#but he has shaped everything in this universe | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rainforestakiie · 2 hours ago

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hello!

this is a short AU! expect part 02 in a few hours! i have mostly gotten it fully written, i am just playing around with it a little. the idea behind this has been on my mind for a while now!

Frozen Out

Part 01 - Part 02

Everyone has a breaking point…

It just took Adam centuries to reach his.

In the dawn of creation, Eden pulsed with an ethereal beauty, a masterpiece painted by divine hands. Each blade of grass shimmered like emeralds kissed by sunlight, and the golden apples hanging from the Tree of Knowledge swayed lazily, their surfaces glinting with the secrets of the universe. The air itself carried the scent of blooming flowers, crisp water, and a whisper of something ancient, something eternal. It was paradise, perfect in every way. And yet, Adam was lonely.

Adam lay beneath the sprawling shade of the tree, his gaze fixed on the heavens. He traced the shifting clouds with his eyes, hoping one of them might shape itself into the figure he longed to see. His heart fluttered at the thought. Lucifer. His guardian Archangel, the one who had brought him into this garden and promised to watch over him. His protector, his light, his... everything.

Lucifer often visited Eden, descending from the heavens with the brilliance of a falling star. His presence filled the garden with an otherworldly glow, as though Eden itself bent to welcome him. To Adam, Lucifer was more than just a guardian; he was the embodiment of perfection—graceful, radiant, and untouchable. Adam adored him, though he could never find the courage to say so.

"Adam," Lucifer’s voice was soft yet commanding, like the first notes of a hymn. "Have you been well?"

Adam always nodded eagerly, stumbling over his words in his haste to please. He would recount his days, describing how he had explored the rivers, befriended the animals, or marveled at the endless beauty of Eden. And Lucifer would smile, a faint, fleeting curve of his lips that made Adam's chest tighten with something he could not name.

But those moments were rare. More often than not, Lucifer would leave, his duties in the heavens calling him away. "I must go," he would say, his hand brushing lightly against Adam's hair, a touch so brief it left Adam aching for more. "But I’ll return soon."

Adam clung to those words, even as he watched Lucifer's wings unfurl in a cascade of light, carrying him beyond the clouds. Each time, the garden felt a little dimmer, a little emptier. Adam would return to the apple tree, his only companion in Lucifer’s absence.

Now, as he lay beneath its branches, Adam reached out a hand toward the golden fruit, though he did not pluck it. His fingertips grazed the air just beneath the apple's smooth surface, as though by reaching for it, he could somehow grasp the knowledge Lucifer carried—the wisdom, the grace, the infinite love Adam longed to share.

He closed his eyes, letting the warmth of the sun seep into his skin. In his mind, he imagined a world where Lucifer stayed. Where they could walk together through the garden, laughing, talking, simply being. A world where Lucifer saw him not as a charge to protect, not as a creature to guide, but as an equal, as someone worthy of his love.

But reality was far less kind. Lucifer’s affection, while sweet and gentle, was distant. He patted Adam's head like one might a faithful dog, praised his obedience, and marveled at his innocence. To Adam, it felt like being both seen and unseen, loved yet overlooked.

"Do you think about me when you’re gone?" Adam whispered to the empty garden. His voice was swallowed by the rustle of leaves, a question cast into the void.

He imagined Lucifer in the heavens, surrounded by celestial choirs and the splendor of God’s light. Did he ever think of Eden? Of the one who waited for him beneath the golden tree? Or was Adam just another part of the garden—beautiful, yes, but ultimately forgettable?

Tears pricked the corners of Adam's eyes, but he refused to let them fall. Crying would solve nothing. Instead, he curled into himself, resting his cheek against the soft grass. "I’ll wait," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "I’ll always wait."

Time passed. The sun dipped lower, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. Still, Adam waited. His heart ached with the weight of unspoken words, of feelings too vast to contain. He longed to tell Lucifer, to say, “I love you.” But how could he? Love was a gift, and what did he have to offer an Archangel who already had everything?

The sound of wings broke the silence. Adam’s heart leapt, his breath hitching as he sat up. There, descending from the heavens, was Lucifer. His light bathed the garden in gold, and Adam’s chest filled with a bittersweet joy.

Lucifer landed gracefully, his expression calm and unreadable. "Adam," he said, his voice like the soft hum of a lullaby.

Adam’s smile was bright, though his eyes betrayed his longing. "You came back."

"Of course," Lucifer replied, his hand resting briefly on Adam’s shoulder. "I always do."

But even as they spoke, Adam could feel the distance between them—a chasm carved by divinity and duty, by the unbridgeable divide between mortal and celestial. He wanted to hold on to Lucifer, to beg him to stay. But he knew that love, if it was real, could not be chained.

So, Adam smiled, even as his heart broke. Because even if Lucifer could never love him in the way he wished, he would take what he could get. A touch, a word, a fleeting moment.

And as Lucifer left once more, Adam returned to his place beneath the tree, his silent companion. He gazed at the stars, wondering if somewhere beyond them, Lucifer was looking back.

But he knew the truth. Lucifer belonged to the heavens, and Adam… Adam belonged to Eden. And though his heart yearned, his love would remain unspoken—a quiet, eternal flame burning in the depths of his soul.

If only it was that easy…

Pain. Heart break. Horror. Only followed…

The first thing Adam felt was light. Not the harsh glare of the sun that he’d toiled under on Earth, nor the pale glow of the moon that had witnessed his quiet prayers at night. This was different. It was warm and all-encompassing, wrapping around him like a soft embrace. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Adam was no longer cold.

He opened his eyes slowly, blinking against the brilliance of Heaven. The sky was not a single hue but a shifting cascade of colours—gold melting into silver, blue blooming into shades of pearl. The ground beneath him was soft, like the petals of a flower, and the air smelled of something faintly sweet, something he could only describe as home.

But his body—oh, his body ached. Soreness clung to his limbs like a shroud, and he winced as he shifted. His hands, calloused and cracked from years of toil, trembled in front of him. Scars crisscrossed his skin, pale reminders of the battles he had fought against the earth itself—ploughing rocky fields, hauling water across barren lands, building shelters to keep his family safe.

His family.

The thought of them made his chest tighten. Eve. His children. Every wound, every bruise, every moment of exhaustion had been for them. He had pushed himself to his limits and beyond to keep them fed, to shield them from the unforgiving world they had been cast into. And all of it—all of it—because of a single bite of forbidden fruit.

The weight of that mistake had pressed down on him every day since they left Eden. Adam had carried it without complaint, without faltering, because someone had to. Someone had to bear the burden. And now... now he was here.

He barely had time to process where “here” was before he saw her.

A figure stood before him, radiant and awe-inspiring. Her six wings shimmered like molten gold, each feather catching the light and scattering it in a thousand directions. Her face was soft yet commanding, her presence both overwhelming and soothing. She was beautiful, yes, but more than that—she was holy, a being of divine grace.

“Adam,” she said, her voice melodic and laced with something tender, something almost like sorrow.

The sound of his name on her lips was his undoing.

Adam crumpled to his knees, a broken sob tearing from his throat. His shoulders shook as tears streamed down his face, hot and relentless, as if the floodgates of his soul had been thrown open. He wept for everything he had lost, for everything he had endured. For Eden, for his family, for the weight of years spent trying to atone for something he could never undo.

Sera—he didn’t know how he knew her name, but he did—was startled for a moment, her serene expression flickering with surprise. But then she moved toward him, closing the distance in a heartbeat. She knelt beside him, her wings folding around them both like a cocoon, shielding him from everything but her presence.

“It’s alright,” she murmured, her voice gentle as she pulled him into her arms. “It’s alright, Adam. You’re safe now.”

Adam clung to her like a child, his tears soaking into the fabric of her robes. “I tried,” he choked out, his voice raw. “I tried so hard. I did everything I could. But it was never enough. I—I lost Eden. I lost everything.”

Sera’s arms tightened around him, and she rested her cheek against his hair.

“Hush, my child,” she whispered. “You did more than enough. You gave all of yourself, and Heaven has seen your sacrifice. You are not lost. You are home.”

At her words, something stirred within him—a warmth, a light, something long buried beneath years of pain and struggle. It began as a flicker, a faint glow in his chest, but it quickly grew, spreading through his body like wildfire. Adam gasped as he felt it surge outward, his back arching as the sensation intensified.

And then it happened.

With a sound like thunder, golden wings erupted from his back. They unfurled in a blaze of light, each feather shimmering with an otherworldly brilliance. The pain of their emergence was sharp but fleeting, replaced almost instantly by a sense of overwhelming freedom. Adam let out a cry—not of anguish, but of release—as the wings stretched wide behind him, catching the light of Heaven and casting it in every direction.

Sera pulled back, her hands covering her mouth as she gazed at him in awe.

“Adam…” she breathed, her voice trembling. “Your wings. They’re… they’re glorious.”

Adam looked over his shoulder, his breath hitching as he took in the sight of them. They were unlike anything he had ever imagined, a reflection of the strength and resilience he had forged on Earth. For a moment, he was speechless, overwhelmed by the sheer beauty of what he had become.

Sera reached out, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder. “You have done all that was asked of you,” she said softly.

“You bore the weight of your family’s survival, of your own exile, with grace and humility. And now, Adam, it is time for you to rest. You have earned your place in Heaven.”

Adam’s eyes filled with tears once more, but this time they were tears of relief. The crushing weight he had carried for so long was gone, lifted by her words and the gentle light of his new wings. He looked at Sera, his voice trembling as he asked, “Will it truly be better now?”

She smiled, a motherly warmth radiating from her. “Yes, my dear one. You are home, and you are loved. The darkness is behind you now.”

For the first time since Eden, Adam believed her. He closed his eyes, letting the light of Heaven wash over him, and for the first time in a long, long time, he allowed himself to hope.

Adam worked. He worked until his hands trembled and his wings ached. Heaven’s orders were absolute, its demands endless, and Adam gave everything he had. He gave and gave, offering up every ounce of his strength and will because that was what Sera wanted. That was what Heaven needed. And if he could not make others love him, if he could not bring back what was lost, then at least he could be useful.

“Adam,” Sera would say, her voice laced with that motherly warmth he craved so deeply. “You’re doing so well. Keep going. You’re Heaven’s pride.”

Those words should have comforted him, but instead, they weighed on him like chains. He nodded each time, his golden eyes bright with the fervour of someone desperate for approval.

"Yes, Sera," he’d say, forcing a smile. "I’ll do better. I’ll be everything Heaven needs me to be."

But inside, Adam was crumbling.

More souls arrived every day, their faces filled with awe and wonder, and Adam was there to guide them. He was there to smile, to reassure, to lift them up. His wings, once radiant and proud, sagged under the burden of expectation. The weight of his endless labour, of his duty to Heaven, was crushing him. But Adam refused to falter.

He had no one else.

Lucifer had shattered his heart and left him behind, stealing Eden—the only place where Adam had ever felt whole. Eve had betrayed his trust, her bite of the forbidden fruit unravelling the world he had tried so hard to keep perfect. And Lilith, the woman who had once stood beside him as an equal, had lied to his face, leaving him with nothing but bitterness.

No one had stayed. No one except Sera.

She was his guiding light, his only anchor in the vast expanse of Heaven. He clung to her approval like a lifeline, pouring his entire existence into pleasing her. Even as his wings burned with exhaustion, even as his body screamed for rest, Adam persevered. He would prove himself. He would be the golden boy Sera believed him to be.

But it was breaking him.

One day, after what felt like an eternity of serving, Adam found himself alone. He sat on the edge of a cloudy hedge, his golden wings sagging behind him. The feathers, once lustrous, were dull and trembling from the strain of holding themselves up for too long. They finally collapsed, spilling over the clouds like a crumpled halo. His chest rose and fell with laboured breaths, and his hands trembled as he rested them on his knees.

His mind, unrelenting and cruel, drifted back to Eden. His Eden. His home.

Adam swallowed hard, the memory of Eden gnawing at him like an old wound. The garden had been a paradise—lush, green, and perfect. A place where every moment felt eternal, where the air itself had been sweet with the promise of peace. But Lucifer had taken it from him.

Why? Adam had never understood.

"Why did you do it?" he whispered to no one, his voice breaking.

His golden eyes, now dulled with exhaustion, stared into the endless expanse of Heaven. His eyelids grew heavy, the dark circles beneath them deepening like shadows carved into his skin.

He missed Eden so much it hurt. The earth had been nothing like it. Earth was cruel, unforgiving, tearing at him with jagged claws. It had stripped him of everything—his comfort, his innocence, his sense of belonging. Even now, surrounded by the splendour of Heaven, Adam felt the ache of loss. Eden was the only place he had ever felt truly alive.

Tears pricked at his eyes, but he was too tired to cry. Instead, he rested his head in his hands, letting his thoughts swirl in an endless storm of longing and regret.

And then, it happened.

A faint warmth bloomed between his fingers, pulling Adam from his haze of despair. He lifted his head, blinking in surprise, as he felt something soft and delicate pressing against his palms. Slowly, hesitantly, he opened his hands.

There, growing from his touch, was a flower.

Adam’s breath caught in his throat as he stared at it, his heart pounding in disbelief. It was a flower he hadn’t seen since Eden—a small, radiant bloom with petals that shimmered faintly in the light. His fingers trembled as he jerked back, startled, but the flower remained, swaying gently as though cradled by an invisible breeze.

For a long moment, Adam just stared. Memories of Eden surged through him, raw and bittersweet, as he reached out again. His fingers brushed the petals, and a gasp escaped his lips. The flower grew brighter, its stems stronger, its colours deeper. Two more blooms sprouted beside it, unfurling in delicate perfection.

Adam’s golden eyes widened. His heart thudded painfully in his chest as he looked down at his hands. The realization came slowly, almost too heavy to bear. This was him.

With shaking hands, Adam pressed his palms against the clouds beneath him. He closed his eyes, his thoughts a swirling tide of Eden—its beauty, its peace, its promise of love. The ache in his chest grew sharper, but he pushed through it, pouring everything he had into the memories.

When he opened his eyes, he let out a sharp breath.

Nature had begun to grow around him. Flowers, vines, and lush green grass spilled from his hands, spreading across the clouds in a radiant bloom. The air filled with the scent of Eden, that sweet, familiar fragrance that had haunted his dreams for centuries.

Adam’s breath hitched as he stared at the life flourishing beneath his touch. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, something inside him stirred—a flicker of hope, of purpose. This was new. This was powerful.

But even as he marvelled at the beauty he had created, a shadow lingered in his heart. He thought of Sera, of Heaven’s expectations, of the endless giving that had nearly destroyed him. Would this new power be a gift? Or would it be yet another burden to bear?

Adam clenched his fists, his jaw tightening. It didn’t matter. He would give everything—his strength, his heart, his very soul—if it meant he could finally belong. Even if it destroyed him.

Because that was all he had ever known how to do.

Adam had done everything. He had bent himself to the will of Heaven, poured every drop of his strength into its gardens, and sacrificed his own dreams for the sake of their commands. When they asked for beauty, he gave them flowers. When they demanded glory, he painted the skies with life. Adam had filled Heaven with blossoms, vines, and trees, his power bringing Eden to every corner of paradise.

Yet now, they turned their backs on him.

Why?

Why were they betraying him? Why were they leaving him to rot in his failure, to suffer in his disgrace? His mind reeled with questions, but no answers came. The betrayal burned through him like wildfire, threatening to consume the fragile remnants of his faith.

The memory of Lucifer’s cruel laughter rang in his ears.

It hadn’t started this way. Once, there had been Eden. Once, there had been the quiet, sun-dappled days beneath the apple tree, where Lucifer’s presence was warm and protective. Or so Adam thought. But the Eden he had clung to, the Eden he still mourned, had been torn away. Lucifer had ripped it from him, and Adam couldn’t even understand why.

But understanding hardly mattered now.

What mattered was the humiliation.

Lucifer had dragged him through the mud—literally. The archangel’s blows were unrelenting, knocking Adam to his knees before all of Heaven. Every strike, every mocking word, every sneer had landed like a blade, cutting deeper into his soul than any physical wound. And then, when Adam was at his weakest, humiliated and broken, the final insult came—a one-eyed sinner who caught him off guard, a dagger slicing through his side.

The pain was excruciating.

Adam remembered falling, his wings folding like broken glass behind him as light bled from his eyes. The agony of his death was unbearable, but the agony of being abandoned was worse.

No one came for him.

No divine hand reached down to save him from the darkness. The heavens left him to rot in Hell.

And when Adam awoke, he was something else. Something unholy. His golden wings remained, though they were battered and dull, and his eyes still shimmered faintly with the light of Heaven. But his halo was gone, replaced by horns that twisted above his head. Adam stared at his reflection in the jagged surface of a Hellish pool, his chest tightening with despair.

He was a sinner now.

He was nothing.

The voice that broke the silence was sharp, mocking, and familiar.

“Well, well, well,” Lucifer purred, his crimson gaze glinting with amusement. “Look who’s come crawling back from the grave. Fallen from grace, haven’t we?” He stepped closer, his smirk cutting like a blade. “How the mighty have fallen. Tell me, Adam—how does it feel to be one of us?”

Adam said nothing, his jaw tightening as he lowered his gaze.

“Oh, don’t look so pathetic,” Lucifer continued, his laughter echoing like thunder. “You didn’t honestly think Heaven would take you back, did you? You’re a sinner now, Adam. You don’t belong to them anymore. You’re mine.”

The words hit like a hammer, but Adam refused to react. He kept his head down, swallowing the bitterness that clawed at his throat.

Lucifer tilted his head, his expression shifting from amusement to feigned pity. “Oh, come now. Don’t tell me you’re still holding out hope. That’s adorable.”

His grin widened, sharp and cruel. “But let me save you some time, pet. Sera doesn’t want you. She never did. You were just a tool, a pretty little puppet to do her bidding. And now?” He laughed, the sound dripping with venom. “Now you’re nothing but trash.”

Adam’s chest tightened, his mind flickering back to Eden despite himself. He remembered the way Lucifer used to smile at him, the warmth in his voice, the rare moments of kindness that had felt like sunlight. Or had they? Had Lucifer ever truly been kind? Or had Adam been a fool all along, misreading the disdain in those crimson eyes as something more?

Lucifer leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You were always just a pet, Adam. A pretty, obedient little thing.”

The realization struck Adam like a physical blow. He had looked up to Lucifer, adored him, loved him with a desperate, one-sided passion. But now, the truth was undeniable. He had been nothing to Lucifer. Nothing but a dog on a leash.

Lucifer’s laughter broke through his thoughts, loud and biting. “Don’t worry,” he sneered, stepping back and gesturing toward the red building at the centre of Pentagram City. “I’ll take you to the Emberley—our charming little meeting point between Heaven and Hell. After that, though, you’re on your own. Sera won’t let a sinner like you back in. You’re done.”

Adam said nothing. He followed Lucifer in silence, his wings dragging behind him, the weight of humiliation and heartbreak pressing down on his shoulders. The streets of Pentagram City were filled with jeering sinners, their sneers and laughter cutting into him like shards of glass. But Adam barely noticed. He was too numb to care.

Lucifer glanced back at him, a cruel smile curling his lips. “You’ve really let yourself go, haven’t you? No wonder you couldn’t keep a wife. Not that I blame her.”

The words were meant to hurt, but Adam didn’t flinch. He kept his gaze fixed on the Emberley’s doors, the only thing that stood between him and whatever awaited inside.

Lucifer followed his gaze, his smirk widening. “Good luck in there,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“You’ll need it. And just so you know—when you come out, you better get running. No one here is going to be kind enough to give you a head start.” He laughed harshly, the sound grating against Adam’s ears.

Adam’s hand trembled as he reached for the door.

Before he could open it, Lucifer’s clawed hand clamped down on his forearm, the searing heat of his touch making Adam wince. Lucifer leaned in close, his sharp-toothed grin gleaming in the dim light.

“Oh, and one more thing,” he purred, his voice low and taunting. “If you want to save your pathetic little life, if you really want my help…”

He paused, savouring the moment. “I’ll give it to you. In exchange for your soul, of course.”

Adam’s breath hitched, but he said nothing. He stared at Lucifer, his face unreadable, as the archangel chuckled darkly.

“Think about it,” Lucifer said, stepping back and gesturing toward the door. “Go on, pet. Your destiny awaits.”

Without another word, Adam turned the handle and stepped inside, his heart heavy with despair. Behind him, Lucifer’s laughter echoed like a cruel song, the sound following him into the darkness.

Adam’s steps faltered as the doors to the Emberley closed behind him, sealing him into the dim, suffocating space that seemed to hover on the edge of worlds. A strange, otherworldly hum filled the air, pressing against his skin like static. The golden light he had once associated with Heaven was faint here, weak and struggling against the blood-red glow that seeped in from Hell.

At the far end of the chamber stood Sera.

Adam’s breath caught at the sight of her. She was as radiant as ever, her six wings shimmering with divine brilliance. But there was no warmth in her presence now, no trace of the maternal kindness that had once cradled him in his darkest moments. Her expression was cold, her eyes piercing and unrelenting as they raked over him.

Adam felt his heart sink further, the weight of her gaze unbearable. He wanted to speak, to explain, but the words died in his throat. He didn’t know what to say.

Sera took a single step forward, the sound of her heel echoing sharply in the stillness. Her wings shifted behind her, their feathers gleaming like blades. When she spoke, her voice was sharp, devoid of the gentle cadence he had clung to in the past.

“Adam.”

The way she said his name made him flinch. It wasn’t the way she used to say it—soft and full of quiet pride. Now it was cold, distant, almost like an accusation.

“You’ve disgraced yourself,” she said, her tone cutting. “Look at you.”

Adam hesitated, his hands twitching at his sides. “I… I didn’t choose this,” he said softly, his voice trembling.

“No,” she snapped, her wings flaring slightly. “You chose to fail. You chose to fall.”

Her words struck like a whip, and Adam recoiled. He wanted to protest, to remind her of everything he had done for Heaven, everything he had sacrificed, but her gaze silenced him.

“You’re a sinner now,” Sera continued, her voice unyielding. “A creature of filth and corruption. Do you honestly think you can return to Heaven like this?”

“I… I didn’t mean to…” Adam stammered, his golden eyes filling with tears. “I tried, Sera. I did everything you asked. I gave everything I had—”

“And yet, it wasn’t enough,” she interrupted, her voice as sharp as glass.

“You failed. And now you wear the mark of your failure for all to see.” Her gaze flicked to the horns curling from his head, her lip curling in disgust.

Adam’s wings trembled, the once-glorious golden feathers sagging under the weight of her disdain. He felt the tears spill over, streaking his face as he fell to his knees before her.

“Please,” he begged, his voice cracking. “Please, Sera. I’ll do anything. Just… let me come back. Let me prove myself again. I’ll work harder, I’ll—”

“No.”

The single word cut through him like a blade.

“There is no place for you in Heaven,” Sera said coldly. “You have fallen, Adam. You are no longer one of us.”

Her words crushed him, the weight of them stealing the breath from his lungs. He stared up at her, his vision blurred by tears.

“You said… you said I was your son,” he whispered. “You said you loved me.”

Sera’s expression didn’t soften. If anything, her disdain deepened.

“I loved the Adam who was pure,” she said. “The Adam who obeyed. The Adam who belonged to Heaven. That Adam is gone.”

Adam’s chest heaved as a sob tore from him, raw and broken. He clutched at the hem of her glowing robe, desperate, pleading. “Please, Sera. I don’t have anyone else. I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

She stepped back, pulling her robe from his grasp. “You made your choices, Adam. Now you must live with the consequences.”

Her words were final, her tone merciless.

Adam’s hands fell to his sides, trembling. He lowered his head, his tears dripping onto the cold, unyielding floor. The golden light that had once flickered in his chest felt dim now, as though it would extinguish entirely.

Sera turned away, her wings folding gracefully behind her.

“You will leave this place,” she said, her voice echoing through the chamber. “Do not return. You are no longer welcome.”

As she began to walk away, Adam reached out one last time, his voice barely a whisper. “Sera… please…”

She didn’t look back.

The sound of her footsteps faded, leaving Adam alone in the dim chamber. His sobs echoed around him, raw and desperate, but there was no one to hear them. No one to comfort him.

He was nothing now.

A sinner.

A failure.

As the last traces of Sera’s light vanished, Adam knelt in the darkness, his wings trembling and his heart shattered. The thought of Eden, of what he had lost, flickered weakly in his mind. But even that memory felt tainted now, distant and unreachable.

For the first time, Adam truly understood what it meant to be alone.

The door groaned as Adam pushed it open, stepping out into the suffocating, sulfureous air of Hell’s streets. The eerie red glow of the Emberley behind him cast long shadows on the cracked ground. For a fleeting moment, he dared to hope that maybe—just maybe—he could walk away unscathed. But then he saw them.

The sinners.

They were waiting.

Their twisted forms lurked in the shadows, their eyes gleaming with malice. Adam froze, his wings trembling behind him. He recognized some of them—souls he had been forced to slaughter in the name of Heaven, their faces twisted now with a hatred that seemed to pulse in the air around him.

“There he is,” one of them hissed, stepping forward with a jagged grin.

“The First Man,” another sneered. “Heaven’s golden boy turned to trash.”

Laughter erupted around him, sharp and cruel.

Adam stumbled back, his body already weary and broken, his golden wings sagging. The sinners closed in, their voices growing louder, more taunting.

“Pig.”

“Failure.”

“Couldn’t even keep a women.”

The words sliced through him, each one sharper than the last. Before he could react, one of them shoved him hard, and he fell to the ground with a grunt.

“Let’s see how much gold is left in those wings,” one snarled, grabbing a handful of his feathers and yanking.

Adam cried out as the sharp pain shot through him. They laughed louder, their hands tearing at his wings, ripping feathers out in clumps. The golden light that once shimmered in them dimmed as they shredded his dignity piece by piece.

"Look at him," one jeered. "The mighty Adam, grovelling in the dirt where he belongs."

Adam tried to stand, but they pushed him down again. His knees hit the ground, his body shaking. His mind screamed at him to run, to fight back, but he didn’t have the strength. He was too tired, too broken.

And then he saw him.

Lucifer.

The King of Hell lounged lazily against a jagged rock, his crimson eyes half-lidded as he watched the scene unfold. His smirk was slow and smug, a cruel twist of his lips that sent a chill through Adam’s battered frame.

Adam’s breath hitched. He knew what this was. Lucifer had told him, warned him, but he hadn’t wanted to believe it.

Lucifer was waiting.

Waiting for him to break.

“Help me,” Adam rasped, his voice weak, barely audible over the sinners’ taunts.

Lucifer’s smirk widened. “Help you?” he drawled, his tone dripping with mockery. “Oh, Adam. Why would I do that?”

Adam flinched as another sinner kicked him in the ribs, sending him sprawling. He looked up at Lucifer, his golden eyes swimming with desperation.

“Please,” he whispered. “You said… you said you’d help me.”

Lucifer tilted his head, his grin turning sharp. “I said I’d help you in exchange for your soul. Did you think charity was one of my virtues?”

The sinners laughed, their jeers growing louder. Adam’s hands clenched into fists against the dirt, his chest heaving. He didn’t want to do it. He didn’t want to give Lucifer the satisfaction.

But he couldn’t take this anymore.

“Say it,” Lucifer purred, his voice a low, mocking croon. “Beg me. Prove to me how low you’re willing to go, Adam.”

Adam’s lips trembled. His pride, what little was left of it, screamed at him to hold on, to fight. But his body—bruised, battered, humiliated—couldn’t endure it anymore.

He fell forward, his forehead pressing into the dirt as tears streamed down his face. His voice was barely a whisper, choked with despair.

“Please… Lucifer. I… I give you my soul.”

The sinners froze, their laughter dying in the air. A heavy, suffocating silence fell over them.

Lucifer’s eyes gleamed with triumph.

“Oh, Adam,” he murmured, his grin splitting wider. “Say it again. Louder this time.”

Adam’s shoulders shook as he forced the words out.

“I give you my soul,” he repeated, his voice breaking.

Lucifer’s laughter echoed through the space, cruel and victorious. He stepped forward, his black boots crunching against the dirt until he stood over Adam’s trembling form.

A golden collar materialized around Adam’s neck, glowing faintly before solidifying with an ominous snap. A heavy chain extended from it, leading up to Lucifer’s outstretched clawed hand.

Lucifer yanked the chain, forcing Adam to lift his head. The fallen man’s golden eyes were dull now, lifeless.

Lucifer’s grin was wicked as he pressed his boot onto the back of Adam’s head, shoving him back into the dirt. “I own you now,” he said, his voice laced with smug satisfaction.

He leaned down, his sharp teeth gleaming as he whispered into Adam’s ear. “You’re mine, body and soul. A dog on my leash. A pet.”

The chain rattled as Lucifer pulled it taut, laughing as Adam remained motionless beneath his boot.

“Welcome to Hell, Adam,” Lucifer said, his tone dripping with mockery. “You’ll find it quite… accommodating.”

And as his laughter echoed, Adam closed his eyes, the last remnants of his hope shattering like glass.

The mansion was deathly quiet. The kind of quiet that pressed down on Adam’s chest and made his breathing feel shallow, uneven. Lucifer had left hours ago, his departure marked by a cruelly cheery announcement of his plans to visit his “precious little darling.” His voice still echoed in Adam’s head, mocking and sharp.

“I’d bring you along,” Lucifer had said, his grin wide and wicked, “but I think we both remember how well that went last time. Wouldn’t want another little incident with dear Maggie, now would we?”

‘Vaggie’ he would have said…

Adam had flinched at the memory. The cold rage in her eyes. The sharpness of her blade as it sliced too close.

And now, he was alone again.

The grand halls of Lucifer’s mansion, with their dark, gothic splendor, swallowed him whole. It was too large, too empty, and too suffocating all at once. Adam sat curled in a corner of one of the vast, echoing rooms. He pulled his knees to his chest, his golden wings drooping behind him.

