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jaylaxies · 2 days ago

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DARKNESS OF DEVOTION

PAIRING: sunghoon x fem!reader

GENRE/CW: smut, dubcon, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), blowjob, fingering, bondage, degradation, impact play, usage of nicknames, breeding, possessiveness, stalkerish behaviour, lmk if i missed anything.

SYNOPSIS: Never in a million years you could have imagined your polished and perfect boss to have handcuffs in his office, and well, stalker tendencies. You thought you were just an intern for him, but he simply saw you as possession.

WORD COUNT: 2.6k words

WARNING: 18+ content, minors dni

A/N: hihi, loves! i truly have never tried the concept of dubcon before, but this is for @hoondrop who loves possessive hoon and @evermorehoon who preaches head pusher hoon agenda ! i hope you guys will like it :3 all likes, comments, reblogs and feedbacks are highly appreciated! iloveyou all <33

You were just the new intern at the firm where Sunghoon worked, him being your boss. You directly answered to him as he checked your progress each day, only—you didn’t know how obsessed he’s been with you from the day one, monitoring your every move, to the point he installed a camera at your work desk to check if you’re not texting any other guy—you were, but, he needs you all to himself.

Then came the night where everyone left the office and he asked you to stay back and do the work he assigned you, ensuring that you’ll get a bonus if you actually end up doing a good job. Little did you know that he’d come out when the office lights would go dim, just him and you in the building, and the handcuffs he had gotten just for you.

He comes around, leaning against the back of your chair to look into the monitor, so close you could feel the scent of his cologne, his hand resting on your shoulder as he leans in further when he feels you shake under his gaze.

“So, who’s the guy you were texting earlier?” He asked, and you stilled completely, “you do know that it’s not allowed during work hours, right?” He whispered, grabbing your chin, “right?”

You nodded as if in a trance.

“Y—yeah, I’m sorry,” he only chuckled at your reply.

“You don’t need anyone when you have me,” he muttered darkly, not giving you a second before picking you up effortlessly as you screamed, taking you to his office room, “shh, don’t make it hard for the both of us, kitten. Be a sweet fucking girl for me, yeah?”

“What—” You asked, suddenly breathless at looking at the man with a sharp jawline, fangs peeking through his plush lips and eyes dark, sweet moles scattered across his face, and specs perched on his ever so perfect nose.

He kicked the door shut behind him with the heel of his shoe, the loud click of the lock sounding like a final verdict, just making sure that you knew what you had gotten yourself into. You squirmed in his arms, but he didn’t even flinch, holding you against his chest like you weighed nothing, that he needed you.

Sunghoon set you down gently on the plush leather couch in his office, fingers brushing against your thighs a little longer than necessary. His eyes roamed your body like he was trying to memorize every detail, every inch of you.

“Good girls don’t lie, y’know?” He said, removing his blazer agonizingly slow, to the point you couldn’t help but stare at his physique, “and they don’t flirt with others when they know someone’s watching, yeah?”

“I wasn’t flirting,” you whispered, legs pressing together instinctively, rubbing against each other. “Oh, yeah?” He cocked his head, unbuttoning his cuffs, “then why did I see you giggling at your phone like a fucking whore in heat?”

Your breath caught, heat rising to your cheeks at the blatant degradation, “that’s not fair—”

“What’s not fair,” he interrupted, his figure looming over you, “is how much I’ve done to keep you here. You think I didn’t notice the way you smiled at that guy from finance? The way you smile as if he means something to you?”

You tried to look away, but he gripped your chin, forcing your eyes back on him, his voice dropped an octave lower, almost like velvet but with a hint of poison.

“I’ve been patient, kitten. So fucking patient, but tonight—tonight you’re going to learn who you belong to, okay?”

A glint of silver shining caught your eye—he had pulled the handcuffs from his drawer, dangling them by one finger with a smirk.

Your heart thudded violently in your ribcage, so fast that you feared it would break, “what? No! You can’t just—”

“I can,” he cut you off, “and I will. You can say no, kitten, I won’t stop you. But I don’t think you will. You want this, don’t you?”

You couldn’t speak, you couldn’t say no, your voice failing you, and he had you right where he needed you to be. Your body betraying you, every shiver, every tremble catching his eyes, and lord he thrived on it.

“You’re so scared, aren’t you?” He murmured, crouching down between your knees, his big, slender fingers gripping your thighs, “but—god baby, you’re so excited too, I can feel it. You’re already wet, aren’t you?”

You hated how right he was, hated that your pulse raced when he touched you, the wrongness of the whole situation just made it worse.

Sunghoon leaned in, lips brushing your ear, “tell me to stop. One word, and I walk away.” He challenged.

Followed by your silence, just the sound of your deep breaths filling up the room. You didn’t say it, you couldn’t.

“Yeah? Good fucking girl.” His voice was thick, as if he had won already (he did), and before you could say say anything else, his hand tangled into your hair, rough, no more teasing—and he yanked your head back until your breath hitched and your lips parted with a soft, involuntary gasp.

“On your knees, now.”

It was a request, but an order, and he chuckled at how your legs buckled, your makeup smudged already, blouse clinging onto your damp skin. He wasn’t pretending to be your boss anymore, the evil glint in his eyes no longer hidden by any means. He was something else now, an obsessive, unrelenting man.

“Don’t,” you breathed out, “Sunghoon, please. I—didn’t mean—”

“Didn’t mean to be a fucking tease?” He snapped, catching your wrist with a hand and shoving you back against the nearest wall, the frames on the wall rattling with the impact, “didn’t mean to smile at him? I have been the one taking care of you, kitten.”

“You’re fucking hurting me,” you snapped, voice trembling with fear but also fury.

But Sunghoon only grinned like a maniac, “good,” he said, eyes flicking down to your wrists, where he held you firmly, bringing them to the back so he could handcuff you hard enough to dig into your skin, “pain means you’re still pretending.”

Your body jerked, trying to push him off with your shoulder, but his reflexes were too fast, he shoved you back again, harder this time, your hands useless behind you.

“Let me go, you’re so fucking sick,” you glared at him now.

He leaned in close, nose brushing against yours, his breath hot, “you think I’m the sick one baby?” His fingers brushed between your thighs and right up your skirt, caressing your panties, “then why the fuck are you this wet?”

You let out a gasp, trying to move again but he held your waist to keep you in spot, the other hand now gripping your jaw so tight it ached.

“You think I can’t see what you’re doing? Acting like a fucking brat now that you have my attention, huh? Pushing me back like you don’t want me,” his lips brushed your ear, voice almost a growl now, “but your body, yeah fuck, your body loves this so much, you need to be out in your place.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“And you’re dripping for me.”

He spun you around, forcing you to bend over his desk, cheek pressed against the cold wood. He shoved up your skirt as you tried to kick backwards, but he only chuckled, catching your ankle mid kick to spread your legs wider.

“Keep fighting,” he murmured, dragging his fingers up your soaked panties, “it makes me want to ruin you more.”

You cried under him, chest pressed to the desk and fists clenching, “you’ll regret this,” you said.

“No,” he whispered.

You barely had time to process anything before Sunghoon’s hand tangled in your hair again, taking your head back and bending your body, his breath against your neck.

“There’s no room for regret here, we’re just getting started, baby.” He moved with control, dragging two fingers against the soiled cloth, “still wet? How fucking cute.”

Then his palm landed on your ass harshly, once, then again, until you were gasping and thrashing around.

“That’s for flirting with the finance asshole,” he groaned, “then this, for not wearing that white blouse I love so much,” he mumbled, as if you had any clue about his favourites.

Your legs almost gave out as you tried to get out of his hold but it was hopeless, you were cuffed, bent over, and now his palm was making your ass—and he was just getting started. You choked on a sob, the humiliation seeping through as he pulled your panties down with a rough pull, the cold air caressing your skin, his groan vibrating against your back.

“Fuck, so filthy, your body isn’t even denying it anymore.”

He stepped back for a moment, and you breathed hard when you heard the sound of a belt unbuckling, slow.

“Sunghoon—” your voice cracked.

“Shut the fuck up,” he snapped, and you felt something hard smacking against your thigh—his belt. “You lost the right to talk when you whimpered for me the second I touched you.”

You sobbed again, moaning alongside with how wrong it felt to actually like something as twisted as this, you couldn’t even admit it out loud, you simply couldn’t.

You jolted again, a cry escaping before you could stop it, your legs gave out, wrists still bound behind you, cheeks hot with a mix of fear, shame, and something far worse—arousal that you couldn’t explain to anyone, not even yourself.

Sunghoon stepped in front of you, keeping his belt on the desk, unzipping his slacks like he had all the time in the world.

“Open your mouth,” he ordered.

You shook your head slowly, “n—no,” you cried.

That was a wrong move.

He grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked hard—forcing your head back until you cried out, your neck exposed, your lips parted just from the force of his grip.

“You’re really testing me tonight,” he growled, stepping closer until the head of his cock pressed against your lips, “you wanna make this harder for yourself? Fine. You’ll choke on it.”

He didn’t wait, he shoved himself into your mouth with one hard thrust, the taste of him flooding your tongue as your gag reflex immediately kicked in. You choked, whimpering around him, but he held your head steady with both hands now, thrusting into your throat like he didn’t give a damn, pushing your head deeper with a low groan.

“That’s it,” he hissed, hips snapping forward, “take it, take it like a good fucking whore.”

Your eyes watered, drool spilling from the corners of your mouth as he used you without pause, his grip in your hair was bruising, keeping you exactly where he wanted you—his personal fuckhole, gagging on his cock in the same office where you’d tried to act professional just hours ago.

“This mouth doesn’t deserve to speak unless it’s wrapped around me,” he said, thrusting deep again. You gagged loud this time, trying to pull back, but he shoved you right back down.

“You hear that?” he growled, staring down at you, your lips red and stretched, your eyes wide and teary, “that’s the sound of you learning your place.”

He held himself there, cock resting deep in your throat while your body jerked, struggling for breath, your cuffed hands useless behind you. Just when your vision blurred from lack of air, he pulled out with a wet pop, strings of spit and pre cum connecting your swollen lips to his length.

You collapsed forward, coughing, drooling, body trembling—completely wrecked, but still wet, still breathing hard, and now looking up at him in a different light, and you gulped harshly in fear now that you knew you liked it, ashamed of yourself for thinking so.

“Aw,” Sunghoon mocked you, “already broken, kitten. You’re my doll, aren’t you?” He asked, petting you like a dog.

You didn’t even flinch at the touch, only looking at him as you took in deep breaths. He tilted his head, watching you with that same hungry intensity you’d seen behind his glasses in the office all along—only now, the mask was gone. He didn’t have to pretend anymore.

“You liked that,” he said quietly, almost in awe, like he was marveling at the mess he made, “and you’re still fucking dripping.”

“Please—”

“Shh, open,” he parted your lips with his thumb, going down to collect your wetness, and he pushed his soaked fingers into your mouth. You gagged, humiliated, as the taste coated your tongue with embarrassment.

“Good girl,” he murmured, thumb brushing your cheek in twisted praise as you struggled, “see? I knew you’d learn for me, just for me, hm?”

He stood again, towering over you, then pulled your handcuffs—forcing your upper body upright. You cried out, the strain on your arms sharp, your blouse now torn and half hanging off your shoulder.

You didn’t respond, you couldn’t. Your lips were parted, chest heaving, eyes wide and dazed as he spun you around to face him. Still cuffed, still naked from the waist down, legs trembling.

He gripped your chin and forced your eyes up to his. “Say it,” he whispered. “Say you liked it.”

You shook your head weakly, shame crawling up your spine. “I—I didn’t—”

He scoffed, eyes darkening, “I said,” he muttered, “say. You. Liked. It.”

You tried to speak, but you couldn’t. You tried to turn away, but his grip on you tightened.

“I—I liked—”

“Look at your cunt,” he dragged two fingers back between your thighs and shoved them in without warning, “still wet and clenching. Still desperate. You’re not even pretending anymore.”

You cried and he only smiled, finally kissing your lips, tasting himself on your tongue, tasting the tears that stained your face, and swallowing your moans. Sunghoon found this romantic, as if it was all he had ever wanted.

“Don’t cry now, kitten. You’re not sorry, you’re ashamed because you liked it. Because you wanted it, because you want more.”

“I hate you,” you whimpered, breath hitching as your thighs trembled again.

“Yeah? But I fucking love you,” he mumbled, sick and twisted as your body gave into him, moaning his name like a desperate slut.

That’s when he pushed you against the desk, giving you no warning before thrusting into your leaking little hole. You screamed and he laughed.

“Say my name, go on.”

“Sunghoon—fuck please—Sunghoon,” you moaned.

“That’s it,” he hissed, one hand gripping your hip, the other sliding into your hair, “my good, dumb little slut, all fucking mine, you’re mine, mine.”

He fucked you rough, it was deep, fast, and filthy. The mirror shook on the table shook and you cried out, drool slipping past your lips, every thrust breaking you down further.

“This is all you’re good for,” he growled, pounding into you so hard the glass fogged with your breath, “getting ruined by the man who fucking owns you, yeah?”

You came fast, embarrassingly fast, cunt clenching around him with no resistance, no fight, just pure ecstasy and embarrassment.

But he didn’t stop.

“Fuck,” he groaned, hips snapping, “you’re so fucking perfect like this. Look at you—my favorite toy, crying and creaming all over my cock like you’re meant to do this, to be my fucking doll.”

He took your moans in, kissing you again, and again, till he couldn’t breathe anymore.

“You were made for this.”

And then he filled you again, his hand on your jaw, forcing your face to the mirror, “Look at yourself,” he panted, cock twitching inside you, “look how pretty you are when you break, when you submit to me, when you let me breed that pretty cunt of yours.”

“Sunghoon—” you mumbled against his lips.

“Yeah? You’ll look so good all swollen for me, for me, yeah?”

You nodded weakly, making him smile, “you’re fucking mine, do what I say now, hm?”

And you did exactly what he asked for—for you to be his.

Only his.

THANK YOU FOR READING!

@jaeminvore @macaroonff @ajayke-reads @en-myworld @lunalovesstories @jayzdaze @deobitifull @celeste-hoon @mari-oclock @kpoprhia @ikeuizm @woniebae @lalalalawon @blessedcursd @skzenhalove @heesuncore @seuomo @kyurizeu @haechan-nahceah @tobiosbbyghorl @jezzebear @jaehoonii @itsgivingitalian @bunhoons @hyacandoit @luvswonyoung @ma-riiii @addictedtohobi @heeliopheelia @haanigurl @dopedels @kaykay11sworld @glitterjay @skzooluvr @yongbokified

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#fic : darkness of devotion #enhypen hard hours #enhypen smut #sunghoon smut #kpop smut #enha smut #sunghoon x reader #enhypen imagines #enhypen x reader #enhypen x you #enhypen

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sa1ntd1or · 1 day ago

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omgomgomg can we please do the batboys with the “current boyfriend” prank 😭😭 like plssss they would crash the fuck outtt

˖ ֹ੭୧ CURRENT BOYFRIEND TREND ⊹ ࣪ ⑅

ˋ°•*⁀➷ batboys react to influencer!reader doing the "current boyfriend" trend !

ˋ°•*⁀➷CHARACTERS: Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Aged up!Damian Wayne

NOTES: lowkey feel like i mightve made tim a bit OCC but at the same time hes a very analytical person and he doesn’t do well with sudden, uncalculated emotional curveballs... ENJOY LOL

BRUCE WAYNE:

TikTok Upload: @/yourusername Caption: doing the “current bf” trend on my boyfriend

[VIDEO STARTS]

Your phone is balanced on a crystal decanter across the room. Bruce sits beside you on the velvet couch, looking like someone who was dragged into this against his will. But he’s here; suit jacket off, sleeves rolled, jaw sharp enough to cut diamonds.

You tap record, smiling as you nudge him slightly with your elbow.

“Okay,” you say to the camera, voice light and warm. “So my current boyfriend and I are finally filming the storytime of how we met.”

Bruce turns to you slowly, like you’ve just announced an alien invasion.

“…Current?” he repeats.

You smile innocently, giving a small nod. “Mhm!”

He blinks once. Then again.

There’s a pause. “Is there… something I should be aware of?”

You turn to the camera. “This man is so dramatic. We’re starting from the charity gala two years ago. Remember that?”

“I do,” he says carefully. “I also remember introducing you as my partner. Not my… temporary associate.”

You laugh. “You’re overthinking.”

“I’m a billionaire. I have to overthink,” he replies dryly, though his eyes haven’t left yours.

You reach over, patting his thigh affectionately. “Okay, so anyway—he spilled champagne on me and tried to offer me a check for dry cleaning. That was our meet-cute.”

Bruce clears his throat. “In my defense, I didn’t realize it was a one-of-a-kind custom gown. But I did replace it.”

“With a car,” you say to the camera.

Bruce adjusts his cuff. “It was a reasonable apology.”

You grin. “And then he asked me out by scheduling a business dinner and calling it a ‘strategic partnership.’ Romantic, right?”

Bruce shifts slightly, visibly trying not to look at the phone.

“…Can we go back to the part where you said current?”

To anyone else, Bruce looks blank-faced and unbothered, just mildly curious. But you—you know this man like the back of your hand.

The soft frown lines on his forehead begin to deepen, his knuckles slowly turning white. His brows furrow tighter.

But his eyes… his eyes hold concern. A mix of confusion and restrained frustration.

You can’t hold it in any longer, doubling over with laughter as you grab Bruce’s hand, muttering apologies between giggles.

“It’s a prank,” you say breathlessly. “I swear it’s a trend. I love you.”

Bruce sighs, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Don’t do that to me.”

“Sorry, babe. I love you, promise.”

[VIDEO ENDS]

[TOP COMMENTS]

@/urmamalong: he’s not current he’s forever and he knows it @/user10293: she had my man stressing LMAOO @/cocunutstree: is no one gonna talk about how their first date was called a ‘strategic partnership.’ 😭😭

DICK GRAYSON:

TikTok Upload: @/yourusername Caption: “current boyfriend” trend on my bf… gone almost sideways LMAOO

[VIDEO STARTS]

The camera bounces slightly with each step as you walk down the bustling Blüdhaven street, hand-in-hand with the man beside you. Dick’s in a black tee and fitted jeans, hair pushed back by the breeze, sunglasses sitting atop his head. The sky’s golden, the light catching in his eyes just right.

You flip the camera to selfie mode, smiling wide.

“Hey guys,” you chirp. “My current boyfriend and I are on our way to grab dinner before hitting the show at the—”

Dick stops mid-step.

You blink when you realize he’s no longer moving with you, your arm tugged slightly backward. You turn to see him staring at you, one brow raised and mouth slightly parted in disbelief.

“…Current?” he echoes, tone flat. “Did you just call me your current boyfriend?”

You try to keep walking, brushing it off with a casual grin. “Yeah, babe. Lock in cmon—”

“No, no, no,” Dick interrupts, coming to stand directly in front of you now. “Rewind. Run that back. Did I hallucinate or did you say current boyfriend?”

You laugh, turning the camera slightly to catch both your faces. “Don’t be dramatic.”

“I’m not being dramatic,” he replies, eyes narrowing slightly. “You know I’ve been called a lot of things in my life, but current boyfriend? Really? Like I’m on a limited-time lease?”

You bite back a grin. “You’re making a scene.”

He scoffs, a hand on his hip. “You made the scene. I was just trying to go get some overpriced sushi with my lifelong girlfriend.”

You burst into giggles.

“And now I’m wondering if I forgot an anniversary or something,” he adds, voice dropping low. “Are you mad at me? Did I miss something? Who even says that?”

You’re fully wheezing now, shaking your head and turning the phone off selfie mode to hide your face.

“It’s a trend, babe. I’m messing with you.”

Dick exhales through his nose, not mad—but definitely offended. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”

You nudge him, still laughing. “You’ll live.”

“I better,” he mutters, taking your hand again. “But we’re gonna talk about that wording later.”

[VIDEO ENDS]

[TOP COMMENTS]

@/user1209381: i just know he replayed “current?” in his head for the next 6 hours @/jessicacookies: the way he STOPPED WALKING LMAOOO @/morningcrips: “I was just trying to go get some overpriced sushi” HELP 😭

JASON TODD:

TikTok Upload: @/yourusername Caption: current bf trend except he almost killed me😋

[VIDEO STARTS]

You're walking through your apartment with your phone in selfie mode, the camera catching Jason on the couch behind you—black tank top, grey sweatpants, arm thrown across the backrest like he owns the place (because he does).

You flip the camera toward him as you walk over, smiling.

“Hey guys,” you begin sweetly. “So my current boyfriend and I are about to—”

Jason looks up. Blinks once.

There’s a two-second delay. His brows twitch.

“…What did you just call me?” he says, voice calm in the same way thunderstorms are calm before they hit.

You give him an innocent look. “My current boyfriend.”

Jason squints. “As in…?”

You hold back a grin. “My boyfriend… right now?”

He stares. Laughs once—just once—and without breaking eye contact, reaches forward and taps the camera off.

The camera is then turned back on again, except the vibe is completely different now.

The two fo you are curled up. in bed, the lighting low and golden. Jason’s beside you, arm slung around your waist.

He’s looking into the camera, dead serious.

“Just so we’re clear,” he says, “I’m not current anything.”

You try to hide your smile.

“I’m not a phase. I’m not a chapter. I’m the whole damn book.” he says, tightening his arm around you. “This isn’t a trial run. I signed a lifetime contract.”

You laugh. “Babe—”

“No,” he cuts in. “Because now everyone thinks I’m on borrowed time. Like you’re gonna trade me in for a newer model.”

You’re wheezing now. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“I’m being accurate.” He looks back at the camera. “Current. She called me current. Like a seasonal boyfriend. Like I’m fuckin’ Pumpkin Spice in October.”

You throw a pillow at him, giggling as he blocks it and grins.

“I’m forever,” he says smugly.

[VIDEO ENDS]

[TOP COMMENT]

@/poopybanana: not him ending the video HIMSELF LOOL 😭😭 @/bookboyfriendreal: “I’m not a chapter, I’m the whole damn book” he was written by a woman. @/user3022: “she called me CURRENT. like I’m Pumpkin Spice.” okay okay i see @/chaosblossom: he’s gonna propose next week I can FEEL it

TIM DRAKE:

TikTok Upload: @/yourusername Caption: doing the trend EXCEPT I ACC ALMOST CRIED WTF

[VIDEO STARTS]

The camera opens with you walking through the city, phone held out selfie-style. The wind gently tousles your hair, and Tim’s walking beside you; hood up, hands in his pockets, slightly hunched like he’s trying not to draw attention.

You turn the camera toward him and smile. “Hey guys! My current boyfriend and I are on the way to the bookstore—”

Tim glances at the camera, gives a soft smile… and then blinks.

Pause.

You keep walking like nothing happened, but his steps slow slightly.

“…Sorry,” Tim says after a second, trying to keep his voice light. “Did you say current?”

You glance over, feigning confusion. “Yeah. My current boyfriend.”

He laughs, kind of. A single awkward breath of a chuckle. “Oh. Okay.”

The camera catches him looking off to the side.

He doesn’t say anything else, but you know him.

You know that face.

You know that he’s just gone full internal monologue mode. He's analyzing the exact tone you said it in, reviewing the past month of conversations, subtly scanning for signs of detachment that aren’t there. But he’s already halfway to a mental spiral.

You keep walking, just yapping at the camera. He’s still quiet.

“…You okay?” you murmur.

He nods too quickly. “Yeah, no, I just. I wasn’t sure if that was, like… a joke. Or if it was your way of easing into something else. Because, if so, that’s totally fine, I just—” He cuts himself off. “Never mind.”

You stop walking. “Tim.”

He finally looks at you. His expression is so soft it hurts. “It’s okay if you meant it. I just need to know how temporary I am.”

The TikTok absolutely catches the look on your face dropping in real-time.

You throw your arms around him without even stopping the video. “Baby. It’s a prank. It’s a trend.”

Tim blinks. “Wait—seriously?”

You nod, nose pressed against his hoodie. “You’re forever. My ride-or-die. My endgame. My everything. Come on, please know that I would never do that to you.”

There’s a quiet laugh, this time genuine. You pull back enough to see his little smile.

“Okay,” he murmurs. “Good. Because I’ve already pre-ordered matching headstones.”

“Wait—why are you crying?!”

“Because I made you upset! And I made you rethink our whole relationship!”

He softly laughs at you, wiping a stray tear. “I should be the one crying, not you.”

“Shut up, Tim.”

[VIDEO ENDS]

[TOP COMMENTS]

@/emodetective: this man was one second away from dissociating 😭@/notahaterjustconfused: YOU COULD SEE HIM THINKING IN PARAGRAPHS @/traumaandbagels: she almost made him cry and then she started crying herself 💀 @/bookishnerd12: matching headstones?? no bc he’s already writing their vows…

AGED UP!DAMIAN WAYNE:

TikTok Upload: @/yourusername Caption: current bf check 😍 (he’s so serious for no reason omg)

[VIDEO STARTS]

The two of you are at a quiet rooftop restaurant: soft lighting, a skyline view, a candle flickering between you. Damian’s in a black button-down, sleeves rolled, silver rings catching the light. He’s sipping from a wine glass, eyes lazily scanning the menu.

You adjust your phone and hit record, speaking in a relaxed tone.

