#can they feel their heart skip a beat like us ??

[elryuse]

불장난 Playing With Fire

Yuna X Male Reader

Tags : Ex Girlfriend Yuna, Teasing, Kissing, Pretty Toxic And Slightly Weird Romance, Fluff, Pregnant? Marriage?

Words : 8,557 Words

You always thought the first time you met Yuna would be burned into your memory forever. The sparkle in her eyes, the way her laugh could fill a room, and how effortlessly she made you feel like the only person in the world. That was before. Before the lies, the heartbreak, and the shattered trust. Now, every memory of her feels distant, like a faded photograph buried in the back of your mind. You’ve tried to move on, to live your life without the weight of her betrayal pressing down on your chest.

But fate has a cruel sense of humor.

It’s an ordinary evening when you see her again. The streets are busy with the hum of traffic, and the golden glow of the setting sun reflects off car windows. You’re standing at the corner, waiting for the light to change, when you catch a flash of fiery red out of the corner of your eye. You glance over, and your heart skips a beat.

It’s her. Yuna.

Only, it’s not the Yuna you remember. Gone is the soft brown hair that used to fall in gentle waves down her shoulders. Now, her hair is a striking, fiery red, cut shorter, framing her face with an edge that screams confidence. Her figure, once curvier, is now more toned and petite, as if she’s carved herself into something entirely new. She’s wearing a leather jacket over a simple black dress, and her boots click sharply against the pavement as she crosses the street.

Your instinct is to look away, to pretend you didn’t see her. After everything that happened, the last thing you want is to reopen old wounds. But then, her eyes meet yours, and you know it’s too late.

“...Y/n?” she says, her voice softer than you expect.

You hesitate, debating whether to respond. “Yuna,” you finally say, your tone neutral, guarded.

Her lips curve into a small smile, but there’s something behind it—something you can’t quite place. “Wow, I didn’t think I’d run into you here,” she says, stepping closer.

You take a step back without meaning to, creating just enough distance to feel like you’re still in control. “It’s a big city,” you reply. “I guess it was bound to happen eventually.”

She tilts her head, studying you like you’re some puzzle she can’t quite figure out. “You look good,” she says, her eyes scanning you briefly. “Different, but… good.”

You resist the urge to scoff. “Thanks,” you say curtly. “You, too. I almost didn’t recognize you.”

She grins, brushing a strand of red hair behind her ear. “Yeah, the hair’s new. And I’ve been working out more. Needed a fresh start, you know?”

You nod, though you don’t really know what to say to that. The light changes, and the crowd around you begins to move. You take a step toward the crosswalk, hoping she’ll take the hint and let you go.

“Y/n, wait,” she says, reaching out to lightly touch your arm. The contact sends a jolt through you, and you pull back instinctively. Her smile falters for a moment, but she recovers quickly. “Can we talk? Just for a minute?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you say firmly. “There’s nothing left to talk about.”

“Come on,” she says, her voice almost pleading. “It’s been, what, a year? Can’t we just… I don’t know, catch up? As friends?”

Friends. The word feels bitter on your tongue. You shake your head. “We were never just friends, Yuna. You know that.”

Her expression softens, and for a moment, she looks like the Yuna you used to know—the one who could make you smile no matter how bad your day had been. “I’m sorry,” she says quietly. “For everything. I know I screwed up, and I don’t expect you to forgive me. But I miss you, Y/n. I miss us.”

You feel your chest tighten, and you have to remind yourself to breathe. “You don’t get to say that,” you say, your voice low but firm. “You don’t get to miss us when you were the one who destroyed it.”

She flinches, and for a brief moment, you think you see tears glistening in her eyes. But then she straightens, her fiery hair catching the last rays of sunlight. “You’re right,” she says, her voice steadier now. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness. But I’ve changed, Y/n. I’m not the same person I was back then.”

You want to believe her. A part of you—some small, foolish part—still wants to believe that the girl you fell in love with is still in there somewhere. But you can’t forget the pain she caused, the way she broke your heart and left you to pick up the pieces on your own.

“I’m glad you’ve changed,” you say finally. “But that doesn’t change what happened. And it doesn’t mean we can go back to the way things were.”

She nods slowly, her eyes dropping to the ground. “I get it,” she says. “I just… I just wanted to see you. To tell you I’m sorry.”

The sincerity in her voice catches you off guard, and for a moment, you’re not sure what to say. Finally, you sigh and take a step back. “Take care of yourself, Yuna.”

With that, you turn and walk away, leaving her standing there on the sidewalk. As you disappear into the crowd, you can’t shake the feeling that this isn’t the last time you’ll see her.

And deep down, you’re not sure if that thought scares you—or excites you.

The knock on your door is sudden, sharp, and entirely unexpected. You freeze mid-sip of your morning coffee, the sound cutting through the quiet hum of your apartment like a knife. Three rapid raps, followed by silence. Your eyes dart to the clock on the wall—it’s barely 8 AM. Who the hell could that be?

Setting your mug down cautiously, you make your way to the door, peeking through the peephole before opening it. And there she is: Yuna.

Your ex-girlfriend. The woman who shattered your heart into a thousand irreparable pieces years ago. She stands there, radiant as ever, her fiery red hair catching the sunlight, her lips curved into that familiar smirk that used to make your stomach flip. Now, all it does is twist into knots.

“Hey,” she says casually, as if it’s totally normal for her to show up at your doorstep after all this time. “Long time no see.”

You blink, stunned into silence. Of all the people you thought might show up unannounced at your door this early in the morning, Yuna was not on the list. “What are you doing here?” you finally manage, your voice more curt than you intended.

She shrugs, leaning one shoulder against the doorframe like she owns the place. “I live next door now. Figured I’d come say hi.” Her tone is light, almost playful, but there’s something in her eyes—something burning, intense, calculated. It makes your skin prickle.

“You live… next door?” you repeat, your voice rising slightly. This has to be some kind of joke. Or a nightmare. Either way, you don’t like it.

“Mhm,” she hums, nodding. She steps past you into your apartment without waiting for an invitation, her floral perfume lingering in the air as she moves. It’s the same scent she always wore when you were together, and it hits you like a punch to the gut. “Saw your name on the mailbox the other day. Small world, huh?”

“Small world, my ass,” you mutter under your breath, closing the door behind her reluctantly. “This isn’t a coincidence, Yuna. What are you really doing here?”

She turns to face you, her expression softening as she takes a step closer. “I told you. I’m your neighbor now. And… maybe I wanted to see you. Is that so bad?”

You cross your arms tightly over your chest, creating a barrier between the two of you. “Yeah, actually. It is. We haven’t spoken in years. Not since—” You cut yourself off, the memory of what she did still raw, even after all this time.

Her smile falters, and for a moment, she looks genuinely remorseful. “I know, Y/n. I know I hurt you. I was stupid, selfish, and I regretted it the second it happened. You have no idea how much I’ve beat myself up over it.”

“Not enough, apparently,” you snap, unable to keep the bitterness out of your voice. “If you had any respect for me, you wouldn’t be standing here right now.”

She flinches at that, her bottom lip trembling ever so slightly. But then she squares her shoulders and meets your gaze head-on. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I shouldn’t be here. But the truth is, I can’t stop thinking about you. About us. And I know you probably hate me, and maybe you should, but… I needed to try. To see if there’s any chance we could start over.”

You stare at her, your mind racing. Start over? After everything? She can’t possibly be serious. And yet, the look in her eyes tells you she is. Dead serious.

“Yuna,” you say slowly, picking your words carefully. “We’re not the same people we were back then. And even if we were, what you did… that’s not something you just ‘start over’ from.”

She nods, swallowing hard. “I know. And I don’t expect you to forgive me overnight. But… can we at least try to be civil? As neighbors? Maybe even… friends?”

The word hangs in the air between you, heavy with implications. Friends. Yeah, right. Friends don’t do what she did. Friends don’t destroy trust the way she did. And yet, looking at her now, with her wide, pleading eyes and perfectly pouty lips, it’s hard to stay mad. Harder than you want to admit.

“I don’t know, Yuna,” you say finally, sighing. “This is… a lot.”

“I get it,” she says quickly. “And I’ll give you all the space you need. But just… promise me you’ll think about it, okay? Think about us.”

Before you can respond, she steps forward, closing the distance between you. For a second, you think she’s going to kiss you—and part of you wants her to, despite everything. But instead, she simply brushes her fingers lightly against your arm, sending a shiver down your spine.

Then she’s gone, slipping out the door as quickly as she came, leaving you standing there, confused, annoyed, and—damn it—curious.

Over the next few days, Yuna becomes impossible to ignore. Every time you leave your apartment, she’s there, whether it’s in the hallway, by the elevator, or even at the gym. She’s always polite, always friendly, but there’s an underlying tension that neither of you acknowledges. A tension that grows thicker with each passing day.

Tonight, though, she crosses a line.

You’re in the middle of cooking dinner when she knocks on your door again, holding a bottle of wine in one hand and a coy smile on her face. “Hi,” she says sweetly. “Thought you might want some company tonight.”

You raise an eyebrow, holding the spatula in your hand like a weapon. “Are you serious?”

“Deadly,” she replies, pushing past you into the kitchen. “Smells amazing, by the way. What are we having?”

“Steak,” you say automatically before catching yourself. “Wait, no. I’m having steak. You’re interrupting my dinner.”

She grins, setting the wine bottle on the counter and grabbing a corkscrew from the drawer like she belongs here. “Oh, come on. You can’t eat all that by yourself. Besides, we need to talk.”

“About what?” you ask warily, watching as she expertly uncorks the bottle and pours two glasses.

She hands you one, her fingers brushing against yours in a way that feels far too intentional. “About us. About… what happens next.”

You take a sip of the wine, mostly to buy yourself time to think. “There is no ‘us,’ Yuna. Not anymore.”

She leans against the counter, her body language relaxed but her eyes intense. “That’s where you’re wrong. There’s always been an ‘us.’ Even when we weren’t together, even when I screwed everything up… there was always something between us. Don’t tell me you don’t feel it too.���

You open your mouth to argue, but the words stick in your throat because… god damn it, she’s right. There is something between you. Something electric, magnetic, undeniable. And it’s been there from the moment she showed up at your door.

But you can’t let her know that. Not yet.

Instead, you set your wine glass down and turn back to the stove, flipping the steak with more force than necessary. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Yuna.”

She laughs softly, the sound low and sultry. “Maybe. But you’ve always liked danger, remember?”

Your grip tightens on the spatula. Remember? How could you forget? She’s reminding you on purpose, and it’s working. Memories flood your mind—her hands on your skin, her lips on yours, the way she used to whisper your name in the dark.

“Dinner’s ready,” you say abruptly, plating the steak and handing her a plate. If nothing else, maybe eating will shut her up.

But as the two of you sit down at the table, the tension only grows thicker. Every glance, every brush of skin, every shared laugh sends sparks flying. By the time you finish eating, the air between you is charged, crackling with unspoken desire.

“Thanks for dinner,” Yuna says, standing up and moving closer to you. “It was… delicious.”

She’s not talking about the food, and you both know it.

You stand too, your heart pounding in your chest as she reaches out, her fingertips grazing your jawline. “Yuna,” you warn, your voice husky.

“Yes?” she whispers, her lips dangerously close to yours.

“Don’t—”

But before you can finish, she closes the gap, her mouth crashing into yours like a tidal wave.

And just like that, you’re lost.

Her lips are warm, insistent, and achingly familiar. The moment she kisses you, a flood of memories rushes back—late nights tangled in sheets, whispered promises, the way her body fit perfectly against yours. But this isn’t that time. This is now, and despite everything, your body betrays you. Your hands instinctively move to her waist, pulling her closer as if they have a mind of their own.

Yuna deepens the kiss, her tongue brushing against yours with a slow, deliberate rhythm. A soft moan escapes her throat, muffled by the heat of your mouths colliding. Her fingers weave through your hair, tugging gently but firmly, sending a shiver down your spine. She pulls back just enough to whisper against your lips, her breath hot and uneven, “I’ve missed you.”

The words hang in the air like a confession, raw and unfiltered. You want to push her away, to remind yourself of why you shouldn’t be doing this, but her touch is magnetic, her presence intoxicating. Your resolve wavers, crumbling under the weight of her longing.

Her hands slide down your chest, fingertips tracing the contours of your muscles through your shirt. They pause at the hem, slipping beneath the fabric, skin meeting skin for the first time in what feels like forever. Her touch ignites something deep within you, a hunger you thought you’d buried long ago.

“Yuna,” you murmur, your voice rough with desire, “this isn’t—”

She silences you with another kiss, harder this time, more desperate. Her nails dig lightly into your sides, leaving tingling trails in their wake. When she finally breaks away, her eyes lock onto yours, blazing with something you can’t quite place—need, remorse, or maybe both. “Let me show you how much I’ve missed you,” she breathes, her voice trembling with emotion.

Before you can respond, she sinks to her knees, her hands moving to the button of your jeans. Your heart pounds in your chest, the sound deafening in the quiet room. This is wrong, a small voice in the back of your mind whispers, but it’s drowned out by the rush of blood in your ears and the way her fingers work deftly to free you from the confines of your clothing.

Her breath hitches as she takes you in, her gaze lingering for a moment before she leans forward, her lips brushing against the tip of you. The contact sends a jolt of electricity through your body, your hips jerking involuntarily. She smirks up at you, a flicker of amusement dancing in her eyes. “Still sensitive, huh?” she teases, her voice low and husky.

You don’t have time to respond before she takes you fully into her mouth, her tongue swirling around your length with practiced ease. A groan escapes your lips, your hands tangling in her hair as she moves with a rhythm that leaves you dizzy. Her name falls from your lips like a prayer, barely audible over the sound of her sucking you deeper, harder.

She pulls back momentarily, looking up at you through hooded lids. “Do you remember how much you used to love this?” she asks, her voice dripping with sultry anticipation. Before you can answer, she’s swallowing you again, her lips pressing tightly around you as she works her way down your shaft.

Your knees buckle slightly, the sensation overwhelming. Her hands grip your thighs, holding you steady as she bobs her head, each movement sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. The wet sounds fill the room, mingling with her soft sighs and your ragged breaths. It’s messy, desperate, and utterly consuming.

As her pace quickens, so does the ache building in your core. You’re close, too close, and the realization makes your grip on her hair tighten. “Yuna, I—”

She doesn’t stop, doesn’t even slow down. Instead, she hums around you, the vibrations making your entire body shudder. Her eyes meet yours again, and there’s a challenge in them, daring you to let go. And you do, unable to hold back any longer.

With a strangled groan, you release, her name tumbling from your lips as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you. She takes it all, her tongue lapping at you greedily until you’re completely spent, your legs trembling beneath you.

When she finally pulls away, there’s a hint of mischief in her smile, along with something softer, more vulnerable. She stands slowly, her hands resting lightly on your hips as she looks up at you. “You always did taste so good,” she murmurs, her voice thick with satisfaction.

You’re still catching your breath, your mind reeling from what just happened. There’s a part of you that wants to pull her into your arms, to feel her warmth against you. But there’s also a part that feels conflicted, torn between the past and the present, between what you feel and what you know you should do.

Yuna seems to sense your hesitation. She steps closer, her body pressing against yours, her lips brushing against your neck. “I meant what I said,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. “I’ve missed you. More than you could ever know.”

You swallow hard, your hands hovering at her sides, unsure whether to push her away or pull her closer. “Yuna".

She leans back just enough to meet your gaze, her eyes searching yours. “Don’t think too much about it,” she says softly. “Just… let me make you feel good. Like I used to.”

Her hands slide up your chest, pushing your shirt off your shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. Her touch is gentle, almost reverent, as she traces the lines of your body. “You’re even more beautiful than I remembered,” she admits, her voice filled with awe.

Before you can respond, she’s leading you toward the couch, her movements confident yet tender. She pushes you down gently, then straddles your lap, her thighs squeezing your hips as she leans in to kiss you again. Her lips are softer this time, more deliberate, as if she’s savoring every second.

You find your hands moving without conscious thought, gripping her waist, sliding up her back, exploring every inch of her. She lets out a soft sigh, arching into your touch, her body molding against yours like it was made to fit there.

“Tell me you want this,” she murmurs against your lips, her voice trembling with need. “Tell me you want me.”

Your heart races, your mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. But when her hand slips between your bodies, her fingers brushing against the growing heat between her legs, your resolve crumbles completely.

You can’t find the words to respond. Not when her body is pressed so tightly against yours, not when her hand is moving with such purpose, igniting a fire deep within you that you swore had been extinguished long ago. Instead, you let out a shaky breath, your hands gripping her hips as if holding onto them will keep you from losing yourself completely.

Yuna doesn’t wait for an answer. She doesn’t need one. The way your body responds to her touch—the way you instinctively pull her closer—tells her everything she needs to know. Her lips trail down your neck, leaving a trail of warm, wet kisses that make your head spin. Each kiss is deliberate, each move calculated to unravel you further.

Her fingers slip beneath the waistband of your pants, brushing against the sensitive skin of your stomach. You gasp, your grip tightening on her as she lets out a soft laugh against your collarbone. There it is, you think. That sound. That laugh. It’s been so long since you’ve heard it, but it still hits you like a punch to the chest, knocking the air out of your lungs and making your heart ache in ways you don’t want to acknowledge.

“Stop thinking,” Yuna murmurs, her voice low and husky. “Just feel.”

It’s easier said than done. Your mind is racing, torn between the past and the present, between anger and desire. But then her hand slips lower, her fingers wrapping around you, and all thoughts evaporate into nothingness. A moan escapes your lips before you can stop it, and Yuna smirks against your skin, clearly pleased with herself.

“That’s more like it,” she says, her breath hot against your ear. “Let me remind you what you’ve been missing.”

Before you can respond, she’s sinking to her knees in front of you, her hands working quickly to free you from the confines of your clothes. You barely have time to process what’s happening before her mouth is on you, warm and wet and impossible to resist. Your head falls back, a strangled groan escaping your throat as her tongue swirls around you, teasing and taunting in equal measure.

God, you’ve missed this. Missed her. The way she knows exactly how to drive you wild, the way she takes you apart piece by piece until there’s nothing left but raw, unfiltered sensation. Her mouth moves expertly, drawing you deeper, her hand working in tandem to heighten every touch. You can feel the pressure building, threatening to consume you, and you force yourself to hold back, not wanting this to end too soon.

But Yuna isn’t having it. She pulls away just enough to look up at you, her eyes dark with desire. “Let go,” she whispers, her voice barely audible over the sound of your ragged breathing. “I want to hear you.”

And then she’s taking you in again, her movements faster, more urgent. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to focus on anything other than the overwhelming pleasure coursing through you, but it’s no use. You’re powerless against her, against the way she makes you feel. Your hips buck involuntarily, and Yuna makes a soft noise of approval, encouraging you to keep going.

The tension coils tighter and tighter until you can’t take it anymore. With a cry, you come undone, your body shuddering as waves of ecstasy crash over you. Yuna doesn’t pull away, not even when you’re spent and trembling, your legs barely able to support you. Instead, she stays where she is, her lips pressing gently against your skin as if savoring the moment.

When she finally stands, there’s a look of pure satisfaction on her face. “Welcome back,” she says softly, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “I was starting to think I’d lost my touch.”

You let out a shaky laugh, though your mind is still reeling. “You haven’t lost anything,” you admit, your voice hoarse. “If anything, you’ve gotten better.”

Yuna grins, clearly pleased with your admission. “Practice makes perfect,” she teases, stepping closer to press a kiss to your lips. You taste yourself on her, and it only serves to deepen the ache inside you, the need for more.

She pulls away slowly, her hands trailing down your chest as she steps back. “Now it’s your turn,” she says, her voice dripping with promise. “Don’t worry—I’ll guide you.”

You’re about to ask what she means when she turns and walks toward your bedroom, her hips swaying with every step. The sight alone is enough to make your pulse quicken, and you follow after her without hesitation, your earlier reservations forgotten.

The room is dimly lit, the faint glow of the city lights filtering through the curtains. Yuna stops at the foot of the bed, turning to face you with a look that sends a shiver down your spine. Slowly, she begins to undress, each movement deliberate, each inch of skin revealed making your mouth go dry.

When she’s fully naked, she reaches for your hand, pulling you closer until you’re standing right in front of her. “Touch me,” she whispers, her voice trembling with anticipation. “Show me you remember how.”

Your hands tremble slightly as you reach for her, your fingers skimming over her bare skin. She sighs, leaning into your touch as you explore the curves and valleys of her body, rediscovering every part of her that once felt like home. Her breath hitches when your fingers brush over her nipples, and she arches into your touch, silently urging you to continue.

You lower your head, capturing one taut peak between your lips, and she gasps, her hands tangling in your hair. Her scent surrounds you, heady and intoxicating, and you’re desperate for more. Your tongue flicks against her, eliciting another sharp intake of breath, and you can feel her pulse quickening beneath your fingertips.

“Y/n,” she breathes, her voice barely above a whisper. “Please…”

You know what she wants. What she needs. And you’re more than willing to give it to her.

As if on cue, the opening notes of your favorite song drift through the speakers in the corner of the room. The melody is soft and slow, filling the space with a quiet intimacy that makes the moment feel even more significant somehow. Yuna’s eyes meet yours, and there’s something in her gaze—something tender and vulnerable—that catches you off guard.

“This song,” she says, her voice shaking slightly. “It reminds me of us. Of who we used to be.”

Used to be. The words echo in your mind, stirring memories you’d tried so hard to forget. Late-night drives, stolen kisses, whispered promises of forever. All of it comes rushing back, overwhelming you with emotions you thought you’d buried long ago.

Yuna seems to sense the shift in your mood because she reaches for your hand, squeezing it gently. “We’re not those people anymore,” she admits, her voice heavy with regret. “But maybe… maybe we can be something better.”

You don’t respond—you can’t. Not when your heart feels like it’s being torn in two. But then she’s guiding you toward the bed, her touch firm yet gentle, and all you can do is follow.

The sheets are cool against your skin as you lie down, your bodies pressed together in a tangle of limbs and heat. Yuna’s lips find yours again, her kiss slow and languid, as if she’s trying to convey everything she can’t put into words. And for the first time since she walked back into your life, you let yourself believe that maybe—just maybe—she’s right.

Yuna’s fingers trail down your chest, her touch light but deliberate, sending shivers through your body. She pauses at the hem of her shirt, her gaze locking with yours as if silently asking for permission. You nod, barely able to form a coherent thought, and she pulls the fabric over her head, revealing herself to you in the soft glow of the bedroom.

“You’re so beautiful,” you murmur, your voice thick with desire.