Except… they weren’t quite golden anymore.

The once radiant feathers had dulled, the sheen long gone. They looked almost… tarnished. Adam tried not to think about it. He tried not to think about the way his own reflection in the polished floors didn’t quite look like him anymore.

His trembling hands hovered over the cold, flat patch of marble in front of him. There was no soil, no dirt, but there had never been a need for that before. Once, he could summon life itself from nothingness. In Eden, his hands had been a force of creation. Flowers, trees, lush green growth—they bloomed effortlessly at his touch.

He closed his eyes and focused. He could still feel the memory of it, the warmth that used to radiate from his palms, the way the ground would respond to him as though it loved him.

Adam’s breath hitched as he poured all of himself into the attempt. His fingers trembled, his body aching, but he didn’t stop.

Nothing.

The marble was cold and lifeless beneath his hands.

“Come on,” he whispered, his voice shaking. His golden eyes, dimmed and hollow, filled with desperation as he tried again.

Nothing.

“Please,” he choked out, his hands pressing harder against the ground. His tears began to fall, splashing onto the marble, but he didn’t care.

Still nothing.

Adam’s breath came in shallow gasps as his composure cracked, his chest tightening with the weight of failure. His whole body shook as he tried one more time, pouring every ounce of energy, every last scrap of hope he had left into the act.

Nothing.

His hands fell limp to his sides, his head bowing as a sob tore through him. The sound echoed in the empty room, raw and broken.

“I can’t… I can’t even grow a daisy,” he whispered, his voice cracking as more tears streamed down his face.

His shoulders shook as he curled into himself, his sobs coming harder and louder. It was too much. All of it. The humiliation, the pain, the loss. He had given up everything—everything—and this was all that was left. He couldn’t even find comfort in the one thing that had always brought him peace.

As the despair consumed him, his tanned skin began to change. It grew ashen, a sickly grey spreading across his body. The glow of his once-golden eyes dimmed further, flickering like a dying flame. Even the tips of his fingers, the hands that had once brought Eden to life, began to bruise, the vibrant warmth of creation replaced by cold, lifeless decay.

Adam buried his face in his hands, his muffled cries filling the room. He was breaking. The cracks in his spirit, the ones Lucifer had so carefully cultivated, finally split him open.

And still, no one came.

The mansion was silent, uncaring. The world around him had abandoned him, just as Heaven had, just as everyone had. Adam was alone. Utterly and completely alone.

And as his sobs echoed into the emptiness, he wondered if this was all he was destined to be now: a hollow, broken remnant of the man he once was.

The sound of crashing doors shattered the suffocating silence of Lucifer’s mansion. Adam, curled up in his corner, startled at the noise. His ashen skin, bruised fingertips, and dim eyes reflected the exhaustion in his soul. But his head lifted weakly as he heard a voice—bright, insistent, and filled with conviction.

“Enough, Dad! Enough hiding him away like this!”

It was Charlie.

She stormed into the room, her golden hair ablaze with determination, her fiery resolve lighting up the otherwise cold, oppressive halls. Behind her, Vaggie followed, clearly displeased, her sharp gaze darting to Adam and then back to Charlie. Lucifer appeared moments later, his expression an infuriating blend of amusement and exasperation.

“Charlie, my darling,” Lucifer drawled, leaning casually against the doorframe. “To what do I owe this… dramatic intrusion?”

Charlie ignored him, her bright crimson eyes landing on Adam. Her heart broke at the sight of him—this hunched, trembling man who seemed to be shrinking under her gaze. He looked nothing like the figure she had imagined, nothing like the stories she’d heard of the first man.

“Adam deserves a second chance,” she said firmly, turning to face her father.

Lucifer raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “Oh, does he now? And what exactly makes you think he’s worth it, my sweet girl?”

“Because I can’t claim to believe in redemption for sinners if I can’t even help the one person who’s already given up everything!” Charlie’s voice cracked, but her resolve didn’t waver. “He’s suffering, Dad. You’re letting him rot here, and for what? To make a point? To punish him?”

Lucifer chuckled darkly. “Punishment builds character.”

“Enough!” she shouted, surprising even herself. “He’s coming to the hotel. I’ll take responsibility. I’ll help him.”

“Charlie, no,” Vaggie interjected, stepping in front of her. “This is a terrible idea. He’s not like the others. He doesn’t belong there.”

“Exactly!” Lucifer chimed in, his grin widening. “Listen to your girlfriend, my dear. She’s got a good head on her shoulders.”

But Charlie wouldn’t budge. “How can I ask the sinners of Hell to trust me, to believe in redemption, if I turn my back on someone who needs it the most? Someone who’s already lost everything?”

The argument stretched on, voices rising and emotions flaring. Adam sat silently through it all, his head bowed, his hands limp in his lap. He didn’t dare look up, didn’t dare hope.

Finally, with an exaggerated sigh, Lucifer threw his hands in the air. “Fine! Take him. But don’t come crying to me when this all blows up in your face.”

Vaggie glared at him but reluctantly grabbed Charlie’s arm, pulling her toward the door. “This is a mistake,” she muttered, her frustration palpable.

As they left, Lucifer’s jovial mask dropped. He crossed the room in a flash, his sharp claws digging into Adam’s arm as he hauled him to his feet.

“Listen closely,” Lucifer hissed, his voice low and venomous. “Charlotte sees something in you. Something good, apparently. She’s willing to give you a second chance. But if you screw this up, if you fail her, I will make your afterlife so much worse.”

Adam nodded mutely, his throat too tight to speak.

At first, Adam thought things might get better. Charlie greeted him warmly, trying her best to make him feel welcome. But the others weren’t so kind.

Husk, the bartender, sneered at him over the counter, his gravelly voice laced with disdain. “So, you’re the infamous Adam, huh? First man, biggest failure. Fitting.”

His words cut deep, wrapped in riddles that danced around outright cruelty but still hit their mark.

Angel Dust was worse, his jabs sharp and relentless. “What’s the matter, Goldilocks? Can’t hack it in Heaven, can’t hack it in Hell? Guess you’re just useless everywhere.” He laughed, his high-pitched cackle echoing in Adam’s ears.

Niffty, with her manic energy, would chase him through the halls with a knife, giggling as though it were all a game. “Come on, Mr. Perfect! Let’s see if you bleed gold!”

Cherri Bomb acted like the mean girl Adam had never encountered but somehow felt all too familiar. She whispered behind his back, her laughter ringing out with Angel Dust’s as she made snide comments.

And then there was Alastor, the Radio Demon. He didn’t need to say much; his presence alone was oppressive. But when he did speak, his words were cruelly calculated to strip Adam of what little dignity he had left.

“Oh, how the mighty have fallen,” he’d say, his grin sharp and sinister. “You’re a relic, a failure. A hollow shell of what you once were.”

Even Vaggie couldn’t hide her disdain, her glares cutting through him like knives.

Adam tried to find solace in the quiet moments, tried to use his ability to grow things. But no matter how hard he focused, nothing came. The dark bruises on his fingers spread further up his hands with each failed attempt. His once-bright golden wings grew duller, the light in his eyes fading into a murky haze.

He was crumbling, piece by piece.

One evening, after watching Adam retreat to his room for the third time that day, Charlie pulled Lucifer aside.

“Dad, what’s wrong with him?” she asked, her voice tinged with worry.

Lucifer raised an eyebrow, surprised. “What do you mean?”

“Haven’t you noticed?” she pressed. “He’s different. His skin, his wings, his eyes—they’re all fading. He’s… he’s breaking, Dad.”

Lucifer frowned, his smirk faltering. He hadn’t noticed. Not really. He thought back but couldn’t recall when the change had started.

“Do you think I did something to him?” he asked, half-joking but with a hint of genuine curiosity.

Charlie’s frustration boiled over. “Maybe you should stop tormenting him for five minutes and actually look at him! He’s barely holding on.”

Lucifer waved her off, but the seed of doubt had been planted.

Later that night, Charlie gathered everyone in the main lounge.

“This stops now,” she said firmly, her voice carrying an authority they rarely heard from her. “The bullying, the mocking—all of it. Adam deserves better.”

The room fell silent, the weight of her words sinking in. Adam, hiding in the shadows, didn’t dare hope that things might change. Not anymore.

The silence that followed Charlie’s declaration was thick and uneasy. For a brief moment, Adam thought perhaps the tide would turn, that the words of the princess of Hell might carry enough weight to protect him. But then came the pushback.

Angel Dust was the first to scoff, leaning back lazily on the couch, his legs draped over the armrest.

“Oh, come on, Charlie. You really wanna waste your time defending that?” He gestured toward Adam with a dramatic flourish. “Dude’s a total wet blanket. Can’t even take a joke.”

“Yeah,” Cherri Bomb chimed in, her tone dripping with derision. “It’s not our fault he’s such a buzzkill. He just… doesn’t belong here, Charlie. You’re trying to shove a square peg into a round hole.” She snickered, elbowing Angel, who laughed along with her.

Vaggie crossed her arms, her glare sharp enough to cut glass. “Charlie, you’re not seeing this clearly. He’s a liability. He doesn’t fit into this place, and he’s dragging everyone down. You’re letting your emotions cloud your judgment again.”

Niffty piped up, her voice sickeningly sweet but her words laced with venom. “Maybe he’d be happier somewhere else, princess. Somewhere far away.”

She giggled, the sound sending a shiver down Adam’s spine.

Husk grumbled from behind the bar, not even bothering to look up. “Kid’s not cut out for Hell. Or Heaven, apparently. Maybe he should just… I dunno, disappear.” His words stung, their nonchalant delivery only making them more painful.

Even Alastor, who usually revelled in chaos, seemed unimpressed. His ever-present grin widened, but his tone was icy.

“Charlie, my dear, you’re fighting a losing battle. Redemption is your dream, yes? But some souls are simply too far gone.” He glanced at Adam with thinly veiled disdain. “This one is... cracked beyond repair.”

Charlie’s face fell as her friends, one by one, dismissed her plea. Her gaze turned to Lucifer, her last hope for backup.

“Dad?” she asked, her voice soft but pleading. “A little help here?”

Lucifer, lounging lazily in the corner with a glass of wine in hand, shrugged helplessly, a small smirk playing on his lips.

“Sorry, darling, but you know how stubborn they can be. And, well…” He gestured vaguely toward Adam. “They’re not entirely wrong.”

Charlie’s eyes narrowed, her frustration bubbling over. She puffed out her chest, straightened her shoulders, and cleared her throat. When she spoke again, her voice carried the kind of authority that made the room fall silent.

“I don’t care what any of you think,” she began, her crimson eyes blazing with resolve. “Adam has been through Hell—literally—and he’s still standing. He’s still trying. Do you have any idea how hard that is? After everything he’s lost, everything he’s been through, he hasn’t given up. That’s more than I can say for most of you!”

The room bristled at her words, but Charlie pressed on. “Angel, you came here because you wanted more than to just be some toy for people to use and discard. Cherri, you came here because you wanted to prove you were more than just destruction. Husk, you’re here because you’re tired of drowning your pain in booze. Vaggie, you’re here because you believe in me, in what we’re trying to do. And Alastor…”

She hesitated but forced herself to look him in the eye. “Even you came here because a part of you wanted to see if redemption was possible.”

Her gaze swept the room, daring anyone to interrupt. “How can we call ourselves a place of second chances if we’re not willing to give him one? How can I stand here and say I believe in redemption if I turn my back on someone who needs it the most?”

The silence that followed was deafening. For a moment, it seemed like her words might have reached them. But then Vaggie shook her head, her expression hard.

“It’s not the same, Charlie. Adam’s not like us. He’s not one of us. He doesn’t belong here.”

Charlie’s heart sank, but she refused to back down. “He’s not one of you because none of you are giving him a chance to be. He’s trying, but you’re all too busy tearing him down to see it.”

Adam, huddled in the shadows, felt a flicker of something he hadn’t felt in what felt like an eternity: hope. But it was fragile, delicate, and he couldn’t bring himself to believe it would last.

Lucifer watched the scene unfold with mild amusement, swirling his wine in his glass.

“Well, Charlie,” he drawled, “if you’re so determined to play saviour, I won’t stop you. But don’t come crying to me when it all falls apart.”

Charlie ignored him, her focus entirely on her friends. “This is my hotel, and I’m telling you all right now: the bullying stops. Adam is one of us now, whether you like it or not. And if you can’t accept that, then maybe you’re the ones who don’t belong here.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy and unyielding. One by one, the others looked away, grumbling but offering no further resistance. Charlie turned to Adam, her expression softening as she extended a hand toward him.

“Come on, Adam,” she said gently. “Let’s get you out of here.”

Adam hesitated, his dimmed golden eyes searching hers for any sign of deceit. But all he saw was sincerity, and for the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to hope.

As he reached for her hand, Lucifer chuckled softly from the corner, his voice barely above a whisper. “Let’s see how long this lasts.”

Everyone was trying. Really trying. Adam could feel it. Husk would make small talk with him, Angel Dust would occasionally flash him a grin, and Niffty would clean around him with an overly bright smile. They were trying so hard to be nice to him, but Adam could tell it was all for Charlie’s sake. There was an air of forced politeness, a tightness in their voices and movements that Adam couldn’t ignore. It all felt... fake. Like the way a person tries to smile when they don’t really want to. He saw their relationships—the way Husk and Angel Dust seemed inseparable, the way Niffty gazed at Alastor with starstruck adoration, the way Alastor himself only seemed to genuinely smile when Niffty was near. And Charlie was the only person who could make Vaggie’s lips curl upward in a rare, hesitant smile.

But Adam saw through it all. They weren’t doing it because they wanted to. They were doing it because Charlie asked them to. Adam couldn’t help but feel like an outsider. It reminded him of the angels back in Heaven, how they’d always been kind to him, but only because it was expected of them. They never really cared.

And then, Adam thought of Lucifer. Eden. The way Lucifer had never really liked him, not the way Adam had wanted, the way he had convinced himself he could be loved. It hurt. The realization stabbed at him, deep and brutal. Lucifer never cared. He had been just as fake as the others. And that... hurt the most. Adam’s hands trembled as he realized, more clearly than ever before, that he had wished for something that had never been there. A lie he had told himself in Eden, that he could be loved. A part of him still wished for it—just one person, anyone, to truly like him.

Adam pulled his knees to his chest, huddling in a corner of the empty hotel. He clenched his fists, forcing all his energy into his hands. If he could just make something—anything—grow, maybe he’d feel better. A flower. Just one. But nothing happened. Nothing at all. His shoulders slumped as the weight of failure pressed down on him. He closed his eyes, feeling the coldness seep deeper into his bones.

What was the point?

A voice broke the silence, cutting through his thoughts.

“What are you doing?” it asked, low and unexpectedly curious.

Adam jerked in surprise, his heart leaping as he quickly looked up. Lucifer was standing there, leaning casually against the wall, his eyes fixed on him. There was no cruel smirk, no mocking stare—just genuine curiosity in those fiery eyes. Adam’s breath hitched as Lucifer crouched beside him, inspecting the ground with a frown.

“If you're damaging Charlie's hotel,” Lucifer added, raising an eyebrow, “I won’t be happy.”

Adam swallowed hard, shaking his head. “I’m not,” he muttered, voice small. “I wasn’t—”

Lucifer’s eyes stayed on him, his expression still soft. “Then what are you doing?”

Adam hesitated, his gaze falling back to the empty space in front of him. “I... I was trying to grow a daisy,” he said quietly, the words feeling hollow and stupid as they left his mouth.

Lucifer’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “What?”

Adam sighed deeply, the weight of everything pressing in on him. His wings fluttered weakly behind him, their gold dimming, almost silver in the fading light.

“Back when I was in Heaven... I could grow things,” he explained, his voice breaking just slightly. “Things from Eden... and they always made me feel better…when I was sad I mean. Like... like I was still part of it, you know?”

Lucifer didn’t speak for a moment, staring at him with an unreadable expression. Adam glanced up, catching a flicker of something soft in Lucifer’s gaze—something almost... tender. Adam flushed, suddenly embarrassed by his vulnerability.

“If you're just gonna make fun of me, just do it already.”

Lucifer opened his mouth, but instead of ridicule, he closed it again, shaking his head slowly.

“I’m not going to make fun of you,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I’m just... surprised.”

Adam’s face twisted with confusion. “Why? Because I’m not worthy enough for nature to like me either?”

Lucifer looked taken aback, his gaze softening. “What? No. That’s not what I mean at all.”

He hesitated, then sighed, a deep, almost nostalgic sound. “Look, Adam... I get it. Okay? I miss Eden too.”

Adam blinked, surprised by the admission. Lucifer, of all people, missing Eden? “You do?”

Lucifer nodded, his eyes briefly distant as if remembering something painful. “Every day. I still dream about it sometimes. The way the trees... the way everything felt. Alive. Like nothing could touch it.” He glanced at Adam again, his voice quieter now. “I never could make things grow like you could. I used to try... but it didn’t work for me. I was always just a little... too far gone.”

Adam’s heart gave a painful lurch. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Lucifer—King of Hell, the fallen angel who had ruled over so many—admitting he missed Eden, admitting that he couldn’t do what Adam could? It was a side of Lucifer Adam had never seen, and it left him at a loss for words.

Lucifer’s eyes softened, and there was a quiet, almost hesitant energy between them. “Look, Adam...”

Lucifer trailed off, his voice laced with something close to sincerity. “I’m sorry for all of it. The way things have gone... it wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

Adam looked up at him, still processing his words. “You... you really miss it?”

Lucifer’s expression tightened for a brief second, but it quickly relaxed as he gave a small, wry smile. “Yeah. I miss it. A lot.”

Adam blinked, his tired eyes fixed on Lucifer as the King of Hell rolled up the sleeve of his jacket, exposing his pale arm adorned with faint scars and tattoos that seemed to shimmer faintly in the dim light. Lucifer smirked faintly, though it lacked his usual malice. There was an unusual softness in his expression, almost a flicker of nostalgia that Adam hadn’t seen before.

“Watch this,” Lucifer said, his voice low but not unkind. His sharp claws extended, and with a graceful motion, he dragged them through the air above the ground. Gold light sparked and swirled from his fingertips, pooling into the floor like liquid sunlight. The energy pulsed, then shimmered before something began to rise from the cracks in the floorboards.

At first, Adam’s heart jumped. The glow was reminiscent of Eden—golden vines, delicate petals, and the pure vitality of the paradise he’d once known. But as the plants fully emerged, his expression twisted into a mix of awe and horror.

The flowers were... wrong. They had teeth—sharp, jagged ones that snapped aggressively. Their petals curled in unnatural spirals, and their vines writhed like snakes. One particularly bold flower lunged forward, its snapping maw aimed directly at Adam’s face.

Adam yelped, stumbling backward just as Lucifer’s hand shot out, gripping his shoulder and yanking him out of the way.

“Whoa, careful!” Lucifer exclaimed, his grin spreading as he moved a clawed hand to restrain the offending plant. The flower hissed—actually hissed—before retreating, sulking back into the ground.

For a moment, there was silence between them. Then, unexpectedly, Lucifer started to laugh—a genuine, hearty laugh that echoed through the quiet hallway. It wasn’t mocking or cruel; it was warm, almost boyish in its condor. Adam stared at him, wide-eyed, before a reluctant chuckle escaped his lips. Soon, the two of them were laughing together, the absurdity of the situation washing over them like a tide.

“Well, that’s new,” Adam muttered, brushing himself off as his laughter died down into soft chuckles.

Lucifer’s smirk lingered, but there was something different about it now—something less guarded.

“Yeah, not exactly Eden, huh?” he said, gesturing at the chaotic plants that were slowly retreating back into the floor. “It’s... a work in progress.”

Adam hesitated, still processing what he’d seen.

“Wait,” he said quietly, looking at Lucifer with an unreadable expression. “You mean to tell me... you’ve been trying to grow things, too?”

Lucifer glanced at him, the sharpness in his gaze softening ever so slightly.

“Of course I have,” he admitted, his voice uncharacteristically subdued. “Do you think I’ve forgotten what Eden felt like? The smell of the air, the way the sunlight filtered through the trees? The way it... made you feel alive, like you belonged?”

His voice faltered, just for a moment, before he continued. “I dream about it sometimes. About being there again.”

Adam blinked in surprise. He hadn’t expected that level of vulnerability from Lucifer. “You miss it,” he said softly, more to himself than to Lucifer.

Lucifer chuckled dryly, his gaze distant. “Miss it? Adam, I ache for it. Every damn day. I don’t care how many eons pass—I’ll never stop craving what I lost.”

He glanced down at his clawed hand, flexing his fingers. “But Eden doesn’t want me anymore. I can try to grow things, but... well, you saw the results.”

Adam’s brow furrowed as he watched Lucifer, his own sense of loneliness momentarily overshadowed by an odd sense of understanding. “I didn’t know,” he murmured, his voice quiet but sincere. “I thought... you were just okay with all of this. That you didn’t care.”

Lucifer snorted, a hint of his usual arrogance creeping back into his expression. “Oh, I care. But caring doesn’t change the fact that I’ll never step foot in Eden again.”

He tilted his head, studying Adam. “What about you? Do you still dream about it?”

Adam swallowed hard, his fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “Every night…I used to take comfort in it. Growing things, I mean. It made me feel... closer to it. Like I hadn’t lost everything.”

He looked down, his voice trembling slightly. “But now... I can’t even do that anymore…”

Lucifer’s gaze lingered on Adam, and for once, there was no mockery in his eyes—just something akin to understanding. He reached out, placing a clawed hand on Adam’s shoulder.

“You’re not the only one,” he said softly, his tone carrying a weight that Adam hadn’t heard before.

Adam looked up at him, startled by the sincerity in his voice. For the first time in what felt like forever, he felt a small flicker of warmth—like maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t completely alone.

Lucifer smirked again, though it was softer this time.

“Don’t get used to this,” he teased, his tone light. “I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”

Adam chuckled weakly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

As they sat there, the tension between them seemed to ease, if only for a moment. For the first time, Adam felt like he wasn’t just a pawn in someone else’s game. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

As the days turned into weeks, the small moments between Adam and Lucifer began to feel like something more, something real. Adam had always known that Lucifer was dangerous, unpredictable, and cruel. But lately, Lucifer’s presence seemed to carry a different weight. A weight that wasn’t just about power or dominance, but something deeper, something more complex. It was as if, little by little, Lucifer was thawing—letting himself soften around Adam in ways he hadn’t with anyone in centuries.

Adam could feel it, too. Though he was still struggling to grow anything, despite his best efforts, there was a shift inside him. He no longer felt as desperate. Instead of the crushing disappointment he would have felt before, when his powers refused to work, there was a quiet acceptance. A sort of understanding that maybe the things that had once come so easily to him were no longer in his grasp—but that didn’t mean he was without value. Not anymore. And that was something he had Lucifer to thank for.

One evening, after another failed attempt at coaxing life from the barren earth beneath him, Adam slumped to the ground in frustration. His hands were covered in dirt, his wings drooping heavily behind him. He had been trying to grow a single flower—just one—but it seemed as though the magic that had once flowed through him so easily was slipping further away each day. He was just about to give up when he caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of his eye.

A small yellow rubber duck sat in the dirt, perfectly positioned in his line of sight.

Adam blinked, rubbing his eyes in disbelief. He hadn’t seen it before—hadn’t noticed it anywhere nearby. But there it was, so innocently placed, as if it had appeared just for him. His first instinct was to laugh, a soft, bewildered chuckle escaping his lips. It was such a random, out-of-place object to find in the midst of his failure. But somehow, it didn’t seem out of place at all. It felt... comforting. Like it was meant to be there.

Before he could contemplate the oddity too much, he heard a voice, low and teasing.

“What’s this? A rubber duck in a garden of death?” Lucifer’s voice carried a hint of amusement, but there was something else beneath it. Curiosity, maybe.

Adam looked up, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I... I don’t know. It just appeared, like magic.” He picked it up, turning it over in his hands as if it might somehow hold the answers he was searching for.

Lucifer crouched down beside him, his golden eyes gleaming in the dimming light of the evening. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from Adam’s forehead—a surprisingly gentle gesture.

“Seems like someone has a little sense of humor,” Lucifer mused, his voice softer than Adam was used to hearing. He was staring at the duck with an odd fondness, almost as though it reminded him of something—or someone—long ago. “You’ve been trying to grow things, haven’t you?” he asked, his tone more careful than usual.

Adam nodded, his fingers tightening around the rubber duck. He didn’t want to admit how much it had been weighing on him lately—not just the inability to use his powers, but the ache of knowing that something so fundamental to who he was seemed lost to him now.

“I’ve been trying,” Adam said quietly. “But... nothing works. It’s like I’ve forgotten how.”

Lucifer’s expression shifted. He tilted his head, watching Adam with a quiet intensity. “You haven’t forgotten, Adam. Sometimes, things just take longer than we want them to.” He paused for a moment, considering. “Maybe you’re not meant to grow flowers right now. Maybe... maybe you’re meant to grow something else.”

Adam didn’t answer right away. The words lingered, reverberating in his mind. He hadn’t considered that—hadn’t thought that maybe this struggle was part of something bigger than just his powers. Maybe it was something about him, about his journey, that he hadn’t yet understood.

But instead of letting his mind spiral into doubt and frustration, Adam found himself simply appreciating the moment. For the first time in a long time, he felt like he wasn’t completely alone. The duck, the conversation—everything about it felt... small, but important.

Lucifer, noticing the shift in Adam’s demeanor, smiled faintly. It wasn’t a mocking smile, but something more real, something softer than Adam had ever expected from the King of Hell.

“I know it’s not easy,” Lucifer said, his voice quiet now, almost tender. “You think you’re the only one who’s lost something? That you’re the only one who’s struggling?” He paused. “I miss Eden, too. I miss what I used to be. But we’re here now. And... maybe that’s enough.”

Adam glanced at Lucifer, surprise flickering in his eyes. For a moment, their gazes locked, and Adam saw something in Lucifer’s eyes—a kind of sadness, a rawness that mirrored his own. It was fleeting, but it was there. And in that moment, Adam realized just how much they had in common. How much they both carried, how much they both missed.

“Maybe,” Adam murmured, his voice soft. “Maybe we’re both just trying to figure out how to be... okay.”

Lucifer didn’t answer right away, but when he did, his tone was uncharacteristically warm. “Maybe you’re right.”

They sat there for a while, neither of them speaking. Lucifer leaned against the tree, and Adam cradled the rubber duck in his hands, staring at it like it held the key to something he couldn’t yet understand. It was a small, silly thing—but to Adam, it felt like a symbol of hope.

As the silence stretched on, Lucifer shifted, his wings rustling slightly as he stood up. He offered a hand to Adam, who took it after a moment, letting Lucifer help him to his feet. It wasn’t the sharp, commanding gesture Adam had expected. Instead, it was gentle, steady.

“You’re doing alright,” Lucifer said, his voice quieter than usual. “Better than I thought you would.”

Adam met his gaze, surprise and something else—something warmer—flickering inside him. For a moment, he wasn’t the fallen angel. He wasn’t the broken soul who had failed. He was just Adam. And in that moment, he felt like maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t as alone as he had thought.

Lucifer gave him a small, genuine smile—nothing grand, but it felt like a small victory. Adam smiled back, feeling something inside him soften, just a little. Maybe this was the start of something new. Maybe, for the first time, he wasn’t just clinging to the past. He was building something for the future.

And that felt like enough.

As the days passed, the connection between Lucifer and Adam deepened in ways neither of them had anticipated. It started with little things—small conversations, stolen glances, moments where their laughter rang out in sync. They were bonding in a way that felt more intimate than either had expected. What had begun as a slow thawing of walls soon became something more. Something that neither could quite name, but both felt.

Lucifer was not often one to show vulnerability, but there was a subtle shift in his demeanor when he was with Adam. It wasn’t just about the playful jabs or the moments of sarcasm; it was the way he listened, how he’d catch Adam’s eye just a little longer than necessary, or how his voice would soften when speaking to him. His presence felt more than just a force of power—he felt, for the first time in centuries, like a person. And that person... cared about Adam. In ways that both scared and thrilled him.

Adam, on the other hand, was far more cautious. The walls he had spent so long building were cracking, and with each passing day, he felt them crumble further. He would catch himself in moments of quiet, just staring at Lucifer, his thoughts wandering to places he didn’t dare to go. But every time, he pulled back. He couldn’t—he wouldn’t—let himself fall again. Not after everything that had happened. Not after Eden.

He had loved Lucifer once, in a way that was pure and innocent. But now? Now, it was complicated. The anger, the hurt, the betrayal—it was still there, even if he didn’t want to admit it. He couldn’t forget what had happened in Eden, how Lucifer had cast him aside, how everything had changed. The love he had felt had turned to dust, a painful reminder of a time long gone.

Yet, despite all the distance Adam tried to put between them, despite the walls he erected in his heart, he couldn’t help but feel the pull when Lucifer was near. Lucifer’s smile, the way his eyes softened when they met Adam’s, the quiet moments when they’d sit together in silence—those things still made Adam’s heart ache. But each time, he pushed those feelings down. He couldn’t allow himself to fall back into that. Not again.

One evening, as the two of them sat in a dimly lit corner of the mansion, Lucifer was telling one of his stories. His voice was smooth, effortless, but Adam found his thoughts drifting. The warmth in Lucifer’s words, the way his eyes seemed to shine as he spoke—it was hard not to feel something. But Adam quickly snapped himself out of it, forcing his attention back to the conversation.

Lucifer glanced over at him, his eyes searching Adam’s face as if trying to read something beneath the surface.

“What’s on your mind, Adam?” Lucifer asked, his voice quieter than usual. There was an edge of concern in it, a softness that Adam wasn’t used to hearing.

