#i had bubble pizza for dinner

[linksboobs]

Pizza oven

[its-avalon-08]

chicken shop date (ln4)

✦ pairing - lando norris x female!reader

✦ genre - little angst, tears, comfort, jealousy

"Hey, babe," Lando called out as he walked into the living room, his voice casual, as if he was mentioning the weather. Y/N looked up from the book she was reading, her eyes narrowing a little, sensing something was coming. "I’ve got to head out for a bit later. Media duties. You know how it is."

"Yeah, where to?" Y/N asked, pretending she wasn’t bothered, even though her gut told her this wasn’t just any media duty.

Lando plopped down beside her on the couch, leaning back with his arm lazily draped over her shoulders. "Just some interview thing. The Chicken Shop Date."

Her heart sank a little. "The one with Amelia?"

Lando nodded, not catching the slight change in her tone. "Yeah, should be fun, right? It’s been all over social media. Apparently, people love that show."

Y/N forced a smile. "Yeah… fun."

He didn’t notice the hesitation, scrolling through his phone as if it was no big deal. "It’s just an interview, nothing serious. I’ll be back by dinner."

Y/N gave a tight nod. "Okay, sure. It’s fine."

But it wasn’t. It didn’t help that she knew how these things played out online. Fans loved to pair drivers up with anyone and everyone, and Amelia was already adored. Y/N tried not to think about it too much, but the insecurity crept in. The doubt, the comparison—it all bubbled beneath the surface.

-`♡´--`♡´--`♡´-

Lando sat across from Amelia, lights blaring overhead, the cameras rolling, and the familiar buzz of media duties surrounding him. He smiled and laughed at her jokes, played along with the teasing banter, but his mind wasn’t really in the conversation. It was on Y/N.

As Amelia quipped something about his love for chicken, Lando gave the expected laugh, but inside, all he could think about was how Y/N would have found that moment funny—actually funny, not forced for the sake of the cameras. She had this way of cracking up over the smallest things, making even the most mundane moments between them feel like they were in their own little world. He shifted in his seat, nodding as Amelia asked him another question, but it was Y/N’s voice he wanted to hear, not Amelia’s.

I should’ve texted her before this started, he thought. She hates these things. She probably thinks this is stupid.

His smile faltered for a split second before he masked it again with his easy-going charm. Lando’s mind wandered, picturing Y/N curled up on the couch, probably watching something on Netflix, or worse—doom-scrolling through social media where people would already be buzzing about him and Amelia. He knew how much she hated seeing those comments.

"Do you always pick chicken on a date?" Amelia asked, her voice pulling him back to the present.

He smirked automatically, playing along. "Depends on the girl, I guess."

But in his mind, there was only one girl. He could almost hear Y/N’s sarcastic response if she’d been there. Something like “Oh wow, such a Casanova.” He bit back a real grin, wishing he was with her instead, eating pizza on the floor like they always did when they had time to themselves.

As Amelia tossed another teasing question his way, Lando nodded again, but his thoughts drifted to Y/N’s smile. Her real smile, the one she only showed when she was truly happy—her eyes crinkling at the edges, dimples making their rare but precious appearance. God, I love that smile, he thought. How do I even survive without seeing it every day?

The interview continued, but Lando was only half there. His answers were automatic, the jokes came easy enough, but his heart was back home with Y/N. He could already imagine the comments that would flood in after this aired—the inevitable “couple goals” remarks about him and Amelia, the fans who shipped them just because they shared a few laughs on camera. He hated how much Y/N would probably see it all and doubt herself again.

She’s the one, he reminded himself, trying to focus as Amelia asked him about his worst date experience. But his mind flickered to the time he and Y/N had gotten completely soaked during an impromptu storm on what was supposed to be a romantic picnic. It had been a disaster, but also perfect, because it was with her.

The interview wrapped up eventually, and as he stood up to leave, Lando’s first instinct was to check his phone. A text from Y/N popped up.

How’s it going? Did you eat all the chicken yet?

He grinned down at the message, a wave of warmth washing over him. She’s probably teasing, but I know she’s anxious, he thought, his fingers quickly tapping out a response.

Miss you. Be home soon.

Amelia said something to him on the way out, but he barely registered it. His mind was already miles away, back where he belonged—next to Y/N.

-`♡´--`♡´--`♡´-

Y/N sat on the couch, her phone in hand, mindlessly scrolling through Twitter, Instagram, and every other app she swore she’d avoid today. The comments were relentless, each one stabbing at the insecurities she’d been trying so hard to ignore.

Amelia and Lando are too cute together! Lando needs someone like Amelia, not Y/N. Amelia is just…better. They have way more chemistry than Lando and his actual girlfriend, LOL.

She closed her eyes, swallowing the lump in her throat as she let the phone fall onto her lap. The words kept spinning in her mind. They shouldn’t have bothered her this much, but they did. The laughter and teasing between Lando and Amelia from the video replayed in her mind, feeding her doubts.

Suddenly, her phone buzzed beside her, breaking her out of the spiral. She sighed, assuming it was more notifications from the post, but the name on the screen made her pause.

Carlitos.

She hesitated, not wanting to deal with anyone right now, but something told her to pick up. Carlos wouldn’t call without a reason.

“Hey, Carlitos,” she answered, trying her best to sound casual.

But Carlos knew her too well. "You’re doom-scrolling, aren’t you?"

Y/N’s heart sank at his words, her eyes darting to her phone again as if he could see everything she’d just read. "No… I mean, maybe a little. How do you know?"

Carlos chuckled softly on the other end. "I just do. I saw the interview, and I figured you’d be reading all that rubbish online. You know how people get with these things."

Y/N sighed, leaning her head back against the couch. "It’s not just people. It’s like… I don’t know, Carlos. They’re saying Lando and Amelia have more chemistry than we do. And I… I can’t help but think, what if they’re right?"

There was a brief silence before Carlos spoke, his voice gentle but firm. "You’re kidding, right? Lando adores you. You should see the way he talks about you when you’re not around. You’ve got nothing to worry about."

Y/N’s chest tightened. "But did you see the video? They looked… I don’t know, comfortable. Like they fit."

Carlos let out a soft sigh. "Y/N, of course they looked comfortable. It’s an interview, they’re supposed to. And Amelia’s whole thing is to make it playful. But you and Lando—what you two have is real. Not some staged banter for the cameras."

She stayed silent, biting her lip, unsure if she could believe him.

"You’ve been with him through everything, Y/N," Carlos continued, his voice softer now. "The highs, the lows, the things the cameras never see. What you two have isn’t for the internet to decide. It’s for you and Lando, and no one else."

Y/N swallowed, her eyes stinging as she blinked back the tears threatening to spill over. "I just… I hate feeling like I’m not enough for him sometimes."

Carlos paused for a moment before speaking again, this time with more conviction. "Listen to me. You are more than enough. Lando knows it. I know it. And deep down, you know it too. The internet? They’ll always talk, but they don’t know the first thing about your relationship."

Y/N let out a shaky breath, nodding even though he couldn’t see her. "Yeah, I guess."

