on the sofa. You felt your stomach growl quietly, remembering you hadn’t eaten dinner the night before, and your appetite was catching up with you.

“You hungry?” you asked suddenly, rising to your feet. “I’ll make some breakfast.”

He blinked, surprised by the offer. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” you replied, your voice gentler this time. 

You turned toward the kitchen, trying to hide the way your heart fluttered stupidly at the sweet smile of appreciation he’d given you. Your mind was still a storm of questions, about what came next, about what this all meant, but for now, you pulled out the pan, reached for the flour, and let yourself move through the motions.

Lewis got up a few minutes later and joined you, helping without being asked. He passed you the spatula when you needed it, peeled a banana wordlessly, and found the plates from the right cupboard. It was quiet between you, a fragile silence like the calm after a thunderstorm, when everything was still soaked through but the sky had finally cleared.

You made him vegan pancakes, like you always used to joke you would. When you took a seat next to him, still wearing yesterday’s clothes and with sleep marks on your cheek, he looked at you like you had hung the moon and dotted the sky with stars yourself.

You took a bite, barely tasting the strawberry you were chewing, your nerves alight again in your body. You knew you couldn’t stay in this soft bubble forever. You’d have to talk soon, to decide.

Lewis complimented your cooking and ate slowly, savouring every bite as the two of you settled into quiet again. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but both of you knew what was coming next, and neither of you wanted to be the one to say it first.

You glanced up at him just as his phone buzzed on the kitchen island.

Lewis sighed, looked over the screen, and muttered, “Sorry, I have to take this.” He stood, already swiping to answer as he disappeared into the hallway.

Your heart sank into your stomach, dropping suddenly the second he picked up that phone. You stared at the space he’d left behind, the warmth of the moment slipping away. 

Of course. You’d let yourself believe it might be different this time, yet here he was, being pulled back into that world again. You reached for your mug, trying not to let it show, but your hand faltered slightly.

Barely a minute later, his footsteps returned. You didn’t look up at first, cutting into your pancake meticulously as though maybe if you acted normal, the hollow feeling in your chest wouldn’t show. Maybe if you kept your head down, it wouldn’t hurt so much that he’d left you there while his life outside called.

“Sorry about that.” He returned to his seat beside you, reaching for a sip of his coffee.

“It’s okay.” Your voice was low, just above a whisper as your lips curled at the edges, hiding behind a small smile.

Lewis tilted his head towards you while he set his mug down, watching you push a slice of strawberry across your plate. He switched his phone to Do Not Disturb and set it on the counter, like it was the least important thing in the world.

“I told them I’m not coming,” he explained gently, noticing your quietness.

Your eyes lifted to face him, listening as he spoke.

He rubbed the back of his neck, exhaling slowly. “I had a shoot scheduled this afternoon, but I postponed everything for the rest of the week.”

You felt your heart skip with a tiny flicker of hope. “You did?”

“Yeah.” His voice was soft as his lips stretched into a smile. “Because I needed to be here with you. Nothing else matters if I don’t get this right.”

There was a part of you that didn’t expect him to say that, still waiting for disappointment. A part that thought maybe the phone call was the beginning of him slipping away again. That you’d find yourself once more standing on the edge of something that never fully became yours. Despite this, he was sitting across from you like nothing in the world could pull him away. Like you were the priority.

You blinked down at the table, trying to find your voice while Lewis’ hands rested on the edge of the counter openly. His body leaned in just slightly, elbows braced and, his eyes fixed on you with patience. He was waiting, holding space for you. Letting you come to him in your own time.

No phone, no rushing, and definitely no leaving. Just the two of you, there.

For the first time in a long time, you allowed yourself to really see it, to feel it. This wasn’t just pretty words or temporary affection. It wasn’t him checking in out of guilt or offering just enough to keep you close. It felt different, real, like he was actually here. He wanted to stay, regardless of his life outside of that moment.

Maybe this wasn’t another disappointment. Maybe this wasn’t another version of you hoping while he drifted further out of reach.

The ache in your chest didn’t disappear, but it softened just enough to let a sliver of hope in. The feeling you’d been trying to ignore because it felt safer to expect disappointment than to hope for something lasting.

The quiet kind of hope that didn’t rush in all at once but arrived slowly, gently, as if it were asking permission. Maybe it was worth giving this a chance.

But it couldn’t be like before. Not if it meant twisting yourself into someone smaller, someone more convenient. If this was going to be something, it had to be on your terms. It had to be mutual, with boundaries, balance, and a lot of care. With both of you in it fully, figuring it out side by side. All in.

You placed your utensils onto your plate carefully and drew in a breath, steadying yourself. Your pulse raced, thrumming in your ears while your stomach fluttered with butterflies. This was it.

“Lewis?” you began, scratching a nail lightly against the counter to distract yourself from the nervousness that coursed through your veins.

He looked up immediately, eyes soft and open as he gave you his full attention, the same way that always gave you butterflies.

“Let’s do it,” you said finally, breathless from the weight of your words.

Lewis’ posture shifted subtly, the tension in his shoulders loosening as if hope had started to slip in through the cracks. He didn’t interrupt or rush you though, only watched as you turned towards him.

“I want to try…us,” you spoke again, firmer this time, the words anchoring inside you. It almost felt as though you were dreaming as you continued. “But there’s a few things we need to agree on first for this to work.”

Lewis nodded, his eyes searching yours as if he couldn’t believe it either. “Anything.”

“I know what your life is like, but we need to be in this together. I need consistency,” you started. “I need to feel like we’re both all in, not like I’m chasing after you. No disappearing on me when you’re away.”

He gave you another nod, listening intently while you continued.

“Second, we always plan when we’ll see each other next. I hate uncertainty. It makes the distance more bearable if I know when I get to see you next.” Your voice trembled lightly as you finished. “And third, we keep things private. At first, at least, until we’re both ready. What happened with those photos…it felt like we lost control before we ever had a chance to figure things out between us. I can’t do that again, not without knowing we’re on the same page.”

His expression softened at that, his eyebrows pulling together with both guilt and understanding tangled into one. “Of course, I agree with all of it. We can take our time, we’ll figure this out together.”

This time, you believed him. There was no hesitation in his voice, just certainty that he wasn’t just agreeing for your sake, but because he meant every word too.

He held your gaze for a moment longer, then pushed back slightly on his seat. The metal legs scraped lightly against the floor as he shifted, knees parting just enough to make space in front of him. 

“Come here,” he whispered, his hands lifting, and arms opening in a quiet invitation.

You rose carefully, stepping between his legs and resting your hands on his broad shoulders. His own hands slid to your waist, holding you there like you were the only thing grounding him in the moment.

“I don’t want to lose you, Lewis.” You sighed, tracing your fingers along the neckline of his shirt. “We have to make this work.”

“We will, I promise,” he replied with confidence, his tone reassuring. “I don’t want to lose you either, ever.”

Your heart stuttered again as he repeated his words from the night before. It was everything you’d always wanted to hear, and he said it with so much sincerity swimming in his warm brown eyes. He would make room for you in his world and never ask you to shrink yourself to fit into it. You would work through it all together.

“So…” he started softly, sounding almost nervous, even now. His thumbs rubbed soft circles at your waist. “You’ll be mine?”

Your breath caught in your throat, a mild sting at your eyes while your belly filled with rushing butterflies. You didn’t hesitate though. You reached up, brushing your fingers along the smooth skin of his cheek before cupping his face with both hands. He leaned into your touch instantly, his long eyelashes fluttering shut, like you were the first thing that had calmed him in weeks.

“All yours,” you smiled, brushing your nose with his gently.

His eyes opened again, crinkling at the edges as his mouth pulled into a grin.

“Are you mine too?” Your voice was barely above a whisper.

His arms wrapped a little tighter around you, pulling you in until your foreheads touched. “Always.”

Your lips met a second later, moving together while you both struggled to contain your smiles. You melted into the kiss, your shoulders relaxing in a sensation of relief, while your heart swelled with hope, and pure joy. Lewis held you close as your arms twined around his neck, breathing each other in as your mouths stayed connected, making up for every kiss you’d missed the past month.

“We’re really doing this,” you murmured as though the words surprised even you, when you eventually pulled back.

His breath brushed over your lips when he responded, his eyes sparkling with excitement and almost disbelief that this was your reality now. “We are.”

The two of you remained in the kitchen, sharing soft giggles and peppering kisses between breaths. It felt like home again. 

You stayed wrapped in each other for a while, as if neither of you could believe you were finally here. Truly together this time. When you finally pulled apart, it didn’t feel like you had run out of time. It was a comfort, like you both knew there’d be more moments like this, and you didn’t have to hold onto it so tightly anymore with that ache in your chest.

Eventually, the real world crept in around the edges of your bubble. The smell of cold pancakes and forgotten mugs of coffee on the counter. Neither of you was ready to move just yet, but you did. Together.

The quiet clatter of plates and cutlery was the only sound between you as you cleared the kitchen together, brushing shoulders and glancing over at each other when you thought the other wasn’t looking. The air still held the weight of everything that had happened in the last 24 hours, but it had softened now, a warm excitement settling in its place.

You’d agreed to take your time and rebuild this the right way, but the way Lewis kept looking at you, his big hands full of dishes, braids tied back, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to reveal his muscular arms, made it all too tempting.

You bit back a smile as you rinsed the last plate, only for him to bump your hip gently with his. Not hard enough to startle you, just to remind you he was still there with his eyes locked on you.

“You’re staring.” You felt a flush spread across your cheeks, not meeting his eyes.

“Can’t help it,” he chuckled as he dried his hands off, handing you the towel once you were done rinsing.

When you looked up, you felt the air around you shift, a slow unfurling in your chest. A familiar flicker danced between you, electric and almost dizzying. You wiped your hands dry and placed the towel back on the counter, suddenly feeling somewhat shy under his gaze.

“Just wondering how I got so lucky,” he added, quieter now.

He reached for you, one hand curling around your waist, fingers splaying like he needed to feel you solid beneath his palm, to know this wasn’t just some dream he’d wake up from.

You could feel the warmth of him in every inch of space you weren’t touching, and the electric current coursing through your veins in the parts you were. You ran your hand up his forearm and over his flexed bicep, looping your arms around his neck. That small space between your lips and his that felt impossibly far, and you wanted nothing more than to close it.

Lewis dipped his head slowly, his lips brushing yours carefully as though you might disappear, and you replied without hesitation. Your knees weakened at the taste of him and your head spun when he drew your body to his. You clutched at the neck of his shirt, needing the anchor, needing him, and he exhaled against your mouth in relief, as though he’d been holding his breath all day.

His addictive lips kissed you deeper this time, like the floodgates had opened and neither of you knew how to stop. Your hands moved to his shoulders, fingers curling into the muscle there as if you still couldn’t quite believe he was real.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he breathed, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, then back to your lips. “Every day, every night. You were on my mind, every second.”

You nodded against him, eyes closed and your breath shaky. “Me too, you have no idea.”

His thumbs stroked lightly at your side as he kissed you again, and again, each one felt like  reassurance, as though he was trying to rebuild what had broken with his presence.

Your heart swelled, your eyes burning suddenly with emotion you hadn’t expected. “I hated being away from you, felt like I lost you,” your voice trembled on your lips. 

He pressed his forehead to yours again, holding your waist like he didn’t want to let go. “You could never lose me, sweetheart.”

You touched your lips to his in response. There were no words strong enough for the relief rushing through you, no language deep enough to explain the way it felt to have him here again, holding you as though you were the most precious thing in the world, like someone he never wanted to risk losing again.

His tongue slid against yours, tasting your mouth, and you didn’t even realise your feet had left the ground until you were on the kitchen island, his hands firm around your hips, his body between your legs, fitting against you like it was the only place he wanted to be.

Your legs circled around his waist, pulling him closer, needing to feel him. His hands skimmed your thighs as though he still couldn’t believe you were letting him touch you like this again. You tilted your head back slightly when his mouth found your neck, his warm breath trickling your skin as he whispered your name. 

As you tugged at the fabric of his shirt breathlessly, he broke away just long enough to let you pull it over his head and toss it onto the floor. The light streaming through the kitchen windows reflected the pearls around his neck, and caught the lines of his fit torso, the slope of his shoulders, the glow of his bronze, tattooed skin, the soft curve of his defined lips when he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered.

“Still can’t believe you’re mine.” He spoke through his breath, his mouth capturing yours again while his thumbs traced the outline of the waistband on your trackpants.

“And you’re mine.” You giggled softly, lifting your hips to allow Lewis to slide the pants down your legs, as heat stirred in your stomach.

Your bare skin touched back down on the cold surface of the island while his hands made their way up your thighs. His fingers traced the curve of your underwear, before slipping beneath the fabric to run along your soaked core. 

“So wet for me already, baby,” he groaned against your lips, coating his fingertips in your wetness as he relished the feeling of your sensitive parts.

Your breath grew shaky, grasping onto the muscle of his shoulder and leaning back to allow him better access while steadying yourself with your free hand. He built you up slowly, almost teasingly, while his kisses trailed down your jaw to your neck and collarbone. Carefully, he slid a finger into you, followed by a second while his thumb continued to work at your clit, drawing a gasp from your lips.

“That feel good, sweetheart?” Lewis asked, enjoying watching you tremble deliciously at his mercy.

All you could do was dig your nails into his shoulder, your eyes falling shut as ecstacy coursed through your body, edging close to your peak. It wasn’t long before you began to tighten around his fingers, and he suddenly removed his hand from you, shocking you from your daze and drawing a whimper from your lips. You watched him in confusion as he quickly removed your underwear, pushed your legs further apart and lifted your feet over his shoulders.

His hot tongue dipped into your folds, licking and swirling at your clit in tantalising motions that worked you back up. Fingers still wet from earlier slipped back into you while his other hand gripped your thigh. You managed to lean back further, holding yourself up against the cold counter while he lapped at your core hungrily, your mind melting into a complete blur at his precise movements.

A hazed whisper of his name left you as your head fell back lightly, your hips grinding onto his mouth and nose. Your toes curled and your stomach tightened, you were so close now.

“Eyes on me, beautiful,” he demands against your clit, sucking gently while his tongue flicks. “You taste so fucking good.”