She smiles, a gentle curve of her lips that makes your heart ache. “Touch me,” she whispers, guiding your hands to her waist. Her skin is warm beneath your palms, smooth and inviting, and you feel the faint tremor of her breath as you slide your hands upward.

Her breasts fit perfectly in your hands, soft yet firm, and you thumb over her nipples, eliciting a soft gasp from her lips. She arches into your touch, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment before she opens them again, their intensity burning into you.

“Don’t stop,” she breathes, her voice trembling with need.

You don’t. You can’t. Every part of you is drawn to her, like a moth to a flame, and you lose yourself in the sensation of her skin against yours. Your fingers trace the curves of her body, exploring every inch of her with a reverent touch, as if committing her to memory all over again.

Her hands move to the waistband of your pants, her fingers deftly unbuttoning them and sliding them down your legs. The cool air brushes against your skin, but it’s nothing compared to the heat radiating from her body. She straddles you, her thighs pressing against your hips, and you can feel the wetness between her legs as she grinds against you.

“God, I missed this,” she moans, her head tipping back as she rocks her hips against yours. “I missed you.”

You grip her hips, guiding her movements as your own arousal builds. Her breath comes in short, shallow bursts, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she loses herself in the rhythm. Her hands grip your shoulders, her nails digging into your skin just enough to leave marks, and the sting only adds to the fire coursing through your veins.

“Yuna,” you groan, your voice rough with desperation. “I need you.”

She leans forward, capturing your lips in a searing kiss that leaves you breathless. “Then take me,” she murmurs against your mouth. “Take me like you used to.”

Her words ignite something primal within you, and you flip her onto her back, pinning her wrists above her head. She lets out a surprised laugh, quickly replaced by a low moan as you press yourself against her, your length teasing her entrance.

“Are you sure?” you ask, your voice strained with restraint.

She nods, her eyes dark with desire. “Please,” she begs, her hips lifting to meet yours. “I need you inside me.”

You don’t need any more encouragement. With a slow, steady thrust, you enter her, both of you groaning in unison at the sensation. She’s tight, her walls clenching around you as if trying to pull you deeper, and you savor the feeling of being inside her once again.

Her legs wrap around your waist, pulling you closer as you begin to move. Each thrust is deliberate, measured, designed to draw out the pleasure for both of you. Her fingers tangle in your hair, tugging gently as she gasps your name, her voice echoing in the quiet room.

“Faster,” she urges, her nails scraping down your back. “Harder.”

You oblige, increasing your pace as her pleas grow more desperate. Her hips buck against yours, meeting each thrust with equal fervor, and the sound of skin slapping against skin fills the air. Her breaths come in short, ragged gasps, her body tightening around you as she teeters on the edge of release.

“Y/N… Y/N, I’m close,” she whimpers, her voice breaking as she clings to you. “Don’t stop—please don’t stop.”

You bury your face in the crook of her neck, your lips brushing against her skin as you whisper, “Let go, Yuna. I’ve got you.”

Her climax hits her hard, her body convulsing around you as she cries out your name. The sensation sends you over the edge, and with a final, powerful thrust, you spill yourself inside her, your vision blurring as waves of pleasure crash over you.

For several moments, neither of you moves, content to simply bask in the afterglow. Her fingers stroke your back, her touch tender and soothing, and you press a soft kiss to her shoulder before finally pulling away.

She looks up at you, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Do you remember the first time we did this?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Of course,” you reply, your hand brushing a strand of hair from her face. “How could I forget?”

She smiles, though there’s a sadness in her expression that makes your chest tighten. “I wish things were different,” she says softly. “I wish I hadn’t hurt you.”

“We can’t change the past,” you tell her, your fingers tracing the line of her jaw. “But maybe… maybe we can start over.”

Her eyes widen, hope flickering in their depths. “Do you mean that?”

Before you can answer, she kisses you again, her lips pouring everything she can’t say into the gesture. And as you kiss her back, you realize that maybe, just maybe, this is the second chance you’ve both been waiting

The kiss deepens, her fingers tangling in your hair as if she's afraid to let you go. You can feel her trembling beneath you, a mix of hope, longing, and fear coursing through her. When you finally pull away, your foreheads rest together, your breaths mingling in the quiet of the room.

"I mean it," you say softly, your voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions inside you. "But if we're going to start over, things have to be different, Yuna. No secrets, no lies. We need to be honest with each other-completely."

She nods quickly, her eyes searching yours as if trying to commit every detail to memory. "I promise," she whispers. "I'll do whatever it takes to make this work, Y/n. I've lost you once, and I'm not going to make the same mistake again."

Her words tug at something deep inside you, a flicker of the love you once shared beginning to reignite. But there's still a part of you that's wary, a part that remembers the pain of betrayal and the sleepless nights spent wondering what you did wrong.

"Starting over doesn't mean forgetting," you say, your tone firm but gentle. "We both need to face what happened before we can move forward. Do you understand that?"

"I do," she says, her voice steady despite the tears welling in her eyes. "And I'll do whatever it takes to prove to you that I'm serious. I'll earn back your trust, Y/n, no matter how long it takes."

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The weight of the past hangs heavy between you, but so does the possibility of something new, something better.

"Alright," you say finally, your voice barely above a whisper. "Let's try."

The relief that washes over her is palpable, and she throws her arms around you, holding you close as if you might slip away at any moment. "Thank you," she murmurs against your chest. "Thank you for giving me another chance."

As you hold her, you can't help but wonder if you've made the right decision. The road ahead won't be easy-rebuilding what you had will take time, patience, and an unshakable commitment from both of you. But as you feel her heart beating against yours, you realize that some risks are worth taking.

Later that night, as the two of you lie tangled together in the sheets, Yuna's head resting on your chest, she traces lav patterns on your skin with her fingertips.

"Do you ever think about the future?" she asks softly, her voice laced with a vulnerability that catches you off guard.

"Sometimes," you admit. "Why?"

She shifts slightly, propping herself up on one elbow so she can look at you. "Because I want you to be in mine," she says, her eyes shimmering with sincerity. "I know it's too soon to say things like that, but. I need you to know how I feel. You're not just a second chance for me, Y/n. You're my only chance."

Her words hit you like a tidal wave, and for a moment, you're left speechless. But as you look into her eyes, you realize that despite everything, a part of you still loves her-still wants to believe that the two of you can build something beautiful together.

Taking her hand in yours, you press a kiss to her palm and meet her gaze. "If we're going to do this, we take it one step at a time," you say. "No rushing, no expectations. Just us, figuring things out as we go."

She smiles, a genuine, radiant smile that makes your heart ache in the best possible way. "I can live with that," she says.

And as you lie there together, the shadows of the past slowly fading into the background, you can’t help but feel a glimmer of hope—for the first time in a long time, the future doesn’t seem so uncertain after all.

The soft rays of morning sunlight stream through the curtains, painting the room in a gentle golden hue. You stretch, feeling the pleasant soreness from the night before, and glance down at Yuna, who is still curled up against you. Her fiery red hair is a mess, splayed out across the pillow, and her lips are slightly parted as she breathes softly in her sleep.

You chuckle to yourself. She looks so peaceful, almost like the Yuna you first fell in love with—before everything became complicated. Not wanting to wake her, you gently untangle yourself from her grasp and slip out of bed.

Padding to the kitchen, you open the fridge and rummage through its contents. Eggs, cheese, a few vegetables—simple but enough for a decent breakfast. As you crack the eggs into a bowl and whisk them, you can’t help but smile at the thought of her reaction.

The smell of sizzling butter and the aroma of freshly scrambled eggs mixed with melted cheese begins to fill the apartment. You chop some green onions and sprinkle them over the eggs, adding a touch of color. The satisfying sizzle echoes through the quiet space, and before long, the scent has spread to every corner of the room.

Behind you, you hear a sleepy groan, followed by the soft rustling of sheets.

“Mm… what’s that smell?” Yuna’s groggy voice floats through the air.

You glance over your shoulder to see her sitting up in bed, her hair adorably disheveled and her eyes still half-closed. She rubs at them lazily before focusing on you, a small smile spreading across her face as she watches you at the stove.

“You’re up early,” she says, her voice teasing. “And cooking? What’s the occasion?”

“No occasion,” you reply, flipping the eggs onto a plate. “Just thought you might be hungry when you woke up.”

She grins, propping herself up on her elbows. “You’re full of surprises, Y/n. I don’t remember you cooking much before. In fact…” She pauses, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Didn’t your cooking use to suck?”

You snort, shaking your head as you grab a couple of plates and start plating the food. “I’ve improved, believe it or not. You’d be surprised what a person can learn when they’re fending for themselves.”

“Well,” she says, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and standing up, “I guess I’ll be the judge of that.”

As she approaches the kitchen, still dressed in your oversized shirt from the night before, she leans against the counter, watching you with a playful smirk. You hand her a plate, and she raises an eyebrow as she inspects the food.

“Eggs, cheese, green onions… simple but promising,” she says, lifting a fork.

You roll your eyes. “Just eat, critic.”

She takes a bite, chewing thoughtfully. Her expression shifts, and for a moment, you can’t tell if she’s impressed or just messing with you.

“Well?” you ask, leaning against the counter opposite her.

She swallows, placing the fork down dramatically before breaking into a grin. “Not bad, chef. Not bad at all. I’d give it a solid eight out of ten.”

“Eight?” you repeat, feigning offense. “What’s keeping me from a ten?”

She tilts her head, pretending to think. “Maybe it’s missing… love?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

She grins, her eyes sparkling as she takes another bite. “But seriously, Y/n, this is good. I guess you really have changed.”

Her words carry more weight than you expect, and for a moment, the playful atmosphere gives way to something deeper. She looks up at you, her expression softening.

“You’ve grown a lot,” she says quietly. “I can see it in the way you carry yourself, the way you take care of things. It’s… inspiring.”

You feel a warmth spread through your chest at her words, but you shrug it off casually. “Well, I had to grow up eventually.”

Yuna reaches across the counter, her fingers brushing against yours. “I’m glad I get to see this version of you,” she says softly.

You meet her gaze, and for a moment, the world narrows down to just the two of you. The past, the present, and the uncertain future all blur together, leaving only the fragile connection you’re trying to rebuild.

“Let’s just take it one day at a time,” you say, your voice steady.

She nods, her smile warm and genuine. “One day at a time.”

And as the morning sunlight fills the room, you realize that, for the first time in a long time, the day ahead doesn’t feel so daunting.

The decision to give Yuna another chance weighs heavily on your mind, like standing at the edge of a precipice. You’re fully aware of what’s at stake—your heart, your trust, and maybe even your peace of mind. But something about her feels different this time. Or maybe it’s the part of you that never stopped loving her, hoping against hope that this time, things might be different.

The two of you start slow, agreeing to rebuild your relationship step by step. Date nights become a regular thing—dinners, quiet walks in the park, or just staying in and watching movies together. Each moment feels like a cautious dance, balancing hope and fear, love and doubt.

One evening, you’re sitting on the couch with her, a bowl of popcorn between you and an old rom-com playing on the screen. Yuna leans against your shoulder, her hand resting lightly on your thigh. It’s a quiet, domestic moment, but your thoughts are anything but calm.

“Y/n,” she says softly, her voice pulling you from your thoughts.

“Yeah?” you reply, glancing down at her.

She hesitates, her fingers playing with the hem of your shirt. “Do you… still think about it? What I did?”

Her question hangs in the air, heavy and unavoidable. You let out a slow breath, your eyes drifting to the TV but not really seeing it.

“Yeah,” you admit honestly. “I think about it sometimes. It’s hard not to.”

She pulls away slightly, just enough to look at you. Her eyes are filled with guilt and fear, and you can see the words she wants to say but can’t quite bring herself to voice.

“But I’m trying,” you continue, meeting her gaze. “I’m trying to let go of the past. To focus on what we have now.”

Her hand tightens on your leg, and she leans into you again, her face pressed against your shoulder. “I don’t deserve this,” she whispers. “I don’t deserve you.”

You wrap an arm around her, pulling her closer. “Maybe not,” you say lightly, trying to ease the tension. “But I’m giving you a chance anyway. So don’t mess it up.”

She lets out a shaky laugh, but you can feel the tension in her body start to ease. “I won’t,” she promises. “I swear, Y/n. I won’t mess this up.”

The days turn into weeks, and you begin to notice the subtle changes in Yuna. She’s more thoughtful now, more attentive. She goes out of her way to show you how much she cares, whether it’s through small gestures like cooking your favorite meals or leaving little notes for you to find throughout the day.

But there are still moments when doubt creeps in—when you catch her staring off into the distance with a troubled look or when a conversation reminds you of the cracks that once broke your relationship apart.

One night, as you’re lying in bed together, you decide to confront it head-on.

“Yuna,” you say, your voice cutting through the quiet.

She turns to face you, her eyes wide and questioning. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you say quickly, then pause. “Actually… I just need to ask you something.”

She nods, sitting up slightly. “What is it?”

“Why now?” you ask, your voice steady but laced with curiosity. “Why come back now, after everything?”

She takes a deep breath, her hands twisting nervously in the sheets. “Because I realized how stupid I was,” she says, her voice thick with emotion. “I let go of the best thing that ever happened to me, and for what? A fleeting moment of… I don’t even know what. I hated myself for hurting you, Y/n. I still do. But when I saw you again, I thought… maybe this is my chance to make it right.”

Her words hit you like a punch to the gut, raw and unfiltered. You can see the pain in her eyes, the regret that she carries with her every day.

“I can’t promise I’ll forget,” you say, your voice soft but firm. “But I’m willing to try. As long as you’re willing to put in the effort, too.”

She nods quickly, tears brimming in her eyes. “I am. I’ll do whatever it takes, Y/n. I’ll prove to you that I’m worth it.”

You reach out, cupping her face in your hands. “You don’t have to prove anything, Yuna. Just… be honest with me. Be real. That’s all I want.”

“I will,” she whispers, leaning into your touch.

As the weeks pass, you find yourself slowly letting your guard down, piece by piece. It’s not easy—trust is fragile, and the scars of the past don’t fade overnight. But with each shared laugh, each tender moment, and each promise kept, you begin to believe that maybe, just maybe, you and Yuna can make this work.

But deep down, you know you’re playing with fire. One wrong move, one misstep, and it could all come crashing down.

And yet, as you lie beside her, her head resting on your chest and her fingers tracing idle patterns on your skin, you can’t help but think that some risks are worth taking.

For now, you’ll take it one day at a time.

The day feels surreal, the kind of quiet that makes you question how you got here. Yuna is by your side, her arms wrapped around yours as you both walk the short distance from her apartment to yours, carrying the last of her belongings.

She giggles, the sound light and musical, and leans her head against your shoulder. "It feels strange, doesn’t it?" she says, her voice filled with warmth. "Moving in together after all this time… like we’ve come full circle."

You glance at her, your emotions a tangled web. Her hair is back to the soft brown shade you once adored, framing her face in a way that makes her look like the girl you fell for all those years ago. But she’s not the same, and neither are you. The ghosts of the past linger, no matter how much effort you both put into rebuilding what was broken.

“Yeah,” you reply softly, your grip tightening slightly on the bag you’re carrying. “It’s… strange.”

Reaching your apartment, you set the bags down by the door. Yuna takes a step inside, looking around with a contented smile. She turns to you, her arms outstretched, and pulls you into a hug.

“You’ve made this place feel like home,” she murmurs, her cheek pressed against your chest.

You hesitate for a moment before wrapping your arms around her, the familiar scent of her shampoo flooding your senses. “It’s home because you’re here now,” you say, the words sounding both true and heavy.

She pulls back slightly, her eyes sparkling with emotion. “I never thought I’d get this chance, Y/n. To be with you again. To… to have a family with you.”

Her hands move to her stomach, and she caresses it gently, the motion so tender it tugs at something deep within you. Your eyes follow the gesture, and for a moment, the reality of it all washes over you like a tidal wave.

A family. A future. With her.

Your gaze shifts to the wedding ring on her finger—a symbol of the promises you made, the commitment you’re trying so hard to uphold. It feels heavy, like a chain and a lifeline all at once.

Yuna notices your silence and tilts her head, her smile soft but questioning. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you say after a beat, forcing a small smile. “Just… thinking about everything. About us.”

She steps closer, her hands resting on your chest as she gazes up at you. “I know it hasn’t been easy,” she says quietly. “And I know I hurt you before. But I swear, Y/n, I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you. To us.”

Her words are earnest, filled with a love that feels overwhelming in its intensity. You nod, though the knot in your chest remains. “I know you will.”

She smiles again, her joy infectious as she intertwines her fingers with yours. “Let’s make dinner together tonight,” she suggests, her tone light. “You can show off those cooking skills of yours again.”

You chuckle despite yourself. “Only if you promise not to criticize too much.”

“No promises,” she teases, leaning up to kiss your cheek.

As the two of you begin unpacking her belongings, the room fills with her laughter and the faint sound of music playing in the background. She moves with a lightness you haven’t seen in years, and for a brief moment, you allow yourself to believe in the happiness you’re building together.

But as you watch her carefully place a photo of the two of you on the shelf—a relic from the early days of your love—you can’t shake the mixed feelings swirling in your chest.

You want this to work. You need it to work. But the scars of the past don’t fade so easily, and the weight of what you’re risking—your heart, your trust, your future—hangs heavily in the air.

Still, when Yuna looks at you with that radiant smile, her hand resting protectively over the life you’ve created together, you can’t help but feel a flicker of hope.

Maybe, just maybe, you can make it work.

For now, that’s enough.

[lilyfaewood]

If I can tell a personal story that echoes this sentiment.

My boss was like Alex's doctor for me. There was one point where she told that it was an option to put our pronouns in our email signature. At this time, I was still completely in the closet at work, but upon this invitation, I felt... safer than I really had anywhere outside of my closest circles.

I ended up putting my pronouns down as they/them. My boss immediately started using they/them for all of their communication with me, correcting others if they ever used he/him, and overall just being an incredible ally.

One day I showed up with a newly acquired "she/they" pin on my lanyard. She IMMEDIATELY shifted to using she and they interchangeably and my heart fluttered a bit. She then reached out first to me to say "Hey friend. Is there a name you would like to be called?" and for the my heart skipped a beat. I felt. So safe.

So I told her "My fiance calls me Lily" and she gave me a little thumbs up before saying "sounds perfect, Lily". From there she starts conversations with " hey girl" and other affirming feminine ways, giving me extra nail polish, and hair styling equipment.

She treated me with such respect. And I cannot even begin to talk about HOW MUCH she has helped me in my social transition. She really helped me feel like I could truly be who I was in public. And I just. Have so much love in my heart for all of this.

So now. I try to be that person for others. Just be that positive person that people can look at and see safety and love in. Because that's who I am. It's who I've always wanted to be.

When I started my transition and began to come out to a few more folks than the tiny few that knew about me, there was something I kept saying as a part of my spiel…

“This is what I am, not who I am.”

I think I believed it fully at the time.

But then the interaction in the comic above occurred this past summer and completely changed my mind.  Sure, being trans is something that I just am, but it’s also something that can be part of who I am as well. 

Seeing that kid completely light up the way they did sparked in me a desire that I really didn’t think I’d ever have.  Suddenly, that kid made me want to be visible.

Like the comic says, I wasn’t ready to be publicly out so I felt safer lying about myself at the time, but I truly hope that the next time I’m up there they have the opportunity to see me…

…a transgender person who’s included and having fun, just like we all should be.

[justmymindandstuff]

your beloved Fury - Cregan Stark x TargaryenReader

based on this ask.

summary: Cregan meets your beloved Dragon Vermithor for the first time. He is more than scared, he is terrified. Not that he would ever admit that to you.

words: 3.281

warnings: none I think, just a bit fluff

a/n: English is not my first language// Reader is Rhaenyras daughter and described with dark hair // Not proofread// No use of Y/N.

Have fun 🧡.

requests are open// main masterlist// hotd masterlist

Excitedly, you run ahead of him and pull on his hand. Happiness and joy radiate from you, your steps are light, you almost bounce off the ground. Cregan follows you laughing through the gardens of the Red Keep. At the sight of your happy state, his heart beats faster and he can't wipe the smile from his face, even though he would prefer to hide today. Your destination is your dragon, Vermithor. The last few days Cregan found excuses, but today he really couldn't come up with anything.

With wide eyes, you had looked at him. "But My Lord, how can you become my husband in three days without knowing my dragon?"

Cregan had to acept defeat. What could he say against this? That he is terrified to meet your Dragon? Not an option.

When he rode south to keep his word and support the queen, he never expected to fall in love.

Cregan arrived just in time to prevent a riot in King's Landing and to stop the storming of the Dragonpit. It took a few days for Queen Rhaenyra's rule to be secured, but know everything starts to settle down.

The only thing for Cregan to do know was going home to Winterfell. But not without you.

Cregan had just come from a council meeting when he saw you for the first time. Jace had mentioned a twin sister back then, and he knew that all Targaryens are good looking but as your eyes meet, he had to pause in his movement. Gods, you are beautiful.

"You must be Lord Stark." you slightly lowered your head before him. "A hero, I have heard. It is an honor to meet you."

Your voice is like music to his ears, and when you smile at him, his heart skips a beat.

"The honor is entirely... entirely on my side... Princess." he had stuttered. Cregan doesn't know when he last stuttered. He falls in love at that moment.

The gods were on his side, because you apparently feel the same as he did. You asked your mother for her blessing to your betrothal and the queen agreed.

So Cregan and you will marry in three days and after that you will join him on his journey back north. And wherever you go, your dragon Vermithor will follow.

For the last few days, Cregan has been able to avoid getting too close to the dragon. Unfortunately, today he doesn´t find a excuse. The thought of facing the dragon alone brings sweat to his forehead. Northman or not.

Not that he would ever admit that he is afraid. He wants to impress you. And besides, neither you nor your siblings are afraid of dragons. Your little brother Viserys is barely a toddler, but he still treats the fire-breathing monsters like they were puppies. Cregan can be just as brave as the little prince.

Arriving in the castle courtyard, two horses are already ready for you. Cregan hesitates again, watching you mount elegantly.

"Are you ready, My Lord?" you ask and look at him. The sun makes your skin shine, the strong contrast between your light skin and your dark curls, the deep violet of your eyes. Cregan's body begins to tingle. You are a sight for sore eyes. And when you call him my Lord with your beautiful voice, Cregan's heart explodes every time. Your voice is full of affection and love. Cregan can hardly believe his own luck. He enjoys the sight of his future bride for another heartbeat before he nods and also mounts his horse.

You turn your horse and ride off, as the guards prepare to follow you, you address them.

"No need to trouble yourself, Ser. I don't need any guards today."

"But my princess, you cannot ride out alone, it is still too dangerous."

