#for real though he’d protect them with his life-

[shmorp-mcdurgen]

post fateful reunion seth meets child adam, jonah, sarah and cesar, what shall he do

Cry

[luminni]

I have a feeling Johnny would try and set up Simon with one of his friends

like

“M’ tellin ya mate yer going tae like ‘er,” Johnny teased, bounding a couple steps in front of Simon, turning back to him and rocking back and forth on his heels, hands shoved into his pockets to protect them from the cold. As Price often quipped, the 'scott can't stand still for the life of him.'

“Mhm,” Simon just grumbled in response.

“See mate, That’s the attitude that scares all the girls away.” Johnny commented, hands outstretched and exaggerated.

“Whatever.” Simon huffed, shaking his head. Johnny wasn’t wrong, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d done anything with a girl that wasn’t a quick lay, and even then it had been months, not to mention going out on a proper date. Well, a date was a stretch, you were Johnny’s close friend for a couple years. He had heard of you, but never met you and now Johnny was insisting that he go on a date with you because he was convinced it was going to work well, Simon wasn’t convinced in the slightest.

“She’s real nice though- so put away the tough guy act big man- girls don’t like that.” Simon couldn’t believe he was getting dating advice from his sergeant, so he just doubled down and kept scowling but Johnny kept pressing. “I'm telling you she's a real sweet girl, kinda lass who would try tae make a crying baby laugh on the tube or go and feed some mangy stray dog, perfect for a prickly bastard like yerself.”

“Okay okay, Jesus. ’s not like ’m going to scare ‘er off on purpose.” Simon relented 

“You better not, gettin' laid might do ya' some good man, calm yer ass down a wee bit” Johnny chuckled

Simon would have yelled at him for that comment but his friend cut him off, “‘Kay we’re ‘ere,” Johnny chirped, “Gaz and his girl should be inside already and she’ll be ‘ere soon,” Johnny said, pushing his Lt. through the pub door.

Johnny had invited Kyle and his girlfriend for a kind of double date situation because he thought having another girl there would help you feel more comfortable, something Simon couldn’t argue with. Why Johnny’s single ass would be attending was a mystery.

and he's been playing both sides

“Ya like serious guys right?” Johnny had asked you out of the blue, a week or so prior while hanging out at your flat.

“Uh yeah sure? I mean I guess so, more than immature assholes like you.” You had joked back across the small kitchen.

“Well,” He had began, unphased by your teasing, “There’s this guy I work with-”

“Don’t even.” you cut him off

“Wha'?!” he whined

“Don’t try and set me up with one of your military bros,” you warned, “I’m not interested.”

“Jus' 'cause yer last dates 'ave been busts doesnae mean you shouldn't keep tryin’,” He pleaded, catching the sponge you threw at him, “He’s a real good guy, kinda intimidating but you’d like him, promise!”

You glared at him before going back and forth, Johnny was really trying to sell this guy, and he wasn’t wrong, your last three dates had been nothing short of disasters. So, after lots of pleading -and a couple tasteful photos from them at the gym- you agreed. So as you walked closer and closer to the pub, your nerves were buzzing. Just gotta get past his tough exterior is all, Johnny’s words of advice rang through your head. Thankfully he had invited another one of his friends there along with his girlfriend, you would have been hyperventilating if it was just going to be you and some guys. As you reached for the door, you could only hope Johnny was right about this guy.

So, who would be surprised when it actually works out, when Simon actually falls in love with you and your sweet smile at first site. When you find his corny and sometimes morbid jokes genuinely funny, having to cough around your drink to prevent spitting it out.

Johnny's just happy Simon might finally chill out, and he won't have to listen to you complain about failed dates every other week.

[hanasnx]

“ I WAS MADE FOR LOVIN’ YOU ” — logan howlett.

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ WARNINGS: fem reader ノ age gap ノ established relationship ノ size difference ノ suggestive content ノ sexual content: naughty daydreams about pussy eating, nipple play, and groping; masturbation; voyeurism.

“I’m gonna take care of you.” Those six words—six—have defined your relationship with your husband, LOGAN HOWLETT. There’s a great protector in him, this compulsion to mentor and house within him that stretches far beyond his own needs. You fall within that range, and as soon as you met him you latched onto him. It didn’t take long at all before your imprint was reciprocated. Now he thinks of you first in everything he does.

He may not always look it, but you’re a factor in all his decisions. Settling down, nabbing a good job—one that didn’t ask for his background—was all to put you up in a house in the mountains. Far away from civilization, an ivory tower made up of wood he cut himself, surrounded by acres of nature. He’s always thought of himself a hair on the wild side, somehow you tame that down. It’s good, he tells himself, you and him.

It’s a partnership, and all he wants out of you is your safety. He likes you where he can keep an eye on you, make sure you stay out of trouble, make sure you’re comfortable.

You wish you could explain just why he thinks he has to protect you, why he married you, why he pays all the bills and expects nothing in return. You wish you could explain just why this relationship comprises all facets of a real marriage except for intimacy.

Logan won’t touch you. You’ll eat off each other’s utensils, fall asleep on his chest on the couch watching a movie—hell, he’ll reluctantly incline in your direction with a roll of his eyes to let you peck his cheek good-bye when he leaves for work. Yet, he won’t even kiss you. Even before he married you, there wasn’t so much as a grope or a stray look.

There’s home in Logan. You live to please him. You’ll cook him whatever he wants, keep the house he built for you clean as a whistle, you’ll spend all your free time with him, grab him his nightly beer and light his cigar so he stays content—but you’ve never even seen him naked. You doubt you ever will. Regardless, you stay, you can’t imagine leaving this life, leaving him.

It’s defied your expectations the fairy-tales of your childhood gave you. Your knight in shining armor rescued you, yet refuses to plant even true love’s kiss. When you’d matured, you’d fantasized about an insatiable husband that found you so irresistible he couldn’t keep his hands off you. Logan’s never looked at you that way, even though he calls you his wife without hesitation, married you without a second thought.

“Is it because I’m younger than you? I’m only in my early twenties. That’s not a big deal!” you’ve reasoned with him, but he still treats you like you’re naive. He must want passion, you’re sure of that. Why else are you young and beautiful if not to take advantage of it while you still can? Just once you’d like to see him yearn for you, to show lack of restraint, to come home one day so hungry for you that you don’t make it out of the kitchen.

Those claws… those deadly metal claws… you wish he’d use them in fantastical and deviant ways. Just one would glide through your nighty like sheet paper, bareing you to your husband—a sight for him only. You lie awake next to him at night, envisioning raunchy dreams of him proudly boasting the size difference between you two, demonstrating his sheer raw strength by overpowering you and taking what he wants from you. You’ve run your fingers delicately over his lips and the rough pad of his shaved chin, but you can’t imagine just how good it’d feel against your tit, swirling his hot tongue around your perked nipple while his callused digits pinch the other. You can pretend his head is ducking between your thighs, the sensation of his soft hair tickling your skin and tangling in your fingers as his masculine jaw scratches the fragile tissue of your pussy. As starved as you are, even discomfort like that is enough to make you moan into your palm, only to check over your shoulder to make sure you still hear your husband’s snoring.

You steel yourself at the noise, the low rumbling of his sleep cautions you to stay quiet but to proceed nonetheless. Your hand creeps down your neck, your chest, your stomach… You really should leave the room, but you’d risk waking him up for real at the sound of the door. Instead, you fuck yourself yet again, the soft rocking of the mattress as you hump your own hand filling the ears of your kindhearted husband—who’s been awake this whole time.

[ithebookhoarder]

Hello hi ! 🤗

Can you do a "bau reacts" when they are undercover in public and about to be found out so the reader just starts making out with them to pretend they are just a couple?

(BAU Headcanons) Making out Undercover

A/N: Mwahaha. Oh, this is a good prompt. Thanks for making me daydream all afternoon. Enjoy my lovelies 😉 Also, as a note, I'm writing the main BAU where I'm at watching it (season 13) plus Luke as he was requested previously 💕

Warnings: Mentions of threat, mentions of weapons, alcohol references, sexual references, implied cases / unsubs. (Let me know if I missed any)

Aaron Hotchner

We know Aaron doesn’t go undercover for most cases, so this would have to be a big case to get him into the field. 

This man would be in shock. Let’s be real. He would freeze in place and try to argue for a split second until he realises what you’re trying to do and why - even if you were already together. 

As soon as they’re gone though, you’d glance up and see his usual steely glare that tells you you’re in for a scolding once this is over. 

However, you’d have to be blind to miss the way he lingers for a moment, holding you close for half a second longer than necessary. 

“I feel I should remind you that we are in the field, and whilst it may have worked, I can’t endorse it as a tactic in future. Understood?” 

“So I’m hearing that we’re leaving this off of our case report then?” 

“Agreed. I don’t need to give Strauss anything else to use to go after us and the team.”

He would roll his eyes and take off after the Unsub, but you’d have to be blind to miss the way he smirks as he goes. 

David Rossi 

He’d be a little embarrassed but mostly quite smug about the whole thing, even if you were supposed to be undercover. 

“Well, I can safely say in all my years in this field I don’t think that’s ever happened to me before.” 

He’d also refuse to let you apologise for your actions afterwards either. 

One, because he’s kind of flattered. 

Two, because he’s been around the block a few times and knows that sometimes you have to do what it takes to solve a case or protect yourselves. 

Three, you were supposed to be a couple and kissing is what couples do. He’s only sour because if anything he would have liked to be the one who kissed you. 

“Relax about it, would you? I won’t tell you some of the things Gideon and I had to do back in the old days. That was before all this new paperwork and guidelines, so that’s all I’ll say on the matter.” 

You make a point of remembering to ask him about that at your next night off over drinks. 

Derek Morgan

Derek is always up for anything so I feel like he’d be pretty relaxed about being undercover with you, even if you weren't together romantically. He has no issue playing your pretend boyfriend for one night, and is quick to wrap his arm around you. 

Which is why it would be such a surprise to him when it’s you who initiated the kiss. 

Derek would freeze for like a second, but only out of shock. However, you know he wouldn’t fight you on it. 

The second his brain catches up to his body he would be kissing you back, doing everything in his power to match your energy and sell this kiss. 

If anything, you’re going to have to be the one to break away once the coast is clear and remind him you’re still technically in the field and that your team is probably wondering where the hell you are right now - and why you stopped responding to your comms. 

“I’m just saying, if we get to do that then we need to be partnered up more often.” 

“Yeah yeah, Morgan. Let’s just hope Penelope didn’t see that else we’ll never be hearing the end of it.” 

Emily Prentiss

She’s been undercover plenty of times in her life and spent a whole chunk of time actually fake-married to Doyle for an op, so she’d be the most comfortable and understanding if you grabbed her for a kiss - especially if you were meant to be a fake couple. 

She’d work it out pretty quickly and would respond in kind, pressing herself against you and running her hands all over you. 

“Quick thinking with the kiss,” she’d whisper as she brushed a kiss against your neck. 

She’d also know exactly where the Unsub is afterwards too, having kept watch in her peripheral vision. 

She wouldn’t even have to break eye contact with you before she informed you, “3 o’clock. He just left out the fire exit.” 

With that, she’d be off. 

She also probably wouldn’t even bring it up again until you’re both back on the jet. Then she’d be smirking at you across the top of her drink and chuckling to herself. 

“Normally I’d insist dinner first but given that we caught that bastard I think we’re even.” 

JJ

JJ knows about going undercover and it takes a lot to rattle her. She would probably go along with the action, even if she’d stay kind of stiff for a good minute or so. 

However, she’s a good agent and knows about maintaining a cover so quickly catches on when you pull her in. 

She’d return the kiss, shooting glances out the corner of her eye when she thinks it might be safe to check on their target. If it doesn’t look like they’re buying it, she’ll turn things up a notch and spin you around so that she could take control. 

“My gun is under my jacket. Reach for it slowly if he comes any closer,” she’d warn, but thankfully you don’t need it. Eventually they leave, distracted by something else, leaving you and JJ to recover.

After catching your breath, you both take off in the direction your target just left in. You can tell JJ is trying not to laugh about what just happened, choosing to make it funny rather than uncomfortable if you weren't together romantically.  

Which means you know she’d enjoy teasing you about it in front of the others, making your cheeks burn as she announces on the jet: “For the record, even though it was a ‘cover kiss��� it was pretty good. Just saying. Maybe you should give Morgan some tips. That way he might get a girl to call him back after a first date.” 

Luke Alvez

It doesn’t matter if he’s ex-army or whatever. Undercover is not really Luke’s thing and even then, he is more used to infiltrating gangs than playing house. 

Basically, he would be surprised by your actions, despite being undercover together. Like, I can see his eyebrows hitting his hairline so fast, bless him. He’d look like a deer in headlights. 

“Woah, sweetheart, slow your roll-“ 

“- Luke. Shut up and kiss me. Now.” 

“I - ok.” 

Just like that, he’d take control, turning and pressing you against the nearest wall in an attempt to shield you from whoever was watching. He’d also be such a gentleman about it if you weren't already together romantically, keeping his hands on your waist and pulling away the minute he’s sure the danger has passed. 

Even then, he’d wait a minute before letting the two of you move from your position, just in case they come back. He’s your partner and he’s returning the favour for you keeping him safe, even if in an unsuspected manner.

“You good?”

“Luke. Shouldn’t I be asking you that? I was the one who planted myself on you.” 

“Potato, po-tah-to. Are they still over there?”

“No. They just left out the back.”

“Then let’s go, partner. Let’s catch this freak.” 

Penelope Garcia 

If Penelope is in the field then you know she is already hella nervous and out of her element. It doesn’t matter if there was a reason she was needed for this particular assignment, she would just take that as added pressure not to let everyone down.

Which is why I’m sure you’d feel worse about planting one on her - even if it does also help distract her from worrying for a minute.  

All I can imagine is her giving her trademark squeal of confusion and surprise, even if you gave her a hasty warning - and apology - about what you were going to do.

She’d be stunned at what was happening and probably takes a minute to realise she should probably try and kiss you back, or at least look less visibly startled about it. 

“I feel I should point out how unfair it is that this is permitted as ‘suitable workplace behaviour’ as we’re undercover, yet my flirtatious texts with Agent Morgan are not? I will be writing a strongly worded email when we get back, telling HR they can go shove their-”

“Pen? Hey, focus here. Unsub still watching us.” 

“Oh, right. Sorry! Ahem… as you were?”  

Also, you know that like a day or so later, once it’s all over, she sends you an email informing you that your new username on the BAU system is now ‘smoochykins’ and she will not change it until it becomes not-funny for her… which will probably be never. After all, Morgan has been ‘Chocolate Thunder’ for the last two years and is still going strong.  

Dr Spencer Reid

Spencer has been undercover before and is usually quite calm about it, even if it is faking a date or maintaining a story. Still, despite having to do your jobs, you’d hate to make him uncomfortable, knowing how he feels about any kind of physical contact - especially if you're not together. 

As he says, with the amount of bacteria shared by shaking hands you’d be safer kissing … guess it was time to take it literally. 

He’d be blushing like a tomato as you grab his jacket lapels and pull him close. And honestly? it’s kind of adorable. As is the way he tries to kiss you back, even if he still takes a minute to remember how to even move his body. 

I’m just picturing the Lila kiss in season one and how he eased into that and how stunned / embarrassed he seemed afterwards. He would pretty much be like that, but with a fake smile on his face as he rambled in your ear. 

“What was that?”

“I was covering our asses. We’re undercover, remember? We’re supposed to be a couple and couples kiss. Also, I’d thought you know, genius, that kissing and displays of public affection make people extremely uncomfortable.”

“No kidding… Morgan can never find out about this.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice. You got a deal, pretty boy. This is between us.” 

Masterlist

[pathologicalreid]

come home with me | s.r.

in which you are chosen as the member of the BAU who gets to retrieve Spencer from prison

margovember

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: post prison spencer, the events of green light apply, jareau!reader, kiss word count: 1.45k a/n: ohhhh she's listening to too much hadestown again. oh noooo.

The foreboding gray structure that stood before you was much more intimidating than you’d remembered Millburn Correctional Facility was written next to the door in a sans-serif font, still, boring, intimidating.

You hated it here. You despised everything that this building stood for in your life. Above all else, you hated that Spencer had been trapped inside for three months. There was little to no communication between you and Spencer during his incarceration, which wasn’t for a lack of trying. The one and only time you’d gone to visit him in Millburn, your appearance elicited a wolf whistle from one of the guards—Spencer’s discomfort was enough to keep you away.

Waiting outside with Penelope, Luke, and your sister, the four of you were lined up shoulder to shoulder, everyone too nervous to move forward. “I can’t go in,” Garcia said, looking between you and Luke while she shook her head. She hated going to visit Spencer, every time she came back from the prison, her mood had been negatively impacted.

Nodding assuredly, you quickly leaned your head on her shoulder, “We’ll go get him.” In your hand, you gripped a small canvas bag, you’d shoved everything you could think Spencer might need upon release—including some toiletries that had been completely untouched in the apartment, you weren’t sure if he’d been able to keep up with his usual hygiene routine in prison.

You assumed he hadn’t been.

Luke had some kind of ulterior motive in mind while entering the prison, so you and JJ linked pinkies at the same time he gave Penelope’s shoulder a squeeze and started making his way toward the steel doors of the prison. The three of you needed to shed your weapons, locking them up with the guards before Luke jutted his chin down the hallway and promised to meet up with you later.

Your head spun as you and JJ worked through clerical issues with the prison. Spencer was in solitary right now, finally receiving the protection that he should have gotten months ago, but he had to stab himself in the thigh to get there. No one else had been told, but Penelope handed Emily her resignation when she found out. The concrete building was freezing, and you hoped that Spencer had been staying warm enough during his time here.

Spencer, Spencer, Spencer.

Every waking moment for the last three months had been spent trying to figure out how to get him out of this, and the team had finally done it. You resisted the urge to pinch yourself. This was real, you were here.

“Only one of you,” one of the guards said, entirely disinterested in the emotional turmoil you were currently going through.

Your eyes met JJ’s briefly, and her blue eyes widened before she shook her head, “You should go,” she insisted, holding out a hand in the direction of the door.

Tightening your grip on the canvas bag, you nodded nervously and stepped through the metal detector, following the armed guard down the hallway until you reached yet another door. He swiped his badge through the stripe reader and opened the door, holding it open for you.

Against your better judgment, you faltered, scared of what you might see on the other side of the door. The guard cleared his throat impatiently and your feet thoughtlessly brought you forward.

Spencer was on the other side of the door, and you felt ridiculous for thinking you’d be met with anyone else except for him. Hauntingly familiar brown eyes were boring into yours expectantly, and even though you had promised yourself you weren’t going to cry, your throat was sealing itself with proof of a lie. Your eyes burned and you opened your mouth to speak before tears had a chance to fall, “Come home,” you beckoned.

You broke when he did, lips wavering between a smile and a frown as he broke free of the regulations he’d faced in Millburn, and the two of you snapped together like there was a magnetic pull between the two of you. The bag in your hands dropped to the ground as your arms went around each other. He smelled like antiseptic and generic laundry soap, you couldn’t pretend like you hadn’t seen the bandage around his arm from where they’d drawn blood, but you pushed it from your mind in the interim, focusing on repairing your memory. Reminding yourself of the edges of his body. There were more ridges than you remembered, and your chest clenched at the recognition that Spencer was inherently changed. It would’ve been foolish of you to cling to the idea that he could go to prison and come back as the Spencer that had been keeping your mind company—the memory of him that couldn’t match reality.

He sniffled and buried his face in your neck, his hot breath on your skin as neither of you faltered in your grip of each other. Spencer once told you that hugs were inherently healing because of the boost in oxytocin levels, and you’d taken that to heart just in case you ever faced this very moment. You tightened your grip around his shoulders, and he was holding you so tightly around your waist that your feet lifted slightly off of the ground. If it were up to you, you’d stay like this for hours intertwining your fingers between his shoulder blades and holding him together. You’d maintain your embrace until your body heat welded the broken pieces of him back together and his sharp edges were sanded down with time. You pressed your forehead into his shoulder and sighed three months’ worth of worry away, and as that worry ebbed, a new name echoed in your head.

Diana, Diana, Diana.

Spencer’s mother was missing, and he released his hold on you as you drew in a deep breath. Your feet were planted firmly on the ground as the two of you looked at each other, exchanging hundreds of thousands of words between your irises. “Spence,” you whispered, “I brought your things.”

You crouched down and grabbed the bag from the floor, holding it open for him to inspect its contents, his smile made you feel like you were floating. You were sure they were few and far between recently. More than that, you knew exactly what he was smiling at. Instead of picking out two socks for him, you’d grabbed a handful of them and put them in the bag, giving him the ability to choose a mismatched pair to wear out.

He wiped at his nose with the sleeve of his jumpsuit, “Thank you,” he breathed, his eyes flickering over to the guard that was still standing behind you.

Nodding, you carefully took his hand and let the guard lead you somewhere he could get changed, you planted your feet on the side of the hallway opposite of the guard. You narrowed your gaze at the guard, keeping your eyes open until they dried, and you had no choice but to blink. Other than that, your glare was unwavering.

“Y/N?” Spencer said, opening the door slightly, “Can you help me?”

You slipped through the door, alone in the bathroom with him as he gestured to his tie. You frowned for a moment before you noticed what the problem was, his hands were shaking. Each of them trembling uncontrollably with what was likely a melting pot of different emotions, and without giving it a second thought, you reached out and took both ends of the tie in your hands, deftly tying the double Windsor knot around his neck. You were careful when you tightened the knot, refraining from bringing it right up to the hollow of his throat in case he needed room to breathe. You looked up at him, studying the unreadable expression on his face before you whispered, “I’ve got you.”

Spencer’s Adam’s apple bobbed as his lips parted, and to your surprise, he craned his neck to press his lips to yours, kissing you with three months of pent-up emotions—good and bad. You gasped against his lips before kissing him back, matching his ferocity as your lips moved gently against his, a knock at the door was the only thing to pry the two of you apart.

You tried to get a read on him. You tried to understand the thoughts that were flashing behind his eyes at the speed of light, but you couldn’t get it. You wanted to ask, you wanted to check in on him, but he spoke first, “Let’s go get my mom.”

[rosenclaws]

the trials of fate (red string AU) || Worst!Logan Howlett x Reader

summary: You and Logan were connected, soulmates. Destined to be together. Then he got sick and then he died and now you're alone and the string that connected you is gone. When Wade brings back a new Logan things get complicated and you want nothing to do with him.

warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, reader digs their nails into their face once, swearing, reader drinks a lot, no regard for the fox timeline sorry!

wc: 4k

a/n: Okay my soulmate au is here!! I love Logan angst and I just couldn't help myself and I had to write this soon. My birthday is soon so I should still have that other fic up on my birthday? May be late sorry!! But either way I hope you enjoy this.

The Red String of Fate dates back to ancient Chinese mythology. The idea that people are connected by an invisible red cord. At the end of your cord is your true love, your soulmate. Destined to be together through space and time. The string and tangle, bend, stretch, but never break.

You know this to be true because you can see them.

Not everyone can, in fact it’s very very rare. One might think of it as a gift but to you it’s a curse. You found your soulmate, you had him. It took a while to find him but you did. Your string led you straight to Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters. To a man named Logan. You never tried to follow your string, allowing him to come into your life naturally. You felt the tug of your string the moment you walked through the doors.

You were a mutant yourself and though your powers weren’t meant for combat you were happy to come and teach. The cord pulled and pulled until you found yourself in front of the history classroom. You looked down. Your red string was tied around your wrist and your eyes followed till you reached the end. Around his pinky was the end of your string tied in a bow.

"Can I help you?" He had asked in a gruff tone.

The moment he looked up from his desk was the moment you knew it was real. Like they would write in books where you meet eyes and the whole world stops. He was tough, angry, loved to drink and yet he was everything you could have asked for. Love didn’t come easy to him and he made it clear. Still you wouldn’t give up, a thread may connect you but you fell in love with the man standing before you. He was a good man, whether or not he believed it. You always thought he was a good man.

He loved you, he loved you the best way that he could and you loved him. He made mistakes, a lot of them but he always came through in the end. Promising that he’d love you no matter what, that you two were truly meant for each other. That he would belong to you and you to him.

So through it all you were by his side. Charles seizures, El Paseo, Laura. Even as he was slowly dying he did everything for you, for Charles, for Laura Up until his last breath he spent it protecting those he loved.

When he died you felt that piece of you die with it. The legend claims that the strings don’t break but you saw it first hand. The color faded from your cord and it unraveled itself. Falling to the floor unceremoniously, like it was nothing. Like your love was nothing. Your heart ripped in two. You tried to stay strong for the children and though you offered to take them back they declined. You shared a heartfelt conversation with Laura and they were off.

You sat by his grave for who knows how long. Staring at the X shaped marker. The man below the ground was your everything and how he’s gone. Your wrist felt empty. You couldn’t stop rubbing the spot where the string once sat. You were lost, your whole family was gone. So you packed up what little you had, got into the beat up truck, and drove as far as you could. You drove and drove until you approached the familiar woods of Westchester New York.

The mansion was still there. The doors creaked open as you pushed through them. Immediately you were overwhelmed by memories of you and Logan in this place. You thought you were done with tears but somehow you keep crying. Maybe this was a mistake. Coming back to this place. It was painful to even look into his room. But this was all you had. So you sucked it up and slowly started to put the mansion back together. Eventually people found you again. Mutants who needed shelter from the world and you let them stay.

It wasn’t a school anymore but it was a place to sleep. Years passed and eventually you met Wade. God was he annoying. So fucking annoying and still he managed to weasel his way into your life. A friend. He would say stupid shit and make plenty of ill timed jokes but you found yourself growing to like the guy. Then he went quiet for a little bit, giving up the superhero life for something more mundane. Not that you could really blame him. You wish you had done that.

Selfish? Yes but if you had disappeared then maybe Logan would still be alive. The two of you could have had a peaceful life. Sometimes you dream of him. Of what a life would have been like. The dreams are nice. Then you wake up and you have tears streaming down your face. A phantom tug of your wrist that only reminds you again and again that he’s gone.

Then one day Wade calls. Cheerfully telling you he has a surprise for you and invited you over for dinner. So you accepted. When you walked through his door though, you didn’t expect his so-called surprise to be Logan. 

“You made it!” Wade hugged you but you remained limp. Eyes glued to the man standing by the window talking to Laura of all people. You shove Wade off of you and shut your eyes. Is this another dream? Maybe a nightmare.

“No no no no.” You mutter to yourself as you dig your nails into your face. When you open them he’s still there. Standing there with this stupid smile and stupid face and stupid hair.

“What the hell Wade!” You hiss as you drag the man to the kitchen.

“The cat distribution system chose me! I couldn’t leave him, he was too lonely.”

“God can you ever shut the fuck up!?” You want to strangle him so bad. How could he so casually bring you here. Did he think you’d jump for joy? That seeing the ghost of your dead husband would fix it all? No. It doesn’t.

“Don’t you see what this means? This is prime sequel material. Give you the Disney princess, I can say that legally now, ending you’ve always deserved.”

Every bone in your body tells you to punch him but you can’t bring yourself to. He meant the best, even if he had a really fucked up way of going about it.

“Just. Keep him away from me.” You push past Wade straight to the alcohol. Needing anything to keep your mind off the man on the other side of the room. The dinner drags on too slow, you barely eat your food as you keep hearing his voice. People are talking on either side of you but you can only hear his voice. God he sounded the same. You sneak a glance and he’s sitting, laughing with Laura.

Oh god she’s gotten so big. Would she hate you for leaving her? What happened? You kick yourself over and over, you should have protected her but you were caught up in your own grief. You thought she’d be okay on her own.

As dinner winds down you find yourself outside, the cold air feels good as you sip on your drink. How many beers have you had already? Eh, Who cares?