You obeyed, meeting his sparkling eyes with your face flushed as he watched you with hunger, devouring you until you came undone. You shuddered with pleasure crashing over you, sending you over your peak as a breathy moan left your lips. Lewis continued his movements, helping you ride out your high onto his tongue and holding you close to push your high further when the sensitivity that followed overwhelmed you, your body jerking away involuntarily. 

Once you had worked your way down, he removed himself slowly, as if he didn’t want to separate from your core if it weren’t for the ache in his pants. His lips glistened with your wetness coated over his chin and beard, his proud smirk making your stomach flutter. He licked the remainder off his fingertips as you chewed your lower lip, your frantic breaths slowing.

Sitting back up, you reached for his shoulders and pressed your mouth to his in a wet kiss, tasting yourself on him while he tugged you close to the edge of the counter, his warm hands gripping your ass. He lifted you off and moved towards your sofa, taking a seat while you straddled him. You let him undress you further, pulling your top off to reveal your bare torso and running his palms down your back. 

Gently, he cupped a breast and flicked his thumb over your nipple, before taking it into his mouth and swirling his tongue over the sensitive nub. The heat between your legs only grew hotter as you felt his hardness through his pants beneath you, and you wanted nothing more than to have him inside you. 

“Please, Lewis.” You pulled at the waistband of his pants desperately, breathless under his touch.

Lewis chuckled lightly, his voice low as he helped you slip them off. “Greedy girl.”

You gave him a look and grabbed his jaw, lifting your hips as he positioned himself at your slit. A gasp left you both in unison once you sunk down onto his length until he bottomed out inside you, relief and excitement rippling through your bodies. Slowly, you began your movements, grinding against him at first, before raising your hips and dropping down as you built a rhythm. 

He grasped your ass while you rode him, pressing his forehead to yours as his breathing grew ragged. The low groans from his throat only encouraged you further as you slammed back down on him over and over. He was somehow even more beautiful when you were the one making him feel good. The way his brown eyes glazed over in pleasure, his eyebrows knitted together, and his luscious lips fell open, made your heart race as you pushed further.

The friction of your clit against his pelvis sent waves of hot tension pooling in your belly, so you bounced harder and gripped the fabric of the sofa behind him, while your other hand held onto his shoulder. Your lips brushed together, his breath on your skin as you moaned into each other’s mouths over the wet sound of your bodies coming together.

“Baby,” he hissed roughly, his head falling back against the cushion and his face contorting in bliss. “Slow down…you’re gonna make…”

Lewis’ voice was music to your ears as you felt yourself clamp down on him, your clit pulsing and bliss rushing through your veins, leaving only a cry to rip from you. Before you could finish riding out your high yourself, you found yourself laying against the soft cushion of your sofa, under him as he took back his control. He pressed his thumb to your clit and snapped his hips into yours, heightening your pleasure as you ground back against him and clutched the fabric to your side.

Soon after, he lifted your legs higher in order to push deeper into you and tangled your fingers together with his. You squeezed his hand and tilted your chin up to kiss him again, aching to be closer. 

“I missed you so much, Lew,” you breathed, all the emotions of the day flooding you as you poured your adoration into his lips.

“I missed you more, baby, I missed you so much,” he whispered, the words almost broken with sincerity, caressing your hair with his free hand. “I swear, I’ll never hurt you again.”

His eyes searched yours as he spoke, full of care, affection, and commitment, even with his bare body pressed to yours. This time, you believed him. You trusted him. 

Your fingers found his bearded chin, drawing him close and brushing your lips to his while he slowed his rocking to deep, languid movements. His hard length stroked inside you, engulfed by your slick core as he built you both up. You moved together like two halves remembering how to be whole again. It wasn’t long before you felt him throb inside you, and you both gasped in bliss, letting yourselves release with shaky moans.

After a moment, you both eased back onto the couch, still wrapped around each other, the quiet afterglow settling like a soft blanket. Lewis’ hands moved slowly along your spine, drinking you in silently. All that existed in your bubble now was the steady rhythm of your heartbeats in sync, the warmth of his breath ghosting over your skin, and the sweet way your lips met again.

You traced your fingertips along the ink of the tattoo on his collarbone, your voice low and shy as you murmured, “You know…I’ve felt something for you for a while now too.”

A mischievous glint flickered in his eyes as he grinned.

“Really?” he teased, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “Since when?”

A small smile stretched across your face, your cheeks warm when the memories bloomed in your mind.

“Hmm…honestly,” You began, pursing your lips as you thought it over. “Maybe that dinner in Austin. When we talked for hours, you told me about that space documentary you loved. Then you said you were planning to do astronaut training, which is just insane, by the way. But I’d never seen you like that before, that look in your eyes. I think that’s when it really hit me.”

Lewis’ gaze softened, his mouth curling as he recalled the memory. “I remember. You were so sweet, I didn’t want that night to end. I always loved talking to you.”

His fingers found your hair, threading through the strands as he tugged you just a little closer.

“Guess we’ve both been holding out on each other for too long.”

“Too long, yeah.” You laughed softly against his lips.

No more words were needed. The quiet between you filled with a calming sense of hope and relief, as those fading lines between what the two of you had been, and what you were now finally gave way.

And it was just the beginning…

Silverstone came soon after that.

The car had gone quiet as the gates of the paddock loomed ahead, only the low purr of the engine and the tense thrum of anticipation in the air. You sat to Lewis’ side, toying with the chain of your bag and watching through tinted windows as crowds of staff, guests, and media personnel entered the paddock.

Lewis was calm as always, a soft smile across his lips when you arrived at the VIP parking area. One hand rested on the wheel, the other was laced with yours, your fingers threaded together across the console loosely. Roscoe was seated in the back, panting away in excitement to step out of the car.

It had been months since the two of you had made the decision to be together. Life didn’t slow down by any means; Lewis’ race season continued with all the usual travel and pressure, while you found yourself immersed in your own projects. Despite the chaos, you’d spent more time together than ever, small moments of quiet between race weekends, following him to a few races discreetly, small trips and overnight stays that strengthened your bond as a couple.

You kept choosing each other, in the big things as well as the little. It wasn’t always easy though. There were long flights, late nights, and stretches of time apart, but what mattered most was that he always found his way back to you. No unfulfilled promises, but with his presence. In the way he held you when you couldn’t sleep, or how he never let a day go by without reminding you in any way he could, that you meant the world to him.

Lewis chose you, no matter how busy his world got. And every time he did, it made you fall in love with him all over again. 

Now, you were both ready to take the next step. You’d kept your relationship as private as possible, letting it grow and be yours only, but today was the day you stopped hiding. Now, it was time.

Lewis glanced over, stroking his thumb over yours gently. “Ready?”

Your fingers curled tighter around the chain of your bag, your heart thudding loud enough to drown out the noise outside. He noticed your hesitation.

“I can get one of the staff to take you in through the back if you’re not feeling it,” he offered, leaning closer to you, “No pressure, baby.”

His tone wasn’t just kind, it was understanding. He knew exactly how much this meant, how much you were giving him by even being here.

You turned to him, the butterflies in your chest fluttering hard against your ribs. He would never rush you or try to convince you into this. He was giving you an out, and trusting you to make your own choice.

You swallowed with a small nod, squeezing his hand. “No, I want to.”

Relief flickered across his face subtly. He pressed a kiss to your temple, then to your hand, before stepping out of the car. By the time he rounded to your side and opened your door, your palms had gone slightly clammy. Still, you climbed out slowly, blinking against the grey brightness of the British summer light. Lewis didn’t hesitate, lifting Roscoe out, then handing his keys to his assistant with a quiet word, and barely glancing back as the car was whisked away.

Then, you were walking in, together.

The crowd outside the paddock buzzed, your presence drawing attention even before you reached the gates. Scanning your passes, you both crossed the threshold into the Paddock and reconnected. You weren’t holding hands yet, but you walked closely with Roscoe on the other side of Lewis, his tail wagging away as you entered.

You were hyper-aware of everything: the upcoming wall of photographers and media, the buzz of cameras warming up, the click of shutters in rapid fire, and flashes popping as photos were snapped.

The outfit you’d carefully chosen after hours of indecision felt suddenly too noticeable. It was sleek, understated and perfectly tailored to balance the line between elegance and comfort for you. Lewis had helped you choose it, insisting it looked perfect on you. You trusted his eye, especially since he understood exactly what kind of scrutiny came with standing at his side.

As the two of you crossed into the heart of the Paddock, a pack of media swept past on the left, cameras already raised. As the wave of attention swelled, your breath caught and your spine stiffened instinctively. This was it, everyone around the world would know that you were the one who held Lewis’ heart. It was no longer just pictures of stolen, private moments in an airport, it was the two of you stepping into the light proudly, together. That was all it took.

Without a word, Lewis’ hand found yours. He didn’t look at you or make a show of it. Just held on, thumb brushing over your knuckles like a quiet I’m here.

You exhaled through your nose slowly, holding a small smile as you made your way towards the Ferrari motorhome. There were many calls of Lewis’ name around the Paddock, but he never flinched, offering a quick wave or nod when he caught the direction they were coming from.

At the motorhome, the team greeted him with nods and handshakes, a few heads turning toward you and Roscoe, who was enjoying himself being showered in scratches and pats all around. You greeted the team you’d become familiar with, before spotting Lewis’ parents and sharing hugs as you settled in. Lewis soon changed into his race suit once briefings had been completed and it was nearly time to get on the track.

The garage buzzed with motion and noise, tyre covers shifting, the clang of metal tools, voices calling over radios. The scent of asphalt and scorched rubber was one that had grown to feel almost like home.

Lewis emerged in his Ferrari race suit, helmet tucked under one arm. His hair was tied back as usual, revealing his handsome face, his jaw tight, brows drawn in the kind of laser-sharp concentration he wore before every race.

Yet, the moment his eyes found you again in the corner of the garage, everything about him softened. He crossed the garage without hesitation, weaving through engineers and mechanics as if nothing else in the world existed. When he stopped in front of you, his lips stretched into a faint smile.

“Hey,” he greeted, his voice cutting through the chaos like it was only meant for you. “You okay?”

You nodded, but your throat was tight, too full of feeling. You’d never seen him look more like himself and yet so entirely in his element. Calm, sure, and brilliant as always, but now, yours.

“I should be asking you that, it’s your home race,” you shook your head, your voice barely above a whisper.

Silverstone was his home race. The one he’d grown up dreaming about, watching from behind barriers long before he'd ever stepped onto the grid himself. The race he’d won nine times already, and was surely on his way to a tenth after qualifying P2.

“You nervous?” you asked softly.

He paused for half a breath, then took a small step closer, close enough for his chest to brush yours, and you could feel the warmth coming off his skin, even through layers of fabric.

A faint breath left him, half a laugh, half an exhale. “Yeah, it just…hits different today.”

“Because it’s home?”

“Because it’s been a rough season, seems like so much keeps going wrong. But I'm hopeful for this one,” he admitted quietly. “And because now you’re here, just makes me want it more.”

You felt your heart ache with a small tug at his honesty and the weight of it all sitting just beneath the surface. 

“I believe in you, Lewis. You’ve won this race nine times before, you can absolutely do it again.” You ran your hand over his chest, his brown eyes lighting up at your confidence in him.

Lewis touched a finger under your chin, his thumb resting beneath your lips as he leaned in, brushing his over yours. “That’s all I need.”

Your fingers held onto the side of his suit lightly, grounding yourself as the rush of background noise faded around you. You wanted to say it, right then. The words were right there, lingering at the tip of your tongue, waiting to spill out. I love you. It caught in your throat, too heavy with meaning to just throw into the noise right now. You wanted it to land at the right time, to mean everything.

Instead, you placed another kiss on his lips. “Good luck, baby.”

He pulled away, warmth in his eyes, the corner of his mouth lifting in that way that always made you feel like he was letting you in on a secret. Placing a kiss on your forehead, he slowly drifted back as he was called over.

And then he turned, stepped toward the car, and disappeared into the heartbeat of the race.

The race was tense, with Lewis overtaking to lead the race throughout the second half. The final few laps blurred into a rush of sound and colour, your breath catching with every corner, every sector time, your heart in your throat even as the team around you shouted and cheered, willing Lewis across the line first. You thumbed the flower on your bracelet as the anxiety tensed through you.

Then, the explosion of noise. Lewis crossed first. Lewis won.

The garage burst into excitement, engines roaring outside, crew jumping into each other’s arms, radios crackling with congratulations. The team yelled, hugged, threw headsets in the air. The kind of joy that only came with victory, and this one had meant everything. He hadn’t won all season, until now. At his home race.

His voice over the radio made your heart melt, the gratitude and exhilaration as he thanked the team and his supporters for believing in him. Tears had escaped down your cheeks while you watched him on the many screens, waving the Union Jack flag as he pulled in.

You barely registered your own hands shaking until someone touched your arm, gentle yet urgent.

A soft voice beside you called your name, and you turned to see Lewis’ mother Carmen. Her eyes glistened with tears, her cheeks flushed from joy. She took your hand and led you quickly through the chaos and out into the sunlight.

The paddock heat hit you like a wave. The sound of the crowd, the thunder of music and announcements overhead, the crackle of static from race control, it all blurred around you. You could barely breathe through the happiness in your chest.

Below the podium, you saw the sea of red: the Ferrari crew lined along the barrier, arms raised, waiting for their driver.

You barely had time to find your spot as Lewis completed his post race interviews and headed to cool down, before making his way over to your crowd behind the barrier. He was beaming, that bright, boyish, stunned kind of smile that only came from something he thought he might never get back.

He ran past the cameras, past the media, past the security still trying to catch up. He sprinted straight for the team again as he had upon securing his win, laughing and shouting, pulling his engineers and mechanics into wild hugs while others patted him on the back

Then came his parents.

Anthony caught him first, wrapping him into a firm, almost bone-crushing hug, murmuring words you couldn’t hear over the roar or excitement into his ear as he nodded. Carmen threw her arms around him next, kissing his cheeks through tears, smoothing his braided hair as though he was still her boy.

Lewis’ eyes searched for you, and you didn’t move, because the second he saw you, standing just behind the barrier, eyes filled with tears and sunlight, he moved straight to you. His face was flushed, his beautiful eyes shining with more than victory.

