#except without the 'i love you very much' part

[helvegen-s]

a flat white and a sharp tongue

an Oscar Piastri one-shot

Summary: he's a reserved F1 driver seeking peace. She's the lively heart of a bustling café. When their worlds collide, Oscar's carefully constructed routine is challenged by Elaine's infectious energy, leading to a connection that has the potential to change everything.

Word count: 14k (i am sorry i am so sorry but it is worth it)

Warnings: slow burn, teasing, banter, mild language

A/N: I've loved writing this. I've put a little bit of myself into Elaine—the sense of humor, the passion for history… I hope you enjoy it as much as I did! Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated. Thank you so much for your support, it makes me so happy! Kisses <3

have in mind that English is not my first nor my second language, excuse any mistakes that you might find

masterlist

Oscar had discovered the café by accident. Or rather, he had discovered it thanks to a friend who had insisted endlessly that he had to try it.

He hadn’t regretted it.

It was a hidden refuge nestled among steep alleyways, far from the bustling port and the constant rush of Monaco. A small café with a vintage aesthetic, renovated just enough to be cozy without losing its old-world charm. Exposed brick walls, shelves full of mismatched cups, polished wooden tables marked by time. And, most importantly, peace.

From the first time he had visited, he had known the place belonged to him. It had become an unbreakable routine: every time he returned from a race, he would take the stairs down from his apartment—the café was right below—and sit at the same table by the window. He ordered the same thing, read, reviewed data, or simply watched people pass by.

And then, there was the cat.

A large, speckled feline with the air of an undisputed king of the place. It would appear out of nowhere, climbing onto his lap or table uninvited. At first, Oscar had tried to ignore it. It hadn’t worked. The cat had adopted him without asking permission, and he, resigned, had eventually accepted it.

Everything had been perfect.

Until the calm had been shattered.

First, the door swung open abruptly, making the bell jingle with an overly enthusiastic chime. Then, the sound of hurried paws against the wooden floor.

The cat bolted from his lap.

Oscar blinked, surprised by the sudden abandonment, and then he heard her.

"Bon matin, mes amis! You missed me, didn’t you?"

Her voice filled the café—clear and energetic—as if it belonged as much to the place as the brick walls.

Oscar didn’t need to look up to know that everyone in the café knew her. He heard the sound of her scarf sliding off her neck, the tapping of her boots as she crossed the room without hesitation. She greeted the customers one by one, as naturally as if she had done it all her life.

"Marcel, are you still losing at dominoes, or did they finally let you win?"

"Today, I’m winning, chérie, I swear!"

"Liar." She laughed, giving him a pat on the shoulder before moving on. "André, that beret is new. Very stylish."

"My daughter gave it to me, but don’t think I’m going to buy you breakfast just for the compliment."

"So stingy."

Oscar heard more laughter. It was obvious that everyone knew her, that they welcomed her with familiarity, as if she were part of the café’s furniture.

The cat—the same one that ignored everyone except him—was now in her arms, purring like a satisfied engine.

"Finally! Someone greets me with enthusiasm!" she exclaimed, rubbing her nose against the cat’s head before gently setting it down.

By this point, Oscar had already returned his focus to his book. Or at least, he was trying to.

"I’ll have a hot chocolate," she said when she reached the counter, leaning over it shamelessly.

The barista—her brother, Oscar deduced from the patience in his expression—sighed.

"Aren’t you tired of so much sugar?"

"I never get tired of the good stuff."

He scoffed but started preparing the drink.

Oscar turned the page. Hopefully, the café would regain its usual silence.

Then, he felt it.

The imperceptible shift in the air when someone was staring at him.

Instinctively, he knew what was coming.

Footsteps approached.

"I haven’t seen you here before."

Oscar closed his eyes for a second, holding back a sigh.

"Hmm."

"That’s all you’re going to say?"

"I’m busy."

She let out a small laugh.

"Of course, you are."

And with that, she plopped down in the chair across from him.

Oscar shut his book with a snap.

She smiled.

"Now you’re looking at me."

She didn’t say it as a question but as a fact, as if she knew exactly what to do to pull someone out of their bubble.

Oscar looked at her for the first time, assessing. She was young, cheerful, with a mischievous glint in her eyes. She recognized him, sure, but there was no typical astonishment, no urge to mention it.

"Do you always insert yourself where you’re not wanted?" he asked, hoping she’d take the hint.

"Are you always this grumpy?" she shot back, unfazed.

Oscar felt a headache forming.

Something told him his peace had just ended.

He blinked, analyzing her tone, her expression. There was no mockery in her gaze, only amusement, as if finding him there was an entertaining discovery, but not particularly extraordinary.

"I recognize you, obviously," she said with a shrug. "But don’t worry, I’m not going to ask for a photo or an autograph. I’m sure your ego doesn’t need more inflating."

Oscar narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out whether that was an insult or just an observation.

He had no response.

She, on the other hand, laughed, as if his silence was the best part of the conversation. She leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs with an irritatingly carefree attitude, then glanced down at the book still in his hands.

"Are you seriously reading this?"

Oscar looked at the cover. It was a dense historical biography, written with an almost obsessive level of detail.

"What’s wrong with it?" he asked, his tone dry.

She tilted her head, as if evaluating him.

"Nothing, I guess. If you like books that feel like punishments."

Oscar snapped the book shut, again, a little harder than necessary.

She laughed again.

"You don’t have a comeback for that, do you?"

Oscar clenched his jaw.

He hated her. No, he hated her boldness, her persistence, the way she pulled him out of his bubble without permission.

And he hated even more that he didn’t know how to shut her down.

"Stop bothering the customers."

Her brother’s voice came from behind the counter, exasperated, like he had seen this scene too many times before.

She turned her head, pouting exaggeratedly.

"I’m not bothering him. We’re just having a conversation, right?"

Oscar stared at her, unblinking.

"No."

She let out a delighted laugh.

"See? He adores me."

Her brother sighed and nodded toward the counter.

"Your hot chocolate is ready. Leave him alone."

"Tss, such a killjoy," she muttered, standing up with obvious reluctance.

The cat, as if perfectly in sync with her, jumped off the table and trotted after her, sticking close to her heels. She scratched its head fondly, as if she didn’t even notice how naturally the feline followed her.

Just before walking away completely, she turned to look at Oscar one last time.

"By the way," she said, tilting her head slightly. "My name’s Elaine."

She didn’t wait for a response.

She simply smiled, spun on her heel, and left, leaving behind a trail of lighthearted energy that didn’t fit at all with the café’s usual tranquility.

Oscar watched her go for a moment, his book still closed on the table, the echo of her laughter ringing in his ears.

He exhaled slowly.

His peace was definitely over.

And yet, Oscar couldn’t stop coming to the café.

The drinks were too good, the atmosphere was perfect, and most of the time, he could focus without anyone bothering him.

Except on the days when he had the dubious pleasure of running into Elaine.

She appeared without warning, like a storm no one had predicted in the forecast.

And somehow, she always found a way to get under his skin.

Sometimes, she simply stopped by to chat with the regulars, exchanging jokes with the old men playing dominoes or greeting lost tourists as if they were old friends. Other times, she slipped behind the counter to help her brother, though it was obvious she did it more to annoy him than out of any real necessity. She also played with the cat, which followed her with unwavering devotion, or settled at the table closest to Oscar’s, surrounded by a mess of books and scattered notes.

He had no idea what she was studying, but if he had to guess, he would have said something chaotic. Something that matched her boundless energy and her ability to talk passionately about just about anything. It wasn’t until much later that he found out she was studying History.

And, of course, there were days when it seemed like her sole mission in life was to get on his nerves.

She sat at his table without asking, drummed her fingers against the surface just to see how long it would take for him to look at her, made offhanded comments about how serious he was or how he needed to learn to socialize.

Oscar tried to ignore her. He really did.

But Elaine wasn’t someone who could be ignored.

One day, she simply sat across from him uninvited and asked, “Do you have friends?”

Oscar blinked, his eyes still on his laptop screen. “What?”

“I mean, besides your teammates and the people you work with. Because you’re always alone.”

He huffed, trying to ignore her. “That’s none of your business.”

“So, that’s a no.”

Elaine grinned, satisfied with her own conclusion, and rested her chin on her hand, watching him.

“Have you realized you have the charisma of a rock?”

Oscar closed his eyes for a second, holding back the response he actually wanted to give her.

“I’m busy.”

“Yeah, yeah, reviewing data, looking at numbers… how thrilling.” She yawned dramatically. “It must be so much fun being you.”

By the time he finally looked up, she was already laughing, standing up to return to her brother.

Oscar let out a heavy sigh and turned back to his screen, but just when he thought the torment was over, he felt an extra weight on his jacket.

The cat.

The little traitor had sprawled out on it, curling up comfortably.

Great.

And then, another day.

Oscar was analyzing replays of his last race on his laptop when a shadow fell over the screen.

“Do you like watching yourself drive?”

He didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

“It’s not about liking it. I’m analyzing my performance.”

“Oh, of course. A deep analysis of ‘oh, look how fast I am’ and ‘oh, look how well I take that turn.’”

This time, he did look up, fixing her with a flat stare.

“Do you really have nothing better to do?”

Elaine smiled, clearly entertained. “Annoying you is more fun.”

And as if summoned, the cat appeared out of nowhere and flopped onto his laptop keyboard. The screen instantly went black as one of its paws landed squarely on the power button.

Elaine propped her chin on her hand. “Even he thinks you need a break.”

Oscar exhaled slowly.

This was becoming a damn habit.

Different day, same problem.

Oscar had spent the afternoon working, completely absorbed in his own bubble of concentration. But when he finally closed his laptop and reached for his jacket, he found a now-familiar obstacle: the cat, sleeping soundly on top of it.

He tried nudging it gently. Nothing. The stubborn little thing didn’t even stir.

From behind the counter, Elaine watched him with her arms crossed.

“You’re not going to win.”

“It’s a cat.”

“A cat with a lot of character.”

Oscar sighed, resigned, and dropped back into his chair. Ten minutes later, the cat was still snoring on his jacket, and he no longer felt in any rush to leave.

When Elaine returned with a steaming mug, she set it in front of him without a word.

Oscar glanced at her sideways. “I didn’t order another coffee.”

Elaine simply shrugged. “It’s my compensation for the hostage situation. Sir Reginald Fluffington III tends to take captives…”

At the absurd name, Oscar frowned. “Why ‘the third’?”

With complete nonchalance, Elaine gestured toward the framed photos behind the counter. They were black-and-white portraits of other cats, each with a small plaque beneath them: Sir Reginald Fluffington I and Sir Reginald Fluffington II.

“Line of succession,” she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “When one leaves, the next takes the throne.”

Oscar blinked. “Is this a café or a feline monarchy?”

Elaine shrugged. “House rules.”

Meanwhile, Sir Reginald Fluffington III kept snoring atop his jacket, as if it were his throne.

One evening, Elaine did something completely unexpected.

She sat down at his table—nothing new there—but instead of launching straight into her usual teasing, she rested her chin on her hand and asked,

“So, tell me about the car.”

Oscar barely looked up. “What?”

“The car. The one you drive. How does it actually work?”

That caught him off guard. Normally, if she mentioned Formula 1 at all, it was to make some sarcastic remark about how it was “just guys driving in circles really fast.” But now she was looking at him, genuinely curious, like she actually wanted to know.

He hesitated, wary of a potential joke at his expense, but when she didn’t say anything else, he found himself answering before he could stop himself.

“Well, it’s an open-wheel, single-seater with a hybrid turbocharged engine,” he started, setting his coffee aside. “It runs on a combination of internal combustion and electrical energy, and we have an ERS system that recovers energy under braking and redeploys it for extra power.”

Elaine nodded as if she understood, but then tilted her head. “And that energy recovery thing—how does that actually help you while driving?”

Oscar blinked. Most people didn’t ask that. They just nodded and moved on. But she was still looking at him, genuinely waiting for an answer.

So he gave her one.

Somewhere along the way, he found himself leaning forward, gesturing as he explained how ERS deployment could make the difference in overtakes, how managing tire degradation was crucial, how the aerodynamics of the car could dictate whether a driver fought for pole or got stuck in the midfield.

Elaine listened. Really listened.

She didn’t interrupt. Didn’t crack a joke. Just asked question after question, and every time she did, Oscar answered without thinking, because it wasn’t often that someone outside his world wanted to understand, to actually hear him talk about the thing he had dedicated his life to.

At some point, he realized he had been talking for nearly twenty minutes straight.

He sat back abruptly, fingers tightening around his cup.

Elaine didn’t laugh. Didn’t tease him for going on and on like he expected her to.

Instead, she simply smiled, stirring her hot chocolate absentmindedly.

“You really love it, don’t you?” she mused.

Oscar hesitated before nodding. “Yeah.”

Elaine exhaled through her nose, a soft laugh under her breath. “It’s nice, hearing you actually talk.”

He should have rolled his eyes. Should have given some dry remark about how she talks more than enough for both of them.

But instead, he just hummed, taking another sip of his coffee.

For once, Elaine let the silence linger. And, for once, Oscar didn’t mind.

Elaine didn’t change after that conversation.

She still sat at his table without asking. Still poked at his patience with teasing remarks. Still found a way to make herself present in his otherwise quiet café routine.

But something shifted in Oscar.

Before, he had dismissed her as just another overly social, overly energetic person who didn’t know how to leave people alone. But now… he noticed things.

Like how she greeted every regular in the café by name, asking about their families or their work as if she had known them for years (which, considering her family owned the place, she probably had). Or how she always made sure to slide an extra plate of biscuits toward the old men playing dominos in the corner, even though her brother claimed they ate too much and never actually ordered anything.

How her fingers were constantly moving—tapping, fidgeting, stirring her drink absentmindedly as if her body didn’t know how to stay still.

How she always, always smelled faintly of cinnamon and coffee beans.

And, somehow, how he started looking forward to the moments when she would wander over to his table, even if it was just to make some smart remark about his eternally serious expression.

One day, she leaned against his table, watching as he scrolled through data on his laptop. “Do you ever smile, or would that compromise your entire personality?”

Oscar exhaled sharply through his nose. It wasn’t quite a laugh, but it was close. “Depends on the day.”

Elaine squinted at him suspiciously. “Was that a joke?”

He merely shrugged, clicking through his data sheets.

“Unbelievable,” she muttered, but she was grinning.

Another day, he caught himself staring—not at her, but at the way she tucked her hair behind her ear while reading, the way her brows furrowed slightly when she was deep in thought.

He shook his head, taking a long sip of his coffee, as if the bitterness could pull him back into reality.

But reality had started to change.

The café didn’t feel the same anymore. It was no longer just a place to escape the noise of the world. It had a heartbeat now, a pulse that thumped along to the rhythm of Elaine’s laughter, to the lazy stretch of Sir Reginald Fluffington III as he curled up in the sun, to the quiet conversations and clinking of porcelain.

And Oscar found himself sinking into it, letting it wrap around him like a warmth he hadn’t realized he needed.

Elaine was still a menace. But maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t so bad after all.

Oscar entered the café at his usual time, the familiar chime of the doorbell ringing through the quiet space. He had his routine down to a science—order his coffee, sit at his table, ignore whatever nonsense Elaine threw at him, and get some actual work done.

Except today, he was the one throwing things off course.

He walked straight up to her table, where she was lazily flipping through a book, and without preamble, said, “Why history?”

Elaine blinked up at him, looking uncharacteristically confused. “What?”

“Why do you study history?”

Her lips parted slightly, as if her brain needed a second to reboot. Then, slowly, her expression shifted into something downright suspicious. She squinted at him, tapping her fingers against the table.

“Okay. Who are you, and what have you done with Oscar Piastri?”

Behind the counter, her brother snorted, shaking his head as he wiped down some cups.

Oscar exhaled sharply, already regretting this. “You asked me about Formula 1 the other day. I figured—” He gestured vaguely. “Returning the favor.”

Elaine leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. “You want me to believe that you—Mr. ‘I’d Rather Sit in Silence Than Engage with Human Beings’—are voluntarily making conversation?”

Oscar’s eye twitched.

“I’m rescinding the question.”

“No, no,” she said quickly, straightening up with a wide grin. “I’m just shocked. I didn’t know you had it in you.”

Sir Reginald Fluffington III chose that moment to make his grand entrance, leaping onto Elaine’s chair and then promptly squeezing himself between them like a self-appointed mediator. Elaine, as always, started scratching behind his ears without thinking.

Oscar tried not to acknowledge the cat but failed when a furry head nudged insistently against his arm. With a sigh, he gave in, resting a hand on its back.

From the counter, Elaine’s brother watched the exchange with a smirk. He stacked the last cup, shaking his head.

Huh. So that’s how it starts.

Elaine tilted her head, studying Oscar like he was some sort of rare specimen that had just done something completely out of character. Which, to be fair, he had.

“Alright,” she said finally, tapping a thoughtful rhythm against the table. “I’ll bite.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “You were going to answer anyway.”

“True,” she admitted, flashing him a grin. “But I like pretending I have a choice.”

She leaned forward slightly, resting her chin on one hand while the other continued idly scratching Sir Reginald Fluffington III behind the ears. The cat stretched lazily, his purring a soft vibration against the wooden surface of the table.

“History is just one big, messy story,” she began, her voice lighter now, as if she hadn’t just been caught off guard by the question. “And I like stories. But more than that, I like knowing why things happen. Why people make the choices they do, why entire civilizations rise and fall, why the world is the way it is.”

Oscar watched as her fingers absentmindedly traced the rim of her coffee cup, the light catching on the silver ring she always wore on her thumb. Her expression shifted as she spoke, as if she were seeing the past play out in real time, as if the weight of a thousand untold stories lived just behind her eyes.

She shrugged. “It’s like a puzzle, but all the pieces are scattered across centuries, and half of them are missing, and some historian a hundred years ago probably put the wrong ones together and convinced everyone they were right.”

Oscar found himself listening more intently than he expected, more than he ever did when people rambled about things he didn’t particularly care about.

Elaine smirked, noticing. “You’re taking this very seriously.”

“You’re actually answering seriously,” he pointed out.

“Because it’s important,” she said simply. “People always act like history is just a bunch of dates and names, but it’s not. It’s people. People being brilliant, and terrible, and reckless. And the best part?” Her eyes gleamed with amusement. “We never learn. We keep making the same mistakes over and over again. It’s both hilarious and deeply depressing.”

Oscar huffed out a quiet laugh before he could stop himself.

Elaine’s grin widened. “There it is. A real reaction.”

He rolled his eyes, but there wasn’t much heat behind it.

Sir Reginald, sensing the moment, shifted just enough to nudge Oscar’s arm again. Without thinking, he started absentmindedly running his fingers through the cat’s fur, feeling the softness beneath his fingertips. The café smelled like roasted coffee beans and vanilla, the warm scent wrapping around them like a quiet invitation to stay just a little longer.

At some point, Elaine’s brother must have come over because there were two fresh drinks sitting in front of them—his usual coffee and what looked like hot chocolate for Elaine. Oscar hadn’t even noticed when they arrived, too caught up in the conversation, too distracted by the way Elaine’s voice lilted with enthusiasm when she spoke about something she loved.

Elaine, oblivious or simply choosing to ignore her brother’s knowing expression from behind the counter, continued. “Anyway, history is fun. And frustrating. And completely ridiculous at times. But mostly, it’s fascinating.”

Oscar considered that. Considered her, for that matter.

She had a way of making everything sound interesting, even when she was being insufferable.

And somehow, without him realizing it, she was starting to feel less like a nuisance.

And more like a habit.

That day, the café felt… different.

Oscar couldn’t quite put his finger on it at first. He sat at his usual table, opened his laptop, and took a sip of his coffee. Everything was the same—same warm lighting, same familiar hum of conversation, same Sir Reginald Fluffington III eyeing his jacket like prime real estate for a nap.

And yet…

He realized it after about fifteen minutes of actual focus. No one had interrupted him. No one had made a single offhand comment about his posture or his facial expressions or his apparent lack of joy in life. No one had sat down uninvited, poked at his patience, or asked if he had friends.

Elaine wasn’t there.

Oscar exhaled, shaking off the thought. Good. That meant he could get work done without—

"You're frowning."

Oscar glanced up. Elaine’s brother stood behind the counter, drying a cup with a knowing smirk.

"I'm not frowning."

"You are. You look about two seconds away from being deeply annoyed by something," he said, setting the cup down. "Let me guess. The coffee’s not good today?"

Oscar rolled his eyes and took another sip. Perfect as always.

Casually—completely, totally casually—he asked, “Where’s Elaine?”

Her brother raised an eyebrow, clearly amused.

Oscar huffed. “Just wondering. It’s… quieter.”

“She’s in class. Probably annoying one of her professors instead.”

Oscar nodded, taking another drink to mask the way his jaw tightened. He told himself it wasn’t disappointment—he was just surprised. That’s all.

Her brother, however, had clearly caught something in his expression, because he grinned.

“I’ve got to say it, mate,” he mused, leaning against the counter. “For someone who complains about her so much, you sure seem bothered when she’s not around.”

Oscar’s eye twitched. “I’m not—”

“Fastidious,” he interrupted, eyes alight with amusement. “That’s the word you’re looking for, right? Bothered. Irritated. Peeved. Just… missing one specific source of those emotions.”

Oscar scowled, but it had no effect. Elaine’s brother just chuckled, shaking his head.

“Let me know if you need anything else,” he said, turning away. “Other than Elaine’s presence, of course.”

Oscar refused to dignify that with a response. Instead, he set his jaw, returned to his laptop, and pretended he wasn’t glancing toward the door every now and then.

Not because he wanted her to walk in. Obviously.

Just… if she did, he’d have a few words for her about being a menace. That was all.

Oscar was busy.

Too busy to think about insignificant things.

Training, meetings, simulator sessions—his schedule had been packed, every moment accounted for. He barely had time to breathe, let alone sit in a café waiting for some loud, insufferable presence to barge into his day.

And yet, the past couple of weeks had felt… off.

He hadn’t been at the café much, too caught up in work to indulge in his usual routine. On the rare occasions he did stop by, it was always a quick in-and-out, barely enough time to finish a coffee before he had to rush off. He didn’t even have the time to be annoyed by Elaine.

Not that he’d noticed her absence.

Not at all.

So when he caught sight of her at the local market on a rare free afternoon, it was almost too much—too jarring, too unexpected.

She was standing at one of the stalls, inspecting a bundle of fresh herbs with the same level of scrutiny he reserved for race telemetry. Her brows were furrowed, lips pursed in thought, and she hadn’t noticed him yet.

Which meant Oscar could—should—walk away.

Instead, his feet remained stubbornly in place.

It wasn’t just seeing her that got to him. It was the fact that, somehow, he’d felt her first. The way the market’s usual noise—vendors calling out deals, the chatter of locals—had blurred into the background the second he spotted her. The way a part of his brain had instantly clicked into place, like something missing had been restored.

That realization alone was enough to irritate him.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he took a step closer.

Elaine still hadn’t noticed him, too focused on haggling with the vendor.

"Come on, Monsieur Bernard," she cajoled, resting an elbow on the stall. "I’m practically family. Don’t you have a special discount for charming regulars?"

The older man behind the stall gave her an unimpressed look. "You tried this same trick last time."

"Yes, but I was less charming then."

Oscar let out a sharp exhale—not a laugh, definitely not—and that’s when she turned, eyes widening slightly in surprise.

For a moment, she just stared, as if confirming he was real. Then, slowly, her lips curled into a familiar smirk.

"Well, well, well," she drawled, turning fully to face him. "If it isn’t Mr. ‘I Have No Time for Social Interaction’ himself. Fancy meeting you here."

Oscar crossed his arms. "Fancy that."

She tilted her head, assessing him. "You look…" A pause, and then, teasingly, "…unmoored. Have you been lost without my constant interruptions?"

"Not remotely," he deadpanned.

Elaine gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to her chest. "Lies. You missed me."

Oscar gave her a flat look. "I was busy."

She waved a dismissive hand. "So was I. Exams."

That caught his attention. "Oh."

She raised an eyebrow. "That’s it? Just ‘oh’?"

"Did you pass?"

Elaine scoffed. "Of course I passed. I’m a genius."

Oscar rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the small twitch at the corner of his mouth.

A beat passed, and then—

"So," Elaine said, leaning in slightly. "Are you going to admit it?"

"Admit what?"

"That you missed me."

He held her gaze, his expression unreadable. Then, without breaking eye contact, he plucked the bundle of herbs straight out of her hand, examining them with faux interest.

"Hmm. Unremarkable. Much like your presence."

Elaine gaped at him. "You—you absolute—"

Behind the stall, Monsieur Bernard sighed, muttering something about young people before handing Elaine another bundle.

Oscar smirked. Maybe he had missed this. Just a little.

Without thinking about it, they started walking together.

It wasn’t intentional—at least, Oscar was fairly certain it wasn’t. He had no reason to follow Elaine anywhere. And yet, when she moved toward the next stall, he found himself falling into step beside her.

She didn’t comment on it, just gave him a brief, knowing glance before turning her attention to the produce in front of her.

“Tomatoes,” she muttered to herself, picking up a ripe one and turning it over in her hand. “Do I need tomatoes?”

Oscar arched an eyebrow. “You don’t even know what you’re buying?”

Elaine shrugged. “I improvise.”

He exhaled sharply, grabbing a small bag and tossing a few into it with actual purpose. Elaine mimicked his actions—except she kept adding more and more until Oscar gave her a flat look.

“You’re not feeding an army.”

“You don’t know that,” she said airily. “Maybe I’m part of a secret underground resistance.”

Oscar bit back a smirk, shaking his head as he handed his own bag to the vendor. Elaine did the same, and once they had their purchases, they moved on.

To another stall.

And another.

At some point, Elaine started following him—when he paused at a bakery stand, her interest was suddenly piqued.

