#i didn’t hate him but who in their right mind would settle
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There was no option to marry Otz.
because I was kind of like, I couldn’t conceive it.
I wrote a lot of Otz’s stuff, and he sucks.
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caught! | y.jw
pairing: boyfriend!jungwon x reader
teaser: “so, angel,” jungwon said, his voice dangerously soft, “if i’m your first boyfriend… how do you know how to shave a guy?”
others: jungwon is visibly manly in this one and im soooo in love w manly jungwon!
wc: 1.1k
a/n: have you guys ever seen tha clip from one of jungwon’s live where you can see his upper lips facial hair that started to grow?? BEAUTIFUL😵💫 this is defo inspired by that live keke😖 here’s my masterlist!
“baby, can you help me shave?” jungwon asked, handing you his razor with an expectant look. you couldn’t help but notice the faint shadow of his moustache, barely visible but still pricking his soft skin. knowing jungwon, he probably hated the sight of it—he always shaved at the first sign of facial hair.
you took the razor from him, smiling giddily. “of course, uwon!” hopping onto the bathroom sink, you faced him, legs dangling on either side of his waist. moments like this made your heart flutter—being so close to him, feeling his warmth, catching the faint scent of his cologne that you’d recognize anywhere.
“don’t forget the shaving cream,” he murmured, his tone slightly teasing.
“uwon, let me handle this,” you said confidently, reaching for the cream. he just arched a brow but stayed silent, his lips pressing into a playful pout as you carefully lathered his face. your fingers worked gently, spreading the cream over his soft skin, humming to yourself as you did.
you guys are this close whenever you do his skincare or face masks. and normally, jungwon would hum along with you or tease you for singing off-key, but today, he was strangely quiet. you glanced up, your brows furrowing. “what’s wrong?” you asked, tilting your head.
he wiped the cream from his lips with a tissue, setting it aside before his hand settled on your thigh, squeezing gently. the warmth of his palm sent little sparks through you, but his expression… something about it made your stomach twist.
“angel baby,” he said, his voice soft yet firm, a tone he rarely used. the way he said your favorite nickname made your heart skip, though there was a flicker of something behind his eyes—curiosity, maybe? you hummed in response, but your pulse quickened.
“you told me i was your first boyfriend, didn’t you?” he tilted his head slightly, studying you. his voice wasn’t accusing, but the question hung heavy in the air.
your heart dropped to your stomach. “uh, yeah…?” you answered hesitantly, trying to sound casual but failing miserably.
jungwon’s brow arched higher. “then how do you know how to shave a guy?”
your mind went blank. oh no. oh no, no, no.
okay, to be fair, it’s not like you wanted to lie to him like that. but you clearly remember during your talking stage with him, he had said that he preferred a girl who was never in a relationship before, with the reason that he could show her how love is actually like.
“uh, well, i mean… i helped my brother before,” you stammered, trying to sound convincing.
jungwon’s lips quirked up ever so slightly, his fingers drumming gently against your thigh. “you don’t have a brother.”
“uh, my dad?” you tried again, forcing a sheepish smile.
“your dad doesn’t even have facial hair,” he countered, leaning in slightly, his tone dangerously soft. “and, if i recall, he’s bald.”
“im pretty sure it’s not much of a different if i shave myself…?” okay that was nasty but whatever it is to make sure he didn’t catch your lie.
“pretty sure?” his voice was too confident, it made your walls of lies crumbled down right upon him. your pout deepened at his chuckle.
“baby, just tell me the truth.” his hand tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze.
“did you have a boyfriend before me?” his voice was gentler now, but the seriousness in his eyes made your heart race.
you sighed, your shoulders slumping as you nodded. “…yeah.”
jungwon stared at you for a moment, his face completely unreadable. you braced yourself for his reaction, but instead of scolding or looking upset, he laughed. soft at first, then louder, until he was clutching his stomach, his head tilting back.
“baby,” he said between laughs, wiping the corner of his eye. “you thought i’d actually care about that? seriously?”
you blinked at him, cheeks burning. “but you said—”
“i said i prefer someone who hasn’t dated before, not that i need it or care about it,” he cut you off, grinning at you. “you’re so dramatic. it’s adorable.”
you pouted, crossing your arms. “i just wanted to be perfect for you.”
jungwon’s grin softened, his hand cupping your cheek. “you’re already perfect, angel. even when you’re lying terribly.”
“it wasn’t that bad!” you protested, half-heartedly swatting at his chest.
“it was awful,” he teased, pulling you closer by your waist. “your bald dad? your imaginary brother? i almost wanted to let you keep digging just to see what else you’d come up with.”
you groaned, hiding your face in your hands. “stop making fun of me!”
“never,” he said smugly, tugging your hands away to press a quick kiss to your forehead. “but seriously, baby, don’t lie to me about stuff like that. i hate liars. and, i don’t care who you dated before me. i just care that you’re with me now.”
his words melted away the embarrassment, leaving nothing but warmth. “i was just scared,” you admitted softly, your gaze dropping to your hands. “you told me you wanted someone who hadn’t been in love before. i was so in love with you, uwon, and i wanted to be everything you dreamed of.”
jungwon’s expression softened even more as he rested his forehead against yours. “you are, baby. even if you’ve been in love before, it doesn’t change the fact that i’m the luckiest guy in the world to have you now.”
you smiled shyly, your fingers curling into the soft fabric of his sweater. “you’re not mad?”
“mad? no. jealous? absolutely. very much,” he said, fixing you with a dramatic, intense gaze.
“you’ve shaved someone else before me? wow, i feel so betrayed,” he added, raising his hands in mock surrender, his tone exaggerated just enough to make you panic.
“uwon, baby! i’m sorry!” you whined, your voice filled with guilt.
his giggle broke through the tension, and you glared at him with a pout. he leaned forward, booping your nose lightly. “i’m kidding, baby,” he said with a grin.
“you’re the worst,” you muttered under your breath.
“and you’re the best,” he shot back smoothly, leaning closer to nuzzle his nose against yours. “now, can we finish this? or are you going to tell me you’ve shaved some random celebrity next?”
“you’re so annoying,” you huffed, grabbing the razor again.
“and you love me,” he teased, his grin so wide it made your heart flutter.
as much as you wanted to argue, you couldn’t deny it.
© all rights reserved | hsnlv 2024
#enhypen imagines#enhypen scenarios#enhypen x y/n#enhypen x female reader#enhypen x reader#jungwon fic#enhypen jungwon#yang jungwon fluff#yang jungwon x reader#jungwon imagines#jungwon fluff#jungwon x reader#jungwon scenarios#yang jungwon#jungwon#yang jungwon fanfic#jungwon fanfic#jungwon soft thoughts#jungwon soft hours#yang jungwon scenarios#enhypen soft hours#enhypen soft thoughts
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Behind Closed Doors
Prohero Katsuki x reader
Genre/Warnings: Domestic Fluff, soft moments, slight emotional variability for katsuki, katsukis attitude
Synopsis: —his love for you is hidden in the small, everyday acts of affection.
Note: I like to imagine katsuki becoming a completely different person when he's left alone with you 🍒
w.c: 2,211
The difference in Katsuki’s behavior always caught you off guard, no matter how long you’d been together. In public, he stormed through crowds with an intensity that left everyone around him on edge. His voice would rise above the noise, sharp and commanding, as he ordered others around or shut down any attempt at small talk with a single glare. He hated being slowed down and hated when people got in his way. But when his gaze flickered to you, just for a moment, there was something else—something quieter, softer, that only you could see.
It wasn’t that Katsuki toned it down in public—not by a long shot—but there was a certain way he carried himself when you were beside him. As if you were the exception to the rule, the one person he didn’t mind sticking around. Even when surrounded by fans or reporters, his body would instinctively angle toward you, a subtle shield between you and the world. His touch was always firm, but never rough, as though he was unconsciously protecting the one part of his life he wanted to keep safe from the chaos.
One night, after a particularly long day, Katsuki came home more irritable than usual. You heard it the moment the door slammed shut, his heavy boots stomping across the floor. He tossed his keys onto the counter with a sharp clink, his jaw tight, and his scowl deeper than normal.
“—fucking idiots…” he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his messy blonde hair. “Can’t even do their damn jobs, right”
You watched him from the couch, knowing better than to approach him immediately when he was like this. Katsuki needed time to cool down to let the frustration simmer until it dulled. Still, you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. He was all bark out there, terrifying to anyone who crossed his path, but you knew that in just a few minutes, he’d come over, sit next to you, and let out that sigh—the one that meant he was done being a hero for the day.
And, just as expected, he did. After a few moments of grumbling to himself, Katsuki crossed the room and dropped down beside you with a huff, his head falling back against the couch cushions. You didn’t say anything, just reached out and placed your hand on his thigh, grounding him with a simple touch. His shoulders relaxed almost instantly, the tension melting away as he exhaled deeply.
“Rough day, huh?” you asked quietly, giving his leg a gentle squeeze.
“Tch. Yeah.” He closed his eyes, one hand covering his face. “Just sick of dealin’ with everybody out there all day.”
There was a pause, the room settling into a comfortable silence before he added, his voice quieter, almost sheepish, “Missed you…”
It was in those moments you realized how much he relied on you to recharge. He wasn’t the type to come home and fall apart, but there was a vulnerability in the way he leaned into you, even when he tried to play it off. Katsuki didn’t need grand gestures or declarations; he showed his love in the way he let his guard down when it was just the two of you.
Later that night, after you both settled into bed, Katsuki turned toward you, his movements slower, more deliberate as the day’s tension ebbed away. Without a word, he tugged you into his chest, his strong arm wrapping securely around your waist, pulling you close. The heat of his body seeped into yours, and the familiar rhythm of his heartbeat thudded softly beneath your ear. He nuzzled into the crook of your neck, his breath warm as it brushed against your skin, sending a wave of comfort through you.
His grip was firm, possessive, but tender, as if holding you was the only thing keeping him grounded. For a long moment, he said nothing, just breathed you in, his hand tracing lazy circles on your lower back. Then, with quiet vulnerability, Katsuki’s voice rumbled softly against your neck, thick with the weight of sleep and affection he rarely voiced.
“Can’t stand anyone else… but you,” he mumbled, his lips brushing your skin in a way that sent shivers down your spine. “But with you… everything feels right.”
The words were so soft they could’ve easily been lost to the night, but in the quiet of your room, they wrapped around you like a warm blanket. Your heart swelled, warmth spreading through your chest at the rare, intimate admission. Turning in his arms, you pressed a lingering kiss to his cheek, your lips brushing the corner of his mouth. Katsuki’s hold tightened instantly, his hand sliding up to cradle the back of your head, as if the simple act of being this close wasn’t enough.
He exhaled deeply, the last of his tension melting away as he pulled you impossibly closer, his forehead resting gently against yours. “You’re not goin’ anywhere,” he murmured, his voice softer now, a whispered promise in the quiet. "Not without me."
In that moment, there was no one else in the world but the two of you—wrapped up in each other, his love woven into every touch, every breath, every heartbeat.
It was in these moments, when the world outside faded away and it was just the two of you tangled in the sheets, that you truly understood how much Katsuki cared. How deeply he loved, even if he didn’t always say it out loud. You saw it in the way he relaxed when you were near, the way his fiery temper cooled into something soft and unguarded, a side of him no one else ever got to see.
Katsuki might hate the world—hell, he made no secret of how unbearable he found most people—but when it came to you, it was different. You were the calm in his storm, the quiet he sought after the chaos of hero work. And in return, he gave you a side of himself no one else would ever know. That alone was enough to show you just how much he cherished you.
The next morning, you woke to the smell of coffee and the sound of Katsuki moving around the kitchen. When you padded out, rubbing sleep from your eyes, you found him already dressed in his hero uniform, his back to you as he flipped something in a pan.
“You’re up early,” you remarked, leaning against the doorframe.
“Yeah, well,” he grunted, glancing over his shoulder with a smirk. “Figured I’d make you breakfast before I head out. Can’t have you starvin’ while I’m out dealin’ with idiots, can I?”
You laughed, moving over to wrap your arms around his waist from behind, pressing your cheek to his broad back. “I love you, Katsuki.”
“Tch… love you too,” he muttered, but you could hear the smile in his voice.
The warmth of Katsuki’s back against your cheek, combined with the rich smell of breakfast, made you want to stay wrapped around him for the rest of the morning. You lingered there for a moment longer, savoring the rare quiet before he had to face the demands of the day.
He turned off the burner with a sharp flick of his wrist, then nudged you gently with his elbow, his tone playfully gruff. “Go sit down, idiot. I made all this for you, not so you could just stand around and get in the way.”
You smiled at the familiar edge to his words, knowing the affection that lay underneath. “Okay, okay,” you teased, stepping back and heading to the table. As you sat down, Katsuki brought over a plate piled with perfectly golden toast, eggs cooked just the way you liked them, and a small portion of your favorite fruit. The meal was simple, but you could feel the care in every detail.
He placed the plate in front of you, then leaned down, brushing a quick kiss to the top of your head before heading back to the kitchen to grab his own breakfast. “Eat up,” he said over his shoulder, his voice softer than before.
You dug in, and the taste of the food, combined with Katsuki’s quiet gestures of love, made your chest feel full. It wasn’t grand or elaborate, but that was what made it so special—the quiet moments when it was just the two of you, sharing something as simple as breakfast.
As Katsuki sat down across from you, he kept glancing up from his plate, watching you eat with a soft expression that only you ever got to see. He didn’t say much, just occasionally asked if you needed more coffee or wanted another piece of toast. There was a contentment in the air, one that spoke of a love that didn’t need constant words to be understood.
When the meal was finished, you stood to clear the table, but Katsuki stopped you with a firm hand on your wrist. “I got it,” he grumbled, already starting to collect the dishes.
You tilted your head at him, a smile playing at your lips. “You’re spoiling me today, Katsuki.”
“Tch. Don’t get used to it,” he muttered, though there was a teasing glint in his eye. “Just thought I’d do somethin’ nice before I head out and have to deal with all those extras.”
His words made you laugh, and the sound seemed to soften the lines of his face even more. Katsuki wasn’t a man of many words when it came to expressing his feelings, but in moments like these, you didn’t need them. The way he made breakfast, the way he took care of the dishes, and the way he kept checking in on you—it was all Katsuki’s way of showing how much he cared.
When he was done cleaning up, he grabbed his hero jacket from the back of a chair and shrugged it on, his movements fluid and practiced. You walked over to him, your hands naturally finding their place on his chest as you helped him adjust the collar. He looked down at you, eyes soft despite the serious set of his mouth.
“Be careful out there, okay?” you murmured, your fingers lingering on the fabric of his jacket.
Katsuki huffed, but you could hear the affection in his voice. “I’m always careful, idiot. Don’t worry ���bout me.”
You stood on your tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his lips, slow and lingering, and for a moment, Katsuki’s hand came up to cup your cheek, holding you in place just a little longer. When you pulled away, his red eyes were dark with something you couldn’t quite name, but you could feel the weight of his affection in that look.
“Get some rest today,” he said, his voice low and serious now. “I’ll be back before you know it.”
You nodded, watching as he stepped back and adjusted his gloves, his usual sharp, determined expression settling back in place. But before he opened the door, he turned back one last time, that softer version of him peeking through once again.
“Love you,” he said, and it was quiet—so quiet you almost missed it. But it was there, and that was enough.
“I love you too, Katsuki,” you whispered, your heart swelling as you watched him leave, already looking forward to the moment when he’d come back and the world would quiet down again, just for the two of you.
The hours passed slowly after Katsuki left. You tried to keep busy, flipping through a book or scrolling absentmindedly through your phone, but your mind kept wandering back to him. It was always like this when he was out on patrol. You trusted him more than anything, knew he was one of the strongest heroes out there, but that didn’t stop the small flutter of worry from creeping in now and then.
It was late in the afternoon when your phone buzzed with a message from him.
"On my way back. Be there in 20. Don’t start dinner without me"
You smiled at the screen, already feeling the familiar warmth in your chest. Katsuki was always direct, even in his texts, but the fact that he let you know he was coming home—that he was thinking of you—made your heart skip a beat.
When he finally walked through the door, there was none of the usual tension from his long day. He dropped his bag by the door and kicked off his boots, heading straight for you without a word. You barely had time to set down the book you’d been reading before his arms were around you, pulling you into a tight hug that left no room for anything but the two of you.
“Missed you,” he murmured against your hair, his voice quiet but full of that raw, unspoken affection you had come to know so well.
“I missed you too,” you replied, your arms wrapping around his neck as you leaned into him, letting the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your cheek wash away the last traces of the day.
And just like that, the world outside faded away, leaving only the quiet warmth of Katsuki’s presence and the simple, steady rhythm of your life together.
Gimmie soft pro bakugo ..I guarantee this man would treat you with respect u deserve
#suiwrites🍒#katsuki bakugou#bnha#my hero academia#katsuki x reader#mha fluff#bnha fluff#my hero acedamia#mha x reader#bakugou x reader#bnha x reader#bakugo x reader#bnha bakugo x reader#bakugo katsuki x reader#mha x you#bnha x fem!reader#katsuki bakugo x reader#bnha bakugo katsuki#mha bakugou#bakugou katsuki#bnha bakugou#bakugo x you#bakugo x y/n#bnha x you#mha x y/n#katsuki x you#katsuki x y/n#katsuki bakugo mha#katsuki bakugo fluff#katsuki bakugo x y/n
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— LIVE NOW, THINK LATER (NANAMI K.)
warning: (18+) infidelity, car sex, creampie, small feelings (lolll).
“You look beautiful.” A familiar voice startled you. He couldn’t believe his eyes really, your beautiful skin glowing and your eyes twinkling.
“Oh, Kento! I didn’t think you’d make it,” You moved into his arms and he held you tightly, his fingers dancing across your waist.
You pulled away and smiled at him. He chuckled, “Wouldn’t have missed it.” But he wish he did. He hated how this tortured him and wound him up. He hated watching you be in love with someone else.
“I got you something.” He whispered, his fingers playing in your hair. He tried to remember to keep his distance. He could already hear the whispers around him, women judging and asking if you had “any sense at all” or decorum, to be with any other man than your husband right now.
Your husband who was too busy drinking and laughing with his friends to notice. But the women didn’t say anything about that.
“Oh really?” You asked, quirking a brow. “Lemme see it!” You jumped and clapped your hands so excited.
“I’ll have to take you away…” He licked his lips and did a devilish smile. He held up his index finger and walked towards your husband. “Mind if I take her away from you? No more than twenty minutes…” He asked, his tone annoyed as he looked at the man who just married you.
He waved Nanami off and continued back to his conversations. Nanami wanted to hurt him. He wouldn’t have let you go anywhere without him tonight. He wouldn’t have left you alone tonight.
He grabbed your hand and he whisked you away from it all. He took you to his car and looked around, making sure it was nobody near you both. He helped you inside, picking up the bottom of your long white wedding dress and carefully putting it inside.
“Why couldn’t you just wait for me? Huh?” He hated this. “I promised you and—“
“You promised me for years, Kento. Work was always a priority for you. I was tired of being second place.” Your words stung and he knew that it was true but he always figured that you’d stay. When you left he assumed you just needed some space, when you got a boyfriend he reassured himself that you’d come back…but when he saw the wedding invitations and even received one in the mail… he knew that he lost you.
He stared into your pretty eyes and caressed your cheek, “Why did you invite me then? Pity? I can already see how your life is going to be. Married for a year, pregnant with an inattentive husband who’ll fuck his co-worker more than he fucks you. He doesn’t even look at you and those vows of his? The embarrassment on your face told it all. You don’t love him…not how you loved me.”
You swallowed, “Kento… let’s not do this, here.” Your hands were shaky and your palms sweating. “You said you have a gift for me?”
He paused, thinking momentarily. Popping open the glove department and reaching inside, he presented a rectangular blue box with a scarlet red ribbon on top. “For you, I hope you like it.”
He heard you gasp, “A Tiffany tennis bracelet?” Your eyes were wide. “Do you know how expensive these are? Well — of course you do, you bought this one.” You did an awkward chuckle.
He already knew you would ask, when he saw your mouth open. “It was seventy-thousand dollars. I saw it, thought you’d like it and that was that. It’s the least I could do for you, baby.”
“Seventy— Are you insane? It’s beautiful but for that amount? I… you could’ve bought a house or… gosh… I barely even spent fifty thousand on this wedding.”
“Oh, so you really settled.” He muttered and to his surprise you laughed.
“I did.” You agreed with a strained smile and a sad look in your eyes. “Thank you for this… it’s so beautiful and I do love it, I always loved their stuff and I always hated that I left all my jewelry behind, all those years ago.” You released a heavy sigh.
“I still have ‘em. Could drop them off one day, maybe. Or… you could come and get them.” He said and you looked at him with narrowed eyes. He held his hands up in surrender, “No funny business.”
“Yeah right. I already know you brought me out here to try to fuck me.” He coughed in surprise at your words. “A present, really? That you had to take me all the way out here and not give me in front of everyone?”
“I didn’t want to embarrass your husband. That’s all. Nothing more. Honest.” He moved his hands to cover his hardening cock. “But… how’s the sex?”
“You’re that curious? I already told you I settled and you already know there’s nobody better than you.” You looked at him with heavy-lidded hazy eyes, your voice soft as silk.
He swallowed. “Divorce him and I’ll give you the wedding you deserve. I’d spend double the amount of that bracelet on you. You deserve the best, baby. I work and work because I didn’t ever want you to be comfortable living a simple life when I could give you more. I love you and there’s no one like you.” He took your hand and pressed it to his chest. “This has always been yours, it has your name on it and it forever will.”
You kissed him, it was too hot in his car to think about anything. You didn’t care that you were still in your wedding dress or that someone could see you. You just wanted him. He reached forward and put a tightening hand on your waist, pulling you closer and deepening the kiss.
His tongue sucked on yours and swirled inside. Your nails digging into his hair as you pulled him closer towards you. “I want it.” You whispered against his lips, kissing the side of his neck and licking a long stripe up. “Let’s go.” You motioned towards the back and he smiled.
Crawling to the backseat and he palmed your ass. “Naughty, naughty.” You giggled, drunk off something. Drunk off Nanami Kento. He joined you in the back, you pulled at his tie and he happily sighed.
Unbuttoning his pants before he began bunching up your dress, he slid down the thin panties you were and looked between your legs. “This for me?” He looked at you, his dark brown eyes full of pure lust. You were soaked, wetness covering your thighs and your lips stuck together with glossy strings of your essence. You nodded, unable to speak and he kissed you again. It felt like before, when you both started dating and how soft he always was with you.
He inhaled, your smell all over the place and he loved every second of it.
“Does he know that you like to be touched, right here? Or right there?” His fingers were simply dancing across your lower body, working you up just from small touches, but he wouldn’t slip them inside, much to your frustration. Your hips thrusts up a bit, begging for more before all of the warmth of his fingers pulled away.
He slid his pants and boxers down, staring at your soaked folds. His cock had a thick bunch of hair that was lightly trimmed and it looked prettier than you ever seen it, with creamy white precum gushing out of the tip.
He slid a hand down after gathering the small amounts of leaking precum, the lewd sounds of him jerking himself off filled the car and made you whine. “Please, hurry up.” Spreading yourself more so that he can see the cream between your folds drip to his seat. He muttered something quietly and pulled your dress up more, rubbing his cock up and down your slit, both of you hissing and gasping.
Your nails were digging into his forearm when he finally slipped inside of you, he groaned close to your mouth. You huffed, wrapping your legs around his, wanting him to fully be inside of you. When both of your pelvis’s were touching, hips flushed together. He felt you squeeze around him and more of your wetness squirted out of your pussy when he snapped his hips in a solid thrust.
“Does he know your body like me?” Even though you told him earlier, he wanted to know while he was pounding into you, holding up the sides of your wedding dress. His hips were moving dangerously fast now, making your titties bounce. Foreheads touching and his cock filling you up, your eyes rolled back.
“No, he—ah— he doesn’t. Never even made me cum.”
“Oh, so I have to make up for that, don’t I, baby?” He drags his cock in and out of you, the loud sounds of slapping skin made him even harder as he looked at your fucked out expression. Your legs were already shaking, so he added pressure by rubbing your clit in small circles. Tightening around him yet again and he smiled, “That’s my girl.” You rolled your hips, trying to push yourself even closer to your orgasm.
“Look at me. Remember who’s fucking you and who’s making you feel this good, right now. Got that?” He whispered in your ear, biting it playfully.
You felt so good around him, closer to heaven and he knew for this moment with him fucking you right now, he was dragging you closer to hell. Be he couldn’t care less, your tiny cunt creaming around him, your back arching and your toes squeezing.
Your pussy constricts around him and a stream of your cum drips down between the both of you. But Nanami doesn’t stop; he rolls his hips again and fucks more of that creamy wetness out of you. He presses your stomach and you squirm. “I’m gonna come inside of you, ‘kay?” You can’t talk anymore so you just moan and sigh, nodding your head.
Both of your hips bucking, grinding into each other’s pelvis’s, he cums. It’s heavy and you spasm around him, sucking him deeper inside and he shutters. “You feel so fucking good. Could do this all night baby.” He slipped out for a moment, looking at his cum soaked half hard cock, before he pushed back in. You gasped, pushing him back a bit to no avail.
“You love me don’t you, baby?”
“Always, Kento.”
no part two.
#jjk x reader#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk x you#jujutsu kaisen smut#jjk#jujutsu kaisen nanami#kento nanami#jjk nanami#nanami smut#nanami kento#nanami x reader#nanami x you#nanami x reader smut#jjk nanami x reader#nanami kento x y/n#nanami kento x you#nanami kento x reader
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You make a spur-of-the-moment detour to your exes house on his birthday.
ex!Toji Fushiguro x afab reader. 4.2k. read on ao3
cw: a little bit o' angst, some drinking, oral (reader receiving), unprotected sex, toji doesnt wash his sheets i know it.
One dark night cursed with rain is all it takes to bring you back to Toji’s front door. Knuckles rapping on wood despite your own mind— it’s the warmest night of the week, humidity seeps into your bones.
Toji opens his door and greets you with silence. You stand, a vision of something desperate. The man who had once loved you so tenderly watches you with stale eyes. You feel sick for remembering it’s his birthday. You also feel sick knowing he’s spent it in this damn house.
Not a word is shared, sweet nor acidic. Oh your Toji, stoic and silent. Not a thing has changed.
He steps to the side, offering you refuge from the dreary weather. His eyes are on his driveway, left empty: you walked here. It’s apparent in the way your hair shines wet with rain.
He used to lecture you for having wet hair in late hours like this, even when it’s warm. His mother used to tell him, hand gentle on the side of his face, ‘Toji, you’ll get a cold.’
He’s silent still as you walk past him, and cross the threshold into the house you used to waste away in. You don’t bother to take your shoes off: maybe in an attempt to convince yourself not to stay long. Though you do feel hauntingly warm trapped within such cold walls.
The door clicks shut. Twelve seconds of silence ensue— you count.
