#but i needed it to still be quite serious

[enhani-ki]

enhypen as your "stressed" boss

warning(s): very suggestive content, cursing, etc.

when your job is to make your boss' life easier but he gets hard to you instead...

HEESEUNG ─── ★

"do me a favor?" heeseung asked, lifting his necktie between two fingers like it was a dead thing. "fix this again… i swear these things come alive at night."

you exhaled slowly, not even dignifying that with a response. he didn't even bother standing up. he just stayed leaned back in his chair like he was doing you a favor by being seated.

heeseung's legs were spread open just enough for you to stand between them. his shirt sleeves were rolled up, the two buttons were left undone... it's enough to draw eyes, or maybe just to suggest something.

apparently, none of his past secretaries ever lasted more than two months. some said they quit, others claimed they were transferred, and according to office gossip, he couldn't even make it through the first week without anyone crossing a lineーyou could see why.

people believed what they wanted, but you've been working for him over a year now and had never actually fucked your boss like everyone said you had.

though, sometimes… you kind of wish the rumors were true.

your fingers started moving automatically. you looped the fabric, tightened the knot, and smoothed his collar… you could probably do this in your sleep by now.

"don't look so serious," he murmured with a soft chuckle. "pretend you love doing this for me."

you glanced at the guy who was already looking up at you. "love is a strong word, boss," you muttered before resting your hands on his shoulders, "but i ca—"

the door swung open suddenly, making both of you jump in surprise. the intern's eyes went wide, stammering, "i—i—i'll just come back!" like they just walked in on a porn set, before slamming the door shut.

you stepped back instantly, running a hand down your face with a sigh. "great. that's gonna be all over the building before lunch," you said, making him chuckle again.

"heeseung," you said sternly. he actually preferred it when you used his name like that—just casual and familiar, even if you only say it when it was just the two of you. "you really need to learn how to tie your own damn tie."

he whined, "i don't want toooo."

JAY ─── ★

you're sitting on the edge of his bed, legs swinging slightly, doing everything in your power not to look anywhere inappropriate while your boss buckled his belt in front of you.

this was the third time this week that jay had been late to work. he kept oversleeping, ignoring calls, blaming traffic and accidents that never even happened.

you've seen this version of him before, back when he lost all his motivation and nearly quit. this time, you weren't letting it get that far.

you let yourself into his apartment, pushed open the heavy blackout curtains, dragged him half-asleep out of bed, and make sure he gets to office in time.

"thanks for coming to get me," he muttered. his voice was still raspy from sleep, running a hand through his messy hair. "my alarm's been… off lately."

you reached for a pillow without thinking. you hugged it tightly to your chest, burying your face in the soft fabric, trying to hide the heat creeping up your cheeks.

jay smirked, catching the way you refused to look at him before shamelessly staring at your bare legs that's still swinging awkwardly above his floor. "you always get this shy?" he laughed, tugging the tank top down over his torso with a little stretch.

"just fucking hurry!" you muttered angrily into the pillow.

he chuckled again, shaking his head at his cute assistant while grabbing his keys from the nightstand. "you can wait in the living room next time if you don't want to see me naked again."

you peeked, "and let you fall back asleep? no way."

JAKE ─── ★

jake has been side eyeing you. he cleared his throat butー "don't even say it," you muttered before he could even speak.

he crossed his arms, eyebrows raising. "say what?"

"that you need another coffee... i know i'm your assistant but honestly, you look like shit."

"oh, wow..." his mouth fell open, amused. "you always look sexy whenever you scold me, you know that?"

"yes."

he blinked, taken aback by your bluntness—then snorted, shaking his head with a grin as he leaned back in his chair. "...then be careful. i'm ten seconds away from dragging your ass over here."

you rolled your eyes, unfazed. "you say that like it's a threat."

jake spun slowly in his chair, eyeing you with a grin before biting his lip. "come here... let me touch something that doesn't make me want to scream."

SUNGHOON ─── ★

you knocked once before stepping in, sunghoon didn't even look up. he was seating behind his desk, sleeves rolled up, tie already discarded somewhere across the room. his hair is a mess from running his hands through it too many times.

he looked pissed. "about the meeting..." you started carefully, "i already sent the corrected draft."

"okay..." he replied, eyes still locked on his screen. "i think i'm going to have a fucking aneurysm."

you hesitated. "…are you?"

sunghoon looked at you like, seriously? before smirking, "depends. are you planning on doing that thing again...?"

you smiled a little. "depends. are you going to give me a few vacation leaves after?"

sunghoon leaned back in his chair, finally letting out a breath. "yes. and i'm going with you too."

you raised a brow. "oh? as my boss?"

"no... as someone even worse, baby."

SUNOO ─── ★

sunoo was laying across the couch, resting his head perfectly in your lap while wearing a soft, hydrating face mask on his face.

his hand traced circles on your knees while you ran your fingers through his soft hair, nails scratching lightly against his scalp. "you're too good at this..." sunoo murmured. "you trying to make me lose my mind?"

“i thought you already lost it?"

he smiled faintly. "which one do you think's doing it? the scalp massage or your attention?"

you chuckled, "which one do you like more?"

"hmm…" he hummed again, giving your knee a playful squeeze. "both. mostly your attention." he was about to close his eye but then he suddenly raised his brow, lips quirking. "why do you always touch your boss like this when you're off the clock though??"

"are you okay? you're the one on my lap."

sunoo smiled, closing his eyes. "sorry but you can't report me at my own house," he teased, then continued, "i can say whatever i want."

your hand slid in his chest. "i might start saying things back." you said, making sunoo sat up without any warning, signature eye started dropping through his ridiculous face mask.

"start talking."

JUNGWON ─── ★

"what are you looking at?" jungwon said without even turning his head as he could feel your eyes on him.

he hasn't spoke much since he walked in. he just buried himself behind his screen. you blinked, looking down at your desk like you hadn't been caught staring. "no—nothing."

he finally stood up, brushing past you slowly to grab a pen. you gulped, his height always did something inside you whenever he got too close.

he sighed through his nose before loosening his tie.

truth was, he hadn't been able to focus for the past hour because of you. and the way you bit your pen while choosing from the series of his pictures, making his brain short-circuit.

he really was trying to be good today.

you stood and walked over, leaning slightly over his desk to drop off a file. jungwon's fist clenched lightly on the desk as his eyes lowered right to the edge of the table, where your hip was angled just slightly in his direction. oh, it'd be so easy if you just drop to your knees now—

you tilted your head. "boss... you okay?"

he nodded eagerly. "yeah. yeah—just stressed." he said before looking up at you again, looking so innocent even though his tongue was pressing into his cheek, legs bouncing uncontrollably under the desk.

"...it's making me think of things i probably shouldn't about my assistant."

you blinked, confused. "whaーwhat?"

jungwon cleared his throat and quickly looked away, cheeks growing faint pink in embarrassment. "ignore that. i didn't say anything."

he avoided your eyes, rubbing the back of his neck... feeling how tight his pants suddenly felt.

NI-KI ─── ★

you tapped your foot impatiently as ni-ki walked past you in nothing but a towel and toothbrush hanging from his lips.

he pointed vaguely toward the bathroom, eyes half-lidded, and mumbling something incoherent before disappearing behind the door.

you checked the time as thirty minutes passed. why the fuck he was moving like a sloth?

"ni-ki?" you called, knocking on the bathroom door but there's no answer. you frowned before pushing it open, and just as you suspected, he's not there. the shower hasn't even been turned on.

"ni-ki!" you stormed into his bedroom—only to find him curled up on his bed, hugging his pillow like a baby. ni-ki groaned, cracking one eye open. "ughh, the fuck you so loud for?"

you marched over and shook his body, "we're gonna be late!"

and instead of getting up, he just reached out and pulled you into the bed like a goddamn trap. he locked you in his arms and buried his face into your neck. "let me borrow you real quick," he mumbled, his breath felt warm against your skin.

"ni-kiー" you struggled, squirming in his hold.

"shhh," he shushed you, tightening his grip with a little smirk, "you keep calling my name like that, i'll make sure you'll moan it out the next."

a/n: random ahh fic. posted this with round with my baby - reader x ni-ki

masterlist: マスターリストm.list

[fruitiesss]

bob reynolds NSFW alphabet !

as requested lol, i listened to the people and the people want bob smut.

MINORS + AGELESS DNI. SMUT.

send requests in! characters are on my pinned posts, just give me a hot minute to write them ^^

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex) Bob's very into cuddling and being close in general, he's also a human heater so if you're not cold you're gonna have to push him off until you are (his pouty face ensues). If it was really messy, he'll run a bath and get in with you situated on his lap. He keeps water bottles by the bed and isn't above running quickly to the store to grab some food if you need it.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s) Bob likes his hands. They're almost constantly in use because he likes to fidget and read, so he's more than capable with them, and he loves the way you come apart under them.

He'd like your thighs and hips, it's something to hold onto while he fucks into you or when you ride him. He also loves the squishiness of them, much better than any stress relief toys you buy him.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically) Bob's never been in the place mentally (or physically) to risk having a kid at his age. He's always used condoms or pulled out when he's been in quick hook-ups before (though not many, he's quite inexperienced). You would have to sit him down and discuss kids with him first, but even then he's still hesitant and nervous.

He prefers to cum on your stomach or back if you'd let him. He cleans it up fast though, knowing the stickiness when it dries is less than desirable.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) He rarely watches porn - why would he need to, he has you! - but does when you're away on a long mission or a trip. He takes inspiration from it and tries to incorporate a position or kink he'd watched that he thought you might like.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?) This boy is inexperienced. As I said before, he's had a few hook-ups here and there but he's never been interested enough to learn. You're gonna have to teach him a few things and he is so eager to please you in any way you want. He's incredibly good at following orders.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying) COWGIRL. FUCKING RIDE HIM HE WILL CUM INSTANTLY. Just the way he can see you - all of you - makes him harder than a fucking rock. Ugh, this man will have his hands anywhere, eyes half lidded in pure bliss as he watches you bounce.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.) Bob's a mix of both. He's serious when he's concentrating, trying to reach the spot that makes your toes curl, but he laughs and jokes with you when he's not. He can't take himself seriously and neither can you, it feels so good but it's also really funny.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.) He's never taken care of himself properly before. Now that he's clean, he probably trims a little down there so it's not completely unbearable but he won't be smooth or clean shaven. He dyed his hair blonde ONCE and nobody will let him forget it, so YES the carpet matches the drapes thank you. He also doesn't mind if you shave or not. Hair is natural and he understands that, he actually prefers if you don't shave, as long as you're clean.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect) Sex for him is all about connection. He's done the unfeeling, unromantic stuff before and he hates it. You are his everything and he needs you to know that. He's complimenting you with every other word, letting you know how much he loves you or how good you make him feel. He is all about you.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon) He rarely jacks off because you're right there all the time. Though when you're out of town or on a long mission he will do it a couple of times just to keep himself sated until you can come back. He's needy for you always.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks) BOB LIKES HIS HAIR BEING PULLED. Grab it by the roots and pull and he will give you the sweetest sound you've ever heard. He loves praise too, call him a good boy and he's already on his knees for you so he can do anything you want. He's a switch 100%, will do anything you want but likes to be dominated sometimes.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do) He likes being in bed with you, he's very hesitant to do anything in public because you're his to see and he's yours to see. He will if you really want to, but he won't like it. When he's really needy, he'll corner you wherever you are in the tower until you take him up to one of your rooms, with him following like a dog on a leash.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going) You. If you're in the mood, he's in the mood. If he sees you, he's in the mood. Wearing something revealing? He's on you. You opened the floodgates when you first laid with him now lie in the bed you made.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs) He's not into any kind of bodily fluid (other than cum, obviously) or anything where he hurts you or you hurt him. He refuses to lay a hand on you. Unless it's a soft slap. Impact play is a big no no.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.) He likes to get his dick sucked. He loves it, actually. You look so pretty on your knees with his cock in your mouth. He prefers giving, though! He wasn't so good at it when he started out but he has definitely gotten much better since he started out and he is a MUNCH. This man will spend hours between your legs if he can, his intense eyes staring into yours.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.) Bob as a person is very soft and sweet despite everything he's been through. He would take it slow and sweet with you, afraid to break you as if you were made of glass. He could take you fast and rough but he wouldn't be able to keep it up.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.) He doesn't like them. Too fast, it blurs in his head. He needs to know you're satisfied before he can leave you. He will take you for a quickie if you really, really beg him and only if you're in a place where you can't get to your beds.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.) He likes to experiment with anything you bring to him. He'll do anything (other than his nos) at least once.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?) Thanks to his powers, he has very good stamina. He'll last about 6 rounds with water breaks in between but if you wanted more, he will give you more. Anything for you. He'd last the whole day for you.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?) He's never seen the need for them. His hand did the job just fine when he was low on money (or needed the money for drugs) and even now he doesn't see the need for toys. He doesn't get jealous if you have any toys either, he'll use them on you if you're into that.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease) He thinks he's a tease but really he gives in whenever you so much as pout at him or whine. He's so smitten for you and wants to provide everything you need.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.) Bob will be quiet at first, biting into his hand to stifle any of his moans or grunts so he can fully hear the beautiful noises he elicits from you. But that's when he's on top. Get him submissive and that boy is LOUD for you. Pull his hair and he WILL moan. Overstimulate him and he WILL whine.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character) He likes to bite and suck marks into your skin. Especially in those spots that are hard to cover up. It gives him a sense of pride, knowing that he did that to you. He's also very bitey in general. Very cute.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes) He's not small at all but he'd not HUGE. I'd say he's 6 inches, nice and thick. Knows how to use it once he gets the hang of sex in general. It curves slightly to the left and has a nice pink tip, cut.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?) This guy is super needy. He's ready for you at any time, you just need to ask and he's already pouncing on you.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards) He only lets himself fall asleep once he's sure you're comfortable enough to. He is very sleepy after, though. He's falling asleep as he's scrubbing you in the bath, head slumping forward onto your shoulder until you nudge him. Once you're taken care of though, he's out like a light on the bed.

[33forthew1n]

⋆.𐙚˚ bent out of shape ⋆.𐙚˚

🏎️❣️ charles leclerc x pilatesyoutuber!reader 🏎️❣️

trope: fake dating

SMAU- faceclaim: alexandra st mleux

synopsis: due to recent rumors swirling around about charles's relationship ending due to infidelity, ferrari's pr team is scrambling to fix his image. enter: yn, a popular pilates youtuber in need of more subscribers. whose to say they aren't a match made in (pr) heaven?

WARNINGS: swearing

a/n: hope you enjoy 🥹 interact however you please!

˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆

everyone in the paddock knew how it went with charles and his relationships. he dates a girl for a few years, gives her a bullshit excuse that ends the relationship, then runs to their best friend. it was a tried and true method, really.

so, why was this time so different? well, his ex-girlfriend alexandra amassing over two million followers meant she had become popular both in the paddock and online. with popularity came fans and with fans came the inevitable hive mind. said hive mind was now commenting on every one of his instagram posts with hate.

now, did charles really care about the hate? no, not really.

on the other hand, ferrari's pr team made it quite clear they did care.

after all, the prancing horse had an image to maintain and it wasn't one of two timing and scandal.

˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆

"we saved your ass the last two times this happened, charles. what the hell do we do now?", exclaimed mia, charles' pr manager.

"is it even that big a deal? so what, they took pictures of me and her friend kissing? like you said, it's happened before. we can just wait a few weeks and everyone will have forgotten about it by then", replied charles in exasperation, clearly not seeing the big deal the team did.

"you know how popular she has become, charles. she has serious brand pull and we can't lose out on any sponsorship money at all", mia said, rolling her eyes at his idiocy.

now the team were at a stand still. what do they do regarding charles' image and the team's brand pull?

"e-excuse me?", a pr intern interjected, raising her hand as if she was still in grade school.

"uh...yes?", mia asked.

"how about we bury this scandal by faking a relationship with someone popular and well liked. not an a-lister, but someone that the press would be more interested in than a nobody", said the mystery pr intern.

"you know what...that's not half bad."

"wouldn't be the first time you've started dating an hour after breaking up with your previous girlfriend", said mia, dragging charles as if it was a pastime. "geez, thanks. i don't know how i feel about dating someone random just for likes. what do i tell my family?? my friends? i don't think this is a great idea at all", charles said, obviously hesitant to participate in the intern's master plan.

"it's either this or we put you on a strict no dating ban. you pick", mia threatened.

"ooook, looks like we're being extreme. fine. fake dating it is".

˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆

throughout the next few days, charles' pr team looked for a possible "girlfriend".

yet, they struggled to find someone perfectly suited to the job.

that was until charles jokingly suggested a pilates influencer with a steady 5 million subscribers on YouTube (in hindsight he should have known better than to even jokingly suggest anything to help). a 24-year-old spanish woman who goes by "ynlates" on all social media.

ynlates

Liked by 865,537 users

ynlates hey angels 💕 long time no workout so...new video's up on on my channel @ynlates! 30 mins of full-body pilates for all my baddies 🧘‍♀️

view comments ⬇️

madfit LOVEEE what a good sweat 😅💦

^❤️ by author

fitwithjojo bbg what a bod ❣️ good one!

^❤️ by author

randomuser092 the only workouts i'll do :)

˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆

and so the ferrari pr team went through all her social media profiles; from looking for a sketchy background to seeing if she had been in any public controversies. after a 2 day long search, yn came up clean.

now it was time for them to contact her.

To: ynlates@business.com

Cc/Bcc, From: mia@ferrari.pr.com

Subject: PR Opportunity

Greetings, Yn Ln. This is Mia, Charles Leclerc's head of PR. If you are unaware, Charles Leclerc is a Scuderia Ferrari Formula One driver and we would be pleased to see the two of you collaborate together on a project. With this project we aim to boost your following and improve Charles' image. We would like to see you in person on 26/1 at Maranello, Italy. If you are interested we will send you plane tickets, book your hotel, and pay all expenses. Sinceretly

Mia (Head of Scuderia Ferrari PR)

and so Ferrari waited. and waited. six days after mia had sent that email, she got a response.

yn was more than happy to. if mia was just 1% more pessimistic, she'd question yn's sanity. but, whatever. she had to get charles out of these murky waters and fast.

˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆

yn had never been much of a sports fan. her best friend, hannah, on the other hand never stopped yapping about formula one. lando norris this, DRS that. yap yap yap.

so when she got an email from a mia individual she clicked on it and to her suprise it was f1 related. ok, maybe not "here are some race tickets from a mysterious sugar daddy" but it was still about the motorsport. just seemed like a scam, but she still decided to respond by accepting the offer to go to italy out of sheer curiousity.

when the "mia" lady sent her the tickets and all the information she started panicking. "what the hell is this "pr opportunity" and how is it worth a whole ass italy trip?" yet, before she could truly freak the hell out, she called hannah. "han. i think i'm going to meet CHARLES LERCLERC in a week??", she stressed into her phone.

"h- WHAT THE HELL?? CHARLES FRICKING LECLERC??? WHAT DO YOU MEAN?", hannah yelled into her ear.

there goes her hearing.

"his pr lady sent me an offer for a collaboration of sorts, i don't know!!! i mean, what can a pilates youtuber have to collaborate with a formula one driver for?"

˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆

turns out, a lot.

a whole fake relationship lot.

after a tour of ferrari headquartes in maranello, mia got right down to it in a conference room.

"liking italy so far?", mia asked yn innocently.

"oh, yes. thank you so much by the way! it's all wonderful, i'm not quite sure how i can pay you all back", yn responded, wide-eyed and confused at how this even happened.