“Hey guys, just out with my current boyfriend tonight,” you say, panning the camera over to Damian.

He doesn’t react right away.

He lowers his menu slowly.

Then he turns to you, calmly.

“…Current?”

You offer a small smile. “Yup.”

He blinks once. Then again. Then sets the menu down.

“Forgive me—are we... breaking up over lobster risotto?”

You almost snort your drink.

He leans closer. “Should I order extra wine.”

You start giggling. “You’re being dramatic.”

“No, you are being dishonest,” he replies, placing a hand over his heart. “I am not ‘current.’ I am forever, irrevocable, contractual—”

You laugh harder. “Damian—”

“I have memorized your Starbucks order, created a shared playlist, and added you to my emergency contact list,” he says, like he’s building a legal case. “I let you put glitter on my face last weekend. You think that’s temporary behavior?”

You cover your face with one hand, still laughing. “I love you, you dramatic baby.”

He leans back smugly. “Good. Then say boyfriend of three years, future husband, and sole heir to your affection like a civilized person.”

You reach over and boop his nose. “Whatever you say, Dami.”

[VIDEO ENDS]

[TOP COMMMENTS]

@/headbuttking: damian said ✨legally binding romance✨ @/user109312: him listing off relationship credentials like it’s a résumé 😭@/putaringonit: future husband? HE SAID WHAT HE SAID

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y3sterdaysproblem · 24 hours ago

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How does toxic!fwb Chris react if you bleed through your pants, and you didn’t know?

you and chris had been out all day despite your request to stay in bed and rot while you bled what felt like your heart out, lower back aching and tension headache persisting despite medication.

chris had tried to insist that some fresh air would make you feel better, and in the beginning it did, but now, nearly six hours into being out, you were ready to be home.

“one more store, i want to buy a new hat,” chris tells you as you walk through the mall, his hands resting in the pockets of his grey hoodie he always wore, seemingly in a great mood for once in his life.

“chris,” you groan, throwing your head back for a moment as you complained before picking it back up to glare at him. “my cramps are coming back, my head hurts and i’m tired. can you just order a hat online?”

he looks over at you and sighs, seeing how exhausted you looked. but you guys were passing the store on the way out, so in his mind, it would be a total waste not to go. “i’ll be fast, i know what i want,” he tells you, slinging an arm around your shoulder and placing an out of character kiss to your temple as he turned your bodies and rounded you into the store.

you followed, seemingly having no choice, but you parted from him to look at some of the hats on the other side of the store to distract yourself, wondering how hard it would be to convince him to buy you one. you’re about to ask him when you feel his presence behind you, hands gently wrapping around your waist.

you open your mouth to speak, thinking he’s just going to hug you from behind, but when you look down you realize he’s tying the sleeves of his hoodie at your stomach, his lips next to your ear.

“you bled through your shorts,” he says in a quiet whisper so nobody else hears, pulling away as you spin around with a horrified gasp, hand coming up to cover your mouth. “no,” you mumble against your palm in disbelief. this hasn’t happened in years.

you look down at your light wash, denim shorts, wondering to yourself why on earth you didn’t think to wear something darker on your heaviest day. “come on, i’ll get the hat another day. let’s get you to the bathroom.” chris grabs your hand from your mouth and guides you out of the store and to a family stall, opening the door for you. “wait here and i’ll go find you something, okay?”

you walk into the family bathroom and nod, still in disbelief that you’d actually bled through your fucking pants. it’s one thing to leak a little in your underwear, but this was rare.

after shutting and locking the door, you pulled the hoodie off from around your waist and hung it up, turning around in the mirror and looking over your shoulder. a shocked gasp leaves your lips when you realize how bad it actually is and it’s hard to fight off the tears that sting in your eyes. there’s no way chris was the only one that saw this.

it’s only about five minutes later when you hear a knock on the door and you rush to open it, pulling chris in who now holds a bag in his hand. he shuts the door behind him and pulls out a new pair of underwear and some black sweatpants, setting them on the counter. “here, change and put your old clothes in this bag,” he tells you, turning his attention onto you when you don’t answer.

“what’s wrong?” he asks when he sees your eyes brimming with tears, taking a tentative step closer to you. “it’s so bad,” you choke out, voice thick with emotion. god, you hated how easy it was for something to set you off like this during your period. “i’m so embarrassed.”

chris’s expression softens at your clear discomfort, hands reaching out for the button on your shorts. “it’s fine,” he says, his flat tone hiding any real displays of comfort. “nobody saw. i only noticed because i was staring at your ass.”

his words make you feel slightly better but not much, only enough to make you stop complaining and instead let out pathetic sniffles as he unzips your shorts. “c’mon, let’s get you changed so you can get in bed.”

you let him peel the denim off you but stop him when he reaches for your panties, hand grabbing his wrist gently. “i don’t want you to see it,” you tell him, looking down at where his fingers paused at the waistband.

chris sighs, tucking his fingertips in the tops of the seamless panties but not pushing them down. “i’ve eaten you out on your period before, i can handle it,” he tells you like it’s obvious. you cringe at the memory, still holding his wrist. “this is different, it’s.. it’s gross.”

he moves one of his hands up to your chin and tilts it upwards, forcing you to meet his gaze. “it’s fine. i’m a grown man, i can handle it.” you grumble in response and let go of his wrist, letting him slide your panties down your legs, instantly regretting it when you saw how much blood was actually in them. “oh my god, never mind, ew,” chris fake gags, leaning over so he can pull them off of your ankles.

“chris!” you whine in embarrassment, slapping his shoulder as he stood up straight again, not finding any amusement in the way he met your eyes again with a smirk playing on his lips. “i’m kidding,” he grins, throwing your underwear and shorts onto the counter by the sink.

you huff and head to the toilet to at least try and wipe up some of the mess, grumbling to yourself about how annoying chris was. he interrupts you by reaching out, his fingers holding something. you look up and see he’s holding a tampon, something you had forgotten to grab when you left your place. “where’d you get this?” you ask him, taking it from his hand.

“asked like four girls on the way back to the bathroom until someone had one,” he says as he shrugs his shoulders like it’s no big deal, like the thoughtful action doesn’t make your heart soar despite how miserable you are.

“thanks,” you say plainly, forcing down a disgustingly cheesy grin. he just hums in response and pulls out his phone to give you some privacy. once you flush and stand up, he hands you the brand new clothes he bought and puts your dirty ones in the now empty bag, holding onto it for you.

“ready?” he asks when you’re dressed and your hands are washed, putting his grey hoodie back on and zipping it up. you nod and walk towards the door. he lets you out and guides you through the mall with a gentle hand on your back and you can’t ignore the way his thumb rubbing over the exposed skin makes your stomach flutter.

#⤷ toxic!fwb!chris x toxic!fwb!reader ⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖#⤷ toxic!fwb!chris ⊹ ࣪ ˖#⤷ toxic!fwb!reader! ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆#sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #christopher sturniolo #chris x you

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nadvs · 3 days ago

Text

　 —⊹　♡　 epilogue ⟢

pairing hockeyplayer! rafe cameron x tutor! reader

rating explicit 18+

tags this is the fluffy, smutty epilogue to the power play series. college au. established relationship.

When Rafe opens his door, his lips pull into a smirk, taking in your pretty face.

“You don’t have to knock,” he says. “What took so long?”

You texted him that you were done with your final a little while ago, on your way home to shower and change before coming over.

He knew he had a wait ahead of him, but he never has much patience when he’s anticipating seeing you.

You smile weakly as you step into his dorm room. The sun is starting to set, the walls painted in an orange, dusky glow.

“So impatient,” you tease.

You drop your bag on his desk and plop down onto his bed, spread out on your front with your head on his pillow.

“I spent my entire shower worrying about what would happen if I failed,” you sigh.

Rafe settles at the end of the bed, chuckling, his muscles tightening at the thought of you in the shower.

“Baby, you know you passed,” he says. “There’s no chance you didn’t.”

You dig your face into his pillow, finding comfort in your boyfriend’s familiar aroma. You take in the sound of his breathing, of the sound of cars passing and birds chirping through the window he has cracked open.

He runs a big hand over your calf, skimming over your bare skin, stopping at the middle of your thigh, where the hem of your dress is bunched up.

“You wore this before,” he murmurs.

“I did,” you reply. “Did you not know you can rewear clothes? There’s this thing called a washing machine. Am I going too fast?”

“Shut up,” he laughs. “I’m just sayin’ I… I remember seeing it. And liking it.”

You’d worn this dress to a frat party, back when you didn’t know Rafe liked you, too. The thought of him staring at you, wanting you and not being able to do anything about it, makes your stomach numb.

You smile into his pillow, goosebumps blossoming over your skin as his warm, calloused palm drags up and down the back of your leg.

“That feels really nice,” you say dreamily.

A languid heat invades Rafe’s body and settles thick between his thighs. He knows he needs to go slow. You’ve only been together for about a month, and the farthest you’ve ever gone with a guy is everything you’ve done with him.

You haven’t moved past making out and touching each other over your clothes, always leaving him wanting more, but never willing to risk asking for too much.

Your body fills with warmth as he runs his hand along your leg, his fingers gently digging into the back of your thigh.

“Too rough?” he asks, his voice strained.

Your throat is dry, the coil in you starting to tighten. You turn onto your back, holding out your arms for him to close the little distance left between you.

Rafe’s eyes stay locked on yours as he shifts forward, his knees settled on the bed as he sinks to hover over you.

“Too rough?” you flirt. “You think you’re going to break me or something?”

“I could,” he murmurs. You breathe a deep, entranced exhale at the implication, at the mental image of him really being rough with you.

Every minute that you spend with him makes you want to go all the way even more, although your nerves always keep you from initiating it.

Rafe leans in to kiss you, your lips softly smacking together as he presses up against you.

You’re used to it by now, to how hard he is for you when he gets this close. It always throws you into a daze, makes your body respond with the same amount of desire.

You hike your leg up, your inner thigh tight against his side, bucking your hips just a little to feel him against you as you wrap your arms around his shoulders.

A grunt escapes his lips, heat pooling in his stomach.

His hand drags down your waist, over your hip, shifting so he has the room to touch you beneath your dress, between your thighs. Your breath hitches as his fingers press against your panties, gentle and firm.

“Hard day, baby?” Rafe whispers. “You want me to make you feel better?”

“Yes,” you say in a whisper, tilting your hips towards him again. You’re so infatuated with him, with the way that he was once so closed off, but now, all he does is talk you through everything, and intimate moments like these are no exception.

He kisses you again, open-mouthed, allowing you to press your tongue against his. His head is spinning, his fingers wet even through the fabric.

He’s never touched you without a barrier and he’s so hungry for it that it’s making him ache.

“Can I move them to the side?” he whispers, his finger tip over the edge of your panties.

You nod, spreading your legs wider.

His inhale is sharp when he feels how wet and soft you are, spreading you apart, gently running his fingers up and down. When he starts to rub circles over your clit, your breath is shaky as you whisper his name in pleasure, arousal licking at your core.

“More,” you whisper, impatient, too drunk on the feeling to even think about any nerves.

“More?” he echoes, a hint of amusement in his tone. “You want my mouth on you?”

Your body reacts before your mind can, grinding against his hand.

“Yes,” you say.

Rafe feels like he’s in another world now that he’s seconds away from finally tasting you.

“Take off your dress,” he orders. You nod, always in a daze from how dominant he can be, adoring every second.

You pull the dress over your head, tossing it onto the floor, and his mouth is immediately on your chest, hands bunching over your bra. He shifts to tug at the back, unhooking it, groaning when he sees you bare, kissing you, sucking your skin.

You meet his gaze one more time before he sinks lower, sliding your panties down. He settles between your legs, hands hooked around your thighs. He refuses to lose eye contact, staring at you as he kisses your inner thigh, your flesh soft and hot against his lips.

The feeling of his mouth finally on you is mind-blowing. You arch your back as he plants his lips where you’re most sensitive, slowly moving up from kissing to sucking. His hands firmly hold you down as you writhe.

Rafe’s movements are slow and deliberate, the perfect amount of pressure, and you can tell by the way that every muscle in your body is clenching that you’re close only seconds in.

The way you taste, the sounds of your sighs, the fact that the most amazing girl he’s ever met wants him like this is too much for him.

He tries to lift his hips off the bed, to avoid any friction, but it’s useless. When you start to shudder, bucking against him, he groans against you, his groin tightening, his climax rushing out.

The vibration of his groan against your clit sends you over the edge, a million fireworks exploding throughout your body. You rest your hand on his hair, his locks soft between your fingers, as you try to find the strength to open your eyes.

“Shit,” he murmurs against your thigh. “I gotta clean myself up.”

You breathe a pleasured chuckle, your breath ragged, your high feeling even better now to know that you had that effect on him. He shifts and you open your eyes to see him touching himself over his jeans, the sight intoxicating to you.

“Don’t move,” he says, grabbing a towel from his hamper.

“I don’t think I can,” you whisper with a soft laugh, shutting your eyes again.

Rafe is back from the shower minutes later, hovering over you again, smelling like his body wash as he kisses you. You’re still naked, and he only has a towel around his waist, and you’re already back to being turned on when you feel his cock growing against you.

“Would you want to… um…” you whisper against his lips.

“Use your words,” he teases. “You never had a problem with that before.”

You smirk, running a hand down his hard, naked back.

“Do you have a condom?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he replies in a breath. “Are you sure?”

You nod, hardly able to wait another second. You want to see him, to feel him.

Rafe shifts to take a condom from the dresser, making the same intense eye contact when he drops his towel. Your eyes widen at the sight of him, at how big and hard he is, excitement flooding every inch of your body.

He opens the wrapper and you watch in a daze as he pulls the condom down his shaft, slowly getting on top of you again. You readjust in place, spreading your legs, gazing at him in anticipation.

“I’ll go slow,” he whispers. “Tell me if I need to stop, alright?”

“I will,” you say.

You bite your lip as he looks down, guiding himself to push into you. Your breath hitches as he keeps his promise, slowly sinking in, so slow that you can count the seconds in halves, the pleasure a step away from pain.

“Fuck,” Rafe whispers roughly. You’re so tight, so soft, so fucking perfect that he already doesn’t want this to end. “You feel so good.”

Your body tightens, then loosens as you adjust to his size, expelling a sigh in unison once he bottoms out, his hips against yours.

He cups your face, kissing you as he gently rocks back and pushes inside again. His thrusts are slow, spaced out, even though he wants to go so much faster and harder. He’ll wait, because nothing is more important to him than your comfort.

The pressure of him deep inside you, stretching you out, has quickly gone from good to amazing as you get used to the sensation, lulled by the way he’s panting against you, kissing you.

Your noses nudge together as he pulls back, his forehead against yours.

“Feels good?” he rasps.

“Yes,” you whisper through a moan. “So good.”

Your words send Rafe’s mind into a thousand spirals at once, his skin starting to sheen with sweat, pleasure pooling through him as your arms around him tighten.

His strokes slowly start to build in speed, in pressure, the bed squeaking beneath you with his thrusts. Your breaths tangle together in the air, ragged, short, laced with moans.

He trails kisses along your jaw before he pulls back to find your eyes again, constantly in disbelief of how beautiful you are.

His lips are parted as he breathes uneven gasps, euphoria sparking through him, feeling another orgasm curling up inside him.

His hips start to stutter against yours and he lets out a deep, rough groan as he comes, shaking on top of you, holding his breath.

He almost collapses on top of you, but finds the strength to settle on his knees, slowly pulling out, hating the feeling of losing your heat wrapped around him.

Rafe doesn’t have it in him to get up, not yet, so he rests beside you. You shift onto your side to give him space, curled up as his hand drags up your thigh, stopping at the small of your back.

You hold his face in your hands, leaning forward to kiss him, every part of you melting.

He finally opens his eyes, finding a semblance of composure, gazing at you with so much gratitude that you’re sure you’ll never forget the minute you’re living in right now.

“I hate that I won’t be seeing you every day anymore,” he says.

Your chest pinches, wishing you weren’t just a week away from the school year ending, forcing both of you to move back to your hometowns for the summer.

“Yeah,” you say sadly.

“Damn,” he mumbles. “No pep talk for once?”

“Not this time,” you laugh, endeared that he loves your usual optimism. “I’ll miss you.”

A crease forms between his brows, his face shadowed with both pleasure and pain.

“I’ll miss you, too,” he rasps, his voice deep and quiet.

He presses a kiss on your forehead. And you remain blanketed in sweet, silent bliss together, two people who couldn’t be more different, two people who found love in each other when they least expected it.

au masterlist >

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron and you #rafe cameron and reader #rafe cameron and y/n #blurb

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pitlanepeach · 2 days ago

Text

Radio Silence | Chapter Thirty-Five

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren’t quirks, they’re survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, pregnancy, emetophobia warning, domestic fluff.

Notes — We're closing out the 2023 season!! Double update for the day!

2023 (Abu Dhabi)

The filming studio was chaos. Bright lights, Nerf guns, a beanbag chair someone had exploded accidentally, and Max F was in the corner trying to tape a foam sword back together.

Lando stood off to the side, hoodie hood up, sipping a smoothie and pretending to review a script while actually just taking a breather from the all-day mess.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

He fished it out lazily, thumbed it open.

iMessage — 12:03pm

Amelia (Wifey 4 lifey)

My period is 3 weeks late.

—

He stared.

Then blinked. Read the words again.

And stood there frozen in the middle of the mess, smoothie halfway to his mouth.

“…What the f—”

“Bro, you good?” Aarav called from across the room, eyebrow raised.

Lando didn’t answer. He was busy rereading the message for a third time. Then a fourth. Slowly lowering the smoothie.

Missed period.

3 weeks.

Missed period for 3 weeks.

Period 3 weeks missed.

He let out a stunned, breathy laugh. “Oh fucking hell. Of course she’d just message me about it like it’s no big deal. Of course she did.”

The rest of the guys were still messing around in the background, arguing about whether they could build a kart ramp out of beanbags, and Lando just… walked backwards into a couch and sat down before his legs gave up on him.

Well, clearly she wasn’t freaking out. So that meant he wasn’t supposed to freak out. Cool. No problem. Cool, cool, super cool.

Except, he ran a hand through his hair. It was Amelia. If she was freaking out, she still probably wouldn’t say it. She’d just power through it all and not mention anything had even happened and then be like, “Oh yeah, by the way, our kid is three now.”

He shook his head.

iMessage — 12:05pm

Lando (Husband)

Ok. I’m not freaking out. Kind of want to throw up a bit tho. Love u x

He stared at the screen. Chewed the side of his thumb. Sent another.

Lando (Husband)

Did u like… pee on a stick yet????

Also should i come home. Or stay and keep filming the stupid cart bit. Idk what to do bby xxxx

Amelia (Wifey 4 lifey)

No, I have not peed on a stick. No, you do not need to come home. Finish filming. I will just see you when you come home x

—

He barely had time to process it before Max shouted, “Lando! You’re up!”

Lando slowly stood, still blinking, feeling kind of like he was buffering in real time.

“Mate, you look like you just saw a ghost,” Max added. “You alright, bro?”

Lando just looked at him, dazed. “No. I think I’m gonna be someone’s dad.”

Max’s eyes went fucking massive. “Woah, woah. Hold on. What—”

“Later. Can’t explain. Gotta pretend to joust on a kids scooter first.”

And off he went, hoodie flapping, brain somewhere over the Alps, while back in Monaco, his wife was casually engineering a race car and possibly incubating a human life like it was no big deal.

—

Amelia chewed on her bottom lip as she pulled up Pietra’s contact.

The screen blinked to life and there she was, chin propped on her hand, eating a bowl of cereal. Her blonde hair was pulled up in a lopsided bun, and she had one AirPod in, the other probably misplaced somewhere nearby. Her face lit up when she saw Amelia.

“Hello, gorgeous—wait, are you okay?" She asked, narrowing her eyes. “What’s wrong? You look off.”

Amelia didn’t say hello. She just held up her phone so the camera framed her blank expression and said, deadpan, “I am having déjà vu.”

Pietra blinked. Then squinted harder. “Wait… about what?”

“This call.” She said. “I think I’m pregnant.”

Pietra blinked again, cereal halfway to her mouth. “Você tá brincando.”

“I would never joke about this kind of thing.” Amelia said.

“Meu Deus.” Pietra gasped, dropping her spoon into the bowl with a dramatic clatter. “How? I mean—well, how is obvious, but—how do you know?”

Amelia turned her phone around, flashed her calendar at the screen. One day highlighted in red. Three weeks past due. “Calendar told on me.”

Pietra’s eyebrows shot up. “Three weeks? Amelia!”

Amelia sighed. “I know. But I’ve been so preoccupied with Vegas prep, travel, lobby meltdowns.”

“Oh my god.” Pietra was practically whispering now. “But… how likely is it?”

“Very. We haven’t been, like, trying,” Amelia said, voice clipped, efficient. “But we also haven’t been not trying. No protection for the last… few months. Ish.”

Pietra dragged her hand down her face. “Ameliaaaa. You can’t just drop a possible baby on me while I’m eating cornflakes!”

“I can and did.” Amelia adjusted the camera so it faced the ceiling, then sat cross-legged on the couch, phone balanced on her chest. This was their usual routine. She could write strategy notes with Pietra on FaceTime, no problem. Sometimes Pietra filled the air with stories, or whatever drama was happening in one of her many group chats. Sometimes she was just quiet, scrolling TikTok beside her. It was easy. Safe.

“Have you taken a test yet?” Pietra asked, after a beat.

“No.” Amelia’s voice was flat. “I don’t want to look at a little window. The little window makes things real.”

Pietra groaned. “It’s the only way to know!”

“I don’t want to know yet,” Amelia pointed out.

“I don’t trust you not to emotionally suppress this entire event and pretend it never happened.”

“Unfortunately not possible with this,” Amelia returned.

Pietra reached for the cereal again, shaking her head. “Have you told Lando?”

“I texted him. He’s in London filming Quadrant stuff, obviously. He freaked out a bit but, like, he was fine I think.”

Pietra cackled. “What did you even say?”

Amelia lifted her phone and scrolled briefly. “‘My period is three weeks late.’”

“Oh my god,” Pietra said. “You’ve probably given him a heart attack.”

“I’m nothing if not efficient.”

“He’s probably already told my Max, then. Are you telling anyone else?”

“No,” Amelia said, immediately and firmly. “I haven’t even processed it yet. And it might not even be something to process. It’d be like… trying to run a live feed before the camera boots.”

“Got it.” Pietra nodded. “Just us, then.”

“Just us,” Amelia echoed. She returned her focus to the spreadsheet open on her laptop. Sector delta charts glowed on the screen, comfortingly quantifiable.

Pietra softened. “But like—how are you?”

“I’m fine.” Amelia blinked slowly, as if running an internal diagnostic. “Not panicked. Not excited. Just... fine. Although thinking about it, I have been feeling nauseous a lot more frequently lately. I just kept putting it down to nerves you know?”

“Yes, I know. It’s been a long few weeks.” Pietra agreed. Eventually, she asked, “So. Plan?”

Amelia shrugged. “Go to the bakery and the pharmacy. Buy a bunch of pastries and three pregnancy tests.”

“And then?”

“And then I’m waiting for Lando. I’m not testing until he’s back.”

Pietra smiled, biting back something fond. “Of course not.”

They hung up not long after.

Amelia finished annotating a slide for Oscar’s sector exits in medium-speed corners, then shut her laptop with a soft click. She stood, pulled on one of Lando’s oversized hoodies, and grabbed her bag.

As she stepped out into the sunshine, she ran through her mental checklist:

Bakery

Pharmacy

Groceries

Don’t forget oat milk

Do not freak out

Business as usual.

—

The pharmacy was quiet, the sort of quiet that made every footstep sound louder than it should. Fluorescent lights buzzed softly overhead, and faint French pop music played from an old radio behind the counter.

Amelia moved with purpose, hoodie sleeves pulled halfway over her hands, the corners of her to-do list folded neatly in her pocket. She headed straight for the aisle where the pregnancy tests were shelved, eyes flicking over the boxes clinically. Brands didn’t matter. She just picked three, different ones, out of mild uncertainty more than logic, and turned on her heel toward the checkout.

Behind the counter sat Madame Duval, a tiny, silver-haired woman with thick glasses, a warm smile, and a knit cardigan that didn’t match her blouse but somehow made her look even more maternal.

“Bonjour, Amelia,” she said, her voice like soft wool. “C’est bon de vous voir.”

Amelia blinked. “Hi.”

She placed the boxes down without flinching. Madame Duval looked down, eyebrows twitching faintly. Then she smiled again, smaller this time. “Ah. I see.”

Amelia didn’t say anything. Just offered a shrug and a half-nod. She wasn’t embarrassed, exactly. It just felt… complicated.

“Would you like a bag?” Madame Duval asked gently. “One that is not see-through?”

“Yes please.”

She packed the boxes neatly, moving with the patience of someone who had known Amelia since she had first moved to Monaco. The first time she had come in for antihistamines, she’d asked in English and apologised for not speaking very clear French. Madame Duval had tutted at her gently and waved it off — “You’re young. You learn.”

She hadn’t expected Amelia to remember all of their conversations. But Amelia did. Down to which shelf the chamomile tea had been on that one rainy day when she came in, red-eyed and overstimulated, asking for something that “made bodies quiet.”