His first word, “Wine?”
You ponder the butterfly effect. What total disaster will occur as a result of playing into this fever you’ve been having? How many casualties will you be accountable for? Will blood stain your hands? An ugly pit settles in your stomach.
You nod regardless, there’s nothing in this house that can’t be nursed with a drink. Toji nods and god have you missed those eyes that soften just a little at the corners when he looks at you.
He only has the cheap stuff, and he has to shuffle through a few empty bottles to find it. Red. It pours smooth, Toji’s hands tight on the neck of the bottle as he bleeds it for you. The rain outside gets heavier: you think of it as a sign you left at the right time. Though, if you hadn’t left at all you’d still be dry.
It’s been months since your last drink. You down the glass in two sips, you hate the taste but accept when Toji offers you another. What’s a night like this without relapse?
A step forward.
“This place hasn’t changed,” you note, watching as Toji walks from kitchen to living room, steps heavy and haunting. He stands a few feet from you, back pressed against the wall. “You should move into something more comfortable.”
“A townhouse?” He teases you.
Yes. A townhouse like you. Yours, maybe— or the one across the road that’s just gone up for sale. It has a privacy screen you know he’d love and no broken tiles and no bad memories. You could walk the hot pavement to ask for some sugar when you’re out, and he could tell you he doesn’t have any, because why would he have sugar? And when you would go home deflated, he would run out to buy a bag of sugar, two— one white and one brown because you never specified— and leave them at your front door. Yes. A townhouse.
“No,” you look down. “You’re not a townhouse type of man.”
Toji exhales. He asks you, in a tone laced with something dark, what type of man he is.
You gesture around you, the wallpaper is beginning to peel. He’s this type of man.
Toji looks at you, and he asks ‘why are you here? it’s been a year and your life is finally stable again,’ but he asks with his eyes, because those words would never leave his lips. You hate that you can still read him. You wonder if you’ll speak his language forever.
“Happy birthday,” you say. “I didn’t get you anything.”
Silence, and then– “good.”
You could have emptied your wallet for him with ease. You know he needs things: new socks, a watch that isn't broken, a new beginning. Toji has never taken anything from you though, not gifts or favours or cuddles after sex. You hate that about him: always a provider, never being cared for. Such a shell of a happy man, you count yourself special for having seen him smile. Such gifts have always been your favourite.
“How's…” he trails off, a frail attempt at not suffocating you in the silence he knows you hate. The words don't meet his lips, though: how's your new life? Finally on a comfortable wage? And how are the neighbours? Are they noisy like mine are? Do you stay up laughing at their awkward sex noises like we did? Do you fuck a warm body to drown them out just like us? Do you live trying to recreate domestic life with me? Do you miss the filth? The broken sleep? Were you ever happy? Why are you here?
Toji bites his tongue. “More wine?”
“No, thanks.”
The rain continues. Despite the roof over your head, you feel heavy with water: something uneasy settles inside of you, and Toji steps closer. He’s wearing black, as usual, and his sleeves are short so you're able to notice he’s added onto his tattoos. Your initial still sits untouched just by his elbow, he’s held onto at least some of you.
Maybe words don’t need to be shared. You step forward. He follows suit.
Before you can stop yourself, you are standing toe-to-toe with Toji Fushiguro. You can watch his shoulders raise with each deep breath he takes, and as you lift your gaze, you look death in the eyes. Sorcerer killer. As beautiful as ever.
You feel small and powerless, without purpose or justification. Must you always think for yourself? You’re tired of wrestling with that mind of yours. In the cold house you once shared with him, you suddenly forget how to make good decisions. You raise your hands, and touch his lip with your fingertips. He has a new scar, one that runs from the corner of his mouth downwards. You want to kiss it away. You wonder if he pays it much attention in the mirror, is the memory of getting it as bad as the memory of you?
“You shouldn't be here,” Toji slips his large hands to your waist. You feel at home. “Left for a better life.”
“Yeah.”
“I can walk you home.”
“Shut up, Toji. It’s your birthday.”
Relapse: god it tastes good. Toji kisses you like it’s his first and last taste of you. It's deep and yearning and laced with lust and anger and an awful fear of loss. But at the same time, he kisses you like it’s a tuesday evening, and he's just now home from work and you’ve been busy all day with the house, which is quaint and clean and not run-down like his. Maybe a townhouse.
His tongue slips into your mouth, and he kisses you like he had once planned to on your wedding night: your back hits the wall, but his hand is behind your head to cushion it. A tear slips down your face, overwhelmed by the presence of who has haunted so many of your dreams. You want more of him, you want to indulge yourself on the forbidden: what a taboo his touch has become.
“Please,” you speak against his lips.
“On the bed.”
Toji steps away from you, and nods down the hall. You know your way, you know this house like it's built from your own bones. Memories flash through your mind with each step you take towards his bedroom, the one that used to be yours, too. You let yourself smile, remembering being carried to bed after a drink too many, or spending hours curled up under the sheets waiting for your love to return home. Eating breakfast in bed together, the sex that would follow.
His footsteps are heavy against the wood behind you, he shadows you as you walk into his room, once yours too. The bed has moved, it’s pushed against the wall now— you suppose there isn’t need for someone else to have room to get in on the other side. You wonder how many people he’s fucked to forget about you in the sheets that used to smell like you.
You can only worry so much, jealousy doesn’t do one well when it’s barely justified. You sit on the edge of the mattress, running your fingers along the soft covers and try not to think of all the times you've been here before. You used to sit and watch him get dressed, the troublesome time it would take to get his clothes on worth the sight of his bare skin covered to remain for your eyes alone. You’d daydream sometimes of watching him dress for different circumstances; maybe in another life you’d sit in the master bedroom of a townhouse and watch your Toji dress for the picket-fence desk job dream rather than for murder.
And yet, the bed seems to swallow you whole. This room, even after you left, remains half yours. A cursory glance to the wardrobe shows it still half empty, dust laden over the dresser your perfumes once sat atop. The curtains covering his window are the same ones you had picked out on sale in the spirit of making a house a home. You still linger.
Toji leans against the wall by the window, his toned arms crossed over his chest as he watches you look around. His lips part slowly, but he closes his mouth and clears his throat when you lean back on your elbows. You stare ahead at nothing in particular, thinking of all those nights where you laid awake, watching him in his sleep, worrying about whether he’d come home in a box the following week. You never stopped worrying, really.
With every passing second you feel more and more guilty. Selfish for imposing on Toji's life without you, estranged for leaving a townhouse nine blocks over to return to the home you had left so long ago.
“I miss you,” you say softly.
Toji doesn’t move, doesn’t speak— you can hear the rain worsen outside. You think you’ve fucked things up—ruined the relapse—when Toji pushes himself off the wall and reaches you in two long steps. He looks down at you, large frame towering over your body in a way that makes you feel both small and seen at the same time. You sit in his shadow, under his punitive gaze, looking up at the man you had once promised a forever to.
Toji leans down, meets you in height and kisses you once again. This time, the kiss is slow, languid and gentle in a way you remember once hating. You’d always yearn for the rough, mean side of Toji that could make you see stars in seconds. You used to want the Zenin to come out and settle your hunger. But now, with the gentle way in which Toji takes your lips between his, you couldn’t imagine wanting anyone but him.
He kisses you like a man home from war which, in a way, he always will be. When his hands come to rest on your waist, you’re confronted by the memories of his touch: soft on your skin, tender and caring despite the roughness of his very being. When he draws your thighs apart and kneels between them, you hate yourself for ever leaving. How cruel you were.
Toji sets his fingers under the waistband of your pants and pulls them down, panties too, in one swift movement aided only by the raising of your hips. He looks at you, bare and desperate, and his throat goes dry. He tries desperately to clear his mind of all the memories that start like this, with you spread out and laid back in wait of him. He pressed a gentle his to your thigh, then sinks his teeth into your flesh—anything to leave a mark on you again.
“Ow,” you whine, buck your hips up a little in hopes of pleasure to chase the pain. Toji doesn’t relent, he bites your thigh again, this time a little higher. “Toji.”
“Don’t say my name like that,” he growls, catches your skin between his teeth and moves upwards. “Like you’re still used to this. Like we’re fucking for the third time this week. That’s gone.”
You take a breath in and close your eyes. You can feel yourself deflate a little, his words are sharp and poking but his lips are gentle as they kiss over the indentations left by his teeth. Another kiss, even higher, and he’s soon pressing his lips to your clit in something you can only describe as reunion.
It can’t all be gone, because he darts his tongue out to circle around your clit in a way he’s done so much before it’s now muscle memory. As is the way your hips buck upwards just to be caught and pinned by his strong hands. You’re held down and ravaged by your Toji, who dips his tongue down through your folds before latching onto your clit like he’s trying to find comfort in your taste. Maybe he finds it, because he lets out a sigh and presses his forehead to your pelvis as he takes a breath.
“You taste the same,” he mumbles, dipping forward again to practically make out with your cunt. He’s always been messy—hungry. You can feel his scar against you, it’s new and not something you attach to him just yet, but maybe that's a good thing. Your fingers curl into the silk sheets you brought on sale two years ago.
“Your tongues the same, always fucking teasing.”
“Deal with it.”
You try again to buck your hips up in protest, but his grip on your waist is too wrought. He’s mean, holding you down and denying you the chance to chase pleasure, but he’s always been this way—Toji will do anything to hold control. He returns his attention to your needy clit and eats you out at a pace you can only call familiar: too fucking slow. You want to protest, to whine and beg for more in the hopes his ego will take the buff and make you cum on his tongue, but before you can even part your lips to speak, he’s mumbling against your pussy.
“Just let me savour this.”
Oh and who are you to deny him after so long, after the withdrawals of losing his tongue you’re eager to end it so soon? No, you’re driven by lust and not giving your heart a moment to voice whims. You tighten your grip on the sheets, feel the slow coil in your stomach pull further, and let out a breath. You feel him wholly, each flick of his tongue over your sensitive achey clit, the dig of his thick fingers into your waist, his breath against your skin as he moans into his ministries.
You’re close before you can start entirely savouring it. “Toji,” you try—but he knows you, he feels it already.
“I know, ma, you can take some more. Know you can, always been a fuckin’ slut for my mouth”
You can’t—you both know it. Toji wants to feel you unravel against his lips and give himself reason to punish you for it. He pushes two fingers into your fluttering cunt and curls them upwards just to torture you further. You’d chide him if you weren’t choking on your moans already, practically begging him with your sweet noises for that oh-so-wanted relief.
And he obliges, of course, because your orgasm is a rarity he used to taste daily. Something he missed, the taste of your relief, the way you’d shake under his touch and let him kiss you better afterwards. He doesn’t deserve you, but he’s been good enough of a man to deserve this, at least once more.
Your orgasm wracks through you like a wave would a desolate beach in a storm. Emotional. Restorative in a way. Sobering. You half expect your eyes to open and find yourself back at home in the comforts of your new bed with your hand down your pants and your fingers soaked at the thought of your Toji, as so many nights go. But no: he’s here and lapping up your release like a starving man would.
He stills by your pussy for a few moments, and you know he’s trying to will his erection down even just a little bit. His pants are strained and even friction against the mattress doesn’t do much for him—still, he doesn’t know if you want to take all of him again. He’d be okay with just your taste, but every second that passes without him being inside of you feels somewhat torturous–debilitating. You pick up on his struggles and tug at the strands of black hair you used to shampoo each evening.
“Toji,” you hum. “Want you inside of me. Need to feel it again.”
Your ex lover, though calling him such leaves a horrid taste in your mouth, climbs over you and takes both of your wrists to pin the above your head with one hand. He looks down at you with something in his gaze that you can’t quite pinpoint: anger? Hurt? Heat?
Regardless, he used his free hand to line up with your sopping entrance and push forward. Catching your lips between his in a kiss as he does so, Toji moans into the gasp you let out as he stretches you open. This is hauntingly familiar, the burn of his first thrust—so big that you can’t completely get used to him no matter how often he’s working you open on his cock. You love it, you’d call yourself an addict if it were appropriate.
He bottoms out, buries himself to the hilt inside of you and rests his forehead against yours. You half expect him to be mean. He used to fuck you rough when you were together and he was particularly stressed: he’s wrap a strong hand around your throat or push your face into the pillows and fuck you so hard he had to carry you to the shower to clean off.
But Toji isn’t rough, even with his cock splitting you open and the anger of your leaving, he isn’t rough. He lets your wrists go and moves his hand to cup your face and just stare for a moment. You know the look in his eyes too well, something overwhelming washes over him, and you swear you can see a slight tremble to his lips. He’s beyond beautiful, eyes darting all over your face in hopes of memorising your every feature—as if you’re not already burnt into his mind. Like you’re not what he sees whenever he closes his eyes.
“Too much?” you ask, feeling the tremor in his hands.
Toji looks down at you and, with a dry mouth, manages a small “yeah.”
Your hand finds his face, thumb tracing over the scar on his lip in gentle strokes. Something soothing, you hope, for a man far from finding comfort. “You wanna stop?”
“God no,” Toji shakes his head. “Do you want to, uh—”
“Flip us over, Fushiguro.”
With his length still hidden inside of you, Toji swiftly flips the both of you over so that his back hits the mattress and you’re sat on his cock and staring down at him for once. His hands find your hips, still with a slight tremor to his grip but a little more comfort than before. Gravity helps you take Toji a little deeper than you had, so you lean forward a little and rest your hands on his chest. His heart thrums beneath your touch, not quite pounding but fast enough to make you smile.
“Let me take care of you,” you roll your hips a little. “It’s your birthday, after all.”
Toji looks almost like he’s going to protest, but ultimately takes his bottom lip between his teeth and nods; letting you slide up on his cock just to drop yourself back down. “Fuck, I–”
He trails off, eyes screwed chut, and you lean forward to kiss the subtle curve of his nose. “You what?”
“I missed you,” his eyes are glossed when he opens them again to meet yours. You only get a glimpse of them before you’re pressing your lips to his in lieu of a million things you want to say to him. “Fucking missed you.”
Pulling away, you lift your hips up, feel the drag of his cock leaving you empty before you drop back down again and make the both of you moan in tandem with each other. Your eyes lock, his start to pool with tears. You can’t tell if he’s overwhelmed or upset or starting to be fucked so dumb he’s gone soft on you—but regardless, it’s a sight that tightens your beating heart.
You quicken your pace, revel in the way he fills you up: how he completes you. Your knees dig into the spring-loaded mattress as you ride his cock like you used to all that time ago. Every squeeze of your cunt around him makes the poor man choke a little on his breath, though you don’t slow down, not even when the tears start to fall. His cheekbones are painted glossy with his tears and, in favour of wiping them away, you dip down and lick a long strip up his cheek to taste the salt of his emotions on his tongue. It’s only fair, your taste still lingers on his.
“I don’t like seeing you cry,” you whisper, kissing gently at his wet lashline. He grounds himself with his hands on your hips and takes a shaky breath in at the kisses you press across his tear-streaked face. He doesn’t try to hide his vulnerability—he knows there’s no point around you. Not when you’ve seen every broken part of him and still kissed him with a gentleness that stung more than any injury could.
“Can’t help it,” he murmurs as you ride him. “You do this to me.”
You slow your movements just enough to offer a reprieve, the steady roll of your hips becoming languid, deliberate. “I don’t mean to,” you reply softly, your lips brushing against his as you speak.
Toji huffs out something between a laugh and a sob. “Liar. You always know what you’re doing.”
You let out a small breathy laugh and lean in to kiss the corner of his mouth. You start your pace up again, even faster than before: your thighs burn with the effort, but it’s worth it to see him unravel beneath you.
His head falls back against the pillow, exposing the column of his neck, and a low, desperate moan slips past his lips. He grips your thighs, but there’s no force behind his touch—only a trembling need as he lets you take control.
“You’re so good like this, letting me take care of you.”
His breath hitches, and his hands tighten on your thighs. “I—fuck, I can’t—” He’s rambling now, his words slurring as his breath becomes laboured and his hips start to thrust skywards into you. “Please—don’t stop. Don’t stop.”
“Shh,” you soothe, your hands sliding down to lace your fingers with his, pinning them to the mattress on either side of his head. “I’ve got you. Just let go, Toji.”
Wholly at your mercy, Toji screws his beautiful eyes shut and nods. Each heave from his chest stokes the flames that coil in your stomach in desperate hopes of a release. He’s first to teeter over the edge of pleasure, with a wild thrust up into you and a very raw moan, or sob, that rips straight from his throat, he cums. He fills you up and, for only a moment, you’re thrown back a year into the past and this is any other night spent together. The heat of him, the sheer force of his climax, pushes you to your own precipice.
You follow him into oblivion soon after, your back arching and your head falling back as your orgasm crashes through you. The muscles of your core tighten around him, drawing out his pleasure even as yours consumes you in wave after wave of white-hot ecstasy. You milk him for all he has, every last drop of release that you’re greedy enough to take within you.
When the storm passes, you collapse onto his chest. The both of you are sheened with sweat and the cum that leaks from your cunt around his cock and it’s messy and sticky and domestic in a way you can’t explain. The rain outside starts to taper off, but you’ll use the weather as an excuse to stay the night regardless. You doubt Toji would let you leave even if you tried.
“I love you,” he says.
“I love you.” you reply.
You don’t know what will happen come morning. The two of you are from two very different worlds now, but Toji’s hand comes up to cradle the back of your head. You can feel his heart beat, you can hear each intake of breath, you’re connected to him physically and, in a way, spiritually as well.
You’re in his bed, the one that was once also yours. You’re safe, feeling nostalgic, and Toji Fushiguro is warm. Much warmer than any insulated townhouse.
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#toji smut#jjk smut#toji fushiguro smut#toji x you#toji x reader#toji fushiguro x reader#jujutsu kaisen smut#jjk x you#jujutsu kaisen x reader#toji zenin smut#toji x reader smut#jjk x reader
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Dukedom au but instead of the men noticing reader post marriage, they already notice her pre marriage like maybe before they went to war and meet each other. She use to be so radiant especially on her debut to society. She dances John and Simon and they were entranced since then. Maybe she likes sneaking out bro mingle with the commons and met Johnny and Kyle that way. Then war happened and many other things by the time they were back they’re not exactly expecting their dream girl to be unmarried, she’s so beautiful why would she be unmarried, besides they have each other now.
Imagine their surprise when they found out not only is she unmarried but rather unpopular in society for one or two petty reasons too.
ANONNNNN I LOVE YOUR MIND
It wasn’t until after his return from the military- when he finally came home with Simon by his side, Kyle and Johnny already settled into their places in his household- that John actually heard the full extent of the rumors surrounding you.
You were barren, they said. Damaged. A woman past her prime who had rejected too many suitors out of pride and was now paying the price. Not docile enough to be a good wife, too much of a spitfire. Hysterical, the last time you had snapped at a man who had gotten a little too close to you. A stain on your family’s lineage, who were trying desperately to marry you off.
Kyle had been the first to bring it up, muttering about what he’d overheard at the bakery one morning while helping Johnny’s parents prepare for the day. Johnny, normally so cheerful, had been uncharacteristically quiet about the whole thing- quiet in that dangerous, simmering way that meant he was ready to fight anyone who so much as looked at you wrong.
And Simon?
Simon had just looked at John.
“Fix it.” he’d said, like it was the simplest thing in the world.
But it wasn’t simple.
Not when the love John felt for you had been complicated from the start. Not when Kyle and Johnny and Simon already occupied so much of his heart, and the idea of forcing you to share that space- even with men who adored you already- felt like asking too much.
So he waited, and waited.
He waited until he saw you again, looking so perfectly soft and sweet and untouched by the harshness of the world around you, even despite all the hate-filled rumors aimed your way, it nearly broke him. He waited until Kyle started dropping more and more excuses to see you, until Johnny began dragging you into their outings, until even Simon- gruff, stoic Simon- began pausing to ask how you were doing when he saw you in passing.
He waited until he couldn’t not ask.
And when he finally did- when he knelt before you and offered you everything he had, everything he was, everything they were because he would keep anything a secret from you- you didn’t answer right away.
“John…” You were at a loss for words, eyes shifting to a fro. You could hear your parents practically yelling at you to just accept, no matter what, within your mind.
Your cheeks turned warmer than a furnace, and you lowered your head, gritting your teeth. “Surely you all know that- that I’m not… exactly the best candidate for you.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
Your eyes widened, mouth falling open, and he wanted to kiss that expression off your face. Replace it with something happier, brighter.
“It doesn’t matter.” John repeated, voice soft and so painfully fond. “They can say all they want. It’s you who I care about- we care about. Nobody else matters. Nothing else matters, except for your happiness and what you want. So I ask again… will you be my Duchess?”
You bit your lips, ignoring the tiny little voice of your nanny scolding you for your terrible nervous habit. You wanted to accept. You ached to accept.
“Promise me, John,” you breathed out. And he listened, more than anyone else ever has. “Promise me. I won’t ever be a simple accessory on your arm, or a forgotten relic in your home. I won’t be brushed aside, while everyone around me is loved. Please, John. If you can promise me that, then I accept.”
And for John?
It didn’t even take him a second before agreed; already, he could imagine the relief that the others would have, as well.
He could also imagine you, blooming in their home.
#noona.asks#cod x reader#noona.writes#cod x you#cod#tf 141 x reader#tf 141 x you#tf 141#cod imagines#john price x reader#poly 141 x you#poly!141 x reader#poly 141 x reader#poly!141#poly 141#simon ghost riley x you#simon ghost riley imagines#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost x you#ghost x reader#johnny soap mctavish x reader#johnny soap mctavish x you#soap x you#soap x reader#kyle gaz garrick x you#kyle gaz garrick x reader#gaz x reader#gaz x you#kyle gaz x you#kyle gaz x reader
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'Merry christmas, please call me' day 1/3
no outbreak! Joel Miller x f! reader
summary: one year after your breakup, joel is pleading to his phone for a call from you. 🌲
w.c: 6k>
warnings: age gap (joel is fifteen years older than reader) angst as usual and fluff with a happy ending like in the Christmas movies.
a/n: welcome to the first day of my joel's fic christmas version event. I want to remind you that i'm from south america and my christmas has always been hot because of summer, so i'm feeding my dreams. I hope you like this one and see you again on the second day of my mini event! Happy reading 💌
The smell of burn cookies made Joel nauseous. The lights of the Christmas tree in the corner of these four walls seemed to gave him a migraine.
A night like this where everyone was celebrating around a table full of food and loved ones. He was lonely with his thoughts drifting away to you. You were on his mind, day and night for the last 365 days that he had been without you.
It was his fault.
He recalled, this exact same night a year ago when he broke up with you out of the blue, due to poor excuses nor even him believed.
Your age gap, that you were childish, that you deserved someone better, he’d said. Someone whole. A ridiculous justification that even he couldn’t stomach now. At the time, he’d convinced himself it was for the best. He had no right to drag you into his mess of doubts and guilt, into his constant battle with the ghosts of his past. But it didn’t stop the ache from settling in his bones, lingering there like a wound that refused to heal.
His thumb hovered over your name in his contacts. It had been a year since you left, a year since the fight that had left him standing alone in the doorway, watching you walk out with tears in your eyes and a suitcase in your hand. He hadn’t dared delete your number, which now stared back at him, mocking him in the silence. How many times had he replayed that night in his head, hoping he’d wake up and find that it was nothing more than a cruel nightmare?
Call her, the voice in his head whispered.
But what could he say? What words could possibly undo the damage he’d caused?
A sigh escaped him as his head dropped back against the old couch, the springs groaning in protest. The soft hum of a Christmas song playing from a neighbor’s apartment felt like salt in the wound, each note a reminder of what he’d lost.
You were his person. You’d been his anchor through the storms, the one who never let him drown, even when he tried to push you away. And he had pushed you, hard enough to make you leave for good.
But Joel still hoped. Pathetically, desperately. Every buzz of his phone made his heart lurch, only to drop moments later when it wasn’t you. He hated himself for it, for waiting on a miracle he didn’t deserve.
Finally, with trembling hands, he let his thumb tap against your name. The call button loomed there, so simple and yet so heavy. He stared at it, his pulse pounding in his ears.
“Merry Christmas,” he muttered, voice rough. The silence of the house swallowed his words. “Please call me... God, just call me.”
He closed his eyes, pressing his palms to his face. You were out there somewhere, probably laughing, surrounded by family or friends. Did you even think about him? Did you miss him the way he missed you? The unanswered questions gnawed at him, the kind of pain he’d learned to carry in his bones over the last twelve months.
When he finally looked at the phone again, he couldn’t stop himself. He typed out a message, the words simple but raw:
Merry Christmas. Please call me.
He hit send before he could second-guess himself, the soft whoosh of the message sending feeling louder than it should have. Now, all he could do was wait.
You won’t reply, he thought bitterly. Why would you?
But just as he began to put the phone down, it buzzed in his hand.
The sound of laughter echoed around the room, your cousin telling some exaggerated story about their vacation as everyone leaned in, caught up in the humor of it all. You tried to smile, to focus on the holiday warmth and cheer, but it all felt distant, like you were watching it from behind a thick pane of glass.
For the last four Christmas you had had someone by your side, holding your hand and making you feel a whole in the room.
Now he wasn’t here.
Now it had been a year since he pushed you away from his life.
You excused yourself for a moment, slipping out to the porch where the cold December air stung your skin. It was quieter out here, the twinkle of Christmas lights from neighboring houses reflecting off the snow. You wrapped your arms around yourself, breathing out slowly, your breath a cloud in the chill.
And then you felt it. The buzz of your phone in your pocket.
Sliding it out, your heart stopped when you saw the name.
Joel.
The message was simple, just four words Merry Christmas. Please call me.
You stared at the screen, your mind racing. You hadn't heard from him in months. The last time had been his birthday three months ago, a tentative text you’d sent just to say you hoped he was doing well. He’d thanked you, but the conversation died before it could have started. You thought that was the end of it, that Joel had moved on, just like everyone told you he would.
But now... this.
You sank onto the porch steps, your fingers tightening around the phone. The memories came flooding back: The past Christmas, when he’d held you in his arms by the fire, murmuring promises you’d believed in so completely. And the fight that tore it all apart, the anger in his voice masking the vulnerability he was so terrified to show.
You swiped at your screen, opening the message again.
Call him, a voice in your head urged. Just call him.
But another voice whispered fearfully
What if he’s just lonely?
For a moment, you hesitated, your thumb hovering over his name in your contacts. Then, with a deep breath, you pressed the button. The phone rang once, twice, each second stretching into eternity.
“Hello?” His voice was low, rough, like he hadn’t spoken in hours.
You closed your eyes, the sound of him unraveling something inside you. “Joel,”
….
You’d spent hours making everything perfect. The table was set with Joel’s favorite dishes, the candles were lit, and soft Christmas music floated through the air. The snow outside created a picturesque view through the windows, and for the first time in days, you were excited. Joel had been distant lately, his long hours at work bleeding into your evenings, but tonight would be different. It had to be.