"by dating our driver for a few months and helping us clean up his image? haha, just an idea!", mia said, throwing the idea out there as if she was asking for a simple favor.

dating their driver....as in charles?

she hadn't even met the guy.

she must have said that aloud as mia's next words were "we can arrange a meeting tomorrow if you accept our offer".

and so the next day, yn arrived at a little ristorante by the seaside. she wore a casual letterman jacket and jeans to meet her new potential boyfriend. "God, this is so strange", she thought to herself.

"ciao. are you yn?", she heard a male voice ask her as he sat in the chair opposite to hers.

"ciao, yes. yn ln. you're charles, i assume?"

"oui. uh- so my team told you about their offer? what do you think of it?", charles asked her.

"it's certainly an offer. may i ask though, what does a formula one driver gain from being seen dating some youtuber?", yn asked him in return.

"i have sponsors willing to pull out because of this stupid scandal. my team can't afford it and it is not fair of me to not do anything i can to keep the sponsors happy. not after all they have done for me and my career", charles said with all the genuinety a man could have.

now she sees why he's her best friend's favorite driver.

"look, i'm willing to help you out. but, in return i just ask that you protect me from hate. i've seen how badly sportsmen's girlfriends are treated and its unfair to them. can you do that for me?"

"yes, of course. would you like to order?", charles offered.

and so they ate dinner in lighthearted chatter under the moonlight.

then, as charles offered to drive her to her hotel they both heard the unmistakable sound of cameras clicking pictures. "fuck", said charles.

"let's go before they catch your face", charles whispered to her.

deuxmoi

Liked by pierregasly, cl16hq, and 3,016 others

deuxmoi New WAG? Charles Leclerc spotted in Maranello eating dinner with a smiley woman. Looks like someone's getting over their ex quite quickly. Who do you guys think @charles_leclerc 's new girl is? Another friend of an ex's? view comments ⬇️

user1644 already? damn he's faster than the SF25...

charlesfan16 what an invasion of privacy 😬 yikes...

f1fangirl092 "liked by pierregasly" WHAT DO YOU KNOW THAT WE DONT FRENCHIE 😞❌🥖

leclercfanboy09 bet this one won't last the season

randomuser0286 why does she look like @ynlates??

randomynfan09 omg...ur not wrong 😅

𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆

yn had barely met the guy and already she was the talk of social media. every new story she posted, she got dozens of replies about charles and if they were dating.

at least, she got tons of new eyes on her page.

on charles' side of the equation, he was panicking. he wasn't over his ex and he worried if this was too fast for him to be moving on (though his subconciousness kept reminding him she was his FAKE girlfriend).

yet, charles knew this must have been much scarier for her than for him. after all, he was used to the crazy attention from fans and yn was certainly not. and since a few eagle-eyed fans had put two and two together, he knew she must have been getting DMs about their "relationship" already.

Charles Leclerc

charles_leclerc

Bonjour, Yn.

How have you been since the paparazzi pictures?

Hey, Charles. It's been scary but not horrible. Just something to get used to I guess, haha.

I've been meaning to ask you something.

Uh-oh. Already breaking up with me?

Lol, no. 😅

Would you like to come with me the Monaco Grand Prix?

Monaco? As in the crazy rich place?

Monaco as in my home country. It's a big deal for me. It would mean a lot if you came to see me race.

Oh! I see. I could try to move some things around. Could I stay with you?

Yes! I'll send you the details when we get closer to the date.

𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆

leading up to the race weekend, yn and charles got much closer. they texted, called, and sent each other little gifts. yn sent charles some music sheets she found at a vintage shop while on a brand trip once while charles sent yn a new pilates set from a sponsor brand.

next thing they knew it was the weekend of the monaco grand prix.

yn arrived in monaco shortly before charles' media day duties began. he picked her up at the nice airport and drove her to his apartment in monte carlo.

"oh wow, charles. this is stunning. thanks for letting me stay with you this weekend. i know your probably overwhelmed and have to be laser focused, but you still took the time out of your week to tend to me", she smiled through her words.

"it's nothing, really. thanks for coming and supporting me. you'll have lots of fun at your first grand prix," charles promised her.

and that she did. come friday, yn made her paddock debut.

kymillman

Liked by ynlates, charles_leclerc, and 7,892 others

kymillman YN LN, CHARLES LECLERC'S NEW LADY?

Today, at the Monaco Grand Prix (evidently also Charles' home race) we have the pleasure of seeing Charles Leclerc's rumored new girlfriend stun the paddock. Yn Ln is a 24-year-old Spanish fitness influencer who Charles was recently photographed with. Would anyone like a video on her?

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annapetra902 very pretty 💕😍

f1fan02834 why is everything about their partner's these days?? so annoying and tabloidy

asmleuxfan0283 LOL she's trying to be alex 😬

overall, she was well recieved by charles' friends and coworkers. yet, how his family reacted to her was what truly interested her. though she wasn't his real girlfriend, something deep inside her heart wanted to be loved by his family.

at the ferrari hospitality, she saw a man around her own age that looked strikingly like a blonder charles. she heard charles call him over to where they were sitting, "thur, c'mere".

"oui. hello. and you are?"

"hi. yn...uh charles'...."

"my girlfriend. thur, meet yn ln. she's a fitness youtuber and we've been together for a few months", charles said, smiling all throughout his reveal.

the shock on arthur's face was evident. "had he not mentioned me at all to his family?", was the only thing yn was able to think at that moment.

then an older lady walked up to charles and snuck in a quick hug, "cha, ça va? (how's it going) qui est ton ami? (who is your friend?)"

"yn, this is my maman (mom). maman, this is my girlfriend- yn ln", charles said introducing the two most important women in his life. well, hypothetically the most important women of his life.

"oh! dear, sorry tor assuming. how are you, dear? cha didn't mention a girlfriend to us, but i'm glad to meet you", his mother said, fumbling over her words a bit.

charles blushed, clearly embarassed. in that moment his engineer called him over and he left yn with his family. he sheepishly smiled and mouthed a "sorry" to her as he was forced to go prepare for the race that starts in just a few hours.

yn herself felt a bit awkward too but decided there was no better time than the present to spread her social butterfly wings. and so during the lead up to the race she got to know charles' mother and younger brother.

she learned his mom, pascale, was a hairdresser in monaco and that she was the kindest soul she could ever meet.

she learned that his younger brother, arthur, was also in motorsport and that he was very much like charles but much snarkier and bolder.

she very quickly got on with the both of them and they told her it would be their pleasure for her to stay with them to watch the race together.

she texted charles, "good luck. you can win this one!! 😌❤️" and put her phone away promptly to go back to their conversation.

honestly, yn didn't know what to expect from the race. she hadn't watched a full race ever, but she does know enough to not make a complete fool of herself. her best friend had quizzed her on basic facts and little tidbits she should know before she left to monaco so she hoped that would come in handy.

yet, she hadn't expected to see her "boyfriend" win his home race. arthur and pascale were overjoyed and she could see charles' pure bliss when he was up at the top step of the podium.

after media duties, she congratuled charles and gave him a hug. maybe not the type of hug that established couples give, but it was a hug that gave her butterflies and charles another reason to smile.

"dinner, mon chéri (my darling)? i can get us in anywhere tonight. you say it, we go there", he said with the biggest grin on his face.

yn hadn't really expected a dinner invitation, instead thinking he would go party with his mates. "really? you wouldn't prefer to be with your friends at a club tonight?"

"pfft. as if. i have the prettiest woman in my monaco on my arm during the best day of my life. why would i spend it without her?", charles said, looking into her eyes like they were oceans he could drown in. the moment was intimate, that much they both knew. their relationship went from one of favors to friendship to...whatever this was. they weren't official but it was obvious to the both of them that they cared for each other so much more than they ever meant to.

𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆

dinner was marvelous.

if yn wasn't already falling for charles, she certainly was now.

he pulled her chair out for her, ordered her favorite wine (how did he even remember that??), complimented her more times than she could count, but most of all he listened. he would ask her questions about herself that would leave her talking and talking and talking, yet he never once complained or made her feel like she was too much.

it was as if they were actually dating.

as they walked out of the restaurant, arms so close she could feel his jacket on her skin, she said to him, "you know, charles. this is like my ideal date. nice restaurant, good food, and even better company. you really know how to make a girl feel special."

"it's not hard to make an already special person feel their worth", he replied with sincere honesty in his eyes.

"if you keep saying things like that i'll think what we have is actually real", she mumbled, more to herself than to him.

"and what if i wanted us to be real?"

"i wouldn't say no", she said, now looking into his eyes.

"then, yn ln, would you like to be my real, not at all publicity stunt, girlfriend?", charles asked her with the biggest smile on his face.

"don't have to ask me twice. yes, cha, a million times yes", yn replied.

then charles leaned closer and held her face with both hands. he smiled down at her and then kissed her with the most beautiful amount of emotion and passion that yn had ever experienced.

though they may not have been actually dating the past few months, there was no doubt in either of their hearts of where they stood together. they were in love. through all of his bad race days, media speculation, her burnout, and their joint support for the other; they had grown to care for each other in a way neither of them had ever expected.

𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆

the next day, yn woke up in charles' bed unexpectedly alone. she had been staying with him for the past two weeks, ever since she had arrived to see the grand prix.

then, when she rubbed her eyes to get the sleep out of them charles appeared.

"mon ange, good morning", charles smiled to her.

"good morning, cha. you're quite happy for morning time", she giggled.

"of course. i'm with you, why wouldn't i be?"

"charmer. what are we doing today?"

"well, before we do anything, could you check your phone for me?"

"you're acting suspicious, cha", she said, jokingly side-eyeing him.

charles_leclerc

Liked by ynlates, maxverstappen1, and 2.2 million others

charles_leclerc With my girl ❤️ @ynlates

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ynlates my love 🥹💕

^❤️ by author

charles leclerc mon ange 😘

scuderiaferrari loveliest couple in the paddock ❤️

user1644 they've only been in the paddock once??

scuderiaferrari ok and? point still stands 🙄

pascaleclerc 🤩🤩 un si charmant couple

^❤️ by author

"oh, cha. you didn't have to", yn said happily.

"non, i did. now that we are really together, i feel like screaming your name over the rooftops", charles insisted.

𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆

two months later, it was the summer break and yn and charles had decided to spend it in monaco.

very recently, yn had started spending time with lewis and roscoe at the garage and loved every second of her time with the pup.

every day she would say to charles, "cha, you know you looove roscoe. wouldn't you like one of those?"

just last week he had said, "mon ange, i think YOU want a puppy. but, you know i'm not home often and taking care of it would end up just being your responsibility which i don't want to put that on you."

"charlie, i would be okay with caring for it! i need a friend for when your not around", she begged with puppy dog eyes of her own. they left the conversation there but little did she know that charles' masterplan had just begun.

he got in contact with the local rescue center and visited them on an off day. he hadn't really felt a connection to any of them until he saw a miniature long haired daschund with the name "leo" on the cage.

after signing the papers, he took little leo home to surprise yn.

"baby, close your eyes. you remember how you kept asking about a dog and i said no?"

"yes. sheesh, way to rub salt in a fresh wound, cha", she answered.

"non. open your eyes", he said with a smile on his face.

upon opening her eyes, she instantly fell in love with the pup in front of her.

"charles, oh my God. he's so cute! what's his name?"

"the rescue named him leo but we can change it if you want", he said, happy with her happiness.

"oh, leo leclerc. it's perfect. thank you, thank you, thank you charles!"

"you're welcome mon ange. he's worth the smile on your face", charles grinned.

ynlates's new story posted

ynlates

lando HES SO CUTE

charles_leclerc proud dog mom 🤩

monacorescue thank you for adopting this doggo!! ❤️🐾

lilyzneimer omgggg hes the cutest 🥹🥹🥹

𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆

the season had been...eventful to say the least. charles and yn got together but also ferrari finally got their shit together. when the drivers got back from summer break, the grid quickly realized that ferrari's latest upgrades worked like a wonder and turned their dumpster into a rocket. and as if just he was just waiting for the moment to arrive, charles seized that opportunity and began to build a decent gap in the championship.

now that it was abu dhabi weekend, charles was 15 points ahead of oscar who was valiantly fighting to get ahead.

charles qualified first that weekend and oscar was just .006 seconds behind in second.

he knew he had to give it his all to win to this race and take home the championship.

yn was at the race, too. he wanted to show her that all her support wasn't for nothing. all the nights away from each other and the late days he spent training were worth it.

and that he did. oscar and lando in third had decided that fighting between themselves was more fun than getting the win so he went ahead and built a gap that he couldn't lose.

and once brian told him there was just one lap left, tears built up in his eyes. memories of countless laps in go karts as a kid, sleepless nights where he wanted to just fall asleep instead of go on the sim, and the heartbreak of missing that top step all came to mind.

most of all, yn came to mind. all the support she gave him and the love she showed him was what got him through all the rough times in the past year.

yet, now his moment to shine had come.

brian's voice came up in the radio, "CHARLES, SEI CAMPEONE DEL MUNDO. FERRARI IN CIMA!"

"YESSSS. FERRARI IN CIMA. GRAZIE A TUTTI", charles yelled into his radio in utter bliss.

in the garage, yn was in tears. she had heard charles go on and on about what it would mean to him and his family if he would win a championship. but, to come home with both the constructors and drivers' championship was a dream he hadn't let himself imagine that year.

in parc fermé, charles ran up to yn and she placed a kiss on his helmet. "i knew you could do it, my love. world champion!!!!"

"i couldn't do it without you, mon ange. é tutto grazie a ti", he said with tears as big as his smile in his eyes.

ynlates

Liked by f1, charles_leclerc, and 300,893 others

ynlates 🥹🥹❤️ MY LOVE DID IT. Number One in the world! In red! World class act @charles_leclerc

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charles_leclerc ❤️ could not have done it without you

^❤️ by author

scuderia ferrari our champion has never looked so good ❤️🏎️

f1 2025 WDC in red! 🏎️🏎️🏎️

lewishamilton Mighty year, mate. Congrats 🙏🏾

it may have all begun with a pr stunt, but it ended with a relationship that had as much love as it did good publicity.

[fromdove]

BRUCE WAYNE ,, as a girl dad

The soft click of the front door echoed through the grand Wayne Manor, followed by the unmistakable sound of laughter. Bruce didn’t look up from his paperwork immediately, but the faint tension in his shoulders told the story—he could already feel the change in the atmosphere. It wasn’t just the sound of footsteps; it was something else, something he hadn’t quite prepared for.

"Dad," came the familiar voice of his daughter, still sweet but tinged with the note of teenage uncertainty. "I need you to meet someone."

Bruce exhaled sharply, setting down his pen, straightening up in his chair. The calm, controlled demeanor he’d perfected over the years wasn’t quite enough to prepare him for this moment. He had seen his daughter grow from a tiny bundle of joy to a curious young girl, and now... now, she was a teenager, with a life of her own that he couldn’t control. A life that might include a boyfriend.

A small knot formed in his stomach, but he quickly quelled it. There was no need for that. He was Bruce Wayne, after all. He could handle anything.

His daughter walked into the study, her nervous smile betraying how much she was feeling the weight of this moment. She was holding the hand of a young boy—about her age, maybe a little taller, with messy hair and wide, unsure eyes. Bruce raised an eyebrow, not hiding his scrutiny.

“Dad,” she said again, clearing her throat, “this is Nathan. Nathan, this is my dad.”

Bruce stood slowly, his towering figure causing Nathan to straighten instinctively. The boy looked at Bruce with a combination of respect and clear nerves, and it didn’t take long for Bruce to figure out that this was a serious moment for the both of them.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Wayne,” Nathan said, voice a little shaky as he extended his hand.

Bruce stared at the offered hand for a beat, his gaze sharp. Then, with a deliberate motion, he shook it firmly. “Bruce is fine,” he replied, his tone neutral. “You’re the one my daughter’s been talking about?”

Nathan nodded quickly, glancing at his daughter before looking back at Bruce. “Yes, sir. Uh, she’s amazing. I—um, I mean, we’ve been friends for a while.”

Bruce nodded, still studying the boy. Friends, he thought. Right. He knew how these things worked. But his daughter—his little girl—wasn’t so little anymore. This wasn’t the first time she’d brought a friend home, but it was the first time she was introducing someone as more than that.

“I hear you’re into, uh… science and photography?” Bruce asked, attempting to break the ice, his eyes narrowing slightly, as if he were scanning for any weaknesses. He didn’t want to intimidate Nathan, but he also wanted to make sure the boy understood who he was dealing with.

Nathan’s eyes widened, clearly caught off guard. “Y-Yeah, I love photography. And I’m thinking about pursuing it as a career, actually.”

“Good,” Bruce said, his voice softening, just a little. “Always good to have a passion. Just make sure it doesn’t get in the way of your schoolwork.”

His daughter shifted uncomfortably beside him, and Bruce noticed how she was biting her lip. She wanted him to like Nathan, but she was also caught in the middle of two worlds now—the one where she was still his little girl, and the one where she was her own person, navigating relationships outside of the family bubble.

“Dad…” she began, her voice quiet, but Bruce caught the pleading note in her tone. She was clearly trying to steer the conversation to something else, away from the awkwardness.

“Right. Let’s sit down.” Bruce gestured toward the seating area, his voice softer now. He wasn’t trying to intimidate the boy anymore, just... trying to navigate the new territory that his daughter was venturing into.

They all sat, Bruce folding his arms over his chest, while his daughter took a seat beside Nathan. Bruce tried to remind himself that he didn’t need to be the overbearing father—he was in uncharted waters, yes, but he was still Bruce Wayne. He could handle this.

“So, Nathan,” Bruce continued, his voice calm but direct. “What do you see in my daughter? What makes her ‘amazing’ to you?”

His daughter shot him a look, one that was half-exasperated and half-amused, but Bruce didn’t look away. This was important. She needed to know what to expect in relationships—how to be valued, how to value herself. She was still his little girl, and this would be his last chance to leave an impression on this first boy she had introduced him to.

Nathan blushed under the sudden spotlight. “Well… She’s smart, and kind, and funny. And I respect her. A lot.” He paused, glancing at the girl beside him. “She makes me want to be a better person. Honestly, I didn’t think I could ever feel this way, but I do, and it’s—”

“That’s enough, Nathan,” Bruce interrupted, raising a hand. His eyes softened for just a moment before he gave a tight smile. “I just want to make sure you understand that my daughter’s not someone you can take lightly. She deserves respect, kindness, and honesty. Anything less isn’t good enough.”

Nathan’s face grew serious, his posture straightening, and Bruce saw the respect, and perhaps a little bit of fear, in the boy’s eyes.

“I understand, Mr. Wayne,” he said earnestly.

Bruce nodded, the tension in his chest easing just a little. This was a moment of transition, but one that his daughter was ready for. He wasn’t happy that she was growing up—he didn’t think any father really was—but he would be damned if he wasn’t going to ensure she had the tools to make wise decisions.

“And, Nathan,” Bruce added, voice darkening just a shade, “if anything happens to hurt her in any way, you’ll answer to me.”

His daughter rolled her eyes, but Bruce wasn’t kidding. He was her father, and he wasn’t about to let some teenage crush cause harm to her.

[myrleius]

a little sweeter every time (snippets!) — tsukishima. k

timeskip tsukishima k. x aspiring baker fem!reader│wc: 6.7k

synopsis: Tsukishima didn’t expect to see his high school crush again—much less help her open a bakery.

cw/tags: slow burn, fluff, mutual pining, friends to lovers, food/baking themes, slice of life, comfort

It had started six months ago, on a day as ordinary as any other.

Caught in a sudden downpour, Tsukishima ducked into the nearest cafe, rain dripping from his coat and his hair matted to his forehead. He was halfway through shaking it off when he froze.

There, at the end of the line, stood yn.

She looked older, obviously. Her hair was shorter now, her expression a little more tired. But the moment she noticed him, her face lit up, the same way it always had. And just like that, it was as if no time had passed at all.

“Tsukishima?”