Now, only a couple of years later, the girl she’d watched grow into a woman, all sharp focus and clinical precision, stood with three pregnancy tests in her hand and a face like a still pond. Flat on the surface. Rippling just underneath.

Madame Duval placed a single wrapped chocolate on top of the box in the bag. The fancy kind they kept near the till. “For after. Whatever the result.”

Amelia blinked. “I didn’t—”

“Don’t argue,” Madame Duval said simply. “I know you very well, Amelia. You will enjoy your sweet treat.”

She accepted the bag and nodded, a single sharp dip of her head. “Merci.”

Madame Duval smiled again, knowing, warm. “Bonne chance, ma fille.”

Amelia didn’t translate the words in her head. She didn’t need to. They sank into her like the warmth of a blanket after a cold morning walk.

She left the pharmacy with the bag looped tightly around her wrist and walked the short distance back up the hill toward the apartment. The sea was visible between buildings, a thin slice of blue horizon. Everything smelled faintly of croissants and sunshine and exhaust fumes.

She checked her mental list:

Got the tests.

Got the pastries.

Got the groceries.

Back home, she set the bag down on the kitchen counter and grabbed her laptop.

The tests could wait until Lando was back.

For now, it was just another variable. Logged.

Pending analysis.

—

The door clicked softly behind Lando as he stepped into their Monaco apartment, duffle bag forgotten somewhere between the entrance and the bedroom.

The light was low, just the soft stretch of sunrise brushing over the walls, and Amelia was curled up on their bed in one of his hoodies, half-asleep, laptop still warm next to her leg.

She opened one eye when he crouched beside her. “Hi,” she murmured, voice heavy with sleep.

He didn’t answer right away. Just tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and held up a small paper bag like he’d just won a prize. “Get up, baby,” he said, gently.

Amelia blinked. “Seriously?”

He kissed her temple. “Come on. I need to know if my wife is growing a person.”

She groaned, dragging her hand over her face — but didn’t argue. Not really. She let him pull her upright with a sleepy grumble, let him tug her by the hand toward the bathroom, let him press the test into her hand.

They paused there for a second. Fingers brushing. Her gaze flicked up to meet his.

“You okay?” He asked, voice low now, a little more cautious.

“I’m fine,” she said. Then, with a characteristic deadpan mutter, “I’m tired.”

Lando gave her that crooked little grin, the one that always cracked something open in her. “Right. Go pee on it.”

She rolled her eyes and shut the door.

He sat cross-legged outside, back against the wall. Same way he had the first time she’d let him into her quieter corners; back when they were barely even dating and she couldn’t handle knocks on doors, loud voices, or sudden touches. Back when he learned to ask first and sit with her in the silence.

He waited now, quiet, patient, fingers tapping his knee.

The door creaked open.

She didn’t speak at first. Just stood there holding the test, staring at it.

Lando scrambled to his feet. “Amelia?”

She looked up at him. “It’s positive,” she said, voice soft. Like she wasn’t sure the words could be able to come out of her mouth properly.

Silence fell between them — not tense, not panicked. Just heavy.

She looked back down at the test. Then back at him. Her expression was unreadable for a second, and then… it cracked. Not big. Not loud. Just a subtle unraveling. A tremble in her mouth. Her eyes too bright, but dry.

“I thought I’d feel more in control,” she said quietly. “Like it would just slot into the system. Checklist. Contingency. Risk management.” She held up the test, eyes never leaving it. “But it’s not like that. It’s not a flowchart. It’s not a decision tree. It’s just… me. And you. And this. And I can’t logic my way through it.”

Lando took a slow step forward, voice hushed. “Is it a bad feeling?”

She shook her head. “No,” she whispered. “It’s just… big.”

And then it happened — not a meltdown, not a scene, just her body folding into his with no warning. A silent collapse.

Hands clinging to the front of his hoodie, face buried against his chest, a single shuddering breath breaking out of her like she’d been holding it in for hours. No sobbing. No hysteria. Just quiet overwhelm — the kind that sneaks up and knocks the wind out of you.

Lando wrapped his arms around her instantly, no hesitation.

“Whoa, hey,” he murmured, steady as ever, his hand in her hair. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you, love. You’re okay. We’re okay. We’re going to be okay.”

She didn’t answer, just breathed — deep and shaky. Her fingers still clutched the test like a lifeline. Her knuckles were white.

“I’m scared,” she said after a long pause. The words were barely there. “What if I mess it up? What if I do something wrong? What if I’m not good enough to do this?”

Lando pulled back, just enough to look at her. His hands stayed on her waist, grounding her. “Hey,” he said gently, brushing his thumb over her cheekbone. “Don’t do that. Don’t start doubting yourself now.”

Her eyes flicked away. “I’m not soft. I’m not warm. I don’t… glow. I forget social niceties, I spiral over things like flight plans and tyre temps and socks that don’t feel right. That’s not the kind of person who’s supposed to—” She swallowed. “I don’t know if I’m made for this.”

“Baby. You’re made for anything,” he said, firm now. “You’re made for me. And if our baby ends up anything like you, blunt, brilliant, weird in the best possible way, they’re going to be so lucky. And so am I.”

She let out a sound that was halfway between a breath and a laugh. Her shoulders sagged just a little. “We don’t even know if I’m actually pregnant yet,” she muttered.

He glanced down at the test still in her hand. “Kinda looks like we do.”

Another breath.

She let him take the test and set it gently on the counter, his touch reverent, like it was something fragile and sacred. Then, without a word, he slid his hand into hers and led her back into the bedroom.

She didn’t resist. Didn’t speak. Just let herself be tugged along like driftwood in a current.

Lando climbed into bed first and pulled her down with him, settling them in the tangle of covers she’d only half-kicked off earlier. His arms came around her automatically, looping over her waist and up across her back. He tucked her in close, chin resting against the top of her head, one leg hooked loosely over hers.

Wrapped around her like a blanket. Safe. Heavy in the best way.

They lay like that for a long time. Breathing in sync. No words needed.

Eventually, Amelia spoke. Her voice was quiet — raw around the edges, like she'd surprised even herself with the crack earlier. “I didn’t think I’d cry,” she murmured.

Lando smiled, lips brushing her temple. “I’m glad you did.”

She blinked against his hoodie. “Why?”

He huffed a soft laugh, barely more than a breath. “Because it made it less pathetic that I was crying for a second too.”

Her head tipped back just enough to look up at him. “You were crying?”

“Only a little bit,” he said, mock-defensive. “Like, blinked-a-lot-and-hoped-you-wouldn’t-notice crying. I’m British. I’m subtle.”

“You’re not subtle,” she said flatly.

“No,” he agreed, grin tugging at his mouth. “But I am dramatic, and I’ve been alone for two days imagining every possible outcome and Googling ‘is surprise pregnancy good news if you’re in love and mostly financially stable.’”

Amelia blinked slowly. “You Googled that exact phrase?”

“Yes.”

She snorted. A small, involuntary noise that made his heart squeeze. “What did it say?”

“That the internet is deeply unhelpful,” he said. “And Reddit is a lawless place.”

There was another long pause.

Then she whispered, “I was scared it wouldn’t feel real. That I’d just… log it as data and move on. Like it was just another variable.”

Lando tightened his arms around her. “But it does feel real?”

“Yeah,” she whispered. “The second I said it out loud.”

He kissed her forehead. “Good. I don’t think I could’ve handled being more emotional than you about this.”

“You’re always more emotional than me.”

“True. I tried at Bake Off the other day.”

“I know,” she said, and even through the haze of anxiety and confusion and quiet overwhelm, she smiled. “That’s why I married you.”

Lando rested his cheek against her hair, and for a few long seconds, the world outside the blanket of their bed ceased to exist.

“Should we sleep a bit more?” She asked eventually, already halfway there.

He nodded against her. “Yeah. Big day of parenting ahead. Gotta start practicing how to Google more useful things.”

She hummed. “Start with ‘how to tell if your wife is actually going to let herself feel things this time.’”

Lando squeezed her a little tighter. “Already figured it out. Just gotta love her loud enough that she forgets to be afraid.”

She didn’t respond.

But she didn’t pull away either.

—

The clinic’s sliding door whispered closed behind them as Amelia and Lando stepped into the small, clinical room. The nurse smiled warmly, gesturing toward the chair.

“Make yourselves comfortable,” she said, setting out the necessary equipment.

Amelia sat down slowly, her fingers lacing in her lap. Lando stood quietly by her side, watching her with closeness.

“You doing alright, baby?” He asked quietly, voice low enough only for her.

She shrugged, eyes steady. “As alright as I can be.”

Lando reached out and took her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. She held on tight.

The nurse prepped the needle, talking her through it as she did. Amelia kept her gaze fixed on the ceiling, her jaw clenched just enough to show her focus.

When the needle slid in, Lando’s hand moved up to brush a strand of hair behind her ear.

“There,” he whispered. “Done.”

Amelia exhaled, releasing some of the tension she hadn’t even realised she was holding.

—

Amelia and Lando sat quietly in the small waiting area just outside the testing rooms, the sterile white walls feeling colder than usual. Amelia scrolled absently through her phone while Lando rested his arm around her shoulders, both wrapped in a low hum of nervous energy.

The nurse appeared after what felt like an eternity but was realistically just under an hour. She held a folder in her hand, her expression calm and professional. “Amelia Norris?” She called.

Amelia stood immediately, Lando rising just a half-step behind her, his hand brushing lightly against the small of her back in quiet support.

The nurse, a kind-looking woman in her fifties with kind eyes and soft lines around her mouth, smiled gently as she approached, holding a slim folder in her hands. “Amelia, Lando,” She said warmly. “Your blood test results are back.”

Amelia held herself very still, as if bracing for impact.

The nurse opened the folder and glanced down. “Everything looks healthy, and we did manage to confirm your pregnancy, Amelia.”

For a second, neither of them spoke. Amelia’s breath caught in her throat, her eyes fixed on the nurse but unfocused, as though the words had landed somewhere just behind her.

She blinked once. Twice. “Okay,” she said softly. Just one word, but it sounded like it had taken effort to get it out.

Lando, ever the contrast, let out a breathy laugh; short, quiet, almost disbelieving, and slid his arm around her waist. He gave her a gentle squeeze, grounding them both. “Well,” he murmured, leaning in close, “that’s the official verdict then.”

She didn’t answer right away, just nodded, lips pressing into a line. Her fingers twitched at her side, stimming without even thinking.

The nurse, unfazed by the silence, handed Amelia a printout of the blood-work results. “Everything looks perfectly normal for where you’re at. If you have questions or want to talk about next steps, you’re always welcome to call. We’ll book your first ultrasound soon.”

Amelia’s eyes scanned the paper, already filtering the information into categories in her head — normal levels, nothing flagged, timeline confirmed. Just data. But even with all the logic in the world, she felt the subtle shift in the air. It was real now.

“I can fly to Abu Dhabi?” She asked, sharp and direct.

The nurse nodded. “Yes, you can. You’re still very early. Travel is fine, just make sure you stay hydrated and try to keep your stress levels to a minimum.”

Amelia scoffed out a single breath. “Right. Sure.”

Lando gave the nurse an apologetic smile, stepping in smoothly. “We’ll make sure of it. Water, snacks, earplugs, noise-cancelling headphones, the works.”

The nurse’s smile deepened. “Good man. Just listen to your body, Amelia. That’ll be the trickiest part for you, I think.”

Amelia met her gaze, brows furrowed. “Why? Because I’m autistic?”

“Because you’re used to ignoring and pushing aside your discomfort,” the nurse said kindly. “But yes, that too.”

Amelia blinked, visibly filing that away.

The nurse handed her a card. “Call and make your next appointment as soon as you’re back. That’ll be for your first scan — around gestation week seven. You can ask for me by name if you’d like.”

Amelia took the card, examined the name — “Colette” — and gave the barest nod of approval. “Okay. I will.”

Colette gave them both a final smile. “Take care of each other. And congratulations.”

“Thanks,” Lando said quietly, while Amelia murmured something that might’ve been a “you too” out of sheer social obligation.

As they stepped out of the clinic and into the soft Monaco sunlight, Lando reached over and laced their fingers together. Amelia let him. Didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. Just walked beside him, her expression unreadable — but her grip on his hand was firm.

He glanced at her as they waited for the elevator. “So.”

She glanced up.

“You’re gonna have to let me look at that report later,” he said. “Just to double-check you’re not secretly growing twins or something.”

Amelia huffed. “I’d know if I were.”

He grinned. “Sure you would.”

—

The private jet hummed softly beneath them, the kind of quiet that came with luxury and familiarity. Amelia had curled up beside the window, iPad balanced on her lap, headphones hanging loosely around her neck. Next to her, Lando was dozing — hoodie pulled up, mouth slightly open, dead to the world.

Across the aisle, Max sat with a protein bar and a very serious frown as he scrolled through Instagram. For all the years they’d known each other, Amelia had rarely seen him sit still this long.

She, however, was very much not still.

Her finger tapped quickly across her iPad screen, eyes scanning an article titled “What To Expect in Your First Trimester.” She had three tabs open; one medical, one forum-based, and one purely dedicated to nutrition. Her nose wrinkled as she read the phrase “morning sickness may begin as early as week six.” She was almost six weeks, according to the timeline Colette had scribbled down.

“Oh, screw that,” she muttered under her breath.

Max leaned slightly toward the aisle and blinked at her screen. “What’re you reading?”

Amelia startled slightly and tilted the iPad instinctively away from him. “Nothing.”

Max tilted his head. “No, I definitely saw the word ‘placenta’ just now.”

Amelia pursed her lips. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

He blinked. Then his eyes went wide. “You’re pregnant.”

“What? No. Don’t be absurd.” Amelia spluttered.

“Your ears are red!” Max pointed out.

“Lots of people have red ears,” she lied boldly.

“Name two people.”

“Um.” She looked around desperately. “Um.”

Max raised a brow.

“Okay, whatever, fine.” She sighed.

He choked on his protein bar, coughing into his sleeve. “So you are pregnant.”

Amelia groaned, setting the iPad facedown on her lap. “You can’t know! I’m not even supposed to know, I don’t think. Google says no one is allowed to know until the second trimester.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“I know!” She whispered-shouted, flinging her hands up in frustration. “Apparently there's this whole unwritten rule that you’re meant to keep it secret until like week twelve in case things go wrong but also I can’t stop Googling everything because what the hell is a mucus plug and why is it in my body?”

Max looked vaguely alarmed. “Oh, god. That sounds disgusting.”

“Exactly!”

Lando stirred at the noise, cracked one eye open, and muttered, “Did you tell Max?”

“No,” Amelia said at the exact same time Max said, “Absolutely.”

Lando sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face, clearly too tired to argue.

Amelia shifted slightly in her seat, frowning. “Is it weird I don’t feel different yet? Like I thought I’d… know. That there’d be this, I don’t know, gut feeling. Like how I know when it’s going to rain or when Oscar’s about to spin out of a corner.”

Max softened a bit, leaning over the aisle. “Everyone’s different, I think.”

“Yeah, but I already feel behind.” She nudged her iPad back into her lap. “There are apps and charts and... symbiotic uterine developments. It’s like a project I didn’t plan for. And you know how I feel about unplanned variables.”

Lando reached over sleepily and squeezed her hand. “You’re doing fine.”

Max nodded. “Plus, your kid’s gonna have, like, the two most ridiculous godparents in the paddock.”

She blinked at him. “I never said anything about godparents.”

“You will.”

“I might not.”

“You will.”

She rolled her eyes, but a small smile tugged at her mouth.

Then, after a pause, she muttered, “The mucus plug thing is still on my mind.”

Max gagged theatrically, Lando groaned, and Amelia opened another article, determined to understand the entire gestational timeline before they landed.

—

The Abu Dhabi sun was already unbearable by the time they stepped onto the tarmac, the heat pressing down like a hand on the back of her neck. Amelia barely blinked at it. She was too busy focusing on not gagging.

It wasn’t morning sickness. It wasn’t anything that dramatic. There’d been no dramatic sprint to a toilet. Just this constant, low-level nausea that clung to her throat like the aftermath of turbulence. Cloying. Lingering. Like the scent of someone else’s perfume in a closed room.

She clutched her water bottle a little tighter as they walked toward the paddock entrance, sunglasses on, headphones around her neck, McLaren lanyard tucked into the front of her shirt. She wasn’t on duty yet — they were just arriving — but already, her brain was buzzing with briefings and timing windows and tyre strategy for FP1.

Lando walked beside her, one hand on the small of her back, close but casual. He wasn’t smothering her, he never did, but his body was attuned to her like a second radar system. When she slowed for a moment, swallowing hard, he adjusted his pace instantly.

“Still feeling off?” He murmured, quiet so no one around them would hear.

She nodded once, not breaking stride. “Feels like... I’ve had warm milk out of a shoe.”

“That’s a disgusting analogy.” He said, nose twitching.

“I feel disgusting.” She moaned.

Lando gave a small, sympathetic laugh and handed her a peppermint from the stash he’d brought specifically for this. “Want to skip the garage for now? Go to hospitality. Sit down.”

“I’ll be fine,” she said quickly, bluntly. “We land, we go to the garage. That’s the routine.”

He didn’t argue, not really. He just looked at her for a beat longer than usual and nodded. “Okay.”

Max had peeled off earlier, some Red Bull meeting already dragging him into another PR vortex, so it was just the two of them when they reached the McLaren motorhome. Amelia paused for a moment outside the hospitality entrance, letting the air-conditioned breeze spill over her as the door opened and closed in waves.

She stared forward, expression flat.

Then, without looking at him, she muttered, “If I throw up in front of Oscar, I’ll lie and say it’s food poisoning.”

Lando grinned. “You’d lie to Oscar?”

“I lie to Oscar all the time. I tell him the car has good rear grip when I know it doesn’t. I tell him his haircut’s not weird.”

“He knows it’s weird.”

“Then I’m not doing my job properly.”

He kissed the side of her head and ushered her inside.

The nausea didn’t leave; it didn’t even lessen. But she filed it away somewhere behind tyre allocation updates and garage temperature readings. Pushed it back. Compartmentalised.

She had a job to do.

Even if her body, her whole world, had quietly started to change.

—

The garage was its usual symphony of motion, tyre blankets, torque wrenches, low chatter on radios. Amelia stood just behind Oscar’s car, one hand resting on the side-pod, her iPad in the other, watching the data scroll. Her other hand was shoved in her pocket, fingers twisting the small piece of fabric — an old tag from one of Lando’s fireproof undershirts. Grounding. Textural. Familiar.

Oscar was climbing out of the cockpit, unzipping his suit halfway and tugging off his gloves. “How’s it looking?” He asked, pushing a hand through his hair.

“Like you are still lifting off too early into Turn 14,” Amelia replied, not looking up.

Oscar squinted at her. “Nice to see you too.”

She handed him the tablet. “Look at the overlays. You’re lifting fractionally earlier than yesterday.”

“I don’t feel like I am.”

“That’s the thing about data,” she said flatly. “It doesn’t care how you feel.”

Oscar made a face but didn’t argue. He took the tablet and perched on the edge of the front wing as he scrolled. Amelia leaned on the pit gantry behind him, eyes tracking the mechanics, her brain juggling three different timelines.

Tyre test. Race sim. Media obligations.

And nausea. Always the nausea. A thin layer of wrongness settled at the base of her throat.

“You look pale,” Oscar said suddenly.

She flicked her eyes up. “Thanks.”

“I mean it. You good?”

“I’m always good.”

He gave her a suspicious side-eye. “You’ve said that to me before. Usually when you’ve gone two days without sleep.”

She took the iPad back from him. “I’m eating. I’ve slept. I’m hydrated. I’ve had breakfast. What more do you want?”

“Some forgiveness if I don’t get the lift right on the next run?”

Amelia’s lip twitched, barely. “Not happening.”

Oscar didn’t push, but he watched her as she turned back toward the screens. She knew it. Felt his gaze linger.

But she didn’t offer anything more. Not yet. Not when the garage was full of people, and cameras, and microphones always somewhere nearby.

She just reached for her earpiece, shoved it into place, and keyed into the radio with a sharp, clean voice. “Oscar’s ready for the next run. Let’s do race trim, full fuel, softs.”

The engineer on the other end acknowledged her. The crew got moving.

And the nausea, ever present, curled a little tighter in her gut.

Still. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t step back.

Amelia Norris stayed exactly where she was — sharp, unfazed, in control.

—

The air conditioning hummed steadily overhead, and Amelia sat cross-legged in one of the lower chairs, stylus tapping as Oscar muttered something about corner exit balance. She wasn’t entirely listening. Or rather — she was, but her body was staging a full-scale rebellion against her.

The nausea had been background static all day, but now it was cresting into a full wave. Her fingers tightened slightly around the stylus. She blinked twice, tried breathing through her nose. No improvement.

She could hear Lando in the corner, chatting with one of the engineers, blissfully unaware that his wife was currently sweating through her team polo in slow motion.

Oscar nudged her shin with the toe of his socked foot. “You’re quiet. Am I saying something stupid?”

Amelia opened her mouth to answer, but—

Her stomach twisted violently. She slapped the tablet onto the low table and stood up in one movement, but it was too fast, too late.

Her hand flew to her mouth, eyes wide.

And then she doubled over and vomited squarely into the only available container-like object at ground level.

Oscar’s race boots.

The room fell silent.

Oscar blinked once. Then looked down. Then back up at her.

“Well,” he said, with a perfectly dry inflection. “That’s one way to critique my driving.”

Amelia groaned, wiping her mouth on the sleeve of her hoodie. “I’m so sorry,” she managed, breathless. “I— I tried to make it.”

Lando was already at her side, hand on her back, concern etching itself into his features. “Jesus, baby—are you okay? You need to sit down?”

Oscar, meanwhile, remained seated, staring down at the shoes like they might attack him. “Those were custom-moulded.”

“Yeah,” Amelia said weakly, dropping back into the chair. “They’re custom-moulded to hold the exact volume of my stomach contents, apparently.”

“I’m never putting my foot in those again.”

“I’ll get you new ones.”

“You’ll buy me a new digestive system, because I’m never forgetting this.” He frowned.

Amelia finally laughed; a little breathy, a little unhinged. “I hate this,” she muttered, head in her hands.

Lando crouched in front of her, gently brushing her hair back from her face. “You’ve done three days of data crunching and garage shifts while apparently fighting the urge to puke in various footwear,” he said quietly. “Come on, let’s go clean you up.”

Oscar stood up finally, crossing to the corner where someone had mercifully placed paper towels and a bin bag. “Can we agree to never tell anyone about this.”

“Yes,” Amelia agreed.

Lando snorted. “Too late. I already texted Max.”

“You what—?”

“I’m kidding,” he grinned. “But I’m tempted. He’d find this absolutely hilarious.”

—

Amelia was curled up on the end of a low sofa, sipping flat Sprite from a paper cup. The AC was finally hitting just right, and she'd gotten through the rest of the afternoon without projectile vomiting on any more personal items. Progress.

Oscar wandered in, a granola bar half-unwrapped in one hand, still in his race suit tied off at the waist.

He flopped into the chair opposite her, stretched his legs out, and with no preamble at all, said, “Happy pregnancy, by the way.”

Amelia blinked. “Oh,” she said flatly. “So it’s obvious, then.”

Oscar shrugged. “To me? Yeah. You’ve been chewing your pen caps like you’re trying to murder them, you haven’t had coffee in three days, and you were sick in my race boots, so.”

She tilted her head. “That’s a lot of observation for someone who thinks toothpaste is spicy.”

He laughed. “I’m very detail-oriented. And still peeved about my boots.”

She groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he said, far too magnanimous. “They were hideous anyway.” There was a pause. Then he added, “Honestly, everyone else just assumed it was heat stroke.”

Amelia lifted a brow. “And you didn’t?”

“Nope.” He took a bite of the granola bar. “You go green when you have heat stroke. You went green this time, so I knew it was different.”

She barked a short laugh. “That’s horrifying.”

“And accurate,” he said, chewing. “So… Lando knows, obviously?”

“Yeah. He made me pee on a stick at six in the morning. Then I had to go and get blood drawn to confirm it.”

Oscar winced. “Disgusting. Anyway—congrats, I guess.”

“Thanks. And sorry again about the shoes.”

Oscar leaned back in the chair, arms behind his head like he hadn’t been personally victimised. “Eh. If the kid turns out to be a world champion, I’ll tell this story in the Netflix documentary.”

“Can’t wait,” she deadpanned.

They sat in silence for a moment. Then, with a smirk that was all mischief and no sympathy, Oscar added, “Next time, at least aim for Lando’s sneakers. His fans would pay for them.”

Amelia snorted into her Sprite. “God, you’re vile.”

“I know. And yet you can’t get rid of me,” he said, and stood up, already texting someone; probably Lando.

She groaned again. Loudly.

—

The Yas Marina Circuit always felt like the end of something.

By the time the sun dipped beneath the glowing skyline and the lights snapped on around the track, the paddock was buzzing with the familiar edge of finality. Mechanics moved with that distinct rhythm—half instinct, half exhaustion. Cameras flashed. Engines roared. And on the McLaren pit wall, Amelia sat completely still, headset pressed tight, her eyes fixed on Oscar’s live telemetry.

No one would’ve known she was pregnant. No one would’ve guessed she’d thrown up in her colleague’s race boots less than 24 hours earlier. No one would’ve known that she’d spent the flight to Abu Dhabi Googling “why does pregnancy make you feel like your body is a hostile foreign nation” or that she’d quietly rested her head on Lando’s shoulder for the last twenty minutes of final practice, just to stay upright.