“Joel, you’re late,” you said softly as he walked through the door, his shoulders slumped, his face tired.
He barely glanced at the table as he shrugged off his jacket. “Got caught up at work.”
“I made dinner.” You gave him a small smile, trying to meet his eyes. “I thought maybe tonight—”
“I’m not hungry,” he cut you off, his voice sharper than it needed to be.
Something in his tone made you flinch. You watched him sink onto the couch, elbows on his knees, staring at nothing. The weariness in his face didn’t feel like exhaustion; it felt like resignation.
You walked over to him carefully, sitting on the edge of the coffee table so you could face him. “But it’s christmas eve.”
“I know.” he muttered, but his eyes wouldn’t meet yours.
Your stomach twisted. This wasn’t the man who used to pull you into his lap and kiss your worries away. This was someone locked behind a wall you couldn’t reach. “You’ve been different lately. Talk to me. Please.”
He let out a long breath, his hands running through his hair. “I don’t know what we’re doin’ here.”
The words slammed into you like a physical blow. “What?”
Joel looked up at you finally, his expression hard, guarded. “Us. This. It doesn’t make sense anymore.”
Your heart pounded. “What are you talking about?”
He stood up abruptly, pacing the room like he needed to get away from you, as if your presence burned his skin. “You’re too young for this—”
“Don’t.” Your voice trembled, but you stood too, following him. “Don’t do that. You’ve never cared about the age gap before.”
“You should be with someone who can give you what you want, not some old man who can’t figure his shit out.” He turned, finally meeting your eyes, and his were cold, deliberately so. “Someone who isn’t afraid for what people say.”
The words hit like ice water, sharp and cruel. You took a step back, shaking your head. “Joel, that’s not fair. I don’t care about any of that. I love you.”
“Don’t,” he said again, his voice a low growl. “You’re just sayin’ that because you don’t know any better.”
The tears you’d been holding back spilled over. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because it’s the truth.” He swallowed hard, his jaw tight, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “I can’t be what you need. And you deserve better than what I can give.”
It wasn’t the words themselves that hurt the most, it was the way he said them, like he’d already decided this for you, like he’d been carrying it around for weeks, months, without telling you.
“Don’t you dare decide what I deserve,” you whispered, your voice breaking.
Joel looked at you then, really looked at you, and for just a moment, you saw it: the regret, the pain, the fear he was trying so desperately to hide. But then he turned his back to you, his shoulders rigid.
“Go,” he said quietly.
Your breath hitched. “What?”
“I said you should go.”
The room went deathly silent except for the sound of your soft, choked breaths. Joel didn’t move, didn’t turn around as you stared at him, waiting for him to say something, anything, to take it back. But he didn’t.
“We had been together for five years, Joel” you sobbed “Are you throwing away?”
Joel's jaw tightened, his back still turned to you as if he couldn't bear to face what he was doing, what he had already done. His hands gripped the edge of the kitchen counter, knuckles white as if he were holding himself together by sheer force. The dim light from the Christmas tree glowed faintly in the reflection of the window, mocking the warmth and love that should've filled this night.
“I’m tired.”
You couldn’t stop the tears, couldn’t keep the crack out of your voice as you pleaded. “Tired of what? Of me?”
He flinched at the sound of your voice breaking, his shoulders drawing tight. “It ain’t just that,” he muttered, the words coming out strained. “It’s everythin’, me, us—” He finally turned to face you, his eyes dark and distant, as though he’d already started pulling himself away long before tonight. “You deserve better.”
“Don’t do that,” you snapped through the sobs, pointing at him, your whole-body trembling. “Don’t you dare try to make this about me, Joel. This is about you. You’re the one running away, you’re the one who—” You swallowed hard, the pain rising in your throat like a wave. “Who’s giving up.”
Joel's face crumpled for just a second, but he smoothed it out quickly, replacing it with that familiar mask of stubbornness. “I am tired,” he admitted, his voice low, hoarse. “Of fightin’ every damn day with the parts of myself you don’t see. I can’t—I can’t drag you into that. Not anymore.”
You shook your head, your tears falling faster now. “I knew what I was getting into when I chose you, Joel. I chose you! Over and over for five years. So don’t you dare tell me I can’t handle it, or you.”
His gaze flickered toward the floor, like he couldn’t stand to look at you. “It ain’t enough.”
Those words cut deeper than anything else he’d said. “What’s not enough?” you whispered, your voice breaking as you stepped closer. “Me? Or us?”
Joel looked back at you then, and for a moment, you thought you saw his resolve crack. You thought he might say he was sorry, that he’d been lying, that he still loved you the way you loved him.
But all he said was, “You need to go.”
Your heart shattered.
“No,” you choked out, shaking your head violently, refusing to believe this was happening. “I’m not leaving. I’m not walking away from you.”
Joel’s face hardened, though his eyes betrayed the storm inside him. He took a step back, deliberately creating distance between you both. “I already did, darlin’.”
A sob escaped you, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe. Your chest ached; your lungs empty despite the cold air filling the room. It felt surreal, like you were living a nightmare you couldn’t wake up from.
“Fine,” you whispered, your voice ragged. You wiped angrily at your tears, glaring at him through the blur. “If you want me to go, I’ll go.”
“I hope you know what you’re losing.”
Joel didn’t respond. He didn’t move. And when you finally stepped out into the cold December night, suitcase in hand, the sound of the door closing behind you felt like the final nail in the coffin of everything you had built together.
It wasn’t until you were gone—until the silence swallowed the room whole—that Joel let his mask fall. His knees buckled, and he sank onto the couch, his head in his hands as tears slipped through his fingers.
Because he knew.
He knew exactly what he was losing.
And he left you walk away with nowhere to go.
“Hey,” he said, clearing his throat. “I—I wasn’t sure if you’d...” He trailed off, unsure how to finish.
There was a pause, and then you spoke. “I wasn’t sure either.”
His heart clenched. He wanted to say a hundred things, to tell you how much he missed you, how every day without you had been a slow, aching torture. But all he managed was: “Thanks for calling.”
“I wasn’t sure I should,” you admitted, your voice almost a whisper. “Joel, why?
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Because it’s Christmas. And because...” He ran a hand over his face, forcing the words out. “Because I’ve been a damn fool. I didn’t fight for us when I should’ve. And not a day’s gone by where I don’t regret it.”
The silence on the other end felt unbearable. “I know I don’t deserve this,” he added quickly. “But I just needed to hear your voice. Even if it’s just this once.”
His words cut through the cold night air, stirring something deep inside you. Joel had never been good at talking about his feelings, and hearing him now, his voice raw and unsteady, you realized just how much this call meant to him.
“You hurt me, Joel,” you said quietly, your voice trembling. “I gave you everything, and you... you pushed me away.”
“I know,” he said, his voice thick. “I know I did. I was scared, alright? Scared of messing up, of losing you... and I ended up doin’ just that.”
You swallowed hard, your eyes stinging. “And now? What’s changed?”
“I have,” he said without hesitation. “I’ve had a year to think about every mistake I made, every time I let my pride get in the way. I’m not sayin’ I’ve got it all figured out, but... I know I can’t go another year without you, darlin’.”
The silence stretched between you, heavy with the weight of everything unsaid.
“Joel,” you whispered, tears slipping down your cheeks.
“Just tell me if there’s a chance,” he said, his voice breaking. “Even the smallest one. I’ll do whatever it takes, I swear it.”
“Are you alone?” you asked, feeling your voice trembling.
Joel froze for a second, caught off guard by the question. He exhaled softly, his breath shaky. “Yeah,” he admitted, his voice low and rough. “It’s just me and some burnt cookies.”
Your heart ached at his words, but a small, broken laugh escaped you at his words. Burnt cookies. Joel had never been much of a baker. That was your thing. And yet, every Christmas, he’d insist on helping or more accurately, on getting in the way, while you made batch after batch of cookies.
“You burned them?” you asked softly, a hint of a smile tugging at your lips through the tears.
“‘Course I did,” Joel grumbled, though there was no bite to it. “Turns out, I’m no better at bakin’ now than I was then.” He hesitated before adding, almost shyly, “Guess it’s not as fun when you’re not here to yell at me for sneakin’ the dough.”
“Joel, I swear to God, if you eat one more spoonful of that dough—”
He grinned, a mischievous gleam in his eyes, before scooping up another bite and popping it into his mouth. “What? I’m just makin’ sure it’s good, darlin’. Quality control.”
It was like that every single time, you’d roll your eyes, only for him to pull you into his arms and press a kiss to your lips, soft and lingering, tasting of sugar and butter.
You’d tried to scold him, but he always made you laugh instead, his hands sneaking around your waist to pull you close. The cookies always took twice as long as they should’ve, and more flour ended up on the two of you than in the dough. But those moments had been yours—sweet, simple, and full of a kind of love you didn’t realize you’d taken for granted until it was gone.
“Do you remember?” you whispered, your voice trembling.
Joel’s breath hitched on the other end of the line. “Every second of it,” he admitted softly. “I remember how you’d get that little crease in your brow when you were concentratin’, tryin’ to make everything perfect. And how I’d ruin it all just to get you to look at me instead.”
You smiled through your tears, the memories making your chest ache. “You never helped. You just kissed me the whole time.”
“Well,” Joel said, his voice thick but warmer now, “you didn’t seem to mind too much.”
You swallowed hard, pressing your hand to your chest as if it could stop the way your heart ached for him. For all of it. “I didn’t,” you admitted quietly. “I loved that.”
There was a pause, heavy and delicate all at once.
“I miss you,” Joel said finally, his voice low and rough. “I’ve missed us. Not just the cookies, or the traditions... but you, darlin’. I miss seein’ you smile. I miss hearin’ your laugh when I did somethin’ dumb. I miss... kissin’ you in the middle of a mess we made together.”
Your throat tightened, tears slipping silently down your cheeks. How was it that Joel always managed to say the exact words you’d been afraid to admit to yourself?
“You shouldn’t say things like that,” you whispered. “It makes it harder.”
“What?” he asked, hopeful somehow.
"To hate you" you said, bluntly.
Joel went quiet on the other end of the line. The soft crackle of the connection was the only sound between you, filling the heavy silence where words struggled to exist. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper, as though he was afraid saying it out loud might break you both.
“I don’t want you to hate me, darlin’.”
You squeezed your eyes shut, pressing the heel of your palm against your forehead to stop the tears. “Well, it would’ve been easier if you’d stayed away.”
“I tried,” Joel admitted.
You could picture him sitting there, in the same living room where you’d spent so many nights living together. You imagined the empty house around him, quiet and cold, without the warmth the two of you used to fill it with.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence on the line felt heavier now, like it was holding both your hearts in its grip.
“I thought—” you started, then stopped, the words catching in your throat. I thought you’d moved on, you wanted to say. But you couldn’t. You weren’t ready to admit that fear aloud, not yet.
Joel seemed to understand anyway. “There’s no one else,” he said softly. “There never could be. I—I didn’t want to make you think I was waitin’, like I was hopin’ for somethin’ I didn’t deserve. But I couldn’t... I couldn’t bring myself to move on. You’re it for me.”
Your breath hitched, tears welling up as his words sank in. You’re it for me. Joel Miller, stubborn and guarded as he’d always been, was laying himself bare in a way he never had before.
“Why now, Joel?” you whispered, your voice cracking. “Why tonight?”
He let out a heavy breath. “Because i'm in love with you” he said, leaving no room for doubting “And because I couldn’t let another month pass without tellin’ you what’s in my heart. Even if it’s too late... I needed you to know.”
The line went quiet again, but this time, it wasn’t the kind of silence that felt heavy with regret. It felt different—like a small flicker of something you weren’t ready to name just yet.
“Get some sleep, Joel,” you murmured softly, surprising even yourself.
He chuckled lightly, a sound you hadn’t realized you’d missed so much. “Alright, baby. I will. You too.”
“Goodnight,” you whispered.
“Goodnight,” Joel replied, his voice soft and warm.
You hung up the phone and let it rest against your chest as you lay back on the couch, tears still wet on your cheeks.
You stood up to go back inside the house and the room felt still, like the world had paused just for you to breathe, to take in everything that had happened. The faint glow of the Christmas lights cast soft, colorful patterns on the walls. It felt bittersweet, like the warmth of a memory that wouldn’t quite let go.
Your chest ached with the weight of it all. Joel’s voice still lingered in your mind, the way he’d said baby, soft, familiar, like it belonged to you and no one else. It had been so long since you’d heard it, and it stirred something in you you’d tried to bury. Something tender and raw, something that reminded you of stolen kisses in the kitchen, of his arms wrapped around you on cold nights, of the way he used to make you feel like home wasn’t a place but a person.
You wiped at your cheeks, sniffling quietly. “Damn you, Joel Miller,” you whispered to the empty room, but your voice lacked conviction. The truth was, you didn’t know how to feel. Angry? Relieved? Hopeful?
“Are you okay?” your mother’s voice broke through the stillness, soft but laced with concern.
You startled slightly, turning toward the sound. She stood in the doorway, her silhouette framed by the dim glow of the hall light, her face etched with the quiet worry only a mother could carry.
You tried to smile, to brush it off like you always did, but the tears still wet on your cheeks betrayed you. “Yeah,” you croaked, your voice hoarse from the emotion threatening to spill over. “I’m fine.”
She tilted her head, unconvinced, and took a slow step closer. “Sweetheart...”
The way she said it made your composure wobble. You looked away, blinking rapidly as if that would erase the evidence of the storm swirling inside you. “It’s nothing, Mom. Just... Christmas stuff.”
She didn’t say anything right away, just moved to sit beside you on the couch. Her warmth and presence were enough to break something loose inside you, and for a moment, you just sat there in silence.
After a long, heavy pause, you finally spoke, your voice trembling. “I have to go.”
Your mother turned to you, her brows knitting together in quiet confusion. “Go? Where?”
You swallowed hard, your hands fidgeting nervously in your lap. “I... I don’t know…home?”
Her expression softened, and she gave a small, knowing nod. “To Joel?”
You glanced at her, startled that she understood so quickly, but you shouldn’t have been surprised. Mothers always knew. “I just-” You broke off, your voice faltering.
She studied you for a long moment, then reached out to gently clasp your hand. “Then go,” she said quietly, squeezing it in encouragement. “But go for the right reasons, sweetheart. Not because it’s Christmas, or because you feel like you owe him something. Go if you think it’s what your heart needs.”
You blinked at her, your throat tight. “What if I regret it?”
She smiled softly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “And what if you don’t?”
The question hung in the air like a challenge, one that settled deep in your chest.
You exhaled shakily, then stood, your movements unsteady but resolute. “I’ll be back soon,” you said, though you weren’t sure if it was more for her benefit or your own.
She gave you a gentle smile and stayed seated, as if she knew this was something you had to do on your own. “Take a coat,” she reminded you softly.
You nodded, grabbing your coat and scarf off the rack by the door. The cold air outside hit you immediately as you stepped out, but it didn’t slow your steps as you headed to your car. Your heart pounded, nerves swirling in your stomach as you turned the ignition and pulled out onto the quiet, dark road.
Joel sat slouched on the couch, elbows on his knees, staring at the Christmas tree he’d half-heartedly decorated earlier that day. The glow of the lights cast soft, uneven patterns on the floor, but he wasn’t really seeing them. His mind was stuck somewhere else—on the sound of your voice, on the quiet goodnight that hung heavier than he could have imagined.
He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, tired in a way that sleep wouldn’t fix. It was the kind of weariness that came from missing someone so deeply it felt like it hollowed you out.
A sudden knock at the door startled him. He frowned, glancing at the clock on the wall.
With a groan, he pushed himself up, grumbling under his breath as he trudged toward the door. “Tommy, I swear I’m fi—”
He pulled the door open mid-sentence, the complaint dying on his lips when he saw who it was.
You.
For a moment, neither of you said anything. You just stood there on his doorstep, wrapped in your coat and scarf, your cheeks pink from the cold, your breath visible in the freezing air. Your wide eyes met his, filled with something he couldn’t name—surprise, maybe, or uncertainty.
Joel froze, his hand still on the doorknob, his heart thudding hard against his chest. He blinked, like he was trying to make sure you were real. “Baby?”
“Hi,” you said softly, the single word carrying so much weight it nearly knocked the air out of him.
Joel let out a shaky breath, his voice rough when he finally spoke. “What... what’re you doin’ here?”
You shifted the bag in your hands, your fingers clutching the handles tightly, like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. “I, uh... I brought some things to bake cookies,” you said quietly, your voice trembling just enough to betray the emotions you were trying to hold back.
Joel just stared at you, completely still, like he wasn’t sure he’d heard you right. The words sank in slowly, and something in his chest tightened—hard and sudden—until he felt like he might break right there on the spot.
“You... you brought stuff to bake cookies?” he repeated, his voice so low it was barely a whisper.
You nodded, a small, almost shy smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah,” you murmured. “I figured... if it’s just you and some burnt cookies this year, maybe you could use a little help.”
Joel exhaled sharply, a shaky breath that sounded dangerously close to a sob. He turned his face slightly, as if trying to gather himself, but there was no hiding the way his eyes shone in the soft light spilling from the doorway.
For a long moment, he didn’t move, didn’t speak, he just looked at you, like you were something fragile and precious, something he couldn’t believe was right in front of him. Finally, he cleared his throat and stepped back, his voice rough as he spoke. “C’mon in, baby. It’s too damn cold out there.”
You stepped inside, the warmth of home enveloping you, after being away for a year, this house still carried the faint scent of pine, Joel and something a little burnt, probably the remnants of his earlier baking disaster. Joel shut the door behind you, lingering for a moment before turning to face you again.
“You didn’t have to do this,” he said softly, his voice uneven, like he was fighting to hold something back.
“I know,” you replied, meeting his gaze.
Joel swallowed hard, the weight of your words sinking into him like a balm to every ache he’d carried for far too long. “You always know how to fix my messes,” he said, his lips curling into a small, almost wistful smile.
You gave him a look, a teasing edge to your voice despite the tension still lingering between you. “Well, someone’s gotta make sure you don’t burn down the kitchen.”
Joel let out a quiet laugh, gruff and hoarse, but real. It sounded like the kind of laugh that had been buried for too long, and the sound of it made your heart squeeze in your chest.
“Yeah,” he said softly, watching you with that same unreadable expression. “Guess someone does.”
For a moment, neither of you spoke, the air between you thick with unspoken words and years of memories. Then Joel sniffed, scrubbing a hand down his face as if to steady himself. “You still use that same recipe?”
“Of course I do,” you replied, your voice light but steady. “You’re gonna help me this time, though. And I mean actually help.”
Joel watched you for another long moment before he turned toward the kitchen, clearing his throat again. “Alright, then,” he said, his voice thick with emotion he couldn’t quite hide. “Let’s make some cookies.”
The kitchen was filled with the warm, sweet smell of freshly baked cookies. A few floury handprints stained the counter, mixing bowls were stacked haphazardly in the sink, and a couple of slightly misshapen cookies sat cooling on the tray. It wasn’t perfect, far from it, but it felt like you. Like him. Like the pieces of something familiar were falling back into place.
You set the final cookie down on the tray, brushing a bit of flour from your cheek with the back of your hand. “Well,” you said, stepping back to admire the messy success, “I think we did it.”
Joel didn’t answer right away. When you turned to look at him, you found him leaning against the kitchen doorway, his arms crossed over his chest, a quiet smile tugging at his lips. There was something soft in the way he looked at you, something so Joel,it made your breath hitch.
“What?” you asked, self-conscious under his gaze.
He shook his head slowly, that smile growing just a little. “Nothin’,” he said, his voice low and steady. “Just…you look even more beautiful than I remember.”
The words hit you like a wave, sweeping away all the uncertainty you’d been holding onto. Your heart skipped in your chest, and your breath caught in your throat, leaving you momentarily speechless. You hadn't expected that—hadn’t expected him to say that, especially after all this time.
You glanced away for a moment, suddenly unsure of yourself. The kitchen suddenly felt warmer, the space between you two too close, and yet it felt like everything was finally falling into place, as if you’d both been waiting for this moment without knowing it.
“Joel…” you whispered, your voice barely audible as you tried to steady your breath. You met his gaze again, and this time, there was something different there—a vulnerability, a longing that mirrored your own.
He stepped forward, slowly, as if giving you the space to decide what came next. But you didn’t pull away. You stood there, rooted in the moment, caught somewhere between the past and the present, unsure of what the future held but certain that, for once, you wanted to face it with him.
“I mean it,” Joel added, his voice soft but unwavering. “You always did have a way of lightin’ up a room, darlin’. But right now… you’re more than I remember.”
A lump formed in your throat, and for a second, you couldn’t hold back the emotion that swelled within you. It was like he had reached right into the depths of what you’d been afraid to feel and pulled it all to the surface. You reached out instinctively, your hand brushing his arm, the warmth of his skin making everything feel so real again.
“Joel, I—” Your voice broke, and you paused, unsure of the words.
Joel didn't let you finish your sentence. Before you could gather your thoughts, before the words could fall into place, he closed the gap between you. His hand found your cheek, his thumb grazing the soft skin there, as if he needed to feel you, to make sure this wasn’t just a dream. His lips met yours, soft at first, hesitant, as though he was giving you the chance to pull away, but you didn’t.
You kissed him back, your hands coming up to tangle in his shirt, pulling him closer as the familiar taste of him flooded your senses. It was like stepping into a memory, one you’d been holding on to without even realizing it. All the years, the distance, the pain—all of it seemed to melt away in the warmth of his embrace.
The kiss deepened, slow and tender, and you let yourself lose in it, in him, in the feeling that maybe, just maybe, this was how things were meant to be all along. There were no questions, no doubts, only the comforting certainty of him being right there, of the connection you had never truly lost.
When he finally pulled back, both of you were breathing heavily, you gazing the floor instead of his eyes.
His hands were still on your face, his fingers brushing over your skin like he was memorizing every part of you again.
“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” Joel murmured, his voice rough with emotion. His eyes searched yours, vulnerable and open in a way that made your heart flutter.
“Are you going to push me away again?” you asked, meeting his eyes with some fear dancing on them.
Joel’s expression faltered for a moment, his gaze flickering with a mix of fear and hope. He searched your face, as if trying to understand what you were really asking, what you really meant.
“No. I will never do that again.” he answered, “I was scared,” he admitted. “Scared of not bein’ enough for you. Scared of how people talked about us. Scared that you’d wake up one day and realize you deserved better.”
“I never thought that,” you said softly, finally meeting his gaze.
Joel swallowed hard, his eyes searching yours. “I was a damn fool for pushin’ you away. And if I could go back and fix it, I would. But I know I can’t. I just…” He paused, his voice breaking. “I just needed you to know how sorry I am.”
“Joel,” you said softly, your voice trembling. “I don’t know if we can go back to what we had. But…maybe we can start somewhere new.”
Joel’s breath caught, hope blooming in his chest. “I’d like that,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’d like that a lot.”
The silence that followed felt different than before. It wasn’t filled with regret or confusion, but with a shared understanding—a quiet acknowledgment of what had been lost and what was still possible. You stayed close, your hands gently resting against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips.
Joel finally let out a shaky breath, as if he’d been holding it in for far too long. His hands came up to cup your face, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone, like he was memorizing the feel of you again. "I’m not askin' for all of it back. Just... a chance. To show you that I can be the man you deserve. The man I should’ve been all along."
You nodded slowly, your heart heavy but hopeful. “I’m not sure what this looks like, Joel. But we can figure it out, right? Together?”
A soft, sincere smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and he leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. Joel pulled back slightly, his hands still resting on your face as he looked at you with love and something more vulnerable, but what was more vulnerable than love? He took a slow breath, and then his gaze shifted toward the window, the quiet fall of snowflakes beginning to collect on the sill outside.
His voice was soft, almost reverent. "Look at that," he murmured, his eyes tracing the peaceful scene outside. "First snow of the year."
You turned to look out the window, your heart fluttering as you watched the snow gently blanket the world in white, the quiet stillness of the moment wrapping around you both like a cozy blanket. It felt surreal, almost like something out of a dream, a dream you didn’t want to wake from.
Being this close to the man you loved felt like a dream.
Joel stepped behind you, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you close again. His chin rested on your shoulder as he whispered in your ear, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver down your spine.
“Merry Christmas, baby,” he said, his voice full of raw tenderness, the words wrapped in the kind of love that had been buried for too long but never truly gone.
Before you could respond, he turned you gently, his hands sliding down your arms to hold your waist as he kissed you again, soft and slow, like this moment was meant for both of you, like it was always meant to be this way. The world outside faded, leaving only the quiet hum of your heartbeat and the warmth of his touch, the promise of something new blooming between you two.
And for the first time in a long time, it felt like home again.
#joel miller christmas version#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller x y/n#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller x f!reader#pedro pascal character fanfiction#joel miller series#the last of us fanfiction#joel miller#joel miller imagine#joel miller angst#tlou fanfiction#joel the last of us#joel x reader#Joel Miller#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal fanfiction#the last of us#pedro pascal imagine#pedro pascal
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Seeing Carlos talk about knowing it’d be him exiting at some point, that they’d always choose Charles… you’d always choose Carlos, and you’d let him know, sparking that possessive streak he hides not so well, that possessive streak that has you pinned underneath him and taken over and over until your body is marked and ruined enough to believe in his heart and soul that you’d always choose him 🤭
~🫠
Always Yours | C. Sainz
— hi nonnie! I love this idea! I see you coming through with the Carlos reqs 🫡 !! did i shed a tear or two while writing this? Yes, but the second half made it all worth it.
warnings: 18+ content, hurt/comfort (but the comfort is smut), unprotected sex, lots of emotions.
wc: 2.4k
masterlist
© thef1diary. all rights reserved. Do not copy, steal, translate, or repost any of my work
Carlos sat on the edge of the couch, the dim light from the setting sun casting long shadows across the room. He was soaking in the calm—the kind that felt more like stillness before a storm.
Four years. Four years at a team that had been both an opportunity and a struggle. He wasn’t blind to the reality of it; they hadn’t valued him the way they should’ve, not for his level of talent, not for the hours of work, the sacrifices. Yet, the end still came too quickly, a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment. One day he was a key player, and the next, he wasn’t. They’d found someone better.
He wasn’t mad about it. Not anymore. How could he be? They’d chosen someone better, and how do you argue with that? He couldn’t. But it didn’t stop the sting, the blunt reminder that there would always be someone better. That he’d always be the second choice, the safe option until something—or someone—shinier came along. Now, he was caught in that strange, hollow space between what had been and what would be. Not part of his team anymore, but not officially welcomed by the next. Just… nowhere.
You entered the house quietly, the familiar click of your heels on the hardwood breaking the stillness. Something felt off the moment you stepped inside. The air was heavy, the kind of silence that sat uneasily in your chest.
He barely noticed when you walked in, too caught up in the spiral of his thoughts. Your shadowed figure showed up in his peripherals, but even then, his mind lingered on the weight pressing down on his chest. His team, his career—it all felt like a reflection of something deeper, something that bled into everything else in his life.
Including you.