Her voice was warm, surprised, still so easy to recognize.

He cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses to buy a second. “Huh. Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Same to you,” she laughed, digging into her pocket before handing him a handkerchief. “Here. You look like a drowned cat.”

“Thanks,” he muttered, blinking at the tiny cartoon bunnies printed across the fabric, finding the childish pattern to be so typically her.

He hadn’t expected that chance encounter to lead to anything, but somehow, over shared desserts and a slow afternoon, the conversation kept going. 

She stirred her coffee absently, a small frown tugging at her lips. “I’ve been thinking about quitting my job.”

Tsukishima raised an eyebrow. “That bad?”

She nodded, propping her chin on her hand. “Endless work, overtime with no extra pay, coworkers who act like ‘teamwork’ means dumping their tasks on me… I don’t even remember the last time I slept properly.”

Tsukishima snorted. “Sounds like hell.”

“Exactly.” She paused, hesitating a little, then leaned in. “I was thinking of opening up a bakery.”

He looked up. “A bakery?”

“I know. It’s crazy.” Her voice softened, almost shy. “But I’ve always loved baking. It never feels like work. When I’m up at 3AM frosting cupcakes, I actually don’t hate my life.”

He watched her—the way she fiddled with her cup, the hopeful look she tried to hide—before shrugging, casual as ever. “Then do it.”

“Just like that?” She laughed nervously. “What if I’m terrible at it?”

He reached for the last forkful of his cake, chewing thoughtfully before responding. “Then practice. I’ll tell you if it tastes like garbage.”

It was meant to be a throwaway comment, but she had perked up at that, eyes bright and earnest.

“Wait, really? You’d do that for me?”

He fought the urge to look away, instead smirking slightly. “If it means free food, sure.”

She grinned, nudging his arm. “You’re terrible. But… thanks.”

And maybe it was the contact. Or her smile. But for that second, he felt a faint heat creeping up his neck. 

Maybe some of those high school butterflies had survived after all these years.

After that, they exchanged numbers. And that’s how Tsukishima became her regular taste-tester.

The next week, they met at the same cafe.

Yn slid a small box of chocolate chip cookies across the table, fingers tapping nervously against the lid before she let go.

“Here,” she said with a sheepish smile. “They’re a little flat and the edges got too crispy… but they should still taste okay?”

Tsukishima eyed the uneven rows, each one slightly different in shape. He picked one up, inspecting it briefly before taking a bite.

“So?” she asked, leaning in, practically holding your breath. “How is it?”

She looks way too serious than she needed to.

He chewed slowly on purpose, dragging out the moment just to mess with her, before swallowing. “They’re tough. A little greasy. And too many chocolate chips. It throws off the balance.”

She nodded, pulling out her phone to type his comment. “Mm. Got it.”

Before she could finish, he grabbed another cookie and popped it into his mouth.

“Wait—!” she yelped, lunging to close the lid.

“Mmf?” Tsukishima blinked, still mid-chew.

“You just said they weren’t good,” she accused, holding the box away.

He swallowed, lazily reaching for it again. “I said they’re not that good. Big difference.”

She squinted at him. “And you still want more?”

“It’s edible,” he said with a shrug, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Now, gimme more.”

“You really do have a sweet tooth, don’t you?” yn mused, placing a box of black sesame muffins in the space between them.

Tsukishima took one without hesitation, peeling back the wrapper before biting into it. “Is that a problem?”

“Not at all,” she said, stretching her legs out in front of her. “Just unexpected. You seem more like a… vegetable kind of guy.”

“Brilliant deduction.” He brushed a few crumbs off his jeans, leaning back against the park bench with an easy slouch. “Next you’ll say I only drink water.”

She laughed, warm and easy, and Tsukishima pretended not to notice how it made him want to say something stupid again, just to keep her laughing.

“I would’ve if I hadn’t seen you downing coffee the other day,” she said with a teasing lilt. Pulling out her phone, she relaxed into the bench. “So? Tell me what you think?”

He turned the muffin in his hand, inspecting it. “The crust’s kind of dark. Bitter, too.”

“It’s toasty,” she corrected, but her fingers were already typing his comment into her phone. “That’s how black sesame’s supposed to taste.”

“Not really my thing then,” he said.

Still, he smirked a little.

“But are you sure you didn’t just burn it?”

“I didn’t!” she insisted.

“These are good,” Tsukishima murmured, taking another bite of the melonpan. He licked the custard from his lips with barely a pause.

“Yeah,” she said, brushing crumbs from her fingers. “I’ve kind of mastered them. My dad’s picky. He won’t touch the convenience store ones. So my mom and I used to bake them on the weekends.”

He nodded. “Makes sense. Fresh ones hit differently.” A pause. “But the chocolate chip ones from Sakanoshita’s? Those are really good.”

Yn’s eyes lit up. “You know those? My dad gives me the stink eye everytime I bring one home, like I’ve betrayed the family or something.”

He huffed a laugh. “You haven’t had one in a while?”

“In forever,” she groaned. “My place is too far. None of the nearby shops carry it.”

He didn’t look at her when he said, “I’ll bring you some.”

She blinked. “Wait, really?”

He shrugged, casual. “I stop by sometimes. I’ll grab a few.”

A slow smile spread across her face. “Thanks, Tsukishima.”

He took another bite, eyes fixed on the table. “It’s nothing.”

But he was already planning which day he'd make the detour.

Tsukishima popped the last bite of castella into his mouth, folded the parchment, and tossed it into the nearby trash can. “You really figured this one out.”

“It took forever,” yn said, grinning down at the remaining slices. “The trick was cooling the flour mixture. If it’s too warm, it sinks.”

He nodded, grabbing another piece without comment.

Across the park, two boys were practicing volleyball. They were clumsy, missing more than they landed. Tsukishima watched them, chewing slowly.

Yn must’ve noticed him watching. “Yachi told me you still play,” she said.

“Sometimes,” he replied, eyes narrowing when one of the kids flubbed a receive. “When I’ve got time.”

“Yeah, because playing pro on the Sendai Frogs is just a casual hobby,” she said, too lightly to be anything but teasing.

He turned to her, caught off guard. “Yachi told you that too?”

“Nope,” she said, leaning back with a small smile. “I looked it up.”

He scoffed, looking away, mostly to hide the way his ears were heating. “So you stalked me.”

“I searched Hinata and the others too, idiot,” she huffed, giving his shoulder a gentle shove.

He laughed, short and quiet. Still, something about her taking the time to look him up made his chest feel annoyingly… nice.

“She was happy for you,” she added, voice softer now. “Yachi, I mean. Said you guys really loved it. That it’s kind of amazing you still get to do it.”

Her gaze drifted to the boys in the distance. She didn’t say much else, but he could see it in the way her fingers fidgeted with the edge of the bench. That distant look when they first met again. Something tired and wistful beneath it.

Regret.

The ball rolled toward them—another failed receive. It bumped his foot.

He bent down and picked it up.

“You didn’t quit either, you know,” he said without looking at her.

And before she could answer, he jogged off, sleeves rolled up, calling out to the kids—ready to demonstrate, and to distract himself from the way his own heartbeat wouldn’t settle.

They bumped into each other in the produce section.

“Woah,” she said, grinning. “Are you stalking me this time?”

Tsukishima didn’t miss a beat. “I wish. Then I could’ve avoided this.”

She laughed. “Harsh, as always.”

They ended up walking through the aisles together, trading off commentary on ridiculous prices and silently judging people who blocked the middle of the lane. It wasn’t planned, but neither of them minded. It was fun, even.

He peeked into her basket. “Cheesecake?”

“Cheese tarts,” she corrected, plucking a carton of eggs off the shelf. “I’ll make them this Friday. I’ll text you.”

He nodded, already storing the date without thinking.

She glanced into his basket next. “Oyakodon?”

“For the weekend.”

She lit up, already on the move. “Add butter when you sauté the garlic. And—hold on—this.” She grabbed a tiny jar of sansho pepper and dropped it in his basket without waiting for permission.

Tsukishima frowned at it, eyeing the addition skeptically. “... That’s not in the recipe.”

“That’s because your recipe’s boring,” she said with a grin. “Trust me. Once you try it, you’ll never go back. I’ll even pay for it.”

He rolled his eyes. “Fine. But if it’s terrible, I’m blaming you.”

It wasn’t. Tsukishima made it again three days later, then again after that.

But he didn’t tell her knowing she’d gloat.

“Ah, come in. Watch the corner.”

“I am,” Tsukishima grunted, shifting the heavy box in his arms as he stepped inside. “Where do I put this?”

“By the door’s fine,” yn said, already slipping off her soaked shoes. She propped the umbrella in the corner, droplets pattering against the tile, then glanced back at him. “Wait here. I’ll get towels.”

She turned left down the hallway, disappearing from view. 

Left standing in the genkan, Tsukishima glanced around—first to the row of shoes neatly lined up, then to the absurd pair of shark slippers tucked beside them. The left one was slightly crooked, as if kicked off in a hurry. 

His lips twitched. Of course.

She returned a moment later, arms full with towels and… were those papers?

He raised an eyebrow, taking one of the towels. “You planning to quiz me or dry me off?”

She snorted and crouched down. “It’s for the shoes, genius,” she said, stuffing the paper gently into her own. “It helps soak the water out. Now yours.”

He blinked. “Oh.”

Wordlessly, he toed his shoes off and handed them over. She took them without hesitation, still crouched like it was the most normal thing in the world.

He watched her, towel hanging forgotten in one hand. The way she tucked her damp hair behind her ear, the quiet focus in her hands. It was weirdly... attractive.

Then, there was a movement out of the corner of his eye.

A cat—small, mostly white with a patch of grey on its head—peeked out from behind the hallway wall.

“Ah, Chobi!” Yn’s voice brightened instantly. “C’mere, girl.”

The cat stared at her, then gave Tsukishima a wary glance before skittering out of sight.

“She’s not good with strangers,” she chuckled, rising to her feet. “Especially tall ones with bad posture.”

Tsukishima scoffed, rubbing the towel over his hair. “She’s got a type then—people who rope their friends into free labor.”

“Right. Thank you, by the way,” she said, sheepishly brushing her fingers through her own wet bangs. “I completely forgot my relatives were delivering that today.”

“What even is in it?”

“Fruits and veggies. They have a farm. I think it’s a lot of citrus this time.”

He hummed, casting a brief glance at the box. “You were gonna haul that up by yourself?”

“Well…” She looked off to the side. “I was gonna try.”

He gave her a deadpan look.

She only smiled innocently and turned toward the kitchen, voice floating over her shoulder. “Anyway, since you’re here already, we might as well do the tasting. To repay you for your noble sacrifice.”

He sighed, trailing after her. “What is it this time?”

“Cinnamon rolls,” she said, glancing back over her shoulder with a small smile. “Still warm, too.”

“She’s really taken a liking to you,” yn said, stirring brownie batter, the spoon clinking softly against the glass bowl.

Across the room, Tsukishima sat cross-legged on the floor, dangling a feather wand loosely from his fingers.

Chobi pounced on the toy, paws wrapped around it like a trophy. She let out a triumphant meow before plopping down to gnaw at it.

“She only likes me because you make me feed her every time I’m here,” he muttered, scratching the top of her head. Chobi didn’t flinch. That was new.

“She associates you with her survival now,” she called over her shoulder, amused. “That’s a powerful bond.”

He cracked a smile, rising to his feet. That was new too—him being here after work, tasting whatever pastry she decided to whip up.

He wandered into the kitchen, leaning against the counter beside her.

“You should be careful,” he teased. “At this rate, your cat might start following me home.”

“She’d never,” she snorted. “She’s clingy. I can’t even wake up without her climbing onto my face.”

He actually laughed at that, picturing the image in his head.

She set the bowl aside and stepped toward the cabinets. One hand steadied her against the counter as she rose onto her tiptoes, the other reaching for a box on the top shelf, fingers just barely brushing.

Tsukishima rolled his eyes, moving in behind her and grabbed it in one easy motion. “Here.”

Her hand dropped as she turned—eyes wide as she realized how close he was.

“Oh… thanks,” she said, taking a step back, only to bump lightly into the counter. She blinked up at him.

He didn’t move. Neither did she.

For a second, the kitchen felt way too small. 

She ducked her head, a faint pink rising to her cheeks.

And his mind became quiet. Then unbearably loud.

Without thinking, he raised the box and gently tapped it against the top of her head.

“Next time,” he said, voice a little lower, “maybe ask someone taller first.”

A breathy laugh escaped her, soft with a hint of nervousness. “S-Sorry,” she said, taking the box from his hand, fingers brushing against his for just a second too long.

Chobi meowed loudly from the living room, breaking the moment. Barely.

Things hadn’t changed, exactly. But Tsukishima started noticing the little things now.

Like how yn stared a second too long when he talked, then quickly looked away like she hadn’t been caught. How she’d fuss with her hair when he walked up to her, tucking strands that weren’t even out of place. How she’d suddenly ask him about historical facts or volleyball games—topics she’d never cared about before.

And the calls.

Always with some excuse: “My hands are covered in flour” or “I’m chopping onions,” like she couldn’t just pause for two seconds to type.

But the most obvious thing?

She’d started dressing nicer. Still her, still casual, but… cuter. Stud earrings when they went out. Soft knits instead of shapeless hoodies. And today, a fitted t-shirt instead of the usual graphic tees she used to lounge in.

And then there was this—her fingers, tugging his jacket sleeve to get his attention instead of just saying his name.

“Earth to the nerd,” she said, giving it a light pull. “You good?”

He blinked. “Just wondering how much longer I have to stand here before you actually feed me.”

She rolled her eyes. “ I heard patience is a virtue.”

“So is basic competence.”

She elbowed him, laughing, and for a second, it felt normal again. 

But when she turned back to the stove—and there it was. The way she smiled to herself. The slight flush on her neck. How she stirred the saucepan a little too fast.

Tsukishima exhaled slowly.

He wasn’t stupid. He’d dated before. He knew the signs.

And yet.

Maybe she’s just like this with everyone.

Maybe it doesn’t mean anything.

Maybe—

Maybe he just needed to be sure.

“That what you’re dipping it in?” he asked.

“Mm-hm.” Still not looking at him.

“Smells sweet,” he said, leaning in a little.

Her hand faltered.

“Can you hand me the cream puffs?” she asked.

He nodded, pulling back. He grabbed the tray and brought it over.

She turned off the stove, grabbed one, and dipped it in the caramel. Then—almost absently—she held it up to him.

He paused, caught off guard.

She seemed to realize it a second later. Her eyes widened, and the puff wobbled slightly in her fingers.

Tsukishima’s gaze softened before he leaned down and took a bite, careful not to touch her fingers.

Just to avoid embarrassing her, he told himself.

“Not bad,” he said, licking a bit of caramel off the corner of his mouth. “Didn’t burn it this time.”

She made a strangled sound. “It was one time—and it was like, months ago—”

“Sure,” he said, watching the way she suddenly wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“You okay?”

“Y-Yeah. Just—it’s hot.”

“The caramel?”

She nodded fast. “Yeah. That.”

Sure it was.

He turned away to hide a smile.

Maybe he wasn’t imagining it.

“Ah, this is so cute!” 

“Right! It suits your idea for the interior!”

“Oi.” Tsukishima lightly karate-chopped yn’s head before setting a tray down on the table. “Volume, please. We’re in public.”

Behind him, Yamaguchi offered an apologetic smile to the nearby patrons while Yachi ducked her head sheepishly. Yn rubbed the spot he'd tapped, shooting him a mock glare.

They were supposed to be helping her prep for her bakery launch. So far, it had mostly devolved into their usual chaos.

“What’s got you two so worked up anyway?” Yamaguchi asked as he sat beside Yachi, helping pass out plates.

“Yachi drafted a logo for me!” yn said proudly, sliding the paper to the center of the table.

"Whoa, this is amazing," Yamaguchi said, leaning in for a closer look.

Tsukishima set yn's plate in front of her. "You sure you don't wanna slap her face on it? I've got some truly cursed ones if you need material."

“You said you deleted those!” she hissed.

“And you actually believed me?” he said, adjusting his glasses with zero remorse.

Yachi blinked. “Wait... you have pictures of yn?”

Yamaguchi coughed into his hand, poorly hiding his grin.

"It's not a big deal," Tsukishima said flatly. "I have photos of all of you."

"Oh, but he has a special collection of Chobi," yn cut in, eyes glinting. "Did you know he bought her a sparkly collar for her birthday last month? And a tiny tiara—"

“Shut up,” he muttered, nudging her ankle under the table.

Laughter erupted from the other side of the booth.

“That’s… kind of unexpected,” Yamaguchi mused, eyeing them.

“Right?” yn said through giggles. “He spoils her more than I do.”

“Oh, I meant you two,” Yamaguchi added, a little smug now.

Tsukishima shot him a glare. Yamaguchi merely smiled back, unfazed.

“I agree,” Yachi chimed in, her tone gentle but her smile teasing. “You’ve gotten really close. It’s… nice. You barely talked in high school.”

“Blame Mr. Antisocial over here,” yn muttered, cheeks pink as he gestured at Tsukishima. “He’d only say two words to me back then.”

Tsukishima gently pushed her hand away, his voice dry but not unkind. “And yet you never shut up. Funny how that works.”

She hid her smile behind her drink.

Then he turned to the other two, the picture of innocence—except for the ruthless gleam in his eyes.

“Speaking of close,” he said casually, “cute matching watches. Ginza, right? During that... What was it? ‘Coincidental’ business trip?”

Yachi choked on her tea. Yamaguchi stared hard at the ceiling.

Tsukishima sipped from his drink, perfectly smug.

Tsukishima tapped his foot, checking his phone for the third time in a minute.

Yn was quitting her job today—finally. She’d saved enough for renovations and a few months’ expenses, but that didn’t make it any less nerve-wracking. She’d been texting him about it all morning.

So he’d decided to wait for her outside her office.

When she finally stepped out, she looked pale but composed, a file folder in one hand and her bag slung over her shoulder. No signs of crying. That seemed good.

“… Bad?” he asked, voice quieter than usual.

“Terrible,” she murmured, letting out a shaky breath. But she offered him a wobbly smile. “But at least it’s over.”

He nodded. Silence settled between them, not awkward, just… weighty. He wasn’t great at this kind of thing. The whole comforting-people deal. But he could try.

After a brief hesitation, his hand came up and landed on her shoulder.

“It’s not a mistake,” he said.

“How do you know?” she asked, looking up at him.

He pursed his lips, thinking.

“I don’t,” he admitted. “No one does. Only time will tell.”

Her shoulders dipped slightly, but she didn’t pull away.

“Wow,” she muttered. “You’re terrible at this.”

“I’m not done,” he said, chuckling faintly. “The one thing I do know is that you left something behind that was never going to get better, no matter how much time you gave it.”

Her eyes widened a little, the tension in her face softening. Slowly, she stepped closer. Her hands hovered at his sides, like she was asking permission.

A faint blush crept up Tsukishima’s neck. He looked away, but his hand tugged her just a little closer.

She stared at him for another moment, then let her arms fall back. Instead, she leaned in carefully, resting her head against his chest, leaving the smallest sliver of space between them.

“Thanks,” she whispered.

He swallowed. His instinct was to pull her fully in—but they were still in public. And he didn’t want to crowd her.

So instead, he brought a hand up and gently ruffled her hair.

“Come on,” he said. “I’ll treat you to yakiniku and beer.”

She huffed a laugh and leaned back. “You don’t have to.”

“I’m not doing this for you,” he lied terribly. “I’m in the mood to drink. Plus, I want gossip. And I fully intend to talk shit about your co-workers now that you’re free.”

Tsukishima jolted when he felt a sudden pinch at his side.

“What the hell—?”