"No, not ‘I guess,’" Carlos insisted. "I’m telling you. Lando loves you. He doesn’t care about Amelia or anyone else. And if he saw you right now, he’d probably punch himself for letting you feel like this."

A soft laugh escaped Y/N, despite the tears that were now sliding down her cheeks. "You’re too good to me, Carlos."

"Someone’s got to keep an eye on you when Lando’s off doing these ridiculous interviews," he teased, his tone lighter now. "But seriously, promise me you’ll stop reading those comments. They don’t matter."

Y/N nodded, wiping at her eyes. "I’ll try. Thanks, Carlos. I didn’t realize how much I needed to hear that."

"Anytime, Y/N. And if you ever need a reminder, just call me, okay?"

"Okay," she said softly, feeling the weight on her chest slowly lift.

"And remember," Carlos added, his voice warm and reassuring, "you’re family. We’ve all got your back, no matter what. Especially me."

Y/N smiled through her tears, her heart swelling at his words. "I know. Thank you, Carlos. Really."

"Now, go put your phone down and do something that makes you happy. Lando will be home soon, and he’s probably missing you already."

Y/N let out a soft chuckle. "You’re right. I’ll stop the doom-scrolling."

"Good," Carlos said, his smile evident through the phone. "Talk soon, Y/N."

"Bye, Carlos."

As the call ended, Y/N set her phone down, feeling a bit lighter. Carlos was right. Lando loved her, and she couldn’t let the opinions of people who didn’t even know them take that away. With a deep breath, she got up, deciding to make dinner and wait for Lando, her heart feeling a little more at peace.

-`♡´--`♡´--`♡´-

Lando was driving back home, the streets quiet, his mind wandering between the day’s events and how much he just wanted to be with Y/N. He could already imagine her waiting for him, maybe with some sarcastic comment about the interview, but her smile would say it all. That was his Y/N.

His phone rang, breaking him out of his thoughts. Seeing Carlos’ name flash on the screen, he raised an eyebrow, quickly connecting his Bluetooth before answering.

“Carlos, what’s up?” Lando asked casually, one hand on the steering wheel.

“Mate, we need to talk,” Carlos’ tone was serious, which immediately caught Lando’s attention. “It’s about Y/N.”

Lando’s stomach dropped. “What do you mean? Is she okay?”

“She’s been doom scrolling, Lando,” Carlos sighed. “All the comments about you and Amelia… they’re getting to her. Badly.”

Lando’s grip on the steering wheel tightened as his heart started to race. No, no, no… I should’ve checked on her more. I should’ve known this would happen.

“Shit,” Lando muttered under his breath, the image of Y/N’s hurt expression flashing in his mind. “How bad is it?”

“She’s really upset,” Carlos said softly. “I just talked to her. She’s trying to act like it’s fine, but you know Y/N. She’s hurt, man.”

Lando’s mind started spiraling. The interview with Amelia had been playful, nothing more. But of course, the internet had twisted it into something else. And he hadn’t even thought to reassure Y/N after it. How could I be so stupid? She’s always had a hard time with stuff like this.

He could already picture her sitting at home, scrolling through all those hateful comments, each one cutting deeper than the last. And he hadn’t been there to stop it. Guilt washed over him in waves, his mind running a mile a minute.

“You need to fix this, mate,” Carlos added. “She needs to hear it from you.”

“Yeah,” Lando nodded, though Carlos couldn’t see him. “Yeah, I’ll fix it. Thanks, Carlos.”

“Don’t let her sit with it too long, alright? You know how she gets.”

Lando’s chest felt tight as he ended the call. His thoughts swirled, an overwhelming sense of panic bubbling inside him. She’s hurting because of me. I should’ve known. Why didn’t I check in with her sooner?

He couldn’t stop the spiral. His mind raced through every scenario—Y/N sitting there, thinking she wasn’t good enough, believing for even a second that anyone, let alone Amelia, could ever come close to what she meant to him. What if she starts pulling away? What if she starts believing those comments?

Lando could feel the pressure building in his chest, his heart pounding as he drove. He hated the thought of her doubting his feelings, doubting herself. She was the most important person in his life, the one he thought about constantly. How could she not know that?

I need to make it up to her. I need to show her how much I love her.

As he passed a convenience store, he swerved into the parking lot on impulse, throwing the car into park. He rushed inside, his eyes scanning the aisles in a frenzy. What would make her smile? What would remind her that she’s everything?

His heart still raced as he grabbed her favorite chocolate, the one she always ate when she was feeling down. Next, he spotted a small display of flowers—bright, colorful blooms that would make her laugh at how cheesy they were. He grabbed those too, along with a soft plush bear that looked far too childish but somehow felt perfect for this moment.

As he stood at the checkout, waiting for the clerk to ring everything up, his mind was still spinning. What if it’s not enough? What if she’s already convinced herself that she’s not good enough for me?

No, he told himself firmly. I’ll make her see. I’ll make her believe it.

He rushed back to the car, throwing the flowers and chocolates onto the passenger seat, already picturing her face when she saw them. She deserves the world, and I’ve been too caught up to remind her of that. I’m such an idiot.

The drive home felt longer than ever, his heart pounding in his chest as his thoughts swirled between guilt, panic, and determination. By the time he pulled into the driveway, he felt like he couldn’t breathe.

He grabbed everything from the seat, taking a deep breath as he walked up to the door. I need to fix this.

Lando fumbled with his keys, his hands shaking slightly as he unlocked the door. He stepped inside quietly, his eyes immediately searching for her. The house was quiet, but he knew she was there. He could feel the tension in the air, the weight of unspoken feelings hanging between them.

“Y/N?” he called softly, stepping further into the house, the flowers and chocolates held awkwardly in his hands.

She appeared from the living room, her eyes red-rimmed, a telltale sign that she’d been crying. Seeing her like that nearly broke him.

“Hey,” she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lando swallowed hard, his heart aching at the sight of her. “I, uh, got you something,” he said, holding up the flowers and chocolates, his voice shaky with nerves.

Y/N’s eyes flickered to the items in his hands, a soft, surprised smile tugging at the corner of her lips despite her sadness.

“Why?” she asked, though her voice wasn’t accusatory—it was more like she didn’t understand why he would do something so sweet when she felt so far from deserving it.

“Because…” Lando stepped closer, his chest tightening again as he searched for the right words. “Because I love you, and I’ve been an idiot. I should’ve known how all of this would make you feel, and I didn’t—” He took a deep breath, his voice catching slightly. “You’re everything to me, Y/N. I don’t care what anyone says. I only care about you.”

She looked at him, her eyes softening, but the hurt was still there. “Lando, I just… I don’t want to feel like I’m not enough for you. And with everything people are saying—”

“Stop,” Lando interrupted, stepping closer and setting the flowers and chocolates down so he could take her hands in his. “You are more than enough. You’re everything. I hate that you ever doubted that, and I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to stop it before it got this far.”

His voice cracked, the weight of his guilt pouring out. “I should’ve texted you, called you, anything. I hate that you had to sit there and read all those stupid comments. I love you, Y/N. No one else, not Amelia, not anyone. Just you.”