“Hi.” You flinch when you hear her voice. You turn around and see her. Tears well up in your eyes as you take her in. She’s grown up so much.

“Laura,” You brush a strand of hair out of her face.

“It’s good to see you again.” She says. You wrap your arms around her tightly.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry I left. I should have gone with you guys.” You let go and hold her by the shoulders.

“What happened?” She sighs and sits down on a nearby bench. You sit close as she starts to tell you the story. Growing up, the TVA, the void, and then how she met Logan and Wade. It sounded unbelievable but you couldn’t help but smile at points. She’s still the same badass girl she always was.

“I should have been there.” You say guilty. She shakes her head and rests her head on your shoulder.

“I got to live my life, find myself because of you. Because of him. I wouldn’t change anything.” She’s much younger than you but she seems to be the one with her life together. You’re happy for that. Wishing nothing but the best for her.

“Have you talked to him?” She asks. You don’t answer.

“He’s…different. Mean, angry, but he showed up. Helped save the world.” You listen to her talk.

She’s bonded to this Logan and you can’t fault her for that. They talked all night. But you can’t push aside everything that easily. So you stand up, give her one last hug, and tell her she can find you anytime. Your doors are always open to her. Without another word you walk away from Wade’s apartment and back to your own little world.

You thought that would be the end of it, you really hoped it would be. That you would never have to see him again. A part of you longed for it. To hold him. To feel him. But he’s not yours. Your wrist remains bare and while everyone else seems to be happy, you’re still stuck in the past. You avoided Wades calls and kept to yourself.

Choosing only to spend time with Laura when she asked. Usually it was lunch but sometimes it was just coming over to watch a movie. It was nice, you really did miss her. It was supposed to be lunch today but she was late.

Finally she knocks at the door and you get ready to tease her for being late. Instead when the door opens you see him. The words die out in your throat as you stand frozen.

“Can I come in?” He asks but you don’t really hear him. You get it, he’s standing here and he’s Logan. But it feels like you’re staring at a ghost. His voice doesn’t sound real. This doesn’t feel. Real. He places a hand on your shoulder, a worried look on his face. The moment his hand meets your shoulder you jump back. Hissing like it burns. He jerks his hand back.

“What the fuck?” You rub your shoulder and finally find the words to say anything.

“What are you doing here?”

“Laura can’t make it, she sent me over here to tell you.” He says flatly. He’s lying. Looks like he’s got the same tell. You scoff and narrow your eyes.

“She has my number, she could have called me.” Logan shifts on his feet. Clenching his jaw slightly as he sighs.

“Fine. I wanted to come. I needed to see you.” He confesses.

“Look I don’t know who I was in your universe but I’m not them so I think you should go.” You try to close the door but he pushes it back with ease. He walks into your apartment, slamming the door behind you.

“What the fuck Logan.” You huff as he steps closer to you.

“I’m sorry okay but I saw you at Wade’s and you didn’t even spare me a look all night.”

“Sorry that I wasn’t jumping into the fucking arms of a man who looks like my dead husband.” You spit harshly.

"Oh and seeing my dead soulmate is easy for me?” He spits back. His eyes flashing with anger for a second before he tries to calm himself down. Which isn’t easy but this is important.

You soak in what he said. So you were soulmates in his universe too. And you were dead. Maybe you have more in common than you thought. He takes a deep breath and starts again. There’s more vulnerability to him this time. It’s peeking through his tough exterior as he tries to explain it all.

“I know that, we’re not the same people and I would have left you alone if it wasn’t for…” He looks down at his thumb and rubs it along his other fingers.

“What?” You don’t understand what he’s talking about. Logan looks up, confusion on his face.

“Logan what are you-” You cut off as the realization sets in. No. No. No. NO. You look down at your own hands and see nothing. You shut your eyes tight as you clench your fists.

“Sweetheart..” “No! Don’t call me that.” You shove his chest harshly.

He’s not your soulmate. He is not your Logan. This is a cruel cruel fucking world apparently. As if you haven’t lost enough in your life now it’s taunting you with. With this.

“There’s nothing.”

“You couldn’t see it in my world either.” Logan tries to talk but you glare at him.

“Well I can in this world and I’m telling you there’s nothing!” You yell.

The feelings you’ve pressed down and down were bubbling to the surface. God you hated it, the heartbreak, the pain, the grief. You couldn’t even stand to look at him right now. He’s a reminder of everything you’ve lost. It could never be the same.

“Get out.” Your voice starts at a low growl but Logan hears it loud and clear.

“If you would just-”

“No. I mourned you. I watched you die and I watched our connection, our cord fall off like it was nothing. I can’t do this. So just Get. Out!” You scream.

An uncomfortable silence settles and Logan relents. He has so much he wants to say to you but you it's not the time. So he leaves. You wait for a second after the door clicks closed before you let it all out. Sobs wracking your body as it feels like you’re reliving that terrible day.

Logan stands on the other side of your door. Hearing every whimper and cry. It breaks his heart. He could break down this damn door and scoop you up in his arms. Hold you close. You’re his soulmate, the love of his life. But he just can’t. Time, that’s what you need. So even though it pains him, he walks away. He won’t give up on you though, he swears. 

-

Life after your little conversation with Logan fucking sucked. You stopped talking to Wade, to Laura. Kept to yourself in your apartment all day. All night. You ignored the calls, the knocks at the door. You just stopped everything. Drinking away the pain until it lulls you to sleep. The only peace you get. Even then the nightmares don’t stop. Every moment of your life is torture.

The worst part was that sometimes, you swear you feel it. That tug. That sign that there’s someone on the other end. But the man for you was 6ft under. You wonder if it was really there. If this Logan wasn’t lying. Even if he could see it, that didn’t mean you wanted it. How could you? Would this Logan die just like yours? Would you have to watch his slow painful death again? You couldn’t, you just couldn’t.

Eventually it all became too much. Like just being in the same city was too close. You needed to get far away. As far as you fucking could. Away from everyone who knew you as you are now. You pack your clothes, leave a note for Laura and get into your car and drive. It all feels too similar. Driving away until you couldn’t anymore. Ignoring the tugs on your thumb. Telling yourself that it wasn’t real. That your brain was tricking you.

Finding some cheap motel deep in some random town. This could be good. You’re far from anyone who knew you, knew Logan. It was good. The bed creaked and there were roaches in the bathroom but still. This is for the best. 

-

Logan knew something was up the moment you had left. He could just feel it. He watched the string get tight and tighter, stretching beyond its limits. Still it didn’t break. He barged into your house and found you gone. He swore and nearly took Wade's head off when he opened his mouth. He didn’t waste any time. Stealing Wade's car without a second thought. He didn’t know where you went but he just drove. All he knew is that he lost you once. Somehow the universe decided he would get another chance and he was not losing you again. 

He followed his gut as he drove through different states and towns. None of them felt like the right place. The cord on his thumb tugged and tugged. Like it was guiding him right to you. Finally he rolled into some old town in the middle of fucking nowhere. There was nothing in this town. A store, a gas station, and a bar.

Guess that’s all people really need around here. Still something inside of him tells him to stop. He pulls up to the dusty bar lot. Feet heavy as he stomps through the doors. His eyes scan the patrons and he realizes why he came here. There you were, sitting at the bar alone. You looked tired, exhausted really. But you looked like the empty shell of who he knew. He can’t stop himself as he walks over to you. What does he even say? I tracked you for days and now I’m here. No, that's not right. You don’t even notice he’s there. Too wrapped up in your head. So he sits and orders a drink. Still mulling over what to say he decides on something short. Just one word.

“Hey.”  You shoot up in the seat. Eyes wide as you look over to see him. What the actual fuck.

“You left.” He says like he’s confused on why you did. Was it not obvious? You stare at him in disbelief.

“Fuck this.” You mumble to yourself.

You throw down some money and slip off the seat. If you were lucky this was just a really bad dream or hallucination. If you weren’t lucky, which you never were, then he tracked you down and somehow fucking found you.

“Wait.” Logan pays for the drink he didn’t even touch and follows you out.

“Go the fuck home!” You yell as you hurry towards the motel. He’s hot on your tail, not letting you out of his sight.

“No, we need to talk.” He follows you all the way to your motel room. You open the door and try to slam it closed but he’s too quick. 

“Running isn’t gonna fucking help. Trust me.”

“Oh give me a fucking break. Of all the people to preach that to me it’s not going to be you.” You hiss as you try to push him out.

He’s like a fucking wall as he stands in the way. You hit his chest over and over but he won’t budge. He grabs your wrist and pushes you into the room. Pushing you against the door.  Stopping you from going anywhere.

“Get the fuck off me!”

“No, just listen to me for fucks sake.” He growls. You let out a frustrated scream and finally relented. 

“I lost you, in my world I lost you and I was never the same. I know how you feel, I really do. Fuck I held your cold, lifeless body. You say you watched your cord break well. I basically snapped the cord myself. Walking away, letting you die.” His head drops as he seems to relive it all over again. His grip on your wrists loosen, your arms sliding down to your sides.

“Then I show up here and I wake up and this is here.”: He lets go of one of your wrists to show you his hand. His thumb is still bare to you but he sees it. It’s connected right to yours.

“I’m not the same man, I’ve done some terrible things and I regret them every day but it made me the man I am now. I know that means jack shit to you but it means a lot to me.” He cups your face, letting your hands free. If you were to leave he couldn’t stop you but you find yourself planted to the ground.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve this, but you’re my soulmate. We’re meant for each other. I’ll belong to you forever.” You tense up as you recall your Logan saying those very words. It’s too much. You can’t, you just can’t. “

Stop please,” You beg. Tears starting to fall from your eyes.

“I can’t do this Logan, watching you die killed me inside. I loved you, I still love you but, I can’t. I’m scared.” You cry and he wipes away the tears. He keeps you close, knowing the pain, the fear.

“I read a lot about soulmates, you were always jealous I could see cords and you couldn’t.” There’s a hint of a smile as he recalls his life with you.

“You made me read those books. In them they say that two people are connected forever. Through time and space. Maybe through universes too.” He tilts your head and leans closer, his lips ghosting yours.

“I know you’re scared, I am too. But I promised to love you, to take care of you. We’re not the same but we can learn to love each other as we are. Broken, tired, full of baggage.”

You look at him, he’s got the same eyes. The fear of losing him again still fills your heart. Could this really be destiny? Were you meant to find each other? Fate is a funny thing isn’t it.

“Kiss me.” You whisper and he does. Smashing his lips onto yours with a ferocity that takes your breath away. He’s hungry, desperate as he moves you from the door to the bed. The bed creaks loudly as the two of you fall onto the bed. Your hands run through his hair as his arms wrap around your body.

“Logan..” You gasp as he bites your lip roughly, allowing him to deepen the kiss.

It feels so right, so perfect. Being in his arms is everything you need. You pull away breathless, foreheads resting against each other as you catch your breath. He sees the vulnerability in your eyes. The walls you’ve built up start to tumble down and Logan proudly holds the hammer.

“I love you, I’ll always love you.” He caresses your cheek as he stares into your eyes.

“I love you too.” You close your eyes and pray when you open them he’ll still be there.

You feel the tug on your thumb and this time you don’t ignore it. Slowly opening your eyes you look down and see it. You can actually see it. It’s a different shade of red and now it’s on your thumb tied in a bow. You follow the string and it leads right to Logan.

“I see it.” You whisper in awe. Logan smiles, tightening his hold onto you as you keep your eyes on the cord. It’s a little worn down but so are the two of you. It’s perfect.

“Let me take you home.” Logan says, burying his face in your neck. Kissing every spot he can.

Home. You hadn’t thought of any place as home in a long time. But now you have one. A home with Logan, with Laura. Even with Wade and Al and Peter.

But what home really is, is right here in Logan's arms. You feel a weight off your chest as you melt into his arms. Letting yourself be happy, finding yourself in a situation you never thought you’d get to be in again. 

Somehow, through space and time, through all of the multiverse. It doesn’t matter how or when. You two were destined to be together.

Forever and Always.

[formula-ghost]

Read Your Diary (FC43 x fem!reader)

Chapter 5: Valentine (FINALE)

CHAPTER SUMMARY: The end of the 2024 F1 season brings regret and a newfound desire for reconciliation—but is your relationship with Franco beyond saving?

WORD COUNT: 13k

WARNINGS: Sadness. Angry Hispanic mother. Creepy men in bars (not Franco ofc). Drinking, drunk Franco is a media menace. Use of the word whore jokingly. Smut 18+ MINORS DNI. Hickeys, hair pulling. Dom Franco and sub reader, use of good girl, light choking, Oral (m receiving), p in v, protected sex (wrap it before you tap it!)

SERIES TAGLIST:  @scopeiguess @storyteller-le @xivilivix @htpssgavi @wierdflowerpower @justsisse  @uncreativetm  @ncrsbrg  @tillyt04 @amz824 @ellelabelle

A/N: My baby is now complete!! I did not plan for this to be the ending originally, but as I was writing it just kind of came about, and who am I to anger the writing Gods? Honestly, though, the beginning of this chapter destroyed me trying to find a way to redeem Franco. Fun fact, I very loosely based my depiction of Franco off of my real life ex, which explains why he is so horrible lmao (but unlike my real life ex, Franco has been redeemed!). I cannot express how grateful I am for everyone’s support throughout the writing of this story. More to come, but for now, enjoy!

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

All this love, I'm so choked up, I can feel you in my blood

All this lust for just one touch, I'm so scared to give you up

Valentine, my decline is so much better with you

Valentine, my decline, I'm always running' to you

Valentine, Valentine

The block button did nothing to assuage Franco’s obsession with you. In fact, it only made it worse.

If he hadn’t blocked you, he would at least know that you weren’t contacting him. But since he pressed the button, there was now the ever present question of if you had reached out, and if the digital barrier he erected had led it to be lost forever. 

But why would you reach out after what he had done? 

Truthfully, it took everything in you to not call him. You had both said things you didn’t mean—at least, you prayed that Franco didn’t mean them—and you wanted nothing more than to just make up and act like it never happened. 

But the words kept echoing in your mind at night when you couldn’t sleep. You were a distraction.

All the years of supporting him, all the sacrifices you made—all for nothing. 

You couldn’t help that you loved him. And the Franco you knew and loved didn’t mean those things. He couldn’t. 

So you checked your phone’s international clock. It was still night where you were at home, but morning in Abu Dhabi, where he’d be completing his last F1 race tomorrow. 

There was still time. If you called and made up now, you could be there for the final race. You could be there at the end, just like you had been there at all of his beginnings.

So you swallowed your pride, tapped on his name in your contacts, and pressed call. But it didn’t even ring before it hung up. You knew what that meant. He had blocked you.

At first you wanted to puke. You wanted to burst down the stairs of your apartment and run into the street screaming. You wanted to throw a bottle of wine on the walls and cry in the wreckage.

But after a few hours of getting all the crying out, a strange peace fell over you.

It was just… over. That was that.

In the morning, however, the grief came back from a familiar notification. His mother.

You had been putting off her messages ever since your argument with Franco. You couldn’t bear to tell her what had happened. But she was worried about you, evident by her increasingly concerned messages.

You finally gathered the courage to type up a response.

Hi Mami, you began—she had forbidden you to call her by her name, instead telling you to call her Mom—I tried to talk to Franco like you asked. It didn’t go well, and we both said a lot of hurtful things. It ended on bad terms and he ended up canceling all my passes and flights, and I think he blocked me. I’m sorry, I tried to get through to him. Thank you for all the kindness you’ve shown me over the years <3

You read over what you’d typed. It was honest. You could have spared her more of the details, but why? Franco would have to live with the consequences of his actions. That wasn’t your problem.

It was only a few moments later that she responded. Oh dear, I am so sorry. I am ashamed of Franco—that is not the son I raised. I hope you know we all love you, and I wish you all the best.

You liked her message and left it at that. But she called you later that night.

She began, “YN, words can’t describe how sorry I am. What happened?”

“I… I don’t know,” you began, carefully choosing your words. You weren’t quite sure how much you wanted to tell her. “He was already upset when I got there. He kept accusing me of lecturing him, but I was just trying to tell him I was worried. He said… that I was a distraction.”

“I can’t believe him! You have never been a distraction. You’ve been there for him when we couldn’t, we’ve always been so grateful for you.” Her admission nearly brought tears to your eyes. “I just… Dios Mio.” 

The conversation was short, but vulnerable. 

“YN, can I ask you something?” 

“Of course.”

“You had feelings for him, didn’t you?” She asked it as if it were a statement, rather than a question.

You were silent for a beat before answering. “I did. I… I do.”

“Oh, dear, I wish I was there to give you a hug.” You could feel the care in her voice, a soothing comfort. “I want you to know you’re always welcome here, no matter what my idiot son says.”

You chuckled, thanking her for her kindness before ending the call. You were truly grateful for her invitation, but you couldn’t imagine being in Argentina without Franco. The call had felt more like a farewell. 

In Abu Dhabi, Franco was having his own farewells. It was bittersweet; he had worked so hard for so long to get here, but he couldn’t wait for it to be over. He was exhausted, mentally and physically. He just wanted to go home.

Home—the only place he felt like he had left. His Madrid apartment would feel empty without your laughter echoing in the halls. But back in Argentina, the people still loved him, and he could come back to a warm, home-cooked meal.

It was the only thing on his mind as he was forced to retire the car early, ending his last F1 race of 2024 with a DNF. But he didn’t care about that at all when he stepped off his flight from Abu Dhabi to Buenos Aires. 

Unfortunately for him, what was waiting for him at home was not peace and a warm meal. It was a very angry Hispanic mother. 

He came through the door, jet lagged, struggling with his luggage. She didn’t help him. 

When his father and sister ran up to give him a hug and help him in, she didn’t move an inch. She just stayed in the kitchen, silently chopping vegetables with her recently sharpened knife.

After putting away his bags into his room, Franco made his way to the kitchen to greet his mother, who didn’t even look up from her cutting board.

“Hi Mami, I’m home,” he said tentatively.

“Welcome home,” she replied, no warmth in her voice.

“Aren’t you excited to see me?” he joked. He knew he was dodging landmines. He knew she had every right to be angry—he had gotten caught up in everything after Singapore, and after his controversy, he had been dodging her calls and texts, other than to arrange plans to come home for the holidays. Others may have gotten over their frustration, or chose to ignore it for the sake of the holidays. She was not that kind of woman. 

“Oh, I’m thrilled,” she said, her voice flat. “Dinner is almost ready. Can you set the table for five, please?”

“Five? There’s only 4 of us.”

“Well, isn’t YN going to join us?” She already knew the answer. She just wanted to see him squirm as he answered it. He had nowhere to run anymore. 

“Uh… no. Not this year.”

“And why would that be?”

“She’s, uh, busy.” His mother didn’t respond. He had to fill the awkward silence. “And she’s probably mad at me…”

She paused, holding the knife in an iron grip. She lifted it from the cutting board to point towards him. “And why would that be, Franco?”

“Mami…”

“Do not lie to me.” Her voice was cold as ice.

“Mami, it’s complicated. I don’t want to talk about it. I just want to enjoy the holidays and forget about this whole season.”

“I’m sure you do,” she concluded, not an ounce of sympathy in her voice. Franco sighed, getting down the plates to set the table for his family. But he stopped in his tracks when he turned and felt a slipper to the back of his head. 

“Ah! What was that for?” The blow didn’t hurt anything but his ego.

“You know what you did,” his mother seethed. “You can’t run from this forever. Now get out of my kitchen.”

Franco obeyed, muttering under his breath. 

“What was that?” his mother asked.

“Nothing!” he chirped, setting the plates on the table.

During dinner, it wasn’t any better. His father and sister, oblivious to his mother’s rage, chatted as if nothing had happened. They had been angry at his…questionable dating decisions, yes, but they clearly had let it go in the meantime and decided to just enjoy the time together as a family. His mother, however, had not. 

And whenever anyone asked about it, she said she was fine. But she was clearly not fine. 

As Franco took the dishes into the kitchen to help clean up after dinner, he sighed, knowing that his mother was right. He couldn’t go the entire holiday ignoring it—she would make sure of that.

He couldn’t sleep that night. The bed of his childhood home was warm and comforting, but he couldn’t relax under the weight of it all.

Maybe some fresh air would do him good. That’s what he reasoned when he slid open the back door and inhaled the cool night air. He sat cross legged on the back terrace, just taking in the sounds of the serene night. 

That was, until he heard another person closing the door behind him. His mother. 

“Not now, Mami,” he said, not even turning to look at her.

“I’m not going to chastise you.” She handed him a mug of something warm. For a moment they just sat next to each other, sipping their drinks in silence. 

Franco began to speak unprompted. “YN has every right to be angry at me. I…ruined everything. I was so cruel to her.”

His mother just gave him a reassuring hum.

He continued, “She had feelings for me. I know I should have known it sooner, but I was in denial. But I had feelings for her too. And I got distracted. But it wasn’t her fault. I was so worried about my future that I ignored how she had always been there in my past.” 

The mug in his hands trembled and his voice wavered. “She was always there for me. Every race, every win, every failure. She was always there.”

His mother reached for him, lovingly stroking his back as he confessed.

“She probably hates me now. I don’t blame her.” A tear fell into his mug. He turned to look at his mother, her expression far more sympathetic than it was at dinner. “Can I fix it?”

“I don’t know. But first of all, you owe her an apology.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t. Because if you did, you would have already done it.” He was silent. “It’s possible that she will forgive you. Or, she may not. You have to accept that.”

“I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

“Franco,” she began, “you did this. You have to suffer through the consequences of your actions. And if you are lucky enough that she forgives you and wants you back in your life, it’ll be a hell of a lot of work to regain her trust.” 

He nodded. “I’ll do it. I’d do anything.”

“Then why haven’t you?”

He paused. “I’m scared. Scared that it really is beyond saving.”

“The longer you wait, the more likely that is to be true.” 

This time, he actually knew what he needed to do.

Neither of you knew the parallels between you two; each of you pining for the other’s love, wanting nothing more than just to speak to the other. And when he unblocked you and called, it was like the stars aligned.

You didn’t answer. 

He didn’t panic at first. It was close to the holidays, in the middle of the day in your timezone. Maybe you were with your family. 

But as one missed call turned to two, and days of no contact turned to weeks, Franco began to know the bitter taste of his own medicine.

You had seen him call. And yes, you were with your family at the time. You told yourself that was the main reason why you hadn’t answered. As if seeing his contact on your phone didn’t shatter your heart into a million pieces. 

But later that night, when you were finally alone, you couldn’t bring yourself to call him back. He hadn’t left any voicemail or text, just his name and a missed call icon. 

What would you even say to him? He knew you were angry. And you knew you couldn’t just act as if nothing happened.

So despite your desperation to speak to him again, you just let his calls keep coming and coming over the weeks. 

A dark part of you enjoyed having his attention. You waited to see his icon pop up, just to let the call go to voicemail. It made you feel wanted again. 

And you were wanted. When he tried to sleep at night, he wanted you. When he talked with his manager about future plans for the next season—back down to F2—he wanted you. 

Both of you knew it was a delicate balance. He couldn’t keep calling forever. At some point you’d have to answer, or he’d have to stop. But you loved the dark thrill of pushing it. 

And this continued for weeks.

The calls lessened as the F2 season began. Franco was back at work. You had finally let go of the need to watch his races.

But there was another contact you hadn’t ignored: Lily. 

She called you out of the blue one day. “YN! I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.”

The last time you saw her—it must have been Austin—felt like years ago.  

“Yeah, it’s been a while,” you replied. 

“Do you… wanna talk about how you’ve been?” It was late January now. You had spent the weeks just passing time, lost, but somehow also at peace with all of it.

“Um… not if you don’t want to ruin your day,” you joked. Humor was a good coping mechanism, you had learned. You’d grown tired of explaining to people why Franco was no longer in your life. You had once been so intertwined, and now, nothing. You were thankful that she didn’t press further. 

“Well, we should go out,” she suggested. “I know a great new club in Madrid, and Rebecca and I will be there the weekend before Valentine’s Day.”

Valentine’s Day. The bane of your fucking existence. Worst holiday ever.

But you had spent Christmas in a daze, and New Years alone. You didn’t know if you could do another holiday like that, so acutely aware of Franco’s absence. So you agreed. 

But Lily’s phone call wasn’t as out of the blue as you had thought.

One thing about Franco was that he was determined. If he wanted something, he was going to get it. So yes, he called and called and called and let all his calls be missed.

He couldn’t just text you or leave a voicemail. What he needed to say was too important. He needed to see you.  

So he called up the only other woman he knew besides you and his own mother: Lily. 

He pitched the idea simply. He just needed her to arrange something where you and him would meet. Lily was skeptical. 

“Franco, you know when a woman isn’t answering your calls, it’s usually because she doesn’t want to talk to you, right?” 

“I know,” he signed. “I know she’s pissed at me. She has every right to be. I just want to apologize to her.”

“Then why not, like, send her a letter or something? Trying to organize an event where she’s forced to see you is kind of…creepy.”

Deep down, he knew Lily was right. “It’s not like that, though. I just need to see her, say it to her face. If she gets angry and never wants to see me again, I’ll respect her wishes. But I love her too much to not try.”

Lily was a hopeless romantic if nothing else. And Franco was charismatic and too smooth to deny with his one-liners. 

So she agreed. Besides, she knew you needed a girls night.

And you realized it too when Rebecca and Lily came over to your apartment to get ready a few weeks later. 

You vented to them as they helped you apply your eyeliner and zip up your dress—yes, THAT dress—about how hard the past few weeks had been.

“And then,” you explained, as Rebecca dusted a brush along your cheekbones, “he told me that I didn’t need to be there! As if he wasn’t the one who begged me to go!”

Rebecca made a sour expression. “Girl,” she said, “Good riddance to him.”

When you looked at yourself in the mirror, you nearly gasped. You looked fucking amazing. 

Yes, you were wearing that dress that always reminded you of him—his favorite color, bought while on vacation to see his family. But if he couldn’t see your beauty, someone else would. And right now, that someone was Lily, as she snapped photos of you all before you left for the club and posted them on her story.

As you entered the club, you felt the bass in your bones. Yes, this was exactly what you needed. 

You drank. You danced. You felt the eyes of tipsy men on you.. And for a while, all your troubles faded away.

You approached the bar for your second drink of the night. A man walked next to you, presumably to order his own drink. You recognized him as someone you’d danced with earlier.

“You look great tonight,” he said, eyeing you up and down. His tone was too sleazy for your liking.

“Thanks,” you said, hoping a short response would end the exchange so you could get your drink and make your way back to Lily and Rebecca, who were waiting for you in a booth. 

“D’you always dance like that?”

“Like what?” 

He smirked. “You’re cute when you play dumb like that.”

You genuinely had no idea what the man was going on about. “Sorry, I need to get back to my friends.”

You turned to leave, but the man grabbed your arm. “Don’t you need to get your drink? Stay a minute.”

You grimaced, but a surge of anxiety kept you frozen to your spot. You turned your glaze to the floor, silently beginning for an out.

“So, what’s your name?”

“Uh…” You were unable to answer. You feigned ignorance. “Sorry, it’s loud in here, I can’t hear you.”

“Oh, it doesn’t matter. I don’t need to know your name to take you home tonight.”

“What?” You wanted to puke.

The man started to reach his arm out toward your waist. You stepped back and bumped into someone. You cursed your own awkwardness. When you turned to apologize, you saw a familiar face.

Franco. Fuck. You felt your stomach drop. 

“You know this guy?” The man behind you asked.

“She does,” Franco answered for you. You were grateful—you were unable to speak, choked with anxiety. 

“You let your girl act like that?” 

“Fuck off, mate.”

The man took the hint and shrugged, taking his drink and disappearing into the crowd. 

Your eyes were still glued to the floor. “Thank you,” you said. 

“Don’t thank me,” he said, “it’s the least I could do.”