When he reached you, he pulled you into him immediately. You didn’t even realise you were crying until his hands cradled the back of your head, dipping his head forward. He was breathless, wild with joy, and as the crowd around you erupted into further celebration, he kissed you. Deep and fast, full of adrenaline, his fingers curling into your hair like he needed to hold onto something solid.

The world around you blurred and you heard the cacophony of camera shutters flood your ears, everyone capturing the moment suddenly.

When he pulled back, his forehead pressed to yours briefly, and his voice cracked with emotion. 

“I love you.”

The words hit you like a tidal wave, your heart skipping a beat as it raced behind your ribs. You didn’t have time to fully take it in, not with the adrenaline still thundering through your veins, the noise around you, and the cameras flashing. They sank straight through your chest anyway, sharp and soft all at once. Your lips parted, your breath catching, because you felt it too. You’d been feeling it, carrying it around with you, hanging from your tongue and aching to be let out.

You wanted to say it back, but before the words could leave your mouth, he was pulled away,  engulfed by a rush of red and celebration, the team wrapping him in hugs and shouts. You watched him leave, dazed as your fingertips still tingled from where he’d touched you, your mouth still parted with the words you hadn’t been able to give him yet.

He didn’t look back for a response, just saying it had been enough for him.

But for you, the moment hung in the air, because you knew, without question, the very next time you saw him, you were going to say it. You had to.

Before you knew it, there he was again.

Lewis was announced as the winner, and he stepped onto the top step of the podium, the number one painted bold beneath his feet, the crowd’s cheers swelling as he stood tall against the backdrop of flags and ceremony. The anthem hadn’t started just yet, that sacred pause before the world erupted in celebration. In that moment, before a trophy was lifted or champagne was sprayed, his eyes searched the sea of faces in front of him.

His eyes swept across the crowd, taking it in like he always did, until they found you.

Then, everything shifted.

His shoulders eased, his smile softened, love blooming behind his eyes. It wasn’t the usual, dazzling grin he wore for the world or the victory smile.

This one was yours.

He winked down at you and your heart squeezed in your chest, so tight it almost hurt. The tears that had been uncontrollably escaping since the moment he crossed the line welled again. You reached up instinctively, fingers brushing beneath your eyes, trying to ground yourself in the moment.

You blew him a kiss, lips trembling but sure, and mouthed the words that had been lingering on your tongue all day.

“I love you.”

They were three silent words across a sea of celebration, but when they reached him, you saw the way they landed. Somehow, his smile grew even further and you were sure he might pop from all the excitement, especially knowing that the woman he loved, loved him too.

Soon after, champagne burst into the air around him, painting the podium in silver and light. Music blared as he celebrated with everyone, spraying his champagne down into the crowd as you shielded yourself. You caught his eyes again, soaked with celebration.

In the middle of all of it, the history, the headlines, the high of another win, it was still just the two of you.

And this time, you weren’t hiding.

No more grey areas.

No more waiting.

Just you and him.

Out in the light, at last.

Together.

Taglist: @sltwins @ernegren @sher-ni @skzvibes-blog @rageshots @esw1012🤍🤍

[sinnabarmoth]

The God, The Dragon, & The Girl

Pairing: Rafayel x Fem|Reader x Sylus

Prompt: Sharing a heart with someone but sharing a soul with someone else can be a tricky business. Thankfully your god and your dragon are willing to share. (This is a polycule! Raf and Sylus love their girl but also love each other! Happy pride!)

Word Count: 2300

You were in a bit of a pickle.

Standing in front of your bed you had two dresses picked out but you could only wear one to dinner. One was in a pretty pink that had some nice flow and bounce to it when you walked, the other was in a deep crimson red that was more slinky and sexy and moved like rippling wine. They were such polar tastes to what your boyfriends preferred on you.

“Cutie,” Rafayel appeared in the doorway, “are you almost ready to--you’re not even dressed yet?”

“I can’t decide which dress to wear and I can’t do my makeup until I know what color I’m wearing.” you sighed. “Help.”

Rafayel came over and inspected the choices you laid out. “I like the pink one--”

“But the red would look even better on her.” Came Sylus’s voice from down the hall.

And here it went again.

“The pink is cuter!” Rafayel shouted back to Sylus.

“Red is hotter.” Sylus shouted back.

“I will fight you on this, lizard man!” Rafayel stomped out of the room.

“Come try your luck, fish boy.” Sylus said, humor in his voice.

“Useless, the both of them.” you sighed then went to the door. “No quickies you two! We have a reservation and I have been dreaming about going to this restaurant for weeks and we are not missing it!”

“Then get dressed, kitten.” Sylus’s head popped out from his room down the hall. “You’re the one that’s going to make us late.” He then grabbed Rafayel by the collar and yanked him into the room.

You rolled your eyes and went back to your closet, grabbing a pretty blue dress with black accents instead. You really needed to stop asking their opinion when you knew they were going to have such polar opposite thoughts on them.

It had been strange when your memories started returning. It had happened the first time at an art show with Rafayel, Sylus happened to be there looking for a new acquisition and ran into you. Trying to explain how you knew Sylus to Rafayel and vice versa had been a bit of a challenge but something happened when you had the two of them together. It was like something had unlocked in your brain and memories pulling you between two different pasts started unraveling in your mind. The Sea God’s bride and the dragon’s sorceress. Your heart with Rafayel, your soul with Sylus.

You had started hyperventilating and they ushered you away from the crowd and let you calm down before telling them what was going on in your head. They were quiet for a long time before it all came spilling out. Your story. Your lives that you had lived with both of them.

They were shocked and a little adversarial at first when they realized they were sitting next to someone who you had been in love with in a past life. But you were still reeling so had put it aside to comfort you until everything had made sense in your head. You remembered them both. You loved them both. Your heart and body strained to compete with the pull between them.

There was so much pain from the past. So much that you had lost with both of them only to be reunited now. You couldn’t fathom being apart from either of them ever again but you didn’t know if your god and your dragon would let you be with another, even if you were still with them.

They had been surprised too when they learned that you shared such a large part of yourself with another. The clear panic you showed when they started bickering about who had more of a right to you was enough to get them to stop. They never wanted to hurt you. You had finally returned to them after so long, they couldn’t in good conscience deny you the other half of your heart or your soul. So an arrangement had been made. You could have both of them and they would love you without interfering with the other.

The more time that passed of this arrangement though something even more unexpected started happening, that was the feelings that grew between Rafayel and Sylus themselves. It was a relief to you that not only were they getting along but that they were also interested in each other. It felt less like you were being shared between two men and more like you were all living harmoniously in mutual love and attraction between the three of you.

Rafayel and Sylus argued and bickered like an old married couple and nine times out of ten it ended with them pouncing on each other. Which was why you were now rushing to get ready so they didn’t get the chance to completely ruin their appearance sucking on each others faces, or worse.

You were clipping on your earrings as you moved down the hall. “Loves of my life, you had better be decent because I’m ready to leave now.”

“Coming!” Rafayel said, stumbling out of Sylus’s room with disheveled hair.

“Well, not anymore.” Sylus said, following behind him with his tie askew and a new hickey poking out from his collar.

“Unbelievable.” you rolled your eyes. You straightened Sylus’s tie and smoothed out Rafayel’s hair. “I said no quickies.”

“Sylus is making it sound worse than it was.” Rafayel assured you.

“Or maybe our kitten is just jealous she didn’t get to participate.” Sylus said, giving you a kiss.

“Still hate that pet name.” Rafayel grumbled. “She’s much cuter than those feline monsters.”

“Raf, my darling, it’s just a name.” you gave Rafayel’s a quick kiss. “Now come on, let’s get going.”

“I thought you were choosing between the pink and red dress.” Sylus said, appraising your new choice.

“Don’t worry about it.” You grabbed their hands and left the house and made your way over to the restaurant. When you got there you were shown to your table and you marveled at the spectacular view out the high windows that looked over the rest of Linkon.

You sat down to eat and took the time over your meal to catch up on what was going on in the lives of your boyfriends. Rafayel had an art show later that week and had been trying to get out of going to it but Thomas was being adamant and Rafayel knew when to cut his losses. Sylus was meeting up with some protocore sellers the same night as Rafayel’s show which left you to decide who to go with.

Rafayel would be bored out of his mind without you at the art show but things could get dicey with Sylus’s meeting and he could use backup if things came to blows. Why did they have to have plans on the same day? It made choosing so difficult.

“Go with Raf,” Sylus said after you had kept quiet trying to decide all through the entree course.

“But--”

“I’ll be fine on my own, promise.” he leaned in closer, bringing his voice to a whisper, “Besides, if you don’t go with him then he’s going to pout the entire next day and for our sanity we should avoid that.”

“Good point.” you agreed.

“What are you two whispering about?” Rafayel asked.

“Nothing, honey!” you beamed at him. “Just discussing plans for Saturday. Sylus might be able to come to the art show after he is done with his meeting.”

So, Saturday evening Sylus left for his meeting and you and Rafayel went out to the art show. It was pretty boring but joking around with Rafayel made it more tolerable. So did the hors devours and glasses of champagne floating around the room.

You were arm in arm with Rafayel, half-listening as he chatted with a patron when your stomach gave a large gurgle.

Eyes turned to you and you smiled awkwardly. “Excuse me, must have been those mini quiches.” you joked. You ate a lot of hors devours in your boredom this evening. It was probably just indigestion.

There was another loud gurgle and groan followed by a sharp stabbing pain in your stomach. Okay. Not indigestion. Much worse than indigestion. “Can you excuse me for one moment?” you extracted yourself from the group and went to the bathroom. You gripped the bathroom sink, taking in several slow long breaths as you tried to fight down the pain radiating from your stomach.

Then your world tilted as a wave of nausea crashed over you. You turned around and dashed into one of the stalls, hurling into the toilet. Damn it. Was it food poisoning?

“Cutie, you in there?” Rafayel’s voice called through the door.

“Yeah, I’m fine--” you cut off as you hurled again. “No. I lied. Having a bad time in here.”

“I’m coming in.” you heard the door open and felt his hand on your back. “Oh no, what’s wrong? Are you sick?”

“Yeah. I think I got food poisoning from the hors devours.” you muttered.

“We should get you home. Think you can move?”

You limply shook your head.

“Okay, be right back.” Rafayel dashed from the bathroom and came back a moment later with a glass of water and your coat. You washed out your mouth and spit it back into the toilet before letting Rafayel cover you with your coat and lift you up into his arms. “Let’s go home.”

When you got home Rafayel called Sylus to let him know you had left the show early cause you got sick. You tried to get him to stop since you didn’t want him worrying about you when he was trying to work but it was useless.

“Hey babe,” Rafayel said once he got a hold of Sylus, “No we had to leave early. Our darling girlfriend went ahead and ate something spoiled and now has food poisoning. She’s not doing too great right now. Yeah. Okay. See you when you get here, love you too.” he hung up.

“Sylus is on his way back, he said he loves you and that he’ll be home soon.”

“I told you not to bother him…” you muttered.

“And let him find out that you were sick and that we didn’t tell him immediately instead? No thanks, I’d rather not deal with his snappish behavior if we did that.”

By the time Sylus got home Rafayel had already helped you out of your clothes and changed you into something more comfortable. You were still curled around the toilet, face sweaty and burning as a fever started to set in.

“Oh sweetie,” Sylus said, sitting on the bathroom floor with you. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit.” you sent him a glare. “What kind of question is that?”

“She’s been crabby since we got home. Tread carefully.” Rafayel whispered to him.

“It was a dumb question. I’m so sorry you’re not feeling well.” Sylus said, rubbing your back and moving some hair away from your face.

“No, I’m sorry.” Rafayel sighed, “That caterer should have been screened better. Their hors devours were suitable at best but not great and they clearly didn’t care about food safety. They should never have been hired.”

“All that food…wasted…” you groaned, staring at the toilet like it personally offended you.

“You stay with her for a minute. I’m going to go out and get some medicine, I didn’t realize we were so low until we got home.” Rafayel said.

“Yeah, you go. I got her.” Sylus stayed next to you, speaking soothingly as your body writhed in pain.

“I know, sweetie. I know it hurts. Once your body flushes out the bacteria it’ll all be over.” he pressed a kiss to the side of your head.

“Can you just kill me instead?”

“Literally nothing in the universe could convince me to do that, my other half.”

“Ugh!” you groaned.

You rolled over and held out your arms. Sylus gave you a pitying smile and pulled you onto his lap, keeping you secure and comfortable in his arms. “You’re burning up, here.” he used his evol to grab a wet hand towel from the sink and pressed it to your burning forehead. You sighed in relief, melting more into Sylus, your eyes falling closed. “That’s it, rest. We’re going to take good care of you.”

When you woke up again you were in your bed, either boy was laid in bed next to you. Rafayel was fast asleep but Sylus was awake, his reading glasses on with a book in hand. Upon noticing you wake up he set the book aside. “How are you feeling?”

“Not great but better than I was earlier.” you took the towel off of your head. “Is it still night?”

“About five AM, I’ll probably be going to bed soon but I wanted to stay close in case you needed anything.”

“I said I had her.” Rafayel mumbled sleepily on your other side.

“Good morning to you too, dear.” Sylus smirked. “I’m nocturnal, it was only natural I stay by her side.”

“If it is still that early I’m going to go back to sleep.” you slumped back under the sheets. Rafayel immediately enveloped you in his arms.

“Glad you’re feeling better, my heart,” he yawned.

“Since she’s doing better I’ll let you two sleep. I’m going to go back to my bed.” Sylus moved to stand up but you grabbed his arm. “Need something, sweetie?”

“Stay.” you said, “Just until I fall back asleep. Please?”

“Of course.” he reclined back on the bed one hand playing gently with your hair. You were being pulled back under very quickly and just before you were lost to dreaming you felt a shift in the bed and the press of lips to your head. “Rest well, my dears.” Sylus whispered.

[deliciousangelfestival]

Her Turn Now - 6

Character: CEO!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Summary: Twin sisters. Opposite worlds. The eldest is a tough, no-nonsense soldier. The youngest is a quiet, hardworking corporate girl. They rarely meet—until the younger sister collapses from stress, hiding months of workplace bullying.