Y/N’s lip trembled, her walls breaking down as she looked into his eyes. “I just… I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t,” Lando promised, his voice firm as he pulled her into a tight hug. “You won’t lose me. I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

She buried her face in his chest, her tears soaking into his shirt, but Lando didn’t care. All that mattered was that she was in his arms, and he was never letting go.

“I love you,” she whispered against his chest, her voice muffled but full of emotion.

“I love you more,” Lando murmured, kissing the top of her head softly. "Always."

-`♡´--`♡´--`♡´-

The race weekend buzz filled the paddock, mechanics and engineers bustling around in preparation for the big day. Lando stood near his McLaren, helmet in hand, but his eyes were focused on Y/N, standing just a few feet away. She was watching him, that small, soft smile on her lips that always made his heart race more than any lap could.

They hadn’t spoken much since arriving at the track, but everything between them felt different now—closer, stronger. And as Lando walked toward her, the noise of the paddock seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of them.

Y/N looked up, her eyes meeting his. “Ready to win today?” she asked, her voice teasing but full of warmth.

Lando grinned, but something stirred in him as he stood there, watching her. He couldn’t shake the overwhelming feeling that he needed to do more—show her, not just tell her, how much she meant to him. Not later, not when the race was over, but now. Right now.

Without thinking twice, he closed the gap between them in two quick strides. His helmet dropped from his hand, clattering to the ground, but he didn’t care.

“Lando?” Y/N asked, her eyes widening in surprise as he reached for her.

Before she could say anything more, Lando cupped her face in his hands, pulling her in for a kiss—a deep, passionate kiss that made the world around them disappear. His lips moved against hers with an intensity that spoke louder than words ever could, his hands trembling slightly as he held her close.

Y/N gasped into the kiss, her fingers instinctively gripping the front of his race suit as she melted into him, caught completely off guard by the suddenness of it. But the way he kissed her—the urgency, the need—told her everything she needed to know.

When he finally pulled away, both of them were breathless, their foreheads resting together. The paddock around them had come to a standstill, everyone frozen in place, eyes wide as they witnessed the moment.

Lando smiled softly, his thumb brushing against her cheek as he whispered, “I love you so much, Y/N. And I don’t care who knows it.”

Y/N’s eyes sparkled with a mixture of shock and happiness, her cheeks flushed. “Lando… I—”

But before she could finish, he kissed her again—this time softer, more tender, but still just as full of meaning.

When he pulled back, Y/N let out a small laugh, shaking her head. “You do realize you just kissed me in front of half the grid, right?”

Lando grinned, glancing around for the first time to see the eyes of drivers, team members, and media locked on them. Phones were out, no doubt capturing the moment that was already spreading across the internet like wildfire.

“Good,” he said with a mischievous smirk. “Now the whole world knows who I love.”

Y/N laughed, rolling her eyes as she playfully hit his chest. “You’re such a show-off.”

“Only for you,” Lando teased, pulling her in for one last quick kiss. “Gotta give them something to talk about, right?”

As he bent down to grab his helmet, his eyes stayed locked on hers, the playful grin never leaving his face. He knew what he’d just done—how this moment was going to blow up online, how everyone was going to be talking about the “kiss heard ‘round the paddock.”

And honestly, he didn’t care. Let them talk. Let them post. Let the internet go wild.

He winked at her as he started to back toward the car. “Wish me luck?”

Y/N smiled brightly, her heart racing from the kiss and the moment that felt so surreal. “You don’t need luck,” she called after him. “You’ve got me.”

Lando laughed, a lightness in his chest as he put on his helmet, ready for the race. But before he climbed into the car, he stole one last glance at her.

And when he saw her standing there, beaming at him, he knew—he’d already won.

By the time Lando was strapped in and the race was about to begin, the internet had already exploded.

“Lando Norris pulls Y/N into a kiss before the race—power move!” “Is this the most romantic moment in F1 history?” “#LandosLove trending as fans lose their minds over that kiss.”

But all that mattered to Lando, sitting in his McLaren, was the fact that Y/N was there, watching him, and she knew—without a doubt—that she was the only one he cared about.

And today, he was going to win. For her.

-`♡´--`♡´--`♡´-

As soon as the kiss went viral, Instagram was flooded with posts, stories, and comments, with fans going absolutely wild over the moment.

@f1updates 📸 | Lando Norris pulls Y/N into a passionate kiss before hopping into his McLaren! 💥🔥 #LandoNorris #F1Romance #PaddockGoals

Comments:

@racingqueen_: SOMEONE GET ME AN OXYGEN TANK. I CAN’T BREATHE. 😍🔥

@fastandflirty: The way he just grabbed her and kissed her like he didn’t care who was watching?! Lando, sir, that’s illegal. 😳😭

@fanofchampions: This is the most romantic thing to ever happen in F1, I swear.

@speedqueen_: “I love you and I don’t care who knows it.” PLEASE HE DID THAT ON PURPOSE, I’M SOBBING. 😭

@racingislife: The internet isn’t ready for the #LandosLove era. 🥺❤️

@lan_y/nforever: This is NOT a drill. My heart cannot handle this.

@mclarensoulmate: F1 who? I’m now a fan of Lando’s romance arc. 🥹🌹

@formula1love 📷 Lando Norris and Y/N — the ultimate paddock couple. The kiss that broke the internet! 💏🔥 #CoupleGoals #LandosLove #F1

Comments:

@gridgirl_gossip: THAT KISS WAS STRAIGHT OUT OF A MOVIE, I’M NOT OKAY. 🥵💥

@checkeredlovestory: And Lando said, “Let me set the internet on fire real quick.” 😂🔥

@speeddiva: Can we talk about how they didn’t care about ANYONE around them? Like, iconic behavior.

@mclarensnumberone: They’re the new Brangelina of F1. No one can tell me otherwise. 😭

@thisgridisburning: This is better than any podium celebration I’ve ever seen in F1! 🏆💖

@formulaonedaydream: I want what they have. NO ONE TALK TO ME.

@mclarenofficial We knew Lando was fast on track, but that kiss was next level. 😉💨 #LandoNorris #PaddockLove

Comments:

@y/nation: WE ARE SCREAMING! THAT WAS THE KISS OF THE CENTURY. 👏🏽🔥

@lanfanofficial: Can Lando stop being perfect for like, five minutes? 🥲

@gridromantic: Not Lando turning the paddock into his own personal rom-com! I’m WEAK.

@mclarensbabes: Lando just raised the bar for every F1 driver’s girlfriend/boyfriend! Good luck topping that, lads. 😂💖

@inlove_with_speed: I’m crying, I’m laughing, I’m DYING. No one can compete with them. 💀

@landonorrisfanclub Lando's not just winning races—he’s winning at love too. 🥺💙 That kiss?! We’re still recovering. #LandoAndY/N #F1CoupleGoals

Comments:

@allthegridfeels: If this isn’t the definition of relationship goals, I don’t know what is.

@lapsofemotion: The way he didn’t care who saw it… I'm screaming.