The bartender handed you your drink. Part of you just wanted to go back to Lily and Rebecca and act like all of this never happened. But by the look of Franco’s face, one of grave seriousness, you knew it wouldn’t be that easy.

But the other part of you was thankful. Thankful that Franco had saved you from that creep, yes, but also thankful that the stars had aligned to bring you and your best friend back together. What were the odds?

Wait. Maybe the stars hadn’t aligned.

“Franco, what are you doing here?” 

Now it was him who looked to the floor in embarrassment. “Lily told me you were here. I asked her to help me talk to you.”

“So you… arranged to find me in a club, because I wasn’t answering your calls?” 

Franco may be Latino, but he sure had the audacity of a white man. 

“When you put it like that, it sounds bad…”

You rolled your eyes and walked away. He followed you through the crowd. 

“YN, wait! Why won't you answer my calls?”

“Because I have nothing to say to you.” That wasn’t true. You actually had a lot to say, you were just too afraid to say it.

“Okay, I get it. I fucked up. But will you just listen to me? Please?” 

You just kept walking. 

“YN! Please!” You had nearly reached the booths, and he was still following you. You just kept ignoring him. 

“YN—” You slammed down your drink on the table, startling Lily and Rebecca. When Franco came into view behind you, they exchanged knowing glances. 

You turned around to face him. “Are you really begging?” you whispered in a hushed tone. 

“Yes,” he said, his voice equally low. 

Lily got out of the booth, standing next to you. “What’s the harm in just hearing him out?” she said, low enough that he wouldn’t be able to hear her over the thumping bass. 

You swallowed. The harm? You would fall for him again. And he would hurt you again and again. You’d lose him again. A never ending cycle of pain. 

But his pleading expression in front of you was too much to bear. You couldn’t say no to the man you still loved.

“Let’s get some air, hm?” he said, and you nodded, silently following him back to the crowd. He led you to a staircase where a bouncer nodded and silently let the both of you pass. 

The staircase led to the roof of the club, with a beautiful view of the city. The space was clearly set up for patrons to enjoy, but there wasn’t a soul there besides you and Franco. 

The view took your breath away. You had seen so much beauty when you had traveled the world with Franco for his races, but this was home, and he was warm next to you as he snaked his arm around your waist, silently taking in the sight next to you.

You relaxed into the touch. For a moment, you just let everything fade away into the peaceful scene. 

But as you smelled Franco’s familiar cologne and relished the feeling of his touch, you couldn’t help the anxiety that rose in your throat. It felt like it was choking you. You moved forward, forcing his arm away, and leaned against the railing on the edge of the rooftop.

“Say what you have to say,” you said plainly. 

“I want to apologize.” His opening sentence was simple, yet powerful. “YN, I was horrible to you. I lied and I betrayed your trust. I blamed all my problems on you, when you were the only one who was ever there for me.”

You watched the cars on the road below, like ants in a colony.

He continued, “And you were right, about everything.” 

The silence in the air was thick.

Your voice was shaking when you began. “Franco, you made me feel like I was insane. You… you accused me of using you. You called me a distraction. You said I was disgusting. You uninvited me from the last races and you blocked me.”

“You tried to call?”

“Of course I did.” The tears in your eyes threatened to mess up your mascara that Rebecca had so carefully applied. “I tried to call you before Abu Dhabi. I wanted to forgive you and be there for your last race.”

“Shit, YN… I’m so fucking sorry.”

“I don’t know if I can forgive you now.”

It was him, now, who had eyes full of tears. “YN, I…I love you. I can’t lose you. I know I hurt you, and it kills me. But I miss my best friend. My friend who skipped prom to come to a race. My friend who helped me dry my clothes after she found me trying to use an oven to do it. My friend who is the only one that really gets my sense of humor.”

You finally broke down at his confession. He reached out to hold you.

“Don’t cry,” he whispered. “I’m here. It’s gonna be okay.”

He let you cry it out, before pulling back and looking at you. He gently used the pad of his thumb to wipe away your tears and fix your smeared makeup.

“I can’t ask for everything to go back to normal,” he said, looking you in the eyes. His eyes were teary, too. “I know I can’t. I did things that are beyond awful. But I promise you that if you can find it in your heart to forgive me, I’ll do whatever I can to regain your trust. You’re too important to me.”

All you could do was bury yourself in his chest. He wasn’t expecting the sudden gesture, but he slotted his arms around you like they always belonged there. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. You don’t know how long you stood there, warm in his embrace. You could have stayed there for years. 

You were brought out of the perfect scene by the sound of a notification on your phone. You broke the hug after a moment to check it. A text from Lily: everything okay?

You chuckled. “I think Lily is worried about us.”

“Well,” he asked, “is everything okay?”

He wanted an answer. You didn’t know if you could say it. 

But is this not what your entire journey had been leading up to? You had begun writing in your journal to communicate what you feel. And now, you had no choice. 

You were strong. You had changed.

“I want to forgive you,” you said. “But it won’t be easy. It’ll take time.”

“I have all the time in the world.”

“And I can’t promise that I won’t be scared or insecure.”

“Whatever you need, I’ll do. I’ll listen, I’ll show you—”

“Franco.” You cut him off. “I know. I love you.”

You couldn’t name the expression on his face. Like relief. Or love.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked. 

You were scared of what door that would open, of how much you truly wanted him to. So you didn’t speak. You just reached up to caress his cheek and tell him with your actions.

Your lips met his, and all the sorrow melted away. You could feel the vibrations of the club under your feet, the gentle pumping of blood through his veins, faster now that he could touch you. He pulled you in by the waist, and you brought your other hand to the back of his neck, making the space between you infinitesimally small. 

But you pulled away before he could deepen the kiss. You couldn’t rush it, no matter how badly you wanted it. 

When you opened your eyes, he had that expression you had grown to yearn for; it gave away how badly he needed more of you. You could feel a blush rise to your cheeks at the thought of his wanting.

“We should go back down before Lily gets too worried,” you said. He smiled and nodded, but as his expression of desire faded away, you saw the familiar signs of anxiety. He didn’t know how far to push, how comfortable to act. 

You grabbed his hand. “And then, you should dance with me.”

His tentative smile grew more relaxed. “Of course.”

Turns out, there’s nothing an honest conversation and a little alcohol couldn’t fix. And in the aftermath of the former, you definitely indulged in the latter—maybe a little too much. 

You went downstairs to retrieve your drink that Lily and Rebecca had so kindly watched for you. It was a little watered down from the ice melting, but it would do the trick. 

Rebecca helped you fix your makeup as Lily glared at Franco for making you cry. He knew he’d have work to do to earn back their trust, too, but he was more than willing. 

So when you were ready, he wasted no time taking you out to the dancefloor to give you the night of your life. 

The only problem was that Franco was not a frequent club goer, and therefore unable to handle his liquor. And you all had a lot to drink that night. 

You finally cut him off when he threatened to get on the table and start stripping. 

“Oh, Lord, Franco, I’m cutting you off, you’ve had too much to drink,” you slurred. You were tipsy yourself, in no state to talk, but at least you were committed to staying clothed for the night. 

“What are you gonna do? Fuck me about it?” he joked, sticking his tongue out playfully. 

You don’t know if the blush on your face was from the drinks or his taunting. But God, even when he was wasted, he looked so good. As the night had progressed, he had become more disheveled, his shirt buttons coming undone to expose his toned chest and a sheen of sweat from all the dancing. He leaned over, running a hand along your cheek. “Bet you would want that, wouldn’t you?” 

“Okay, time to get you home!” you told him. Lily and Rebecca had left a bit earlier, satisfied that their mission was accomplished. 

You got up and tried to corral your drunk friend out of the club. He didn't want to cooperate, though. 

“No, YN, I don’t want to go home! I missed you, dance with me!” He reached out to grab your waist, his hands wandering up and down your body. 

“Franco, you’re drunk,” you said, moving out of his grip. “I’m calling an Uber and getting you home.”

It’s not like his touch was unwelcome. But you were in public and he was inebriated, unable to consent to what he was actually doing. You knew it was time to go. 

You finally dragged him outside as you waited for the Uber on the corner. You hoped the cool night air would sober him up a bit.

“Have I told you that you look fucking gorgeous tonight?” he slurred. You ignored him as you watched the little car icon drive closer and closer. 

“I always loved that dress on you,” he continued, “but it’d look better off of you.”

“Our Uber is here!” you said through your blush. 

But even in the Uber, he was relentless. 

“I missed youuuuu” he cooed in your ear.

“I missed you too, but could you not be a whore for 5 minutes?” you laughed. You hoped the humor would distract him. He lowered his voice to a husky whisper.

“But YNNNNN, I want you so fucking badly. Every part of you, even the parts that you’re ashamed of—fuck, especially those parts. I want to know the version of you that you’re scared to be. I want you to use me like a toy to get what you want. And when I read what you wrote I was… fuck, I couldn’t stop myself. Every day I’d read it and touch myself and wish it was you. God, I just need to fuck you so badly—“ he practically moaned in your ear as his hand again reached to your waist.

You grabbed him by the wrist, stopping him in his tracks. His doe eyes looked up at you, deceptively innocent, hiding behind them the true depths of his lust.

You moved his hand away and let go. He was silent and still.

“Franco, you are drunk. I am going to get you home and you are going to get some rest.”

“I know you’re mad at me. You should be, I’m a fucking idiot,” he slurred. “But you can take it out on me, on my body—“

“Franco! We are in public,” you hissed through gritted teeth.

“Is being horny a crime? You can arrest me, put me in restraints—” 

The Uber pulled up in front of your apartment and you wasted no time getting Franco out of the car and up the stairs. You made sure to tip the driver well. 

Franco didn’t even let up as he collapsed on your bed, dizzy from stumbling up the stairs and into your apartment. He grabbed you, pulling you back to the bed, burying his face in your hair.

“You smell so good,” he muttered. You wrestled free from his grip, throwing a pillow back at him playfully. 

“I am not going to fuck you when you’re this drunk. Get changed and go to sleep.” 

He pouted, but complied, undressing agonizingly slowly behind you. You had turned away to give him privacy, but your mind wandered as you heard the shuffling of his clothes. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he apologized, still behind you.

“You didn’t,” you said, and it was true; you loved that he wanted you, just…not in that setting. “Just sleep it off. I’ll take the couch.”

“No, come here,” he said, patting the side of the bed. You turned and jumped, seeing that instead of changing into the pair of old pajamas that he had left at your place many months ago that you had laid out for him, he had just stripped down to his underwear.

“Absolutely not,” you said, your face turning a bright red. “Put some clothes on.”

“But it’s hot in here!”

“Then I’ll take the couch.”

“YN just snuggle with me—”

You cut him off by closing the bedroom door. 

A few hours later, you were convinced that you had the world’s most uncomfortable couch. You couldn’t sleep a bit. 

You filled the hours by scrolling on your phone. The F1 gossip pages were calling your name. 

The reappearance of YN! The former friend (and suspected ex girlfriend) of Williams reserve driver Franco Colapinto was featured in a post from a nightclub in Madrid with current Williams wags Lily Muni He and Rebecca Donaldson. Several attendees also caught videos of her dancing with a mysterious man that is definitely not Franco. YN hasn’t been publicly seen since the 2024 Brazilian Grand Prix, which fans assume has something to do with Franco’s fling with a controversial Argentine actress.

Above the caption was a slideshow: the pictures of you, Lily, and Rebecca on the first slide, and the next being a video of you dancing with the creep. You cringed at the memory.

The top comment made you chuckle: I can’t believe Franco fumbled his 2025 seat AND a baddie. 

You scrolled to the next post. 

Former F1 driver for Williams, Franco Colapinto, spotted in a nightclub in Madrid getting very handsy with best friend YN! 

The two have not been seen together since the Brazilian Grand Prix in 2024. At the time, fans speculated that the two were dating, but sources close to the driver reported that a falling out regarding Franco’s dating controversies during the season led him to cancel her VIP pass for the last triple header.

But luckily for Franco x YN shippers, the pair seem to be quite comfortable with each other again. Do you think they’ll make it official soon? Comment your opinion below!

Fuck. Someone had gotten a video of you trying to get Franco out of the club, and without context, it looked bad.

You were pushing him off of you, yes, but not because you didn’t want his touch. You were just afraid of this exact scenario happening. You prayed a silent apology for his manager. 

Your scrolling was interrupted by the sound of Franco waking up and stumbling into your kitchen for a glass of water. Even with only a few hours of rest, he had slept off the drunkenness, but was left with a horrific hangover. 

You probably should have just pretended to be asleep until he went back to bed. But, against your better judgement, you got up to meet him at your kitchen counter.

He still hadn’t put any clothes on. Typical.

“You alive there?” you joked.

He downed his entire glass of water. “Barely,” he grimaced. “Worth it, though.”

You gave him a half smile. “You’re probably gonna have a million notifications from your manager. I tried my best.” You handed him your phone to watch the video.

“Jesus, that’s how I looked? I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t mind. But it’s a good thing that you probably don’t remember what you said.”

“Oh no, I remember.” You blushed. “And I don’t regret a word. I meant everything I said.”

“Franco, when we were in the Uber, you said I could use your body as a toy.” You cringed as you repeated his words back to him.

“I know. Offer still stands.”

“Franco…”

“YN, be honest with me. If I was sober, and we were alone, what would you have done?”

You swallowed. He was sober. You were alone.

He saw the thoughts cross your eyes. He broke the space between you walking to the other side of the counter. He pulled you in by the waist until all that separated you was the thin fabric of your pajamas and his underwear.

The breath had been taken from you. “Talk to me,” he said. You couldn’t. The anxiety choked you. “YN, I’m tired of pretending like I don’t want you.”

“Don’t do this to me, Franco,” you pleaded. “I want this but … we shouldn’t.” You looked away. You couldn’t handle the intensity of his gaze

“Why not?”

“Because… we just made up. I don’t want to lose you again.”

“You won’t. I’m here to stay. Trust me. If I promise that everything will be okay, will you trust me?”

You paused. “… I can’t. I don’t trust you. Not yet, at least.”

You had to be honest with him, but it broke your heart to say those words. You didn't know yet if he was genuine, or if his fling with the actress hadn't worked out and he was using you as a placeholder. The thought made you want to puke. 

He loosened his grip on you. Your words felt like a thousand knives going through his chest, but he knew he was going to have to face the very real consequences of his actions. 

“I understand,” he said. “Just let me hold you. I know my words don’t mean much anymore. But I promise I’ll do everything in my power to earn back your trust, and I mean it.”

He buried his face in your hair. “Come back to bed with me.” You knew the request was innocent, so you allowed it, snuggling up into his warm chest and falling asleep as the sun began to peak in the sky outside. “I’m letting go of you. Never again,” he murmured. Both of you knew that it wasn't about the sex, or about how right you felt curled up next to him. It was something deeper, more intimate, than the bare skin that he now innocently wrapped his arm around. 

When you woke up, for a moment, you thought you had dreamed the whole thing. But the soothing sound of Franco’s soft snoring proved you wrong. 

Over breakfast, you laid out boundaries. You both needed to take things slowly, build up the trust that had been lost.

But when you woke up a week later on Valentine’s Day to a bouquet of pink roses on your nightstand, you couldn’t help but blush darker than the petals, remembering the reference from your diary. 

Franco had planned to take you out, and of course, you wore his favorite dress. 

The night was perfect—a little too perfect. In the back of your mind, you couldn’t help remembering the salacious ending to that diary entry, replaying the fantasy over and over in your mind. But as he took you home for the night, Franco was ever the gentleman, perfectly keeping his hands to himself.

The longer you looked at him, the more you wanted him to touch you. 

You had only made it to your apartment for a few seconds when the sight of Franco taking off his suit jacket was too much to bear. You grabbed him by the collar, pulling him into a frantic kiss. 

He wasn’t complaining, of course.

He took your actions as a sign, gently pushing you into the wall behind you until you were pinned. His lips never left yours, instead deepening the connection, tongues exploring each other’s mouths.

When you did come up for air, there was a faint hint of your lipstick on him. He chuckled. “Mi amor, what was that?” he teased, stroking your cheek and he looked down on you. He rested his arm above your head, leaning his body into yours. You could feel both of your chests breathing heavily with a growing desire.

“I wanted you.”

“I thought you wanted to wait?” He was right. You didn’t want to rush into physical things so early. Franco had been nothing but respectful and apologetic all week, but still, only those few days had passed. 

“...Yeah,” you said. You were frustrated at him. For being so fucking attractive. For making you want him so badly.

“It’s alright, hermosa,” he teased, “I’m sorry that I’m so irresistible.” Only a week since you all had made up, and he was already back to reading your thoughts.

“Oh, hush.” 

In the following weeks, Franco’s return to racing made resisting him a lot easier. He had asked you to come to a few races, but you had declined. The memories of his time in F1 were too fresh, the wounds not quite sealed. Besides, you didn’t want to be seen in public with him just yet. You hadn’t exactly made your relationship official—though neither of you were talking to other people—and you were anxious for the public eye to be on you again. 

That was, until Franco got a very exciting phone call. 

Carlos Sainz had gotten in a minor biking accident—nothing major, just a sprained wrist, but enough that he needed to take a week off to heal—so Franco would be back in his car.

When he asked you to return to the F1 paddock with him, this time, you couldn’t refuse. 

So that’s how you found yourself in a hotel room with your best friend (and now sort-of boyfriend). 

Before bed on Wednesday night, after a long day of meetings, he wanted nothing more than to come back to the hotel and lay in your arms. And that’s exactly what he did.

You absentmindedly ran your fingers through his hair. “You nervous for tomorrow?” you asked.

“No,” he answered truthfully, “not one bit.”

“Really?”

“Yes, I mean, I have nothing to lose. Nothing could be worse than the end of last season.”

“Franco, don’t say that.”

“It’s true, though.” He chuckled. “I can’t fuck up any worse than I already did. For a while there, I lost everything.”

You stopped playing with his hair to crane your neck down and kiss the top of his head. “Well, I’m not going anywhere,” you said. 

He sat up, looking you dead in the eyes, his expression as serious as it could get.

“I love you.”

You were taken aback for a moment. You had both said it back in February when you confessed, but it was different now; more real, vulnerable. 

“I love you too.”

“I want you to be mine.” His gaze traced the line from your lips to your eyes, finally meeting you where you couldn’t look away.

“I already am.”

“Then I’m yours, too. And I want the world to know it.”

You finally broke the stare, looking down at the comforter. “I’m nervous about what people will say.”

“YN, who gives a fuck what they say? They’re not here. They don’t know us.” You knew, deep down, that he was right, but that did nothing to temper your anxiety.

Franco playfully grabbed you and pulled you to sit on his lap. You let out a yelp that dissolved into laughter as you saw the smile on his face. 

“I don’t care what anyone says. You’re my girl, yeah?” 

You smiled too. “Yeah.”

“And I'm yours. You wanna prove it?” he teased, pulling down the collar of his shirt, exposing his neck. “Show them all what’s yours, hm?”

“Franco,” you said, blushing, “everyone will see.”

“That’s the point, mi amor.”

“Your manager will kill me if you show up to media day covered in hickeys.”

“I’ll cover them up.” You knew better. He absolutely would not cover them up. He’d wear them like a badge of honor.

But Franco’s refusal to be media trained was one of the many qualities you loved about him.

“Come on, you know you want to,” he teased. He was right. Right now you wanted nothing more than to cover him in love bites, claiming him as yours. 

But you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he could read you so well.

“Oh, hush,” you said, grabbing his chin to bring him into another drawn out kiss. 

You trailed the kiss down to his neck, finally giving in to his request. Yes, he was yours. And now the world would see it.

You relentlessly nipped at the rough skin, enjoying the soft but labored breaths that came from Franco. You kissed his earlobes, his jaw, his collarbones, until you found that perfect spot on his neck. He gasped when your teeth met his skin, softly moaning when you gently sunk your teeth in and sucked to leave a bright red mark.

You pulled away, and his expression was one of deep wanting. Sitting on his lap, you could feel him hardening under you, desperate for whatever he could get of you. 

You rested your hands on the hem of his shirt. “This is getting in my way,” you complained.

He wasted no time in taking it off. 

He slid his hands under your shirt too, drawing you closer to him, burying his face in your neck and smothering it with kisses. You gently grinded down on him, giving both of you the friction you so desperately needed.

But you didn’t want to be the focus of the night. You took back control, running your hands through his hair and roughly pulling it, forcing his head back.

His doe eyes on you were full of lust. He paused for a moment.

“Sorry, was that too much?” you whispered, embarrassment beginning to flush your face bright pink.

“Oh no, I..” he panted, “I liked that a lot.”

You smiled, and went right back to your attack on his skin. He ran his hands up and down your back underneath your shirt, teasing with the clasp of your bra.

You felt his phone buzz in his pocket. You both ignored it. 

“YN…” he exhaled, a breathy moan. You pulled back, seeing the red flush on his face. You could feel his excitement beneath you.

“Can I take this off?” he asked, his hands tugging at your top.

You weren’t quite sure what to answer. You figured that you’d sit down and talk before your first time. You all hadn’t gone beyond heavy kissing—Franco had been respectful of your desire to wait. But it had been months now, and he’d gone above and beyond to prove that you could trust him.

His phone buzzed again. And again, you both ignored it.

“You don’t have to if you’re nervous,” he said. “We only go as far as you want.”

You nodded, silently giving him permission. He leaned in to softly press one last kiss to your lips before moving to pull off your top.

Only for his phone to ring, ruining the moment.

Your shirt remained on as he fumbled to get his phone out of his pocket and turn it off. But the caller was James Vowels.

You both saw the contact info and knew that the mood had been ruined.

“I’m sorry, amor, I have to take this—” he apologized as you climbed off of his lap and he answered the call.

As he spoke, you took a deep breath, trying to process what had just happened, and what was about to happen before you had been cockblocked by the William’s team principal. 

After only a minute he hung up the call, continuing to apologize. “I’m so sorry, they need me right now.” His voice was full of urgency. 

“It’s okay, go,” you assured him, your tone genuine. He placed a chaste kiss on your cheek before grabbing a Williams quarter zip from the floor to cover up the darkening marks on his neck. 

He raced down to the hotel conference room, hoping that his…little problem would not be visible in what had sounded like a very important meeting. The tone in James’ voice had been one of immediacy, and Franco had no idea what to expect. 

And when he finally made it to the room, he was met with faces both new and familiar: James, his manager, and…Aston Martin employees?

He made a confused face and he gave the group a cursory nod and sat down in the last remaining seat, next to his manager. 

“Oh, Franco, you’re here,” James said, exhaling. “We have some exciting news.”

His manager had a smile that beamed across the room. “We’ve been talking to these lovely folks from Aston Martin,” she said, gesturing to the other side of the table. “It hasn’t been officially announced yet, but soon they’ll be putting out a statement. Fernando Alonso is retiring.”

Franco gave them a polite smile, unsure of what that information had to do with him.

“So, Aston Martin would like to offer you the seat for 2026.”

Franco felt the air leave his lungs. “I…uh…yes,” he said, too stunned to really speak. “Yes, I want it. Where do I sign?”

“Well, not so fast,” his manager responded. “We have a lot to discuss regarding the new contract, brand deals, buying you out of your Williams contract…”

But Franco was on cloud nine. His manager’s words faded into the background. He felt like heaven had opened up, and the absolute novel of a contract that now sat on the table in front of him was dropped directly there by God Himself. He could even hear the chorus of angels singing. 

His presence there was merely a formality, it seemed, as the Aston Martin officials and his manager talked back and forth on minute details for what felt like hours. Nothing would be set in stone today, of course, but she wasn’t lying when she had said that a mountain of work laid ahead of them. 

As the time droned on, the officials filtered out one by one, leaving only Franco and his manager alone in the conference room.

“I’m so proud of you, kid,” she said, patting him on the shoulder. “You really earned this.”

“Thank you,” he replied, genuine. 

“Look, go back to your room and get some rest. You’ve got a big day tomorrow. But this is strictly confidential, you hear me? You can’t tell a single soul. Not even your own mother. Not even YN.”

“I hear you.”

“And, tomorrow, maybe cover that up better, yeah?” she said, gesturing to her neck. But Franco felt no shame.

“Well, can’t help that you all called at a very inconvenient time.”

His manager grimaced. “I didn’t need to know that. Get some rest,” she laughed, shaking her head. Even she was too happy to truly scold him. 

When he finally returned to the room hours later, you had already fallen asleep waiting for him. He quietly undressed and got in bed, gently brushing your hair out of your face to gaze on your sleeping form.

You were perfect. He had gotten the seat and the girl; what else could a man ask for?

The morning was chaotic. You had both overslept. 

“I’m sorry about last night, amor,” Franco said as you applied concealer to his neck. “It was urgent, and they kept me there for hours.”

“What was it about?” You gently dabbed a makeup sponge across the reddened skin.

“I can’t say. Strictly confidential. But it’s amazing, you’ll see.” He beamed, but you made a face at him. Smiling flexed his neck muscles and made it harder to cover up the evidence of your intimacy.

At the paddock, it was chaos as usual. It was the return of the Franco Colapinto—now triumphant, having had a solid season in F2 so far—and this time, he walked in with you on his arm. 

The only problem was that Franco kept tugging at the neckline of his quarter zip, and the friction was causing the hastily applied makeup from the morning to smudge, revealing the marks beneath.

Thankfully, no reporters said anything. But the fans online certainly were.

Steamy! Franco Colapinto arrives today at the paddock with suspected girlfriend YN in tow, and the driver appears to have several red marks on his neck. YN and Franco have not confirmed any relationship other than being friends, and this is the first race she has attended since Brazil 2024.

COMMENT: Franco showing up to the paddock absolutely covered in hickeys was not on my 2025 bingo card

COMMENT: Okay but that is so on brand for him. This man simply does not give a fuck and I love it.

You chuckled to yourself as you read the comment. But you tensed up as you felt Franco’s manager walk up next to you. You were already anticipating the earful she’d give you.

“He’s a natural at this, ain’t he?” she asked, more a statement than a question. In the distance, Franco was making a reporter laugh.

“Yeah,” you said. Franco’s manager always made you nervous, for some reason. 

“I’m so proud of him.”

“Me too.” You paused, unsure of whether to broach the subject. “You’re…unusually chipper today.”

His manager laughed. “Yeah, I guess so. But even I have to relax sometimes. I mean, he’s doing a great job.”

“I heard there was some exciting news. Franco wouldn’t tell me what, though.”

His manager’s casual smile now stretched from ear to ear. “Oh yeah, big stuff. But top secret.”

“I can’t wait to hear.”

Media day went smooth as butter. Practice 1 and 2 went perfect. With the arrival of Carlos Sainz, the Williams car had vastly improved, and Franco drove like an expert.

Such was evident by his P8 finish in qualifying the next day; his highest ever qualifying in F1. 

Since your night had been interrupted the day before, your wanting of him hadn’t lessened; in fact, it had grown stronger ever since you realized how you truly were ready. But quali day had taken it out of him, and you knew he needed to rest before the Grand Prix tomorrow.

And on that next day, as you watched him climb in the car from the Williams garage, you hoped that he’d put that rest to good use. You said a prayer for his safety even more than his success.

You held your breath through each lap, silently cheering him on through the knots of nervousness in your stomach. But it seems like your prayer was working; he was gaining places, P8 to P5 only a fourth of the way into the race. 

He boxed halfway, and your eyes traced the lines of his car and helmet as he pulled into eyeshot of you and sped away in only a few seconds. He wasn’t looking at you, of course, but it didn’t matter. Your heart felt like it would burst with love.

At first, you didn’t even notice the cameras capturing your sentimental expression. That was, until you glanced away from his car in the distance and looked toward the screen. You were shocked to see your own reflection, captioned with your job title and ‘Franco Colapinto’s partner.’