“Buying bread?” she asked, peering at the selection.

He gave her a sideways glance. “What does it look like?”

“Huh.” She grabbed a small loaf for herself, then eyed the pastries. “You’re not getting anything sweet?”

“No.”

Elaine hummed. “Boring.”

Still, she grabbed two pain au chocolat instead of one.

When Oscar gave her a questioning look, she just waggled her eyebrows. “You never know.”

He didn’t respond, but later—when she wordlessly handed him the second pastry while they were walking—he took it.

It kept happening. A few more stalls, a few more purchases. Some things they needed, some they didn’t. They talked more than they probably should have, walked longer than they intended.

It wasn’t until Elaine tried shifting her bags to one arm—struggling slightly—that she finally paused and frowned.

“Hold on.” She glanced down. “Why do I have so much stuff?”

Oscar blinked at his own bags, as if only now realizing how full they were.

They stared at each other for a beat.

Elaine narrowed her eyes. “Did you just trick me into running errands with you?”

Oscar scoffed. “You tricked me.”

She gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. “Lies! This is sabotage!”

Oscar just shook his head, exhaling through his nose as he adjusted the bags in his hands.

And they parted ways—or at least, they tried to.

Elaine turned left. Oscar turned left.

Neither of them noticed at first, too occupied with adjusting their bags. But as they kept walking, side by side, it became… noticeable.

Elaine slowed her pace slightly, giving him a sidelong glance.

Oscar did the same.

They walked a few more meters in silence.

Then Elaine stopped abruptly in the middle of the sidewalk, brows furrowing in suspicion. “Are you following me?”

Oscar, who had also stopped, gave her a blank stare. “You’re the one going my way.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Or you’re going mine.”

Oscar sighed, adjusting the weight of his bags. “I live nearby.”

Elaine huffed. “I live nearby.”

They eyed each other for a moment, a realization beginning to dawn.

Then, with an unspoken agreement, they resumed walking.

Turned a corner.

Kept going.

Another turn.

When they both reached the café’s entrance, Elaine halted once again.

“Wait.” Her voice was laced with dawning horror. “You live here?”

Oscar blinked. “You live above the café?”

Elaine opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. “You’re kidding.”

He exhaled sharply, barely suppressing a smirk at her distress. “Why would I joke about this?”

Elaine let out something between a groan and a laugh, running a hand down her face. “You mean to tell me… we’ve been neighbors this whole time?”

Oscar simply shrugged. “Apparently.”

Elaine groaned again, then gave him a long look—one that was probably meant to be annoyed, but somehow, she just looked amused.

Oscar didn’t know why, but he felt it too—something light, something ridiculous.

And before he could stop himself, before he even knew what he was doing—

He smirked.

Just a little.

Elaine’s eyes widened, like she had just seen a unicorn.

Then, with unrestrained glee, she pointed at him.

“A-ha!”

Oscar blinked. “What?”

“You almost smiled!”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.”

Elaine practically vibrated with excitement. “This is it. This is a breakthrough. I knew you had a sense of humor somewhere in there.”

Oscar huffed, stepping past her toward the stairs. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Ohhh, but I do.” Elaine grinned, falling into step behind him as they both climbed toward their apartments. “I’ll get a full smile out of you someday. Just you wait.”

Oscar rolled his eyes.

But somehow… somehow, the thought didn’t sound so bad.

Either way, as they stepped onto the landing, an odd silence settled between them.

Elaine adjusted her grip on the paper bag in her arms, rocking back slightly on her heels. Oscar wasn’t sure what he was waiting for. He should just say goodbye, unlock his door, and go about his evening. But he hesitated.

Which was weird.

Even weirder was the fact that Elaine was hesitating, too.

She glanced at his bag, then up at him, eyes squinting slightly in thought.

“Tell me you’re planning to have a healthy and balanced dinner, and not just some bread and cheese.”

Oscar frowned. “It’s efficient.”

Elaine let out a sharp laugh, like she couldn’t believe what she’d just heard.

“You’re hopeless.”

He raised an eyebrow. “And?”

She sighed, then tilted her head toward her door. “Look, I accidentally bought enough food for an entire army, and you clearly need a proper meal. So… you in?”

Oscar hesitated. Not because he didn’t want to. That was the problem. He wanted to.

His routine was simple, predictable. There was comfort in that. And yet, here was Elaine, throwing a wrench into everything—like she always did. But instead of annoying him, it felt… different this time.

It felt warm.

Elaine watched him, waiting. A little too smug, as if she already knew his answer.

“Okay,” he said. “Sure.”

Her eyebrows lifted slightly, like she hadn’t expected him to agree so quickly. Then she grinned, turning to unlock her door.

“Hope you like chaos.”

Oscar stepped inside without thinking twice. And for the first time in a long time, breaking his routine didn’t seem like such a bad thing.

Elaine’s apartment was exactly what Oscar had expected—lived-in, cluttered in a way that felt intentional, full of books stacked in odd places and little trinkets on the shelves. There were post-it notes stuck to the fridge, reminders scrawled in messy handwriting, and an open notebook on the small dining table with half-finished notes scribbled in the margins.

It was the complete opposite of his own place, which was neat, sparsely decorated, and painfully impersonal.

She kicked the door shut behind them, dumping her groceries onto the counter before stretching her arms overhead. “Alright, let’s see what we’re working with.”

Oscar set his own bag beside hers and leaned against the counter, watching as she started unpacking.

“You actually cook?” he asked, skeptical.

Elaine shot him a look over her shoulder. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You just don’t seem like the type.”

She gasped, placing a hand over her heart in mock offense. “Excuse me, but I’ll have you know I make an excellent—” She paused, staring at the items in front of her. Then, slowly, she deflated. “Okay, I may have gone overboard.”

Oscar peered over at the spread of vegetables, cheese, pasta, some kind of fresh herbs, and an absurd amount of tomatoes.

“You had a plan when you bought all this, right?”

Elaine waved a hand dismissively. “Cooking isn’t about rigid planning. It’s about intuition, improvisation, going with the flow—”

Oscar picked up a tomato and raised an eyebrow. “So, no plan.”

She snatched the tomato from his hand and placed it back down, scowling. “Fine, Mr. Meal Prep, what would you have bought?”

He shrugged. “Something simple. Something that makes sense together.”

Elaine scoffed. “Boring.”

“You say that, but you still invited me to eat whatever mess you come up with.”

“Because I am a generous and forgiving person.”

Oscar let out a breath of amusement, shaking his head.

Despite her apparent lack of a plan, Elaine moved around the kitchen with ease, pulling out a cutting board, a pan, and a few spices. Oscar found himself watching, noting the way she hummed under her breath, how she scrunched her nose slightly when she was thinking, how she talked through each step even though she didn’t need to.

“Are you just going to stand there or are you going to help?” she asked without looking up.

Oscar blinked, caught off guard. “Help?”

“Yes, you know, participate in the process?” She pointed a knife at him. “Or do you only operate a steering wheel?”

He rolled his eyes but stepped closer, taking the knife from her. “Alright. Just don’t blame me if this goes wrong.”

“Oh, I fully intend to.”

She grinned as he started slicing, and for a while, they just… cooked.

It was strangely easy. They fell into a rhythm—Elaine throwing in too much of something, Oscar fixing it with something else, her laughing every time he muttered something under his breath about efficiency and proper ratios.

At some point, Sir Reginald Fluffington III appeared, hopping onto a chair and watching them like a tiny, judgmental supervisor. She then explained that when the café was closed, she took the cat upstairs with her, everyday.

Elaine, while talking and without thinking, reached down to scratch behind his ears. And Oscar, without thinking, did the same.

Neither of them acknowledged it.

By the time the food was ready, the apartment smelled warm and rich, and Oscar had to begrudgingly admit—it actually looked good.

Elaine beamed, sliding into her chair as she set down their plates. “See? Cooking with intuition.”

Oscar sat across from her, eyeing the dish. “This could still be a disaster.”

She took a bite, chewed thoughtfully, then grinned. “Nope. It’s amazing.”

Hesitant, Oscar finally tried his own. And—damn it. It was.

He kept his expression neutral, but Elaine saw right through him.

“You like it.”

“It’s edible.”

“You love it.”

Oscar sighed. “I tolerate it.”

Elaine laughed, kicking him lightly under the table.

And as they ate, talked, and bickered over who had done most of the work, Oscar realized something.

For the first time in weeks, he wasn’t thinking about the races ahead, the pressure, the expectations.

For the first time in a long time, he wasn’t in a rush to leave.

As the meal stretched on, the conversation drifted, weaving in and out of topics with an ease that Oscar wasn’t used to. Elaine had a way of making silence feel optional, of filling the space with whatever thought popped into her head—sometimes ridiculous, sometimes insightful, always entertaining.

She talked about the weirdest things: a documentary she’d watched about medieval bread laws, an argument she’d overheard on the bus about the best way to peel an orange, the time she accidentally joined a book club just for the free snacks and ended up stuck in it for six months.

Oscar, against all odds, found himself enjoying it.

It was so different from the world he was used to—where everything was structured, precise, driven by logic and efficiency. Elaine, on the other hand, lived in tangents, in spontaneous decisions, in a constant state of curiosity.

And somehow, he wasn’t annoyed by it.

If anything, he was listening. Actually listening.

At some point, Sir Reginald Fluffington III jumped onto the table, eyeing their plates with a level of entitlement only a cat could muster.

Elaine absentmindedly scratched his chin. “Don’t even think about it, Reg.”

The cat meowed, offended by the accusation.

Elaine smirked. “That’s what I thought.”

Oscar watched as she continued to pet him without really looking, fingers moving automatically through his fur. It was such a small, unconscious thing, but something about it made his chest feel… warm.

He cleared his throat, shaking the thought away.

Elaine, oblivious, leaned back in her chair, stretching. “Alright, I’ll admit it. You were actually useful in the kitchen.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “High praise.”

“You should feel honored.”

“I’ll try not to let it go to my head.”

She grinned. “Good. Because next time, I’m making dessert, and I expect you to assist.”

Next time.

Oscar didn’t know why those words stood out to him, why they lodged themselves in his brain like something solid and undeniable.

It wasn’t a question, wasn’t a suggestion.

It was just a fact.

As if this—whatever this was—wasn’t a one-time thing.

As Elaine stretched lazily in her chair, she watched Oscar stand and, to her utter shock, start gathering the plates. She blinked, then narrowed her eyes.

“Wait. Are you actually—”

“Helping,” he said flatly, carrying the dishes to the sink.

She let out a slow, exaggerated gasp. “Oh my God. You’re one of them.”

Oscar frowned. “One of what?”

“A man written by a woman.”

He gave her a blank stare. “What?”

“You know, like in books or movies. The kind of guy who—” She gestured at him, as if that explained everything. “Quiet but secretly sweet. Competent but unassuming. Willing to do the dishes without being asked. It’s rare.”

Oscar let out a short laugh, shaking his head as he turned on the tap. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

But he was smiling. And then, suddenly—he was laughing.

Not just a scoff, not a quiet huff of amusement, but actual, genuine laughter.

Elaine had never seen that before.

She went completely still, watching him as he stood there in her tiny kitchen, sleeves rolled up, hands in soapy water, head tilted slightly downward as he chuckled to himself.

And for the first time since she met him, she didn’t have anything to say.

Because, somehow, watching Oscar Piastri laugh—really laugh—was enough to leave her speechless.

It happened gradually, in a way neither of them fully acknowledged at first. One day, Elaine casually mentioned she was watching a documentary that Oscar "absolutely had to see," and before he knew it, he was sitting on her couch with a bowl of popcorn, being force-fed historical facts he never asked for.

“You’re not even watching,” Elaine accused, nudging his arm when she noticed his eyes drifting to his phone.

“I am,” Oscar protested, but she shot him a look.

“Fine. Pop quiz. What year did this take place?”

“…The past.”

Elaine gasped, scandalized, and smacked his shoulder. “Disrespectful.”

The next time, it was Oscar’s turn. “If I had to watch your documentaries, you have to watch this.”

Elaine frowned at his laptop screen as a highlight reel from the 2011 Formula 1 season played. “Let me guess,” she said flatly. “Someone overtakes someone else. And then someone else overtakes that someone. And then—oh, look—another overtake.”

Oscar sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You have the attention span of a squirrel.”

“And you have the hobbies of a dad.”

He turned to her, unimpressed. “It’s literally my job.”

Elaine hummed, clearly unbothered, as she stuffed a handful of chips into her mouth. “Then I’m just keeping you humble.”

Outside of their self-imposed cultural exchange nights, they started seeing each other more in ways that felt unplanned, unintentional—except that it kept happening. Oscar would be heading to the store for something quick, only to find Elaine standing in the same aisle, studying a jar of pasta sauce like it held the secrets of the universe.

“Oh, great,” he deadpanned. “You again.”

Elaine smirked. “Missed me, didn’t you?”

“Not in the slightest.”

And yet, somehow, they always ended up walking back home together.

Then there were the times he went out for a run along the coast, only to spot a familiar figure cruising past on a bike, feet lazily pedaling as she enjoyed the sea breeze. She never failed to call out to him, sometimes ringing a ridiculous little bike bell just to be annoying.

“Move it, slowpoke!”

Oscar, ever the competitive one, picked up his pace. “Race me, then!”

“Against a literal athlete?” she scoffed. “Pass.”

Yet, moments later, she’d kick off, trying to pass him, laughing breathlessly when he shot her an unimpressed look. She never won—he made sure of that—but that never seemed to bother her.

Sometimes, they just walked together. No reason, no plan. Just two people who somehow kept ending up in the same place, at the same time, as if the universe was nudging them closer. It wasn’t something either of them talked about, but they both felt it—the gradual shift from tolerating each other to seeking each other out.

And Oscar, despite himself, started to wonder when exactly that had happened.

When Oscar pushed open the door to the café that morning, he wasn’t alone.

Lando followed beside him, stretching his arms over his head as they stepped inside. “Mate, I’m telling you, I need real coffee,” he groaned. “Not that lukewarm excuse they serve at some places here.”

Oscar huffed a quiet laugh. “You literally live in Monaco.”

“Yeah, but you know Monaco.” Lando shot him a look. “I trust your judgment.”

That was how, without much thought, Oscar had ended up bringing Lando here—his café.

It wasn’t his café, obviously. It just… happened to be the place he always went to. The place that had somehow worked itself into his routine. The place where—

Elaine.

She was behind the counter, laughing at something her brother was saying as she wiped down the espresso machine. She hadn’t seen them yet, but when she did, Oscar caught the flicker of surprise in her expression. It was brief—quickly replaced by her usual smirk—but he still noticed it.

And for some reason, that did something weird to his chest.

“Well, well,” she drawled, placing her hands on her hips. “Didn’t know you were the ‘bring a date to your favorite spot’ type, Piastri.”

Oscar sighed. “Don’t start.”

Lando, clearly intrigued, leaned on the counter with an easy grin. “Oh, I like you.”

Elaine grinned back. “Flatterer.”

Oscar shot him a look. “Lando.”

“What?” Lando glanced between them, clearly enjoying himself. “You’ve been hiding this place—and her—from me. I feel betrayed.”

Oscar groaned. “I am never bringing you anywhere again.”

Elaine just chuckled, tapping her fingers against the counter as she looked at Oscar. “Usual for you?”

He nodded, and she got to work, moving with the practiced ease of someone who knew her way around a coffee machine.

Lando watched for a moment before nudging Oscar. “So,” he said under his breath. “Who is she?”

Oscar frowned. “Elaine.”

“Yes, I got that,” Lando muttered. “But, like. Who is she?”

Oscar took a slow breath. “She works here.”

Lando raised a brow. “And you two just happen to know each other well enough that she openly mocks you the second we walk in?”

Oscar didn’t answer.

Lando’s grin widened. “You like her.”

“I don’t.”

“Mmhmm.”

Before Oscar could tell him to shut up, Sir Reginald Fluffington III leaped onto the counter, settling himself between them like a self-appointed judge of character.

Lando’s eyes lit up. “Oh, hell yeah, a cat!”

He reached out to pet him, only for Sir Reginald to give him a slow, unimpressed blink before immediately turning toward Oscar instead, rubbing his face against his arm.

Lando’s jaw dropped. “Are you kidding me? I didn’t even do anything.”

Elaine grinned. “Congratulations, you’ve been deemed unworthy.”

Oscar, meanwhile, absently scratched behind the cat’s ears, looking far too smug for Lando’s liking.

Lando squinted at him. “Alright, you know what? Maybe you do belong here.”

Elaine slid their drinks onto the counter. “Alright, boys, let’s see if this place lives up to your ridiculous standards.”

Lando took a sip, then paused, eyes widening slightly. “Damn. Okay, I see why you come here.”

Elaine leaned on the counter, looking pleased. “Told you I take it seriously.”

Lando shot a pointed look at Oscar. “You didn’t tell me she was a coffee genius.”

Oscar took his own cup, murmuring a quiet, “It’s why I come here.”

Elaine blinked, momentarily caught off guard. She recovered quickly, but Oscar saw it—that tiny pause, the brief flicker of something softer in her expression before she smirked again.

“Well,” she said, crossing her arms. “Guess that means I’ll be seeing more of you, Norris.”

Lando grinned. “If it means more coffee like this? Absolutely.”

Oscar just shook his head, already regretting the chaos he had unleashed. But beneath all of that, there was something else—a barely-there flicker of something unnamed, something strange, something he wasn’t quite ready to think about.

Because Lando had flirted with Elaine just to get a reaction. And Oscar had reacted.

And, somehow, what started with just Lando, turned into all of them.

At first, it was just the occasional visit—Lando tagging along whenever he felt like it, grinning at Elaine over the counter like he was in on some great secret. But then Max showed up one day, apparently intrigued after Lando wouldn’t shut up about the place. And when Max came, Charles wasn’t far behind. And then George, who they bumped into on the way and who figured, why not?

Before Oscar really processed how it happened, the café had become a regular spot for them.

Elaine handled it well, effortlessly juggling orders while throwing in her usual snark, though there was a glint of amusement in her eyes whenever she met Oscar’s gaze—like she knew exactly what had happened, exactly how this little invasion had come to be.

He ignored it.

Some days, it was just him and Lando. Others, it was half the grid, sprawled across tables, talking about races, cars, travel schedules—just a mess of conversations overlapping.

Elaine saw Oscar from a distance sometimes, laughing at something Max had said, or gesturing animatedly as he explained some technical nuance to Charles. It was… different, seeing him like that. More open, more relaxed.

It was easy to forget, sometimes, that he wasn’t just Oscar, the guy who put up with her nonsense. He was Oscar Piastri, Formula 1 driver, future world champion if the world made any sense.

And yet, when he got up to grab another round of drinks, weaving his way to the counter, none of that seemed to matter.

Elaine smirked as he approached. “Back for more?”

“Apparently,” Oscar sighed, leaning on the counter.

“Is this your way of keeping me too busy to bother you?”

He gave a small, almost imperceptible smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Across the room, Lando nudged Charles. “Look at that.”

Charles followed his gaze, watching as Oscar—Oscar, who barely tolerated human interaction—stood at the counter, casually talking to Elaine, something close to amusement flickering in his expression.

“Mon dieu,” Charles murmured. “He has a favorite barista.”

Lando grinned. “And he doesn’t even deny it.”

Max snorted. “Poor guy doesn’t even realize.”

Back at the counter, Oscar rolled his eyes as Elaine flicked a sugar packet at him. “For energy,” she said, looking innocent.

Oscar shook his head, taking the drinks without further comment. But as he turned back toward the table, he caught the way his friends were looking at him.

And for some reason, it made something twist in his chest.

And the it started as a joke. At least, Elaine thought it was a joke.

They had all been lounging at the café, their usual spot now, when Lando—because of course it was Lando—offhandedly mentioned something about bringing Elaine to a Grand Prix.

“You should come to Zandvoort,” he said, stirring his coffee.

Elaine, standing nearby, scoffed. “Oh, sure. Let me just hop on a plane with the entire Formula 1 circus. That sounds completely normal.”

Charles, ever the agent of chaos, grinned. “Why not? Oscar can take you.”

Oscar, who had been mid-sip, nearly choked. He shot Charles a look, but before he could protest, Max—who had been scrolling through his phone, unbothered—added, “Yeah, good race to start with. Orange everywhere. Chaos. You’d like it.”

Elaine rolled her eyes. “You guys just want to see me suffer, don’t you?”

Lando smirked. “A little.”

She snorted. “Very funny.”

The conversation moved on.

But apparently, Oscar hadn’t.

Because the next day, when Elaine opened her apartment door, she found him standing there, a familiar expression of mild exasperation on his face, a small envelope in his hand.

Elaine wasn’t a morning person.

It took her brain a few extra seconds to register things before she could properly function—something Oscar had learned through unfortunate trial and error at the café.

So, when she opened her door that morning, her hair still a mess from sleep, wearing a hoodie that looked two sizes too big for her, she needed a solid moment to process what was happening.

Oscar. Standing there. On her doorstep. Holding an envelope. Looking as impassive as ever, but with a certain stiffness in his posture that meant he wasn’t here for something casual.

She blinked, still groggy. “Uh. Morning?”

“Morning,” he said, then immediately shoved the envelope into her hands like he wanted to be done with it.

Elaine squinted down at it. The paper was thick, expensive, like the kind you got for serious events. The kind of envelope that felt important. And Oscar was just standing there, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, watching her expectantly.

She glanced up at him. “You’re not serving me legal papers, are you?”

Oscar sighed. “Just open it.”

So she did.

At first, she didn’t understand what she was looking at. Plane tickets. A familiar three-letter airport code. And—

Her eyes landed on the brightly colored paddock passes, printed with the words Formula 1 Heineken Dutch Grand Prix 2025.

Elaine blinked. Then blinked again.

Slowly, she lifted her gaze back to Oscar, still not fully awake, still not fully grasping what was happening. “Did you—” Her mouth opened, then closed. She shook the envelope a little, as if that would change its contents. “Oscar. What the hell is this?”

“Tickets,” he said, like it was obvious.

“For Zandvoort.”

“Yep.”

She held them up, waving them slightly. “You actually did it?”

“You thought I wouldn’t?”

“Yes!” she said, exasperated. “You barely put effort into text messages. And yet you—” She stopped mid-sentence, rifling through the envelope, and then something else caught her eye.

Separate from the paddock passes were additional tickets. Printed reservations. Museum entries.

Elaine pulled them out, scanning the names. The Rijksmuseum. The Van Gogh Museum. Anne Frank House.

She looked back at Oscar, expression stunned.

He exhaled, shifting his weight slightly. “If you’re making me sit through an entire weekend of you mocking my job, I figured I should get something out of it.”

Elaine just… stared at him.

Then, slowly, a grin spread across her face.

“Did you just bribe me with museums?”

Oscar’s lips twitched, but he fought the smile. “Is it working?”

Elaine didn’t answer right away. Instead, she studied him—really studied him. The way he was standing there, a little too stiff, like he wasn’t sure if she was going to say yes. The way he had clearly thought about this, planned it out, even included things she would enjoy.

Her chest felt strangely warm.

“You know,” she said, stepping aside and gesturing for him to come in, “I was going to take it easy on you in Zandvoort.”

Oscar stepped inside, glancing at her skeptically. “Somehow, I doubt that.”

Elaine’s grin turned mischievous as she shut the door behind him. “Oh, I definitely won’t now. You’re doomed, Piastri.”

Oscar had never walked so much in his life.

He was used to long training sessions, hours in the gym, and races that pushed his endurance to the limit—but this? This was a different kind of exhaustion. The kind that came from spending an entire day trailing after Elaine as she took him through what she called "a proper introduction to Amsterdam."

It had started with the museums. First the Rijksmuseum, where she dragged him from painting to painting, rattling off facts with a kind of enthusiasm that almost made him interested. Almost.

“I get that these are masterpieces,” he admitted at one point, hands shoved into his pockets as he stared at The Night Watch, “but you’d think someone would’ve told them to use better lighting.”

Elaine gasped. “Blasphemy.”

“I’m just saying. Look at it.” He gestured vaguely. “It’s so dark. Maybe that’s why everyone’s standing around—it’s taking them a while to figure out what they’re looking at.”

She groaned, rubbing her temples. “I am this close to abandoning you in this museum.”

But she didn’t. Instead, she spent another three hours leading him through hallways lined with art, maps, and relics. She talked. He listened. And, to his own quiet surprise, he actually retained some of it.

Then came the canal walk.

Elaine insisted it was the only way to properly take in the city. Oscar wasn’t convinced, but he followed her anyway, hands in his pockets as she strolled beside him, pointing out historical buildings, telling him stories about Amsterdam’s past.

For a while, he just listened.

And then, after a particularly dramatic tale about the city’s trading history, he smirked.

“You know,” he mused, “I think I finally understand why you like history so much.”

Elaine raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“You like drama.”

She gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. “How dare you.”

Oscar chuckled, the sound low and warm, and bumped his shoulder against hers. “You do. All these betrayals, wars, political schemes—you eat it up.”

Elaine pouted. “I was going to say something profound about how history connects us to the past and helps us understand the present, but sure. Let’s go with ‘Elaine likes drama.’”

“Hey, I get it,” he said with a smirk. “It’s like racing. Strategy, risks, the occasional backstabbing—same thing, different century.”

She shot him a look. “Remind me never to let you explain history to children.”

Oscar grinned.

They continued walking, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows along the canals. The air smelled of fresh bread from a nearby bakery, mingling with the crispness of the water. A couple of cyclists zipped past, bells ringing, and somewhere in the distance, a street musician played something soft and familiar.

Elaine sighed, tucking her hands into her coat pockets. “Alright, I dragged you through museums all day. What do you want to do now?”

Oscar considered. Then—“Dinner.”

Elaine blinked. “That’s it? No ‘let’s find the nearest simulator’ or ‘let’s analyze tire degradation charts over drinks’?”