“You never gain weight no matter how much I feed you,” yn grumbled, eyeing his waist like it had personally offended her. “You eat half a cake and still look exactly the same. How is that possible?”

He scowled, swatting her hand away. “Don’t just go around poking people like that.”

She just laughed, clearly unrepentant.

“I play volleyball,” he added, brushing his shirt back down. “And I don’t sit around all day.”

“Still,” she huffed, fingers twitching like she was tempted again, “you can’t burn it off that fast.”

This time, he caught her wrist before she could make another move. His hand closed gently around hers.

“I walk to work. I’m on my feet during exhibit tours. I walk to your place, and then back to mine,” he said. “Probably genetics too. Everyone in my family’s like this.”

“Well, that’s unfair,” she muttered, pulling her hands back with a pout. “Some of us bloat just from inhaling sugar.”

He gave a smug shrug and pushed his hair back. “What can I say? I’m blessed. And you’re… you.”

She rolled her eyes. “Ah. So that’s where all that weight went—your ego.”

Tsukishima’s lips twitched. Without warning, he reached out and pinched both her cheeks between his fingers.

“Ah—Tsukki! Stop!” she squawked, smacking at his hands. “Let go! I’m sorry! I surrender!”

“You started it,” he said, satisfied as he finally let go.

She rubbed at her face, glaring half-heartedly, but there was warmth behind it.

A beat passed. Then they went back to sorting through labels and notes for her bakery.

Then, she bumped her shoulder lightly against his. “Hey.”

He glanced over.

“You really walk all the way back after visiting?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Why?”

She shook her head with a soft smile. “Just didn’t think you’d go that far out of your way. For cake.”

He gave her a long look, before his gaze returned to the papers, moving one to the side.

“It’s not just the cake,” he said quietly, without a hint of sarcasm.

He didn’t need to look up to know that she was blushing. And yeah, his face was a little warm too.

“This area gets decent foot traffic,” Tsukishima said, nodding toward the street. “Close to the station too.”

Yn leaned closer to the window of the vacant space, hands cupped around her face. “It’s just the right size—around 45 square meters. Enough for the kitchen, counter, and display case.”

He nodded, watching her instead of the storefront. 

“You think this is the one?” he asked after a moment. “Or want to keep looking?”

She took one last look inside before straightening with a small sigh. “I really like it. But we should check a few more, just in case. Also… can we sit somewhere for a bit? My feet are killing me.”

“Weakling” he muttered, smirking as he reached out and steered her forward by the shoulder. “Come on. Let’s check out the competition and get something sweet while we’re at it.”

She pulled out her phone, thumbing through her map app. “There was a pastry place a few blocks back, remember? We passed it earlier.”

Tsukishima nodded, eyes scanning ahead. “Yeah. That one looked decent.”

“Think you can make it without whining?” she teased, tilting her head up at him.

“I was about to ask you that,” he shot back. Then, slipping his hand from her shoulder, he added dryly, “Want me to carry you?”

She scoffed. “As if you could.”

His eyes glinted. “You’re right. You probably weigh a ton.”

She gasped and swung at him—he easily sidestepped, a low laugh slipping out.

They fell into step again, their bickering fading into comfortable silence. When she veers slightly toward the sunlit side of the street, he subtly moves to block the harsher glare from hitting her eyes.

“I forgot my couch is buried under all this chaos,” yn muttered, eyeing the explosion of color swatches, menu sketches, pastry boxes, and scattered notes across the living room.

Tsukishima barely glanced at the mess before dropping onto the floor. “This works.”

They ended up sitting cross-legged on a mess of pillows and throw blankets, backs leaned against the couch. The low table in front of them held a few leftover pastries and mismatched mugs of steaming tea. On the TV, a documentary he’d picked played softly, its narration a dry murmur under the quiet.

It wasn’t a date. Not really.

But it felt like one.

“Is this the one where they find teeth in that sediment thingy?” she asked, squinting at the screen.

Tsukishima side-eyed her. “‘Sediment thingy’? Real eloquent.”

“My bad,” she said, grinning.

Still, she kept watching.

Onscreen, grainy footage of rock beds and excavation sites rolled past, narrated by a monotone voice that only excited people like him.

“That layer there,” Tsukishima pointed at the screen with his mug, “Cretaceous. Most of the stuff they find there is marine life. Ammonites, mostly. Sometimes mosasaurs if they get lucky.”

“Ammonites,” she repeated, brow furrowed. “Those swirly guys?”

“Very technical description,” he deadpanned. “But yes.”

He expected her to zone out—most people did when he started—but she didn’t. She tilted her head toward the screen, eyes narrowed like she was actually trying to see it the way he did.

“They’re kinda pretty,” she murmured. “In a prehistoric, probably-deadly sort of way.”

A quiet laugh escaped him. “You’d hate the real thing. They’re massive.”

“Really? I thought they were just ancient snails or something.”

That made him laugh again, shaking his head at her ridiculous descriptions. 

Somewhere between fossils and snails, his arm had found its way up, draped lazily along the couch behind them. Not touching her. Just close. She shifted slightly, leaning into the pillows. The back of her head brushed the inside of his forearm.

He didn’t move it.

Neither did she.

She laughed again at something he said and her knee nudged his. Her hand rested between them, fingers twitching like they might drift closer.

He turned his head toward her then, about to make some remark—but stopped.

She was already looking at him.

And she didn’t look away.

The light from the TV reflected in her eyes. Her lips parted slightly, like she wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words.

He wasn’t sure who leaned in first.

But it didn’t matter.

They were close enough for their noses to touch. Her fingers came up, curling into the side seam of his shirt. His arm tensed behind her, ready to close the gap. Their heads tilted ever so slightly, and her eyes fluttered shut.

If he moved just a little more—

Thump.

A blur of fur launched into his lap with a mrow that sounded far too proud.

Tsukishima blinked.

Yn drew back just enough to breathe in surprise.

Chobi, in perfect loaf formation, nestled across his thighs like she’d claimed them on purpose.

The moment shattered instantly.

“Are you serious…” Tsukishima muttered under his breath.

Chobi blinked up at him and purred.

Yn reached for the cat, but she rolled onto her back, paws batting playfully. “Chobi. You are the worst.”

“She’s evolving,” Tsukishima sighed, already giving in. He scratched Chobi’s head without thinking. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Chobi flopped dramatically, clearly agreeing.

Yn settled back with a soft laugh, picking up her mug. They stayed close, and the air was still warm, but the balance tipped off. Her knee bumped his again, but this time it felt like a reset.

“Well,” she said after a moment, gaze flicking to the screen. “Your ancient snail documentary’s actually kind of decent.”

He didn’t look at her. He couldn’t yet. “Told you it wouldn’t be boring.”

That earned him a soft smile, but the charged air was gone now, tucked into the silence that neither of them dared to acknowledge.

Chobi purred louder.

And Tsukishima tried not to think about what would’ve happened if that damn cat had waited just ten more seconds.

The bell above the door chimed softly and Tsukishima stepped inside.

Yn looked up from where she was stacking menus at the counter, surprise flickering across her face. “Hey. What’re you doing here? It’s late.”

He held up a potted orchid—white with a blush of pink at the center. “I figured you’d get plenty of gifts tomorrow. Thought I’d beat the crowd.”

She smiled, walking over to take the plant from his hands, admiring it. “Wow. You actually got these? For me?”

“I can be thoughtful, you know,” he muttered.

“Must be exhausting.”

He huffed a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Actually… there’s another reason I dropped by.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Okay...”

“I’m not gonna make it to the opening.” His tone dropped a bit. “My co-worker bailed on the Fukui trip last minute, so I’m getting sent instead. I leave first thing tomorrow.”

“Oh.” She took that in slowly, her smile dimming. “That’s… okay. I mean, it’s not your fault.”

He nodded, though the silence that followed sat heavier than he liked.

“Wait here,” she said after a moment, pivoting back toward the kitchen. “I made something for you. Figured you’d drop by for breakfast before going to work.”

She returned with a small plate—strawberry shortcake, pristine layers of sponge and cream, with a single slice of berry on top.

Tsukishima looked at it longer than necessary. “You made it.”

“You wouldn’t shut up about it,” she teased.

He chuckled and took the fork from her. “Guess I’m spoiled.”

They stood shoulder to shoulder behind the counter as he took a bite. And she watched him, like always.

He licked a bit of cream from his thumb. “This is delicious.”

Yn beamed. “That good?”

He nodded. “Good enough that I’m mad I won’t be here tomorrow to have more.”

“I’ll make it again when you come back then.”

A soft smile tugged at his lips. He kept eating in comfortable silence, the hum between them growing thicker.

“You nervous?” he asked.

“Very.”

“You’ll be fine. Everyone’s coming. Even those two morons.”

“Hinata and Kageyama?”

“Yeah. The tall one asked if he needed to dress formal.”

“Oh god,” she groaned, laughing.

The tension broke into warmth, then softened again.

“Want anything from Fukui?” he asked.

“Habutae Kurumi, please,” she said, perking up.

“Of course you’d want the one thing with walnuts.”

“Hey! You asked.”

She leaned in a little then, arms crossed on the counter. Her face tilted slightly, amused but fond.

“Thanks, Tsukishima. For everything,” she said. “If I hadn’t met you again, if you didn’t give me the push I needed, I wouldn’t be here.”

Her words sank in slowly and his heart warmed.

He leaned close too, putting the fork down. “I barely did anything. You did all the work. I just got free food.”

“Oh, shut up.” Her hand slid over his—light, hesitant. “You did more than you think.”

He stared at their hands for a moment, then gripped hers. “And I can do more if you want.”

Neither of them moved, not at first.

Her eyes dropped to his mouth, and when they flicked back up again, the answer was already there.

He leaned in, just a little. Her breath hitched.

Their noses brushed. Breaths mingling. The softest graze of lips—

Then his phone rang.

Loud and jarring.

“Shit.” He pulled back an inch, jaw tight. “Sorry. I have to take this.”

She stepped back just as quickly. “Right. Go ahead.”

The moment slipped through the cracks. Gone again.

Moments passed, and he was by the door.

“Thanks for the cake,” he said, quieter now.

“Thanks for the orchids,” she replied with a small smile.

“Sorry I can’t stay.” He reached up, pausing near her cheek before moving up to ruffle her hair instead.

“It’s fine. Really.” She leaned into his touch. A beat passed before she grabbed his shoulders, turning him around the door. “Now go. It’s late and you have to pack.”

“Yeah. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

He gave a nod, then left.

It should’ve ended there.

But as Tsukishima walked a few paces down the quiet street, something gnawed at him.

He’d be back. In a week, everything would slide back into place. They’d share dessert. Bicker. Sit too close in her apartment and pretend the silence between them wasn’t filled with everything they didn’t want to say.

Nothing would change.

And that’s what got to him.

Because maybe that was the problem.

This itch in his chest—it wasn’t panic. Nothing bad was going to happen. She wasn’t leaving. He wasn’t moving across the world. There would be a thousand other moments to say something.

But even knowing that, he couldn’t shake the thought.

He just really, really wanted this to be the one.

He didn’t know why. Maybe it was the look she gave him when she said thank you. Maybe it was how warm the place felt when it was just the two of them. Or maybe he was just tired of pretending he didn’t know what this was.

It didn’t make sense. But the feeling wouldn’t let go.

So he stopped walking.

Then he turned around.

The bell chimed again.

Yn blinked, “Tsukki? Did you forget something?”

He stood in the doorway, breath caught between resolve and hesitation. “Yeah. I did.”

She glanced around. “What? Your phone?”

“No.”

In a few strides, he was in front of her.

He used to think his high school crush on her was just a phase. One of those dumb, passing things you look back on and laugh about when you’re older and know better. He never said anything then. Just stayed in the background, convinced she’d never see someone like him.

And for a while, he believed he’d outgrown it. Got older. Dated other people. Learned how to care, let go, to move on and try again.

But then they met again and she had rearranged the way his life moved. Morning texts became habit. Stopping by after work turned into instinct. Even the smallest things—a song he heard her hum before, a cat on the street—automatically led back to her. She’d become his first thought, then his favorite one.

What he felt now wasn’t the same as back then, but it wasn’t lesser either.

He never believed in fate. Never bought into the idea of “the one.”

But standing here now, with his palms sweating like he was seventeen again, he couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe—just this once—the cliché was right.

Maybe she was it.

So, he didn’t hesitate this time. He reached for her hand, steady despite his pulse hammering in his ears.

“I forgot to tell you,” he started, voice a little too low, like he hoped saying it quietly would make it feel less embarrassing. “That I… I want to be there. For you. Not just with the bakery. But… everything.”

He cleared his throat, gaze flicking down to where their hands were joined. “I mean—I don’t know. Life stuff. Whatever that means.”

God.

He shut his eyes for a second and exhaled through his nose, like maybe this would reset his brain. It didn’t.

“From now on. For a long time. If you’ll let me. Or tolerate me. Either works.”

There. He said it.

And it sounded exactly as awkward as he’d feared. Not charming. Not smooth like earlier or all the other times it almost spilled from his lips. Just him, rambling and way too warm in the face.

Yn didn’t answer right away.

She just stared at him, lips parted slightly—then let out a breath. Almost a laugh. Soft and fond.

“The way you—I mean,” she said, cheeks tinting pink as her gaze dropped to their hands, “that was… barely coherent.”

He opened his mouth, about to defend himself, but she squeezed his hand before he could.

“But I liked it,” she added, glancing up again. “Life stuff with you sounds great.”

That made him smile—relieved, crooked, a little breathless.

His hands found her cheeks, thumbs grazing the soft curves under her eyes. And when she leaned into the touch, something in his chest went loose. 

“I love you,” he murmured.

She blinked up at him, eyes shining. Slowly, her hands came up, pressing to his chest, sliding up until they curled around his neck. Her fingers brushed the back of his nape, gentle and a little unsure, like she was mapping him for the first time.

“I love you too.”

He shivered under her touch, from the weight of her words, from everything.

God, he was so far gone for her.

Then she tilted her head, lips quirking up. “So… is this the part where we kiss? Because I’m kind of dying over here.”

He laughed, half-choked, and tugged her in. “Yeah.”

But right before their lips could meet, he pulled back slightly and fumbled into his pocket.

Her brows lifted. “You’re kidding.”

He held up his phone, switched it to silent, and shot her a look. “I’m not getting interrupted twice in one night.”

She laughed, her forehead brushing his.

Tucking the phone away, he leaned in, wrapping an arm around her waist, the other still cradling her cheek. “I’m not going to hold back, okay?” he whispered.

“Tsukishima! Just go for it already.”

He grinned and, finally, leaned in. 

It tasted like strawberries. 

But more than that, it tasted like something he’d been quietly craving for a long, long time.

[counterblows]

📄 𝐏𝐨𝐬𝐭-𝐕𝐨𝐰 𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐲

𝐓𝐖 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐖: Wedding night, smut, minors DNI 🔞

𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐒𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐇𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐀/𝐍: Whatever keeps the nation fed 🤷🏻‍♀️

Confrontations were never your strongest suit. You weren’t always good at saying what was on your mind— too afraid of facing the reactions, especially if they were bad.

But sometimes, there were moments when you couldn’t leave the words unsaid. You could only bottle up your feelings for so long before they started to burn a hole inside you.

Tonight, a sudden rush bloomed in your chest— warm and overwhelming. You knew if you didn’t say it now, while your confidence was at its peak, it would eat you alive.

You took a deep breath, mustering up the courage. The timing was perfect.

“I think I have a crush on you,” you blurted out, voice small and wavering, like you weren’t even sure you meant to say it out loud. “Please don’t freak out.”

Miguel froze.

Mid-thrust. Inside you.

You felt his whole body stiffen like a statue. His face pulled away from your neck, and he stared down at you.

The soft, dim lights caught his sweat-damped strands of his hair sticking to his forehead. His body was taut, muscles still flexing from his.… vigorous cardio session.

His expression was a perfect mix of absolute confusion and mild horror.

(ಠ_ಠ)

You bit the inside of your cheek hard, trying not to break into giggles at how comically serious he looked.

There was a long beat of silence where you could almost see the gears grinding inside his head.

“Amor…” he rasped slowly, chest heaving as he leaned down closer to you. “We’re married. It’s our wedding night.”

You blinked up at him, still very flushed under the weight of his stare. “I know,” you mumbled, lips wobbling into a sheepish smile. “But, it hit me…I really like you.”

It was only a few hours ago, you walked down the aisle toward him. A few hours ago, he had carried out of the building bridal-style, beaming like you were the only thing in the universe.

The magic from the ceremony— the giddy excitement, the dizzy happiness. It still lingered and buzzed in your veins. Your heart was still soaring.

And now the only thing buzzing was your skin under his touch. The air still crackled with intensity. The sudden, hilarious realisation that you had a giant crush on your own husband.

Miguel’s gaze stayed locked on yours for one more, long, painful second before he spoke.

“I’m inside you right now. How much more committed do you want me to be?” he grumbled, voice rough with disbelief.

To emphasise his point, he shifted his hips just slightly. Pushing himself deeper. You gasped softly, feeling the delicious stretch as your walls fluttered around him.

“Are you gonna say it back?” you mumbled meekly, looking back at him expectantly.

He let out an exhausted, wrecked laugh. Then he kissed you— messy and desperate. His lips warm and hungry against yours. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours as he said lowly:

“You ridiculous woman. I’ve been in love with you since the moment I took you out for a rooftop dinner.”

“Really?” you whispered, still a little dazed.

“Yes,” he growled, his voice low and incredulous as if the question offended him. “Really. After everything we’ve been through— the rings, the vows, signing the damn marriage certificate. Now you realise you like me?”

He dipped his head to your shoulder again, muttering something that you couldn’t quite catch. But you were pretty sure you heard Señor, dame paciencia, buried in there.

Lips hot against your neck. Breath ragged with need. His weight was slowly pressing you deeper into the mattress, his body enveloping yours.

You laughed at his grumbling— before they were swiftly cut off by a sharp gasp when he snapped his hips forward, seating himself fully inside you.

“Miguel!” you shrieked, nails digging into his broad back.

“And you—” he muttered darkly, puncturing each word with a slow, devastating thrust, “are not— allowed— to drop— adorable confessions— while I’m— trying to concentrate.”

The bed creaked beneath you, every deliberate roll from his hips making you more breathless, more delirious.

It was always entertaining winding your newly wedded husband when he’s already wrecked and desperate. And judging by the way he was losing his mind, you could already tell you were definitely going to be doing this a lot more throughout your marriage.

“Ah— sorry, sorry,” you gasped between each hip thrust. “I’ll save it for pillow talk.”

You threw your arms around his neck, pulling him even closer.

He chuckled lowly against your skin— a rough breathless sound that made you shiver.

“Good,” he rumbled. “Because when I’m done with you, you’re not gonna have the brain cells left to form a sentence.”

[itsnesss]

hii, can you possibly write Kimi x reader, where reader goes to support him for his race and he ends up winning so they go out to celebrate? tyy

𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞 | kimi antonelli × fem!reader

summary | you cheer kimi on from the stands—he wins, and the night ends with just the two of you, celebrating love after the finish line

warnings | fluff, public cheering/crowds, emotional tension, kissing, post-race adrenaline

word count | 1.4 k

🖇 more ka12 🖇 f1 masterlist

The roar of the engines could be heard long before you even saw the circuit. In the distance, the stands were packed with fans waving flags and wearing shirts with their favorite driver’s number. But you were only looking for one: Kimi.

You clutched the pass hanging from your neck as you walked toward the restricted zone. The sun blazed down on the asphalt, but you didn’t care. Not when he had called you the night before, his voice a little nervous which was rare for him saying, “It’d mean a lot to know you’re there tomorrow."

And of course, there was no way you’d miss it.

When you reached the paddock, Kimi was already in his racing suit, talking to his engineer. His hair was a bit messy under his cap, his expression focused and serious as always but when he saw you… his whole face changed.