But now? Now she was fine. More than fine. Because when it came to the race, Oscar’s race, she was always prepared to lock in.

Oscar had qualified well. Not perfect, but decent. Enough to put him in the fight.

Lando, meanwhile, had his own race to run, starting P5. Amelia didn’t let herself think about his car in the first ten laps. She’d gotten very good at compartmentalising again. Still, every now and then, she could feel his presence, could hear his voice from earlier:

“One more race. Then we get a break. Then we breathe.”

God, how she wanted to breathe.

The race itself was tense. Ferrari and Mercedes were locked in their Constructors’ battle, chaos unfolding all across the midfield. Amelia kept her voice calm on Oscar’s radio.

“Strat 7, we’re going to offset slightly from Gasly ahead.”

“Understood.”

“Clean exit turn 3. Good traction now. Let’s build.”

He listened. He always listened.

Mid-race, Oscar made an aggressive but beautifully timed overtake, and Amelia let herself smile—just a little.

Lando, a few positions ahead, was holding ground. Quietly, steadily. Nothing dramatic. Amelia could handle steady. Steady felt manageable.

The final laps bled together like watercolour under pressure. Amelia felt her stomach twist, nausea creeping up again. She ignored it. She had work to do.

In the end?

Oscar crossed the line P6.

Lando, P4.

Respectable. Solid. A good end to a hard-fought season.

When Oscar pulled in and killed the engine, Amelia finally took a long breath and peeled off her headset. Her hands were trembling. Whether it was adrenaline, hormones, or just sheer relief, she couldn’t tell.

Lando found her on the pit wall not long after, hair sweaty, fireproofs unzipped halfway.

“Hey,” he said, brushing her shoulder lightly. “You okay?”

She looked at him for a long moment, the smile tugging at her lips slow and almost reluctant.

“I am now.”

He grinned. “We did it.”

She snorted. “You did it. I just puked in Oscar’s boots and managed his brake maps.”

Lando bent down and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “You did both with tremendous style.”

Somewhere nearby, champagne exploded. But for Amelia, the noise faded into the background. The season was over. They were having a baby. They’d finished best of the rest.

And the MCL38-AN was going to be an absolute masterpiece.

441 notes · View notes

spaceyaemonds · 2 days ago

Text

pairing: dr. jack abbot x reader

sum.: you see your mother face to face for the first time in years, and it starts with a rocky conversation.

warnings: age gap (jack is late 40s, reader is 23), unplanned pregnancy, this is very much centered around reader and her mom (jack is only mentioned in this part), mentions of a difficult mother/daughter relationship, and angst due to that, i think that’s it?? minors DNI.

notes: i have still been struggling with a bit of writies block for this series :( so i am sorry if this is not the best. i also couldn’t quite get the flow right for this part. initially, jack and reader met with her mom, and then met with jacks mom (and his sister showed up) but as i was rereading it and trying to wrap it up today, i felt like it didn’t make a lot of sense, so decided to split part 7 up where it’s reader and her mom, jack and his mom, then them both with readers mom, and then with jacks mom. also, i really projected my own issues with my mom here, so if it feels like the relationship makes no sense that may be why💀 i hope you guys aren’t too disappointed with this! unedited. and as always, any feedback is extremely appreciated, it helps keep me motivated. especially reblogs/comments/asks!

wc: 1.3k (ish)

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You and Jack both decided it would probably be best for you to speak with your mother on your own for the initial conversation. You, knowing your mother and all the snide remarks she’ll be giving, and him, taking your word for it that this is the best way to go about it.

So, after taking an entire day off of work to prepare for her coming, your apartment was spotless and a nice lunch had been made.

Every so often, you feel your girl kick at you from the confines of your womb.

You feel your heart rate pick up at the knock that sounds throughout the apartment.

“Okay, bug, let’s get this over with.” You mumble as you rub a hand over your stomach.

When you open the door, you force your eyes not to roll back into your head when she immediately pulls you into her embrace.

“Oh, baby,” She mumbles as she kisses the side of your head repeatedly.

“Hi mom,” You awkwardly rub her back.

When she finally pulls away, she keeps her hands on your shoulders as she looks you over.

She glances between you and your stomach twice, “Oh, wow.”

There it is. You scoff lightly before opening the door a little more to let her in.

Once the two of you are sitting at your dining table, you check your phone for any updates from Jack on how his conversation with his own mother is going.

Your mom huffs in annoyance, “You haven’t seen your mother in almost three years, and the first thing you do is get on your phone?”

You nearly laugh, but hold it back, “And whose fault is that? You came up with nearly any excuse you could to not come here for graduation last year.”

She narrows her eyes at you, and for a moment you feel sixteen again, but you hold her eyes.

“Well, then I’ll just say what I feel should be said then,”

“Oh, let’s hear it then,” You mumble out sarcastically.

“I think you should move home to raise the baby, with my help.”

Now you do laugh, “I’m sorry, what?”

She raises an eyebrow at you, “Baby, what exactly do you think is going to happen here?”

You open your mouth to speak, but she continues, “A man old enough to be your father got you pregnant. And sure, he’s here now. But what happens when she’s born, huh? And he decides he doesn’t want to be a father? Or worse, tries to take her from you?”

Tears well up in your eyes before you can even stop them, “This is why you came? To lecture me about my life and then force me to come home with you?”

To her credit, her eye’s soften slightly, “No, baby, I’m just worried. This is a big deal.”

“You don’t even know him! All you do when I see you is try to dictate my life.”

She looks taken aback, “Now-“

“No, it’s true. You resent me for one reason or another for not turning out exactly like you wanted me too,”

“I wanted a better life for you then the one I had! Is that a crime?”

You scoff, “You hated me!”

Her mouth drops slightly, “I could never hate you. You are my child,”

She lets out a shaky breath, “Life was hard for us sometimes, and you didn’t make it any easier on me. I never hated you. I wanted the absolute best for you, that is still all I want for you.”

“Then don’t come here trying to sweep me away or convince me that the father of my baby is going to try to take her from me!” You grit the last part out, because no matter how hard you try to deny it, it’s still a very real fear for you.

She looks at you, frown ever present, “I am sorry if it seems like that’s all I came here to do. It wasn’t my intention, even if that’s what I think is for the best.”

You just shrug, not having anything else to say to her.

The two of you sit in an awkward silence for a few minutes before you get up and plate the salads you made for lunch.

You eat in silence before she finally speaks up again, “Well, tell me all about it.”

You glance up, brow furrowed, “About what?”

“The baby. Her dad. Your life. Everything.” She has a smile on her face that transports you back to being ten years old, when she was your best friend and made you feel so loved and so invincible.

She must sense your distrust, because her face falls slightly.

“It’s a girl, I think I mentioned it, but if I didn’t. She’s a girl,” You smile when you talk about her.

You tell your mom names you’ve picked out, the types of food you're craving, which she tells you when you mention cravings similar to the ones that she had.

You tell her about work and your friends. She smiles, and though you know her, know that she doesn’t love you living in Pittsburgh and the path you’ve chosen, you can tell she is happy for you.

“And how did you meet Jack?” Your mom asks casually as she takes a sip of water.

You wince, “Um, a bar?”

She coughs, face turning red, “Was this a one night stand?”

You wince again. You’d kept the details out initially. Just telling her that you’d met a guy and gotten pregnant but you were trying to still get to know each other. Which wasn’t a lie.

“I mean, I guess you could call it that?”

Your face heats up under the judgemental look in her eyes, and it causes you to shrink in on yourself.

She stares at you a moment longer, eyes glancing down at your stomach and lingering, “Is he good to you?”

You look at her, a soft smile taking over your face as you talk about him, “Yeah. I mean he’s busy a lot, but he’s always here when I need him. Goes to the store to get snacks in the middle of the night and wakes up with me if I get sick.”

Your eyes get distant as your hand rubs your stomach, “He’s changed his whole life for her, for me, and I know it isn’t conventional or anything. And he and I are doing this all backwards but,”

You trail off, eyes focusing back on her, “I think this is a really good thing. Scary, like really scary, but I think it will turn out really good.”

She reaches across the table to grab one of your hands, “I know you’re an adult who can make her own decisions, and I know there is no one harder on you than me. Trust me when I say I know that,”

To your surprise, she lets out a shaky breath and tears start to fill her eyes, “I know this is the time in your life for me to let you do what you think is best but I just can’t help but still want to keep you safe, safe with me.”

You haven’t felt the way you feel right now in almost a decade. Your relationship turned sour and complicated around the time you started high school. She was tough, and though you don’t have any ill feelings in your heart over it, she was jealous of the life you had when hers was so hard.

Moving for college mended some of that, but not all of it, and the resentment still lingered, however small, even some today.

But hearing that? It’s either your inner child begging for her mom again, or the hormones from growing your own, but it makes your chest feel heavy.

You squeeze her hand twice, against your better judgement.

#the pitt x reader #jack abbot x reader #dr jack abbott x reader #dr jack abbot x reader #🐝 writes: the pitt #🐝 writes #ahhhhggg i can’t tell if i love or hate this #and i hate begging but i am begging for feedback guys😭😭 i am really struggling with the main story of this so literally ANYTHING #surprise pregnancy!jack abbot

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yourstrulyrani · 2 days ago

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on my period and thinking and how husband!john price would be the type of man to indulge his gorgeous woman in retail therapy during this time of the month. (also thank you all for 800 followers, i'm so grateful for every single one of you and it makes my heart swell to know that you guys enjoy my blog & my writing ♡)

husband!john who takes you to victoria's secret on your period because he knows it's your favorite store. he sees the way you go to the mail and save the coupons they send you for later.

husband!john who furrows his eyebrows in frustration when you look up at him and ask, "how much can i spend?" with your pretty doe eyes. he scoffs at the question and dismisses it with a, "spend as much as you want, pretty girl" and a kiss on your cheek.

husband!john who surprisingly doesn't feel out of place at vs like most guys with their women. he thinks to himself that men like that are not men but little boys, immature and pathetic. he's by your side the whole time throughout the store, a hand on the small of your back as you look around. he thinks you'd look good in everything and voices his opinion about what would look good on you, but he lets you take the lead.

husband!john who licks his lips when you finally pick up the first thing you want: a blush pink babydoll nightgown. lace adorns the neckline, and all john can think about is seeing you in it and then right after stripping it off your body. when you ask him, "how is this?" all he can manage is an approving nod, a palm sliding down from his nose to his beard, scratching it to control his urge to take you right then and there.

husband!john who lets you scour the store without the need to carry any of the things you're about to buy, that's what he is here for anyway. you're already on your period and he needs you to be as comfortable as possible. when you offer a hand to carry the bag, he shakes his head, "i got it, baby. just keep shopping, okay?"

husband!john who sees the worry in your eyes at the register when you look at the total. you know that john lets you spend as much as your heart desires, but you always feel a little guilty. you're even more guilty because of your hormones so you tug the end of his shirt's sleeve and offer to put some things back to cut the total down a little but he shakes his head reassures you, "if my money isn't being spent on you, then consider it a waste." he holds your hand and squeezes it three times for "i love you" as he slides his card into the reader.

husband!john who drives to a food place after the shopping trip because he knows how dizzy shopping makes you sometimes and now your endless cravings add on to it. he feeds you with one hand while rubbing your stomach with the other, making sure that like always, you're as comfortable as possible.

(i literally love vs and i CANNOT WAIT to drain my man's bank account with weekly shopping trips because of it MWAHAHA)

#cod x reader #john price x reader #captain john price #john price #john price x you #husband!johnprice #john price cod #john price headcanons #cod headcanons #tf 141 x you #tf 141 headcanons #captain john price x reader #cod mw2 #cod scenarios #tf 141 fluff

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shewhowillrise · 2 days ago

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I’m retconning my own post. Tim was there with Jason and Dick when Jason talked about dating.

Tim was happy for Jason, he was. But a sudden alpha who is completely perfect for Jason literal days after Jason finally expresses why he’s never been on a date post death. Too much of a coincidence. Bruce and Dick decided to (hopefully) discreetly follow Jason on his date while Tim researched. Cass was with him because she missed a hand hold and broke her ankle.

Only problem was this guy’s record was clean. Well, except the guy’s origins are from the small town that Young Justice has been looking into for illegal government contracts.

“Friends?” Cass asked, popping her gum, not looking up from her crossword book. Gift from Babs to help learn new words.

“Just because I cyber stalk people doesn’t mean I don’t have friends.”

“Danny’s,” Cass deadpans, looking at Tim with a disappointed look that only Bruce could rival.

“Oh, right,” Tim blushes and goes back to Danny’s limited social media. This guys is not an influencer in the making. Through out the guy’s social only a few people were tagged here and there. Two names popped up more than others. (The guy’s sister did two but she wasn’t anywhere on socials. Only thing he could find was a counseling job…for Arkham. He’ll bookmark that for later.)

Danny’s friend Sam had a few more posts. Mostly about witchcraft and protests and other liberal movements. Honestly if this guy is legit, Tim thinks Steph and Sam would make good friends.

The friend that’s connected to them both is…a different story. This guy only had about a thousand followers, not bad, but not YouTube famous. A lot of true crime, ghost documentaries and conspiracies. (Although Tim does appreciate the one titled Flat Earth is a Myth.)

He stops scrolling when he finds one that makes his skin crawl. Cass, noticing his minutiae lapse in breath, looks up.

Why I think Jason Todd was Murdered. The summary under it just says And the culprit is closer to home than you think.

Scrubbing through the video, he quickly finds where the guy, Tucker, or BadSleuthTuck as is his screen name, states who killed him.

“So to summarize, Jason, son of Gotham billionaire, is in the same country as Joker, a known Gotham lunatic. And since Jason’s death, the amount of Joker drills practically doubled the weeks following Jason’s death. All funded by Wayne. This all points to the Joker killing him to get back at Bruce Wayne.”

Tim paused it there. Activating his comm, “guys, I found something…important? interesting? Off putting? I honestly don’t know how to categorize this.”

Dead on Main Omegaverse

Jason is having a brothers day out with Dick. The once a month they let the other in on their inner most thoughts.

“So any thoughts of dating?” Dick asked, setting a beer in front of Jason before sitting with his own.

Jason snorts, “An alpha wouldn’t want me.”

“Come on Little Wing,” Dick insists, “a traditional alpha would like the fact you cook and take care of kids well. A non traditional alpha would love your independence and resourcefulness. What’s not to like about you!”

“No alpha wants an omega that can break them in half.”

900 miles away Danny Fenton sits at Nasty Burger with his friends. He was the only alpha in Amity Park that weighed 180 pounds soaking wet.

“Look, there might be someone outside of this small town that likes small alphas,” Sam tries to point out.

“Yeah,” Tucker backs her up, “statistically you’ll find a better match in a global city like New York or Gotham.”

“I did qualify for a Gotham U scholarship,” Danny says. Tucker grasps Danny’s shoulder and shakes it while Sam slaps the table excitedly.

“See!” She exclaims, “already looking at the bright side! We’ll help you pack, set up a dating profile, and plan rogue attack escape routes.”

“Oh! And catch you up to speed on the bats—”

Danny smiled sadly as his friends talked about to do lists and must haves. He’s grateful for them but he knows that there’s no omega out there that would want an alpha they could push over with their pinkie.

#I have a whole theory made for Tucker on how it all connects #Tucker’s all like ‘but this is all circumstantial we’ll never really know.’#he’s right but for the wrong reasons #danny phantom #dpxdc #dcxdp #dp x dc #dc x dp #jason todd #danny fenton #dead on main ship #dead on main #batfam

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averyfromzero · 2 days ago

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Make You Mine–part I

pairing: kim mingyu x male reader summary: you and mingyu are acquaintances and coincidentally meet in a night club in berlin when you're both on tour in the country. there, you two finally do something about the ongoing crush you have on each other! notes: canon universe, clubbing, reader is also a singer, lots of kissing, not explicit quite yet (that's for part 2) words: 2.1k part 2 coming soon (smut!)

The music blasted loudly in the club as the blinding lights flickered blue and red above the people on the dance floor. You were bobbing your head to the beat on the indoor mezzanine as you watched someone climb up the small stage on the dance floor below and drunkenly dance against a pole.

Being a celebrity, you didn't get too many opportunities to go out clubbing freely, only when you were on tour some place where you’re not that huge of a celebrity or where people are simply more discreet. In this case, the people of this club in Berlin seemed not to mind the presence of a celebrity. Plus, the place’s no-phone policy helped. Anyhow, it's not like you were super into clubbing anyway, but it was nice being able to go out like a normal person sometimes.

Earlier that night you had arrived at the club with one of your friends – who were nowhere to be seen for more than thirty minutes, when they ditched you to flirt with some guy that was ogling them nonstop. They’re probably fucking somewhere, you thought.

Tired of watching people dance on the floor below, you turned around and walked to the back of the mezzanine, leaning against the wall as you pulled out your phone to try and contact your friend – even though you knew it was pointless.

You sent a text you knew wasn't gonna be answered until the next morning and then put the device back in your pocket, taking a sip of the drink in your hand as you scanned the area around you.

The mezzanine wasn't very full, most people were leaning against the rail up front and looking down at the dance floor while one couple was not-so-subtly eating each other's faces against the wall to your right. You felt it was pointless to stay there alone and almost moved to leave that place until you spotted a familiar face that made you stop on your tracks.

Kim Mingyu.

You hadn’t realized Seventeen was on tour in Germany as well, so seeing him there completely surprised you.

You and Mingyu weren’t exactly friends. You shared a friend in common, which was Vernon, but never really got to bond with each other. However, every time you’d attend the same events you’d notice some kind of tension between the two of you. Even if you were on different sides of a room, you’d still find yourself holding eye contact with him a few times throughout the night. You couldn’t deny the crush you had on him for a while now.

You scanned him up and down for a moment while taking a sip of your drink. Mingyu's skin glistened bronze even under those red and blue lights and he towered over the other people on the other side of the mezzanine as he talked to one of his friends, Seungcheol. His outfit was simple, just a gray tank top and jeans. He looked sinful. The fabric around his torso hugged his muscles beautifully, highlighting his large chest and exposing his broad shoulders. The way he smirked while watching the people dancing on the floor was so hot, and seeing him hold a can of ice cold beer up and chug on it exposing his manly neck made your knees even weaker.

It didn't take long for Mingyu to spot you staring right at him. He smirked smugly when he noticed. Every time you passed by him at those award shows wearing the most sinful outfits, he would eat you up with his eyes, even though your oblivious ass didn’t notice. More than once he caught himself biting his lip, forcing himself to stay put—when all he wanted was to get up and pin you against the wall.

Well, now there was no stopping him.

Mingyu winked and waved, leaning towards Seungcheol to whisper a quick "be right back" before making his way towards you.

He approached with a smirk, supporting his hand on the wall right next to your head as he leaned down to speak through the loud music. "Hey, didn't expect to see you here." Mingyu was no fool flexing his arm like that so close to your face.

You bit the straw between your teeth as you let your gaze linger on his biceps for a second too long before meeting his eyes. "Didn't expect to see you either, but here we are."

Mingyu's smirk grew at that, enjoying your flirty tone. He leaned in even further to talk directly into your ear. "And what's a pretty boy like you doing here all by himself, hm?" The sound of his manly voice sent chills down your body and your stomach flipped. But you had to keep yourself together.

"Well, it turns out I was abandoned here by my friend. Hadn't you seen me, I would've been on my way out," you tilted your head slightly, eyes travelling down Mingyu’s neck and chest shamelessly.

"Good thing I came in time, huh? I can finally get to chat with you alone," he said, putting his finger under your chin and raising your head to meet his eyes once again. Somehow, it was easy to keep eye contact with him. It felt like you were both already intimate despite never getting to bond before.

The two of you chatted for a few minutes, talking about everything and nothing as the air between your bodies grew thicker. The conversation never felt boring, with jokes being thrown here and there and flirtatious remarks coming out in every sentence. For a moment, you forgot you were in a club filled with other people.

You heard the music in the background getting louder and watched as Mingyu leaned in once again to speak up against your ear. You could feel the heat from his body as he placed his hands on each side of your hips, making you feel oddly secure.

Closer I get

You placed your own free hand on his shoulder and made sure to breathe into his ear before continuing with whatever topic you were discussing. You threw compliments at each other’s latest releases and Mingyu couldn’t help but let you know how attractive he thought you looked each time he saw you on stage. There was no awkwardness between you two.

Can you resist?

His eyes were full of luxury as you both got increasingly flirty and daring with your comments about each other’s looks. You felt his thumb draw circles softly on your skin as he held you by the hips and that��s when you realized you hadn’t even noticed he got himself under the fabric of your shirt.

It’s relentless

It’s why

The music only helped increase the tension between the two of you as he looked into your eyes intensely, stripping you naked in his mind. As if on cue, Mingyu crashed his lips on yours at the drop of the beat.

I, I, I wanna feel, feel, feel

Wanna taste, taste, taste

Wanna get you going

Careless, you dropped the can in your hand on the ground before placing your fingers on his nape, pulling him closer into the heated kiss.

I, I, I wanna lay, lay, lay

Wanna string, string, string

Wanna make you mine

You felt Mingyu inhale deeply into the kiss before moving one of his hands to your nape too, pressing his face into yours as close as he could. His wet tongue fought its way into your hot mouth and you couldn’t help but moan at it. You tasted him in your own tongue and the feeling of him inside your mouth sent you through the stars.

Mingyu’s hands couldn’t stay still after a while, soon they were running down your back to squeeze your ass and press your hips against his. You whimpered into his mouth when you felt his hardening bulge press up against you and suddenly you felt yourself desperate to tear all his clothes off right then and there.

Your hands started roaming as well, feeling up Mingyu’s toned arms and back muscles as you tried to remind yourself you were still in public. Not tearing apart Mingyu’s tank top right there was possibly one of the hardest tasks you’ve ever been challenged with.

Finally realizing you needed to take a breath after making out for so long, you two separated your heated mouths. “Wow,” Mingyu panted, hands on your hips keeping you in place. You smiled at him, also panting, with your arms around his neck.

It was only then that you realized the speakers were halfway through another song, meaning you had been kissing for at least a few minutes–while in your head it felt like mere seconds. You couldn’t wrap your head around the fact that it felt so natural–moreover intense and heated–as if you had been together for a while already.

Mingyu leaned in once again but, instead of connecting your lips again, he turned to whisper into your ear. “You have no idea for just how long I’ve been craving you.” He squeezed your hips slightly. You couldn’t help but smile once again. The chemistry between you two in that moment felt unreal. How could you feel so connected already?

Your response was to lean in and kiss him again. You made sure the kiss started slower than before this time, and Mingyu matched your pace perfectly. For a couple minutes you two stayed that way, taking turns slowly in tasting each other’s mouths with your tongues and nibbling each other’s lips here and there.

After a while, Mingyu broke the kiss again and started to trail kisses down your cheek and neck, where he stopped to smell and suck on softly. You moaned into his ear and feared you’d be too weak under his touch that you’d let him do anything right there. But Mingyu wasn’t crazy, of course, he worked on your neck for a few seconds and soon came back up to claim your mouth once more into another heated make out session.

You two seemed to never get enough of each other’s mouths. You sucked on his tongue once he inserted it in between your lips again and felt him moaning into your mouth. He did the same a few seconds later when your own tongue danced its way into his mouth. It truly felt like your lips belonged together with how well they fit against one another like puzzle pieces.

You two would pause for just a second to breathe before going right back in. The kissing became more erratic and intense as you felt Mingyu press his body against yours again, making sure you felt just how hard he was under his pants. You whimpered under him, letting your mind run wild with the amount of things you wish you could do to him right then but couldn’t.

For just a couple seconds, Mingyu broke off again and turned his head to look around, checking if there was anybody paying attention to you. You didn’t know what exactly he was looking for but didn’t have time to ask before he turned his head right back at you and wrapped his hand on one of your wrists. He placed your hand right on his crotch and made you squeeze it. Fuck, you mouthed under your breath. You felt his cock twitch under your palm and you couldn’t think of anything other than just how massive it seemed to be. It felt thick and long. Mingyu was hung as a fucking horse.

He looked at you with glazed eyes, yearning for you. His cock twitched again under the tight fabric of his jeans and soon you had your lips being ravished again by Mingyu’s hungry mouth. It seemed that the more you kissed, the more you needed each other. Neither of you could get enough of it.

Panting in between kisses, you two locked eyes again and smiled. “What do you say we take this to my hotel?” Mingyu asked, eyes showing a mixture of lust and passion. You shared the same glint in your eyes, wanting to touch and explore his whole body all night but also simply stay by his side and enjoy his presence. This wasn’t only physical.

“I say that’s a very good idea,” you responded, eyes locked with his as you two smiled.

Mingyu gave a sweet peck to your lips and moved away, giving you more space. You instantly missed the feeling of his body against yours. “Come with me,” he took your hand in his and guided you to the back exit of the club. The smile on your face just wouldn’t fade as you thought to yourself how that night would be the best you’d have in years.

to be continued!