"Don't worry, Ser. I have the honorable Lord Stark by my side." you grin at him and Cregan has to concentrate on not turning as red as a foolish boy.

The guards stay behind, and you ride side by side through King's Landing. When you don't steer your horse towards Rhaenys's Hill, Cregan stops briefly.

"We're not riding to the Dragonpit?"

You shake your head slightly, your dark hair blowing around you. You quickly swapped your Targaryen braids for northern hairstyles. A fact that filled Cregan's heart with warmth.

"Vermithor is too large for the Dragonpit. He lives in the Kingswood."

Cregan has to suppress a sigh. Of course, your dragon is too big for the Dragonpit, what else. With a cramping stomach and sweaty hands, Cregan rides on again. Quickly, you leave the city behind and ride into the forest.

The Lord of Winterfell takes a deep breath and relaxes a little. Now that the loud city is behind you, Cregan realizes once again how much he misses the peace in Winterfell. Not even a week more and he would be on his way home. And you will already be his wife.

"Why are you smiling?" you tiltel your head slightly and look over at him, your horse trotting along the path relaxed, seeming to know exactly where it needs to take you. Cregan didn't even notice that a smile had crept onto his lips.

"I was just thinking that you will very soon be my wife," he replies honestly. Your smile widens, the sparkle in your eyes intensifies, and Cregan thinks you become more beautiful with every passing second.

"I am looking forward to being your wife." you say. Although a slight blush creeps into your cheeks, you hold his gaze. Cregan would most like to lean over and kiss you, if only for the briefest moment. But he would never dishonor a princess. He just has to wait three more days and then he can kiss you as long and as often as you allow him. Cregan can be patient. "But first, you will meet Vermithor." you speed up your horse, excitement radiates from you, but Cregan's fear is stronger. Nevertheless, he speeds up his horse to catch up with you.

He has to swallow before he can speak again. "I thought dragons bonded with riders who resembled them," the young lord recalls from the few lessons he received about dragons long ago.

You slightly furrow your eyebrows. Did Cregan say something stupid? Or did he upset you? But when you respond, there isn't a trace of anger in your voice.

"Why do you think Vermithor is not like me?"

To his own surprise, Cregan has to laugh. "I heard they call Vermithor the bronze fury. And my Lady, please don't be angry with me, but you don't seem like a person who harbors much fury." if Cregan is honest, you are one of the gentlest people he has ever met. In this viper-infested place like King's Landing, you seem to him like a beacon of gentleness and grace.

Now it's you who is laughing, the sound makes Cregan's skin tingle pleasantly. "You have never seen my wrath because I have never been angry with you, my Lord. You should be glad about that."

Cregan's lips curl into a grin. "Should I?" he asks challengingly. He can hardly imagine you ever being truly angry. It doesn't seem to suit you at all. But he knows himself that he shouldn't underestimate your Targaryen temperament.

"I have five younger brothers, My Lord. Don't think that a charming smile and a little teaser could unsettle me. And believe me when I say I can stand my ground very well." you laugh and in the next moment you gallop your horse. Cregan hears you laugh and follows you. Still trying to wrap his head around the fact that you find his smile charming.

Its not long before you slower your horse again. You ride slowly into a clearing, looking up into the sky, Cregan follows your gaze. But he only sees blue sky and clouds.

You stop your horse, whistle loudly between your fingers. Then you turn to Cregan and beam at him. He can't help but smile with you. Excitement and anticipation are in your eyes.

"Don't worry. You will like him." your voice is full of love, as if you were talking about your oldest friend. You are indeed talking about your oldest friend. Cregan is captivated by your beauty, losing himself in your radiant eyes. Warmth spreads within him and his heart begins to beat faster. He can hardly wait to take you as his wife. Suddenly, the sun is obscured, a dark shadow falls over you and him. The horses begin to fidget nervously back and forth, and when Cregan looks up again, his heart sinks into his stomach.

He has read stories about the Targaryen dragons, he has watched Vermithor and Silverwing from his window in the Red Keep. Cregan even saw Vermax up close when Jacaerys landed in the courtyard of Winterfell back then.

Nothing could have prepared him for that. The gigantic body of Vermithor completely blocks the sun, the light catches in his bronze scales. His wingspan is gigantic.

As closer the dragon gets, the more uncomfortable Cregan feels. Vermithor lands just a few steps away from you, the entire ground trembles. Cregan's horse rears, the stallion can probably sense Cregan's unease.

Vermithor turns his head towards him, opens his mouth, and reveals a row of teeth, almost as long as sword blades and probably a hundred times sharper. In an instant, he could swallow Cregan along with his horse. It would only take a second, and his flames could turn Cregan into a pile of ash.

He has to swallow, his hands clenching around the reins. Why couldn't it have been a smaller dragon like Vermax being one? Or a hatchling like Morning? No, your soul bonded dragon had to be a damn war dragon.

Cregan has to take a deep breath to calm his heart a little. It beats so loudly that he is already afraid you will hear it. The air smells of smoke, the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. His body reacts automatically to the danger. His hand wants to reach for the sword on his belt, neverless he manages to prevent the almost reflex.

You don't seem to have noticed his fear at all, have already jumped off your horse and are now approaching your dragon. Valyrian words roll off your tongue with ease, your voice sounds calm. Cregan doesn't understand a word of what you say to Vermithor, but the foreign sound of High Valyrian in your gentle voice sounds like the most beautiful song he has ever heard. Cregan watches closely as you raise your hand and stroke your fingers over the dragon's nose. He snaps his mouth shut, blowing hot air into your face. You giggle, turning to Cregan.

"You can come closer." Again, that sparkle in your eyes. The sun catches in your dark hair, Cregan has to take a deep breath, drinks in your beauty, and feels the fear slowly release its grip on his heart.

In the next moment, Vermithor lifts his head, raises it above you, and pushes his large body closer to you, this time smoke coming from his nostrils. You stretch out and place your hand under the dragon's chin, stroking him as if he were a cat. Fear burns in Cregan's stomach like a metalball, cold sweatbeads forms on his forehead. Nevertheless, he dismounts from the horse. When his feet touch the ground, his stance is not as firm as he would like it to be. Everything in him screams to turn around and run away.

Cregan had thought the scariest thing he would ever have to do was stand on the edge of the wall and look 700 feet down. Getting close to your oversized lizard today is so much worse.

His stomach tightens, and he has to hide the trembling of his hands by gripping the hilt of his sword. You reach out your hand to him.

"Come on. You really don't need to be afraid. Vermithor is really sweet."

Cregan takes a few steps towards both of you, Vermithors eyes flash, and "sweet" is the last thing Cregan would think of to describe this dragon. He has to force himself to keep going. But when Vermithor lets out a dark growl, Cregan flinches and stops. You turn a little to Vermithor and speak a few Valyrian words to him. Cregan understands his own name and Winterfell. A moment after you finish, Vermithor shakes slightly and then lowers his body down to his knees, while his wings fold tightly against his body and he lowers his head so that his eyes are at Cregan's height. Cregan stares in shock from you to your dragon. Did he really listen to you?

"I understand that you are scared..."

"I am not scared" Cregan interrupts you quickly, too quickly. A grin tugs at the corners of your mouth as you catch him lying. But you extend your hand again. Cregan takes a deep breath and forces himself to take the last steps. Gods, he has stood on battlefields, won wars, even had to fight for his place in Winterfell. He would describe himself as brave, but taking those steps onto your dragon costs him all his courage.

The air around Vermithor's body is warm and smells of sulfur. The Lord of Winterfell is by no means squeamish, yet he has to pull himself together not to wrinkle his nose. He is afraid of angering the dragon.

He reaches for your hand, your fingertips closing around the black leather of his glove. The touch of your fingers grounds him a little and he manages to take a deep breath and calm his heart a little bit.

You don't pull at him, giving him time until he stands directly in front of your dragon on his own. Vermithor doesn't move, only his eyes blink. Cregan has the feeling that the dragon is inspecting him closely, its eyes far too intelligent for a lizard. It sends a shiver down Cregan's spine.

"Do you want to pet him?" you ask, your gaze vigilant on Cregan and Vermithor as your fingertips glide over the scales beneath the dragon eye.

Cregan wants to shake his head and say no, but instead he carefully takes off the glove. He notices that his palm is sweaty, but he can't wipe it on his shirt, you would notice that. Slowly, Cregan raises his hand he cannot supress the slight trembling. He looks at you once more, you nod quickly. Cregan places his hand on the dragon's nose, the scales are hot and hard. Vermithor does not move, his breath steady while Cregan held his breath. Carefully, his fingers glide over Vermithor's nose, he endures it exactly four heartbeats, then he withdraws his hand and takes two steps back.

His heartbeat is fast, his breathing is unsteady and he notices the blush rising in his cheeks. He is sure that by now you know that he is panicking with fear. Nevertheless he looks at you.

You meet his gaze with a warm, proud smile "I told you, he is really sweet." you say and press your cheek against Vermithor. The dragon blows air out of its nostrils again, then gently nudges you and makes a humming sound, almost like a melody. Cregan is surprised that a hundred-year-old dragon is as gentle as a kitten.

Cregan grumbles in agreement, his fear still lingers in his stomach. "Can we go back now?" he looks at the horses, a few steps away. He did touch the dragon, but that doesn't mean he feels comfortable now.

You start to giggle. "Still scared?" you ask in a teasering voice. He looks at you, a smile dances around the corners of your lips. Vermithor nudges you lightly in the side, then straightens up a bit and takes a step towards Cregan. The ground trembles, the trees around sway, leaves fall to the ground.

Cregan has to swallow, needs all his courage not to run away. Vermithor slowly moves his head towards him, hiding you behind his body. Cregan's heart begins to beat faster, once again he has cold sweat on his forehead.

"Stay completely calm." he hears you say, not a hint of worry in your voice. Cregan isn't even surprised by how much trust you place in your dragon. Vermithor's head slowly comes closer, he sniffs the air around Cregan and then gently nudges him with his snout. The touch isn't even strong enough to make Cregan take a step back. He would never have expected such caution from the giant. The bronze Fury seems more like a kitten right now.

The dragon exhales, the air is so hot that Cregan's eyes begin to burn. Suddenly, Vermithor rises to his full height, his head hovering a few feets above the ground before he lets out a loud roar.

Cregan flinches in shock, the deep tone makes his bones vibrate, his muscles tense up, ready to run as fast as he can. Still, he remains where he is, looking at you.

You smile at him, pride in your gaze. Suddenly you run past Vermithor and throw yourself in Cregan´s arms. The Lord of Winterfell wraps his arms around you, catching you und pressing you close to him. Your warm laughter reaches his ears, and for a moment, he can forget the dragons three steps away. Still laughing, you take a step back from Cregan but reaching for his hand again. Your smile rivals the sun. You have to tilt your head slightly back to look at Cregan.

"Good, he likes you." you speak with conviction. "Now we can get married."

Cregan has to blink in surprise. "Wait this was up for discussion?" he asks, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Of course, My Lord Stark. Never could I marry a man that my Vermithor has not approved of."

Cregan looks past you back to your dragon. He feels as if his eyes are watching every of his movements. He has to swallow. So Vermithor likes him? Cregan can´t tell why you are so sure about this.

You squeeze his hand to regain his attention. Cregan looks at you. You stand on your tiptoes and give him a gentle kiss on the lips. It's just a brief moment, but it makes Cregan's stomach do somersaults and his heart pound loudly in his chest. Cregan wants to pull you into his arms immediately and claim your mouth as his. He has to hold back, contenting himself with pulling you closer and kissing your forehead. You snuggle into his arms.

"And what do you say? Do you feel like taking a little flight?" he can hear your laughter in your voice. You making fun of him, he knows that. If Cregan had a slightly bigger ego, he would force himself to climb onto that dragon's back just to avoid having to admit to his fiancée that he is too scared. It's a good thing Cregan's ego isn't that big after all. Not even an army of giants and the others could get him onto this dragon.

"Absolutely not." Cregan replies, also laughing and pulls you towards the horses. Vermithor lets out a growl and then spreads his wings. In the next moment, his body rises into the air and he takes off flying briefly over Cregan's and your head.

The Lord of Winterfell has to pull himself together not to flinch. He would never love this dragon as you do, but at least Vermithor didn't eat him at the first opportunity. That's a good sign Cregan thinks.

[rose24207]

Heyyy, i’ve got an idea for a Lando x reader fic!

Basically Lando and the reader have been friends their whole life since their parents are good friends and they go on vacations together all that shit. And the reader has had a crush on Lando for some time now and what she doesn’t know is that Lando likes her too and one night they’re celebrating midsummers (or whatever) and he tells her he likes her and they kiss and talk all night and cuddle and stuff like that, but the next day Lando is ignoring the reader and pretends like nothing happened and goes on to ignore her for like a good year or two until one night they talk and he says he’s sorry for all that and they have their happy ending. Super angsty and sad but fluff at the end!

Don’t feel obligated to write this if you don’t want to, it’s just something i came up with and could never write myself (i can’t write to save my life) but i really like your fics and thought you could!

I‘ve missed this

Summary: Lando confesses his love on midsummer night but pushes you away for years before finally apologizing and winning you back.

Genre: angst, fluff

Lando x f!reader

TW: None!

A/N: DW girl I got your back!! again sorry that you had to wait! School is kicking my ass and I’m about to crash out because of my driver license (that shit is expensive af) English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome!

Masterlist pt. 2

The golden glow of the midsummer sun bathed the lawn in a warm, ethereal light. Strings of fairy lights crisscrossed overhead, and laughter filled the air as family and friends celebrated another year of togetherness.

You sat at the edge of the garden, the sound of the waves from the nearby lake mingling with the music. Your eyes scanned the crowd until they landed on him—Lando Norris.

He stood by the fire pit, laughing with a group of friends, the amber glow highlighting his cheekbones and the soft curls that framed his face. You’d known him your entire life, thanks to your parents’ friendship. Vacations, holidays, birthdays—he’d always been there, your constant companion.

And somewhere along the way, you’d fallen for him.

It wasn’t just his boyish charm or his crooked smile that made your heart race. It was the way he made you laugh when you wanted to cry, the way he always seemed to know what you needed without you having to say it.

But he didn’t know how you felt. And you weren’t sure he ever would.

“Why are you sitting here alone?”

His voice startled you, and you turned to see him standing there, hands shoved in his pockets. He tilted his head, a playful grin tugging at his lips.

“Just… thinking,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Thinking, huh?” He dropped down onto the grass beside you, his knee brushing yours. “Care to share?”

You hesitated, glancing down at your hands. “It’s nothing important.”

He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Come on, you can tell me anything.”

You looked up at him, your heart skipping a beat at the way his eyes sparkled in the fading light.

“Alright,” you said, forcing a smile. “I was just thinking about how much has changed since we were kids.”

His expression softened, and he nodded. “Yeah. Feels like yesterday we were building sandcastles and arguing over who got the last popsicle.”

You laughed, the memory warming your chest. “You always took it, by the way.”

“Only because you let me,” he teased, nudging you gently.

Silence settled between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. The sounds of the celebration faded into the background as you both stared at the lake, its surface shimmering like molten gold.

“I’ve missed this,” he said suddenly, his voice quiet.

“Missed what?”

“Us.” He turned to you, his eyes searching yours. “It feels like we’ve both been so busy with life lately. I hate that we don’t get to spend as much time together anymore.”

Your chest tightened, his words hitting a tender spot in your heart. “Me too.”

He reached out, his hand brushing yours. The simple touch sent a jolt of electricity through you, and you had to fight to keep your composure.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your breath hitched, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it. “What is it?”

He hesitated, his gaze dropping to your intertwined hands. “I’ve been trying to find the right moment to say this, but… I like you, Y/N. More than a friend should.”

The world seemed to stand still, his words hanging in the air.

“You… what?” you managed to say, your voice shaking.

He smiled nervously, his fingers tightening around yours. “I like you. I have for a while now. I just—”

You didn’t let him finish. Before you could overthink it, you leaned forward and pressed your lips to his.

For a moment, he froze, and you thought you’d made a terrible mistake. But then his hands cupped your face, pulling you closer as he kissed you back with a fervor that made your head spin.

When you finally pulled away, both of you breathless, he rested his forehead against yours.

“Wow,” he murmured, a soft laugh escaping him.

You smiled, your cheeks burning. “Wow.”

That night, the two of you talked for hours, sharing secrets and dreams you’d never spoken aloud. When the celebration wound down, you ended up curled in his arms under the stars, your heart feeling fuller than it had in years.

The next morning, you woke up with a smile, memories of the night replaying in your mind. You couldn’t wait to see Lando, to talk about what this meant for you both.

But when you went to find him, he was distant.

At breakfast, he barely met your gaze. Throughout the day, he kept conversations short, avoiding any moment that might leave you alone together.

By the end of the week, he was gone, leaving you with a hollow ache in your chest.

The weeks turned into months, and the months stretched into years. Lando’s career in Formula 1 took off, and you watched from afar as he became a household name.

He texted occasionally, but it was never personal. Just polite pleasantries, as if you were mere acquaintances. The memory of that midsummer night haunted you, the unanswered questions gnawing at your heart.

Why had he pulled away?

It wasn’t until two years later, during another midsummer celebration, that you saw him again.

He was standing by the same fire pit, his posture tense as he stared into the flames. Your heart ached at the sight of him, the familiar longing resurfacing like a wave crashing over you.

Before you could stop yourself, you approached him.

“Lando.”

He turned, his eyes widening slightly at the sight of you. “Y/N.”

The sound of your name on his lips sent a shiver down your spine.

“Can we talk?” you asked, your voice steadier than you felt.

He hesitated but then nodded, leading you away from the crowd to a quieter spot by the lake.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The tension between you was palpable, years of unspoken words hanging heavy in the air.

“I’m sorry,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your throat tightened, and you looked away. “Why, Lando? Why did you pull away? After everything that happened… I thought—”

“I was scared,” he admitted, cutting you off. “That night… it meant everything to me. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized how much I had to lose if I screwed things up between us. You’re my best friend, Y/N. I couldn’t risk losing you.”

Tears welled in your eyes, his words both a balm and a dagger to your heart. “So you thought ignoring me for two years was the better option?”

“I thought it would be easier for both of us if I put distance between us,” he said, his voice thick with regret. “But I was wrong. God, I was so wrong.”

You wiped at your eyes, the weight of his apology sinking in. “Lando… do you have any idea how much that hurt me? How much I missed you?”

He stepped closer, his hands trembling as he reached for yours. “I missed you too. Every single day. And I hated myself for what I did. But I was stupid and scared, and I didn’t know how to fix it.”

Your heart ached at the vulnerability in his voice. Despite everything, you still loved him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his forehead resting against yours. “I’m so, so sorry.”

You closed your eyes, your tears mingling with his. “You really hurt me, Lando.”

“I know,” he said, his voice breaking. “But I swear, I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if you’ll let me.”

For a moment, you hesitated. But then you thought of the boy who’d been your rock for so many years, the boy who’d held your hand when you were scared and made you laugh when you wanted to cry.

“I missed you,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

He pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as if afraid you might disappear. “I missed you too.”

That night, as you sat by the lake with his arms around you, the pain of the past began to fade.

For the first time in years, you felt whole again.

Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @ipushhimback, @ladyoflynx, @lewishamiltonismybf, @cmleitora, @hmma3 , @same1995, @amatswimming, @llando4norris

[corazondebeskar-reads]

of rage and ruin - chapter nine

chapter nine

series masterlist | prev chapter | next chapter

werewolf!alpha!Joel Miller x f!omega!reader

word count: 3.6k

summary: things take a turn for the worse.

Please read the warnings as some new important ones have been added. NOTE: this is the last time that the SA tag will be used in this story. However, the events of this chapter are important. If you decide to skip this chapter, feel free to message me and I’ll fill you in. Or message if you want specifics about the tags to decide if you want to read it.

chapter warnings: non-con, dark, dead dove do not eat, a/b/o, alpha/omega dynamics, omegaverse, captivity, canon-typical violence, genre-typical violence, horror themes, graphic violence, abuse by captors (not by either joel or reader), body horror, viewer discretion is advised, sexual assault (NOT by joel, NOT described, just implied and alluded to), p in v, torture

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

You were wrong about Mike. About his lack of retaliation.

You were so, so wrong. 

That much is clear when you wake up.

The first sign that things aren’t quite right is that you never did get around to going to sleep last night. 

The second is that you may be buried, or something. You can’t quite move your limbs beyond wiggling your fingers and toes. And you can’t see shit. 

The third sign is that you can’t smell Joel. Not beyond what’s soaked into your skin and sweater. No, he’s very much not here. Or anywhere nearby, if the rapidly tightening feeling in your chest is any indication. 

It’s panic you can’t shake off, you know, since you can’t fucking move. 

The fluorescent overhead buzzes to life. 

“Not so brave now, are you?” The voice blows in from across the room and sinks in your gut like it’s sleeping with the fishes. 

You really, truly are in some deep shit. 

You’ve been kidnapped from your kidnappers. Honestly, what did you do in a past life to deserve this? 

He’s right about one thing. The confidence you clung to in the early days has been picked at like carrion. You’re scared. 

“I didn’t–I’m–” but something is wrong, so very, very wrong. You’re bubbling out gibberish and spit. It’s just sounds, dribbling from sloppy lips. 

He rolls his eyes. “Shut up. It ain’t gonna wear off for a while, so best just sit quietly like a good bitch.”

You’re not sure if it's the panic or whatever he’s drugged you with, but your throat is cinched, and your cheeks sting from the uncontrollable stream of tears. 

“Let’s see what’s so fuckin’ special about you. Why your cunt is worth more than my brother’s life,” he spits, unfortunately literally, as droplets spray. 

Shit. They were actual brothers. Not that it mattered; what was done was done, but you had really miscalculated this. 

His hand is on your shoulder. It’s better than where you thought he was reaching, and yet, still horrible. It’s not like you haven’t had to deal with handsy or aggressive men. It’s just… usually, you can move. Fight. Run. 

His hand is nothing like Joel’s. His fingers are short, his nails broken and edged with grime. There are scars and dry skin, like Joel, but it’s nothing like his rough grip. There’s no nick above the webbing of his thumb, no calluses on the plump pads of his fingers to remind you that you’re alive. 

Mike brushes his thumb over Joel’s bite, the thin newborn skin taut and jagged. You make a sound. You don’t hear it, not with the way your heart is beating in your eardrums, not the way every note scrapes your throat, but you grate out a sound that might have been a hiss. 

Or a growl.

His hand connects with your cheek, which does not help the dizziness stuffed between your ears.