Adam flinched slightly, caught off guard. He shook his head, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Nothing. Just... lost in thought.”

Lucifer didn’t seem convinced. He leaned in slightly, his gaze never leaving Adam. “You know, you don’t have to lie to me. Not anymore.”

Adam’s chest tightened, a pang of guilt washing over him. He didn’t want to let Lucifer see him like this, didn’t want to let him know how much he still felt. He took a deep breath, trying to keep his emotions in check.

“I’m not lying,” Adam said, his voice strained. “I’m fine.”

Lucifer didn’t buy it. His eyes narrowed, but instead of pressing further, he simply nodded, though there was something unreadable in his expression. He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest as he studied Adam.

Adam couldn’t shake the feeling that Lucifer could see right through him—that, maybe, Lucifer could see the part of him he was trying so hard to hide. The part of him that still wanted to reach out. The part of him that still cared.

But the fear was there, too—the fear of getting hurt again, of being abandoned. The fear of giving his heart to Lucifer and having it torn to shreds once more.

A silence stretched between them, but it was a comfortable one—unlike the awkward pauses that used to fill the room when they first started spending time together. It was as if they had both accepted that there was something unsaid, something lingering, but neither wanted to push it. At least, not yet.

After a while, Adam stood up, feeling the weight of his thoughts press down on him. He couldn’t stay there, not with Lucifer watching him like that. He needed to be alone. He had to clear his head, to stop this cycle of feelings from taking hold of him.

“I think I’ll take a walk,” Adam said, his voice low as he turned away, his wings brushing against the air.

Lucifer didn’t stop him, though Adam could feel the King’s gaze following him as he walked toward the door. He wasn’t sure if it was concern or something else, but either way, he couldn’t bear to be around Lucifer right now. Not when the temptation to give in to those feelings was so strong.

As Adam stepped out into the cold night air, he tried to push everything aside. The ache in his chest, the longing for something he wasn’t sure he should have, the fear of falling into something that could never work. But as he walked down the garden path, something caught his eye.

A single flower, blooming impossibly in the cold, dark soil.

Adam stopped, staring at it, his breath catching in his throat. It was small, delicate, but it was real. A real flower, growing against all odds. For a moment, he just stood there, mesmerized by its simple beauty. And then he realized—he hadn’t planted it. It had just appeared.

His hand shook as he reached down, gently brushing his fingers against the petals. It was a sign. A sign of hope, maybe. A sign that, just like the flower, there was still something inside him that could grow, something that wasn’t broken beyond repair.

But as he stood there, his mind wandered back to Lucifer. Back to those soft smiles, those fleeting moments of kindness, and the way Lucifer looked at him sometimes, as though he was seeing something Adam had long since buried.

It was almost too much.

Adam closed his eyes, willing the thoughts away. But it was too late. He couldn’t stop it anymore.

He wanted Lucifer. In a way that scared him, in a way that he couldn’t deny. But he wasn’t sure he was ready to face that. Not yet.

When he returned to the mansion, he found Lucifer sitting near the window, his eyes distant but his posture relaxed. Lucifer didn’t look up when Adam entered, but he spoke anyway.

“You didn’t have to go,” Lucifer said, his voice quiet, almost knowing. “You’re not alone, you know. I’m not going anywhere.”

Adam froze, his heart stuttering in his chest. He wanted to believe it. He wanted to lean into the warmth of Lucifer’s words and let himself fall. But something in him still held back, still fought against it.

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just... I needed some space,” he said, trying to sound casual, but the lie hung heavily between them.

Lucifer didn’t push. He just nodded, and for a long moment, they stood in silence, two souls adrift in a sea of uncertainty.

Adam didn’t know what to do, but he knew one thing for sure: he couldn’t keep pretending that he didn’t feel what he did. And that terrified him more than anything else.

Adam sat across from Charlie in her bright, sun-filled office, the soft hum of her voice buzzing in the background as she spoke with enthusiasm. Her words were warm and encouraging, and her eyes shone with pride as she talked about his progress. Adam forced a smile, nodding occasionally to acknowledge her, but inside, his mind was elsewhere—far from the cheerful praise she was showering on him.

Charlie was talking about how much he’d improved since arriving at the hotel. How he’d taken to his tasks, how he had made an effort to change. She spoke of how proud she was of his work around the hotel, how the guests and staff had noticed the difference in him, how much more comfortable he seemed.

"Adam, I can’t tell you how happy I am to see the growth you’ve shown! You’ve really come so far. It’s honestly incredible! The way you’ve been helping with the garden, the little touches around the hotel, your willingness to pitch in… it’s all so amazing." Charlie’s voice was full of genuine excitement as she gestured toward the door, as if everything about Adam’s presence in the hotel was a small victory.

Adam’s gaze shifted to the window, his mind drifting off again, away from her words. He wasn’t listening fully. Not really. His thoughts were tangled up in a storm of emotions, spinning around a singular, complicated person—Lucifer.

Every time he caught himself thinking about Lucifer, a knot twisted in his chest. The warmth, the care, the way Lucifer’s touch lingered in his memory, always accompanied by that cruel smirk that had once sent him spiraling. But now—now, it was different. There were moments when Lucifer's eyes softened, when his tone was gentler, when Adam felt like maybe... maybe Lucifer wasn’t just toying with him. Maybe there was something there, something real.

But then the fear would set in. Adam wasn’t sure he could go through that kind of pain again. Loving Lucifer had once been his everything, and when that love had been ripped away in Eden, it had broken him in ways he wasn’t sure he could ever repair. To love him again, to feel that warmth, would mean trusting him all over again. And trusting Lucifer had never ended well before.

Lost in his thoughts, Adam absentmindedly rubbed his shoulder, feeling the unfamiliar weight of the silver feathers along his wings. He frowned. When had they changed?

The golden feathers, the radiant glow that used to shine so brightly, were gone. Replaced by the dull, muted sheen of silver. He hadn’t noticed until now, but the transformation seemed so subtle that it made him wonder: when had his wings shifted? And when had they become... so lifeless?

"Adam? Adam, are you listening?" Charlie's voice broke through the haze of his thoughts, and he blinked, trying to refocus on her.

"Sorry," he muttered, shaking his head slightly. "I—I was just thinking."

Charlie smiled, oblivious to the storm brewing behind his eyes. "That’s okay! I just wanted to make sure you know how proud I am of you. You’ve really come a long way, and I think—"

Her expression softened, and she placed her hands on the desk, leaning forward as her eyes sparkled. "I think there’s so much potential in you. You're really making a difference here, Adam. I’m so happy to see you improving."

Her voice was full of warmth, full of sincerity, and it made his chest tighten. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt for how little he truly felt like he was progressing. Charlie saw him as someone who was moving forward, growing into a new version of himself, but Adam didn’t feel that. He didn’t feel like he was growing—at least not in the way she thought.

The silence between them stretched out longer than it should have, and Adam was finally forced to pull himself from the depths of his thoughts. He gave her a small, strained smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

"Thanks, Charlie. I... appreciate it."

Charlie’s smile widened, oblivious to the turmoil brewing beneath Adam’s surface. "Of course! You’ve worked so hard, Adam. I just want you to know how proud I am, and I really believe you have what it takes to make it here. You’re doing great."

Adam’s fingers twitched, and for a moment, he felt the urge to flee. He wanted to be anywhere but here, sitting across from Charlie, hearing the things he knew he should feel grateful for but couldn’t. There was something missing, something that he couldn’t quite put into words.

"Yeah, I’m trying my best." Adam said quietly, his voice almost distant as he stared at his hands, fingers trembling ever so slightly. They were bruised from the constant use, worn from trying and failing to do what he once could do so effortlessly.

But the truth was, he wasn’t just trying his best to improve at the hotel. He was trying his best to hold it together, to pretend that everything was fine. That the silver feathers on his wings didn’t feel like a symbol of everything he had lost. That the distance between him and the one person he wanted most didn’t tear him apart a little more each day.

Charlie’s voice brought him back once more. "You know, I’m so glad you’re here, Adam. It’s like you’re meant to be a part of this place."

She paused, tilting her head slightly. "You just have to believe in yourself a little more. I know you’re capable of amazing things, Adam."

Adam nodded, the words swirling in his head as his heart grew heavier with each passing second. He wanted to believe her. He really did. He wanted to believe that the person he used to be—that the person who had been capable of bringing life and beauty to the world—wasn’t gone for good. But when he tried to reach for that part of himself, it felt like something was missing, like the wings that had once been so full of light were now tarnished, just like the man who wore them.

"I’ll try," he said, his voice quiet, almost defeated.

Charlie beamed at him, clearly satisfied with his response. She didn’t know how much those words hurt, how much the hope she gave him only seemed to highlight how far he’d fallen.

But Charlie didn’t see that. She didn’t know the secret ache he carried inside. She couldn’t see the loneliness in his eyes, nor the way his heart longed for something that felt unreachable.

As Charlie continued to talk, her voice a steady stream of praise and encouragement, Adam’s mind wandered once more. But this time, instead of focusing on his failures, his mind drifted to Lucifer—the one person who had always been there, and yet, had never truly been there for him. A bittersweet yearning tugged at him, pulling him toward the man whose presence both comforted and terrified him.

The only question was: Was Lucifer just as lost as he was?

Later, Adam stood in the garden of the hotel, his eyes tracing the edges of the flowers, watching them flutter in the breeze. He couldn’t grow anything. Not even the simplest flower. His fingers twitched, but the soil remained untouched by any kind of magic. The golden light of his wings had dimmed so much over the weeks. It seemed like he was fading. He hated this feeling—the sense of helplessness, the constant reminder of what he'd lost. And all he wanted was to escape into the solace of his thoughts, to forget about everything around him. But no matter how hard he tried, Lucifer was always in the back of his mind.

Just as he was about to turn and retreat inside, a voice cut through the air, smooth and almost too calm. "You’re always running away from something, aren’t you?"

Adam stiffened, recognizing the voice immediately. He didn’t need to look up to know who it was. He was used to the sound of Lucifer’s footsteps, the way they echoed in the quiet of the hotel’s garden, the air thick with tension every time they crossed paths.

Adam swallowed hard and slowly turned around, his pulse quickening despite himself. Lucifer was standing by the stone archway that framed the garden, the faintest of smirks playing at the corners of his lips. His red eyes glinted in the pale moonlight, his presence all-encompassing. The way he looked at Adam sent a shiver down his spine.

"What do you want?" Adam muttered, his voice not quite steady. He was trying so hard to keep his emotions in check, to keep things from spiraling.

Lucifer stepped closer, the air around him crackling with something dangerous and enticing. "I want a lot of things, Adam. But tonight... I want you to stop running from me."

Adam's heart skipped a beat. He knew what Lucifer meant. He wasn’t stupid, and he wasn’t blind to the moments they shared—those moments when their gazes lingered too long, when their words were layered with something unspoken. But Adam didn’t know how to deal with it. He couldn’t. Not again. He had already given up so much of himself in the past, and he wasn’t sure he could survive losing himself to Lucifer once more.

Lucifer took another step forward, and Adam’s breath hitched. "Why do you keep avoiding this?" Lucifer’s voice was low, almost like a whisper meant only for Adam. "You’ve been pushing me away, and I don’t understand why. You think I don’t know what’s happening between us?"

Adam felt a pang in his chest, something between hope and fear. His heart was fighting against the pull of Lucifer’s words. It would be so easy to fall back into what they once were. It would be so easy to let Lucifer back in, to let him take all of Adam’s pieces and make them whole again. But there was too much pain, too many memories of betrayal.

“I’m not… I’m not running from you,” Adam said, though his voice cracked slightly, betraying the lie.

Lucifer raised an eyebrow, as if he’d heard the lie for what it was. "Really?"

He was close now, close enough that Adam could feel the heat of Lucifer’s presence, the magnetic pull of his aura. "Then why is it, every time I look at you, I see that little flicker of hesitation? Why is it, when I reach out to you, you flinch?"

Adam took a step back, trying to put distance between them, but Lucifer moved faster, catching his wrist in a vice-like grip before he could even process the movement. Adam’s pulse thudded loudly in his ears, his breath coming faster, his body reacting against his will.

"Lucifer..." Adam breathed, but his words felt hollow.

Lucifer’s gaze softened, his expression unreadable for a split second before his face hardened once more. He leaned down, his lips dangerously close to Adam’s ear. "I can feel it too, you know. You think I don’t see how you look at me, how you still care?" His voice was a low rumble. "I’ve waited, Adam. I’ve waited long enough."

Before Adam could react, Lucifer pressed his lips to Adam’s, a slow, deliberate kiss that sent a shock of electricity through Adam’s body. It wasn’t desperate, not frantic, but it was heavy with years of longing. And it made Adam’s heart race, made the walls around him tremble and crack.

For a moment, Adam was frozen, caught in the undeniable heat of it, caught in the magnetic pull of Lucifer’s touch, the way his lips seemed to claim him. He had never experienced anything like it before—the weight of it, the depth, the rawness of it.

But then reality crashed back, and Adam pulled away, his body reacting instinctively. His hands shoved against Lucifer’s chest, pushing him away as he gasped for air, panic flooding him.

“No, no, no,” Adam whispered, his voice frantic. "I can’t... I can’t do this again, Lucifer."

Lucifer didn’t step back immediately. His gaze was intense, filled with something Adam couldn’t fully read—frustration, maybe, but also a twisted kind of satisfaction. "Why?" Lucifer asked, his voice soft, but the undercurrent of hurt was clear. "Why do you keep rejecting me? Why can’t you just let go, Adam? You don’t have to be alone anymore."

"I’m not... I’m not the person you think I am," Adam said, shaking his head violently. His wings fluttered, the silver feathers brushing against his back as he took another step back, away from Lucifer. "You don’t understand. I don’t want this."

Lucifer finally stepped back, his eyes darkening, but there was no anger in them—only quiet, haunting patience.

"I understand more than you think, Adam. And I’m not going anywhere."

Adam’s breath was shaky, his heart pounding, but he couldn’t look away from Lucifer’s piercing gaze. He wanted to stay, wanted to let it happen, to let himself be loved, to feel the warmth of it again. But he couldn’t. Not like this. Not when the scars were still so fresh.

Without another word, Adam turned and fled, his wings flapping desperately behind him as he ran into the hotel, his heart torn in two.

He didn’t know how to love Lucifer again. Not yet. And he wasn’t sure he ever would.

Lucifer threw himself onto the couch in Charlie’s office with a dramatic sigh, stretching out his long limbs and letting his head flop backward. The couch creaked beneath him as he stared up at the ceiling, his wings flaring out behind him.

“Dad,” Charlie muttered without looking up from her paperwork. “What are you doing here? This is my office, you know. Serious professionalism happens in here.”

Lucifer gasped as if she had just insulted him.

“This is serious, Charlie!” he insisted, his voice filled with mock indignation. “I need your advice.”

Charlie rolled her eyes but set down her pen, leaning back in her chair with an exaggerated sigh. “Fine. What’s going on now?”

Lucifer didn’t hesitate, his voice faltering slightly as he spoke. “I’m... trying with Adam.” He winced as the words left his mouth. “I think he likes me. I mean, I know he does... but he keeps rejecting me.”

Charlie’s brow furrowed, her gaze shifting from her desk to Lucifer, who was now dramatically sulking on the couch. “Wait. Hold on.”

She leaned forward, the chair creaking slightly. “You're upset because Adam keeps rejecting your advances?”

Lucifer nodded solemnly, his usually confident demeanor slipping just a little.

“Exactly,” he muttered, his voice a mix of frustration and genuine confusion. “I don’t get it, Charlie. I’m trying to be patient with him. I’m making an effort, but it’s like... nothing’s working.”

Charlie raised an eyebrow, tapping her fingers against the desk thoughtfully.

“Dad...” she started, a small, almost playful smirk creeping onto her face. “You do realize you haven’t exactly been the nicest to him, right?”

Lucifer’s eyes widened in disbelief. “What do you mean by that?”

He sat up on the couch, looking at her with furrowed brows. “I’ve been trying to change, okay? I’m being patient! I’m not the same person I was in Eden!”

Charlie folded her arms across her chest, giving him a knowing look. “You’ve made progress, sure. But that doesn’t erase everything that’s happened between you two. You can't just expect him to suddenly be okay with everything after all the things you did to him.”

"I...what?" Lucifer breathed out.

"I don't know what happened between you, Adam and Mum, but I can tell Adam got the short end of the stick." Charlie accussed. "And you haven't been nice about it at all. You've been down right mean."

Lucifer’s expression faltered for a moment, and he slouched back into the couch. His eyes dropped, as if the weight of her words hit him harder than he’d expected.

“I didn’t mean for things to get this way. I never wanted to hurt him... But I’m trying now. I really am.”

Charlie sighed, her voice softening as she leaned back in her chair. “I know you’re trying, but Adam... he’s been hurt. A lot. He can’t just flip a switch and forget everything you’ve done.”

Lucifer was silent for a long moment, looking down at his clawed hands, his fingers twitching slightly. “I don’t know how to make it right, Charlie. I don’t know how to get through to him.”

Charlie looked at him with a mix of frustration and sympathy, her eyes locking onto his. “Maybe you need to start by showing him that you’re really, truly sorry. That you’re not just doing this because you want something from him, but because you care about him. You have to earn his trust again, Dad. It’s not going to happen overnight.”

Lucifer’s gaze softened as he slowly nodded. “I don’t want to hurt him anymore, Charlie. I don’t want him to keep rejecting me... but maybe you’re right. Maybe I need to earn his trust first.”

Charlie gave a small, approving smile, before turning back to her desk. “Well, there you go. It’s going to take time, but if you really care about him, you’ll make it work. Just don’t expect it to be easy.”

Lucifer leaned back on the couch, his arms folded behind his head. For the first time in a while, his mind wasn’t consumed with anger or pride. Instead, he found himself deep in thought about Adam, about how to show him the truth of his feelings—how to prove to him that he was truly trying to be a better person.

“I’ll make it right, Charlie,” Lucifer muttered, his voice filled with resolve. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

#hazbin hotel #adamsapple #lucifer x adam #fanfic #guitarduck #au #fanficiton #a03 #Frozen Out

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lukecastellanshandholder · 5 months ago

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Another thing to add to the list of “things that Rick dropped the ball on” is…

You mean to tell me that throughout the entirety of The Trials of Apollo, the 5 book long series from Apollo’s POV, that Hal wasn’t referenced ONCE?

Ya know, Hal, the son of Apollo who was imprisoned and tortured for at least 90% of his life because he used the powers inherited from his father to save someone? The one who was the main catalyst in the start of Luke’s rebellion that almost destroyed Olympus? The son who sacrificed himself in Apollo’s name just to save other demigods so that they could hopefully live happy, long lives?

Because I’m not just gonna simplify it down to, “well Apollo probably didn’t know what they did to Hal so he wouldn’t think about it that much.” No way, with how Zeus is, AND how he blamed Apollo for what Octavian did? Apollo definitely knew about it, and if he wasn’t someone that helped set up that trap that Hal was in, he at very least got an earful from Zeus about it.

So… why didn’t Rick include even just one scene of Apollo thinking about Hal, especially near the end of the series when he’s beginning to understand that the lives of the demigods matter too. When he learns how it is to truly feel human? It would’ve been a perfect addition and an even further showing on just how much Hal’s ghost haunts the narrative of everything in the Percy Jackson Universe.

In this essay I will…

#ranting about the importance of Hal?#more likely than you think #but seriously Hal is too important for everyone to just forget #he’s a character that not a lot of people know about #but he has shaped everything in this universe #it’s actually insane #percy jackson #pjo #percy jackon and the olympians #trials of apollo #lester papadopoulos #pjo apollo

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xylophone888 · 10 months ago

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currently in deep heavy thought about rincewind quietly watching ponder running around doing everything someone else didn't do enough or at all barely stopping himself from accidentally jumping out of his own skin carrying the entire university in one hand and the entire discworld in the other during the whole roundworld elves thing all the way up until one day as ponder fully out of both physical and metaphorical breath crashes down on a tiny wooden chair next to hexs huge metallic strangely alive side rincewind carefully inquires from his lab mouse corner: "so sorry to interrupt but since you've been writing so many different things into this registry of yours i cannot help but ask uhhh, isn't the bursar supposed to be doing this? is anything other than the usual wrong with him?" and ponder who was already getting up to start working on something again suddenly feels too weak to even sit up straight and falls down into his chair

#discworld #headcanons #the registry suddenly started getting wet and mushy after rince said that #rincewind #ponderwind #it took a full another person telling him his own thoughts for the question to take solid shape #is he really supposed to be doing all this?#petition to give 99% of terry pratchetts characters free therapy because good grief #weve got a guy who has the universe shoving everything onto him and he shakes it all off like snow and then weve got #a guy who starts shoveling snow off of his neighbors driveways into his own driveway because he forgot he's ever even had one #they go to couplestherapy for advice and the therapist goes “you two work great as a couple but separately could you both please get help #thoughts

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thawthebeez · 29 days ago

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oikage......... if you carry the one and factor out a four... are a manifestation of the thin line between admiration and jealousy .... i've solved it....🚬

#how there are things they both admire and are jealous of in one another #and how jealousy manifests more in tooru than it does in tobio #and how that shapes how they act towards one another and talk about each other #how tooru sees himself above tobio in social settings but inferior when he's alone due to jealousy #and how tobio sees tooru as an equal* in social settings but above when he's alone. silent admiration #*although the term 'equal' isn't entirely correct. a challenge he can rise to is more accurate #reaching the level of reliability that tooru has is a goal of tobio's. and an achievable one #tooru- however- wants tobio's natural talent. which isn't achievable.#meaning tobio can have admiration for tooru seeing as the thing he's jealous of is an achievable goal #whereas tooru is left with jealousy because the part of tobio he wants is not achievable and therefore he cannot admire him #at least not in the same way tobio can admire tooru #CHAT DOES THIS MAKE ANY SENSE🗣️#god it has taken me so long to figure these two out and i cannot comprehend why #every relationship in haikyuu (everyTHING in haikyuu actually) has a general theme #matches (shiratorizawa v karasuno being a battle of concepts)#relationships (kuroo and kenma being the types of people who push each other and grow together in the discomfort of trying new things)#like. everything has a concept.#kageyama and hinata and their soulmateism and how someone will always match ur freak is just self explanatory #but oikawa and kageyama. despite being a relationship dynamic that intrigues me. their concept has been a mystery to me until now #god i feel like a university professor. spending this much time studying one piece of media for like 9 years #that's right i've got a phd in volleyball series with homoerotic undertones😎#call me dr. beez from now on #my dissertation was on kageyama and hinata's relationship and how it's fucking awesome REAL NOT FAKE #anywho. gonna go listen to lacy by olivia rodrigo and Cry ^_^#olivia rodrigo fans i'm so sorry this is in your tag now IGNORE ME IGNORE ME #volleyball guys

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autistickfigure · 2 years ago

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AHHH i wish i could remember exactly when i made these guys cuz i cant remember if it was in elementary school or middle school. but i think it was middle school. (they didnt have tails or floating limbs before this is a NOW art. if it wasnt obvious. it would be scary if i were drawing like this on a computer in middle school) ANYWAY its funny to see how similar some of these guys are to future (and now current) ocs riffing on the same thing. nature is beautiful

#i dont want to change their designs too much but i at least want them to be.. interesting. or more than they were before. exaggerated stay #ed the most the same because she is perfect but everyone else can go to hell #flowers arts #the shapes #<- im not ever going to post about them again but aww. aw #not memory being sentimental 🤣🤣🤣#OH YAH that blue guy wasnt an animal thingy before either but thats probably obvious #i think he can stay mostly the same too BUT the red guys gotta freaking get something!#he has a pet too. its an mp3 player YOU KNOW WHAT im just going to put the old picture i have of them in the post too #(the one on the right)#i think they all had pets IDK #IN UNIVERSE they were from a game that chell made (if you know him)#and i dont remember anything else except maybe it had space in an intro sequence and they were in a white void #(which was not manifested in physical way by me but whatever)#im sad cuz there was a lot of art and stuff in a server but everyone left it and the last guy who did named it storage and i was like I don #t know what that means and i deleted it... NAUR!!!!! all my old art and ocs and everything!#well its ok.. i guess kicks pebble....#if discord had a thing for like We will bring back your server it wouild be so joyous..#if only the way back machine worked like that with discord. aww..#ok im done typing up a storm i gotta go to bed! BAIII good night and ect :3

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dandey-lion · 4 months ago

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Basic DC soulmate AU. Everybody has a soulmate mark. Pretty simple.

Enter Danny.

Now, he’s from another dimension. Came here for work, funsies, or by accident. The choice is yours. He doesn’t have a soulmate mark because he’s from another dimension.

Everybody around him is very confused and worried for him because that boy doesn’t have a soulmate mark! Everybody has a soulmate mark! What does this mean?

He’s out here trying to convince them everything is fine without giving away the fact that he’s from another dimension cause he doesn’t want to risk the hero community finding out about him.

Unfortunately, the bats and birds of Gotham are very curious people. And what’s more thought-provoking than the first person in their universe to not have a soulmate mark?

The Bats pursue.

Shenanigans ensue.

Bonus Points if somebody Danny cares about is in danger and he goes full eldritch.

Bonus Bonus Points if Danny’s eldritch body is covered/surrounded by runes, words, shapes, and the sort.

Bonus Bonus Bonus Points If the biggest shape on his body is a soulmate mark.

BONUS BONUS BONUS BONUS POINTS If his soulmate mark is the same as the person he’s protecting.

I think this is a great setup for a Danny x DC character plot.

#dpxdc #dc x dp #danny phantom #dcxdp #dp x dc #dp #danny fenton #dc #eldritch danny #eldritch phantom #soulmate au #dp soulmate au #Here have this prompt #as a treat

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shortnspidey · 3 months ago

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SILENT RIFT

jj maybank x fem!cameron!reader || WC: 4.5K

SUMMARY: The Pogues finally find the gold they've been searching for after countless obstacles. However, when it comes to actually succeeding, the universe has other plans. Held at gunpoint in the middle of nowhere, a spontaneous decision changes everything. In the heat of the moment, words are said that reveal hidden feelings. Emotions run high, leading them to confront not only their enemies, but also their own emotions.

WARNINGS: established relationship, cursing, mild angst, talks of drugs, typical OBX level violence, suggestive towards the end but no smut!

A/N: Happy OBX 4 release day! This one shot is one of my old Wattpad drafts from when I was writing a JJ story. Enjoy this drabble as I try to publish another chapter of broken record or collateral hearts soon! This ended up being a long one, enjoy! Divider by @marvelstoriesepic

➩ main masterlist

➩ obx masterlist

"Hell of a job melting it down, Dr. Frankenstein," JJ scoffed, narrowing his eyes at Kiara as he stepped out of the Twinkie. He clutched the melted piece of gold tightly in his hand, its weight a tangible reminder of what everyone was expecting him to do. As the group arrived outside a shabby pawn shop on the outskirts of the Outer Banks, the rundown aspect and the graffiti on the walls made your skin crawl. The shops window's were smeared with grime, making it impossible to see inside, and the peeling paint revealed patches of weathered wood.

Kiara shot JJ a glare, her frustration evident in the tight set of her jaw and the clenching of her fists. "Like you could have done any better." She retorted, her voice dripping with sarcasm. JJ stepped closer, standing toe to toe with her, not backing down from her challenging gaze. "I could have done much better. I took a welding class," He sassed, a smirk playing on his lips. "Woah, woah, hey!" John B chastised, stepping in between his two friends.

His presence seemed to diffuse some of the tension, his calm demeanor acting as a buffer between the two. You followed his lead, grabbing JJ by his arm and rubbing comforting circles with your thumb on his forearm knowing that he was anxious. You could feel the taut muscles in JJ's arm slowly beginning to relax under your touch, the rhythmic motion of your thumb providing a small measure of comfort.

"Chill out, okay?" John B coaxed, his voice gentle but firm. You watched as Kiara's eyes softened slightly, her earlier anger giving way to a mix of concern and frustration. She took a step back, her shoulders sagging as she exhaled deeply. "It's easy for you to say that," JJ scoffed, his voice tinged with bitterness. "You're not the one that has to pawn off this piece of shit." He emphasized his point by holding up the gold bars that were now melted in a unrecognizable shape, the once gleaming metal was now a twisted, misshapen lump.

"How did I get this job anyway?" JJ muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "Cause you're the best liar." Pope replied nonchalantly, his tone matter-of-fact. Letting out a sigh JJ turned to you, his cerulean blue eyes locking with yours. His eyes were a stormy sea, filled with a mix of frustration and determination. He turned his head, tapping his cheek. "Kiss, for you know, good luck." He grinned, his usual mischievous spark returning momentarily. You rolled your eyes at your boyfriends antics yet leaned in to kiss him nonetheless.

Just as your lips were about to collide with his cheek, he turned his head at the last second, smashing his lips with your in a kiss that was way too passionate for it to be in front of your friends. The warmth of his lips, the sudden intensity, made your heart race. You could have sworn you heard your sister mutter an "aww" while everyone else fake gagged, their exaggerated sounds filling the air. Pulling yourself away from the kiss, much to JJ's dismay, you smiled, leaning up and pressing one more chaste kiss to his pouting lips.

The brief contact left a lingering warmth, a promise of more to come. "You got this," You reassured him, squeezing his bicep in emphasis, feeling the tension in his muscles. "Showtime," He mumbled to himself, mentally preparing. Straightening his shoulders, he took a deep breath, and gave you one last look before stepping forward. Behind you, Sarah reached out and squeezed your hand, her grip offering a silent message of solidarity and support. The warmth of her touch was comforting, grounding you in the moment.