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tobiosbbyghorl · 2 days ago

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pairing: scientist!sunghoon x scientist! reader

wc:10.5k

released date: 05.17.2025

warning: PURE FICTION!!

synopsis: In the quiet of her lab, Dr. Y/N, a skilled scientist, sets out on a risky mission to bring back her late fiancé, Park Sunghoon, who died in a car accident. Using his preserved DNA, she creates a clone that grows rapidly in just two years. When Sunghoon wakes up, he faces the difficult reality of being brought back to life and the moral issues surrounding Y/N's actions.

a/n: ITS HERE!! Hope you guys will love it as much as I did writing it! feedbacks,likes and reblogs are highly appreciated!

In the cold glow of my underground biotech lab, silence is sacred. Down here, beneath layers of steel and earth, the world doesn’t exist. No grief. No time. Just me. Just him.

The capsule glows in the center of the room—a vertical womb of steel and glass, pulsing faintly with blue light. Suspended inside, wrapped in strands of bio-filaments and artificial amniotic fluid, is the reason I wake up in the morning. Or stay awake. I don’t know the difference anymore.

Park Sunghoon.

Or… what’s left of him.

One year ago, he died on his way to our civil wedding. A drunk driver. A rainy street. A second too late. I got the call before I even zipped up my dress. I still remember the way my coffee spilled all over the lab floor when my knees gave out. I never cleaned it. It’s still there, dried in the corner. A fossil of the moment my world cracked open.

⸻

He used to say I was too curious for my own good.

That I’d poke the universe too hard one day and it would poke back.

Maybe this is what he meant.

⸻

Sunghoon and I were both scientists—biotech researchers. We studied regenerative cloning, theorized about neural echo imprinting, debated ethics like it was foreplay.

He was against replicas. Always. “A copy isn’t a soul,” he’d say. “It’s just noise pretending to be music.”

But the day he died, I stopped caring about music.

I just wanted to hear his voice again.

⸻

I had everything I needed. A sample of his bone DNA—collected after a minor lab accident years ago and stored under a pseudonym. His blood type, genome map, neural scan from our first brain-simulation trial. A perfect match, all buried in our old hard drives. He never knew I kept them. Maybe he would’ve hated me for it.

Maybe I don’t care.

I called it Project ECHO.

Because that’s what he was now.

An echo. A ripple in the void.

⸻

The first version—ECHO-1—was a failure.

He looked like Sunghoon. But he never woke up. I ran every test. Monitored every vital. Adjusted nutrient cycles, protein growth, heartbeat regulators. But something in him was missing—something I couldn’t code into cells.

A soul, maybe. Or timing.

He died the second I tried to bring him out.

I cremated and buried that version in the garden, under the cherry tree he planted the first spring we moved in. I didn’t cry at the funeral. I just stood there holding the urn and whispered, “I’ll get it right next time.”

⸻

ECHO-2 was different.

I restructured the genome to prevent cellular decay. Added telomere stabilizers to delay aging. Enhanced his immune system. This time, I built him stronger. Healthier. The version of Sunghoon that would’ve never gotten sick that winter in Sapporo, or fainted in the elevator that one night after forgetting to eat. That version who could live longer. With me.

But the rest—I left untouched.

His smile. His hands. The faint mole scattered in his face. The way his hair curled when wet. All exactly the same. It had to be. He wouldn’t be Sunghoon without those things.

I even reconstructed his mind.

Using an illegal neural mapping sequence I coded from fragments of our joint research, I retrieved echoes of his memory—dream-like reflections extracted from the deepest preserved brain tissue. It wasn’t perfect. But it was him. Pieces of him. The things he never got to say. The life he never finished.

⸻

It took two years.

Two years in the dark, surrounded by synthetic fluid and filtered lights, modifying the incubator like a cradle built by obsession. I monitored every development milestone like a parent. I watched him grow. I whispered stories to him when the lab was quiet, played him our favorite records through the tank’s acoustic feed, left him notes on the console like he could read them.

⸻

One night, I touched the tank and felt warmth radiate back. His fingers twitched.

A smile cracked on his lips, soft and sleepy.

And I whispered, “You’re almost here.”

⸻

Now he floats before me—grown, complete, and terrifyingly familiar. His chest rises and falls steadily. Muscles formed and defined from synthetic stimulation. His brain is fully developed. His body—twenty-five years old. The age he was when he died. The age we should’ve gotten married.

And now, he’s ready.

⸻

The console buzzes beside me.

“Project ECHO – Stage V: Awakening. Confirm execution.”

My fingers hover. The hum of the lab grows louder. My heart beats so hard I feel it in my throat.

This is it.

The point of no return.

I press enter.

The Awakening didn’t look like the movies.

There was no dramatic gasp, no lightning bolt of consciousness.

It was subtle.

His eyes fluttered open, hazy and uncertain, like the first morning light after a long storm. They didn’t lock onto me at first. He blinked a few times—slow, groggy—and stared at the ceiling of the pod with a confusion so human it made my knees go weak.

Then his gaze shifted.

Found me.

And held.

Just long enough to knock the breath from my lungs.

“Sunghoon,” I whispered.

His lips barely moved. “…Y/N?”

And then—just like that—he slipped under again.

His vitals were stable, but his body couldn’t process full consciousness yet. It was expected. I designed it that way. A controlled emergence. Gentle. Like thawing from ice.

He would wake again. Soon.

⸻

Phase VI: Integration.

I had the room ready before I even began the cloning process. A private suite in the East Wing of my estate, modified to resemble a recovery room from a private hospital: sterile whites and soft blues, filtered natural lighting, automated IV drips and real-time vitals displayed on sleek black monitors. The scent of lavender piped faintly through the vents. His favorite.

I moved him after he lost consciousness again—quietly, carefully. No one else involved. Not even my AI assistant, KARA. This part was just mine.

Just ours.

He lay in the bed now, dressed in soft gray cotton, sheets pulled up to his chest. The faint hum of the machines harmonized with his breathing. It was surreal. Like watching a ghost settle into a life it forgot it had.

I perched on the armchair across from him, the dim lighting casting long shadows over his face.

“You’re safe,” I murmured, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “And when you wake up… everything will be in place.”

⸻

I spent the next forty-eight hours setting the stage.

Fabricated records of a traumatic car accident—minor amnesia, extended coma, miraculous survival. Hacked into the hospital registry and quietly added his name under a wealthy alias. I made sure the media silence was absolute. No visitors. No suspicious calls. A full blackout.

I memorized the story I would tell him. Rehearsed it like a script.

We had been on our way to City Hall. A drunk driver ran a red light. I survived with minor injuries. He hit his head. Slipped into a coma. No signs of brain damage, but long-term memory instability was expected.

He’d been here ever since. Safe. Loved. Waiting to wake up.

And now—he had.

⸻

On the morning of the third day, I heard movement.

Soft. Shuffling. Sheets rustling.

I turned from the monitor just as he groaned softly, his head turning on the pillow.

“Sunghoon?”

His eyes blinked open again, more alert this time. Still groggy, but present.

“Y/N…?” he rasped.

I rushed to his side, heart in my throat. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”

His brows knit together, voice hoarse. “What happened?”

“You were in an accident,” I said gently. “The day of our wedding. You’ve been in a coma. Two years.”

His eyes widened—just a little. Then flicked down to his hands. The IV. The machines. The unfamiliar room.

“…Two years?”

I nodded, bracing for the confusion. “You survived. But it was close. We weren’t sure you’d ever… come back.”

He said nothing.

Just stared at me.

Like he was trying to remember something he couldn’t quite reach.

“…Why does it feel like I never left?” he whispered.

I smiled softly. Forced. “Because I never left you.”

And for now, that was all he needed to know.

But deep down, behind those eyes, behind the half-forgotten memories and muscle memory that wasn’t truly his—

Something flickered.

Something not asleep anymore.

He was awake.

And the lie had begun.

The days that followed passed in a quiet rhythm.

He adjusted faster than I anticipated. His motor skills were strong, his speech patterns natural—so much so that sometimes I forgot he wasn’t really him. Or maybe he was. Just… rebuilt. Reassembled with grief and obsession and the memory of love that still clung to me like static.

I stayed with him in the hospital wing, sleeping on the pullout beside his bed. Every morning he’d wake before me, staring out the wide window as if trying to piece together time. And when I asked what he was thinking, he always gave the same answer:

“I feel like I dreamed you.”

On the seventh day, he turned to me, his voice clearer than ever.

“Can I go back to our room?”

I paused, fingers wrapped around the rim of his tea mug.

He still called it our room.

I nodded.

“Yeah,” I said. “You’re strong enough now.”

And so we did.

I helped him down the hallway, hand in his, the same way I’d imagined it during the long nights of Phase II. His steps were careful, measured. But his eyes… they lit up the moment we entered.

It looked the same.

The navy sheets. The low lights. The picture of us by the bookshelf—framed and untouched. His books still on the shelf in alphabetical order. His favorite sweatshirt folded at the foot of the bed like I had never moved it.

He smiled when he saw it. “It feels like nothing’s changed.”

Except everything had.

I didn’t say that.

⸻

He asked about the lab a few nights later. We were curled together in bed—his head on my shoulder, our legs tangled like old habits finding their way home.

“How’s the lab?” he asked, voice soft in the dark. “Are we still working on the neuro-mirroring project?”

My heart skipped.

I’d gotten rid of everything. The pod. The DNA matrix. The prototype drafts. Scrubbed the drives clean. Smashed the external backups. Buried the remains of ECHO-1 under a new tree. The lab was as sterile as my conscience was not.

I turned toward him, brushing my thumb over the scar that curved above his brow. The one that hadn’t been there before the “accident.”

“It’s being renovated,” I said carefully. “After the crash… I couldn’t go in for a while. So I decided to redo it. Clear things out. Start over fresh.”

He nodded slowly. “Makes sense.”

He didn’t ask again.

And just like that, life began to move forward.

He followed me around the house again, stealing kisses in the kitchen, playfully poking fun at the way I never folded laundry properly. He rediscovered his favorite coffee, laughed at old movies like they were new, held my hand under the stars like it was the most natural thing in the world.

But sometimes—when he thought I wasn’t looking—he’d stare at his reflection too long. Tilt his head. Press his fingers to his chest like he was checking if something was still there.

Maybe he felt it.

The echo of what he was.

But if he did, he never said.

One night, wrapped up in each other’s warmth, he whispered into my neck, “I don’t know how I got so lucky to come back to you.”

I pressed a kiss to his temple, forcing a smile as my heart ached beneath the surface.

“I guess some things are just meant to find their way back.”

Even if they were never supposed to.

Time softened everything.

The sterile silence of the house began to fade, replaced by the quiet thrum of life again—the clink of mugs in the morning, the shuffle of his bare feet on the hardwood, the lazy hum of music playing from a speaker that hadn’t been touched since he died. I started to breathe again, and so did he.

Like we were rewriting the rhythm we’d lost.

—

Our first night out felt like time travel.

He picked the place—a rooftop restaurant we always swore we’d try, back when work kept getting in the way. I wore the same navy dress I had worn on our second anniversary. He noticed. His hand slid into mine under the table like it belonged there, his thumb tracing invisible patterns against my skin.

Halfway through dessert, he leaned in, grinning with chocolate at the corner of his lip.

“You still scrunch your nose when you’re pretending to like the wine,” he teased, eyes gleaming.

I blinked. “You remember that?”

He nodded slowly. “It just feels like… I always knew.”

I smiled, heart aching in that strange, quiet way it always did now.

“You’re right,” I said, brushing the chocolate off his lip. “You always did.”

Even grocery shopping with him became a date.

He pushed the cart like a child let loose, tossing in things we didn’t need just to make me laugh. At one point, he held up a can of whipped cream with the most mischievous glint in his eye.

“For movie night,” he said innocently.

I arched a brow. “For the movie or during the movie?”

He smirked. “Depends how boring the movie is.”

We walked home with one umbrella, our fingers interlaced in the rain, and the world somehow felt smaller, warmer.

He burned the garlic the first time.

“I told you the pan was too hot,” I said, waving smoke away.

“And you told me to trust you,” he countered, looking absurdly proud of his crime against dinner. “Besides, I like it crunchy.”

“You like your taste buds annihilated, apparently.”

We ended up ordering takeout, sitting on the kitchen floor, eating noodles out of the box with chopsticks, laughing about how we’d both make terrible housewives.

But the next night, we tried again.

He stood behind me, arms around my waist, guiding my hands as I chopped vegetables.

“You used to do this,” I said softly. “When I first moved in.”

“I know,” he murmured. “It’s one of my favorite memories.”

Cuddling became a ritual.

He always found a way to get impossibly close—sprawled across the couch with his head in my lap, humming contentedly while I read a book or ran my fingers through his hair.

Sometimes we didn’t speak for hours.

Just the quiet breathing, the rise and fall of his chest, his heartbeat echoing faintly against my thigh. Real. Solid. Present.

It was a miracle I could touch.

One night, as rain tapped gently on the windows and he was half-asleep on my shoulder, he whispered:

“I feel safe with you.”

I held him tighter.

Because if I let go—even for a second—I was afraid he might vanish again.

⸻

Love blossomed differently this time.

Slower. Deeper. Less like fire, more like roots. Tangled and unshakable.

And sometimes, in the quiet of our shared bed, I would watch him sleep and wonder if it was love that brought him back.

Or obsession.

But when he opened his eyes and smiled like the sun lived behind them, I told myself it didn’t matter.

He was here.

And that was enough.

For now.

⸻

I woke with a jolt, my heart pounding so violently it threatened to break free from my chest. The nightmare was still fresh, its vividness clinging to my mind like the smoke of a fire.

Sunghoon.

He was in the car again—his face frozen in the moment before everything shattered, his eyes wide with disbelief. The screech of tires, the crash. His body limp. The way I couldn’t reach him no matter how hard I screamed.

I gasped for air, my fingers clutching at the sheets, tangled in the panic that still gripped me.

My breath came in ragged bursts as I sat up, drenched in sweat. My chest heaved with the rawness of the memory, the terrible what-ifs that still haunted me.

A hand gently touched my back.

“Y/N?”

His voice, soft and concerned, cut through the haze of the nightmare. I froze for a moment, the world around me still spinning from the disorienting shock.

I turned, and there he was—Sunghoon—sitting up beside me in the bed, his eyes full of concern. The soft glow of the bedside lamp illuminated his face, and for a moment, it was almost as if everything had shifted back into place.

But only for a second.

“Are you alright?” He asked, his voice warm with worry.

I swallowed hard, trying to steady my breathing. “I… I just had a nightmare,” I whispered, avoiding his eyes. My heart was still trying to settle, and I didn’t want him to see the fear in my face. I didn’t want him to see how broken I still was.

Sunghoon leaned forward, his hands reaching out to cradle my face gently. He brushed a strand of hair away from my forehead, his touch so familiar, so tender.

“Nightmares are just that,” he said softly, his thumb grazing my skin. “They aren’t real. I’m here.”

I nodded, trying to pull myself together, but the knot in my throat wouldn’t loosen. There was something about the way he said it—so assuredly. So real. Like the past didn’t exist, like he had never been gone.

Like I hadn’t created him from fragments of grief and obsession.

He sat next to me, his arm around my shoulders as I leaned into him. The warmth of his body, the steady rise and fall of his chest, slowly calmed me. I closed my eyes and breathed in the scent of him—the same as it had always been.

“I’m here,” he repeated, his voice a quiet lullaby.

But somewhere deep inside, I couldn’t shake the question that had haunted me since the moment I had revived him: Who was he really? Was this truly the Sunghoon I had loved, the one who had filled my life with light? Or was this just a perfect imitation, a replica of my memories? An echo of a man who would never truly exist again?

I wanted to believe he was him. I needed to believe it.

But as he held me, his warmth seeping into my skin, I couldn’t deny the doubt that gnawed at my soul.

“Y/N?” he murmured, sensing my tension.

“Yeah?” I whispered, pulling myself closer into his arms.

He tilted my chin up, his gaze intense as he met my eyes. “I love you,” he said quietly, with such certainty that for a moment, it almost felt real—like the love we’d always shared before the accident, before everything shattered.

And in that moment, I wanted to believe it. I wanted to forget everything else, to let myself drown in the reassurance that this was him—my Sunghoon.

But the ghosts of the past still lingered in the corners of my mind.

“I love you too,” I replied softly, my voice shaky but true.

And for a few minutes, we just sat there, holding each other in the stillness of the night.

But as I closed my eyes and let the warmth of his embrace lull me back to sleep, the doubt remained.

Would I ever be able to escape the shadows of my own creation?

As the days passed, the weight of my doubts gradually lightened. Sunghoon’s presence—his warmth, his voice, the way he smiled—reminded me more and more of the man I had once loved, the man who had been taken from me.

The fear, the gnawing uncertainty that had once been constant in the back of my mind, slowly started to fade. Each moment we spent together was a little piece of normalcy returning. He didn’t just look like Sunghoon. He was Sunghoon. In every little detail—his laugh, the way he tilted his head when he was deep in thought, how he always made the coffee exactly the way I liked it. His presence was enough to reassure me that this was him, in all the ways that mattered.

We went on walks together, hand in hand, strolling through the garden I had planted the day we first moved into the house. It was filled with flowers that bloomed year-round—just like the memories I had of us, blooming and growing despite the heartbreak.

We laughed, reminiscing about everything we had shared before. Sunghoon was never afraid to be vulnerable with me, and it felt like we were picking up right where we left off. His sense of humor, always dry and sarcastic, never failed to make me smile. And slowly, I began to accept that the man who stood beside me, laughing at his own jokes, was truly my Sunghoon.

One night, as we cooked dinner together, I watched him carefully slice vegetables, his movements graceful and practiced. It was simple, domestic, but it felt like everything I had longed for since he was gone.

“Don’t forget the garlic,” I reminded him, teasing.

He shot me a look, smirking. “I remember.”

I smiled, feeling the warmth of the moment settle into my bones. This was real. The way he made sure I was comfortable in the kitchen, the way we worked together without needing words—this was our life, reborn.

The more time we spent in the house, the more at ease I became. We cooked together, watched old movies, read books side by side, and held each other as we fell asleep at night. There were no more questions in my mind. No more doubts. Just the feeling of peace settling over me, like the calm after a storm.

Sunghoon never asked me about the lab. And I never had to lie, because there was no need to. The lab had been dismantled long ago, every trace of Project ECHO erased. It was as if it never existed. My obsession, my grief—gone.

In its place was this. A second chance.

“I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving you, Y/N,” he said one evening as we sat on the couch, the sound of rain tapping against the windows. He held me close, his head resting against mine. “No matter what happens, no matter what changes… you’re the one for me.”

I turned to look at him, searching his eyes for something—anything—that might reveal the truth I feared. But there was nothing. Only love. Real love.

“I feel the same,” I whispered back, brushing my lips against his.

For a moment, the world outside disappeared. There was no past, no lab, no questions. There was only Sunghoon, here with me. And that was enough.

The days continued to pass in a peaceful blur of moments that I had once thought lost forever. With each sunrise, my doubts melted away, and with every touch, every kiss, I felt more certain that this was real. That he was real.

Sunghoon might not be the exact same person who had walked out of that door all those years ago—but in my heart, it didn’t matter. He was my Sunghoon, and that was all I needed.

Together, we built a life—one step at a time. And this time, I wasn’t afraid.

I wasn’t afraid of the past. I wasn’t afraid of the future.

I was just… happy.

Sunghoon’s POV

It had been a year since I came back to her, and in that time, I had slowly convinced myself that everything was okay. That what we had, what I had, was enough. That the woman I loved, the woman who had saved me—had done so much more than just revive me—wasn’t hiding any more secrets. But the past… it always had a way of creeping up, didn’t it?

I wasn’t snooping, not exactly. I was just cleaning up. I had offered to help her tidy up the office since she had been so caught up in her work lately, and well, I had nothing else to do. After all, it’s been a year now, and I’ve come to understand her more than I could ever have imagined. She’d been distant the past few days, and it made me uneasy. The kind of unease that makes you feel like there’s something you should know, but you can’t quite put your finger on it.

It was as I was sorting through the boxes in her home office—one that she hadn’t allowed me to visit much—that I found it.

A video tape.

It was tucked behind a stack of old files, half-buried in the clutter. At first, I thought nothing of it. She was always meticulous about her work, so maybe it was just an old research document, something from her past. But when I saw the words “Project ECHO – Development and Breakdown” scrawled on the side, my heart stopped. I felt a sickening knot tighten in my chest, and instinctively, my fingers curled around it.

What was this?

My thoughts raced as I fumbled with the tape, my hands trembling just slightly as I slid it into the old VCR player she kept in the corner of the office. The screen flickered to life.

There I was.

Or… the version of me that had once existed. The first one. My mind was running faster than my eyes could follow the images flashing on the screen. I saw footage of my development, from the initial growth stages to the first electrical impulses firing in my brain, as well as my physical appearance being tested and adjusted.

My stomach turned as the video documented every breakdown of my body—every failed attempt to bring me to life. I saw the wires, the artificial fluids, the machines that I had been hooked up to before I had opened my eyes, before I had woken up in that hospital room.

But it was the last part of the video that hit hardest. There, in her cold, emotionless voice, Y/N narrated her thoughts, her failed efforts, her obsession with recreating me.

“I couldn’t get it right… not the first time. But I will, because I have to. For him. For us.”

My chest tightened as the realization hit me like a brick. She had known the entire time. She had created me. I wasn’t the Sunghoon who had died. I was a version of him. A shadow of the real thing.

The screen went black, but the words echoed in my mind like an incessant drumbeat.

For him. For us.

The pain of that truth was like a knife twisting in my gut. The woman I loved had spent years trying to recreate me, to bring me back—because she couldn’t let go. She couldn’t let me go. But she never told me. She never let me in on the truth of it all.

I was a lie.

I wasn’t real. And all this time, I had been believing I was the same Sunghoon she had lost. But I wasn’t.

I could feel the tears stinging my eyes as I reached for the nearby papers, pulling them out in a frantic rage. More documents. More of my development—charts, genetic breakdowns, notes about my failed memories, and even the procedures Y/N had carried out. Every page proved it. I wasn’t just a clone; I was the culmination of her grief and desire.

The door to the office opened quietly behind me, and I didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. The air in the room grew thick, suffocating. I could feel her presence like a weight pressing down on me.

“Sunghoon,” she whispered, her voice barely a murmur.

I finally turned to face her. She looked pale, her eyes wide, clearly having seen the documents I had scattered across the room. She knew. She knew what I had found.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I choked out, my voice raw. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth, Y/N?”

Her eyes flickered with guilt, and for a moment, I thought she might say something—anything to explain, to apologize. But instead, she took a step back, her hands wringing together nervously.

“I didn’t want you to hate me,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I didn’t want to lose you again. I—I thought maybe if you didn’t know… maybe we could have our life back. I just wanted to have you here again, Sunghoon.”

My hands balled into fists at my sides, and I could feel the tears building in my eyes. “But I’m not him, am I? I’m not the real Sunghoon. I’m just… this.” I gestured around at the papers, at the video, at the mess that had been my life. “I’m a replica. A copy of someone who doesn’t exist anymore. How could you do this to me?”

She stepped forward, her face pale with fear, but her voice was firm. “I didn’t mean for it to go this far. I just wanted you back, Sunghoon. I couldn’t let go. I couldn’t lose you. You were taken from me so suddenly, and I couldn’t… I couldn’t live with the thought that you were gone forever.”

I looked at her, the woman who had once been everything to me—the one who I thought had rebuilt me out of love, not out of desperation.

“Do you think I’m the same person? Do you think I can just pretend that I’m the man I was before? How could you think I wouldn’t want to know the truth?” My voice cracked, emotion flooding out of me like a dam breaking. “How could you do this?”

Her face crumpled, and I saw the tears well up in her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Sunghoon,” she whispered, her voice barely audible through the sobs. “I thought if I could just give you everything back, we could start over. But I was wrong. I—I should’ve told you from the beginning.”

I could feel the overwhelming ache in my chest, the confusion, the betrayal. But more than that, I felt the loss of something far deeper: trust. The trust that she had built between us was gone in an instant.

“You’re right. You should’ve told me,” I whispered, stepping back, my throat tight. “I need some space, Y/N. I can’t… I can’t do this right now.”

I turned and walked out of the room, my heart shattering with each step.

I paused at the door, the weight of her voice sinking into me like a stone. I didn’t turn around, not right away. The question lingered in the air, hanging between us, impossible to ignore.

“If I was the one who died, would you do the same?”

Her words were quiet, but they cut through the silence of the room with precision, like a knife through soft flesh. I could feel the tension in the air—the desperation in her voice, the need for an answer. She was asking me to justify her actions, to somehow make sense of everything she had done.

I clenched my fists at my sides, fighting the urge to turn and lash out. But I couldn’t do it—not when the pain of her question was a reflection of everything I was feeling.

“I… I don’t know,” I finally muttered, my voice barely a whisper. “Maybe I would. I can’t say for sure. But I don’t think I’d ever hide the truth from you. I wouldn’t keep you in the dark, pretending that everything was okay when it wasn’t.”

Her soft, broken gasp from behind me reached my ears, but I couldn’t face her—not yet. Not when the anger and hurt were still so raw.

“You don’t know what it’s like to lose someone you love that much,” she said, her voice trembling with emotion. “I couldn’t stand the thought of living without you, Sunghoon. I thought… maybe if I could just bring you back… we could have our future. But now, I see how selfish that was. How wrong.”

I wanted to say something—anything—to ease her pain, but the words stuck in my throat. The truth was, part of me still wanted to reach out to her, to hold her, to tell her it was going to be okay. But I wasn’t sure if that would be enough. Would it ever be enough?