He really was yours, now. You smiled at the camera and waved before it cut away to the action. Franco just kept gaining. He had dropped a few places after boxing, but made up for it in no time. P4.

You could hear the commentators through your headphones.

“And really, Franco Colapinto is stunning us all here. As we all remember, he had a rather disappointing end to the 2024 F1 season, but he seems to have come back with a vengeance. A podium is a real possibility for him today.”

Your smile couldn’t be contained. He was going to do this. You knew it. 

With only five laps left, he overtook for P3. The garage cheered. You cheered with them. But it wasn’t over yet. It was a tense, wheel to wheel battle. Your heart was beating out of your chest.

He was able to inch just slightly enough ahead to cinch the spot as he crossed the checkered flag.

The William’s garage erupted in applause.

You ran to meet him as he pulled up the car, catching him when he jumped into the arms of the crowd of William’s employees. He nearly ripped off his helmet and balaclava, grabbed your jaw and brought you into a rough kiss.

You broke with a smile. “I love you, I’m so proud of you!” you said, unsure if he could even hear you in the chaos.

“Te amo, YN,” he said, tears of happiness clouding the edges of his vision. He continued speaking in Spanish, but you couldn’t make out what he was saying over the crowd. He had to break the embrace to go to the podium.

As he stood up there, you beamed with pride below. He really had made it.  

After the podium, you hid away in his driver’s room, waiting for all his media obligations to be over so you could go back to the hotel together. To pass the time, you scrolled. The internet was losing their mind over your hard launch.

And even better, people had already uploaded videos of you and Franco exchanging words of love at the barriers. His words were difficult to make out, but a few dedicated lip readers had attempted to decipher the message. But there was no internet consensus just yet.

You made a mental note to ask Franco what he had said later, but for now, you were sure he was exhausted.  

Your assumption was proven correct as he walked into his driver’s room, rolling his shoulders and sighing. But upon seeing you, his face lit up. You greeted him with more hugs and words of praise.

As you both stood there, holding each other, it was like the world around you melted away. 

“YN, can I tell you something?” he muttered into your hair, hand snaked around your upper back.

“Anything,” you answered, your face pressed into his chest.

“I’m not supposed to tell anyone. You can’t let my manager know that I told you.”

You hummed in response, but he broke the hug to look at you, indicating the seriousness of his statement to come.

“I got a contract for 2026.”

Your eyes went as wide as dinner plates. You were speechless.

“Franco… that’s, oh my God, that’s amazing!” You thought you were going to burst with love for him.

“Nothing is set in stone yet,” he explained, “but she’s been negotiating the contract, and they’ll probably announce it in a few weeks.”

You reached your fingers up to run them through his curls. “You’re incredible.” He blushed.

“I think we should go back to the hotel and celebrate, hm?” he teased.

“You don’t want to go out?”

“We can if you want,” he mused, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek, “but I think the world has seen enough of us today, yeah?”

So you celebrated in your hotel room alone. The bottle of champagne that decorated the desk of the room was left untouched—but you sure as hell weren’t. 

The podium had emboldened him. He explored the curves of your body over your clothes with reckless abandon. You wordlessly helped him remove his shirt, trailing your eyes of the muscles that were sure to be sore in a few hours. You traced the marks you had left the other day, now beginning to fade.

“My turn,” he joked, bringing his lips to your neck to give you your fair share of love bites. He brought one hand to gently hold your neck, while the other inched further and further up your shirt, teasing the edge of your bra. You felt like you could drown in his touch. You closed your eyes and fell deep into bliss. 

“YN,” he whispered, “are you sure you want to do this? Are we ready?”

You swallowed, nervous. “Yes.”

But he could sense your anxiety, and was hesitant to continue. He pulled back, raking his eyes up and down your form. You couldn’t help your nervousness. But having read your darkest fantasies, he knew what you really wanted. 

“You know, the reason I read your diary is because I knew there was something about you that you try so desperately to hide,” he said, his voice soft and smooth as honey. “I wanted to know whatever part of you that you try to hide away from the rest of the world,” he let his hands trace down the length of your arm, and leaned in closer to whisper in your ear, “and that part of you is that you’re a needy girl who’s desperate to get fucked.” 

A shiver ran down your spine at the vulgarity of his words, a side to him you’d never seen.

He brought his hand from your arm to your neck, gently tracing the curve towards your chin. “And there’s nothing wrong with that, of course.” 

His voice was soft and tender, but when his hand grabbed your chin and forced you to face him, his expression was anything but. “You just needed a man who can fuck you like the desperate girl you are.” Your eyes widened at his words, and you could feel the warmth rush to your cheeks in a rosy blush. 

His eyes met yours. “Just say the word, mi amor. Do you trust me? Will you let me fuck you like you want… no, like you need to be fucked so badly? I can do it. I’m not afraid. I want to give you everything you’ve ever dreamed of…” His voice trailed off as he turned his head and closed the gap between you, placing his lips right below your ear. The kiss was soft and made you release your breath. “Say it, YN. Tell me you want this as bad as I do.” 

“You really want this?” you said, your voice almost trembling with anticipation.

His lips near your ear were going to be the death of you. “Of course. Can’t you feel how badly I do?” he whispered. You could feel him beneath you, hardening with every second that went past. You imagined the feeling of grinding your hips down on his length, recalling the memories of only a few days before. 

Oh God, how badly you wanted to. You wanted to give him everything. You could feel his soft breath on your neck, his hands now resting on your waist, tentatively waiting for your permission to resume roaming the curves of your body. But your breath was caught in your throat.

“Franco…” The soft exhalation of his name was all you can muster. “What, amor?” he replied. You swallowed and closed your eyes, knowing your next word would let the floodgates of your desire open.

“Please.”

His lips met your neck in a kiss that was tentative at first, like you were something fragile that could be broken by his touch. But the feeling of his soft lips finally meeting your skin caused you to draw in a breath. 

“You want to take the lead, or should I?” he asked. 

“You,” you answered simply, too distracted by the absolutely heavenly feeling of his velvet lips on your neck.

He hummed in response. “If you ever want to stop, just tell me, okay?”

“I will.”

He placed one final kiss on your neck and helped you take off your top. You felt his eyes undressing you more than his hands.

He wordlessly turned you around to sit on his lap, your back against his chest. His hands traced lower and lower down your stomach until they met the lacy waistband of your shorts.

“Are you going to be a good girl and take these off for me?” he purred. 

“Why would I do that, when I have you to do it for me?” You could tease him right back. He let out a dark laugh, kissing your neck from behind. 

“Little brat…” he cooed, but you took no offense. He slid your shorts off, and you were left with only your bra and panties. He ran his hands up and down your now exposed stomach. His touch was warm and inviting as it traced down to the now wet fabric of your panties. 

He began slowly, just tracing the skin through the fabric, inching lower and lower. He could already feel how wet you were. “Doesn’t take that much to get you going, hm? So wet just from my words.”

You blushed in embarrassment at his teasing. “Shut up…”

“Oh, amor,” he kissed your cheek, your face now turning away from him. “It’s okay. I know how badly you needed this.”

You let out a breathy moan as he began to outline your pussy with the feather-light touch of his fingers. He tentatively dipped his fingers under the fabric, spreading them around your growing wetness as he circled your clit.

Slowly and carefully, he put a finger inside you curling it up to hit that sweet spot. With his other hand, he roughly groped at your chest. He unclasped your bra with one hand, tossing it across the room, and let his free hand paw at your chest and circle your nipple.

“See, bébé, what a reward you get when you use your words and tell me what you want?”

“Yes,” you moaned, breathy and full of desire.

“And what do you want?” he asked.

“I want… you.” The words stuck in your throat, your mind too preoccupied with the pleasure of his thumb swirling softly around your clit and the two fingers now pumping in and out of you. You were vulnerable, at his mercy, but you trusted him. 

“You want me to…?”

“I want you to… to fuck me.”

“Good girls get what they want. You’ve been so good for me, haven’t you? Can you do one more thing for me?” He smirked, removing his hand from your sensitive bundle of nerves. You already missed the friction. 

“Yes, anything,” you promised. 

“Get on your knees for me.”

You obeyed. The sight of you on your knees below him, gazing at home longingly with your big doe eyes, made his cock twitch. But he saw something beyond obedience in your face.

He knelt down next to you. “Are you still nervous?” he asked.

You laughed. “I’m always nervous.” 

He brushed your hair out of your face, removing all the barriers between the two of you. “Do you want to stop?”

“No. I’m just… not as experienced as you. What if I'm not good?”

“You’ve already been so good for me,” he said, cradling your face in his hands. “I’ll guide you.”

You watched him with your innocent eyes as he stood up, unbuckled his belt, and took off his pants. You dug your knees into the pillow beneath you as he shed his last remaining layer of clothing.

He had no right to tease you for being so wet, when his own arousal coated him. His cock was dripping precum, so hard that it nearly hurt.

“Open your mouth,” he instructed, and again, you obeyed. He gently led you to him as you pressed your tongue to the bottom of his length and licked up to the sensitive head.

He moaned. “I don’t think you need any help, do you?” You just hummed as your tongue traced the lines of his veins up and down his shaft, before you took as much of him as you could, closing your mouth to trap him in the warmth.

He grabbed your hair to gently guide you to a good rhythm. You looked at him in admiration, but his head was thrown back, eyes closed in bliss. 

He moved your head faster, and you gagged a bit at his cock filling your mouth. You dug your hands into his thighs. Franco cursed in Spanish under his breath.

Soon, he pulled you away. You were embarrassed. Did you do something wrong?

“God, you feel too good. I can’t finish yet. I want to take my time with you.” He led you back to the bed, finally taking time to gaze at your form laid bare before him.

For a moment, he was silent, just taking in the sight of you. “You’re beautiful, YN.”

You blushed. “You don’t need to flatter me, you already got in my pants,” you joked.

“It’s not flattery,” he replied as he crossed the room to grab a condom from his bag and put it on, “it’s true.”

He returned to the bed, climbing on top of you. “You’re perfect. Every part of you.”

The vulnerable praise made you uncomfortable. “Franco…” 

“Touch me, amor.” You obeyed, bringing your hands to his broad shoulder, bracing for what you knew would come next.

“You may not think you’re beautiful, but I do. And I’ll make love to you as many times as I need to until you believe it.”

You blushed and brought your hands to your face. You were not immune to his Argentine charm. He gently pulled your hands away, kissing your wrists, so he could see your face. 

As he guided himself to your entrance, he slowly and carefully slid inside you with a deep groan. His eyes rolled back into his head at the heavenly feeling of your pussy, and your breath hitched.

He stopped to give you a moment to adjust to his length. You felt filled and warm; all his. 

For a moment he just stayed there, still, looking down at the sight of you stuffed with his cock, ready to be ravished.

“You alright?” he asked, softly tracing circles along your hips with his hands. You nodded through the sweet burn of being stretched on him.

But he could feel the tension in you. “Just relax, YN,” he cooed at you. “I’m going to take good care of you, hm?” 

He leaned down to place a gentle kiss on your forehead and you whined. He whispered something in Spanish, too fast and incoherent for you to understand, but with a soft enough tone to recognize the love behind the gesture.

His thrusts at first were slow and shallow, giving you time to adjust. As he gently fucked you, he leaned down to softly whisper sweet nothings into your ears. You felt safe in his arms. 

But soon the softness faded away into lust. You both wanted it, and you showing him by how you sang a chorus of noises the faster he fucked you. His rough thrusts brought forth sinful noises from the both of you, lost in your pleasure. “It’s okay, YN. I know how badly you needed this,” he cooed, his own breath strained. “And I needed it too. I needed to feel you wrapped around me. You feel so fucking good, so tight and wet.”

His words weren’t lost on you. “Fuck, Franco…” you begged between his thrusts. You dug your nails into his back as he continued his unrelenting pace.

“Talk to me, pretty girl,” he said, slowing down for a moment. “You okay? Is it good?”

“So good,” you responded. “Don’t stop.”

He wordlessly continued, pumping his full length into you with reckless abandon. You were sure that your nails in his back would draw blood with how roughly you clung to him.

All you could do was take it, all of him, and let the moans and gasps fall from your lips with every touch.

As he sped up, his tone changed, becoming something rougher. He was clearly emboldened by the noises that left your mouth with every movement.

“I love hearing your pretty little noises. I want you to scream for me. Fucking scream my name,” he commanded. You didn’t have the strength in you, too distracted by how good he felt, burying his cock in you. 

“F- Franco,” you gasped. He pulled back so you could see him and grabbed your chin, forcing you to look him directly in the eyes.

“What’s that, love? Did you say something, or am I fucking you too good that you can’t even speak properly?”

“Franco, I—” you were cut off by your own whine, “I’m gonna cum.”

“Oh, pretty girl,” he cooed at you, “let go. Cum for me.”

You wanted nothing more than to obey him, and you came closer to the edge hearing his command. 

“I want you to look at me when I make you cum,” he instructed. You nodded at him.

But he slowed his pace down to a torturously slow speed, savoring how every inch of him went in and out of your drenched pussy. 

Even with his switch, you could feel that knot in your stomach tightening, threatening to explode as you held his intense gaze. Any self consciousness you would have had was cast aside by your desperate need to obey him.

And when he moved his hand from your hips down to your sensitive clit and began to rub, you couldn’t help but follow his command, climaxing in his arms.

He held you as you let the waves of pleasure come over you, not letting up his soft assault on your bundle of nerves. Even as you began to buck your hips involuntarily from the sensitive touch, he just whispered, “It’s okay, mi amor. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

He softly shushed your whimpers of pleasure, gently running his free hand up and down your curves. “Are you okay to keep going? Because you know I’m not done with you yet.”

You didn’t know if you could handle any more, but you sure as hell weren’t going to tell him to stop. You’d waited too long for this, wanted it too badly, to go back now.

You nodded, so he kept going, hitting every spot inside you just right, causing you to throw your head back in pleasure. He was careful not to overwhelm you, taking an even and steady pace, but neither of you could help so heavenly it felt to have him inside of you.

Franco chased his own release, sitting up so he could see your whole body as he fucked you. He held onto your hips hard enough to leave marks, but you’d gladly wear them with pride. 

It didn’t take long for him to pull out and rip off the condom, pumping his hand up and down his length. 

“YN, I’m so fucking close,” he moaned. “Where—”

You didn’t answer him, just leaning down to take him in your mouth. He grabbed the back of your head, roughly pushing you closer to him.

“Don’t stop, you’re gonna make me cum, don’t—” 

He couldn’t finish his sentence before he climaxed, filling your mouth and letting out a low and low groan.

You pulled away from him and swallowed the stickiness that coated your mouth. 

He collapsed on the bed next to you. “Fuck, YN.” You laid down next to him. “That was so good.” His chest was still heaving with the intensity of his orgasm. 

But as he turned to you, the lust left him, growing into something softer as he brushed your hair out of your face. You were both covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

“You okay?” he asked.

You hummed and nodded, closing your eyes and leaning into him, taking in the smell of sex and his cologne. You couldn’t get close enough to him.

He kissed the top of your head. “I’ve got you,” he assured. You were too overwhelmed to say anything. He just held you. 

Eventually, you both got up to take a shower before you both got ready for bed. Snuggled close to him, you felt the quiet warmth of his presence protecting you, and it lulled you to sleep quicker than anything else ever could.

When you woke up in the middle of the night, you checked your phone. The internet sleuths had finally deciphered what Franco had said to you—a heartachingly sweet confession of love. He had said you were his life, his everything. He couldn’t have done it without you. 

Within the thin crack of light from blinds and the streetlights outside, you could see Franco’s backpack, with your diary still in it. If you wanted to, you could have stolen it back. But instead, you left it be, snuggling deeper into the bed to get close to the man you loved who slept peacefully beside you. 

It was true that more work needed to be done until you all could fully communicate with no difficulties—no language barriers, no journals, just heartfelt words. But you knew you both could do it. You loved each other too much to not. 

So you smiled as you felt his arm sleepily wrap around you and pull you close. You were safe. You were home. 

[elikajinnie]

Steal Your Way To My Heart - N.R (Part 4)

P: Bankrobber! Ni-ki X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Murder, Violence, Blood, Angst, Kidnapping, Seperation Anxiety?, Ni-ki just wanna spoil you.

Synopsis: Your life was boring—until a visit to the bank changes everything. Now you find yourself under the attention of one of the criminals. Now what do you do when the criminal's attention isn't just on the job but on you?

a/n: okay, so by popular vote, i delivered :) this was supposed to be posted long time ago, but moms turkish drama kept distracting me and had some relationship issues >:(

part 1 part 2 part 3

--

So you were officially Ni-ki’s girlfriend. And things were... surprisingly good. After that heist, he seemed to tone things down. Gone were the days of reckless, dangerous heists; now, he was the boyfriend you never expected—someone who picked you up from work or school, bought you your favorite flowers, and took you out on regular dates, always paying for the bill without a second thought.

He was thoughtful, attentive, but still had that intensity about him that kept you on your toes. But it wasn’t all just normal date nights and sweet moments. Ni-ki had an eye for luxury, and he wasted no time in decking you out in designer clothes and diamonds. Most of it you didn’t really use—you only wore the pieces that you truly loved—but you had to admit, his taste was impeccable. He knew exactly what suited you.

And like him, you found yourself matching with him often. He’d buy you clothes from the same brands he adored—mainly Chrome Hearts—and soon enough, you both became a walking, matching advertisement for the brand, with your outfits perfectly coordinated. Every time you looked in the mirror, you couldn’t help but appreciate how well everything fit. The diamonds glittered just as much as the smile Ni-ki gave you when he saw you in them.

But you always took a moment to remind him that you weren’t with him for the money. It wasn’t the luxury or the endless pampering that had won your heart, although you couldn’t deny you enjoyed it. No, you loved Ni-ki for who he was.

“Ni-ki,” you would say, catching his gaze as you adjusted the diamond necklace he had given you, “I don’t need all this.” You gestured to the designer clothes and the jewelry. “I love everything you get me, even if its something simple.”

He would smile, a genuine smile that reached his eyes, and pull you into a gentle embrace. “I know,” he’d reply, his voice soft and warm. “But I still want to spoil you.”

And he did. Ni-ki was everything you could have wanted in a man and more. He was protective, attentive, and incredibly loving in his own way. He listened when you talked about your day, made sure you had everything you needed, and never hesitated to show you just how much you meant to him. His love was sometimes overwhelming, but always real.

So you were quite surprised when, out of nowhere, Ni-ki disappeared. It wasn’t even gradual—it was like he just had been erased from existence overnight.

Your calls didn’t go through. Every message you sent was met with silence. The usual places where you’d expect to find him were void of any sign of him.

It was as though he had vanished off the face of the earth.

At first, you tried not to panic. Maybe he was laying low, being cautious because of something related to his “work.” It wasn’t uncommon for him to disappear for a day or two without much explanation. But this… this was different. Days stretched into weeks, and there was no trace of him.

The house plants he bought you started to wilt. The flowers he’d shower you with dried out in their vases. Even the expensive gifts that once felt like tokens of his love now felt like hollow remnants of someone who wasn’t there.

You told yourself to stop worrying, to trust that Ni-ki would show up like he always did. But there was this gnawing feeling in your chest that something was wrong. The man who never let a single detail slip, who checked in even during the middle of a heist, wouldn’t just leave without a word.

It wasn’t just his absence that hurt—it was the questions it left behind.

Had something gone wrong? Was he in danger? Did he leave to protect you? Or… had he chosen to leave you behind?

You couldn’t decide which thought was worse.

And so, you found yourself in limbo, walking through your days like a shadow of yourself. Every time you heard a car engine roar or the faint buzz of your phone, your heart jumped, hoping it was him. But it never was. It was like living in a constant state of waiting, with no end in sight.

Because no matter how dangerous or reckless Ni-ki was, he had never made you feel like this before—like you were completely and utterly alone.

You didn’t know what to do. Who could you even ask? Ni-ki didn’t exactly have a list of friends you could call up, and even if he did, would they tell you the truth? Would they even know?

You couldn’t go anywhere either, since over time, Ni-ki had subtly embedded himself into your life. His toothbrush sat next to yours in the bathroom, his favorite snacks were still in the kitchen cupboards, and his scent still lingered on the hoodie he’d left draped over the back of your couch. Everything around you was a reminder of him, of how present he used to be—and now, of how completely absent he was.

You felt helpless. All you could do was wait. Wait for a sign, for any kind of clue that Ni-ki was okay. That your boyfriend would return. That he hadn’t just dropped everything, ghosted you, and fled to another country or something, leaving you to pick up the pieces of a life you’d built together.

And it wasn’t just his disappearance in your life that hit—it was the absence of him everywhere else, too.

There were no robberies, no heists, no headlines about criminals pulling off impossible jobs. Nothing.

Ni-ki’s world, the one you’d been reluctantly dragged into, seemed to vanish along with him. It was like he’d flipped a switch and erased himself completely, leaving no trace that he or his crew had ever existed.

And that terrified you.

Because if there were no heists, no rumors, and no movement in the underground world he thrived in… then what had happened to him?

You tried to keep yourself busy to stop your mind from spiraling. You went to work, cleaned the apartment, and even started wearing some of the designer clothes he’d bought for you—just so you wouldn’t see them lying untouched and feel that pang of loss all over again. But no matter how much you distracted yourself, the questions never left.

Where was he? Why had he disappeared? And most importantly—was he even still alive?

Each night, you’d sit on the edge of the bed you used to share, staring at your phone, willing it to buzz with a message from him. Just one word, one sign that he was out there, that he hadn’t forgotten about you.

But it never came.

And the silence, day after day, was slowly eating away at you.

Where could he have possibly gone?

You wondered that every single day. The question circled endlessly in your mind, eating away at you, consuming you whole. It kept you awake at night, staring at the ceiling as you tried to piece together a puzzle you didn’t have all the pieces for.

Had something gone wrong? Maybe the cops had finally caught up to him. Or worse, maybe a rival crew had taken him out.

Or—your heart clenched painfully at the thought—what if he had left on purpose?

You hated yourself for even entertaining the idea, but you couldn’t help it. Had all the promises, the whispered words, the moments he’d held you close meant nothing? You couldn’t shake the memory of how he used to look at you, like you were the only thing that mattered in his world. It didn’t make sense for him to just walk away from that.

But then again, Ni-ki wasn’t exactly a predictable man.

You found yourself retracing your memories of him over and over, looking for signs you might have missed. Had he said something that hinted he might leave? Had there been a change in his behavior that you hadn’t noticed at the time?

But nothing came up.

You thought about the last night you’d spent together, how normal it had been. He’d kissed you goodnight, murmured something about taking care of “a few things,” and promised he’d see you the next day.

But that day never came.

And now you were left with a hollow ache in your chest and a million unanswered questions.

You tried searching for him. You went to places you knew he frequented, even places he’d warned you never to go. You lingered near shady alleys, hoping to catch a glimpse of someone who might recognize you, who might know where Ni-ki was.

But every lead you tried came up empty. And no matter how much you told yourself to stop, to move on, you couldn’t. Because deep down, no matter how angry or hurt you were, you still loved him. And the thought of never seeing him again? That was something you couldn’t accept.

So since you couldn’t accept it, you decided to live with it.

He would return—eventually. He had to.

You clung to that belief, repeating it to yourself like a mantra. Ni-ki always had a way of showing up when you least expected it. He wasn’t the kind of man who just disappeared forever, not without a reason.

But until then, you had to keep going. Life didn’t pause for your heartbreak, no matter how much it felt like it should.

You went back to work, dragging yourself through each day. You tried to focus on the mundane things. It was easier to keep your mind occupied than to let yourself fall into the black hole of wondering why.

The apartment felt emptier than ever, though. His things were still there, little reminders of him scattered everywhere. His clothes in the closet, his jacket still hung by the door, and the scent of his cologne lingered faintly on the sheets.

You told yourself not to touch any of it, like leaving it all the way it was would somehow bring him back faster.

But the days kept going, and the silence became unbearable.

At night, you found yourself sitting by the window, staring out at the city lights, hoping that maybe you’d see him walking up the street. Or hear the familiar sound of his key turning in the lock.

But it never happened.

Instead, the city moved on without him, and you were left standing still, caught in the limbo of waiting.

And then, just when you started to think you might have to let go of the hope that had been keeping you afloat, something changed.

You were just outside, taking the trash out. It was ordinary, mundane, and the last thing you expected was for your life to take a sharp, terrifying turn.

As you tied up the trash bag and made your way toward the dumpster, you felt a presence behind you. Before you could turn around, something cold and hard pressed against the back of your head—a gun.

"Don't scream," a low voice ordered, calm but menacing.

Your breath hitched, your heart racing as fear overtook your body. You barely had a chance to process the situation before rough hands grabbed you, shoving a bag over your head.

“Hey!” you yelled, but your voice was cut off as you were manhandled, your arms pinned to your sides. You thrashed as much as you could, but whoever had you was strong—too strong.

"Keep still," the voice snapped as you were dragged across the pavement.

The sound of a car door opening made your stomach drop.

You screamed again, the sound muffled by the bag over your head, but it didn’t matter. You were shoved into the car with enough force to knock the wind out of you.

The door slammed shut, and you felt the vehicle lurch forward as it sped off.

“Where are you taking me!?” you demanded.

No one answered.

You could hear a few voices around you, low murmurs you couldn’t make out, and the hum of the engine. Your mind raced. Who were these people? What did they want? And why did this feel so… targeted?

You thought of Ni-ki.

Was this connected to him? Had his criminal past caught up to him, and now you were caught in the crossfire?

The car continued to speed through the streets, the sound of the city growing distant. You struggled against your restraints, trying to think of a way out, but the hands that had grabbed you earlier kept you pinned down.

Eventually, the car slowed, and you felt it come to a stop.

The door opened, and you were pulled out, still blindfolded and disoriented.

“Walk,” the voice commanded, pushing you forward.

Your legs wobbled, but you forced yourself to move, your heart pounding as you tried to make sense of your surroundings. You were led into a building—at least, you assumed so by the sound of a door creaking open and the change in the air.

“Sit,” the voice ordered, and you were shoved into a chair, the force making it scrape against the floor as you landed with a jolt.

Before you could even catch your breath, rough hands grabbed your arms and began tying them down to the chair.

“Wait, what are you doing? Let me go!” you shouted, panic flaring in your chest as you struggled against the bindings.

They ignored you, the rope burning against your wrists as they secured it tightly. You twisted and thrashed, managing to elbow one of them in the ribs. The man stumbled back with a grunt, and you seized the moment to push yourself off the chair.

The ropes weren’t fully secure yet, and with an adrenaline-fueled burst of strength, you ripped free and yanked the bag off your head.

The sight before you made your blood run cold.

They weren’t Ni-ki’s people.

No, these were strangers, all wearing clown masks—grotesque, painted grins leering at you as they stood in a loose circle, armed with weapons.

Your breathing hitched as you stumbled back, trying to put as much distance between yourself and them as possible.

One of them stepped forward, clearly the leader, his mask more elaborate than the others with smeared red paint around the mouth and black streaks over the eyes. He held a knife in one hand, the blade catching the dim light.

He tilted his head, gesturing for you to come closer.

You froze, your mind racing. Did he really think you would just… walk to him voluntarily?

Disgust churned in your stomach at the audacity, and your body stiffened as the reality of your situation fully sank in.

“No,” you said, your voice trembling but defiant.

The man tilted his head further, almost amused, and took another step forward. The other masked figures began to shift, closing in around you like vultures circling prey.

Your pulse roared in your ears, but you clenched your fists, refusing to show fear.

“I said no,” you repeated, louder this time, your voice steady even as your legs threatened to give out beneath you.

The leader stopped, his head tilting back slightly as if to examine you. Then, without warning, he lunged.

Instinct took over, and you dodged to the side just in time, the blade narrowly missing you. Your shoulder hit the wall hard, but you didn’t stop moving. You darted for the door, desperate to escape, but two of the masked figures stepped in front of it, blocking your path.