Everyone followed JJ into the empty shop, the jingle of the bell on the door announcing your arrival. The sound seemed to echo in the quiet space, a stark contrast to the tension that hung in the air. "Afternoon, ma'am." JJ greeted, his voice steady but carrying an undercurrent of anxiety. The shop was dimly lit, with dust particles dancing in the beams of barely there sunlight that filtered through the windows. Shelves lined the walls, filled with various trinkets and curiosities, each one telling its own story. “Afternoon.” The pawnbroker, an elderly woman with a stern face and piercing eyes, looked up from behind the counter.

Her gaze swept over your group as you spaced yourselves around the room, lingering on JJ for a moment longer. JJ stepped forward, trying to maintain his composure under her scrutinizing gaze. "I see you buy gold," He emphasized, his voice steady but with a hint of nervousness. "That's what the sign says, don't it?" She retorted, her lips curling into a sneer. She glanced at the sign hanging in the window, its letters faded and worn. "Well, I sure hope you buy a lot of it, because I am about to blow your mind." JJ carefully opened his bag, revealing the items inside. The pawnbroker's eyes never left his hands, watching his every move with a hawk-like intensity.

"I ain't got much mind left to blow, so have at it," She challenged, her voice dripping with sarcasm. Her eyes gleamed with a mix of defiance and curiosity. "How about them gold apples," JJ replied, his voice steady as he placed the melted gold onto the counter with a thump that echoed throughout the shop. The sound seemed to reverberate off the walls, adding a weighty finality to his action. The pawnbroker chuckled cynically, shaking her head. "That ain't real," She declared, her voice filled with disbelief and a hint of mockery. Her eyes flicked to the gold, then back to JJ, as if daring him to prove her wrong.

"That ain't real?" JJ scoffed, his eyebrows shooting up in disbelief. He leaned in closer, his voice lowering to a near whisper. "It can't be," The pawnbroker pressed, her voice faltering slightly as doubt began to creep in. She reached out a tentative hand, her fingers hovering just above the gold, as if afraid to touch it. "Feel how heavy it is," He countered, his voice firm and confident. He nudged the gold closer to her, the metal glinting under the dim light. The pawnbroker hesitated for a moment, her eyes locked on JJ's, searching for any sign of deceit. Finally, she picked up the gold, her fingers curling around it.

Her expression shifted from skepticism to surprise as she felt the weight of the metal in her hand. The shop fell silent, the only sound being the faint creak of the floorboards as she adjusted her stance, the gold weighing heavily in her grasp. "Mhm, here let's get some light on that." The group watched intently as she narrowed her eyes, but nevertheless picked up a nearby magnifying glass with a light, inspecting the chunk of gold closely. "Spray-painted tungsten." She concluded, her voice laced with doubt but still firm.

"Really, okay?" JJ rolled his eyes. "Why don't you see how soft it is." He suggested. "You mind?" The pawnbroker asked, holding up a small mallet, her eyes seeking permission. "No, go for it." JJ urged, his gaze unwavering as he watched her. She brought the mallet down gently, making a small dent in the gold, then pushed down on it for further inspection. "Wow. Would you look at that." JJ remarked sarcastically, a smirk playing on his lips. "Hold your horses, we ain't got the acid test yet." She shot back, her confidence wavering slightly. "Ooh, the acid test," He turned, his eyes locking onto yours, a mischievous glint in them.

"My favorite, baby." He added with a wink, grinning as he noticed how the simple action made you flush. You pretended to be distracted by a limited edition book on the shelf, your heart racing as you tried to avoid his piercing gaze. This was certainly not the place or time. Everyone held their breath as the woman dribbled a few drops of acid on top of the gold. The liquid sizzled slightly, emitting a faint, acrid smell that filled the small shop. "Well, it ain't plated, and it ain't painted," she assessed, her tone now more serious. "Ma'am, I'm telling ya, this is as real as the day is long," He insisted, growing tired of the back and forth, his patience wearing thin.

"It looks like someone tried to melt it down," she raised a brow, her eyes meeting JJ's in a challenging gaze. The air seemed to crackle with unspoken accusations. "My mom," You stepped in, linking your arm through JJ's as the pawnbroker eyed you both suspiciously. "She had all this jewelry laying around the house, and she thought it was best to melt it down to "consolidate" it." You tried to sound as convincing as possible, your voice steady despite the nervous flutter in your stomach. The lie felt heavy on your tongue, but you pushed through, hoping it would be enough to satisfy her.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Sarah bite her lip to stop the laugh that she almost let out at your evident lie. The pawnbrokers gaze flickered between you and JJ, her skepticism evident. The silence stretched, each second feeling like an eternity. Turning around with a sigh, she placed the gold into a small scale behind the counter, the scale creaked under the weight. "Seven pounds," Her eyes widened. "That's a lot of earrings." Her voice had a hint of disbelief, and you could almost see the wheels turning in her head as she tried to piece together your story.

"Okay, to be honest, ma'am," JJ spoke, clearing his throat and adopting a more somber tone. "It's really hard to see my fiancé's mom fall apart with Alzheimer's. Breaks my heart, truly." His voice wavered slightly, adding an authentic touch to the fabricated story. "Give me a minute." She tsked, walking towards a secluded office. JJ nodded solemnly, playing into the act of the heartbroken fiancé. "Take your time, ma'am." As soon as she was out of earshot, you turned to give JJ a look of disbelief. "Alzheimer's really?" You whispered, trying to keep your voice low. The absurdity of the situation was almost too much to handle, and you could feel a nervous giggle bubbling up inside you.

"So I talked to my boss, and this is what I can do." The pawnbroker returned, holding a piece of paper with a price written on it. Inspecting it, JJ raised his brows. "Fifty thousand?" He repeated, his voice tinged with incredulity. The offer was far lower than what you had hoped for, and you could see the frustration building in JJ's eyes. "You think I walked in here not knowin' the spot price?" JJ retorted, his voice firm. "I know for a fact this is worth 140 at least." His confidence was unwavering, and you could see the pawnbroker's resolve starting to crack. "Well sweetie, you in a pawn shop. This ain't Zurich." Her voice was firm, but there was a hint of concession in her tone.

"Ninety, or I walk," He bargained, his voice steady. "Seventy, half price, and I don't ask questions about where you got this.” JJ clenched his jaw, looking over at John B, who nodded his head, giving him the green light. "I'm gonna need that in large denominations, please," JJ agreed, his voice calm but resolute. "Well, here's the snag, I don't have that much denominated. Not here anyway, but I can write you a cashier's check." JJ immediately shook his head. “No ma’am, I want the cold hard, that’s what that sign says. Cash for gold, and that’s what I expect.” He pointed to the sign on the wall as emphasis.

“Well, I have to send you to the warehouse. I have the money there. Is that alright?” Everyone in the room held their breath, watching as JJ mentally weighed his options over in his head. “Where’s this warehouse?” He finally asked, his voice steady but with a hint of skepticism. That is how the group found themselves further into the middle of nowhere following the pawnbroker's instructions to the supposed "warehouse". The road was rough and winding, lined with tall, ominous trees that seemed to close in on them as they drove deeper into the unknown.

To say you were on edge would have been a complete understatement. Every creak of the van and small jolt from where you were seated on JJ's lap made your heart race faster. "So, they keep money out here?" Pope voiced aloud the question everyone was probably thinking. His voice broke the silence, but instead of easing the tension, it only seemed to heighten it. The unease in his tone mirrored the anxiety that had settled in your chest. JJ shrugged, attempting to lighten the mood. "That's what she said," He chuckled at his own joke. "That's what she said." His snicker was met with silence, the gravity of their situation overshadowing any chance of humor.

"Stop," Pope warned, his expression hardening. The seriousness in his eyes was a stark contrast to JJ's attempt at levity. "That was cute, but definitely not the time, J," You exasperated, your voice barely above a whisper. The fear and uncertainty in your tone were unmistakable. The blonde boy nodded, his playful demeanor fading. He held onto the melted gold in one hand, the other resting reassuringly on your thigh. The warmth of his touch was a small comfort in the midst of the overwhelming tension. "I've never even heard of Resurrection Drive." Sarah inquired. "That's cause your rich." JJ mumbled under his breath.

"You've never heard of it either." Both you and Kiara retorted in unison. "Thank you." Sarah replied, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "There's nothing but weeds back here." Kiara informed the group, looking out the van's window and seeing nothing but shrubbery. JJ was about to retort with another sarcastic comment, yet he was interrupted by the sudden, piercing sound of a siren. The noise sliced through the tense silence like a knife. Sure enough, John B looked in the rearview mirror, his eyes widening as he saw the flashing lights of a car behind them, signaling for them to pull over.

"Cops? Out here?" Kiara questioned, her voice tinged with disbelief. "Are you kidding me!" JJ fumed, his grip tightening on the gold and your thigh, the panic in his eyes was evident. "What did we do?" Sarah questioned, her voice small and wavering, the fear clear in her tone. "Stash that," John B whispered urgently to JJ, who was still holding onto the gold in his hand. You quickly got off his lap and sat next to Kiara, your heart pounding in your chest. The van's interior felt even more confined as Pope and John B coaxed JJ to hurry up. The oppressive weight of the situation pressed down on you, making every second feel like an eternity as you waited for what would happen next.

Your heart sank in your chest upon hearing the cock of a gun and seeing a rifle a few inches away from John B's face. The metallic click echoed ominously in the confined space of the van. "Why don't I go ahead and see them hands in the air?" A gruff voice declared, belonging to a mystery assailant who wore a bandana on the lower half of his face. The fear that gripped your heart quickly morphed into a seething anger. You knew that voice. "All of y'alls hands up in the air right now." Oh hell no, you thought to yourself. This was going to end here and now. "No," You seethed, making direct eye contact with your assailant. You could tell by the look in his eyes that he knew you recognized him, and his cover slipped slightly.

The tension in the van was palpable, like a coiled spring ready to snap. Every muscle in your body was tense, ready to spring into action. The familiarity of the voice only fueled your anger, making it harder to think clearly. You could feel the eyes of your friends on you, their fear and confusion mirroring your own. "Just do as he says, Y/N," John B urged, his voice steady but his eyes betraying his fear. He slowly raised his hands, setting an example for the rest of you. "No," You shook your head, challenging him. The defiance in your voice was clear. The assailant's eyes narrowed behind the bandana.

"Alright, tough girl, come on out here then," He taunted, his voice dripping with mockery. "Y/N, what are you doing?" Sarah whimpered, her voice trembling as she watched you step out of the van, the barrel of the gun trained on you. "It's gonna be okay, Sarah," You reassured her, trying to keep your voice calm despite the fear gnawing at your insides. "Y/N!" This time it was JJ. His voice cracked with desperation. As your eyes met his, you could see he was barely holding it together, his usual bravado nowhere to be found. "JJ, trust me, stay here," You coaxed, trying to project as much confidence as you could muster. The last thing you needed was for him to do something reckless.

"I'd listen to the lady, unless you want your brain scattered here on the side of the road," The assailant threatened, his voice cold and unyielding. The weight of his words hung in the air, adding to the already suffocating tension. "I'll be okay, I'll be right back," You promised, hoping your words would be enough to keep your friends from doing anything rash. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for whatever was to come, and stepped further away from the van, feeling the eyes of your friends burning into your back. Once you were a safe distance away from the van, Barry lowered his rifle, letting out a surprised chuckle. "Mighty brave of you, Cameron, especially 'cause I'm the one holdin' the gun." He mocked.

"Oh please," You rolled your eyes, your voice laced with disdain. "Drop the act, Barry," Addressing him by his name with a tone of authority, you crossed your arms over your chest, standing your ground. "We both know Rafe will kill you if you so much as lay a finger on me." You smirked confidently. "Now, why don't we cut to the chase, shall we?" You proposed, your eyes never leaving his as you reached for the shiny gold diamond ring that adorned your knuckle. Barry watched in disbelief as you slipped it off and held it out to him. "Here," You coaxed, handing him the ring. "This will get you a couple thousand dollars if you pawn it off right." Barry took the ring, studying it in the sunlight. "This covers what you and your friends got, but not what country club owes me, you feel me.”

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest once more, the frustration evident in your posture. "How much does he owe you?" You asked, your voice tinged with exasperation. "At least two hundred," Barry replied, a smirk playing on his lips. Sighing, you reached into your back pocket for your wallet, picking out two hundred dollar bills. "Are we free to go?" You huffed, knowing that if this deal took any longer, your boyfriend would most likely come and take matters into his own hands, whether Barry had a gun or not. "Tell your boy toy that his attitude's gonna get him in trouble," Barry sneered. "Don't," You spat, your eyes narrowing. "If you even think of touching him, we're going to have a problem. You feel me?" You threw back his previous words with a defiant glare.

Raising his hands in mock surrender "Damn, looks like I hit a nerve." Barry chuckled. "I mean it, Barry," You insisted, your voice steady and unwavering. With one final smirk in your direction, Barry pockets the cash and the ring and climbs into his car without a single look back in your direction. You let out a breath you didn't realize you'd been holding and turn back towards the van. As you approached, the tension was palpable, hanging thick in the air. "What the hell was that?" Sarah was the first to question you, her eyes wide with concern as you climbed into the backseat as if nothing had happened.

"I handled it, it's over." You shrugged nonchalantly, but the tightness in your chest betrayed your calm facade. Sarah scoffed, clearly unconvinced by your bravado. "That was pretty stupid, Y/N," Kiara scolded, her voice filled with frustration. Everyone nodded in agreement, their faces a mix of worry and disapproval. You shrugged them off, trying to meet JJ's eyes, who had yet to say anything. You could see the worry and anger battling for dominance in his eyes, the tension in his jaw making it clear just how much he was holding back. "Let's get out of here," John B broke the silence, his voice a calm command that cut through the tension. Everyone was unharmed, yet you somehow knew this was far from over.

Arriving back at the Château, you watched JJ throw open the door before John B even parked his van. The sound of the door slamming against the wall echoed through the air. You watched as JJ stormed inside, his movements quick and agitated. One hand was gripping his chest, his knuckles white from the pressure, while the other was balled into a tight fist, veins visible under his skin. He didn't look back, his anger propelling him forward. John B, Kiara, Sarah, and Pope turned to you, their faces a mix of concern and curiosity. It was as if they were silently asking if they should get involved, their eyes darting between you and the direction JJ had gone.

"I'll handle it," You sighed, feeling the weight of the situation settle on your shoulders. You stepped down from the van, the gravel crunching under your feet. "Good luck," John B sing-songed, a teasing lilt in his voice. You flipped him off with a smirk, hearing Sarah and Kiara scold him in unison. Their voices faded as you walked through the door, the familiar scent of the Château enveloping you. You found JJ in the spare bedroom, pacing back and forth like a caged animal. His footsteps were heavy, each step reverberating through the wooden floor. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, filled with a storm of emotions - anger, frustration, and a hint of vulnerability.

"JJ, talk to me," You urged softly, stepping closer. Your voice was calm, trying to soothe the tempest within him. He stopped pacing and turned to face you fully. His expression was a mix of anger and hurt, his jaw clenched tightly. "What the hell were you thinking, Y/N? You could've gotten yourself killed!" His voice cracked slightly, betraying the fear behind his anger. You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, but you took a deep breath to steady yourself. "He's the scumbag who sells coke to my brother. I know him and what he's capable of. As much of a psychotic asshole as he is, he wouldn't hurt me. Not without facing Rafe's wrath." That only made JJ angrier. "How are you so sure?"

He shook his head, his eyes narrowing as he stepped closer, the space between you shrinking. "Maybe next time you won't be so lucky, or I won't be there to protect you." His voice was low, almost a growl, and you could see the worry etched into his features, mingling with the anger. His fists were clenched at his sides, and his breathing was ragged. "I'm fine," you replied, trying to sound reassuring. "It's over now." "Over?!" JJ's voice rose, and he ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. "Dammit Y/N, you don't get it!" He screamed, pulling his hair in frustration. "I was fucking terrified. Did you know how scared I felt, watching the woman I love being held at gunpoint?" His voice broke, and you could see the tears welling up in his eyes, though he tried to blink them away.

You opened your mouth, but nothing seemed to come out. The weight of his words hung in the air, heavy and significant. "What did you just say?" You finally managed to whisper, your heart pounding in your chest. JJ stayed quiet, almost as if processing the words himself. His breathing slowed, and he looked away, his shoulders slumping. The vulnerability in his stance was palpable, and it hit you just how deeply he cared. This was more than just anger; it was fear of losing someone he couldn't bear to lose. "JJ," You coaxed to stop him from overthinking, knowing that his flight or fight mode was kicking in.

JJ's confession hung in the air, the raw emotion in his voice making your heart ache. You could see the fear and love in his eyes, and it made everything else fade away. The room seemed to shrink, and all that mattered was the two of you, standing there, vulnerable and exposed. "I love you, Y/N," He repeated, his voice softer this time, filled with a desperate need for you to understand. He took a hesitant step closer, his eyes searching yours for any sign of rejection. Your breath hitched, the intensity of the moment overwhelming. Without thinking, you closed the distance between you, your hands reaching up to cup his face. "I'm so sorry, JJ," You whispered, your voice trembling.

"I didn't mean to scare you, but I couldn't just stand there and do nothing either." His eyes softened, the anger melting away as he leaned into your touch. "Just promise me you'll be more careful," He murmured, his forehead resting against yours. "I can't lose you, Y/N." He whimpered leaning his forehead against yours. "You won’t lose me, ever, I promise," You replied, your voice barely above a whisper. Without another word, you both closed the distance between one another, your lips meeting in a kiss that was both tender and fervent. It was a kiss that spoke of all the fear, the love, and the relief you both felt. Bodies pressed together, seeking comfort and connection, hearts beating as one.

“And I love you too,” You grinned the second he pulled away giving you both a moment to catch your breaths. “In case that kiss didn’t make it clear enough.” JJ shook his head, only pulling you closer. "What do you say we seal the deal?" JJ grinned suggestively, wiggling his eyebrows. "You're lucky I love you." He didn't even give you a chance to finish his sentence before he kissed you again, wanting to show you just how much he meant it. His hands slid down your back, pulling you even closer, the heat between you growing more intense. The world around you faded away, leaving just the two of you in a moment that promised so much more to come.

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kamaluhkhan · 1 month ago

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WE DESERVE A SOFT EPILOGUE, MY LOVE.

pairing: vi x firelight!reader word count: 2k summary: after years of thinking her dead, ekko brings vi to the firelight base. you don't really know how to react when the girl you grew up loving is now a woman you know nothing about and still, somehow, feel everything for. warnings: arcane level angst + lesbian yearning. reader is referred to with she/her pronouns. reader has tattoos and a star-shaped birthmark behind her ear (y'all know vi loves a nickname and i thought 'stargirl' was v cute so i had to make it work). fic gets slightly suggestive at the end ;) author's note: happy act iii release day!!! i wrote this instead of working on my thesis oops. in my defense, vi has sparked something in me that i simply cannot ignore. i'm also working on a werewolf! pitfighter!vi x vampire slayer!reader fic (set in the same universe, just with a slight twist) sooo that might be done before part 2 of this fic (which is where the smut happens hehe). anyways, thank you for reading!

inspired by that quote: "i think we deserve a soft epilogue, my love. we are good people and we've suffered enough" by nikka ursula

even after all these years, vi is still the first one to notice you.

her eyes widen as she hesitates to pull away from ekko, but you clear your throat to catch both of their attentions.

“i thought we were gonna question her together.”

ekko wipes a stray tear from his cheek and stands up a little straighter.

“you were taking too long,” he shrugs. “don’t worry — she’s clean.”

you trust ekko’s judgement, but you still can’t reckon with the fact that vi is alive. you’d splashed cold water on your face just before to make sure you weren’t dreaming.

“i don’t know.” you walk closer until you’re standing arms length from vi. “the vi i knew wouldn’t be caught dead with a topsider, let alone an enforcer.”

you examine her carefully, and you imagine she’s doing the same to you. vi looks more grown up — stronger and sharper. you’d spent so much time in limbo, not knowing if she were alive or dead. you aren’t sure how to react when the girl you grew up loving is now a woman you know nothing about and still, somehow, feel everything for.

“i guess the shoddy undercut is a pretty clear give away,” you deadpan.

vi quirks an eyebrow at you. “shoddy, huh? you know, your tattoos look like they were drawn by blindfolded children.”

she smiles, all bright and toothy. the scar on her upper lip stretches, achingly familiar, and you decide there’s nothing you want to do more than to bring her into your arms, to bring her closer, so you do.

her hair tickles your cheek as you whisper:

“i did those tattoos myself.”

vi chuckles, and you feel it vibrate across her body to yours.

“i know. they’re beautiful.” her index finger traces the star-shaped birthmark behind your ear; you shiver. “i was just messing with you, stargirl.”

vi was the only one who ever called you that, said you made her life brighter or some other sweet nothing that would effortlessly fall from her mouth.

gods, she was the first one who even noticed that birthmark on your skin.

“i was messing with you, too. the hair — you look hot.”

you feel her heart beating faster against your chest as she smiles into your shoulder.

she’s here.

she’s not some ghost from your past.

she’s really here.

you’re so overwhelmed by how solid she is against you that you start to pull away, but vi catches your hand before you can fully untangle yourself from her.

“that’s all i get?” she wonders, licking her lips.

you’re tempted, very tempted, to give her more. maybe you would have, until ekko clears his throat behind you.

“should i….give y’all a moment?” ekko asks. “i’ll go get the piltie.”

you then remember who vi came here with; she might not be working for silco, but you stand by your suspicions at her bringing a topsider to the lanes.

you slip your hand from hers. you roll your shoulders back as if that would really shake away the hold she’s always had on you.

time has passed. things have changed. neither of you are kids anymore, and you don't have the luxury of indulging in a frivolous crush.

“it's fine, e. let’s show them around.”

“still a night owl, i see.”

vi finds you perched on one of the trees highest branches, surrounded by firelights as you sketch something. you close your sketchbook instantly and place it on the other side of you when vi sits down.

“thought you’d be in bed with that enforcer of yours.”

“her name’s caitlyn.”

“caitlyn,” you scoff, shaking your head.

the bitterness you try to hide is all too transparent to vi, who has to bite back a laugh at your pettiness.

“you say her name like you’re gonna hex her. never pegged you as a jealous ex.”

“technically, we never broke up,” you point out.

a firelight lands on your hand, and you let it crawl up the lines etched on your skin.

“if that’s the case, i owe you an apology for cheating on you when i was in prison.”

you frown, but say nothing, your eyes following that same firelight as it illuminates your tattoos.

“don’t worry, i’m kidding!” vi pauses. “mostly.”

the firelight flies away, and you huff out an annoyed breath.

“whatever. i don’t care who you’ve fucked, or who you’re fucking. and, you don’t owe me anything. it’s not like we’re anything to each other, anymore.”

vi sucks in a sharp breath — she wouldn’t have expected such harsh words from you.

“is that why you can’t even look at me?” she finally asks.

you’d been strictly business since you first reunited hours ago. you expertly distanced yourself from vi all throughout the tour of the firelights’ base, and throughout dinner, too.

where’s the girl she’d spend hours goofing around with, who always had a witty response to her sarcastic remarks, who smiled at her in such a way that made her chest glow? where’s the girl who brightened vi’s life when it seemed like the darkness would never leave?

“i don’t know,” you admit. “part of me still can’t believe you’re alive. i know that i should be happy that you are, but i keep thinking about everything i could have done to protect you, and powder —”

“hey. it’s my job to worry about everyone, remember?”

“you weren’t here.”

“i am now.”

she gently moves your chin so that you face her, so that you can see that she’s not going anywhere, at least for tonight.

which is probably more time than either of you thought you’d ever have together again.

vi notices how your eyes flick down to her lips and back up, and she feels something spark in her chest. but then, you shake your head as though trying to wake up from a dream and turn away once more.

“that enforcer of yours —”

“she’s not my —”

“whoever she is, she talked about how we all need to heal. i just keep thinking about what you’ve been through, what we’ve all been through…. how it never really stops. healing would be nice, but it’s hard when you have to keep fighting every day. you remember what ekko said, about why we chose this place?”

of course, she remembers.

“that if even a seed can survive down here, maybe we could, too.”

“we. who’s ‘we,’ vi?” you laugh, but there’s no joy behind it. “we’ve gotten used to surviving without each other. maybe it was meant to be that way.”

“that’s not fair.”

“a lot of things aren’t fair.” you gesture around at the base. “this — this community — took blood, sweat, and tears to build and i just know how easy it would be for someone to destroy it all. which is why we fight, obviously, to protect all this and each other, but i’m scared that we can only do so for so long before we burn out.”

you press your knees to your chest and curl into yourself. vi notices then — the slump of your shoulders, the shadows beneath your eyes, and just how deeply exhausted you must feel, down to your bones.

you let out a shuddery breath. “is it even all worth it?”

vi swallows the tears building in her throat. you had always been the hopeful one, and it makes vi’s chest ache to think about what you must have endured to lose the brightness that had been woven into your being.

that's part of what got her through these past few years, and there's no way she's going to let it fade.

“i....i think so,” vi starts, trying to find it within her to be inspirational. “maybe it'll make a difference in the long run, even if we don’t see that now. maybe someone, someday in the future, will be able to not just survive, but live in a better world.”

you raise an eyebrow at her, and vi swears there's a slight smile on your face.

"what?" she asks, her cheeks heating up.

"i'm just...surprised. how is it possible that prison made you less cynical?”

there's a glimmer to your eyes that wasn't there before, something playful, and vi decides to lean into it.

"oh, it wasn't prison," vi says, nudging her shoulder against hers. "see, i ran into this pretty girl from my past and she's this totally badass freedom fighter now, so i think there's some hope in the world."

you snort. "good to know you're still an unbearable flirt."

"i thought you loved that about me."

you laugh, a sparkling sound that vi wishes she could carry with her wherever she goes. it’s contagious, too, and vi finds herself giggling along with you. when it dies down, you rest your head on her shoulder, something you did even back when you were only friends.

“i missed you,” she admits.

“yeah?” your voice is softer than a whisper.

you lift your head and vi cradles your face in her hands.

vi nods. “so fucking much, and i want to prove it. if you’ll let me. please.”

“vi,” you exhale. she’s so close now that she can feel you breathing against her lips. “i can’t. you’re with that enforcer.”

“we’re not together,” vi assures, bumping her nose against yours.

she leans in ever so closely to kiss you, but you move away.

“you’re still with her, though, and you’re leaving in the morning,” you continue. “things are already so….complicated. i just don’t think we should start something we won’t be able to finish.”

with nothing more to say, you gather your sketchbook and pencils. vi’s sure that you’re not going to bed, just off to nestle into another hiding spot for the night, away from her.

maybe you’re still putting up a cold front, protecting yourself because that’s how you've been surviving in this world where the risk of losing everything lingers, and only gets heavier as you grow older.

but, gods, vi really has missed you, the you she remembers so vividly, the you that shone through just moments ago. she knows that glowing heart of yours is hardened by layers of ice, and she’s determined to make them all melt away.

so, vi gets up, heart beating in her throat, and calls after you:

“haven’t we already?”

you stop in your tracks. you slowly turn around to back at her.

a moment passes, maybe more. the two of you suspended in time. your eyes are telling her a million different things – you’re confused, you’re scared, you’re tempted, you’re tired – and all vi can do is unsuccessfully blink back more tears because it’s true, how your story together never got the happy ending you deserved.

“please, y/n. if this is our second chance, even just for a night —”

she’s cut off by you crashing your lips against hers.

the two of you were young, really, just girls when you first kissed. it was awkward and messy and though it ignited something in the pit of vi’s stomach, it was nothing compared to this.

she lets you guide her as you please, lets you press your warm body against hers against the trunk of the tree. she lets your lips mold into hers until her lungs are burning.

your chest is heaving as you pull away slightly; vi bites back a whine, feeling empty. but air isn’t what she needs, she’s sure of it. what she really needs is more of you.

you study her like a work of art, like you're committing her to memory in case she slips away. your thumb wipes away a fallen tear, across the tattoo on her cheek.

fuck, no one's held vi this tenderly since, well, you.

“you’re so beautiful.”

vi blushes, becoming increasingly flustered. she'd wanted to make this about you, take care of you in all the ways she'd imagined, but the way you're looking at her, touching her....she's not a religious person, but vi thinks she might have stumbled into her own, personal heaven, with you having some divine hold on her, soft and bright and passionate.

you're kissing down her neck, nipping at her collarbone when you repeat: "you're so fucking beautiful."

“yeah, i know. they should build statues of me,” she breathes, closing her eyes and trying to keep upright on weak knees. she squeezes your hips in an attempt to keep herself steady.

you’re the only person vi can recall calling her beautiful.

sexy? oh, yeah. charming? definitely. hot? often.

no one else calls her beautiful, though, let alone makes her feel like it the way you do.

“bad at flirting and full of yourself," you tease. "some things really don't change."

by now your lips are travelling lower, and vi doesn't want to miss a second watching you have your way with her. when her eyes flutter open, vi gets a glimpse of something over your shoulder.

“hm, i guess drawings are a good place to start.”

she gestures with her chin, which she instantly regrets as you pull away to follow her gaze, eyes landing on the sketches of her from your fallen sketchbook.

“you weren’t supposed to see those,” you groan. "they're personal...."

it's cute, how flustered you get after making vi all hot and bothered.

vi smirks. "personal, huh? had some fun picturing me when i was gone? missed me so much you had to draw me back to life?"

"well, no - wait, yes, obviously, i missed you, but --"

vi cuts you off with a searing kiss.

she tugs on one of your belt loops to bring you closer to her. vi presses her thigh between your legs, relishing in how your mouth opens in a perfect gasp. vi takes the opportunity to bite your bottom lip and you whimper.

“don't be embarrassed, baby," vi mumbles against your mouth, thumb rubbing soothing circles into your hips. "you know i missed you, too. 'cept i'm not talented like you, so my creative imagination had to carry me through some long nights."