He smiled at you.

Not a wide grin, but you knew that smile. It was the one he saved for moments like this. He walked over to you, not caring much about protocol or the fact that a few cameras had already turned in his direction.

“You came,” he said softly, as if he still couldn’t quite believe it.

“Of course I did. Like I’d leave you alone today?”

Kimi raised an eyebrow, amused.

“I don’t know. Lately you’ve been too busy being amazing,” he teased.

You let out a quiet laugh. He stepped closer, and though he wasn’t usually affectionate in public, he slid a hand around your waist, like he needed to remind you, or himself, that you were his anchor in this chaotic, high-speed world.

“Nervous?” you asked, even though you already knew the answer.

“No. But… yeah. It’s an important race.”

“Then race the way only you know how. You’ve got this. I’ll be screaming louder than anyone from the stands.”

He dipped his head slightly, resting his forehead gently against yours.

“Just don’t get distracted looking at the other drivers,” he murmured with that little jealous spark that always made you smile.

“Never,” you whispered back.

You stayed by his side as the team made their final preparations. The pit lane lights blazed, the buzz of the track intensifying. People hurried in every direction, but you only had eyes for him.

Just before he put on his helmet, he threw one last look at you — the kind that said more than any words could. Then, with a steady, almost reverent motion, he climbed into the car. The roar of the engine starting up shook your chest. It was time.

You made your way up to the grandstand with your special pass, choosing a seat right where he’d be able to see you if he looked your way. As the cars lined up on the grid, your heart beat so fast it felt like *you* were about to race.

One by one, the red lights lit up. The engines screamed.

And then… they went out.

The race had begun.

The thunderous surge of the cars as they launched forward hit you like a wave. You sat on the edge of your seat, eyes locked on Kimi’s car — that number you knew by heart.

Lap after lap, you followed him with your heart in your throat.

He started in second, playing it safe. His driving had always been calculated, patient. He knew when to attack. But every time he passed by your section of the grandstand, you stood and raised your arms, even if he couldn’t clearly see you through the crowd. Somehow, you just wanted him to feel it.

“Come on, Kimi…” you whispered, clenching your fists like your words could give him an extra boost.

By lap twelve, he was right on the leader’s tail. By fifteen, he almost overtook in a tight corner. On lap seventeen, a driver behind him tried a dirty move, nearly causing a crash. You shouted without realizing, heart frozen in panic. But Kimi reacted with calm precision, dodging and keeping his position. The stands exploded in cheers. And you… you nearly collapsed from relief.

Time dragged on and the tension thickened. Then, on lap twenty-three, it happened.

The leader made a tiny mistake in a corner. Just a small slip, but enough. Kimi saw it, knew it and didn’t hesitate.

He accelerated. Slipped inside. Braked like a surgeon.

And overtook like a bolt of lightning.

“YES!” you screamed, jumping to your feet.

You were so excited you didn’t even notice people around you smiling at your enthusiasm. There he was — your Kimi — leading the race with that icy control that always left you breathless.

The last few laps were hell.

Each second felt like an eternity. Rivals breathing down his neck, but he didn’t waver. He was flawless. And you didn’t know whether to cry, scream, or pray.

Finally, the last lap.

You held your breath, watching him glide through every turn of the circuit. Everything around you fell silent.

And then… the checkered flag waved in the air.

He won.

Kimi had won.

You didn’t know if you screamed or just collapsed laughing and crying all at once. The screens showed his car crossing the finish line, his arms raised in triumph, the team going wild. But all you wanted was him.

You pushed through the crowd, flashing your pass with shaking hands. You *had* to get to the paddock. To hug him. To hold him.

And when you finally saw him climbing out of the car, helmet in hand, hair damp with sweat, eyes sparkling with adrenaline…

He ran straight to you.

His arms wrapped around you tight, pressing you to him like he couldn’t breathe without you.

“You did it,” you murmured against his neck. “You really did it, Kimi.

“You were here,” he replied, his lips brushing your cheek. “I couldn’t lose.”

The official celebration was a whirlwind, interviews, flashes, mechanics lifting Kimi on their shoulders, champagne flying everywhere. You were thrilled for him, but deep down, you couldn’t wait for it all to end. To have him to yourself.

Apparently, he felt the same.

As soon as he could sneak away, he grabbed your hand and whispered, “Let’s get out of here.”

You didn’t hesitate. You didn’t need a massive party or a packed club. You just needed him.

Minutes later, you were in his car, leaving the track behind under the night sky, cool air drifting in through the cracked window. He drove calmly, one hand on the wheel, the other reaching for yours until your fingers were laced together.

“I still can’t believe I won,” he said, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

“I can. I always knew you would.”

Kimi glanced at you, eyes filled with a mix of wonder and affection.

“You’re the only one who makes me feel this sure of myself.”

He took you to a quiet spot away from the noise, a lakeside restaurant with a private terrace. No one else was there. He had reserved it just for the two of you. Warm lights shimmered on the water, and the peaceful setting felt unreal, like the world had paused just for this night.

You ordered something light, though neither of you ate much, your knees touching under the table. The conversation was soft and intimate, filled with quiet laughs, old memories, and lingering glances that said everything.

At some point, he stood and offered you his hand.

“Come with me.”

You followed without question.

He led you down a stone path to the water’s edge. The lake was a black mirror under the stars, the night breeze playing with your hair.

Kimi wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you close to his chest.

“Thank you for coming today. I don’t know what I would’ve done if I hadn’t seen you in the stands.”

“You probably would’ve won anyway,” you teased.

He shook his head slightly, that gentle smile curving his lips.

“No. Because winning… wouldn’t have meant the same.”

His lips met yours with a softness that made your knees weak. The kiss was slow, deep, overflowing with everything you’d both felt all day. His fingers gripped you like he couldn’t get close enough, and you held onto him like you never wanted to let go.

“I want more nights like this,” he whispered against your lips. “After every race. After every win. And even after every loss. I just want you there.”

“I will be,” you answered without hesitation. “Always.”

[omgfangirlland]

I random Idea suddenly appeared in my head (I was about to sleep but this is more important). Originally I had two Ideas but I thought.. Why not combine them? My first idea was a neglected reader who can see ghost.. Like, one day she just developed this abilities. Imagine how it would go if Thomas Wayne and Martha Wayne were still in the mansion and looking after the batfam. They can see how Bruce Wayne is threatening his daughter and stuff.

The second Idea was a more realistic neglected reader where she's really neglected and I don't mean birthday is being forgotten or what not.. I mean real neglect where she had to work for money and her own food.. Where she has to learn how to cook for herself and learn how to do things at the very young age. I want to see her actual struggle for survival where there are times she barely makes money so she had to go hungry for some days.. Sometimes she resorts to stealing foods just to eat.

I wanted to combine these two but I'm too sleepy to continue two peace out ✌👉

-🔱

The sudden burst of creativity right as you get in bed is such a serious problem- like pls- I had like 10-12 hours where I could have done all of that- why at 3am?😭😭

When I first read this, it was way so late, and I was like "cooking her own food and working isn't neglect-" and then I realized I am in fact poor, and due to the necessity of my parents needing me to be somewhat independent my view of that point is skewed- also the reader is going to be quite young at the start of being in the family so really, a five or 10 year old shouldn't be operating the stove without supervision or finding jobs to pay for necessities-

Reader is the oldest sibling(I love the forgotten oldest daughter trope) in this for various reasons(angst) and I am so keeping ghost!Thomas and Martha btw-

CW - postpartum mental breakdown/psychosis turned into attempted infanticide via drowning, miscarriage/suicide/drugs mentioned.

My thoughts on how this MC came into Bruce's care come down to three options: Bruce and her mom were actually lovers and married, but after Reader's birth mama either left, had a postpartum breakdown, and is now rotting in Arkham, or she died. I personally prefer the Arkham route, but dying during childbirth is also quite angst filling. (Let's all ignore how I keep fridging Reader's mom, pls)

----

Martha and Thomas were by your mother's side as soon as she walked in with you in her arms, Martha almost crying at the sight of your scrunched up face, still wrinkly and flushed. They were both so happy when Bruce found love, both were so sure he'd die alone in some alley, and when the news of the pregnancy came, they were right there, celebrating with their son as if they were still alive.

But Bruce got busy, too busy with both Wayne Enterprises and being Batman. And while your mom had her friend and Alfred, she needed the reassurance of her husband. Martha was the first to notice the cracks.

They both noticed how you'd look at them as if they were right there, so they'd interact with you. Playing with you, making sure you wouldn't bump into anything when you started crawling five months later- but while Thomas would teasingly crawl after you, Martha couldn't help but keep close to her son's wife.

She tried her best to soothe her, trying to give her some warmth from beyond the veil. She knew what was happening- well... to some degree. Martha, too, went through post-partum depression, however, hers stemmed from losing Bruce's unborn brother. Martha hoped to be there for her daughter-in-law before she tried something she'd regret- The dead woman thought your mom would put herself at risk, try to take herself out. She feels guilty that she hadn't seen it earlier.

Your mom would sometimes stare at you for hours, and while it worried Alfred, he brushed it off as the woman simply admiring the bundle of joy she created. He, like Bruce, had other things to attend to. He was sure everything was fine, your mother simply loved you too much.

None of the living expected what happened, mainly because of their own willingness to ignore the clear changes, but Martha and Thomas did. They stuck around even after nightfall, so when at three in the morning your mom walked in and took you out of your cradle, they were hot on her trail.

Obsessive thoughts about your baby, paranoia, sleep problems, hallucinations, and delusions were all symptoms of postpartum psychosis, easily confused with the similar symptoms of postpartum depression.

It'll be easy that everything went to shit quickly- but it didn't. Martha and Thomas watched with pure confusion as your mom filled the bathtub, the thought that she may harm you not even crossing their mind as she held you close, swaying side to side while humming some lullaby. It was a slow build, but when she did submerge your head under the water and firmly held you there, it sure felt like a hundred years passed right through Martha.

She doesn't know how she did it, but Martha was screaming her lungs out as she and her husband pushed the woman away, making her slump against the opposite wall, but neither could pull the plug out, leaving you fighting to keep your head above the water.

Alfred ran as soon as he heard the yelling, a chill passing through him for a moment as he thinks it sounds way too familiar, and your wailing, pausing just for a second to look at your mom, shaking in the corner as she mutters to herself, before he had you in a tower in his arms. Both of the dead Waynes dropped next to the bathtub, clutching at their unbeating hearts and shaking

Bruce is left depressed, traumatized, and with a baby who keeps crying. This wasn't how it was supposed to go in his mind. They were supposed to be happy, the it couple with a sassy baby to boot, they were supposed to grow old, he was supposed to hand over the Batman mantle to you.

Now the responsibility of caring for you fell on Alfred, Bruce being unable to care for himself, let alone a baby he couldn't look at without bursting into tears. And Alfred did his best... for maybe three years.

As soon as you started walking on your own, Alfred started pulling away, redirecting his attention to his usual work. By the time you were three years old, you barely knew of the existence of Bruce. Not because you actually saw the man, but because his parents tried to tell you about him.

You were a quiet toddler, mainly due to learning that if you cried, only Martha and Thomas would show up, and they really couldn't do much. Hell, they barely taught you to speak, but oh, did they love to hear your little transatlantic accent in the few sentences you could make.

They were indulging themselves, really, especially when you'd call the mama and papa- "No, MArtha! I'm not crying, you are, my dear-" They both were tearing up the first time it happened. They were indulging themselves with you, because if their focus wasn't on you, it would be on Bruce, and both were so disappointed in him.

They tried at first, exhausted themselves trying over and over again to nudge their boy towards his daughter- typing on his laptop, writing in the mirror, leaving her toys where he'll find them- nothing worked.

So they redirected their attention to your education- they were terrible at it, but Alfred sure as hell didn't seem to care- so they did their best. You could read perfectly, however, your writing isn't the best, and your speech was stuttered most of the time as you preferred to be mute. There really wasn't anyone to force you to speak, your father's parents unable to get much out of you, especially if they pushed. Teaching you sign language was the best course of action.

For the early part of your life, Alfred still cooked enough to leave leftovers for you to munch on, but sometime along the way, he stopped. Martha and Thomas were stumped. They were raised with buffets and golden spoons glistening in foods they didn't even think about how they were being made.

There was also the problem of you being too short to reach the stove top. Your newfound diet consisted of toast, sandwiches, salads, and the occasional baked potatoes and meat. As you grew older, you got better at cooking, mainly due to sneakingly searching the internet and quickly writing down recipes.

Sadly, the problems keep piling up. The more you grew, the more you needed new clothes, new shoes, sanitary stuff from pads to toothpaste- Bruce couldn't be bothered to be a presence in your life, so you tried to talk to Alfred. With no avail. The old butler was simply too busy, moving past you with more speed than you could keep up with. But you needed money, so despite Martha's protest and Thomas's worry, you went outside the manor.

At first, you did meager jobs that people gave you out of pity. Washing that, trimming the lawn, throwing away this, helping the old lady with carrying bags. It didn't pay well, honestly, it was mostly trading, some clothes or food for a bit of help. Until a goon of the Penguin stopped you.

You weren't stupid. You knew the package was drugs, but the amount he was willing to pay was simply too much to refuse. You guessed that was the perk of the public thinking you were dead, no fear of being kidnapped for ransom.

You became a familiar face among them, and while most were ticked off by a kid being involved, there were a few who threw in a few extra bucks. Martha and Thomas hated it. But you started having clothes that fit, food that wasn't burned, and even had a few extra to buy yourself treats, so they held their lips shut. You usually just put the extra money away.

By the time you turned thirteen, you just wrote Bruce off as a man incapable of love. But then Richard "Dick" Grayson came along. And then Jason. And Tim. Despite Martha and Thomas trying to tell you that it wasn't you, that they loved you- Bruce was just-... They couldn't justify it.

The more time passed, the more you thought those two were hallucinations your mind made up to stop you from going insane. You stopped talking to them. You stopped even acknowledging them. By the time Tim fully settled in, you had left.

There was nothing for you there, you took care of yourself for so long, you didn't need Alfred or Bruce- no matter how much you cried at night, wishing for an ounce of the attention they give the boys- and threw yourself into the crime world. There wasn't anything else you could do. You had no school, could barely write, let alone speak- but you were a good mule, and if someone picked you up and decided to train you to be a weapon, you were fine with that.

When John Constantine first set foot in Wayne Manor, the first thing he saw was the bat's dead parents glaring at him. He expected a lot of things when Bruce called him in need of help, angry grandparents who were worried for a runaway granddaughter, who had been missing for years, and that Bruce forgot even existed, wasn't one of them.

----

This took quite a lot of hours to write- kinda rushed towards the end.

Other thoughts:

If Reader did get picked up by a rogue, it'll be funny for them to be either Uncle Two-Face or Slade... It'll even be funny if it were Talia or Ra's after Jason left.

I strongly believe the Reader wasn't even sent to kindergarten.

I also think Martha and Thomas may have lied and told the MC that her mom is dead instead of institutionalized.

If there is supernatural shit, trust, John Constantine will make an appearance.

It'll ALSO be funny if Reader came to terms with her being able to see the undead, so she also becomes a mage/hunter on the side, kinda like the Winchesters. So when John finally connects the dots, he's just like- "Oh. Oh no. We have a bigger problem here."

Dick at first thought Batsis was a helper. So did the others until they were corrected by Alfred. Nobody cared to ask for further info, except for maybe Jason, who asked once why she isn't eating with the family, and it made Alfred pause for so long that Jay just assumed she's mean.

[fushigurokogane]

"𝙅𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙆𝙣𝙤𝙘𝙠 𝙉𝙚𝙭𝙩 𝙏𝙞𝙢𝙚." Pt.3

fem!reader x megumi fushiguro an: hihihihihihi!!! so, im thinking about this, but im not sure if i should do it. Should I make this into a series?? I feel like I could do a few more parts. If you wanna be part of the taglist, just comment below!! Pt.1 - Pt.2

The next few days passed with a new kind of quiet between you and Megumi.

Not the cold kind. Not avoidance.

But the charged kind—like every moment was filled with things neither of you had the nerve to say out loud.

He didn’t tease you again after that night. He didn’t need to. The way his eyes lingered a bit longer, the way his shoulder brushed yours during missions, the way his voice softened when he said your name—it all said enough.

And you were starting to unravel. Slowly, surely. He was becoming a problem.

Because this was Megumi. Stoic, sharp, silent Megumi—who knew how to read a room in five seconds but could ignore his own feelings for years. Who never asked for help but was always the first to show up when you needed him. Who was safest when he was distant, and most dangerous when he started letting you in.

And you’d already been let in.

You just hadn’t figured out what to do with it.

-

It wasn’t until a storm rolled in that things shifted again.

You were curled up on the couch in the shared lounge, rain beating against the windows, a movie playing low on the screen—something dumb and not worth remembering. Everyone else had cleared out for the night, too tired from the latest assignment. But not Megumi. He walked in quietly, a towel around his neck again, dark shirt clinging to his still-damp skin from the shower.

You glanced up. “You know, one day I’ll be emotionally strong enough to see you like this and not short-circuit.”

He didn’t smile, but his voice had a softness to it. “You’ve gotten better.”

You rolled your eyes but made room for him on the couch anyway. He sat next to you, not too close—but close enough that you could feel the warmth of him, smell the faint cedar of his soap.

The movie played on, unnoticed.

“Hey,” you said after a few minutes, voice quieter. “What you said… the other night. About liking it when I look at you like I see you…”

He turned his head toward you, brows slightly lifted. He remembered.

“…Were you being serious?”

The silence stretched, but not in a bad way. More like he was choosing his words with care.

“I wouldn’t have said it if I wasn’t.”

You looked down at your hands. “I wasn’t sure if you were trying to mess with me.”

“Have I ever messed with you like that?”

You paused. “No.”

“Then you should believe me.”

His voice had that depth again—that unshakable calm that only made your heart race faster.

“I see you too, you know,” you said, barely above a whisper. “Not just the strong sorcerer part. I see the way you carry everything. The way you protect everyone even when it tears you up. I see all of it. And I still… like you.”

It felt like dropping a stone into still water. Heavy. Real.

Megumi didn’t speak at first. His eyes just stayed on you, dark and unreadable, but there was something raw in them now. Not vulnerability. Not quite.

Just honesty.

He reached out slowly, his hand brushing your jaw, then resting against your cheek like he wasn’t sure if you’d let him hold you—but hoping you would.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know how long I’ve felt this,” he said, voice low, close. “You always looked at me like you knew. Even when I didn’t say a damn thing.”

You leaned into his touch, heart loud in your ears. “Maybe I was waiting for you to catch up.”

His lips curved—not quite a smile. But something softer.

“I’m here now.”

And then—finally, finally—he leaned in, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that wasn’t rushed or possessive. It was quiet. Steady. Like a truth that had taken its time getting here, but had always known where it was going.

When you pulled back, you stayed close, foreheads touching.

Outside, the storm kept raging.

Inside, for once, everything felt calm. --- Part 4....??? Series..??

taglist: @ehcilhc @amesenseii @vintag3u @obsessivestrawberrysimp @moonymoo1 @arabella0001 @sassymilkshakewitch @sutefa02 @hawkwithsocks @akiducky (I just tagged a bunch of ppl that commented for different parts on other posts)

©fushigurokogane - please do not copy, translate, or plagiarize my work!

[neeeooon]

i think otoya is the kind of person who is aware that he is capable of changing his ways with girls when he finds the “one”, but he’s never truly believed in that. but when when like a girl transfers it’s quite literally love at first sight and he wants to change for her. you can decide whether she gets with him or not, thanks so muchh !! ^^

aww yes i love this idea tysm!!

love of my dreams

otoya eita x fem!reader. ft. karasu and yukimiya. love at first sight. fluff, crack, otoya is a bit weird at the start, cussing, slight death/kms joke at the end. wc: 810

“fuck.”

otoya just told karasu and yukimiya how much he liked his bachelor life. how he wasn’t ready to change. to settle down.

and then you just had to walk through those damn doors.