Furious and protective, the soldier twin trades places with her. Heels off, boots on. Now, the office has no idea what's coming.

She doesn’t play nice. She doesn’t play fair. And while she's serving justice in a pencil skirt, the ruthless CEO starts to take notice…

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 , Chapter 6 , -

The desert air was hot, stale, and far too quiet for comfort.

You crouched behind a crumbling wall, sweat beading down your neck beneath the tactical gear, eyes flicking to Casey beside you. Her fingers signaled a sweep—two fingers forward, one curled back. You nodded.

The target was close. Breathing distance. One confirmed hostile, last seen ducking into a half-constructed warehouse on the edge of the compound. Your boots barely made a sound against the dirt floor as you advanced.

“This one has to be clean,” you whispered, voice low over the comm.

“No backup?” Casey murmured back.

“We’re the backup,” you said grimly.

Far behind you, Dom and Ortiz were handling the perimeter breach. You could still hear the occasional burst of suppressed fire. Nothing unexpected. But the moment you stepped into the dark hallway, you knew something was off. The air had changed. Sharper. Tense.

Then you saw him.

The target.

Slim, fast, wrapped in desert gear and already halfway to the back exit before your voice rang out.

“Don’t move!”

He paused. Just long enough to smirk—then bolted.

“Damn it!” Casey snapped, and both of you chased him, boots pounding through the warehouse.

You caught him near a crumbling stairwell, cornered and gasping. You didn’t hesitate. A clean tackle dropped him to the ground. Casey moved in to secure his arms.

“We need exfil now,” she barked into her mic. “Target in custody.”

That was when it happened.

A shot cracked from the upper ridge. You didn’t think. You saw Dom coming around the side, unaware. You moved.

“Dom!” you shouted, shoving him down hard.

Pain exploded in your side.

The bullet tore through your vest like paper. A sharp, wet impact. Your body jolted, but your mind stayed eerily calm.

Casey screamed your name.

Blood was already pouring as you dropped to your knees, breath hitching in your throat. You barely registered the way Ortiz fired upward, two clean shots into the ridge. Another body fell.

"Clear!" Ortiz shouted, voice cracking.

Casey didn’t wait. She dropped beside you, already tearing open her med pouch. “Pressure! I need pressure here—she’s hit bad!”

You tried to speak, to wave her off, but your hands were numb.

Dom’s voice broke through next. “The car’s hot—get her in, we move now!”

Casey pressed harder, hands slick with your blood. “Stay with me. Do you hear me? Don't close your goddamn eyes.”

“I’m fine,” you tried to say, but the words didn’t come out. Only breath. Shallow. Ragged.

Dom revved the engine, the tires screeching as he skidded up beside the crumbling warehouse.

“GO!” Ortiz shouted.

The three of them lifted you—fast, but careful. You barely felt it. Your vision was already dimming, the edges curling in like burning film. The target was thrown into the back seat, swearing in a language no one cared to translate. Casey kept pressure on your wound with one hand, stabilizing your head with the other.

Ortiz had his weapon trained on the perimeter, scanning for shadows. Dom drove like the world was on fire.

You felt the cold of blood loss creeping into your spine. Felt the thud of your heart slowing in your ears. The ceiling of the truck blurred.

Casey’s voice sounded distant now, like she was shouting through a tunnel. “Stay awake, Boss! Hey! Don’t pull that tough soldier crap, not now!”

You tried to answer.

But everything had already gone black.

******

The world returned slowly, not all at once.

At first, just sound—a low, mechanical hum, the soft hiss of oxygen, the shuffle of boots in a far corner. Then pain. Sharp, anchored deep in your side, blooming like heat under your skin. You flinched, eyes cracking open.

The white ceiling above you felt too bright. Too clean. You turned your head—slowly, carefully—and saw them.

Casey slumped in a chair beside your bed, her arms crossed but eyes half-cracked, like she’d been trying not to fall asleep. Ortiz was leaned forward, hands steepled, his head resting just above his knuckles. Dom was curled on the floor, still wearing his gear, a blanket clumsily thrown over him.

You swallowed against the dryness in your throat, your voice a whisper of sand.

“Guys…”

They stirred instantly—like you’d fired a gun.

Casey blinked and bolted upright, her chair screeching. Ortiz leaned forward, startled and wide-eyed. Dom shot to his knees and grabbed your hand like he’d been struck.

“Boss,” he breathed, relief crumpling his face. “Thank you… thank you for saving my life.”

You smiled, just a twitch at the corner of your mouth, and reached up with shaky fingers to pat his head. He was always the youngest, always the reckless one. He reminded you too much of Daren—the same wild loyalty, the same puppy-like devotion that drove you nuts and warmed your chest at the same time.

“I got you, dumbass,” you murmured.

Dom sniffed and laughed softly. Casey wiped her eyes, pretending it was just dust.

Then came the sound of a throat clearing—a quiet, deliberate cough.

You turned your head, slower this time.

In the doorway stood Major General Kenneth or Uncle Ken.

His arms were crossed, his expression unreadable. But the second your eyes met his, something in his shoulders eased.

All three of your soldiers scrambled to their feet.

“General!” they said in unison, straightening.

“At ease,” Ken said. “Good job, soldiers. Now let me talk to your captain.”

They gave you one last look before slipping out, quiet as ghosts.

Ken dragged a chair to your bedside with the weariness of a man who’d done it too many times. He sat without ceremony, hands resting on his thighs. Then he looked at you—not just with the eyes of a commanding officer, but with the weight of a godfather who’d known you since before you could spell "mission."

“The doctors said they almost lost you,” he said quietly.

You blinked. The words didn’t hit all at once. They crept in. Sunk down. Twisted.

You hadn’t really considered dying. Not in the field. Not like this. But hearing it, spoken plainly—it did something strange to your chest.

“But you pulled through,” Ken went on. “Even death’s afraid of you. Just like your dad.”

You let out a raspy chuckle. “Dad would’ve punched Death in the throat.”

Ken nodded. “He probably has. More than once.”

You closed your eyes for a moment. Let the silence sit. Let it be heavy.

“Speaking of which…” he sighed. “Your father’s gonna kill me.”

You turned your head, forcing your dry lips into a smile. “He knows?”

“He has ears everywhere,” Ken muttered.

You winced—part pain, part laughter.

Then his tone shifted. Subtle. Command slipped beneath familiarity.

“You’re going home.”

“No, I’m fine—”

“You’re going home,” he repeated, voice like steel under velvet. “Doctor says you need a minimum of four weeks recovery, and I’m not negotiating with internal bleeding.”

You stared at him. “I can still lead the mission from here—”

“You get out of this bed before I sign the paperwork, and it’ll be me in the hospital next because of your dad.” He leaned forward, his tone low. “Do you want to be the reason I need stitches from David McCain again?”

You sighed. Deep. Heavy. It wasn’t defeat—it was understanding.

“Fine,” you muttered.

Ken leaned back, nodding like that settled it. “Good.”

*******

The base gates loomed ahead, and for once, you weren’t behind the wheel. Ortiz drove in silence, while Dom and Casey argued over the best beef jerky brand like this wasn’t your final ride together before real separation.

You should’ve felt relief.

Instead, your gut twisted.

None of you spoke about it—not out loud—but when the car rolled to a slow stop by the admin office, the air shifted.

“This is it,” you muttered, unbuckling slowly.

“Should we do a dramatic group hug again?” Dom asked, eyes wide with fake innocence.

“No,” Casey said. “I’ve seen enough blood. That hug might actually reopen her stitches.”

You smirked.

The four of you stood by the car, just for a moment. No orders. No mission. No noise.

Just goodbye.

Casey clapped your shoulder gently. “Recover. Then raise hell.”

Ortiz offered a mock salute and a lopsided grin. “Don’t make us come to the suburbs to drag you back.”

Dom didn’t say anything. He just hugged you. Tight. And when he stepped back, his eyes were suspiciously shiny.

“Don’t make this weird,” you warned him.

“You’re the weird one,” he said, and walked off before he could cry.

You turned toward the building—and froze.

David McCain was waiting.

Even in civilian clothes, your father stood like a soldier. Black leather jacket zipped halfway up. Aviator sunglasses hiding whatever emotion might betray him. Silver hair neatly trimmed. Still fit. Still commanding.

“Shit,” you muttered under your breath.

Of course he knew.

He didn’t speak as you approached. Just watched you. The others saluted instinctively as they passed him, even though he was long retired. Respect didn’t fade with paperwork.

When you stopped in front of him, your mouth opened to speak, but nothing came.

He sighed.

And then, with unexpected gentleness, he reached forward and lightly touched your shoulder.

“I want to hug you, kid,” he said. “But I’ve seen that med report. If I squeeze you, you’ll be leaking again.”

You almost laughed. Almost. But your chest tightened instead.

“Sorry for the mess,” you whispered.

“I’m not mad,” he replied. “You did what I would’ve done. That’s the problem.”

He stepped aside. “Come on. Your mom’s waiting.”

*****

Back at the house, Elle McCain met you at the door, her apron still dusted with flour. Her eyes scanned you faster than any military drone, as if she could x-ray the bandages beneath your shirt.

“You should be resting,” she scolded, already guiding you to the couch.

“I’m walking, not storming Normandy,” you muttered, but didn’t resist.

She brought you a blanket. Then a pillow. Then a tray of cut fruit. Then another blanket.

“I'm not dying,” you said flatly.

“You’re bleeding on the inside,” she replied without blinking. “Which is worse, because I can’t fix that with soup.”

She kissed your forehead before walking off, muttering something about tea.

You sunk into the couch like it might eat you whole.

Then came the sound of bounding footsteps.

“Big sister!” Daren shouted, diving beside you like he was crash-landing a jet.

You groaned. “Do you want to make me bleed out and ruin Mom’s couch?”

He blinked. “Wait, you actually got hurt?”

“You’re worried about me?” you raised an eyebrow.

Daren’s face lit up. “You know me so well.” He clasped his hands together dramatically. “Be my donor. I want new shoes.”

“Fuck off.”

He gasped. “Pleasure talking to you.” Then he pouted, hard. “You’re so cold. I thought you’d miss me!”

“You smell like locker room socks. I could smell you ten kilometers away.”

He sniffed his own armpit, then glared. “Rude,” he mumbled and stormed upstairs.

Elle reappeared with a bowl of chilled fruit, the scent of freshly cut melon and grapes trailing behind her. She placed it on your lap with the practiced grace of someone who'd been tending to her children long before one of them could even hold a spoon.

“Did his puppy face fail again?” she asked lightly, smoothing the blanket around your legs.

You popped a grape into your mouth, chewing slowly. “Didn’t stand a chance.”

She sat beside you, not speaking at first. Her fingers moved to your hair, brushing it back in soft, rhythmic strokes. Always moving. Always fixing. Always mending. Like she didn’t know how to sit still unless someone she loved was in front of her—wounded or not.

“You know,” she said after a pause, her voice softer now, “everyone keeps seeing you like you’re bulletproof.”

You frowned slightly, but didn’t interrupt.

“But you’re still my daughter,” she whispered. “And I know when someone comes home… but leaves a part of herself behind.”

You looked at her then—really looked—and for once, your mouth didn’t move. There was no sharp reply. No joke to dodge the blow.

Because she was right.

And that realization settled heavier than the bandages pressed against your skin.

After a moment, you asked quietly, “Where’s Levi?”

“She’s traveling,” Elle replied, keeping her tone even. “Her previous job gave her a good payout. More benefits than she told anyone. She’s using it to see the world now.”

You felt a tight pull in your chest, and Bucky's face flashed behind your eyes—his voice, his smile, the offer you didn’t know how to answer. “That’s… great,” you said. It wasn’t a lie. But it wasn’t the whole truth either.

Elle hesitated, then spoke, carefully choosing her words. “You know, sometimes I feel guilty watching twins grow up with the same face, but not always the same space.”

“Mom,” you said, voice tired.

“I’ve seen you let go of a lot of things for Levi,” she continued gently. “Little things. Big ones too. Even things no one else would notice.” She exhaled. “But you’re not children anymore. You don’t have to share the same dreams. You don’t have to lose something just because she wants it.”

You looked down at the bowl of fruit. Suddenly, it was hard to swallow.

Same face.

Different needs.

Different choices.

And maybe… different endings.

Elle placed her hand over yours. No pressure. No advice. Just warmth.

And for a moment, that was enough to keep you from falling apart.

****

The living room was dark except for the flickering light from the TV, casting uneven shadows across the hardwood floor. You were stretched out on the couch, a blanket tangled around your legs, eyes fixed on the news segment playing across the screen. You weren’t really watching, but the drone of the anchor’s voice was oddly comforting. Predictable. Controlled.

Behind you, at the dining table, Daren was hunched over a stack of homework, pencils scattered everywhere like fallen soldiers.

“I’m begging you,” he groaned, “please change the channel. If I hear one more report about stock market trends, I’m going to throw myself out the window.”

“Finish your homework,” you replied without looking at him.

He scowled at your back, dramatic and defeated. Then, with the exaggerated sigh of a teenage boy denied peace, he grabbed his phone and opened the camera.

“If I must suffer,” he muttered, “the world will suffer with me.”

You didn’t even flinch as the red recording dot lit up.

“This is what I live with,” he announced into the mic, panning the camera to your reclined figure on the couch. “My sister. Firstborn. Battle-hardened. Watch as I attempt communication.”

He cleared his throat like a documentary narrator.

“Question one: Do you even know what day it is?”

“Hmmm.”

“Question two: How many pushups can you do post-surgery?”

“Hmmm.”

“Question three: Is love real, or is that just propaganda invented by the greeting card industry?”

“Hmmmmm.”

“Fascinating,” Daren whispered dramatically. “My sister speaks only in vibrations now.”

He ended the video with a wink, planning to send it to his group chat of fellow younger siblings who feared their older, military-trained sisters. But instead of sending it privately, Daren—half-distracted by a meme—accidentally hit “Post.” Public.

He passed out twenty minutes later in his hoodie, thinking nothing of it.

***

The video caught fire while the house slept.