A sharp laugh came from the leader as he straightened, pointing the knife at you.

"Feisty," he said, his voice muffled slightly by the mask. He tilted his head, almost as if studying you. Then, with a low chuckle, he added, “Now I see why Wolf likes you.”

You froze, your blood running cold at the mention of Ni-ki’s alias. Not many people knew of his real name—unless they were part of his trusted circle.

The leader noticed your reaction and laughed again, clearly pleased by your response. “Oh, that got your attention, didn’t it?” he mocked, twirling the knife between his fingers. “Yeah, I know all about your little boyfriend. Wolf this, Wolf that. Always so damn secretive, isn’t he?”

“What do you want?” you snapped, trying to keep your voice steady, though your heart was pounding in your chest.

He ignored your question, taking another step closer. “You wanna know where your precious Wolf went?” he asked, his tone teasing, dripping with condescension.

Your brows furrowed despite yourself, and you hated how you hesitated. Did he know? Did they have something to do with Ni-ki disappearing?

He noticed the flicker of curiosity in your eyes and smirked beneath the mask. “Ah, there it is,” he said. “You do want to know. But then again… should you? I mean, if he really cared about you, don’t you think he would’ve told you himself? Instead of just up and vanishing like that?”

“That’s not—” you began to argue, but he cut you off.

“No, no,” he said, wagging the knife at you like you were some misbehaving child. “Let’s be real here. Do you honestly think he told you everything? Do you really think you’re anything more than a little toy to him? Something pretty to keep around, just for fun?”

“That’s not true,” you said through gritted teeth, your nails digging into your palms as you tried to stay calm.

“Isn’t it?” he pressed, his tone taunting. “Think about it. You’re sitting here, clueless, while we know where he is. Why didn’t he trust you enough to tell you, huh? Maybe you’re not as important to him as you think.”

Your chest tightened, his words cutting deeper than you wanted to admit. You knew Ni-ki cared for you—you felt it in the way he looked at you, touched you, protected you. But the nagging doubt his words planted began to twist in your mind.

“Shut up,” you muttered, your voice trembling with barely contained anger.

“Oh, hit a nerve, did I?” the man said, his laughter echoing around the room. “Poor little thing, left in the dark by the guy who’s supposed to love you. Face it—he’s been playing you from the start.”

“I said shut up!” you shouted, your voice cracking as frustration and fear boiled over.

The man took another step toward you. “Aw, don’t get mad at me. I’m just telling you the truth. If Wolf really loved you, he wouldn’t have left you like this. He’s probably already moved on, you know. That’s what guys like him do—they don’t stick around. You’re just—”

Before he could finish, the sound of a loud crash came from outside the room, followed by shouts. The leader’s head snapped toward the door, his body tensing.

You felt a flicker of hope spark in your chest, though you had no idea what was happening.

The man turned back to you, narrowing his eyes behind the mask. “Stay put,” he ordered, pointing the knife at you, then pointed sharply at two of his men. “You two, stay here. Don’t let her move,” he barked, his voice sharp. Then, without another glance at you, he disappeared through the door, followed by the rest of the masked figures.

The room fell silent, save for the faint, muffled sound of shouting and movement outside. You froze, your breath shallow, as tension wrapped around you.

The two men left behind didn’t seem particularly thrilled about their assignment. One leaned against the wall, lazily spinning a pistol in his hand, while the other paced back and forth, gripping a shotgun tightly.

“What the hell’s going on out there?” the pacing man muttered under his breath, his steps growing quicker as his nerves got the better of him.

“Probably just a distraction,” the other said casually, though his tone didn’t match the unease in his body language. “Nothing to worry about.”

But then the sound of gunfire ripped through the air, loud and unmistakable. Both men snapped to attention, their heads whipping toward the door.

The pacing man cursed under his breath, his hands tightening around the shotgun. “That didn’t sound like nothing,” he hissed.

The other man straightened, his casual demeanor evaporating in an instant. “Stay sharp,” he muttered, raising his pistol and taking a defensive stance.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you watched them, trying to make sense of what was happening. Was it the police? Another rival group? Or—could it possibly be Ni-ki?

The thought made your stomach twist. You didn’t dare hope, but the timing was too coincidental to ignore.

Another round of gunfire erupted, this time closer. The shouts outside grew louder, more frantic, and you saw the pacing man glance at the door nervously.

“What if—” he started, but before he could finish, the door burst open with a deafening crash.

A masked figure stormed in, moving too quickly for you to process, and before the two men could react, shots rang out. The man with the shotgun dropped first, crumpling to the ground, followed by the other, who barely managed to fire a shot before falling.

You screamed, your body instinctively curling in on itself at the scene that unfolded in front of you.

The masked figure turned to you, their weapon still raised. But then, as if realizing who you were, they slowly, they lowered the gun and reached up to pull off their mask.

Your breath caught in your throat as familiar dark eyes met yours.

Ni-ki.

He was breathing hard, his face splattered with blood—none of it his, from what you could tell. His expression was sharp, focused, but the second he saw you, it softened.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice low and steady.

You could only nod, too overwhelmed to speak.

Ni-ki moved toward you quickly and grabbed your hand, pulling you with him.

“We need to go,” he said, his grip firm but gentle as he led you toward the door and out.

“What—how did you—” you stammered, your mind racing with questions, but Ni-ki cut you off.

“Not now,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I’ll explain everything later. Right now, we need to get out of here.”

You barely had time to nod before Ni-ki’s hand tightened around yours, his grip both protective and urgent. He moved with precision, his steps calculated, as though he had memorized every corner.

The hallway was dimly lit and reeked of sweat and blood. Bodies lay scattered along the floor, some moving in pain, others motionless. You stumbled over one of them, but Ni-ki was quick to steady you, pulling you closer to him as though shielding you from the reality of what you were walking through.

“Stay close to me,” he muttered, his voice low but firm.

The sound of gunfire echoed down the hall, making you flinch. Ni-ki cursed under his breath and pulled you into a side room, pressing you against the wall as he peeked out into the corridor.

You could hear muffled voices shouting orders in the distance, along with the unmistakable clang of boots against the floor.

“They’re regrouping,” Ni-ki muttered, more to himself than to you.

“Who are they?” you whispered, your voice shaking as you gestured vaguely toward the chaos outside. “And why—why did they take me?”

Ni-ki glanced back at you, his dark eyes intense. For a moment, he looked like he wanted to tell you everything, but instead, he shook his head.

“Later,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Right now, we just need to get out of here alive.”

He leaned back out into the hallway, checking the coast again before grabbing your hand and pulling you back into motion.

The two of you moved quickly, Ni-ki guiding you through a maze of hallways and rooms. You didn’t know where you were going, but you trusted him. You had to.

Eventually, you came to a set of metal doors. Ni-ki pushed one open slightly, peeking out before motioning for you to follow.

The outside air hit you like a shock, cold and biting against your skin. You were in an alleyway, the narrow space lit only by a flickering streetlamp. A black car idled a few feet away, its engine running.

“Get in,” Ni-ki ordered, opening the passenger door for you.

You hesitated for a moment, your legs frozen as your mind tried to catch up with everything that had happened.

“Now,” Ni-ki snapped, his voice sharp but not unkind.

The urgency in his tone jolted you into action. You climbed into the car, and Ni-ki quickly shut the door before jogging around to the driver’s side. He slid in, slamming the door behind him, and immediately hit the gas.

The tires screeched as the car sped out of the alley, merging into the flow of late-night traffic.

For a while, neither of you spoke. You stared out the window, your heart still racing, as the city lights blurred past.

Finally, you broke the silence. “Ni-ki… what’s going on?”

He didn’t answer right away, his hands gripping the wheel tightly. His jaw was clenched, and his eyes were focused on the road ahead.

“Those men,” he finally said, his voice low and controlled, “were enemies. Rivals. They’ve been trying to get to me for months, and when they couldn’t, they went after you instead.”

You felt a chill run down your spine. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you warn me this could happen?”

Ni-ki’s grip on the wheel tightened, his knuckles turning white. “I thought I had it under control. I didn’t want to drag you into this mess.”

“But they did drag me into it,” you said, your voice rising slightly. “And you disappeared, Ni-ki! I thought—” Your voice cracked, and you stopped, swallowing hard.

“I know,” he said, his voice softer now. He glanced at you briefly before turning his attention back to the road. “I had to disappear. They were closing in, and I needed to make sure they couldn’t find you. But I didn’t think they’d figure out where you were so fast.”

You stared at him, your emotions a whirlwind of anger, fear, and relief. “So what now? Are they going to keep coming after us?”

Ni-ki was silent for a moment before answering. “Not if I finish this.”

The weight of his words hung heavy in the air. You didn’t know exactly what “finishing this” entailed, but you knew it wasn’t going to be anything simple—or safe.

For now, though, you were too exhausted to push for answers. You leaned back in your seat, closing your eyes as you tried to process everything.

--

You were angry. Angry and hurt. But mostly angry.

The more you tried to push it down, the harder it fought to rise. You didn’t want to admit it, but that guys’ words had gotten to you. They’d planted a seed of doubt that wouldn’t stop growing, no matter how much you wanted to tear it out.

Because the more you thought about it, the more it made sense. Ni-ki had always been secretive, careful with his words, deflecting questions he didn’t want to answer. He’d always told you it was to keep you safe, to protect you from the world he was a part of—but was that all it was?

You hated the doubt clawing at you. It felt like a betrayal to even consider it, but how could you not? He hadn’t told you where he was going or what he was doing. He’d disappeared for a month without a word, leaving you to question everything. And now, after swooping in to save you, he dropped you off at this fancy, unfamiliar hotel like you were some burden and vanished again.

It had been three hours since he left. Three hours of silence, alone in this room, alone with your spiraling thoughts.

You paced the room, the plush carpet soft under your feet as you walked back and forth. The anger bubbled under the surface, growing hotter and heavier with each passing second. You felt like you were going to explode.

How could he do this to you? How could he keep so much from you—things that mattered, things that directly involved you?

You looked around the room, the expensive décor and luxurious furniture mocking you. The place was beautiful, no doubt, but it felt cold and empty. It wasn’t home. It wasn’t comforting. It was just another thing Ni-ki had decided for you without asking.

You tried calling him again, for what felt like the hundredth time, but it went straight to voicemail. No message. No update. Nothing.

The anger surged again, and you threw your phone onto the bed with a frustrated groan. You felt like you were going in circles, your mind chasing answers that weren’t there.

All you wanted was the truth. Was that so much to ask?

You sat down on the edge of the bed, your head in your hands. The doubt crept back in, the voices whispering in your head.

He doesn’t trust you. You’re just someone to keep him entertained. If he really cared, he wouldn’t leave you like this.

You hated that those thoughts felt so convincing.

Because deep down, you knew they weren’t entirely wrong. Ni-ki never told you the full truth about his life, and no matter how much you loved him, no matter how much he said he loved you, there was always a wall between you.

A lump formed in your throat, but you swallowed it down. You didn’t want to cry. You wanted to be mad. Mad was better than hurt. Mad was easier to deal with.

The sound of your phone buzzing snapped you out of your thoughts. You grabbed it quickly, hoping it was him, but it wasn’t. Just another notification you didn’t care about.

You sighed and leaned back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

You didn’t know how long you’d be stuck here, waiting for him, waiting for answers. All you knew was that this wasn’t how things were supposed to be.

If Ni-ki wanted you to trust him, he had to start trusting you too. Because if he didn’t… you weren’t sure how much longer you could keep doing this.

When he eventually did return, it was late at night. You had already gone to bed, the room dark and quiet, when the sound of the door unlocking and opening made you sit up abruptly. You fumbled for the light switch, turning on the bedside lamp, and your eyes widened as you saw Ni-ki standing there.

His clothes were smeared with blood, dark streaks painting his shirt and jacket. His face looked tired, a faint cut across his cheekbone, and his knuckles were raw and bruised.

He looked surprised to see you awake, his usual calm demeanor faltering for just a moment. “You’re awake,” he said, his voice soft but laced with exhaustion. He stepped further into the room, quickly scanning you from head to toe. “Are you okay? Did anything happen?”

You pushed his hands away when he reached for you. “Don’t,” you said sharply, your voice trembling with anger and worry.

His brows furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” you repeated, your voice rising as you threw the blankets off and stood from the bed. “Ni-ki, look at you! You’re covered in blood! You’ve been gone for hours, and you come back like this and expect me to just—what? Pretend everything’s fine?”

“It’s not my blood,” he said simply, as if that was supposed to make you feel better.

You froze, staring at him in disbelief. His words rendered you speechless for a moment, the weight of them sinking in.

“Not your blood?” you finally managed, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and fear. “That’s not the point, Ni-ki! You disappear without a word, leave me alone in some random hotel, and then show up like this? Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been?”

“It was business,” he said flatly, his tone calm but guarded.

That made your anger boil over. “It’s always business with you!” you shouted, throwing your hands up in frustration. “Every time! It’s like you think I don’t deserve to know what’s going on. You vanish, come back covered in blood, and all you can say is business?”

Ni-ki ran a hand through his hair, wincing slightly as his bruised knuckles brushed against his scalp. “You don’t understand,” he said quietly.

“Then make me understand!” you snapped, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions. “I’m tired of this, Ni-ki. Tired of wondering if you’re okay, tired of sitting here not knowing if you’re going to come back. It’s like you don’t trust me, like you don’t think I’m worth the truth!”

He stared at you, his expression unreadable. For a moment, it looked like he was going to say something, but then he just shook his head. “It’s not that simple.”

“It’s not that simple,” you repeated bitterly, crossing your arms over your chest. “Of course, it’s not. Nothing with you ever is.”

The room fell into a heavy silence, the tension between you palpable. You could see the exhaustion in his eyes, the way his shoulders sagged under the weight of whatever he’d been carrying. But that didn’t erase the fact that you were tired too—tired of being left in the dark, tired of feeling like you were fighting for a place in his life.

“I’m going to clean up,” he finally said, his voice low. He turned toward the bathroom, pausing in the doorway to glance back at you. “We’ll talk after.”

But you didn’t respond. You just turned away, sitting back on the bed with your back to him.

You heard the sound of running water a moment later, and you felt a lump rise in your throat. You wanted to believe him, to believe that he cared as much as he said he did, but how could you when he brushed you off like that?

When Ni-ki returned, his steps were lighter, freshly showered, dressed in clean clothes, and with damp hair dripping slightly onto the collar of his shirt. He looked at you, expecting to find you asleep, but instead, you sat upright in bed, the glow of your phone casting shadows over your face.

“You’re still awake?” he asked, his voice low with a mix of surprise and guilt.

You didn’t look up from your phone, your fingers idly scrolling. “Couldn’t sleep.”

His brows furrowed, but he said nothing more as he climbed into bed. The mattress dipped under his weight, and after a moment, he scooted closer, slipping an arm around your waist in an attempt to pull you against him.

You immediately shuffled away, putting space between the two of you.

He froze, his arm hovering in the empty space where you’d just been. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice soft but edged with worry.

You finally set your phone down and turned to face him, your expression heavy with emotion. “I don’t know if I can do this anymore, Ni-ki.”

His eyes widened slightly, the words hitting him like a punch to the gut. “What do you mean?”

You took a shaky breath, feeling the weight of your thoughts crashing down all at once. “You’ve been gone for a month, Ni-ki. A whole month. No calls, no messages, nothing. I didn’t know if you were alive, if you were ever coming back. And then, out of nowhere, you swoop in when I’m in trouble like it’s just another day, like none of it matters.”

“It does matter,” he said quickly, his voice firm as he sat up straighter.

“Does it?” you shot back, your tone sharp. “Because it doesn’t feel like it. You disappear without a word, you keep me in the dark about everything important, and then you show up expecting me to just go along with it, like none of this is supposed to bother me. Do you even…” You paused, your voice breaking slightly as the words caught in your throat. “Do you even love me?”

He stared at you, his lips parting slightly, but no words came out at first. Instead, he reached for you, pulling you into his arms despite your protests and attempts to squirm away.

“Let me go,” you muttered, your voice muffled against his chest.

“No,” he said softly, his arms tightening around you as he rested his chin on top of your head. “I’m not letting you go.”

“Ni-ki—”

“Listen to me,” he interrupted gently, his voice low but steady. “I love you. I’ve always loved you. You’re the only thing in my life that feels real, the only thing I come back to when everything else is chaos. You’re the reason I keep going.”

You shook your head, your hands weakly pressing against his chest as you tried to push him away. “You can’t just say that—”

“I love the way you fight me on everything,” he continued, his lips brushing against the top of your head. “I love the way you look at me like you can see right through me, like you see the parts of me no one else does. I love the way you don’t care about the money, or the things I do—you just care about me.”

“Stop,” you whispered, tears welling in your eyes.

“I love you,” he said again, his voice breaking slightly as he buried his face in your hair. “And I’m sorry for everything. For leaving you alone, for making you feel like you don’t matter. You do, okay? You matter more than anything.”

Despite yourself, despite the anger and hurt you still felt, his words broke through the walls you’d tried so hard to put up. The weight of your emotions came crashing down, and you finally gave in, collapsing against him as the tears spilled over.

Your hands gripped his shirt tightly, your body shaking with quiet sobs as he held you close, his arms strong and steady around you. “I hate you,” you mumbled weakly, though there was no real malice behind the words.

He chuckled softly, kissing the top of your head. “I know. I know, I would hate me too.”

You didn’t respond, too exhausted and overwhelmed to say anything more. And as he continued to hold you, whispering quiet reassurances and pressing soft kisses to your hair, you realized something.

You had missed him so much.

You woke up the next morning to the weight of Ni-ki draped over you, clinging to you like a koala. His arms were wrapped tightly around your waist, and his head was squished against your chest, his messy hair tickling your chin. You blinked groggily, taking in the sight of him, so peaceful in his sleep.

For a moment, you just stared, letting yourself savor the quiet moment. There was something in the way he held you, like you were the one thing in his life he couldn’t let go of.

Unable to resist, you slowly brought your hand up to his hair, carding your fingers through the soft strands. He responded immediately, leaning into your touch and groaning sleepily, his grip on you tightening as if to say, don’t stop.

You smiled faintly, your fingers continuing to glide through his hair. It was moments like these that made it so hard to stay mad at him, to even consider walking away. But the thoughts you’d had the night before still lingered in the back of your mind, refusing to let you rest.

After a while, you decided you needed to get up. Slowly and carefully, you began the long and arduous task of peeling Ni-ki off you. It was no easy feat—he grumbled in protest, his arms tightening around you whenever you tried to wiggle free. He buried his face further into your chest, muttering something incoherent, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes affectionately.

“Ni-ki,” you whispered softly, brushing his hair back. “Let go.”

He groaned but didn’t budge, his grip still firm. It took several more minutes of gently prying his arms away and untangling yourself from his hold, but eventually, you managed to slip out from under him.

As you stood, you glanced back at him. He had turned onto his side, still deep in sleep, his hair a mess and his lips slightly parted. He looked so carefree, so unlike the Ni-ki you usually saw—guarded, calculating, always one step ahead.

You sighed quietly and turned away, grabbing your clothes and getting dressed before quietly slipping out of the room. You needed some time to think, to process everything.

Your feelings for Ni-ki weren’t the issue. You loved him—of that, you were certain. But loving him wasn’t the same as being able to handle the life that came with him. The secrecy, the danger, the constant wondering if he was okay or if you’d ever see him again. It was exhausting, and it scared you more than you wanted to admit.

And so, you left the room, leaving Ni-ki behind in his slumber. You needed to figure out what you really wanted, what this relationship meant for you both.

The irony of it all wasn’t lost on you. Ni-ki had spent so long running, leaving you behind to think and worry in his absence. Now, it was your turn to take the space you needed—even if only for a little while.

And so, you took the space you needed. After everything, it was your turn to vanish—not completely, of course. You still had responsibilities to attend to, places to be, and tasks to complete. But for Ni-ki, you became a ghost.

You didn’t answer his calls. Each time your phone buzzed with his name on the screen, you ignored it, staring at the device until it fell silent. The texts he sent—long, short, questioning, apologetic—went unanswered. Even when he rang your doorbell, you couldn’t bring yourself to open it. You’d sit silently inside, barely breathing, until you heard the sound of him leaving.

At work, you made sure to disappear when he showed up, ducking into the breakroom or slipping out the back. At school, you avoided the places you thought he might look for you. When you did catch glimpses of him—standing at a distance, scanning the crowd, his expression filled with frustration and concern—you’d slip away before he could see you.

You told yourself it wasn’t forever. That this was what you needed, a chance to clear your head and sort through the storm of emotions swirling inside you. But each time you saw his name pop up on your phone or caught sight of him searching for you, a pang of guilt struck you deep.

Still, you couldn’t bear to face him right now. You couldn’t look into those eyes, so full of emotion, and risk falling apart all over again. You needed this time. Time to figure out if you could handle everything that came with loving someone like Ni-ki.

And so, you stayed hidden, even as part of you ached to open the door, to pick up the phone, to let him explain everything. Because, despite the distance you’d created, you couldn’t stop missing him.

Ni-ki wasn’t the kind of person to give up easily, though. And you knew, deep down, that this wouldn’t be the end. Not for him, not for you.

But what could you really do when someone like Ni-ki was your boyfriend? It was only a matter of time before he got to you again.

It happened when you least expected it—again. You were outside, tossing a bag of trash into the dumpster, then, like a shadow slipping out of nowhere, Ni-ki appeared behind you.

"Why are you avoiding me?" he asked.

You froze, your hand still gripping the edge of the dumpster. Slowly, you turned to face him. He looked the same as always, but his eyes were different. They weren’t filled with their usual confidence or amusement. Instead, they looked tired. Frustrated.

“I wasn’t avoiding you,” you muttered, though the words felt weak even to your own ears.

Ni-ki scoffed softly, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Sure, you weren’t.”

You glanced around, as if looking for an escape route, but you knew there wasn’t one. Not from him. "What do you want, Ni-ki?" you asked, crossing your arms over your chest defensively.

He took a step closer, and you instinctively took one back. "I want you to stop avoiding me," he said. His tone wasn’t angry, but there was an edge to it, a quiet insistence. "You’ve been ignoring me for days. Do you think I wouldn’t notice?"

"Maybe I wanted you to notice," you shot back, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Ni-ki tilted his head, studying you with those dark, piercing eyes. "So, what? You wanted me to chase you?"

"I wanted space!" you snapped, your voice louder now. "I needed time to think, Ni-ki. About us. About this." You gestured vaguely between the two of you, your frustration bubbling to the surface. "You can’t just keep vanishing and showing up whenever you feel like it. That’s not fair to me."

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. The silence hung heavy between you, broken only by the distant sound of a car passing by. Then he stepped closer again, and this time, you didn’t move away.

“I know,” he said quietly, his voice softer now. “I messed up. I should’ve told you what was going on. I just... I didn’t know how.”

“You didn’t know how?” you repeated, your anger still simmering but mingled now with disbelief. “You didn’t know how to tell your girlfriend where you were going or why you disappeared for a month?”

“I thought I was protecting you,” he admitted, his eyes dropping to the ground for a moment before meeting yours again. “I thought... if I kept you out of it, you’d be safe.”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “Safe? Do you know how scared I was when you disappeared? How much worse it made everything when those guys showed up and—” Your voice cracked, and you quickly stopped, swallowing hard.

Ni-ki’s jaw clenched, his hands tightening into fists at his sides. “I know. And I hate that you had to go through that. But I came back, didn’t I?”

"That’s not the point, Ni-ki," you said, your voice quieter now. “It’s not just about coming back. It’s about not leaving me in the dark in the first place.”

He took another step forward, close enough now that you could feel the warmth of him in the cold night air. “I’m trying,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t... I don’t know how to do this. The whole relationship thing. But I’m trying.”

You stared at him, your anger still lingering but softening slightly at the vulnerability in his voice.

“You’re not making it easy,” you muttered.

He smirked faintly, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “When have I ever made anything easy?”

Despite yourself, you almost smiled at that. But you weren’t ready to let him off the hook just yet. “This is serious, Ni-ki,” you said, your tone firm. “If you want this to work, you have to stop shutting me out. I can’t do this if you’re just going to disappear every time things get messy.”

He nodded slowly, his expression more serious now. “I know. And I promise, I’ll do better. Just... don’t give up on me. On us.”

You hesitated, studying him closely. He looked sincere, but you couldn’t help wondering if that would be enough. Still, as much as you wanted to stay mad, a part of you wanted to believe him. To give him another chance.

“I’m not promising anything,” you said finally, your voice softer now. “But... I’ll think about it.”

Ni-ki smiled faintly, and for the first time, it felt genuine. “That’s all I’m asking for.”

You took the time you needed, allowing the days to pass slowly as you sorted through your thoughts. It wasn’t easy, and there were moments when you doubted whether anything would change.

After a week of space, you decided it was time. You texted Ni-ki, asking him to come over to talk. You weren’t sure what the conversation would look like, but you knew you couldn’t keep pushing him away, and you couldn’t keep pretending everything was fine when it wasn’t.

When the doorbell rang later that evening, your heart was pounding in your chest. You hadn’t seen him in days, and the anticipation was nerve-wracking. You took a deep breath before walking over and opening the door.

There he was, standing on your doorstep with that familiar hoodie, his hands shoved into his pockets, and his expression unreadable. But there was something different in the way he stood—more uncertain, almost... nervous.

You studied him for a moment, unsure of where to begin. But then, his eyes met yours, and he spoke first.

“You wanted to talk?” he asked quietly.

You nodded, stepping aside to let him in. “Yeah. We need to.”

The air between you felt thick with everything that had been left unsaid, but neither of you moved until you both sat down in the living room. Ni-ki took a seat across from you, his hands resting on his knees, his gaze focused on the floor for a moment before meeting your eyes again.

“I know I messed up,” he began, his voice low. “I hurt you. I made you feel like you couldn’t trust me, and I... I’m sorry for that. I never meant to make you feel abandoned or like you didn’t matter.”

You looked at him, your heart aching at the sincerity in his voice, but the sting of his absence still lingered. “I just don’t understand why you thought it was okay to just disappear. To leave me without any explanation. I’ve been asking myself that over and over,” you admitted, your voice trembling slightly. “I know you think you were protecting me, but... it felt like you were shutting me out. Like I wasn’t even part of your world.”

Ni-ki ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in the way he sighed. “I get that. I don’t know what I was thinking. I should’ve communicated with you, let you know what was going on. But I didn’t. I kept everything to myself because I thought I was doing the right thing... keeping you safe.”

You shook your head. “But that’s not how a relationship works, Ni-ki. You don’t just keep secrets. You don’t disappear without saying anything. And you can’t keep making decisions without me.”

“I know,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I messed up, and I’m not proud of it. But I’m here now. I’m here because I want to fix this. I want to make things right with you. I know I’ve hurt you, and I can’t take that back, but I’ll do anything to prove that I care. That I’m not just using you.”

His words hit you hard, and for a moment, you looked down at your hands, unsure of what to say. You didn’t want to keep holding on to the anger and the hurt, but it was hard to shake off the feeling of betrayal.

“I don’t know, Ni-ki,” you said quietly. “I’m not sure if I can just forget what happened. It’s not just about you disappearing—it’s everything that came with it. The way you treated me like I was some kind of afterthought.”

Ni-ki moved closer to you, his hand gently reaching out for yours. “I understand. And I don’t expect you to forget. But I need you to know that I want to be here. I want to make things right. I love you. And I’ll prove it every day.”

You hesitated, still holding on to the doubts and the pain. But his hand in yours felt like a lifeline, and for the first time in a long while, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe things could be different. Maybe he could change.

“I don’t know if it will be easy,” you said softly, “but I’ll try. I’ll try if you promise me that you’ll be honest with me. That you won’t keep things from me anymore.”