When he finally looked at you, standing by the doorway of the living room with concern etched across your face, his stomach twisted. How could he not think it? The fear that settled in him like a second skin whispered relentlessly. What if he wasn’t enough for you, either?
You were beautiful, brilliant—everything he’d dreamed of but never truly believed he deserved. And just like the team, you had a choice. There would always be someone better, someone who could…love you more. He hated the way the thought lingered, how the doubt stretched its tendrils from one part of his life to another, weaving itself into the cracks he couldn’t seem to seal.
“Carlos?” Your voice broke through his thoughts, soft yet steady, pulling his gaze to you. He forced a smile, but it felt brittle, ready to crumble under the weight of everything he couldn’t say.
You stepped closer, your heels muffled now by the rug. His chest tightened as you knelt in front of him, your eyes scanning his face with a kind of tenderness he didn’t feel he deserved in that moment. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he said quickly, but even to his own ears, it sounded hollow.
“Carlos,” you pressed, your voice firmer this time. Your hand rested lightly on his knee, grounding him in a way that both soothed and terrified him. “Please talk to me.”
He let out a heavy sigh, his head tipping forward as he tried to find the words. His gaze dropped to your hand on his knee, your thumb brushing gently against the fabric of his jeans, and his chest ached. You were so close, so present, and yet the doubts still lingered.
“They’ll always choose someone else,” he murmured finally, his voice low, almost resigned.
You frowned, your head tilting slightly. “Who?”
He shrugged, his lips pressing into a thin line as his thoughts swirled. “The team. People. It doesn’t matter how hard I work. I’ll never be… enough.”
The way he said it, the way his voice cracked ever so slightly, sent a shiver through you. But you caught it—the hesitation, the subtle way his eyes flickered to yours before darting away. He wasn’t just talking about the team.
“Carlos,” you said softly, your fingers tightening slightly on his knee. He still wouldn’t look at you, and that only made your heart ache more. “You don’t believe that. Not really.”
His laugh was bitter, a sharp, humorless sound that made your chest tighten. “Maybe I do. It’s just how it is, isn’t it? There’s always someone better. Someone who’s the first choice.”
The words hung heavy between you, and you could see it now—how his doubts about the team had spilled over, tainting the way he saw himself in every part of his life. Including the life he has with you.
Without thinking, you reached up, cupping his cheek and forcing him to look at you. His eyes were glassy, filled with a storm of emotions you could barely stand to see. “Carlos, stop.”
He blinked at you, startled by the firmness in your voice.
“I’d always choose you,” you said, the words clear and unwavering.
He froze, his breath hitching as the meaning of your words sank in. His eyes searched yours, desperate and unsure, as if he was trying to find some hidden meaning, some loophole. “You don’t mean that,” he said quietly, his voice thick with doubt.
“I do,” you said, your thumb brushing softly against his cheek. “It’s always been you for me. I love you and only you.”
He exhaled sharply, the sound rough and almost broken. His hands moved on instinct, gripping your wrists as his gaze bore into yours. “Say it again,” he demanded, his voice raw, almost pleading.
“I’d always choose you,” you repeated, leaning closer. “Over and over, Carlos. I don’t want anyone else.”
Carlos pulled you onto his lap, his hands firm on your waist as he brought you closer, close enough that your breath mingled with his, and your forehead rested against his. His eyes closed for a moment, his jaw clenching as if trying to hold back the torrent of thoughts that still raged within him.
He wanted to believe you. He wanted to take your words and hold them close, let them silence the insecurities that had been clawing at him all evening. But those thoughts—the ones that whispered of inadequacy, of being second best, of not being enough—they were loud. Too loud.
You could see it in his eyes when he opened them again, the flicker of doubt that he couldn’t quite hide. His lips parted, as if he was going to speak, but no words came. Instead, he just looked at you, his gaze heavy with longing, with uncertainty, with fear.
“I don’t…” he started, his voice rough, barely above a whisper.
You didn’t let him finish. You couldn’t. Instead, you leaned in, silencing him with a kiss. It wasn’t soft or tentative—it was everything you felt for him, all the love and devotion you couldn’t quite put into words. Your hands cupped his face, holding him steady as your lips moved against his, pouring everything you had into that single moment.
Carlos stilled at first, as if he wasn’t sure what to do, but then he kissed you back. Hard. Desperate. His hands gripped your waist tighter, pulling you impossibly closer until there was no space left between you. It was a kiss that begged for reassurance, for proof that your words weren’t just fleeting promises.
When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathing heavily, your foreheads still pressed together. His eyes searched yours, wide and vulnerable in a way you hadn’t seen before.
“I love you,” you said again, your voice steady despite the way your heart was racing. “Only you, Carlos. Always you.”
“I love you too,” he finally murmured, his voice thick with emotion and just a flicker of hope breaking through the doubt. His hands tightened on your waist as if anchoring himself, grounding his belief in your words. He blinked rapidly, as though trying to chase away the tears pooling in his eyes, but he didn’t look away. Instead, his gaze hardened, a fierce intensity burning there that hadn’t been before.
“You’re mine,” he said, the words soft but laced with something unyielding, something absolute. His grip on you shifted, his hands sliding up to your back and pulling you flush against him. His forehead pressed against yours again, but this time, there was no hesitation. The possessiveness he’d always tried to keep hidden was spilling out, raw and unapologetic.
“You’re mine,” he repeated, firmer now, as though saying it would make it undeniably true.
His hands slid under your thighs, gripping you firmly as he lifted you effortlessly into his arms. Hearing you say you were his wasn’t enough—not now, not when his doubts still lingered like shadows in the back of his mind. He needed more. He needed to feel it, to see it, to make it impossible for either of you to deny.
He carried you through the house with purpose, the soft creak of the floorboards and the faint sound of your uneven breaths the only noises breaking the silence. When he reached the bedroom, he kicked the door shut behind him, not bothering to turn on the light. The darkness wrapped around the two of you like a cocoon, intimate and isolating, leaving nothing but the sound of your heartbeats pounding in tandem.
Carlos lowered you onto the bed with a tenderness that contrasted the storm brewing in his eyes. He hovered above you for a moment, his gaze roaming over your face, his chest rising and falling as though he were trying to steady himself. But then his head dipped, and his lips crashed into yours again, urgent and unrelenting. This wasn’t just a kiss; it was a claim, one that left no room for doubt or hesitation.
His hands gripped your hips, anchoring you in place as his mouth moved against yours with a hunger that stole your breath. Every movement, every touch, was filled with a raw desperation that made your chest tighten. He was pouring everything into this moment—his doubts, his fears, his love—and you felt it all.
“You’re mine,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and unsteady, as though he needed to hear the words as much as he needed to say them. “Only mine. No one else gets to have you.”
“I’m yours, Carlos,” you whispered, your voice trembling but sure. “Always yours.”
Carlos didn’t need to hear anything else. The second the words left your lips, something inside him snapped. His hands slid down to your thighs, gripping them with enough force to leave faint impressions on your skin as he parted them, slotting himself in between.
His lips moved against yours with a renewed fervour, the kiss bruising, all-consuming, determined to leave no part of you untouched by him.
He pushed your dress up, his hands following every inch of skin he had committed to his memory for months. His mouth followed the path of his fingers, teeth grazing and tongue soothing as he left a trail of marks along your neck, your collarbone, your chest. Each one was a statement, a reminder of his place in your life, a way to silence the nagging voice in his head that told him he wasn’t enough.
His hands left your body for just a moment, long enough for him to pull his shirt over his head and toss it aside. The sight of him—every ridge of muscle, every freckle that you’d traced with your eyes a hundred times before—made your breath hitch. He made quick work of the rest of his clothes, the urgency in his movements making it clear he couldn’t bear even a second longer without being inside you.
When he returned to you, his bare skin pressing against yours, the heat of him was almost overwhelming. His lips claimed yours again, and as he guided himself to your pussy, he paused only long enough to lock eyes with you, his gaze searing, his jaw clenched with the effort of holding himself back.
Then when you nodded, he thrusted into you, and everything else ceased to matter. The fullness of him stole the air from your lungs, the stretch of him pushing you to your limits, leaving no part of you untouched.
Carlos set a rhythm that was anything but gentle, his hips snapping against yours with an intensity that sent shivers through your body. Each thrust was deep, deliberate, as though he was determined to carve himself into you, to leave no room for doubt about who you belonged to.
“Look at me,” he groaned, his voice rough and unsteady as he leaned closer, his forehead brushing against yours. “I want to see it—see how you’re mine. Say it.”
“I’m yours,” you gasped, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you clung to him, almost overwhelmed by the force of his love, his desperation. “Always yours, Carlos. Always.”
A low, guttural sound rumbled in his chest at your words, and his pace quickened, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge. His hands roamed your body, gripping your hips, your thighs, your waist—everywhere he could touch to remind himself that you were here, with him, for him.
His mouth found your neck again, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin before sinking in lightly, leaving another mark to join the others. “Mine,” he growled, his voice hoarse as his lips moved down to your collarbone, then your chest, claiming every inch of you with his mouth, his hands, his body. “No one else gets this. No one else gets to touch you, to hear you like this, to feel you like this.”
The possessiveness in his tone, the way his body pressed into yours as though trying to meld you together, sent you spiraling. Your body tightened around him, your cries rising in pitch as you fell apart beneath him, his name tumbling from your lips like a prayer.
Carlos didn’t stop, even as you trembled beneath him, overwhelmed by the intensity of it all. He needed more—needed to feel you come undone for him again and again until every part of you bore his mark, until there was no question in his mind or yours about who you belonged to, who you loved.
“Again,” he murmured against your skin, his voice dark, commanding. His hand slipped between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit, making you jolt, your body tightening around him once more. “I want to feel you again, mi amor. I want to feel you fall apart for me, just for me.”
And you did—again and again, until he was satisfied with the marks he left on your delicate skin, until the lingering shadows of doubt in his mind faded, and he could believe, without question, that you were his alone—that your love for him was unshakable, enduring, and meant to last forever.
#thef1diary fic#🫠 anon#f1 fic#f1 fanfic#f1 imagine#f1 x reader#f1 one shot#f1 story#f1 smut#f1 x you#f1 x female reader#f1 angst#carlos sainz x you#carlos sainz fic#carlos sainz x reader#carlos sainz smut#carlos sainz imagine#carlos sainz fanfic#carlos sainz angst#carlos sainz x female reader#formula one x you#formula one smut#formula one fanfic#formula one fanfiction#formula one x reader#formula one fic#smut#fic#hurt/comfort
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my game, your rules. — ldh part one
‧˚⭒ pairing: lee donghyuck x afab reader 18+MDNI ‧˚⭒ genre: brothers best friend au! fake dating! friends to lovers! humor! fluff! angst! smut![later chap] adult life au! jenos sister! flirty hc! ‧˚⭒ word count: 6.2k+ ‧˚⭒ summary: you’re fed up with your family constantly telling you how to live your life, but what would they think if you showed up with your brother’s best friend as your new boyfriend? even worse—what happens when you realize you’re actually falling for him?
‧˚⭒ authors note: thank you to everyone who has been patient with me about this first chapter! i get very picky when i start a series so i want this to be good lmao. the following chapters will have more scenes of haechan & reader alone + spicy scenes. enjoy!
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“You need to start dating,” Jeno declared, leaning casually against the kitchen counter, his arms crossed in that infuriatingly self-assured way. His tone was light, but the furrow in his brow betrayed the weight behind his words. It was the look he reserved for when he was teetering between overprotective brother and responsible older sibling, a role he took far too seriously.
“You know, focus on your future. Relationships are part of growing up,” he continued, his voice a mix of concern and exasperation. “You’re always so… wrapped up in your career goals, like it’s the only thing that matters.”
You didn’t bother to look up from your water, slowly stirring the cup in circles just to give your hands something to do. It was easier to focus on the swirling liquid than on the predictable lecture coming from across the kitchen.
“Because it is the only thing that matters,” you muttered, finally glancing up at him.
Jeno shook his head, letting out a sigh that sounded like he’d been holding it in for days. “See, that’s the problem. You don’t even let yourself breathe. You’re like this… robot. You study, you work, you plan, but you never actually live.”
You rolled your eyes, leaning back against the counter with a scoff. “I’m living just fine, thanks. I don’t need a boyfriend to validate that.”
“Yeah, but fine isn’t great,” he countered, his voice tinged with frustration. “Don’t you want more than just… surviving? More than being a robot. Have some fun for once. Mom and Dad are already asking questions about your future, and honestly, I don’t know what to tell them anymore.”
There it was—the guilt card. You clenched your jaw, your grip tightening on the cup. You hated when he brought them into it.
“Tell them I’m happy focusing on my career,” you said flatly.
Jeno’s lips twitched in irritation. “You always say that like it’s the answer to everything, but you’re a full grown adult now. When are you going to start thinking about what comes after that? It’s not just about work. It’s about connecting with people, about building a life beyond just deadlines.”
You let out a bitter laugh. “Easy for you to say, ‘Mr. Social Butterfly’. Not all of us have an endless pool of friends and a girlfriend who adores us.”
Jeno’s expression softened, but the determination in his eyes didn’t waver. “It’s not about comparing. It’s about balance, and you don’t have it.”
Silence hung heavy in the room as you stared at him, your mind racing. It wasn’t like you hadn’t thought about it before—how different you were from Jeno, how you buried yourself in work and ambitions while he seemed to glide effortlessly through life with equal parts charm and ease; but that was the thing: dating, love, relationships… they felt like unnecessary complications. You couldn’t afford complications right now.
“I don’t want to date, Jeno,” you said finally, your voice quieter but no less firm. “I’m doing fine without distractions.”
Jeno watched you for a moment, his frustration giving way to something softer. A mixture of disappointment and worry settled in his eyes, but he didn’t press further. Instead, he just shook his head again, pushing off the counter and heading for the living room.
“I just don’t want you to look back one day and realize you missed out. Everyone is growing up and moving on with their lives. Don’t you want to do the same?” he said over his shoulder.
You bit the inside of your cheek, staring into your glass cup like it held the answer to everything, but all it reflected back was the swirl of water and your own reflection as you see in your face is uncertainty.
“You know, I just don’t get you sometimes,” Jeno muttered as he sat on the couch. “You work harder than anyone I know, but it’s like you never let yourself actually live your life.”
You didn’t respond. Instead, you stared into space, your earlier irritation now mingling with something heavier—jealousy.
Your brother had always been the golden child: graduating with honors, landing a stable job right after college, and maintaining a healthy, long-term relationship with his perfect girlfriend. Even now, as you both shared an apartment, Jeno somehow made time to work out, hang out with friends, and take his girlfriend on weekly dates. He was everything your parents wanted in a child, the one they bragged about during family gatherings.
And you? You’d barely made it through college. Your GPA was nothing to write home about, and the only reason you’d graduated on time was because Karina practically dragged you across the finish line. Now, you were working as a paid intern at a company you desperately wanted to stay at full-time, but no matter how many late nights you pulled, how many extra tasks you volunteered for, it felt like you were running in place.
It was exhausting, and you were tired of hearing the same thing from your family: “Look at Jeno, he’s figured it out. Why can’t you?”
“I just don’t want to waste time,” you finally said, breaking the silence.
Jeno reappeared in the doorway, now pulling a jacket over his shoulders. “What are you wasting time on?”
You hesitated, shrugging. “Anything that doesn’t help me get ahead. That’s why I don’t care about dating. It’s just… another thing to manage.”
Jeno sighed, shaking his head, but he didn’t argue this time. “Well, Karina’s got her work cut out for her keeping you sane.”
“She’s not my therapist,” you shot back, though your tone lacked bite.
“Could’ve fooled me,” he teased, grabbing his keys. “Speaking of which, we’re supposed to meet everyone at the arcade in twenty minutes. You ready?”
You glanced down at your oversized hoodie and sweatpants. “Obviously not.”
“Get changed, then. Make it quick—Mark’s always late anyway, but Haechan will make fun of you if we’re late too.”
You huffed, dragging yourself to your room to throw on something presentable. After rummaging through your closet, you found something decently acceptable and slipped it on. Jeno was right—that was something you already knew—but it wasn’t what you wanted. Why did you have to follow Jeno’s formula for life when you wanted to create your own? Just to please your parents?
You put your hair up in a clip and sighed, watching your reflection in the mirror. The smile you’d worn before this conversation had clearly faded. All you could do was your best and hope it would be enough—but for now, skee-ball sounded better.
The flashing lights and hum of arcade machines filled the air as you and Jeno stepped inside. It was lively and chaotic, with the clinking of coins, bursts of laughter, and the occasional celebratory shout from someone winning a game. You stuffed your hands into your jacket pockets, already bracing yourself for the energy of Jeno’s friend group and looking around for Karina.
Sure enough, you spotted the guys near the basketball shooting game. Chenle was locked in a heated competition with Mark, who was flailing dramatically every time he missed a shot. Haechan, of course, was standing nearby, cheering and making exaggerated comments to throw them off their game.
“You’re late!” Chenle called out, pausing mid-shot to wave as you and Jeno approached.
“And you’re losing,” Haechan teased, pointing at Chenle’s score with a smug grin.
Chenle glared at him but turned his attention back to you, his smile warming. “Hey! Looks like you finally decided to join us?”
“Not like I had a choice,” you replied dryly, nudging Jeno with your elbow.
“Aw, come on,” Mark chimed in, abandoning the game as Chenle claimed victory. “We’re way more fun than whatever you’d be doing at home.”
You shrugged. “Debatable.”
“Debatable?” Haechan repeated, his eyebrows shooting up. “You’re in the presence of greatness. We’ve got Chenle, the reigning basketball champ, Mark, the king of being–uh Mark, and me—your personal highlight of the night.”
You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “Personal highlight? You mean my personal headache.”
Haechan placed a hand over his heart, feigning offense. “Your words wound me.”
Before the banter could continue, a familiar voice called out from behind you.
“There you are!” Karina waved excitedly as she emerged from the crowd, a handful of tokens jingling in her hand.
“Karina!” Relief flooded you as you met her halfway, grateful for the excuse to escape the chaos of Jeno’s friends for a moment.
“Sorry, boys, but she’s all mine now! We’ll be back when you finally decide to exchange your tickets into plushies for both of us,” Karina says with a grin as she takes your hand.
The guys groaned, all except Haechan, who smiled and looked directly at you. “Sounds like a challenge, but whatever you say.”
Even though you didn’t say anything, it almost felt like he made that promise just for you. Before you could respond, however, Karina had already dragged you to the other side of the arcade.
“You know,” she began as the two of you wandered toward a quieter corner of the place, “it’s kind of adorable how Haechan never stops teasing you.”
You groaned, rolling your eyes. “Adorable is not the word I’d use. Annoying, maybe.”
Karina raised an eyebrow, a sly smile spreading across her face. “Come on, admit it. He’s kind of cute when he does it.”
“He’s not cute,” you replied quickly, but the way your lips twitched betrayed the truth.
Karina caught it immediately, letting out a dramatic gasp. “Oh my god, you’re smiling! You like it, don’t you?”
“No,” you insisted, though the small grin lingered despite your best efforts. “I just think it’s funny how full of himself he is. That’s all.”
Karina hummed, unconvinced, but thankfully didn’t press further. Instead, she dragged you toward the skee-ball machines, determined to beat your score from your last arcade outing.
After playing a few rounds of skee-ball with Karina, you found yourself back with Jeno’s group. The familiar chaos resumed as Mark and Chenle challenged each other to yet another round of basketball, their shouts and laughter echoing through the arcade. Jeno, meanwhile, had stationed himself at the claw machine, laser-focused on grabbing a plush toy for his girlfriend.
You stood off to the side, sipping on a soda, when Haechan appeared beside you.
“Not joining in?” he asked, leaning casually against the railing.
“Not really my thing,” you admitted, gesturing to the flashing chaos around you.
“Let me guess,” he said, tilting his head with a teasing grin. “You’d rather be home working, right?”
“Maybe,” you replied, narrowing your eyes at him.
Haechan shook his head, laughing softly. “You’re too predictable, ya know.”
“Excuse me?” you shot back, crossing your arms.
“I’m just saying,” he continued, his tone softer now. “You don’t always have to be locked up in your room. It’s okay to let loose every now and then.”
His gaze lingered on you a little longer than necessary, and you suddenly felt the urge to look away. There was something unnerving about how easily he could read you, something that made you feel exposed in a way you weren’t used to.
“There’s something else bothering you—I can tell. You know you can’t hide these things from me. What’s wrong?” he asked, his tone full of concern.
You didn’t know how he managed to do that so effortlessly: reading you without you having to say a word. The friendship between you two was something Jeno wasn’t really aware of. As far as your brother knew, you and Haechan were just acquaintances, but since Jeno never really tried to pay attention to your personal life, he had no idea about the real bond you shared with his best friend.
You sighed. “Jeno had a stupid talk with me about my future and our parents. Apparently, they want me to find someone to settle down with and eventually move out.”
You shrugged, your frustration evident. “It’s stupid stuff. Jeno probably just wants me to move out so he can live with his girlfriend. I don’t understand how he can live such a perfect life, but when I’m in the middle of trying to build my own, my family would rather I focus on finding a relationship instead.”
Haechan nodded, listening intently, his expression encouraging you to continue venting. “Well,” he said carefully, “what do you think you can do to calm them down a bit? I mean, I know this isn’t the first time this conversation has come up. Jen’s just worried you’ll end up alone, and as annoying as he can be, he’s only trying to protect you. You also can’t hold him back forever.”
“But that’s the thing!” you exclaimed, throwing up your hands. “I never asked for anyone to look out for me! I can handle it myself—it’ll just take time,” you huffed, frustration bubbling up inside you.
“If only I had a boyfriend so they’d lay off and let me keep doing my own thing,” you muttered, frowning.
And just like that, something shifted in Haechan’s expression. A flicker of light flashed in his eyes, his smirk softening into something more serious.
“What if we dated?” he asked.
Your jaw dropped as Haechan’s words hung in the air. For a moment, you wondered if you’d misheard him.
“W-What?” you finally managed to say, blinking at him like he’d just suggested the most absurd thing in the world.
He shrugged, his usual smirk creeping back onto his face, though his eyes held a glimmer of something softer. “I’m serious. What if we fake dated? It would solve your problem with Jeno and your parents, and you wouldn’t have to worry about them nagging you anymore.”
You stared at him, trying to make sense of his offer, trying to find the joke. “But… why? What would you even get out of it?”
Haechan leaned against the arcade railing, crossing his arms as if he had already anticipated the question. “Think about it,” he said smoothly. “If we fake date, I’ll finally have an excuse to stop all these random girls from hitting on me. They’re relentless, you know,” he added with a dramatic sigh. “Plus, it’ll be fun messing with Jeno. Watching him freak out over us? Priceless.”
You frowned, searching his face for any sign that he was joking, but he seemed completely serious—or at least as serious as Haechan could be.
He must have noticed your hesitation because he straightened up, softening his tone. “Look, you don’t have to decide right now. Think about it and text me when you’ve made up your mind. No pressure.”
Before you could respond, a familiar voice broke through the moment.
“Hey guys!” Karina called, waving excitedly as she approached with the rest of the group. “Come on, we’re heading to the ticket counter! Time to claim our winnings!”
Mark and Chenle followed behind her, grinning as they displayed their handfuls of tickets like trophies. Jeno trailed behind, already scanning the prize wall with a competitive gleam in his eye.
Haechan gave you one last look, his usual playful smirk firmly back in place, before Karina grabbed your arm and dragged you toward the prize counter.
“Come on!” she said, practically bouncing with excitement. “You and I are picking out matching plushies, and I won’t take no for an answer.”
You let yourself get pulled into the chaos, trying to shake off the conversation you’d just had with Haechan. Even as you laughed at Mark’s dramatic attempts to win more tickets and listened to Karina gush over the prizes, your mind kept circling back to Haechan’s offer.
Fake dating him? Pretending to be in a relationship with Jeno’s best friend? It was ridiculous. It would never work… would it?
Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Haechan glancing at you as he helped Chenle argue with the clerk over how many tickets they actually needed for a giant stuffed bear. His expression was unreadable, but there was something about the way he looked at you that made your stomach flutter in a way you didn’t want to acknowledge.
As Karina handed you a small plush cat she’d picked out for you, you forced yourself to focus on the present. You’d think about Haechan’s offer later—when your heart wasn’t racing from his lingering gaze.
As you were getting ready to leave the arcade, you made your way around to say goodbye to everyone, saving Karina for last. She pulled you into a tight hug, her usual warmth and energy radiating.
“Chenle’s dropping me off, so no worries!” Karina reassured, squeezing your shoulder. “Goodnight, girl. I’ll text you when I’m home, okay? Love you!” With a bright smile, she walked alongside Chenle towards his car, chatting animatedly as they disappeared into the parking lot.
Jeno was already waiting in the car, the faint hum of the engine indicating he was warming it up while you finished your goodbyes. You made your way toward the passenger side, but just as you reached for the handle, someone called your name.
“Wait up!”
You turned, brows furrowed in confusion, only to see Haechan jogging up to you, his grin unmistakable even under the glow of the arcade lights.
“Before you go, I wanted to give you this,” he said, holding up a small keychain. It was a brown bear with a slightly open mouth, its expression as adorable as it was silly.
Your eyes widened in surprise. “Haechan… what is this?”
“It’s the only thing I could get with my tickets,” he said with a smirk. “I told you I’d take the challenge.”
You blinked at him, your face flushing as you took the keychain from his outstretched hand. The little bear felt warm in your palm, its tiny eyes staring up at you.
“I think we should name him Gomdo,” he added, his voice light but his gaze lingering on you.
Your jaw dropped slightly, caught off guard by his thoughtfulness. “Thank you, Haechan. You didn’t have to do this.”
He shrugged, his smile softening. “Maybe I wanted to.” Then, leaning in close, he brought his lips to your ear, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “Remember what we talked about. I’ll be ready to hear your answer.”
Before you could respond, he leaned back, flashing you one last smile before turning and walking away towards Mark's car, his hands casually stuffed into his pockets. You stared after him for a moment, your heart beating faster than you’d like to admit.
Feeling flustered, you tucked the little bear into your purse, its presence somehow both comforting and unnerving as you climbed into the car.
Jeno glanced at you curiously as you settled into the seat. “What was that about?”
You forced a casual chuckle, waving it off. “Oh, he just wanted to brag about how he spent his tickets.”
Jeno seemed to accept your explanation with a shrug, turning his attention back to the road as he shifted the car into gear. Meanwhile, you sat quietly, your hand brushing against your purse where Gomdo was tucked away.
Haechan’s words replayed in your mind, his grin lingering longer than you wanted it to.
You spent the entire night tossing and turning in your bed, unable to shut your mind off. Every time you closed your eyes, Haechan’s offer replayed in your head, his voice lingering in the quiet of your room. Since your shower, you’d been fixated on making a mental list of pros and cons, but the more you thought about it, the more tangled your thoughts became.