It was short. Funny. Chaotic in the way only sibling dynamics could be. Viewers loved the deadpan silence, the dramatic commentary, the vibe of "unbothered sister could assassinate you in your sleep but chooses not to."

It started with a few likes. Then hundreds. Then thousands.

By morning, it had over 2.3 million views.

And among the comments, one stood out—verified, blue check, and very recognizable.

James B. @jbbarnes

“That last hum gave me flashbacks. Respect to the General of the Couch.”

*****

The morning sun filtered through the thin curtains, warming your face just enough to drag you back to consciousness. The painkillers still hummed in your bloodstream, making everything feel distant, like you were underwater. You blinked slowly, then turned your head into the pillow.

Then the door burst open.

“Earthquake?” you mumbled, groggy and half-drugged, eyes barely cracking open.

Daren stormed into the room like he’d just been handed a lottery ticket and a Nobel Prize at the same time.

“Get up. You’re going viral!” he shouted, phone in hand, the screen already thrust in your face before you could even sit up properly.

You blinked again, trying to focus. A video. Your video. Well—his video of you, apparently. The view count was in the millions.

You squinted. “What the hell…”

“Look, look, look,” Daren said, vibrating with excitement. He jabbed his finger at one specific username near the top of the comments. “You see this? Do you see that check mark? That’s real, right? That’s real.”

James B.

Your heart skipped.

James Buchanan Barnes.

You leaned back against the headboard slowly, blinking past the fog. “Daren.”

“Yes?”

“You do know Levi worked with him for years, right?"

Daren frowned. “No?”

“You need to start drinking fish oil. For your brain.”

He scratched the back of his head, processing. “Anyway,” he pivoted smoothly, “this means I’m gonna be famous at school. Fifteen minutes of hall-passing royalty. The cool kids are gonna know my name.”

You stared at him. “And?”

“And I need new shoes.”

“Again? I just gave you money for shoes.”

“That was two pairs ago.”

You groaned. “I only have four pairs total, and two of them are military boots.”

“Exactly. You don’t need any. Please…” He clasped his hands together in a dramatic mock-prayer. “Let me bask in the spotlight without shame.”

You sighed, tossing the blanket over your head.

This was your life now.

Painkillers, mild celebrity, and your teenage brother campaigning for sneaker endorsements before breakfast.

And somewhere out there, Bucky Barnes had just called you the General of the Couch.

God help you.

*****

The shoe store was as loud and chaotic as a battlefield—just with more neon and less gunfire. You leaned against a display of overpriced high-tops while Daren ran laps around the store, switching between styles like he was auditioning for a sneaker commercial. You didn’t even bother pretending this was about quality footwear. He’d picked you to come because he knew exactly how this would end.

You rolled your eyes as he held up a pair with a glowing sole. “Please,” he whispered dramatically, clasping the shoes to his chest like they were sacred artifacts. “Let me ascend socially.”

You sighed, pulled out your card, and waved him toward the cashier. He whooped with triumph.

Five minutes later, you stood just outside the food court, watching the foot traffic blur past while Daren ran off to get boba. The mall felt too open, too bright, too full of noise. You hadn’t been out like this in months. Every corner felt like it needed to be cleared. Every crowd made your muscles tense.

“Y/N?”

The voice cut through the haze like a wire to your spine.

And it hit you harder than you expected—like standing still while something warm and electric cracked through your chest. It wasn’t just recognition. It was knowing.

You turned.

Bucky stood a few feet away, dressed in a simple black t-shirt, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, sunglasses in one hand. The sunlight coming through the glass ceiling caught on his hair, and for a second—just a second—it felt like the air shifted. Sharpened.

“Hey,” you said, trying to play it cool, though your heartbeat had suddenly forgotten how to walk and chosen to sprint.

His eyes dropped briefly to your side, where the scar beneath your clothes still ached.

“You’re okay?” he asked.

“Resting,” you replied. “Doctor gave me a week. I’ll be fine.”

He nodded, but didn’t look entirely reassured. “I heard about the switch.”

You blinked. “Levi told you?”

“She didn’t need to,” he said. “I figured it out. Eventually.”

You straightened. “I’m sorry. We didn’t mean for it to go that far—”

“No hard feelings,” he cut in gently. “Honestly… I should be thanking you. You didn’t burn the building down.”

You smirked. “Came close.”

He grinned, and it hit you like a sucker punch. That smile had once belonged to every daydream you’d pushed aside for Levi’s sake. Seeing it again—up close—made something ache.

“My assistant spot’s still empty,” he added, more casual now. “No pressure. But… if you want it.”

You raised a brow.

“I need a fist,” he said, tilting his head, “like the one that punched the rot out of my company.”

“I thought HR disapproved of hiring threats,” you teased.

“Only when they’re ineffective.”

Before you could answer, a voice piped in behind you.

“She’ll take it.”

You turned to see Daren materializing with two cups of something frothy and pink in his hands.

“All she does is lie on the couch watching documentaries about ancient war,” he added between sips.

You glared at him. “You’re unbelievable.”

Bucky chuckled. “You didn’t tell me you had a manager now.”

Daren beamed. “I’m also her personal stylist. For a small fee.”

“Come on,” Bucky said. “Let me treat both of you to lunch.”

You hesitated. “You’re alone?”

“Yeah.” He glanced around like the idea just occurred to him. “Apparently CEOs don’t get many lunch invitations.”

You glanced at Daren.

He shrugged. “I’ve never had lunch with a CEO. Let’s upgrade my résumé.”

You sighed, but didn’t argue.

Because truthfully?

You didn’t want to leave either.

A/N: What do you want to see in the next chapter? Share all your thoughts, ideas, and theories.

I’d love to read them all!

My book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing are on Kindle. Check it out!

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[bluebnny]

So, look, I don't know if your requests are open (especially when you're in exams 😭), BUT I really love how you write Law and more with the toxic HC. There's a song that I love and it's really like a necessity to read something related to that song. I don't know if you can write something similar or like that 😞. The song is "Supermercado" by Mon Laferte (yes, it's in Spanish, but there's a translation on YouTube 😭), I've never requested something like that so I don't know how it works, sorry 😔. Yes, it could be something like hurt/comfort or angst (fem!reader), I'm not really complaining. Thanks for everything and sorry for so little 😔✋️🩷 (I hope your exams went amazingly well 🫶🏻)

Sorry if I'm sending it wrong, I genuinely don't know how to request things kdhdks,thanks x everything 😌🩷

What are we?

trafalgar law x fem!reader

content: reader and law fight after a lot of tension for the past days, mostly angst, some comfort at the end

warnings: angst, descriptions of a toxic dynamic, emotionally constipated law, slightly evil!law at the end lol idk how to describe it

a/n: toxic law request?!?!?! SAY NO MORE 🫡🫡🫡!!!! thanks for sending a request based on a song, i love that idea! (i asked my bf if he knows mon laferte since he’s latin american, and he does! idk why I’m telling you that lol i just thought it was funny.) hopefully this is somewhat what you had in mind, i tried to go with the song's vibe without being too literal with it. This was a lot of fun to write, so i really hope you enjoy it <3<3

(Dividers made by me)

word count: 2.892

You find yourself once again on the Polar Tang. Under normal circumstances, you would be nothing short of thrilled about having a reason to stay on your boyfriend’s ship for a couple of days. After all, dating is tough when you each have your own crew and general pirating-things to look after, and the submarine has become almost like a second home to you.

But you aren’t thrilled. Far from it.

And you’re not the only one.

Law has been in one of the worst moods you’ve ever seen him in, and that’s saying a lot. He’s irritable, cold, distant, and clearly in need of a break that he simply won’t allow himself. He isn’t loud, on the contrary. Law is quiet. The kind of silence that signals danger rather than safety. And it’s contagious. Even the crew – usually in an unshakably good mood – are more quiet than usual.

It's as though a thick layer of snow has fallen over your life this past week. Cold, silent, creeping. Muffling all sounds, dulling all your senses, gently laying itself over you like an icy blanket over the last embers of a dying fire.

And it’s unbearable. Suffocating.

The way he barely responds to you when you talk, the way he doesn’t seek you out the way he usually might – where he would stiffly request your presence for an important matter, only to press you up against the wall like a man starved once you’re alone. He even avoids your gaze.

So far, you’ve been taking it quietly, knowing he’s dealing with a lot, that the mission you just finished is still weighing heavily on his shoulders. But your patience is starting to wear thin, and you start to feel this unendurable feeling that you need to stand up for yourself.

It all comes crashing down one day as you’re docking at a small winter island town on your way back. Despite some hang ups, you had finished the mission earlier than expected, meaning you had time to kill before your crew would be ready to pick you up.

So here you are, stepping off the deck of the ‘Tang (Law hates when you call it that), with a genuine smile for the first time in weeks. You feel the crisp air in your lungs when you take a deep breath, and let out an elated sigh as you feel it clear your head.

Law grumbles next to you, pulling you back down to reality. But you’re determined to stay positive.

“Come.” Is all you say before you grab his hand tightly and begin pulling him with you, intending to take him out on a little lunch date before exploring the town together. You insisted he join you, thinking it would help him forget his worries for a little.

Law follows you but doesn’t say anything. You’ll take that for now. The two of you make your way through the docks and into the main street of the town. Looking around in awe at the shops around you, you can’t help pointing out some of the things you notice to him.

You finally settle on a ramen shop whose delicious smells you simply couldn’t resist, and find a table to sit at while waiting for your food. Law slumps down into the seat across from you with a heavy sigh.

There’s a moment of silence between you, occupied by Law glaring around the shop like it owes him money. You try to strike up a conversation.

“It’s nice here, right? I’m starving!” You follow the path of his eyes, trying to meet him halfway, show him you’re trying to take an interest.

“Mhm.” Law doesn’t even look at you, eyes still lazily wandering around the place.

“You’re not too warm?” You nod toward the thick coat he still has pulled up to his nose.

The only response you get is a quick glance in your direction and another sigh as he zips open his jacket. You don’t try to make conversation again after that. You think you might cry if he keeps acting this way, and you very much want to avoid making a scene.

A few minutes pass in silence before your food is ready, and you dig in hungrily. It’s delicious, but you barely notice, no longer able to fully enjoy it.

The silence stretches between you while you eat, like a wall of ice, and it’s still there when you’ve finished your food.

But it’s not silent inside your head.

Your mind is racing with things you want to say. You’d hoped some fresh air and proper food would lighten Law’s mood slightly, but he hasn’t changed one bit since the morning, and the way he’s acting like you’re nothing more than some annoying fan pestering him for an autograph is making you insecure.

Suddenly, you can’t take it anymore.

“What the fuck has been your problem today?” Your voice isn’t harsh or loud, almost casual, so it takes Law a few seconds to register your words. When he does, his eyes narrow and properly fix themselves onto yours for the first time that day.

“What?” His tone is sharper than yours, but no more loud.

“I asked what your fucking problem is! You have been pissed off at me for days, acting like a sulking child to everyone. Even the crew.” You’re trying to remain calm, but it’s difficult with the emotions now bubbling up inside you “You don’t look at me, you don’t talk to me. You haven’t touched me in days. Like I’m some sort of disgusting animal to you.”

You hadn’t meant to say that last part, and the words hang in the air between you like poisonous gas. You continue. Both to fill the deafening silence and because you feel like you might explode if you don’t say something.

“Did I do something wrong? Do you not… like me anymore?” You say the last part quietly. Like making the words too loud would make them real.

Law takes a few moments to respond, his voice low.

“Don’t be dramatic.” He’s not even looking at you.

And it shatters you. The casual way in which he says it, as if brushing off an annoying fly trying to land on his shoulder. You can’t stop the tears from spilling over now, and you try to move your head in a way that it isn’t clear how much you’re crying already.

He still notices, and after a few moments of silence, gives another sigh and stands up.

“Y/n… let’s just go back to the ship.”

You don’t respond, your head still tilted down as if inspecting the table. But your vision is too blurry to actually see anything. When you feel his hand touching your shoulder, you stiffen. You don’t know what comes over you, but you feel a new wave of anger surging in your chest, and in this moment, you feel nothing but hatred for the man standing in front of you.

You stand up abruptly.

“Eat shit, Law.” Despite the slight tremor in your tone, your voice is steadier than you expected.

“What?” He looks like he doesn’t know whether to be more surprised or angry. But you couldn’t care less at the moment. All you can think to do to shield yourself is to hurt him back.

“You heard me. Fuck you. I’ve fucking had it with you!” You’re unaware of the fact that you’ve gotten louder; but it’s not like you’d care anyway. “I have been nothing but nice to you. And patient. For years. And if this is the only way you know how to treat me, well maybe I’m just wasting my time then.”

There’s a silence again and you can just make out Law’s angry expression through the thick veil of tears blurring your vision.

“Y/n, let’s talk about this la-”

“NO!” You’re yelling now. “I’m going back to the ship. Don’t follow me!”

And with that, you’re walking off, more angry than you’ve ever been, and also more hurt. The cool air outside soothing your burning face, and it’s a relief to be away from the other customers who must have been staring.

Although you want to be left alone, a small part of you is hurt that Law isn’t trying to talk to you a little harder and is just letting you leave like this. You would have welcomed even some stupid bickering with open arms. Especially after the coldness of the past days.

You reach the ship, glad that no one from the crew is by the entrance. The path to Law’s room is automatic to you, and you’re there in only a few short minutes. You intend to gather your most necessary belongings and move them to a spare room to avoid Law for as long as possible, but when you push open the door to his room, he’s already there.

“Shit, I forgot about your stupid devil fruit.” You grumble, quickly getting over the initial shock of seeing him so unexpectedly. “I’ll be quick, I ju-”

“Stop it, y/n.” Law still looks just as annoyed as before, and his tone is doing nothing to convince you to calm down. But you stay where you are. You don’t even know why, as he looks even more pissed than before. Maybe you’re simply so starved for any kind of attention that this is still preferable to getting the cold shoulder. That thought makes you let out a bitter chuckle.

“Why?” you retort. “Remembered that most people are nice to their girlfriends?” You know it’s a bad idea to rile him up even more when he’s like this, but your common sense is long gone. There’s only pain, fear, and confusion, and the only way you know how to deal with it is to hit back to distract from the emotions eating you alive.