He rolled his eyes. “I do normal things too, you know.”

“Debatable,” she muttered.

He nudged her with his elbow. “Come on, historian. You picked everything today. I get to pick dinner.”

She gave him a mock-serious look. “Fine. But if you choose some sad hotel restaurant, I’m revoking your privileges.”

Oscar smirked. “Relax. I know a place.”

And so they walked. Through the streets of Amsterdam, through the easy conversation and quiet moments in between, through the slow, unspoken shift in the space between them.

Neither of them mentioned it.

Neither of them needed to.

Dinner had been good. Simple, but good.

Oscar had picked a restaurant close to the hotel, one that wasn’t too fancy but had just enough of a warm, cozy atmosphere that Elaine immediately launched into a monologue about how Dutch cafés were vastly superior to anywhere else in Europe.

Oscar had listened, half-distracted by his food, half-focused on her usual theatrics.

She talked about the charm of old Dutch architecture, the history behind certain dishes, and—somehow—ended up explaining how the country’s trade routes influenced the spread of different spices across Europe.

Oscar had tuned out a little by that point, but it wasn’t like he minded.

She liked to talk. He liked to listen.

It worked.

By the time they made it back to the hotel, Elaine was still going, her words slowing down only slightly as the day caught up with her.

“Did you know,” she began as they stepped out of the elevator, “that the Dutch—”

“Elaine,” Oscar said, dryly. “That’s the tenth time you’ve started a sentence like that today.”

She ignored him, pushing ahead as if he hadn’t spoken. “—had such a monopoly on certain trades that entire economies were built around their influence?”

Oscar hummed noncommittally as he swiped his keycard, opening his door.

It was supposed to be the end of the conversation. They both had separate rooms—he had made sure of that. The plan was simple: go to sleep, wake up, and start fresh the next day.

Instead, Elaine just… walked in after him.

He blinked. “What—?”

“Anyway,” she continued, dropping onto his bed like it was hers, “what was I saying?”

Oscar sighed, rubbing his temples. “Dutch monopoly. Trade. Some economic thing.”

Elaine snapped her fingers. “Right! So—”

And that was how he found himself standing in his own hotel room, watching her lie back against the pillows, one arm flung behind her head, completely at home in his space.

He considered kicking her out.

Then he considered how much energy that would take.

Then he considered that nothing short of physically dragging her out would probably work.

So, with a resigned sigh, he grabbed his toiletry bag and headed for the bathroom.

By the time he came back, freshly showered and in his usual sleepwear, Elaine had somehow fully settled in.

Not only was she still sprawled across his bed, but she had also stolen his hoodie at some point, pulling it on over her t-shirt like she belonged in it.

She was still talking—something about Dutch colonialism now—but her words were starting to slur slightly, her eyelids drooping as sleep crept in.

Oscar sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his face. “Elaine, you have your own room.”

“Mmhm,” she hummed, eyes half-closed.

“You should go.”

Silence.

Then: the softest sound of her breathing, slow and even.

Oscar let out a slow exhale, running a hand through his hair.

Right.

Well.

That settled that, then.

Shaking his head, he grabbed an extra blanket from the closet, draped it over her, and shut off the main light.

Then, instead of trying to wrestle for space, he took the armchair by the window, grabbed his phone, and settled in for the night.

It wasn’t the most comfortable setup. But somehow, he didn’t really mind.

That is, until Oscar woke up to the sound of someone shifting around. A second later, a hand lightly smacked his leg.

“What the hell are you doing?” Elaine’s voice was groggy, thick with sleep but still laced with amusement.

Oscar blinked, trying to reorient himself. The dim glow of the city lights seeped in through the curtains, casting the hotel room in soft shadows. His neck ached. His back felt horrible. His arm—folded awkwardly beneath him—was completely numb.

Right. The armchair.

Elaine smacked his leg again, gentler this time. “You look like a pretzel.”

Oscar let out a low grunt. “You’re in my bed.”

“And?” She propped herself up on one elbow, squinting at him through the darkness. “I would literally rather be arrested than sleep in one of those horrible hotel pull-out couches.”

“It’s not a pull-out couch.”

“Whatever, it looks uncomfortable.”

Oscar exhaled slowly, rubbing his face. He was too tired to argue.

Elaine, apparently, was not.

“I’m not gonna call the cops if you get in bed, you know,” she added, her voice teasing. “I could, just to be dramatic, but I won’t.”

Oscar dragged a hand down his face. “Generous.”

“I am,” she agreed. Then, after a moment, her voice softened—less playful, more… genuine. “Seriously, though. Stop being weird. Just get in.”

Oscar hesitated.

Then, because the dull ache in his spine was getting unbearable, he finally gave in.

Wordlessly, he pushed himself up from the chair, stretched his arms over his head, and shuffled toward the bed.

Elaine scooted over without needing to be asked, making space for him. The bed wasn’t huge, but it was big enough that they didn’t have to be in each other’s space.

Still, as he settled under the covers, he felt the warmth of her presence beside him, her steady breathing filling the silence.

Elaine let out a satisfied hum. “See? Way better than suffering in that stupid chair.”

Oscar didn’t answer, already too close to sleep to form a proper response.

Elaine chuckled under her breath. “Goodnight, roomie.”

Oscar barely had the energy to sigh. “Go to sleep, Elaine.”

For a moment, Oscar thought he would be able to sleep.

The bed was undeniably more comfortable than the chair, and exhaustion pulled at him in waves. But the problem—the real problem—was that he was suddenly too aware of Elaine.

He could feel the warmth of her body beside him, the subtle rise and fall of her breathing. Every time she shifted, the blankets moved, the mattress dipped, and his entire body went rigid with hyper-awareness.

It was ridiculous. She wasn’t even touching him. There was a good few inches of space between them, and yet, Oscar still felt like she was everywhere.

He exhaled slowly, staring at the ceiling.

Maybe if he just stayed perfectly still—

Elaine shifted again, turning onto her side to face him. He could feel her gaze on him before she even spoke.

“Oscar,” she murmured.

He closed his eyes, feigning sleep.

“I know you’re awake.”

Damn it.

Oscar sighed, cracking one eye open. “What?”

“You’re so tense it’s making me nervous.”

“I’m fine.”

Elaine huffed. “You’re about as ‘fine’ as a cat stuck in a bathtub.”

Oscar pressed his lips together. He didn’t want to acknowledge how stiff his body felt, how tightly wound he was just from lying here.

Elaine, ever perceptive, saw straight through him.

“Okay,” she murmured, shifting again. “Hang on.”

He barely had time to process her movements before she reached out, resting a hand lightly on his arm.

Oscar froze.

Her touch was gentle, barely there, the pads of her fingers tracing slow, soothing lines against his skin.

“Relax,” she mumbled, voice already thick with sleep. “It’s just me.”

That’s the problem, Oscar wanted to say.

His pulse jumped, his entire body locking up. His instinct was to pull away, to escape the unfamiliarity of it—but before he could, Elaine’s touch changed.

She wasn’t teasing him this time.

Her fingertips glided over his forearm in slow, repetitive motions, tracing thoughtless patterns, featherlight and warm. The kind of touch that required no thought, no effort.

Oscar swallowed.

It was nice.

That was the worst part.

Slowly, hesitantly, he let himself breathe.

His shoulders loosened, his body sinking slightly into the mattress.

Elaine didn’t say anything else. She just kept drawing soft, absentminded shapes against his skin, like it was second nature.

Eventually, her movements slowed.

Then, they stilled entirely.

Her breathing evened out, deep and steady, as she finally drifted off.

Oscar exhaled, staring up at the ceiling again.

He was still wide awake.

The next day felt… different.

Not outwardly, not in any way that would be obvious to an outsider. Oscar and Elaine still bickered, still teased, still moved through the city with their usual dynamic—him rolling his eyes at her dramatic historical retellings, her making increasingly absurd claims just to get a reaction out of him.

But something had shifted.

Maybe it was the way Elaine’s hand brushed his when she passed him a museum ticket—fingers grazing against his palm just a second too long.

Maybe it was the way she stood closer than usual, their arms occasionally bumping as they walked.

Maybe it was the way she leaned into him—actually leaned into him—when she pointed out some obscure detail in a centuries-old painting, her shoulder pressing into his, her voice low near his ear.

Or maybe—maybe—it was the way they both noticed all of it.

Because for the first time, Oscar wasn’t just aware of Elaine’s presence—he was hyperaware. Of every glance, every touch, every moment that felt like it should be nothing but wasn’t.

Like now.

They were sitting on the steps of a canal bridge, finishing off the last of their coffees. The city moved around them—bikes whizzing past, boats drifting lazily through the water—but all Oscar could focus on was the fact that Elaine had kicked off her shoes, stretching her legs out beside his.

And that, at some point, her knee had come to rest against his.

It wasn’t intentional. Probably.

She didn’t seem to notice, at least not at first.

But then, a few minutes later, she shifted slightly, adjusting the way she sat—and didn’t move away.

Oscar didn’t either.

He should have. It would’ve been easy—just a small shift to the side, just an inch of space.

But neither of them moved.

The warmth of her knee against his felt… casual. Natural. Like it belonged there.

And Oscar should not be thinking about it this much.

Elaine turned to him, eyes bright. “Okay,” she said, leaning back on her hands. “What’s next on the itinerary, tour guide?”

Oscar forced his brain to catch up, to focus on something other than the warmth of her skin against his.

He cleared his throat. “There’s still the Anne Frank House,” he said, glancing at her. “Unless you’d rather find a café and keep giving me unsolicited history lessons.”

Elaine grinned. “Bold of you to assume I need another coffee for that.”

He snorted, shaking his head, but when he stood, he instinctively reached down to offer her a hand.

And when she took it—her fingers slipping easily into his, her grip warm and steady—Oscar realized two things.

One: he liked the way her hand fit in his.

And two: he was completely, utterly screwed.

And when night came, Elaine was doing it again.

Following him to his room like it was the most natural thing in the world, as if she belonged there.

Except tonight, she wasn’t talking.

The television played quietly in the background, some Dutch news channel filling the room with a low hum of voices neither of them paid attention to. Oscar moved around, going through his usual nighttime routine—checking his phone, answering a quick call from a McLaren team member, confirming a schedule for media duties on Thursday.

Elaine sat cross-legged on the bed, absentmindedly flipping through a travel guide she’d picked up earlier. She wasn’t reading it, though. Not really.

Oscar didn’t say anything about it.

He grabbed some clothes from his suitcase, disappearing into the bathroom for a quick shower. When he emerged, towel drying his hair, Elaine was still there.

Still silent.

Still watching.

Something about the way her eyes followed him felt… different.

He ignored it, tossing the towel aside as he started organizing a few things in his suitcase. He folded a shirt, straightened out a pair of socks. He was fully aware of how unnecessary it was—he didn’t need to be tidying up right now—but keeping his hands busy felt safer than acknowledging the weight of Elaine’s gaze.

She was looking at him like she was seeing something new.

Something she hadn’t noticed before.

Something she liked.

And that was dangerous.

Oscar cleared his throat, not looking at her. “So,” he said, keeping his voice casual. “Are you just going to stay here again until you fall asleep mid-sentence?”

Elaine smirked, but it was softer than usual. “Tempting,” she admitted, stretching her legs out. “But I think I’ll actually leave before I make myself too comfortable this time.”

Oscar snorted. “Unlikely.”

But then she stood, padding toward the door in her socks.

For a second, he almost thought she’d just leave.

But she paused.

Turned back.

And before he could react, she reached out, running her fingers through his damp hair—just a quick, slow drag of her hand, like she was testing the texture.

Her touch sent something electric down his spine.

“You should do your hair like this more often,” she murmured, like it was just a passing comment.

But it wasn’t just a comment.

Not when her fingers lingered for a second too long. Not when her voice had that particular softness to it.

Not when Oscar was suddenly, acutely aware of how close she was.

His throat felt dry. “Yeah?”

Elaine’s lips twitched, her hand dropping back to her side. “Yeah.”

And then, just like that, she turned and slipped out of the room, leaving Oscar standing there, heart beating a little too fast, hair still wet, and very much aware that something had just shifted between them.

Elaine had seen bits of it on TV before, the sleek garages, the bustling pit lane, the media swarming around like bees. But experiencing it in person? That was something else entirely.

She had no idea where to go, who to talk to, or what to do with herself. She barely even recognized anyone—except for the handful of drivers who had started frequenting the café. Everyone else? Just a blur of branded team uniforms and important-looking people rushing past like they had somewhere critical to be.

And so, naturally, she stuck to Oscar like a lost puppy.

At first, she tried to play it cool—walking beside him at a respectable distance, pretending to know exactly where she was going. But then they entered the McLaren hospitality suite, where engineers, media personnel, and team executives moved with swift efficiency, talking strategy, making notes, exchanging glances that said we have five million things to do before the weekend even starts.

Elaine hesitated. Paused mid-step. And before she knew it, she was trailing behind Oscar, practically stepping on his heels.

Oscar, of course, noticed immediately.

He glanced back at her, amused. “What are you doing?”

Elaine huffed. “I don’t know where to go.”

“You have a paddock pass.”

“Yes, but what does that mean?” she said dramatically. “Do I just… exist? Lurk in corners? Am I supposed to talk to people? Do I get free food?”

Oscar smirked, handing his bag off to a team member before crossing his arms. “I mean, I assume you can talk to people, but you don’t have to.*”

“I don’t know anyone.”

“You know Lando.”

Elaine rolled her eyes. “Yeah, because you brought him to my café, not because I have a subscription to the ‘Who’s Who in F1’ club.” She looked around, frowning. “Where is he, anyway?”

Oscar checked his watch. “Media duties.”

“Ah. And you’re not doing that because?”

“Because I actually have things to do.”

“Rude.”

He smirked again, already turning towards the garage. Elaine made the mistake of hesitating, and suddenly he was ahead of her, navigating the chaos with practiced ease while she scrambled to keep up.

For the next twenty minutes, she followed him like a shadow—through the garage, past engineers, down the paddock lane. It didn’t go unnoticed. More than once, someone glanced at her, curious.

She felt ridiculous.

“I look like a stray dog,” she muttered under her breath.

Oscar snorted.

Elaine groaned, rubbing her temples. “Seriously, what am I supposed to do?”

Oscar finally stopped walking, turned to her, and let out a laugh. A real laugh. “You look so uncomfortable.”

“Because I am uncomfortable!” she whispered harshly. “I’m a history nerd at a motorsport event, Oscar! This is like throwing a fish into the desert!”

Oscar tilted his head. “That’s dramatic.”

Elaine narrowed her eyes. “You invited me. Fix it.”

He hummed, pretending to think. Then, with an infuriatingly casual shrug, he said, “Figure it out,” and kept walking.

Elaine groaned, dragging a hand down her face before jogging after him. Maybe being a stray dog wasn’t that bad.

She was learning.

By the time Friday’s practice sessions rolled around, she had figured out a few things:

Free food? Absolutely a thing. (Oscar had neglected to mention this, the menace.)

No one actually cared what she was doing as long as she wasn’t in the way.

Every time Oscar put his helmet on and got into the car, something in her stomach twisted—just a little.

That last part was not ideal.

She had spent the first free practice watching from the McLaren garage, trying not to look completely out of place as engineers muttered things about tire degradation and setup tweaks. Oscar had barely spared her a glance, too focused on whatever pre-session routine he had, and once he was in the car, she had expected him to be gone, mentally checked out.

Except—he had looked for her.

Just once. A brief flick of his eyes in her direction before the visor came down and he drove off.

And Elaine? She had no idea why her heart stuttered at that.

She spent the rest of the session in the garage, wearing a headset she barely understood, and when Oscar’s voice crackled through the radio—calm, measured, completely in his element—she felt something. Pride? Fascination? She wasn’t sure.

She distracted herself by making unnecessary notes in a small pocket journal she had brought, sketching out the circuit layout and writing down completely useless historical facts about the Netherlands. (Zandvoort was originally a fishing village. In 1955, the track had to be modified to reduce wind sensitivity.)

Oscar later found her curled up in the corner of the hospitality suite, scribbling away like an academic lost in a war zone.

He squinted at her notebook. “Are you taking—actual notes?”

Elaine didn’t look up. “Your tires suck.”

Oscar raised a brow. “Not my fault.”

“Isn’t it, though?” she teased.

He sighed, stealing a bite of whatever snack she had in front of her.

And just like that, the weekend blurred forward—brief exchanges, subtle touches, and something unspoken simmering beneath the surface.

By the time Saturday passed by, Elaine realized just how fast Oscar was.

She hadn’t fully understood how much until she watched qualifying from the McLaren pit wall. Seeing the cars live, watching him weave through corners with pinpoint precision—it was different from seeing it on a screen.

And then came that moment.

When Oscar set a lap quick enough to push into Q3, the McLaren garage erupted. Cheers, high-fives, engineers nodding in approval. Elaine, caught up in the energy, grinned and turned—just as Oscar walked in, removing his helmet, shaking out his damp hair.

Their eyes met.

Elaine barely registered that she had started moving until she was right there, standing closer than she had any reason to be.

His breath was still heavy from exertion, his racing suit clinging to his frame. There was sweat at his temple, and for some stupid reason, her gaze flickered to his lips before snapping back up.

Oscar smirked.

She immediately took a step back.

“Good job,” she muttered, arms crossing.

“Thanks.” His voice was lower, rougher.

Something flickered between them—charged, weighty. Elaine hated it. (She didn’t hate it at all.)

Before she could dig herself into a deeper hole, Lando appeared, clapping Oscar on the back and breaking the spell.

Elaine exhaled. Crisis averted.

That night, a group naturally formed at the hotel bar. It wasn’t planned—just a product of circumstance, of familiar faces gravitating toward one another after a long day.

Lando was there, of course, along with a few other drivers—Verstappen, Russell, Leclerc. A couple of engineers. A few partners who had tagged along for the weekend. It was casual, low-key, everyone nursing drinks and unwinding.

Elaine had somehow ended up next to Oscar, which wasn’t surprising. It was instinct at this point.

What was surprising was how everyone else seemed to notice.

It wasn’t like they were doing anything out of the ordinary. They weren’t even touching. But their dynamic was so them—full of quiet familiarity, an ease that stood out amidst the rest of the group.

Oscar would grab his drink, and without thinking, Elaine would shift his phone closer so he wouldn’t knock it over.

Elaine would huff about something Lando said, and Oscar would shoot her a subtle, knowing smirk, like he already knew the exact way she’d react before she even did.

At one point, Elaine reached for something on the table—a stray napkin, a drink menu, something unimportant—and Oscar, mid-conversation, simply handed it to her without missing a beat.

The others noticed.

They didn’t say anything. But glances were exchanged, smirks barely hidden behind glasses.

Russell leaned back, watching with an amused tilt of his head. Max, swirling his drink lazily, flicked his gaze between them before raising a brow at Lando. Charles, seated across from Oscar, let out a quiet huff of laughter, shaking his head to himself.

Then, as if to cement whatever silent conclusion they had all reached, Elaine accidentally knocked her phone off the table.

With a sigh, she slipped off her stool to grab it before it slid further away. As she ducked under the table, Oscar—without even looking—simply reached out and covered the sharp edge of the table with his hand, shielding it.

Elaine, entirely unaware, grabbed her phone and straightened, sliding back into her seat. She had no idea she had just avoided smacking her temple against the corner of the table.

But the others had definitely seen. Lando, Max, George, Charles. God, even the waiter passing by.

Lando exhaled sharply, shaking his head in disbelief. George took a slow sip of his drink, eyes gleaming with silent amusement. Max pressed his lips together, barely suppressing a knowing smirk. Charles let out a quiet chuckle, exchanging a look with Lando.

And no one said anything.

No teasing remark, no pointed comment. They didn’t need to.

Oscar, still half-listening to a conversation on his other side, finally turned his head, sensing the shift in the air.

His gaze swept over the group, eyes narrowing slightly. “What?”

Silence.

George took another sip of his drink, looking far too entertained. Lando just pressed his lips together, like he was physically holding back a laugh. Max and Charles shared a look, one that said no need to state the obvious.

Elaine, oblivious to the silent exchange happening around her, just frowned. "God, you’re all weird," she muttered, settling back into her seat.

Oscar, still confused but unbothered, just shook his head and turned back to his drink.

And yet, despite everything, the glances, the smirks, the knowing, didn’t fade.

Still, no one said anything.

No need.

It was only a matter of time.

Everything was a blur.

The moment Oscar crossed the finish line, the world erupted around him. The radio crackled with overlapping voices—his engineer shouting, Zak laughing, Lando’s excitement cutting through the chaos. The garage exploded on the broadcast screens, a wave of orange jumping and cheering, arms flung around shoulders. Champagne had already been cracked open before he had even stepped out of the car.

P2. A podium.

He should have been overwhelmed—the sheer scale of the moment, the deafening roar of the crowd, the weight of it pressing against his chest. But beneath the rush of adrenaline, something steadier, something quieter, was pulling at him.

Elaine.

Somewhere in that sea of orange, gripping the team radio headset like her own personal lifeline. Somewhere on the pit wall, tracking his every move. Watching him.

And for some inexplicable reason, that meant more than anything else.

The podium ceremony passed in a haze of flashing cameras and sticky-sweet champagne. His fireproofs clung to his skin, his pulse still thrummed from the race. Standing there on the second step, trophy in hand, he should have been drinking in the moment. He should have been lost in it.

But all he could think about was getting down. Getting to her.

The second he was free from the cameras, his feet carried him forward before his mind had even fully caught up. Through the paddock, past the endless congratulations, through the crowd of McLaren mechanics still celebrating.

And then—

There she was.

Standing just inside the garage, shifting on her feet, eyes flickering across the room like she was searching for something. Searching for him.

His legs carried him faster. The next thing he knew, his arms were around her, pulling her in, holding her tightly against him.

She let out a startled yelp, hands pressing against his chest. “Oh my god, you’re drenched.” Her voice was half-groan, half-laugh, warm against his shoulder. “Oscar, this is disgusting.”

He only held her tighter, grinning against her hair. “Don’t care.”

She made a dramatic noise of protest but didn’t pull away. Her fingers curled slightly in the damp fabric of his fireproofs, and slowly—almost reluctantly—she melted into him.

He could feel her breath, quick and light, against his collarbone. The warmth of her body pressed into his, grounding him in a way nothing else could. For a moment, he forgot about the crowd, the noise, the cameras. There was only her—her voice, her laugh, her heartbeat against his ribs.

Her hand slid up to his shoulder, fingers brushing against his skin, gentle and unhurried. “You were incredible,” she murmured, so quietly that he barely caught it over the noise.

His chest tightened.

She pulled back just enough to look at him, eyes bright, expression raw with something too big to name. The way she was looking at him—it made his pulse stutter, made everything else feel small.

Her gaze flickered downward, just for a second.

Then she leaned in, tilting her head, clearly aiming for his cheek—

Someone called his name. Without thinking, he turned.

Their lips brushed.

The world stilled.

Elaine barely had time to react.

Her breath hitched, eyes widening as the realization of what had just happened crashed over her. Their lips had touched. It had been brief, accidental, nothing more than a brush—but the warmth of it lingered, tingling, refusing to fade.

She pulled back an inch, blinking fast. “Oh—shit, I—”

She never got to finish.

Oscar’s hand moved before he could think, fingers sliding up to cup the back of her neck, his grip firm but careful, like he was afraid she’d slip away if he didn’t hold on. His thumb brushed against her skin, just below her ear, and Elaine’s breath hitched again—just for a second—before he closed the distance.

This time, it wasn’t an accident.

The moment their lips met again, the rest of the world melted away.

Elaine let out a soft, surprised noise against his mouth, but she didn’t hesitate. Her hands found his shoulders, then his neck, fingers threading into his damp hair as she pulled him closer—like he wasn’t already pressed against her, like there was still space left between them that needed to be closed.

Oscar responded in kind. His other arm tightened around her back, his grip firm, almost desperate, as if he could somehow hold onto the moment forever. She was warm against him, grounding in a way nothing else was, her lips soft and sure against his own. And when she sighed quietly into the kiss, something in his chest turned over, twisting in a way he didn’t quite understand.

Then—

The garage erupted.

The cheers hit all at once, loud and gleeful, laughter and whistles and the unmistakable sound of someone slapping the nearest hard surface in excitement.

Elaine barely had time to process it before—

“FUCKING FINALLY!” Lando’s voice, unmistakable, rang out over the noise, dripping with exasperated glee. Someone else whooped. Someone else actually clapped.

Elaine broke the kiss with a sharp inhale, face burning, eyes wide.

Oscar barely pulled away—just enough to look at her, to take in the stunned expression, the way her breath came uneven, the way her fingers were still tangled in his hair like she had no intention of letting go.

He huffed a laugh, breathless, forehead still so close to hers that she could feel the warmth of it.

Elaine swallowed. “So, uh… does this mean you like me?”

His grip on her waist tightened, pulling her just a little closer, even though there was no space left between them to begin with.

“Jesus, Elaine.”

She grinned, dazed but teasing, her voice lighter than air. “I mean, you could’ve just told me. Would’ve saved us months of slow-burning bullshit.”

Oscar groaned, dropping his head slightly, and she could feel the soft huff of his laugh against her skin.

“Shut up.”

Then she smirked. “Make me.”

So he did.

@smoooothoperator @freyathehuntress @gold66loveblog @hadesnumber1daughter

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"The world ended when it happened to me"

Spencer Reid x gn!reader

Spencer finally returns from prison, but he isn't the man he used to be

content: no use of y/n, angst (some) comfort cw: sad themes, metaphors of violence an: This is out way later than I thought it would be so I'm very sorry 😭 Anyways this is for the gorgeous @thegloryofliterature ilysm and I hope you enjoy lovely <3

· · ───────────── ·𖥸· ───────────── · ·

You paced the room anxiously, jittery hands pressed to your racing heart. The apartment hadn't changed one bit since Spencer had last been inside—you had the irrational fear that if you did, you would lose those little parts of him forever. The pile of books on his night stand stayed precarious as ever, a layer of dust covering his copy of War and Peace in its original Russian—one of his favourites.