When the clock struck midnight and you were still wide awake, you reached for your phone, anxiety thrumming in your chest. Your thumb hovered over the screen as doubt clawed at you.
Would this really be the right choice? Would it even be worth it in the end?
You rationalized the situation for the hundredth time. By the time you eventually moved up in your career, you could always fake a breakup with Haechan. It could serve as a final point to your family—that you didn’t need a relationship or the promise of a family of your own to find happiness.
The thought of proving them wrong—of showing them that your career and personal goals mattered more than societal expectations—burned away your worries, leaving only determination.
Without realizing it, your fingers started moving on their own, tapping out a message on the screen. Haechan’s name sat at the top of the chat, glowing faintly in the dim light of your phone.
You: I’m in. We can start later today.
For a moment, silence stretched around you, broken only by the faint hum of your phone vibrating against your comforter a few minutes later.
HC: I knew you’d come around, babe. We’ll talk more details in the morning. Sleep well, my girlfriend ;)
You stared at the message, your lips twitching into a reluctant smile despite yourself. Leave it to Haechan to throw in a wink and a nickname like it was second nature.
Sliding your phone onto your nightstand, you sank back into your pillows, a strange mix of nerves and excitement settling over you. It wasn’t real—none of it would be real—but with Haechan officially as your unofficial boyfriend, it felt like you were stepping into something bigger than either of you realized.
And for the first time that night, your eyes grew heavy, the weight of the decision no longer keeping you awake.
“You’re what?!” Jeno’s voice shot up, laced with disbelief as he stared at the two of you in shock.
“I’m sorry, Jen,” you said, your voice wavering as you tried to sound as convincing as possible. “I really wanted to tell you earlier, but I needed to talk it over with Hyuck first.” You glanced at Haechan, hoping that using a part of his birth name might soften Jeno’s skepticism.
Haechan met your gaze with a confident smile before turning back to Jeno. Without missing a beat, he intertwined his fingers with yours, holding your hand firmly. “It’s real, bro. I’m sorry we didn’t say anything sooner, but we wanted to be sure before telling you. I’ve never felt a connection like this with anyone else.”
His tone was steady and sincere as he continued. “She’s beautiful, but it’s not just that. She grounds me, man. She makes me smile, even when everything feels like it’s falling apart. She’s worth everything and more.”
For a moment, you were stunned. The way he spoke—his words, his expression—was so genuine that it made your heart skip a beat. For a split second, you almost believed him.
Jeno, however, wasn’t buying it just yet. “This is so weird,” he muttered, rubbing his temples as he took in the sight of you and Haechan holding hands. “I told you to get a boyfriend, but Haechan? Seriously? Out of all people?”
“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?” Haechan’s posture straightened, his mock offense laced with just enough humor to lighten the tension.
Jeno sighed, running a hand through his hair. “No offense, dude, but you’re the last person I’d want dating my sister. I mean, look at you two—standing there, holding hands, looking all… infatuated. It’s just—it doesn’t make sense to me.” He flopped onto the couch, his face contorted in bewilderment.
Haechan tightened his grip on your hand, his voice unwavering as he said, “Well, nothing’s going to change how I feel about her. I might be your best friend, but I promise you—I’m going to be the best, and only, boyfriend your sister will ever need.”
You took a deep breath, stepping in to support Haechan’s story. “And it’s not like we’re rushing into this, Jeno. We’ve already been on dates! Remember a few weeks ago when I left work early and told you I had a headache? That was actually because I was so nervous about a date with Hyuck that I needed extra time to get ready. Oh! And the night at the arcade! He wasn’t bragging about his tickets–he actually got me a teddy bear!”
Jeno groaned, rubbing his face with his hands. “It’s still… weird. But hey, if you’re treating her right, and if you’re both happy—who am I to judge?” He looked between the two of you, his expression still full of disbelief but softening slightly. “I guess I’ll let Mom and Dad know unless you want to do it yourselves. I just need a minute to process this…”
He stood up, shaking his head as he started to leave the room. Before walking out, he threw a glance at you and Haechan, his brows furrowing.
“You can tell them if you want,” you said, trying to sound casual. “Just make sure you tell them the most important part—we’re happy together.”
You turned to Haechan, offering him a small smile that he returned easily. For all the absurdity of this fake relationship, in that moment, it almost felt real.
Jeno shot you and Haechan one last skeptical look before heading to his room to call your parents with the news. The sound of his door locking was like a signal, and the moment it clicked, you yanked your hand out of Haechan’s grip, wiping your palm aggressively on his sleeve.
“What was that for?” he asked, feigning offense as he inspected his now slightly wrinkled sleeve.
“You have sweaty palms! At least give me a heads-up if you’re going to go completely off script!” you hissed, your voice low but sharp. “What even was all that? We practiced everything for nothing!”
Haechan leaned back, his expression unbothered. “Hey, it worked, didn’t it? He totally bought it. You’re lucky we didn’t have to pull out the photos too!”
You narrowed your eyes, his smugness only fueling your irritation. The “photos” he was referring to were ones he insisted you take during your so-called “official unofficial dates” to sell the story. At the time, you’d rolled your eyes at the idea, but Haechan had been adamant.
“What kind of relationship would we be in if we didn’t have any photos or memories together? Are you trying to get caught?” he had said during one of your early planning sessions, his tone half-joking but entirely serious.
And to your frustration, he wasn’t wrong.
“Don’t forget,” he added now, a playful smirk tugging at his lips, “those photos got you free food and drinks too. Having a girlfriend is so expensive, by the way. I should start invoicing you.”
You groaned, resisting the urge to smack his arm. “Well, luckily for you, this fake relationship has an expiration date. You won’t have to deal with me for much longer.”
Haechan rubbed the arm you’d just wiped your hand on, exaggerating the motion. “You’re the one making this hard, you know. I’m just trying to be the best fake boyfriend you’ll ever have.”
Despite yourself, a laugh slipped out, and you let out a deep breath, some of the tension from the past few weeks melting away. “In all seriousness, though,” you said, softening your tone, “I really appreciate this. I just… I need a little breathing room from them.”
Haechan’s playful expression faded, replaced by something gentler. “Hey, I get it. That’s what I’m here for, right?”
For a moment, you found yourself caught in his gaze, surprised by the sincerity in his words. Then, as if sensing the shift, he clapped his hands together and grinned. “Now, do I get a thank-you for my oscar-worthy performance, or what?”
You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the small smile creeping onto your face. “Thank you, Hyuck,” you muttered begrudgingly.
“Louder for the people in the back?”
“Don’t push it.”
He smiled at you, and for a brief moment, you swore your heart did something strange—something you weren’t ready to acknowledge. You quickly brushed it off, telling yourself it was just the adrenaline of lying to your brother.
A blush crept onto your face, but you shook it away, turning your attention elsewhere. “So, what’s your plan for the rest of the day?” you asked, hoping to steer the conversation to safer ground.
Haechan shrugged casually before plopping himself down on your couch. Without a second thought, he grabbed the leftover bag of chips Jeno had abandoned earlier and began munching away, his hand already reaching for the remote.
“What kind of movie are you feeling tonight?” he asked as he scrolled through Netflix like he owned the place.
You blinked at him, baffled. “Um, why? And what are you doing?”
He glanced at you, feigning innocence. “I’m your boyfriend, aren’t I? As your boyfriend, we should actually spend more time together—to, you know, make a point. What kind of man would I be if I didn’t spend time with my girl?” He punctuated the sentence with a playful wink and puckered his lips dramatically in your direction.
“You’re impossible, you know that?” you muttered, fighting back a smile as you sat down beside him. With a quick motion, you yanked the bag of chips out of his hands and into your own. “And the answer is thriller.”
A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth as he draped his arm lazily over your shoulders, making himself more comfortable. “Good call. If you get scared, don’t hesitate to lean on me, baby. I’ll protect you.”
“Wow, just like that, you ruined the moment,” you shot back, rolling your eyes. “Now play the movie before I change my mind.”
Despite your words, you couldn’t help but feel at ease. Sitting beside him, the banter flowing so naturally, felt… comfortable. More comfortable than you had expected.
Of course, you still weren’t used to Haechan calling you pet names, but the way they rolled off his tongue with such ease made you think you could eventually get used to it—out of necessity, of course. At least, that’s what you told yourself as the movie began playing and the two of you settled in, perhaps a bit too close together.
It has been almost a week since the announcement at your place. A whole week of spending more time with Haechan than you ever thought you would.
You pouted as you walked beside him, your breath visible in the freezing air. Haechan, ever observant, noticed immediately.
“What’s with you?” he asked, tilting his head toward you.
“What’s with me is that I wanted to stay late at work to finish up some paperwork and presentations,” you huffed. “Yet here I am, being dragged out of the office to get freaking ice cream.”
“Again, what’s the problem here? Sounds more like a blessing to me,” Haechan replied with a smirk, his tone brimming with pride. “Also, don’t blame me. Jeno’s the one who called and asked me to pick you up after work. I just figured we could grab some ice cream on the way back.”
You shot him a skeptical look, squinting at him. “It’s freezing outside, and you thought ice cream was a good idea?”
“Can’t help thinking about sweet thoughts when all I think about is you,” he said with a wink, nudging your arm.
Your face immediately heated, and you turned your head sharply to hide your blush. “You’re irritating, and you don’t need to flirt with me when Jeno isn’t around, it’s not necessary,” you muttered, but your voice lacked the bite you intended.
Haechan laughed, the sound warm and teasing. “Oh, but it is, you’re so easy to make blush. It’s cute.”
“Yeah, whatever,” you responded, rolling your eyes, though your heart raced at his words.
The two of you stepped into the small corner ice cream shop, its warmth a welcome contrast to the bitter cold outside. You had no intention of actually enjoying yourself, but the cozy atmosphere and the way Haechan seemed genuinely excited made it harder to stay annoyed.
He leaned casually against the counter, studying the menu like it was the most important decision of his life. “Cookies and cream, right?”
You blinked, “how’d you know?”
He shrugged, flashing you a playful grin. “I pay attention. You’re predictable, remember?”
“Predictable?” you echoed, crossing your arms.
He nodded confidently. “Cookies and cream ice cream, oversized hoodies, snarky attitude—you’re like a walking checklist.”
You opened your mouth to retort but stopped when you noticed his smug grin. He wanted you to argue. If there’s anything he enjoyed just as much as making you blush, it was definitely getting under your skin. Instead, you huffed, turning your attention to the menu.
Minutes later, you sat by the window with your cone, the soft glow of the shop’s lights reflecting off the glass. Haechan plopped down across from you, licking his strawberry ice cream with a ridiculous amount of enthusiasm.
“You look ridiculous,” you said, unable to hide your grin.
“Yet, here you are, enjoying my company,” he shot back.
You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t deny it—he had a point.
As the conversation drifted to lighter topics, you found yourself laughing more than you’d expected. Haechan had a way of making even the simplest stories entertaining, his animated expressions and dramatic gestures drawing you in, distracting you of the outside world.
It wasn’t just his humor. It was the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, the way his voice softened when he teased you gently. There was a warmth to him, a genuine charm that you hadn’t fully noticed before.
Your gaze lingered on him for a moment too long, and when he caught you staring, his smirk widened.
“See something you like?” he asked, leaning forward slightly.
Your face burned, and you quickly looked down at your ice cream. “In your dreams.”
“Every night,” he quipped, his tone teasing but his gaze steady.
You forced a laugh, but your heart wasn’t cooperating. It thudded against your chest, each beat reminding you of a truth you didn’t want to face.
Don’t fall for it. You can’t.
The cold air nipped at your skin as you eventually walked side by side down the quiet streets. Despite the chill, the warmth in your chest hadn’t faded. It was unsettling.
Haechan’s hands were shoved into his jacket pockets, his steps light and unhurried. “You’ve been quiet. What are you thinking about? Is it because of my incredibly good looks?”
You snorted, shaking your head, “don’t flatter yourself.”
He stopped abruptly, turning to face you with an exaggerated gasp. “You are thinking about me!”
“Am not!” you protested, but the heat rising to your cheeks betrayed you.
“Liar,” he teased, stepping closer. “You’re thinking about how irresistible I am. Admit it.”
You glared at him, your lips twitching despite your best efforts. “You’re delusional.”
“You’re avoiding the question.”
When you finally reached your apartment, you turned to thank him, but the words caught in your throat when you saw the way he was looking at you.
Haechan’s teasing demeanor had melted away, replaced by something softer, genuine. His dark eyes locked on yours, and the playful smirk that usually graced his lips was absent. His soft eyes grazed you up and down with something much more than just friendship.
Your breath hitched as he stepped closer, his gaze flickering to your lips for just a moment before returning to your eyes.
For a split second, you thought he might kiss you, and the realization sent a rush of panic through you. Before either of you could move, the door behind you swung open.
Jeno stood there, keys in hand, his expression caught somewhere between annoyance and amusement.
“Well,” he said, glancing between the two of you, “this is awkward.”
You stepped back quickly, clearing your throat. “Jeno, we were just—”
“Save it,” Jeno interrupted, smirking. “I gotta say, though, you two are starting to convince me. The way you look at each other? Pretty obvious.”
“Obvious?” you echoed, your voice slightly higher than intended.
“Yeah, obvious,” Jeno said, stepping past you. “Anyway, I’m heading out to the gym with Jaemin. Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.” He shot Haechan a pointed look before walking down the hallway.
Haechan grinned, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Told you we’re convincing.”
“Shut up,” you muttered, stepping inside quickly.
That night, as you lay in bed, you couldn’t stop replaying the moment at the door. The way Haechan looked at you, the way he leaned in—it was all too much.
You pressed a pillow to your face, groaning, but then your phone buzzed with a text from him:
HC: Sweet dreams, pretty girl <3
You felt your heart betray you again, skipping a beat. You push all of this down, swearing to yourself to lock this feeling away and forget about it.
You reminded yourself, you needed to focus on yourself and keep up this game until your family stopped pestering you. Once they meet him and a couple of months have passed, you can end things and finally be free of him. At least, that’s what you told yourself.
#nct#haechan#lee donghyuck#lee haechan#nct dream#donghyuck#nct 127#nct u#haechan fanfic#nct haechan#donghyuck smut#donghyuck x reader#haechan smut#haechan x reader#mark lee#haechan angst#haechan scenarios#donghyuck scenarios#haechan fluff#jeno#nct jeno#lee jeno#donghyuck ff#haechan ff#donghyuck fanfic#haechan series#donghyuck series#haechan au#donghyuck au
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Hi! Could you please write something where reader and Lando have been together for a while and the hate never got to her until she saw a comment about her using Lando’s money and Lando never had a problem with it. But reader starts using her own money but she doesn’t have a lot of it and one day she misses a call from the bank and Lando answers it and finds out her funds are low and he put it together. Happy needing though where Lando reassures her that he loves her using his money.
what's mine is yours (ln4)
✦ pairing - lando norris x female!reader
✦ genre - gold digger tweets, money problems, tears, fluff
Lando and Y/N had always had an easygoing relationship. From the moment they met, things just clicked. They’d been inseparable for years, growing through the ups and downs of the racing world together. She was his anchor, and he was her biggest supporter. Despite the scrutiny from the public eye, their relationship was grounded in mutual respect and understanding. Lando always made sure she felt cherished, often indulging her with gifts, fancy dinners, and trips—but none of that ever really mattered to Y/N. She loved Lando, not his lifestyle.
Still, there was always an undercurrent of judgment from certain corners of social media, as there often is for the partners of famous athletes. Y/N had long trained herself to tune out the negative noise. But today was different.
Sitting on the couch while Lando was out at a sponsorship event, she scrolled through Twitter. It had been a typical day, filled with photos of the two of them that fans had posted, some sweet comments and, as usual, some not-so-sweet ones. She should’ve stopped scrolling when she saw a thread discussing her. But instead, her eyes caught on one tweet.
@SpeedyPaddock: "Does Y/N ever spend a single dollar of her own? I swear all I see is Lando footing the bill. She’s just another gold digger… probably why Lando doesn’t mind either, right? He’s got the money to throw around."
Her heart sank. Y/N stared at the screen, feeling her chest tighten. She had never thought of it that way—sure, Lando loved spoiling her, and she’d accepted his generosity because it made him happy. But was she really taking advantage of him?
She shook her head, trying to clear the heaviness settling in her chest. No, Lando would never think that. Yet, the words echoed in her mind, twisting her perception. What if other people thought the same thing? What if they saw her as nothing more than someone who used Lando’s wealth to get by?
I can't do this anymore, she decided. She wasn’t going to be seen that way. From now on, she'd stop using any of Lando’s money. She wouldn’t tell him—it wasn’t his fault, and she didn’t want to burden him with her insecurities.
Y/N sighed, putting her phone away, her mind already racing with ways to distance herself from his lavish spending. This wasn't about them, it was about her.
time skip
The shift was subtle at first. Y/N stopped suggesting they go out to fancy dinners or buy anything extravagant. She even started paying for smaller things—coffee, groceries, or an Uber here and there. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to go to their favorite restaurants or enjoy the life they’d built together, but she didn’t want to add fuel to the assumptions people were making online. Every time Lando offered to cover something, she’d smile and politely insist on taking care of it herself.
Lando, oblivious to what was going on in her head, didn’t think much of it at first. He’d tease her with a grin, “Trying to outdo me, are you?” And she’d laugh it off, hiding the unease in her heart.
But as the weeks passed, the strain began to show. Y/N wasn’t rich—not by Lando’s standards, not by any stretch. Her savings weren’t endless, and the more she tried to maintain this facade of independence, the more she found herself running low on funds. She wasn’t sure how long she could keep this up, but the thought of being seen as a "gold digger" kept pushing her forward.
One afternoon, as Lando was lounging on the couch, Y/N’s phone rang. She was out picking up some last-minute groceries, and without thinking, Lando picked it up when he saw the caller ID—her bank.
"Hello, this is Lando. I’m answering for Y/N."
The bank representative, not knowing any different, politely responded, "Hello, sir. We were just calling to inform Ms. Y/L/N that her account balance is quite low, and we’ve noticed a few declined transactions recently. We recommend a transfer or deposit soon to avoid further issues."
Lando’s face dropped, confusion swirling through his mind. "Uh, okay. I’ll let her know. Thank you." He hung up and stared at the phone for a moment, piecing things together.
When Y/N returned home, she found Lando sitting on the edge of the couch, her phone in his hand, a serious expression on his face.
"Hey, everything okay?" she asked, setting the groceries down.
He looked up, his blue eyes soft but concerned. "Why didn’t you tell me?"
Y/N froze. She had no idea what he was talking about. "Tell you what?"
"The bank called. They said your account’s low… and that there have been some declined transactions. Y/N, why are you doing this?" His voice was gentle but filled with worry.
Her heart sank. "Lando, I—" She trailed off, not sure how to explain. The tweet flashed in her mind again, and she could feel the walls closing in.
Lando stood up and walked over to her, his hands resting on her shoulders. "Talk to me. Please."
She exhaled slowly, her voice trembling. "I saw a comment a few weeks ago… someone said I was just using your money. That I’m a gold digger and that you don’t care because you can afford it. It got to me, Lando. I didn’t want people to think that I’m only with you for your money. So, I started using my own… but I didn’t realize how fast it would run out."
Lando’s expression softened even more, his brow furrowing as he pulled her into a hug. "Oh, Y/N…"
She buried her face into his chest, feeling the weight of her decision catch up with her. "I didn’t want to tell you because it wasn’t your fault. It’s just stupid people online. But I didn’t want to be seen that way."
He pulled back slightly, cupping her face in his hands. "Listen to me. I don’t care what anyone else thinks. You’re with me because you love me, and I love you. It’s never been about money, and it never will be."
"But—" she started, but he cut her off gently.
"No, but. I want to spoil you. I want to take you to nice places, buy you things, and make you happy. That’s what people do when they love each other. It doesn’t mean you’re using me. You’re not a gold digger, Y/N. You’ve never been." He kissed her forehead softly. "You don’t have to prove anything to anyone. Especially not to me."
Tears welled up in her eyes, not from sadness, but from relief. She’d been carrying this burden for so long, and now, hearing Lando say those words, it felt like the weight had been lifted. "I just didn’t want you to think I was taking advantage of you."
"I know you, Y/N," he whispered. "You could never do that. I love you, and I love sharing my life with you. That includes my money, okay? We’re a team. Whatever’s mine is yours."
Y/N nodded, tears spilling over as she smiled softly. "I love you too, Lando. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner."
He wiped her tears away with his thumb, smiling back. "Don’t be. Just promise me one thing."
"What?" she asked.
"Promise me you won’t listen to those idiots online. They don’t know us. They don’t know what we have."
Y/N let out a soft laugh. "I promise."
Lando grinned, pulling her into another tight hug. "Good. Now, let’s go out tonight. My treat. And before you say anything, it always will be."
Y/N rolled her eyes playfully, the tension finally easing between them. "Fine. But I’m picking the place."
"Deal."
#lando norris#lando norris x female reader#lando norris x you#lando norris x oc#lando norris x y/n#lando norris x reader#ln4#ln4 x y/n#ln4 x reader#ln4 x you#ln4 x female reader#formula 1 x female reader#formula 1 x y/n#formula 1 x you#formula 1 x reader#formula 1#f1 imagine#formula one#y/n#mclaren
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Mi Casa Su Casa : ̗̀➛ Carlos Sainz
summary: wherever he goes, carlos wants for you to go too, and that includes a new spot that is particularly important for carlos
Your smile turned upwards as the door to Carlos’ apartment opened, his hand reaching out and immediately inviting you in. Your eyes lit up, as they always did, taking in the grand structure of his home, the building much grander than the place you called home.
“Come, sit down,” Carlos grinned, leading you over to the sofa that was by the window, overlooking the city. You knew your way around Carlos’ home like the back of your hand, walking straight through and dropping down beside him, feeling his arm drape over your shoulders.
Carlos loved watching you and seeing how comfortable you were too, taking things in your stride. It felt normal for him to have you there, if anything, not having you there was what felt strange to him now, hating the feeling of walking around the quiet apartment.
The hold that Carlos had around your frame was strong as he welcomed you into his side, resting his head against the top of yours. He’d decided to invite you round after speaking to you on the phone that afternoon, the frustration from your day evident in your voice.
“I’m sorry your day wasn’t great,” Carlos whispered into your ear once you settled, “you know you can forget about all of that for a while whilst you’re here with me.”
If there was one place you wanted to be after the day that you’d had, it was Carlos’. You knew if there was one person who could put the smile back on your face it was definitely going to be him, he somehow seemed to have all the answers to your problems.
“I just want to pretend that today never happened,” you informed him with a sigh, “aside from being here with you of course, I’m happy to be here and spend some time with you.”
“Good answer,” Carlos joked, squeezing your frame tighter. “I’ve got something for you that I think I might cheer you up a little bit anyway.”
You tilted your body to look up at Carlos, noticing the grin that was on his face. Immediately your eyebrows raised as you tried to figure something out from the look on his face, but Carlos gave anyway nothing. On the inside, his heart was racing with excitement, knowing that what he wanted to do was going to be big, something he knew was the right thing to do though.
Your eyes didn’t look away from Carlos as you sat in anticipation, wondering what his plans were, watching as his hand reached out to the table that was just beside where the two of you were sat.
“What are you up to?” You grinned as Carlos picked up what he wanted to show you, telling you to hold your hand out before placing the item into your hand.
Your eyes slowly looked down, the sunlight streaming through the window reflecting beautifully on the key that rested in the palm of your hand, slightly unsure as to where the key would give you entry to.
Carlos’ smile was wide as your eyes glanced across at him again. “It’s a key for here, so that you can come by whenever you want to, or if you feel ready, it’s a key so you can just move in with me.”
There was no doubt in Carlos’ mind that having you there was what he wanted, loving the feeling of sharing his home with you. Slowly you were finding yourself moving in away, leaving toiletries in his bathroom or clothes lying around in his wardrobe, all Carlos needed to do was make things official.
“Are you serious?” You asked Carlos, your voice full of surprise, twirling the key around in your fingertips. “This is a big deal Carlos, are you sure this is what you want?”
“It’s absolutely what I want,” Carlos quickly assured you. “I mean you spend a lot of time here anyway and we love spending time together, so why not make it a bit more of a permanent arrangement?”
“I don’t even know what to say, no one has ever asked me to move in with them before.”
Carlos’ smile was wide as you spoke, “you’ve not actually answered my question yet if you want to move in with me.”
“Of course, I do,” you laughed, “I just can’t believe this is for real right now.”
Carlos pulled you tighter into his side, pressing a kiss against your cheek. Your arm draped around his chest, head tucking in underneath his own, making sure that you kept a strong grip on the key that was in your hand.
“This is basically your home anyway,” Carlos spoke, “Charles came round the other day and thought you already lived here with how many of your things were in the bathroom.”
Your eyes rolled as Carlos filled you in on the conversation, it was typical Charles, pushing Carlos for answers, nagging him as to why he hadn’t already got round to asking you to move in with him yet.
“I can’t believe this is going to be the place that I call home,” you whispered to yourself, unaware that Carlos could hear you. “I never imagined I’d live in a place like this.”
“You only deserve the best mi amor,” Carlos replied.
“Oh,” you gasped, not realising that Carlos had overheard. “I mean, I didn’t have much to do with this place anyway, this is a reward for all of your hard work.”
“Then let’s make it ours, we can make whatever changes you think.”
Admittedly, Carlos had turned his home into a bit of a lad’s pad, he wasn’t the tidiest, there were consoles and gym equipment lying around everywhere. With your help Carlos knew that he could make the place a lot more homely, a place that the two of you would both love.
“This is your home, Carlos; I can’t just move in and start calling the shots.”
“See, that’s where you’re wrong, it’s our home now.”
Your smile grew as Carlos spoke, struggling to believe that it was real. You had no doubts that your future was one that had Carlos in it, but moving in felt like the first proper step to making that a reality, something you were struggling to get your head around.
“I’ve got so many ideas for things that we can do, I’ve been doing plenty of research.”
You glanced across at Carlos in surprise, “why do I feel like I’ve suddenly got an interior designer on my hands? What sort of things have you got in mind?”
“Just a bit of paining, building,” Carlos shrugged, noticing the excited smile on your face. “You’re imagining how I’d look doing all of that, aren’t you?”
“Can you blame me?” You challenged, unable to clear the image from your mind, the picture clear of Carlos with paintbrush in hand, reaching up to reach the high parts of the wall with his shirt riding up to show his body.
Carlos’ eyes rolled as you continued to daydream, “I’m not asking you to move in just so I can give you more opportunities to stare at me you know.”
“That’s all I plan on doing when I’m living here.”
Carlos pressed a kiss against your lips, “I can’t wait to have you here forever, to wake up with you every morning, cuddle up to you every evening too.”
“It’s going to be amazing; I can’t wait to call this home.”
˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗
#f1#f1 imagine#formula 1#carlos sainz#carlos sainz imagine#formula 1 x reader#f1 x reader#formula 1 imagine#f1 fanfic#f1 reaction#formula 1 x you#formula 1 fanfic#carlos sainz x you#carlos sainz x reader#formula one x you#formula one x reader#formula one imagine#formula 1 fic#formula one#f1 drabble#f1 fluff#f1 x you#f1 fic
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What We Make of What We’re Made
Pairing: Acheron!Reader x Azriel
Summary: When Azriel overhears Feyre's concern about your transition to fae life, he agrees to check on you.
Warnings: mentions of previous trauma and hardship, fluff :)
Word Count: 3k
✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹
“I’m worried about her, Rhys. Really worried.”
Although Feyre’s voice was quiet, Azriel could sense the worry that coated it from where he stood down the hallway, the sound of her voice leaking through the cracked door of Rhysand’s office. It was a quiet morning, lazy almost, as Azriel walked around the townhouse. His shadows danced along the walls next to him, matching the pace of his walking as he approached the open door.
“Worried about who?”
Feyre let out a small sound of surprise, turning her head towards where Azriel now stood, a delicate hand flying to place itself above her heart. Even with the time that passed, she never quite got used to how stealthy the shadowsinger could be, how easily he was able to quiet the sounds of his own footsteps with the lively shadows he called his own.
“Oh, Azriel,” Feyre said, giving him a small, soft smile. “Good morning.”
Az gave her a quick smile back, dipping his head ever-so-slightly in a gentle greeting. His gaze bounced between her and Rhys, who gave him a simple raise of his eyebrows in acknowledgement.
“Who are you worried about?” Azriel asked again.
Rhys and Feyre exchanged a meaningful glance, and then Feyre let out a small sigh, turning to look at Azriel once more. There was a small furrow in her brow as she fiddled with her fingers.
"Y/n," she confessed.
Azriel’s face softened, his mouth turning into a small downturned frown. He felt a subtle shift in his shadows, as if they had responded to the sound of your name. Faintly, he felt their airy, cool, touch on his body as their large mass rose up his arms. He felt them settle at his shoulders, perched— alert, almost– as if they, too, were attuned to the conversation.
"I see.”
"Feyre is concerned that she may be having a harder time becoming fae than she has let on," Rhysand explained.
The crease between Azriel’s brows grew deeper as his gaze flickered between the two before him.
"Why?”
Feyre sighed again, giving a small shrug. There was a certain look in her eyes, a look that Azriel traced back to the day the King of Hybern turned you and your sisters into fae— forced you into fae. It was a look he was familiar with, one he often wore himself: guilt.
It was no secret that Feyre felt responsible for what had happened to you and your sisters. Although she spent those first few months away, Feyre felt it in her heart, the struggle you had all experienced. And she felt the guilt even deeper knowing that she wasn’t there to help. She didn’t hide it as well as she thought she did, that certain fear that she clung to of her sisters never truly forgiving her for what she felt was a personal betrayal. Or, perhaps, Azriel was just too good at his job.
"I've barely seen her,” she said, “I know that Nesta and Elain are having a difficult time, but at least I can see them. Be near them—as much as Nesta may hate it."
Azriel blinked. And then an unfamiliar feeling began to gnaw at his heart. Feyre was right. You hadn’t been around recently. Az had noticed, of course, as he tended to keep track of those in his circle, of the people he was expected to protect— at least to a degree. And you had, indeed, been gone more often than you were home.
In fact, he struggled to remember the last time you sat with them for longer than a few minutes before rushing off. With a small exhale, Azriel sent a few of his shadows down his body and out the door, pushing them to check your bedroom and report back to him regarding anything that might be of use.
“Well, maybe we could send Azriel to check on her?”
The sound of Rhysand’s voice called Azriel’s attention back to the conversation, and he cleared his throat in hopes that the motion would clear his mind as well.
Feyre's eyes widened slightly as she brushed a gentle hand across Rhysand’s forearm, turning to look at Azriel with a faint smile. "That's a great idea. You've been so sweet to Elain, Az. Maybe you could help Y/n, too. Would you mind?"
Her voice held a note of hope and Az found himself nodding gently.
"Of course not," He replied, "But if she's struggling, am I really who she would want to see?"
Rhysand frowned slightly before looking down at his mate. But Feyre simply shook her head, offering a reassuring smile as she said, "I think you'd be a breath of fresh air.”
"And you could get a better read of where she's at,” Rhysand added, “Maybe how we can help.”
Azriel nodded once more. In the same moment, he felt a few of his shadows return, slowly snaking up his legs to join the mass near his shoulders. Your room was empty, as it turned out, and the bed was cold. Wherever you had gone, you’d left quite a while ago— and you left no notice of where it was that you were running off to.
"I'll find her," Azriel affirmed. With a final nod to Rhysand and Feyre, he turned and left the room, his shadows trailing behind him.
✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹
It was nearing the later months of the year now, and there was a cool breeze that filled the air, not quite chilly enough to make him shiver, but enough of a nip to make the warmth of his leathers comforting. Azriel loved this time of year, loved the way the breeze kissed his cheeks and how refreshing it felt against his wings. It was a good time of year, a time to take a breath and prepare to start new— he quite loved the second part, the promise of a new start, of a chance to be better than who he was before.
Az slowly walked along the Sidra, his wings carefully and neatly tucked into his back. His posture was lazy, a small hunch in his shoulders as scanned his surroundings. He made himself as small as possible, not wanting to take up too much space, or worse, scare those around him. Specifically, he didn’t want to scare you if he happened to come across you.
But that was proving difficult at the moment. In truth, Az didn’t know where to look. His shadows were on alert, told to seek out any sign of you, any indication of where you might have disappeared to. He thought of all the quiet places nearby, of the corners in Velaris that may provide some darkness to shrewd in. But nothing quite came to mind. He let his thoughts wander as he continued his path.
Azriel felt guilty.
Sure, you weren’t his responsibility, but you were part of his family now— a sister of Feyre, of his High Lady. You were his to protect. And while Cassian had been working with Nesta, or attempting to and being shot down, Az had been tiptoeing around Elain when he wasn’t assessing the court for any more help needed for post-war rebuilding. Things had been quiet recently. And he had assumed, apparently wrongfully so, that you and your sisters would be able to properly acclimate now, to learn how to live as fae. He couldn’t speak much for Nesta, as she had distanced herself as soon as she could, but Elain— Elain had made slight progress. She was moving around the house, tending to her garden.
But you. You, he had not truly analyzed. There had been Nesta’s anger, Elain’s helplessness and utter fear, and you…. you had been silent. And ever since, you’d found something to busy yourself with— perhaps some distraction from the pain you’d forced yourself to deal with alone, he thought.
He should have kept a better eye. He had failed you, had failed his family.
He felt the faint, cool tug on his body, pulling him out of his thoughts.
Azriel clenched his teeth in frustration, stopping in his tracks as he looked down at his shadows once more, watching as few slithered towards the edge of the shops that lined the Sidra, the other shadows dancing around his wrists as if enticing him to follow.
He attempted to call them back, reel them in like energetic children, but they refused, continuing to veer off course and drawing his attention to a particular figure seated outside a quaint cafe. He threw the female a quick glance, taking in her sapphire coat and her hair tucked within it. He looked down at his shadows.
Stop it, Az scolded. Stay on track. Find Y/n.
But yet again, his shadows danced in between the cobblestoned roads towards the female.
She sat with her back to Az, her laughter ringing out like a melody amidst the chatter of the busy street. She was engaged in conversation with, who Az assumed was, the cafe owner, her gestures animated as the two talked.
Azriel paused. And then the female was moving her hands to her neck, lifting her hair and freeing it from where it lay underneath her coat. Instantly, a small breeze kissed Azriel’s nose, and he was hit with a scent of sweetness that had his wings falling slightly limp behind him.
It smelled like…you?
He slowly moved forward, brows furrowed together as he approached the female from behind.
The shop owner's conversation faltered as she took in Azriel's approaching figure, the words she had been speaking instantly dying off her tongue. Her eyes went wide for a moment before her face softened, and she offered a polite nod of acknowledgment.
From in front of him, you turned around, your head tilting up to meet Azriel’s eyes instantly.
And then you smiled.
His confusion deepened as he watched you, his previous expectations shattered by the sight of what Azriel could only describe as…joy.
“Azriel!” You said, “What are you doing here?”
Azriel’s eyes flickered between you and the shop owner as he swallowed.
“I-” He hesitated for a moment. His shadows danced around him. Happy, Joy, Content. “Feyre sent me.”
Your face fell into a small frown and you turned your head to face the shopkeeper once more.
“It was so nice talking with you, Liena,” you said softly, “And thank you so much for the treats.”
You motioned to a small empty plate before you, and the female smiled at you, leaning forward to grab it with her small hands. “Please come by anytime. We’re glad to have you here.”
You smiled at her, watching as she retreated back into her quaint little shop. Then, you turned to look up at Azriel once more.
“Feyre sent you?” You asked, “For me?”
Az nodded, eyes quickly flickering down to where his shadows seeped to trail near your ankles, he clenched his jaw slightly as he urged them to return, a sense of heated embarrassment filling his body— a sensation he wasn’t used to. Had never felt before, really.
“She's worried about you,” he finally managed to reply.
Az took a step back as you pushed your chair out, gently standing up and turning to face him. There was a gentle smile on your face, but your brows were furrowed as you stared at him through dark lashes. You brought your hand to your chest, hovering it over your heart. Just as Feyre does, Azriel noted. One and the same.
“She is?”
There was a trace of concern in your voice, but it wasn’t in the way he had expected. You seemed concerned that Feyre was worried— concerned as if she had no reason to be worrying at all. Azriel took a moment to scan your features, taking in your face, the way you stood, the clothes that adorned your figure.
You were beautiful, Azriel knew this. He had noticed it when he first met you and your sisters, standing with his brothers and Feyre. But comparing that female he first met to the one that now stood before him… the similarities were almost hard to find. You were glowing. There was a pink tint that coated your cheeks, the faint blush that painted your skin from the cool breeze. Your skin was full of color that had been missing those first few weeks after you’d been Made, and you wore a gentle smile that held a heavy warmth to it.
Happy, Joy, Content.
“She is,” he responded, “You’ve been gone a lot recently. She was concerned that you were struggling with being fae.”
You blinked, your mouth falling open slightly as you took in his words, and then your brows furrowed deeper.
“Oh my gods,” you said quietly, “I didn’t realize what Feyre might think.”
You let out a small sigh, gently tugging your bottom lip between your teeth. Azriel simply looked at you, his mind drawing blanks of what he could say. He couldn’t form the right words, at least not while his energy was being spent on pulling his shadows away from your body and back into his.
‘I know my sisters are struggling. And I was too,” you quickly added, “but I woke up one day and suddenly the sunshine seemed brighter and its rays were warmer, and all the sounds around me were more melodic than I’d ever heard.”
You stopped for a moment, grabbing a strand of your hair in your hands to twirl between your fingers before you continued. “I don’t know how else to describe it. And I didn’t want to be so happy around them. It felt wrong— like if I was betraying them somehow, for enjoying what we had been forced to become. So I stayed out of the house. At least, at the beginning. But now?”
You stopped again, but this time you made a soft gesture with your hand to your surroundings, too lost in your words to notice how a single shadow managed to hover around your extended hand. Azriel kept his gaze on you, unwavering and focused as you smiled once more, a small laugh leaving your lips. Without noticing, the corners of his lips turned up at the sound.
“Azriel, this city is beautiful. I would have never been able to experience something like this as human. We were unhappy, simply existing rather than living. But here? The food, the music, the energy.”
You fiddled with your hands as you shook your head gently, the smile never leaving your face.
“What happened to my family, to Nesta, to Elain, to Feyre,” you said, moving closer to look up at him. “It was cruel. And it wasn’t beautiful. But what I make of myself after it? That can be beautiful.”
There was something about the words that you spoke, how genuine your face was as you stared at him, that made Azriel’s heart clench. He felt silly, truly, for the sudden rush of emotion that washed over him like a tidal wave. You were happy, thriving even, and you’d been too worried about your sisters to share the joy. It was a different kind of selflessness than what he’d grown accustomed to seeing, a kind that he’d only seen in one other recently— your sister. His High Lady.
Happy, Joy, Content. His shadows sang once again. Happy, Joy, Content.
“I’m sorry Feyre sent you all this way for nothing. “
“No,” Azriel quickly said, much faster than he intended to. His gaze casted down towards the outstretched hand that he had instinctively placed on your shoulder. He quickly retracted it, not failing to notice the small frown that passed through your features. “It wasn’t a waste.”
You gave him a small laugh. “Well, anyways. I’m sorry for spewing that all onto you like some sick toddler. Thank you for coming to find me. It was very sweet.”
You cleared your throat, taking a step back.
“Please let Feyre know I’m alright and that I’ll be back tonight. But I’d like to explore a bit more. The weather is perfect today. Something about how…” You trailed off for a moment, looking up at the skies above you, closing your eyes for a second as a trail of wind swept past your face.
“The way the breeze kisses your cheeks?” Azriel said, his voice quiet and unsure. Where those words came, and what overcame him to say them, he wasn’t sure. But he didn’t feel like questioning them— not now, anyways.
You opened your eyes and looked at him once more. “Yes. Exactly.”
A small cool touch drew your attention down to your feet, your eyes watching as small, opaque tendrils of black shadows danced between you and Azriel. You admired them for a moment, and Az took in how excited your eyes were as you traced their motions.
“Well,” you said, straightening yourself up. “Thank you again for coming to find me. I’ll let you get back to your day.”
You gave a small nod before you were turning yourself around and walking towards the lively streets. As Azriel watched his shadows trail after you, he found himself calling out to your retreating form, “Y/n.”
You stopped. And then you turned to face him, arms now crossed against your chest. You tilted your head as he gave you a small, almost unsure, smile.
“Would you like me to show you around?”
You paused for a moment, as if you were considering the offer. He felt a flicker of fear in his gut, a new sense of embarrassment at the idea of you rejecting him. Perhaps he had intruded on your newfound freedom, placed himself where he shouldn’t be. But it was only an offer, was it not? And-
His thoughts died down as you smiled at him, your cheeks raising at the movement.
“Well then, what are you doing standing all the way over there for? I expect a full tour.”
Azriel let out a small chuckle, a fluttering sensation filling his chest as he followed the trail his shadows led to you.
✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹
permanent tag list 🫶🏻: @rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria
#azriel x reader#azriel x you#azriel fluff#azriel x reader fluff#azriel x y/n#azriel#azriel shadowsinger#azriel acotar#azriel fanfic#azriel spymaster#acotar#a court of thorns and roses#acotar fanfic#acotar fanfiction#azriel fanfiction#azriel fic#acotar x reader#acotar x you#acotar x y/n#acotar fluff
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1k celebration navigation
based on this request from @lov3notts — enjoy bb 💋 it got pretty long but… what can i say? the request was too good!
disclaimer: not all works for my 1k celebration request will be this long, this one was just special <3
18+ warnings ; angst , smut , oral (f receiving) , unprotected piv , fingering
FAULT LINE… book browsing
THEODORE NOTT. LORENZO BERKSHIRE.
You didn’t know how you got here. One moment, you’d been exchanging sharp words with Theodore Nott, and the next, your back hit the sheets of his bed, his hands grasping your hips with a quiet desperation he’d never admit aloud.
All you could focus on was the heady pull of his mouth, the damp trail of sloppy, bruising kisses he was leaving along the sensitive skin of your thighs. He’d barely given you a second to think, to breathe, before he’d dipped down, fingers splaying possessively against your skin, his face between your legs like it was the only place he wanted to be. The world shrank down to the muffled sound of your own moans, of Theo’s name falling from your lips in a mess of breaths you couldn’t seem to steady. It felt dangerous, maybe because this was already the fifth time this month.
“God, you’re loud today,” he mumbled against you, though the way he held you in place made it clear he wouldn’t have it any other way. There was an edge of something heated in his voice, a spark of unspoken emotion that made you wonder if you were losing your mind, or if he felt it too.
And yet, Theo would never admit anything. To him, this was casual, a dangerous game you both pretended to play out of boredom or maybe lust, like it was just one of those strange things that happened between people who didn’t like each other. And it wasn’t supposed to mean anything, right?
You weren’t supposed to find yourself wishing he’d keep his hands on you just a moment longer. But as he glanced up with that familiar cocky smirk and an unreadable glint in his eyes, you couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if you asked for more.
Only, you already knew the answer—he’d laugh, probably say something mocking, and pull away.
Or worse, he wouldn’t.
"Shut up," you hissed back, your voice strained with pleasure as his tongue swirled around your clit. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging roughly. "You love it when I'm loud."
It was true, and you both knew it. Every time you did this, every filthy word and wanton moan, it only seemed to fuel his hunger. You could see it in the way he devoured you, like he was starving and you were the only thing that could satiate him.
But that was impossible. This was just sex, nothing more. A way to pass the time, to blow off steam. You fucking hated each other, after all. Or at least, that's what you kept telling yourselves.
When the haze faded and reality settled in, you felt that familiar pang of regret creeping in. This arrangement with Theo always left you feeling raw, shaky. And while you tried to ignore it, the constant sneaking around and the secrecy wore on you more than you’d ever let him know.
“Alright, I should go,” you muttered, barely meeting his gaze as you pushed yourself up, gathering your scattered clothes from around the room.
“Leaving already?” Theo’s voice had that casual, mocking lilt, but there was something colder beneath it. He propped himself up on one elbow, watching you with a look that felt a little too intent. “Got somewhere more important to be?”
“Yes,” you replied, fastening your shirt with sharp, decisive movements. “Actually, I do.” The answer was a little too defensive, a little too true, and you knew he’d pick up on it.
Theo’s eyes narrowed slightly, and he leaned back with a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. “Oh, I see. Out to meet your precious Enzo, I’m guessing?”
The way he said Lorenzo’s name—Enzo, like it was laced with poison—made you bristle. You finished buttoning up your shirt, feeling your stomach twist with anger you didn’t want to admit to. “Not that it’s any of your business,” you replied, keeping your tone cool and detached. “But yes, actually. He’s my best friend, Theo. Not that you’d know what that’s like.”
Theo’s face darkened, though he hid it behind a lazy laugh. “Of course. How convenient for him. Guess he’ll never know how often you come running here before you run to him, will he?”
The accusation in his voice cut deep, and before you could stop yourself, you snapped, “Believe me, you’re the last person I’d brag about.”
Theo’s jaw clenched, his eyes flashing with something dangerously close to hurt. For a moment, he looked like he might argue, but then he just shrugged, the motion stiff and forced. “Right. Well, thanks for reminding me of my place.”
His voice was cold, bitter, and it stung more than you wanted to admit. Theo stood, grabbing his own clothes and starting to dress without looking at you. “Don’t let me keep you, then.”
He turned away from you, reaching for his cigarettes on the nightstand. You watched him light one up, taking a long drag before he spoke again, his voice carefully neutral. “See you around.”
The tension was thick enough to choke on, and for a moment, you thought about staying, about explaining something even you didn’t fully understand. But you forced yourself to look away, heading toward the door before he could see the uncertainty in your expression.
Out in the corridor, the cool air stung, clearing the last remnants of Theo’s touch from your skin. But you hadn’t taken more than a few steps before you froze, your heart stuttering in your chest.
Standing a few feet away, arms crossed and brows raised, was Lorenzo.
“Hey,” he greeted, his voice low, his usual warmth replaced with confusion. “What the hell were you doing in there?”
Panic flared in your chest as you struggled to keep your face calm, fumbling for something—anything—to explain. “Oh, um…” You forced a laugh, hoping it sounded more natural than it felt. “Just, uh, tutoring Theo.”
Lorenzo’s eyes narrowed, and he tilted his head, unconvinced. “At eleven o’clock at night?” His tone was skeptical, and he studied your face with a concern that only deepened when he noticed you wouldn’t meet his gaze. “You were tutoring the guy you say you can’t stand?”
Heat crept up your neck as you tried to keep your voice even. “It’s just… well, he needed some help with Charms,” you stammered, giving a weak shrug. “You know how he struggles with it.”
“Since when do you care about his grades?” Lorenzo pressed, eyes narrowing. “Or about anything Nott needs?”
A wave of guilt crashed over you, and you forced yourself to meet his gaze, giving him what you hoped was an exasperated eye-roll. “Lorenzo, it’s not that deep,” you lied, pushing your hands into your pockets to keep them from fidgeting. “He asked for help, and I’m just trying to be… nice.”
Lorenzo stepped closer, his brow furrowed with suspicion. "Come on, don't play dumb with me," he said softly, his tone less accusatory now, but still stern. "I'm not an idiot, Y/N. I know you too well. There's clearly something going on."
He reached out, gently grasping your chin and tilting your face up to force eye contact. "Tell me the truth," he urged, his brown eyes searching yours intensely. "Is there... something between you and him?"
Your heart skipped a beat at the question, and for a moment, you simply stared at him, mouth agape. "What? No!" you finally managed to splutter out, pulling away from his touch. "Absolutely not! I still hate him, alright? I was just doing him a favor. That's all."
But the denial rang hollow, even to your own ears.
Lorenzo held your gaze for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he nodded, but there was a tightness around his eyes that betrayed his skepticism. "Right. Of course. I won't make you talk about it if you don't want to, Y/N," he said quietly. "But I'm not stupid, and I know you better than anyone. So if there's something going on..." He trailed off, shaking his head slightly. "Just... remember who your real friends are, okay?"
You let out a frustrated sigh, tossing your hands up in exasperation. "Look, Enzo, nothing's going on with Theo, alright? It really was just tutoring." You crossed your arms tightly, your jaw set stubbornly. "Can we please just drop it and go to your dorm?”
Without waiting for a response, you turned on your heel and started walking down the corridor, your shoes snapping sharply against the stone floor. You could feel Lorenzo's eyes boring into your back, could practically hear the gears turning in his head as he tried to puzzle out the truth.
Lorenzo watched you walk away for a long moment, conflict evident on his features. Finally, he sighed heavily and fell into step beside you, his longer strides easily matching your pace. "Fine," he muttered, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket. "We'll drop it. For now."
The following day passed in a blur, your thoughts clouded with the tension from the night before. Lorenzo’s suspicion lingered in the back of your mind, a constant, nagging weight. You’d brushed it off as best you could, but you knew him too well to think he’d let it go for good.
The party was already in full swing by the time you and Lorenzo arrived, the Slytherin common room buzzing with energy. Music pulsed through the air, mingling with laughter and the faint scent of firewhiskey.
You and Lorenzo found yourselves in a corner of the room, tucked away from the loudest part of the crowd. He had stuck close to your side all evening, his arm brushing against yours occasionally as you moved through the crowd together.
You were leaning in, listening intently as Lorenzo spun a tale of all the things that went wrong during his Quidditch practice the other day, when it suddenly hit you—the way his breath warmed your ear, the subtle scent of his cologne, the solid warmth of his body pressed against yours. He was so fucking close.
A shiver ran down your spine, and for a moment, you forgot about everything else—the music, the noise, the presence of others nearby.
Lorenzo smiled, his warm brown eyes crinkling at the corners. He took a sip from his cup before he set it down on the edge of the table.
“You know, you’ve been different lately,” he said suddenly, his tone softer, quieter, cutting through the noise around you. His words made you freeze, the playful grin slipping from your face.
“What do you mean?”
His hand reached up, fingers brushing against your temple as he gently tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “I mean… you’ve seemed distant,” he murmured, his eyes searching yours, his voice barely above the hum of the music. “Like there’s something you’re not telling me. But I don’t care, Y/N. Whatever it is… I don’t care. I just want you to know I’m here.”
The weight of his words settled heavily in the pit of your stomach, and you blinked up at him, completely caught off guard. Your brain scrambled for something to say, anything to break the tension that had suddenly thickened between you. “Uh, Lorenzo, what—”
But before you could finish, his hands cupped your face, his touch firm but gentle as he leaned in. His lips captured yours in a kiss so sudden and so passionate, it stole the breath from your lungs. His fingers threaded into your hair, pulling you closer as his other hand slipped to your waist, holding you against him like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.
You froze for a moment, your mind racing, unable to comprehend what was happening. Lorenzo. Your best friend. Kissing you.
His lips moved against yours with a fervor that made your knees weak, and you felt yourself melting into the heat of him despite the alarm bells ringing in your head.
But the way he kissed you—the way his thumb brushed against your cheek, the heat in his touch—it was impossible to think about anything else. For a split second, you leaned into him, your hands clutching at the fabric of his shirt as if to steady yourself.
Lorenzo broke the kiss abruptly, his chest heaving as he stared at you, his eyes wide and vulnerable. For a long, tense moment, neither of you spoke, the silence heavy with unspoken emotions. Then, he whispered, his voice rough with barely contained need, "God, I’ve wanted to do that for so long.” He rested his forehead against yours. “Tell me you don't feel this too, Y/N."
His gaze burned into yours, pleading and desperate, and you could see the fear lurking beneath the surface—that you might reject him, that he'd lose you forever. In that instant, you understood the depth of his feelings for you, the years of pent-up longing that had finally spilled over the edge.
You stared at him, wide-eyed and utterly speechless, your thoughts a tangled mess of confusion and guilt and something else you didn’t dare name.
What the hell was happening?
Lorenzo's expression faltered, a flicker of doubt crossing his features as he read your stunned silence. "Fuck," he muttered under his breath, taking a step back as if physically recoiling from the rejection.
Before you could even open your mouth to respond, a low, mocking voice cut through the charged silence like a blade.
“Well, Y/N,” Theo drawled, stepping between you and Lorenzo with an expression that could only be described as murderous. “You moved on pretty fucking quick, considering my head was between your legs just last night.”
The words hit like a slap, shattering the fragile bubble that had formed between you and Lorenzo.
Lorenzo stiffened beside you, his gaze snapping to Theo with a mix of disbelief and dawning realization. “What?” he said, his voice low and dangerous. Then, softer, almost to himself, “I knew it. You weren’t just tutoring him.”
“Enzo—” you started, but Theo cut you off, his lips curling into a cruel smirk as he stepped closer, his sharp jawline tight with barely concealed fury.
“Tutoring?” Theo echoed mockingly, raising an eyebrow at you. “Is that what you told him, sweetheart? That’s cute. Really cute.”
You felt like the ground was falling away beneath you. “Theo, stop—”
“No,” Theo snapped, taking another step forward as his eyes flickered to Lorenzo. “No, I’ll tell him the truth since you seem so set on lying. I’ve been fucking her. That’s what we’ve been doing. Not tutoring. Not studying. Fucking.”
Lorenzo’s jaw clenched so tightly you thought it might snap. His hands balled into fists at his sides as he turned to you. “Is that true?” he demanded. “Is he telling the truth, Y/N?”
Your mouth opened, but no sound came out. The words lodged in your throat, choking you.
“Don’t bother answering,” Theo sneered. “She’s not going to deny it. She can’t.”
And that was it. The dam broke. Lorenzo lunged forward, grabbing Theo by the collar of his shirt and yanking him close. “You’re a fucking bastard, you know that?” he snarled, his voice low and venomous.