“is that so….” your hand slips underneath her tank top, and you manage to pull a groan from vi by scratching your nails against her stomach. “maybe you can clue me in to what, exactly, you’ve imagined.”

vi grins triumphantly. she places a kiss on your birthmark before whispering in your ear:

“sure thing, stargirl.”

#vi x reader #arcane x reader #vi arcane x reader #vi arcane #arcane #vi #vi league of legends #saf writes #arcane season 2

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2hightocare · 3 months ago

Text

COFFEE!

“I think I'm past obsessed at this point, there has to be another word in the dictionary that tops obsessed.”

Synopsis: in which a hopeless romantic falls in love with the man of her dreams…

Pairings: boyfriend!jeongguk x fem!reader

Genre: established relationship.. non idol au

Warnings: literally the most sappy thing I could have possibly written, was listening to ‘coffee’ by miguel while writing, they’re such a gentle love, reader is a book worm, Jungkook likes drawing (doodling) plus points when his drawings are about oc, mentions of their first time having sex, usage of book quotes (read nltm, had to use the mia and sebastian line for my own sanity) <3333333

authors note: this is so simple but my book worm hopeless romantic needed this.. wrote this while high so nothing new 🤍

They say falling in love is the most beautiful feeling in the world.

You couldn’t explain the immediate sensation, the feeling that spreads throughout your chest as if you were a black-and-white picture that suddenly starts to fill with vibrant colors anytime his eyes lock with yours.

It was astonishing how the universe works—the idea that you are destined for someone ever since you are born, and that all the hardships along the way shape you into the person you need to be to meet them.

Your heartbeat thumped loudly in your ears as you watched him laugh from across the room, an oversized hoodie and baggy jeans covering his lean, muscular figure—one you’d memorized to the tiniest detail. You knew every freckle and scar. His head was thrown back, arms crossed, as he paid attention to whatever the guy in front of him was saying.

You scrunched your nose, using your index finger to push your glasses up as you studied your boyfriend from afar. You weren’t sure whether to call it pathetic or endearing, the way you noticed every little crease on his forehead and the way he toyed with his bottom lip absentmindedly. You even took note of his long eyelashes, and nearly died of jealousy every time you counted them when he slept beside you.

It was gut-wrenching to imagine anyone else feeling about him the way you did. The thought alone made you want to puke in the nearest trash can.

You were lovesick for this man, and you could already feel the heat rising to your cheeks whenever you looked at him or heard his laugh. Not only did you want to scream and freak out over every little thing he did, but he also had you daydreaming constantly. You found yourself thinking of silly song lyrics that resonated with how you felt about him. Staring at his side profile, you finally understood the meaning behind Suki Waterhouse’s lyrics: “Oh, my good looking boy,” echoed in your mind.

Before you could form another lyric or recall a favorite book quote to describe your feelings, his eyes found yours. A small smile tugged at his lips as his gaze scanned your expressions, reading you as if you were an open book. You smiled, tilting your head to the side, trying to hide the makeshift fireworks going off in your tummy.

His gaze softened, and it made your breath waver. You had never understood the meaning of “his gaze softened” in books, but now, you understood every syllable of those words after experiencing it firsthand.

You honestly couldn’t think of a single thing you didn’t love about him. You loved everything about him, even the parts he claimed were too “broken” or “damaged” to be loved.

A few seconds passed before he finally said his goodbyes and began making his way back to you. Your eyes followed every step, catching the grin he wore.

“I don’t know, I pretty much think you’re obsessed with me,” your boyfriend teased, his straight teeth on full display as he stopped in front of you, looking down at you on the couch.

“In your dreams.” You laughed, craning your neck to look up at him.

Instead of getting mad, he let out a low chuckle, leaning down with both arms on either side of the couch, caging you in.

“Every night, baby.” He whispered softly, pressing a delicate kiss to your lips before moving to your cheek, delivering another soft kiss. You sighed in contentment as his lips ghosted over your skin, the pet name making your head feel dizzy.

He placed a soft kiss on your forehead before standing up straight again, looking down at you. Your eyelids felt heavy as you looked up at him through your lashes. He was already smiling, and you didn’t even need to ask “what?”—you already knew. Anyone in their right mind could tell how obsessed you were with him, and it was no surprise to him either.

As you both walked out of the bookstore, carrying a bag full of psychological and romance books (and, of course, the box of transparent sticky notes Jungkook got for you to annotate your books without writing on the actual pages), it was clear this was one of his favorite things to do. In his free time, when he wasn’t working or with you, he loved opening one of your books and reading your thoughts scribbled in the margins. Half of his camera roll was pictures of you, but the other half was just pictures of your annotations, scribbles, and drawings.

It was as if he was inside your mind, reading every thought, and he loved it.

He could still recall the first book he opened that sent his heart racing, like a teenage boy with a crush.

“I couldn’t see him, but his laugh was unmistakable. I could close my eyes and be in so many places with that laugh. That laugh was the cohesive thread, the little recurring melody that showed up in so many scenes of my life, like Mia and Sebastian’s theme in La La Land. Always there, playing in the background.”

Those words were highlighted in the prettiest shade of pink, with two small hearts drawn beside them. But it was your handwriting at the bottom that got him: “The feeling I’ve been trying to put into words about how I feel every time I look at him has just been done for me, oh my.” He remembered feeling his heart stop for a second. And when it started again, it was for you—his heart was for you and only you.

That wasn’t all. It had become one of your shared love languages. Jungkook started buying books he thought you’d like. He even asked your little sister what your favorite highlighters were so he could buy them for both of you.

Your heart did somersaults when you opened a book on his bedside table and saw a drawing—a pair of eyes in black ink, long lashes making them look bigger and more innocent. Your breath hitched as you noticed the small freckle just below the eyebrow, realizing it was you.

It didn’t help the overwhelming sensation of adoration when you saw his handwriting in the margins.

“You remembered?” she said softly.

“I remember every second of us.”

The text was underlined, and in small letters, he had written, “Gosh, she made me fall so hard that I’m reading sappy words and thinking ‘us’ out loud. #sendhelp,” with a frowning emoji next to the hashtag. Before you knew it, you were on page one, reading every single line and note he had left.

Also, the multiple drawings on the pages where there was extra space had your heart thumping hard in your chest. There were so many drawings— each one tied to you or him. It was impossible to describe every feeling surging through your chest, every emotion racing in your bloodstream, as your fingertips traced the drawing of you.

This time, it was an image of you on your back, lying on a bed. Only part of your side profile was visible, with your hair spilling across the bed, covering most of your back. At first, you didn't want to assume it was you he'd drawn-being self-centered wasn't your style. But it was impossible to deny it when he'd sketched every freckle, even the small half-moon tattoo on your shoulder blade, matching the real one inked on your skin.

You smiled at the memory but snapped back to the present as your boyfriend instinctively switched you to the other side of the sidewalk when you two turned toward Target. You held tight to his index finger as he squeezed between people, leading you behind him with a soft "excuse me" to anyone in the way.

Automatically, you found yourself smiling as you picked up your pace to match his longer strides. He pulled you in closer, his arm snaking around your waist, his hand resting over your belly—a little lower than usual, sending butterflies flitting wildly in your stomach. You suppressed a shiver as he gently guided you to the side, allowing an older couple to pass by.

"Us when we're eighty, baby," Jungkook leaned down and whispered into your ear, making you playfully roll your eyes at him. His smile only widened at your reaction.

"Won't be us if you keep watching Young Sheldon without me," you pouted, giving him a playful glare, which only made him smile more.

"Why are you smiling?" you asked, maybe even whining a little as you walked into the store and heard the employee greet you both.

"Because you're so beautiful, and my brain goes in circles when I stare at you," he shrugged casually, giving your waist a small squeeze before untangling his arm to grab a cart.

You tried so hard not to melt, holding onto his bicep as he leaned forward on the cart, making him closer to your height.

"Don't know it you're down, but l've been wanting to learn how to crochet," you said as you glanced around the aisles. Your boyfriend immediately started nodding excitedly.

"Baby, oh my god. I'm so down. We need to make those big-ass blankets," he rambled, looking at your face for a reaction, like a puppy with its ears perked up and tail wagging.

"I think that's knitting, baby," you corrected him, smiling as his eyebrows raised before he let out a small laugh.

"Wait, are those two not the same thing?" His dimple deepened as he bit his lower lip, stopping in front of the craft aisle.

"I actually have no clue," you admitted with a chuckle, raising an eyebrow. "But I know you can crochet a blanket because you once told me about those pattern blocks you saw on your explore page.”

Jungkook's gaze softened as he made eye contact with you, his pupils dilated with so much adoration that it made your heart swell.

"And I remember because I searched them on TikTok to see what you were talking about. I saw people connecting them into blankets. Also, I remember you pretending to sleep so you didn't have to scratch my back anymore-before my one minute was up. You swear you're slick, but I know when you're really asleep," he said with a grin, teasingly biting your cheek as you tried not to smile.

"How do you know I'm not sleeping?" you teased, and he chuckled, ghosting his lips over yours.

"Because every time you fall asleep, you make this little sound, and then slowly, you start snoring," he laughed, watching your cheeks turn a shade of red before burying his laughing face in the crook of your neck.

To be loved is to be seen.

That phrase had never felt more accurate. No one else had ever seen you the way Jungkook did. He knew you so well, down to the tiniest details that sometimes even surprised you.

Your eyes practically turned into hearts as Jungkook kissed your neck innocently before turning his attention to the yarns.

This was the kind of love you had always dreamed of

-better than the movies or books. Nothing could top the overwhelming feelings of gratitude, love, and appreciation that coursed through your body whenever you looked at him. Your brain practically played the instrumental of "Video Games" by Lana Del Rey whenever you spent time with him.

It was as if even a natural disaster couldn't faze you

-so long as you could experience it with him.

The connection between you two was beyond what you ever imagined existed in real life. It felt like something out of a fairy tale. From the moment you locked eyes with him across the room, you both knew there was no turning back.

After checking out and getting to Jungkook's car, he opened the door for you, reaching over to buckle your seatbelt before putting the bags in the back.

Once he climbed into the driver's seat, his hand instinctively found its place on your thigh after starting the car. His thumb rubbed your bare skin, sending sparks flying through your body. It was such a natural gesture for him, but the butterflies never ceased. You bit your lip, trying not to whine when his hand moved closer to your inner thigh.

As he softly sang along to "Creep" by Radiohead, it was just another thing you'd become morally obsessed with-his voice. You had always known he could sing, but everything changed the night you were first intimate.

It was as if your entire perspective on love and sex shifted. Simply calling it "sex" seemed absurd now, because it was so much more. Everything felt heightened, more intense, making your heart pound wildly in your chest.

"F-fuck, baby..." he whimpered into your ear, his hips moving slowly into yours, leaving your mouth hanging open.

His little groans and moans made you dizzy, like notes of a lullaby. The feeling of skin against skin was the most addicting sensation, made even more special by the way he always checked in on you.

"Shhh, I'm sorry. Am I being too rough, baby?" His voice was strained as his hips halted, his breath heavy as he moved your hair to kiss your neck.

He resumed slowly, making your legs shake and grip the sheets, and you couldn't help but moan, asking for more. His chuckle against your skin was the same one you’d hear when he rested his head on your stomach, expecting you to scratch his back or read to him.

"You're sweaty," you pouted at him, both of you basking in the afterglow.

"I know. Do you still want me?" He smiled, mimicking your expression before pulling the covers over both your naked bodies and pulling you in as close as possible.

"Yes, I'll forever want you," you replied, hiding your face in the crook of his neck, savoring the warmth he radiated.

As sleepiness began to overtake you, you felt his fingertips tracing letters and shapes on your hip.

Just before drifting off, he began singing again. It was like entering another universe where only you and he existed

"I want you to notice," he sang softly, "when I'm not around."

"So fucking special... I wish I was special." He pressed a kiss to your temple, the sound of his voice and your matching heartbeats lulling you both to sleep.

You snapped back to reality when the car stopped at a red light.

"Is it bad that I always hope to get red lights so I can kiss you?" he asked, flashing a grin that had you laughing.

Leaning forward, you pressed your lips to his as his eyes fluttered shut, his finger lifting your chin gently.

"Not bad, but a little weird. You want to spend so much time with me," you teased, pulling back to your seat. "Some might even think you're pretty obsessed."

"I'm past obsessed at this point. There's got to be another word that tops it," he admitted, stealing another kiss just before the light turned green.

As you gazed at him, you couldn't help but wish there was another word, stronger than "love," to describe how you felt about him.

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oofthwoods · 10 months ago

Text

STEPS TO YOU! ── ˙ ̟ lando norris !!

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 :: lando norris hates the idea of soulmates. for him, it's hard to see everyone in his life with a matching tattoo, or a timer, or the inability to see colors, while he has to be content with the fact that he may never find his perfect match. that is, until he starts to see mysterious footprints around the paddock, hinting at a path he never expected.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 :: this is my confession that my favorite soulmate!aus are the ones where they don't think they have one. the sadness of thinking you are not destined for a great love only to find out that there's someone out there for you??? mwah chefs kiss

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 :: to be added.

LANDO NORRIS WAS A ROMANTIC AT HEART.

He had a secret love for romantic comedies. Watching couples overcome comical obstacles before finding their happy ending always brought a smile to his face. Though he would never admit it, he found joy in the cliched plots and endearing moments portrayed on screen.

The Brit also enjoyed weddings. Family, friends, or mere acquaintances— it didn't matter. To him, the ceremony was a tangible display of true love that existed beyond the silver screen and scripted Hollywood romances.

Despite everything, Lando knew that he would never experience anything like it. Everyone around him seemed to have a sure sign that they were meant for great love: Carlos with his past life visions shared with his beloved, George with his key pendant symbolizing his destiny, and even Oscar, who occasionally vanished, leaving a girl in his place. But not Lando. No visions, no tattoos, no words etched on his arm foretelling what his soulmate would say upon their first encounter. He felt like an outsider in a world where everyone seemed to have found their perfect match, while he knew he would be alone forever.

As Lando's realization sunk in, it was an emotional rollercoaster. He wasn't just a late bloomer; he wasn't meant to blossom at all. In his childhood innocence, he embraced his supposed independence and declared that girls were gross and he could live without someone by his side forever. But as adolescence took over, he found himself increasingly on the sidelines, watching as close friends shared stories of connection and love, filling him with a painful mix of envy and despair.

Every tale of someone else's romance felt like a dagger to the heart, a wound that refused to heal. Lando couldn't help but wonder what he had done to deserve this solitary fate in a world where everyone else seemed to find their soulmates.

Occasionally, he gazed up at the dark expanse above, yearning for solutions. Had the universe overlooked him or was love just not in his destiny? Some claimed that soulmates were like atoms connected since before the Big Bang, their bond enduring despite eons passing. But what did this mean for Lando? Was he destined for a solitary life even before the cosmos took shape?

As an adult, Lando struggled to convince himself that he had come to terms with his fate. He told himself over and over again that finding true love was possible without a soulmate being involved. It didn't have to be some cosmic arrangement. Yet, deep down, even as he tried to comfort himself with this reasoning, he couldn't shake the desire for something more. He yearned to be uniquely crafted for someone, to be cherished wholeheartedly despite his imperfections and weaknesses.

Lando shook his head, pulling himself out of his thoughts and back into the present moment. The unforgiving Melbourne sun beat down on him, its golden rays spreading across the circuit. Heat radiated all around him, almost suffocating in its intensity. He cursed his decision to wear an orange hoodie that morning as a bead of sweat rolled down his forehead. Walking from the entrance to his garage, he couldn't escape the discomfort caused by the heat. The thick fabric clung to his skin, trapping him in its grasp as the temperature continued to rise.

Beside him, Oscar emanated an infectious energy. The pilot was fully immersed in the atmosphere of his home country's race, evident through his beaming smile. Despite the hustle and bustle around them, they maintained a calm demeanor, as if they were in a world of their own, oblivious to the cameras of the photographers trying to capture every moment.

Lando observed Oscar's anxious glances, as if he was searching for a particular person.

Deciding to break the silence, Lando asked, "Has your family arrived?"

Oscar's mind seemed elsewhere as he replied, "Oh, yeah. They're here. I'm just looking for someone else."

Someone else. Lando's brow furrowed as he thought about the mysterious bond between Oscar and his soulmate. Every now and then, without warning or explanation, the Australian would switch places with the girl he was connected to. Initially, Lando feared that this could happen during a race and result in a disastrous outcome. However, he soon realized that the universe was smart enough to only make these switches when both were safe.

"You met her?" Lando finally asked, curious about Oscar's soulmate. He looked at him with confusion before smiling sadly.

"Not yet, and she's not the one i'm looking or," Oscar replied, bringing a small sense of relief to Lando. He immediately felt guilty for wishing that others wouldn't find their soulmates, knowing it was selfish and petty.

Additionally, Lando could recall a peculiar incident from the previous year, when Oscar suddenly disappeared, and a girl had surprisingly turned up in the McLaren garage, clad in pajamas and exuding an unusual calmness about the situation. He remembered her as a charming and witty girl, and the thought that Oscar had someone special to share his life with brought a comforting warmth to Lando's heart, though it was tinged with a hint of jealousy.

"I have a friend coming over today," Oscar interjected, breaking through Lando's thoughts. "We went to elementary school together, but it's been a while since we've seen each other. She finished college last year, and managed to take a few days off to visit."

Lando nodded along as Oscar talked about his friend, dividing his attention between their conversation and the busy paddock. He couldn't help but notice weird stains on the ground and wished people would be more considerate of the space.

The two McLaren pilots still had a few minutes before the first meeting and the final free practice before qualifying. They decided to take refuge from the scorching sun inside their respective driver's rooms, seeking a moment of tranquility before the hustle and bustle of the track.

Lando made his way down the narrow path to the driver's room, noticing strange marks on the floor. The team garage was typically spotless, and he couldn't comprehend how it had become so messy.

"Who the hell made this mess?" Lando furrowed his brow and glanced around the room.

Oscar, perplexed, asked, "What mess?"

With a chuckle, Lando replied, "Are you blind? Look at the damn floor, it's covered in stains." He pointed to the ground with his arm.

Oscar tried to play along, forcing a laugh. "Mate, did you hit your head on the way here? The floor is spotless, as always."

Lando's eyes narrowed as he examined the stains on the ground more closely. What he imagined was dirt from a worker's shoe, appeared to not be random splatters; they seemed deliberate, almost forming a pattern. And then, in a sudden moment of clarity, Lando's heart skipped a beat as he realized the stains looked like footsteps.

"This is strange," he muttered, crouching down to get a better look.

Hearing Lando's concern, Oscar joined him and peered at the marks. "What are you thinking?"

Lando's mind was filled with various thoughts. He wondered if the intense heat was causing him to hallucinate. A thought crossed his mind that someone had wandered into the garage barefoot, possibly in search of new shoes. Everything seemed mildly possible.

Despite his efforts to suppress it, a nagging part inside him reminded him of the nights he spent wondering about potential invisible soulmate connections. He couldn't help but recall the excitement of discovering invisible threads - like leaving colorful marks upon touch or having their thoughts connect when within a certain distance, almost like telepathy. Things that wouldn't appear on his body when he turned eight, but still meant he had someone.

The 15-year-old version of himself seemed to be pounding on his chest, making him remember the thread through footsteps that he had long forgotten about, and started to question if even existed. Yet, Oscar didn't seem to notice the distinct marks on the floor and Lando couldn't possibly be hallucinating from dehydration.

Oscar placed his hand on Lando's back and felt a shiver run through his friend's body. "Lando, you're starting to worry me. Do you want to go to the medical bay?"

Lando quickly got up from the floor, shaking off Oscar's touch. "No need, Os. I'm fine." He forced a smile, but there was a lump in his throat as he tried to swallow down the fear and uncertainty. He didn't want to get his hopes up again, only to have them crushed once more.

"What do you think of the place?" Oscar's voice startles you from behind,.

A smile lights up your face as you turn around to see your friend in person for the first time in a long while. You eagerly embrace him with open arms, attempting to lift him off the ground like you used to when you were kids.

"Wow, okay, you're not as light as you used to be."

Oscar chuckles, and playfully returns the favor by lifting you up. "Nope, I'm not. Or maybe you're just not as strong anymore."

You tease, giving his shoulder a light slap. He winces and holds onto it, pretending it hurts.

"It's impressive." You answer his previous question. "So many people, so much noise, but I can see why you love it here." You take in the bustling atmosphere with a laugh.

The Aussie leans back against something and asks with a playful glint in his eye, "So, what's been going on in your world?"

You chuckle, immediately feeling at ease with him. "Just the usual post-grad life. Trying to figure it all out."

"Will you stick with auto sports?" He asks hopefully.

"I have an interview lined up to shadow a F2 journalist, so let's hope for the best." You make a gesture of crossed fingers. You thought that graduating with a degree in Journalism would give you direction in life, but almost a year later, you're still searching for your calling.

"It's already yours. I've never met anyone who could get honest answers from drivers like you do." He tried to calm you.

"I interviewed you once for a college project, Os. I don't think that counts." You chuckle.

"Come on, I was in f2 back then. That's definitely something to put on your resume."

"I'll keep that in mind." You nod.

It didn't feel like it had been so long since you two last saw each other in person.

As your gaze sweeps over the cluttered garage once more, something strange catches your eye, and you furrow your brow in confusion.

"Isn't Easter still a ways off?" Your eyes follow a trail of small, misshapen footprints leading around the room and you can't help but comment, "And whoever left those prints definitely didn't excel in their Arts & Crafts classes. They look nothing like bunny paws."

Oscar couldn't believe it. What was going on with his friends and footprints that day?

He squints and shakes his head. "I don't see anything," he says, trying to follow your gaze.

"Of course you don't. I've been telling you to get your eyes checked for years," you tease with a laugh. You walk over to him and point directly at the pawprint (that looks more like a footprint) on the ground that you can clearly see, even though it's slightly faded. Oscar looks at you with confusion.

"Are you and Lando in on this together?" He starts to suspect a prank.

"Lando? Your teammate?" You shake your head. "I've never even met him, Os." A mischievous grin spreads across your face. "But maybe I should."

Oscar's gaze shifted from the empty space in front of him. "Don't even go there, missy. Teammates are strictly off-limits."

You couldn't help but tease, "Why, does he have a soulmate?"

Oscar used to give you pitying looks whenever you mentioned not having a love thread, but it had been a while since then. He missed all of you - including your bad puns.

"I don't know. We've never discussed it," Oscar shuddered. He and Lando had grown closer over the past year, but the Brit never seemed to want to talk about that topic, so Oscar left it alone.

You continue to tease, "I still don't see why he's off-limits."

"Can you imagine how traumatizing it would be to see Lando making out with my best friend?"

"It wouldn't be any weirder than collecting bugs with my best friend and then suddenly having a random girl in front of me," your counterpart argues.

"Touché" It wouldn't be right for Oscar to dictate who you should pursue, especially since you had no control over randomly talking to his soulmate after swapping places. "It still would be fucking weird."

"You know, if two people saw those pawprints and you didn't, I think it's safe to say who's the one in the wrong here," You nudged him playfully. "Maybe you're just not looking close enough. Let me guide you."

Stepping closer to the mysterious prints, you crouched down and examined them closely. "They seem... fresh, don't they?"

Oscar joined you, squinting his eyes as he tried to make out any shape or form on the ground. "I swear, there's nothing there. Are you sure this isn't some elaborate prank?"

You shook your head, running your fingers over the indentations. "No, these are real."

Despite trying his best, Oscar couldn't make out what he was supposed to be looking at. "Alright, you got me. Congrats on your and Lando's little joke."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Your frustration grows as you wonder how he could have missed the obvious footprints right in front of him.

"He saw these so-called "footprints" too." He gestured with air quotes, convinced that his best friend and teammate were up to some strange prank together.

Before you could protest, someone called out your friend's name. "I have to go, it's my engineer," he said, getting up from the floor. He gave you a friendly smile that quickly turned into a knowing smirk. "And don't follow the footprints, Alice. They won't lead you to wonderland."

Wonderland or not, you would be stupid not to follow it.

As you follow the trail of footprints through the crowded garage, your curiosity builds with each step. You maneuver carefully around toolboxes and piles of spare parts, focusing on the prints as they lead you deeper into the maze-like space.

At last, you reach the end of the trail and come face to face with a closed door. Your heart races with excitement and anticipation as you stare at the sign above it: "Lando Norris' Driver's Room"

You furrow your brow in confusion. How could Norris' driver's room be connected to the strange footprints you've been tracking? Is this some kind of elaborate prank that Oscar roped Lando into as well?

Despite the nagging feeling that something was off, you stood your ground and refused to give into whatever it was that was trying to lure you in. You mentally prepared yourself to turn around and head back to Oscar's garage, where at least you felt familiar, and he couldn't pull pranks on you in front of his entire team.

And then, as if on cue, the door swings open, revealing Lando Norris standing on the other side. His presence fills the doorway, commanding attention with an effortless grace that leaves you breathless.

In that moment, you can't help but drink in the sight of him—the way the soft glow of the room illuminates his features, casting his angular jawline and chiseled cheekbones in sharp relief. His eyes, a mesmerizing shade of azure, hold a glint of mischief as they meet yours, and you find yourself drowning in their depths.

Lando is clad in his fireproofs, the sleek material hugging his lean frame in all the right places. His racesuit hangs by his waist, a vibrant burst of color against the backdrop of the room. There's a confidence in the way he carries himself, a hint of swagger that speaks of countless hours spent behind the wheel of a racing car.

But it's not just his physical appearance that captivates you—it's the strange electricity that seems to crackle in the air when your eyes meet.

Your heart skips a beat as you find yourself in a predicament, searching for a clever excuse. You definitely didn't want to appear as a stalker-fan who snuck in. "Um, I was just... uh..."

"Oscar?" Lando interrupts, a knowing glint in his eyes.

"Yes, Oscar!" You latch onto the name like a lifeline. "I'm a friend of his."

"He mentioned you," Lando nods, a friendly grin spreading across his face.

"Ah, so Oscar's been gossiping about me, huh?" You tease, a playful smirk curling your lips as you lock gazes with Lando. "I hope he said only nice things."

Lando chuckles softly, leaning casually against the doorframe. "Oh, absolutely. But he forgot to mention how gorgeous you are"

You feel a warm flush creeping up your cheeks at his compliment, and you playfully bat your eyelashes. "Oh, did he now? Well, I'll have to thank him for the rave reviews later."

An easy silence falls between you, charged with unspoken chemistry and the promise of potential. Lando breaks the quiet with a mischievous smirk, closing the gap between you.

"Care for a little tour while we wait for Oscar? I promise not to lead you astray... too much," he adds with a wink.

Despite the lingering adrenaline from the close call and the unexpected encounter with Lando, you find yourself nodding eagerly. Oscar had been too occupied to give you a proper tour, and you were itching to explore the place.

"Lead the way, but I'm holding you to that promise of not getting lost," you tease, motioning for him to lead. As he begins to walk, you fall into step beside him, the playful brush of your shoulders sending sparks flying.

"Do you have a habit of getting lost?" Lando asks with a playful glint in his eyes.

You laugh, shaking your head in mock dismay. "Define 'a habit'," you retort, a playful sparkle in your eyes. "When we were younger, Oscar and I used to roam around this massive mall near our homes. I lost count of how many times he had to page me over the speakers because I got sidetracked and wandered off."

"I'll have to keep a close eye on you, then," Lando quips. "Can't have Oscar's friend getting lost on my watch."

You chuckle at his teasing, reveling in the easy banter between you two. As he continues to show you around the McLaren paddock, pointing out various spots and sharing amusing anecdotes, you find yourself drawn to his effortless charm and infectious energy.

"You know, I never expected today to turn out like this," you admit, stealing a sideways glance at Lando. "But I'm glad it did. Especially if it means getting a personal tour from McLaren's charming star driver."

Lando beams at your words, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Consider yourself lucky, then. Not everyone gets the VIP treatment around here." He pauses for a moment before adding with a playful grin, "Although, I must confess, it's rather challenging to focus on giving a proper tour with you flashing that smile."

Your heart flutters at his words, but you play it cool with a playful roll of your eyes. "You need to work on your flirting skills, dude."

"But do they work?" Lando counters with a cheeky smile.

"Maybe. Keep trying, and who knows where it might lead."

"Ah, so you're admitting my charm has potential?" Lando shoots back, a playful glint in his eyes.

"I didn't say that," you reply with a smirk..

"Ouch, that hurts," Lando feigns offense, placing a hand over his heart dramatically. "Here I am, giving you the grand tour, and you won't even give me credit for my rizz."

"Okay, okay, maybe just a little credit," you concede with a laugh, nudging him lightly with your elbow. "But don't let it get to your head."

Lando grins. "Don't worry, I'll try to contain my ego."

As the tour comes to an end, you and Lando bid your goodbyes, thanking each other for the enjoyable time spent together. It's time for qualifying, and Lando is escorted towards his car by a member of his team. Just before he gets in, he looks back towards you with a faint smile. In that moment, his gaze locks with yours, and he freezes as a realization dawns upon him. The footsteps he had noticed earlier, weaving through the McLaren paddock, had a familiar pattern. They were from you.

He looks back to the path he took with you, and the marks on the floor as clear as day. They appear in front of his driver's room, in the small cafeteria where he took you to get the best coffee from the paddock (his words), and they follow you as you make your way to Oscar's side of the garage.

Lando's lips part slightly, as if he couldn't get enough air.

Before Lando could take a step towards you, his engineer's firm grip on his arm pulls him back. "Where are you going? Quali is about to start," his engineer reminds him, snapping him out of the mesmerizing realization.