“I need time, Y/N,” I said quietly, my voice cracking. “I need to think. About all of this. About us.”

The silence that followed was heavy, unbearable. And then, finally, I walked out the door, leaving her behind, standing in the wreckage of her choices—and my own shattered heart.

The days stretched on like a slow burn, each passing hour marked by the tension that filled every corner of our shared space. We were still in the same house, the same home, but it felt like we were living in different worlds now. The walls felt thicker, the silence heavier.

I moved through the house in a daze, keeping to myself more often than not. Y/N and I had an unspoken agreement—it was easier this way. She’d stay in the study or the kitchen, and I’d retreat to the room we used to share, now feeling like an alien space, void of the warmth it once held. We didn’t speak much anymore, and when we did, it was brief—polite, almost mechanical.

There were moments when I caught a glimpse of her, standing in the hallway, her head bent low, a soft frown on her face. Other times, she’d walk by without looking at me, her eyes fixed on the floor, avoiding my gaze as if she feared what might happen if she met my eyes for too long. I wanted to reach out, to say something—anything—but every time I did, the words felt inadequate, like they couldn’t possibly capture the weight of everything that had changed.

One evening, I found myself sitting in the living room, staring out the window at the moonlit garden. I could hear her footsteps in the hallway, the soft sound of her presence lingering in the air. For a moment, I thought she might come in, might sit beside me like she used to. But she didn’t. Instead, the silence stretched between us again, a reminder of the distance we had created.

I exhaled sharply, rubbing my eyes as frustration built inside me. The whole situation felt suffocating—like I was trapped between what I wanted and what had happened. I didn’t know how to fix it, or even if it could be fixed. There was so much to unravel, so many emotions to sort through. And then there was the truth—the truth of who I was now. Not just a man trying to find his way back to a life that no longer existed, but a clone—a replica of someone who once had a future, now burdened with a past he didn’t truly own.

The sound of her voice from the kitchen broke my thoughts.

“Dinner’s ready,” she called softly, her voice almost too gentle, too careful.

I hesitated for a moment, staring at the untouched glass of water on the coffee table. The empty space between us felt too vast to cross, but eventually, I stood up, making my way to the kitchen.

We sat across from each other, the dim light from the pendant lamp above casting shadows on the table. There were no small talks, no jokes exchanged like before. We ate in silence, the clinking of silverware the only sound between us. Every so often, I would look up, meeting her gaze for a fleeting second, but neither of us had the courage to speak the words that were hanging in the air.

The food was good, as always, but it didn’t taste the same. The flavor of everything felt hollow, like a memory that wasn’t quite mine.

When the meal was over, I helped clear the table, my movements stiff. The kitchen felt too small, the air too thick.

She turned to face me then, her expression unreadable, her eyes dark with something I couldn’t quite place. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly, her voice barely a whisper. “For everything.”

I swallowed hard, the knot in my chest tightening. “I know you are. I… I just don’t know what to do with all of this.”

Her eyes flickered with unshed tears, and she stepped back, as though the space between us could somehow protect her from the weight of the moment. “I never wanted to hurt you, Sunghoon,” she murmured, her words full of regret. “I thought… I thought if I could just bring you back, we could have another chance. But now I see how wrong I was.”

I nodded slowly, trying to process the ache in my chest. “I don’t know how to fix this either. But I know… I know I need to understand who I am now. And what we are.” My voice trembled, but I fought it back. “I need time.”

“I understand,” she whispered, her voice breaking slightly. “Take all the time you need.”

It felt like a farewell, and yet, we stayed in the same house. In the same life, but now it was something unrecognizable.

The next few weeks passed in the same quiet, empty rhythm. We moved around each other, living parallel lives without ever crossing paths in any meaningful way. There were mornings where I would wake up to find her sitting on the couch, staring at her phone, or nights where I’d catch her reading a book in the dim light.

Sometimes, I would linger by the door to her study, wondering if I should knock, ask her how she was feeling, but each time, I backed away, unsure if I was ready to face the answers she might give.

At night, I would lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering if this was how we were going to live—side by side but separate. I missed her. I missed us. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was just a shadow of the man she once loved, and that was a weight I wasn’t sure she could carry anymore.

One night, as I lay in the dark, unable to sleep, I heard the soft sound of her crying. The quiet sobs seeped through the walls, and my heart clenched painfully in my chest.

I wanted to go to her. Hold her. Tell her everything would be okay. But I couldn’t. I didn’t have the words anymore.

And maybe, I never would.

The night stretched on, and despite the tension that hung thick in the house, I managed to fall into an uneasy sleep. The weight of everything—our fragmented relationship, the guilt, the uncertainty—had left me exhausted, though the sleep I sought felt shallow and restless.

It was around 3 AM when I was jolted awake by the softest sound—a faint, broken sob. My eyes snapped open in the dark, my heartbeat quickening. I froze, listening carefully, the sounds of her grief pulling at something deep within me.

It was coming from the direction of her room.

At first, I told myself to ignore it. After all, she had her own space, her own pain, and I had my own to deal with. But the sound of her brokenness—quiet and desperate—was too much to ignore.

Slowly, I slid out of bed, my bare feet padding softly on the cool floor. I moved silently through the house, drawn to the soft, muffled sounds echoing through the walls. When I reached the door to her room, I paused.

She was crying, the kind of sobs that wracked her body and left her vulnerable. I hadn’t heard her cry like this before—unfiltered, raw, as if the dam inside her had finally broken.

The light from her bedside lamp flickered weakly, casting long shadows on the walls. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, her head buried in her hands, the tears falling freely, like they couldn’t be held back anymore.

I stood there, frozen, my chest tightening at the sight. My first instinct was to rush to her side, to pull her into my arms and whisper that everything would be alright. But I didn’t. I just watched from the doorway, a spectator in my own home.

The sound of her pain made me feel powerless, as if I were too far gone—too far removed from who I once was to even be the man she needed. I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came. The silence between us felt like an unspoken agreement, a distance neither of us knew how to cross.

And then she spoke.

“I’m sorry… Sunghoon,” she whispered to the empty room, the words slipping from her like a confession she hadn’t meant to make. “I thought I could fix it. I thought… if I could just bring you back, we could be happy again. But I don’t know what I’ve done anymore. I don’t know who you are. Or if you’re even really you.”

Her voice cracked at the end, and I could hear the weight of her regret, the guilt, the fear of everything she’d done.

The flood of emotions hit me all at once—anger, sadness, confusion—and yet, there was something else, too. The overwhelming desire to reach out to her. To show her that I understood, that I knew how hard this was for her.

But still, I stayed frozen. Silent. The words that had once flowed so easily between us now felt like strangers.

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, but it didn’t stop the tears.

“I was selfish,” she muttered to herself, her voice barely audible now. “I couldn’t let go. I wanted you back, no matter the cost. And now… I don’t know if you can ever forgive me.”

That was when the weight of it all hit me fully—the pain she had been carrying, the burden she had placed on herself. The fear she had been living with, not knowing if I could ever truly forgive her for bringing me back.

I stepped forward then, unable to watch her fall apart without doing something.

“Y/N,” I said quietly, my voice hoarse, betraying the emotions I had kept bottled up for so long.

She immediately stiffened, her breath hitching as she quickly wiped her face, trying to pull herself together. “You’re awake,” she said, her voice faltering. “I didn’t mean for you to—”

“I heard you,” I interrupted, taking a few steps into the room. “And I’m not angry with you.”

She looked at me, her eyes filled with so much sadness, it was almost more than I could bear. “But I did this to you,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I brought you back, Sunghoon. And I don’t know if you even want to be here. You didn’t ask for this. You didn’t ask to be—” She stopped, her breath shaky, as if even speaking the words caused her pain.

I knelt in front of her, my heart aching as I reached for her hands, gently pulling them from her face. “Y/N…” I said softly. “I am here. I’m here because I want to be.”

“But what if I’ve ruined everything?” she whispered. “What if I can never make it right?”

I shook my head, cupping her face in my hands as I looked into her eyes, searching for some glimmer of hope in her. “You didn’t ruin anything. You did what you thought was best… even if it was wrong. And I understand that. But we can’t live like this, hiding from each other. We need to talk. We need to be honest.”

She nodded slowly, tears still slipping down her cheeks. “But can we ever go back to what we were?” Her voice was barely above a whisper, filled with a quiet desperation.

I swallowed, my own emotions threatening to spill over. “I don’t know,” I admitted, my voice thick. “But I want to try. I want to figure it out. Together.”

There was a long pause, and then, slowly, she leaned forward, pressing her forehead against mine, her tears falling onto my skin. I closed my eyes, letting the weight of everything settle in.

In that moment, I realized that maybe there wasn’t a way back to what we once had—but that didn’t mean we couldn’t find something new. Something different. Something real.

And I was willing to fight for it.

I held her closer, whispering against her hair. “We’ll find our way. Together. One step at a time.”

The silence between us stretched out, thick with the unspoken words, the weight of everything we had been through. Her breath was shaky against my skin, and I could feel the warmth of her body pressed against mine, like she was finally letting herself soften, letting me in again.

I wanted to say more, to fix everything, but the words weren’t coming. I could only focus on the rhythm of her breath, how the vulnerability in her touch made everything seem both fragile and precious.

And then, almost instinctively, I pulled back just slightly, my hands still cupping her face, fingers brushing softly over the damp skin of her cheeks. I searched her eyes for something, anything—some flicker of permission, of trust.

The question formed in my chest before I even realized it, and before I could second-guess myself, it slipped from my mouth, quiet and uncertain but earnest.

“Can I kiss you?”

The words were soft, tentative, as if I wasn’t sure she would say yes, as if I wasn’t sure I even had the right to ask anymore. But something in me needed to hear it—to know if we could bridge that last distance between us, if the gulf of everything we had been through could be closed with something as simple as a kiss.

Her gaze locked onto mine, and for a moment, everything went still. She didn’t say anything. There was only the quiet sound of her breathing, the rise and fall of her chest under my palms. The world outside the room felt distant, irrelevant. It was just us now, alone in this fragile moment.

I waited. She could say no. She could push me away. But I needed to know where we stood.

And then, slowly, her eyes softened. She gave a slight nod, her lips trembling as if the simple motion of it took all her strength.

“Yes,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, but it was there. It was all I needed to hear.

Before I could even think, my hands moved to her shoulders, pulling her gently closer. I closed the distance between us, hesitating only for a brief second, just enough to feel the weight of the moment.

And then I kissed her.

It wasn’t the kiss I had imagined—the wild, desperate kiss of two people who couldn’t control themselves. No, this one was different. It was slow, careful, tentative, like we were both afraid to break something that had just begun to heal. My lips brushed against hers, soft and uncertain, as if I were asking for permission again with every gentle touch.

She responded after a moment, her hands finding their way to my chest, clutching at me like she was trying to ground herself in the kiss, in the connection we were rebuilding. I could feel her hesitation, but I could also feel the warmth, the pull, the quiet promise in the way she kissed me back.

The kiss deepened slowly, our movements syncing, building, and for the first time in so long, I felt something stir inside me that had been dormant—hope. A fragile, trembling hope that maybe, just maybe, we could find our way back to each other. That maybe this was the first step in learning to trust again.

When we finally pulled away, neither of us spoke for a moment. We just stayed there, foreheads pressed together, our breaths mingling in the stillness. I could feel her heart beating against my chest, a steady rhythm that told me she was here. She was still here with me.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice small, but it wasn’t the apology I had been expecting. It wasn’t guilt or regret. It was a quiet understanding. A promise, maybe.

“I know,” I whispered back, brushing my thumb over her cheek, wiping away the last remnants of her tears. “We’re going to be okay.”

And for the first time in so long, I actually believed it.

The air between us was thick with the weight of everything unspoken, but in that moment, there was only the soft brush of our lips, the warmth of our bodies pressed together, and the undeniable pull that had always been there. We moved slowly, cautiously, like we were both afraid of shattering something fragile that had just begun to heal.

The kiss deepened, an unspoken question lingering in the space between us. I could feel her heartbeat against my chest, fast and erratic, matching mine. It was as if we both understood that this was more than just a kiss—it was a reclaiming, a restoration of something that had been lost for far too long.

I gently cupped her face, tilting her head slightly, deepening the kiss as my hands found their way down her back, pulling her closer, as if I couldn’t get enough of her, couldn’t get close enough. Her fingers slid up to my chest, tracing the lines of my shirt before pushing it off, the fabric slipping to the floor without a second thought.

There was no more hesitation, no more doubt. Just the raw connection between us that had always been there, waiting to be unlocked.

She responded with the same urgency, hands moving over my body, finding the familiar places, the marks that made me me. I could feel the heat of her skin, the way her breath caught when we came closer, when I kissed her neck, her jaw, her lips. The taste of her was like everything I’d been missing, the feeling of her so real, so tangible, that for a moment, it was hard to believe she was really here. Really with me.

Our movements grew more urgent, more desperate, but still tender, as if we were both trying to savor this moment, unsure of what tomorrow might bring, but desperate to make up for the lost time. I wanted to show her everything, all the ways I loved her, all the ways I had missed her without even knowing how much.

The world outside the room disappeared. There was no lab, no documents, no research, no mistakes. Just us—finding our way back to each other, piece by piece. I held her close, kissed her as if I could never let her go, and when the moment finally came, when we both reached that point of release, it wasn’t just about the physicality. It was about trust, about healing, about starting over.

When we collapsed against each other afterward, breathless and tangled in sheets, I felt something shift inside me. Something I hadn’t realized was broken until it started to mend.

Her hand found mine, fingers lacing together, and she rested her head on my chest, her breath slowing, and for the first time in so long, I felt peace. A peace I hadn’t known I needed.

And in the quiet of the room, with her beside me, I whispered softly, “I’ll never let you go again.”

She didn’t answer right away, but I felt the way she squeezed my hand tighter, her chest rising and falling against mine. She didn’t need to say anything. I could feel it in the way she held me.

And for the first time in a long time, I allowed myself to believe that we could truly begin again.

The quiet stillness of the room enveloped us, the soft sound of our breathing the only thing that filled the space. I held her, tracing the curve of her back with my fingers, savoring the moment as though it might slip away if I wasn’t careful. The weight of everything—the doubts, the fears, the mistakes—was still there, lingering in the shadows of my mind, but for once, I didn’t feel like I had to carry them alone.

She shifted slightly, raising her head to meet my gaze. There was a softness in her eyes now, the guarded walls that had once stood so tall between us slowly crumbling. I could see the vulnerability there, but also the strength that had always been her anchor.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, but it carried all the weight of everything she’d been carrying inside. “I never meant to hurt you.”

I brushed a strand of hair away from her face, my fingers lingering against her skin. “I know,” I murmured, my voice thick with emotion. “I know. But we’re here now. We’ll figure this out. Together.”

She nodded, her eyes closing for a moment as if gathering herself. The air between us was charged with unspoken words, and I could feel the weight of the past year pressing down on us. But there was something different now—something that had shifted between us, something I hadn’t felt in so long.

Her lips found mine again, soft and gentle, a kiss that spoke volumes more than words ever could. It was an apology, a promise, a plea all rolled into one. And for the first time in so long, I allowed myself to believe in it fully.

When we finally pulled away, her forehead rested against mine, both of us still tangled in the sheets, the world outside feeling miles away. I could hear the distant hum of the city, the night stretching out before us like a quiet, unspoken promise.

“I love you,” I whispered, the words escaping before I could even think about them. But it felt right. It felt real.

She smiled, her fingers brushing against my cheek. “I love you, too. I never stopped.”

And in that moment, I knew. No matter the struggles we’d faced, no matter the secrets, the pain, or the mistakes, we were still here. Still us. And as long as we could keep finding our way back to each other, everything else would be okay.

We stayed there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world outside fading into nothingness. In the quiet, there was only peace. The peace of knowing that, together, we could face whatever came next.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, I finally let go of the fear that had kept me tethered to the past. Because with her by my side, I knew we could build a future. A real future. And nothing, nothing at all could take that away from us.

As the days passed, something began to shift between us. It was subtle at first, small gestures of kindness, moments of vulnerability that had been buried under the weight of secrets and doubts. But as we spent more time together, the trust that had once been strained slowly started to blossom again, like a fragile flower daring to bloom in the cracks of the world we had rebuilt.

Every morning, Sunghoon would make me coffee, just the way I liked it—strong, a little bitter, with just a hint of sweetness. It became our small ritual, something to ground us, to remind us that we were still learning, still growing. And every evening, we’d find ourselves lost in the quiet comfort of one another’s presence. Sometimes we didn’t say much, just the familiar silence that had always existed between us, but now it felt different. It felt safe.

One night, as we sat on the couch, wrapped in a blanket together, he turned to me, his expression soft. “I’ve been thinking about everything. About what you did…and why. I don’t want to just forgive you. I want to understand. I want us to really move forward.”

I smiled, the warmth in his voice soothing the lingering worries in my chest. “We will,” I whispered, “We’re already on the way.”

Sunghoon gave me a small, genuine smile, his fingers lightly brushing over mine. It was a touch so simple, yet it carried all the weight of the world. I had feared this moment—the moment when the cracks would be too deep to heal—but instead, I felt something stronger than before. Something more real.

As the weeks went on, we found ourselves sharing more than just physical space. We started talking about the future—what we wanted, where we saw ourselves. There was no more fear of the unknown between us. Instead, there was excitement. There was trust, slowly but surely, weaving its way back into our lives.

I could see it in the way Sunghoon would ask about my day, genuinely interested, and how I would lean into him when I needed comfort, no longer second-guessing whether I deserved it. Our conversations had depth now, unafraid of the things we once kept hidden. We didn’t pretend anymore. We didn’t have to.

One evening, while we were cooking dinner together, Sunghoon turned to me with a teasing smile. “You’ve improved. Your cooking’s actually…not terrible.”

I laughed, playfully shoving him. “Hey, I’ve gotten better!”

He wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me into his chest. “I’m proud of you.”

I could feel the sincerity in his words, the love that had grown back between us like something tangible. The fear and doubt that had once plagued me were nowhere to be found now. In their place was a quiet certainty.

We weren’t perfect. We still had our moments of miscommunication, of moments when the past reared its head, but with each day, the trust between us grew stronger. It wasn’t about erasing the mistakes we’d made. It was about learning from them and choosing to move forward together, no matter what.

And as I looked into Sunghoon’s eyes, I saw the same thing reflected back at me—the understanding, the acceptance, the desire to never give up on us.

In that moment, I knew that trust wasn’t just something that had to be given freely—it had to be earned. And we were earning it every day. Slowly, but surely, we were becoming something new, something even more beautiful than before. Something that could withstand anything life threw at us.

And for the first time in a long while, I allowed myself to believe in the future again.

In us.

Life had felt like it was finally settling into a quiet rhythm, like the calm after a storm. Sunghoon and I had been living together in peace for the past year, our bond mended from the cracks of the past. The tension had faded, leaving room for love, laughter, and domestic moments that felt so normal and reassuring. We’d shared so many firsts again—first trips, first lazy weekends in bed, first home-cooked meals. Everything felt right. Almost.

It was during one of these peaceful afternoons that I made a discovery. I was cleaning out the attic of our home, something I’d been meaning to do for months, when I came across an old box. It was tucked away in the corner behind some old furniture, covered in dust and cobwebs. The box was unassuming, wooden with a faded label that simply read, “Don’t Open.”

Curiosity got the best of me. I knew it was probably something from my past, but that label tugged at something deep inside me, urging me to open it. I hesitated for a moment, but then, with a deep breath, I lifted the lid. Inside, I found an old video tape. It was yellowed and cracked with age, but there was no mistaking the handwriting on the label: “For Y/N.”

My heart skipped a beat. It wasn’t like me to leave things unexamined, especially if they seemed tied to my past. But this felt different. There was an unspoken warning in those words. Still, I couldn’t resist.

I brought the tape downstairs and found the old VCR player we kept for nostalgia’s sake. Sunghoon was in the living room, reading a book. I hesitated for a moment before calling him over.

“Sunghoon, you have to see this,” I said, holding up the tape. “I found something in the attic…”

He looked at me curiously, putting the book down. “What is it?”

I popped the tape into the player, and the screen flickered to life. At first, there was nothing—just static. But then, the image cleared, and I saw him.

The figure of a man in a lab coat appeared. His features were unmistakable—he was Park Sunghoon, the real Sunghoon, the one who had died in the accident years ago. But this Sunghoon wasn’t the one Y/N knew now. He looked younger, more fragile, and tears stained his face.

“I… I don’t know how to start this,” the Sunghoon on the screen murmured, his voice choked with emotion. “Y/N… is gone. She passed away. Leukemia. It was sudden. I—I couldn’t do anything. She was everything to me. And I… I can’t bear it.”

Y/N’s breath hitched. She glanced at Sunghoon, whose face had gone pale. He looked at the screen, wide-eyed, his expression unreadable.

“In my grief, I’ve decided to do something I never thought I would. I’m using her preserved DNA, the samples we took when we were researching regenerative cloning… to bring her back. I—I have to do this. I can’t live with the pain of losing her,” the real Sunghoon continued, his voice trembling.

The video cut to a series of clips from the lab: footage of the real Sunghoon working late nights, mixing chemicals, monitoring equipment, and seemingly obsessed with recreating Y/N.

“I’ve used everything we learned in our research. I’ll make her whole again,” the video continued. “But this is for me, I know. For us. I want to have a second chance. A chance to make things right. If you’re watching this, Y/N… then I’ve succeeded. I’ve recreated you.”

The video ended abruptly, and the screen turned to static.

It was strange, to know the truth about their origins—about the fact that their love had been recreated, in a sense, by science and heartache. But as Y/N lay in Sunghoon’s arms that night, she couldn’t shake the feeling that none of it truly mattered. What mattered was that they were together now. They had both fought for this. They had both fought for each other. And nothing in this world could take that away from them.

Their love had brought them to this point—not fate, not science, but love. It was a love that transcended life and death, pain and loss. A love that, no matter what had come before, had always been destined to endure.

They had started as two broken souls, unable to move forward without the other. But now, they were whole again. Their love, their memories—no matter how they came to be—were theirs to cherish.

And that, in the end, was all that mattered.

The rest, the science, the questions of whether they were real or not, faded into the background. Because, in the end, they were real. Their love was real. And that was all they needed to know.

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siri-ike · 20 hours ago

Text

(This got a little long)

Danny quieted down when he realized he wasn't in any danger. He stumbled out of bed, his legs were numb and wobbly, and everything looked out of focus. He grabbed onto the window sill to stay standing, but he just couldn't.

Suddenly, someone wearing white burst into the room. He couldn't tell who it was, or even if he knew them. It didn't help that he couldn't seem to keep his head still. The figure rushed toward him, and he flinched.

"It's ok, you're in the hospital. My name is Katie, I'm a nurse here. I can help." The woman had a Midwestern accent. She slowly stroked his sholder and held his cheek until he caught his breath and stopped shaking.

He sniffled as his vision slowly faded into focus. Katie was holding his head still. It really helped. He let his shoulders relax. "There was- th was a woman, she, she threw me into the water. And, and, and-"

"Vivid dreams are normal. But you're safe now. How about we get you back in bed? You can tell me everything you saw while we wait for Doctor Benton to get here." Katie helped him up and onto the bed. She held out his arm and reached for a butterfly needle hanging from an IV bag.

"What's that?" He asked diffencively, pulling his hand away.

"It's just some IV fluids. Saline, B vitamins, electrolytes, a little glucose." She listed reassuringly, but Danny didn't give her his arm. She smiled and put the needle down. "It can wait. Do you still want to tell me about your dream?"

He looked at her full of questions, but he did want to tell someone about what he saw. The problem is; how much does she know? He probably can't tell her about being Robin or the League of Assassins. Whether he's here as Jason Todd Wayne or Jon Doe. To them, he should have no reason to know about that. "How, long- ha-has it been." He stuttered. He never had a stutter before. Could it have been caused by the explosion?... wait. There was an explosion. How is he in one piece? He looked at his arms and lifted up his pant legs. Everything was still intact. Aside from some fading lichtenberg scars on his hands, he was fine.

"Six months." She took his hands in hers. "The scars will heal in due time. But until then, you'll certainly have the coolest thing to show off at school." She grinned like they were planning a prank together or something. "Now, how about telling me about your nightmare?"

Jason picked at the inner corners of his eyes and wiped the clumps on his soft pajama shirt. "I was -, arguing with my dad. About - something. He sent me to my room. But I didn't listen. And this guy, I never learned his name, he hit me. Over and over. Then I was alone, and I died... after that, this woman, she's always flirting with my dad, took me to her home, and threw me in the water." He wanted to say more. But how? Even if he told these things to a therapist, they would be obligated by law to report to the police.

"Sweety. Do you want to see your dad? Your family's been over a lot. I'm sure they'll drop everything when we call them."

"Drop everything," ha. Bruce probably "dropped" the joker after what he did. But it would be nice to see him. Even if the last time they spoke wasn't on the best of terms. "Thanks."

"Ahem," a woman in a labcoat cleared her throat in the doorway. She probably didn't wanna startle them.

"Doctor Benton. Danny, she's just going to give you a checkup. I can go call your parents, so they'll be here when you're done."