His favourite mug sat ready on the counter, as if he would walk in at any moment and pour himself a cup. It would have too much sugar, and you’d tease him for it, before he’d lean across the cool stone and kiss you softly, sickly sweetness coating his lips.

A purple scarf hung on the coat rack by the door, faded with use. It was his favourite. Is his favourite. It was a gift from his mother almost half a decade ago, and he’d cherished it ever since. The stitching on one end had come apart, and you’d sewn it back together. The new thread wasn't the perfect colour match, but Spencer hadn’t minded one bit. He said it added character, and always reminded him of you each time he wore it. You couldn't help but notice the purple scarf adorning his outfits more after that.

You glanced at your phone again for the hundredth time, and found the same text from Penelope, sitting, opened and unresponded, on your screen.

He’s coming home. Today.

Not much else needed to be said. Those few words gave everything you needed to know—except when he would arrive. Thus, you had been wearing a patch into the rug beneath the coffee table with your excessive pacing ever since you received Pen’s text.

When would he be here? You were almost sick with worry. You peered at the text again, then abruptly threw your phone onto the plush couch. It was no use reading it once again. It wouldn't help.

These last few months had been absolute torture. Knowing Spencer was in such a horrible place, getting hurt, and there was nothing you could do about it? It had to be one of the worst feelings in the world. Like you were being stabbed repeatedly with a serrated knife, and every time it was pulled out so slowly, you could feel each and every agonising groove.

Worst of all, Spencer had left you off his visitor’s list. That little fact cut the deepest. Spencer Reid, the man you loved most in the world, the one you had bared your soul to for the past three years, actively didn't want to see you. It was like one big inside joke you had been left out of.

No matter how beyond relieved you were that he was finally out of that hell hole, the pit in your stomach that got increasingly worse each time you thought about that little fact didn't abate, even now.

What were you going to say to him? After all these months without so much as a phone call shared between the two of you. All the information you received came second-hand from his team, and you didn't even get to correspond by letter.

Why had he done it, why? You had lain awake at night contemplating that question for weeks on end.

You understood Spencer, more than you understood yourself, even, but what you couldn't understand was why Spencer felt like he couldn't show all of himself to you, even the most horrible parts. Especially those parts.

With almost divine timing, the door handle turned slowly, and your head whipped to the door. You froze in place, staring with wide eyes as the door clicks, opening cautiously. There was no need for a key, you had unlocked it hours ago, anticipating this very moment.

The door opened fully, and Spencer eased himself into the entryway. You couldn’t breathe. His form was hunched, hair falling limply into his eyes, and you could spy facial hair covering his jaw in a dark shadow.

His gaze shot up, and the door slipped from his grasp, banging loudly into its frame. You both jumped slightly at the noise, but your eyes never left each other. You sucked in a sharp breath. He looked empty. Like every joy and light that once filled him so profoundly was completely extinguished. Snuffed out.

His eyes were gaunt, dark circles of unrest swept under his lower lash. Those eyes—once doe-eyed and hopeful—were haunted. Exhausted. Utterly wrecked and full of anguish.

You both stood there, unblinking and unmoving for what felt like an eternity. The harsh silence is broken with harsher words. “Why, Spencer.”

It wasn’t a question, nor a statement. It resembled more that of a plea. For what, you didn’t know.

He said nothing.

“Why didn’t you let me see you? Why did you shut me out? Do you really think I’m that shallow?” A silent tear tracked it way down your cheek, pooling on your jaw before dropping onto the rug beneath your feet. You weren't even aware of crying in the first place. “Why.”

He just stared.

“Spencer.” Your voice cracked, and your limbs unlocked enough to take a small step forward. He just shook his head slowly, swallowing harshly as he regarded you with his broken eyes, and a lone tear traced its way down the contours of his face, perfectly mirroring your own. It caught in his five o'clock shadow and disappeared, leaving only a shining track of sorrow down his cheek.

Your lip trembled and your eyes softened at the scene before you, and you forgot any prior grievances—you forgot everything, even your name, as you focused your whole being on the broken and bruised man before you.

“Oh, my love, what did they do to you?” The words come out as an almost imperceptible whisper, cracked and crazed, like a window pane just before it shatters into a million lethal shards that bite into your hands and feet—stinging and deep.

It all happened so quickly after that. Spencer's face crumpled completely, a wracking sob crawling out through his throat. He stumbled forward at breakneck speed, straight towards you, like a compass pointing to its true north.

You didn’t remember how, but you were moving too—less fast, but no less determined, and you both ate up the distance, until there was no other option than to fall right into each other.

That was exactly what happened, and he barrelled into you so hard that all the air in your lungs was forced out against your will. Momentum sent you both crashing towards the kitchen, and Spencer cushioned your fall with one arm wrapped tightly around your middle, the other flying out to catch himself on the countertop before he crushed you with his large frame.

A shattering sound punctured through your bubble of consciousness, but you paid it no mind. Everything else in the world was inconsequential compared to the man sobbing violently into your neck, arms holding onto you for dear life.

Your own limbs came up to rest—one around his shoulders, the other threading through the dull curls at the base of his neck. You rubbed soothing circles on his back, whispering incoherent comforts into his ear. He continued to shudder, choking on his tears and tightening his grip to an almost crushing embrace.

Your heart ached for him, deep and painful. You hurt for everything he has suffered. You hurt for what he had to do to survive, for what was done to him. You hurt for the utter loneliness he must have felt with no comforts and no freedom, and all for a crime he didn't commit. You hurt for the relapse that was forced upon him, and for the reason he went to Mexico in the first place.

Spencer poured out every feeling of guilt and inadequacy, of shame and disgust. Every moment he felt scared, and every moment he felt anger so powerful, it made him afraid of his own mind.

But mostly, it was the feeling of helplessness that held him captive. You knew that feeling well, had become close acquaintances with it in the past months—though nothing to the extent of his, you were sure.

He clung to you like you were a lighthouse in a storm, and you let him. Told him to let it all out—every haunting and twisted minute of the past three months.

The longer you stood there, the more you understood why he pushed you away, even as it ripped the stitches open on that wound once again. He never let others see his pain, and to be so vulnerable and so raw, stripped of your self-identity like that, was a scary thing for him to allow others to see.

While it hurt, you knew Spencer, knew his vice. Knew that he thought he was doing the best by the both of you, not stopping to consider that maybe you wanted to be there for the bad. Wanted, because you wanted inside his soul, because you wanted—needed—to be his shining light home; for your souls were intertwined, and he would have to try a lot harder to push you away.

You stayed steady now, for if you broke, you wouldn't be the rock he needed. No, you had to stand strong. For Spencer.

Your neck was sticky with hot tears, and you sent a look at the floor to your left—by pure chance—and a flash of porcelain shine caught your eyes. Then, in stillness, you realised what it was.

Spencer’s mug. The one you laid out every morning. It rested there on the kitchen tile, broken. Smashed. In Spencer's flail to catch the both of you, he must have knocked it to the ground.

You stared. And stared.

And finally, after trying so hard to be the strong one, the calm one, the understanding and soothing one, the damn burst, and a tidal wave washed away the foundations of your resolve.

You cried. Loudly. Painfully. The sobs wracked your whole body, down to your cold feet on the freezing tile. You could feel those shards of glass now.

The pain you felt, so visceral and puncturing, was no longer a metaphor—the glass cut into your feet, legs, arms, stomach and chest, as your eviscerated body sluggishly poured hot and sticky blood onto the kitchen floor in perfect tandem with your cracking heart.

You registered Spencer whispering something over and over again into the smooth skin of your neck, now wet with tears. Your next sob was choked as you realised the words. “I’m sorry.” Over and over, again and again.

You listened to those two soul-crushing words as you stared, unblinking, at the mug on the floor. It was broken beyond repair, and it could never be fixed, not fully. No matter how intricately you glued it back into one piece, it would never be the same ever again.

The cracks would still be there, even if they weren't visible. It would never gain back its strength again, and it would easily chip, easily shatter once more.

As you held the man you love in your arms, letting him sag against you, use you as a lifeline, you realised the unfathomable truth. No matter what, nothing would ever be the same again.

· · ───────────── ·𖥸· ───────────── · ·

Thank you for reading, feedback is appreciated x

Tags: @reidology13 @navs-bhat <3 - Comment to be added!

Masterlist ౨ৎ

[sapphiccup]

Droplets

The quick snacks are back at it again!

Paring: Vi x reader modern quick au.

Cw: MEN AND MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!!!!!! Suggestive content ahead!, yearning, pining, attraction, drooling. NSFW!

Summary: Your honor, I’m just a girl!

Anyways, you are in the middle of having a detailed exploration of a certain someones body, except she keeps the towel on. You’re both in your mid twenties, dated for at least 4-ish years, in a nice homey apartment.

Your favorite part of the day is when your girlfriend, Violet comes out of the shower, when the water drips off her rough edges of a bulked up body, droplets left on the hard cold floor. Her veins like rivers flowing right down her brawny arms. Her hips mirrored a particular sculpture that could only be found in Rome. A gradual build of power, that she mastered in due time.

You’re just laying there on the bed, in awe. Legs crossed behind you, head resting in your palms. You’ve seen her do this numerous times, it’s not like you can ever get tired of it. Her pink happy trail, still soaked, other than yourself. She knows how much you like to watch her when she’s wet, whether it’s from the shower, or between her legs. How your eyes dilate, taking a deep frozen pause that takes you somewhere else in that curious mind of yours.

“What you thinkin’ about?” She asks you, her uneven lips curving into a smirk, that scar that you’d rather just tatter you to pieces instead, oh how you loved it when it grazed your rose bud of nerves. She knows exactly how to press those silk buttons of yours, a tease here, a show of teeth here, stepping closer to you just so she can make your heart beat louder that she can almost hear it. Her appetite grows vast when she knows how easily it is to rile you up. Only ways that she knows how and more. No one else can pull this side out of you, and she means to keep it that way.

“You know my mind is blank right now. I’m just enjoying the view.” You reply, eyes drifting off to her covered breast with a singular white towel. She tapped your jaw prompting you to lift your eyes away from her covered bosoms into those penetrating irises of hers.

“My eyes are up here babe”

“I know, I know” you pouted

“I’m sorry.”

She leaned in real close into your face, smoothing her thumb over to your bottom lip. Her eyes darkened with something she wanted to drown you in, appetency in her wake. The soft curve of that lip of yours, the way your breaths came out slower, your hearts beating in drums that were in sync.

“Stare some more, I’m only messing with you, princess” her voice, traveling down your spine, tickling the ivories of your facet joints, reaching way down to your now thickened wet delicacy. Violet knew you were deep in the flow of arousal that merged with the ocean floors of your amorousness depths, and she enjoyed it plentifully.

“You don’t want to stare any more, do you?” She inquired, biting her bottom lip, leaning more, slowly releasing her lip that was momentarily dented by how hard she bit down, bringing herself closer to you, brushing her lips onto yours, teasing you with her warmth.

“You want me for the night, again?” The way her lips moved against yours as she spoked, her warmth that was suckling you in, honeyed with sweet promises of giving you more of her than mere wandering eyes. You simply nodded, without speaking a word. She reached out for your hand, slowly moving it towards her stomach, so you can feel the ridges of her dedication, nearly sweeping your fingers against her pink fuzzy trail. You wanted to ride it, you needed to drench your cunt on them.

“Can I have you til the morning?” You inquiring her right back, her once confident face now turned red, from the tips of her ears, to her now blushing cheeks, blinking twice shocked and turned on by that very question. As per-usual, it’s not so hard to make your girl bashful as she does with you. She let out a whimpered ‘mhm’. Kissing you softly, quickly turning into a starvation of lips clashing into each other. Heavy breaths being shared, time extending, tracing different parts of her as she moved your body to be at a better angle with hers. To get even more closer to you, to get more of your supple body, adding friction to her ridges that desperately craved you and only you. Her body never dried, just sweet droplets running down your pretty vessel, and moans that poured into the both of your ears.

[heartz4levi]

Bunny Luka sfw and nsfw plsss i love your writing

i get what i like, cause it's mine !

☆ thinking abt bunny luka sfw + nsfw . .

☆ luka (alnst) ,, gn reader . . modern au ,, reader is bunny luka's owner ,, yes i talk abt him going into heat ,, humping ,, possessive & territorial luka ,, insatiable luka ,, somebody needs to neuter him and then me.

bunny luka, who has the floppiest ears and the softest little tail.

will he let you touch them? at first, no. but when he begins to get used to your presence, having you around, then he'll slowly start warming up to you and will allow you to pet his ears and/or his tail. but be gentle! luka doesn't like it when you tug.

for the most part, luka is a well—behaved bunny. he doesn't bite, doesn't growl and doesn't thump his foot on the ground repeatedly to express his annoyance. or any other negative emotion, for that matter.

luka lives a simple, spoiled life as a bunny. he has a set diet and won't eat anything that isn't included in it, nor will he eat at any time that isn't feeding time. he will accept any and all kinds of treats 24/7 though.

he prefers to stay inside the house, curled up somewhere next to you. most of the time, curled up on you. on your lap, if you're laying down then on your chest, if you're laying down on your stomach then even on your back. as quiet of a bunny as luka is, he is very, very clingy.

heavens forbid you leave without telling him where you're going, what you're planning to do at that new destination and how long he will have to wait for you to come back. you can be as discreet as you want, slipping out of bed in the early morning or late at night and leave quietly — but when you come back, luka is at the door, a frown crossing his features.

luka is fine with you bringing friends over, but he will be steering clear of them. he either won't show his face the entire time they're there, hiding somewhere within the house or he'll hide behind you and glare at the other person until they decide that it's time they head back home.

considering bunnies don't have a set time period in which they mate, you never know when you'll find yourself having to deal with a hormonal, whiny luka.

he could wake you up late into the night, trying to muffle all of his mewls in the crook of your neck while humping his leaking cock against whatever part of your body he can reach first. sometimes, you could be doing household chores, such as cooking and luka will waltz into the kitchen, movements a little bit jittery before he latches himself onto you.

luka is a lot more territorial whenever he becomes sexually frustrated and needs some immediate relief. he'll bury his face into your skin much more often to breathe in your scent, will even attempt to mark you himself and, surprisingly enough, will display hostile behavior towards others.

this is the one exception where you can't bring any of your friends over. if you do, luka hisses at them the moment they walk in through the front door. he won't leave your side, clutching onto you tighter than he usually does. do not leave him and your friend alone because luka will bite. just take him to the bathroom with you, at this point.

during times in need such as these, luka's ears and tail become a lot more sensitive. don't pet them if you don't want him to pounce on you immediately and claw at your clothes, rushing to get — or rather tear — them off of you.

regardless of whether you do or don't help him with his temporary dilemma, luka will be insatiable. if you don't help him, he'll press his clothed, aching cock against your ass every time your back is turned to him. although you don't make an effort to give him some form of relief, you don't complain either whenever he tries to find some relief himself. therefore, luka will persist until he's satisfied.

if you do help, your schedule better be completely clear for the next few days because luka will not let you get out of bed. it doesn't matter who is in charge, it doesn't matter if all you're giving him is your hand or more, luka will pull you back each time you try to pry yourself out of his grasp. you decided to help him, so now you'll do just that until he's satisfied.

all in all, luka is one clingy bunny.

[thehawkinsarchives]

Will has powers fic list (pt 1?)

in celebration of will's birthday, here's some of my favorite fics where he has powers! a lot of these fall under s5 speculation (and all of them have byler). Also this is a pretty popular category so there may be future parts coming later!

i'm gonna wade out past the shadows by bluebears

There were vines growing underneath his bed and no one else could see them. It sounded crazy, he’d been to enough therapy to know that. But there was no other explanation. Just last Tuesday, Dustin had climbed under there to reach his pen and when he popped back out he was completely oblivious to it. Almost as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

3/3 chapters

43k words

Notes: this fic has amazing prose! and very in-character dialogue. Highly recommend this fic as well as the other longer one by this author. The plot takes a bit of effort to decipher but it's definitely worth it! This is a super interesting interpretation of will's powers and fits him very much.

There Is A Season by ghostlin

After Vecna's curse is unleashed onto Hawkins, the town has been placed under government lockdown as the contagion continues to spread. Everyone’s been forced to the margins as they try to pick up the pieces. Maybe it's the swirling spores in the atmosphere or the grief that seems to linger everywhere, but it feels like everyone's haunted by something. Everyone except Mike, that is. He's the heart, right? He's keeping it together. He's the only one acting normal.

25/25 chapters

68k words

Notes: One of the only Mike POV fics in this list! Mike and Will's relationship is so well done here. Featuring reconnection, dramatics, and perhaps a rain fight.

without heart by aceoflanterns

“Here we go again,” he murmurs, words pressed thin. Mike hears him, just barely, and bumps Will’s shoulder with his own reassuringly. “Home, sweet home,” he whispers. “Bet you didn’t think you’d be back so soon, huh?” Will chuckles. “You could say that.” At twelve forty-seven, Will Byers makes it back to Hawkins. At twelve forty-eight, a clock chimes. Welcome home, something sings, voice scraping low and familiar, and he shivers. or, will byers, the upside down, and teenage love... sort of.

7/7 chapters

31k words

Notes: This author writes so beautifully! some of the lines from this fic are still stuck in my head because it's so well-done. I LOVE fics that explore will's relationship with the Mind Flayer and the author does this perfectly.

You are the Heart by TouchTheSky

It's two weeks after the fall of Hawkins and the Party are trying to figure out how to move on, find Max and stop Vecna. Will's heart is still breaking over Mike and El, but when those emotions awaken something decidedly more otherworldly and powerful he, and a strange new friend, have to confront what really happened in Hawkins on November 6th 1983 and what side Will himself is really on.

Notes: I would be so happy if s5 was like this! The author has a super unique (and probably my favorite) take on Will's powers and the Mind Flayer. Plus there's great moments from the entire cast. I stayed up all night when I read this it was so good!

27/27 chapters

140k words

riders on the storm by orphan_account

Will brings his fingertips to his nose and sniffs deeply. That tangy, metallic smell… so familiar by now. He can practically feel the sharks circling him, except they’re not sharks, they’re beasts with clammy, cold limbs and flower-shaped faces and far, far too many rows of teeth. There is blood dripping from his nose.

3/3 chapters

22k words

Notes: this had a super interesting exploration into will's mind powers. this is a little sad and will's relationships are very complicated (especially with mike) but i really liked willel's friendship in this!

i know the end by bookinit

Stranger Things re-telling, but make it byler.

5/5 fics (entire series completed)

500k words

Notes: this is super duper long but 100% worth it!! Especially the last fic in the series (season 5), where the author also has written a script. Super great writing and interpretation of the show.

just know that if you hide, it doesn't go away by fizzseed

Mike doesn’t like this. He doesn’t like this at all. “What’s wrong?” he asks. Will takes a deep breath. “You’re not going to like it,” he says wryly. El’s hand closes around Mike’s wrist, and Will’s eyes flicker quickly to it before he looks back up at them. He glances over to Jonathan, too. Joyce brings her arm up around his shoulders. “I think I know how to get him,” Will says. “Vecna, I mean.”

OR Mike breaks up with his girlfriend, helps save the world, and comes out. Not necessarily in that order.

1/1 chapters

7k words

Notes: Mike POV! Will has light powers

you were bigger than the whole sky by delusionaltogether (Whyyyyy)

on march 29th, 1986, will byers vanishes for a second time. 366 days later, he reappears.

1/1 chapters

28k words

Notes: this is one of the first stranger things fics i've read, and still one of my favorites!

[nightbeforethend]

lazy mornings// xdinary heroes

a/n: this was a request from an anon and my dumbass forgot that you can’t save an inbox post as a draft without it disappearing. Regardless, I hope you like it anon! (I also fear that you can always tell which members I’ve been thinking about recently by the length of their part but that’s neither here nor there)

warning(s): swearing

ׂ╰┈➤ gunil

ੈ✩‧₊˚ I could see him being the type to wake up to you already reading in bed next to him and ask you to read it out loud to him while you cuddle just so he can hear your voice

ੈ✩‧₊˚ very similar to Jooyeon except he’s not hellbent on making you sleep in with him

ੈ✩‧₊˚ he just wants to do whatever you feel like doing with the rare free time you two have while also staying in bed because why the hell would you be out of bed if you don’t have to be?

ੈ✩‧₊˚ he has a habit of absentmindedly tracing patterns on your arm or back while you talk for literal hours just because he likes being close to you

ੈ✩‧₊˚ if you shift away from him while cuddling, even just a little, he instinctively pulls you back in because?? Why would you do that?

ੈ✩‧₊˚ he doesn't always vocalize his affection, but when he does, it’s in the form of quiet, sincere statements like “You know I love you, right?” out of nowhere

ੈ✩‧₊˚ you could’ve been cuddling and talking and watching videos together in your phone for hours and out of nowhere here comes mister “I don’t know what I’d do without you”

ੈ✩‧₊˚ he enjoys silence with you just as much as conversation; if you’re both doing your own thing, he’ll occasionally glance over just to admire how content you look

ੈ✩‧₊˚ He’s not usually much of a morning person, but he will get up before you just to bring you coffee or tea before climbing right back into bed on the days where he can’t be bothered to be fully awake yet

ׂ╰┈➤ jungsu

ੈ✩‧₊˚ before i say what I’m about to say, know that I’m not even aware if Jungsu can even cook

ੈ✩‧₊˚but he gives me big making breakfast together when the two of you have extra time energy

ੈ✩‧₊˚ like yeah, he could just make you breakfast and bring it back to bed, where’s the quality time? The fun? The back hugs while he makes your favorite breakfast?

ੈ✩‧₊˚ will 100% drag you into the kitchen when you have nowhere to be and either gives you something to do to help (it’s barely helping but he knows you’ll start complaining about him doing all the work otherwise) or sits you on the counter to keep him company while you’re still waking up

ੈ✩‧₊˚ if you’re sitting on the counter, expect him to steal quick kisses between flipping pancakes or stirring something on the stove

ੈ✩‧₊˚ dramatically taste-tests the food like he’s a judge on a cooking show—will take a single bite, close his eyes, hum thoughtfully, and then finally declare it’s perfect just to make you laugh.

ੈ✩‧₊˚ if you do help, he’ll guide you through it so gently, putting his hands over yours if you’re chopping something or stirring, even if you know what you’re doing

ੈ✩‧₊˚ If you get sleepy while waiting, he’ll let you rest your head on his shoulder or lean against his back while he cooks

ੈ✩‧₊˚ the man is truly just happy to spend a rare slow morning being an absolute simp

ׂ╰┈➤ gaon/jiseok

ੈ✩‧₊˚ one morning, one singular time, you asked him to play you something on the guitar for giggles and now he does it every time the two of you have hours to spare in the morning

ੈ✩‧₊˚ he plays you anything from the most romantic song you’ve ever heard to Ripped Pants from SpongeBob just to make you smile

ੈ✩‧₊˚ takes you falling asleep on his guitar playing as disrespect though

ੈ✩‧₊˚ he will play the nastiest, most awfully wrong chord you’ve ever heard just to wake you up again and hit you with an “I can’t believe you fell asleep on my ART”

ੈ✩‧₊˚ if you hum along to his playing, he instantly melts and slows the song down just to hear you more

ੈ✩‧₊˚ sometimes when he’s feeling extra playful, he’ll dramatically serenade you with over the top facial expressions just to make you laugh

ੈ✩‧₊˚ he absolutely refuses to play Wonderwall unless you beg, and he’ll do it, but in the most unserious way possible

ੈ✩‧₊˚ if you request a song he doesn’t know, he’ll learn it in secret and casually play it one morning like it’s nothing, just to see your reaction

ੈ✩‧₊˚ on lazy weekends, he’ll pretend his guitar case is a briefcase, dramatically announcing that he’s off to work before sitting right back down next to you

ׂ╰┈➤ o.de/seungmin

ੈ✩‧₊˚ I BELIEVE IN SLOW MORNING ROUTINE WITH O.DE SUPREMACY

ੈ✩‧₊˚ he wouldn’t be in a huge rush to wake you up but he also doesn’t wanna do his morning routine without you if he can help it

ੈ✩‧₊˚ so there you are, half asleep and brushing your teeth together as the sun is still rising because this freak of nature has been up since the moon was still out so he could squeeze a workout in and spend the rest of the morning with you

ੈ✩‧₊˚ loves to shower together when you have nowhere to go; not even in some freaky shit, like he’d literally live in your skin if he could

ੈ✩‧₊˚ since he can’t, he’ll settle for showering together in your scorching hot water temperature just to give you both more time to talk and play around

ੈ✩‧₊˚ he always makes sure your skincare routine is part of his morning too—whether it’s handing you your moisturizer or letting you smear a ridiculous amount of sunscreen on his face because "you missed a spot."

ੈ✩‧₊˚ if it’s cold, he’ll wrap you in his hoodie or a blanket before you even get out of bed. "Five more minutes" turns into you both lying there, tangled up, until he finally convinces you to start the day.

ੈ✩‧₊˚ on extra lazy mornings, he’ll hold your hand the entire time from the bed to the bathroom to the kitchen. You’d think you would disappear if he lets go

ੈ✩‧₊˚ he loves playing music while getting ready with you, but if you’re still sleepy, he keeps it low and lets you pick the songs

ੈ✩‧₊˚ somehow takes so long doing all of this that even during slow mornings, you’re both running late when its time to leave

ੈ✩‧₊˚ at that point he’ll rush for the both of you; tying your shoelaces, grabbing your bag, even fixing your hair if it means you don’t have to stress

ׂ╰┈➤ junhan/hyeongjun

ੈ✩‧₊˚ I am a firm believer in junhan being a category 5 clinger in the mornings

ੈ✩‧₊˚ not because he’s particularly the most cuddly person known to man

ੈ✩‧₊˚ simply because he gives me lizard boyfriend energy (if he loses the body heat you provided for him through the night he’d start tweaking)

ੈ✩‧₊˚ on mornings where the two of you have somewhere to be, he’s not nearly as bad because there’s simply not enough time to try to preserve the warmth he so desperately craves

ੈ✩‧₊˚ but if you both have nowhere to be for hours??