Ni-ki nodded, his grip tightening on your hand. “I promise. No more secrets.”

--

It felt surreal, the way things shifted after Ni-ki made that promise. He wasn’t just physically present—he was emotionally there too, in ways you hadn’t expected. The first thing you’d see when you woke up was him, his face relaxed in sleep, a hint of a smile at the corners of his lips as if he were content just being there with you. And the last thing you saw before sleep was him, his warm arms around you, ensuring that you were safe and cared for.

You noticed how he didn’t leave your side much. Whether it was at home, walking you to work, or even just sitting on the couch together, he made sure to be near you, always close enough to reassure you that he was there for good. There were no more of those long, unexplained absences. No more shadows lurking over the relationship. He was there. He was committed.

One evening, as you were sitting together on the couch, your curiosity got the better of you. It had been weeks since you’d noticed any signs of the heists he’d been involved in—no more late-night disappearances, no more mysterious meetings. You decided to ask him outright.

“Ni-ki... I’ve been meaning to ask,” you said, your voice tentative, “What happened to all those heists? All that... the stuff you used to do?”

He tensed slightly, his eyes flicking to yours before he took a slow breath. “I quit,” he said simply, the words carrying weight that took you by surprise.

“Wait, what?” You blinked, unsure if you’d heard him correctly. “You quit? Like, for real?”

Ni-ki nodded, a serious look in his eyes. “Yeah. I realized it wasn’t the life I wanted anymore. I don’t want to be that person who hides behind masks and lies. I don’t want to drag you into that world. I’ve done enough to screw things up already.”

You felt a rush of emotions—surprise, confusion, and a strange sense of relief. He had quit? For you?

“You... you quit for me?” You whispered, almost unable to believe it.

He nodded again, reaching out to take your hand in his. “For both of us. I’m serious about us, about you. I don’t want to lose you. So I’m going to get a real job, a legitimate one. I want a future with you, and that’s not going to happen if I’m still out there, risking everything.”

The sincerity in his voice was undeniable, and as you looked into his eyes, you saw the truth in every word. Ni-ki had always been unpredictable, but in this moment, he seemed more grounded, more determined than you had ever seen him.

You took a deep breath, the weight of it all sinking in. “I... I don’t know what to say,” you admitted softly.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Ni-ki said, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. “I just wanted you to know. I want to build something real with you. And I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make that happen.”

Ni-ki had been reckless and wild in the past, but now, here he was—showing up for you in ways that were more meaningful than any flashy gesture or promise could convey.

“Okay,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “Okay. I believe you.”

And that was all you needed to hear from him.

You leaned into him, letting yourself relax into the warmth of his embrace, feeling the weight lift off your shoulders.

You were both living in the moment, together.

a/n: this is the last chapter of this fic :) hope you all enjoyed it and stayed for the journey <3

══════⊹⊱≼≽⊰⊹══════

Perm taglist: @ilyunjina @nshmrarki @laylasbunbunny

@wensurr @immelissaaa @simj4k3 @vegahrid @03sunoos

@hollxe1 @moonpri @cherriesfine @badtzsan @anushkaaaiaiiaiaia

@heeseungbabydoll @wondash @renjiishot @demigodmahash

@strawberrieswithchocolateo3o @honeybunnee @jjongstar111

@enhaprettystars @zorange13 @jiminie-08 @chocowonnie

@enhamonsterghoul @mrsjjongstby @lunaritex @kiripimaspillow

@sumsumtingz @norucking @tunafishyfishylike @txnwvc

@jakeluvrrs @antoinettenotfound @firstclassjaylee @xnatqq

Bold ones are untaggable | Wanna be in the perm taglist? Lmk <3

[avocado-writing]

Hi dear! I would like to appreciate your works. I really enjoy everything you wrote, Wish you have a great day! 💗

Since you're taking requests, could you please write Wade with a polite, sweet and delicate partners. He's with a person who's the definition of "Too pure for this world and MUST be PROTECTED at all cost" His partner showers him with love and validation, and always love to listen to him! Thanks! 💓

possibly based on real life events.

Wade Wilson is so in love, it must be sickening to everyone around him. 

In fact he knows it is and he does not care. He’ll say “look at this meme the love of my life sent me!” and the person who he shows will roll their eyes, as if you don’t have incredible taste in cat pictures. He’ll monologue constantly about how cute you are and how much he loves that scrunchy thing you do with your nose. He’s recited committed-to-memory facts about you so many times that his friends can parrot them too. 

“Yes, I know what their favourite film is, I know you took them to a special viewing of it for their birthday. It’s cute, Wade,” says Laura, patting him on the arm condescendingly. Well, it’s not his fault you’re so wonderful! There isn’t a single thing about you that’s not perfect. He’s constantly bowled over about just how much affection he can fit in his body for you. The other night he was going on about something stupid - he can’t even remember what now, maybe it was about the new Taco Bell menu? - and then realised you hadn’t interrupted him once to shut him up like most people would.

You’d looked over the top of your magazine at him when he’d pointed this out, brow cocked.

“Why would I want you to shut up? I like listening to you talk, Wade.”

Marry you. He’s going to marry you. Every day, then divorce you every day too so he can marry you again. 

You are probably too good for him. Most of his social circle thinks so. You’re patient and kind, when you’re not at your job - where you work at a charity adopting out senior animals, as if you could be any more of a fucking angel - you like to spend your time in his shitty little kitchen, baking desserts for him to get home to. He’ll find you getting Al to taste test for you and his apartment full of laughter and joy. 

Man, he’s definitely put on like, six pounds since the two of you started dating. He needs to be stronger in the face of your cupcakes. 

They are really fucking good though. 

He walks in that night with a plushie under his arm. It’s a cow. He remembers you mentioning offhand how cute you thought cows were, so he decided to grab the biggest one the toy store one the way home had just because he knows it’ll make you smile. You don’t need any more stuffed toys; you sleep with them all in the bed and they’re pushing him off the side at this point because of their sheer number but, well, he likes seeing you happy. 

And then he hears sobbing. 

“Sweetheart?” he asks, immediately panicked. Are you injured? Has someone come to hurt you - has he painted a target on your back because of his job? Bile fills his throat as he stumbles forward…

…and there you are, sitting in front of the TV, PlayStation controller in your lap as tears run down your face while the end of the game plays out. Wade has never felt such relief in his life, laughing as the ache of it is taken from his chest. You turn to him with wide, watery eyes. 

“Don’t you laugh at me, Wade Wilson!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. But babe… are you crying at the end of Kingdom Hearts?”

“No!” you lie, trying to mop your face off with your sleeve. Then the music hits its crescendo from the crappy speakers and you start wailing all over again. 

He loves you. He’d kill a million billion people for you. It would take a hell of a long time but hey, one word and he’d do it. If anyone even lifted a finger to hurt you he’d execute them so thoroughly that every generation of their family would be wiped out of existence too. 

To put it in terms you’d approve of, he’d do anything for you. But he also knows you’d never ask him to. You’re just that wonderful. 

“… would it help if I got us take-out and you started playing the second one?”

“Uh-huh,” you manage to confirm. 

“I could be in this fucking game, beat Donald Duck’s little feathery ass. Disney, make it happen.”

“What?”

“Don’t worry about it. Pizza or Chinese?”

Taglist: @falsewordz @malfoys-demigod @belilwen @mildly-salted @tvwebs @childeslegstrap @getmeoutofhell @s1eep-o @just-a-beatlemaniac69 @yrthr @momopad @sugarplumz100 @captainjinkx @madspads @acrosstheunivcrse @yeethaw13 @na-is-salty @florduarte @hunterispunk

[dearest-nell]

reality.

s. harrington x reader, 3.2k

summary: steve has fallen in love with his best friend without even realising, and now there's nothing left for him to do but continue to fall. friends to lovers, steve is pathetically in love, gender neutral!reader, mentions of drinking.

a/n: literally can't think about anything else but this little romantic idiot loverman, so here we are. unproofread, sorry!

Steve was not sure when it was that this all became real to him. Time seemed to blur together in flashes of colour and memory. There were so many days with you, so many moments that had changed his life or altered his very being. How many moments could he name that might have been the one to shift delicate sands between you? Your friendship spanned years – wonderful years filled with the warmth of summer sun soaking into your skin on the beach of Lovers Lake, sweaters shared so often between the both of you that even the woollen fabric could not decide who it smelled most like. 

He remembered movie nights in the dimness of Hawkins theatre, half empty rows of midnight screenings where your horrified cries over every slasher could be muffled by his shoulder, his arm around your waist, tucking you safely away from every fright around. You were the only person who slept in his bed just to talk, to stay up all night whispering dreams and hopes and secrets. You were full of his secrets, after all, sworn to protect and sworn to keep. He wanted to keep you more than anything else in the world. 

Steve couldn’t pinpoint the moment his deep, unwavering affection for you had become something new, something so tenderly romantic that even he himself had been shocked by. He had been in love before, sure, but not like this. Steve Harrington had never considered himself capable of loving another person quite so much. It was greedy, and selfish, and selfless, and all consuming, and so peacefully quiet that he was sure nothing else might ever settle him quite so nicely. 

The attraction had always been there, after all. You were ethereal, otherworldly, angelic in a way that Steve was sure no one had ever been before. It didn’t matter what anyone else had said, you were the most beautiful creature to ever grace his life. Even as friends, he knew it. He’d watched you swim in the chlorine mess of his pool clad in nothing but your underwear, leaving Steve swallowing thickly around the unshiftable lump in his throat that seemed to appear just for you. He’d run his hands across your sides in the deep blue of the night, memorising the curve of your hip with trembling hands that ached to hold you tighter. He’d been lost in your eyes so often that sometimes the colour of them was printed on the inside of his eyelids, haunting his dreams with visions of your smile - your hand in his. 

He couldn’t name the moment it changed, but he could name the moment he knew. It was an ordinary night by anyone's standards; the kids, now graduating, had rented a VHS of some film he likely should  have known the name of. He thought the actors had looked familiar, maybe recognised the hit song on the soundtrack, but the rest seemed a blur to him. He’d been half exhausted from a day at work as it was, and you had promised to take him home early if his social battery began to dwindle. It was incentive enough for him to try, though about 35 minutes into the film, Steve had felt that wave of exhaustion slip over him. He wanted his own bed, wanted the silence and dark of his shitty apartment to swallow him whole. He’d moved to whisper to you, hand squeezing your knee beside him only to discover your quiet, even breaths as his only response. Your head rested so fittingly on his shoulder, one curve perfectly slotted into the other, a soft place for you to land. It wasn’t often that you fell asleep during movies, but Steve knew you were just as exhausted as he was from an even longer work week. 

Steve did not look back towards the dingy, yellow hazed television screen even once after he’d spotted you. He was fixated on the gentle peace that had settled across your features, brow line soft, unmarred by worries of the day. He wondered what you were dreaming about, what thoughts and wishes filled your imaginings tonight, and whether he would get to hear about them once you’d woken. It was one thought that had shaken him, though. One that made him stop to think, that lost him to his surroundings entirely, consumed by questions. 

Are you dreaming about me, too? 

The overwhelming sense of hope was what had alarmed him, hope that perhaps you wanted him, wanted him with you even in your dreams – wanted him just as badly as he seemed to want you. How had he not noticed before? How had he not understood that every moment without you just felt like another moment spent trying to get back to you. 

Oh god, it was love. There was nothing else to call it. It was love of a friend and so much more. It was love of a person that Steve hoped never to face life again without. It was a desperation to keep you close that left a tightness in his chest, unmoving and unshakable. There was restraint enough in him that kept him from waking you just to pull you tighter, suddenly so aware of this need that had shadowed so closely at his heels all this time. 

He stayed the entire film just so you could sleep right there on his shoulder, undisturbed and so entirely loved. 

How he managed to keep it to himself after that was beyond all understanding. Steve didn’t keep secrets, or at least not his own, not from you. How exciting it was to be falling in love like this, and yet all he could think about was how horrific it was that you were none the wiser. Hadn’t you felt it too? That shift between you? It was all he could think about, and it left him twitchy, nervous and bumbling, ungraceful compared to his usual charismatic charm. Though you smiled at him like you always did, watching him as if he were still your most favourite person in all the world, and Steve had never felt more alive. 

It was why here, now, all he could do was watch you. Weeks later, still pining, still so incredibly in love with you, he was helpless but to stand by your side, drink in his hand idly sipped just to give him some kind of distractive reprieve, the taste of whisky heavy on his tongue as you watched the band before you. The lights were luminous, flashes of blue and yellow and white swallowing you in their glow, your body swaying contentedly to the rhythm of music he had half forgotten to listen to. He’d been excited to see this band weeks ago, and now all he could do was stare at you. 

You’d dressed up; hair styled, body wrapped in fabrics that Steve wanted to run his fingers through. There was glitter on your cheeks that glinted in the neon lights, and if Steve had not seen the cheap packaging himself, then he might have considered it the mark of an angel gracing your skin. 

Steve had never wanted to kiss someone so badly in his life. 

How he had gotten away with such blatant staring was a mystery, and he chalked it up to the masses of people pressing in closer and closer together as the night went on. No one was watching him, so no one was watching him watch you. 

As if triggered by some divine intervention, you turned to smile at him, yelling something about how great the band was, the sound muffled by the buzz of electronics and minute long guitar solos. He nodded back dumbly, his own smile a perfect mirror of your own, a free hand running through his now sweat slick locks. 

“So good.” Was all he could yell back, trying to peel his gaze away from your own, his own personal boulder up the hill; an unwinnable battle. 

His staring paid off, at least, when he caught the way the masses seemed to close in around you. Your view was more and more obstructed with every new beat, bodies taller and far less considerate than the two of yours huddling in tighter. He watched as the perception crossed your mind and on pure instinct, Steve was pulling you into him, slotting your body into place right before his own. He was wrapped around you like a protective barrier, arm hooked loosely around your waist, hand gripping possessively at your hip, his drink knocked clean out of his hand as the man by his side threw his arms up to the music. He tried not to glare, not for the loss of his drink, but for the way it so easily could have come tumbling down on you. The drink seemed like the least of your worries though. Steve offered you an apologetic grimace only to be met with another of your smiles, the warmth of your regard smoothing out the roughest edges of his trepidations. 

Your hand slipped into his, eliciting the softest of sighs from Steve to feel your comforting touch, and he felt his body relax as you pulled his other arm snuggly around you too, your entire body now encased in the safety of his hold. Somehow he knew that you had done this for him, that snuggling yourself in deeper like this was to ease his worries, not your own. He was here protecting you, and somehow here you were, still soothing him without so much as a thought. He wished he understood how you knew him so well, how you seemed to know intrinsically what he needed. It felt foolish to hope that maybe it was for the very same reason that he knew you so well. Maybe this is just how friends are. 

This did not feel like friendship, though, not with you pressed so tightly against him, bodies swaying as one to the steady rhythm of the melody around you. Your arms were crossed around yourself, hands gripping onto his forearms as if you could hold him right back. You were holding him, he realised. Holding him as best as you could from the position you were in. You had relaxed entirely into him, head resting back against his shoulder, movements languid and comfortable in his arms, fingers tracing secret scribbles into the goose-prickled flesh of his skin, so reactive to even the smallest of your touches. He wasn’t sure what to do with himself, couldn’t decide where to look or what to say or how to breathe, even. Breathe, Steve, breathe. 

“Are you comfy?” You called out, head angling up to catch a glimpse of his expression. Your palm flattened out comfortingly against his arm, and Steve tried not to melt under the tenderness of it. 

He nodded, dipping down to speak a little more closely, using the volume of the room as his excuse to allow his lips so close to the plush curve of your cheek. “‘m comfy. Is this okay?” 

He squeezed his arms around you once, twice, to emphasise his concern. You inched your face higher, views of one another now more clear as the space between you dissipated, your noses bumping clumsily against one another as the crowd continued to shift around you.

“Yeah, thanks.” If he didn’t know you half as well as he did, Steve might have missed the way your eyes seemed to widen at him, mouth parting imperceptibly as if you were about to continue, words dissolving right at the buzzer. 

His brow lifted curiously, nose nudging yours with purpose to ease the words from you. The look you gave in turn was enough to steal the very breath from his lungs, his chest constricting with the nerves that such intensity always seemed to summon in him. You looked pained, somehow, and Steve didn’t miss the way your arms seemed to tighten around his own, leaving his hands to squeeze at your sides reassuringly, one slipping its way to cup at your jaw. The wide of his palm engulfed your cheek, his rough, calloused, fingers stroking soothing circles into the curve of your skin, holding your gaze to him. 

“What’s wrong?” He mouthed, not wishing to raise his voice when you were pressed so closely to him. He was preparing to pull you away at a moment's notice, to flee the crowd and tuck you somewhere safe in some dark corner of the room to catch your breath. He knew something was wrong, could feel the weight of some unspoken thought pressing down on you. He’d steal it if he could, take it on as his own so you could smile again. It had only been a minute and he was already aching to see it once more. 

It all seemed to move in slow motion for him – time slowed to a standstill as the room seemed to fade away. There wasn’t anyone here but you, but him, standing here in this crowded empty space, looking at no one but each other. He watched you tug your lip between your teeth, one moment of contemplation that had him second guessing everything before you moved, lifting up onto the tips of your toes to reach him, his arms tightening again to keep you steady. 

Your eyes flickered, shifting nervously between his eyes and his lips, and Steve felt his own part as the surprise of your boldness hit him. You wanted to kiss him. You wanted to kiss him and this was your way of showing it. He could see the way you tried to inch closer, watching through hooded eyes as you evaluated his reaction, drifting somewhere between closer and further with every breath. 

No one could blame him for his eagerness, not really. Not when you were looking at him like it would kill you not to kiss him, not when he felt so entirely needed, so entirely worthy of this moment. He brushed his hand at your cheek, nudging forward slowly, his eyes imploring as he watched, waited to know that this was really what you wanted. 

You just smiled up at him, and Steve might have died right there to know that he was the reason why. 

Steve’s focused remained heavily on his movements, head lost somewhere in the necessity that he needed to kiss you right. He felt like his very happiness relied on it – like he would die right here, right now, if you did not know just how much he wanted you. Needed you. 

He moved unhurriedly, lips tracing so softly against your own that he thought he might be dreaming. There was no conceivable way that a person could be so delicate in his hold, so plush and divine and perfect. It was a moment out of time, kissing you like this amongst the ever constricting crowds, the violent noise of a band crescendoing around you all the while. 

And you were kissing him too. 

He could taste it in your touch, the eagerness, the way you tried to reach further, twisting in his arms to fit closer to him. He wished he could swallow his grin, helplessly amused by that gentle desperation in you – how could he not smile over the neediness in your touch? You tried to speed up the kiss, to grip him tighter, one hand curled into the fabric of his shirt, the other tugging him down by his hair. 

His groan was involuntary, and his purchase at your face was all he had to usher you, slow fingers coaxing you back into a relaxed state, pulling himself back to look at you with desperate eyes. 

He had no words, nothing that he could say that could convey the meaning of this moment, nor the depths of his feelings for it. He could see that glaze in your eyes, feel the way you swayed on the tips of your toes as your balance betrayed you. He didn’t mind – it was his excuse to tug you all the closer, setting the pace once more as his lips slotted against your own. 

He felt your sigh rather than heard it, could feel the way your muscles relaxed under the press of his hand at your back. It was a sick sort of pleasure that flooded him, pride taking over to know that he had this effect – this power over you. If only you knew how much more you had over him, how he’d do almost anything you could ask of him just to keep you here. 

A knock from a burly looking man was what it took to break the kiss, and Steve might have been thankful had he not almost dropped the two of you in a brief lapse of balance, his head turning venomously to glare at the man who Steve certainly could not take in a fight. He might really have gotten his ass kicked there and then over his petulance, a child raging over his favourite treat being ripped from his hands. Was it so much for him to want this moment to be perfect? He wanted 5 minutes to enjoy it, to kiss you senseless, to solidify that this would not be the only time  to do so. 

Thank god for you, really, to remind him that he was still in the moment. Your hands at his face tugged him away from his anger, focusing his attention back on you, your own amused smile soothing away that spike of rage that had stolen his attention so briefly. You dipped up, pecking his lips so suddenly that all he could do was stare. He felt like an idiot, and maybe it was because he was one. He was a fool in love, and perhaps now you were starting to see it. 

“Lets go.” You urged, thumbs circling at his cheeks, the adrenaline in his body dissipating into something peaceful at the tenderness of your touch. 

He nodded dumbly, not a moment wasted considering anything else in the room but you. Who could have possibly cared that the show was only half finished, that neither of you had heard your favourite songs yet, that you had been dying to try the specialty cocktail of the night that was plastered across posters behind the bar, when Steve could be the one to take you home? Fuck literally anything else here because your hand was easing its way into his own, and his cheeks were sure to ache at the strain of his smile on his face as he shouldered his way through the crowd, parting bodies to ease the two of you through the masses, and nothing could have been more important to him in that moment, or any other moment to come, than you. 

Forget it all, because Steve was going to kiss you again as soon as the night air broke around the two of you, and by the way you clung so tightly to the back of him, he’d never been so assured that you were just as pleased by the notion as he was. 

Steve could not remember the moment his feelings for you had become real to him, but he’d never forget the moment yours had.

[limethefirst]

Could I request a platonic Wolverine x Innocent Reader x Deadpool where the reader is a superhero and the two want to take care of them and shows them the ropes but argue about how to do it?

No pressure or rush, hope you’re having a wonderful day/night!

-W.P 💚

Hero in training

pairings: Wolverine x reader x Deadpool (platonic)

warnings: violence, swearing

summary: Wade and Logan don’t see eye to eye when it comes to training methods

a/n: thank you for requesting! I wasn’t super sure in what way you wanted reader to be innocent so please forgive me if this isn’t to your best liking, also I’m gonna start working on part 3 of void runners soon so keep an eye out!🫢

No one ever said being a superhero was easy, but it especially wasn’t easy when you were being trained by both the Wolverine and Deadpool. The two people who hardly ever got along.

You watched as Wade and Logan stood in front of you, Logan wearing casual training clothes and Wade in his normal red suit. Wade looked excited, he was ready to show you his ways but Logan had another approach in mind.

“Alright kid, first we need to learn to control your powers, from there we can begin with some drills, slowly moving up to advanced drills then work more on strength training” Logan started, his plan was to train your powers and then learn some moves with them, hoping it would help you in the self defense aspect of crime fighting.

This was something Wade didn’t find appealing, “Woah back the fuck up now Peanut” Logan glared at the man, before Wade continued, “Remember we’re both training them, and I say we need some more fun in this training, maybe learn some cool flashy moves, or we can start off this party with a dance off!”

“A dance off?” You looked at Wade, a bit confused on his method of teaching but not entirely against it.

Logan on the other hand didn’t appreciate the comment, “This isn’t some type of circus act, this is real life Wade, we need to have some type of approach or we won’t make progress, and all that will happen is they get injured out there,” you looked between the two men, wishing someone else had trained you instead.

“Well why don’t we just see what our little sugar plum fairy thinks,” Wade then turned back over to you and booped your nose, “Okay kiddo, do you wanna have a fun training with Papa Wade!! Or do you want to be all bored and tired with meanie Wolverine!” Wade asked you, his voice sounded like he was talking to a little baby.

You looked at both men, unsure of what to say, not wanting to upset the other. Then the idea came to mind, “Can’t we try both methods? Maybe a combination?”

“Fuck no, that idiots ‘method’ is going to get you hurt,” Logan quickly replied, this caused Wade to go over to you and grab your head in his arms.

He began to pet your head and started cooing, “Do I look like I’d ever let anything harm them?”

You stood there as Wade held your head tight, a sigh escaping your lips, “Please Logan, I know its unconventional but I really think it’ll work!” You started to plead with the man.

Wade slowly let go, a hand still on your head, while Logan stood there, unsure if this was the right choice, but he knew how persistent Wade was.

Logan caved, “Fine but if there isn’t any progress, only I’ll train you, got it kid?”

You have him a smile and a thumbs up, Wade just went up to Logan and clung to his arm, “Awe you’re such a softy aren’t you my little firecracker!”

Logan quickly let his claws out and stabbed him in the stomach, already regretting his decision.

Over the course of the next few weeks, you continued your combination training, Logan taught you defensive skills as well as offensive, he also showed you a lot of strategies that would protect you when the time came, while Wade showed you the flair of being a hero, without having to kill as he knew that wasn’t the type of hero you wanted to be, even though every once and a while he’d try to persuade you.

Even though you’d decided to do the combination training, both men still argued all the time.

“Why the hell are you telling them to jump through the sky light when you want to sneak attack a criminal?” Logan’s finger pushed into Wade’s chest, irritated that he’d tell you to do something so dumb and risky.

“Because they need to look awesome while saving the day, oh don’t forget the funny joke once the bad guy sees you, alright my sugar cane,” Wade looked over to you and you gave him a happy smile with a thumbs up, knowing you probably weren’t gonna do that but it was nice to make him feel good before he and Logan fight again over how that isn’t an ethical way of fighting crime.

You decided it was best to leave before they started to get at it again, you knew that tomorrow they’d go back to helping you anyway. So maybe it was better to let them get it out of their systems every one and a while.

[drowning-in-paragraphs]

hii! could you write a fic where you and kids are at the club with friends and some guy is bothering you and jude steps in being all protective🤭

maybe some of the other boys like trent can be there too helping the reader out!

a/n: there you go! I didn't know what you meant by kids and I think I wrote something different, but I hope you like it! (I don't know why, but I really enjoyed writing this story)

SAVIOR

jude bellingham x reader

warnings: a creepy man who makes unwanted touching and may contain some mistakes.

summary: A fun night out with friends takes an unsettling turn when a drunk man repeatedly tries to approach you. But don't worry—Jude and your friends step in to ensure you're safe and sound.

The neon lights of the club pulsed rhythmically, casting a wash of color over the buzzing crowd. You were tucked into a plush VIP booth with the England squad, or at least part of, celebrating after a week of intense matches. The night had been perfect so far—filled with laughter, dancing, and a few too many drinks passed around. The music was loud, but the familiar rhythm had everyone swaying, lost in the moment.

You glanced around the table, a smile tugging at your lips as you watched your friends enjoying themselves. Jude Bellingham was seated across from you, his signature playful grin never far from his face as he bantered with Trent Alexander-Arnold, who was lounging next to him with his drink in hand. Next to you, Bukayo Saka was trying to pull Tolami Benson, his girlfriend, onto the dance floor, but she was having none of it, shaking her head and laughing at his enthusiasm.

You had been friends with these guys for what felt like forever. You met them through Trent, whom you had known since you were little. They always made you feel like part of the crew—especially Jude. There had always been something a little different with him, though neither of you had ever talked about it. There was an unspoken closeness between you two, a connection that felt deeper than friendship, though it remained undefined. Tonight was no different; his gaze would occasionally flicker to you through the crowd, and whenever it did, your heart would skip just a bit faster.

“Come on, dance with me!” Bukayo was still pleading with Tolami, tugging at her arm while she shot you a look of mock desperation.

“Help me out here,” Tolami leaned into you, her dark eyes sparkling with amusement. “Can you tell him he needs to stop embarrassing himself?”

You chuckled, leaning back in the booth, your drink cool in your hand. “You might as well give in. Your man’s relentless.”

“No chance,” Tolami replied, shaking her head firmly, but her grin betrayed her affection for Saka. She finally relented and stood, leading him onto the dance floor as he grinned triumphantly and you laughed loudly over the music.

Everything was perfect, and the night was exactly what you needed—a break from life’s stresses, surrounded by people who made you feel at home.

You leaned forward, your elbow resting on the sleek table as you took another sip of your drink, enjoying the fizzy, sweet burn on your tongue. Trent was next to you, casually talking, but your focus kept slipping, drifting to Jude seated across from you. Every now and then, his knee would brush against yours under the table, just enough to make you wonder if it was on purpose. Each time, he’d flash you that familiar grin, the one that always seemed to say more than his words ever did.