Danny? Why would she call him Danny? And parents? Plural? Has Jason been confused for someone else? Come on, this isn't like mixing up newborn babies. He's 15. Plus, he had to have been flown in from Ethiopia. And how would Bruce not have noticed? Is some other boy living at the manor pretending to be him?

Katie affectionately touched Dr. Bentons upper arm. "Speech, reflexes, and attention, normal. Temperature, low. Breathing patern, stable. His IV and catheter fell out again." She was testing him? The whole time? He couldn't even be mad. That was pretty impressive.

"Now then, Danny. I have a few simple tests here. Most people in your position need to relearn some skills, and these will help us figure out which ones." Dr Benton pulled out a table and placed a note card and several colored pens on it. "I would like you to draw a clock that reads ten thirty, a green square with an orange letter G in it, and write your name."

OK, so a memory test and a dexterity test in one. Danny picked up the red pen. With a shaky hand, he drew a circular clock, one hand down, one up, and to the left. He picked up the orange pen and wrote the letter G, then drew a green square around it and filled it in. He hastily wrote his signature and handed the card over.

Sure, the lines were unsteady, and he didn't put any numbers on the clock, but he's still going to get a good grade in waking up from a coma. "What's next?" He eyed the folder Dr Benton held.

She placed a sheet of paper with a few simple math problems and shapes with the names of colors written under them.

The tests must have lasted at least 20 to 30 minutes. By the end, his handwriting didn't look half bad anymore.

There was a bit of ruckus in the hallway that seemed to put Dr Benton in a bit of a rush. Who could blame her? There was a guy yelling and clearly getting closer. Working in a hospital probably means dealing with a lot of people like that. Danny was just going to ignore it and hoped they weren't headed to a nearby room. But then.

"DANNO!"

The guy came into his room. He was huge, loud, and worst of all. He was holding Jason in a bear hug. Two women walked in behind him. One of them was all too eager to leave lipstic marks all over his face, but the younger one, the red head, stood back and scolded the large man for making such a ruckus in a hospital.

Who are these people? How are they not noticing that the person they are talking to is someone else? Does Jason have a doppelganger? Or better yet, a clone. He's overdue to be cloned. Hmm. But then, wouldn't it be the other way around?

"Dad! Would you put Danny down. He could have had serious mental regression or new sensitivities. You didn't even ask him how he's doing. Or if he remembers who you are." The girl was right. All of this was a lot so soon.

"Nonsense, Jazzy pants." The guy ruffled Jasons hair. "You remember who we are, right?"

They're probably civilians. If Jason was switched with someone, chances are these people are obvious to it. "You're... my family." Keep it vague. Don't wanna make too many assumptions.

Something about his dismissal made Jason feel uneasy. It was so fast. He expected to stay another night, or at least have more tests run. They just handed him his hoodie and practically dragged him out the door. He was already in a car less than an hour after waking up. The receptionist seemed so relieved. Most of the staff seemed relieved.

Is he actually ok to go?! Does anyone care?

The car was weird, too. It was full of add-ons like the batmobile, but nowhere near as sleek and clean. At least the driving was eaqualy reckless. Although they weren't chasing anyone.

"Danny... Danny." The girl spoke to him.

Oh, right, he's Danny. "Yes?" He rubbed his eyes to sell it. Gotta keep those expectations low.

"Are you alright? How are you feeling?"

"Uhm, I guess I'm kinda hungry. And stiff."

"I mean, emotionally, how are you feeling?"

Emotionally? He literally just woke up. He's supposed to have feelings this early. Let a guy shake off the rigormortis, whatever your name is. "I... don't know." Maybe he can use this to his advantage. "Did anything happen while I was asleep?"

There was a record scratch, somehow, and everything went silent.

"Honey," the woman in the front seat spoke up. "Maybe it would be best to have this conversation when we get home." She had a slight Midwestern accent. Just like Katie. Are they in the Midwest?

"Why? Did you get divorced or something? I'm not dead."

And there was the awkward silence again.

Crap, bad joke, bad joke. That was a full-on Jason response. Danny might have a completely different sense of humor.

This time, the silence lasted until they got home. He awkwardly shoved his hands in the pocket of his hoodie and felt a folded up piece of paper inside.

They still didn't say anything when they got home. He didn't get punished for joking about death, at least. That was a nice touch. But it was weird that they all went in different directions. The two adults ran straight to the basement, yelling something about "overheating" and "GHOSTS!". And the red head went for the stairs before Jason stopped her.

"Could you help me? Dr. Benton said I shouldn't cook anything unsupervised."

She looked surprised at the request. It's not like he wants to have someone cook for him. It was literally doctors' orders.

"I'm not supposed to be around sharp knives of fire." He justified.

"Oh, I read about that. Some people can be self-destructive after waking up from a long coma. Often, they are trying to test if they're still dreaming." She sounded too excited about his potentially dangerous mental state.

While... crap, gotta find out their names. She cut up some vegetables and left him to assemble a sandwich. That sure was quick. Usually, he would have had to sit through endless conversation just to eat something. This gave him time to snoop.

The sandwich was amazing. It was like eating something for the first time in months. When he was done, he remembered the note. He pulled it out of his pocket, and, ok, Jason swears he is a good reader. Why are only some of the letters making words?

He powered through and eventually managed to decipher the letter.

Dear Mr. Fenton

It is important that you continue your brain exercises. You may also experience some decline in fine motor skills. Below is a list of activities that can speed up recovery.

Reading, puzzles, writing, drawing.

-Nurse Katie

She must have slipped it in before she left. Would it still be developmentally appropriate to have a crush on his nurse? She seemed to be in her late 20s to early 30s... "we could make it work." Jason nodded delusionaly.

*bdrrrrr*

The doorbell cought Jason off guard. He answered it and saw two teenagers, the same age as him. One male, African American, red barrette, yellow t-shirt. Height 5"4, teal eyes. The other female, Caucasian, black clothes, black hair. Height 5"6', violet eyes. Their facial expressions suggested they were friends, but of course, Jason didn't know them.

"Danny!" They cheered in unison.

"We came as soon as we heard."

"Are you ok?"

"Sam was so worried about you." The boy mocked, only to get jabbed in the abdomen.

"I'm fine." This "danny" sure has a lot of people to keep track of. Why couldn't Jason have been switched with some loner?

They both stared at him for a moment. "Can we come in?"

Jason looked back inside. Put on a show for five people, or for two people? "Uhm, let's go somewhere else." He practically shoved himself outside.

They looked at each other, and it was clear they were avoiding saying something.

Jason couldn't risk choosing where to go, so he let them pick. He wasn't really sure what he expected, what with the lack of third places in American cities now a days. But a science museum? He would have preferred a library, but he could still read here.

"What should we look at first?"

"Your choice. This place has gotten three new exhibits. There's a brain maze-"

"A human skeleton-"

"And they added a thing that you can stand on, and it zaps you."

They looked at each other in silence.

"We can ignore that one." They seemed to agree.

"Why? I wanna get zapped. Which way?" Jason grabbed a map at the front desk while the girl paid for 3 passes. "The brain is closer. Let's start there." He looked back at the others. "Bet I could get through faster than you." He grinned and dashed through the hall.

Jason stopped in front of the big plastic brain. He expected the others to run after him, but they were far behind. He had to take his shoes off in order to enter the structure. It's kind of like those indoor playgrounds. Except way bigger.

Despite all the big talk, Jason ended up wandering into every dead end in order to find all the fun facts. Each one came with a small stamp on the arm, and if you find all of them, you get a sticker.

On the way out, Jason spotted the two teens he came here with. They didn't even go inside. He can't beat them if they don't even play. The brain has no pain receptors!" He shouted to them as an employee put a sticker on his hoodie. It was a brain wearing pants with the words "Smarty Pants" written under it.

"I know you didn't go in, but I'm still counting this victory. I win." Jason showed off his sticker with that sassy little smile. You know the one.

Their supportive smiles looked fake. Jason could tell they were hiding something. He didn't even need to look for micro-expressions. These people were terrible liars. Finally, he snapped. "What's wrong? You two have been acting like you covered up a murder or something."

Mini Prompt: Death Runs in the Family

Danny and Jason are twins separated at birth. When they were born Danny was very sick and it didn’t look good for him from the start. As a final act of love or malice Sheila abandoned Danny at the hospital–making sure that there is nothing connecting him to her–leaving him to whatever fate desired for the small boy.

On the other hand she took Jason with her who then ended up being raised by Willis and Catherine. With them being completely unaware that Jason has a twin brother.

Jason’s life continues on as normal with him eventually being found, adopted, and becoming Robin. He dies at 15 in Ethiopia with his bio-mom never knowing about his brother. He comes back

Meanwhile Danny gets better and is later on adopted by the Fenton’s. Living in a crazy ghost-invested town. His parents build the portal in the basement, and at 15 dies with a press of a button. He comes back.

What no one knows though is that both meet their fate at the same time. A portal opening and a bomb going off. The two become twins in life and in death.

#im not too familiar with the things that happened right after jason came back. so maybe someone else can write his side #danny phantom #i did not look up the medical info that Jazz is stating. i made it up. unless it's true. in which case im a genius #fanfic #dpxdc #dp x dc #jason has a little puppy love. i needed to give him something teenagery. and catching stray feelings for a grown woman is the most 15 year #old thing i can think of. even if the thing he likes about her is her sneakyness. i feel you bro. id like katie too if she were real #shes just built different. and by that i mean she was built to exist in one scene and then never show up again

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humpster35 · 2 days ago

Text

Such a needy boy

Sub!Matt x Dom!reader

|Contains: slight piss kink, edging, ball stimulation, hair pulling, teasing, creampie, slight hitting, biting ,kissing, riding and reverse cowgirl.

“Chris, did you bring your card or do I have to get mine?”

Y/n asked as she looked through her purse. She didn’t feel like going all the way back to the bus—just because Chris was forgetful again.

Nick sighed in annoyance and went to sandwich isle.

“Nick’s got his card. We’ll be fine—just don’t buy too many condoms this time.” Chris rolled his eyes.

Y/n snickered and looked at a blushing Matt. Little did Chris know, those condoms were used when she would jerk Matt off and he didn’t get to cum in her as a punishment.

Y/n noticed Matt’s expression, he was wearing his grey jacket and pajama pants, it was clear that he needed to go—pee that is.

“What’s wrong sweet boy?”

Matt looked down at Y/n’s eyes with embarrassment and in a hushed voice he whispered

“Gotta go pee. I can’t—I can’t hold it in.”

Y/n nodded and took his hand. They walked into the men’s restroom—with Y/n making sure no one else was around. Matt took his cock out, it was so thick and long—Y/n licked her lips as he got ready to release.

“Wanna feel your hands.”

Y/n chuckled. She nodded and stood behind Matt, with one hand wrapping around the end of his cock—the other caressing his face.

“Okay. Go on sweet boy—you can pee.”

Matt blushed as Y/n kissed his lips. The feeling of Matt’s cock spilling out pee made Y/n squeeze it. She wanted to see how much Matt would struggle—he jerked his hips to try and get himself off but only found that Y/n was pressing a finger over his hole.

“Now you gotta be good—okay? Mommy won’t let you pee if you keep being naughty.”

Y/n kissed the side of Matt’s face, trying to soothe him and get him to calm down. She knew he would get worked up and start whimpering. Matt felt her touch and his body relaxed.

“Good boy.” Y/n praised and removed her finger.

Matt finished peeing with encouragement from y/n—he put his dick away and then stood behind Y/n as she washed her hands, because he wanted to wash his at the same time as hers.

Y/n didn’t stop though, she continued to rub the tip of his dick—the smooth feeling of his cock only made her subconsciously kiss Matt’s lips.

“N-No—can’t handle it.” Matt whimpered out. His face was beyond tomato red as Y/n laughed and wiped his tears.

“Okay i’ll stop. But remember—you asked for this.”

Y/n removed her hand and stoked his hair. Matt was beautiful and precious to her—but when he said things like this, it only backfired for him—not her.

“Cmon Matty, we have to go finish shopping now.”

Matt shook his head and pulled Y/n in—he started making out with her while his hand grabbed at her ass. Y/n could feel how needy Matt was being, she didn’t wanna give in just yet.

“Wanna feel you, c-can I feel you again?” Matt took Y/n’s hand and started making her rub his hardened dick.

Y/n quickly gripped his balls—the whimpering sound of Matt’s voice echoed angelically in the restroom. She kissed his lips gently then pulled away.

“Now come on. You have to wait Matt—if I say it again you’re not gonna get anything.”

Matt nodded while biting his lip—they both headed out of the restroom, passing a middle aged man who stared at the two in shock.

“Where the hell have you guys been?” Nick questioned—he was holding two sandwiches in his hand while Chris talked to the camera.

Matt forgot they were filming a video, he darted towards the sweets area—Y/n following closely behind.

“Matt which one should we get? Should we share one?” Y/n asked while looking at the different ice cream options.

It was clear that she had forgotten or not really been affected by what happened in the bathroom. Matt however—was losing his mind trying to appear normal on camera.

“Chris! Nick! Come over here and film.” Y/n kissed Matt a goodbye kiss while she headed off camera.

Nick and Chris approached Matt with their camera man Memo following suit, they began cracking jokes and thinking on what food items they wanted for the night.

Matt looked over two isles at his girlfriend. She was wearing extremely short shorts and a big t-shirt. He wanted her to ride him right then and there—the way her ass would basically swallow the shorts and her hips swayed, Matt was hooked.

On camera, Matt can be seen dryhumping the air to try to make up for the lack of contact. Chris and Nick didn’t catch onto this but Y/n did. She watched curiously as Matt, while staring at her—bucked his hips in the air. He soon grew tired of this and excused himself from his brothers.

Y/n watched as Matt started walking towards her—his hands inside of his pockets that clearly told her that he just wanted to touch his dick in some way. She shook her head as he got close enough to her.

“Nu uh. Go on back now—Matt I told you that you have to wait okay?”

“Can’t wait—feel like cumming.” Matt’s voice was whiny and desperate. He began kissing Y/n’s neck right there in the isle—not even bothering to pay any mind to Chris and Nick making jokes on camera about the situation.

Y/n finished looking for food items in the different isles—Matt standing behind her. He would grind more against her ass, when she bent down. Y/n would purposely bend down longer so she could feel his dick against her clothed pussy.

Matt’s kissing was beginning to be too much for Y/n. His hand would reach under her shirt and grope at her bare breast. His breathing was erotic in her ear—even the warmth of his breath was enough to get her going. But she had to stop him.

“Matt, baby—my sweet boy.” Y/n stopped him from kissing her and looked into his eyes.

She felt so guilty for denying him time and time again—especially when he did those eyes. Those damn puppy dog eyes. Y/n took his hand and walked with him back to Chris and Nick.

“Okay you idiots buy this for me and i’ll have to pay you back okay?”

Chris looked at Y/n then at Matt—he saw how his brother avoided eye contact with him. He just smirked at them while nodding.

Nick didn’t even care about what Matt was going through, he was going to get his perfect late night snack.

So with one final look and the handing of bus keys—Y/n led Matt back to the tour bus. The cool air hit them both at once, it felt so chilly—this only made Matt’s dick tingle.

He needed something. He wanted to cum so badly. Matt brought his and Y/n’s intertwined hands, and kissed them. He loved her so so much and wanted to show her that he could handle her denying him.

“Nice try, but you’re still off the hook.”

Y/n laughed at Matt’s fake pout. They got inside of the tour bus again—with Y/n instantly sitting down on the couch and Matt sitting in front of her. She knew he was kind of mad at her, but how could she not be awing at him—he looked so adorable.

“Matt come here.”

“No.”

“Matthew, I won’t say it again. Come here—come to mommy.”

Matt’s ears perched up at the sound of Y/n’s soft, tender and caring tone. He knew that she was trying to get him not upset but he was pissed that she wouldn’t let him touch her.

Y/n watched in amusement as Matt looked the other way instead of sitting by her. She started to open her legs more—exposing herself to him.

Matt glanced over at the sight of her cunt. He noticed how Y/n’s pussy would be so fat that it wouldn’t be able to fully fit in the thong she was wearing. He fully turned to her.

“What is it?”

Y/n smiled. She got up and straddled his lap, as her hands stroked the back of his head—with Matt staring up at her with curious eyes, Y/n would grind her hips.

“You wanna fuck Mommy’s fat—tight pussy?”

Matt’s hips slowly followed the rhythm of Y/n’s steady breathing. He wanted to take his time—so that she wouldn’t edge him on. Y/n pulled Matt’s hair with force, not too much to hurt him, and as his eyes flickered in ecstasy—Y/n bounced up and down on his bulge.

“Ouhh fuck—this what you wanted? hm?”

Matt nodded. He pulled Y/n’s hands away from his hair and pinned them behind her back. He knew she was in control most of the time—but he wanted to show that he could also make her react.

“M’gonna fuck you mommy —gonna fuck you nice and rough.” Matt’s voice was husky as he moved quickly to take out his cock.

Y/n slid her thong to the side to make it much easier for him—giving up on holding off. They both needed this and only had a short amount of time before Chris and Nick came back.

With a low moan and squeezing of Y/n’s ass cheeks—Matt thrusted his cock into her pussy. Her walls instantly clenched him as if they had been waiting all day—she was made for him.

“A perfect fit huh?—What do you think of that my sweet boy? Mommy’s pussy is alll nice and tight for you.”

Y/n moaned loudly—her body desperately bouncing up and down a whimpering Matt. His hands were shaking on the sides of her. Y/n didn’t allow him to touch her body because he wanted to ignore her earlier.

“No touching.”

Matt whined and started kissing her chin. His plump pink lips sucked in her skin a bit—each time he would do it. Y/n let out a breathy moan, she looked at his expression then stopped moving.

Once Y/n got off of Matt’s cock—the wet queef of her pussy making him more needy, she turned so her ass was facing him.

“Mommy look at me.” Matt pleaded, he knew he had made her upset but he still wanted to see his girlfriends face.

“Shut the fuck up.”

Y/n’s hands were on her knees, her ass began twerking up and down onto his cock. She would move so fast that whenever Matt would try to grab her—only to steady himself, she would instantly stand up again.

“Don’t fucking touch me. You wanted to be a bad boy so this is what fucking happens.”

Her ass jiggled so much. Matt’s bottom lip started to bleed from how much he was biting at it—he didn’t wanna make any sound in case his brothers and camera man were right outside.

“Awww is baby scared?” Y/n taunted while bouncing her ass more. The sound of skin slapping was loud in the bus—the pillows on the sofa started to slip and slide.

Matt’s lower body was beginning to be pushed off of the sofa, to the ground. Y/n was still moving though—with a hand on top of Matt’s hand to hold her waist and the other on her knee, she kept clapping her ass on him.

Y/n felt her stomach start to tighten. Earlier—Chris had given her a pepsi to drink on the road and Y/n ended up having three. Right now she could feel herself wanting to pee. Matt noticed this and lifted Y/n’s legs up—so now her pussy was fully exposed as his cock went inside of it and her ass continued to clap against his skin.

“Matty—Matt wait—Mommy’s gotta-.”

Matt whined, his dick was feeling so good—she felt so tight around it. He didn’t wanna stop moving and he was starting to be a brat.

“I-I can’t stop.”

Y/n’s eyes widened in fear, she was about to pee on the tour bus—and the others would be back in a minute. But she couldn’t deny how good her body was feeling—as Matt’s cock hit her cervix even more in this angle. She felt slutty for even enjoying how exposed she was.

She looked at the door to the bus and looked down at Matt’s pink cock. Her body betrayed her in two thrusts—she started squirting.

“Fuuuck.” Matt moaned, his pace speeding up even more if possible.

He placed her ankles behind his head and jammed his cock repeatedly into her cunt. Y/n angrily scratched at Matt’s forearms, she couldn’t handle this speed and she had lost control over Matt. Her legs shake violently until Matt’s cock slips out. Matt whimpered and hugged Y/n’s body until she pushed him.

“You wanna fuck me huh?” Y/n pulled Matt’s hair. She then lightly slapped his face.

“Don’t fucking disobey me—you got it?”

Matt nodded, Y/n pulled him in for a sensual kiss and with the ignoring of Matt’s phone ringing—Y/n lay on the floor.

“Cmon sweet boy—mommy wants you to fuck her like this now.”

He moved slow, his dick was still throbbing—full of cum as he slid back into her cunt. Their sex was much more intimate now, as Matt’s hips smoothly moved against Y/n’e skin. He could feel how wet her pussy was—he wasn’t gonna last much longer. Y/n pulled her shirt up to show Matt her tits. She knew how much he loved them—he eagerly leant down to suck at the buds.

“Ohhh Matty—I love you so much.”

Y/n moaned in ecstasy, the boy on top of her nodded. Matt started to kiss her again—taking his time to lick her lips, then slip his tongue inside of her mouth. He immediately locked his tongue with hers as his hips began to pick up speed.

Y/n laughed a bit. She knew how much Matt has wanted this all day—now he was deep in her and she was taking him in.

“Such a needy boy.”

Matt accidentally bit Y/n’s nipple from the pleasure.

“Ow!” Y/n started to tear up but she hid this as Matt came. He heard this, of course and pulled out. Y/n lay there a few inches away from her wetness from earlier—as Matt’s kids oozed out of her.

“Y/n are you okay? M’sorry I didn’t mean to-.” Matt started to tear up, he hated seeing Y/n’s lip quiver—he knew he had to make this right.

Y/n pulled him back on her body, they lay there in silence while Matt hiccups trying to calm himself.

“Shh shh shh.” Y/n pats Matt’s back—kissing his head.

“But I hurt you—i’m sorry I was so caught up.”

Y/n nodded. She wasn’t mad at him, it did hurt but she knew he didn’t mean to do this. Looking down at the tiny red mark on her chest—she got an idea.

“This would make a kickass tattoo.”

Matt stared at her in surprise and confusion. Wasn’t she mad at him? Was she gonna leave him?

“I know you didn’t mean it baby. Cmere my sweet boy.”

Y/n caressed Matt’s hair and face. She felt him move to grab a dirty shirt he owned.

“Thanks.” She blushed as Matt cleaned between her legs—and the mess on the floor.

“Looks like we have to go clothes shopping.” Matt laughed and Y/n smiled nodding.

“Don’t worry bub, i’ll buy you an even better shirt.” Y/n kissed his lips—she couldn’t get enough of kissing him.

Once they fixed their clothes, Matt looked at the several messages from Nick and Chris asking to be let back inside of the bus.

“Oh shit.”

Y/n leaned over and busted out laughing. Matt’s face was flushed and his eyes showed a worried expression.

“That means they heard us.”

“Mhm.”

Y/n giggled and pulled Matt close to her. Matt got up and grabbed some spray to make sure the bus didn’t smell bad—then he grabbed the keys off the floor to open the door.

Nick, Chris and Memo looked up at him in disgust and disbelief. With Nick being the most agitated one—he spoke up first.

“What the fuck you guys?”

Matt didn’t say anything as Y/n laughed in the background, holding her stomach.

“Oops.”

requested by @seraluvsu

sorry if the piss thing is kind of an ick or cringe

tag list💌

@sturniolofruitloop @sturnispider @mattsweethart @mattspillowprincess @hannahsturniolo @thenickgirl @nickssidewitch @natesfavoritehoe @chrissonnyangel @chrissleftshoe @chrisbratt333 @chrissfavgirlie @strnilolover @stvni0l0

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starkeyslibrary · 19 hours ago

Text

The Bachelor - Episode 1 | Limo Arrivals

the bachelor masterlist

pairings: rafe cameron x female!reader

words: 5.0k

The villa glowed like a dream under the night sky, golden light spilling down the grand staircase, flickering against the perfectly manicured hedges. It looked like something out of a fairytale or a reality show. Which, you reminded yourself, it very much was.

Inside the limo, the energy had shifted. The jokes were quieter now, nerves humming in the space between the women seated shoulder to shoulder, careful not to wrinkle dresses or smear lipstick. You sat with your hands folded in your lap, pretending to be calm, eyes fixed on the window as the mansion grew larger with each turn of the tires.

“I can’t believe he’s actually waiting out there.” One girl whispered, breathless. “What if I blank out and forget my name?” “What if he’s not even cute in person?”

A few of them laughed too loud. One girl was already reapplying gloss for the third time. You just breathed in slowly and tried to quiet your heartbeat.

This wasn’t supposed to be real.

You hadn’t imaged it going further than a funny story between you and your best friend. But then came the callback…. and the second one… and the whirlwind that brought you here. And now, you were about to step out of a limo and meet a man the rest of America would be watching you fall in love or fail with.

Your name was called.

The door opened.

The air hit your skin first, cool, slightly floral from the rose arrangements lining the path. The mansion towered in the distance. But all you saw was him.

Rafe Cameron.

He stood at the end of the driveaway in a tailored black suite, his posture relaxed but solid. Not trying too hard. Not posturing for the camera. And somehow, that made it worse.

Your breath hitched.

And when your heels hit the driveaway, his head turned toward you instantly.

Your pulse kicked up, but you smiled as you approached, keeping your stride steady. Shoulders back. Voice ready.

“Hey there,” you said, letting your eyes meet his and hold.

“Hey,” he replied, eyes not leaving yours. “I’m Rafe.”

“I know,” you teased, with a quick grin. “Kind of hard to miss the guy everyone’s here for.”

That earned a smile from him real and fast in the best way.

“And you are…?”

“Y/N. From Staten Island.”