ੈ✩‧₊˚ that man is stuck to you like glue no matter how much it slows your morning routine down

ੈ✩‧₊˚ if you try to wiggle out of his grasp, he’ll groan dramatically and pull you back in like you’ve just committed the ultimate betrayal

ੈ✩‧₊˚ he’s not even fully awake either. He’s just running on pure instinct, mumbling incoherent protests against the loss of warmth

ੈ✩‧₊˚ if you somehow manage to escape, he’ll migrate to wherever you are, still half-asleep, and wrap himself around you like a human koala

ੈ✩‧₊˚ brushing your teeth? suddenly you have a sleepy Junhan clinging to your back like a sloth

ੈ✩‧₊˚ making breakfast? good luck, because he’ll trap you in a hug from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder while sighing dramatically

ੈ✩‧₊˚ “you’re so mean,” he mumbles when you try to detach from him, despite being the one physically restraining you in the first place

ੈ✩‧₊˚ will 100% try to convince you to come back to bed with the promise of “just five more minutes” (it’s never just five more minutes and you both know that)

ੈ✩‧₊˚ the only thing that might get him to let go willingly is the smell of coffee—but even then, he’ll drag you to the couch so he can keep clinging while drinking it

ׂ╰┈➤ jooyeon

ੈ✩‧₊˚ everyone knows that if this man could sleep, wake up to perform, and go back to sleep again for the rest of his life, he would

ੈ✩‧₊˚ so lazy mornings with him include nothing more than him cutting both of your phones off so you can sleep in as long as you want

ੈ✩‧₊˚ you’re a morning person? That’s too bad

ੈ✩‧₊˚ if you try to leave the bed for anything he’s throwing his arm around you and pulling you back towards him, cuddling deeper into you like he’s not literally holding you hostage

ੈ✩‧₊˚ have to pee? Hold it ੈ✩‧₊˚ you’re hungry? Starve ੈ✩‧₊˚ if you somehow manage to escape, he’ll grumble sleepily and bury his face in your pillow, pouting until you come back

ੈ✩‧₊˚ if you don’t come back fast enough, expect a half-asleep, heavy-limbed Jooyeon shuffling through the house to find you, still wrapped in the blanket like a sleepy Victorian ghost child

ੈ✩‧₊˚ if you try to be productive in the morning, he’ll dramatically groan about how cruel you are for making him wake up alone

ੈ✩‧₊˚ will absolutely use your warmth as an excuse to trap you instead of admitting that he just likes having you there even when he’s knocked the hell out

ੈ✩‧₊˚ he doesn’t even use the “five more minutes” excuse at this point because you both know damn well that he won’t be letting you go until he decides to fully wake up

ੈ✩‧₊˚ the only way to escape is bribery—kisses, a promise of food, or, if he’s feeling extra clingy, swearing that you’ll come right back (although the last one turns into him sulking all day if you have to leave and you don’t actually come back to bed)

ੈ✩‧₊˚ even after he finally lets you go, he’ll still whine about how the bed feels empty without you

ੈ✩‧₊˚ and while it’s extremely dramatic, he’d spend the whole morning sleeping in everyday with you if he could

[presidentdisastraofgallifrey]

Companion Orientation Headcanons

(just off the top of my head)

Susan: she's a Time Lord so, like all Time Lords (except Andred), she doesn't really have a concept of romance or an interest in either. The boy she settles down with isn't really romantic love so much as her first regular, normal friendship in decades

Ian: the straightest guy that has ever straighted

Barbara: has definitely kissed a woman. Several, actually, mostly on alien planets. But doesn't really think about her identity as such and continues to assume she'll marry a man eventually. And then she does (it's Ian)

Vicki: that girl is gay. Yes I KNOW how she left, shut up and let me have this

Steven: I think he's bi but from a time when the differentiation isn't as stark a thing and doesn't think about it much

Dodo: straight; she has enough to deal with

Ben and Polly: straight in the most boring way

Jamie: his orientation is the Doctor (whether or not this is requited is irrelevant). Actually, I was thinking more about this and decided I like the idea of him being ace. His romantic orientation is the Doctor. Hence, whether you want to see the two as a couple or more a qpr situation, just being together with him is enough

Victoria: very straight, but not in a brush-off boring way. It never occurred to her there were other options before traveling through space, and I think she was never really comfortable with the concept

Zoe: lesbian, because I said so

Liz: canonically bi, actually

Jo: bi, because I said so

Lethbridge-Stewart: the kind of old-fashioned bi where he's always had an interest in men but never acted on it

Yates: gay

Benton: token UNIT straight dude. Actually talked into kissing Yates one drunken night to be sure. He's sure

Sarah: (transmasc and) aroallo (bi but more into guys)

Harry: sigh, he's bi

Leela: never labels her sexuality but closest to pansexual, where she has an interest in people without concern for gender or presentation

Romana: a Time Lord, so no. Except when I want to ship her with Leela on occasion

Adric: gay and realized it right before meeting the Doctor

Nyssa: alloace (gay)

Tegan: bi and not fully comfortable with that

Turlough: gay in a pathetic Victorian boy way despite being (1) an alien and (2) living in the 80's

Peri: straight but has gay friends

Mel: aroallo (gay) and hangs out in queer spaces

Ace: (nonbinary and) aroace (I KNOW she has romances in the eu, let me have this)

Rose: the type of straight girl who at some point briefly went "men are terrible, I should try being gay"

Martha: bi and has an equal number of men and women as exes

Donna: demiromantic and bisexual

Amy: straight

Rory: ugh I don't like it but this guy is bi and had a high school boyfriend

Clara: canonically bi

Bill: canonically lesbian

Yaz: demi lesbian (is the lesbian part canon or just that she likes girls? I don't remember)

Ryan: alloace (straight)

Graham: straight, old enough he never really thought about it

Dan: straight

Ruby: idk dude, she's really young and probably midway through figuring out girls are cute

Anita: the Doctor's gay best friend

[justmeinadaze]

November Rain (Part 6)(Eddie X Plus Size Y/N)

A/N: 😈

Warnings: Older (Late 30s) Daddy Eddie/ Young (early 20s) Plus Size Sub Fem Y/N, SMUT, ALL the dirty talk, Breeding Kink (yes you read that correctly), Y/N in lingerie, aftercare always. FLUFF, lots of fluff in this one to cushion some of the angst. These two love each other very much <3.

ANGST! *Shoots an angsty basketball into an angsty net on an angsty court*

Y/N's parents show up and have some words for them both (give an ultimatum, Eddie struggles to get his daughter to talk to him after the events of the last chapter, reader gets spicy with Ava :), mentions of the readers weight by an asshole (Eddie defends her honor), Eddie talks more about his past with his dad (brief mentions of abuse) and his marriage to his ex. CLIFFHANGER ENDING!

Word Count: 7481

Series here

Loud pounding on Eddie’s apartment door startled you both as you bolted up right in bed. 

“Stay here.”, the boxer commanded as he hastily pulled on his sweatpants and handed you one of his shirts from the floor. 

It had been about a week since your secret was exposed and neither of you had been able to get ahold of Paige. You had called, text, emailed, and even wrote physical letters to no avail. Her father every other day went to knock on the apartment door but no one answered. 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Munson, but she doesn’t want to speak to you…either of you.”, her boyfriend sighed. “I can let her know again that you called though.”

“Please, Eli, I just…is she ok at least?”

As Eddie’s sad eyes glare into the void of the carpet, you rub your palm along his back and rest your head on his shoulder. 

“She’s…surviving…Honestly, sir, it’s not my place to get in the middle. All I know is she’s hurting and I need to protect her. If she doesn’t want to talk to you or Ms. Davis right now then it is what is.”

“Yeah…yeah…thanks. You’re, um, you’re a good kid. I know with you she’s safe.”

“Always, sir.”

Ava constantly blew up his phone asking on any updates about Paige to the point where you felt like you had to get involved. 

“Ms. Davis. Eddie isn’t here right now. How can I help you?!”, you practically shout as you answer his phone before he can. 

“YOU can’t help me, Y/N. You’ve done enough. I need to talk to my husband.”

“EX-husband remember? You have no reason to be bothering him anymore.”

“Listen, bitch. Edward may be fucking you but that doesn’t give you license to sit at the grownups table. You’re a little girl playing house. Now…put him on the phone or else—”

“Or else what, AVA? After everything I’ve been through you think I’m afraid of you—No, Eddie. I got this—You think you can raise your voice or call me names and think that will intimidate me in some way? No…and let’s not forget…I’m not the only whore at the ‘grownups table’. Stop. Calling. Eddie will reach out to you when he gets any news.”

Without waiting for an answer, you hung up the phone.

“Jesus Christ. Sometimes I forget how much of a badass you are.”, the boxer swoons as he wraps his arms around you. “Thank you, sweetheart. I’m sorry she said—”

Your lips on his quickly silence him. 

“You don’t have to apologize for her, baby. Not anymore.”

The pounding echoed through the apartment once more except this time it was followed by a loud voice shouting, “I know my daughter is there! Open this fucking door or I swear to God I will break it down!”

“Dad?”

Eddie’s eyes meet your confused ones before running around the bed and cutting off your walk towards the living room. 

“Wait! Hang on, honey. He seems riled up. Let me answer the door but I want you to stay behind me, ok?”

“Ok. Eddie?”, you call, grabbing his hand as he turned around and pulling him towards you to give him a soft kiss. “I love you…no matter what…”

With a tender smile, he pushes your hair behind one of your ears.

“I love you to, Y/N.”

Exhaling, you watched as his expression hardened and he slowly maneuvered to the front door, turning the knob to greet the chaos on the other side. 

“Can I help you?”

“Where is she?”, your dad growled, pushing on the wood and past the metalhead to let himself inside with someone your boyfriend assumed was your mom. “Y/N! Get your things! We’re leaving right now!”

“What? Why? How did you two know where I was?”

“We called your roommate because you haven’t been answering your phone. She enlightened us on some of your extracurricular activities.”, your mother sneered as she sized Eddie up with distain. “We thought you were making things work with Bradley?”

“What would make you think that?”, you answer sassily as they glare your way. “Ah, I see. You’re talking to everyone but me.”

“You don’t answer your phone!”

“I’ve got a lot going on right now, mom!”

“Hey! Don’t speak to her that way!”, your father yells causing your boyfriend to place himself directly in front of you. “As for you, you stay the fuck away from her. You should be ashamed! You’re older—"

“What does my age have to do with me loving her or her loving me?”

“This is not love. This is a rebound. You just got out of a relationship and YOU just got divorced.”

At your mother’s words, Eddie chuckled under his breath as he shook his head. 

“I see my daughter had a lot to say. I apologize for that as that wasn’t her place. Add in the fact that she is extremely angry right now—”

“She has every right. She was your child’s best friend.”

“Ms. Y/L/N, Paige is in her twenties so she isn’t a child and neither is your daughter. When we met we had no idea that either of us knew her. I just knew I fell for a beautiful woman on a bad date at my boxing match.”

“That’s another thing. Do you think he can support you as a boxer?”

“I don’t NEED him to support me, dad, but we do support each other. He’s amazing at what he does and I’m proud of him.”

“God, when did you become so stupid?!”

“Don’t talk to her like that.”, Eddie hissed. “I may not be a rich man but I have a steady income and a huge match coming up in Vegas that will lead to more financial opportunities down the line.”

“Great and when you die after being knocked out at your age what then?! Hm?! Who will be there for her?”

“I’m not a geriatric, sir. I’m still in my 30s for God’s sake. I still have many years of boxing ahead of me.”

This isn’t a joke, son.”, your father sighs. “Have you thought about all this, Y/N? What if he got hurt? What if he had permanent damage where you had to take care of him for the rest of his life? What if he died… you would have nothing. You would have wasted your time opening your legs for a man who gave you nothing except the title of slut!”

The growl that left Eddie’s chest was deep and guttural as he took a confident step towards your dad. 

“Sir, with all due respect, that will be last time you say anything like that towards Y/N. If you do it again I’m going to ask you to leave.”

Both men stare at each other, neither wanting to back down. 

“We haven’t talked about it but…I do worry about him…every time he enters the ring. Every hit he takes kills me as someone who loves him very much but, dad, I see how hard he trains and all the precautions he takes to make sure that’s he’s safe. God forbid…he ever got seriously injured though…I would be there…no questions asked.”

“Y/N, honey, there are so many factors working against you.”, your mom began in a gentle yet slightly condescending tone. “However crass, your father brought up some good points. This man has already lived a whole life and had a whole other family. Your life is just beginning… how long do you see this relationship lasting?”

“Longer than yours.”, you sass causing your father to straighten as Eddie did the same. “His new, happier life is just beginning to and I want to be a part of that…as his wife…”

The long-haired boy’s head swiveled to face you at your words as a small smile flickered across his lips. 

“Do you mean it?” When you aggressively nod, Eddie yanks you to his chest and you circle your arms around his waist. “I’m going to get you a ring, sweetheart, I promise and I’ll start saving immediately so you can have the fanciest wedding you deserve.”

“Baby, I don’t need all that. It could be in a courthouse with overalls and I’d be happy.”, you giggle through tears that began to fall. “As long as I’m with you.”

“I forbid it.”, your dad spat in anger.

“Noted.”, you growl in equal measure. “That’s not going to stop me from being with the man I love.”

“If you go through with this, Y/N, you will NOT have our support.”, your mom added. “You would never hear from us again and will be cut off completely.”

“Ma’am.”, Eddie cuts in before you can speak. “Please don’t do that. My mother died when I was young and I haven’t spoken to my father in over twenty years. It’s been over a week since I’ve heard from my daughter and…and it kills me. In all those cases, I had zero control but you do. If you cut her off just because she loves me…it will haunt you.”

Your parents exchange a glance as the silence hangs in the air for moment and your dad finally speaks. 

“What’s it going to be, Y/N? Are you coming with us or staying here with him?”

Even as your heart breaks, your features remain stoic as you take Eddie’s hand and wrap your arm around his. 

“I love him, dad, and I’m staying.”

“So be it.”, he sighs, collecting your mother’s hand and stomping out the front door. 

As soon as it shuts, your head hangs and the boxer immediately collects you in his arms to carry you to the couch. 

“Everything is going to be ok, honey. I’m so sorry you’re going through this. They’ll come around I’m sure.”, he coos gently as he pets your head, playing with your hair.

“I’m sorry they said all that stuff about you.”, you cry as you lean back to look at his face. “I meant what I said though, Eddie. If anything ever happened to you…you know I’d take care of you.”

“I know, pretty girl, I know. I, um, we probably should talk about, um…I mean you’ve never mentioned starting a family with me. Even though your mom was right, I guess, I have had…I don’t fucking know…what I’m trying to say is…I would love having that life again. I would love…having a family…a kid with you..”

“You know, you’re cute when you get all nervous.”, you tease as he rolls his eyes and lightly spanks your behind. “I would love to have your kid.”

“Yeah?”, he asks, quirking his eyebrow in amusement. “Give us a chance to play around with a breeding kink.” Eddie laughs out loud at his own joke but you see it almost immediately, how quick his face clouds over worry as if he crossed a line. More damage control from how his ex made him feel like he couldn’t be himself. “I’m just kidding.”

Softly smiling, you grabbed his chin with your fingers and tilted his head till his eyes met yours. 

“Were you? Or does the idea of coming inside of me till you breed me genuinely turn you on?”

“Fuck me, you are perfect.”

###################

You watch from your spot on the floor by the wall of mirrors as Eddie continues to train for his fight. For the past couple of days since you arrived in Vegas, you had been doing work for your own job in the hotel while they went over their strategy and moves within the gym a few floors down. 

Today, however, he insisted you come which you definitely didn’t mind. 

His gorgeous chocolate eyes would zero in as he punched the pads in his coach’s hands or the bag in front of him and the muscles in his arms would tense as his fist flew. Sweat would cling to the small of his back and all you wanted to do was wrap your limbs around him while pressing your face into his spine. 

“GOOD! Good, Eddie!”, the man in front him praised as he patted his boxer’s bicep. “Alright, tonight you’re doing the press conference. Just answer a few of the questions and all that fun stuff—”

“Pfft fun for you. I don’t like all the attention. Not like that anyway.”

“Said the former rock star.”, you teased and he stuck out his tongue your way.

“It’s very simple and then after you guys can explore the city. I want you to get a good night’s sleep and then tomorrow I want you at the stadium by 4pm. Ya hear?”

“Yes, sir. I will be there.”

After his coach leaves, Eddie helps you to your feet before tenderly kissing your lips. 

“As much as I enjoy watching a geriatric old man practice…”, you joke as he rolls his eyes. “…why did you want me here for this?”

Smirking deviously, he reaches behind a few of the weight racks to produce a big white box with a purple bow. 

“I got you something to wear to the press thing.”, he beams, watching your face as you carefully open the contents. 

Within was a dress that matched the box it was housed in, completely white with a purple belt that wrapped around your beautiful, curvy waist. After clearing his throat, you glance Eddie’s way to see him holding up a pair of gorgeous purple heels that had you sighing in pleasure. 

“Baby…”

“I know, I know…but I saw it in the store and I thought you would absolutely rock this ensemble. I mean, you look beautiful in everything but—”

Your lips on his cut him off as he chuckled and cupped your face in his palms. 

“Go get ready. I’ll meet you in the lobby in about an hour.”

***

“You got this, honey.”, you whisper as you rub his shoulders while he glares out at the audience he was currently waiting to be introduced to. 

When you came out of the elevator to meet him, you half expected him to just be in a polo and jeans since the conference wasn’t formal by any means but when he turned to meet the sound of your shoes clacking along the floor, you couldn’t help but lightly whine at the man in the suit before you. 

“Eddie…you look so good.”

“Me?”, he breathily laughed as he tilted down to give you a soft kiss. “Look at you, pretty girl. I feel like a kid whose uncle got him ready for the neighbor’s party.”

“No!”, you giggle as your palm runs down his chest along his suit jacket. “You look perfect.”

“SPEAKING of uncle…”

When he gestures to the side, Wayne grins as he comes up to greet you, grunting slightly when you surprise him with a big hug. 

“Hey, sweetheart. That dress looks stunning on you. I helped him pick it out by the way.”

“Liar.”, Eddie teases as his uncle tosses him an equally playful but stern glare.

“Thank you so much. You’re one to talk. I can see where Eddie gets his good looks.”

“Oh, Ed, I like her.”, Wayne smiles, extending his elbow for you to loop your arm through.

“There’s way more people than I thought there would be.”

“I know but don’t focus on them, sweetie. Just focus on me and Wayne. Don’t talk to all those strangers…talk to us.”

A heavy exhale leaves him as he fully closes the curtain you two were hiding behind to give you his full attention. 

“Before I go out there, there’s something I wanted to give you. My uncle brought this from Hawkins and said it belonged to my mother. I wanted to get you a ring that was special because, baby, you’re so special to me and not like any girl I’ve ever met.”

“Eddie, what’s going on?”

Digging into his coat pocket, he produced a gold band with a modest sized blue diamond in the middle.

“I didn’t do this part properly but you deserve it. I love you so much, Y/N, and you mean so much to me.” Taking your hand in his, he descends to one knee. “Will you marry me?”

“Yes. Yes of course, you dork.”, you cry as your wrap your arms around his neck and he stands lifting you off your feet. 

As soon as he slides the ring on your finger, you cup his face in your hands and kiss his lips. 

“Aw, isn’t that cute.”, a man coos as he strolls casually into the area with an entourage behind him. “Who is this, Mr. Munson? Your fiancée, I imagine.”

“Uh, yeah, this is my…my fiancée Y/N.”, Eddie glows at the word. “Y/N, this is the man I’ll be fighting, Shaun Downey.”

“It’s nice to meet you.”

When he goes to shake your hand, something passes through you intuition that has you thinly smiling before letting him go to place yourself beside the man you love. 

“Alright, well, lovely to see you both and don’t worry, it’s really easy. Just answer some questions and exchange some playful banter. Smile and pose for a picture and then boom you’re done.”

“Eddie, be careful with him.”, you whisper as soon as Shaun is out of ear shot. “Something feels off about it… he reminds me of…Brad when I first met him.”

“Oh, baby, don’t tell me that or I may accidently kill him.”

Smirking at his joke, you give him one final kiss and go to find your seat beside Wayne. 

When the press conference began it genuinely was pretty casual with photographers flashing pictures while the announcer spoke about each boxer’s stats. His opponent seemed to be about where Eddie was in terms of strength and number of wins but what gave you pause were the questions that followed. 

“Mr. Downey, how does it feel to finally be back in the ring after your suspension a few months ago?”

“It feels amazing, if I’m being honest, and to be fighting someone with the…ha…advanced caliber of Mr. Munson here…is going to be a delight.”

“Mr. Munson, any response?”

While Eddie calmly answers with his trademark brand of snark, you google on your phone why the other boxer was suspended, flashing the phone to Wayne who’s eyebrows furrow with worry. 

“Ah ha! Wonderful, wonderful. How has training been, Mr. Downey?”

“Being suspended did allow me time to fully zero in and get my act together. We went full Rocky, you know; running upstairs and hills, drinking eggs, and hitting meat.”, Shaun laughs. 

“What about you, Mr. Munson?”

“Oh, you’ve definitely been doing some weightlifting, haven’t you?”

Eddie’s whole demeanor shifts as he sits up straighter and leans into the microphone. 

“I definitely have…at the gym, around my apartment, and anywhere else I can get my reps in. A real man can do that.”

“Well, you have to be careful, Munson. At your age, too much weight can really flatten you out.”

“You know what.”, the metalhead replies firmly. “Everyone keeps bringing up my age which in this sport I realize makes me seem old and unfit but I’ve had just as many wins as these younger guys and also managed to nab a knockout of a woman. Now, bring up weights again, and I’ll knock your ass out here and now.”

Cameras started flashing while both men glared at each other before Shaun chuckled under his breath and both men rose to pose for photos. 

***

“Hey, are you alright?”, you ask after quickly running backstage to comfort him. When he didn’t answer, you could tell he was still extremely angry and you circled your arms around him as you press your face into his chest. “It’s ok, Daddy. Everything’s ok.”

“Well done, Munson!”, Shaun shouted excitedly as he ran towards the other man. As soon as his hand touched his shoulder, however, Eddie swiftly turns around, moving you backwards, and shoving the boxer roughly away. “The fuck?!”

Everyone promptly kicked into gear with both men’s coaches placing themselves between them while Shaun’s friends held him back and Eddie’s uncle gripped his shoulder. 

“If you ever talk about my girl again, I don’t care how many people are in the room or how many reporters are watching, I’ll kick your fucking ass then and there!”

“Are you fucking kidding me?! That was just banter, Munson! I was trying to get a rise out of you!”

“You got your fucking wish, asshole!”

“Edward!”

“DON’T FUCKING CALL ME THAT!”, he shouts at Wayne causing you to jump at the outburst.

The room because silent and Shaun yanks his arms out of his friend’s holds, assuring them his fine as he steps closer. 

“Look, Y/N, I’m sorry if I offended you.”

“Fuck you.”, you spit. “Apology not accepted.”

Laughing, he shakes his head and disappears with his crew.

“I’m sorry, Wayne, I didn’t mean to—”

“I know, son, I know.”, his uncle comforts as he pulls his nephew into his embrace. 

“Did you know Shaun Downey was suspended for un-sportsman like conduct?”, you growled at his coach. “He punched another boxer after the bell and put him in the hospital.”

“Yes…I was made aware of that.”

“Did you tell Eddie?”

“Y/N, it’s going to be just like any of his other fights—”

“Except he’ll be fighting this narcissistic psychopath!”

“With all due respect, honey, he’s a boxer and you aren’t. You’re a bit out of your depth here.”

“Don’t talk to her like that.”, Eddie hissed he stepped towards you both. “She has every right to have an opinion about this. And no, baby, I didn’t know.”

“So what, Ed, you’re not going to go through with this?!”

“I didn’t say that but after everything I just experienced, I may need to consider a new coach and manager.”

With that, he intertwined his fingers with yours and walked with you towards the car.

#################

You can’t help but smile as Eddie continues playing with your hair while you press up further into his side and you both stare out into the Vegas skyline. He had just treated you to a fancy dinner and expensive champagne that had you radiating with a happiness you had never known before. 

After you two finished your meal, he escorted you to the balcony where you sat on the bench so he could smoke while you two held each other, watching the sun set. 

“This place is actually beautiful from up here.”, he hums before blowing smoke towards the sky. “Every time I’ve ever been here was with my father and it was never fun.”

“Eddie—”

“I’m sorry if I scared you today.” 

“Baby, what are you—?”

Removing his arm from around you, the boxer leans his elbows on his knees as his eyes stare into the void of the concrete below him. 

“That’s not normal for me…yelling at Wayne the way I did. That fuckin’ asshole…he reminded me of my dad. He used to say underhanded shit like that all the time and then brush it off like it was nothing. Then, my uncle said my name the way Allen used to and I just…”

“Eddie, it’s ok—”

“It’s not ok!”

“Are you going to keep interrupting me?!” At your outburst, the man exhaled smoke before tossing the cigarette over the balcony rail. “What Shaun Downey did wasn’t ok. What your father did to you and your mom wasn’t ok. You getting defensive and trying to protect me? That’s ok.”