“fuck.”

you had a guide at your side, telling otoya you were a transfer student. his eyes were glued on you, and every step you took, unable to tear his gaze away. he wanted to know your name, where you transferred from, and what you were studying. probably something similar to him, as you were being toured through his building.

a sharp jab caused him to curse again, and otoya shot a glare at karasu and the cheap plastic butter knife he’d been stabbed with. “yer staring.”

“of course i’m staring. i’m in love.”

“you don’t do love,” yukimiya chimed with a snicker before shoving a forkful of salad into his mouth. “that’s your whole thing.”

otoya didn’t want it to be his whole thing anymore—not after seeing you.

he continued to think about you through the rest of his lunch, then his classes, his drive home, and even while he was texting yukimiya for answers to their finance homework. he didn't believe in love at first sight, at least he didn't think he did. you changed that so quick, otoya was still reeling six hours later.

otoya: i need her number

otoya: pls be my spies pls pls pls

karasu: i never thought i'd see down bad otoya like for real and not just to get pussy

otoya: is that a yes

karasu: for all we know she has a boyfriend

yukimiya: or a girlfriend

otoya: GODDDD IM GOING INSANE I NEED HER SO BAD

otoya: she's the one for me. i'm done. no more playboy otoya.

yukimiya: if you're serious. REALLY SERIOUS. i'll help

karasu: same ig

otoya: there's a special place in blowjob heaven for you two 🙏

and two days later, with the help of yukimiya and karasu, otoya had intel. they also told him you had a gap in your schedule and ate lunch by yourself in the dining hall.

and when otoya saw you? he was nervous.

your hair was pulled away from your face, the eraser-end of your pencil tapping your lips as you concentrated so hard on your homework that a delicate crease formed between your brows. otoya wanted to smooth it out with his thumb and kiss the spot instead.

shaking his head, his grip tightened around his sandwich as he slowly approached you. when you looked up, otoya felt his face grow hot. "sorry to bother you. is this seat taken?"

you rapidly shook your head and gestured to the chair. "no, no, you can take it! just make sure you put it back—"

"i mean, is it okay if i sit here?" he quickly cut off with a small grin, his chest fluttering when you blushed in embarrassment.

you dropped your pencil to hide your face in your hands. "oh my god, i'm so... yeah, yes, you can sit here." shaking your hands out to release some of the stress, you flashed a bright smile. "i'm y/n."

“otoya,” he greeted casually, as if a flock of butterflies didn’t make a home in his stomach.

you repeated his name quietly to yourself before nodding. “i think i’ve seen you in this building before. what are you majoring in?”

when he told you, your eyes lit up so brightly that otoya swore they glittered. “no way! me too! weird that we don’t have any classes together, though. maybe next semester!”

the rest of the time spent before your next class was filled with the two of you talking. otoya thought he'd fail at the genuine small talk thing since he didn't want to use any of his usual lines on you, but he was surprised at how easy it was. whenever he got quiet, you were right there to pick up where he left off.

"this might be too soon," otoya started as he walked you to your class. "but would you want to hang out again tomorrow?"

your smile faltered slightly, and otoya was ready to jump over the rail and fall to the first floor. it wasn't too far down, so he probably wouldn't die, but if he hobbled in front of a truck right after—

"i don't have this class tomorrow," you explained gently. "but would thursday work instead?"

fireworks exploded behind otoya's eyes, along with the relief of no longer needing to die. he readjusted his grip on his bag strap and flashed you a slow grin. "thursday works. same spot as today?"

you beamed. "yep! oh, and here's my number, in case i'm late or we have to reschedule!"

otoya knew, as you entered your name into his phone with a cute emoji, that he would eventually die a happy man.

[reidologys]

The Tortured Poets Department

People put wedding rings on..

paring: spencer reid x fem!reader

summary: after a dinner at rossi's, you start to look back over the past few months with spencer, wondering if his actions were more than what you thought.

content warning: 4.1k words! i pictured season 6-7 reid when writing this but you're 100% up for interpretation!!, a man who yearns coded, spencer is truly a tortured poet, talks of marriage, tooth rotting fluff, spencer is better than matty healy i promise, linguistic! reader, weed, mention of going to a bar but canceling, reader gets her period and is emotional

a/n: if this flops i'm quitting (jkjk), also i need friends guys

TO SAY YOU were nervous about dinner at Rossi's was a complete and total understatement. You were apprehensive--this was your first time meeting Spencer's team. And that thought alone was nerve-wracking.

But here you were, all dressed up and clinging onto Spencer's forearm as his calloused, veiny hand knocked on Rossi's door with an echo that made your stomach twist snd turn.

You'd spent the past few hours getting ready and thinking about every way you could potentially embarrass yourself during this dinner. What if you dropped something or spilled something? What if this was all a ruse to give Spencer a reason to leave?

Spencer Reid was a profiler--- and a superb one at that. He saw the crease in your eyebrows and the tremors in your fingers while you curled your eyelashes. He made sure to reassure you of your worries. Spencer always had a way with words. He knew what to say to still your bouncing knee.

Rossi opened his front door with a tremendous smile pulling at the corners of his lips, showing off every smile line and wrinkle on his face. Showing his age.

"Boy Genius!" Rossi called out, bringing Spencer in for the most dad hug you'd ever seen. He patted Spencer's back before turning to you. "And you must be ━." He grabbed your hand with such ease. Such delicacy it made you wonder if he saw you as a porcelain doll that would shatter. He shook your hand with a practiced, firm grip.

"It's really nice to finally meet you, Dave. Spencer talks about you---all of you---frequently." You shook the older man's hand back, not wanting to be impolite. Spencer had informed you on the millions of pathogens---an estimated 5,209---passed during a handshake and you've never been able to stop thinking about it since.

Rossi led the two of you through his house and into the dining room. You looked around in awe, missing the pristine dining table the rest of Spencer's coworkers were sitting at. The room looked so elegant. Like a five star restaurant, except this was a wealthy man's mansion.

Spencer's hand that rested on the smallness of your back, gently patted your side to call back your focus. "Baby." He gently murmured, not wanting to speak too loud in hopes you weren't too embarrassed. You could feel your face heating up already.

You turned back to the slightly familiar faces sitting at the table, smiling at you and Spencer. You quietly cleared your throat while your fingers intertwined in front of you. "Hi, I'm ━." You introduced yourself, a mousy smile pulled at your lips.

A black haired woman couldn't hold back her giggle. Your eyes sheepishly looked from her to Spencer, eyes widening slightly as if you were scared you did the wrong thing.

Sensing your complexion, she spoke up. "Spencer, she's precious." The girl cooed. She pushed herself ip from the table, stalking over to you. Her arms wrapped loosely around your shoulders. You had to admit you were a little confused by this domestic feeling, but your hands eventually found their way to the girl's back, hugging her.

When she pulled away, she combed her fingers through her hair that looked to be blown out. "I'm Emily. Spencer talks about you all the time." When you giggled, brushing it off as just a little confidence booster, her face grew serious. "No, I'm not kidding. Spence always finds a way to beings you up in passing. It's honestly really--" "Okay, Emily. That's really unnecessary.."

Spencer's face flushed a shade of pink, his ears reddening and splotches starting to appear on his neck. He hadn't expected Emily to just expose him in front of his perfect girlfriend.

He pulled your chair out for you, allowing you to sit down before pushing it back in. His hands moved your hair from the chairs backing, not wanting it to tangle. While he was at it, he situated the necklace that sat around your neck so that the clasp was in the back.

Eventually, he sat down beside you, warm hand brushing up against your knee under the table. His fingers gently tapped in a pitter pattering motion against the flesh of your knee.

Rossi was quick to bring out dinner. The pasta he'd spent hours cooking looked filling as he dished out plates and poured expensive wine into glasses. When he sat down at the head of the table, he smiled at you.

"To Boy Geniuses girlfriend we've heard so much about." He lifted the glass up, the entire table mimicking his actions. You felt your face heat up for what felt like the millionth time tonight. All the attention on you was a little petrifying.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

The team had long finished dinner but no one dared to get up as the conversation flowed throughout The conversation that felt more like an interrogation.

Spencer's hand gripped tightly onto yours, delicate fingers softly rubbing against your cracking knuckles. The fall air outside had taken its toll on how soft your hands normally were. Spencer didn't mind, however. He never seemed to mind.

While Garcia was teasing JJ about her husband, Will, Spencer's fingers pulled the ring off of your middle finger. He romantically slid it onto your left ring finger. Wordlessly. The finger people put wedding rings on.

You could feel your heart exploding.

Hotch cleared his throat, sitting across from Spencer but looking at you. He waited expectantly for you to answer, thick eyebrows knitted together.

"I'm sorry. What did you say?" You felt embarrassed for asking Spencer's boss to repeat himself since you'd been occupied by Spencer's casualty about putting the shiny jewelry on your ring finger. But maybe it didn't mean anything. Maybe it was casual.

Hotch gave what looked like a smile but you could never be too sure. "I asked you what you and Reid did on your first date." His breath came out in what sounded like a slightly buzzed laugh. He seemed a lot less tense since the beginning of the dinner. Must have been the wine. Spencer told you that Hotch never loosened up.

You couldn't suppress the smile that pulled the corners of your mouth. "It was really cute, actually.."

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

You and Spencer had been in the same poetry class. It was hardly even a class. It was an extra curricular that the Quantico library offered to all ages. Except it was mainly older people.

Spencer had been at your apartment, the two of you having been given homework to research poets from at least two centuries ago. It was a group project. You and Spencer had settled on Dylan Thomas.

A bulky typewriter sat on your dining room table. Spencer'd brought it over to write a poem inspired by the poet the two of you picked.

Hours later, when Spencer had long left, you noticed the hunk of metal still perched on your table. A breathy sigh left your lips as you hauled it down the stairs and into the back seat of your car.

When your shaking fist knocked on Spencer's apartment door, he opened immediately. "You--sorry I'm so cold. You left your typewriter at my apartment." Your cheeks were pink from the chill that blew around you outside on your dreadful decent up Spencer's twisty, windy, rickety staircase.

He gave you a sheepish smile, rubbing the back of his neck. His ears grew red while spots showed up on his neck. This was when you first saw him blush, a soon to be familiar sight.

"Thank you for bringing it over. Uh--come in. You look like you could turn into a popsicle any second." His voice showed no signs of being shallow or rude. It was all teasing. You couldn't help but giggle softly, slipping into spencer's apartment.

You slipped your coat off, hanging it on his coat rack. He stalked into his kitchen, beginning to make two cups of tea. Peppermint flavored. How festive.

The two of you talked while the tea warmed up. He had a way with his words, constantly making you double over in laughter.

Once the tea was done brewing, the two of you found your way to his couch, sharing a throw blanket while Frosty the Snowman played in the background of your conversations.

It'd been hours you'd spent at Spencer's. Your head was leaned against his shoulder, body long being warmed up. Long having been defrosted.

It'd been comfortable silence of the two of you watching Christmas movies--The Santa Clause 3 now playing. Spencer cleared his throat, fingers rubbing small circles into your hip bone while your entire body leaned against him.

"I left it on purpose. I wanted to spend more time with you but I was too nervous to just..say it out loud." He confessed. You thought it was strange that the genius with an eidetic memory had forgotten such a hefty object on your table.

You couldn't help but snicker, curling your body closer to him. You thought something you'd never say: who uses typewriters anyway? You should've realized from the minute he walked in with that thing that he had a plan.

"You're a dork, Spencer." You hummed, eyes shut while you spoke. You felt his lips press against the top of your head before you eventually drifted off to sleep. He mumbled something about love that night. But you were too tired to hear it.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

"Who uses typewriters anyways?" Morgan was laughing at Spencer for how he'd gone about your first date. It was silly to him. But to you? That was the perfect first date.

Spencer shot Morgan a humorous glare, his brows pitched together. "I didn't know how else to ask." He huffed, a mouthiness to his words.

Morgan held his hands up in surrender. "Got me there, Pretty Boy." He chuckled, watching Spencer roll his eyes at his teasing.

"Wait, wait, wait. Spencer randomly texted me one night confessing his love for you--and Charlie Puth. What happened that night?" JJ couldn't stifle her giggles.

Your eyes went wide because you remembered exactly what had happened that night. It was hilarious.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

You and Spencer had gone put for a coffee shop date that day. He picked you up in his Volvo Amazon, driving the two of you to this cafe in downtown D.C.

His eyes had immediately picked up on your socks. Spencer had always worn mismatched socks with strange patterns because he believed it was good luck. His exact words were; "I've worn mismatched socks every day of my life and I haven't died." It was the least scientific thing you'd ever seen him do.

So when he saw you wearing these socks with a strange patterns-- t-rex's with Santa hats and and the words "Tree Rex" stitched onto them to be exact--he knew he was deeply in love.

The date was fine. Perfect even. Because every date you had with Spencer was amazing. The two of you went back to your apartment where you got ready for your works Christmas party.

You were a linguist, working for a newspaper company that often covered the cases the BAU solved. It made you feel like you were helping in a way, even if you weren't. Spencer often told you that you belonged somewhere else.

It wasn't meant to be belittling. It was far from that. Because Spencer believed you to be highly intellectual. He thought--no he knew that your abilities should be used somewhere that could actually skyrocket your career instead of a dingy news office.

But he supported your choice to stay close to home. Stay close to him. Though there was hardly a difference between home and Spencer Reid.

Upon arriving to the office's annual Christmas party, you and Spencer were completely oblivious to the fact that the brownies had pot in them. The two of you had eaten one each, and you weren't entirely sure what was happening.

You just knew that the two of you craved more. So you found out who had made the brownies--Charolette Avey--and she'd graciously given you a joint to share with Spencer.

So the two of you sat on the steps of the building, lighting the rolled paper. You took a decently sized inhale, feeling the warm sensation fill your lungs while your muscles loosened. Spencer took a deep breath, inhaling once the weed touched his lips.

Once the two of you had gotten the paper down to a small stub, you stepped on it with the heel of your Mary Janes, putting out the ember.

Going inside was difficult. The two of you sprayed yourselves with the perfume you kept in your glove box before going back inside.

Spencer, ever so lanky and scrawny, devoured seven whole bars of Santa shaped chocolate once inside.

When the party was over, the two of you sat in your car trying to sober up before driving off. Charlie Pith played on your car's radio.

Spencer's veiny hand turned the volume knob ip, Charlie Puth now playing at a decently high volume. "You know, I never hear about him anymore. And he's so good. I think Charlie Puth should be a bigger artist." Spencer declared, his voice rising an octave or two so you could hear him over how loud the music was.

You covered your mouth to giggle, knees pulled up against your chest. "He's actually not bad. You've got good taste, Doc." You clicked your fingers at him.

Once you were sober enough, you drove the two of you back to your apartment. You helped Spencer climb the steps and get himself through the door.

He was still high. And it was obvious. The two of you laid in your bed, his head plopping down into your lap. Your fingers traveled down to scratch his head. "I told JJ about you. I really love you, ━. Like.. I think I'm gonna marry you. I already thought about it in my brain. I want--don't tell him this--I want Morgan to be my best man."

You tried not to take any meaning to his words. He was stone off his ass. It meant nothing. Just mindless babbles.

"Go to sleep, Spence." You chuckled softly, scratching his head. He fell asleep in your lap like a golden retriever.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

Upon explaining that story to JJ, your face grew a little confused. Your face contoured in deep thought, voice trailing off at the end of the story.

Spencer rubbed your arm soothingly. "Somethin' on your mind, Angel?" He murmured, lips pressed close to your ear.

And there was something on your mind. Did he really mean what he said that night? He told you he planned to marry you. And then he put that stupid ring on your finger earlier. You couldn't let the action leave your mind and it bothered you to know end.

You shook your head slowly. "No. 'M okay, Baby." You reassured, forcing a smile back on your face so that maybe you'd stop overlooking everything.

But now it was impossible. It was infuriating that you couldn't let your mind wander anywhere else for the rest of the night. Your mind flickered back to a phone call you overheard between Spencer and Morgan from a few months ago.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

You laid in your and Spencer's shared bed. The two of you had moved in together three months into your relationship. He had his phone pressed to his ear, thinking you were still peacefully asleep.

But you'd woken up the second you felt the dip in his side of the bed recoil back to the normal shape.

"I don't know, Morgan. I think--I think she's the one. I don't know what i'd do without her." He murmured into the phone, just loud enough for Derek to hear, but not loud enough to wake you. If you were sleeping that is.

Your interest was immediately heightened upon hearing his words.

"I think I'd stop breathing if she left. I don't want her to feel stuck or anything. But she's like oxygen to me. I don't think I'd be able to go on with my life. I know that I lived twenty-seven years without knowing her, but I can't imagine spending another eternity without her. It feels like she's been the oxygen I used for my entire life. I love her with everything in me. I think the marrow of my bones deteriorates when I even imagine a life without ━."

You felt tears prickle your waterline hearing the way Spencer spoke so highly of you. He was so poetic. His voice cracked like he'd been tortured for years. Like he was a tortured poet coming straight from a metaphorical tortured poets department.

"It's like.. if I was Dylan Thomas and she was Patti Smith. Our apartments like the Chelsea Hotel and we belong here together. Just the two of us." He finished with a soft smile darting your way.

Spencer walked to the bed, sitting on the edge next to you. You felt his weight shift the bed to dip on your side while you squeezed your eyes shut so he wouldn't know you were awake.

A fragile hand moved the tangled hair out of your face. Spencer's chapped lips pressed against your temple and from how close he was to you, you could hear Morgan on the other line. "You're a bunch of modern idiots."

Spencer let out a hearty chuckle, standing up and walking into the kitchen. Leaving you to process everything he'd just said about you.

When he went into work that day, you called your friend, wanting to feel seen. Wanting her to understand why you'd suddenly decided you'd never leave Spencer Reid.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

Garcia walked into the kitchen to bring out the pies she'd baked for your special introductory dinner. But you were still deep in thought, not even noticing the sweet girl excusing herself from the table.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

You and Spencer were supposed to have gone out to the bar the previous night of this memory. But you had such a sharp pain digging into your side that the two of you canceled last minute You'd awoken with dread, a feeling of nails pounding into your skull causing you to groan.

There was a sharp pain in your back and stomach, causing you to clutch it with tears welling up. Spencer, ever so attentive, had tracked your cycle from the moment you started dating.

He wasn't in bed when you woke up. "Spence..?" Your hoarse, sleep induced raspy voice called out. He came in a few moments later, a hot water bottle in one hand and a warm cup of coffee in the other. He sat down on the bed beside you.

"Hey, sweet girl. You not feelin' good?" His voice was soft. He was so warm. He felt like a prayer. Like he was everything you'd asked for. You shook your head, a pained expression evident on your face.

Spencer frowned, brushing your hair away and setting the mug down on the bedside table. "Let's get you taken care of and then we can watch your show, yeah?" He didn't wait for you to answer before scooping you up and carrying you to the bathroom.

Once you'd cleaned yourself up and taken proper menstrual care of yourself, he carried you back into bed, wrapping a blanket around you and placing the bottle on your upper abdomen.

Spencer held a painkiller in his hand. "Open, Angel." He instructed before placing the medication on your tongue. You swallowed, making a sour face at the bitter after taste the pill left in your mouth. Spencer laughed a little at the face you made.

He held you while the two of you watched your show. You'd seen this episode over a hundred times. Spencer heard sniffling and his face grew concerned. He moved you so that he could see your face.