 

You’re not even mad, because it makes you dizzy enough that you don’t really register what comes after. Maybe you would have been worried about that, but he hit you hard enough that you didn’t even remember how hard you’d been hit. 

He must know he’s on a dwindling timetable. Inevitably, by dawn, the others will return to the base with Joel in tow. Inevitably, by dawn, they’ll know. 

As if he can tell you’ve dug up a fragment of hope, he leers, taking a swig from a bottle of dirty brown liquor. “You think Jim’s gonna waste resources on finding you?” he murmurs, grimy fingers stroking your cheek. 

And just like that, with a sharp breath, you lose that hope. Because he’s right, he’s undeniably right. Jim never misses a chance to bitch about the drain you are. They don’t need you, not really. Neither does Joel, not really. 

It’s easy, after the hours that have passed, to give in to the overwhelming dread. His hand wanders as it settles in, and you twitch away from his touch.

“Guess it’s wearin’ off,” Mike muses, taking another drink. “Can’t have you puttin’ up a fight now.” His bottle clinks against the file cabinet he sets it upon as he squats to dig through a duffel bag. 

There’s nothing you can do when he ties you down. There’s nothing you can do as he grips your cheeks hard, his thumb digging into your jaw until your mouth opens. You try not to swallow the liquor he pours in, only to aspirate it instead, wheezing and sputtering to little effect. 

“Jesus. Can’t even handle a little booze,” he sneers. “Too bad. Can’t have you gettin’ too feisty, huh?” He forces more down your throat, and it burns. 

He keeps squeezing your face, peering down at your mouth. “Reckon I should teach you a lesson about biting,” he said, tapping the bottle lightly against your front teeth. A whimper of fear slips free, and he grins crookedly. 

“Yeah, you don’t like that, huh? My brother didn’t much like gettin’ bit, either.” 

He steps away to rifle back through the duffle, and when he comes back, it’s with a pair of rusted pliers. 

You can feel your body twitch, trying its very hardest. The lingering drugs and booze make your head spin and throb. Mike faded in and out of view, but made his presence very clear as he pried your jaw back open. 

He tapped each tooth with the pliers, hemming and hawing about where to start. Garbled sounds are all the protest you can muster, trying to shake your head loose of his grasp as he selects an incisor. 

The first two attempts fail, the pliers slipping free, battering you in the process. The third try, though, clamps on just right. He clumsily tugs, to no avail, before wiggling and twisting the tooth. Reluctantly, your body parts ways with it as he increases the force, plucking the loosened tooth from the gum. 

You can’t even really hear your own screams. There’s pain, there’s blood, there’s Mike’s sick laughter. And then there’s darkness.

—

It’s not the fight that wakes you. Not the gunshots, not the snarling. Everything has died down by the time you come around.

Well, not everything. Based on the sounds, you’d hazard a guess that Mike is still at least a little alive. When you look up, you’re thrilled to find out you can, that the paralysis has waned. 

Then, of course, you wish you hadn’t looked at all. Once you have, though, you can’t look away. You understand that Tool song now, the one from the CD your dad burned you before the world went to hell. 

For a moment, Joel meets your eyes, and you are the wolf, nearly. You can feel the way it burns through your veins. 

Satisfied that you aren’t afraid, that you’re okay for a moment, he finishes his feast. 

There’s not much left of Mike when he tosses his corpse into a corner. It smacks against the far wall and drops to the ground. His final resting place. 

The Wolf that is Joel, that is your alpha, that is your savior, stands on his hind legs with those unsettling inverse ankle-knee-freaky bits bent. But even crouching, he fills the room. He’s a blur, like the first time you saw him, an ink blot in the center of your vision. A wormhole absorbing all the light. What little is left reflects off his shiny body. It takes you a moment to realize his fur (or his body hair, as he insists) is soaked in blood. 

It clings to the plaque on his teeth. His hands are steeped in it, some already hardening or coagulating under the stretch of his claws. He stalks over to you, and you do not flinch from him. His claws rend the rope as if it were no more than spaghetti. You tremble uncontrollably as he helps you sit up, most of your faculties back under your control. His blood-soaked, massive paws cradle your cheeks, pulling back abruptly when you whimper. 

A growl rumbles from his chest, and he throws his head back and howls. It brings footsteps in your direction as he gathers you into his arms. You’ve never felt smaller than you do now, and it’s not just the bulk and heft of his body. He cradles you with a delicacy unbefitting his sharp, deadly nature, but it’s all the more Joel to you than the brutality you witnessed. 

The raiders filter in, just a few of them, more to control him than assist, but they reclaim Mike’s stolen supplies and pay you no mind. At least until Cheryl comes in. 

“Alive after all, huh?” she says, approaching far closer than you think she should dare. But she wiggles the remote to the shock collar as she nears, peering at you. “Still want her, pet?” she asks Joel. “She’s all used up.”

He bares his teeth and snarls, and she shrugs. “It was just an option,” she says, hand dropping from the pistol on her belt. 

You feel sick from the second brush with death in as many hours. Or maybe it’s from the bootleg booze and blood that’s been dripping down your throat. 

He looks down at you, long tongue poking out to lap at your cheek before he realizes the injury is inside. He whines, and you shake your head, weaving your fingers in his fur and burying your face there. He doesn’t need words; neither of you do. He just takes you home. 

No. Not home. You can’t let yourself accept that. But it’s been almost a year, now. Almost a year since they plucked you from that FEDRA truck and brought you to hell. 

It’s not the cell that’s home, though. It’s him. 

—

You look up at the wolf once you’re locked in, the relief of your familiar prison bubbling up like bile. The others go back to their day, the incident no more than a blip of inconvenience. Silence lingers, both of you waiting, waiting, waiting to hear the heavy thunk of the cellar’s deadbolt. 

As soon as it sounds, you break.

“You found me,” you gasp, trailing into a whimper. “You found me, you found me.” Your voice is grating, leaking from your cracked and dry throat. It hurts to talk, your jaw throbs, and you struggle around the swelling, but you can’t stem the leak.

He grips your biceps with both paws, and rolls back the shift enough to speak. “I found you,” he says firmly, letting you feel his sturdy hold on you, keeping you there and present. “I’ve got you. Okay?”

You don’t respond, still shaking and swaying a little on the spot. “You found me,” you echo, raw and dredged up from the hollow of your lungs. 

“Hey,” he growls without aggression. “ Listen to me. ” He doesn’t mean to do it. His voice drops a register, an even lower rumble than usual, and your attention snaps up to him. 

He winces. There’ll be time to apologize later, though. “I’ve got you,” he repeats steadily. “Okay?”

You nod. “Okay,” you echo in a whisper. 

“I will always find you,” he promises, eyes gone dark. “Always, little omega. You’re mine, and there’s nowhere on this godforsaken earth that they can hide you from me.” 

In any other context, it would frighten you. It should, by all means, frighten you a little. Instead, you kiss him.

It’s a mistake that sends you pulling back, gasping in pain, and all the ferocity on his face falls.

“Let me see,” he coaxes gently, cradling your jaw. He’s careful as he presses your lip to the side to get a good look. “ Jesus, ” he whispers.

You can see the guilt building up, layers upon layers from all his life. You won’t let this, won’t let you be another. “Joel—”

But he’s not having it. He bristles and narrows his eyes at you. “Would you stop tryin’ to run your mouth? You’re making it bleed.” His eyes dart over your face, stopping back on your missing tooth each time before sighing, shoulders slumping. 

“C’mon,” he grumbles, leaving no room for argument by simply picking you up and carrying you over to the bed. He settles with you straddling his lap, wincing. He looks down for only a moment. “I’ll take care of that next. Sit still ‘n be good.” 

It turns out not to be a hard order to follow. He sets about to lick your wounds, starting with your mouth. He doesn’t mean for it to turn into anything, he really doesn’t, but he’s licking inside your mouth. As his spit mixes with yours, as he laves his tongue oh-so-gently over and over, the familiar tingling starts to set in. It numbs the pain, not entirely, but the relief is enough to make you sigh softly against his mouth.

He can’t entirely be blamed as it turns into lazy kisses, tongues brushing comfort over one another, each press of lips like a mantra. I’m here, I’m here, I’m here. You’re not sure who’s reassuring who. 

It’s not going to fix it. There’s not a magical makeout session that can restore your tooth or even heal the socket. Not that quickly, anyway. But it eases the pain, and so does the way his warm hands hold you like you’re something precious. The way he groans into the kiss, the way he can’t stop reaching for every bit of you, checking meticulously to make sure nothing else was taken from you. 

He makes good on his promise to soothe your other wounds. He can’t quite numb your aching mind or racing heart, can’t slide his tongue over the places that shattered inside, but he can damn well remove every trace of Mike from your body.

He settles you down on the mattress, settles himself into the wolf, and he licks every inch of you. His long, hot tongue is just rough enough to make you feel clean. There’s no way even a cell of Mike’s skin is left behind on yours. Joel eats it all up like he did the man himself. It leaves your whole body tingling, your heart pounding in your ears, your cunt gushing by the time he sheaths himself in you. 

There’s no room left for anyone else. There’s no room for anything but you and Joel in the darkness. 

It’s too late before either of you realize he’s triggered his own rut. Your body responds beautifully, burning under his touch, following your alpha into blissful oblivion. He fusses relentlessly, worried despite his own distress and desire, not wanting you to feel trapped or forced. Not again. Never again. 

It’s a promise neither of you are sure he can keep, but both know he’ll die trying. 

It isn’t as long as your first heat, but it’s all the more intense. Your little room fills with sweat, pants and groans replacing any need for words. And it’s exactly what you need—no thoughts, no memories, no dealing with what you’ve suffered. Just Joel, just… love? No, that can’t be right. Just lust. 

His cock is insistent, pressing into you, filling the gaps he’d left behind. He doesn’t bother turning back to the man, doesn’t bother trying to pretend he’s anything but a mindless creature right now. And still, he’s so gentle. More gentle than he’s ever been. 

You didn’t have time to build a nest, but that’s okay. He doesn’t ever move from his place over your body, cocooning you, blocking everything else from sight. There’s just Joel. You’re warm and cozy and safe. 

You almost forget that you’re locked up at all. He keeps you on such a high with his deft fingers, mouth, and cock that you can’t even fathom a time when he might have to part from you. The lock of your cunt around his knot is your echo of his promise. Never again. 

—

“How much of this is even real?” you whisper in the fading light of your heat. Your hand is lazily raised, blocking out the fluorescents, but he catches it with his own, his thick fingers making room for themselves between yours. Locking you together in another way, keeping you close. 

“Couldn’t tell ya,” he says quietly, gruff voice even coarser in the way he holds back, keeping it soft in your ear. “Probably nothin’. But it’s there anyway.”

He was sure as shit right about that. This burning in your chest, the way your heart picked up as he wove your fingers together and tugged your hands down, using both your arms to hold you to his chest, your unified fist in the center. It’s not real, not really. You don’t know him. He doesn’t know you. There’s nothing for this heavy feeling to rest upon, no foundation for the feelings that should not be there. 

And yet.

The conversation is veering uncomfortably personal, of which you only have yourself to blame, but you run from it anyway. “You ever see Dawn of the Wolf? ” you ask, pushing for something unserious, something that’ll have him rolling his eyes and putting up a fuss about the W Word. 

That’s not what happens, though.

His breath catches for a second before rolling out in a soft sigh, his warm breath ruffling the hairs at the nape of your neck. “Yeah,” he admits. “My—” and there’s something potent in his pause. Something that saps the silliness of your subject change away and dances dangerously close to serious. 

“My daughter loved that shit,” he says. 

You can’t help the way your body stiffens. You want to roll over and look at him, to parse his pursed lips and warm eyes. He doesn’t let you, though, tightening his grip around your waist, fingers pressing a little more insistently in the divots between your knuckles until you settle. 

“Watched the damn movies, read the damn books, had the damn poster on her wall,” he says, something careful in his words. Like he’s trying to give this to you without giving anything up for himself. These memories he’s clutched in the recesses of his ventricles—they can’t be extracted without damaging the last soft tissue he could spare to wrap them in. 

“So, who’s team were you on?” you tease instead. 

“I didn’t give a shit,” he dismisses. A beat passes. “Why would she even have considered the wimpy blond vampire kid?”

“Oh, I see,” you say, nodding sagely. “You think the obvious choice was the tall, hairy, brooding wolf-man. I have to agree.”

“Shut up,” he grouses immediately. “It was all stupid, anyway. None of ‘em could stop whining.” 

You go to turn over again, but this time, he lets you, both of his arms cradling you in a way that makes your throat feel tacky and tight. It’s made worse by the way his eyes are bright, the flecks of green bursting through the brown like lichen in soil. 

“Never did get to see the sequel,” you say after a moment, trying to regain some sense in your brain.

He snorts. “Didn’t miss anything. I thought it couldn’t be worse than the first one but it was the stupidest two hours of my life.” 

“I can’t believe you saw Dawn of the Wolf 2, and I didn’t,” you say. A beat passes. “Will you tell me about her?” you ask, barely a whisper, afraid to break whatever is happening. 

“Not… not today,” he grants, and you take it for the huge step that it is, and nod, burying your face in his chest instead and taking a deep breath of his soothing scent. The oaky notes are easier to parse, now, much more complex. Hints of spices are there, sometimes. 

You’re getting too familiar. So much so that when the chamomile blossom of his grief leaks through, your grip on him tightens just a little, and you find yourself pressing a kiss to the thick thatch of hair beneath your cheek. 

It isn’t real, but how can it not be? How can something this intense not be real? No, it’s different. This isn’t real versus fake like something photoshopped, something on a green screen. 

This is more than that. The dotted lines that make up constellations aren’t real, but it doesn’t change the way those stars are bound together to make something unique, something breathtaking.

“I get it now,” he murmurs, breaking your existential reverie. 

“Get what?” you say, nose wrinkling.

He bumps his nose against yours, nudging at you in a way you know would involve a playful nip if he was his other self. “Why he didn’t just eat her,” he says.

You reward him with a bark of a laugh. “You’re still thinking about Dawn?” 

This time he does nip at you, catching your ear gently with very human teeth. “S’your fault,” he grumbles, and you feel it rumble through his chest. 

And yours. 

No, wait, that was your stomach. You’re suddenly starving, and with that revelation comes another, much worse one. You sit up so quickly that Joel follows suit, eyebrows raised. 

“What’s the matter?” He barks. 

“It’s the food,” you whisper. “That’s why they don’t let you share. That’s how Mike got me. It’s in the fucking food.”

He sits up, cupping your jaw. “Explain,” he growls.

“I think they’re drugging us,” you finally tell him. It’s been a haunting tug in the back of your brain, one you didn’t really want to admit to. There’s been a matching tug in your gut, the feeling of something not sitting quite right, but you couldn’t put a finger on it.

It had been twenty years since you had something like cough syrup, anyway. But that’s the feeling. The fuzzy spot between your eyes where the ground seems to swoop up, the way you move through the day underwater. 

“Fuck,” Joel whispers. But he can’t deny it makes sense. It makes too much goddamn sense. He’s been too fucking compliant, too fucked to care. He thought it was apathy borne of everything he’s been through. 

But goddamnit. He knows. He just knows you’re right.

[bombuni]

say yes

summary: The two times Jongho tries to confess, and the one time he does. genre/pairing: jongho x fem!reader, bff!yeosang x reader (platonic), fluff, college au, pining warnings: jealous!jongho, mentions of drinking, implied nsfw at the end bom note: my bday is today so im celebrating w this thank u me this is cute asf🫰 also enjoy a playlist i made for this fic! ps i feel like i didn’t rlly do this trope justice especially w jjong but i just really wanted something cute and fluffy. either way, enjoy!<3 RIBO NATION FOREVER

You don’t really remember how or why it started.

You just remember that one day, you entered Yeosang’s new apartment and were greeted by a strange, albeit handsome, face. You remember stumbling over your greeting as he looked you over, all too casual in the way his eyes roamed your being. You remember the first time your eyes were met with his angelic gummy smile as he spoke his first words to you (you remember them exactly; “I’m Jongho. Didn’t know Yeosang was gonna bring over pretty girls often.” it stuck with you for days like gum on your shoe.) and how your heart skipped many beats.

Alright, maybe you do remember exactly how and why you fell for Choi Jongho.

You feel a poke on your cheek that wakes you out of your daydreams, “Having another Choi Dream?”

Yeosang stretches as your professor drones on, his laptop screen completely blank. He spends most of his time in this class showing you cat videos and bothering you as you attempt to take notes.

“A what? What is that?”

He mindlessly scribbles on your paper, “It’s what I’m calling your fantasies about Jongho. You do it a lot.”

Unfortunately, having Yeosang as your best friend means he knows exactly what you’re thinking about all the time. He’s quietly observant of you, and he seems to have noticed all the discreet glances you direct towards Jongho.

Well, it’s hard not to realize your feelings when you yap Yeosang’s ear off about how ‘sexy’ (your words-not his) Jongho looks every night.

You don’t have the option to deny his factual statement, “You better not say that in front of him.”

He puts his hands up in mock surrender as your professor finally declares the lesson over. You’ll regret not paying attention later. For now, it’s a Friday and your last class has ended. You follow Yeosang out the building doors and into the breeze of the outside world. He throws an arm around your shoulders when he sees you shiver. The autumn leaves crunch under your feet as you walk towards wherever he takes you.

Yeosang hums in thought before finally speaking, “Ya know…I really think Jongho feels the same way about you. I can feel it in my gut,”

His tummy rumbles as you pat it, eliciting a chuckle from you, “Think you’re just hungry, guy.”

“Hmm…you’re right. Where should we go…?“

You wait for Yeosang to finish his thought, hand resting comfortably on his hoodie as you peer over the campus. It’s an oddly perfect day. The temperature isn’t too hot or too cold. The wind blows through your hair just enough to give you a movie star look. There’s people living their lives all around on old benches and picnic tables.

You’re broken out of your thoughts when Jongho’s voice pulls at your insides and drags you to the real world.

Jongho’s used to your closeness with Yeosang. He’d be institutionalized by now if he wasn’t. He tries to greet you both casually, but he can’t find it in himself. You’ve been friends with Yeosang for years, he knows that, this is normal for you.

But your hand rests so comfortably, so assuredly on Yeosang’s tummy. Such an intimate spot that raises a tinge of heat inside Jongho. He’s found you do that a lot to him ever since you met. You infuriate him and placate him all the same.

What a cliche, he thinks to himself, falling for my roommate’s best friend.

“What? Baby got a tummy ache?” He points to where your hand rests. The teasing smile on his face isn’t the same as the usual expression he wears when he makes fun of you. Like he’s holding something back.

You’re almost too quick in your removal of your hand, Yeosang’s wide eyes meeting yours as you push his arm off you, “Baby’s hungry. We’re gonna grab something to eat. Wanna join?”

You know the look Yeosang is giving you. It’s the disbelieving, doe-eyed, ‘Jesus, how bad do you want this guy?’ look he gives you every time Jongho comes around.

Jongho’s too focused on you to notice the way Yeosang’s eyes burrow into your head, “Sure. Long as you stop referring to Yeosang as ‘baby.’ It’s gross.”

Yeosang harrumphs as the three of you begin to walk, “I’m not gross.”

Jongho’s gut lights up again when you coo, “Aww. You are just a little, though.”

Your bickering is cute, sure. In fact, he finds it adorable how pouty you get every time he teases you. It’s just not as cute when you direct that attention to Yeosang.

Whatever.

He’ll figure it out later. Right now, he intends to share a good meal with a cute girl. And his roommate. He’ll focus on the first part.

-

The second time you notice he’s holding something back, you wake up in Yeosang’s bed.

Yeosang is stiff as a board beside you, bundled up and snoring away after your late night study session. He’d turned in early, leaving you and Jongho alone for a couple hours. It was nice to pretend he was all yours. You remember the way his heart-shaped lips sipped his Americano. The way his glasses slipped down his button nose every time he’d look down at your work. So cutely attuned to your success. He’d been so close you could smell his cologne all night and you’re pretty sure it fogged your memory. You definitely didn’t retain any of the information he tried to teach you.

You move over Yeosang’s resting body to get up as you hear the coffee maker in the kitchen. You don’t think as you drag whatever article of clothing nearest to you over your body. Just as long as it warms you up.

Jongho’s back faces you as you enter their tiny kitchen. It’s the first time you’ve seen him in such an…intimate setting. From what you can see he still has his bed head, drowsy yawns falling from his lips as he moves around. What really gets you is the thin undershirt he wears, fully exposing the warm skin of his arms that he’s always hiding. Just the sight of his broad shoulders has you dizzy. It’s almost jarring, like you’ve just plunged yourself into an ice bath first thing in the morning. You have to pretend to be normal as he notices you.

“Morning. Did I wake you?”

“Ah, no-“ you stumble over your words and your face burns as he raises a mug to his lips. It’s dwarfed by his hand. He leans on the countertop, casually taking in your flustering, babbling self.

You try to collect yourself, “I usually wake up early anyways.”

The smile he gives you sends another wave of butterflies-no, those must be wasps-flowing through your tummy.

“Good. Didn’t wanna ruin your beauty sleep or anything.”

The amount of emotions you’re going through this early pisses you off. You blush harder as you attempt to fight the bashful giggles that make their way through you, “Don’t worry, I don’t need sleep to look this beautiful.”

He chuckles and mutters a ‘sure’ before turning to prepare you a cup of coffee. It gives you another great view of his back muscles, which flex with every move he makes. Watching him is hypnotizing. Especially as he stretches his arms into the air, letting your eyes roam over every inch of him. The expanse of his body is…intimidating. You wonder if you could really take him.

Too early for those kind of thoughts, you think.

You shake your head and decide to do something rather than gawk at Jongho. You rummage through the cabinets, looking for Yeosang’s cakes you know he hides from you. With your back to Jongho, he tries to hand you your cup of coffee before pausing. He spots something. Usually he takes any chance he gets to watch you bent over, but the large letters on your back stops him from enjoying the sight. You’re too absorbed in your search to notice his confounded silence.

He manages to mutter out a pained sound, disguising it as curiosity, “Kang…?”

You turn towards him, confused. You realize, with Jongho’s accusing finger, raised eyebrow, and adorably frustrated face, that you’re wearing Yeosang’s team hoodie. The one that brands you as his with his last name sprawled out in big, black letters.

“Oh! I didn’t really see what I was putting on-“

There’s a pout on his face. He shoves the mug into your hands, still careful not to burn you. Before you can say anything, he’s forcing your body backwards into the counter as he stretches to retrieve something from the cabinet above you. He’s so close as he rummages, giving you a clear view of the adorable mole on his neck you always think about kissing. He smells like fresh laundry.