When his eyes meet yours, you lean forward and gently kiss his shoulder as you rub his back. 

“I didn’t see it that way…”

“What?”

“Me protecting you. When Ava and I were married we fought a lot…verbally…I would never…”

“I know, Eddie.”, you murmur. 

“One night I tried to find our spark again and took her to the bar we used to go to when we were kids. Some fucker passed by our pool table and grabbed her ass.”, he growled. “I punched him and tried to get him to apologize but Ava left to wait by the car. She screamed at me the entire way back home…said I should have left it alone and that I was a loose cannon…”

“Like your father?” You sigh when he nods. “Honey, I’m so sorry. I know I wasn’t there but if some asshole grabbed my ass I wouldn’t mind if you knocked him out. I mean, I probably would have already but…” When he laughs, you smile as you reach up to caress his face. “You’re not like him, Eddie, and again I know I wasn’t there for your marriage but the man I’ve gotten to know and love is a good, caring, protective person.”

Softly smiling, he wraps his arm around your shoulders and playfully yanks you to his side to kiss your forehead.

“I don’t deserve you.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Come on, freak.”, the metalhead chuckles, taking your hand, and pulling you to your feet. “I have a surprise for you and then we can go back to the hotel.”

***

“Alright, keep them closed!”

“Eddie!”, you giggle. “Even if my eyes were open your hands would be blocking everything!”

Keeping a firm grip with your palms over the ones he has making sure you don’t peak; he guides you into a room that makes you smile when you smell the hint of flowers.

“It smells good in here.”

“Oh good. I was worried my smoke smell would overpower everything.”, he teases before placing you somewhere and letting you go to back away a few steps. “Ok, sweetheart…open your eyes.”

Slowly, you do what he commands, your smile faltering a bit when you look around to see a room full of pews to your right and an archway decorated in white flowers to your left where a man with a book was waiting with a small grin. Behind Eddie stood Wayne, who gave you a subtle nod and smile of his own as he carefully watched your reaction. 

“What…what is this?”

“You said you didn’t care if we got married in overalls at a courthouse but, Y/N, you deserve so much more than that. I know I’m…we’re…moving a bit fast here but I love you so much and I want the world to see that to.” As he spoke, your head hung as you lightly began to cry, worrying him as he stepped forward to lift your chin with his fingers. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, baby. I meant what I said about saving if you wanted something bigger.”

“Your…your daughter should be at her father’s wedding…”, you whisper, breaking his heart in half as he tilts forward to rest his forehead on yours and takes your hands in his to bring them to his lips. 

“I tried to call her, Y/N; her and your parents. I wanted you to have someone here behind you or beside you. Your parents just reiterated what they said before. Honestly…Wayne is the only person that answered my calls and said he’d come.”

His Uncle pats his shoulder and hands him a white veil that Eddie carefully places on your head, trying desperately not to mess up your hair. 

“I wanted her here to, honey, and I tried everything but I told you…I’m not sorry for falling in love you. I will never apologize for that. I’m hoping and praying one day she’ll understand… that your parents will understand… until then though, baby, I’m right here and I’m not going anywhere.”

Glancing towards the man you now realize is the officiant, you lightly laugh as you wipe your eyes. 

“Those aren’t bad vows…”

Eddie’s face promptly relaxes in relief as he laughs along with you and you reach behind him to take the bouquet Wayne had been hanging on to until you were ready. 

“You told my parents you fell for me the moment you saw me from the ring. I think…I think I did to. I say I think because I saw you looking at me but I didn’t think I’d ever see you again but when I did at that bar…I was so elated. From the moment I met you, Eddie, I felt safe with you. I know everything going on is a bit chaotic but I promise how I feel about you will never change. I’ll never hurt you like she did and… I guess what I’m trying to say is…you’re safe with me to.”

Nodding, a tear leaves his eye as he cups your cheek to bring your lips to his. 

“Do you have the rings?”, the man asks making you two laugh when Wayne makes a little op noise and searches his pockets before producing a box that he hands to Eddie. 

After exchanging your “I do’s” and placing the bands on each other’s fingers, you are pronounced husband and wife while the people in the room clap. 

Taking you in his arms, your now husband playfully dips you as he passionately kisses your lips. 

################

“Wait now, sweetheart.”, Eddie lightly scolds while grabbing your bicep. 

As soon as the hotel room door clicks open, the boxer lifts you in his strong arms and carries you across the threshold to the bed where he gently tosses you before crawling up the length of your body. 

“Oh! With all this, I forgot I brought a gift for you.”

“Baby, how about you give it to me later.”

Pushing at his chest with your palm stops his needy kisses along your skin making you softly laugh at his earnest energy. 

“Trust me, Daddy. You want this gift now. Go ahead and get undressed. I’ll be right back.”

You smirk his way as he bites his bottom lip and his eyes follow you on your short walk to the bathroom. You can’t help but giggle and shake your head when you hear him sloppily tear off his suit before tossing it to the side. 

Even after you put the present you got for him on, you wait a couple more minutes to build on the tension as you watch his leg bounce through the clouded glass along the bathroom door. 

When you finally emerged and his eyes landed on you, you knew you selected the right thing. Since this was a big fight for him and coming to Vegas was technically your first vacation together, you wanted to get some lingerie you thought he (and you) would enjoy. 

Eddie’s beautifully expressive chocolate eyes raked along your curvy form, starting from the black corset that had floral lace print and a bow positioned perfectly between your breasts down to the straps holding up your see-through stockings. Leaning against the doorframe, you showed off how the garment barely covered your behind as the little hooks connected to your stockings struggled to pull the fabric as far down as it could go. 

“Holy shit.”, he breathed as you slowly began to step towards him. “No, no, baby. Stay—fuck—stay right there.”

After his command, the metalhead slid to his knees and maneuvered his body till he was directly in front of you. Your palm reached out to touch his face and in return he heavily sighed as he kissed your skin. 

“Do you like what I got you, Daddy?”

“I do, beautiful. Jesus… I’m such a lucky man to have you as my wife.”

“That’s right, baby. I’m yours. I belong to you.”

While you were speaking, his hands roamed your voluptuous form and at your last sentence, his head fell against your belly as he pressed his lips against the fabric. 

“Say it again.”

Taking a hold of his chin, you lifted his face so his glassy eyes could meet yours.

“I belong to you, Eddie Munson.”

A giggle escapes you as he aggressive tugs your hand and guides you to the edge of the mattress before pushing himself up to kiss your lips. With a firm grip on your knees, the man opened your legs wide and almost too tenderly trailed feathery light kisses along your thigh. 

“Please, Daddy.”, you beg and without hesitation he obliges.

Almost like a man possessed, his tongue and mouth move with an intensity you had never experienced with him. The organ between his teeth flicked along your clit, up and down before closing his lips around it till coming off with an obscene pop to repeat the process. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pushing his head as close to you as possible and he hummed at the feeling causing your eyes to roll. 

It doesn’t take you long to fall over the ledge and you scream his title as you cum hard. Without missing a beat, Eddie lifts you further up the mattress, shoving his fingers into your mouth that you eagerly accept. Keeping your legs open with his knees, he utilizes the digits you generously coated with your saliva and guides them into your heat. 

“You look so fucking sexy, baby, I can’t look away. I’m forcing myself to take my time because I want to fucking pound you into the bed till your dripping my cum and you can’t walk straight. You’d fucking wince with every step into that arena tomorrow and everybody will know who made you feel good.”

“Daddy.”, you whine against his lips at his words as his fingers curl inside of you and your eyes flutter shut. Your body fully collapses and he follows you down with his forehead pressed firmly against yours.

“Fuck, my dirty girl. You’d like that wouldn’t you? People would ask if you’re ok and you would tell them your husband took care of you.”

“My…husband…”

“Tell me your name, sweetheart.”

“Y/N…fuck…”

“You can do it, pretty girl. Tell Daddy your name.”, he encouraged and as his pace quickened the squelching noise of your slick filled the room. “Y/N what?”

“Y/N… Munson…fuck I’m gonna cum.”

“Say it again, baby.”

“Y/N Munson! Please!” At your pleas, your hand clung to his wrist as the coil snapped. “Y/N Munson… I’m…I’m your wife…Y/N…Munson.”

Eddie smiles softly as you pant out your words, carefully removing his fingers and holding you tightly to him as he gently kissed you while allowing you to come back down. 

“Yeah, you are. Y/N Munson… my beautiful wife… I love you, honey.”

“I love you to.”

“Are you ready for Daddy, baby girl?”, he whispers, chuckling when you nod. “Come here.”

Pulling you on top of him, his large palms cup your cheeks as you straddle his waist. 

“Fuck, baby.”, the boy beneath you whimpers as your rub your pussy lips along his shaft, smearing your arousal. “Maybe w-we can do that experiment I mentioned.”

It took you a moment but when it finally hit you, your breathy laugh warmed his face as he smiled up at you. 

“You wanna breed me, Daddy?”

At your words, you felt his length lightly twitch. 

“I do, but first Daddy wants to feel you cum. Go ahead, sweetheart, and ride my cock.”

Reaching between your bodies, you held him steady as you gradually sunk down onto him, biting your bottom lip while enjoying the feeling him stretching you open. Eddie’s eyes were glued to your form as you moved, his hands digging into your hips as he guided your movements. Occasionally his palm would spank your behind making you moan loudly as you bounced down harder against him. 

“Just like that, Y/N, fuck. Can you feel me in your stomach, baby? R-Right here?” You nod and in your blissed out state he decides to test some of the waters, placing his hand directly on your lower belly. “Imagine me filling you up so completely, we put a baby in there. You’d look so fucking beautiful, honey.”

Your whole body trembles at the notion as you fall against him and he promptly takes over wrapping his arms around you as he thrusts his hips roughly. 

“Cum for me, Mrs. Munson. Come all over my cock.” The coil snaps and you muffle your screams into his chest as he fucks you through it. “Good girl. Such a good girl, baby.”

Flipping you both over, he tenderly pets your head as he kisses your lips, lazily pumping his hips till you were ready. 

“I want you to cum, Daddy.”, you whisper as the tip of your nose grazes his. “Pretend I’m not on my pills anymore…and we’re trying… fuck me hard till you cum so deep inside of me there’s no way it wouldn’t take.”

A shaky, pleasure filled breath left his chest as his head fell beside your own and you clung to his shoulders as his rhythm began to hasten. Your legs locked around his waist and you both grunted as he slammed his hips hard against you.

“T-THAT’S it…Daddy—FUCK—so deep…”, you whine between each punch of skin against skin. “You feel so good…feel me up, Daddy, please.”

The bed underneath you both shakes at his intensity and after a few more aggressive thrusts, you feel his release coat your walls as a cute but still sexy high pitch whine emits from his lips to your ear. 

“You know…it doesn’t…help the self-esteem…when your wife…laughs after…sex…”, Eddie pants causing you to erupt into a fit of giggles that has him smiling above you as he pushes up onto his elbows. 

“I can’t help it. That little whimper you just made was kind of adorable.”

“Jesus Christ.”, he blushes, trying to hide his face in your shoulder.

“Noooooo! No, Eddie. I loved it. I love YOU…deviant.”

“Oh…ok now.”, he teases as you laugh harder and he carefully pulls out before lifting you to bring you to the shower. 

A permanent smirk remained painted on your lips as he gently cleaned your skin, running the rag as gently as he could while leave small kisses along the way. 

“Eddie?”

“Hm?”

“I’m worried about your fight.”

The boxer exhales as he rises to his feet and places the cloth down so he can hold your cheeks in his palms. 

“I can understand why, sweetheart, but like you told your parents; I train and prepare for things like this.”

“For someone to fight dirty?”

“Life prepared me for that.”

“Baby, I’m being serious.”

Your husband smiles as his thumbs caress you before bringing you to his chest. 

“I know… How about this? How about if Shaun acts up…the first time will be the only time. I’ll call it and refuse to continue.” Sighing yourself, you let him go and turn off the facet behind you as he watches you grab a towel to dry your body. “Honey, I can’t cancel this fight.”

“It’s not right that they didn’t give you all the information. That has to count for something.”

“But we know now. I’m not going into that ring blind.”, he defends as he grabs a towel as well and wraps hit around his waist. 

“That doesn’t ease my worries, Eddie.”

“Y/N, this is the biggest fight of my career. It could lead to so many better opportunities and I refuse to let some asshole ruin that for me because he thinks he’s hot shit. I think you forget, babe, I’ve fought unfair fights my ENTIRE life especially when I was a kid. When the jocks weren’t kicking my ass, I had a drunk at home to defend myself against.”

“Look, no matter what I say you’re going to do what you want but I’m allowed to be worried.”, you huffed, stomping into the bedroom and pulling on one of his shirts as you sat down at the edge of the bed. 

After sliding on his boxers, Eddie knelt down in front of you and took your hands in his. 

“You are allowed to be worried and what you say does matter to me. Y/N, if you genuinely feel like I shouldn’t do this then I won’t but you have to understand how hard that’s going to hit me in the future…less jobs, less fights, less money—”

“Eddie, I don’t care about the money. It’s something YOU care about and I understand but all that matters to me is you and your safety.”

“God that’s so fucking weird.”, he whispers, smiling when you give him a confused look. “I have a wife who supports ME. To be fair, sweetheart, you said Shaun Downey reminded you of Brad and I did knock that fucker out so…”

His grin grows as you laugh, climbing in beside you and tugging you into his embrace. 

“I hope you know I’m not saying…like I don’t think you can win…”

“I know, baby. I promise, Y/N, if anything feels even remotely off, I’ll stop the fight. Doesn’t matter what the coaches say or anything. If you or I think something’s not right, the fight is over.”

“Me?”, you giggle breathily. “I don’t know how you’ll know that from up in the ring.”

“Because you’ll be in my corner.” You blink in shock as you tilt away and search his face for signs of jest. “I already cleared it with everyone I needed to and they gave me a shirt you’ll have to wear but yeah. This is the biggest fight of my life at the moment and I want your face to be the one I see after every round.”

“Oh my God, Eddie!”, you cry as you circle your arms around him in excitement.

#################

Paige’s boyfriend sighs as he brings her something to drink while she glares out into the night sky from his balcony. 

“Honey, at some point you’ll have to talk to them.”

“No, I don’t. Both my parents are liars and—”

“Human?” Flashing him a glare, she pushes Eli out of the way as she huffs back into his apartment. “Look, I know I’m just an outsider here but it seems like your dad was trying to keep the peace the best way he knew how.”

“By fucking my friend and roommate!?”

“You make it sound like he did this TO you when, with all due respect, their relationship isn’t about you, babe. They’re two consenting adults who—”

“I don’t care! A line was crossed! I can’t believe you’re on their side!”

“Paige, I’m always behind you. I just think you need to reconsider and at least hear them out… Y/N and Mr. Munson. Your mom kind of threw them under the bus for herself so I’m kind of more for one than the other.”

Eli’s phone rings and he sighs heavily when he sees the name on the caller ID, still taking the time to answer. 

“Hey, Y/N. Now’s not really… What?...O-Okay, I’ll, um, let her know and we’ll be right there. Should I call Ms. Davis?...I don’t know. Habit on my side I guess…Okay, Okay. Y/N, it’s ok. Everything will be ok.”

As soon as he hangs up his device, he powerwalks to the bedroom and pulls down a suitcase as Paige watches with wide, bewildered eyes. 

“Where are you going?”

“WE’RE going to Vegas.”, he grumbles as he starts throwing clothes inside. 

“I’m not fucking going to Las Vegas! Are you kidding me!?”

“Paige, your dad is in the hospital.” 

Her mouth falls open in surprise before she runs to her phone, swiping past all the missed calls from you and a number she doesn’t recognize to type her father’s name into a search engine. 

 “Shaun Downey in custody after an assault to newcomer Edward Munson put him in the ICU. Both boxers went multiple rounds with Munson seeming to be titled the winner but as a bell rung and both men were meant to go to their corners, Downey ran after him and knocked him to the ground, delivering multiple blows to the boxer’s face before referees and coaches were able to remove him. No word from his team on Eddie Munson’s current status.”

Pressing play on a video from the fight, Paige watched in horror as the other man pushed her father and wrestled him to the ground. He blocked most of the impact but the force of this other boxer’s fist still left him bruised and bleeding. The video stopped right as you fell to his side and pulled his head to your lap. 

“Coach and new bride Y/N Munson with doctor at Munson’s side.”, the caption read and a new feeling of shock flowed through with her worry. 

Her dad got married? To Y/N? There was no way…

“I have my stuff packed.”, Eli announced as his eyes met hers from the hallway. “Like I said, I’m on your side, honey, but it’s not right to leave Y/N alone in city she doesn’t live in while her boyfriend is in the hospital.”

“Husband”, Paige corrected. “Apparently…” 

“Shit… so much for ‘just a rebound’, huh?”, her boyfriend exhaled with his hands on hips. “Well? Are you coming or not?”

###############

@dashingdeb16 @myherometalhead @micheledawn1975 @hardladyheart @chelebelletx @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @paleidiot @alphabetically-deranged @sophiejayne-illustrations713 @yesimabratandwhataboutot @idkwhattoputhere08 @gryffindorqueensworld @mewchiili @veemoon @heavenlyhorrors @twirls827 @jamiecb66 @chelebelletx @longpondlibrary @friendly-neighborhood-ghoul @hellv1ra @utterlyinsanity @eddiesclub @wiinterwiidow @stylesxmunson @daveythorntonslocker @eddiesguitarskills @twirls827

[melwsnt]

RAINY CONFESSIONS, DEAN WINCHESTER

summary. being in love with Dean Winchester is basically like torture.

please lmk if you’d like a part two :)

word count. 1,7k

──────────୨ৎ──────────

Dean’s words echo in your mind. They feel so far away, yet he’s right in front of you.

Hypothetically, you should tell him, right? It’s Dean. He’ll probably laugh a little bit, maybe humiliate you without knowing he is, and realize what you’re saying is not a joke.

You replayed the moment in your mind, over and over again, for months, really. Probably even since the very first moment your eyes met.

He was mean, he was cold, you thought he was an asshole and he hated you at first, but you couldn’t help being drawn to that, because it’s Dean Winchester, you’d be a fool not to.

Dean’s presence always made you feel at peace. You’re not exactly sure why- the man doesn’t scream ‘I’m safe and I’m nice’.

But perhaps, that’s why you feel the way you do. You do- feel safe with him around. You know whatever happens to you, it’ll be fine because he’ll be there to protect you, and god forbids someone crosses you or hurts you.

He gets soft with you. Sam’s never seen him act like that- not even he is allowed to put you in your place from time to time, tell you when you’re wrong- or when he doesn’t agree with something you did or say. Dean will always be there to tell him to shut the hell up.

It made you laugh at first, then Sam dared to say something about how weird it was. About how Dean had never cared about someone that much, he’d never been this protective.

It made you think. And you quickly realized that maybe, the thought of him treating you this way, making you feel all sorts of emotions, perhaps meant that you had feelings for the man.

You didn’t like it one bit- at the beginning. It felt foreign, it felt embarrassing, and humiliating, knowing that a man like Dean wouldn’t go for someone like you. He wouldn’t for anyone really- at all. Except maybe one night stands.

Dean didn’t do relationships. He didn’t do attachement, and you certainly didn’t think he did loving.

He was coming from a broken home, a messed up family, everyone around him had pretty much died once or twice, maybe more. He didn’t know how to give his heart to someone, because he was scared of it being broken time and time again.

You knew that. It was obvious. He was just like you. Except you did the loving- the attachement. And if it came to Dean, you would definitely do the relationship.

Dean was confused. He stood in front of you, asking a bunch of questions on a case, and you just- looked like a ghost. You were here but you weren’t.

It felt like ages before you actually looked up, and realized he was addressing you.

‘Wow, you okay there?’ Dean’s stance was the same as always. His hands sat perfectly on his hips.

‘I’m here. Sorry, just thinking.’

‘Yeah? Wanna share with the class?’ He smirked.

You let out a laugh, although Dean could tell it was a fake one. You weren’t laughing because it was funny, but because you were uncomfortable, it was ridiculous.

‘Not really, no.’

Dean took a chair from around the table and sat in front of you.

‘C’mon. You look miserable, you haven’t said a word in like an hour, what the hell’s going on?’

That was his way of being protective over you. He wouldn’t say it, but this bothered him.

You sighed, your hands in your lap, sitting on the bed and Dean still staring at you. His eyes burned holes on you. He examined you closely, and you felt your entire body grow hot.

‘I’m fine,seriously. Just tired, I guess.’

‘You’re a horrible liar. If you were really fine, you’d look up when talking to me.’

And yet you still didn’t dare to look up. He was pushing you, and you feared you were about to break.

Dean, seeing you not answering, pushed his chair closer, if he had to stay here and stare at you until you broke and told him what’s wrong, he would.

‘Okay, enough with the self loathing. Why are you acting like this?’ It was his turn to sigh.

‘Because! My god Dean, how oblivious are you? Seriously! It’s getting on my nerves. You stand there, and it’s like you see me but you don’t! Sure you laugh at my jokes, you look at me, but you don’t- you don’t see me!’

Not sure where that came from, and now on your feet, you made your way to the motel door.

Dean, still confused, jumped on his feet too.

‘Where the hell do you think you’re going?’ He yelled after you, still trying to understand what was happening.

‘Going on a walk!’ You yelled back, threw the door open and slammed it.

The irony of it all though, it was raining. Pouring, really. Like in those cheesy romcoms Dean pretends to hate but secretly has a fun time watching with you.

The rain wasn’t a problem, the problem was you realizing that the door had opened again, and Dean was going after you.

‘Will you stop?’ His voice almost sounded like a whisper in the rain.

‘Go away!’ You weren’t even sure he’d heard that, because the next thing you knew, his hand was grabbing you by the elbow.

Soaked by the rain, you finally looked up.

‘Did you mean that? Do you really think I don’t see you?’

‘Do you? Do you even know how long I’ve spent building up the courage to tell you how I felt? And every time I got even the tiniest bit close to it, I felt like a joke. You- made me feel like a joke. And it’s stupid because I can’t even be mad at you for it!’

Dean went to interrupt, but you didn’t let him.

‘No, let me finish, please. I wanted to run and hide, so many times, but I didn’t because a life without you- even the thought of it makes my heart stop. It’s like I can’t breath whenever we go on a hunt together, I’m always so scared something will happen to you. Dean, you’re just- you’re you! And I can’t possibly understand how you could even think that way about me, but if you do, I need to know. I need to know if I’m embarrassing myself, or if all those sleepless nights were worth it. Dean, please I just.. I have to know.’

Dean was speechless. He had so much to say yet nothing would come out.

You felt like an idiot. His mouth was opened as if he was about to talk, but he threw his arms in the air, as to say he didn’t know what to respond.

‘Right. Good to know.’ You laughed without meaning, your hand wiping the water on your forehead.

You turned your back to him and walked away without really knowing where to go.

‘I don’t know how to do this!’

His voice echoed, this time stronger than yours.

You turned around, wanting to hear him out, desperately waiting for an answer. Your arms crossed over your chest.

‘I don’t- I’m not good at this, okay? It’s not something I do. I know, alright? Sam brings it up all the time. How you and I are great together, how much you care about me and me about you. But c’mon, seriously? Why on earth would you go for me? You know I don’t do this. You know i’m not good for any of this. Believe me, you’d have more chance with anyone else.’ You’d gotten close to him in the short time he spoke.

‘You actually think that way of yourself? Dating is not like breathing Dean, it’s not something you know how to do. It’s something you learn, overtime. Do you think i’m good at this? I mean I spent months stressing over every little interaction because I was scared to blur it out. I’m in love with you dean, and i’m tired of apologizing and hiding from it. You don’t have to answer now, you don’t even have to do this with me. But God please stop thinking you’re screwed up in every single department, because you’re not.’

After rambling for what felt like hours, Dean held a small smile on his face. It wasn’t a smirk like he did so well- it was an actual smile.

‘Can you repeat that?’

‘Repeat what? That was a long speech Dean i’m not doing that again.’ You shook your head.

‘Not the whole thing, that crazy thing you said.’ He walked even closer to you, making your heart quicken.

‘The I love you part? Yeah I love you! And i’m not sorry! You’ll have to get used to it, because if I have to tell you that again and again I will-‘

Dean’s lips interrupted you. They were hot on yours, fiery and passionate, and full of love that was yet unspoken on his part. They fit like perfect pieces of a puzzle assembling together. It felt like months of tension, and anger built up being broken apart, like shards of glass.

‘Does that answer your really really long speech?’ His forehead was on yours, lips still hot from the lingering kiss.

‘Hmm. I can live with that for now, if there’s more where that came from.’ You smiled, your hands on each side of his face.

‘Plenty. There’s plenty of it.’ He kissed you again, this time slower, less needy, as to tell you it’ll all be okay.

You could live like that until he’s eventually ready to say the three little words. You knew he felt the same, but you didn’t have to hear it yet, as long as he was by your side, kissed you some more, and took his time to be really sure that’s what he wanted, you’d be okay with it, because it’s Dean Winchester, and not only would you do anything for him, but you’d wait for an eternity to hear him say it back.

[valkierrie]

𝐌𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐧

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Warning(s): None.

Plot: It's Damon's birthday and Y/N makes him feel special.

Word count: 1.1K

A/N: I'm a little late to the party, but it's a special happy birthday post for Damon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As soon as the first sliver of light slipped through the worn-out blue shutters, I was already up.

I did my best to shuffle out of Damon’s grasp. Lifting his hand, which had been draped over my waist in a possessive manner. It was as if holding onto me kept him tied to reality even as he was off in dreamland—like he couldn’t be apart from me.

It was sweet.

Really.

He was the type of lover who’d never keep anything from me, always expressed what was going on in that beautiful mind of his, but it was also the little things that had me weak at the knees. The way his hands would instinctively grasp mine whenever we were out and about; or when his jacket found itself draped over my shoulders if I so much as shivered near him. Small things—and yet, it only made my love for him that much stronger.