"What's wrong, Honey? Are you hurting?" He instantly grew careful, trying to figure that out what was wrong. But you just cried instead. "They just killed off Tyler!" You sobbed, face wetting the fabric of Spencer's shirt.

He looked at you with a puzzled expression. You wiped your eyes with the sleeves of spencer's your hoodie. "I've seen this episode and still love the show." You admitted, perfectly okay again.

Though he would never understand a period, Spencer learned to decode you eventually. It took a lot of time and patience but he had done it. He'd seen you come undone on multiple occasions and yet he still chose this cyclone with you.

Because who was gonna hold you like him? Who was going to know you like him?

Nobody.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

Leaving the dinner that night, Spencer's hand rested on your back, opening his passenger door for you and helping you in. When he climbed in, he started driving back to your shared apartment in a comfortable silence.

But the way you'd seemed a little off bothered him. Spencer placed a gentle hand on your thigh, rubbing the inside oh so carefully. "Baby. What's going through that pretty head of yours?" He quipped.

You knew it was impossible to hide the way you were feeling from an FBI profiler. You huffed, taking a deep breath to steady your quickening nerves.

"I'm curious, I guess. I keep overthinking, I think. I just looked back on a lot of the nights we had tonight and it had me wondering." You tried to be as bland as possible, not wanting to give away to anything you felt directly.

Spencer cocked an eyebrow at you, his eyes steady on the road. His rough unoccupied hand that always felt so gentle gripped the steering wheel loosely. "Tell me about it. Talk to me, Angel." He hummed softly l.

"I just--" You let out an annoyed huff of warm air. How did you word the fact that you can't figure out if your boyfriend wants to marry you or not?

"At dinner you took my ring off my middle finger and put it on the one people put wedding rings on and that's the closet I've come to my heart exploding. And I guess that just had me looking back on everything. Like you getting high and telling me you wanted to marry me. Telling me you wanted Morgan as your best man. But I just figured it was mindless babbling. But then there's that phone-call I overheard between you and Morgan where you were so poetic it made me cry. But maybe you only said that because you knew I was listening. And the way you treat me when I'm on my period is just so loving. I guess I'm just confused." You'd rambled.

Spencer's eyes went wide when he processed your rambling. He exhaled through his mouth, face not giving anything away.

Finally, he cleared his throat. "Woah, Baby. Those are some big feelings.." He admitted, parking the car when he pulled into your apartment complex.

When you two walked up the stairs, you knew this was it. This was the end of your relationship. You wanted to get married and he didn't. But when you pushed the front door open, you saw a bunch of papers scattered on the floor.

Your face dropped, looking at the mess. "Spence? What happened?" You asked. But he feigned obliviousness. "I dunno, Honey." He shrugged.

Spencer walked over to the kitchen counter. He grabbed a book that sat atop the counter. "I picked this book up for you on my way home today. Open it, see if it's something you'd be interested in." He pressed a kiss to your temple.

Your brows furrowed but you nodded, holding the book in your hands. When you opened it, your heart dropped and you immediately felt tears rolling down your cheeks.

The book had the pages hollowed out in the shape of a heart. Inside of the heart sat a shiny ring. Written in the margins was the question you'd been dying to hear for months. Will you marry me?

You turned to look at Spencer who had a shy smile on his face. "Are you serious?" You asked through tears. Spencer pulled you in for a hug, kissing the top of his head.

"Will you make me the happiest tortured poet and marry me, sweet girl?" He asked, his hands holding your face so he could see the beauty he admired every day.

You nodded your head rapidly, tears dripping down your cheeks. You pressed your lips against Spencer's, proud to call him your fiancée.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

You found out later that the dinner was just so Spencer's friend, Ethan, could set up the apartment. Spencer's coworkers were already in on it.

Everyone you knew understood why it was meant to be. You two were crazy for each other.

[aurossaga]

We Were Nothing the Wind Couldn't Catch

Venti x gn!reader

Genre: Fluff, Rivals with repressed feelings

Word count: ~ 1.5k

Warnings: None!

Summary: You are an aspiring bard in Mondstadt, trying to get your morning practice in when your greatest rival and constant thorn in your side, Venti, decides to drop by to listen.

The humid morning breeze coming in from Mondstadt’s side gate sent the faintest shiver down your spine, carrying with it the cool scent of Cider Lake. Your leg tapped against the cobblestone in rhythm with the soft, albeit uneven notes of your lyre. You were sat on one of the overturned crates, the ones near where Guy and Hertha is usually stationed, brows furrowed in deep concentration and lips mouthing quiet rhymes as your fingers plucked at the instrument’s unruly strings.

A sour note clanged like nails on a chalkboard.

“You’re flat on the third again,” spoke that annoyingly familiar voice from above you, smooth, casual, and infuriatingly amused. Your fingers stilled as your eye twitched.

“It’s as if you wake up every day with the goal of being more annoying than the last,” you muttered, not even bothering to look up at him. You could tell by the tone of his voice exactly what expression he was wearing anyways. You heard him chuckle.

“Not quite every day,” Venti said, pushing off the stone wall and treading down the adjacent stairs with an even, calm gait. “Sometimes I wake up thinking, how are you going to go about brutalizing a G chord before breakfast?”

You fought back the urge to groan. As per usual, no matter where you set up shop to practice in the morning, the famous bard would find you and would make you want to invent a new insult just for him. “I don’t recall inviting an audience,” you grumbled, voice flat and unreadable.

“Oh, my mistake.” Venti gave a theatrical, over-exaggerated bow, his hand over his heart in a gesture that would have seemed heartfelt if you hadn’t known him as well as you did. “I thought the music was an open invitation, my ears wandered in on their own.”

“Such a shame your ears work so much better than your manners.” You returned your attention to your lyre before he had the chance to retort and further distract you. You let out a short sigh, something almost more akin to growl considering the circumstances, as you began playing again. This time, slower, every last note more crisp and deliberate than earlier. From the corner of your eyes you could see him leaning against the wall next to you, eyeing your hands as you played, gaze occasionally drifting up to your focused expression. His lips parted as he was about to say something, but you cut him off before he had the chance.

“I don’t need your critique.” He laughed a bit in response.

“You do need it,” Venti replied. “You just don’t want it from me.

You arched an eyebrow as you glanced at him from the corner of your eye. “Why are you even here then?”

Venti shrugged, a casual motion to most, but you had started to get the feeling he cared more than he let on. Call it… intuition. “Can’t a fellow bard take an early morning stroll and be tragically assaulted by a poor performace?”

“You followed me.”

“Perhaps I did. Maybe I like the way you play when you think no one’s listening.”

You’re not sure why that startled you. Did he mean for that to come out the way it did…? For the first time since these encounters began, he looked almost serious. But the moment passed like a fleeting breeze. “I mean, there’s a lot of wincing, but it’s very... earnest.”

You stood abruptly, lyre in hand, an uncomfortable red blooming on your cheeks. Definitely from frustration, nothing else. You turned sharply to face him, eyes narrowing as you took in his smug expression. “If you’re going to insult me, at least do it normally and stop dragging it out.”

Venti cocked his head to the side, his eyes softening just a little bit. “I wasn’t insulting you,” he defended, taking a tentative step closer. “You’re close. You’re just… not hearing the shape of the chord.”

You frowned. “The shape? What are you on about?”

Venti moved deliberately, offering you a hand. “May I?”

You hesitated, eyeing the bard warily… but you didn’t move away. And he took it as permission. Slowly, Venti stepped behind you, and you swore you caught the scent of cecilias clinging to his clothes. His hands reached around, delicate fingers faintly brushing yours as he gently repositioned them on the strings of your lyre.

“Your middle finger’s stiff. Relax it,” Venti murmured, his voice much quieter now with how close he was… and how focused he sounded as he calmly guided you. “Press here, and soften the ring finger.”

You didn’t say a word, barely drawing breath as you focused entirely on the gentle pressure of Venti’s hand adjusting yours, the soft warmth of his fingers, and the steadiness of his voice. His thumb ghosted across your wrist as he shifted your position. “Now, play.”

You almost flinched as you were brought back to the moment, your mind forcing itself to ignore the subtle warmth of his chest nearly pressed against your back or the sound of his voice just inches from your ear. You focus up, plucking the strings with surprising clarity. The chord rang out true, clean, bright, and resonant.

“…There,” Venti said softly. “That’s the one.” But he didn’t move away just yet.

Your hands were now frozen, fingers hovering over the strings, trying to commit to memory what he had just taught you. “You’ve never… helped me before.”

“With the way you usually scowl at me? That’s an act of self-preservation.” Venti said, voice low, almost humorous. But not mocking as usual.

You turned your head slightly, meeting Venti’s gaze over your shoulder. There was something unreadable in his expression, something neither of you were completely ready to draw attention to yet.

“I’m not used to you being… sincere.” You admitted, unsure why exactly you were speaking so earnestly to your long-time rival.

The bard let out a sigh, feigning offense. “You wound me. I’m always sincere, you know?”

“...No you’re not.”

“...Alright, perhaps not always.”

You sat there in the tense silence for a moment too many, unable to concentrate on anything but the feel of his gaze on you, not your instrument.

Finally, you very suddenly pulled your hands back out of his loose grip, taking a step forward to put a little distance between you. You ignore the shiver running down your spine.

“I still don’t like you.”

“You don’t have to like me,” Venti said, watching you as he crossed his arms over his chest. “You just have to play that chord right again. And perhaps admit I was right, if the mood strikes.”

You didn’t respond immediately, just eyed your lyre for a second. Your gaze unwillingly drifted back to him, and he was staring right back at you, his eyes softer than usual as he gave you an encouraging nod. You quickly looked back down at your lyre before the warmth rising to your cheeks could take over, positioning your hands just like he instructed earlier. This time, the chord was perfect.

Venti smiled. Not smug, not teasing. Just quiet satisfaction.

“See? You can learn.”

You didn’t look up as you retorted. “I liked you better when you were insulting me.”

“No you didn’t.”

Another chord. Resonant and clear, carried along the breeze. The sound echoed off the stone brick walls, soft yet powerful. Neither of you moved an inch. Venti still stood behind you, gaze intense enough that you could feel it even without looking to check.

“You’re staring,” You accused plainly, but not quite managing to sound as annoyed as you intended. Venti blinked slowly, the usual smirk replaced with something quieter, more subtle. “I’m listening.”

“To what?”

“You,” He said.

That did it. You looked away, jaw clenching. “You don’t get to look at me like that after spending three weeks calling my arpeggios ‘limp.’”

You weren’t quite irritated, even. Not the way you usually are after spending any amount of time around him. You couldn’t quite name this frustrating feeling, or why it made you want to grit your teeth and throw an insult his way. Venti chuckled under his breath. “That was a compliment, in context.”

You turned to look at him, sharp eyes narrowing. “You always do this..! Mock, hover, push just far enough to make me question if I actually hate you or-”

The words caught in your throat. The air changed.

Venti didn’t step forward, but… he didn’t step back either. “Or?” He asked, voice low.

You didn’t answer. Didn’t have to. Not with the suffocating silence stretching between you, taut and buzzing like a plucked string. You had clearly slipped, said just a few words more than you intended. More than you expected.

Then, with a quiet groan and a huff, you turned on your heel away from him. “I have to get to the square,” you excused, tightening your grip on the lyre, the sturdy wood of the instrument the only thing grounding you at the moment.

Venti nodded slowly. “Of course. Wouldn’t want to distract you from your work.”

You shot him an incredulous look. As if he hadn’t been doing that all morning… Then, you turned and walked off, back straight, pace brisk as the fall of your steps echoed on the cobblestone paths.

Venti waited until you were gone, then exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding in. Fingers twitched at his side, like he was still playing an unfinished melody.

“...You play like you mean it. Pity you never speak the same way.”

[passionfruitchris]

𝒀𝑶𝑼 𝑪𝑨𝑵𝑻 𝑻𝑶𝑼𝑪𝑯 𝒀𝑶𝑼𝑹𝑺𝑬𝑳𝑭 𝑾𝑰𝑻𝑯𝑶𝑼𝑻 𝑴𝑨𝑻𝑻

It starts with his hands.

Veiny, precise, relaxed in that signature way of his — like he knows exactly what he’s doing without ever needing to try. You’re watching him from across the room, curled on the edge of the bed with a pillow clutched to your chest, eyes fixed on the way his fingers flex around the controller, how his thumbs tap rhythmically, how the veins on his forearms shift every time he clicks or swipes.

They’re the same hands that thread through your hair when you’re falling apart. The same hands that press flat over your belly when he’s holding you down and whispering how full you are. The same ones that always know how to touch everywhere except where you need it most — until you’re soaked and trembling and begging.

And right now?

They’re wrapped around a controller.

“Matt…” You try to sound casual, but there’s heat simmering under your voice, a needy edge you can’t quite swallow down.

“Hmm?” he replies absently, not even glancing away from the screen. “Almost done with this round, baby.”

You chew on your lip. You know the game matters to him — he doesn’t get a lot of time to play. But the longer you stare at his hands, the tighter your thighs press together, and eventually, something inside you just snaps.

You flop back dramatically onto the bed behind him, letting out a little huff. You know he heard it. But he doesn’t budge.

So you slip a hand under your waistband, just enough to tease yourself over your panties. Just enough to make your breath hitch.

Still nothing.

Until you slide lower — two fingers just barely slipping past the fabric — and your soft, whimpering moan cuts through the quiet hum of the game like lightning.

Click.

The controller hits the desk.

Matt doesn’t speak right away. He just turns slowly, looking over his shoulder with a look that’s part disbelief, part wicked amusement. His eyes trail down your body, to where your thighs are twitching, your cheeks flushed and your bottom lip caught between your teeth.

“You serious right now?” he asks, voice low. You nod, chest heaving. His gaze darkens.

“Oh, baby,” he murmurs, standing from his chair and walking over to you. “You know better.”

He kneels on the bed, easing your legs apart with his hands—those hands—and settles between your thighs. “Trying to touch yourself without me?” he scolds, soft but firm, dragging a finger up your inner thigh, purposefully avoiding where you’re most desperate.

You squirm, but he presses a palm to your stomach and tuts. “No. You don’t get to touch. You wait.”

You’re dripping.

He’s watching.

And the worst part is? He hasn’t even touched your clit.

A/N: Thank you for reading!! I appreciate any interactions👅👅

[wlwsoccerfics]

A North London Love Story: important talks, physical therapy & lots of love

A/N: this Is Part two of A North London Love Story. Please read the First one so this makes sense.

Summary: you are Renées daughter and play for Arsenal as well. You are also married to Alessia.

"it's not as bad as it looks." You just said. Both your wife and mama looked at you.

"what's that supposed to mean?" Alessia wanted to know.

"i just need to give my knee a little rest for like two weeks and then i am good to go. It is nothing serious. I over stretched it..don't worry i will be ready for the Champions League Final." You let them know.

"i personally will make sure you stay on track with your recovery and not try to Play stuff down." Your mama answered.

"me too. obviously." Alessia told you. You sighed softly.

"noted. now can you please stop worrying so much? I mean both of you by the way!" You let them know.

"well i am your wife. It's literally my Job to do so!" Lessi answered.

"and i am your Coach and mom, so same." Your Mama said.

"i am not gonna win this conversation, am i?" You asked.

"there is nothing to win. but you won't get out of us worrying and watching over you!" Your wife informed you.

"that's right!" Your Mama stated.

"so you Gang up on me. I See how it is!" You said teasingly.

"exactly. We both do it in your best interest." Alessia let you know.

Alessia took you home after that conversation and helped you onto the Couch. Placing a pillow under your knee.

"Just rest. watch some TV and let me take care of you!" Alessia answered.

"Babe i didn't have surgrey or anything. I can do some stuff on my own!" You let her know.

"don't argue with me on that one! You need to rest up. We need you in the finale against Barcelona, Babe! I know your Mama agrees on that." Alessia answered.

"okay Love, you got me with that one!" You replied. Of course you wouldn't want to miss the Champions League Finale. Because playing Barcelona was always such a thrill. And you wanted to win.

An hour later you were asleep on the couch. Your Mama checking in on you with your wife. They were on the Phone.

"is she giving you a hard time?" Your Mama asked your wife. Alessia chuckled softly.

"Always! But that's part of why i love her!" Your wife stated.

"i am quite glad she listens to you though. She had always been stubborn. Even as a little Girl." Your Mama answered.

"i do totally believe that!" Lessi said and smiled to herself. "she is sleeping right now though." Your wife added on.

"that's good. Means she isn't trying to secretly work out!" You Mama said. They talked for around twenty more minutes on the Phone before ending the call.

After you had a quick shower, some Pasta Alessia made for Dinner the two of you cuddled up in bed.

"i really hope to be back for the Champions League Final. And i hope we win. Want to Go on a break with a bang." You let her know.

"we can always wait another season to try for a Baby, love." She told you. The two of you had the plan to try for a baby after the Champions League Final. No one knew yet and you would be the one carrying it.

"No, i really think this is the perfect time. If you still are up for it, liefje!" You said softly. She smiled at you.

"then you better get your rest so you can kick some Butts in the final and then we make a Baby!" She told you and kissed you. You pulled her on top of you. Wrapping your Arms around her. Talking for a little while longer before you ended up falling asleep like that. She always made sure not to hurt your knee.

You drove to practice with her every day. While she did Training with the rest of the Team you went to Work with the phyiso Team. All of sudden your Mom showed up. Kind of upset that you kept getting hurt from her. Which you only did cause she was worse then your Mama when it came to you getting hurt.

"y/n Matilda Ruth Slegers-Russo, you got hurt 3 days ago and i have to find out from your Mama! Why didn't you tell me?" Your Mom asked. You looked at your Mom.

"i am sorry. I didn't want to worry you!" You replied, biting down on your bottom lip.

"you May be an adult but i still am your Mom and i will always worry!" She told you. Which was valid.

"sorry Mom. It won't happen again. From now on i will tell you! I mean i hope there won't be any more injuries If i am honest." You admitted.

Your Mom was staying for your physio appointment and then joined the rest of the Team for Lunch with you.

"Less, thank you for talking some sense into my daughter!" Your Mom stated, cause she found out that your wife made sure you didn't go crazy with pushing yourself. Alessia smiled softly.

"wasn't easy. I mean she is only so stubborn cause she wants to be succesful! Which is something i understand. but i don't want her to Hurt herself even more cause of that mind Set!" Your wife replied.

"my daughter has always been stubborn." Your Mom answered. You sat next to your wife and Leah. Your moms and Kim were also at the table.

"excuse me, is it 'bullying y/n day'?" You wanted to know.

"we are just pointing Out how dedicated you are!" Your wife answered.

"nice Safe, less." Leah mumbled out. Kim chuckled softly.

"we Love you for being stubborn. Even If we get Grey Hair from it!" Kim stated. You laughed softly and so did everyone else.

After twenty minutes you went back to practice at the Gym, joined by your Mom. Everyone else went back to the Pitch to get ready for the Match against Manchester United.

[grayandthyme]

ok but you write for tommy so well??? 🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️ i’m literally obsessed with the way you capture the dynamic 😭😭 pls i need more of this energy in my life like yesterday

ask and you shall receive 🙌

masterlist tommy miller x f!reader warnings: petnames (darling, sweetgirl, doll), fluff, adult language, weapon usage, slight angst

December

You inhale, slow and uncertain, a shaky finger curled around the trigger. You press—just enough to feel the internal click of the mechanism, but not enough to fire.

“C’mon, sweetgirl,” his voice anchors you, low and steady beside your ear. His hands come to rest over yours, calloused palms warm against the cold metal, against your knuckles stiff-white with nerves. His touch is a lull against the rifle’s bite.

You hold your breath.

The shot cracks, loud and sharp, echoing into the treeline.

The deer’s head snaps up, eyes wide—and then it bolts.