Lando looks torn, torn between the exhilaration of discovering a potential connection he never noticed before and the responsibility of his racing career. He gives you one last longing look before reluctantly turning away, his mind buzzing with newfound thoughts and possibilities.

As he slides into the driver's seat and revs up the engine, he can't shake off the image of your smile, the sound of your laughter, and now, the footprints you left behind that seemed to lead straight to him. The engine roars to life, drowning out his racing thoughts as he steels himself for the high-stakes qualifying round ahead.

There were various theories floating around regarding why Lando secured the pole position. Some attributed it to an engine change, while others praised McLaren's performance on the specific circuit. But deep down, Lando knew that his main motivation was to finish everything quickly so he could talk to you.

He heard his engineer's voice in his ear through the radio, but he wasn't really paying attention. He knew he had interviews to do, photos to take, and a tire to sign, but as he stepped out of the car, his mind was consumed with thoughts of the girl he never knew existed.

After the whirlwind of interviews subsides and Lando returns to the bustling garage, his mind remains fixated on one thought: finding you. He navigates through the maze of mechanics and engineers, his determination unwavering.

Spotting Oscar amidst the commotion, Lando strides over, his expression a mix of eagerness and urgency. "Hey, Oscar," he calls out, drawing his friend's attention.

Oscar looks up from his conversation with a mechanic, a puzzled expression crossing his face at the intensity in Lando's gaze. "Hey, Lando. What's up?" he asks, curious yet cautious.

"I need to talk to your friend," Lando replies, his tone serious.

Oscar's confusion deepens, and a hint of protectiveness flickers in his eyes. "My friend? Why do you need to speak to her?" he inquires, his tone guarded.

Lando hesitates for a moment, searching for the right words. "I... I just need to ask her something," he says evasively, unwilling to divulge the true reason behind his urgency.

Oscar studies Lando intently, sensing there's more to the story than meets the eye. "Is everything okay?" he probes, his concern evident.

Lando shifts uncomfortably under Oscar's scrutiny, torn between his desire to find you and his reluctance to reveal too much. "Yeah, everything's fine," he assures, attempting to brush off Oscar's concern.

But Oscar isn't convinced, his protective instincts kicking into overdrive. "Look, if you're going to involve my friend in something, I need to know what's going on," he insists firmly.

Lando sighs, realizing he can't keep dodging the question. "It's just... I met her earlier, and I... I need to talk to her," he admits, his voice tinged with vulnerability.

Oscar's expression softens as he recognizes the sincerity in Lando's words. He may be protective, but he also trusts his instincts when it comes to his friends. "Okay," he relents, nodding in understanding. "She's in my driver's room."

Before Lando can make his way there, Oscar grabs his arm, a serious expression etched on his face. "Look, I know we don't talk about this, but…" He hesitates momentarily. "I don't know if you have a soulmate, but she doesn't. And I don't want you giving her false hope, only to disappear the moment someone mentions what's on your arm, or whatever."

Lando offers a reassuring smile. "You're wrong."

"Listen, I don't care if your mark is on your arm or your ass, my point was-"

"It's not about that. It's about her not having a soulmate," Lando interjects.

Oscar's expression turns grave. "What do you mean?"

"Footsteps," Lando responds simply.

Oscar's frustration bubbles to the surface. "What's going on with both of you? First, you mention footsteps, then her." He glances at his teammate, who meets his gaze with a serene smile. In Lando's eyes, there's a glimmer of hope and relief that Oscar can't quite comprehend. Initially, he considers escorting both of his friends to the medical bay, puzzled by their strange behavior regarding footsteps that only they seem to perceive—

Footsteps that only they can see.

A sudden realization dawns upon Oscar, his eyes widening. "You two are soulmates."

"Hopefully," Lando murmurs. "I—I never thought I had one. No marks, no dreams, nothing. But this morning, I saw footsteps. And then we met, and I showed her around. We were side by side, so I didn't pay much attention. But before Qualifying, I noticed her walking toward your side of the garage, and there were footsteps leading there."

As the realization settles between them, Oscar reluctantly releases Lando's arm, allowing him to continue on his way. However, just as Lando begins to move away, Oscar calls out to him, his tone a mix of seriousness and jest.

"Lando, wait," Oscar says, his voice tinged with playful threat. "Soulmate or not, if you ever hurt my best friend, I'll make sure to crash into you in every single race."

Lando stops in his tracks, turning back to face Oscar with a wry smile. "Fair warning," he replies, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "But I can assure you, if I ever did hurt her, I'd deserve every crash."

The Brit's heart races as he stands before the door, realizing he doesn't need to ask Oscar about the girl when the footsteps guide him straight to her. He wonders if he'd ever noticed those phantom imprints before, dismissing them as mere smudges or dirt. And in a fleeting moment of clarity, he wonders if those same invisible marks had led you to his door earlier, tracing a path he hadn't noticed until now.

As Lando hesitates outside the door, uncertainty gripping his thoughts, he contemplates his next move. Should he pace back and forth until you notice the traces on the floor? Or perhaps he should boldly declare their connection as soulmates upon entering? Before he can settle on a plan, the door swings open.

"Wow!" You exclaim, your initial fright giving way to laughter. "Okay, I probably deserved that. Second time's the charm, right?"

"Uhm," Lando's throat constricts, his words stumbling over each other. In his mind, this conversation had seemed much simpler. "Look, I—I need to ask you something. Do you… have a soulmate?"

Your gaze hardens, but it's not anger that flickers in your eyes, only a hint of sorrow. "We just met today," you confess, your tone tinged with vulnerability. Lando realizes it might be an invasive question; after all, some people prefer to keep such matters private. "Is it that obvious?"

"Yes. I mean, no. I mean—" Lando fumbles, his nerves getting the best of him.

"It's alright, I understand," you say, crossing your arms with a sad smile. "You do?"

"I do," Lando confirms, gesturing subtly to the scattered footsteps that crisscross the room.

"Cool," you respond, your expression disoriented.

"No, wait, that's not what I meant." Lando's frustration mounts as he struggles to articulate his thoughts. Was this what it felt like to be stupid in love?

"It's okay, Lando, really," you reassure him gently. "I know some people like to have... fun before finding their soulmate. I won't judge you for that." Yet beneath your understanding tone, a pang of sadness lingers, the thought of forever being a mere diversion rather than a final destination.

"Listen," Lando interjects, laying his hands gently atop yours, a jolt of electricity coursing between them once more. "Earlier today, you saw those footsteps, didn't you?"

"Actually, yes," you reply, confusion clouding your features. Oscar had vehemently denied their existence, leaving you to question your own perception.

"Me too. I saw footsteps this morning. Then I noticed footsteps leading towards Oscar's garage," Lando reveals, his voice soft with emotion. He silently pleads for you not to notice the trembling in his hands. "And now, I see footsteps again. Emerging from the door and heading toward the couch. A circle of them, right in front of the television."

As Lando confides in you, his vulnerability palpable, you begin to piece it together. Your eyes widen in realization as you look around. Although you can't see the invisible footsteps he's describing, you can distinctly perceive a path, stretching from the door to where Lando stands before you.

"Every step leads me to you," he murmurs, his gaze locked on yours with unwavering intensity.

A tender smile graces your lips as you absorb Lando's words, a rush of warmth flooding your chest. "I never thought I had a soulmate," you confess softly, your voice tinged with wonder.

Lando's own smile mirrors yours, a mixture of affection and amusement dancing in his eyes. "Look at that, one thing that we already have in common," he replies, his tone gentle yet playful.

You share a moment of quiet understanding, the air thick with unspoken emotions swirling between you. It's a realization that defies logic yet feels undeniably right, as if the universe itself had conspired to bring you together. Well, it did, didn't it? Maybe you should apologize for all the times your cursed at it.

"And here we are," you say, a hint of awe coloring your words.

"Here we are," Lando echoes, his gaze never leaving yours.

A mischievous glint twinkles in your eyes as you playfully tease, "You know, when I suggested you keep trying to flirt with me, this wasn't exactly the outcome I had in mind."

Lando chuckles, his grin widening. "Well, lucky for me, there's no one I'd rather up my game with than you."

You laugh, feeling the tension ease between you as the playful banter continues. "Smooth talker," you tease, giving him a playful nudge.

"Just stating the truth," Lando replies, his tone lighthearted yet sincere. "Besides, you will have to deal with it for the rest of your life."

Your heart skips a beat at his words, the playful façade giving way to a deeper connection between you. "I suppose you have a point," you concede with a smile, feeling yourself drawn even closer to him.

Lando's eyes light up with mischief as an idea sparks in his mind. "You know," he begins, a playful grin tugging at his lips, "I've spent my entire life thinking you didn't exist. I have a lot of making up to do."

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise at his bold statement, but a smile tugs at the corners of your lips, intrigued by his playful demeanor. "Oh really?" you reply, a teasing glint in your eyes. "And just how do you plan on making it up to me?"

Lando's grin widens as he leans in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Well, I was thinking we could start here. I can't really go out, but my hotel has an amazing restaraunt" he suggests, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "After that... Have you ever been to Monaco? Or Italy? Maybe after that, we could..."

You can't help but laugh at his enthusiasm, charmed by his playful spirit. "I say you're full of surprises, Lando Norris," you tease, interrupting him, a playful sparkle dancing in your eyes. "But I like the way you think."

A bashful smile graces Lando's lips as he chuckles softly. "Great," he replies, his tone now tinged with a hint of shyness. "I've got a meeting to attend, but after that, how about we meet back here?"

"You'll know exactly where to find me."

As warmth floods through Lando's heart, a tender smile graces his lips. In that fleeting moment of realization, it dawns on him—he'll never doubt your existence again. Not when there's a trail of footsteps leading him straight back to you, a path he'll eagerly follow time and time again.

Lando Norris is a romantic at heart. The universe, in all its wisdom, understood that he deserved nothing less than the greatest of loves.

fun fact i actually hate this

taglist (tell me if you want to be added or removed. crossed names means i couldn't tag you) :: @saturnssunflower @sopheeg @minkyungseokie @alexander-hamilhoe @butterfly-lover @cool-ultra-nerd @tomriddleswhorecruxes @everbizzare @chonkybonky @styl1shl1v

#f1 imagine #f1 imagines #f1 scenarios #f1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 scenarios #formula one imagine #formula one imagines #formula 1 imagines #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris imagine #lando norris fanfic #lando norris scenarios

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pedrospatch · 8 months ago

Text

flutter

Jackson! Joel Miller x Pregnant! Female Reader

snapshots masterlist

summary: When you finally start to show, Joel has a tough time with it as the reality sinks in—he’s going to be a father again.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. (TW) PREGNANCY. established relationship. no mention of reader’s age, however in other works for this universe, it is implied she is younger than Joel, her specific age will never be stated so do with that what you will. brief descriptions of a pregnant woman’s changing body, brief mention of morning sickness, mention of breastfeeding (it only comes up in a conversation very briefly) these subjects can possibly be triggering, especially mentions of a changing body, so while i try to handle everything with the utmost care, i still ask that you proceed with caution. domesticity, reader enjoys taking care of her family, ellie is a little shit, grumpy joel, he’s sort of a dick at first? but only because he’s working through some feelings so let’s forgive him, okay?

word count: 3.5k

a/n: this is part of the snapshots universe, but it could absolutely be read as a standalone too. minimal editing, this has been sitting in my drafts and i did a quick edit during my lunch hour, so please excuse any mistakes.

“Shit.”

You almost can’t believe your own two eyes. Staring at your reflection in the large, oval shaped mirror hanging over the porcelain bathroom sink, your gaze widens in complete surprise. “Jesus Christ,” you mutter, turning to the side. It takes your brain about a good minute or two to process, really process, the way that your belly strains against the thin, white cotton of your camisole. It had seemingly swollen overnight—because it hadn’t been this prominent the day before, had it?

Over the last few months, there’d been changes.

Some subtle and some not so subtle.

“Ellie! Stop fucking staring at them,” you’d scolded the teenager late one evening during yours and hers weekly game night. For as hard as you tried focusing on what move you should make next, it was hard to concentrate on the chessboard in front of you when you could feel the way her eyes were fixed on your breasts. “I mean it! Quit staring at my boobs, you little shit.”

She held up her hands, her mouth full of popcorn.

“Hey, in my defense, they’re just fucking there, man. If anything, they’re fucking staring at me, okay?”

During your chess rematch the following week, you had accidentally knocked one of your pawn pieces off of the table. When you’d stood up and bent over to pick it up, she had made the observation that your butt seemed to have gotten a little bigger too.

“Bet Joel’s liking these changes,” Ellie had smirked. “It sure as hell explains why the headboard’s been banging against the wall more than usual lately.”

You threw the pawn at her, smiling in satisfaction when it bounced off her forehead and landed into her glass of lemonade.

One part of your body, however, hadn’t changed.

Not until now.

“Hon, trust me, you have nothing to be worried about,” Maria had assured you with confidence when you had brought up your concerns about your stomach. “Every woman, and every pregnancy, is different. I didn’t start showing until I was around six months, remember?”

“I guess you’re right.” You’d been around four months, then. “Doesn’t help that I haven’t felt the baby move.”

“You will,” Maria had promised. “Just be patient”

Biting your lip, you place a hand on your belly.

It’s always been one of the softer parts of you, but now, it’s firmed into a perfect, round bump.

“Maybe soon I’ll feel you move,” you murmur, giving it a gentle pat. You tug the lace hem of your camisole down as far as it can go and then pull at the elastic waistband of your blue, terry cloth shorts.

Shutting off the lights in the bathroom, you slip out into the bedroom where you find that Joel’s still tangled up in the sheets, fast asleep. He had been assigned to the afternoon patrol route today—normally an early riser, if he was still snoozing, it meant that he really needed the rest. Deciding it was best to let him keep sleeping for a little while longer, you quietly tiptoe out of your shared bedroom and head downstairs into the kitchen.

After making yourself a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice, and one for the kid as well, you prepare the coffee maker for Joel. You spoon dark roast grounds into the filter and set the timer for the coffee to start brewing in thirty minutes.

He should be up by then, you think, pulling a basket of eggs out of the refrigerator.

You’re starting to get used to this. Domesticity.

Despite your protests, Maria had made the decision to pull you off patrol that same afternoon you had shared the news of your pregnancy. “I’m putting you on leave,” she’d told you. “Effective immediately. I don’t want to see you outside of these walls. Got it?”

“That’s not fair, Maria. You were out on patrol until—”

One stern glare from her had shut you right up.

“Fine.”

Sure, you missed it and looked forward to the day when you’d be able to get back into the saddle with your rifle in hand, but this way of life had grown on you. Certainly a lot more than you thought it would.

You enjoyed taking care of the house. Packing Ellie her lunch for school and checking her homework. Having a nice a meal on the table for the three of you to enjoy in the comfort of your own home instead of having to go down to the crowded mess hall for supper because you and Joel were both always much, much too tired after a long day out on patrol to bother with cooking.

With the baby due to arrive in the winter, looking after your little family had become your purpose, and you did not mind it one bit.

As strips of bacon sizzle in one pan on the gas powered stove, you crack a couple of eggs into another, knowing the kid is already on her way downstairs. You can hear the sound of her old, tattered low top sneakers that you have been trying to throw away for almost a year now squeaking on the kitchen tiles just as you finish plating her breakfast.

“Morning!” Ellie pipes, the loud plop of her backpack into a chair prompting you to turn around. “What’s for brea—whoa! Holy shit!” Her brown eyes widen in shock when she sees you and her jaw drops. “Dude.”

“Ellie,” you say her name warningly as you walk over to the table. “Don’t.”

“You’re bigger!”

With a playful glare, you set her plate down, along with her glass of orange juice. “Thanks a lot, you little jerk.” You feign offense. “You’re making your own eggs from now on.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” Ellie’s cheeks flush a shade of red and she squirms, sputtering apologetically, “I swear, I don’t mean it like that at all. It’s just, your stomach, it didn’t—you didn’t look like this last night, you know?”

She’s fucking lucky that your raging hormones decided to take the morning off duty.

“You look different. I mean, you look great—”

“Ellie?”

“Yeah?”

“Just shut up and eat.”

“Deal.”

She shoots you a sheepish grin and sits down, scarfing down her food in her usual manner.

“You get your fractions homework done?”

“Yeah.” Ellie huffs, rolling her eyes. “Took me forever. I was up until fucking midnight.”

Amused, you offer, “Want me to check your work?”

“Sure.”

As Ellie inhales the rest of her breakfast, you pull out a green, single subject notebook from her backpack and look over her homework for miscalculations.

“So, uh, how are you feeling?” she asks after a minute.

“I’m feeling alright. I think the morning sickness finally stopped, so can’t complain.” Shrugging, you close the notebook and stick it into her backpack. “You did good, kid. Only got two problems wrong.”

“Man, I really wish we knew whether it’s a boy or girl,” Ellie mumbles through a mouthful of scrambled eggs. “What do you want to have, anyway?”

“It doesn’t matter to me, Ellie,” you answer, honestly. Clocking the skepticism on her face, you laugh and say, “It’s true. As long as the baby’s healthy, that’s all I care about.” And you mean it. As an expectant mother in the post outbreak world where medicine is scarce, supplies are limited, and the closest thing you have to a hospital is the town’s old clinic, the only thing you can hope for is the smooth, safe delivery of a healthy child.

Before she can say anything, you both catch the sound of Joel’s heavy boots as he descends the staircase.

She quirks an eyebrow. “Uh, has Joel seen you yet?”

Grimacing, you shake your head. “No.”

“Well, I don’t wanna be here for all that awkward,” Ellie says, chugging the rest of her orange juice. She stands up and snatches up her backpack, along with her lunch bag, which you’d packed for her earlier that morning. Just as she’s about to whirl around on the heel of her sneaker and make a run for the front door, she pauses, watching as you make your way back over to the stove to light another flame. “Unless you want me to be?”

“I’ll be fine, Ellie,” you assure her. “Go on, get to school. Maybe you’ll be on time to class for once.”

“If you say so.” She wishes you luck and then bolts out of the kitchen, throwing a quick goodbye at Joel on the way out. “See ya later, old man!”

Nervously, you turn around and start cracking another two eggs into the pan. There’s no telling how he’s going to react.

Joel’s been fairly supportive since you’d found out you were pregnant, considering how unplanned it was. But you know him like the back of your own hand, and you know, despite the numerous times he’s denied it, that it has been weighing heavily on him. Each time you’d try to sit down to talk to him about it, he would brush you off and insist he was fine. But he wasn’t fine.

And you wish he would spit it out and tell you why.

In your periphery, you notice the stained glass butterfly he had hung in front of the window above the sink, the ornament catching and refracting the sunlight. Flecks of color dance across the walls in captivating patterns, brightening the space. You think of the sweet little girl he’d hung it for, the little girl he rarely talks about, that he keeps tucked away safely in his memory.

You bite back a small sigh.

By now, you’ve learned not to push him. Especially not about what he was feeling. He would tell you when he was ready.

“Who the hell lit a fire under her ass this mornin’?” Joel asks gruffly as he walks into the kitchen. “She ain’t ever this fuckin’ eager to go to school.”

“Not sure,” you reply in the most nonchalant tone you can muster as you use a spatula to scramble the eggs. Transferring them onto a plate, you add three strips of bacon, and then pour his coffee. “I have your breakfast ready, Joel. Have a seat.”

You hear a chair scrape against the tile.

“I keep tellin’ you I can make my own breakfast, darlin’.”

“And I keep telling you I don’t mind making it for you,” you quip, and you hear him grumble something under his breath.

Inhaling a deep, calming breath through your nose, you take the plate of eggs and bacon in one hand, and his cup of coffee in the other. Your fingers grasp the handle of his ceramic, owl mug in a near death grip. You exhale slowly, and then turn around to face him.

He sees your swollen middle and stiffens in his chair.

The tension is instantaneous. Palpable.

Uncomfortable.

Awkwardly, you shift from one foot to the other.

“Your belly,” Joel murmurs, a visible tick in his jaw as his gaze drags over your midsection. “S’bigger.”

“Yeah. It is. Guess I’m going to have to start trading for maternity clothes soon,” you remark, shuffling over to the table. Setting down the plate and mug of coffee in front of him, you take a seat across the table. Your eyes try desperately to meet his, but they refuse. There’s no way for you to decipher what he’s thinking. You let out a small, nervous laugh. “Can you please say something?”

He lightly clears his throat. “I’ll take you to Main Street on Saturday,” he tells you, picking up his mug. “I’ve got the day off from patrol. I’ll, uh, pick through some of my own things and see what I don’t need so we can make a trade for some clothes.” He pauses, then offers quietly, “In the meantime, you can wear my shirts. They might be more comfortable for you.”

You flash him a grateful smile. “Thank you, Joel.”

Sipping his coffee, he continues to avoid your gaze.

“Mhm,” is all he says.

Your smile falters.

It’s the middle of August.

The afternoon heat is sweltering. Unforgiving.

“Jesus, it’s a fuckin’ scorcher,” Tommy sighs, glancing over towards the lake where his mare, Maxine, is taking a drink beside his brother’s stallion, Phoenix. His raven curls are damp with sweat, plastered to his forehead. “Hotter than the devil’s fuckin’ balls out here, ain’t it?”

He’s met with silence.

Looking over his shoulder, he sees Joel leaning against a tree, his rifle in hand as he stares at the Grand Tetons in the distance almost like he’s in a trance. “Joel?”

Blinking furiously, Joel shakes his head. “Sorry, you say somethin’ to me just now?” He asks in a daze, pushing away from the lodgepole pine. “We headin’ out?”

“You’ve been actin’ real strange all afternoon,” Tommy observes, walking towards him with his own gun slung over his shoulder. “Either the heat is startin’ to get to you, or you’ve got somethin’ on your mind, big brother.”

Joel hesitates. His dark eyes flit to the other side of the lake where the other members of their afternoon patrol group are refilling their canteens with water.

“S’alright,” his younger brother says. “Don’t worry ‘bout them. Can’t hear us.”

Joel’s chest heaves with a heavy sigh. “She popped.”

“Huh?”

“Her belly finally popped. She’s showin’ now.”

Amused, Tommy lightly shakes his head. “Y’shouldn’t be so surprised, Joel. Was ‘bout time,” he remarks with a shrug. “What is she—like six months along now?”

“She’ll be six months in a couple weeks.” Joel wipes the perspiration off his brow with the back of his hand and sighs once more. “Look, I ain’t stupid, Tommy. I knew it was bound to happen sooner or later, but it still caught me by surprise. When I saw her, it became real for me. She’s got my kid in there. I’m gonna be a dad again.”

“You’re scared.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement.

“Shitless,” Joel confesses, feeling his chest tighten.

“What are you afraid of?”

Joel almost laughs.

He doesn’t know where to start.

He’s afraid of everything.

“All of it, Tommy. I’m afraid for her, havin’ to give birth with no medicine,” he tells him, his voice breaking. “I’m afraid I won’t remember what to do with a newborn or that I won’t know how to help her durin’ those first few months—”

“This ain’t your first rodeo,” Tommy reminds him. “You did it once, and you did just fine, Joel.”

“That was over three fuckin’ decades ago. And it was a different world. If Sarah—” He stops, taking a second to catch his breath. The image of his daughter’s little face flashing in his mind feels like a violent punch to the gut. Even after all this time, it still knocks all of the wind out of his lungs. “When her mom had trouble breastfeedin’ her, I could head to the grocery store and buy her baby formula. If she got a real bad fever, I could load her up in the truck and drive her to the emergency room.” He glances down at his broken watch. “Besides, I was a lot younger, then. And I wasn’t half fuckin’ deaf like I am now. When Sarah would wake up cryin’ in the middle of the night because she needed a diaper change, I’d hear her. What if I can’t hear my own kid cryin’?”

“Joel—”

“I’m in my fifties. What if I can’t keep up because I’m too fuckin’ old?”

Tommy reaches out, clapping a hand onto his shoulder.

“Brother, I need you to take a fuckin’ breath,” he says, chuckling softly. “You’re puttin’ the weight of the world of your shoulders right now—you need to put some of it down. Look, we might not have everythin’ we used to before the world ended, but we make do with what we do have. Considerin’ just how many growin’ families we have and how many little ones we’ve got runnin’ around our town, I’d say it’s workin’ out pretty fuckin well.” He gives his shoulder an encouraging squeeze. “And as far as your ability to be a good dad, you’ve still got it, Joel. You know what to do, and so does she. I’ve seen her in action with my little boy, and it seems like she’s already got those maternal instincts, y’know?”

“Yeah, she does,” Joels agrees quietly, thinking of how you had stepped up to help him care for Ellie.

“Trust me, between the two of you, it’ll be alright.”

He peers at him. “You really believe I still got it in me?”

“I do.” Tommy smiles. “You never stopped knowin’ how to be a father, Joel. You’re gonna be just fine.”

Their patrol shift extends into the evening, turning into a double, and it’s late when he gets home.

“What the hell are you still doin’ up?” Joel asks when he finds Ellie sitting at the kitchen table, cursing to herself as she flips through the stale, yellowing pages of an old life science text book.

“What does it fucking look like, man?”

“Shouldn’t have waited until the last minute, kiddo—”

Ellie holds up a hand and cuts him off.

“Save the lecture for another time, dude. I’m busy.”

Joel rolls his eyes. “Finish up and get to bed. S’late.”

Without waiting for some smartass response, he turns on the heel of his boot and then heads upstairs to your shared bedroom. He flips on the lights only to find that you’re already in bed, fast asleep, wearing nothing but one of his t-shirts and a pair of panties. He toes off his boots and leaves them by the door, being as quiet as he possibly can as he rummages through his top drawer for some clean boxers to sleep in.

He slips into the bathroom where he takes a quick, hot shower, scrubbing off that day’s sweat, dirt, and grime. After he’s dressed and his sopping wet, salt and pepper curls are haphazardly towel dried, Joel walks back out into the bedroom where he switches off the lights and climbs into bed next to you.

He lays on his side and he’s just about to close his eyes when he feels a light shift beside him. You roll over and curl into him, your belly pressing up against his curve of his spine.

He stiffens, freezing as if someone had just placed the barrel of their pistol against his back, their finger over the trigger.

Christ, get a damn grip, he thinks silently to himself.

Joel thinks about that morning in the kitchen.

He knows his reaction had hurt you. Or rather, his lack of a reaction. His shitty ways of coping aren’t your fault, and his struggle to come to terms with your pregnancy sure as hell isn’t your fault, either. He owed it to you to try harder to be the man you needed.

The man you both needed.

Joel’s train of thought comes to a screeching halt when he feels a soft flutter against his middle of his back, the spot right where your tummy is nestled—did the baby just move?

He lies still, waiting to see if he feels it again, and when he doesn’t, he rolls over to face you, causing you to stir.

“Joel?” you mumble his name, sleepily. “What time—?”

“Shh,” Joel soothes, pulling you into his bare chest. He kisses your temple. “S’okay, baby. Go back to sleep.”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice.

Within seconds, you’re asleep again, snuggled into him and snoring softly.

Lifting a hand, he hesitates, then rests it on your belly.

He waits.

And waits.

Until the minutes turn into hours.

Until dawn’s light filters in through the lace curtains.

Until he finally feels that little flutter again.

He feels it against the palm of his hand. Faint, nothing more than a brief whisper against his skin, but there is no mistaking it.

He’d just felt the baby’s movement.

There’s a sudden shift.

Tense muscles that had been painfully wound up since the moment you’d mentioned to him your period was a week late back in the spring loosen slightly—the breath he had been holding since he’d picked up that positive pregnancy test from the bathroom counter finally falls from his lips, fanning over yours.

His fears, his worries, his uncertainties about what lies ahead, they’re all still there, of course, but he finds they are now accompanied by a glimmer of hope, a sliver of optimism that maybe, just maybe, Joel doesn’t have to be as afraid as he is.

Joel’s eyes glaze over your face, warmth radiating in his chest when you breathe a little a sigh of content in your sleep as he gently rubs your stomach through his shirt.

With his hand still splayed over your belly, he closes his eyes and begins to drift off, falling into the most decent sleep he’s had in the last few months.

Maybe his brother’s right.

Maybe he will be just fine.

divider credit to @saradika 🤍

#tw pregnancy #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x pregnant reader #joel miller one shot #joel miller drabble #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #fic: snapshots

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moonlinos · 10 months ago

Text

It would’ve been sweet if it could’ve been me

♡ Pairing: Bang Chan × fem!reader

♡ Genre: Single dad!Chan, friends to strangers to lovers

♡ CW: Explicit sexual content (minors dni!), mentions of parental guilt, themes of loneliness, Chan is stuck in the past, lying, mentions of feeling lost in life, story spans over a number of years, nipple play, oral sex (male receiving), unprotected sex, creampie

♡ Word count: 8.2k

♡ Synopsis: Being a single dad to Hyerin is all Chan has known for the past four years. He and his ex-girlfriend reached an agreement that saw her going off to live a life she had always dreamed of while he was left with a life of loneliness, which he endured with a smile on his face for his daughter. A small gleam of hope seems to appear in his life in the shape of you. But hiding himself under a haze of lies seems to be his only option if he ever wants to keep you.

♡ A/N: Based off a request by anon! Thank you for requesting, this was so much fun to write 🩷 I will admit this is a lot more focused on Chan as a character than I originally wanted it to be, and I kinda went a bit crazy with the plot, but I hope you still like it! The song Chan sings to Hyerin is Little Star by Standing Egg 💗

Every day in Chan’s life is a monotonous, never-ending cycle. Like watching reruns of bad TV shows on gloomy Sunday nights, every second of his past and upcoming days is etched into his mind like a quilt of mundane tasks and repetitive moments.

But that wasn’t always the case.

Once, excitement filled his every waking moment. His weekends were a whirlwind of new places teeming with bustling crowds and unfamiliar faces who became fast friends. During his university years, he and his friends lived their lives with ardor, savoring every moment as if it could be their last. His days were filled with an array of unplanned parties and impromptu trips which brought a kaleidoscope of color to his life.