That beautiful grin softened, and he raised his glass in your direction, a silent toast, though the meaning felt deeper. You smiled back, a little more knowingly this time, wondering if he felt the same unspoken bond that lingered between the two of you. Trent interrupted your thoughts, nudging Jude’s arm, clearly telling some joke that you couldn't hear over the music but that made Jude throw his head back in laughter.

However, the looks you gave the Real Madrid player, made Trent aware of the tension, because after a while, his eyes flicked between the two of you, amusement tugging at his lips. He smirked, raising his drink. “You know, I think I’ll hit the dance floor—gotta show these amateurs how it’s done.”

He winked, pushing himself off the booth, giving you a knowing look before heading toward the thrumming mass of bodies. You laughed, watching him go, but the air between you and Jude immediately shifted once Trent was gone.

Jude leaned in slightly, his shoulder brushing against yours, his voice a little lower than before. “Tolami is going to hate us when she sees herself in the middle of Trents and Bukayos dance moves. Maybe we should go…”

You smirked, rolling your eyes at him. “Maybe we should later. Can’t a girl have a peaceful night?”

Jude chuckled, his arm resting casually along the back of the booth, fingers brushing the side of your shoulder. The simple contact sent a jolt of electricity through you, and you couldn’t help but glance at him. His eyes locked onto yours, lingering for a second too long. There was that look again—the one that made your heart race, the one that always hinted at more than either of you ever said.

“Peaceful?” Jude leaned in, his voice smooth and low, the kind that sent shivers down your spine. “You? I don’t believe it.”

You laughed softly, raising a brow at him. “Perhaps you’re just not paying attention.”

“Oh, I’m paying attention,” he said with a smirk, his hand subtly grazing your arm, playful but enough to send a ripple of excitement through you.

But your good mood faltered when you felt it again. That strange sense of being watched, of someone’s gaze—not Jude’s—looking at you. You glanced over your shoulder, and there he was—the same guy who had tried to approach you earlier in the night. He was standing by the bar now, staring at you. You had brushed him off twice already, but it seemed like he wasn’t getting the hint.

“Earth to Y/N…?” Jude brought you back to the conversation, his breath warm against your cheek.

You laughed, but the way the man stared made you feel unsettled. Without missing a beat, you forced a smile to hide your discomfort. “You were right, let’s dance,” you said suddenly, standing up and grabbing his hand.

Jude’s brows raised, surprised but pleased as he followed you onto the crowded dance floor, his grip tightening slightly as if sensing your shift in mood. You didn’t look back toward the bar, instead focusing on the music, the flashing lights, and Jude, who was now right in front of you, close enough to chase away any lingering unease.

The music pulsed through the dance floor, a heavy beat vibrating in your chest as you and Jude found a rhythm together. His hands rested on your waist, fingers lightly pressing into the fabric of your dress, guiding you closer with each step. You could feel his breath against your neck, his movements smooth, matching yours effortlessly. Every subtle touch, every brush of his hand sent warmth rippling through you, and you couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips as you let yourself get lost in the moment.

Around you, Bukayo was spinning Tolami in a playful circle, both of them laughing as Trent danced nearby, his usual smooth moves showing off. It was a perfect, carefree moment shared with your friends, yet your earlier unease still nagged at the back of your mind.

As Jude leaned in to whisper something teasing, his lips dangerously close to your ear, your eyes caught movement near the bar.

The man’s presence unsettled you, and his persistent attention kept your nerves on high alert. You tried to brush it off, focusing on enjoying yourself and ignoring him. But each time you glanced away, there he was—eyes locked on you. His gaze followed your every move, every part of your body, a silent weight that sent chills racing down your spine, the kind that only faded after another sip of your overly sweet drink.

Rolling your eyes, you turned back to your friends, trying to shake off the unease creeping up your spine. Maybe he’d finally give up and move on, you hoped. But even as you laughed along with the others, you couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling that he was still there, hovering just out of sight.

Trying not to draw attention, you leaned over to Tolami when she passed by you, her hand brushing yours as you quickly whispered, “That guy from earlier—he’s still watching me.”

Tolami’s smile faltered slightly as she shot a glance toward the bar, immediately spotting him. Her expression tightened, protective and concerned.

“Want me to deal with that git?”

You smiled at her fierce loyalty, even though part of you felt bad for involving her. “Nah, I think he’ll get bored eventually.”

Tolami didn’t look convinced, but she nodded, squeezing your hand reassuringly before returning to Bukayo. You took a deep breath, trying to shake off the feeling. Jude’s hand slid around your waist again, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin, pulling your focus back to him. He didn’t seem to have noticed what was happening.

As the night carried on, you found it harder to stay focused on the music and laughter around you. Your gaze kept darting toward the bar, each time hoping the man had moved on, but he hadn’t. He was still there, staring, an unsettling smile playing on his lips that disappeared when he took another sip of his drink. Despite your efforts to shake off the discomfort, the weight of his deep eyes made it impossible to fully enjoy the moment.

Jude’s strong arm remained securely around your waist as you danced, his touch gentle, comforting. Yet, he seemed to sense something was off, his eyes flicking to your face, a crease forming between his brows. Without saying a word, he glanced toward Trent, tilting his head slightly in your direction. Trent caught the gesture, raising an eyebrow as if to say, what’s up?

Jude mouthed, “She’s off,” while giving a subtle nod toward you.

Trent’s eyes narrowed with concern as he looked between the two of you, clearly picking up on Jude’s silent observation. He didn’t say anything, but his lips pressed into a thin line, like he was filing away the information for later.

The persistent feeling of being watched gnawed at you, and despite the music thumping in your ears, that man’s smile kept cutting through the sound. It was unnerving, and even though Jude’s presence was reassuring, it wasn’t enough to push the discomfort away.

After a while, Trent, Jude, and Bukayo decided they had enough of the dance floor, pulling away to head back to the plush VIP booth. Jude shot you a glance as if silently asking if you were okay to stay, but you gave him a nod and a forced smile, not wanting to ruin the vibe for anyone else.

“Come on, Tolami, let’s stay a bit longer,” you said lightly, holding onto her hand. She smiled and agreed, both of you swaying to the beat as the boys returned to the reserved area. It was nice to have a moment with her, and for a second, you managed to relax.

But the moment was short-lived.

The man saw his chance. With the boys no longer close by, he pushed off from the bar and began walking toward you. His eyes never left yours, that unsettling smile still fixed on his face. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end as he approached, weaving through the crowd with a clear, unwelcome intent.

The man moved closer, his steps slow and deliberate as he navigated the crowded dance floor. Your heart raced, your body instinctively tensing as he approached. Tolami was by your side, but you felt exposed without the group nearby. You exchanged a quick, uneasy glance with her, and her smile immediately faltered as she caught sight of the guy coming toward you.

Before you could react, he was standing right in front of you, much closer than he had any right to be. His presence was invasive, and the smell of alcohol clung to his breath as he leaned in, brushing against your shoulder. His hand grazed your arm, sending a wave of disgust through you.

“I told you earlier,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady despite the nerves twisting in your stomach. “I don’t want a drink. I don’t want anything from you.”

He ignored your words, a sleazy grin spreading across his face. “Come on, don’t be like that. Just one dance,” he slurred, his hand lingering on your arm as he moved closer, his body pressing against yours.

Tolami stepped in quickly, trying to push him away. “She said no, git. Get lost,” she demanded, her tone firm but her smaller frame struggling against his weight. The guy didn’t budge, his attention entirely focused on you, his hand gripping your waist now, tighter than you wanted.

“Get off me,” you said, panic rising in your voice as you tried to pull away, but his grip only tightened. Tolami tried again, pushing harder against him, but he swatted her arm away with a dismissive laugh.

Fear surged in your chest as you looked around for help, the crowd oblivious to what was happening. It felt like everything slowed down in that moment—until you caught a glimpse of someone moving quickly through the mass of people.

Jude.

At first, he was calm, trying not to make a scene, his presence almost casual as he slid between you and the man, his signature grin in place, though there was a dangerous edge to his voice. He took the guy´s hand out of your waist before he said, “Mate, she’s not interested. No need to ruin a good night.”

The man glared at Jude, clearly not willing to give up, his smile turning into an annoyed grin. “Relax, dude. We’re just having a little fun. Why don’t you go find a girl for yourself? This one’s already taken.”

He grabbed your arm again, and squeezed possessively, making you whimper.

And that’s when Jude’s demeanor shifted entirely.

His polite tone dropped, replaced by something cold and unyielding. His eyes hardened, his jaw clenched as he took a step closer, his voice low and dangerous. “Let go of her. Now.”

For a moment, the man hesitated, sensing the change in Jude’s energy. But when he still didn’t back down, Jude’s temper flared. “I’m not gonna say it again, you fucking idiot. Let. Her. Go.”

By then, Bukayo and Trent had noticed the situation, quickly making their way over. Bukayo’s face was tight with anger, and Trent didn’t bother hiding his irritation either. They flanked Jude, their presence a clear warning. Tolami moved beside you, standing protectively in front as Jude glared down the man who still hadn’t released you.

The guy’s eyes flicked between the group, realizing he was outnumbered and had no chance of winning this. His grip on your arm finally loosened, and he took a step back, muttering something under his breath. Jude didn’t take his eyes off him.

"Walk away," Trent said, his voice cold. "Now."

The man faltered, his cocky demeanor faded as he looked around, clearly second-guessing his decision to push his luck.

But Jude had already ran out of patience. He stepped closer, his eyes locked on the man, and when he spoke again, his voice was dangerous. “I’m not going to ask again. Get the fuck out of here, or we’ll make you.”

That did it.

The man’s bravado crumbled under the combined weight of their stares, and he finally took a step back, muttering something under his breath as he retreated into the crowd. You watched as he disappeared into the sea of people, the tension in your chest finally easing.

Jude turned to you immediately, his expression softening as he placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. “You alright?” he asked, his voice gentle now, the anger from moments ago completely gone.

You nodded, though your heart was still racing. “Yeah… thanks. I didn’t think he’d actually… you know.”

Jude’s hand slid down to your back, pulling you into a reassuring side hug and kissed your temple. “I’ve got you.”

Tolami gave you a tight smile, clearly relieved the situation hadn’t escalated further. “That guy was a total creep. You alright?”

“Yes, now I am, thank you guys,” you said, though the lingering unease hadn’t quite left. You glanced around the group, grateful for their support. Bukayo gave you a small nod, his arms crossed but his expression soft, and Trent offered a light pat on your back, his usual teasing grin reappearing as the tension faded.

“Guess that’s one way to end the night,” Trent joked, though his eyes still held concern.

Jude kept you close as the group slowly made their way back to the VIP booth, his arm still around you as if he wasn’t willing to let go just yet. The warmth of his presence, the security of having him there, chased away the last traces of fear.

As you settled back into the booth, Jude leaned in, his voice soft and only for you. “Next time, just say the word, and I’ll deal with it sooner.”

You smiled up at him, your heart swelling with gratitude. “I know. Thanks, Jude. Really.”

[stanpineskisser]

Time for Stanley headcanons because why not!!

-He actually quit smoking a long time ago, his health problems were already catching up to him by the time he got in his 30s and having people in and out of the shack all the time meant a smoke break would be hard to come by. He stuck with the occasional cigar as a treat.

- He’s very much accustomed to recurring nightmares, but one time he had a dream that he became a father. He woke up in tears and felt an ache in his chest. His arms empty, yet yearning to hold something.

- Is MUCH kinder to Soos in private. Soos picks up on this and savors every moment they have alone together because Stan is almost a totally different person around him.

- Soos is a total Stan analysis NUT. He sees all his layers and it makes him love the guy more and more every day. Over time he’s tried to gently ask prying questions that get Stan to share about himself and Soos holds on to every nugget of information. Soos isn’t some dumb guy that follows Stan around. He’s completely aware that Stan underpays him and can be brash with his words, but he’s made it part of his life’s mission to support Stan and help him through things. Knowing bits and pieces of Stan’s past, Soos admires him dearly. And that admiration is only amplified after finding out about Ford.

- Stan makes himself out to be this non-committal type guy but he actually truly craves intimacy and someone who would accept his intense loyalty. He’s an all or nothing type of man at his core but he’s stopped believing that anyone would ever want his “all”.

- He just wants to be cuddled and cherished 🥺

- Sometimes when Stan was around Dipper and Mabel or taking them out somewhere he liked to pretend in his own mind for a split second that they were his own kids. He’d quickly shake the thought, thinking it’s dumb/weird and immediately go back to playing his “unbothered uncle” attitude.

- His pride in his crimes is a cover for how he really feels: completely out of control of his own actions and doomed to be a “bad guy”. He feels as though he’s already in too deep with the life he led and has just decided to double down and convince himself he’s proud of what he has done. He always wanted someone to come along and give him a real reason to live a less risky lifestyle but they never came. Why be careful when there’s no one for me to please or protect? By the time Dipper and Mabel came around it just became ingrained in him.

[svt17-imagines]

𝕴𝖓𝖘𝖕𝖎𝖗𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓

ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ: ʜᴇʟᴘɪɴɢ ᴏᴜᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴏᴡᴏʀᴋᴇʀ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴏɴɢ ʜᴇ'ᴅ ʙᴇᴇɴ ꜱᴛʀᴜɢɢʟɪɴɢ ᴡɪᴛʜ ꜰᴏʀ ᴡᴇᴇᴋꜱ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴏɴᴇ ᴛʜɪɴɢ, ʙᴜᴛ ɢᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ᴄᴀᴜɢʜᴛ ᴛᴏᴜᴄʜɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱᴇʟꜰ ɪɴ ʜɪꜱ ꜱᴛᴜᴅɪᴏ ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ʟɪꜱᴛᴇɴɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ʜɪꜱ ᴍᴜꜱɪᴄ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ.

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 6ᴋ

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ꜱᴍᴜᴛ, ᴍᴜᴛᴜᴀʟ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴜʀʙᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, ᴅɪʀᴛʏ ᴛᴀʟᴋ

ᴀ/ɴ: ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ᴀɴ ᴀᴄᴛᴜᴀʟ +18 ꜰɪᴄ ꜱᴏ ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴍɪɴᴅ ᴀɴʏ ᴀᴡᴋᴡᴀʀᴅ ʟᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇ, ɪ'ᴍ ꜱᴛɪʟʟ ꜰɪɢᴜʀɪɴɢ ᴏᴜᴛ ʜᴏᴡ ᴛᴏ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ꜱᴛᴜꜰꜰ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ꜰɪɢᴜʀᴇᴅ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴛɪɴɢ ꜱʟᴏᴡ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʜᴇʟᴘ ᴍᴇ ʟᴇᴀʀɴ! ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ~

—

Sometimes your own life didn’t feel real.

It took years of back breaking studying and hard work, but even you couldn't believe your ears when it was announced that you had somehow managed to swing a job as one of HYBE’s various producers. The roster of people it allowed you worked with was expansive and impressive, and you often felt out of place amongst the many well known music industry personas who shared your job title. But all that wasn’t to say you got chosen for the job out of pure luck or sheer will, for you definitely had more than enough background and experience to warrant your resume having a more than fair shot in the first place.

You’d worked with plenty of idols before, albeit without an official label behind you or any exclusive contract in place. Hell you’d even produced for a few big names in the U.S., it gave you every reason to be extremely proud of your work, and deep down you definitely knew your skills were highly sought after. But it didn’t change the fact that you still got surprised whenever a particularly famous idol or company reached out and requested to work with you.

You were even more caught off guard when Bang PD himself wrote to you directly, offering you the opportunity of a lifetime to work with the various talents beneath the incredibly famous company known as HYBE.

That was two years ago now, and you’d grown more connections with more composers and idols then you’d ever thought possible. Le Sserafim was the first group you’d ever been assigned to work with, and from then on you knew you made the right career choice. The girls were absolute angels, incredibly humble with the kindest personalities. New Jeans was the next, and you’d never felt more protective and proud of such sweet young ladies. They even went out of their way to  write you a card and buy you a cake last year for your birthday.

Seventeen though… Seventeen just so happened to be the group you’d grown the most fond of within the past year.

Your first job for them was to assist the production of their song Darling, and from the moment you’d stepped foot in the studio the boys went above and beyond to make you feel welcomed. Seungcheol was the first to greet and introduce the members, which you’d appreciated immensely. Joshua and Vernon were happy to have some small talk in English with you to discuss your work in the U.S., while DK and Hoshi made an effort to get to know more personal details like how you came to work for HYBE in the first place. All of the members were considerate enough to include you in their conversations, and as you all grew closer you’d come to become friends even outside of work.

It was an interesting dynamic they all had, fitting together like a puzzle even though their personalities were all so complex and different. The way their voices managed to melt together without any problems astounded you, and made the production process a million times more interesting and fun to you.

And Woozi of course was the conductor that made the absolute chaos of Seventeen’s vocals work together. Your respect for him had grown exponentially the longer you knew him, and over time he’d eventually become the one you’d talk to the most in the group. 

The first time you’d ever seen him in person you had to admit you were incredibly intimidated, his blondish pink hair was concealed with a black baseball cap as he sat leaning forward in his office chair. His posture was tense and uncomfortably on edge, almost as if a simple change in temperature would disrupt his process and send him spiraling. His eyes darted around the computer monitors sporadically, adjusting volume levels and fixing microphone frequencies quicker than even you could follow. He was locked in, completely blocking out everything except the boys’ vocals and the screens in front of him.

He hadn’t even properly been able to introduce himself to you until after everyone else had finally left, only then did he finally remove those giant headphones covering his cute little ears. You remembered the rush of anxiety creeping up your throat at the time, by that point you’d met many producers and musicians who absolutely hated being assigned an assistant. You’d come to find it was always a pride thing. When a song just wasn’t working most felt the need to figure out what was missing themselves, and if they were so much as suggested a simple extra drum beat in the background or a synth wave in the chorus, it would get immediately shut down no matter the potential it had. 

But when Jihoon turned around in his chair to greet you with a sheepish grin and a bow of acknowledgement, you knew he was simply just appreciative of the space you had given him to work. He offered you a seat next to him, apologized profusely for his late introduction, and asked for any input you might have for the title track.

It made sense that you’d both end up getting along so well, with the two of you being such passionate producers and each of you having workaholic tendencies practically pumping through your veins. Music came easily to you, to Jihoon, it was a love you had shared deeply and a conversation you never got sick of having together. It became incredibly common for both of you to knock out in his studio after pushing yourselves to the absolute limits of your creative abilities.

But it also wasn’t uncommon for you to swing by and bring him food even on the days you weren’t working. When you got especially bored at home, you often found yourself poking your head in the studio door and proceeding to talk his ears off for hours about life while he sat and listened, and in return he’d rant to you about whatever musical rut he’d been stuck in that day. 

During the worst of it he would shut himself inside the studio and force himself to work in complete silence, it was days like these where you knew he needed energy the most. You’d drag him out of the studio for some sun and stimulation, force him to grab coffee or walk to the convenience store together, other times he would ask you to simply stay with him while he brooded over his computer in a pout. 

One time he’d gotten stuck on a melody for days, and yet within one single visit inspiration had hit you almost immediately. He always made sure to let you know how grateful he was when you gave your opinion, each time he would always give you the warmest, most gentle smile you’d ever seen. The same smile that filled you with an unbridled joy that pooled deep in your stomach, it made you feel… needed. No, it made you feel borderline irreplaceable.

Today was one of your days off, and yet you still found yourself grinning ear to ear as your heels clicked along the marble flooring of the main HYBE building. A large sandwich bag was hanging from your arm, with your hands clutching a cup holder filled with iced americanos. You made your way to the elevator, fumbling with your badge to scan against the wall reader as the soft ding alerted you to the lift arriving.

The third floor of the building was designated for all the production studios, with a practice room at the far end of the narrow hall. It was one of the higher quality locations meant more for filming rather than actually rehearsing. Each room contained plenty of music equipment and had absolutely breathtaking acoustics, with nearly each one also managing to be soundproof. You'd remembered being present for one of Seungkwan's incredibly impressive vocal recordings here as an assistant producer a while back, and to this day you swore that it was the most beautiful sound you’d ever heard in your life. 

As you stepped out of the elevator your smile grew even wider as you noticed Jeonghan and Wonwoo walking down the hall in your direction. Jeonghan with his arm hooked through Wonwoo’s tightly, his head resting comfortably on his shoulder.

“Y/N! I thought you weren’t in till Friday?” Wonwoo greeted with a smile, his hand coming up to adjust the glasses drooping low on his nose. It was obvious the two had just gotten done filming something, their faces were slightly red from exertion and excessive overheating if their leather jackets and pants were anything to go by. 

“Jihoon’s been stuck on Maestro’s bridge since last week, I figured I’d at least bring him some lunch so he doesn’t starve himself to death.” You shrugged, Jeonghan smirked.

“You came just for Jihoon? Again?” He huffed in feigned offense. “What about us~?” 

“You know just as well as I do that I can’t walk into this building without expecting to run into at least two of you.” You giggled, holding out the coffee carrier in your hands. “I brought extra for you guys, try not to fall in love with me alright?”

Their eyes immediately perked up at the sight of iced americano and wasted no time snatching one each. Wonwoo took a long sip from his drink and released a sigh, his eyes closed in content.

“An Angel. You’re an Angel, Y/N.” Wonwoo spoke blissfully. Jeonghan nodded and proceeded to sip from his as his eyes fluttered shut too.

“I will never doubt your beautiful and charitable heart ever again.” You snorted at the dramatics, reaching into the sandwich bag for the extra pesto caprese you’d purchased as well.

“You guys can split this too, but don’t tell the others.” You chuckled as the two practically drooled, eyes locked on to your hands as you offered them the food. “If they find out I fed you both they’re all gonna make me buy them dinner next time.”

Jeonghan nodded and grabbed the sandwich from you without hesitation, attracting Wonwoo’s gaze. He gave a little cross my heart sign and winked slyly.

“They’ll never even know it existed.” Jeonghan promised, already slinking his way onto the elevator behind you. “It’ll be gone in seconds, trust me.”

“Hey! Where do you think you’re going with that alone, huh?” Wonwoo whined, following him into the elevator and reaching for the sandwich. Jeonghan was faster and trickier, pulling it out of reach just in time resulting in a soft “Hyung!”.

“Why? What is it?” Jeonghan feigned innocence as he tried pushing Wonwoo out of the elevator to escape, Wonwoo forced his way back in with a hearty laugh as he managed to bite a small corner out of one of the sandwich halves still in Jeonghan hands. “Hey! What if I wanted that one!”

“Yoon Jeonghan—” You threatened lightly, a smile tugging at your lips when Jeonghan finally ended his teasing. He handed Wonwoo his partially bitten portion of the sandwich just as the doors to the elevator closed, both of them waving you goodbye with a happy grin.

You chuckled in content and continued down the hall to the left, finally coming to a stop in front of Jihoon’s studio. You gave the door a heavy knock, not expecting him to hear much especially if he had his headphones on. When no response was given for five minutes you pulled out the key he’d given you a long time ago, unlocking the door swiftly and surprised to find the room completely dark.

You flipped on the main light switch to discover the studio completely empty, papers and pens scattered across the desk with ramblings written every which way in the producer's idea notebook. A half assed attempt was made to fix the couch, which was covered by a throw blanket and pillow to indicate he’d been pulling all nighters here again.

You set the sandwich bag and remaining coffee on the little table in front of the couch, whipping your phone out to shoot a text to the sweet overworked producer you called a friend.

Brought you lunch, studio looks like a wreck lol. You been feeling ok?

You grabbed the small trash can beside Woozi’s desk and got to work throwing away the energy drink cans and granola wrappers littering his desk. You were just organizing all of his sheet music when you felt your phone buzz in response.

This songs’ been killing me, man. Couldn’t breathe in that room any more, went to the gym to relieve some stress. I’ll be there in a bit, appreciate you for always worrying about me

You let out an exhale as you slid your blazer off your shoulders and placed it along the back of the desk chair, unable to simply sit and do nothing while he struggled. You of all people knew how frustrating creative blocks could be, but hopefully a cleaner environment would ease his tension a little bit. You took a seat at his chair and scooted yourself up to the computer, logging in to locate the audio file for Maestro that was currently driving its producer up a wall.

Your eyes poured over the desktop, and you quietly cursed Jihoon for never labeling anything properly. ‘Organized Chaos’ he’d call it, but just looking at the screen filled with folders titled ‘Audio Ex1-B67’ gave you no clues as to what actually was stored in each file.

You sighed and decided to start with the icons at the bottom that looked most recent, you clicked. The infamous beat of ‘Adore U’ began to play. You clicked the next one, Wonwoo’s distinct growl filled your ears as you recognized their song ‘Fear’. You closed both files and groaned outwardly, remembering Jihoon discussing the concept of sampling past songs to construct his new one.

You changed your focus towards the folders near the middle of the screen and clicked the first one you saw. It was labeled differently in comparison to the rest, and the audio file inside had no name at all. Just a jumbled arrangement of letters and numbers randomly given by the computer itself. You pressed play, and a completely unfamiliar melody began echoing through the studio speakers.

It was completely unlike anything Jihoon had composed before, it was sweet but also… sensual. Not like the few songs he’d produced for Seventeen that gave a spicier instrumental, this felt more intimate somehow. Almost personal. The slow hum of the strings in the background stole your breath and you felt your heartbeat quicken as a beautifully soft clarinet chorus stole your attention. The energy shifted halfway through, running around from loving and sensual to borderline carnal.

You could practically feel the goosebumps forming as you listened to it. There were no lyrics, but every now and then Jihoon let out a faint vocal riff that was intoxicating. His voice made you melt, and you were too absorbed into the music to feel embarrassed by the warmth making its way through your body. A pleasant buzz ran from the top of your head to the tips of your toes, and you imagined him singing to you. 

You closed your eyes and laid your head back against his chair to really get the full effect, to lean into what the music was trying to make you feel. It amplified everything tenfold, and you began to notice the hints of Jihoon’s cologne that still lingered within the space. Everything about the song, about the room, about the scent, it overwhelmed your senses and you suddenly realized how much you enjoyed it. How easily you’d allow yourself to get overtaken by it all, only if it was him. Only if it was Jihoon.

A guitar chord was plucked sharply in contrast to the soft instrumental, and you gasped in surprise. By this point you had thought the song was simply looping since it had been well over several minutes, but the longer it went on the more you noticed small interesting deviations from the original melody. The pace of the music kept steady, but everytime Jihoon let out another gorgeous riff you could feel the tension increasing slightly.

You almost wanted to break your trance just to throw on a pair of headphones, your body thrumming at thinking about what the song would sound like even more intimately being funneled directly to your ears. A shiver ran through you at the idea as another strain of strings drew you back into the music without another thought. 

A gust of AC provided your senses with yet another strong note of Jihoon’s cologne, at the exact same time the guitar plucked again and his voice echoed beautifully throughout the room. Almost on impulse, your hand reached up to clutch your chest. It trailed downwards slowly, softly grazing your left breast and a quiet hum escaped your lips as your fingers danced along your clothed peak. You bit your lip and pressed lightly into your clothed center with your other hand, sighing how good the pressure felt.

Your head felt empty and dizzy, this kind of touch with these kinds of thoughts about Jihoon were typically reserved for your own bed at home. Never once had you ever allowed such behavior to follow you to work, nevertheless Jihoon’s own studio. You stuttered in your motions as a sliver of guilt ran through you, he was your colleague, he was your friend. This was inappropriate on every single level.

But it was like the music was encouraging you, talking you through it. And almost like it knew you were beginning to have doubts, Jihoon let out the most provocative vocal run you’d never thought possible. Your hand gripped tightly on to your breast in reflex, and the noise you made would’ve been humiliating if you weren’t so focused on every little jolt of pleasure thrumming through your veins.