A flash of movement, gone in seconds.

“Shit,” you groan, slumping forward as your knuckles rap against the old tree stump. The rifle settles in your lap, its weight heavier now with the puff of a miss.

Tommy laughs, light and teasing. “Alright, maybe huntin’ ain’t your calling.”

You look over your shoulder, face scrunching in mock indignation. “Bolt-actions are hard to use, in my defense.”

“Oh, no doubt. It’s a very complicated gun. Takes a genius to pull a trigger.”

You smack his arm with the back of your hand. “I hate you.”

“Mmhmm. Say it louder. You’re wearin' my flannel.”

You roll your eyes, but the warmth of him seeps in again—his smile, the way his fingers are still loosely tangled with yours.

“I didn’t want to kill it anyway,” you mutter.

“I know,” he says softly, dropping the sarcasm. “That’s why I didn’t pull the trigger for you.”

You glance at him, eyes capturing his morning-painted freckles.

He shrugs, standing to stretch. “And if you are gonna kill something someday, you deserve to know you could. On your own.”

The forest is quiet now, just birdsong and wind weaving through branches.

You sigh, brushing a stray hair from your cheek. “You always gotta turn everything into a life lesson?”

Tommy grins, reaching down to haul you up with ease. “Only when I’m right.”

You scoff, but let him take the rifle from your hands anyway, his fingers brushing yours again—reassuring, steady.

Shifting in the snow, your boot nudging up a mound of powder before smoothing it back down with your heel.

The cold bites gently at your cheeks, but it’s the kind of quiet cold that settles, not stings.

“It’s just hard, that’s all,” you say, your breath curling into the air, a cloud of warmth swallowed by the wind.

“I was born and raised in the city,” you add, even though Tommy already knows. He knows all of it. Knows all about you.

You crouch down, fingers brushing the frost as you gather your things—loose ammo, gloves, the half-folded target map—and shove them back into your pack with a slow, thoughtful rhythm.

“Could kill one of those monsters, easy,” you mutter, trying for a joke but not quite sticking the landing. “But an animal?” Your nose scrunches softly. “They’re just… too cute.”

Tommy crouches beside you with a grunt, tugging his gloves tighter. “City kid ethics, huh, doll?” he says with a grin. “Murder’s fine if it’s ugly.”

You huff a laugh, looking at him sideways. “You’re not helping.”

“I am a treasure,” he counters. “And you love me.”

You don’t deny it.

He looks out toward where the deer disappeared, jaw ticking slightly with thought. Then his voice lowers, not serious, but softer.

“It’s not about just killing for food out here,” he says. “It’s about knowing when not to. About not taking more than you need. That guilt you feel? That means you’ll do it right, if you ever have to.”

You nod slowly, eyes flicking back toward the trees. The snow is quiet again, the world waiting.

“Still too cute,” you say, a bit more playfully now.

“… y’know what else is cute?” you murmur, voice low, syrup-thick with mischief as you crouch down toward the snow. Your movements are slow, methodical, careful not to draw attention—like a hunter, but grinning.

Tommy doesn’t even turn around. “If you say me—”

“You,” you say anyway, drawing the word out in a teasing lilt. Your hand snakes behind your back, palm cradling the quickly packed snowball, cold seeping into your glove.

He starts to turn, suspicious now. “You’ve got that tone. The dangerous one.”

“Oh, do I?” You blink innocently, stepping closer.

“Yeah. That’s the voice you use right before you—"

Smack.

The snowball hits him square on the shoulder, shattering in a puff of white powder. He stumbles back half a step, staring at the impact zone like he’s been personally betrayed.

You’re already laughing, stumbling away through the snow with another handful forming in your glove.

“Oh, hell,” His voice cracks through the air, part exasperation, part glee. “That’s how it’s gonna be?”

You squeal, dodging behind a tree stump. “Consider it revenge. For the mystery peaches.”

“That was one time!”

You toss another snowball, missing deliberately this time—just grazing his coat. He fakes a dramatic fall, throwing himself into the snow with a groan.

“Unarmed man taken down during patrol,” he mumbles, lying there flat like a starfish. “I hope you’re proud.”

You peek over the stump, grinning. “So proud—Should I tell the town? Alert your wife?"

He props himself up on his elbows, snow clinging to his curls. “Can't have my doll seein' me like this."

You chuck a final snowball his way. “You’re so dramatic.”

He laughs, sitting up fully, cheeks red from cold and joy. “You started it, sweet'girl.”

You shrug, brushing snow off your jacket. “I’ll end it, too.”

He stands again, brushing himself off, that grin still tugging at his lips as he walks toward you—not with vengeance, but with the kind of affection that feels like a warm quilt pulled up on a cold morning.

When he reaches you, he plucks a bit of snow from your hair, his hand lingering in your tangles.

“Cute,” he echoes, voice low. “You’re way cuter when you’re smug.”

You mimic his voice in a goofy drawl, dragging your vowels and puffing out your chest in exaggerated mockery. “You're way cuter when you’re smug,” you parrot, lifting your hands to mirror his, cupping your cold cheeks like he had.

Tommy lets out a deep breath, head tipping back with laughter. “That’s not what I sound like.”

“Oh, it absolutely is.” You poke his chest for emphasis. “All wise and weathered. Like a very charming cowboy who’s been hit in the head one too many times.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Charming, huh?”

“Painfully,” you tease.

The laughter lingers between you, steam from your breath mingling in the winter air. Your hands drop slowly, then come to rest against his chest, his coat crinkling beneath your fingers.

You've been out too long—your nose is a bright red against the pale snow, and your cheeks are flushed with cold, tender from wind and joy. Tommy’s eyes linger on your face like he's trying to memorize the exact shape and shade of it beneath the winter glow.

You reach out, fingertip brushing along the seam of his glove, slow and absent. “Wanna go home?” you ask, the question small, honest.

His smile softens into something gentler than words, the kind that starts in the crinkles of his mouth and ends in his eyes.

“With you?” he says, pulling your hand into his. “Always.”

“Who else would you go home with, huh?” you prod, grinning as you poke at his side with a gloved finger, just enough to make him flinch.

Tommy scoffs, feigning deep offense as he stumbles back a step like you’d wounded him.

Drama Queen. “You wound me, darlin’. Like I got options.”

“Oh, please,” you laugh, taking a step closer. “You’re Jackson’s sweetheart. I’ve seen the way those girls at the greenhouse look at you.”

He raises both brows, amused. “The ones who talk to me ‘cause I helped build the planters?”

“Uh-huh. Flannel… Sexy white shirt… Sweaty…”

Tommy laughs, loud and shameless. “It was hot! I was working!”

You chuckle, brushing a bit of snow from his shoulder as another flurry floats gently down around you. A few flakes settle into the dark curls of his hair, tiny white speckles dotting his head like paint. You reach up to ruffle it gently, and the snow scatters into the wind.

He watches you with that same look he always gives when you're not trying to be particularly beautiful—when you're just you, flushed pink from the cold, standing there like the center of his small, rebuilt world.

“Well, for the record,” he says, lowering his voice just enough for it to wrap around you, “I don’t care how many people in Jackson look at me…"

"I only walk home with one.”

You glance up at him, chest tightening in that soft way it always does—so effortlessly, like he doesn’t realize he’s pulling the floor out from under you.

He's a charmer.

Snow clings to his lashes now. His cheeks are flushed too, but you don’t think it’s just the cold. Tan freckled skin. It's a miracle how good he can look even in the cold of winter.

“Good,” you murmur, leaning your shoulder into his side. “I’d fight for the privilege.”

“Oh, I know you would,” he smirks, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “You’re scrappy, huh, Darlin'?”

You nudge him again, and this time, he doesn’t flinch—just pulls you closer as you begin the slow walk back through the trees.

"Funny, Cowboy."

March

The snow had thinned, but the cold never left—just shifted.

Turned sharply. Turned violent.

The air in Jackson rang with screams and gunfire now, not laughter. Smoke rolled over rooftops, black against the morning sky.

The town was burning, and so were your lungs.

You could barely hear your own voice above the chaos.

“Please,” you gasped, chest heaving, “Please, let’s go home—”

It came out strangled. Broken. Like your own throat was closing in around the words.

You clung to Tommy’s jacket, fists clenched so tightly the muscles in your hands screamed. Your nails dug into the fabric, into his skin beneath.

Maybe hard enough to bruise. Maybe hard enough to make him stay.

He looked at you—his eyes wild with decision and duty, but his jaw trembled.

“Tommy—please—” You couldn’t stop. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t let go.

You were begging now, truly begging, and it was the most selfish thing you’d ever done.

“Stay—Stay with me,” you whispered, forehead pressed to his chest. “Let’s go. Please. Let’s just leave. You don’t owe this town your life—I need you.”

Selfishness was a monster that had consumed you long ago.

The decision between the town you had come to love, versus the man who holds you entirely.

It's as if someone asked you which to save: the world, or the person you love the most.

Sounds like a familiar decision, huh?

His arms were around you, holding you together because you were starting to fall apart. You could hear the shouting closer now.

The sounds of infected—no, people—people screaming.

He was shaking his head. You could feel it, even before he spoke.

“I have to,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “They’re just kids out there. People who can’t shoot. People like you were.”

You looked up at him, and something cracked in your ribs. “I’m not anymore—I’m not helpless anymore." A deep inhale, barely withstanding air, "Fuck—Tommy, please."

You can help him. You can go with him.

He brushed his fingers through your hair, slow and gentle like you weren’t both standing in hell.

“I know,” he said. “And that’s why you’re gonna make it. Even if I don’t.”

“Don’t you dare—” Your voice broke completely. “Don’t say that. Don’t even—”

He kissed your forehead, hard and lingering, like he was sealing something shut. Eyes clamped tightly, breath ragged against your skin.

“I’ll find you,” he whispered. “No matter what. I’ll find you again.”

And then he was gone.

You stood there in the street with your hands empty, covered in ash and blood and melting snow.

Somewhere in the distance, someone was screaming Tommy’s name—but it wasn’t you.

You just want to go home. Yet, home had just thrown himself into the middle of danger.

authors note

tommy def makes it... i just like being dramatic af

[staysdelulus]

hihiii your fics are actually amazing 😭 idk if ur still actively doing any but can u pls do a skz imagine when they're in the middle of getting down and dirty with the reader & the reader suddenly tells them that it hurts

Definitely did not see this a whole 4 months later- But here you go!

Stray Kids Imagine (MDNI) Member will not be named (up to the reader's imagination); member will be referred to by "he" or "him".

Warnings: fem!reader, skz!bf, degrading, rough, oral (fem!receiving), fluff

Asks are open!! I'm back online :)

Word Count: 1973

--

"Babe."

You hadn't been paying attention, not really. It wasn't your fault, bundled up in his hoodie, crocheting while watching complications of your boyfriend on stage.

"Hey," you whisper, smiling softly, a yawn escaping your lips. He smiled back at you, moving closer to gently grab your yarn, putting it aside.

"Y/n," he says quietly, suddenly looking serious. "I've been thinking, you know. About us. I just... I wanted to know if you were saving yourself. For marriage, or-"

He breaks off, cheeks reddening in embarrassment as your own tinged pink with surprise. Giggling softly, you shake your head. "Oh, no, no. I just... I wasn't sure... I mean, I've never done anything before, so... you know."

He just nods, his eyes thoughtful before placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. "I know, baby. I love you, yeah? I won't do anything you don't want to do."

And he kept his promise. Just like he always did. That night was your first time, losing your virginity to the man you loved most. Stretching our your walls, legs wrapping around his torso desperately as soft cries spilled from your lips.

You were... exquisite. Someone he loved more than life itself.

--

And then came the trip. You had told yourself you would be fine. It was just a week, for some promotion or something. A few days to relax in the city, attend the event, and come back. He had promised to text and call you, to send pictures of everything he knew you would love. To buy and shower you with gifts.

He had done just that, spending hours on the phone with you, even if it was in the middle of the night for him. It didn't matter as long as it was with you.

Everything with him was great. To put it bluntly, nevertheless embarrassing... the sex was great. Fuck. His fingers, the way they easily curled deep into you, the way his teeth would nip at your skin. It wasn't hard to feel that familiar ache in your core, that familiar wetness pooling in your panties.

To him, you were the embodiment of purity. Innocence.

And tonight... It was the night before he would come back. Still quite early at 9:00PM. You had retired to bed early, ready to wake up at the first light of dawn and greet him at the door. After all, you were sure fans would be mobbing the airport.

But as you sniffled, your body trembling with a sudden- sudden need, you couldn't stop yourself. The pillow you were hugging shifted between your legs, your hips moving softly as your teeth tugged at your lower lip.

You whimper, gasping at the thrill of pleasure that runs through you, when-

"SURPRISE!"

You gasp, eyes flying open and fixing on the door. He was back early. As your eyes caught his, his own darkened, a mixture of emotions suddenly flashing through his face.

He immediately strided over, grabbing the pillow and tossing to the floor as he snarled softly. "Y/n. What the fuck are you doing?"

Your lips tremble at his words, eyes wide. "I was- I missed- I just-"

He doesn't let you continue, though, his words sharp as he snaps. "Fuck, Y/n. I'm supposed to be the one who gives you pleasure, babe. You can't- You don't get to touch yourself like this, Y/n. You don't get to seek out pleasure without me. I'm the only one who gets to see you like this, the only one who gets to make you feel like this. Do you understand me?"

You only nod meekly, but he's not done. Far from it. "I came home early to surprise you. To worship you, to love you, to fucking devour you. And instead, I find you here, touching what's MINE. Touching yourself like some cheap little slut."

As you swallow back a cry, his eyes narrow, his tone deadly soft. "I should punish you for this. I should put you over my knee and spank you until you can't sit right for a week."

He had never been rough like this before. Never even hoped to suggest it. But now? He was too far in. His hands find your shorts, pulling them off before tearing apart your panties, your core slick and sheened with the need to be pleasured.

He grabs you, bending you over his knee, his own cock throbbing in his jeans."Fuck, look at you," he snarled, his voice rough with a mixture of anger and lust. "So fucking wet, so desperate for it. You really are just a needy little slut, aren't you?"

You cry out as he smacks you, tears blurring your vision as his words wash over you. A mixture of shame and need. Slap after slap, your bottom growing redder with each second.

"Count them," he commanded, his voice harsh and demanding. "Count each one, like the good little slut you are. Let me know how many times you need to be punished for touching what's mine."

His hand came down again, and he growled out the words, his voice dripping with a dark, twisted lust.

"This is what you get for being a greedy, disobedient little whore. This is what happens when you try to take your pleasure without me."

"Please, s-stop," you cry out, your eyes blurred. But he doesn't, continuing his relentless assault before turning you onto the bed.

As your back presses against the cool sheets, he spreads your thighs, pushing your legs up to reveal your core, open and pulsing, waiting for him.

"Fuck, look at this greedy cunt," he snarled, his voice rough and ragged with lust. "So fucking wet and ready. You really are just a set of holes for me to use as I please."

He buried his face between your legs before you could respond, his mouth latching onto your sex like a man starved. He sucked and licked and devoured you with a ferocity that stole your breath, his tongue delving deep into your folds to taste your essence.

He fucked you with his tongue, plunging it in and out of your clenching channel as he sucked hard on your clit, growling against your sensitive flesh. His hands gripped your thighs hard enough to leave bruises as he held you open, keeping you spread wide and exposed for his oral assault.

As he pleasured you, he ground his denim-clad erection against the bed, the hard ridge of his cock throbbing and twitching with each desperate buck of his hips. It was clear how turned on he was, how much punishing and dominating you aroused him.

Your hands curled in his hair, trying to tug him off as you cried. He only growled, nipping at your inner thigh hard before continuing to eat you out. But when you tug again, he snaps.

"BAD GIRL!" he roared, his eyes blazing with anger. "Did I say you could stop? Did I say you could pull me away?"

He released one of your wrists to grip your jaw, his fingers digging into your cheek hard enough to bruise. He forced your head to the side, exposing the vulnerable column of your throat, attacking it with sharp, stinging bites.

"You don't get to tell me no," he growled against your skin, his voice rough and menacing. "You don't get to pull me away when I'm punishing you. I decide when this is over, not you."

To emphasize his point, he bit down hard on the junction of your neck and shoulder, sucking a dark bruise into your skin. His other hand slid down your body, grip your hip hard enough to leave finger-shaped marks.

"This is your punishment," he said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "This is what you get for being a disobedient little slut. You're going to take it, every last second of it, until I'm satisfied."

He frees his length, cock springing as his pants lay on the ground. As he pushes into you, you whimper. "H-Hurts- [H/n], it h-hurts-"

Sobs tear from your throat, growing louder with each passing second. Tears spilling down your face. For the first time, you felt the need to use it. "R-Red, [H/n], red- red! Red!"

He pulls away immediately, eyes wide. "Baby, Y/n- What-"

As you cry, body curling in on yourself, he feels his heart sink. Of course. Of course you scared her, you fucking- bastard. She's barely had an experience and here you are calling her a slut.

He stays quiet for a moment before speaking. "Can I hold you, baby? It's okay if you don't-"

His voice cracks slightly, the pain of the guilt weighing on his heart heavily. When you nod, sniffling, back to him, he gently wraps his own body around you, holding you loosely so you didn't feel suffocated. "I'm so sorry, Y/n. Okay? I need you to know that. I did NOT mean to hurt you in any way with my body or my words."

He holds you, letting you turn to him as you cry into his chest. "H-Hurts," you manage to repeat.

"I know, baby. I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry, Y/n. Tell me where it hurts? Please? Let me fix it. Let me make it better," he whispers.

His heart sinks further as you point to your chest. Your heart. The marks he had left, down there. He kisses each of those places, ready to pull away if you needed him to.

As your trembling body slowly stops quivering, he gently rolls you on your back. "Is this okay, baby?"

You nod, your eyes wide. "Just wanted you to be g-gentle. Just-"

As your breath hitches, breaking off slightly, he presses a kiss to your lips. "Shh, baby. I'll be slow, yeah? So slow. And you tell me if you need me to stop. Tell me to stop, and I'll stop immediately."

And with that, he enters you again. Slowly. Inch by inch. Waiting for you to nod, to say yes. To tell him you wanted him to continue. As his hips rocked slowly, thrusting in deep and pulling out all the way before burying himself there again.

He talks you through it, his voice rough with emotion. "Fuck, Y/n. You're beautiful, yeah? You feel so amazing, you feel like- like- fuck. Feel it, baby? Feel the way I'm burying myself in you, yeah? Feel the way your walls are clenching me, hm? So tight. So perfect, babe. Like you were fucking made for me."

With each word, you only let out louder cries. Louder moans. Climbing closer and closer to the edge. Encouraged, his hand delves down between your legs, thumb rubbing your clit furiously.

"Come for me, Y/n," he breathes, words raspy in his throat. "Fuck, Y/n-"

You come. Hard.

He continues to fuck himself deep into you, chasing his own release as he cries out. "Fuck- Y/n- Good girl- Shit-"

You squirt at his words. And he comes right there.

Without another word, he collapses besides you, gathering you in his arms. He lets you catch your breath, his own chest heaving. And when your legs stop trembling, he scoops you into his arms, bringing you into the bathroom.

He cleans you up that night, his touch gentle. Towels soft as he dries you off, dressing you in his clothes. "Get some rest, baby. I'll be here as you fall asleep, and I'll be here when you wake up, yeah?"

"I love you," you mumble sleepily, eyes drooping from exhaustion.

He chuckles, kissing you gently. "I love you, Y/n."

"Mm," you whisper. "And maybe we'll try out those other kinks of yours."

He gasps softly, eyes wide as you finally succumb to sleep. Well, fuck me, Y/n.

--

A/n: So sorry it took SO, SO long for me to do this ask, thank you for your patience :D <33