It’s not even like he’s doing it on purpose. He’s just so big that it unintentionally shoves you into him. Trapped between the counter and his chest is exactly where you want to be. You hope he never finds the snacks you’re looking for as your mouth salivates at the sight of his vast collarbone.

He finally snaps you of out of your wet dreams, “Sorry. He usually hides them in the way back.”

He pretends like the blush on your face doesn’t have him giddy to high heaven. The pout from before is gone now, replaced with a cocky smirk he’s trying hard to hold back. He might enjoy watching you break a little too much, making no attempt to move as he memorizes the way your wide eyes look below him.

You breath in sync, and you’re sure he’s leaning in closer and closer…

“You know…” he sips on his coffee, “Next time you’re cold, just ask me. I’ll give you my hoodie.”

Then he retreats to his bedroom. Like it never happened.

-

The third and final time, you’re at Wooyoung’s birthday get-together he’d decided to host for you.

Watching Jongho gulp down drink after drink, so casual in his enforcement of self-control and power, has you really regretting the intimate setting. He looks breathtaking in the oversized jacket, and it’s affecting you even more now that you know what he’s hiding under those layers. You love how quietly alluring he is for you, drawing you in by just existing.

You’re not a light-weight, but you fear the effect of the drinks you did have are sped up by Jongho’s charm. Wooyoung and Yunho seem to notice your star struck manner and refuse to let up on the teasing, making up new ways every minute to make you blush harder.

Jongho’s busy talking to Mingi and Hongjoong across the room, but he’s not entirely focused on the conversation. He keeps hearing giggles from the three of you and he can’t help but turn his head every few minutes to throw a suspicious glance towards you. Hongjoong thinks he’s like a watchdog.

He sips his drink idly as Jongho turns back towards the conversation, “You act like they’re gonna chew her to bits.”

Jongho pretends to look confused, raising a questioning eyebrow and scoffing. Mingi doesn’t let him get away with it.

“Yeosang told me you’re the one who wanted to do this party in the first place.”

“I merely suggested the idea-“

Mingi continues, “You have an entire list of gift ideas.”

Jongho grumbles and gives up in his act of nonchalance. Instead of admitting anything, he only rolls his eyes and attempts to walk away as the two men shout at him to grow a pair. He pretends not to know them as the crowd around them turn to stare.

It’s overwhelming inside and you don’t even know half of the people coming up to you to wish you a happy birthday. Yeosang’s nowhere to be found and without your other half to fuel you, you decide to get a breath of fresh air. You hear Wooyoung’s cackle from somewhere inside the house.

It’s a cool night. The moon isn’t shining as much as it can, but it illuminates enough to let your senses come down and decompress. The porch is littered with trash from drunken party-goers, cigarette ashes covering the railing. The wind is a nice companion as it passes through, although, and it makes you forget about the mess inside of the house and inside of you.

For a moment. Before one of the major causes of your anxiety seems to find its way towards you again.

Jongho’s voice is teasing, “Wooyoung’s gonna be mad if he finds you out here.”

He leans onto the railing a few feet from you. Like he’s afraid to be near you, as if he wasn’t stealing your breath and pressing himself right against you the other day.

You chuckle at the thought, “He’s definitely too drunk to even know what’s going on right now.”

You feel his stare burn through the side of your face. It’s a strange pressure you feel in your heart, familiar but threatening. A steady beat with suspicious undertones.

Jongho’s breath catches for a moment, hesitant before voicing his question, “Is it…I mean, are you having fun?”

There’s a quiet, hidden vulnerability in his words. He wants to ask something deeper, something that actually allows you to reveal yourself to him but ‘fun’ is all he can manage. There’s already a blush creeping up the back of his neck and he hopes to God you don’t notice when you turn to look at him.

You look at him with stars in your eyes and the air is almost knocked out of him, “‘Course I am. Especially out here with you.”

He’s so careful in his attempt to hide his shyness, but you see right through him. You see the need for connection and honesty, as hidden as it is. You’re just not sure whether it’s on the same level of connection that you want. Jongho only smiles shyly at your words, biting back his full gummy smile.

He moves closer, standing upright and facing you fully. He hesitates for a moment, fumbling with his hands before he holds a gift bag to you like a kid asking for Halloween candy.

“Here.” He gestures hurriedly, embarrassment growing every moment that passes by with your eyes locked onto the brown paper bag.

“This is…for me?”

Jongho pouts and shakes the bag in annoyance, “What does it look like?”

“Alright, if you’re gonna be sassy-“

He rolls his eyes and pulls the gift out himself, shoving it towards you once again in an attempt to hide his shaking hand.

It’s the necklace you’d been eyeing. The one you hadn’t told anybody about, but kept looking back to on the online storefront. You’d just been waiting for the right moment to buy it, but Jongho beat you to it.

Your hands touch his as you take it and Jongho has to manually breath, “How did you-“

“You kept looking at it in between our study sessions. I don’t know if it’s the right color.”

You stop his bashfulness, “Jongho. It’s perfect.”

That seems to soothe him, “Okay, good.”

There’s a moment of silence between you as you inspect the pretty necklace in your hands. He’s too focused on the look on your face. The dorky smile you don’t even know is there, the same one you get every time you guess a homework answer correct. This feeling has been filling his chest uncomfortably for the past few months, and now he’s gotten to the point of bursting watching the giddy giggles pour out of you.

That past shyness is gone now, “You know I like you, right?”

“…What?”

He pouts, “I thought I made it pretty obvious.”

The necklace is forgotten now, “Uh…no?”

He rolls his eyes again (prick) before pulling you into a kiss. It’s the kind of once in a lifetime kiss that makes your knees buckle and the tingles in your spine grow into fireworks. His hand on your cheeks moves down to your waist, pulling you in to have you as close as possible. Jongho thinks that as long as he touches you, he’s grounded. Won’t float off into outer space like he wants to as your glossed lips move against his.

The wind blows again and you can’t help but giggle as you both sway. Jongho can’t help but swoon when he hears that harp-like sound again, repeating it over and over in his brain until he hears another angelic sound from you to keep him afloat.

One kiss and he’s already addicted.

Your hands land on his broad chest as he holds you against him, “Ok, that was pretty obvious.”

“Shut it.”

You kiss him again. Again and again and again until he’s satisfied.

bonus:

Wooyoung had insisted on opening your presents once the party had ended, left only with your close knit group of friends.

There’s red solo cups littered on the floor and San trips over nothing as he attempts to give you an emotionally charged congratulatory hug. You choose to ignore the snot stains he leaves on your shirt as Jongho pulls him off you. Hongjoong giggles beside him.

“Ok, this one-“ Seonghwa hiccups, “is from me and Wooyoung.”

Wooyoung claps beside you as Seonghwa hands you the crinkled Dollar Tree baby shower themed bag.

“Aww! You guys, you really didn’t have to-“

There’s a collective pause before the room bursts into laughter. Only Seonghwa remains stone-faced and serious.

Jongho grimaces at the pink, fuzzy handcuffs you hold in your hand. Yunho wolf-whistles beside him, as if the younger won’t do anything to hurt him once he’s sober and able to feel it.

Seonghwa attempts to shush the crowd, “I want you-“ he points towards Jongho, “to use these wisely and responsibly, okay?”

Wooyoung attempts to hug Jongho from behind, “Our little bear, all grown up…”

The night ends with Wooyoung handcuffed to his own stair railing.

[dexastres]

sweet melody, part two

jude bellingham x black reader

summary : elena wants revenge on her ex-boyfriend, who cheated on her, and jude will help her.

wc : 1165

part one

Jude couldn’t shake off the strange feeling that overcame him ever since he laid eyes on Elena. His inner voice yelled at him to stand up and go find her in the bathroom, but his body refused to listen. So, he stayed at the bar, lost in his thoughts, wondering if she was fine and if she needed a shoulder to cry on. The young man closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The music faded gradually, along with Enrique’s voice. For a moment, Jude felt like he was in his own world, an island in the middle of the ocean, with nothing but Elena filling his thoughts. 

He couldn’t put it into words what he was feeling right now. It was unlike anything he ever felt before. Jude couldn’t explain why she attracted him so much, but he sensed a certain connection with her, a bond only they could understand. His heartbeat intensified every time he thought about the moment their eyes met. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Enrique noticed and couldn’t hold back his laughter.

The Englishman looked towards the bathroom door, hoping to see the young woman. He didn’t know how long it had been since she locked herself in there, but it felt like an eternity. Once again, the little voice in his head shouted at him to get up, but before he could, the door opened, revealing the person who made his heart beat. Elena walked into the club with a newfound energy, fuelled by a burning desire for revenge. A radiant smile lit up her face, and her confidence grew with every passing second. She attracted everyone’s attention, as if she was the star of the nightclub. Jude couldn’t take his eyes off her, and his heart skipped a beat when she stopped in front of him.

“Is this seat taken?” Elena asked, her voice sounded like music to Jude’s ears. He found her slight accent very cute, though it could go unnoticed unless you paid close attention.

“No. You can take it.” She nodded in response and sat next to the footballer. She felt the warmth Jude radiated, which surprisingly brought her some comfort. Normally, she’d go out of her way to avoid talking to strangers, but this time, it was different.

“Hey, what can I serve you, young lady?" Enrique’s sudden appearance startled Elena, who shyly turned towards the bartender.

"I’ll just have water, thank you." The middle-aged man nodded while writing her order, along with the others on his list. Jude noticed the subtle change in Elena’s attitude, and how she tried to keep the conversation short with the bartender.

"Can I have more water, please?” Jude said, holding out his glass towards the bartender. 

“I should start charging you for refills, Jude. This is your third time. Are you trying to put me out of business?” Enrique teased, raising an eyebrow, and the Englishman responded by rolling his eyes. Elena watched them arguing like cats and dogs over the most insignificant thing. While the two men bickered, she pulled her phone out of her tiny bag. Notifications from the group chat she had with her friends flooded her screen. The young woman looked around her, searching for a familiar face, but found none.

“Looking for someone?” Jude asked, and she nodded.

“I’m looking for my best friend, Sierra. The girls are blowing up our group chat, asking where she is. I checked her location, and it says she’s still here, but she’s probably somewhere with a guy." She shrugged.

"This happens every time we go out. She disappears, then suddenly reappears and tells us all the crazy details. But I get it, though. She’s the most beautiful, hilarious and intelligent person I know. You never get bored when she’s around. So yeah, I can’t blame any guy for falling for her." 

Elena’s eyes sparkled as she spoke about her best friend, a sign of the deep affection she felt for Sierra. Their friendship meant the world to her, and she couldn’t imagine what she’d do if it suddenly ended.

“Well, I should probably go because the girls are blowing up my phone again. It was nice to talk with you, Jude.” Elena got up from her seat and grabbed her glass of water.

"Wait..." Before Jude could even ask for her name, she had already disappeared into the crowd. “What an idiot.” He muttered under his breath.

"Why didn’t I ask for her name?” He sighed, placed his glass of water on the counter, then stood up. His feet moved before his mind could react. Moments later, he was near the dance floor, where Elena had just stopped. From where he stood, he saw her body trembling slightly. Confused, he moved closer to her, only to see her tearful face.

“What the fuck?” Elena said. She couldn’t look away from the scene unfolding before her, and felt her heart break, as if a blade had pierced her chest. For a second, everything around her disappeared, except for Alejandro and Sierra, who were kissing on the dance floor.

“How could you?” Her voice barely rose above a whisper, drowned by the music, but it was loud enough for Jude to hear.

“What have I done to deserve this?” The young woman couldn’t believe her best friend would stoop so low. However, she wasn’t surprised by Alejandro. After all, he had cheated on her and didn’t even try to deny it when Elena confronted him.

“My best friend and my ex…” Elena stopped mid-sentence when a soft, unexpected warmth seized her wrist. She looked up to see Jude gazing at her with a softened expression. He wiped away her tears, and without thinking, Elena buried her face in his chest and let them flow. Normally, she would have run away, but she felt oddly comfortable in his presence.

“Come with me,” he whispered in her ear. She nodded, too tired to fight back, and followed him towards the exit door while staring at the floor.

“Oh, Elena....” Sierra murmured as she watched her best friend leave the club with Jude. A knot formed in her stomach, and her pulse quickened when she locked eyes with Alejandro. She forced a slight smile to hide her sadness, knowing that this moment would mean nothing to him tomorrow.

Sierra stared at the exit door, her eyes filled with tears. She bit her lips, her heart heavy, as she reflected on all the moments they shared. However, a shadow hung over each of them, reflecting the jealousy she always felt towards her best friend.

“Did I ever tell you that I'm not doing well? You see, jealousy is incurable and I'm sick of you.” Elena’s presence served as a brutal reminder to Sierra that she would always finish second, that she would always remain the second choice, her understudy, and that she’d never step out of her shadow.

"I've always hated you."

[f1daydreamer]

Hearts Entwined

---

It was a typical rainy day in London, and you were busy in the café where you worked, balancing plates in one hand and wiping down tables with the other. Being a single mum meant long hours and little time to rest, but you wouldn’t trade your life with your daughter, Evie, for anything in the world. At only three years old, she was the light of your life—curious, bubbly, and far too clever for her age.

What you didn’t know was that today would change everything.

---

Lando Norris was no stranger to recognition, but today, he appreciated the anonymity the drizzle and his hoodie afforded him. He walked into your café, searching for a quiet corner to enjoy a rare day off.

The moment he sat down, Evie took notice. She wasn’t shy, not in the slightest. With a curious tilt of her head, she toddled over to his table, gripping her favorite stuffed bunny.

“Hi,” she said, her big eyes staring up at him. “Are you a superhero?”

Lando couldn’t help but laugh. “Not exactly,” he replied, leaning forward. “But I do drive very fast cars.”

Her eyes widened. “Like Lightning McQueen?”

“Exactly like Lightning McQueen,” he said with a grin.

You rushed over, mortified. “Evie, come back here. I’m so sorry—”

“No need to apologize,” Lando interrupted, smiling warmly. “She’s adorable.”

You blinked, momentarily stunned by his kindness—and his strikingly familiar face. It clicked after a second. Oh my God. Lando Norris.

Trying to play it cool, you scooped Evie up. “She’s a little chatterbox. Sorry to bother you.”

“Really, it’s no bother,” he said, his eyes softening as he glanced at Evie. “What’s your name?”

“Evie!” she chirped proudly. “And that’s my mummy.”

Lando looked up at you, his grin widening. “Nice to meet you, Evie’s mummy.”

---

Over the next hour, as the café quieted down, Lando stayed. He didn’t seem in a rush, and before you knew it, he was at the counter, ordering a second coffee and asking you about your day.

“You’ve got your hands full, huh?” he asked, nodding toward Evie, who was now coloring happily in the corner.

“Always,” you replied with a chuckle. “But she’s worth it.”

“I can tell,” he said, his tone sincere.

Before leaving, he glanced back at you. “Do you think Evie would want to see one of those fast cars up close sometime?”

Your heart skipped a beat. “She’d love that.”

“And you?” he added, his gaze holding yours. “Would you?”

---

It started innocently enough—a photo Lando posted to Instagram a few days later. Evie was sitting in the back’s seat of his McLaren, with you in the front seat

You tried to stay out of it, but as days passed, the paparazzi caught wind. Photos of you and Lando at the park with Evie surfaced, and speculation ran rampant. Was he dating you? Was he ready to play stepdad?

---

The attention became overwhelming. One day, you received a message from a fan account. It wasn’t kind.

“You’re just using him for fame. Everyone can see it.”

The words stung, even though you knew they weren’t true. That evening, as Lando came over to visit, you couldn’t hide your feelings.

“Maybe this was a mistake,” you said quietly, avoiding his eyes. “You didn’t sign up for this.”

“Hey.” He reached for your hand. “Don’t say that.”

“I just… I don’t want Evie to get hurt.”

“She won’t,” he said firmly. “And neither will you. I like you, Y/N. A lot. And I like Evie too. This—” he gestured between you, “—feels right. Doesn’t it?”

You nodded, tears brimming in your eyes. “It does.”

---

Months passed, and Lando became an integral part of your life. He was patient, kind, and adored Evie. She, in turn, started calling him “Lanny,” a nickname that melted his heart every time.

One evening, after putting Evie to bed, you and Lando sat on the couch, his arm draped around you.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said, his voice soft. “About the future. About us.”

You turned to face him, your heart racing. “What about it?”

“I want to be here,” he said simply. “For you. For Evie. For everything.”

Tears spilled down your cheeks, and he wiped them away with his thumb. “Is that a yes?” he teased.

“Yes,” you whispered, pulling him into a kiss.

---

And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t care what anyone else thought. You were happy. Truly happy.

[soleilpinto]

Cruising in Papaya: Recalculating the Strategy ˚‧｡⋆🍁

“Life’s Better on Saturn ” ˙✧˖° ༘ ⋆｡˚ (Saturn, SZA)

Synopsis: Y/N Laurant, a glamorous socialite, meets Lando Norris during a race weekend, sparks fly between the two, but as their feelings deepen, they struggle to balance their secret relationship with their public lives, all while navigating the pressure of the fast-paced F1 scene.

Genre: (Some) Angst, Fluff, Romance

AU: Social Media and Written!au

Pairing: Lando x Afab!Socialite!Reader

Warnings: They fight and Lando’s an asshole, that’s really it

Note: This feels so real and true to life because shit like this happens all the time 😭 Like Lando and Magui rn because tbf she’s so problematic that’s why I guess they both chose to be private as hell because that girl is a mess.

Cruising in Papaya Masterlist. (Prev./Next.)

The warm hues of the Monaco sunset filtered through the curtains of your suite, casting a soft glow over the room.

You were seated by the window, absently scrolling through your phone, when it buzzed in your hand. The screen lit up with a familiar name, and your heart skipped a beat.

Lando.

For a moment, you hesitated. You hadn’t spoken to him since the British Grand Prix, and even though you tried to move on, his absence lingered in the quiet moments. But something compelled you to answer.

“Hello?” you said, your voice steady despite the swirl of emotions brewing inside.

“Hey,” came Lando’s voice, softer than you expected. There was a tentative edge to it, as if he wasn’t sure you’d pick up. “I, uh, heard you’re in Monaco.”

You blinked in surprise. “Who told you that?”

“Max and Pietra. And I might’ve heard from Alexandra too. They said you were planning to spend time with her.” He let out a small chuckle, though it sounded strained.

You exhaled, leaning back against the plush seat. “Yeah, I’m here for the break. Alex and Jade invited me to a couple of things.”

There was a pause on the line, and you could almost picture him running a hand through his curls, trying to find the right words.

“Look,” he started, his voice heavier now, “I know I’m the last person you probably want to hear from right now, but... can we talk? In person.”

Your grip on the phone tightened. “Lando—”

“Please,” he interrupted, his voice bordering on pleading. “I need to see you, Y/N. I know I messed up. I know I hurt you. But I can’t leave things like this between us.”

You chewed on your bottom lip, your mind racing. Every instinct told you to say no, to guard the fragile walls you had built around your heart. But something in his voice—raw, earnest—made it impossible to refuse.

“Fine,” you said after a beat, your voice quieter now. “I’ll text you where I’m staying.”

Relief flooded his tone. “Thank you. I’ll be there soon.”

The call ended, leaving you staring at the screen. Your heart felt heavy, torn between the familiarity of his presence and the wounds that hadn’t fully healed.

You sighed, standing up to pace the room. It wasn’t just the thought of seeing him again that made your chest tighten—it was the uncertainty of what this meeting might bring.

When a knock came an hour later, it wasn’t unexpected. But as you opened the door to find him standing there, looking slightly disheveled but heartbreakingly earnest, the emotions you had fought so hard to bury came rushing back.

“Hi,” he said softly, and the vulnerability in his voice was enough to make you reconsider the walls you had so carefully constructed.

“Hi,” you replied, stepping aside to let him in.

Once inside, the air between you was heavy with unspoken words. Lando’s gaze flickered over you, his eyes filled with emotions he didn’t know how to express. Finally, he broke the silence.

“I’ve been a mess without you,” he admitted, his voice raw. “Seeing you in those headlines, looking like you’ve moved on... it’s been killing me.”

You crossed your arms, trying to keep your composure. “What did you expect, Lando? We can’t keep living under a microscope. It’s exhausting.”

“I know,” he said quickly, stepping closer. “And I don’t want you to feel like that. But I can’t pretend I’m okay with losing you either.”

Your chest tightened at his words, but you held firm.

“Then how do we make this work? Because I can’t keep pretending I’m unaffected when people dissect every move I make. I’ve been living with that my whole life, Lando. But this... this is different. It’s personal.”

“We don’t have to pretend. We don’t have to hide. Not like before. I think... if we’re honest about what we mean to each other, maybe it’ll hurt less. I’m willing to take that risk if you are.” Lando reached out, his hand brushing yours.

You looked into his eyes, seeing the sincerity in them. “You think being open about us will make the pressure disappear?”

“No,” he admitted. “But I think it’ll be easier if we face it together.”

Your defenses softened as his words sank in. For the first time in weeks, the weight on your chest began to lift.

“Okay,” you said quietly. “But we set boundaries. We do this on our terms, not theirs.”

Lando nodded, his relief palpable. “Anything you need, Y/N. As long as you’re with me.”

A small smile tugged at your lips. “I’ve missed you, Lando.”

His arms wrapped around you in an instant, pulling you close as he whispered, “I’ve missed you too. So much.”

At that moment, the noise of the outside world faded away. It was just the two of you, choosing each other despite the chaos. For the first time, it felt like you were finally on the same page—ready to face whatever came your way, together.

@F1GossipHub 🚨 Lando Norris and Y/N Laurant were spotted together in Monaco earlier today! 👀 The pair were seen leaving a hotel, looking... tense? Fans are speculating—are they back together or just clearing the air?

@MonacoSocialiteLife Y/N Laurant seen with Lando Norris in Monte Carlo. Are we witnessing a reunion or closure? Either way, these two can’t seem to stay out of the spotlight.

@mclarenlover95 mixed emotions seeing lando and y/n together. like, are they good? are they not? either way, if she’s the one making him smile again, i’m here for it 🧡

@gridtalk24 i’m sorry, but after all the drama, how is y/n back in the picture? they literally SCREAM messy. i hope lando knows what he’s doing

Racing Rumors Weekly

Love on Track or Off? F1 star Lando Norris and socialite Y/N Laurant reunite in Monaco, fueling relationship speculation.

Monaco Times

Back Together or Final Goodbye? Lando Norris and Y/N Laurant were seen leaving a Monaco hotel, sparking rumors of a reconciliation after their rumored split.

Elite Society Daily

Spotted: Lando and Y/N in Monaco The high-profile duo has fans guessing—are they reconciling or simply tying up loose ends?