“Just- just stop, y/n.” He’s also yelling now, and it takes everything in you not to flinch as he takes some quick steps in your direction. “Stop being like this!”

“And why should I? You’ve been such an asshole ever since we ended that stupid mission, and you expect me to not stand up for myself?” Despite yelling, your voice is shaking, and you hate how desperate it makes you sound.

Another heavy sigh. “You know that’s not- Look can we just forget about it? I don’t like fighting.”

“Should have fucking thought about that a little earlier then.” Your throat is too sore to let you be loud anymore, but you try to put as much finality into your words as you can. You make to collect some of your things, reaching out for a book of yours lying on Law’s bedside table, but he quickly grabs your wrist.

You flinch at his action. He isn’t hurting you; you just never expected him to actually go as far as to physically hold you back.

“Let go.” You’re not looking at him.

“No. Not until you talk to me.” His voice is low.

“I said, let go!” When you raise your free hand to attempt to loosen his grip on you, he simply grabs that one as well, forcing you to face him.

“No. You were right before. We should talk.” His voice is more level now, but the intensity in his eyes hasn’t left. He’s a little breathless, and you realize that you are too.

“I have nothing to say to you.”

“You had plenty to say in that ramen place. Want to go back there?” He creates a room around you, and you scoff.

“Don’t be stupid.” You almost smile from the absurdity of the situation, and he catches that. His face softens for only a fraction of a second. It’s so fast you think you might have imagined it.

You stay like this for a few moments, him still gripping your wrists in his much larger hands, searching your eyes with an unreadable expression. It’s confusing. You’re both still angry. Hurt. But you also feel how much you love him. And it’s terrifying.

“Law?” Your voice sounds so small in the silence. Like it’s failing to fill the endless void that seems to be between you two, only drawing more attention to the distance there.

“Hm?”

“What are we?” The question sounds so pathetic. Only more so from how hoarse your voice is. Like a pitiful whimper from someone who doesn’t know when to give up. But you have to ask. You can’t let it linger any longer. It’ll eat you alive.

“What do you mean? You know what we are.” His eyes narrow a little.

“No, actually. I don’t think I do anymore.” You keep pressing on. “What am I? To you?”

“You’re my girlfriend, y/n.” He still has that edge to his voice. Like you’re being stupid on purpose. Like you’re wasting his time. And fuck, it hurts.

“Yes, obviously, but- do you… do you love me?” You let out a dry laugh. “Do you even like me?”

“Y/n-”

“I just mean- plenty of people hate their girlfriends.” You explain. “Am I not more than that to you? Just a title?”

“What do you-” But you cut him off again.

“I just mean that sometimes – well, quite often actually – you sort of treat me like I’m… convenient.” You want to beat yourself up for the bitterness in your voice. But it feels good to say it. Even though it hurts like nothing has ever hurt before. “Like I have a function. And it makes me feel like… like if I stopped being useful to you…”

There’s another short silence, then “So, do you like me? Or do you just need me?”

“I like you.” He says. “You know that.”

You don’t fully know what it is that’s making you cry again. Maybe it’s how childish you feel. Or how Law sounds like he’s just trying to get this conversation over with so he can go back to sulking in peace. Maybe it’s the fact that you’ve had to go through so much to hear him say something nice, only to realize how pathetically little it is.

You don’t want to stand anymore. It’s simply not a priority at the moment, and you need something other than Law’s hands to steady yourself. So, you sink down on the floor, and he lets go of you.

You’re crying uncontrollably now, your entire frame shaking with sobs. One hand on the floor in front of you, the other on your mouth. You hear Law sigh again, and feel him crouching down next to you, placing a large, warm hand on your back.

“Y/n, stand up.” His voice is a little softer now, but it doesn’t stop your crying. If anything, you’re sobbing harder than before.

You don’t even respond. You don’t think you can. So, you simply stay like this.

After another short moment “Come here.” Law picks you up, knowing you’re not about to move any time soon, and carries you over to the bed, where he sits down with you on his lap.

You don’t know what comes over you, but you grip onto his shirt like it’s the only thing keeping you alive. He doesn’t say more for a long time, simply letting you cry it out, with his back against the wall and his chin resting on your head. You feel him sigh again, but it feels a little less judgemental this time, and his hands start caressing your back. Slowly. Steadily. Like he’s done this a hundred times before. Because he has.

Your arguments always end this way.

You, falling apart because of him. For him.

And Law, calm. Like nothing is out of the ordinary. Like this is the most natural situation for him to navigate.

You stay like this for what feels like forever. You’re still holding on to Law like you’re afraid he’ll disappear, and his arms are around your shaking back in a warm, steadying embrace. You know you should be angry at him. Know how pathetic you’re being. But you simply need him too much to dare push him away right now.

After an eternity, he speaks.

“Y/n. You know I love you, right?” His voice is soft again. No trace of anger detectable.

“Y- y- you do?”

“Of course. You mean the world to me.” He continues. Quiet. Almost like he’s telling you a secret. “I’m sorry for taking you for granted sometimes.”

You grip him tighter, still unable to stop your tears. Still too far gone to speak. Deep down, you know that you being like this is what makes Law open up as much as he does. He doesn’t like being vulnerable. So, his only option is to make sure you are.

You sit like this for many more hours. You on Law’s lap, both holding on to each other, and him whispering nice things to your ear every now and then, as your body is still wracked with sobs. Eventually, you fall asleep from pure exhaustion, but Law still doesn’t let go of you. He simply sits there with you wrapped in his arms. It’s almost like seeing you like this has put something in him at ease.

Like he knows you’ll never leave him.

Like he has proof you need him more than you need to be happy.

thanks for reading!!! I really hope you liked it! :D <3 and thank you sm for giving me another reason to write toxic!law <3

(This is my fic, don't repost or use in any AI training programmes! Reblogs are always appreciated <3) Here are my rules, and my masterlist.

[ranunculussy]

enigma | part 08.

ꕥ part 01. | part 02. | part 03. | part 04. | part 05.| part 06. | part 07. ꕥ pair: Spencer Reid × BAU!fem!reader ꕥ warnings/tags: canon-typical violence, kinda graphic description of the crime, swearing, somewhat oblivious Reid and reader, age gap, moderately jealous Spencer, slow-burn, mutual pining, rivals to lovers, english isn't my first language so bear with me pls, if there are other warnings or tags i should add let me know ꕥ word count: ~2.5k ꕥ small author's note: hiiii guys! i know that i said my next published fic will be a sapphic Emily Prentiss one (and that is still coming, i promise), however, things happened and i'm back in my Bucky Barnes obsession era. so i posted a fanfic with him. feel free to check it out if you'd like to, i hope you'll enjoy it ^-^ ꕥ small author's note 2: i also created a small navigation post for my page/works to make it a bit easier for everyone :3 ꕥ summary: Spencer can't quite figure you, his rival out and this annoys him more than it should [this fanfic is also available on AO3 with the same title and username]

wednesday

“So, bear with me please guys.” you murmured while you typed in what you were looking for. “There is a chance that my theory is off- “

“Well, with you there is always a chance of that.” chimed in who else, if not the residential asshole. Annoying little prick.

“I’d heavily advise you to reconsider who you’re messing with when you cannot even use your damn chopsticks properly, doctor.” with your narrowed eyes, you pointed at his pretty hands while he clumsily tried to work some miracle with his Chinese takeout. This seemed to be working, since Reid pressed his lips together and remained silent.

“As I said, there is a chance that my theory is off, still, I’d like to share it with you, in case it helps the investigation.” You said, anxiety slightly building up in you. One of the most hated parts of this job for you was presenting, whether in front of the team or a whole precinct. However, professionality quickly came over you, as if it was switched on. “Selkies are creatures of Nordic and Celtic mythology. The origin of the word comes from Scots, meaning seal, and they’re often associated with the Northern Isles of Scotland. It is said that they live freely in the seas as seals but occasionally come to land where they shed their animal skin to bask in the warmth and light, then, when they decide that it’s time to head back to the sea, they put their seal skin back on and disappear into the waves. In folklore, they’re often depicted as beautiful and charming women, and if a human man finds the skin of a selkie while they’re on the shores and steal it, they can force the selkie into marrying them, causing the selkie to be resentful and unhappy, because they’ll always long for the sea. If they’re lucky, they can steal back their skin and make a run for it.”

“I’m not saying that this is unrelated but how exactly did you connect the dots?” after a few silent seconds, your boss cleared his throat and leaned forward on his seat.

Warmness spread across your cheeks and ears as you realised you only told half of what you wanted originally. “Ah yes, sorry I left that out. So, at first, I only had an inkling. Even as a child, I loved mythology from all over the world, and I spent a lot of time learning about the different creatures and their stories. When we got introduced to the case, the selkie was the first thing that came into my mind, but I found it a bit silly, so I didn’t say anything. However, I couldn’t shake this weird feeling and asked Garcia to investigate the victim’s marital backgrounds, looking for anything that’d indicate problems.”

“And?” Emily curiously raised her eyebrows while silently calculating which sushi should be left as the last, most fulfilling bite.

“The second victim was in marriage counselling a few years ago but they stopped showing up according to the reports. The first victim was seeing a private therapist, which could mean anything, of course, but there might be a connection.”

After some thinking, Hotch decided to split the unit into three. JJ, and Morgan will investigate this as if they’re looking for an extreme animal rights or a climate change activist who’s trying to make a statement, Rossi, Emily and he will remain in the station and take the statements of the husbands and relatives of the victims, and finally, you and Reid will start investigating your selkie theory. Before anyone asks, Reid volunteered to be on your team. According to him, he wants to see you set yourself up for failure. To be honest, you didn’t quite understand this. If he wanted to prove you wrong and take the win for this case when the team eventually solves it, he should be on the opposite, investigating and proving the activist theory, not yours. This way, he had significantly less chance of taking the point for this in your imaginary ‘solved case race’.

Now, you were sitting next to him, finally relaxed enough to eat your reheated noodles. The others headed out a few minutes ago, it was just the two of you. He couldn’t eat as fast as the others since he wasn’t as skilled with the chopsticks and refused to back down, but it was obvious that he became more and more frustrated. As always, when he couldn’t exactly figure something out, it bothered him. You glanced at his long, slender fingers and mentally let out a sigh before opening your mouth.

“Khm… Would you like some help?”

“Help?” he looked up at you, his brows slightly furrowed, to which you just pointed at the wooden sticks between his unsteady fingers. “Ah, no. I’m okay.”

“Mmm, I can see. There is nothing wrong with admitting that you’re not good at something. You can always try getting better.” There was no use in denying how much you enjoyed this. With his free hand, Spencer moved a straying wavy lock out of his face, which was one of his stalling tactics, you noticed this early on.

To be honest, he was quite pissed at himself for still not being able to eat with those damned utensils. He made a fool of himself in his rookie days when Gideon was still in the team, and they celebrated a closed case in that dimly lit Chinese restaurant. It was childish but he got so mad at the inanimate objects that he avoided using them ever since. Today was an unfortunate day

“Fine, help me.” he murmured. It was barely audible, but you definitely heard it, and while he was looking anywhere but at you, a winner grin spread across your face.

“Okay, follow my instructions, doc.” you clapped your hands together excitedly and scooted a bit closer to him. Cute, thought Spencer. “So, there are many ways to use chopsticks but the easiest, in my honest opinion is…”

While you explained to him the way you first figured out how to eat with the utensils, he could’ve sworn your eyes were sparkling. This was such a mundane thing, but you were definitely in your element, which looked good on you. Before he noticed it, your enthusiasm made him smile and he got swept up in the moment. His eyes gently explored your face, starting from your eyebrows to your eyes, your nose, your lips, where he stopped for a few seconds and instinctively licked his own, then lifted his gaze back to your eyes. This came so naturally, so involuntarily, as if he never had any problem with maintaining eye contact.

“Now you try it.”

Oof, he might have fucked things up a bit by getting distracted, he realized. This was one of those rare moments when he knew, he didn’t really have the upper hand and had no idea how to smoothly recover. This wasn’t the first time when he went dumb in your company, and he knew he’ll have to do something about it, possibly in the near future.

“Uhm…” his confused look almost made you chuckle.

“Can I?” you pointed at his hands. It was one thing that recently he became bolder with physical contact, still, you wanted to make sure he was comfortable with touching. After he nodded, you reached forward, ignoring your heart that was beating like a war drum in your chest. This was a perfectly normal thing to do with your co-worker. If there was literally any other member in that goddamned chair instead of Reid, you would’ve been fine. You had to do something about your inability to function on 110% when you were in his company, and you had to do it quickly.

Your gentle touch and overall proximity caused his breath to hitch for a short moment, but you were too deep in your head to notice it, to his luck. You carefully moved his fingers, placed the chopsticks in their places and explained once again how to move them.

He caught himself getting distracted by your smell, your voice, your looks, by you again. He had to stop this, stop himself or this will turn awkward really quick. So, he practically forced himself to listen and learn, as he should’ve done a few minutes ago.

A few hours later you and Spencer were walking towards the black SUV in the garage of the modern, quite possibly overprized medical centre. You decided to start your investigation at the private therapist of Ruby, the first victim, with little to no success.

“The next person that says HIPAA today will get their asses beaten, I’m being so fucking serious right now.” to this, the man on left let out a soft chuckle. Before you could’ve said anything else, the genius’s phone rang.

“Hey Garcia,” he greeted the person at the other end of the line. “Got it, we’ll head there right now.”

“What is it?” you asked as you got into the characteristically FBI vehicle.

“Sarah Moore’s husband didn’t show up at the precinct and there is no way of contacting him.”

After circa fifteen minutes, you pulled up to the Moore family’s driveway. Both of you got your badges ready but didn’t pull your guns out just yet. You didn’t want to scare or agitate the man.

“Jeremy Moore, FBI!” Reid’s loud, confident, demanding tone sent shivers down your spine. He looked so hot like this. “FBI, open up!”

The absence of any reaction meant you had to do this the hard way. Where is Derek when you need him? Since the entrance door had little decorative windows on the side, Spencer took down his suit, wrapped around his right fist and smashed the glass. What was in that damn Chinese takeout that suddenly made him so… woah. Better yet, what was in your Chinese takeout that suddenly made you notice every little thing he did.