@teambae: The power they hold over us all is unreal. 💥💖

@racedaydreamer: They really gave us a full-blown rom-com in the middle of the paddock, and I’M HERE FOR IT.

@getinthegrid: Someone write a fanfic about this moment RIGHT NOW.

@gridsweethearts Did Lando just set the bar for every F1 driver’s love life? Yes. Yes, he did. 💥😳 #LandoNorris #Y/N #LoveInThePaddock

Comments:

@racingheartbeats: I’m sobbing, they’re so beautiful together. I can’t even. 🥲

@formula1dreamer: Lando, what did you put in that kiss?! I FELT THAT IN MY SOUL. 😭

@mclovingspeed: That was the most iconic thing ever. No one’s gonna top that.

@lan_y/nfanforever: Lando just casually redefined love in F1. The paddock belongs to them now.

The hashtag #LandosLove began trending worldwide within minutes, fans sharing clips, edits, and reactions to the unexpected yet intensely romantic moment. It wasn't just a race weekend anymore—it was the weekend Lando and Y/N stole the show.

[homeofthelonelywriter]

“Thanks, Simon, I owe you!” The soldier watched you rush around the apartment, making sure you had grabbed everything you needed, with a smile. “Don’t worry, love, you go have fun at Pilates. The little one and I will have a great time.” His hands, gentle on your shoulders, steered you out the door before he closed the door, keeping you from coming up with an excuse to stay after all.

If he was completely honest, he was actually kind of excited to spend some one-on-one time with your daughter. After all, if he wanted to have any chance of getting with you, he would have to charm the little girl first. Maybe that was why he had stopped at a toy store before coming to your apartment, picking up the doll you had told him about—the one your daughter had seen in a commercial a few weeks ago and had wanted ever since. Kids could be bribed, after all, right?

And thankfully, everything went well. Your daughter had a field day with the tough soldier. Making him play pretend, having a tea party, and playing hide-and-seek, all before she sat him down and did his make-up. When dinner time rolled around, she even managed to convince him to ignore whatever you had prepared for the two of them, and instead order pizza.

“This is mommy’s favorite.” She pointed one of her little fingers at the menu before pointing to the one you always ordered for her. He rang in the order and grabbed the money from his wallet, preparing it by the door. The food arrived sooner than later, and Simon sat down in the living room, your daughter right beside him, while they watched ‘Frozen’. Simon even sang along, much to your daughter’s enjoyment.

All too soon, you walked through the door, apologizing for taking longer than you had planned, but when you entered the living room, you stopped, a grin forming on your face. Simon, makeup still on his face, was lying on your couch, your daughter almost asleep on his chest as she was muttering things. The moment Simon noticed you, he smiled and carefully waved to you, not wanting to disturb your daughter. You walked closer, crouching down next to the pair, trying to hear what she was saying.

She looked up at Simon, her eyes drooping shut, but she fought against sleep with everything she had. “You’re beautiful and capable of great things.” She paused to take a little breath. “Like murder.” Your eyes widened, as did Simon’s. Your daughter stopped talking for a moment, and you almost thought she had fallen asleep, but then she spoke up again. “Don’t do that though.” Your hand clasped down over your mouth to stifle the laughter threatening to bubble out. “Unless it’s completely necessary.” That was it. You started laughing, falling back onto your ass, as Simon’s chest started to jump up and down, showing his laughter and disturbing your daughter’s rest.

With almost closed eyes, she peered at the two of you, clearly confused. “Mommy?” You calmed yourself before answering. “Yes, baby, I’m back. Let’s get you to bed, huh?” She nodded, almost asleep again.

When you reached for her, Simon shook his head. “I got her.” Without an issue, he sat up and shifted your daughter to lie in his arms. You guided the way to her room, where Simon gently put her down before tucking her in and leaving the room. Before you left, you pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead and wished her a good night. Outside, Simon was waiting for you, and the moment you made eye contact, you burst out laughing again, reminding each other to be quiet, as you walked back down to the entrance hall.

“Thank you, Simon, I really appreciate your help.” He grinned at you, rubbing the back of his neck as the two of you stood there. “Anytime. She is a sweetheart…even if weird sometimes.” You chuckled, agreeing with a nod. Silence fell over the two of you, but you interrupted it before it could grow awkward. “Well…I’ll let you get on your way, it’s already late.” Simon nodded, stepping out of the door as you opened it. But before he could walk away, you reached up and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Thanks again. Good night, Simon.”

A/N: Some cuteness. Based on this TikTok

[vanteguccir]

── ୨୧ !　𝗧𝗘𝗫𝗔𝗦 𝗜𝗦 𝗦𝗢 𝗖𝗢𝗟𝗗

　　　　　　　　　𝒄𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 x reader

SUMMARY: Where Y/N and the triplets decide to go out for dinner at a pizzeria, but Y/N is cold and Chris becomes her personal heater.

REQUESTED?: Yes, from anon.

WARNING: None.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

"Forget about it!" Chris's voice sounded in a ridiculous Italian accent, catching Y/N's attention, who was a little away from the triplets as she looked at the pizzeria's sign.

The girl turned around, seeing Nick holding the camera with both hands, the lens focusing on Matt and Chris, her own silhouette probably appearing in the background.

Y/N smiled at the brothers' banter as she rubbed her hands together, trying to extract some heat from the friction as she mentally cursed herself for her chosen outfit option.

When the boys came up with the idea of ​​trying a different Texas-style pizzeria that had good reviews online, she felt super excited. Her biggest hobby was discovering new restaurants, so much so that in LA, she took the boys with her at least once a week to have dinner out.

But she completely forgot that she wasn't in LA and that the cold in Texas was intense, reaching 2°C. And that was precisely why she was so angry with herself, having chosen a short dress with a long sleeve that did nothing to warm her arms and left her collarbone exposed, a pair of pantyhose too thin to even be felt against her skin and a pair of high-heeled, short-cut boots that didn't even reach past her heels.

Y/N pressed her legs together as she crossed her arms tightly around her own waist, white smoke leaving her lips with each deep breath. She just hoped the pizzeria had a good heater.

"Yeah, so we're eating pizza..." Nick turned the camera so that the lens framed him too, starting to explain what they were going to do.

Chris turned towards the entrance of the restaurant as he looked for his girlfriend, missing her presence by his side. His eyes found her quickly, a smile stretching across his face, but that was soon replaced by furrowed eyebrows upon seeing her condition.

He walked away from his brothers and took quick steps towards Y/N, placing his hands on her shoulders, feeling the tension in the area, probably due to the cold.

"Shit, you're freezing, baby. I told you to change your clothes." Chris murmured, his voice sounding panickly as he ran his hands up and down the girl's arms, trying to warm her up with the friction between his hands and the thin fabric of her dress sleeve.

Even though his words were scolding, his voice sounded like a wave of heat through Y/N's body. She just shook her head, a whine escaping her throat.

"I forgot it was 2°C." She responded in a weak voice, her teeth chattering as she tried to run her hot tongue over her lips, wanting to warm them up, but to no avail.