Theo didn’t flinch. If anything, his smirk widened, infuriatingly smug. “Takes one to know one,” he shot back, his tone almost taunting.
“Stop!” you yelled, stepping forward and trying to wedge yourself between them, but neither boy paid you any mind.
“You’re such a goddamn prick,” Enzo spat, stepping closer until the two boys were nearly nose to nose. “You think this is a joke? You think her feelings are something you can just fuck with?”
“Oh, spare me the self-righteous act,” Theo shot back, his voice venomous. “You’re not exactly subtle, Berkshire. You’ve been panting after her for years, but guess what? She came to me. Not you.”
“She’s not yours,” Lorenzo barked, his voice rising as his grip on Theo’s collar twisted tighter.
“And she’s not yours either,” Theo snapped back, his voice equally loud and filled with venom. “But that didn’t stop you from shoving your tongue down her throat just now, did it?”
“Nott, you should fuckin’ shut your mouth before I make you,” Lorenzo snapped, shoving Theo backward.
Theo stumbled but recovered quickly, his eyes flashing with rage as he stepped closer, his hands curling into fists. “You want to hit me? Go ahead,” he taunted, his voice deadly calm. “But it won’t change the fact that I’ve had her in ways you never will.”
“That’s enough!” you shouted, stepping between them, your hands pressed against Lorenzo’s chest to keep him from lunging at Theo again. “Both of you, stop it! You’re both being ridiculous!”
Lorenzo’s eyes softened slightly as they flickered to you, but his jaw remained clenched, his breathing heavy. “Y/N,” he said, his voice low and strained, “tell me the truth. Is he lying?”
You hesitated, your throat tightening as the weight of their gazes bore down on you.
“Y/N,” Theo said, his voice quieter now, almost pleading. “Just tell him. Stop hiding it.”
Your chest tightened, and for a moment, the room seemed to tilt around you. Everything was spiraling out of control, the tension between the three of you threatening to snap like a frayed rope.
“I…” you began, but the words stuck in your throat.
Lorenzo shook his head, his expression twisting with hurt. “I knew it,” he whispered, stepping back. “I fucking knew it.”
“Enzo, wait! I—It’s complicated," you called out, reaching for his arm as he turned to walk away, but he shrugged off your touch.
“Don't," he bit out, his voice tight with pain and anger. "Just...don't."
Lorenzo didn’t look back. His broad shoulders were tense as he stormed away, leaving you rooted to the spot. Your hand fell limply to your side, the sting of his departure cutting deeper than you expected. The noise of the party seemed muted now, distorted, like you were hearing it underwater. The laughter, the music, the chatter—it all felt too far away, irrelevant against the confusion swirling around your head.
In the span of five fucking minutes, your best friend had kissed you, confessed feelings you never saw coming, and then walked away shattered by a truth you hadn’t been ready to admit. The guilt churned in your stomach, thick and nauseating.
You barely had time to process when Theo’s low, sarcastic voice broke the suffocating silence. “Well, that went well.”
You stood frozen, staring at the floor, your chest heaving as you struggled to process what had just happened—the way Lorenzo’s lips had felt on yours, the raw confession in his eyes, and then the brutal crash as Theo ripped it all apart.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
“Y/N?” Theo’s voice broke the haze again, low and gravelly, laced with something that almost sounded like regret.
Your head snapped up, and without thinking, you turned to him, your emotions boiling over. You shoved at his chest with both hands, hard enough to make him take a step back. “Why?” you hissed, your voice trembling with anger and something dangerously close to tears. “Why do you always have to ruin everything?” You shoved him again, harder this time, though it still felt useless against his solid frame.
Theo caught your wrist as you went to push him again, his grip firm but not harsh. His gray eyes locked onto yours, glinting with something unreadable in the dim light of the room. “Ruin?” he repeated, his voice incredulous. “You think I ruined this? Don’t pin this on me, Y/N. You’re the one playing two sides.”
“I wasn’t playing anything!” you snapped, yanking your arm free and stepping back. The distance felt safer, less suffocating. “I didn’t ask for this—any of it. But you—” You pointed at him, your chest heaving as you fought to steady your voice. “You always have to push and push until everything falls apart!”
His jaw tightened, and something flickered in his eyes—anger, maybe, or hurt. “Falls apart?” he echoed, his voice rising. “You’re the one who came to me, sweetheart. Remember that? You’re the one who wanted this.”
“I wanted simple!” you shot back, your voice cracking under the weight of your frustration. “I wanted no strings, no feelings, no drama! And now look at us! Look at this mess!”
He scoffed, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he stepped closer. “Don’t act like you’re innocent in all this,” he bit out, his voice sharp. “You wanted no strings, but you kept coming back. Over and over. You wanted me, Y/N. Don’t pretend otherwise.”
You shook your head, turning on your heel and pushing your way out of the crowded party. The air in the corridor was cooler, quieter, but your thoughts were anything but calm. Theo’s footsteps followed close behind, the sound of his shoes echoing against the stone walls.
“I’m not letting you walk away like this,” he said, grabbing your arm just gently enough to stop you without forcing you.
You wrenched your arm free, spinning around to face him, your eyes blazing. “Why not? That’s all we’ve ever been good at—walking away from each other.”
His face twisted, a mix of frustration and something deeper, something raw. “That’s not true and you know it,” he said, his voice quieter now. “You’re just angry.”
“Of course I’m angry!” you shouted, throwing your hands up. “I just watched my best friend walk away, probably forever, because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut! And for what, Theo? For what?”
His lips parted like he wanted to say something, but no words came. Instead, he stared at you, his usually sharp eyes clouded with something uncharacteristically vulnerable.
“You know what?” you continued, your voice trembling as tears pricked your eyes. “I’m done. I’m done with this. With you.”
His eyes widened slightly. “What?” he asked, his voice cracking.
“I’m done, Theo,” you said again. “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep pretending this doesn’t mean something when it clearly does. And I can’t keep lying to Lorenzo—to myself. So, congratulations, you win. You’ve ruined everything. I hope it was worth it.”
His face fell, the usual sharpness in his expression softening into something almost childlike. “Y/N,” he said, stepping closer, his hands twitching at his sides like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t dare. “You can’t mean that.”
“I do,” you insisted, your voice firmer this time. “I can’t do this anymore. You and me—it’s toxic, Theo. It’s ruining everything.”
You turned to leave, but his hand shot out, grabbing yours. The desperation in his touch made you freeze. For a moment, he just stared at you, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. Then, he spoke, his voice raw and aching. “Please.” The word came out so quiet it was almost drowned out by the distant hum of the party. “Hate me, hurt me,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “Just… don’t leave me.”
Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, you couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. His words hung heavy in the air, raw and pleading. This wasn’t the Theo you were used to—the cocky, self-assured boy who always had a cutting remark at the ready. This was someone stripped bare, vulnerable in a way that made your heart ache.
“Theo…” you started, but your voice faltered.
“I know we said no strings,” he interrupted, his grip on your hand tightening slightly, like he was afraid you’d slip away. “I know that. But I can’t do it. I can’t watch you walk away and choose him—not when I…” He trailed off, his jaw clenching as he fought to find the words.
You turned fully to face him, your heart pounding painfully in your chest. “Not when you what?” you whispered.
His eyes burned into yours, and for a moment, he looked like he might bolt. But then, with a shaky breath, he stepped closer, his hands trembling slightly as they cupped your face. “Not when I feel like this,” he admitted, his voice barely audible.
You stared at him, your mind reeling. And then he kissed you.
But it wasn’t like the other times—the hurried, rough kisses that left you breathless and wanting more. This kiss was soft, tentative, like he was afraid you might break. His lips moved against yours with a gentleness that made your heart ache, and before you knew it, you were kissing him back, hand shaking like they didn’t know what to do.
The world fell away, the distant music and voices fading until there was nothing but the warmth of him, the way his thumb brushed against your cheek, the quiet, desperate sound he made as he pulled you closer.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breathing ragged. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “For everything.”
You didn’t know what to say—didn’t know how to untangle the knot of feelings in your chest. So you just stood there, letting his touch ground you, wondering how the hell you’d gotten here.
But as you stood there, pressed against Theo's warm, solid body, one thought crystallized above the rest: you needed him.
Now.
"Theo," you murmured. Your eyes locked onto his, searching, pleading. There were no words for what you felt, but you hoped he could read it in your gaze—the hunger, the need, the desperate craving for him.
Theo’s breath hitched, his eyes darkening as they flicked down to your lips and back up again. He could see it—you knew he could. The unspoken need that lingered in the space between you, a silent plea written in the way your fingers trembled against his chest, in the way your breath mingled with his as you leaned closer.
“Y/N,” he murmured, his voice rough, uncertain. It wasn’t a question, not quite, but there was hesitation there, as though he was afraid this would break you both even further.
You shook your head, barely, just enough to quiet whatever doubt he was wrestling with. “Please,” you whispered, the single word carrying all the weight of everything you couldn’t say. “I need you, Theo.”
His hands slid down from your face to your waist, his fingers brushing over the curve of your hips as though committing the moment to memory. “Are you sure?” he asked.
In answer, you tugged at his shirt, your hands fisting the fabric as you leaned up to kiss him again. This time, it wasn’t soft—it was deliberate, intentional, your lips pressing firmly against his as you tried to pour everything you felt into that single moment.
The kiss deepened slowly, Theo’s hands tightening on your waist as he guided you backward, pressing you against the cool stone wall of the corridor. You broke the kiss, your forehead falling against his as you tried to catch your breath. “Not here,” you whispered, your voice shaky but firm.
Theo nodded, his chest rising and falling with yours as he tried to calm himself. Without a word, he took your hand, his grip steady and warm as he led you through the dim corridor and up the winding staircase to your dorm.
The room was quiet, lit only by the soft glow of moonlight streaming through the window. The moment the door closed behind you, the atmosphere shifted. It wasn’t rushed this time, wasn’t driven by the usual frenzied passion that had defined so much of your time together. It was slower, heavier, as though you were both unearthing something you hadn’t realized was buried.
Theo turned to face you, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation. But you stepped closer, your hands sliding up his chest and around his neck as you kissed him again, softer this time, but no less urgent.
He kissed you back with a quiet intensity, his hands settling on your hips as he walked you backward toward the bed. When the backs of your knees hit the edge, he paused, pulling back just enough to look at you.
“You’re sure?” he asked again, his voice a rasp of barely contained emotion.
You nodded, your fingers threading through his hair as you pulled him down to you on the bed. “I’m sure,” you said, your voice steady now, laced with a conviction that left no room for doubt.
Theo followed you down, his weight pressing into you as he kissed you again, and for the first time, it wasn’t about dominance or control. It wasn’t about proving a point or drowning in the fire of your so-called hatred.
It was about feeling—truly feeling.
You let out a soft gasp as his hands explored your skin, his touch sending sparks of pleasure racing under your flesh. Your own hands roamed over his back, tracing the contours of his muscles beneath his clothes. You wanted to peel away every layer until you were bare against him, skin to skin, hearts beating as one.
As if reading your mind, Theo reached for the hem of your shirt, his fingers grazing the sensitive skin of your stomach as he lifted it over your head. You arched into his touch, a moan escaping your lips as he tossed the garment aside and leaned in to nuzzle the swell of your tits, his hot breath sending tingles across your nipples.
Theo's mouth hovered over your nipple, his tongue darting out to tease the hardened peak before he closed his lips around it, suckling gently. A low groan rumbled in his throat, vibrating against your skin and making your toes curl.
His hands continued their exploration, sliding down to unfasten your jeans, his fingers brushing against the heat of your core as he pushed the denim and lace down your thighs. You kicked off the pooled fabric, leaving you naked and vulnerable beneath him.
He leaned in to press a tender kiss to your collarbone, then trailed his lips down your sternum, pausing to worship each breast with the same reverence he'd shown earlier.
"You're so beautiful," he murmured against your skin, his voice thick with emotion.
Your breath caught in your throat at the words, at the raw sincerity in his tone. No one had ever looked at you like that before—like you were a work of art, precious and coveted.
"Theo..." you breathed, your voice trembling with need. "Please..."
He understood without further prompting, his fingers tracing a path down your stomach and dipping lower to find the slick heat of your arousal. He groaned softly at the feel of you, his thumb circling your clit as his middle finger delved inside, seeking out that sweet spot that made you quiver.
"God, you're soaked," he whispered, his breath hot against your skin as he pumped his finger slowly, deliberately, his gaze locked on yours. "Tell me how much you want it."
His other hand cupped your breast, rolling the pebbled nipple between his thumb and forefinger.
Your hips bucked involuntarily as his finger found that perfect spot inside you, stroking along the sensitive wall in a way that made stars burst behind your eyelids. "Oh god, yes," you whimpered, your nails digging into his shoulders as you ground against his hand.
"I want it so badly," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "I've never wanted anything more," you begged, your breath coming in short gasps. "I need you inside me."
With a low growl, Theo added a second finger, scissoring them inside you to loosen your tightness. He watched your face intently, drinking in every expression of pleasure, every gasp and moan that fell from your lips.
"Not yet," he said, his voice rough with restraint. "I want to make sure you're ready for me."
He curled his fingers just right, rubbing that magic spot within you, and you came undone, your orgasm hitting you like a tidal wave. You cried out, your body shaking with the force of it, your inner walls clenching around his fingers.
Through it all, Theo held you close, his lips pressed to your temple, his breath hot against your skin. "That's it," he cooed, "let go for me, baby. I've got you."
Shudders wracked your body as the aftershocks of your climax rippled through you, leaving you limp and spent. But Theo wasn't done with you yet. He withdrew his fingers, leaving you empty and aching for more.
Before you could even catch your breath, he was moving, shrugging off his shirt to reveal the toned expanse of his chest. Your gaze drifted over the defined muscles, feeling a wave of desire surge through you.
Not waiting for permission, he quickly shed his pants, kicking them aside carelessly. And then he was looming over you, his eyes blazing with hunger. “Wrap those pretty legs around me.”
Without hesitation, you complied, hooking your ankles together and lifting your hips to meet him. The head of his cock nudged against your entrance, teasingly slow, as if savoring the moment before finally sinking home in one smooth thrust.
A guttural moan tore from his throat at the feeling of your tight heat enveloping him, and he stilled for a moment, reveling in the sensation. Then, with a roll of his hips, he began to move, setting a sweet pace that had your eyes rolling back.
It was a slow, unhurried rhythm, unlike all the times before. This time, it wasn’t about the heat or the hunger—it was about the connection, the way his name fell from your lips like a prayer, the way he whispered yours back like a promise.
Time seemed to blur, the lines between where you ended and he began dissolving until there was nothing left but the two of you, tangled together in the quiet of the night as he devoured your mouth in a bruising kiss, his tongue claiming you as thoroughly as his cock did your pussy.
Theo broke the kiss to gaze down at you, his eyes burning with an intensity that seared right through to your soul. "Look at me," he commanded, his voice thick with emotion. "I want to look you in the eyes when I make you cum. You know why? Because this means you’re fucking choosing me.”
Your fingers tightened in his hair as you met his stare, the connection between you electrifying. With a final, powerful thrust, he pushed you over the edge, and you shattered, crying out his name as waves of ecstasy crashed over you.
When it was over, Theo stayed close, his forehead resting against yours as he caught his breath. He didn’t say anything—neither of you did. Words felt unnecessary, almost intrusive in the fragile intimacy that had settled over you both.
But as his hand brushed over your cheek, his thumb tracing lazy circles against your skin, you felt the truth of it in the way he looked at you. Whatever this was between you, it wasn’t hatred. It never had been.
And that realization scared you more than anything.
But a loud, abrupt knock at the door shattered the stillness.
You shot up, your heart pounding as reality came crashing back in. “Shit,” you whispered, scrambling to pull on your clothes. Theo sat up too, his brow furrowed in confusion, but he didn’t move to stop you. Instead, he leaned back on his elbows, watching silently as you tugged a large sweater over your head, your hair still a mess from his hands.
The knock came again, more insistent this time. “Y/N?” Lorenzo’s voice called through the door, muffled but unmistakable.
Your stomach dropped.
Theo’s gaze darkened, his jaw tightening as he realized who it was. “You don’t have to answer,” he said quietly, his voice calm but firm.
But you did. You had to.
Without another word, you crossed the room, your heart racing as you opened the door just enough to step out, closing it quickly behind you. Lorenzo stood there, his face a storm of emotions—regret, frustration, and something achingly close to hope.
“I’m sorry,” he blurted out before you could speak, his words tumbling over themselves in his rush to get them out. “I shouldn’t have walked away like that. I should’ve let you explain, I should’ve stayed.”
“Enzo—” you started, but he cut you off.
“No, let me finish,” he said, taking a step closer. “I blamed you, and I shouldn’t have. I was just... I don’t know. I was hurt, okay? And I know that’s not fair to you. You’ve always been honest with me, and I—I just...” He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration with himself evident.
You stood frozen, your back pressed against the door, every word he said digging deeper into your chest.
“And I shouldn’t have waited this long to tell you how I feel. Merlin, Y/N, I love you. I’ve loved you for longer than I can even admit to myself. And I know it’s a mess now, but I could’ve… should’ve told you sooner.” His voice cracked, his usual smooth confidence faltering as his eyes searched yours.
Your throat tightened as you opened your mouth to try and speak, but he kept going, his words spilling out faster now, desperate to fill the silence.
“I should be the one you’re with. I should’ve been braver, I should’ve fought for you. But I didn’t, and I—I just... I want to be with you,” he continued, his eyes searching yours desperately. “I know we’re friends, but we could be so much more, Y/N. I know we could.”
The silence that followed felt deafening.
It was only then that Lorenzo seemed to really see you—the disheveled sweater pulled hastily over your bare skin, your hair still tangled, your lips swollen. His eyes widened, the realization crashing over him like a wave.
“Y/N...” he said slowly, his voice filled with dawning heartbreak. “Is someone... Are you...?” He didn’t finish the question, but he didn’t have to.
You couldn’t bring yourself to lie. You couldn’t bring yourself to answer, either.
His face crumpled, and he let out a bitter, hollow laugh. “It’s him, isn’t it? Theo.”
“Enzo, I’m—”
“No,” he interrupted, holding up a hand. “Just don’t say anything.” His voice cracked, and for a moment, he looked like he might break completely. But then he straightened, his jaw tightening as he forced himself to meet your eyes. “It was never going to be me, was it?”
“Lorenzo—” You tried to reach for him but he just flinched, shaking his head.
“Stop,” he said sharply, though the crack in his voice betrayed him. He looked away, blinking rapidly, as though trying to compose himself. “I get it now. I was always the safe option. The one who’d never hurt you. But I was never the one you wanted.”
“That’s not fair,” you said, your voice trembling. “You’re my best friend, Enzo. I love you, I do, but…”
“Not like that,” he finished for you, his tone sharp with bitter acceptance. “You don’t love me like that.”
You reached for him again, but he stepped back, out of reach. “Stop,” he said again, his voice soft now, almost broken. “I’ll just... I’ll see you around, Y/N.”
The silence that followed was unbearable, the weight of his words pressing down on you like a physical force. You wanted to say something, anything, to fix the fissure cracking between you, but no words came.
He nodded, his jaw tightening as he forced a bitter smile. “I hope he’s worth it,” he said quietly, turning on his heel before you could stop him.
You watched him go, your chest aching as his figure disappeared down the hall. The sting of his words lingered, cutting deeper than you’d anticipated.
Closing the door behind you, you leaned against it, your heart pounding as you tried to steady your breathing.
“Y/N?”
Theo’s voice, soft and uncertain, pulled you from your thoughts. He was sitting up now, the sheet draped low over his waist as he watched you with an intensity that made your knees weak.
You crossed the room, collapsing onto the bed beside him. His hand found yours, his fingers lacing through yours, grounding you.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
You shook your head, resting your forehead against his shoulder. “Don’t be. I chose this. I chose you.”
And despite the heartbreak, the guilt, the mess of emotions swirling inside you, you knew it was true. Lorenzo had your friendship, your loyalty, your love in ways you couldn’t deny—but Theo? Theo had your heart.
And no matter how much it hurt, you couldn’t bring yourself to regret it.
(apologies to my enzo lovers <3)
#slytherin boys#theodore nott#theo nott#theodore nott x y/n#theodore nott x you#theodore nott x reader#theodore nott smut#theo nott x you#theo nott x y/n#theo nott x reader#theo nott smut#lorenzo berkshire#lorenzo berkshire x you#lorenzo berkshire x reader#enzo berkshire#enzo berkshire x y/n#enzo berkshire x you#enzo berkshire x reader#harry potter#slytherin#louis partridge#lorenzo zurzolo#book browsing#leona-hawthorne’s 1k celebration
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Arguments and Cuddles-Harry Styles x reader
A/N:- Wanted to write this a few days ago, but I just couldn't get myself to write after all that has happened. Sending lots of hugs to everyone. Hope this acts a distraction to anyone who needs it right now.
Synopsis: Harry doesn't realize that you're sick when he starts an argument and takes care of you after. Some angst and fluff!
Word Count: 2k
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“y/n..” Your tall, lanky boyfriend makes grabby hands at you from the bed, snug and comfortable under the blanket. He didn’t want to fall asleep without you. You felt bad for making him wait, you really did, but you couldn’t go to bed without finishing your assignment. University has been stressing you out these days, what with two projects every week, along with other papers, studying and you even have to start filling out internship forms.
“Five more minutes, baby, I’m so sorry..”, you turn back from the desk to tell Harry who was pouting at you, hoping to win you over with cuteness, which he already has.
“It’s okay, love. I don’t mind waiting but it’s you I’m worried about. If you’re not here in my arms sleeping in the next ten minutes, no kisses for you tomorrow.”, he threatens, and smirks when you gasp. “That’s unfair!”
“You better hurry up then.”, Harry says, picking up his phone and settling back with his head on the pillow. It took you exactly seven more minutes to complete the assignment.
“I’m done! You can’t deny me kisses now.” You keep your laptop away before falling into Harry’s open arms. You sigh as your head hits the soft pillow, and you realize just how exhausted you are when you feel your heavy eyelids.
“I don’t think I ever can.”, Harry hums, chuckling as you snuggle into his chest like a little kitten seeking comfort. His arms hold you snug to his chest as his face lowers to press soft kisses to your hair and your cheeks. “I missed you.”
You know he didn’t just mean today. It’s been almost two weeks since you’ve been in this hectic schedule and you haven’t been able to see Harry as often. You’re either too tired or have lots of work to do after you get home from uni, so you haven’t been spending much time with your boyfriend.
You bring a hand up to cup his cheek, your thumb stroking over his soft skin. “I’m sorry, babe. I miss you too. I just have so much to do and-”, you sigh.
“-Hey, I understand love, know you’re working hard.”, he rubs circles onto your lower back and you almost moan at how good it feels. “I’m just worried about you. You barely sleep, barely eat during the day, step out of the house only to go to uni…”
“I do eat and sleep.”, you tell him, pecking his pink lips. “It’s gonna be hectic only for another week, the projects should be over by then.”
He hummed. “Would you be free tomorrow night? It’s Friday. Mitch and Sarah have been wanting to meet you.”
Mitch and Sarah were two of his best friends, and you’ve wanted to meet them too. Like he said, it was Friday, so you’d have time to catch up on your studies on Saturday and Sunday. Harry was just asking you, but you could see he really wanted you to go. You haven’t had a night out in a while too, so you agree.
“Okay, I’ll meet them.”
Harry cheers, making you giggle and kiss his cheek. “They’re so excited to meet you! I love you.”
________________________________________________
You weren’t expecting to fall sick when you got up that morning. You did feel a little less energetic, but that was normal by now, so you brushed it off. You attended your classes, and when it was around lunch time, your throat was parched even though you kept sipping on water and your eyes were getting watery.
You didn’t feel like eating, so you skipped lunch, which led to a headache and you were just feeling horrible when you got back home that day. You were relieved to be back, and you fell into bed immediately, not bothering to change. God, you hated being sick. It makes you so weak and you can’t get anything done. You take a small nap, hoping to wake up feeling better.
You had kept an alarm to wake up an hour and a half before the time Harry said he would come to pick you up for the night out, but you slept right through it. You didn’t wake up even when Harry stepped into your flat, using your other pair of keys and called out your name.
He was ten minutes late himself, and he was surprised to see that you weren’t ready yet.
“y/n?”, he says. “Babe why aren’t you ready, we should be there in twenty minutes!”
You rub your eyes, slowly coming out of sleep. “Oh…shit.”, you remember when you see Harry already standing in front of you. “I s-slept through the alarm.”
“It’s fine, I’ll tell them we’ll be a bit late. You should get ready.”, Harry said, already pulling out his phone.
You sit up, groaning as your muscles ache. Your head was throbbing, and you felt like your body was on your fire. You knew you wouldn’t make it through the night even if you tried.
“Harry? I think you should go alone, I’ll meet them some other time..”, you say softly.
Harry bites his lip. “Seriously? You’re telling me now? I asked you last night, y/n!”
“I know I’m sorry, I just-”
“-I try to be understanding but it’s not gonna work if I’m the only one putting in effort, y/n. I didn’t tell you anything, I didn’t complain about you not spending time with me, I just asked if you could go out with me for one night and you can’t.”, Harry scoffs, walking back and forth.
Your eyes well up with tears from your sickness, and Harry’s words. You get up, even though you felt like you would crumble like a sack of potatoes if you did.
“Harry, I’m sorry, I don’t-”
“-No. I don’t want to hear it, y/n. I talk to them about you all the time and they were so excited to meet you, you know? Now you want to cancel. I don’t get it, what’s going to happen if you go out for one night?” He stops to look at you.
That’s when your head spins. You feel like the whole world is turning upside down and you reach a hand out to grip something, but you only found air.
Harry was fuming, but he only then noticed that you weren’t looking too good. Your skin was pale and prickly with sweat, you were unsteady on your feet and your voice was breaking as you whimpered his name for help, “H-Harry.”
“Fuck.”, he cursed, and rushed to you, strong arms holding you before your knees gave out. You grip his sleeve as he makes you sit back down on the bed. “y/n? Baby, are you okay?”
You manage a weak hum in response. Harry’s hand cups your forehead, pressing your head back against his arm. “Jesus, you’re burning up. Why didn’t you tell me you’re sick?”
If you had the energy, you could have punched him. “Y-You didn’t give me the chance.”
“I’m an asshole.”, Harry muttered, green eyes washing over you with worry as he settles you back into bed.
“You are.”, you agree, shivering as his cold fingers brush against your forehead, stroking back some of your hair. “I really wanted to go out too, you know. I should’ve let you know earlier that I was sick but I thought I could pull through..” You winced, bringing a hand up to your head. You always get bad headaches when you’re sick.
“Shh..did you take any medicine? Should I take you to the doctor?”, Harry asks, pressing a soft kiss to your temple.
“No..think I’ll be fine, just gonna sleep. You should go.”, you said softly.
“Leaving you like this alone? No. I’m gonna take care of you. I’ll call Mitch and let him know we can’t make it. We’ll do it some other time.”