Now, with your firearms in your hands, you entered the silent house. After securing the whole place, which was entirely empty, it was time for investigating. The power was cut, covering the rooms in darkness so you had to use your flashlights, which always annoyed you a bit, you felt restricted in a way.

While you went through the Moore’s stuffs in the living room, Spencer decided to uncover any possible secrets the kitchen might have held. What you first noticed was there weren’t any family photos. The room felt artificial. By what you were able to tell in the dim light, it looked like those fake photos on the covers of home decoration magazines. Fireplace in the middle of the left wall, piano in the upper right corner, huge beige couches and armchairs, a fluffy rug, a huge television and some decorative bookshelves. But nowhere anything personal.

“Y/N,” Spencer called your name, to which you peaked out from the living room. With his fingers, he gestured, calling you closer. When you walked up to his side, he pointed at the kitchen sink. “Look.”

There, in the silver, modern sink was a built-in garbage disposal unit, which was surrounded by dried blood and pieces of torn skin and flesh.

“What the…” you murmured and raised your flashlight, looking for any other signs of violence. Other than what you’ve found, everything else looked perfectly intact. “I’ll call Hotch, don’t go anywhere.”

“Where would I…?”

Half an hour later the property was filled with members of the FBI, CSI and the local police force. So much so that even the infamous Chief Miller decided to grace you with his time. Awesome. You could tell by Hotch’s and Emily’s face how annoyed they were already. You were guessing that the freshly appointed man didn’t make their jobs easier back at the precinct.

“Chief Miller, these are my agents, SSA Y/N L/N and Doctor Spencer Reid.” You got introduced by your boss while Emily and Rossi decided to join the CSI guys. The man in front of you was tall, obviously well-built, with a very authoritative presence. His wavy black hair had some straying grey in it, and you had to admit it, it complimented his tanned skin and deep brown, almost black irises.

“Nice to meet you.” you nodded but refrained from shaking hands, just like the man on your right.

“How are we discovering this just now?” asked Miller without greeting, which was already a bad start for you.

“Because we just got here? Moore didn’t show up to give his statement, so we came here to check in as soon as we got informed about it.” you answered, not taking his accusative tone well.

“This should’ve been the first thing you do after discovering the body.”

“With all due respect, sir, we weren’t even on the case when the victim was discovered. If anything, it should’ve been your men’s responsibility to contact the husband as quick as possible.” Seems like Spencer didn’t appreciate his tone either. Fake, polite smiles sat on your lip while you were trying to behave. Maybe you were more defensive because you knew beforehand that Miller will be a pain in your ass and in your mind, you already saw him as a threat or an obstacle. But it was surprising how fast Reid snapped back.

Around here, you decided that it’d be for the best if you excused yourself and joined up with the others. At times like this, you were glad that you weren’t in a leading position. Your sense of justice and slight problem with authority would make you unemployed faster than an affair scandal.

Prentiss and Dave were squatting in front of the cabinet with the sink and were working on disassembling the outlet to check if there are any human remains left in it.

“I can tell he doesn’t really believe in what we do.” said Emily.

“Oh wow, if I had a fucking penny for each time we were invited in on a case where the local police force thought this, I could retire.” you groaned and rolled your eyes.

When Rossi took the components apart, thickened blood and clumps of remains filled the empty bucked placed under the pipe. You didn’t notice, but from the other side of the room, Reid silently kept his eyes you. When your only reaction was a quiet hum and slightly raised eyebrows, he got reminded of the fact that he still was nowhere near close figuring you out.

A few minutes later another crime scene was discovered, this time in the storm shelter that was hidden away at the far end of the property, that’s why you and Spencer haven’t discovered it when you secured the place. The small, underground room looked like as if it was painted red by the amount of blood that got spilled there. You were more than sure that you found where Sarah Moore spent the excruciating end of her life.

thank you again for reading my work, hope you're having an awesome day! i hope it isn't a problem that this fic is getting longer, i'm just taking slow burn seriously (only thing i can do lmao) taglist: @halfbloodwriter @starrystormwritings @kspencer34 @maisyyyyyy @theseerbetweenus @throwaway-things @pleasantwitchgarden divider from @cafekitsune gif from @reidgif

[nyghtwolf]

..Oh my god. I think Amirs entire text adventure might actually be an analogy for Waframe's story & the devs struggles with it. Hear me out. (Click below to see, obviously keep in mind, story spoilers for both Warframe & Amirs' new KIM chats.) This is ... long guys. Get a snack.

Look at it like this for a moment, if you will. Wally is the Guard in Amirs text adventure. You start out imprisoned in a cell in Amirs RPG, very much like the Operator is at the start of Warframes' Lore. In this case, it could be both a LITERAL AND metaphorical cell. Literal in the sense that we were put into a cryo sleep, and much like in the RPG, we don't know how we got there. Metaphorical, because even though we could travel through space physically via the Warframes, our minds were forever stuck in that looping prison of transference in The Dream. In Amirs RPG, you can look around your cell & find a filth bucket & the bones of a long dead cell-mate. The bones are described as "Dry as a thing that's been sitting there for decades".. Sitting there for decades. Specifically not stated as "Dead for decades". You find one piece of metal among the 'bones'- like the Zariman floating around in space all on it's own. The option comes up to ask if the shard you found would make a good weapon. Could this be an analogy for Wally seeing the children on the Zariman & wondering if he could use us somehow? You use the metal shard to pick the lock.. which you somehow know how to unlock (much like after Wally gave us our void powers, we were suddenly able to understand how to use them, though obviously we had very little control over them) We get 'The Lock' opened, can get out of the cell, waking the guard. Much like we made Wally aware of us. During Operation Eight Claw, Wally says he saw us on the Zariman, playing in his garden, and called us cruel children. The correct option at this point to progress the RPG is to throw the bucket of filth at the guard. He is clearly stated to be "..unharmed, unfazed, and unimpressed" Wally has a clear distain for love & comradery, even the mixing of primal elements is an afront to nature for him as we witness in the Alchemy level of Operation Eight Claw. Imagine him watching all of the future tenno sticking together, caring for one another, and being each others family. It's at this point, we promise him "our light" Now, the correct option to continue the RPG is to stab the guard in the neck with the metal shard we found, a metaphor for whatever did more than likely, to betray Wally. Defeating the guard yields the text "You'll never find the Lotus." and the 'correct' option (that gets you chemistry) is "The Lotus can take care of herself." IT'S AT THIS POINT, Amir chimes in with "Everybody needs help sometimes. Now is your turn to help!" Is the Lotus loosing herself to the void? It's at this point he gets a little depressed & seems like he's loosing the thread of the story, saying "i'll see you in the next chapter... right after i write it" Then, you come to the next KIM chat that continue the RPG adventure. You start out standing in the cell, with the door opened.

During the War Within, we're made aware of 'The Cell door' & the fact that we're 'imprisoned'. In terms of in game mechanics, we make choices during this quest, that so far haven't come into play game wise, regarding our characters alignment (Emotional/Indifferent/Logical). In Amir's RPG, you can search the guard (an analogy for Wally?) to find some flint & take it. The enemies/quests in the game give us choices regarding our alignment, much like we take the flint. This seems like a weird comparison, but I'm gonna come back to it, so hold on. Now that 'The Door' is opened, we can walk out into the hall where there are more enemies, and a dungeon hall that is too dark to see down. Looking around, you can take a torch off the wall (an analogy for our Light?) & then you can walk down the dark hallway. Amir makes a point to bring attention to the fact that all the other cells are empty, describing them "..as barren as the last." With the torch, Amir points out, "As you carefully creep toward the end of the hall, your torch light begins to reveal a pit of darkness in front of you. You come to stand over a cistern. Pearing down you cannot see the bottom. If not for the torch you surely would have fallen to your doom." Are the cells supposed to represent other realities, or other worlds that were over taken, or lead to their doom by Wally? There's a conversation that comes up before this with Amir regarding Aliens, and you have to break the news to him that they never found anything. Interesting. "You look around and notice a a bunch of rotten boards barricading something." is the next entry in the text adventure, and examining the boards allows you to shine your "Light" through the cracks, specifically mentioning the wind and water. Sort of like the fire/wind darkness, & water of the alignment wheel.

Most people may not know Litany of the Dax, but the fact that Warframe posted it officially on their site a few years back seems to be.. a choice. "Using all your strength you peel the boards back to reveal what is left of a some rusted out iron bars. There's room to squeeze through. Beyond, a low, narrow, tunnel." The fact that these boards are rotted & the bars behind them are rusted, implies the passage of time. We broke a barrier. We broke down something Wally didn't want us to, and we broke our deal. And then the Strand of Khra (time) starts to invade "The Sanctum". Amir encourages us for saying we will squeeze through the tunnel. At the end of it is a heavy metal door which is locked, behind it there's squeaking & it's revealed that it's rats.. One of them, that Amir describes in detail, "..A rat the size of a cat... no... a dog comes running at you." Amir has often referred to himself as a dog & even barks in a lot of his dialogue. It's then revealed that this large rat isn't alone & there are more rats surrounding you. At this point, the comparison to the Hex & the other Protoframes (from Wallys perspective) seems obvious imo, because even if you attempt to lash out, or wave your torch at them, Amir says they encircle you, but don't attack. "Instead the biggest one bows its neck to you. You realize it's wearing a necklace. The silver chain slips off and lands on the ground. The rat looks as if to say, 'this is for you.' " I think the 'largest rat' with the key around it's neck is an analogy for our chosen Hex partner. They not only hold the key to our hearts, but also possibly, a 'key' to the future & a pathway towards it through the door. Picking up the necklace lets you see that there's a key on it & the rat runs away. Amir once again states very clearly that "..Whoever gave them that key, knew you were down here. There's only one person with such power... The Lotus." She was the one who asked us to go to 1999. The key the rat gives you works, and you open the door into a bright light, whatever you're looking at, it's incredible, but even Amir doesn't know what's there.

The three options are: - Say you are 'just getting invested!', feeling like a literal reflection of how so, so many, players became attached to the Hex & latched onto the idea of more Protoframes, inspiring fanfictions, art, etc- to which Amir replies, in a somewhat depressing manner, saying "oh no. there is more to come. believe you me. i just have to write it... yeah..." - Tell him the game is amazing, but how about that audit? to which he says he'll get right to it after he figures out what's on the other side of the door - Or say, and this imo seems like the kind of important one here: What was the flint for? I thought my torch was going to go out. Bringing up an item we never used, much like the alignment game mechanic that hasn't been used, saying we thought our light was going to vanish. TO WHICH HE REPLIES: "the flint... oh man, the flint. frig, i forgot to work that in. umm... idk version 1.2 will have it. promise" Does this imply... that the only way to stop Wally.. might be to do a whole reset on this timeline/universe? Or that something is going to change so fundamentally about the game that it won't ever be the same? I think beyond the door is Tau. And I think the devs are teasing us about how nervous they are to do this, but also, incredibly excited at the same time.

[quietplace26]

Furina!MC au: Omegaverse Edition. Version 2.

Notes: This is just an alternative take on my first Omegaverse au. Sorry if it's shorter compared to the first one, but I couldn't get this idea out my mind.

Warnings: OCness, Cringe, some sexual non-sexual stuff (like cuddling while being naked), nudity, Dragon!Neuvillette

Like version 1, Focalors forces Furina!MC to hide her Omega nature, only, it stays hidden right up to Focalors' death.

And poor Furina!MC, she knew about the trial, knew it was needed, but it still hurts.

Add in the last few days leading up the prophecy had been stressing her out, pushing her body to the brink, didn't help either.

So, it wasn't a shock to her that she slowly dislocates during the trial, swaying in place as her flutter to stay open.

It's only when she left forgotten inside the Opera House, left on her throne, did she feel it. She feels Focalors die.

And the veil Focalors forcibly placed on her finally crumbles after 500 years of use, and the sour stench of a terrified Omega fills the courtroom.

Everything was too much, the scents, the feel of her clothes on her skin. Too tight! She was too hot-

Was... Was her body going into heat?! She barely remembers what her heats used to feel like...

She lets out a sob, stumbling to her feet as she slowly makes her way outside.

Nest. She... She needed to get back to her room at the Palais to make herself a nest.

But could she? She hasn't made one in 500 years. Focalors never let her make one...

Her hands claw at her neck, jerking the collar of her shirt open, whimpering in relief as her swollen scent glands were finally free from the itchy material.

Furina!MC knew she probably looked horribly, but she didn't care. All she cared about was getting back to her room before someone smells her-

But when she stumbles outside, she freezes.

There, at the foot of the Opera House, was Neuvillette.

Now, without the veil muffling her sense of smell, she could finally smell his prime Alpha scent, which was probably stronger now that he had his Authority back.

He was an Alpha Dragon. The strongest of any Alphas possible.

Her mind feels hazy... He... He would be the perfect Alpha... He could look after her heat-

Her feet move on their own as she slowly made her way to Neuvillette, barely noticing him talking to the Traveler, or the growing crowd of Fontainians before them.

Her lips tremble as she lets out a soft, pained keen. It was shaky and rough, but it was a clear cry from an Omega in need.

The area immediately grows silent, and all eyes turn to the trembling Archon.

Neuvillette stares at her, worried and confused, before his nose twitches, and his eyes quickly turn to slits, his scent growing stronger.

"Lady Furina!MC? You... Why do you smell like-"

Furina!MC knees buckle, and Neuvillette caught her in seconds.

She purrs in relief as the scent of an Alpha filled her nose, making her whine happily.

She was so deep in her Omega headspace she didn't care how she looked before the crowd as rubbed her cheek on her Ludex's robe, scenting him with a shaky purr.

She nuzzles her face into his collar, trying to nose her way to his scent gland-

Faintly she hears someone next her (Sigewinne?) saying 'Stress heat', 'Omega?', and 'Ferals', before snarls start filling the air.

Several Alphas in the crowd had reacted to her sudden heat, a heat so strong it was pushing several human alphas into ruts, and was trying to claw their way on to her, reaching out for her, wanting to bite and claim-

A now equally feral Neuvillette puts a stop to that nonsense with a roar. He was above these human Alphas, so one roar was enough to make them run.