"Look, we have a penguin with us today." Nick's voice sounded close to the couple in a playful tone, his hand still holding the camera on as a laugh escaped his lips, the lens catching the two of them and Matt, who was looking at them with his arms crossed and his brow furrowed, probably worried about Y/N's situation.

"Texas is so cold." The girl complained, getting closer to Chris looking for more human warmth.

The boy hugged her tightly, the momentary heat penetrating Y/N's sore muscles, a sigh of relief escaping her lips.

"Thanks." Her voice was muffled, her face pressed completely against Chris' covered chest.

His arms wrapped around her shoulders so perfectly that their bodies looked like a two-piece puzzle. The human heat that surrounded Chris's body embraced Y/N's one, creating a bubble around the two. A sound of appreciation escaped Chris' lips at the closeness, his hands caressing his girlfriend's cold back.

The boy bent down slightly, bringing his face closer to Y/N's, sealing his lips momentarily on her forehead before running his nose lightly over the sensitive skin, a shiver running through the girl's spine due to the coldness of the tip of his nose.

A few seconds later, Chris realized that his girlfriend was still shivering, slightly moving her away from his body, receiving a sound of complaint in response.

Chris just raised his right hand, silently asking her to wait. He brought his hands to the hem of his black hoodie, pulling it up and removing the piece from his body, the beanie falling from his head with the movement.

Matt bent down, retrieving the beanie as a smile stretched across his face.

"Chris is a true gentleman, guys." Nick started from behind the camera, a smile in his voice. "Don't accept anything less than that." He continued, adjusting the camera's zoom so that it focused on Chris, who was holding the hoodie in his hands. His body now only covered by his baggy jeans and two layers of black turtleneck sweater.

The youngest of the triplets completely ignored him, approaching Y/N, who was watching his movements with wide eyes.

"Babe, no! You'll be cold." She exclaimed, raising her hands trying to stop him.

"My priority is your comfort, gorgeous." Chris returned it, arranging the hoodie in his hands so that he could slip the piece over his girlfriend's head, being careful with her makeup, knowing that if he messed it up, she would be mad.

The boy helped her pass her arms through the respective holes, pulling the hem down and pressing the fabric against her body, trying to warm her up more quickly.

"I loved the style, very aesthetic." Matt commented from the couple's side, letting out a laugh. Chris smiled as he rolled his eyes, wrapping his right arm around Y/N's shoulder, pulling her close, her arms wrapping around his waist.

"Can we eat now? Please?" Nick asked, his voice sounding desperate. He was eager to try the meatballs he'd seen so much of in the reviews.

"This is literally the only time you'll ever see me with chapped lips, I'm in the fucking Tundra right now." Matt spoke quickly as he looked at the camera, his icy hand passing over his lips.

Y/N opened her black purse - which only had a lip gloss and a watermelon Space Camp lip balm - and took out the lip balm, handing it to Matt, who jokingly celebrated before thanking her, opening the package and passing it across his lips.

"Free advertising." Chris's sentence was the last thing the camera captured, besides the others' laughter and the little "go buy Space Camp" comment made by Y/N, before Nick turned it off and they finally entered the pizzeria.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

extra - comments:

"Chris taking off his hoodie and giving it to Y/N because she was cold 😭"

"it's exactly because of Y/N and Chris that my standards are so high"

"yes Nick, we all know that Chris is a true gentleman 😔"

"can we take a few seconds to admire Y/N's beauty in that outfit? WHAT A WOMAN"

"Matt picking up Chris's beanie off the floor 😭"

"Chris hugging Y/N all worried and shit because she was shivering from the cold 🥺"

"Y/N lending her Space Camp to Matt after he complained about his chapped lips: the biggest advertisement you can have"

"Nick hire Y/N to advertise your brand right now!!!"

"MY PARENTS 😭🧎‍♀️"

[lulunothulu]

“Jealousy, jealousy” pt. 2

Tyler Owens x Fem!Reader

@86laura11: Oh my gosh. I want more. What’s next? Does Kate apologize to her friend? Does Tyler take her on a real date? I need to know.

Summary: After a night of pizza and talking, Tyler finally asks you out on a proper date—asking Kate to help you get ready.

Content: just cute fluff

Part one

Both you and Tyler finished off the pizza he brought in under thirty minutes, realizing you both skipped dinner. Now, sprawled across your bed, you and Tyler look up at the popcorn ceiling.

“That was really good,” he tells you. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was.”

You groan. “I think I might burst.”

Tyler laughs, propping himself on one arm and facing you. Your hair was down—strew around your head like sun rays—and your face content.

You were goddamn beautiful.

“So I have a question,” Tyler starts.

You turn to face him, almost surprised that he’s as handsome up close as he was far away. You couldn’t believe this was happening, much less that he had something to ask you.

“What is it?” You respond, propping yourself on your elbow, the same way Tyler did.

“Well…I was wonderin’,” he starts, southern drawl catching on his tongue. “Would you maybe…whenever you’re free…wanna go out on a date with me?”

Your heart began to pound on your chest. Excitement and joy bubble up your spine and you smile at Tyler widely.

“Yes, I’d love that.”

“Are you free tomorrow?” He asks.

“I’m sure Javi and Kate wouldn’t mind if I skipped out tomorrow,” you tell him.

Tyler’s eyes widen, he forgot about Kate. What if you were still mad at her for what she did?

“Let me text them,” you tell him.

You:Guys….

Kate:Y/N…?

Javi:Are you okay?

You:Jake just asked me out…

Kate: HOLY SHIT HE FINALLY DID IT.

You: wait… you knew?

Kate: why tf do you think I was talking to him?

Javi: do I have to be here for this?

You: yes.

Kate: YES.

You: Kate, can you come over after the leaves in a bit? Also is it okay if I skip out tomorrow, Javi?

Kate: Sounds good.

Javi: Sure

You turn to Tyler who’s still watching you with a smile and feel the blush creep up.

“They, uh, said it was alright to skip out,” you tell him.

He chuckles, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Sounds good, Sweetheart.”

He rolls off the bed, standing in front of you to help you up. With his hand offering to help you, you take it and are swiftly hoisted up to your feet.

Tyler pulled you too hard though, because you feel yourself crashing into his hard chest. You look up at him, startled. He looks down at you, amused.

“I’ll see you tomorrow at 11,” he tells you, kissing your cheek before walking toward your door.

You’re still vibrating from his kiss when you realize something.

Did he say 11 as in, 11 AM?

“11 AM?” You ask.

Tyler just nods, winking your way and walking out the door.

Not even a minute later, your door rattles as someone knocks on your door.

You smile, walking toward the door and swinging it open to find Kate standing there, excitedly beaming at you.

“Oh my god! He just came from your room!” She beams.

“Yeah,” you say. “We had pizza for dinner.”

You let her in, watching as she takes a deep breath before turning around to face you. Her face is now riddled in remorse, brows furrowing together.

“I’m sorry,” she starts. “About making you cry.”

You wave her off. “It’s fine, I’m about to start my period soon. I’m just hormonal.”

“Are you sure?” She asks.