You adjusted the brightness of the photo one last time before hitting "post" on your Instagram story. It wasn’t anything overt—just an artfully angled shot of Lando's hand resting on his leg. The dead giveaway was the bracelet he always wore catching the glow of the light. Next to it, the sleeve of his hoodie—one his fans would instantly recognize—peeked into the frame.

It was subtle but unmistakable to anyone paying attention. You smirked to yourself, knowing exactly what kind of reaction this would stir.

Across the table, Lando caught the faint upward curve of your lips as you locked your phone.

“What did you just do?” he asked, suspicion laced with amusement.

“Just posted a cute picture of your hand when we were in the car,” you said nonchalantly, sipping your espresso.

He leaned over, trying to glance at your screen, but you tilted it away with a teasing smile. “Cute? Or you’re making the entire internet lose its mind again?”

“It’s just your hand,” you countered with a playful shrug. “And a tiny bit of your hoodie. Relax.”

But neither of you could relax as your phones buzzed with notifications almost immediately. Twitter, Instagram, and every gossip forum were alight:

@f1girIies is that LANDO’S hand on Y/N’s story??? that bracelet is a dead giveaway

@papayacorner okay, the hoodie? The BRACELET?? this is literally confirmation. she’s soft-launching him, and i’m living for it

@gridrumors No way Y/N just gave us this much in one picture. The hand, the bracelet, AND the hoodie? She knows EXACTLY what she’s doing

Lando’s phone buzzed incessantly, and he rolled his eyes, his lips quirking into a grin. “You’ve done it now. The detectives are already on it.”

You tilted your head, your expression pure innocence. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You’re impossible,” he said, shaking his head but unable to hide his amusement. Reaching across the table, he lightly brushed his fingers over yours, a subtle reminder that he didn’t mind the chaos, not as long as it was with you.

“You’re the one who wore the bracelet,” you teased.

“And you’re the one who posted it,” he countered, laughter in his voice.

As the soft buzz of notifications continued, you set your phone down, determined not to let the world’s reactions dictate your lunch. Lando watched you closely, his expression softening as he leaned back in his chair.

“It’s weird, isn’t it?” he started, his voice thoughtful. “How one little picture can feel like such a big deal.”

You glanced up at him, your lips curving into a small smile. “It’s because we’ve been trying so hard to stay under the radar. But maybe…” You hesitated, your fingers tracing the rim of your glass. “Maybe it doesn’t have to be that hard anymore.”

Lando’s gaze didn’t waver. “I was thinking the same thing,” he admitted.

“I mean, I get wanting to keep some things just ours. But hiding? It’s exhausting. And honestly,” he added with a teasing glint in his eye, “you’re terrible at it.”

You laughed, the tension melting away as you playfully tossed a napkin at him. “I am not terrible at it! You’re the one who kept showing up in my private stories. If anyone’s bad at hiding, it’s you.”

He chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “Fair enough. But seriously, maybe we don’t have to hide anymore. Be private, yeah, but not secret. I don’t want us to feel like we’re always sneaking around. It’s too much pressure.”

You nodded, his words resonating with the nagging thoughts you’d had for weeks.

“It was so hard pretending not to care when people speculated about us. Like, I couldn’t even react when they’d say things that weren’t true. And don’t get me started on how many times I’ve had to dodge questions from my family and friends.”

Lando reached across the table, taking your hand in his. “We don’t owe anyone every detail about us,” he said gently. “But we shouldn’t feel like we have to pretend we’re strangers, either.”

You looked down at your intertwined hands, his thumb gently brushing over your knuckles.

“You’re right,” you said softly. “We can set our own boundaries. Let people see just enough to stop the speculation, but keep the important stuff between us.”

“Exactly,” Lando said, his voice warm with reassurance. “We’ve got nothing to prove to anyone else. As long as we’re good, that’s all that matters.”

You smiled, the weight of the conversation lifting from your chest. “Okay,” you agreed. “We’ll be private, not secret. But if you think I’m suddenly going to start posting couple selfies, you’re delusional.”

Lando laughed, the sound easing the last of your lingering doubts. “Noted. No couple selfies. But maybe the occasional hand shot? Or a glimpse of my hoodie?”

“Deal,” you said with a grin.

As you clinked your glasses together, a quiet understanding settled between you. For the first time in what felt like forever, you both felt like you could finally breathe.

liked by lando, francolapinto and others

yvesaintlaurant a little something for those paying attention❣️

lando ❤️

lettiemng she's not secret anymore! congrats baby x

iamrebeccad cuties

@f1gossipgirI Lando and Y/N soft-launching their relationship? The hand pic? The hoodie? WE KNOW 👀💅 #F1 #WAGwatch

@papayalando4ever guys... i’m not ready for y/n and lando to actually go public. they’re like the blueprint of private-but-perfect relationships 😭

@monacodreams_ If Y/N and Lando are finally going public, I’m here for it. They’re literally the power couple we needed 👏🔥

@f1stan123 Soft-launch confirmed?! Y/N posted the hand pic and that hoodie is 100% Lando’s. Not me crying in papaya 🧡😭

@ynsluxury Imagine being Y/N. Beautiful, stylish, AND dating Lando Norris. She’s living the dream life I scripted for myself 😩✨

@norrisupdates Prepare yourselves, Lando and Y/N are going public soon. The fandom is NOT ready. #ProtectThePrivacy

The Daily Chicane

"Love on the Grid? Y/N Laurant Posts Subtle Clue Suggesting Romance with Lando Norris" A close-up of a hand with that bracelet has F1 fans spiraling. Is the sport’s favorite bachelor off the market?

Monaco Confidential

"Y/N Laurant Sparks Rumors with Soft Launch of F1’s Rising Star" The socialite posted a glimpse of Lando Norris’s unmistakable hoodie. Are they preparing to take their relationship public?

Celebrity Circuit

"From Secrets to Subtlety: Y/N Laurant Drops a Cryptic Relationship Clue" Her latest story featuring a familiar bracelet and hoodie has everyone talking about a soft launch with Lando Norris.

The Papaya Insider

"Is Lando Norris Off the Market? Y/N Laurant's Instagram Post Says Maybe" Fans spotted a bracelet identical to Lando’s in her story—coincidence or confirmation?

© soleilpinto 25’ -. no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any manner without the permission from the publisher.

Taglist: @bakingpiastries @linnygirl09

[moxanji-real]

“I love looking into your eyes. That soft, beautiful blue makes me feel so warm and loved, like nothing else in the world matters but us. Every time our eyes meet, it’s like everything around us disappears. Even after all this time, just staring into your eyes makes my heart skip a beat, and I hope you don’t mind that it still makes me a little flustered.”

Anyways— here’s a little Moxanji doodle I made! I wanted to create something simple yet sweet for the two of us, and I’m kinda happy with how it turned out. I hope you all enjoy it! Sanji means everything to me—he’s my whole world, and I still can’t get over how breathtakingly beautiful he is, even after all these years we’ve been together. 🤧💞

Tag list:

@100shark @herrling @strawberriemalk @vergils-beloved @katanahusband @mr12xu @zoroscanonhusband @a-sasi-selfshipper @brutally-loving @fl0ralsxgar @mahitosoulmate @frankys-wife @lances-wife @flusteredladylover @starshakez @pigeonbksimp @multiversal-selfshipper @sarahs-malewives @aiden-midoriya6

You can ask to be added or removed anytime ^^💞

[sun4r1nnity]

suna rintarou x reader

bestfriends to lovers. just fluff. very rushed, sorry for everything you find unpleasant. idk what else do i put here

"what do you want for your birthday?"

suna hums in contemplation, munching on the cucumber salad you were eager to try from a tiktok influencer you've seen. now that he thinks of it, his birthday is just a few days away. "dunno, if i say it are you even able to afford it?" he said, a teasing smirk grows as he watches you roll your eyes. "i'd like to know still but just so i can have more reason to hate the rich," you said nonchalantly, popping another cucumber slice into your mouth. you hear suna hums again, a temporary silence keeping you both company as the man beside you puts his thinking cap to work.

"a cartier watch,"

"jesus you're fucking high-demand,"

"lol"

"dont 'lol' me in an oral conversation," your response earns a laugh from suna, who clearly enjoys having you annoyed. you roll your eyes again, wiping the sauces on your hand. "whats up with you and your obsession with watches, geez," you ask, but it didnt really come off a question but rather a subtle insult of 'hey man youre just so weird '. suna knows that.

"oh, a man cant have a hobby now?" suna scoffs, grabbing his phone from the coffee table. "you spent thousands on each of them, rin," you said, voice bolding at the word 'thousands'. you watch him shrugs as he scrolls on his phone. "so?"

"you have 10 of them already!"

"yeah and i dont have a cartier watch yet,"

"youre crazy,"

"crazy? i was crazy once,"

"dude shut up,"

"okay,"

there was a silence filling up the room as you both stopped talking, only the sound of the tv playing in the background. "seriously though, what do you want for your birthday?" you broke the silence, tone coming out more serious this time. suna looks up from his phone, his eyes meeting yours with a hint of curiosity. "honestly? i havent really thought about it," he admits. "why? so eager to please the birthday boy, huh?" the corners of his lips lifts up, seeing you got worked up by his last remark.

"am not,"

suna chuckles softly, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "sure, sure," he teases, leaning back on the couch. "but seriously, i havent given it much thought. maybe... just spending time with you would be enough."

you feel your heart skip a beat at his words, a warmth spreading through your chest. "oh, come on, you can do better than that," you say, trying to keep your voice steady. "there must be something you want."

suna's gaze softens as he looks at you, a small smile playing on his lips. "well, if you insist... how about a day where we just do all our favorite things together? no distractions, just us."

suna watches as your mouth falls open, unable to spit out a word. a blush creep up on your cheeks, and he cant help but find it endearing.

"are you trying to hit on me?"

"is it not obvious enough?"

[yyaktayak]

Chapter 1

Kimaya’s Pov.

I giggled softly as I scrolled through my phone, reading the tweets from my friends. Of course, they were losing their minds over me and Josh posting another picture together. They kept joking that we were more than just "best friends," but that couldn't be further from the truth. It was just us, messing around, doing what we always did. Nothing more, nothing less.

Josh was my best friend. We were always there for each other, never putting labels on what we had. Still, every time someone mentioned anything about us being "more," it made me second-guess things—if only for a second.

I pushed the thoughts aside as I grabbed my blanket and threw it over my legs, curling up on the couch. The room was cozy, the soft hum of the TV in the background, when suddenly, a knock at the door interrupted my peace. I frowned, setting my phone down. Who could it be?

I opened the door, expecting maybe a delivery person or one of the neighbors, but instead, I was greeted by Josh—looking ridiculously good in his grey sweatpants and a plain white T-shirt, carrying a DoorDash bag like he was the most casual delivery guy on earth.

"Josh?" I blinked at him. "What are you doing here?"

He gave me that cocky grin I knew all too well, like he owned the place. "Hey, Ra. I got you food. DoorDash delivery, as requested." He held out the bag, barely trying to hide the teasing glint in his eyes.

"I know you didn't diss my delivery guy to bring this shit yo self," I said, crossing my arms my thick accent coming out. "You seriously walked all the way over here just to pretend to be a DoorDash driver?"

He shrugged nonchalantly, stepping inside before I could say anything else. "Well, I thought ya mighta need sum food, and I did feel like seeing ya . so, yeah. you're welcomema."

I rolled my eyes but couldn't stop the laugh that bubbled up. "You're such a liar. You ain order this. you just wanted an excuse ta come hang boy."

He grinned even wider, clearly pleased with himself. "Maybe I did. Maybe I didn't. But now that I'm hea, I'm staying. Food's on the counter. I'm crashing fa the night."

I stared at him, wide-eyed, as he dropped the DoorDash bag on the kitchen counter and kicked off his sneakers like he was settling in for a long visit.

"wait-"

"Oh, I'm not just 'coming over' fa a quick hang," he interrupted, already sinking onto the couch like he lived here. "I'm spending da night mama. We'll watch movies, eat pizza, and I'm cuddling with you Ra. Don't even try to protest. You know the drill and don't try me I'll tackle ya ass down ." He said his thick Louisiana accent piercing through .

I blinked at him, completely dumbfounded but his accent definitely did things to me.. "ya serious right now? And what do you mean 'cuddle'?"

He gave me a look that screamed 'really?' and patted the spot next to him on the couch. "Ra, you Always invite me over, even if you don't say the words. Plus, you're not getting out of this one. You can't resist me."

My heart skipped a beat at the cocky tone in his voice, but I quickly pushed the feeling aside. It was Josh. Nothing new here .

"I definitely can resist you, thank you very much Mr.Fatu," I retorted, walking over to the couch and grabbing the pizza box. "But fine, you're here, you're crashing. Whatever." I said rolling my eyes .

Josh made an exaggerated sigh of relief as he reached for a slice of pizza. "Ra what I told you bout rollin ya eyes at me, but good knew you'd come around. na, about that cuddle part..."

I looked at him slightly admiring him before shaking my head  as I sat down next to him. "ya not gon let it go, huh?"

"na," he said with a sly grin. "Cuddle time. I'm cold, Ra. And you're the only one who can warm me up."

I rolled my eyes again, but I could feel the warmth creeping up my neck. "You're ridiculous," I muttered, but the truth was, I wasn't exactly protesting. I'd always been comfortable around Josh, and the idea of us just... being close, as stupid as it sounded, didn't feel weird. Not really.

"Come on, Ra," he said, nudging me with his shoulder. 'We're "best friends"Just let me cuddle you like the old times. I'm not gonna bite."

I couldn't help it. The teasing tone in his voice, the way he said "old times" like it was some sweet inside joke—it made my heart do something funny. Something I wasn't ready to name yet.

I finally gave in with a dramatic sigh. "fine, but you bet not leave me like you did without telling me ."

He grinned like he'd won the lottery. "I told you I was sorry ma it was last minute. But Ima get the blanket, and you're getting the cuddles. Simple as that."

Before I could respond, he grabbed the blanket from the back of the couch and threw it over both of us, pulling me close as he made himself comfortable.

I let out an exaggerated groan but didn't pull away. He wrapped his arm around my shoulders, settling in like this was the most natural thing in the world. And to be honest, it kind of was.

"Good night, ma," he said, his voice softer now, but the playful edge was still there.

I rolled my eyes, leaning into him just a little bit more than I probably should've. "you- you're so ridiculous boy."

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of my head, the warmth of his body settling against mine.

But I couldn't help the thoughts that suddenly swirled in my head. Josh was my best friend, but in this moment, it felt like there was more—something different, something more than I was ready to admit.

Josh's POV-

I grinned to myself, trying to suppress the satisfaction of getting exactly what I wanted. Ra always tried to act like I was the annoying one, the one who couldn't take a hint, but deep down, I knew she loved it when I crashed at her place. It was the way we'd always been, after all.

She fit against me perfectly, the soft weight of her head resting on my shoulder as she tried to act like she wasn't enjoying the fact that I'd weaseled my way into her space yet again.

"I know ya not mad Kimaya." I teased, brushing my fingers through her hair lightly. "You love this."

She shot me a look, but I could tell she was already melting into the comfort of it. "boy what I told you bout my real name.. you lucky Ian kicked you out yet."

"Would you really do that to your best friend?" I said, my voice low, but with that same playful edge.

I felt her sigh against me, and I knew that no matter how much she'd pretend otherwise, she didn't want me to leave. She never did.

"I hate you," she mumbled, but the hint of a smile tugged at her lips.

"mhm, I love you too ma," I said, grinning down at her. "But you're not going to want me to go tomorrow."

She didn't answer, and we just sat there, wrapped up in the blanket, the silence hanging between us. It was comfortable. Too comfortable. And I couldn't help but wonder if maybe I was starting to blur the line between being her best friend and... maybe something more.

But for now, I was content. I had all the time in the world to figure it out.

[skyfallscotland]

Professor Riorson (Remi's Version)

"Remi for once can you please—" "Be an attentive student?" I widen my eyes. "Pay attention in class?" I just my lower lip out. "Of course!" My lips curve up. "I'm so excited to have a new teacher, Vi."

Hello! After what we shall henceforth refer to as the Onyx Storm Incident, I did not know if I would ever write for this fandom again (yes, that was three days ago, I know, shut up).

Anyway, I figured I should try and push through my reservations early instead of letting my disappointment linger, so I set out to write a little palette cleanser. As usual I tried to write smut and ended up with four thousand words of feelings first 🤦🏼‍♀️

This is set in some sort of alternate (completely unbelievable) universe where Xaden never gave in to Remi's flirting when she was a first-year at Basgiath (oh and he's not a venin) everything else is irrelevant, just go with it.

It's also basically straight up erotica, so explicit content! Not for minors! Minors DNI or whatever the fuck they say over here (I really should be posting all these on AO3, but that's for another day).

Finally, I'm sorry to all the teachers out there, I hate this kink too but it's minimally emphasised (they're still them) and it was what my girl Remi deserved—why should Violet get Professor Riorson and not her, the Queen of Tyrrendor, the Angel of Death? So here we are.

PS. Justice for chairs! Hopefully you can all visualise what's going on here 😂🪑

Professor Riorson (Remi's Version)

Fraternisation between cadets and those serving in higher chains of command, including the aggregate leadership cadré at Basgiath War College, is strictly forbidden. —Article Eight, Section One, The Dragon Rider’s Codex

I tap my foot against the floor, levitating my pen above my hand almost subconsciously as Professor Devera informs the rest of the cadets just how fucked we actually are. "Welcome to the new face of battle, where we are not only outnumbered in the sky but now equally matched on the field in terms of the skill of our opponents."

Equally matched? We're not equally matched, we're absolutely fucked. It's hard to find the energy to care anymore, knowing what awaits us. Maybe if I had a signet like Violet's, I would be in with half a chance at survival, but mending? Yeah. I'm screwed.

Heads drop in the rows ahead of us, like everyone else is reaching the same conclusion.

"With that in mind, the nature of challenges will change under the supervision of Professor Emetterio to include wielding in order to better prepare you for actual combat. Death is no longer an acceptable outcome when you face your classmates. The days of settling your scores on the mat are over. We need each and every one of you to survive to graduation.”

I scoff aloud, drawing more than one person's attention. Death should never have been acceptable. The military, the system gains nothing from it, it's just a senseless waste of life.

“Easy to say when you’re not facing Sorrengail,” Caroline Ashton calls out.

My lips tilt up. I hope she ends up facing my sister.

“We aren’t going to throw you to the wolves,” Devera tells her. “The third class you’ll be adding will be a hands-on approach to prepare you for signet-against-signet combat. You’ll have a rotating roster of professors to benefit from all signet types, and the Eastern Wing has temporarily loaned us their most powerful rider to start your instruction.”

Violet stiffens beside me and I frown, glancing over at her. The Eastern Wing…wouldn't that mean…

“And on that note.” Devera gestures to the door at the back of the room, and slowly, I turn. “Look who just arrived—everyone, welcome our newest member of your leadership team. Professor Riorson.”

My heart skips a beat and my lips begin to curve into the most self-satisfied smirk I've worn in a while. This is going to be fun.

Friday comes far too slowly for my liking, but finally it's our turn to head out to the Infantry Quadrant's outdoor amphitheatre. There's a skip in my step as we descend the stairs and Violet groans, eyeing me with disapproval.

"Remi for once can you please—"

"Be an attentive student?" I widen my eyes. "Pay attention in class?" I just my lower lip out. "Of course!" My lips curve up. "I'm so excited to have a new teacher, Vi."

Ridoc snorts, bumping me with his hip as he passes.

I glance up from my feet, taking in the man standing dead centre in the base of the amphitheatre, his impatience clear. His arms are crossed over his chest and his usual dark stare is ever-present as he watches us, waiting.

"This is incredible." Sloane is saying ahead of us, commenting on the weather and the temperature inside the amphitheatre's wards. It is warm in here and as Professor Riorson's eyes dart up to lock with mine, I shrug my arms out of my flight jacket. My pulse jumps at his continued attention and slowly I shake the snow from my braid.

"You're right, Sloane." I smile, running my hand over my hair. "It's so warm in here." I reach for the bottom of my shirt and draw that up too, pulling it over my head to leave me in just my leather pants and armoured corset.

"Remi!" Violet hisses and I smile innocently.

"What?" I lift a brow. "You don't want me to pass out, do you Vi?" She grumbles something about knocking me out, which I promptly ignore, dropping my things in the first row of stone seats beside our classmates.

If there's one thing my sister has always hated, it's my infatuation with Xaden Riorson. I suppose that's fair, given she shares a mind with him at times, but it does nothing to discourage me. If I see something I want, I go after it and I've wanted Xaden Riorson ever since I first laid eyes on him all those years ago at parapet.

Too bad he doesn't want me just as badly.

“Welcome to your first session of Signet Sparring, in what I like to call the pit.” He announces as we reach the base of the steps.

"Ominous." I mutter.

“Those who can wield, keep your feet on the rock but—and I cannot stress this enough—off the mat. Those who cannot, take a seat in the first row.” He gestures to the terraced stone behind us.

I assume it has something to do with the warding, so when Aaric and Lynx move to take a seat in the rows behind, I stand to follow.

"Remi Sorrengail!" Riorson calls. "I know you can wield."

I pause, turning slightly to arch a brow. "My signet is neither offensive nor defensive, sir." The slightest, most minuscule twitch jolts his shoulders at the word and I show him my teeth. "You wouldn't want me to get hurt, would you?"

An ember of desire flickers to life in my gut and I bite my lip, letting my eyes drag over him slowly from head to toe. The tight-fitting sparring gear is reminiscent of what he always wore in the quadrant when he was our wingleader, but the swords strapped across his back…they really add to it. It's doing something for me. A lot for me.

"I'll make sure you don't get hurt, Cadet Sorrengail." He reassures. "Take a seat. Now."

I hold his gaze for a moment, wishing he could read my mind and understand exactly what that tone is doing for me. For a second his eyes flare and then it's gone; his stony, unaffected mask falling back into place as he gestures to the first row where my sister waits.

"Whatever you say, sir." I simper, flopping down onto the stone.

"Sickening." Imogen mutters, rolling her eyes from my other side, and I grin. She's never liked my obsession with him either.

First wing begin to filter in, taking their places on the adjacent seating and Riorson's eyes dart left, then right. “Let’s go. It shouldn’t be this hard to sort yourselves out."

"You can sort me out—" All the breath rushes out of me in a wheeze as Imogen's elbow plants itself in my gut. "Ok." I cough, "understood." Violet stifles a laugh.

“You done gossiping among yourselves?” Riorson eyes First Wing with what I'd classify as menace.