The Sovereign pays no mind to the crowd or the Traveler when they demanded answers, only rumbles something to the Melusines there, and carries Furina!MC off.

Omega. Pretty Omega. Hurt Omega. He needed to get this his Omega somewhere no filthy Alpha could touch her-

He takes her away from the Court of Fontaine, taking her to an area near Merusea Village, his own den that he used when he needed to be away from humans.

Pretty Omega would be happy here in his den and nest-

Furina!MC sighs happily as she's lowered into a soft nest, foggy teardrop eyes blink slowly up at Neuvillette as some sense of reality seeps back in.

"N-Neuvillette... 'm sorry. Didn't mean to lie- Focalors, she-"

Tears fall down her cheeks as her scent spurs even more. She wanted to tell the truth, about the prophecy and her nature, but Focalors said NO.

The Alpha shushes her gently, brushing her tears away, before backing away from the nest, causing Furina!MC to cry out as she didn't want him to leave-

But he glowed a soft Hydro Blue, and his body began to ripple, before growing bigger, longer... Soon, a dragon filled the den. A dragon that smelled like Neuvillette.

Now that he had his Authority back, he could freely shift back into his dragon form that was lost in his reincarnation.

The rumbling purr he let out immediately made Furina!MC go boneless as he slithers back into the nest, curling around her tiny form.

His scaly nose brushes against her neck, against swollen scent glands, gently licking the swollen, irritated flesh, making her mewl relief.

It wasn't sexual. He was just scenting her, helping calm her irritated flesh.

Her clothes slowly slip off, bringing more relief as her heated body met cool air, but again, no intercourse. No mating.

Letting an Alpha mate her was not what she needed at the moment. Neuvillette knew that, could sense it.

Furina!MC needed cuddles, badly, and cuddling a scaly, Alpha Dragon seemed to be the perfect medicine.

Neuvillette's scales were cool to the touch, not rough at all, perfect to rub her heated body against as she slowly drifts off to a more relax state.

Neuvillette carefully rubs his scent glands all over her form, helping ease her stress heat, and making her feel good without any need to mate.

She was surrounded by Neuvillette's scent and coils. Her mind was quiet, no Focalors cruelty whispering in her head. Her body HERS again.

And as if it clicks, her scent finally shifts to a more sweet one. One that she remembers even if it's been 500 years.

Blueberries and the scent of Petrichor. Her old Omega scent, finally hers again.

The happy purrs of a contented Omega fills the dark den...

Furina!MC purse, purrs, and purrs, slowly getting used to purring again as she rubbed her cheek against cool scales, mewling happily when the Sovereign returned her nuzzles.

Soon, she was wrapped up securely in Neuvillette protective hold. His large body curled around her smaller form, claws gently gripping her body, his tail wrapped firmly around one of her thighs.

She was safe and secure.

In the back of her mind, she knew they'd have a lot to talk about once her stress heat passes.

That included Fontaine's reaction to everything as well...

But that time is later, and Furina!MC rather focused on the current moment.

She wanted cuddles. She would get cuddles.

Hm... But maybe after a small nap...

So with a sleepy purr, she murmurs Neuvillette's name one last time before letting herself drift off to sleep, the sound of the Sovereign's purrs and his scent easing her to dreamland...

Tagging: @platinumrosetail, @arn9tails, @bloodytea, @esthelily

[ladykailitha]

Murder in the Heartland Part 10

And we are back with this story! It's going to be a fun ride. Trust me on this one. ;)

In this we have more of the cattle case and Eddie gets close to something niggling at the back of his mind.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

~

Interviewer: I don’t believe I’m familiar with the Eddie Munson case.

Steve snorted: There were a bunch of serial killings of teenagers in 1986. They were originally thought to be the work of local weirdo Eddie Munson. He had a Satanic Temple symbol on his denim vest, listened to heavy metal music and played D&D. The cops were so sure it was him even after he had an alibi for the murder of one of the victims. But the last victim insisted that it was Jason Carver. Eddie Munson was released from custody within twenty-fours when evidence came forward from an anonymous source.

Interviewer: What’s next for you? Will you keep writing? In another genre perhaps?

Steve scratched his cheek thoughtfully. To be honest I don’t know. Joe Lockhart was only ever going to be seven books.

~

The first thing Eddie did when he started looking into the cow incident was check out Petey Dickinson.

The kid was tall, a trait highly sought after in being a center on the basketball team. He was blond with freckles on his nose and cheeks. In any other setting but the basketball court this kid would have been bullied to hell. He was awkward with a stutter, but because he knew how to handle his balls he was lauded instead of ridiculed.

“I-I w-wouldn’t amess with his cows,” Petey said with some difficulty. “T-t-they’re exp-pensive.”

Eddie blinked at him for a moment. He hadn’t thought of the cost of replacing a cow that had gotten too hurt or even died because of the prank. He couldn’t imagine them being cheap by any means.

“Do you think he did it?” he asked, tilting his head to the side.

Petey shook his head. “S-s-same re-eason. W-wouldn’t hhurt h-h-is c-cows.”

Eddie talked to him for a little while longer, but it was clear that this kid just wanted Mark to lay off spending time with his girlfriend, especially if he thought she would leave him for someone without a speech impediment.

Next up; the girlfriend. Eva Montrose. She was a senior on the cheerleading squad and was struggling to stay on the team with her failing grades.

“It was ridiculous that Petey thought there was anything going on between me and Mark in the first place,” Eva said, rolling her eyes. “Mark is a freshman. Like three years younger than I am. It’d be liking kissing my little brother. That’s gross.”

“Petey’s got a pretty bad stammer and he really wasn’t thinking about how old your tutor was,” Eddie said with a grimace, “only that you might leave him.”

Eva stared at him for a moment and then shook her head. She crossed her arms over her stomach. “That idiot. I love his stammer, it’s cute.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow at her, but she just shrugged, refusing to elaborate further.

“Do you think Mark tried to get back at Petey by filling the gym with cows?” he asked pressing forward with his questions.

“Have you ever tried herding cattle?” Eva said with a raised eyebrow. “Like you need men, as in plural with horses. Blaming it on one person is height of stupidity.”

“So what do you think happened?” he asked, tapping his pen on his little notepad.

“You probably aren’t aware, removed from sports as you were,” she said with a shrug, “but the sports teams have had a long standing prank war with Northeast High, the Hawks. Northwest’s team didn’t even make it to post-season while we made it to the semi-finals. So while we were playing Fielding High and losing badly, I might add, I think the Northwestern basketball team were stealing cattle and filling our gym with them.”

Eddie blinked at her. She was right with her assessment that he wasn’t aware of the sports rivalries but something like a prank war was right up his alley and he thought he would have heard about that.

But the more he thought about it, the more he realized it had always been on his periphery just out of his normal field of view.

“So why weren’t they investigated right out of the gate?” he asked tilting his head to the side.

Eva snorted. “Take a guess where Principal Higgins’ kid goes to school.”

Eddie’s eyes went wide and he leaned forward. “Holy shit, does he think his son was involved?”

“Could be,” Eva said with a half shrug. “Or it could be that he knew about it before hand. Like who else would have keys to the gym if not the principal?”

“Fucking hell!” he exclaimed. “This could get him fired if I can prove he had foreknowledge.”

She licked her lips slowly. “You want to take down the principal? Then on principle alone I must insist you count me in.”

Eddie chuckled at her pun and stuck out his hand. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

“I want to prove that Mark is innocent and to Petey I’m one hundred percent his girl,” she said fiercely. “Because seriously it’s the school’s best worst kept secret that Mark is dating Ryan Johnson.”

Eddie threw his head back and laughed. Yeah, there were just some secrets everyone knew but wisely kept their mouth’s shut about. Like Tommy Hagan’s man crush on his bbf Steve Harrington. He cracked his knuckles and his neck. It was time to get down to business.

~

With Eva’s help Eddie posed as a journalist interviewing the other school’s basketball team. She helped him understand the players and positions so he didn’t mistake a guard from a center, a foul shot from a three pointer.

Eddie would have liked to have said that it was his keen investigative nose that got him the evidence of the rival team pulling the prank but they were idiots who openly bragged about how the stupid queer kid got blamed and that he had it coming to him for daring to be gay.

“Like everyone knows that dumb fag goes to his boyfriend’s house every Friday night,” one of the kids was saying, “so we just waited until there was Friday night when the parents weren’t there, too.”

“Cattle are stupid,” another laughed. “All it took was backing up a transport trailer and the dumb things just lumbered on in.”

“Yeah,” Nate Higgins agreed. He was a junior point guard on the varsity team, and Eddie figured he got all his looks from his mom. “We didn’t even have to break in. My dad lets me use the gym after hours all the time.”

“Did your dad know you were going to prank the school?” Eddie said with a frown.

Nate rolled his eyes. “He always makes sure there aren’t any teachers or clubs running late so we can get in and out unseen. He has a reputation to maintain after all.”

“And with such a hick town,” the first kid said, tossing a basketball back and forth between his hands, “the cameras aren’t very reliable so they’re pretty easy to by pass.”

The captain just shook his head. “We watched them come home from a devastating loss to cow shit on their home turf. God, we laughed for hours.”

“I heard they had to replace the wood on the floor,” the second kid said, almost doubled over in laughter.

“That was the one bad thing that came out of it,” the captain said. “Now they have shiny new floors, and their playing might get better because of it.”

“We should flood the place next!” the second kid crowed. “That will teach them they can’t have anything nice!”

They all burst out laughing.

Eddie just quickly wrapped up the interview and went straight to his contact on police force Lt. Glenn Daniels.

He turned over the recorder that he had shown the dumb kids he was recording them and how they still confessed everything. With a little bit of actual police work, they could nab the real perpetrators.

Daniels was more than happy to take the evidence off his hands and their interaction was very brief but very rewarding.

He met Eva, Mark, Petey, and another boy, he could only assume was Ryan on the stoop of the police station.

“So it’s done?” Mark asked. “I’ll be cleared?”

Eddie nodded. “Yep and with any luck Rupert Higgins will be out of a job and this prank war will come to halt.”

“I-I’ll amiss th-them a little,” Petey admitted. “B-back w-when they were f-fun and hu-hurting p-people.”

Eva cocked her head to side. “Yeah, well. That’s all it takes: a couple of bad apples to ruin it for everyone.”

Eddie turned to Mark. “Does this clear the air with your uncle?”

“Yeah,” Mark said with a grimace, “he’s even taking me to England for the summer as an apology for not believing me.”

Petey let out a low whistle.

“I’m insanely jealous,” Ryan pouted. “My boyfriend gets to go to England and I’m stuck lifeguarding at the rec center.”

Mark bumped shoulders with his boyfriend. “I’ll ask Uncle Jeremy if you could come with, but you’ll have to get your passport.”

Ryan’s eyes lit up. “Wait, you’d do that for me?”

“Sure,” Mark said, and the two of them said their goodbyes. As they walked away they continued to talk about what they would do if Ryan was allowed to come with.

Eva shook her head. “He’s such a dork.”

“I–I’m s-sorry, Eve-eva,” Petey stammered, ducking his head and reaching out to take her hand. “I-I sshouldn’t have g-gotten sso jealous.”

“It’s okay, sweetie,” Eva said giving his hand a squeeze. “I just didn’t want to tell you I was struggling with my homework. I thought you’d be mad at me for something so minor when you have a stammer.”

Petey shook his head and then kissed her deeply. Eddie took that as his cue to leave. He tried not feel bitter about the two couples, but especially Ryan and Mark. Because even though they knew things were going to be tough for them, they still had each other and who did Eddie have?

No one. He was nearing his third decade on this planet and all he had were a couple of hookups. Not very satisfying ones at that.

He closed the door to his van and just sat there for a moment, wiping away the stray tears that had leaked from his eyes down his cheeks. He cleared his throat a couple of time before he started the vehicle, pulling out of the police parking lot, feeling more than a little wrung out.

~

When he got back to the office, Brian was sitting at his desk watching some news program on the office TV. Eddie had sprung for it with his law suite money because staying in the know was important for their line of work and hey if he threw in basic cable then sue him he liked watching reruns of ‘Law & Order’.

“Wha’cha watching Bri-guy?” he asked, tossing his keys and wallet on the dish he kept on his desk for that purpose.

“‘Dateline’,” Brian said around his mouthful of popcorn. “It’s called ‘Murder in the American Heartland’ about these serial killings last year. It was about a couple of cops who were going around preying on high school boys. It’s really fascinating stuff.”

Eddie tapping his cheek for a moment and then snapped his fingers. “Oh I think I remember that one! That’s the one about the two partners turning on each other, right?”

Brian nodded. “Some small town in Kansas. I don’t think its big enough to even show up on a god damned map.”

Eddie nodded back. “That’s right. Anything interesting?”

“The FBI think there was an outside source who was pitting the partners against each other,” Brian said, digging into his bowl for more popcorn. “Because they had successfully pulled off seven murders without clawing each other’s eyes out, then after the eighth one suddenly they’re pulling power plays on each other?”

“A third partner they haven’t found?” Eddie said, pulling up his chair to watch with Brian.

“Could be.”

They settled down to watch the rest of the show in silence.

But as they watched, the silent partner thing weighed on his mind. There was something there lingering at the back of his mind that felt familiar. Not a silent partner. Something else. Something not as sinister, but dangerous all the same.

And it sat with him the whole episode. He never did figure it out until much, much later and by then he had other issues on his mind.

~

Tag List: TWO SLOTS REMAINING

1- @niniel-karenine @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @sadisticaltarts @dolphincliffs

2- @gregre369 @gloomysoup @cryptid-system @kultiras @maya-custodios-dionach

3- @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @bookbinderbitch

4- @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @dreamercec @blondie1006 @yikes-a-bee

5- @awkwardgravity1 @oopsallgender @fearieshadow @stedestielfrattficlover @dragonmama76

6- @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman @counting-dollars-counting-stars

7- @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gutterflower77 @wheneverfeasible

8- @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss @steddieislife @bridget-malfoy-stilinski-hale

9- @stripey82 @kroymu09 @chaotic-waffle @tartarusknight @hattsy-likes-pretty-stuff

10- @mags6422 @johannamry @themoonagainstmers