“I mean, the plan was to get me jealous. And it worked,” you laugh. “It worked big time.”

Kate smiles at you before shaking your head and pulling you into a hug. “I really am sorry.”

You hug her tightly. “It’s okay, really. How could I stay mad at you when I have a date with Tyler tomorrow morning?”

She pulls you back, smile back on her face mixed with confusion. “Morning?”

You only shrug.

———

The next morning, Tyler’s up bright and early.

10 AM to be exact.

He wanted to be ready for your date aaaand he still needed to get your number.

As quietly as he can, Tyler tiptoes to the motel door he and Boone share before opening it and sneaking out. He walks toward Javi’s room, knocking when he arrives.

Javi answers the door, rubbing his eyes. “Dude, what the hell?”

“Sorry, can I have Y/N’s number?” He asks.

“Did you forget to ask last night?” Javi smiles.

Tyler’s about to respond, but stops when he hears, “Javi? Who’s at the door?”

From behind Javi walks Kate, wearing one of Javi’s shirts. Tyler’s brows raise, a smile forming on his lips.

“You and Kate?” He asks.

“Here’s her number,” Kate smiles, handing him a piece of paper with your number on it.

Tyler smiles, waving them goodbye before checking his watch.

10:20 AM.

He figured he would go to the diner across the street for some coffee before texting you.

Tyler walks into the diner, surveying the place before stopping when he finds you sitting in the booth in the back.

You’re wearing a lilac sundress and your hair cascades around your shoulders as you sip your coffee.

Tyler approaches, a wide smile plastered on his face. “Well, what brings you here?”

You look up at him and he could’ve sworn you looked even more beautiful than normal.

Your cheeks are rosy, face covered in light makeup that accentuates your already gorgeous face, and your lips are a natural pinky color.

“Wow,” he gawks. “You—you look just…wow.”

You smile up at him and he could’ve sworn he melted away.

“Thank you,” you respond, your sweet voice singing into his ears.

Tyler clears his throat. “Are you ready?”

You nod, slipping out of the booth and watching as Tyler tosses some bills on the table.

“Let’s get out of here, sweetheart.”

———

Tyler drove you almost an hour away into a small town full of Gilmore Girls-esque house and people.

“I cannot believe you just found this random town,” you marvel.

You’d both been walking around town after a quick brunch at a local diner.

Tyler’s hand kept brushing against yours as you walked, looking at all the shops.

“Yeah,” he tells you. “I’d seen it a few days ago and thought it would be a great place to just walk around with you.”

You glance up at him, a smile already on your lips.

“You’ve been planning this for days?”

Tyler looks down at you, stopping to face you completely. He’s wearing his white cowboy hat, his signature flannel, and jeans paired with boots. He looks normal but different at the same time.

Yet, he’s taking your breath away.

“I have been,” he admits. “I’ve been planning this for longer than then to be honest.”

“How long?” You ask.

He rubs the back of his neck. “Since the first day I met you.”

“That was almost a month ago!” You laugh.

He only shrugs. “I knew what I wanted the moment you scowled at me from the back seat of your truck.”

You laughed, remembering how he had driven next Javi trying to beat you all in getting to a tornado. You remember his eyes on you and your scowl when he winked at you.

“I knew you’d be a tough one to crack after that,” he finishes. “When did you know you liked me?”

You grab his hand in yours, feeling the roughness of the callouses on his palm.

“That night when you came to apologize for stealing the tornado out from under us,” you reply.

Tyler laughs. “Yeah, I guess that must’ve sweetened the sour feelings you had about me.”

“Even more so when you told Scott off for yelling at Javi, Kate, and I,” you admit.

After Tyler stole the tornado from you guys, Scott was a raging mess. Angry that Javi didn’t drive fast enough, Kate for not sending the second one you could’ve gone after, and you for not seeing it on the radar.

Tyler walked right up to Scott, telling him to back off and you could’ve sworn your heart grew four times its size that night.

“Yeah,” he smiles, reminiscing on the argument. “I couldn’t let him talk down to my girl.”

You smile up at him. How could you have gotten so lucky?

“Well, I’m glad you did,” you whisper, watching as something clicks behind Tyler’s eyes.

His eyes search yours before falling to your lips. “Y/N—”

“Yes,” you simply say.

“I didn’t even get to—”

“Tyler just kiss me,” you order.

Tyler chuckles, pulling you into him and lifting you to his level. “Alright, Sweetheart.”

Lips connect with yours, sweet and soft. They move, urging to get to now every inch of them while you allow yourself to relax in Tyler’s arms.

When Tyler’s stubble tickles your nose, sending you into a little fit of giggles, he pulls away.

“What’s so funny?” He asks, still smiling.

“Your stubble tickles,” you laugh.

“I can shave tonight.”

You oil him back into your lips, pecking softly and then pulling him in for a deeper kiss. Only pulling away to smile at him.

“Don’t you dare.”

[gainercontent]

Eli's Thanksgiving Feast

Eli had been dreading this moment for weeks. After three months of dining hall food, late-night pizza, and chugging beers, he knew the consequences of college life were starting to show. The freshman 15. Everyone talked about it, but no one really prepared him for how quickly it could sneak up on you.

When he pulled in the driveway and saw his two older brothers tossing a frisbee in the front yard of their house, he could already see the smirks on their faces.

"Damn, Eli, you look like you’ve been hitting the dining hall more than the library," his brother Noah said, giving him a teasing once-over.

"Seriously, can't even hide it now," Micah, the middle brother, added, a laugh bubbling in his voice. He reached out to give Eli a pat on the back, but the gesture turned into a playful poke in the stomach. "You sure you're still fit to play ultimate, or are you just here for the Thanksgiving stuffing now?"

Eli tried to laugh it off, but deep down, he felt the heat rise in his cheeks. He had always been the skinny one growing up, the one who could eat whatever he wanted without worrying about his weight. But college had thrown him off balance—dorm food, late-night study sessions, and the absence of his mom’s homemade cooking. It didn’t take long before he found himself snacking on pizza rolls at 2 a.m. or grabbing a double cheeseburger between classes. And now, it showed.

"You guys are ridiculous," Eli muttered, trying to change the subject. "It’s just a few pounds."

"No kidding. It's not like you can just wish it away, bro," Noah teased.

"Don’t worry, we’ll help get you back in shape… after dinner," Micah added with a smirk.

Later, at the dinner table, the teasing reached new heights. Their mom had outdone herself this year, as usual. The kitchen was filled with the familiar smell of roasted turkey, mashed potatoes, Mac and cheese, cranberry sauce, and—of course—her famous stuffing. It was the kind of meal that made Eli’s mouth water just from the smell.

"Sit down, Eli," his mom called, placing a massive plate of food in front of him. "I know you’re starving after your long drive."

"I’m not that hungry, Mom," Eli protested, eyeing the mountain of food in front of him.

"No, no," Noah chimed in, grinning. "You’ve gotta eat it all, Eli. You need the fuel. We don’t want you looking like you’re gonna float away after dinner."