“We were just saying that we’re not sure someone who graduated less than a year ago makes the best teacher.” Loran Yashil folds his arms.

I laugh aloud, drawing the attention of everyone in the amphitheatre. "Because you've been doing so well with Carr." I comment. "How many dark wielders do you think he's fought? Hiding back here behind the wards like a coward?"

"Remi!" Violet groans, though the chastisement holds no sting—I know she agrees with me.

What follows is perhaps the hottest display of power and dominance I've seen in a long while. He barely lifts a finger taking the third-year down and then proceeds to do it all over again…and again, and again until there's no one left but my sister and I.

"Sorrengail, you're up!"

Violet and I glance at each other and she lifts a brow. I wiggle mine in return. Quickly, we both leap to our feet and stride onto the mat.

"I meant—"

"You should have specified then." I cut him off, drawing my daggers from my corset.

"I didn't speak in plural." He all but rolls his eyes.

"Well that's just cheating, you can't both—"

I throw my blade to the side, never once breaking eye contact with Riorson. "Shut up, Caroline!" I call. Who asked her anyway?

Drawing another dagger to replace the one I'd thrown, I let my hips sway as I stride down the centre of the mat, coming to a stop directly in front of him. "If you're too afraid to fight us both, just say Professor." I taunt. "I don't mind if you want to have our session one on one."

He sucks in a deep breath through his nose, a muscle in his jaw feathering slightly. "You're infuriating." He murmurs.

"I think you like it." I whisper, tongue darting out to wet my lips, and the ground rumbles. Lightning strikes overhead and he drags his eyes up from my lips, locking gazes with me as shadows rush out, blacking out the area entirely.

"Fuck." I mutter, taking a step back, entirely blind. I take another and another until I run clear into a hard chest and an arm brackets my middle from behind.

"What was the point of this, Sorrengail?" He asks. "If I were venin, you'd be dead right now."

"You're not venin." I counter breathlessly. "If you were, the distraction wouldn't have worked."

"The—"

Boom.

Lightning strikes mere centimetres to his left, shaking the ground, lighting up the arena. I tear myself free from his hold, ignoring the shadows that chase me, caressing my hair, my cheek—and grin slyly. "We win." I smirk as sunlight filters back through. "You'd be dead if she wanted you dead."

He frowns, like the idea of it is ludicrous. "You'd be dead. You would have died before me."

I shrug my shoulders. "And she'd be alive." I tilt my head. "Like I said. We win."

With that I turn and walk away.

"You really need to give it a rest." Violet sighs as she slings her pack over her shoulders, prepared to head down to Chantara with the others. "Remi, I'm…worried about you."

I huff, folding my arms over my chest. "Worried?"

"Worried." She confirms. "It's not healthy to go chasing after someone like this. He's not capable of loving you. There are plenty of people who—"

"Who said anything about love?" I interrupt. "I never said I wanted him to love me."

Violet looks at the ceiling like she's praying to Amari for patience. "You're you." She finally says softly, reaching out to take my hand. "I know you. You want love—and I know him—he's not capable of it."

I know she doesn't mean it critically, she's been orbiting him for quite some time now, her dragon being mated to his and all. So she knows him, better than I probably ever will as a result and she's probably right, but…

"Sometimes he looks at me and I think, just for a second…" I swallow hard.

Violet's expression softens. "I know, I see it too."

My face crumples. "Then why—"

"Because it doesn't mean he can, Rem." She squeezes my hand. "You've been chasing after him since the day you met and him liking you, doesn't mean he'll risk his heart and that's what he'd have to do—we're at war." My sister frowns. "It's all or nothing."

All or nothing.

"Fine." My voice cracks as I speak. "Fine. I get it."

My twin chews on her lip. "So you'll come to Chantara?" She whispers softly.

"No." I shake my head. "I'm going to see him, one last time." Violet's face falls. "I can do all or nothing," I whisper quietly, "but I need a chance to convince him it should be all."

"You've had—"

"No." I shake my head, my heart clenching in my chest. "I've joked and flirted and watched him spend hours of his time dragging you around, but I never made it clear…"

My sister breathes in deep, her shoulders rising like she's steadying herself. "He knows." She whispers, the words leaving her in a rush. "He knows, Remi."

I sit with that for a moment and then slowly, I nod. "Ok." I accept, my throat tightening.

"Ok?"

"Sure." I turn around, taking a seat on the edge of my bed. "I think I'll stay here anyway." I try and force a smile, but I'm sure it comes out as more of a grimace. "You go, Vi. Have fun with the others."

Her eyes are worried, but a lifetime of arguments and tears has told her when to push and when to leave well enough alone, so she leaves well enough alone. It takes a moment to collect myself, to pick the pieces of my heart up off the ground and place them back where they're meant to be, but when that's done and I've managed to still the shaking of my hands, I stand from the bed and head for the door.

If he doesn't want me that's fine, but he can tell me himself, one final time.

All or nothing.

I throw on my jacket and make my way down the hall, heading toward the school's academic wing. Pretty much everyone is either training or enjoying some recreational time, so I don't pass many people on the way there and when I raise my hand to knock, the hall is empty.

The door swings open with the help of lesser magic and I slip inside, not bothering to announce myself—the presence of a shadow curling up around my ankle tells me he knew exactly who was at his door before he ever opened it.

"Professor Riorson." I lift my eyes to his and attempt to shore up my resolve.

"Cadet Sorrengail." He leans back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. "To what do I owe this visit?"

My heart pounds against my rib cage and my pulse flutters like a caged bird. There's a desk between us and metres of clean air, but it may as well be nothing. The atmosphere in the room is charged and I absently wonder if Vi warned him I might be coming.

"I…"

He waits, lifting a brow. "Yes?"

"I'm failing!" I blurt, suddenly losing my nerve. "I'm going to fail your class and I don't know how to…" His eyes hold mine, gold-flecked onyx practically smouldering.

"Try again." He instructs, lowering his hands to the armrests on his chair. He splays his knees casually, leaning back while his eyes seem to stare right through me.

"I'm sorry?"

His lips tilt up, just slightly. "That's not what you came here for." He shakes his head. "Try again and don't lie this time."

My mouth runs dry. Suddenly every conviction I had, every ounce of bravado flees my body and I want to be anywhere but here because I know…this is about to hurt. Having your heart ripped out always does.

"I…came to ask for an extra credit assignment?" I try again, clinging to the minuscule hope he might believe me. It's nothing Vi hasn't done before. Well, before Basgiath, but still.

Riorson smirks. "And your suggestion?"

I frown.

"You're the professor. Don't you decide…?"

The hair on my neck stands on end and I shiver as something brushes the end of my braid. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" He murmurs and my eyes blow wide.

"Uh…" His lips tilt.

"Not that it matters, you're lying again."

My mouth falls open. "Ok, you can't possibly know that!" I hiss. "You're not an inntinnsic, you have no idea what I'm thinking!"

"I know you." He counters. "You expect me to believe you, Remi Sorrengail, came here for an extra credit assignment?" He shakes his head.

"You don't know me!" I frown. "I've barely even seen you since you graduated." And not for lack of trying. I've personally been deployed up and down the Eastern Wing, but every time we've been at the same outpost he's miraculously busy. Violet however, sees him all the time. A fact I've always hated.

"Why are you here, Remi?" He tries again, looking more amused by the second and I can just tell—he knows. It shouldn't be a surprise to me. I've never made my interest a secret, I'm not ashamed of it, but that doesn't lessen the disappointment that even after all this time he'll refuse to give me the time of day when I know he's attracted to me too.

I lock my jaw and scowl. "Is there an answer you'll believe?" I finally utter, shame and frustration colouring my cheeks.

"Not extra credit."

I guess the all or nothing is going to be nothing then. How disappointing. I turn on my heel, refusing to waste a second more of my time on someone who clearly doesn't appreciate me.

"Remi." He calls sternly, his shadows tugging on my braid, and when the door won't open I resist the urge to stomp my foot like a sullen teenager—I want out.

My throat tightens. "Yes, sir?" I grit my teeth, glancing over my shoulder and his expression shifts like he's only now recognising the finality in the air. No more flirting, no more games, no more anything.

He closes his eyes and I recognise the minute twitches of his brow—he's talking to his dragon. I yank on the doorknob again but it refuses to turn, keeping me trapped in a mess of my own making.

When he stands from his chair and rounds the desk, my heart begins to flutter with panic.

"Sit down." He orders and I blink.

"No."

I'd have said it anyway, just to be contrary, but this time I mean it. I don't want to be here anymore.

"Sit. Down." His voice lowers, taking on a frustrated, threatening tone and my lip peels back from my teeth.

"No."

Before I can reach for a blade to defend myself with, his arms are around my waist and he's lifting me into the air, carting me back toward the desk like a sack of grain. He kicks the chair before it out of the way with his foot and deposits me on the desk's surface, sending papers scattering.

When I lash out with my foot, aiming to kick him somewhere painful, he catches my ankle between thick, powerful thighs. "Stop." He warns, his tone glacial. "Look at me."

Fuck you. I think, and when I glance up there's a hint of a smile on his lips.

"Sor—Remi." He corrects, leaning in. He plants large, calloused hands on my knees, keeping my thighs apart as he steps between them, ensuring I can no longer lash out at him with my boot. As his fingers curl around my knees, he leans in close enough for our jaws to brush, and I suck in a sharp breath.

"Sir?" My voice shakes and he all but groans.

He lifts a hand, tracing over my cheekbone with his thumb and my heart races. Each brush of his fingers, the feel of his stubble against my jaw, all of it—it sets my soul alight.

"Everything about this is inadvisable." He whispers, his voice gruff. "You are inadvisable."

I swallow hard. "So you've said." Never going to happen, he'd told me more than once while studying here.

"And yet…"

My muscles bunch, shoulders tensing. "…and yet?" I challenge, finally finding my voice.

He takes one breath and then another, and forces me to mourn the loss of his warmth as he steps away. "Article eight, section one—"

"You are not quoting the Codex at me!" I spit, eyes narrowing into a lethal glare as he takes another step. "You? Seriously?" Fury engulfs me, anger burning my chest with tendrils of white-hot rage. "You're a gods damned separatist, even now, Duke Riorson," I sneer, "and you're wedging the Codex between us?"

Of all things, of every excuse—

"You could be—"

"I'm exempt!" I throw my hands up, lashing out with my foot once more and growling with frustration as he halts it with his shadows. "Article eight, section one of the Dragon Rider's Codex states that calling cadets into active service in times of war may only be authorised by—"

"The Commanding General of Basgiath. I'm aware." He glares.

"So I'm no longer a cadet and I haven't been since July when they sent me to the front to mend." I point out.

"That's a technicality—"

"Oh so you're allowed to call technicalities and I'm not? Got it." I roll my eyes. "Just admit you don't want to fuck me professor and let's move on."

"In-ad-visable!" He yells, a deadly glare on his face and I jolt, rearing back a little. "If you were anyone else I'd have—" He seals his lips together and spins, facing the wall as he jerks a hand through his hair, gripping the dark strands roughly. I watch wide-eyed as his shoulders rise and fall, like he's short of breath.

"You'd what?" I whisper.

I don't dare move, frozen in place on the desk as I watch him, waiting with bated breath to see if he'll finally, finally tell me why. Why he refuses to see me as anything but Lilith Sorrengail's daughter, Brennan's little sister, Violet's twin. See ME, I want to scream at him. I deserve that.

When he turns, his eyes are dark and incensed. "If you were anyone else, I'd have bent you over that desk already and taught you a lesson."

My heart flies into my throat. "What?" It's barely more than a whisper leaving my lips.

He stalks back across the room, clearing the few feet he'd put between us, and slides his hand beneath my chin, long fingers curling around the back of my jaw to pull me in, tilting my face up to meet his. "You heard me."

Heat flushes my cheeks. "Wh…why not me?" I ask and embarrassingly enough, my voice breaks. "Why anyone but me? I'm—"

"Soft." His thumb drifts, brushing gently over my lips as he cups my jaw. "You have a soft heart, Remi Sorrengail, and I'm not the kind of man who can care for it."

I scoff, baring my teeth at him. "I'm a rider, same as you." I glare. "They don't call me the Angel of Death because I'm soft."

His hand slips, running back over my hair and down my loose braid. "Well they got the first part right." He murmurs, closing his eyes. I watch, taut as a bowstring as he takes one breath, then another. "Fuck." He mutters, face twisting up like he's in physical pain.

"Xaden?" I whisper, voice shaking.

"You have terrible timing." His hand tightens on my braid and then he's pulling, tugging me forward as he grasps my chin and seals his mouth over mine. My heart leaps into my throat and my chest tightens as he devours me, the hand on my hair sliding down to rest between my shoulder blades. His fingers splay as he pulls me in, holding me close.

His teeth nip at my lower lip and I gasp, tilting my head in submission as he slips his tongue into my mouth. Oh gods. I whimper, pressing myself further into his grasp as he kisses me thoroughly. A small sound of pleasure escapes my throat and he diverts his attention, nipping gently at my jawline.

His mouth moves right to the sensitive spot behind my ear, like he knows exactly where to nip, where to suck, where to pleasure to have me liquefy. His lips are warm against the shell of my ear as he whispers, "you choose now to take no for an answer?"

He worries the skin beneath it with his teeth and I moan, arching into him. "Y-ou didn't want me." I pant. "You've never—you—"

"I always want you." He growls. "You've been taunting me for years, angel." I gasp at the endearment, tilting my head to give him more access as he works his way down the column of my throat. "It's not a matter of want."

My fingers tighten on the timber of the desk behind me and I suddenly realise I no longer have to refrain from touching. Immediately I reach for him, slipping my hands beneath the leather of his flight jacket, running them up his sides to hold him to me.

"Then what?" I whisper, lifting a hand to rake through his hair, scratching my fingernails against his scalp as he sucks a mark into my throat. I want to touch him everywhere. "Xaden, please." I whimper, bringing my legs up to try and drag him closer. I need to wrap my thighs around him.

He groans, panting into my neck. "We should not be doing this." But he doesn't stop.

I gasp, arching upward so my chest brushes his as his fingers skate beneath the line of my corset. "You've yet to give me a good reason." I say, desire coiling low in my abdomen.

"I'm your teacher." He breathes, pulse skipping as I lock my ankles behind his lower back.

"And I'll be such a good girl for you."

Just like that, his control snaps. "Fuck, Remi." He pulls me forward forcefully, dipping his head to claim my lips once more. The kiss is deep and desperate, and I moan loudly into his mouth.

"So. Fucking. Tempting." His fingers tighten in my hair, pulling slightly on the silver-tipped strands and I moan again, heart pounding as my skin gets hotter and hotter.

He kisses like a man possessed, holding me to him like he can't get enough and when we finally part for air again, it's all I can do to keep from begging. I grasp his hand, dragging it from where it rests on the side of my neck, down over my chest, past my stomach and to the button on my leathers.

He barely hesitates, slipping his hand beneath my waistband. I toss my head back, a small gasp leaving my lips as he slides his fingers over my clit and and back up again. "Gods," I whimper, "please."

"Please, what?" He whispers, slowly drawing his fingers through my arousal.

"Please, sir?" I gasp, leaning back to meet gold-flecked onyx. He chuckles.

"I meant what do you expect me to do with you, angel?" His thumb slowly circles my clit in soft, barely-there movements, "but the respect is a nice touch."

I swallow hard, a red flush spreading down my neck, but I have him right in front of me and I refuse to falter now. "Please make me come." I whisper and he groans, hips rocking forward reflexively. "I'll be good for you, I promise."

His eyes are so dark they're almost entirely black despite the light in his office, and he pushes my legs from his hips, spreading my knees further apart as he pulls me to the edge of the desk.

"These need to come off. Now." His hands are already moving, undoing the buttons and sliding my pants down over my hips, taking my underwear with them. I lever myself up on my hands as he drags them down and drops to his knees before me, fingers working on the laces of my boots.

He pulls them off one by one and dumps them on the floor, and when my pants are finally off and I'm half-naked on his desk, he tips his head back and stares. I flush deeper as he remains kneeling on the floor, slipping his hands up to cup my knees.

He rests his head on the inside of my thigh for a moment, his hair brushing my skin, and parts my legs further. Anxiety flares and I glance up at the door uncertainly, suddenly realising where we are.

"Is that door locked?" My heart skips a beat.

"Does it make you wet?" He murmurs, "the idea of being caught?"

I swallow hard. "No."

My heart flutters against my rib cage and his eyes soften, lips pressing gently to my skin. "It's locked, angel. No one's getting in." He places another careful kiss on my inner thigh. "No one can hear us. It's just you and me."

Something inside me settles and I relax enough to reach out, threading my fingers through his hair. "Ok." I murmur, admiring the silky strands as he moves closer, drawing in a sharp breath as he wraps strong arms around my legs and pulls.

"Xa-Xaden." I whimper as he lowers his mouth to my heat, parting his lips.

"What happened to sir?" He lifts a brow, glancing up at me, and my stomach swoops.

"Sir," I whisper, my voice shaking.

I watch as his mouth curves up in a smirk. "Better." He agrees, and lowers it to my clit.

"Oh, gods." I moan aloud as he seals his lips around it, wasting no time with foreplay. He flattens his tongue and I can't help but rock my hips, both my hands flying into his hair.

My back arches as he scrapes his teeth over me and I quickly slam one hand down behind me to keep from losing my balance, sending pens scattering everywhere.

"Look at you, making a mess." He murmurs between languid strokes of his tongue.

My chest heaves and I grip his hair tighter, trying to still the movement of my hips. "I'll make—a mess—of you." I pant, the last word pitched higher as he closes his mouth around me and sucks.

"Promises, promises." He murmurs as he drags his fingers along my inner thigh teasingly. "Are you going to come on my face, angel?" He asks, barely looking up as he slips a finger inside me.

I moan, arching as my heart pounds, desire coiling low and tight in my gut as I clench around his finger. "I—" I can't get a word out, entirely breathless as he sits back on his heels and waits, lips shining with the evidence of my arousal.

"Look at you." He whispers, lifting his thumb to swirl it around my clit. "So wet for me already."

"Yes," I breathe, curling my fingers tighter in his hair. "Always for you."

He drags his finger out and presses it back in again, eyes never leaving his hand. I squirm in place, wanting—needing—more. He thumbs at my clit almost playfully, finally looking up to watch my reaction and I whimper, screwing my own eyes shut.

"Can you take another for me?" He asks, moving his finger teasingly.

"I can take all of you." I whine, twisting with impatience. "I want your cock, please Xaden?" He lifts a brow and I already know exactly what he's going to say.

"Ask me nicely."

There it is. I swallow hard. "Please, sir?" I soften my voice, ignoring the embarrassment that flares in my chest. I'll beg if it gets me there. "I want to come on your cock."

"You will." He responds, stroking my inner wall with his finger. "Just not yet. Be a good girl and let me have my fun."

I manage to refrain from more than a single disgruntled whimper as he ignores my plea, starting circles with his thumb again. When he slides a second finger home beside the first and curls them up, I cry out, tugging on his hair to bring him close.

"Please, your mouth."

He flattens his tongue obediently and I gasp and whimper as he begins moving it over my clit in time with his fingers. He laps at me as he slides them in and out, curling them up to press against a spot that almost sends me over the edge.

"There! There, please!"

I decide I hate the desk. It's hard and uncomfortable, and it provides poor leverage, keeping me from rolling my hips or fucking myself against his face.

He swirls his tongue and presses his fingers up simultaneously, and the action takes me entirely by surprise, tossing me unceremoniously over the edge. "Xaden!" I cry out, jerking against him as I shatter, coming apart on his tongue.

His head is squeezed tightly between my thighs as I shudder, hips jerking, and he moans against me, sending my heart rate soaring as the vibration of it rumbles through my clit. I gasp, clenching my cunt down around his fingers.

I don't know where to look, what to hold onto as my pleasure rolls over me in waves. Sweat slicks my skin and when he finally pulls away, licking his lips in self-satisfaction, his eyes gleam. "I can't wait to get my cock in you."

I moan, tightening around the fingers still inside me. "You could have already been in me." I pant, whimpering as he finally rises to his feet, showing no signs of the difficulty I know I'd be experiencing if I were on my knees that long.

He slips his fingers free and brings them to his lips, holding my gaze as he licks them clean. My stomach swoops like I've done an aerial dive and my lips part, surprise and arousal no doubt written all over my face. Gods.

"Patience, cadet." He lectures, grasping my chin roughly. "You've been so good," he croons, leaning in to kiss me. "You don't want to ruin that now, do you?" When he slips his tongue past my lips, I can taste myself on him and I moan into his mouth, skin heating beyond comprehension. It feels like when I wield—all my power building up inside me, only now it's pleasure; building and building again until I'm ready to explode.

"We're going back to that?" I pant as we part. "You don't like your name on my lips?"

"I like you obedient." He fires back, his hand gripping the back of my neck. "You've spent years taunting me, having your fun at my expense. I think I'm owed some recompense."

I almost roll my eyes. Almost.

"You could have had me at any time." I whisper. "If you waited, that's on you." I tilt my head up, closing the gap between us myself for the first time as I kiss him sweetly. "Your room, mine, the sparring mats…" I murmur. "I've thought about us everywhere."

"And this…?" He asks, eyes heated. "What were you picturing when you came down here, all innocent, asking about extra credit?" His hands move to his own leathers and my heart skips a beat as he begins undoing buckles, removing his weaponry with quick, efficient movements.

"What were you picturing when you walked in here, Remi, and saw me sitting behind my desk?" He moves onto the button at his waistband, popping it open. I watch, breath hitching as he frees his cock, pushing his pants down slightly as he begins to stroke. "Was this what you had in mind?"

A small sound escapes me, more of a squeak than anything else, and I suddenly find myself at a loss for words. He's…sizeable. He grasps the front of my corset, dragging me up off the desk, levering me to my feet. I tilt my head back to look at him, but our eyes only meet for a second before he's pushing, turning me around and down.

I catch myself on my hands, palms flat on the desk, fingers splayed wide and gasp as he presses himself in behind me, a hand grasping my braid. He leans down, mouth warm against my ear and says, "be a good girl and spread your legs."

I obey on reflex, but I'm certain my skin is so red it looks like I've reached burnout. "Xa-Xaden…" My fingers tighten on the dark timber and I gasp as he presses down on my spine, forcing my back to bow, lifting my ass against him.

"You look so pretty like this." He murmurs in my ear and I jolt as he drags a finger up through my folds, adding a second to gently hold me open. I can feel his fingers on my skin, hear the stroke of his hand on his cock as he prepares himself, but all I can see is papers and tomes.