I smiled down at his sleeping stature, pressing a soft kiss on his forehead.

He deserved this.

I crept into the kitchen, making sure the wooden floors didn’t creak.

I opened the cabinets, bringing out all the ingredients and materials I needed. Placing a pan on the stove, I turned it on. I whisked the ingredients together until the batter was smooth against the whisk, then poured it into the heated pan. I watched as it sizzled and formed small bubbles. One by one, I flipped them until the buttermilk batter was golden.

The process was repeated until I had four to five hot pancakes on a plate.

Placing the plate of pancakes on a silver tray, I grabbed a glass cup, pouring an orange juice three-fourths of the cup.

I picked up the tray, ready to go back into the bedroom and present Damon with breakfast in bed. In my excitement, I forgot one of the most important parts. Syrup.

I grabbed a bottle of maple syrup from the pantry,  pouring webs of syrups all over the pancakes.

Satisfied, I picked up the tray and left for the bedroom.

Damon was still very much sprawled out on the mattress, snoring without a care in the world. I placed the tray on the nightstand, beside Damon’s side of the bed. I gently shook him awake. 

Damon stirred, omitting a low and tired groan. 

“Damon, c’mon, wake up.”

Damon cracked open an eye and groaned, staring right at me. “What’s the fuss for? S’too early.” he muttered.

“Get up.”

“No. Gimme five minutes—no, an hour.” He turned his head away. 

I shoved him, pinching his arm. 

“Oi!” He gasped, “Alright. Alright, I’m getting up.” He sat up, his bare back pressing against the headboard as he rubbed his face. 

His gaze fell onto the food on the nightstand. “Breakfast in bed? What’s the occasion? You poisoning me?”

I gave him a look.

 Damon recognised the look. It was a very unimpressed look, like disappointment. “Oh, uhm—is today an anniversary?”

“No, Damon.” I rolled my eyes. “It’s your birthday, you div.”

“Ah,” he chuckled. “Sorry, it must’ve slipped my mind.”

I shook my head. Of course that was the case. When it came to me, there was never any forgetting from him—except our anniversary, apparently. But, remembering anything about himself was always a challenge.

I picked up the tray, placing it on his lap. “Eat up.” I kissed his cheek.

“Thanks, darling.” Damon smiled. 

He ate up quickly, but still held space for the flavor, savoring it, whilse humming some bits of Coffee and TV. When he finished eating, he was surprised to find that there were more surprises that laid ahead. 

“Breakfast was the bare minimum,” I told him. “I’ve got more in store for you.”

We found ourselves at an ice ring. Something that seemed like a good idea a few weeks ago, but clearly I hadn’t thought things through. We made it work—which meant clinging on to each other and the glass walls as skaters zoomed past us. 

“Look at us,” Damon said, his arm interlocked with mine as he felt around the glass wall. “Reckon we’re getting better, eh?”

“Right.” I deadpanned. 

We were about to make a full clockwise rotation, when suddenly a small girl zoomed past us, causing me to fall and pulling Damon down with me. 

Damon burst into laughter, properly cackling. It was infectious, and for no particular reason I was laughing too.

The small girl looked back, shooting us a judgemental look. 

Perhaps adults with the mental age of toddlers just didn’t appeal to her.

After embarrassing ourselves some more, Damon and I stopped at a small bakery. A French one. 

“Open wide.” I instructed, pointing a fork-stabbed pain-au-choc at Damon.

“This your master plan to fatten me up?”

“Depends,” I smirked. “Is it working?” 

Damon rolled his eyes, leaning forward to eat the pastry, but before his lips could touch the fork, I swerved it away. Damon raised a brow.

“Is that how we’re gonna play?” He asked.

“No.” I giggled. “I’ll stop.”

I allowed him to take the food from the fork, wiping the remnants of chocolate that had stained the corner of his upper lip.

When the evening rolled around, we were back at our flat and I had one more thing in store for today. 

Damon settled on the sofa, knackered. “One more thing? You’re spoilin’ me.”

I shrugged, leaning back to pull open a drawer. I grabbed a small black box I’d tucked in there weeks in advance. With a smile, I handed it to Damon. “Go ahead, open it.”

Damon did so, finding a bracelet. It was made of a variety of colours and materials, beads all around—-almost like the necklace he had around his neck.

“I wanted to get you one that matched your necklace. And—” I picked the bracelet, holding it up, showing the two dangling letters.

“Our initials?”

I nodded. “You like it?”

Damon grinned as he slipped the bracelet onto his wrist. “I love it.”

“You’re not just saying that, are you?”

“‘Course not,” His smile grew wider, looking at me like he couldn’t quite believe that I was there. “Y’know, you’re pretty amazing.” muttering, almost to himself, but I caught it.

I was taken aback by the comment, I hadn’t done anything extraordinary, and yet—with his head propped up by his hand and a lazy smile on his face, he just casually said that; it was as if there was no thought about it, no question.

He pulled me close, locking his lips onto mine. It moved slowly with fervent and passion. He poured his love into it. With the way he was kissing me, he didn’t need to tell me that he loved me. He was showing it to me.

When we pulled back, that look hadn’t disappeared from his face. We didn’t say anything, simply wrapping his arms around his shoulders and nuzzling close.

[multiwreckedmess]

[1:06AM]

Here we go, an update to cheater!yunho series. I should name this something.

Pairing: yunho x reader WC: 3.5k Summary: Late poor decisions turn into mistakes. Mistakes that Yunho is all too happy to capitalize on.

As per usual this is 18+ PWP content. Please DNI if you are not 18+ for my PERSONAL boundaries!!! Nothing against you, i'm sure you're very mature for your age but to me you are babby.

Also this is FICTION. This is not meant to represent Yunho or Ateez or any people in real life. Please do NOT use this as a fucking moral guide or sex ed oh my god please.

Also so sorry no editing i cannot be arsed.

TW/CW: Dubious consent framed sort of like coercison (reader doesn't say no but she doesn't really say yes), cumming inside, cumming on(reader receiving), unprotected p in v, cheating.

His shoulder has a small hair sticking out from it. Was it always there? Were you just noticing it now? The urge to grasp it and pull it out almost overtakes you as you stare at it. Its the only thing you can stare at except from your own plain eggshell white ceiling. The juncture where his shoulder meets his neck, your bedside, or the ceiling.

"Gunna -hngh- cum," he manages to strangle out. Right. You're fucking him. Or he's fucking you.

You're lucky that kegels were all over your tiktok for you page. Squeezing yourself internally you groan. If he actually knew what you sounded like you'd be in trouble, the acting job was subpar. "Me-me too. Oh my god. Babe- make sure to -ugh- pull out okay?"

He nods into your shoulder as he grunts. His hips start to stutter and almost as if it was rehearsed both of you pull away from eachother, his hand grasping and pumping as you arch your back away from the mattress. Just like the girls in porn do it, although you hope you're more convincing. The choked groan sounds grotesque as white hot cum splatters your stomach. It's hard to hide your disdain even cloaked in the glow of the garage lights filtering through the curtains.

Your boyfriend doesn't admire his handy work for long. Maybe seconds, maybe less, before he toddles off to the bathroom to wash himself off. Not even so much as offering a glass of water to you, or a tissue to wipe off what he'd left. Yunho would never.

Right, because Yunho would've just cum inside of you. Not that you'd have bothered to tell him to pull out anyway.

Your upper lip curls, nose scrunching as you wipe away the cooled remnants with your boyfriends boxers that he'd left crumpled on the floor. It feels like congealed snot caught in a handkerchief. You grimace to stop yourself from gagging.

These weren't things you thought about when it was Yunho that you were fucking.

Curled up on opposite ends of the couch you hardly look like lovers. The tips of your toes barely graze the fabric of his sweats. Your boyfriend is enraptured by whatever is on the tv as you scroll mindlessly on your phone, trying to silence any thoughts at all. You can only play the role of loving girlfriend for so long. You know that.

Your contact turns from green to blue on Yunho's phone. He smiles to himself. He knew you'd be back.

"Was it that bad?" He types out quickly and hits send without a second thought. Smirking to himself. A bubble with three dots appears briefly. He's stuck staring at your contact, waiting for it to turn green again, for you to block him again. No response, but you remain blue.

"I know you're thinking about me," he hits send as fast as the first time. "Should the big bad boss come steal the princess from the plumber?" He adds a winky face for good measure. Something to rile you up.

The dots stay up for longer this time. Nothing comes of it. You remain silent, a mystery to him. All he's left with is the fact that you've unblocked his number, for now at least. He leaves it there to slide over to Instagram, you hadn't bothered to block him there, in part he assumed to show off just how well you were doing without him. He taps your profile and hits "message", swiping up to disappearing mode without thinking.

You're really trying to focus on whatever your boyfriend has fallen asleep to watching. The mental itch to touch your phone is almost painful. If you pick up your phone you might do something you'll regret. Something you'd regret more than all the things you've already done. The buzz of the phone against the couch cushion momentarily rouses your boyfriend. Not enough for him to open his eyes but enough for him to shift deeper into the cushions. He at least was satisfied.

Meanwhile your body is throbbing into insanity. Eyes flicking from him to the tv to the phone. It vibrates again and he doesn't wake. Would Yunho bother to message a third time? What could he even say in a text? He isn't stupid. It could be someone else, another friend, a facebook notification, even a news alert. The buzz didn't have to be him.

With a shaky exhale you unlock your phone. It's an Instagram notification, from him. You practically vault up from the couch, stomach clenched fully, running to the bathroom.

"Yunho has turned on disappearing messages" sits at the top of the chat. An ominous bubble sits waiting for you to click it. A video. You lower your phones volume and curl in close. There's no reason to open it, there's no reason that he should be sending you any sort of message at this time of night, after all that has happened. It could be blackmail, it could be a video of you and him. So you click it.

The happy background noise of a dog cafe throws you off. A happy face of a cute puppy trots into view, waiting for pets. A hand, Yunho's hand, reaches out from behind the camera. Long fingers carding through the soft fur of the puppy, tongue lolling out in bliss. "Good girl," Yunho coos. "Such a pretty girl. You like that don't you?" He continues to pet the dog. Veins cross the back of his hand. Slender wrist flexing as he scratches behind the puppy's ears. Fuck him. His fingers curl and straighten. You forget there is a dog there, transfixed by the motion, by his gentle laugh. "That's my good girl."

The video ends as Yunho chuckles, the dog rolling to its back.

"Whoops, wrong chat. Have a good night." It's shameful how much one stupid video affects you. "You were always a shit liar." You shoot back without thinking. "Give me 20." "No." "Fine, 10. I'll be down the block."

Sweats, no bra, ratty shirt, keys, and your jacket. The heal of your slides barely pops over your foot as you cross the threshold of your apartment. No excuse necessary to the boyfriend, he's still asleep on the couch, instead you leave a note and a glass of water near him. A simple "out for a bit, back soon" without elaboration. Liars always over-elaborate. You're not lying. You're just not telling the whole truth.

"Hello Princess," Yunho's shit eating smirk is barely hidden by the glow of the streetlamps. You stand with the door open, legs refusing to get in. "Go ahead. Say you were right. I'm waiting." "I don't need to, you know that."

Half of you wants to slam the door and walk away. That's the good option or at least neutral option. The other half, the lower half, needs him. Your grip on the door tightens as you groan. The anguish of your halves tearing you apart weighs on your shaking knees. "What do you want, Yunho?" "You." "You had me. You're such a fucking liar," your voice trembles as it raises. You can feel the air in the neighborhood shift uneasily. "Get in the car," his voice in comparison is eerily calm. "Talk to me." Your heart wills your brain to act. You sit, shutting the door behind you.

"Now what about you? What do you want? Getting into your ex's car late at night after a subpar fuck from your current beau really..." Yunho sucks in his breath. "It's a choice." Staring straight ahead you have no answer for him. There's no answer even for yourself. Every other time you could claim you were a victim of gravitational pull, of circumstance, of happenstance. Places you couldn't necessarily run away from him. There was some culpable deniability. However here, now, in the middle of the night you'd run towards the red taillights of his car, knowing exactly what was coming for you. There was no one but yourself to blame.

"I want you to fuck me." Yunho nods. "Can you drive like...somewhere else?" He takes the car out of park, the wheels slowly rolling forward as his foot comes off the break. "Don't wanna fuck where your neighbors could see?" Your stomach twists again with guilt. The silence fills your ears as Yunho drives. The only break in the whir of the engine is the gentle thud of the tires over the cracks in the pavement.

"I don't love you. I don't even think I like you. I just want you to fuck me." Yunho grins. Wanting him was enough, the seed of the idea left to grow. It wouldn't be long, even if you were continuing to deny it. "Right Princess, you were pretty clear about wanting to fuck." "I love my boyfriend." He chuckles to himself. The words sounded so hollow as they floated in the air between you. He didn't need to point out the obvious. No matter how much he wanted to, he had you now and could lose you again just as fast. "Where did you tell him you were going?" "I didn't."

Yunho pulls into the darkest section of the overflow parking lot just outside the mall. Broken streetlight paired with lax security, he knew the spot well. Parking quickly he pushes his seat back as far as it will go and unbuckles both of your seatbelts. You stare at him, dumbfounded as he pulls out a dashboard reflector and pops it into the front window, the sides already benefiting from being heavily tinted. "Really?" You ask incredulously. "Yeah, you want a blanket or-" "Really." Yunho can hear the disapproval without seeing your face. "You said you wanted to fuck. If you wanted something else you should've asked." He pats his lap. "Climb on in, plenty of space for you, princess." The lights in the car finally dim and flicker out. "Wow, even less romantic than he-" There's not a lot that angers Yunho but you sure knew how to find what would. He reaches over between your legs and pulls the bar that unlocks the seat to push yours back to match his, practically knocking the wind out of you as it jolts to the end of the track. "Don't make me come over there instead. It's not my preferrence but I'll make it work."

Your pulse quickens. Coaxing one leg over, his hands hold your waist steady, The seat creaks as you lean your elbows into the backrest, just over Yunho's shoulders. He lets his hands travel up your torso as you try to find a comfortable position. Somehow they always seem to dwarf you in their grasp. "No bra?" He cups your breast in is palm, the answer obvious to both of you. Your nipple peaks through the space between his fingers. Yunho doesn't miss the opportunity to lightly squeeze you, earning a small gasp from you. It hadn't even been that long since he last heard them and still he missed it. "You can be loud here, no ones coming for at least the next hour, even with the car parked." You don't ask how he knows that. Instead you allow your eyes to close as he pushes your shirt up just enough to put his lips around your other nipple, carefully tracing his tongue around it. He suppresses a chuckle as you squirm in his lap. It's cute that you still don't know where to put your hands, attempting to run your fingernails along his scalp before your finger involuntarily grip with a fresh wave of arousal. As much as you know how to push his buttons, he can press yours right back.

"Why- why pants-" Yunho is breathless as he fumbles with the elastic waistband of your sweats. Finally shoving his hand down the front, his fingers run along the sticky patch clinging to your cunt. "You know I've gotta stretch you out." It takes everything within Yunho to not add a snide remark towards the other man. Not now, while your practically melting in his arms. "Yuyu," you gasp as he slides a finger inside of you. The almost pathetic whine that accompanies his pet name has his head spinning as the blood in his brain empties south to his cock.

Your walls clamp around his finger as you pant. The angle Yunho's arm is at is awful for his wrist but he bears it, sliding in a second alongside the first and curling both forwards in you. He finds the spot easily, your forehead pressing into his shoulder harder as he grazes over it again and again. "That's my good girl," he mutters. The vibration of a muffled groan shakes through his shoulder. Your hips eagerly grind down, wanting just a bit more, a bit faster. He wants to give all of that to you and more but.... "-Fuck this angle-" he grimaces, pulling his fingers from you and licking them clean. "Why," you whine. Less of a question more of a vocalization of your disappointment. "Can you just fuck me already?" "If you'd given me 20 minutes and not 10..." Yunho grunts. "Don't want you to go through the effort and leave disappointed."

There's some careful limb tetris that happens to get you out of your sweats, but it happens. Yunho simultaneously reaching back and grabbing the large wool blanket from the seats to drape over you. Soon it would be summer and this wouldn't be an issue. Sundresses, his cock twitches thinking about it. Sundresses and sleep shorts with nothing underneath. Instead of repositioning you in his lap, he leads you to sit on one thigh. Hands coaxing you down harder against his flexed quad. It's enough to get the idea of what he wants you to do. His thighs are slim but powerful, like his hands. "Gonna make sure you're nice and ready for me this time. No complaining, hm?" Yunho whispers close to your body. Dragging your hips over him, you find yourself clinging with your arms wrapped around his neck. Panting as arousal pools in your gut, your essence fully leaking through your panties onto him. It helps that he sounds so good, smells so good. His vocalizations rarely leave the low airy grumble in his chest as he brings you to your first gentle orgasm, your own thighs locking and seizing around his.

Yanking you up towards his middle, Yunho presses the waistband of his pants down just enough to free his length. Velvety, veiny, and large, just as you remembered. Not that it had been particularly long since you'd last experienced it but admittedly it had been some time since you'd dared to look. "Open your mouth any wider and I'll think it's an invitation," Yunho cups your chin in his palm, thumb brushing over your lower lip. You hadn't even noticed you were gaping at him. "Don't worry, I'm good at making it fit." He scoots down a bit to help, seat as reclined as possible, looking up at you with a dopy grin and half lidded puppy eyes. Watching your face change as he fills you almost excruciatingly slowly is his favorite part. Your tight walls flutter as they stretch to accommodate him. Warm and wet and all his. Thighs trembling as you lower yourself was just the icing on the cake.

Taking advantage of your shirt hanging loosely, Yunho runs his hands up your front to pinch and play with your hardened nipples again. You squirm almost three quarters of the way full of him, bouncing almost in microscopically out of instinct. You'd always liked the extra attention. "You're doing so well," he coos with a harder tug. "Just a little more to go." "Yuyu," you whine. "What?" "You know!" He giggles as he kisses your chest and feels you writhe. Neither one of you bothers to stifle your moans as your wriggling finally sheethes him fully inside of you. Slowly your hips roll, grinding your front against him.

"No marks," you manage to whisper as you feel his teeth graze you. "Yuyu-please-" "He'll just think it's his." Yunho barely muffles his own editorializing in your flesh. His hands hold you fast to him, leverage for your winding. Kisses continuing to litter faint bruises in shaded places, he ignores your request. You don't press him on it. It feels too good to have his lips coveting you. Both of you move slowly, the lack of space is difficult but not impossible. Pressed together, chest to chest, exchanging heartbeats and heat. Yunho's arms snake around you, clinging to you. In the dark ocean of the night all he needs is you. Your tiny gasps and whines. Your warmth. Your love.

"God, I feel so-" your lips can't finish the sentences you start. Bodily fluids cling and slip between the two of you, the fabric of his pants slowly darkening with dampness. Your bounces slow, letting your hips take control. "-I know, Princess. You're all stuffed full aren't you?" He teasing tone makes your walls clench. Rocking up into you, pushing into your flesh as deep as he can go. "Yuyu I can't," you start to pout, "I'm so close but I can't." Your legs shake and twitch. Riding him like this is exhausting. "Want me to make you cum?" "Yeah." His hands drop to your hips as he slides down the chair. Jamming his shoulders back for leverage he plants his feet and presses his hips upwards, the position is uncomfortable but your expression immediately changes. Eyes rolled back, you groan. The sweet spot found. Yunho's smile becomes infuriatingly smug, holding your hips and hammering up into that tender area. The entire car shakes with you. His arms help you bounce with him, hoisting you up against gravity just to use it to slam himself deeper.

You grip the shoulder of the seat behind him, knuckles turning white as your core winds itself tightly. Yunho watches your brows knit as your walls clamp down around him, mouth open in a silent scream as air is trapped in your lungs. When you cum, you're silent except for your haggard breaths. He fucks you through it, close to his own climax. "You shouldn't-inside-we shouldn't-" you mutter like a woman possessed. "Shouldn't or don't?" Yunho grunts. "Tell me not to cum inside you and I won't." "Yunho," you whine. All of your faculties are stunted by your base needs. "Otherwise I'm going to cum so deep in you that it'll still be dripping out tomorrow. You'd like that wouldn't you? Bet it'd make your cunt clench." "Fuck- yuyu!" "Tell me now. Shouldn't or don't?"

Your climax is a blinding white behind your eyelids, lips crashing into his with a force that surprises even you. Pulling him up, closer, as if you could steal his aura through willpower alone. Take back the part of you that won't let him go with a single kiss. That only happens in fairy tales. Instead he leans up with you, hands slipping up to cradle your back as he empties himself in you. Groaning into eachother's mouths as refractory shocks travel between. Your kisses become competition, leaving both of your lips swollen and raw until you finally give in and lean your head on his shoulder, nuzzling into his neck.

Slowly softening inside of you, the mixture of fluids have started to drip down his length. Yunho knows he's on borrowed time at this point. Someone has to have noticed at this point. A security guard somewhere or maybe even the man haunting your apartment. He jostles the shoulder your head is rested on lightly, "we have to clean up." "Why'd you have to cum inside?" You sound half asleep and petulant. "You didn't say not to." He's right but- Yunho holds you tightly as he leans to the side, fishing a box of tissues from the back. Always prepared, like a good boy scout. Always willing to help. Trying to leave things better than he found them.

The ride back is silent, one hand on your thigh and one on the wheel. Streetlights burn warmly yet still seem lonely as they stand alone to guide you home. Your finger itch as you fight the urge to hold his hand, interlace your fingers with his. "Stop here." You croak, strangely robotically. Pulling over to the very end of your block. Makes sense to Yunho. Best not to pull up to the doorstep with your ex in the early morning. "Let me know how the drips go," he winks expectantly. Your steely expression sinks his stomach. "Don't call me, don't text me, don't check in on me, don't show up to any of my friend's events. Pretend this never happened, pretend we never happened. Pretend I died if you have to. I never want to see you or hear from you again. Understand?" All the wind is knocked from him. For the first time he feels at a loss for words. He winces. It looks like a small nod. "Goodbye Yunho. Good luck with...well. Goodbye."

Obviously this is not goodbye but we're about to see a bit from yunho's perspective. spoilers he's not really a good guy.

cheater!yunhoverse in order:  [9:42PM] / kinktober / [12:39AM] / [10:45PM] / [you are here]

[softgh0stbites]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖🔥‧₊˚ ⋅A Symphony of Embers [part 1]

Rating: Slight NSFW 🔞

Tags: sloppy and heavy makeout, undressing, semi-public sex, mentions of assaults (very light), mentions of death, scars, mentions of mutilation.

Pairing: Reader x Vincent Valentine

Synopsis: After Yuffie has stolen your materia and passed off the group, you've gone through he'll chasing her around wutai. Everything seems to work out until it doesnt- Don corneo and his goons wind up kidnapping Yuffie and Reader. Vincent is the first to find and rescue them, but is frantic in hiding Reader away to selfishly check her himself and make sure she's as she was before she was stolen away without him by her side.

Notes: This took me forever, and I'm afraid it is very little proofread or edited, so it might just be word vomit. I was also in a rough place while writing, so Vincent might be very OOC here. I wanted to split it into two parts because I do want to make their coupling pretty deep and poetic for the most part as I feel Vincent really deserves that in this mini series. I'm sorry for the large gap in my posting but here's a small treat ♡ ALSO thank you all so much for the continous love on this series and my rambles in general ♡ I had so many notifications and it made my brain buzz seeing so many of you clicking through all the mini writings ♡♡♡♡♡

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The cave is quiet except for the dripping of water somewhere in the back. Every third drop breaks you from your spiraling thoughts, your body all too aware of his hands on your waist. You can hear his breath, shaken—not as if he is exhausted, just ragged.

There is no need for words as you cling to each other. You had thought you were going to die; Vincent had obviously thought the same. The sight of you tied up in such a vulnerable position, hanging off of the cliff face. He could still remember the fury that wracked his body, then the ice cold resolve to kill after.

His body backs you up into the wall, your back digging into the stone a bit further. His hands slip over your chest, your pulse catching as he flexes his fingers over the spot above your heart. His tepid fingers are gliding over the top of your breast. He is waiting, listening—it makes you feel all the more vulnerable.

"Vincent—" You whined.

"Let me listen." He demanded, voice ragged.

His sound is dry, the delivery stern, but there is a tremble ever so slight. In the dim light from the crack above, you can barely make out his rigid expression. He is entirely focused on your heartbeat. His breathing begins to slow even as your heart continues to pulse rapidly.

Here is your one and only beloved, holding it together as he listens to your inner clockwork. His eyes roam over your face, capturing your reddened eyes, the paths of tears long dry upon your cheeks. The glowing embers of his own are burning into your memory, as if you could ever forget. You don't realize you are shivering until his other hand rubs your arm soothingly, warming the skin under it.

Your teeth chatter this time, the adrenaline of the moment giving way to the chill of the night. Your body seeks the heat radiating off od your partner.

"If you don't pull me closer, I'll never forgive you." You smile weakly, trying not to let your desperation show. You just need him as much as he needs you, you need his breaths, his voice, his lips, his taste. You want to be unburdened by your night of misery.

He seems to agree, wrapping you up instantly, a long shudder running through him. His arms go under yours, picking you up so your legs are dependent on his waist. He crushes you together, his cowl and hair covering parts of your vision in a scarlet hue. One hand is cupping the back of your head as it rests against the stony wall. Always protecting you even in the smallest ways.

"I was so scared," you admit, your hands tangling in the fabric as he buries his face deeper into your hair. "But I knew you would find me, I knew you'd come." Your hands move to unbundle his cloak, not caring if he will refute. You need to feel his skin against yours—some part of it, even if it is the tip of his nose.