“Staten Island,” he repeated, a flicker of surprise in his expression. “Didn’t see that one coming.”

“That’s the fun part,” you said, stepping a little closer. “I’m full of surprises.”

“Good,” he said, a little slower now. “I like surprises.”

There was a beat of silence, not awkward, just charged.

You pulled back just a hair, still smiling. “Anyway, I’ll let you get back to it. Thirty-one more names to remember.”

Rafe grinned. “Something tells me yours won’t be hard to remember.”

You paused at that, feeling the weight of the moment shift. You weren’t expecting that, not so soon. But there it was.

You glanced over your shoulder as you turned toward the mansion. “We’ll see if you still remember it later.”

“I will,” he said quiet, certain, just loud enough for you to hear.

And you believed him.

Because as you walked away, you could feel it. The unmistakable heat of someone still watching.

Inside the villa, the energy was electric, almost humming. Twinkling lights wrapped around beams, champagne flutes lined the trays of perfectly dressed servers, and soft lounge music played underneath the buzz of whispered nerves.

You stood just off to the side of the grand foyer, heels planted, fingers curled loosely around a glass of something bubbly. A producer had gently nudged you into your mark, then disappeared, leaving you with nothing but your thoughts... and a wide-open view of the driveway.

The limo door opened again.

“That’s Samantha Jamerson,” someone whispered behind you. “She’s the model. From Dallas.”

Samantha stepped out like she was walking onto a runway — head high, hair glossy under the lights, dress clinging in all the right places. She wore confidence like perfume.

“Okay,” you muttered to yourself. “Not intimidating at all.”

Another girl followed just moments later — Evalin Rossio, the makeup artist from Burbank. Her entrance was bolder, more theatrical. She strutted up to Rafe in sparkling heels, handed him a lipstick tube, and said something you couldn’t hear… but whatever it was, it made him laugh.

You exhaled through your nose. Lightly. Casually.

Then came Daisy Cameron.

She stepped out of the limo with the kind of grace that made the air feel quieter for a second — all smooth lines and timeless beauty in a butter-yellow satin gown. She didn’t rush. Every step felt intentional, like she’d been here before in some other life.

In her hands, she held a single white gardenia.

When she reached Rafe, she didn’t say anything right away. Just offered him the flower, eyes locked on his in a way that was soft, but piercing.

“A gardenia,” she said finally, voice low. “It means ‘secret love’... or ‘a new beginning,’ depending on who you ask.”

Rafe smiled slowly, clearly taken off guard. “Which one are you offering me?”

She leaned in just close enough for the cameras, not close enough to make it desperate.

“That’s up to you, isn’t it?”

And just like that, she turned and walked toward the mansion without another word.

There was a beat of silence. Even from a distance, you could see the way Rafe looked after her, a little surprised, a little intrigued.

“Okay, wow,” someone muttered behind you.

You didn’t respond, just took a slow sip of champagne and glanced at the doors as they opened for the next woman. Because it was clear now:

Every girl here had their version of “memorable.” The real question was, would it last?

The living room of the villa was warm with light and filled with too many beautiful women to count. Glittering dresses caught the glow of chandeliers, laughter buzzed softly in every corner, and champagne flowed like nerves — constantly and without warning.

You stood near the edge of a sitting area, fingers curled around the stem of your glass, quietly taking it all in. A few cameras hovered, not too close, but always there. You were still trying to ignore them.

“This place is insane,” a voice said beside you — low, friendly, with a quiet kind of warmth.

You turned and found a woman already smiling at you. She wore a soft mauve dress, her hair pulled into a loose braid. There was something open and real about her — the kind of presence that calmed you, not challenged you.

“Daniella,” she offered. “ICU nurse. From Minnesota. And currently trying to keep my blood pressure under control.”

You gave her a smile back. “Same. I mean, not the nurse part. Just.. all of this.”

“I feel like I’ve been holding my breath since I got out of the limo,” she added, laughing lightly. “Is it weird to admit I keep forgetting there are cameras?”

“Not weird. It’s either that or pretend they’re part of the furniture.”

Daniella laughed again and just like that, you felt your shoulders relax a little.

A third woman joined you moments later. Tall, sleek, confident but not in a way that made you feel small. She had a designer look and a warm smile to match.

“You two look like you’re actually enjoying yourselves,”

“We’re faking it well,” you replied.

“Good. That’s basically the job tonight.” She extended a hand. “Kayla. Interior design. L.A. You?”

“Y/N,” you answered. “New York.”

“Daniella, from Minnesota.”

The three of you stood there a moment longer, sipping drinks, trying to act like the cameras weren’t tucked behind potted palms and over shoulders. Laughter echoed from somewhere near the fireplace as a cluster of women posed for photos and took turns casually peeking at the front door.

“Do you think he’ll come in and grab someone right away?” Daniella asked softly.

“Maybe,” Kayla replied. “If he’s smart, he’ll start with someone unforgettable.”

They didn’t say it, but the unspoken words hung between you; and we’re all hoping that’s us.

You stayed quiet, letting their voices drift around you, eyes flicking once toward the front entrance.

The final woman had made her entrance. You couldn’t even remember her name, just that her gown shimmered like glitter under a spotlight and her laughter carried through the driveaway like she was already winning.

Inside the mansion, the air had shifted.

Everyone knew what was coming.

A hush fell over the room when Jesse Palmer stepped into the center of it all, dressed in a dark suit, face calm but with that unmistakable glint of drama in his eyes.

“Ladies,” he said with a warm smile, “welcome to night one.”

A few soft cheers and nervous laughs through the crowd.

“Tonight, you’ll each have a chance to spend one-on-one with Rafe. Make the most of it. He’s here to find something real. And at the end of the night…”

He paused for full effect.

“.. Rafe will be handing out the first roses of the season.”

Your stomach twisted slightly. You knew it was coming, but hearing it out loud made it hit different. It wasn’t just nerves anymore, it was pressure.

Jesse gave a small nod along with a soft smile, then stepped aside.

And then, Rafe walked in.

He looked sharp, dark jacket, shirt unbuttoned just enough to keep it relaxed. But it wasn’t just the way he looked. It was the way he moved through the room. Calm. Confident. Collected. His eyes scanned the space, landing briefly on each woman, but when they passed over you, they paused.

Just a beat longer than everyone else.

It wasn’t dramatic, and you were sure half of the room didn’t notice.

But you did.

He picked up a glass from a nearby tray, and the rest of you followed. Flutes clinked together softly.

“Thank you all for being here,” he said, his voice steady but warm. “I know how much courage it takes to put yourself out there like this and I don’t take that for granted. I came here because I’ve spent most of my life building something. A company. A future. But I want more than that now. I crave more.”

His gaze moved through the crowd.

“I want to build something real. With someone. I don’t know how this will unfold. But I’m here with an open heart.. and I hope you are too.”

The group murmured softly. Glasses lifted.

“To something real,” Rafe said.

“To something real,” the women echoed.

You sipped your drink, heart tight in your chest.

And just like that, the cocktail party really began.

Time passed like it was both racing and crawling. Rafe was pulled almost immediately. First by Zoe, a fiery brunette from Miami who wasted no time claiming her spot. Everyone pretended not to notice. No one succeeded.

You hovered near Daniella and Kayla, watching as one by one women made their move. Some subtle. Some not at all. There was laughing. Playful touches. A few over-rehearsed lines that landed like a scripted TV.

Then Zoe returned.

Her lipstick was smudged just lightly. Her smile? Smug.

“You guys,” she announced, fanning herself with her hand. “Let’s just say… first night magic is real.”

Gasps and squeals rippled through the group. You watched the reactions more than you watched her.

“You kissed him?” Someone on the couch asked, eyebrows raised.

Zoe shrugged, like it was no big deal. “It just happened.”

You turned your face away slightly, hiding the sudden knot of anxiety bloomed in your chest. You didn’t expect to feel… this. Not yet. But you did. And it was real.

So when the timing felt right after another girl returned, giddy and breathless – you stepped away from the group.

You spotted him near the edge of the patio, half in shadow, glass in hand, eyes scanning the lights twinkling in the distance like he was trying to slow the night down.

Maybe it was bold, maybe it was overdue. But your heels clicked against the stone like a quiet declaration as you stepped toward him.

He turned to face you, and there it was again. That small shift in his expression when he saw you. Like the air had changed.

“I was hoping you would,” he said.

He placed his drink on the railing behind him, then stepped closer his hand grazing lightly across your bare back as he guided you forward. The gesture was effortless, almost instinctive, but it send a hum down your spine.

He led you to a quieter corner of the terrace, where fairy lights dangled over low-hanging vines and the music from inside was just a whisper. It felt like your own little pocked of the night.

You sat beside him, just far enough not to touch, but close enough to feel the tension humming in the space between.

“So, Staten Island,” he said, smiling as he leaned back. “I’ve been thinking about that all night.”

“You say that like I’m a rare species.”

“Maybe you are,” he shot back, grinning. “Okay, let’s trade,” he said, turning slightly to face you. “One thing you actually like about where you’re from?”

You paused for a second, then nodded. “The honesty. People don’t pretend much. What you see is what you get.”

“That explains a lot about you, actually.”

“Is that a compliment?”

“Definitely.”

You smiled at that, ducking your head a little. “Alright, your turn. Tell me something about you that no one probably expects.”

He leaned in a touch, not enough to close the gap, but enough to feel intentional.

“I go off-grid once a year. No phone, no emails. Just me and the woods. Camping, hiking, chopping firewood, the whole thing.”

Your eyebrows rose. “Wait, like actual camping? In a tent?”

“Tent, hammock, sometimes just a sleeping bag if I’m cocky.”

You laughed. “I pictures you more… five-star hotel with a view.”

“I do like a view,” he said, eyes locking on yours for a second too long. “Just depends on the company.”

Your breath caught slightly. You leaned back, your gaze steady on his. “Alright, Mr. Off-Grid. My turn again.”

He tilted his head, amused. “Hit me.”

“What’s your biggest red flag?”

He grinned. “What, you mean besides agreeing to date thirty-two women on TV?”

You raised an eyebrow, unbothered. “I said red flag, not suicide mission.”

He laughed low, “Fair, I guess.. I like control. More than I should, probably.”

“Ah,” you said, swirling your drink. “So you’re a bit of a menace too.”

“Maybe,” he said eyes narrowing slightly in mock suspicion. “But not in broad daylight.”

You smirked. “Coward.”

He mirrored your expression. “Okay then. Same question. What’s your red flag?”

You shrugged, unapologetic. “I know what I want. And I say it. Some men find that… unsettling.”

Rafe’s eyes glinted. “Sounds like clarity to me.”

“Dangerous word,” you said. “People say they want honesty, but they really want reassurance.”

He studied you for a beat, “And what do you want?”

You tilted your head, keeping him in your sights. “Someone who can keep up.”

He chuckled under his breath. “That sounds like a dare.”

“It might be,” you said, your tone light, but your gaze unflinching.

A beat of silence passed between you. Not awkward, not expectant, just charged.

He leaned in slightly, enough to blur the line between playful and something more pointed. His knuckles brushed the bench between you.

You held his gaze, not flinching. “You always stare like that.”

“Only when someone’s making it interesting.”

You smiled slowly. “And how am I doing?”

He opened his mouth like he was going to answer, but then;

“Hi,” came a voice from a few feet away. Soft, but clearly practiced. One of the other women, stepping forward with a polite-but-not-really smile. “Sorry to interrupt.. would it be okay if I grabbed you for a minute?”

Rafe turned to her immediately, respectful, gracious even. “Yeah, of course?” Then back to you. “I owe you a rematch.”

You gave him a lazy smile, playful but grounded. “Good. I wasn’t finished winning.”

He laughed under his breath, and with a parting glance.

You leaned back, lips still curved, the buzz of the conversation lingering on your skin like static.

Confessional – Rafe

He sits on the velvet chair, jacket unbuttoned.

“She’s… sharp,” he says, almost to himself first. Then he looks up at the camera. “Y/N’s not trying to impress me. It’s like she showed up and decided to see if I was worth her time.”

He laughs, shaking his head.

“And that kind of honesty? It’s rare and bold. And yeah I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t already thinking about the next time I get her alone.”

Back at the Cocktail party

You made your way back toward the main crowd, heels clicking with a little more ease than when you’d walked out. As you approached the couches near the fire pit, Kayla spotted you first and raised an eyebrow.

“Well?”

You dropped into the cushion between her and Daniella, crossing your legs slowly. “We talked.”

Daniella leaned in. “That’s all we’re getting? You were gone for, like, twenty minutes.”

“I mean… it was a good talk,” you said, playing it cool but the edge of your mouth betrayed you. A hint of smile. Just enough

“Oh my god, you like him,” Kayla gasped, pointing at you.

You held up a hand. “Relax. I don’t even know him.”

“Mm-hm,” Daniella said, sipping her drink. “But you’re thinking about it.”

You let out a breath and looked toward the patio, where Rafe was now laughing with someone else.

“He’s… sharp,” you finally said. “Smarter than I expected.”

“And hot,” Kayla added helpfully.

Daniella nudged her. “Let her pretend she’s deep.”

You rolled your eyes. “He’s more than just charming. That’s rare for me.”

There was a pause, then Kayla said, “So.. do you think you’ve got a shot?”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you swirled the ice in your drink and glanced at the cluster of women still waiting their turn.

“If I want it?” you said. “Yeah. I think I do.”

Daniella raised her brows. “Damn.”

Kayla grinned. “Guess we’ll all just try not to take it personally.”

You gave her a look. “Oh, come on. You think I’m scared of a little healthy competition?”

Daniella raised her brows. “You’ve gotten way too calm. Like suspiciously calm.”

You shrugged, the ghost of a smile playing on your lips. “I’m here to make a connection, and if he sees it too, great. If not? His loss.”

Kayla let out a low whistle. “Okay, cool girl. Coaching session, please.”

You glanced out toward the patio, where Rafe was still talking to a blonde girl, laughing at something she’d said, charming. As always, too charming.

“Honestly?” you said, shifting to face Daniella. “You should go next.”

Daniella blinked. “What? No, I’m not even sure what I’d say. I was gonna wait till it felt more natural.”

“Natural is a myth on this show,” you said, gently but firmly. “You think anyone’s first rose comes from waiting around to be noticed? If you want time, go take it babe.”

“She’s right,” Kayla added.

“I just don’t want to be that girl,” Daniella said.

You leaned forward, voice softer now. “That girl gets to figure out if she actually likes him, not just the idea of him. You deserve that chance.”

Daniella looked between you and Kayla, then out at the patio.

“You’re sure it won’t come off… pushy?”

“You’re not interrupting a marriage proposal,” you said. “It’s five minutes of conversation. Go claim your five.”

Kayla reached over and gave Daniella’s shoulder a squeeze. “Honestly, the way he looked at you when you walked in earlier? I’d bet on you.”

That earned a small, nervous smile from Daniella. But it grew into something steadier.

“Okay,” she said, standing and brushing invisible lint off her dress. “Okay. You’re right. I’m gonna go.”

You raised your glass to her like a salute. “Make him forget his own name.”

Kayla laughed, and Daniella tosses you both a grateful glance before walking toward the patio with quiet determination.

Once she was out of earshot, Kayla leaned in and whispered, “You’re dangerous when you go into hype mode.”

You just smirked and sipped your drink. “I like knowing the right women are getting in the room.”

Kayla gave you a sideways look. “So what happens if it comes down to all three of us?”

You didn’t blink. “Then may the best woman win.”

There was a beat of silence, thick with understanding — not rivalry, but respect.

Then, clinking glasses again, Kayla said, “To playing smart.”

You grinned. “To playing well.”

Not far off, pockets of women had formed. Clusters of sequins and bare shoulders catching the firelight. Laughter rose and fell in waves, paired with the occasional anxious glance toward the patio.

Near the charcuterie table, two women stood shoulder to shoulder, nibbling nervously on crackers more out of habit than hunger.

“I swear I blacked out the second he looked at me,” one said with a laugh, covering her face. “Did I even speak? I can’t tell.”

“You smiled. A lot.” The women next to her assured her, nudging her gently. “And you didn’t trip. That’s already a win.”

Across the way, three women lounged on a circular couch, shoes kicked off and tucked beneath them.

“I keep telling myself I’m not going to spiral,” one was saying, twirling the straw in her drink. “but then I see another girl walk off with him and it’s like okay, I’m spiralling.”

The girl beside her hummed in agreement. “Same. But also, like.. how do you even stand out without being that girl?”

The third gave a half-shrug. “You just be you. The right energy finds its match, right?”

They nodded, and for a moment, the conversation settled into a quiet kind of calm nerves shared out loud always seemed a little smaller.

At the edge of the group, someone pulled out a tube of lip gloss and offered it around. Another handed over blotting paper, small but familiar rituals. The kind women learn to perform for each other in rooms like this.

“I think Daniella’s out there with him now,” someone murmured.

A few heads turned. One girl smiled. “Good. I liked her vibe. She deserves her moment.”

“Totally. She’s sweet. I hope she kills it. But like... also, I hope I get my moment too.”

Someone raised a glass. “To our own damn fairy tales.”

They clinked glasses gently, not as a toast to rivalry, but to resilience.

And just like that, the night moved on. Full of eyes watching doors, hands smoothing dresses and hearts trying not to hope too loudly.

You were curled into one of the velvet sofas with Kayla and Daniella when the room shifted.

The conversations dimmed. The posture of every woman sharpened.

Jesse Palmer stepped through the open archway, carrying it.

The First Impression Rose. It sat atop a sleek white marble platter.

You sat up straighter. Everyone did.

“Ladies,” Jesse said, glancing around the room. “Rafe has made a decision.”

A pause just long enough for tension to ripple across the group.

“He is ready to give out the First Impression Rose.”

He placed the platter down on the marble coffee table, the rose bright against the glass surface.

And then, without another word, Jesse walked out, leaving the rose in the center of the room like a lit fuse.

The quiet buzz that followed was unmistakable. Nervous laughter. Crossed legs uncrossed, then crossed again. Someone sat up, smoothing her dress without realizing it.

“Is he coming in here to give it out?” one girl whispered.

But before anyone could answer, Rafe stepped into the room.

Tall. Composed. Smile relaxed, but unreadable.

“Evening, ladies,” he said smoothly.

A few voices returned his greeting. Most just watched.

He walked toward the rose with even steps, paused, and looked down at it. Then, without saying a word, he picked it up.

And turned around.

He left the room.

For a second, no one moved.

Then –

“Wait, he’s not giving it to someone in here?” “Awch.” “Oh my God. Who is he going to?”

Chairs shifted. A few girls leaned toward the windows.

You turned your head just in time to catch a glimpse of him outside, walking across the patio, rose in hand.

And there, near the string-lit reflecting pool, stood Sierra.

She turned as he approached. And you didn’t need to hear the words to know exactly what was happening.

He held the rose out. She nodded. He smiled.

It was clean. Quiet.

A flicker sparkled low in your chest. Not jealousy, not really. Just that quiet, steady drumbeat of not this time. You sipped your drink. This was only the beginning.

Confessional - Rafe (after handing out the First Impression Rose)

Rafe is seated comfortably, bowtie slightly loosened, hand still resting loosely on his knee like he hasn’t fully come down from the night.

“Giving that first rose... it’s a weird pressure. You want to trust your gut, but you’re also very aware that thirty-one other people are watching.”

He smiles slightly, thoughtful.

“Sierra felt grounded. There’s something warm and steady about her energy. That stood out.”

A pause. He glances off-camera, then back.

“But there were other moments tonight… ones I’m still thinking about. There’s a lot I haven’t figured out yet.”

The clinking of glasses quieted the moment Jesse Palmer stepped into the villa, dressed in a sharp black suit and wearing the kind of practiced calm that only came with hosting this exact moment many times before.

“Ladies,” he said, voice even but charged with gravity. “I hope tonight brought you clarity, connection… and hopefully a little fun.”

A few soft laughs floated through the room some sincere, some strained. Eyes darted from one face to another. Makeup was still fresh, but nerves had started to show.

Jesse’s gaze swept the room before continuing. “As you know, Rafe has already given out the First Impression Rose.”

You didn’t need to look, you already knew where Sierra was standing, her rose pressed to the front of her dress. She smiled gently as a few girls glanced her way. You couldn’t blame them.

Production had gathered all thirty-two of you together now. A single room, no more movement, no more distractions. This was it. The waiting was done.

Jesse turned slightly, angling toward the open doors behind him.

“And with that,” he said, “it’s time for the next step.”

Outside, Rafe stood just past the threshold, tall, steady, hands clasped loosely in front of him. There was a subtle shift in the air the second his eyes scanned the room, like the weight of the evening had finally settled on everyone’s shoulders.

“This journey starts fast,” Jesse said, voice steady, “and it starts now.”

He turned to Rafe with a small nod.

“Rafe, I’ll turn it over to you for your second decision of the night — the First Rose Ceremony.”

A few girls straightened their spines. One adjusted the hem of her dress. No one breathed too loudly.

“Rafe,” Jesse said, “whenever you’re ready.”

“Hi, everyone,” he said, voice smooth but a little tentative.

A chorus of voices replied all at once: “Hiiiii.”

It came from all corners of the room soft, sweet, slightly sing-song. The kind of collective response that only thirty-two women standing in full glam under a chandelier could produce.

Rafe let out a short laugh, shaking his head slightly. “I’m still not used to that,” he said. “Not sure I ever will be.”

A few girls giggled. The room relaxed. Just a notch.

Then he took a small step forward, glancing around the room letting the quiet settle for a moment.

“I know this was a long night,” he said, his voice a little more grounded now. “And I just want to say thank you. I don’t take any of this lightly. The time you’ve all put in, the nerves, the conversations, everything.”

His eyes scanned the faces across from him.

“You’re all incredible in your own ways. And I’m really sorry if tonight doesn’t go the way you hoped. Just know that I see you. And I appreciate you.”

A beat passed. Then he turned toward the pedestal and reached for the first rose.

The first name called: “Talia.”

A brunette in a crimson dress stepped forward, visibly relieved.

“Talia,” Rafe said gently, “will you accept this rose?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice trembling only slightly.

“Selene.” “Will you accept this rose?” “Yes.”

A few names later:

“Y/N.”

Your name settled into the room like a bell struck once: clear, resonant, and undeniably real.

You stepped forward, pulse steady despite the anticipation crawling over your skin.

“Y/N,” he said, voice low but sure. “Will you accept this rose?”

You didn’t blink. “I will.”

The rose was light in your hand. The meaning behind it, not so much.

You returned to your place in the line, careful to keep your expression composed, but your fingers curled just slightly tighter around the stem than necessary.

Confessional – Y/N

The camera cuts to Y/N, sitting in the velvet chair. Her heels are off, tucked beside her. She’s calm, but her eyes are sharp.

“I’d be lying if I said the First Impression Rose didn’t sting a little. It’s not jealousy… it’s just this weird feeling of ‘okay, so this is how it’s going to go.’”

She breathes out a laugh, small but real.

“But I got a rose. And I got time with him. Real time. So I’m not worried. If anything, I’m just more... curious. Because I think he sees it too. He just doesn’t know what to do with it yet.”

Present

“Kayla.”

She let out a soft breath and walked up with a confident, steady step. “Will you accept this rose?” “Absolutely.”

Confessional – Kayla

Kayla sits comfortably, legs crossed, one hand fidgeting with a ring on her finger.

“Tonight was… intense. It’s easy to forget how fast it all moves until you’re standing there waiting to hear your name.”

She lets out a breathy laugh, glancing up like she’s replaying something.

Present

“Daniella.”

Her smile bloomed genuinely hopeful. “Will you accept this rose?” “Yes. Thank you.”

Confessional – Daniella

Daniella sits forward in the chair, her rose still in her hand like she hasn’t let herself fully relax yet. Her hair is slightly looser, but her smile is calm, earned.

“I almost didn’t do it. I kept waiting for the right time like it would just open up perfectly for me. But this place doesn’t work like that. You either step in… or you watch someone else take the shot you wanted.”

She glances down at the rose, then back up with a quiet kind of pride.

“He saw me. Not just physically like, actually saw me. And that five-minute conversation? It changed the whole night.”

Back to the Ceremony

One by one, the roses were handed out. Gratitude, nerves, hope, each layered thick in the air as the room slowly thinned.

The final rose sat alone on the pedestal when Jesse stepped forward again.

“Ladies,” he said, “this is the final rose tonight.”

Everyone stilled.

It was offered. Accepted. And just like that, it was done.

The women who hadn’t been called; Samantha, Jess, Rachel, Erika, Olivia, Evalin, Christen, Whitney, Holland, and Allie were gently escorted aside. Hugs exchanged.

You glanced sideways, finding Kayla and Daniella among the crowd. They each held their roses like little promises. And somewhere behind your ribs, something softened, then sharpened again.

This was only the beginning. And you were still standing.

authors note: i'd love to hear what you all think of this first episode. your feedback means so much and is always appreciated! I hope you enjoyed it. please feel free to send me your thoughts on what you'd like to see in this series—specific date ideas, slow-burn romances, potential drama, anything you’re craving!

fun fact: I’ve only seen one season of The Bachelor years ago, so this is just as much of a wild ride for me as it is for you. thanks so much for all the love!

important note: if you’d like to be added, please send me a message or comment under this post! please also make sure you follow, comment and interact so you can get tagged and stay tagged. 💖

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