Eli shot him a glare but sat down, his stomach already rumbling at the sight of all that food. Micah was already halfway through his first plate, shoveling mashed potatoes into his mouth with reckless abandon.

"Come on, little brother," Micah teased. "You’re not gonna let me beat you, are you?"

Eli rolled his eyes. "I’m not racing you guys."

But as the meal went on, Noah and Micah’s constant badgering wore him down.

"No way you can eat all that," Noah challenged, smirking at Eli. "Come on, show us what you've got."

"Yeah, we dare you," Micah added. "Five plates. You know you want to."

With each bite, Eli found himself getting fuller and fuller. But the challenge was too tempting to ignore. He loaded up his plate with mashed potatoes, a giant scoop of stuffing, turkey, green beans, and a spoonful of cranberry sauce. His brothers cheered him on, making exaggerated comments as he shoveled it all in, their voices getting louder the more he ate.

By the time he finished his first plate, the edges of his stomach were beginning to protest. He was full, but his brothers egged him on, urging him to keep going.

"Come on, one more plate. You can do it!" Micah shouted.

Noah chimed in. "You know the rule—no one's allowed to leave the table until they’ve finished five plates."

The competitive fire in Eli flared. He couldn’t back down. Not now. So, he loaded up a second plate, then a third. He felt the strain in his stomach with each passing bite, the tightness in his waistband beginning to feel like a constant reminder of how much he was stuffing in. But his brothers kept making comments, kept laughing, and it pushed him forward. He kept eating.

By the time he reached plate number five, Eli felt like his body was about to give up. His stomach felt like a bloated balloon, full and aching. The tightness of his jeans was becoming unbearable, and he let out an involuntary, loud burp that echoed through the room.

"Uh-oh, bro," Noah said with a grin. "Sounds like someone’s gonna pop."

Eli’s face flushed crimson, and his hand instinctively went to his waistband. He couldn’t take it anymore. He unbuttoned his jeans, letting out another long, audible burp as he tried to ease the pressure.

Micah leaned back in his chair, his grin practically splitting his face. "Dude, you seriously ate five plates. I’m impressed, but you might need a stretcher to get off that chair."

Eli laughed weakly, clutching his stomach. "I think I might just sleep here," he groaned. "Can’t move."

"Ah, don’t be a wimp," Noah said. "There’s still dessert."

Eli’s eyes widened. Dessert. He had completely forgotten. His mom had already brought out a spread of pies—pumpkin, apple, pecan, and chocolate cream.

"You guys are insane," Eli muttered, but when Noah placed a huge slice of pumpkin pie in front of him, he couldn’t say no. His stomach might have been on the brink of revolt, but dessert was a whole other beast.

The rest of the meal passed in a haze of discomfort. Eli could barely look at the food in front of him, but he forced down a few bites of pie. By the time dessert was over, he felt completely stuffed. His pants were barely holding on, and each breath felt like a labor.

Eli slumped in his chair, a hand pressed firmly against his bloated stomach. He had lost the battle—not only had he eaten way too much, but he’d also been completely outdone by his brothers’ teasing.

But despite the discomfort, there was something oddly satisfying about the whole experience. Sure, he was stuffed to the point of misery, but he had done it. He had survived five plates, countless teasing remarks, and endless jokes.

As the night wound down, his brothers gave him one last, affectionate jab.

"You’re gonna need a week to recover from that," Micah said, ruffling Eli’s hair.

"Probably a month," Noah added with a chuckle.

Eli just smiled weakly and groaned. "I think I’ll just sleep until Christmas."

And, for the first time in a long while, that didn’t seem like such a bad idea.

[vivwritesfics]

PLEASE can we get more HOAF ?? Maybe their wedding with absolutely adorable Milo and Olivia OR their wedding night 👀👀👀 ~nurse-sainz

as two of you know, I've been seriously thinking about the hoaf second series. It has a title, but, because I don't want to start ANOTHER series until I finish a current one, it's something I'm going to be working on behind the scenes

1.7K

Warnings: Pregnancy, pregnancy hormones

Series Masterlist

Feel free to buy me a coffee ☕☕

She'd never expected to be pregnant on her wedding day. It was nobody's dream, to be round and swollen while stuffed into a pretty white dress that you just know would look so much better if you weren't pregnant, on your feet all day, unable to partake in any of the drinking.

Her bachelorette party wasn't all that. But she didn't want it to be. The only people she would have invited were the other wags, girls she didn't know all that well. No, her bachelorette party was her and Olivia getting their hair and nails done.

They ended the day getting dinner, just the two of them. They sat there, sharing a too big pizza while Olivia went over her details plans of the wedding.

It was the best bachelorette party ever.

Daniel had two bachelor parties. One that was organised by Max and Lando to be the wildest night of his life, with almost all of the grid accompanying them. And one where he could invite Milo.

The party with Milo was mini golf. Carlos was happy to carry Milo around on his shoulders, teach him all that he knew. The boys had all agreed to let Milo win, but he didn't have to know that. After the golf they had dinner and drinks.

One thing about Milo was he couldn't keep his mouth shut about the baby. Maybe Daniel should have reminded him that Baby Ricciardo was a secret, but he didn't expect Milo to just blurt it out, either.

But none of the drivers were surprised. They couldn't be surprised about baby Ricciardo, not when the couple hadn't exactly been good at hiding it. Daniel's hand on her stomach, the little list of baby names they'd all seen on his phone.

The party without Milo, when Milo was at home with Olivia and his momma, it really was a party. Loud music, drinks, dancing, it had everything. But, the moment Daniel got more than three drinks in his system, he was talking about her.

Arm over Max's shoulder as he slurred out his name and how much he loved her. "I want to have another girl," he said to Max, but it was barely audible. "A little girl that looks just like her."

When she had her first dress fitting, there wasn't a bump. Or, at least, the bump did little to change her frame. Her dream dress fit like a glove and Daniel's mother was crying.

It was naïve to think that the dress would still fit by the time the wedding rolled around. Her bump had gotten exponentially bigger, to the point where she couldn't hit it anymore. Now that the drivers knew, it was only time that the rest of the world knew.

They didn't announce it in any way. No, Daniel's Instagram usually had a picture of her in his photo dumps and this was no exception. Just, this time, her bump was visible in the picture.

If the world of F1 was losing its collective shit, neither of them noticed. The Ricciardo family was wrapped up in their own little bubble, just the way they liked it.

A week before the wedding, her dream dress wasn't fitting. Why the fuck wasn't it fitting? Well, she knew why. It was stupid to think anything would fit over her bump.

"I hate this baby," she said through tears as she rubbed her bump. No, she didn't hate baby Ricciardo, not in the slightest. Actually, she loved baby Ricciardo more than anything. But still, she couldn't help but wish she wasn't pregnant.

The dress she wore on her wedding day wasn't her dream dress. She couldn't wear those cute white heels she wanted to wear, couldn't even see her feet.

As she stared at herself in the mirror, just an hour away from being walked down the aisle, an hour away from marrying the love of her life, she was ready to cry. She held it back, though, couldn't afford to ruin her makeup. "What're we gonna do with you?" She whispered as she cradled her bump.