He lets it fall to the ground without making a fuss. His mouth immediately kisses your pulse, lingering there as if to feel the beating with his lips. There's a pause in his kiss, tongue lavishing over the point before he stills.

"I was so angry, I almost lost it." His arms tighten around you. "I wanted to torture him, for putting his hands on you—" A growl leaves him; you can feel his teeth being bared. Your hands go to his hair, rubbing, soothing, doing anything to douse the anger.

You tug to pull him away from your throat, looking into that malice-filled gaze. It softens for you as you cup his face, trailing his features with your thumbs. He takes in a deep breath before exhaling loudly.

"I couldn't bear it if you had been hurt, it would simply seek to destroy whatever is left of me." The light in his eyes flicker, as if imagining such an ending.

He readjusts your form in his arms, ready to set you down.

"We should go back...it's cold-" Something in Vincent's face screams reluctantance and you latch onto it.

"Warm me up, here." you cut him off, "I missed you, even if for a night..." You face flushed in the darkened room.

His eyes burn into you, but his lips inch closer to yours without debate. Your eyes flutter shut as his breath ghosts across your face—you can still feel his gaze on your mouth. It makes you swallow, wondering what expression he could possibly have. You crack your eyes open to see, the glint of his bright eye trained meticulously on the trembling of your bottom lip.

Maybe it is wrong, maybe it is weird, but you drink each other in by gaze as your lips touch, not wanting to miss each other in the cloak of darkness already. It feels a different sort of intimate as he slowly devours you, his fingers orchestrating your chin, whispering against your mouth,

"Mouth...open... more."

Your gaze breaks from his eyes to see his own mouth part, his tongue peaking out and the sight a lone makes heat pool in your belly. The idea that you're deranged enough in this moment to stare at him while he ravages your lips, locks at the saliva inside of your mouth— it's a different kind of intimacy.

You do as you've been demanded, the strings of saliva on your lips from his prodding tongue begin to stretch as you open to accommodate. Your flushed face under his scrutiny as you leave your mouth agape for him to explore. His tongue, his scent, his taste—you are sinking deeper into it all. He is your intoxication, a new brand of liquor yet to be discovered. You finally close your eyes, unable to handle that intense stare of his.

You'd be lying if you didnt want him to tell you what to do more often. You'd do anything he requested, anything at all. You wanted the words, "On your knees for me," to leave his mouth just once. A quiet moan rose from your throat at the idea. He unmatched your tongues, breathing heavily as his hands skimmed over your sides, the back of your thighs as well.

"Did they touch you… anywhere?"

"They talked about it… in detail… but they didn't have time to do anything," you explain while he lets you breathe, your soft pants hitting his cheek. You can feel his body softening slightly, hands becoming more gentle and less desperate.

You should be trembling, you should be scared, you should be crying. But you can't. You had known the moment you were taken that he would come for you, and in some way, that makes all the other experiences melt away.

Vincent continues to hold your chin, inspecting your jaw and neck. There is a small lingering trail of bruises down your collarbone where you had been handled roughly. Your hands had been bound, so they often grabbed you by your shoulder or the back of your neck and shoved you where they pleased. You feel his eyes raking over it like hot coals, feel his lips as he pauses over them, hesitant to touch.

"No one who marks you like this should live," his growl returns, the shaking in his arms intensifying. "I should go back and make sure that descent down the canyon really finished that pathetic—" He cuts himself off with a sneer.

Your eyes widen as his trembling picks up again. "Vincent, I'm okay. Truly, I'm okay. Please." You reach for his face as he unwinds your legs from his waist. He's stronger than you—easily able to set you aside, but you cling to him regardless, your arms still locked around his neck as you stretch onto your toes to stay close.

"Please, I'm sure Cloud is checking right now," you argue, voice unsteady. If he leaves you alone here, you'll lose the comfort, the stability. His hands remain on your forearms, as if still considering prying you off. Your safety is his priority, and any lurking threats must be dealt with first. It’s always been like that and Vincent needs vengeance the way a plant needs the deep embrace of good earth.

His crimson eyes narrow in the dim light, a finger ghosting over your nose, tracing along the bridge. His other hand threads through your hair, the motion soothing not just for you, but for himself.

"I don't like when you say his name like that."

"Vincent—" The quiet jealousy in his voice startles a laugh from you, and you catch the slight dip of his lips into a frown.

"Well, you are the reason I'm breathless," you tease, stretching up to capture his lips, pulling his hand away from your face in the process. "Shouldn’t you take more responsibility instead of being jealous?"

A smirk finally tugs at Vincent’s lips. "Mmh, I have conditions."

"And?"

"Say your name for me," he whispers.

You giggle at first, eyes glimmering with amusement. Wasn’t that silly? Saying your own name in front of him? You can’t even remember the last time you called it out yourself. It’s not something you go around announcing.

But then, the smile on Vincent’s face shifts into something softer, something more thoughtful, and you swallow nervously. Was this some kind of test?

Tentatively, you murmur your name, a bit shy, the moment suddenly feeling less playful and more like something unspoken unfolding between you. His eyes darken, thumb gently parting your lips, trailing over your bottom teeth—not quite touching your tongue. Heat creeps up your jaw, slow and aching, as if your obedience itself is being acknowledged.

"Again."

This time, with his thumb in your mouth, pronouncing it is harder, but you manage. He exhales softly, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose, rewarding you with a slow rub along the wet muscle in your mouth.

"Listen to you," he purrs, sharp teeth flashing as he presses another kiss to your nose, this time biting down lightly. It’s playful—unexpected from him. Your face is hot, chest rising and falling as warmth coils low in your stomach.

"I-It sounds funny," you murmur, flustered.

"Does it?" Vincent tilts his head, his hand slipping beneath your shirt, fingers tracing along your stomach before trailing higher. His knuckles brush teasingly along the underside of your breast, featherlight.

You tense, back arching slightly, aching for more.

"Say it," he coaxes, voice laced with amusement.

But you shake your head—you don’t want to play this game without getting something in return. He clicks his tongue, a soft sound of disapproval, before his hands suddenly tighten around your chest, squeezing firmly.

A gasp rips from your throat, your name tumbling out in the process.

Vincent captures your lips the moment it leaves.

"Your voice is my undoing, now do you see why simply saying a name in that tone....it's unfair." He was unbuttoning your jeans before you could catch up, his hand stuffing itself in the tight fabric. Fingers rubbing at your clit as you moaned his name.

"I need you, Vincent, please.... all of you." You begged, your own hands were exploring his narrow hips. You wanted to grab him without the barrier of clothes. Without the sting of belts on your inner legs as you rutted together. You were tugging at his belts as he groaned, not quite pushing you away.

"All of me..." He seemed to promise, "You may have...but it's not—"

"Vincent, I want everything, whatever is there under your clothes will not change how much I want you." Your frustrated sigh makes him stiffen a bit as your hand pauses on his last buckle.

"You're mine...." You murmur, your eyes locking as his flare.

"Yours." He almost whimpers, the sound alone sends sparks down your spine, "All yours."

You don't remember how you got fully undressed. You don't remember being able to pull off his clothes. It was like a whirlwind, hot and hazy. One moment you were astride him, grinding down on his briefs as he played with your chest— the next you were lying on his cloak, legs wide for him as you stared up at his panting face. His chest was riddled in scars, a large on bisecting his chest and traveling to his navel. He was configured in a way like he had been starving for a good long while. You always wondered what his stomach had looked like, it was normal but far too small for someone of his stature.

He was watching you watch him, you couldn't let anything show that would make him uncomfortable.

"The scars are..." His voice quivered, "I needed to warn you first.."

You chastised him with a broad stroke of your tongue over the large scar tissue just under his ribs. Your mouth lavished it, hands gliding over the other scars as you took your time kissing the large ones. They felt cold under your tongue, your mind could only imagine how much pain these must've caused.

"Should I have warned you about my bruises and freckles?" Your lips turn down at the corners, it was extremely bizarre and quite frightening. But you weren't repulsed in the slightest. This was the body of the man you loved, a body he fought to hold together lest he succumb to the beasts inside. He was doing his best, who were you to add layers onto his burden.

"Absolutely not," Vincent's teeth grit, "But this is different, he gestures with one hand, sitting back up on his knees and running that hand through his hair, pausing so it sheltered over his eyes. "You couldn't possibly understand what it is,"

"Hey," You reached out with your hand, fingers resting at his navel, the furthest you could reach without sitting up. Your heart ached then for this man, this gentle soul who had never asked for this. He had probably been so shocked to recieved this amount of pain, to be experimented on like he didn't have a say.

"Stop prying, please."

"Vincent," Your tone grew more worried at the sight of his shaking shoulders, you instantly shot up, hands on his shoulders now, "Hey, don't hide from me," You pleaded.

"I didn't mean to compare or to pry-" You struggled to apologize, your heart heavy, "I just meant that, of course I would accept you." You tongue grew heavy with words.

"I love you, Vincent," Your voice trembled as you tried to move his hand, he let you lower it slowly,

You continued, frantic to get your point across, "I love you so much, I care about your scars, your past, but it doesn't shake my foundations." Your eyes flickered between his, trying to read his stormy thoughts.

"Maybe I'm the only one of us who feels this strongly so fast," Your eyes flicker down to your naked lap, "I just think you're beautiful and I've always thought that. Since the day we met I-I've always looked at you, I'm sorry." The tears were building in your eyes too as you remembered all the hurdles you had to overcome to get close to him.

Now you've just gone and fucked it up maybe by saying something stupid. Of course he would get upset about you comparing his mutilation to something akin to sunburn. Your wounds have always been temporary, there's never been a scar that wasn't smaller than a pebble. You got bruises from falling down, running into things.

"Love?" He was back to pushing you down into his cloak, his hands on either side of your head as you lowered yourself back down, fingers gripping his shoulders for support along the way, "How could you love someone bereft of humanity- akin to a monster?" A snarl, his eyes held a bit of anger, but never towards you, never.

Your tears came out even harder at the sight, your hands sliding up his neck, cupping his face. The tension in his face eased as he watched your tears for his plight.

"Because my monster is ruthless, but gentle. He is sad," You traced the shape of his cheek bone with your thumb, "He is so contempt with himself that it hurts me." Your breaths shuddered.

"I love him," Your lips trembled but you continued, pressing further into him, legs wrapping around his hips as you pulled him into a clumsy embrace, "Even if it hurts, please bear it."

As your voice fades to murmurs, his chin nozzles into your shoulder, claiming your comforting embrace as you continue to stroke his hair with your fingers.

Your heart ached to be with him, your hunger for his body to join with you had ebbed but sparks of it were still there. You tested the waters by wriggling your hips. A grunt left him, his head dropping to your shoulder. He whispered apologies in your ear, eyes full of sorrow and something you couldn't quite place when he pulled back. You wordlessly slipped your fingers down to slide off your remaining garment, showing yourself bare, eyes looking over him again.

His hair was tousled, dirty, tangled, but beautiful against his pale skin. His right arm was fully uncovered, his claw like hands settling on your collarbone. You took time to calm down, your breaths returning to normal. He was staring so intensly at you that he didn't seem to mind you tugging at the waistband of his underwear. He wiggled out of it as well, finally slotting himself between your thighs.

"You're sure?"

"Are you?"

Vincent breathed out shakily, nerves alight as he leaned down to capture your lips in a sweet but chaste kiss. You had both decided long ago to follow each other into whatever dark abyss lingered around you. You were entangled in the coals of his agony, a simmering fire that refused to sleep; a bed of coals you would rake across for one touch of his breath against your cheek. You knew in that yearning sunlit eye that stared back at you, that he felt similar.

One hand traveled to caress your face, pulling your lips back together into something deeper, a kiss that felt more like breathing.

You would take from him, he would take from you this night.

[haveihitanerve]

Curt: Roland I love you very much and would give you my kidney if you needed it but you are not getting a bite of my sandwich. 

[navydoves]

Dragon!Sylus and his strange affectionate habits

❥ you’re his mate, but you’re also human. his habits weird you out!

⭐︎

❥ he licks you! you could be sitting on the couch, minding your own business with a book in hand and sylus would come up right next to you and just start licking your cheek. you’d retract suddenly and look him up and down with a strange look on your face.

“what? i already explained this to you kitten.”

licking is his way of showing affection toward you. it’s supposed to tell you “i’m here to protect you” in a way. he also just loves tasting your skin and becoming more familiar with you since it brings him so much comfort. he’ll even lick your hair if he’s really getting into it!

❥ he feeds you really well. hungry? no you’re not, not with him at least. he’ll feed you until you’re completely and utterly satiated from his meals. when he sees you happy and drowsy from a full stomach it brings him very deep satisfaction.

sometimes he’ll put bags of snacks or containers of food where you frequent in hopes you’ll eat them. if you don’t, he’ll take offense or think he did something wrong and now you’re protesting!

❥ he makes you wear his treasures. part of being a dragon means hoarding pretty and shiny things. dragons are very protective and territorial about their things, but sylus makes an exception for you. he insists that you wear the jewels he’s collected and will drown you in his riches.

he especially loves it when you go out into public with his treasures on because it shows off his wealth via his beautiful mate. he’ll designate certain jewels or items just for you and if you’re even a little bit dissatisfied with them, he’ll throw them out right away.

❥ he builds nests for you. sylus will innocently steal your most precious items or the items that seem to bring you the most comfort and then bring them to an empty corner. it’s here that he piles up your cosmetics, clothes, bedsheets, pillows, stuffies—anything you could think of—and then he waits.

sylus would never force you to do anything, he wants you to come to the nest on your own volition without his input. he won’t even mention it, he’ll just wait until you find the nest and watch from afar what you do. if you finally do decide to nestle in, he’ll jump for joy knowing that you like it. he’ll also never come into your nest unless you ask him to, and if you do, let’s just say he’ll take care of you really well.

❥ he purrs, and really loudly too. you’ll hear him purring when you’re cuddling, when you’re eating, when you’re bathing, during sex, when you’re doing anything, really. dragons only purr when extremely content but sylus makes a habit out of it when he’s around you. the man is just very happy.

the sound of his purrs come from a deep place within his chest, making them loud and deep. even though they may startle you sometimes, the frequency and vibrancy brings you a sense of comfort and peace, and sylus knows this. whenever you’re upset or anxious, he’ll start purring loudly in hopes of calming you down.

❥ he walks around naked. of course, sylus only does this with you, but it never fails to catch you off guard. it’s not so much a sexual thing, per se, but more of a comfort thing. he’s so comfortable with your presence that he doesn’t feel the need to keep his tight, itchy clothes on when he’s alone with you. he’ll let everything hang and jiggle if he so calls for it.

although, there are times where he’ll purposefully walk around naked to seduce you like a peacock would. he thinks flaunting off his assets will make you want to pounce on him and make love to him all night—which is unfortunately true.

❥ he watches you while you sleep. at first it was cute, but when you awoke one night to his vibrant red eyes staring you down in the dark, it started to feel a little creepy. he explains it away by saying he needs to make sure you’re okay, which doesn’t really make much sense to you since you were in his secure territory.

because sylus doesn’t need much sleep, whenever you take your beauty rest, he feels the urge to look after you and your vulnerable form. he also just enjoys watching you do something so silly and human-like sleeping. this was one of your habits that he didn’t understand. he does finally back off a little bit after your complaining, though.

❥ he has a wild tail. sylus has full control over all of his body parts at any give time, so his tail is always indicative of how he’s feeling. he has a rather calm tail when you two are around others, but when alone with you? you have to dodge it sometimes from how erratic it is. he explains that it’s the equivalent of how your leg bounces. something you don’t even think about when it happens, but can have control over once you realize it.

it’s just another way of him saying to you that he’s comfortable enough around you to let loose with his body and do more natural, unconscious mannerisms.

[wtfaniii]

oneshot in-ho x reader whos a player not bc of debt but because she was investigating with gi-hun? in-ho falls in love w her and protects her during the games (he knew abt her as he had stalked gi hun and his team duh)

thank u🙏🏻

Just when I read this I had just uploaded a one-shot more or less with that theme of the researcher girl.

I love it, thanks for reading🤎

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3

Paparazzi

Summary: A private detective that Gi-hun had hired to investigate those games he participated in three years ago, is taken against her will without knowing that a certain man with power and money knew absolutely every detail about her.

Warnings: Just some harassment from this sexy man, violence and inappropriate language. Also, I made a modification to one of the games so that the reader could be with them

Note: Your wishes are my command! Orders will remain open and I will try to respond as soon as possible.

Her job was supposed to be just to do some research, collect names, dates and addresses, but fate had other things in store for she.

—Form lines to advance! It will be harder for the puppet to detect you that way —Gi-hun shouted to the players who were still alive after that massacre.

The girl was shaking uncontrollably. Unfortunately, she hadn't managed to get behind someone and now the doll was in her sights. Her hands didn't stop moving and clearly noticed how one of the weapons from heaven was pointing at her.

—Please... —She whispered shakily, yeah... maybe she was a coward but it's only because survival is not his specialty.

"Player 455" heard one of the guards through his communicator, he aimed directly at the head of the trembling girl but before pulling the trigger he heard the voice of his leader "Don't shoot, let her continue" and without protest he obeyed him order.

In a gilded room, with a huge screen in front of a single sofa and a small table next to it, rested the man who led and maintained order in these games.

Drinking a little more whiskey, In-ho kept his eyes on the screen and with the remote control he focused on player 455, the poor girl was terrified, it was not the first impression he expected from her after having read her entire file.

He had read that she was a great detective, top of her class, she was cunning, intelligent, and had a couple of master's degrees completed, but seeing her afraid of dying almost made him laugh.

It was amazing how being face to face with death changed people.

—Nobody shoot her —he added over the radio without taking his eyes off the screen.

He could see the girl's confusion at seeing thatwas still alive despite moving very slightly.

In-ho knew everything about her, he knew what she was weak on, her strengths, weaknesses, her way of operating, he even knew about that beloved cat she had in his childhood and died of old age.

He had taken the time and dedication to investigate even the smallest details about her, it was the least he could do after almost discovering his identity.

The detective was so close to discovering the entire empire of these games that he had to be her brought together with Gi-hun by force so as not to let her finish the task.

He twisted his lips as the whiskey vanished and the first game, green light, red light, was over.

He didn't want her dead, or at least not for now, until he knew a little more about her, one could almost say that she had the potential to be part of this if she weren't so correct.

He put on his mask and went to the control center.

[...]

Just as she thought, some players approached Gi-hun for advice for the next game, there were only those who believed in his words because some others called him a 'liar'.

Among them was player 001, whose name was claimed to be Young-il. He was no fool, he wouldn't say his real name without being sure how much information she had about all of this.

As night fell in the bedroom everyone was sleeping peacefully, except for the girl who was sitting in the middle of her bed playing with his pillowcase, folding it over and over again and then unfolding it and repeating the same act.

—Are you having trouble sleeping? –001 asked, approaching her, who shifted a little and made room on the bed for him to sit next to her.

—My head works better at night... —She murmured, looking at him and smiling friendly.

He looked down at her hands and how the moved on the pillowcase, her were precise and firm. —You know how to tie good knots.

She had many talents and In-ho knew them all.

Or well, almost all of them.

Her ability to tie excellent knots was developed by her father, who was captain of a fishing boat that she also sailed on from time to time.

They locked gazes again in silence. In-ho considered that long-distance photos were nothing compared to being face to face with her. For two years he had been investigating her, he had sent several guards to follow her closely for one reason only. At first considered her a threat. Her intelligence and curiosity could have unmasked him, but then he started following her out of routine.

Afterwards he just kept his gaze on her out of habit and finally he had her face to face.

—What's wrong? —She asked with a frown as noticed the intense gaze on his person.

—Nothing, you should rest, we must have energy for tomorrow's games.

When he was about to stand up and go to his respective bed but she stopped him by holding his hand. The girl, seeing his inappropriate act and with more confidence than she should have, quickly let him go. —Can we keep talking? Honestly... I'm too distressed to sleep right now.

—Of course...

The two continued to talk about trivial matters for a couple more hours, they tried to keep it low so as not to wake up the other players but every now and then they received an annoying 'shhh' from someone nearby who longed to be able to sleep peacefully.

Until she finally fell asleep with head resting on In-ho's shoulder, he didn't move, instead, he let her sleep and settled down so they could both rest better.

The next day, during the next game, they formed teams of six people.

Once they were all together, along with a pregnant woman named Jun-hee with the number 222, they sat on the floor as ordered and shared the games.

The activity was to play a series of games and each time they won they could advance, all this with their feet tied together.

It would be simple, each one was good at something and that made it easier for them to continue, they were the last players to participate which was good for the girl, so she wouldn't get nervous under the gaze of the other participants and as if heaven conspired in his favor one of the games was about making a rhombus with a rope.

—I did it! —She shouted euphorically showing the perfect rhombus in her hands made with rope and on the first try, the guard made a circle and the voice said "pass"

The others celebrated with her as they advanced, until now they achieved the games at the first opportunity and had plenty of time but when they reached the part where they had to spin a top on the ground Young-il lost his sanity after so many failed attempts.

As she bent down to pick up the top once more and wrap it in the string 001 began to curse and beat himself.

—What the hell is happening to me? I can't do anything right! I'm useless —She looked at him startled every time he hit himself, until she interrupted him by slapping on the left cheek, managing to silence him and making his head turn just a little.

In-ho's fake drama to scare them was going great until this sudden blow happened, he didn't expect it but there he was, looking at her with surprise and astonishment.

—You have to calm down! —She shouted, handing him the already finished top. —Try it again and if we die I swear I'll kill you.

He nodded and took the toy, she used those words to lighten the mood and try to give him confidence (which of course she did) but eyes don't lie and her gaze begged him to do it, she didn't want to die.

Miraculously he managed to spin the top and they moved on to the last game which Gi-hun was about to lose if it hadn't been for In-ho, although the last move was not correct he shouted "he did it" this being a small order camouflaged for the guard to give the affirmative signal.

They didn't know it but at that moment they would have died.

She was ignorant of this, she didn't know that if it weren't for In-ho she would already be dead since "green light, red light"

Unwittingly, In-ho saved her at every opportunity, protecting her life without realizing that perhaps following her had already become more than just a routine.

Little by little she got under him skin, first it was in his mind and now...

[dante-mightdie]

long awaited part three of lowselfesteem!reader and simon

part two

invisible clothes

that’s what you called them, the rags you don when you have to integrate with the general population but you would much rather not be noticed. clothing that is so bland that it isn’t nice enough catch an eye but not hideous enough to catch any negative attention

you had told simon about them once, when he called you out on wearing them every time you stepped out in public, including your dates with him. especially since he knew you had a very elaborate wardrobe with a tailored sense of style

clearly they aren’t invisible enough to hide you from johnny’s guilty eyes from across the store aisle. you sigh when he comes up to you, tapping your shoulder to get your attention. he shifts uncomfortably on his feet

“I know ye probably hate ma guts, lass but ye should ken that simon shut down all of that bet talk after your first date. Ah just bring et up to annoy ‘im.” johnny says, with a nervous chuckles at the end. you don’t laugh alongside him

“okay, fair enough. look, he’s miserable without ye! he comes to the pub just to get pished and mope about how he fucked it all up with ye.” johnny continues, a pleading look in his eyes, “he’s supposed to he coming by to drop off some things of yours tomorrow. just hear him out, please, lass.”

you roll your eyes at him, continuing to grab what you need from the shelves in front of you. not even bothering to look him in the eyes when you finally begin to speak

"why should I? why am I always expected to think of other people even when they hurt me? you and simon didn't think about me or my feelings when you made your stupid bet. neither of you stopped to consider that I was just a person who simply wanted to be left alone." you say with a scoff, "he'll be lucky if I don't slam the door in his face."

johnny shifts on his feet, looking down at the floor since he feels too uncomfortable to look directly at you, "fair enough. take care've yerself, hen."

you bite back tears as you watch him skulk off in the corner of your eye. you stand there for a few more minutes, staring at the stacked shelves in front of you to distract you from the war raging inside of your head

-

it's late at night, nearly midnight, when there's a knock at your door. you let out a sigh, already knowing who was disturbing your doomscrolling at this hour. and when you open the door, you see him. you’re brooding prick of an ex-boyfriend. he at least has the decency to look guilty, like a dog caught ripping up the couch cushions

except he wasn’t a dog, he was the love of your life. and your heart isn’t so easily replaced like a cushion. though he definitely treated it like somewhere to rest his head

“hey.”

you scoff, you’re not sure why. there isn’t anything inherently wrong with what he said but it still annoyed you. he annoyed you. with his stupid stormy eyes and his stupid jokes and freckled shoulders that you used to connect like dots late at night

“just give me my stuff and go, simon. don’t have time for this bullshit.”

he doesn’t flinch. he saw that hit coming, and sometimes you gotta let them swing at you especially when you know that you deserve much worse

the exchange is quick, a box with small memories passed over to you. a couple items of clothing, a book and some toiletries. before you can slam the door in his face, he jams his heavy boot into it

“wait… love, I… there’s somethin’ else. I never gave it to you but it’s yours. got it for you and I’ll never give it to anyone else.”

the glare you give him only falters when he places a small velvet box in your hand, he pauses the speech you can definitely feel coming on. looking at you expectantly to open it. you do, waiting for him to laugh at you when you find nothing in there. ridicule you for even thinking he would consider making you his wife

but all he does it look on solemn, the beautiful ring twinkling as a devastating reminder of what could have been

“I kno’ I ‘ave no right to ask. I wouldn’t insult you like tha’ lovie. you can hate me, I deserve it. but you don’t deserve it. I won’t let you hurt yourself over what I did. you deserve to know the real extent of how bad I fucked up. maybe it’ll help to look at tha’ ring and know that I’ll spend the rest of my life having to know I lost the woman who should be my wife.”

there’s no chance to respond, not like you’d know what to say anyway,

“I’m sorry.”

and then he’s gone.