Until he met Dana.

He was about to graduate, and she swept into his life like a hurricane — flipping everything upside down before disappearing just as quickly, with only destruction and ashes remaining in her wake.

He was infatuated; she was bored. That was clear from the start, but Chan was too blinded by affection to be concerned with such a minute detail. So long as he got to have her by his side, he was happy. Their relationship lasted a year, yet it changed his life forever.

He was twenty-one when Dana announced her pregnancy. On his twenty-second birthday, she told him she didn’t want to be a mother.

By that point in his life, Chan had already forsaken everything he had for her. He turned his back on his old friends, the vibrant life he once led, and everything that once made him who he was. Without Dana, he would be left with nothing but the ugly reflection of his self-destructive choices made in the name of a loveless love.

And so, they came to an agreement. Dana would leave — that had been her plan from the start, anyway — but she would leave Chan with a small piece of their story.

Hyerin was born on November 20th, 2019.

Dana left on a plane to New York City on December 1st.

Now, the only speck of color in his life is Hyerin. In the four years Chan has been lucky enough to be her dad, he has found she is much more than simply a reminder of Dana or what could have been between them. Hyerin is his entire world. She is the love he’s unknowingly been searching for his whole life, and he would sacrifice every last bit of himself to make sure she only ever knows happiness.

They live a quiet life, with Chan working a less-than-fulfilling corporate job and spending all his free time with her. He sometimes allows himself to wonder what happened to his old friends — did they all eventually settle for the mundanity of adult life, or are they still chasing an endless thrill? But he never dwells on it too much. The sweet memories of his early twenties are now nothing more than a comforting escape when the weight of loneliness becomes too overwhelming.

Today is one of those days. A late Friday night after his shift, Chan sprawled on his couch with Jisung, a co-worker who became his first friend after many years, a silly smile on his face as he reminisced about a trip to Jeju in his sophomore year of college. This is how he lives most of his life; when he’s not in the present with Hyerin, he’s stuck in the past.

How could he not be stuck in the past? So many people he loved and memories he cherished were there.

“I don’t get how you just left all of that behind for someone,” Jisung scoffs, loosening his tie. “Why couldn’t she just join your group of friends?”

“It’s complicated,” Chan sighs, eyes wandering toward Hyerin’s bedroom door for the umpteenth time to make sure she’s still sleeping soundly. When he turns to look back at Jisung, his expression prompts him to elaborate. “What? You want the whole story?”

Jisung shrugs. “It’s not like we have any other plans for tonight.”

“Well, there was this girl in my friend group. We hooked up a lot, but our relationship went beyond that,” Chan explains, fingers tapping his thighs as the memories flood his mind. It was a sore topic, one he certainly didn’t enjoy remembering. “We never dated, but Dana was jealous, and I couldn’t blame her. Me and this girl were… very close. I couldn’t be in a relationship while also being that close to her, but I also couldn’t imagine us being only friends. So it was easier to walk away.”

Chan conveniently leaves out the fact that he walked away because an artificial love strangely provided solace for his heart, unlike the searing torment of unrequited love, which engulfed him like molten lava.

“And that was the last time you ever had that type of relationship with anyone?”

“With Dana? Yeah—”

“Hyung, you know what I mean. You told me yourself Dana didn’t love you,” Jisung points out. “I mean this other girl.”

Chan shrugs dismissively. “I guess, yeah. Doesn’t matter, though.”

And Jisung scoffs loudly at his words, rubbing his forehead with a sigh. Memories of that love flood Chan’s mind, and he's ready to let them sweep him away when Jisung abruptly turns so he sits facing him, resolve swimming in his eyes.

“Give me your phone,” his loud voice reverberates through the small apartment, prompting Chan to shush him with a stern look. “Give me your phone,” Jisung repeats himself with a harsh whisper.

Chan rolls his eyes but ultimately smiles at his friend. He retrieves his phone from the end table, handing it to a much too enthusiastic Jisung. “The password is Hyerin’s birthday,” he tells him, albeit a bit apprehensive.

He watches amusedly as Jisung types away at his own phone before doing the same on his, handing him the device with a grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

“What did you do, you little menace?” Chan questions the younger boy, narrowing his eyes. Jisung simply shrugs.

“I got you a date tomorrow. Thank me later.”

Chan immediately sits up on the couch, eyes darting toward his phone screen. A chat with a single message from him to an unknown contact makes him question his entire friendship with Jisung.

Me: I’m your date for tomorrow 😉 Me: O’neul restaurant, 6 pm. See you there, cutie

“Jisung, what the fuck?”

“What?” His friend asks between giggles. “Sora has this friend she said desperately needs a date, and I have you in the same situation,” he explains, clearly proud of himself. “I just did you both a favor while also getting boyfriend points.”

Chan’s eyes shift toward his phone once more, inwardly cringing at the messages with a heavy sigh.

“And was making me sound this creepy necessary?”

Jisung waves his hand dismissively. “Nah, that was just a little treat for me.”

“And why the fuck is her name Mystery Girl?” Chan queries, the irritation making him unknowingly raise his voice.

“It’s a blind date,” his friend explains. “This girl’s apparently super picky, kept turning down every guy Sora suggested. So, she came up with this solution. Can’t turn you down if she doesn’t know what you look like.”

Chan groans, ultimately sinking back onto the couch with a defeated sigh. Jisung was trying to be a good friend, he knew that, but he wasn’t at all thrilled with the prospect of a date. Not only did he not want one, but he also had no time for such a futile thing. He had Hyerin, and she was the sole reason for his existence. He didn’t need anyone meddling in their little world. But he didn’t have the courage to tell Jisung that.

It would be a lie to say the past four years weren’t lonesome. Falling asleep alone in a cold, empty bed was a sorrow he had simply grown numb to. Yet, he still yearned to have someone to share the grapples of routine life with, someone whose presence alone would effortlessly diminish his worries, someone he could make love to before falling asleep and waking up intertwined.

But he couldn’t afford to have that.

At least this date was bound to fail; the woman’s demanding nature, coupled with Chan’s unwillingness to even be there in the first place sure to make their wasted time brief.

Just as he’s about to grumble about the messages again, Hyerin comes stumbling out of her room, her small feet shuffling against the floor as she rubs her sleepy eyes.

“Oh, honey, were we being too loud?” Chan asks sweetly, and his eyes discreetly shoot daggers at Jisung, who mouths an apology.

Hyerin firmly shakes her head, the crooked pigtails Chan clumsily had tied this morning coming undone as she does so. He smiles at her, propping his elbows on his knees and waiting for her to speak her little mind.

“I had a dream,” she mumbles. “With a dragon.”

Chan gasps, hands wrapping around her tiny frame and picking her up before walking toward her room. It took him some time, but he ultimately learned that it’s best to ease her back into bed while she’s distracted, lest she throws a tantrum.

“And was it a nice dragon?” He asks. Hyerin giggles, and Chan is positive that the sound has the power to light up even his most somber days.

“Of course it was a nice dragon, daddy,” she tells him. “You said I only have nice dreams ‘cause my mind is pretty, remember?”

Chan nods as he gently tucks her back into bed, triple-checking that she is comfortable and warm. “Of course, of course. How could I forget?” He slaps a hand on his forehead with a sigh. “Hyerinnie has the prettiest mind. It can only make up pretty things.”

Hyerin smiles at him, tugging her blanket close to her chin, her doe eyes already heavy with sleep and blinking languidly. Chan asks her the same question he does every night, although the answer remains unchanging every time: would she like him to sing to her? She drowsily tells him she wants to hear him sing her favorite song, Little Star.

Chan promptly gets under the covers beside her — Hyerin pouting and whining about how he’s stealing her blanket for himself, to which he can’t help the hearty laugh that escapes his lips. Since turning four, she’s developed quite a strong personality that Chan soon finds he adores, much like everything about her.

He turns on his side to watch her features as he sings; her nose and mouth so similar to his, and the way she furrows her brows while falling asleep mirrors his own habits. Chan might not be a happy man in his job or his personal life, but the boundless happiness his little gift provides him surpasses anything else he could wish for. Every now and then, he finds himself wanting more, but it’s not long before he realizes he already has everything he needs.

Chan goes over his rather extensive list of how to care for Hyerin with Jisung for the tenth time that evening, making sure the younger man knows what to do in any situation that could arise in the couple hours he’ll be gone. Hyerin is the one to usher him out of the apartment, assuring him she’ll be fine with her uncle Han, and Chan has to stop himself from wallowing over the fact that his once tiny baby is rapidly blossoming into a young kid.

He made no real effort to dress for his date; a simple button-up shirt and jeans served him just fine, seeing as he plans to return home as soon as possible. His date and he haven’t talked much at all since his initial texts yesterday, texting each other only to confirm the time and place of their basically forced date.

He arrives fifteen minutes late, all but running from the bus stop to the restaurant while cursing Jisung under his breath. This was definitely not worth the hassle, and Chan wanted nothing more than to be back at home with his daughter. He’d pick watching Tangled with her for the hundredth time over an unwanted date in a heartbeat.

Chan finally walks into the restaurant, informing the waiter that he’s there to meet Cherry. His face visibly grimaces as he mutters the words. Fuck this blind date bullshit.

He’s led to his table, dragging his feet behind the waiter. His attention is immediately drawn to the pencil holding his date’s messy ponytail together. He chuckles quietly, circling around the table and forcing out a smile to introduce himself.

But then he’s met with a sight he had long given up hope of ever seeing again: you.

You, who were next to him as he made stupid decisions during college. Like when he drunkenly thought it wise to bet his laptop in a game of beer pong.

You, who always made him your special hangover soup after a party. He especially loved it when you let him keep the leftovers, knowing that he and his roommate were hopeless in the kitchen.

You, who filled the space in his cold sheets with warmth and always made his bed feel like a sanctuary.

You, who let him make love to you despite you both swearing to be only friends.

You, who later had to watch him walk away from you like a coward, driven by sheer fear.

You, staring back at him with a stunned look on your face.

“Chan?” You ask, an unsure lilt to your words.

And Chan embarrassingly fumbles over his words, his tongue tying itself into knots in front of you. He notices you pursing your lips to stop from giggling and clears his throat a bit too loudly, a few patrons turning their heads to look at him. But he can’t bring himself to care, not when it seems the universe has turned the wheels of his fate in his favor for once.

“Uh, hi,” is all his brain can muster among the jumble of thoughts inside his head. He mentally berates himself for acting so damn awkward when you’re clearly not as affected by this encounter as he is.

“Damn, it’s been so long,” you marvel, eyes not leaving his face for a second. “I thought you moved to a different country or something. It’s so strange how we never ran into each other.”

Chan forces out a chuckle, hands now fiddling with the menu on the table. Of course you two never ran into each other; he only ever leaves the house for work or when he has to accompany Hyerin, and he doubts you frequent playgrounds or zoos.

“Yeah, I… don’t go out much anymore,” he simply says.

You hum, and he properly takes in your appearance. You haven’t changed one bit; from your hair to your choice of clothes, you’re still the same girl who ruled over his every thought during college.

You two order your food and fall into an infuriating cycle of small talk. Chan doesn’t want to talk about the weather or if you have seen the latest movie yet — he’s desperate to ask you how you’ve been, if you ever pursued your dreams, if you can still outdrink anyone in your friend group, and—

And if you’re still single because you find relationships a hassle.

But as the food arrives, you fall into an even more frustrating cycle: silence. Chan feels restless, squirming in his seat every few minutes while you calmly eat and watch the people around you. He remembers your habit of scanning crowded rooms and making up stories for strangers with your vivid imagination. He wants to ask if you still do that, but it seems he’s only grown into more of a coward since your last encounter.

You’re the first to break the silence, waiting for the waiter to leave with your plates to ask what Chan has been doing since graduating. It’s a casual question with no weight to your words, as lighthearted as you have always been. And the complete opposite of his every possible answer.

How can he tell you he’s given up music altogether, now surrounded by gray walls and lifeless faces in his corporate job? How can he tell you he’s alone most of the time, partly by choice and partly because he doesn’t know how to dig himself out of this comfortable hole he’s trapped himself in?

How can he possibly explain that he agreed to be a single father, sacrificing his own happiness for the selfish whims of a woman who never even loved him?

You’re still the same; the same carefree eyes and attitude, same easygoing approach to everything life throws your way — such as meeting him again after years.

All of him has changed.

Chan can’t tarnish your colorful life, can’t sit before you and spill out his problems or grumble about the overwhelming loneliness in his life when he knows damn well that was a consequence of his own choices.

He wants nothing more than to be the same Chan he was in college. Creating life stories for strangers in dive bars with you, not caring about whether he’ll have enough money to pay the water bill next month, not having to bear the burden of something as precious as a human life depending solely on him.

It’s selfish, but he wants nothing more than to go back.

So he does.

“I actually still write songs, though it’s only a freelance thing,” he lies. He hasn’t written a single note in years. “Other than that, I’ve just been taking it day by day. Same as I’ve always done, I guess.”

And your eyes immediately light up — you’ve always loved his songs, after all. Your conversation flows much like it used to in the past after that, with you making witty jokes and Chan laughing loudly at them. You tell him you started working as an art teacher for the elderly when living off of commissions became impossible, and that you adore the stories they share about their younger years. They remind you of your own stories together, you admit with a genuine smile.

Your conversation is endless, continuing even as Chan walks you to your car in the empty parking lot. The night has grown colder, and the crescent moon gleaming in the sky above him almost feels like a sign that things will change for the better.

As you two stand in front of your car, a smile tugs at the corner of your lips. Ever the free soul, you ask him outright if he would like to come back to your place. There are no further implications hidden in your request beyond a hookup. Nothing’s ever heavy with you, every little thing always feeling light as a feather.

He says he would love to, but quickly excuses himself under the guise of calling his roommate about the spare key. Chan hurriedly calls Jisung as soon as he turns a corner in the parking lot, ensuring you won’t be able to hear him. It’s juvenile, the way he’s actually taking pleasure in almost creating a different version of himself — a version much closer to who he was when you were his, at least in some sense of the word. He’s a father, he should be responsible and dependable, but the weight of that role had been thrust upon him far too abruptly. He can’t be faulted for wanting to go back in time.

“Okay, I have no time to explain,” he blurts out as soon as Jisung picks up the phone. “Would it be too much to ask you to stay the night?”

Jisung chuckles at the other end of the line. “Damn, was the date that good?”

Chan ignores his sly comment, because yes, the date was everything he never thought it could be.

“I’ll be back first thing in the morning,” he assures him. “I’ll even pay you if you want. How much—”

“Hey, no need for that,” Jisung cuts him off. “You know I love looking after Hyerin.”

And the pang of guilt inside his chest at the mention of his daughter’s name almost knocks the air out of his lungs. He feels ashamed, as if he’s neglecting his daughter for a hookup, going after a fantasy that has long crumbled and faded away.

“How is she? Is she okay?” He asks, guilt washing over him like a wave. He hadn’t thought of his daughter for a second that entire night. “Did she cry at all? Did she notice I was gone for longer than I promised?”

Jisung calls out his name with a chuckle, prompting him to stop his rambling. “Relax. We painted each other’s nails, she did my makeup, had her dinner, and is now sleeping soundly after listening to another one of uncle Han’s phenomenal stories about frogs,” He details, causing a hearty laugh to fall from Chan’s lips at the image of Jisung’s face painted with Hyerin’s cheap children’s makeup. His friend then adds, “Go get laid, man.”

And so Chan hangs up the phone, all but running toward your figure waiting by your car. You smile at him, taking his hand and pulling him into a tight embrace. It’s the first time he holds you in almost five years, and he feels his dull world away from Hyerin slowly fill up with vibrant hues.

It takes you less than fifteen minutes to reach your apartment building, and Chan is thanking any higher power that might listen for that. The sheer anticipation of what is implied to happen once you two are alone together has him picking at his cuticles until it stings.

He’s nervous, to put it lightly. A couple of terrible drunken hookups in dingy motels after office gatherings were his only sexual encounters after Hyerin was born.

But once you’re standing in front of him in your living room, your eyes never leaving his even as you’re slipping off your heels, Chan knows you’re both equals in this playing field.

He’s the one to pull you into a kiss, lips barely grazing against yours. But the feeling of finally kissing you again after so many years was like wildfire, consuming him wholly until the kiss turns feverish. His hand travels from your shoulders to your lower back, pulling you flush against his body. You hum against his lips, fingers clumsily undoing his buckle, and the prospect that you might be as eager as he is has him gripping the fabric of your dress.

Chan swears his vision goes black the moment your fingertips brush against his hardening erection, the feathery touch enough to make him sigh into your mouth.

A hand is pressed to his chest before he has the chance to think, and you’re pushing him backward until his back meets the wall. You immediately drop to your knees in front of him, leaning forward and nuzzling your face against his clothed cock.

“I missed you,” you whisper, hungry eyes looking up at him. “Don’t think I got to say that.”

Chan takes in the sight of you, memorizing and storing it in his mind alongside the countless images he already had of you on his knees for him. His fingers thread in your hair, your lips falling open with a sigh.

“I missed you too,” he professes. You have no idea how much.

With a smile, you quickly work his zipper open, pulling his jeans down his legs and pressing a wet kiss to his clothed erection. Chan feels your tongue lap at his member through his boxers, lips sucking around the head as your nails scrape the flesh of his thighs lightly.

It feels like you mouth at his length for hours, the light gray fabric of his boxers stained with your saliva and his precum, leaving Chan panting and tugging at your hair. You trail soft, wet kisses down his thigh while pushing his boxers out of your way, his cock already swollen and flushed. He’d be embarrassed for the way his body reacted so responsively to you if you weren’t also visibly as affected.

Your tongue circles his length languidly, lapping at a small bead of precum with a hum. Finally wrapping your lips around his tip, your tongue flicks teasingly beneath the head of his cock, Chan sucking in a deep breath and using his grip on your hair as leverage to pull you toward him. You almost obediently drop your jaw to slide his now fully hardened length into your mouth, your hand wrapping around the base as you begin to bob your head up and down his cock. Chan hisses your name when you relax your throat after a few passes, taking him fully into your pretty mouth, your nose brushing his pelvis.

“Fuck, you always looked so pretty like that,” Chan chokes out. “Pretty lips taking me so well.”

You groan at his words and the vibrations traveling along his shaft have Chan growling with a harsh tug of your hair, causing you to sputter as his cock hit the back of your throat. You seek purchase in his hips as tears prick the corner of your eyes. You’re unrelenting nonetheless, circling your tongue around him before pulling away, hands now sliding up his thigh before gently gliding over his balls. As you slowly lick from the base of his shaft all the way up to the sensitive tip, Chan’s gaze shifts down as he catches a glimpse of your thighs rubbing together. He feels himself twitch, and immediately pulls you away from him.

“Don’t wanna come like this, I need to fuck you,” he rasps out.

You stand back up, legs wobbly, and fumble with the buttons of his shirt while he slides your dress down your shoulders. Your movements are messy and filled with urgency, your breaths quickening as you both want nothing more than to strip away any form of barrier between you. Piling up five years of yearning will do that.

As your impatience reaches its peak, you tear open the last remaining buttons of his shirt, your nails grazing his skin as you slide the fabric down his shoulders. A wave of goosebumps travels across Chan’s body, and his hands abandon the task of removing your dress in favor of tracing the curve of your ass before picking you up off the floor.

“First door on the right,” you tell him, your words answering his unspoken thoughts as if you could read his mind. Chan nods, your proximity making it impossible for him not to press his lips to yours, tongue sliding over your bottom lip before licking into your mouth with a low hum.

He collides with a wall, missing the entrance to your bedroom by a hair’s breadth, and you giggle against his lips. Chan smiles back. Nothing’s ever heavy with you.

He lowers you onto the bed gently, his body instinctively slotting between your spread legs the way he did so many times before. You soon also wrap your thighs around his waist as you always did, pulling him closer until his cock is pressed up against your clothed pussy.

“Wanna ride you,” you tell him, grinding your hips forward and eliciting a quiet moan from Chan’s lips as he hastily nods. With a tight grip on your waist, he flips you both effortlessly.

Promptly sitting up on his thighs, you finally rid yourself of the inconvenient fabric of your dress, followed by your bra, your nipples instantly hardening. Chan sits up, eyes transfixed on your chest as his calloused thumbs trace the nubs before his lips circle around one, sucking harshly. As you gently roll your hips, he can feel the way your soaked panties cling to his skin as your core presses up against his thigh.

Your fingers tangle in his hair with a whimper, pushing his face into your breasts as he bites the sensitive skin. His lips leave your nipples with a wet sound, then trailing kisses up the column of your neck until his gaze is locked on yours again. He was dying to mark you, bite and suck on your skin until it blossomed into a beautiful maroon — but he knew better. You weren’t twenty anymore, and you weren’t his; in no sense of the word.

“I’m on the pill,” you tell him, eyes heavy with lust.

And he knows this is a terrible idea. This was exactly how he came to be a father.

But it’s not his mind that’s doing the thinking, and so he nods, his grip on your hips tightening as you pull your soaked panties to the side just enough to slide the swollen tip of his cock against your slick folds. Chan sucks in a breath, fighting a war against his own body not to come from this feeling alone. It wasn’t just how long it had been since he was with someone, it was you. It was all you. The effect you had always had on him having never faded, simply laying dormant until his body had you again.

Chan rests his forehead on yours as you slowly sink down on his length. His lips find your neck again, gently sucking the skin into his mouth as you slowly grind down on him, a whine falling from your lips and going straight to his cock. His hips buck up unwittingly, causing you to moan loudly in his ears. But your slow pace remains, and Chan knows he should savor this moment, but he wants nothing more than to fuck you into the mattress until he forgets every minor issue aggravating his brain.

Such as the fact that he knows you will leave his life again the second you find out he lied to you.

So his hands find your waist and he flips you down onto the mattress once more. His eyes bore into you as you suck in a breath.

“Fuck me,” you plead, hips grinding into his cock again. “I want it, please—”

Chan doesn’t waste another second, retreating only to plunge back harshly into your cunt. He moves with deep strokes, hips falling into an erratic rhythm, your nails digging into his back as your thighs clenched around his waist. All he can hear is static and your choked moans as he presses you into the mattress.

“Missed this so fucking much,” he groans against your ear. And finally succumbing to his desires, he bends down to suck and nibble on the delicate skin of your neck, mind too focused on how your walls squeeze around him to worry about marking you. He laps at the small bruises he leaves behind, your fingers tangling in his hair as you mewl.

You roll your hips, matching his rhythm, and Chan feels a familiar heat rise within him. He reaches down to glide small circles around your clit, your body jolting and squirming. He absentmindedly smiles against your skin.

After an entire night of pretending his life was the same as it was five years ago, fucking you required no acting.

“It’s too much, fuck,” you whimper, tugging him by the hair until your lips are crashing together in a sloppy kiss. Your walls tighten around him, body clenching as the tension finally snaps, your orgasm coursing through your shaking body as Chan growls into your parted lips.

He keeps fucking into you, until his hips meet yours one last time, and a low groan reverberates through the room. His cock twitches inside of you as his body stills, filling you with his warm release which leaked out of you and onto your sheets as he pulled out with a sigh.

Chan throws himself onto the mattress, labored breaths leaving his heavy lungs. He pulls you into his arms, and you melt into his embrace as if it were a habit. It’s as though he’s gone back in time, even if temporarily.

He feels like he’s simply a guy making love with the girl he adores in the familiar comfort of his dorm room again.

When the first rays of sunlight seeped into your room, Chan was already awake. He watched as you slept, eyelids fluttering and a small smile adorning your lips.

It was as if you were his, in every sense of the word.

Guilt.

That’s what Chan feels every time he sees Hyerin’s laughing face on his phone’s wallpaper when he’s out, entertaining the silly lie he crafted.

It’s been two months since you reconnected and you effortlessly slipped him back into your life. The reunion with his old friends was expected — but Chan dreaded it, regardless. He found that out of the nine people that once comprised their group, only five remained. He wasn’t the only one who had gone his own way.

But he was the only one who had done it in the worst way possible, carelessly ghosting every single one of them, hoping his existence gradually faded from their memories.

That made facing his once best friend frightening. Minho was the first friend he made on the very first day of university, when Chan walked into his dorm room only to find he had snuck his cat into the building.

They were roommates for two years, and best friends for four. Chan complained loudly when he was assigned a new roommate. Minho was silent as he watched his best friend turn his back on him with no explanation.

Minho initially ignored him entirely, and Chan doesn’t fault him. When his vibrant face turned cold upon seeing him walk into a bar, Chan knew he earned that the moment he decided to ignore his friend’s every text message and phone call. When Minho made backhanded remarks about how nice it felt to have him back in their group, he knew he deserved it for not answering the door the only time his friend came looking for him.

It takes a drunken argument leading to a fist colliding with Chan’s cheek for Minho to finally address him. It takes them being escorted out of the bar by security for them to finally have a conversation, tears and resentment flowing freely as they sat at a bus stop late at night. After that, their friendship returned to what it was before, as if they had never been apart even for a second.

Despite the years and the changes, Minho was still his best friend — which was why he was the only person he came clean to.

Hyerin loved Minho, especially his cats. Her new favorite pastime quickly became going over to his house to play with her new ‘friends’, as she called them. And Chan was overwhelmed with happiness to witness his best friend falling under his daughter’s spell — his house now containing its very own box filled with every toy Hyerin mentioned even once, his kitchen stocked with all her favorite foods, and his cats falling asleep beside her anytime they came over to visit.

It was as if he was watching his two worlds collide. His past and present, which he had separated out of a senseless fear, intertwined so effortlessly it made him feel stupid for ever thinking he needed to build this barrier. For assuming the people he loved so much would reject him.

Made him feel even worse for walking away in a futile attempt to protect his feelings, because it only resulted in more hurt.

After so much of his time spent wondering, Chan finally has the answer to his questions. Some of his friends did settle for an ordinary adult life, some already married and some focusing their energy solely on climbing the corporate ladder. Still, some remained relatively unchanged — much like you did.

His social life blossomed again after reconnecting with his old friends. However, he still refused to hire a nanny, too fearful to leave Hyerin to a stranger’s care, resulting in constantly having to come up with excuses when his parents aren’t able to babysit. He won’t deny that he often fabricated these lies purely because staying in with his daughter and watching Tangled now outweighs any appeal of noisy nightclubs.

Jisung remained his salvation whenever he wanted to spend the night at your place, with Chan slowly but surely running out of reasons as to why you can’t go to his apartment for a change. He hasn’t had the heart or the courage to tell you the entire truth yet, only owning up to his lie about his job after you understandably asked him to listen to his new music and he was put on the spot.

Ever since you walked back into his life, he finds himself weaving a web of little white lies that slowly chip away at his heart.

He’s at a small gathering for his friend’s birthday, listening to Minho all but eulogize his fiancee. They have been a couple since university, Chan playing the wingman and encouraging his friend to finally do something about his crush (mostly because he couldn’t handle any more of Minho’s whining before going to sleep). Despite what everyone around them surmised, they beat all the odds and statistics and stayed together even after university. Chan would be happier about that if he hadn’t bet money on them breaking up before graduation. He wonders if Hongjoong will ask for his twenty bucks now that they’re friends again.

“No, really, settling down with someone is so good,” Minho says after another shot of Soju, a silly smile etched onto his lips. “I thought I would hate it, y’know? Thought slapping such a significant title on our relationship would wear it down, but it’s the complete opposite. Ever since she proposed, it’s like we’re two love-struck nineteen-year-olds again.”

Chan smiles, saying they should drink to that purely because he hopes the sensation of alcohol burning his throat will numb his overwhelming jealousy. After congratulating Minho for the umpteenth time, he finds himself listening to yet another story about his relationship.

And he’s happy for Minho, just as much as he’s happy for Wonwoo for getting married last year. He couldn’t express the overwhelming joy he felt upon discovering these people, who once meant so much to him, had successfully navigated their way through life. But envy rears its ugly head every time he listens to one of their stories, because Chan’s direction in life seems to be a winding road. He’s a father, and his love for Hyerin is immeasurable, but he’s still actively lying about this side of him simply because he feels as if maybe he made the right choices in life at the worst possible time.

As he’s walking out of Hongjoong’s apartment with you later that night, he wraps an arm around your waist, a smile spreading across his face when you nestle closer to him. You two discuss Wonwoo’s marriage, with you talking about how beautiful the ceremony was, but ultimately scowling at the mere thought of getting married. Chan feels the corner of his heart crack at your words, but he laughs it off.

“Do you think he wants kids?” he wonders aloud.

He expects you to laugh at his sudden curiosity. He doesn’t expect you to dig at the fissure in his heart with your words, causing it to shatter completely.

“Gosh, it’d be so weird to see.” You cringe, snuggling deeper into his arms as a chilly breeze brushes against you two. “I like kids, but I’d never have them myself. Feel like it’d kinda ruin my life.”

Chan feels his grip on your waist loosen.

“Having kids doesn’t ruin your life,” he reasons. “You’re given the chance to care for something so precious, so important to this world…” he trails off, shaking his head and taking a step away from you. It feels as if exasperation has filled his entire being. “You look into their eyes and see yourself, and it’s— the love you feel when you first see them is so pure and earth-shattering that you can’t think of anything but how to make that tiny being only experience the good in the world. It doesn’t ruin your life.”

You eye him with confusion, cocking your head to the side and huffing out a laugh. “You talk like you know what that’s like. If you ever have kids one day, then you’ll know—”

“But I do know,” he’s yelling before he can stop himself, his footsteps coming to a halt. “I know because I have that. I have that and it’s the most precious thing in my life and yet I’ve been taking it for granted. And for what?”