“I really am sorry. I-I was just trying to finish everything during the week so I could spend the weekend with you. Didn’t mean to make you upset, Harry.”, you whisper, and Harry shakes his head, stroking away a small tear that runs down your cheek with your thumb.
“Don’t apologize, love, you did nothing wrong. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. You’re working hard to get where you want to be, and I’ll always support you. I should’ve realized you’re gonna get yourself sick.” He tsked, taking your hand and kissing your fingertips. “Do you forgive me?”
You smiled and nodded, leaning into his side as he wrapped an arm around you. “My poor baby. Are you sure you’re okay? Not dizzy right?”
“Yeah, I’m not dizzy anymore, think I just got up too fast.”, you mumble into his shoulder.
“I’ll get you some medicine and make you some soup. Then we’ll cuddle in bed for the rest of the night.”, Harry says, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Tomorrow, when you’re feeling a bit better, we’re gonna make a proper schedule together, okay? I can’t have you feeling so stressed out and falling ill again.”
“Okay.”, you smile. Harry got out of bed and tucked the blanket over you. You curled up and closed your eyes. “Come back soon..”
“Promise I will.”
He found you some medicine and made you take it, then brought a cold cloth to your forehead. You flinched at the cold, and he hushed you softly, “Shh, relax sweetheart, we’ve gotta get your temperature down.” He lays the cloth across your forehead. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”
After the initial cold, it did feel relaxing. You sigh and hum in agreement. You were getting drowsy again. Harry smiles and kisses your nose. “I’ll be back with your soup by the time you take a little nap.”
Harry wakes you up with a bowl of steaming hot soup after some time, and he helps you sit up, placing pillows behind your back. He slides into bed next to you, holding the tray that had the bowl of soup.
He blows on a spoonful before bringing it to your lips, other hand cupping under your chin to catch any excess that dribbles down. “I tried my best, it’s my mum’s recipe.”, he says, eyes hopeful as you swallow it down.
The hot liquid was soothing for your sore throat, and the flavors were actually very nice. He raises his eyebrows in question.
“It’s really good, thank you.”, you smile, pinching his cheek gently. A grin takes over his face as he brings up another spoon. “I can eat by myself, you know.”
“I want to feed you.”
Harry feeds you the rest of the soup while he talks to you, then goes back to the kitchen to clear everything before falling in bed with you.
“Did you eat?”, you ask, placing your head on his chest and looking up at him.
“I did, sweet girl. While making your soup.”, he says, pressing a kiss to your hair, his fingers starting to massage your scalp. He chuckles when you let out a soft groan.
“How’s your head now? Are you feeling a little better?”, he checks, his other hand running up and down your back.
“Uh huh, think your soup’s got the magic.”, you whisper, eyes already starting to flutter close. Harry laughs, nudging his nose against your cheek. “I put some magic in it, it’s called love.”
“Oh?”
“Mhm, and it’s special, only for you.”, he says, pressing feather soft kisses against the side of your face. “Gonna nurse my girl back to health in no time.”
“I love you.”, you say, your hand tucking under his side as he pulls you closer. “Thank you for taking care of me.”
“No need to thank me, gonna do it for the rest of my life.”, he promises, pressing a kiss to your lips. “I love you so much, y/n.”
You gasped. “What?”, he asks, worrying if you were going to throw up or something.
“You kissed me, idiot! Now you’re gonna get sick too.”
Harry laughs, taking your chin and giving you another kiss, making you slap his chest, playfully. “I’m big and strong, I don’t get sick.”
“Sure. I remember how you were being a big whiny baby last month when you had the flu.”
“Hush.”, he chuckles as you giggle, touching his forehead to yours. “Go to sleep, my giggly girl.”
____________________________________________
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Conrad deserves better than Belly. After he sees Jere and her kiss, he get his ass to Stanford and meet this cute and smart maybe tutor girl (Haley James style) and falls in love with her and then they show up at Jere's wedding years later and Belly is jelly
I've spent the last five days working on this one.
p.s. it's 2k words...
my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time
—
When Conrad finished his exam, he went back to Jeremiah and Belly. He was going to tell and confess his love to her before she had to get home, but when he got to his car, the scene Conrad walked on made him sick to his stomach: Belly and Jeremiah were full on making out against his car. He stopped short of the car and cleared his throat, causing the two to spring apart from their heated kiss and see Conrad looking right at them.
Conrad’s face was white. He would rather have had someone shoot him in the head with a nail gun, repeatedly, than have to watch the two of them kissing.
He didn't know who he was more angry at. Belly, who, not even a day ago, had told him she would have fought harder for him if she knew he loved her that much. Or Jeremiah, who, although he knew how much Belly meant to his brother and how fucking in love he was with her, seized the opportunity to kiss Belly the moment he was alone with her.
‘’Conrad—’’ Belly started, guilt settling in her guts.
He cut her off, his voice cold and cutting. ‘’I don’t want to hear it.’’
His gaze shifted from Belly to Jeremiah. There was so much hate in his eyes. How could Jere do that to him? They agreed to stop hiding things from each other and talk, but Jeremiah must have forgotten already.
‘’You broke up with her, Con, remember? We did nothing wrong,’’ Jeremiah said, pulling facts in his favor to make himself feel better — less guilty — for kissing his brother’s ex.
When Conrad kissed Belly on the beach last summer, he didn’t know she and Jeremiah were a thing — if he could call it that — or that he liked her. If he had, he wouldn’t have kissed Belly or confessed his feelings to her. Had the situation had been in reverse, Conrad wasn’t sure Jeremiah would have backed off.
‘’I’m done.’’ Conrad's voice was resolute, his heart heavy as he turned away, unable to bear the sight of them any longer.
Jeremiah moved to follow, calling out Conrad's name. He didn’t stop, needing to be as far as possible from the painful scene. His mind was racing with a jumble of emotions. Anger, betrayal, and a profound hurt gnawed at him. He had trusted both Belly and Jeremiah, yet they pulled this shit behind his back.
‘’Why do you always have to act like that?’’ Jeremiah said as he quickened his pace to catch up.
Finally, Conrad turned to face Jeremiah, his expression a mix of sorrow and resentment. ‘’You don’t get to tell me how to react, Jere. You kiss the girl I love outside my school, against my car while she’s wearing my sweatshirt. If you don’t see how disgusting and messed up it all sounds—’’
‘’She kissed me,’’ the younger one quickly defended.
Hearing this made him want to pack his bags, get his ass to stanford and focus on school. He needed to turn the Belly page, and in order to do that, he needed to be away from both she and Jeremiah. California seemed far enough, right?
*
The first days and weeks were tough for Conrad, struggling to accept the definite end of the relationship. She was still all over him like a wine-stained shirt he couldn’t wear anymore.
He blocked both Belly and Jeremiah’ numbers. If he wanted to move on, he had to keep his distance from them. For a while, at least. Then, he deleted all the old pictures he kept of Belly on his phone. There was no going back for them anymore.
He was done.
*
You met Conrad a little before Christmas break. Just like those cliché rom-coms, you walked right into him and spilled your chai latte all over his sweater. You wanted to break the cliché and not fall for the victim of your clumsiness, but after one look into those beautiful blue eyes, you knew it would be impossible.
After that day, you kept crossing paths around campus and, one afternoon, you asked him out. He was so surprised, but he said ‘yes’.
Although you had sealed the end of the night with a few kisses, you decided to take things slow. You had a very busy schedule with the tutoring lessons on top of your regular program, and Conrad was unsure if it was too soon to get in another relationship, if he was ready for it. The scar Belly had left on his heart was healing, but was he ready to open his heart to someone again?
‘’Have you ever been in love?’’ you asked one night in his dorm while studying.
Your question had caught Conrad off guard. It was visible on his face.
‘’Have you?’’ he returned, not taking his eyes off his textbook.
He was trying to dodge the question.
‘’I asked you first,’’ you said, seeing through his plan.
‘’Then yes.’’
‘’How many times?’’
‘’Once.’’
His answers were flat, annoyed he was by all your questions. He wished you would stop and get back to studying in silence, but you kept going.
‘’On a scale of one to ten, how in love were you?’’
‘’You can’t put being in love on a scale,’’ he said, lifting his head with furrowed eyebrows. ‘’Either you are or you aren’t.’’
‘’But if you had to say.’’
Conrad started flipping through his notes. He hadn’t thought of Belly in months. He missed her — in a different way he used to. She was his friend before they got tangled into this mess.
He didn’t look at you when he finally said it. ‘’Ten.’’
*
The more time he spent in your presence, the more Conrad was — unknowingly — letting go of his past.
The pictures he deleted months ago became pictures of you, filling his phone until there was no space left. The smell of your perfume lingered on some of his clothes and in his car. He had your coffee order memorized, along with your favorite study-break snack, which he made sure to have in stock in his dorm.
You became part of his routine — part of his life —, brightening his days even on his darkest, saddest nights.
He didn’t want to bother you, but nothing was calming the ache in his chest. He tried getting some air and smoking weed, he even thought of calling Laurel, but it was almost 2am in Pennsylvania. Conrad didn’t want to scare her.
So he pulled up your contact and called, the weight of his grief still heavy in his heart, wishing Susannah was still there. He couldn't believe a full year had gone by since she took her last breath.
You were about to slip into bed when you saw his name flashing on your phone. You almost didn’t pick up, but you got a gut feeling that he needed you.
When you opened your door, a saddened look was etched onto Conrad's face, his beautiful eyes glistening with unshed tears. The sight pulled at your heart and you wrapped your arms around him, holding him for the whole night.
Supported each other through finals and all-nighters.
‘’Getting tired?’’ you said, catching him actively fighting against his own eyelids.
Conrad shook his head, taking a long gulp of his coffee. ‘’No time for sleep. I have this huge exam first thing tomorrow and I still have a lot of chapters to cover.’’
‘’You can take a short nap if you want. I’ll wake you in thirty minutes,’’ you kindly offered, flipping through your notes for a specific annotation.
‘’Nah, I’m good.’’ He flashed you a soft smile, then returned to his studying.
A few minutes later, and you couldn't help but notice that Conrad's eyes had begun to droop. They would halfway close and then he would either blink a bunch of times, or widen his eyes until they were bug eyed. It was cute.
‘’Con? Conrad?’’ you called out gently.
‘’I'm not sleeping. I'm resting my eyes,’’ he mumbled defensively, fighting fatigue.
There was no way he was getting through the night, so you put your notes down and slipped on Conrad’s flannel shirt that was on the back of your chair to shield you from the night air. ‘’We’re gonna need more coffee.’’
As you came back with two fresh cups of coffee, you found Conrad fast asleep on your pillow, still clutching his pen.
And held his hand through the rainiest times — literally.
‘’Isn't California supposed to be the sunniest state?’’ Conrad asked, watching the downpour through the windshield, drenched from head to toe. ‘’The seats are all wet...’’
‘’You gotta learn to live with the consequences of your own actions, Connie baby.’’
It was his idea to get waffles when the sky was looking very gray and angry. He insisted that it would clear out, but a loud clap of thunder echoed on your way back to the car and rain started pouring. You took the road back to campus, but it got too dangerous, forcing Conrad to stop the car on the shoulder of the road and wait for the rain to calm.
You wiped your face with the sleeve of your hoodie and a smile curled on Conrad’s lips, still the most beautiful to his eyes despite your wet hair and the slight smear of mascara under your eyes.
‘’Rain happens everywhere. Even in the dryest desert,’’ you reminded him, pulling out your phone to check the weather app.‘’Unfortunately, this one isn't gonna stop anytime soon.’’
You toed off your sneakers, making Conrad draw his eyebrows.
‘’What are you doing?’’
‘’We’re gonna be here for a while.’’ You peeled off your hoodie — also wet from the rain —, leaving you in your skirt and dainty bralette. ‘’Might as well occupy ourselves,’’ you explained before leaning over the middle console and kissing him, fastening yourself to him with a stitch.
The kiss took him by surprise, but he wasn’t complaining. He could spend hours kissing you and never get bored.
You crawled over the console and on Conrad’s lap without breaking contact, your hands easily finding grip on his hair as you felt his hands all over your body, caressing and pulling. The windows were fogging quickly around you, creating a veil of privacy as more layers were peeled off.
Conrad once believed he had found love, that Belly was it for him, but the feelings he felt back then were nothing compared to how he felt right now.
‘’You’re the best thing that happened to me,’’ he confessed, his forehead pressed against yours.
*
The invitation came in a few weeks before the wedding. Conrad couldn’t believe his brother was going through with this. Everything was happening so fast and seemed rushed. Him and Belly weren’t even twenty. Who gets married so young anymore?
He arrived in Cousins a few days prior to the wedding, surprising everyone — and stealing the attention from the soon-to-be-weds — when they saw a girl with him.
The only person who knew exactly who you were was Steven. A few months ago, you had posted a picture with Conrad at the beach and tagged him, leading to Steven finding out about his friend’s new girlfriend. He was surprised when he saw it, but very happy for Conrad. He deserved better than someone who plays between two hearts.
Laurel put down the table-center she was holding and went over to pull Conrad in a hug. She turned to you, making quick introductions, and Conrad held his breath. He’s always been close to Laurel and her approval meant more to him than his father’s or Jeremiah’s.
While the two of you engaged into a conversation, he saw her. Belly. Dressed in a white sundress and talking to Taylor, she looked just the same. The only difference was, Conrad felt nothing. No pain, no old feelings rising back.
For the first time, what’s past was past.
‘’Belly, come greet Connie and his girlfriend,’’ Laurel called out to her daughter.
Although you had never met her, you could tell exactly who she was in the room — and not only because her dress was white. The jealousy filling her eyes when they fell on you gave her away.
—
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— summary: kook princess. kook prince. perfect match, right? wrong. you hated rafe cameron and everything he stood for. and he hated you. so when your fathers spring it on the two of you that they’d arranged for the two of you to be married, both of your worlds are flipped upside down.
— CW: 18+ only !! cocaine use, alcohol consumption, sexual innuendo, strong language.
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3 days later…
RAFE
“So.. Let me get this straight. Your dad, and Y/N’s dad, have formed some kind of plan to merge both companies.. And you have to marry Y/N for it to be the most successful?”
I snort. Leave it to Topper to have to go over the scenario a hundred fucking times before it finally clicks in his thick skull. I ignore him, grabbing the rolled up hundred dollar bill off the glass table and place it under my right nostril. Leaning forward, i place the other end of the rolled bill at the end of the perfectly formed white line, sniffing up the substance before dropping the bill and flopping back into the soft, white couch. Fuck, I love the burn this shit leaves behind. The way it makes my body tingle, clearing my mind of any bullshit I don’t want to think about.
Topper tries ruining my high again. “Rafe. C’mon man, we have to talk about this. What’re you going to do?”
I sit up, my eyes narrowed into thin slits at him. “There’s nothing to fucking talk about, Top. My dad and her dad have already signed our lives away. I’m supposed to marry the stuck up bitch in less than a month. I don’t want to think about it, so drop it.”
Topper groans, but thankfully, he drops the subject. I don’t know what he expects me to say. I don’t want to marry her. Marriage is the last thing I pictured myself ever doing, but even if I had decided to settle down one day, start a family, it sure as Hell wouldn’t have been her I chose. Y/N Y/L/N is the bane of my existence, and my polar opposite.
Where I like to have fun, and am riddled with issues from head to toe — thanks dad — she’s boring. She doesn’t get out, and she is issue free. Her family didn’t fuck her life up like mine did — well, until now I guess — and she doesn’t even want to change her ways. She’s stuck in the mindset of being the perfect princess. My dad always praised her when we were growing up. “Be more like Y/N, Rafe.” “Why can’t you act like Y/N? She’s a good girl.” and my favorite line “I wish I had Y/N as a daughter instead of you as my fuck up son”.
I shake the thoughts to the back of my mind. The last thing I want to do right now is think of fucking Y/N Y/L/N and the fact that come this weekend, the entire island will know we’re getting married. That’ll really fuck up my chances with getting any pussy before this wedding. That’s another thing. The girls still a fucking virgin. I mean, who the fuck is still a virgin at twenty-one years old? Y/N fucking Y/L/N, that’s who.
“You have to admit though, she is hot. And she’s a virgin, how longs it been since you fucked a virgin?” Top says, amusement lacing his tone as he lightly punches at my shoulder.
I roll my eyes. “She’s not fucking hot, Topper. She’s a bitch.”
Lie.
Y/N is a lot of things, but unattractive isn’t one of them. I would be lying to myself if I said she wasn’t fucking gorgeous. But I’ll never admit that out loud.
“C’mon Rafe. Lighten up. Maybe it won’t be so bad”
I bark out a laugh at that. It’s going to be fucking miserable. A loveless marriage. Handcuffs that I can’t break free from, even if I wanted to.
“Topper. Fucking drop it.”
He opens his mouth to speak but thankfully, Kelce comes barging through the front door. I quickly stand from the couch, making my way to my other best friend and mouthing a silent “thank you” to him for arriving when he did.
“Y’all ready?” Kelce asks, his eyes darting between Topper and I. Thankful for the intrusion and opportunity to drop this entire fucking subject, nod my head. “Let’s go”
-
The boys and I enter the Island Club. We come here quite often to just get drunk and forget about our shitty days. I am thankful for this tradition right about now. This whole marriage thing has had me stressed out for the last three days. I remember when Ward first came to me about it. He had told me that it was time for me to step up and do something good for the family.
“Son, a word?”
I roll my eyes, glancing at the girl laid beside me I tell her, “I’ll be right back”
My dad chuckles, his eyes glancing behind me and at the brunette that wears only my T-shirt and a pair of underwear. “Actually, you can get dressed and go. Rafe won’t be back up here until late tonight”
I roll my eyes, opening my mouth to protest, but my dad’s stern look has me quickly shutting my mouth. There’s never a point in arguing with Ward Cameron. He will win every single fucking time.
Turning to face Sofia, I give her a small smile. “Sorry, I’ll call you later”
She rolls her eyes but nods her head. She grabs her things from my floor before slipping on her white Nike tennis shoes and walking toward me. She positions all of her things in her left hand, her right palm pressed firmly against my chest as she leans up on her tiptoes and presses a long kiss to my lips.
My father clearing his throat has me pushing her back softly. “I’ll call you.” I say firmly. She turns and exits my room. Leaving me all alone with my dad.
“You won’t be calling her” He states.
My narrowed eyes find his. “And why is that?”
“Because, son. You’re about to step up and do something good for this family, and I won’t have you fucking it up by sleeping around with some bartender from the club.”
I scoff. “What’re you-” I begin to ask, but he cuts me off.
“You’re going to be marrying Y/N Y/L/N.” He says matter-of-factly.
“Rafe? You good bro?”
The sound of Kelce’s voice rips me from the memory. I slowly turn my head to face him, his dark brown eyes filled with slight concern.
Clearing my throat, I say, “Yeah. I’m good. Lets get fucking drunk”
Kelce and Topper nod their heads and begin making their way toward the bar. I follow them closely behind, but freeze in my tracks when I see her. Sofia. I never did call her, and it’s been three days since she was last in my room. I know she’s going freak out on me. If she doesn’t, i’ll be surprised.
I clear my throat and roll my neck before continuing my way up to the bar with my friends. I finally reach Kelce and Topper, they’re already ordering. “Rafe, whatcha drinking bro?” Kelce asks while looking behind his shoulder at me.
I open my mouth to speak but Sofia’s narrowed eyes landing on mine the second she hears my name has me clamping my mouth shut. I give her an awkward nod, debating on just leaving. That’s not who I am though, I don’t run away like a scared little bitch, so instead I order, “Whiskey. Neat.”
She rolls her eyes. “You’ll call me, huh? It’s been three days, Rafe. What the fuck?”
I hear Kelce and Topper snort out a laugh. I glare at the back of both their heads. I’m friends with fucking children. Turning my attention back to the short brunette, I sigh heavily. “Situations changed, Sofie.”
She scoffs at that. “Well, it would be nice to know that you had just planned on fucking me and never calling again. I wouldn’t have ever looked at you twice.”
Topper slings an arm around my shoulder. “I’m sure he would have called had he not found out later that day that’s he’s marrying Y/N Y/L-”
I throw my elbow into Topper’s side, making his arm fall from my shoulder as he groans in pain. “What the fuck was that for?” He demands.
I roll my eyes, and put my focus back on Sofia. “Look, like I said. Situations changed. I won’t apologize for not calling you, we never said it would be more than sex between us anyways”
Her mouth falls open and tears begin to well up in her chocolate brown eyes. I sigh. This is the thing about women. They always expect so much more than you’re willing to give. I never planned on having a relationship with Sofia, and she knows that. But now, I’m the bad guy because she was all but thrown out of my house and I never called.
She lifts her eyes toward the ceiling above her, blinking back her tears before her eyes find mine again. “Well, good to know. Let me get those drinks for you guys.”
I let out a deep exhale, turning to face Topper and Kelce. They both have shit eating grins on their faces. “What?” I snap.
Topper chuckles. “Nothing. You better hope she doesn’t spit in your drinks all night” He jokes.
I run a hand down my face. Tonight was supposed to help me unwind, not cause more fucking unwanted stress. “I never fed her lines of false hope, so I don’t know why she’s freaking the fuck out.”
Kelce chuckles this time, slapping a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t they all freak the fuck out when it comes to you? I mean c’mon Rafe. You can’t ever sleep with a girl without her expecting more.. I just hope you’re prepared for the long list that’s going to come for your throat when this engagement is announced.”
I sigh for what feels like the thousandth time tonight. He’s right. I have never been serious about any of the girls I slept with. They all wanted more, but every single time I felt they were getting to attached, I stopped calling or texting them. It was better that way. I didn’t want anything serious, and now, I’m being forced into something super serious. Fuck, my life really sucks doesn’t it?
“Here. Drink up, you need it.” I hear Kelce say. I turn to face him and he has his left hand extended toward me, my glass of whiskey in hand. I quickly snatch it from his grip and throw it back, downing the amber liquid in one gulp. Turning to face the bar, I slide the glass back toward Sofia. “Another.”
-
Two hours and multiple glasses of whiskey later, I’m drunk. The room sways a bit, and I reach my hand out to grip the patio railing. I hear Topper laugh from the right of me. “Dude, you’re fucking wasted.” He laughs out, placing his hand on my shoulder to help keep me upright.
“I- I am not wasted, Top. I’m just… Buzzed” I lie.
He opens his mouth to speak but he quickly slams it shut, the sound of his teeth clashing together has me turning my full attention on him. His brows are raised and his eyes look like they’re going to pop from his skull as he stares intently behind us.
“What the fuck are you looking at? You look like you’ve seen a fucking ghost.” I joke. But he doesn’t laugh, and that makes me nervous. Topper laughs at the dumbest shit, so for him to remain staring behind us with a look of pure shock in his eyes, it has me wondering what just happened.
My body sways to the side as I try to turn and face the direction he’s looking, but his hand on my shoulder has me stopping in place.
I narrow my blue — possibly bloodshot — eyes on him. “What the fuck, Top. Speak!”
He clears his throat. “I- Uh.. Y/N just walked in with some of her friends.”
That has my attention. I quickly turn my body, falling forward a bit but catching myself with the help of the railing again. She stands at the bar. And she looks fucking delicious right now. For a girl who has never taken it past kissing a man — if she’s even kissed a man — she sure knows how to dress the part of any other girl on this island. She wears a black, leather skirt that hugs her curves and ass nicely. A tight, white cropped top and a pair of black heels that add a few inches to her height. Her hair is up in a high ponytail, and all I can think of is wrapping my hand in it and pulling her head back as I fuck her from behind.
What the fuck? Why am I thinking of her like this? I fucking hate her. My soon to be wife. She’s a fucking stuck up, prude bitch. My mind tells me to stop staring, reminds me that I can’t fucking stand her. But my cock is screaming the complete opposite.
Without thinking, my legs begin to carry me toward her. I come to a stop right behind her, clearing my throat, causing her head to whip in my direction. The moment her eyes find mine, she’s rolling them. The act alone is fucking sexy. I picture her eyes rolling into the back of her head while my face is buried between her legs, devouring her sweet cunt. Fuck. Stop thinking of her like this Rafe, you’re just drunk, and horny. Any girl would do, but for some fucking reason, my mind is consumed with her.
“What the fuck do you want, Rafe” She sighs.
I smirk at the anger that radiates from her. “Just coming to say- just coming to say hey to my future wifeeee.” I slur. She rolls her eyes as they find mine again.
“You said hey, now run along. We don’t need to pretend to like each other right now.”
Maybe it’s just because I’m drunk, but her words stung. She really hates me doesn’t she? I mean, I hate her too. Don’t I? Yes, Rafe. She’s a stuck up bitch who acts like she’s better than everyone. But my drunken mind has me sighing as I say, “You really don’t like me, baby?”
Her body stiffens, eyes wide as she stares back at me. “I- Don’t call me that.”
I smirk. I have her worked up. Reaching out my left hand, I push a few strands of hair behind her ear before I run my fingers down the side of her face. She sucks in a shaky breath and flinches away from my touch.
“Rafe… Please just let me have a night out with my friends. In two days, we’re announcing to the entire island that we’re getting married, and I’d like to live the last two days of my life without you around… Lord knows I’m about to be stuck with you.”
My eyes narrow and I take a step toward her. You’re drunk, Rafe. Keep your cool. My large hands reach for her face, cupping her cheeks as I lower my face closer to hers. I don’t miss the way her chest rises and falls rapidly from my close proximity. She’s nervous. It’s going to be so much fun having her all to myself. Even if I hate her, pussy is pussy. And this is pussy that’s never been touched. She’s all mine to play with. To fuck. To break. To train. She’ll be my own personal whore by the time I’m done with her.
My glassy, blue eyes search her face. I half expect her to shove me away, and I’m so drunk I wouldn’t be able to fight back on it. But she doesn’t. Instead, her eyes find mine. That’s it, be strong baby girl. I like the tough girl act.
“Baby, you’re going to be crawling on your hands and knees begging for me to touch you. To kiss you. To please you. You can act like you hate me now, Lord knows I can’t stand you. But even I can admit, you’re fucking gorgeous. And I know you find me somewhat attractive.” I pause, placing my lips on the sensitive skin of her neck and leaving soft kisses, making her hiss in a breath. “I know this isn’t what either one of us wanted, but we have no choice… Why not enjoy the game?”
Her beautiful eyes narrow into slits and her lips thin. She blinks a few times before slapping my hands from her face. I stumble back a little, but catch myself on the bar, giving her a slow smirk.
“Fuck you, Rafe!” She hisses before grabbing her purse and storming off to the locker rooms.
I smile to myself as I watch her storm off. She’s mad now, but I meant what I said. She’ll be begging for more after I finally touch her. She can pretend now, and I’m not saying I’m falling for her. But Topper was right. She’s hot. Might as well enjoy the game and the perks, right? Letting out a small laugh, I turn and make my way back toward my friends, adjusting my hard cock that’s straining against my pants in the process. This is going to be fun.
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