Before you could think better of it, your right hand moved to hurriedly unbutton the top of your pants. Not bothering to push them down, you dipped your hand into the waistband of your underwear to locate your heated folds and you exhaled at the relief it brought. Your head tilted back and your mouth formed an ‘O’ as the pleasure from your own fingers built steadily, another stray guitar chord causing your body to jolt in gratification.

You weren’t proud of it, but you’d imagined Jihoon touching you like this more times than you could count, especially in this studio. His mouth being unable to detach itself from yours, from your neck, from your chest, from between your legs. Your favorite thing to fantasize about lately was riding him in the very chair you sat in, ending it with a sloppy kiss as he refused to let you remove himself from you. You thought about where he would touch you first, where would you touch him? A silly question, since you knew those gorgeous locks of hair would be tangled between your fingers without a second thought if he so much as allowed it. You wanted him panting in your ears, his voice itself bringing you to an edge that you just needed to fall off of.

Your fingers quickened, and you whined out as you found yourself waiting for another of Jihoon’s vocal riffs to give you that extra push closer to completion. Instead, the clarinet danced throughout your ears, a soft beat echoed from the drums, even a few stray piano notes participated in increasing your tension. It was teasing you, the song knew what you wanted but it refused to give it to you. Another whine was unconsciously pulled from your lips.

“Please… please…” you found yourself whispering out loud, your head spinning as your hand began to cramp up at the speed with which it moved. “God Jihoon, please—“

A loud thud that was definitely not a part of the music ripped you out of your reverie in an instant. Your hand shot away from your breast while the other ripped itself out of your pants as if they were both burned. You swiveled the chair to face the door of the studio, and your heart sunk into your stomach as Jihoon stood front and center with the most frustratingly unreadable expression on his face.

His cheeks were flushed, most likely from the gym but you wouldn’t be surprised if it was partially your own doing as well. His long black hair was messy and slightly damp from sweat, the black tank top and shorts he wore were clinging to his body and giving your indecent mind way too much of a view of his glistening pale skin. His gym bag was on the floor, some of its contents having spilled out including one of his metal water bottles and a small kettlebell, the items proven to be the cause of the thudding sound no doubt.

You simply looked at him for a solid minute, your chest still panting from the near orgasm you’d just experienced and your body still aching from being denied its release. You felt shame, pure and unbridled as he looked you up and down. You hadn’t bothered to button your pants back up, and your shirt and bra were most certainly out of sorts from the iron grip you’d had on it moments before. You looked an absolute mess, and even if he had only come in half a minute ago, there was no hiding or denying what you’d been up to.

“I… I’m…” You began, finding the first few words coming out like gravel in your throat. “Can we just, not talk about this?”

You attempted to appear pitiful, which wasn’t hard considering you wanted nothing more than the ground to swallow you up whole in that very moment. His expression still revealed nothing and you huffed in irritation, running a hand through your hair as you sent him a pleading look. 

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? I don’t know what came over me.” You tried to act normal, turning back to the computer briefly to shut off the music that had become background noise playing softly through the studio. Your heart hammered in your chest. 

“I just…” Jihoon croaked out, attempting to keep a casual composure and failing. Your eyes locked on his, expecting. “I never expected to walk in on—“

“Please! Stop!” You covered your ears in embarrassment and Jihoon had the audacity to chuckle softly. You glared at him. “Don’t even try to tell me you’ve never gotten yourself off here before, you practically live in this place.”

His ears burned red and you felt a bit of relief that you’d hit the nail on its head, a bit of excitement also thrumming through your chest at the image it gave you. You forced yourself to straighten your back and clear your throat, fixing your shirt back into place as you reached down to re-button your pants.

“… You could.. continue. If you wanted to.” Jihoon let out, and you felt your fingers freeze at his words. You looked up to stare at him, his eyes were glassy and his cheeks and ears still burned deeply. But his gaze, his gaze was directly on you.

“… What?” You blinked, unsure if your fogged up brain was simply making you hear hallucinations at this point. Jihoon shifted his weight, making no move to leave.

“I’m the one that interrupted.” He licked his lips, and your eyes latched on to the motion immediately. “I would hate for you to go… unsatisfied because of me.”

He spoke matter of factly, like he was suggesting a different melody for the hook of a song or what they should eat for dinner today. It didn’t sound creepy or odd in his voice at all, just a suggestion from one friend to the other. Your brain reeled, partially excited at the prospect of relieving all the tension your body had winded up, but also anxious as to how Jihoon would see you after this awkward encounter was over.

Despite everything, your core ached at the very thought of being relieved, and you gripped the arms of the chair to ground yourself before responding.

“… I’d appreciate that, then.” You spoke, your own voice sounding unfamiliar. Jihoon’s eyes widened slightly, as if surprised by your answer. He seemed to mull something over as he leaned down to throw the water bottle and kettlebell back in his gym bag, tossing it in the corner of the room.

Your eyes tracked his every move carefully, the way his bicep veins flexed as he lifted the bag and the angle at which his glorious thigh muscles peeked out from beneath the edges of his shorts. Your mouth went dry at the sight, and you couldn’t help the surprised noise you made when he moved to sit on the couch rather than exiting the room.

You raised a brow as he leaned back comfortably, one arm lying across the top of the couch while the other rested atop his front. Your brain flashed a brief image of you crawling into his lap, his arms wrapping around your waist as you hooked your arms around his neck. Pulling him closer, and closer…

You mentally slapped yourself, he literally just sat down.

“Are you not leaving?” You questioned with a frown, unsure of how much longer you were expected to continue acting like you weren’t completely turned on and frustrated. Jihoon shrugged slightly.

“It’s my studio, why would I leave?” He spoke in that tone again, like he was just asking your typical everyday question. It was starting to tick you off.

“You just said I could continue what I was doing.”

“I did.” Your brows scrunched together in confusion.

“… But you’re not gonna leave?”

“Nope.”

Jihoon shifted his legs wider, and you were suddenly aware of just how obvious it was that you were ogling him. The man could’ve moved a pinkie and your eyes would dart to watch it, your posture completely tense and on edge. He smiled a little, and your face warmed as you realized he’d been observing you too.

“You’re just.. gonna sit there then?” Your voice was barely above a whisper as you finally registered what he wanted. You swallowed audibly. “You’re going to watch me?”

“Unless you’d rather go somewhere else.” He suggested, and though Jihoon looked just as invested as you were, it was equally apparent that you still held all the power in the room. If you wanted to leave and decided you were uncomfortable, he wouldn’t stop you from getting up and walking right out. It was his own kind of reassurance, a promise with his eyes that things wouldn’t change between the two of you even if you decided to end it all right then.

Instead, you strengthened your resolve and removed your shirt. You didn’t look at him directly, still a bit too nervous for that. But you heard his sharp intake of breath, and all the hairs on your arm stood up at the sound. The unspoken tension in the air shifted almost immediately, and before you could regret it you forced yourself to completely relax in the chair as you closed your eyes.

Your hand discovered your breast once more, teasing and prodding over the thin material of your bra. A sigh escaped as you squeezed softly, without the music playing you found yourself much more aware and anxious of the eyes staring you down. Your hand dipped tentatively underneath your bra to play with your peak and you squirmed slightly, your center pulsing in excitement and you whimpered at the feeling.

“Fuck…” A groan resounded throughout the studio and you arched your back in surprise at Jihoon’s suddenly rough voice. His cursing made the dim flame sitting in the pit of your stomach burst into a wildfire, and you pinched your nipple with a small squeak. 

It was honestly desperate the way in which you forced your hand back beneath your underwear, unable to contain the desire Jihoon managed to make you feel through that one word alone. Any remaining embarrassment from the situation dissipated as you focused entirely on the pleasure your own fingers provided. You rolled your thumb against your nipple as a finger finally prodded inside your aching core.

“Take it off.” Jihoon practically begged, and your eyes fluttered open to look at him. His pupils had gone nearly completely black, and the arm covering his front seemed to be applying pressure to a now significantly growing bulge in his shorts. You licked your lips which seemed to add fuel to his fire, and he huffed out again. “Your bra, your pants. Take them off.”

You smiled at his weak demand but you stopped your ministrations nevertheless. You stood from your chair on tentative legs, unhooking your bra and letting it fall soundlessly to the ground. The look on Jihoon’s face made you feel warmer than you’d ever thought possible, his jaw clenched tightly and he didn’t even bother to hide the grip he held on his swelling erection.

“That song you wrote, the one that was playing when you came in.” You removed one leg from your pants slowly, then the other. Deliberately teasing the frustrated man across from you. “It was beautiful, your voice suited it perfectly. It felt carnal, like lust incarnate.”

“It was just some late night improv.” He spoke breathlessly, eyeing you hungrily as you sat back down to continue your actions. “I remember you looking especially tempting that day. It took everything in me not to pull up that sinful fucking skirt of yours and throw you up against my desk.”

You gasped at the image and bit down hard on the inside of your cheek to keep from groaning out loud. Your underwear which you’d simply pushed to the side was drenched by that point, and you slowed your pace as you watched Jihoon staring at your fingers fervently. You wanted to give him the best show while you were able, in and out... In… and out.

“Whatever emotions I don’t act on goes straight into those unnamed tracks.” He mumbled out. A deep exhale leaving his lips as the last of his self control seemed to exit his body. “I probably have thirty recordings on there that were created just from me thinking about you.”

You cried out as he spoke, pumping another digit inside your throbbing hole as you ramped up the intensity. You watched eagerly as Jihoon shuffled his shorts down, his own hand tugging his erection harshly put from his underwear with haste. Your fingers stuttered at the sight of him, pale and long with a glistening pink tip. ‘Pretty.’ You couldn’t help but think, practically drooling as you imagined how it would feel to replace your fingers with it.

“What if I told you I want you to act on it?” You panted out, a light sheen of sweat coating your skin as you watched Jihoon pause mid stroke. “What if I told you I want you to fuck me until I’m numb? That I dream about it.”

Jihoon let out his own whimper at your words, and the noise had you keening into your palm. Jihoon increased the pace at which he pumped his hard length, his expression that of a complete wreck. You quickened your fingers in turn, eager to feel as connected to him in pleasure as you were physically able.

“I’d tell you that I’ve pictured pushing you into the glass of my recording studio and falling to my knees since the day we met. I’ve thought about thrusting my tongue into that tight little hole of yours over and over until you can’t be bothered to think straight more times than I can count.” He spoke his words carefully, eyes never once leaving your body as he watched your soaked fingers pump steadily into your cunt. “I want to record the audio of it all. Of you screaming my name as I devour you, the sounds of you panting and begging me to let you cum. It would be the most beautiful fucking sound, my favorite song.”

The moan you released was obscene, the heat in your blood boiling up to unbearable heights as you unconsciously introduced a third finger. Your pants were getting heavier, and you knew the edge was once again spiraling towards you head first. 

“You like that?” Jihoon grunted, a self assured smirk planted on his face contrasting with the desperate way with which he stroked himself. “You enjoy touching yourself while I talk about all the different positions I’ve  wanted to fuck you in?”

You nodded so harshly you wouldn’t be surprised if your neck was sore tomorrow. Your eyes squeezed shut again as the smell of your and Jihoons sweat and fluids consumed your senses, his voice was so much better than the music. The slight neediness mixed with his hungry tone made your knees weak, and you quivered to think of how your body would react if he’d actually been touching you.

“Next time I’ll bend you over my desk, huh?” Jihoon moaned at his own words, the very idea of it seeming to drive him mad. His grip was iron tight as his pumps stuttered and his eyes fluttered closed for a quick  moment before latching once more unto you. “I’ll lean down to your ear and tell you how good you feel around me as I pound every inch into you nice and hard. You’d be so good for me wouldn’t you?”

“Please…” You whispered out as you felt yourself finally reach the peak, your clit throbbing as your other hand reached down to give it a harsh rub. “God Jihoon, please…”

“Are you gonna cum for me, Y/N? I want to see how wrecked you look when you do.” Jihoon panted, his chest heaving as his own release approached rapidly. “Fuck please, say my name when you cum. Say my fucking name—“

“Jihoon!” You couldn’t help but scream out, repeating it over and over again as a complete tidal wave of pleasure roared through you as your body jolted over and over again. The aftershocks were nearly just as strong, and you squeaked out in surprise at just how intense and drawn out your orgasm had been.

By the end of it you were completely limp, not a single muscle functioning properly and your mind a delightfully empty buzz. You managed to open your eyes slightly, finding Jihoon in a nearly identical state with his eyes shut and his arms being completely dead weight hanging by his sides.

Eventually both of your heavy breathing slowed significantly, and those gorgeous eyes of his opened leisurely to lock on to your own. The sudden twinge of worry that you’d crossed too big of a boundary was completely crushed when Jihoon offered you the warmest smile. 

In that moment you swore he was practically glowing, he wasn’t the stressed and overworked producer you’d come to know so well. He looked content, happy, and if you could help him feel that way every day for the rest of your life you knew you’d never have any regrets for as long as you lived. You returned his smile, a chuckle escaping your lips.

“I think you’ve just ruined any chance of me experiencing a normal orgasm ever again.” You giggled, he raised a brow. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to cum like that again unless I’m listening to one of your songs or something.”

Jihoon groaned, the picture of you touching yourself while listening to his music no doubt clouding his mind. You were both well aware of each other's exhaustion, but god only knew if he wanted another round you wouldn’t even hesitate. Anything to feel that level of intensity again.

“Don’t you ever let me find out you’re trying to get yourself off without me again.” Jihoon threatened weakly, sitting up tentatively to give you a cheeky grin. “I’m a man of my word after all. And we have a lot of positions to try out.”

[winstonsns]

dallas winston dating hcs (requested by @cranberrv)

authors note: go check out her blog!! she posts outsider related things too and they’re very fun to read :3 i was answering the ask then accidentally posted it, ended up deleting it so that’s why it doesn’t show the actual ask. sorry about that and not posting yesterday! anyways, enjoy 💗

word count: 0.9k

warnings: cussing, smoking, slightly suggestive parts, wounds, fighting

probably obvious but he protects you with his life

this isn’t necessarily a dating headcannon, but he’s brutally honest so if you ask him something he’ll always tell the truth, unless it’s to run away from the cops or something

whenever he gets arrested for something, you always bail him out since you’re his emergency contact

after he gets into a fight and has wounds, you always patch him up even if he doesn’t want you to

he actually appreciates it a lot and sees it as a very intimate situation since he’s vulnerable at the moment

he’ll also steal random shit for you, you scold him but love how he’s thoughtful enough to get you those things

he’ll smoke sometimes but tries not to as much when he’s around you, he knows you hate the smell and the smoke in general

once, you got him a few presents since the two of you were dating for a year and one of the presents was a bracelet

you made it for him and you had a matching one, he scoffed but thanked you anyways

it seemed like he didn’t care, that he thought it was stupid, but he wore it every day forward and thought it was the cutest thing ever

it always reminds him of you, so when he gets arrested and has to stay for a bit, he has a part of you with him

a lot of late night drives since he has trouble sleeping, normally goes to bed around 1-3 in the morning, sometimes later

he’ll randomly call you and ask, “hey doll, wanna go for a drive? i can pick you up..” talking quietly since you probably got woken up

you’d complain for a bit before getting up and dressed, he’s already on his way to your house

the two of you would be quiet on the drive, he’d park somewhere random since you suggested the two of you could look at the stars

he didn’t think much of the stars, nor the moon, but when he saw you looking up with interest, he could only keep his eyes on you

normally has an arm around your shoulder in a protective gesture, when you’re walking down the streets and he’s smiling, laughing and talking to you

he knows he’s in deep shit when you just call him ‘dallas’ and don’t say anything else

then he figures out you just wanted him to try the cupcakes you made

speaking of baking, he’s the guinea pig and is always trying out sweets you make

he’ll tell you if something tastes off or if something tastes amazing, but will normally eat it even if it doesn’t taste the best

he just loves it when you put your head on his chest, trying to sleep while he thinks about how lucky he is to have you :3

you get all blushy when he’s shirtless and he teases you about it constantly

he just loves seeing you get flustered seeing him literally do nothing

he’ll compliment and thank you you whether it’s about your looks, outfit, something you did for him, etc

you’ll wear an outfit he likes and he’ll compliment you, mumbling, “your outfit looks real nice today, doll” while putting his hands on your hips, kissing your neck

if you’re cold and in public then tell him, he asks “baby, why didn’t you bring your jacket?” but gives you his jacket anyway

if someone’s hitting on you, he goes behind you and kisses your cheek, saying “hey doll… oh, who’s this?” and when you look back at the person he stares them down

if you’re cooking or baking, something like that, he’ll go up behind you and wrap his arms around your waist

sometimes he’ll randomly start kissing you, then it turns to making out

occasionally, he’ll actually pay for food when the two of you go out to eat

he’ll share food with you if you’re hungry, not before rolling his eyes though

he’s actually more than willing to give you food

when he’s genuinely concerned about you, he’ll look at you with the cutest eyes ever, pulls you into his chest and kisses your forehead, telling you it’ll be alright

when he’s bored or just wants to see you, he’ll walk to your house if it’s not that far away

then he’ll climb up to the second floor, where your room is and tap on your window

sometimes he’ll sleep over and curl up into your side

your heartbeat calms him down but he would never tell anyone that

when you’re sad or upset about something, he doesn’t really know how to comfort you besides telling you you’re amazing and perfect, rubbing your back and giving you reassuring kisses

then he’ll take you out to a fast food place or restaurant

if the two of you eat sour patch kids, he says he hates the blue ones and they taste like shit, he’ll give them to you even though he actually likes it

authors note: sorry this was short! i hope it wasn’t too basic 💗

[suppose-i-was-worm]

For Lack of a Burger

**finally I have written! Sorry for the long absence, folks- my cat is a needy little thing and I love her. Enjoy!**

“As blood son of Batman, it is only natural that I train here to become heir to the Bat.”

Dick- well, Nightwing right now- looked down at Robin, who was staring out over Gotham with his brow furrowed.

“And what of the league? I can’t imagine them letting the heir to the Demon’s Head run loose.”

Robin stiffened a fraction more than he already was- something that Nightwing wouldn’t have noticed if he wasn’t trained by Batman himself.

“I know only one thing for sure concerning the heirship of the league.”

“What is that?”

“Grandfather will not taste relief in death.”

Nightwing wasn’t sure what that meant, but Damian seemed so assured of the fact. He would have to tell Bruce- maybe Ra’s had discovered a better method of immortality than the pits?

An alert pinged on their communicators, and the two of them checked it before heading off to save the citizens.

~~~

“I miss real food, Clocky.”

“You are currently unable to process it.”

“I know. Ectoplasm just isn’t the same though.”

Danny sprawled on Clockwork’s floor, lazily filling out paperwork from ages ago and yesterday.

“It has been a very long time since you left humanity behind.”

“I wish there was a safe way to go back and get some food.”

His mentor paused briefly, and Danny looked up. Was that a gleam in Clockwork’s eye?

“There is a way.”

Danny shot up into a seated position, crossing his legs.

“Tell me!”

“You will face many hardships.”

“Clockwork, serious as a funeral, I would kill for a burger right now.”

Clockwork smiled enigmatically.

“You may have to.”

He flicked his fingers and Danny found himself pushed back. He allowed it- at this point in his existence, he could overpower Clockwork, but he’d asked for this.

The world went dark around him.

~~~

In the year since he’d come to live with Father, Damian had not said a word about his brother. He’d been told, before being unceremoniously bundled away from the only home he’d ever known, that he was to be the heir of the Bat and Daniel was to be the Demon’s Head.

His mother had told him that Father would try and steal Daniel away from the League- that Damian would yet again be the lesser son. After a few months with Father, Damian had stopped believing that. There was no thing as a ‘lesser’ child for Father.

And yet.

Grandfather was a powerful man, and Grandfather treasured Daniel more than he had ever cared for Damian.

Daniel al Ghul, second son of the Bat of Gotham, was brilliant. He kept his emotions in check, fought with practiced ease in any situation, and spoke circles around even mother. It never took him as long as it took Damian to learn a new skill, and most of the time he spent studying, even when they were both allowed a break.

Damian loved him, even as the younger child overtook the position Damian had striven for his entire life.

What was not to love? Damian had loved him ever since his tiny hand had curled around his finger in infancy.

He had always been fond of small, cute things.

But if Daniel left the League, Grandfather would come after him, and it would be unsafe.

Damian held his tongue and loved his baby brother from a distance, even though he might never see him again.

~~~

John “Hellblazer” Constantine needed a drink. Or several.

Bats had appeared on the Watchtower with yet another new Robin, and this one was probably the most concerning out of all of them.

No, it wasn’t the sword.

It was the massive fucking protection order from a powerful death god that radiated off his small form.

“Bats.”

“Hm.”

“I need to talk to you and the kid.”

Bats nodded, a gesture John took to mean ‘go ahead’.

John sighed.

“Not here, Bats. Too many ears.”

“Hrn.”

The Bat swept away, followed closely by his brightly colored companion. John followed as well. He was pretty good at speaking Bat, after all these years working together.

They made their way into the bowels of the Watchtower, into a sitting room John hadn’t known existed.

“What do you need, Constantine?”

John paused for a moment, assessing. Robin was watching him suspiciously, hand on his sword, and Batman was standing half in front of the little bird protectively.

“Did you know this one was friends with a death god?”

“What?”

The Bat and Robin spoke the same word at the same time, in the exact same tone. Did they practice that? Anyways.

“Yup. Little redbreast screams hands off.”

“I am not acquainted with any gods.”

John shrugged.

“Doesn’t mean you knew they were a god. To get to the bottom of this- has anyone ever sworn to protect you in some way?”

Robin went still and pale behind his mask, before darting a glance up at Batman.

Batman, who was looking down at his sidekick.

“Robin? Report.”

The boy stuck his chin out.

“It was many years ago, Batman. He- they couldn’t have been a god.”

“You don’t know that, kid. Where did you meet him?”

“He wasn’t a god!”

Robin had become defensive, sword halfway out of it’s sheath, glaring at John- presumably for the sin of being alive.

“If the League of Assassins has contact with a deity of death, we need to know, Robin.”

Snarling, Robin started out of the room.

“I will not discuss him with either of you. He is safe where he is.”

“Robin- chum. Who is he?”

Robin stopped in the door, not looking back. His voice wobbled a little as he spoke.

“My younger brother.”

John needed a drink, and fast.

~~~

Danny stood over Damian’s bed, watching his older brother breathe shallowly. Grandfather had beat him badly, and Danny was still unsure why.

Talia wouldn’t look him in the eye, and Grandfather had gone to soak in the pits.

“Daniel?”

“Damian!”

Danny bent over his brother, placing a hand over his pulse to check it.

“Why?”

Why had Grandfather beaten him? Why had he stood and let it happen? Why didn’t he run?

“He… wanted me… t’kill you.”

Danny felt rage swell up in his tiny seven-year-old body. What right did Ra’s al Ghul think he had, to beat a child almost to death for such a reason?

What right did that man have, to touch someone Danny had come to care for?

Closing his eyes briefly, Danny allowed himself to meditate for the few moments it would take to let his rage die down enough to comfort his brother.

Once it had, he opened his eyes again and pressed his forehead to Damian’s.

“I swear I will protect you, ahki. Ra’s al Ghul will not taste relief in death.”

The next day Danny watched invisibly as Talia dipped Damian in the Lazarus pits to heal him before putting him on a plane to Gotham.

~~~

“You have made me proud, Daniel.”

Ra’s watched as Daniel bowed, having taken out a squadron of elite ninja for his tenth birthday.

The ninja were still breathing- Ra’s was sure Daniel had spared them so as to not weaken the ranks of the League he was set to inherit.

It pleased him that his young grandson was so wise, despite his youth. His older brother had no such wisdom- rash and impatient, still full of emotional weakness. Ra’s would no longer claim that boy as his grandson once Daniel passed his newest test.

With a wave of his hand, several ninja brought forth a young man. They had managed to kidnap Richard Grayson from under the nose of the Bat, and now Daniel would kill the other.

“Grandfather?”

“This is your Father’s oldest ward. He is a usurper to a place that rightfully should be yours. Kill him.”

Daniel walked towards the bound man, and the ninja holding the captive backed away respectfully.

“May I ask him a question, Grandfather?”

Ra’s nodded. There was no harm in it.

The boy drew his sword and stepped around the man, holding the blade to his neck.

“Tell me, Grayson. Is Damian well?”

The lilt in his voice spelled danger for Damian, and Ra’s could barely contain his grin at Daniel’s ferocity.

“He is protected,” the kneeling man forced out. “You won’t harm a hair on his head.”

Daniel smiled, not unlike a shark.

“I know.”

Before Ra’s could blink, Richard Grayson’s bonds had fallen to the floor as if he had turned into a ghost, and Daniel’s sword was stabbed into the dirt between the Demon Head’s feet.

“We are leaving, Ra’s, and you will not stop us.”

The venom in his calm grandson’s voice when Daniel said his name made Ra’s pause, but only for a moment.

At a gesture, ninja poured out into the courtyard, intent on recapturing Nightwing and taking down the heir to the Demon.

Seconds before the ninja collided with the two, Daniel grinned, his eyes locked straight on Ra’s, grabbed Grayson’s hand, and the two vanished.

~~~

Dick was… Confused didn’t quite cut it. His day had been a disaster, and then this tiny meta who looked like a carbon copy of Damian appeared.

“So… You a clone?”

“No.”

“Oh. Uh. What are we doing, by the way?”

The boy smiled serenely at him, and then continued his work.

“Jacking a plane.”

“You’re like, eight.”

The boy shrugged.

“If you like.”

“Where are we going?”

“Gotham.”

“Who are you?”

The boy turned and put his hands on his hips, and Dick was starkly reminded of Bruce by the posture and facial expression.

“Look, Grayson, I get it, you’re confused. But if you don’t shut up and let me finish this wiring, we’ll never get you back to Gotham before the League catches up.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

The boy turned back around and continued his wiring.

“Call me Danny. Too many fruitloops call me Daniel.”

Dick expected a long flight ahead of them.

~~~

Damian was strapping on the last of his gear to go rescue Richard from the League of Assassins when the man himself strolled into the batcave, looking tired but no worse for wear.

“Dick!”

Batman- no, he took his cowl off- Father threw himself across the room to assess the health of his son.

Damian started unstrapping his gear.

“How did you get free?”

“We apparently had a man on the inside?”

“Had?”

“He blew his cover to save me.”

“Nightwing, report. Where is this man now?”

“I was landing the plane. Nice digs, dad.”

The cave fell silent, but for the ringing of the batarangs Damian dropped as he spun to face the newcomer.

“Not sure what I think of the ‘cave’ vibe you have going on, though.”

“Daniel?”

Daniel met Damian’s eyes, and a look Damian had never seen on his little brother broke out on the boy’s face.

A true, genuine, joyful smile.

“Akhi!”

Damian pulled out his sword and held it towards the stranger in his brother’s body.

“Who are you?”

The boy laughed.

“I’m a little weird now, right? It’s okay, Damian, it’s me.”

“What was the last thing you said to me.”

Damian felt that was a good question. No one but Daniel would know.

“I said I would protect you, and that Ra’s al Ghul would not experience a pleasant afterlife.”

“That-“

“Isn’t quite it, I know. Still true, though. I brought the Lazarus pits with me. Ra’s can’t use them anymore.”

Damian heard Father and Drake choke at Daniel’s words. This was Daniel, despite his complete personality change. No one had been with them when Daniel had made his promise.

“Since when were you a god of death?”

Daniel laughed.

“It’s a long story, Ahki.”

Damian sheathed his sword and held out a hand.

“Come then, habibi, tell me.”

“Can I have a burger to go with the story? I’m starving."