He scoffs bitterly, his gaze fixing on your features; your flushed cheeks and slightly smudged lipstick, the way your puzzled eyes gleam under the moonlight. He shakes his head.

“For childish illusions. The illusion that I could go back in time if I pretended hard enough, the illusion that this romanticized idea I have of my early twenties was superior to the life I have now,” Chan lets out a heavy breath, averting his gaze to the pavement. “The illusion that I could ever have you.”

“So it’s my fault you chose to lie about being a dad?” You blurt out.

He doesn’t lift his head. He can’t, the burden of guilt and shame weighing too heavily on his shoulders for him to face you.

“It’s my fault. You were simply the catalyst.”

“What do you even mean?”

“I mean I’ve always felt this way,” he exasperates, finally lifting his head but keeping his gaze anywhere but on you. He’s a coward. “I’ve always felt like maybe I was too young to be a dad, too immature to fully understand the consequences of the choices I made. I don’t regret my daughter, but I certainly regret the timing, and this haunts me every day. Meeting you again just made these feelings worse because you represent everything about my past that I no longer have.”

You remain quiet for a beat, but it feels like an eternity as Chan is forced to endure the deafening ring of your silence.

When you finally speak, your voice is unsteady. “You know, that’s why I always figured it was for the best that you left.”

“What?” Chan turns his gaze toward your face at last, your words stomping on his scattered heart one last time. He expects anger, but sorrow has taken over your expression, one so heavy he doesn’t recall a single moment in the years he’s known you where he’s seen you like this.

“You were always like this, Chan. You might think you were a different person back then, but you said it yourself,” you shrug with a sullen chuckle. “It’s only an illusion.”

He hums, nodding his head as it dawns on him. “You were never gonna be mine, were you? No matter what I did. I lied to you because I thought you would never want someone like who I am today. But I guess that was all in vain, ‘cause I’ve always been like this.”

“You always talked about getting married, settling down, having kids.” As you run a hand through your hair, an exasperated sigh falls from your lips. “You went along with our bullshit, but even back then, you were always like the dad of our group. This has always been you, Chan, but that’s not a bad thing. Don’t think you need to change or lie about who you are ‘cause you’re the most amazing man I’ve ever met, but…”

He scoffs. “But?”

“But we’re too different. We’ve always been. We’re great together in every way but the way you want us to be — the way I would love for us to be as well,” you simply say, offering him a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“And would it kill you if we tried? ‘Cause this unfulfilled hope has been killing me since I first fell in love with you.”

“What’s her name?” You simply ask, avoiding his question altogether. Chan furrows his brows. “Your daughter, what’s her name?”

He shifts on his feet. “Hyerin.”

“I hope she knows how lucky she is to have you as a dad.”

Chan shakes his head. “I’m far from the perfect father.”

“Good,” you state matter-of-factly. “Perfect wouldn’t be you.”

You fall into a much lighter silence, although it’s still far from comfortable. A swarm of questions fills Chan’s mind, but his words fade into silence and die on his lips.

He knows everything is over when you suck in a sharp breath, muttering, “I can’t be what you need. When love becomes too serious, I feel trapped and run away. You know what that’s like,” you trail off. “I know we loved each other back then, and I know I still love you now, but I think it’s my turn to walk away. I’m sorry, Chan.”

And just like that, he’s left to watch your figure slowly grow smaller and smaller as you fade into the dimly lit street. You don’t reprimand him for lying or question if he also loves you still. You don’t explain why you can’t make an effort, probably because you’re unsure of the answer yourself. It turns out you both remained unchanged.

And after all this time, it’s only then that Chan realizes you were always just as lost as he was.

Chan didn’t allow himself to think much about you since he watched you walk away that night. He missed you often, as he had done for so long before your last encounter, but he had long grown numb to that feeling.

In the two years he was apart from you for the second time, he learned that life isn’t black or white. He could be a father while also being his own person; a son, a friend, a boyfriend. He learned that prioritizing Hyerin didn’t mean neglecting himself, as that would negatively impact her as well. She couldn’t only know happiness if her father was always dripping with sadness.

He learned he doesn’t have to choose between who he is now and who he was at twenty years old; they were both him, with certain moments bringing out glimpses of one or the other.

Hyerin started elementary school and is blossoming into a caring little girl, no longer needing Chan to tie her pigtails in the morning or remind her to brush her teeth before bed. Although she still demands that they maintain their nightly routine of lying together until she falls asleep to the sound of his voice singing her favorite song.

During his first parent-teacher conference — after walking into the classroom fifteen minutes late — he’s stunned to see you sitting across from him yet again, a pencil holding up your ponytail the same way it did that night at the restaurant. He couldn’t help the smile that spread on his lips.

You were Hyerin’s teacher. He recalled picking her up after her first day of school and listening to her gush over the art teacher who was so pretty and nice, and talking about how she wanted to be like her when she grows up.

It felt as if you were destined to find each other every time one of you chose to walk away.

Your friendship picked up again slowly this time — no rushing into bed together and no rushing into long overdue serious conversations. They had already been avoided for years, anyway, they could wait a bit longer. This is exactly what you needed; patience. Chan had never had the patience to wait for you, while you never had the patience to understand your own feelings.

It’s been ten months now, and he’s yet again sitting before you. The teachers and parents converse around you both as you sit in silence. When you think no one is watching, you exchange glances, struggling to suppress the silly smiles that insist on spreading across your faces.

As people leave the room one by one after the meeting, Chan approaches you.

“You’re Bang Hyerin’s father, correct?” You speak with a grin.

“Correct.”

“She’s an amazing kid,” you tell him.

He smiles, shifting his gaze toward his feet before his eyes find yours again as you speak.

“We could grab a coffee this weekend.”

This time, there are further implications hidden in your request. You’re not asking as a friend, like you’ve been doing these past months. Some things are heavy with you now, and this is something he’s only recently come to find. He’s also come to find that he loves that change.

So he answers, “Sure. Tomorrow at three?”

“Then I’m your date for tomorrow,” you say with a giggle. “See you there, cutie.”

And Chan lets out a hearty laugh at that, which earns him a scolding look from the other teachers in the room.

He isn’t sure what will come of this. Maybe you two are better off as friends and all it will take is a couple of months to figure that out. Maybe time has changed you both more than he can understand, and you will finally be able to try something real after all these years of unfulfilled hopes and childish illusions.

Either way, Chan knows he won’t let go of you this time.

He wants you to be his, in any sense of the word.

♡ taglist: @bloom-ings, @linocz, @farahia, @mirbokk, @jisunglyricist, @jazziwritesthings, @seungseung-minmin, @yourcvndx, @hynjinnnnnnnie @vlctorriaa @yongbokkiesworld

#stray kids #bang chan smut #skz smut #stray kids x reader #bang chan x reader #bang chan #bang chan x you #stray kids smut #skz #bangchan smut #bangchan x reader #bangchan x you

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hoshifighting · 6 months ago

Text

Producer!Woozi x Celebrity!Reader

— Synopsis: You and Woozi have admired each other's work for a long time. Now, he has the opportunity to produce an album with you. Working on an album for a worldwide artist like you brings him immense joy... and turn-ons. — WC: 4.8k — WARNINGS: Smut, studio sex (Universe Factory), oral (f.receiving), penetrative sex, unprotected sex, fingering, clit stimulation, g'spot stimulation, aftercare, reader fangirling over Woozi shirtless in Ruby's M/V mentioned.

Your name is splashed across big screens from Times Square to the Grammy Awards. Music didn't just enter your life; it crashed in, loud and powerful, sweeping you off your feet. It became your everything.

You went from singing in front of millions of people to strumming your guitar alone in a poorly illuminated room, lost in your own world. Music was your passion, your escape, and your purpose all rolled into one.

With that passion came endless opportunities. You were constantly on the move, traveling from one country to another, meeting people you once only dreamed of being in the same room with. You found yourself breathing the same air as your idols, sharing stages with legends.

Friendships blossomed, some fast and fleeting, others deep and lasting. The world knew your name. Your songs played in every state, on every continent, bridging gaps between different cultures and bringing people together.

Those cultures left a mark on you too.

You soaked in the richness of each place, each new experience shaping your music and your perspective. You remembered your early days, the hunger for inspiration, the late-night searches for new artists.

One night, you stumbled upon a webcam live stream with a bunch of boys in a neon green melona room. You laughed and loved watching them, their energy infectious even through a screen. You became a fan, following their journey as you built your own.

But here's the thing about being a superstar: time is never on your side. Your schedule was always packed, and despite being in contact with some of the Seventeen members through DMs and mentioning your admiration for them in interviews, meeting them in person was a challenge. You were in Seoul for a tour once, and they appeared on your show, but there was never enough time to truly connect.

Now, after years of hectic schedules and fleeting encounters, you finally had a moment to breathe. You were working on a new album, and for the first time in a long time, you had the opportunity to switch things up. Your usual producers were fantastic, but this time, something different was calling you. An opportunity was waiting in South Korea, and it had your heart racing with excitement.

You, your manager, and the company representing the group had been in talks for months, working out the details. The goal was clear: to collaborate with Woozi, the musical genius from Seventeen, on your new album.

When your team informed Woozi that you had just arrived at HYBE, his palms began to sweat. He never imagined he’d get to work with someone of your caliber. The fact that you specifically wanted to work with him made it all the more surreal.

As you walked through the HYBE building, your assistant and one of the staff members gave you a tour. You were almost giddy with excitement. The walls were lined with photos and awards, the air buzzing with creativity. When you finally approached the recreation area and spotted Woozi, his cheeks turned a shade of red. He was nervous, but seeing you smile so brightly at the sight of him sent a sense of relief through his system.

You were genuinely happy to see him.

As you step into the recreation area and see Woozi standing there, your cheeks flush a deep red. You can’t contain your excitement. "Woozi, I'm so happy to see you," you say, extending a hand, unsure if a hug would be appropriate.

He senses your shyness, and, in a moment of genuine openness, he breaks through his own reserve and gives you an awkward hug. It's brief and a bit clumsy, but it’s sincere. As you pull away, you swear this is the happiest moment of your life.

"I’ve admired your work for so long," you say, your eyes sparkling with genuine admiration. "Your music is incredible."

Woozi shakes his hands in front of him, a shy smile spreading across his face. His long hair swings slightly as he responds, "Oh, no, really, it’s nothing compared to what you’ve done. I'm honestly just honored to be here with you."

You laugh softly, feeling a bit more at ease. "Are you kidding? I still remember hearing your solo for the first time and just being blown away."

Woozi's cheeks tint pink as he looks down, scratching the back of his head. "Thank you, that means a lot coming from you. I remember when we all watched your first big performance. We were in our green room, and we were all just in awe."

You grin, recalling that exact moment you first saw them. "I remember that! I was so inspired by you guys. It’s amazing how things come full circle, isn’t it?"

He nods, his eyes meeting yours with shyness "It really is. I never thought I’d get the chance to work with someone I looked up to so much." Woozi chuckles softly, breaking the silence. "By the way, I saw your post on Twitter about wanting to visit the Universe Factory—my studio."

Your eyes widen in surprise, and you cover your face with your hands. "Oh my God, you guys see my tweets? Oh nooo!"

He laughs, a sound that's both comforting and infectious. "Yeah, they're hard to miss," he admits. "And I may have received a few screenshots of your reaction from 'Ruby'."

You gasp, mortified as memories of your tweets flood back. You remember typing frantically about needing a defibrillator when Woozi appeared shirtless in the music video. "Oh no, those tweets. I can't believe you saw those."

He’s grinning. "It's okay, really. It was kind of sweet to be honest. We all had a good laugh about it."

Peeking through your fingers, you sigh. "Well, now that my embarrassment is out in the open, I guess it’s only up from here, right?"

Woozi grins, a twinkle in his eye. "Absolutely. Besides, it’s nice to know we have mutual fans of each other’s work. It makes this collaboration even more special."

You nod, recalling how your fanbase and Seventeen’s had always gotten along so well. “Our fans really hit it off, didn’t they? It’s like they’ve been rooting for this collaboration all along.”

Woozi smiles and gestures for you to follow him. “Come on, let me show you the Universe Factory.”

Walking into his studio, you’re immediately struck by how incredible it looks. Purple lights cast a calming glow over the space, and the view from the windows is breathtaking. Everything, from the colors to the high-tech equipment, is perfectly arranged. You can tell he put a lot of effort into making this place special.

“Wow, Woozi, this is amazing,” you say, your eyes wide with admiration. “I always saw photos of your studio, but in person, it’s even better.”

“Thanks, but it’s just a studio.” Woozi’s shy smile returns, but there’s a sparkle in his eyes. “I wanted it to be just right for when you got here. I spent the whole week cleaning and moving things around. Even used some scented sprays.”

You laugh, feeling a snugness in your chest. “You didn’t have to go through all that trouble for me, but I appreciate it.”

He shrugs, his smile widening. “I wanted everything to be perfect.”

Woozi shows you some of the instrumentals he’s been working on, and they’re incredible. The beats blend seamlessly with the lyrics you sent him, and you can already hear the potential for something amazing. He’s practically buzzing with enthusiasm to hear how your voice will mesh with his music.

“Let’s get you in the recording room,” Woozi says, leading you to the booth.

You put on the headphones and glance through the glass at Woozi in the control room. As you start warming up your voice, he watches with a small smile. You can see him scoffing lightly, clearly amused by your funny warm-up techniques.

He presses the intercom button. “I’m definitely going to use that later.”

You sulk playfully, giving him a pout. “Come on, don’t make fun of me.”

He laughs, the sound filling the control room. “Sorry, sorry. It’s just cute the way you warm up.”

Rolling your eyes but smiling, you turn your focus to the paper in front of you. Woozi cues up the beat, and you start with a rough draft, feeling your way through the melody. Even in this initial take, Woozi can’t help but feel impressed. Your voice is powerful, yet it fits perfectly with the track.

You glance up occasionally, catching Woozi’s eyes. He gives you a thumbs-up, his appreciation evident even through the glass. As you continue, you find yourself getting lost in the music, and Woozi’s focus never wavers. When you finish, you look up to see him grinning widely.

“That was just the warm-up?” he says, pressing the button again. “I’m really excited to hear the final version.”

You laugh, feeling a rush of confidence. “Yeah, just the warm-up. Wait till you hear the real thing.”

Woozi nods, eyes gleaming with joy. “I can’t wait. Let’s do this.”

You start to sing for real now, fully immersed in the music. The lyrics flow smoothly, and your voice dances effortlessly over the instrumentals. When it comes to a tricky melisma, you frown slightly, pausing to ask Woozi through the intercom;

"Which tone should I use for this part?"

Woozi, equally focused, listens intently as you demonstrate two different versions. Both sound amazing to him, and he takes a moment to think. He taps his chin thoughtfully before pressing the button. "Try the second one, but start a half-step higher and then slide down smoothly."

You nod, absorbing his suggestion. You take a deep breath and try it his way. The moment you hit that melisma, sliding down effortlessly, the note hangs in the air. Woozi’s eyes light up, and he gives you an enthusiastic thumbs-up from the control room.

As you're in the middle of recording, Soonyoung suddenly appears in the studio, his presence bringing an unexpected burst of energy. You catch sight of him through the glass and wave enthusiastically, a big smile spreading across your face. Soonyoung returns the gesture, his excitement palpable even from a distance. He settles on the couch behind Woozi, watching the two of you work with keen interest.

Woozi presses the intercom button and gives you a nod. "Try going a bit higher for the adlibs."

You nod and sing the section, hitting the high notes while looking at Woozi for confirmation. He listens intently, his gaze dark in focus. “You did so good. That was perfect.”

You can hear Soonyoung’s voice from the back. “He never praises us like that.”

Woozi turns in his chair, giving Soonyoung a deadly glare.

Soonyoung, unphased, grins and stretches as he stands up. “Alright, alright. I know when I’m not wanted,” he says dramatically, walking toward the door. Just as he’s about to leave, he pauses and turns back. “But after you’re done recording, we’re taking you to dinner Y/N. No excuses.”

You give him thumbs up. Feeling the warmth of their camaraderie. Woozi shakes his head but smiles, turning back to you.

“Ignore him. Let’s finish this up. You’re doing great.”

After skipping through some tracks, you find yourself sitting in Woozi's incredibly comfortable chair, fiddling with his equipment. The buttons, dials, and sliders are all so intriguing, and you can’t help but feel like a kid in a candy store, discovering new settings and features.

Woozi watches you from a few feet away, arms crossed, a smile playing on his lipsㄧHe knows you’re no stranger to studios and equalizers, but he loves seeing the joy in your eyes as you explore his setup like it’s the coolest thing in the worldㄧHe wonders if your producers ever let you have this much hands-on control.

“Hey, Woozi, how do you tweak the master mix settings here?” you ask, looking up from the console.

He steps forward, moving behind you. His arms come to rest on either side of the chair, effectively caging you in as he leans over to type on the keyboard.

“You just need to go into this menu,” he says, his voice low and calm. He types swiftly, his fingers dancing over the keys. “Then, adjust the settings here. See?”

You nod, trying to focus on his explanation, but the closeness is overwhelming. You can feel the warmth of his body, his head so close to yours.

It’s hard to concentrate when you’re not even breathing.

His voice is soft and steady, his breath warm on your skin. You watch his hands move expertly, typing commands and making adjustments with practiced ease. Your heart is pounding so loudly, you’re sure he can hear it.

“And here, you can add some reverb” he continues, “See how that changes the sound?”

No, not when he’s this near.

You nod, feeling a bit dazed. He tells you to try it yourself, and you reach for the adjustment, your hand hovering uncertainly over the controls. Woozi lets go of the mouse and places his hand over yours, guiding it to lower and raise the equalizer. His skin is soft and warm against yours, and the contact almost makes you melt on his chair.

“Like this,” he murmurs, gently moving your hand with his. “Just a little adjustment here and there.”

You can hardly concentrate on the settings, your mind fixated on the sensation of his hand over yours.

You turn your face slightly toward his, and he looks at you, the proximity between you almost intolerable.

Your eyes lock, and for a moment, the world outside the studio fades away. His gaze is intense, filled with something that makes your breath catch in your throat. Woozi’s hand squeezes yours lightly.

You can feel your pulse quicken. His eyes flicker to your lips for a brief second before meeting your gaze again. The moment stretches, neither of you moves, both caught in the electric current that seems to have taken over the room.

Finally, Woozi clears his throat, breaking the spell but not the connection. "There," he says softly, his voice barely more than a whisper. "You’ve got it."

As you try to focus on adjusting the settings, Woozi leaves your hand on the side of yours, allowing you to make the changes yourself. You manage to make the adjustments, and as the sound fills the room, Woozi's voice breaks through the silence. "That's it. You're doing great." he praises.

You swear if he praises you again like that, you’re going to fucking wet his chair. You don’t even notice that you’re biting your bottom lip, too lost in the horniness.

Woozi’s words echo in your mind as you try to focus on the task at hand, but it's hard to concentrate with the way his body looks in the black shirt he's wearing. The fabric clings to him in all the right places, emphasizing his toned physique.

Every movement he makes with his hands, seems deliberate and calculated, and you can’t tear your eyes away.

You force yourself to push the distracting thoughts aside, but it's a losing battle.

Your gaze remains fixated on his hands as he places them on the border of the desk, supporting his body. His shoulders brush against the back of your head, and you can feel his presence looming over you. It’s as if he knows exactly what’s passing through your mind.

He brushes a hand over your shoulder, the sensation lingering even after he presses it between his hands in a gentle massage. You feel his lips tentatively brush against the corner of yours.

Caught off guard, you melt into his touch, your fingers intertwining with his as you lean into the kiss. His lips are soft against yours, a perfect match to the warmth of his touch. But when he catches you melting against his hand, he doesn't pull away. Instead, he turns the chair to face him, his hand sliding behind your neck to pull you closer.

His kiss deepens, and you respond eagerly, your hands sliding to each side of his face before tangling in his hair at the back of his neck. The kiss is desperate, as if you’ve both been holding back.

But when you finally break apart, gasping for breath, you realize that you can’t resist any longer. You get up from the chair, his hands desperately grab your waist, pulling your bodies together

The way he holds your waist makes your tank top bunch up between his fingers, his palms feeling your belly's bare skin. You whimper against his lips, "Hmm, Woozi..."

He pulls back slightly, "Jihoon," he corrects gently, "Call me Jihoon."

Your stomach flutters at the intimacy of calling him by his real name. "Jihoon," you repeat softly, savoring the sound.

He smiles, a soft, almost shy smile that makes your heart skip a beat. Then he leans in again, kissing your cheek, your jaw, and your neck. Each touch of his lips sends you on cloud nine, making you arch against his chest, your hands gripping his bicep for support.

"Jihoon," you murmur again, the name feeling more natural on your lips each time.

His hands move up your sides, sliding under your tank top, his fingers warm against your skin. He pulls the fabric up, and you lift your arms, allowing him to remove it completely. The cool air of the studio contrasts with the heat of his touch, making your nipples harden.

He takes a moment to admire you, his eyes roaming over your body "You're beautiful," he whispers.

You blush, feeling a little shy under his gaze. "You too," you reply, reaching up to touch his face, your fingers tracing the lines of his jaw.

He smiles and pulls you closer, his lips finding yours once more. This kiss is deeper, more urgent, as if he's trying to pour all his feelings into it. You respond with equal fervor, your hands exploring the planes of his chest, and the muscles of his back.

Jihoon’s hands move to your waist again, his fingers brushing the waistband of your jeans. He pauses, looking at you for permission. You nod, your breath hitching in the process.

He unbuttons your jeans, sliding them down your hips and letting them pool at your feet. You step out of them, standing before him in just your underwear. He takes a moment to admire you again, his eyes dark with desire, a little hidden under his long bangs.

You reach for the hem of his shirt, lifting it up and over his head. He helps you, tossing it aside. Your hands explore his bare chest, feeling the warmth of his milky skin, the steady beat of his heart.

This time, his hands roam more freely, exploring every inch of your body. His touch is gentle, yet possessive, as if he's trying to memorize every curve, every contour. After all, he doesn't know when he'll be able to touch you like that again. That is, if there is a next time.

You respond in kind, your hands moving over his body, savoring the feel of his muscles flexing under your fingertips.

He guides you toward the couch, his lips never leaving yours. You lie down, pulling him with you, your bodies molding together perfectly. He kisses his way down your neck, your chest, his lips leaving a trail of saliva in their wake.

"Jihoon," you moan, your hands tangling in his hair as he takes one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking gently. The sensation numbs your mind, making you arch against him.

Jihoon makes you relax on his couch, but you suddenly become very aware when his fingers slide your panties to the side, moistening his fingers with your lubrication. He opens his eyes to watch you squirm as your pussy sucks his finger inside without effort. His cold finger fits perfectly inside you, and you can feel him teasing to put another one. You clap a hand over your mouth to stifle your moans.

He laughs softly, taking your hand off your mouth. "The studio is soundproof. You can moan as loud as you want."

You mentally thank him because with his fingers now perfectly entering and leaving you, a loud moan escapes your mouth, and the sound of your wet pussy isn't discreet. You're loving the intense gaze he has on you, like you're about to be devoured. He tries to kiss you, but you can only moan as he fingers you.

Jihoon curls his fingers on your g'spot, repeating the motion again and again. You let out a strangled moan, squirming under his touch. "Don't do that, or I'll mess up your sofa," you warn, your voice shaky with pleasure.

He looks at you from under his bangs, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "I don't care about the sofa," he murmurs, pressing a hand on your lower belly to intensify the curl of his fingers.

The added pressure makes you scream, "Please, please!"

Jihoon smirks, his fingers moving faster inside you. "Please what? Tell me what you need," he demands, his voice commanding.

"Please, Jihoon, I need more," you gasp, your body arching against his hand.

He leans in closer, his breath hot against your ear. "More of what? My fingers? My mouth?" he asks, his tone teasing.

"Both," you whimper, feeling desperate for more of his touch.

Jihoon chuckles, his lips brushing against your ear. "Greedy, aren't you? But I'll give you what you want," he promises, his fingers curling and pressing against your g'spot with relentless precision.

You cry out, your body trembling. "Jihoon, I'm going to—"

"Do it," he whispers, his calm raspy voice making you bite your bottom lip. "Come for me."

Your hands clutch at the couch as Jihoon's head moves from above you to between your legs. The moment his tongue touches your clit, you can't hold back, and you come almost immediately.

He stops for a moment, just to admire the sight of you arching your back on his couch, his fingers deep inside you, all wet as you roll your hips on them, moaning in his studio, naked. He never thought it would happen, but he isn't complaining.

You discover he's stronger than you thought when he holds your hips down to keep you in place before he devours your pussy. You roll your eyes at the sensitivity and the sight of his fangs tickling your skin, making you giggle between moans.

The scene is completely sinful. You prop yourself up on one elbow and hold his hair up to see his face, flushed but with closed eyes, all concentrated on giving you pleasure. You find it incredibly cute, and you can't help but praise him.

"Jihoon, you're doing so good," you murmur, your voice trembling. "You're so focused, it's amazing."

In response, he sucks your clit inside his mouth, making you pull his hair a little. He hisses softly, and you quickly apologize. "Sorry, I didn't mean to—"

He looks up at you, a playful glint in his eyes. "It's okay," he says, his voice slightly rough. "I like it."

You can't help but moan louder as he resumes his attention to your clit. His fingers continue their relentless rhythm inside you, and you feel the pressure building again.

"Jihoon, please," you gasp, your hips bucking against his hold.

You gasp, and Jihoon stops, making your head fall back as you whine, your orgasm interrupted. He kneels on the couch, lowering his sweatpants and underwear to his thighs. You shake your head, saying, "I want you to take it all off."

He smiles, obliged, then comes completely naked over you. You spread your legs for him, wide, and he slides his cock between your folds, eliciting a whine from you. Still supporting yourself on your elbow, you grab his hair, pulling it slightly, earning a moan from him.

As your tongues wrap around each other, his cock slides inside you, and you open your mouth in a silent moan, your back plopping on the couch. He moans at the sensation of your gummy walls wrapping his cock, sucking him in welcomely. He also smiles, finding your reaction endearing.

Jihoon rolls his hips slowly, letting you adjust to the fullness of his cock. The slow stimulation draws moans from your lips, and you gasp, "Not only do you make amazing music, but you fuck so damn good too."

Jihoon lets out a genuine laugh, his breath warm against your skin. He hides his face in the crook of your neck, so shy, and you pull him back, wanting to see his eyes. He glances at you, amusement shining in his gaze.

"You really know how to flatter a guy," he chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

You laugh with him, the sound mingling with the intimate atmosphere around you. "It's true," you say, your voice lighter.

Jihoon shakes his head, still smiling, but the moment of levity shifts as he feels your walls tighten around him. His smile fades into a look of intense pleasure, his face contorts, and he starts to moan, the sound vibrating through you.

"Oh, God," he groans, his hips picking up a rhythm that makes your breath hitch. "You feel so good."

The sounds of skin slapping, your moans, and the low hum from the computer rendering the music become the backdrop to your intense session with Jihoon. Your breasts bounce with every thrust, and your hair spreads wildly across the couch. He can feel your wetness around his cock, spreading to his thighs and the couch. You brace yourself with one hand on the couch's arm, your lips plump and sensitive from the kisses and bites.

Jihoon closes his eyes, focusing solely on the sensation of your pussy. If he keeps looking at how much pleasure you're experiencing, he might come too soon. But you can already sense his cock throbbing inside you.

"Open your eyes," you urge him, catching on.

He opens them, sulking a bit, and you give him a devilish smile. You lick your fingers, sliding them down your body to circle your clit, doubling your pleasure and his. His mouth falls open at the sight.

"Fuck, nooo..." he mumbles, watching your every move.

You revel in the sight of his abs flexing, showing that his orgasm is near. Sensing his impending climax, Jihoon pulls out, giving himself a moment to regain control. When he's ready, he slides back in, making you arch your back and curl your toes, triggering your orgasm instead.

You smile at his audacity, and he grins, seeing that his tactic worked. "F-fuck you… I'm cumming, Jihoon," you warn, closing your eyes as the pleasure builds.

He speeds up his hips, making you stop breathing for a second before a deep moan escapes from your chest. You feel yourself clenching and unclenching around him, your body shuddering as you reach your peak. Panting hard, Jihoon pulls out just in time, spilling his cum on your belly as he strokes his cock. His body trembles, and his eyes lock with yours, his bangs falling over his forehead.

Jihoon takes a long look at your spent body, a satisfied smile spreading across his face. "How about a nap before dinner?" he suggests softly.

You close your eyes and nod, feeling the exhaustion settling in. "Right..." he murmurs, getting up from the couch.

You miss the warmth of his body immediately and let out a small whine. He chuckles, "I'm coming back," he assures you as he grabs a box of Kleenex and brings some tissues to clean you up. Gently, he wipes your belly and between your legs, his touch tender.

"I'm glad we finished some songs," he teases, his eyes twinkling. "You don't look like you could continue... at least not today."

You scoff, too tired to come up with a witty response. Jihoon starts dressing you, carefully slipping your top back on, your panties, and leaving your jeans off so you can nap comfortably. Once you're settled, he dresses himself quickly.

From the corner of the studio, he fetches a thin blanket draped over a poltrone. He covers you with it and then lays down beside you, pulling you close.

"You really wore me out," you murmur, a hint of amusement in your voice.

He grins, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "Likewise," he says. "But it was worth it."

You let out a contented sigh, feeling more relaxed than you had in a long time. "I can't wait to hear how the songs turn out," you confessed, your voice growing dreamier with each passing moment.

Jihoon hummed in agreement, his fingers resuming their soothing motions on your back. "Me too," he murmured. "But for now, let's just enjoy this."

And so you did. Wrapped in each other's arms, you drifted off into a peaceful sleep, you snuggle into him, the steady rhythm of his breathing lulling you towards sleep.

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