I gasp as the head of his cock presses against my entrance, heart fluttering wildly, and as he starts to slowly push inside, I panic. "Wait!" I call, reaching behind my back, searching for his hand. "Wait, wait, wait." I pant, anxiety thrashing in my chest as he freezes, holding completely still.

His hand closes over mine, fingers threading between my own and I squeeze tightly, trembling in place. "Not like this." I swallow hard, shaking my head. "Not—" Before I can finish speaking he has me on my feet, spun around and held against him, his cock pressing against my stomach as he spears his hand into my hair, guiding my eyes to his.

"Remi?" He asks seriously.

My lip shakes and a small, mortified sound escapes my throat. "I want to see you." I whisper. "The first time…I want to see you." I want to look into his eyes. I want to see the way his brows knit, the way his lips part in pleasure as he drives into me. I want him to see me and know it's me and no one else. I want all of him.

His gaze softens and he dips his head, kissing me softly, his movements slow and languid. It eases the pressure in my chest, the small part of me that thought speaking up might be a deal breaker, and when we part he reaches down and lifts me off my feet, carrying me in quick strides to the chair behind his desk.

"Tell me if you want to stop." He murmurs, pressing his lips to my cheek, my jaw, my throat.

My knees settle on either side of him and I hover in place for a moment, waiting for his eyes to return to mine once more. "I don't want to stop."

Slowly, I sink down on his cock, holding his gaze as I take inch after inch of him until I finally have to close my eyes, tipping my head back in rapture. "Gods, Xaden."

He exhales slowly and his voice is strained when he speaks again. "So tight, Remi." He murmurs, lips brushing my cheek. "So wet for me."

I moan, tipping my head into his neck as he jerks his hips up, pressing against all the right places. The stretch is just this side of too much and it's exquisite and entirely worth the wait. I reach around him, gripping the back of his chair as I lever myself up and drop back down again, squeezing my walls tight around his cock.

"Good girl," he praises, sliding his hands up my spine as he encourages me to move.

I blink my eyes open, kissing my way up his jaw, sucking a mark of ownership into his neck. I want everyone to know exactly what he's been up to in here—I want them to know he's taken. I lean back until I can see him properly—see every minuscule expression as I gyrate on his cock. "I've wanted this for so long." I gasp. "Wanted you."

He lifts a hand, brushing my hair from my eyes and the other palms my hip, encouraging me to move. "I know." He murmurs, shadows slipping free from his control. "I know everything, Remi. All your wants, your needs, everything." Wisps of black curl up around me, brushing my skin, disappearing beneath my clothes. "I'm just as fucking obsessed with you as you are with me." My stomach swoops.

"Are you—" I gasp, arching my spine as something cold brushes lightly against my clit. "Is—is that?" I can't even get the words out I'm so short of breath.

"Me." He whispers, thrusting harder. "All of me, all over you."

I groan, tipping my face back into his neck as I wrap my arms around his shoulders, holding on tight. I could interpret that very differently. "Do you want it harder, angel?" He murmurs, teeth nipping at my earlobe.

I nod furiously, panting as he snaps his hips up, pulling me down at the same time. "Please, Xade."

He sets a quick, unrelenting pace, slamming home inside me with the same desperation I feel, like he needs it—like he's a man starved. "You're so perfect, Rem." He praises, breath rattling out of him as his shadows circle my clit. They endless and determined just like him, slipping low beneath the neckline of my corset as he drives his cock into me over and over again.

"Are you going to come again for me?" He pants against my ear as I tighten around him. "Let me come inside you? Fill you up?"

"Yes, yes, yes—" The coil of pleasure building in my abdomen bursts and I cry out, holding on tight as fire floods my veins, nerve endings lighting up like a shooting star. "Xaden! Xaden—" I gasp and shudder, curling into him as he continues thrusting, chasing his own peak.

I'm so over-sensitised I can't help but whimper against his throat, my fingers tightening on his arms with every stroke. His thrusts grow less and less controlled as he hurtles toward the same cliff I'd just toppled over, and I clench down tight around him, sucking another mark into the juncture between his neck and shoulder.

"Fuck!" He curses, teeth lodging in my dragonscale armour as his hips give one final jerk and he spills inside me with a groan. His chest rises and falls rapidly beneath my cheek and I smile softly to myself, keeping my eyes down. "Gods." He rests his head on my shoulder, arms curling around me to hold me close, and I do the same to him, my heart swelling in my chest.

I lie my cheek on his chest, listening to his heartbeat as he presses a kiss to the back of my neck. His breathing begins to even out, pulse slowing but I hold onto him just as tightly still, keeping him close.

My knees are beginning to ache and the width of his hips isn't exactly comfortable for mine, but I don't dare move, knowing the second I do this will be over and I'll have to face reality again—awkward, uncertain reality.

I'm just as obsessed with you as you are with me, he'd said—but is he really? That seems unlikely.

"Remi." He murmurs, his arms falling from my sides, and I bite down hard on the inside of my lip, throat tightening. "Angel, we can't stay like this." He chuckles.

"Yes we can." I murmur petulantly into his neck, not loosening my grip an inch.

"I have a meeting in ten minutes." He replies, hand firm in the centre of my spine, "and while I'm happy to work with my cock inside you, I don't share."

A barely audible sound of surprise lodges in my throat. "Share?" I ask quietly, a tendril of hope curling in my chest.

He tugs gently on my braid, encouraging me to lean back so our eyes can meet. "You're mine, Remi, and I don't share my things with anyone." He says sternly.

That kind of possessive alpha bullshit should not fly with me. If it were anyone else, I'd probably punch them square in the nose for their insolence and tell them I'm not an object, but he's not anyone else and for him…

"Yes, sir." I whisper, cheeks flushing, and he groans, hips stuttering below me as his body makes a valiant attempt at an encore.

"Remi!" He chides and my lips curl up in a smirk, emboldened.

"Was that enough for extra credit, Professor Riorson? Am I passing your class?"

"Fuck." He mutters, mostly to himself. "If anyone finds out—"

"I'm happy to warm your cock while you work," I murmur, "if you still think I need extra instruction."

"Remi!" He groans, lifting me off him completely. "You're going to be the death of me." I guess he wasn't kidding about having a meeting to go to.

He sets me on my feet and I stare up at him innocently, chewing on my lower lip. "I feel so empty without you inside—"

"For fuck's sake!" He curses, sending a shadow to curl around my mouth. I go to speak further, to taunt him again, and find the dark mass blocks all sound—I can't so much as whisper in his direction for as long as he can wield. I pout, staring up at him with wide, wet eyes.

"How important is this meeting?" I sign, hands moving rapidly in the air. "I'll be lonely without your—" Shadows zip forward, swirling around my wrists to lock them tight together, binding my hands.

He finishes buttoning his pants and folds his arms over his chest, staring at my half-naked form in the middle of his office, completely unimpressed. "I suppose insecure Remi is gone then?" He asks, striding forward to cup my jaw with his hand.

That scores a direct hit and I guess he somehow knows it, because his fingers gentle as they tip my chin up. "Torment me in public and you won't like the punishment."

I'm absolutely certain I will.

Almost as if he hears my thoughts, his eyes narrow and he scowls. "I promise you won't, angel. I'll bring you to the edge over and over again and leave you there, bound and desperate while I get myself off—every day until you've learned your lesson."

I swallow hard.

"Thought so." He hums. "But if you're good, I'll help you come—on my face, on my hand, on my cock…over and over and over again." Onyx eyes glitter. "It's your choice, baby."

Baby. The word hits me like a punch in the gut and my chest tightens. "I can be good." I blurt the second his shadows disappear. "I promise."

"Good girl." The hand around my jaw curls up and he drags me in, dipping his head to place a soft, reverent kiss on my lips. "Go clean up and I'll see you tonight, Cadet Sorrengail."

I breathe in deep, a small smile touching my lips as I reach for my pants, hands shaking with relief. "Ok." His hand skates over my back as I finish dressing and he guides me toward the door to his office.

"And Rem?" He calls, halting me when my hand is on the doorknob. "That technicality is bullshit—it's not flying with anyone in leadership and you know it, so for fuck's sake keep this to yourself until this posting is over."

I bare my teeth in a grin, a joyful laugh bubbling past my lips. "Whatever you say, sir."

Who knew academia could be this satisfying?

[crowsofdarkness]

Moment Of Weakness: Chapter Twenty Four

-gif not mine. credit to owner-

Pairings: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Content Warnings: language, 18 + smut, angst, fluff, affair, cheating, violence, kidnapping, faking a pregnancy.

Summary: Reader is the assistant to New York's most feared mob boss, James Buchanan Barnes. He had the picture-perfect life: status in the mob, friends, and beautiful wife. So why can't he keep his mind and eyes off of reader?

Authors Note: I just wanted to remind everyone who reads this, there are heavy moments of cheating/having an affair in this story. You might not agree with the actions of "reader" or Bucky but it does pertain to the storyline. If anyone is interested, tags are open for this! Just send me a message or comment!

Tags: @cjand10 @generalmoonpolice @sapphirebarnes @baw1066 @nameless-ken @minami97 @bookofriverr

I opened the door to my apartment, letting the larger man walk in before me, and shut it quickly, locking it behind me. Bucky looked around the small space that was littered with boxes, some unpacked, some not even touched. He gave me a confused look. 

“I moved last month,” I informed while hanging up my purse and jacket. 

Bucky stood out of place so I offered the couch to him, which he accepted with a nod. 

“Why?” He asked while sitting down. 

I decided to sit on the single chair on the other side of the room. 

“It’s kind of a long story,” I said. 

Bucky leaned back into the couch. “You can start off by where the hell you’ve been the last eight months?” 

I quietly scoffed and did my best to keep my anger at bay. If I pissed him off, he wouldn't agree to help me. 

“I needed space from you, Bucky. It wasn’t healthy for either of us if we continued the way we were,” I defended. 

He shrugged. “So why did you come back?” 

My fingers began to fidget with the loose strand of fabric on the chair I was seated on and I let out a deep breath. 

“I think I’m being followed again.” 

Bucky shoulders tensed as he sat up straighter. “Why do you think that?” 

I gave a half shrug. “It started a month ago. What started off as feeling someone watching me as I walked or through my windows became my car being broken into and stolen. Then my house was burglarized. Whoever did it destroyed almost everything and tore it apart, as if they were looking for something.”

“Were you hurt?” 

I smiled fondly at the concern in Bucky’s voice. 

“No, thankfully I wasn’t home. But after that night, I packed up my things and moved here,” I motioned towards my apartment. “Things were quiet for a few weeks until last night.” 

I handed Bucky a folded up letter that I received in my mailbox yesterday. Bucky’s eyes scanned over the words a few times, the anger radiating off of him in waves. 

You’re going to get what you deserve. No one can keep you safe. Make sure to keep an eye open wherever you go. 

“Do you have any idea who sent this?” Bucky asked through gritted teeth. 

“There wasn’t a return address,” I shook my head. “But I have a feeling about who it could be.”

He sighed while pinching his eyes closed. “Yeah, me too.” 

I tilted my head in confusion. “You do?” 

“There’s been some talk on the streets about Clint’s original hit on you being reinstated,” Bucky said. 

To say I was shocked was a lie; that’s exactly who I thought was behind all of this. But my lips parted when something clicked into place about tonight.

“Is that what you were asking that guy about tonight?” I asked. 

He hesitated, body tense, before eventually nodding. “He was the last one to know about Clint’s whereabouts but Budapest is broad. It could have been yesterday or six months ago.” 

My heart skipped a beat when I realized that Bucky was trying to fight this on his own for me. For my safety. 

“I would ask if you would help me but it seems like you’ve already been doing that,” I chewed on my lip.

“It’s you, Y/N. I would do anything to protect you,” he vowed without missing a beat. 

Silence fell between us for a few moments as I racked my brain for what to do next. I could either have him leave, only calling me when he found out some more information about the hit. Or, I could have him stay a bit longer to have us catch up. 

That was such a bad idea, I mentally smacked myself for even thinking that. 

“Aren’t you going to say I told you so?” 

Bucky’s sorrowful voice caused my eyes to land on him. “What?” 

“You were right.” 

I shook my head, confused. “About what?”  

“Natasha. She lied about the pregnancy,” Bucky rested his elbows on his knees, letting out a deep breath in order to keep his tears at bay. 

My heart ached for him, only slightly. I tried to tell him about it way before, so the pain he was feeling was his own fault. 

“Oh,” I muttered. 

“I asked her about it.” 

“Oh,” I said much louder. 

Bucky looked at his hands with heavy shoulders. “She denied it at first, said that she was pregnant and she had all the proof. But when I asked her to take another pregnancy test in front of me, she came clean.” 

I hummed while nodding, not entirely sure what to say. 

“I had her move out the next day and the divorce was finalized last month,” Bucky informed. 

“Oh,” I repeated yet again. 

He chuckled slightly. “Is that all you’re going to say?” 

I shrugged. “What else do you want me to say, Bucky? Good for you? It still doesn't change the fact that I tried to tell you and you blew me off.” 

“I went home that night and confronted her about it.” 

His face was set hard while breath was even and steady, meaning he was telling the truth, and leaned towards me to grab my hands. The warmness of his flesh and the coolness of the vibranium one made my heart flip a few times over. 

“This still doesn't change anything,” I said with stern eyes. “I’m not going to fall back into you because now you’re single.” 

Bucky nodded. “I know. So I’ll make you a promise.” 

My brows raised with interest. 

“When we’re finished figuring out how to end Clint and the hit on you, if you want me to, I'll stay away. Until you’re ready, if you’re ready, give me another chance.” 

He brought my hand to his lips, ghosting a few kisses over my knuckles. No matter how hard I swooned over him, I continued to keep my stern posture, not wanting to let him know how bad he was affecting me. 

“I’ll wait as long as you need me too; years if I have too because heaven knows I’m not getting over you,” Bucky mused. 

I swallowed the large lump in my throat, my heart swelling double its size because of Bucky’s proclamation. All I could do was nod, unsure what words, if any, would come and make sense. 

Our eyes watched each other for a few beats and it wasn’t until I felt us slowly closing the space between us that I let out a small cough, sitting further back into my chair. 

“What time should I meet you tomorrow?” 

“For what?” Bucky asked. 

“Did you really think I would let you handle my problem by yourself?” I questioned. 

He was fast to disagree. “Not happening.  I’m not allowing you to get involved. This is some heavy shit, Y/N. You could get hurt.” 

I stood to my feet and placed my hands in the back pocket of my jeans. “You can say no all you want, Bucky. But we both know that I’ve never listened to you anyway.” 

Bucky’s jaw clenched before he let out a sigh. “We do things my way, understand?” 

With a hard squeeze on his shoulder, I nodded. “Sure.” 

Then, all of a sudden, something clicked in my brain and I sat back down in my chair. 

“What is it?” Bucky wondered. 

“You said that your divorce was finalized a month ago, right?” 

When he nodded, I continued. “Everything that’s been happening to me started about a month ago. So do you think it’s possible-.” 

“Natasha’s in on it,” Bucky finished my thought. “I had a feeling, that’s why I’ve been looking for both of them.” 

“Fantastic,” I grumbled. 

He reached for the letter, playing around with it between his fingers. “You said this letter got mailed to you, here at your new place, right?” 

I began to nod but stopped when I realized what he was getting at. 

“They have my new address.” 

Bucky motioned down the hall. “Go pack a couple of bags of things you might need. You’re staying with me until this is all finished.” 

“Uh, I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Bucky.” I wavered. 

“There’s plenty of guest rooms you can stay in, some even on the far end of the house so you don’t have to be near me,” he said. 

I chewed roughly on my tongue and cheek, hoping the pain from it would be more intense than the way my heart was pounding, thoughts of Bucky and I spending however many nights together. 

“This should be fun,” I muttered to myself while rising to my feet, ready to pack up my life yet again. 

[myderis]

mydei 'n fem reader ᰔ fluff ⊹ word count 0.4k

The crowned prince of Kremnos 'MYDEIMOS' and also the warrior of Okhema 'Mydei’, or ‘Dried pomegranate’ as you like to call him is an undying pain in the ass.

“Do you ever think before you do anything, Princess?” he asks mockingly, once again wielding your title like a weapon while you’re draped over his shoulder as if you are the lightest thing in the world, completely at his mercy as he walks away from the remains of dead Titankins. To him, this is another mindless warm-up as he saves you from trouble almost daily. “Oh, I am so wholeheartedly sorry… Apparently, I can’t go for a walk without my hero,” you retort, that sweet voice dripped with sarcasm and arrogance but he only smirks, further fueling your annoyance.

When you both arrive at the Okhema bathhouse, you’re greeted by Aglaea, Tribbie, and Phainon. The three of them stop dead in their tracks, surprise flashing across their faces as they take in the sight of you still perched indignantly over Mydei’s shoulder. Normally, you and he can’t stand to be in the same room together, or at least that’s the lie you both cling to. Despite your constant bickering, they’ve noticed the threads that bind you. Quite literally, in Aglaea’s case. Though blind, she can sense the golden strings connecting your hearts and just then Tribbie grins. 

“You two should marry already!” she exclaims, clapping her hands together when Phainon chuckles in agreement. “She’s not wrong. Someone needs to keep him grounded,”

“What!? Us? Married?” you stammer, turning your head just enough to glare at the divine heroes, still hanging awkwardly over Mydei’s shoulder. Your cheeks burn as your heart pounds uncomfortably in your chest. Mydei, as usual, handles the situation with his signature exasperation and denial. “Don’t be absurd, Deliverer. Even a god driven mad wouldn’t suggest something so ridiculous,”

Lady Aglae clears her throat, ushering Tribbie and Phainon away to attend to other matters, leaving the two of you alone with the silence that makes you question your life choices. You can feel Mydei’s grip tighten before, without any warning, unceremoniously dumps you into the steaming bath. Letting out a scream as water splashes everywhere. Hair soaked, you feel it cling to your face, obstructing your view until his fingers brush it aside.

For a moment, his fiery and intense gaze softens and you swear you can see your reflection in his eyes as both of your faces lean closer and closer, your chest tightens, and your breath hitches, until … “On second thought,” he murmurs leaning back into the water with that same smirk, “I wouldn’t mind spending all my life with you.”

Your heart skips a beat, and for once, you're at a loss for words.

© MYDERIS. do not translate, plagiarize, or steal my work.

[amazinglystay]

Curveballs and Close Calls

‧‎₊˚✧ Bf!Seungmin x reader ✧˚₊‧

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

warnings!:

Mild language (playful insults like "loser") and a intense sports game with some fluff

(not proof read)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The sun dipped low in the sky, casting the baseball field in hues of amber and gold. The energy was electric, the kind that made your chest tight and your palms clammy. You stood just outside the dugout, bouncing on your heels, arms crossed as you squinted at the mound. Seungmin adjusted his cap, his familiar sharp gaze locked on the batter.

The bases were loaded, the score tied, and there were two outs in the bottom of the ninth. A classic baseball cliché, but it didn’t make it any easier to watch.

“Don’t choke, loser,” you muttered, knowing full well he couldn’t hear you. But a small part of you hoped he could.

One of his teammates, sitting next to you on the bench, snorted. “You’re brutal. Isn’t he your boyfriend?”

You smirked, not taking your eyes off Seungmin. “That’s exactly why I can say it. Besides, if he screws this up, he’s walking home.”

That got a laugh from the guys around you, though you didn’t miss the way your fingers tightened nervously around the edge of your jacket.

Out on the mound, Seungmin wound up for the pitch, his form as effortless as ever. You watched as he threw a blistering fastball, the kind you’d seen him perfect over countless late-night practices. The batter swung—and missed. Strike two.

Seungmin stepped off the mound for a moment, his eyes scanning the dugout. You rolled your eyes when he found you, tilting your head as if to say, Get on with it already.

He grinned—just the faintest twitch of his lips—before turning his attention back to the plate. He knew you were freaking out, even if you’d never admit it.

“Show-off,” you muttered, even as your heart flipped.

The next pitch flew out of his hand, a slider that curved wickedly. The batter swung and connected, the crack of the bat sending the ball soaring into the night sky. Your stomach dropped as you watched it arc toward the outfield, where the center fielder sprinted back, his glove raised high.

“Catch it, catch it, catch it,” you whispered under your breath, the words tumbling out like a prayer.

The fielder leaped, his glove snagging the ball just before it could clear the fence. The crowd erupted, cheers drowning out groans from the opposing side. The game was over. Seungmin’s team had won.

The dugout exploded with shouts as his teammates rushed the field, surrounding Seungmin on the mound. You stayed put, leaning against the fence with a small smile tugging at your lips. You’d never admit how proud you were, not right away, anyway.

It didn’t take long for Seungmin to break away from the chaos, jogging toward you with his cap in one hand and a cocky grin plastered across his face. His hair was damp with sweat, his jersey streaked with dirt, and yet he still somehow managed to look annoyingly good.

“Thought you were gonna walk home if you screwed that up,” you teased as he stopped in front of you, his breath still coming fast.

He raised an eyebrow, stepping closer. “Guess I’ll be driving us home, then. You can thank me anytime now.”

“Thank you? For what? Nearly giving me a heart attack?”

“For winning the game,” he replied, leaning down slightly so your faces were inches apart. “Or is that too much to ask from my very supportive girlfriend?”

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the way your heart skipped a beat at the proximity. “Don’t get used to it, Kim. I’m only sticking around because I promised your mom I’d make sure you don’t starve.”

“Aw, so you do care,” he said, his grin widening.

“Barely.”

But before you could fire off another jab, he reached out, his hand cupping the side of your face. The playful glint in his eyes softened, replaced by something far more sincere.

“You know,” he said, his voice quieter now, “I was nervous for a second there. But then I looked over at you, and… I don’t know. You kind of make everything feel easier.”

Your heart melted, the teasing retort you’d been ready to throw at him dissolving on your tongue.

“Well, someone has to keep you from falling apart,” you murmured, your voice softening despite yourself.

He smiled, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your forehead. “Good thing I’ve got you, then.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t get all mushy on me now,” you muttered, though your cheeks betrayed you with a telltale blush.

As the celebration roared on behind you, Seungmin laced his fingers with yours, tugging you gently toward the field. “Come on, you’re part of this, too.”

“Pretty sure I didn’t throw the winning pitch,” you said, letting him pull you along.

“Maybe not, but you’re the reason I did.”

And as the two of you stepped onto the field, surrounded by cheers and laughter, you couldn’t help but think that Seungmin was worth all the mean jokes and every heart-stopping moment in between.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

A/n 🖤 : make sure to like or reblog if u enjoyed it and to make sure u eat sleep and drink 👌🏾Okie bye bye now!

Masterlist ist here