"Momma?"

She looked at Milo in the mirror before she turned towards him. "C'mere, baby," she said and held her hands out towards him. Fuck, how was he almost seven?

As her son wrapped his arms around her, she wanted time to stop. Just stop, let her live in this moment forever. He was growing up so damn fast, he was going to be a big brother soon. "You look beautiful, momma," he said.

This time, she couldn't help the tears. Stupid pregnancy hormones. "Thank you, Miley," she said through a shaky breath as she stood up and grabbed a tissue. Gently she dabbed at her eyes, trying to save her makeup.

She smoothed her dress over her bump and took Milo's hand. "Let's go become Ricciardos."

Daniel had never been this nervous before. Not in his first race back after McLaren had let him go. He was sweating in his suit as Max stood with him. All of their guests were seated, but the most important people were missing.

The door opened and Olivia and one of her friends, one that had been over a few times, walked in. They tossed the petals out of the little white basket as she walked in behind her.

Daniel knew her relationship with her family was... strenuous, at best. That was why they weren't at the wedding. With her father not there to walk her down the aisle, Milo held her hand.

Daniel's breath caught in his throat. He knew she wasn't in her dream dress, not the dress that matched Olivia's, but she still looked amazing. Holy fuck, it was enough to bring tears to her eyes. But that wasn't what actually did it.

Milo was the one walking her down the aisle. Milo in his little suit that near matched Daniels. He stood tall and proud, head held high as he walked his mother towards his step father. 

The kids sat together through the ceremony. Milo couldn’t stop himself from fiddling with the little pieces of petals as his mother got married. They were incredibly well behaved throughout, with Olivia’s grandparents, and Milo’s grandparents now, too, keeping them company. 

This close, Daniel could see the faults in her makeup. He didn’t care about the faults, she looked gorgeous with or without it. But still, Daniel could see the smudges under her eyes as he slipped the ring onto her finger. 

Mrs Ricciardo. She was Mrs Ricciardo now. 

Daniel didn’t say anything about the evidence of her tears as he kissed her. And, once he had his mouth on her, he never wanted to stop kissing her. He couldn’t dip her, like he wanted to, but his hand cradled her bump, cradled baby Ricciardo. His baby. She was his wife and she was carrying his baby. 

This was the best day of his life. 

Their family and friends were cheering as he walked her out of the church and into the car. Even then, even in the car, he couldn’t keep his lips on her. But he had to make sure she was okay, that took precedent. Even knowing that, Daniel couldn’t pull his lips away from her own. So the words were mumbled against her lips. “Were you crying?”

He tried to sound concerned, by her lips against his had his voice coming out as more of a desperate whine. 

But, as soon as he said it, she pulled away. “I’m fine, Danny,” she said and went to rub at her eyes, rub away the evidence of her tears.

Daniel caught her wrists. “You look beautiful,” he whispered and kissed her again. “My wife looks beautiful.”

The way she looked up at him, fuck, he could have kept her in that car forever. “Say it again.”

“My wife.”

When they arrived at the reception venue, their friends and family were there, waiting. As soon as they climbed out of the car, Milo and Olivia were pulling away from their grandparents, racing towards them. Daniel couldn’t help but pick Olivia up and place her on his hip as Milo held his mothers leg.

“Are we a family now?” Olivia asked, her voice coming out almost like a demand. 

But nobody could blame her. She’d been waiting for this moment for a year and a half. 

Daniel rolled his eyes, but he was grinning. “We always were a family, Badger.”

There was no part of her wedding that the new Mrs Ricciardo didn’t enjoy. She wasn’t in her dream dress, but, now she had that ring on her finger, now she was married to the love of her life, she didn’t much care. 

She danced, but she didn’t dance the night away, like she had dreamed. She couldn’t help but be emotional as she sat with Daniel’s parents, her mother and father in law, watching the guests at her wedding. They were dancing more than she was, at her own wedding. 

Holding her bump, speaking softly to baby Ricciardo, she watched as her husband and her children danced. Daniel’s grin was so wide as the three of them were the centre of attention on the dance floor. That was the man she loved. That was the man she married. 

“Your daddy, your siblings and I can’t wait to meet you,” she whispered to baby Ricciardo as her mother and father in law watched on, hearts melting. “You’ve got the best daddy going.”

And, as Daniel put Olivia down after spinning her around, he looked over to his wife. She smiled at him, a smile he’d never forget. As Olivia went to dance with Lando and Max took Milo to get something to drink, Daniel walked over to her. 

“Hi, baby,” he said as his hand met her bump. And then he looked up at his wife, meeting her eyes. “Hi, Mrs Ricciardo.”

“Hi, Mr Ricciardo.”

He kissed her, and she never wanted to let him go.

If you enjoyed this, please feel free to buy me a coffee

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@charli123456789

@amalialeclerc

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@msolbesg

@cherry-piee

@catmouseggy

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@chanshintien

@ilove-tswizzle

@woozarts

@evie-119

@trouble-sistar

@mysticalnightenthusiast

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@spilled-coffee-cup

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@angelxxrose

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@xemiefx

@ellies-world61

@the-depressed-fellow

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Imagine...Discovering Soldier Boy's Secret

Pairing: Soldier Boy x reader

Warnings: language

_______

You were exhausted when you finally got home. Work had been long and stressful. On top of that, you’d needed to hit the grocery store afterwords since you were down to basics. You were so flippin’ tired though that the second you had everything put away, you pulled out your phone and ordered a pizza with some sides.

You had a good thirty minutes before it’d arrive and you figured you’d put on something relaxing, maybe find where Ben was. His car was in the driveway and all his shoes were by the door so he was around there somewhere. 

Five minutes later you were in a pair of joggers, a bralette and one of Ben’s black t-shirts. The man only wore black, gray or navy blue shirts and jeans when he wasn’t in his uniform. You couldn’t blame the guy too much for not caring about fashion but you were hoping someday he might spice things up with a little color.

While in the bedroom, you noticed the bathroom door was shut which was strange. You always left it open unless someone was taking a shower. But you didn’t hear anything going inside.

“Ben are-” you said, pausing halfway with the door open. Welp, you’d found where he was.

Which was apparently sitting in your large soaker tub with a mountain of bubbles surrounding him.

He was taking a goddamn bubble bath. Your Ben. Your Soldier Boy. Your favorite arrogant asshole.

He seemed stuck, eyes a few fractions too wide, unblinking as you stared back at him, the scent of lavender and vanilla filling the room.

“Are-” You stared when he shot his hand up out of the water, pointing it at you like you you’d just run over his puppy.

“Not. A. Word.” You knew better than to aggravate him, at least right now. You slowly closed the door and went downstairs, throwing on a home renovation show. Ben didn’t appear until after the food came, decked out in a pair of flannel pajama pants and a red t-shirt. Okay, it was more maroon than anything but still. You’d bought it for him six months ago and hung it next to the other dozen colorful shirts you wondered if he’d ever wear. 

You stared at him, Ben ignoring you as he slapped three slices on a plate, plopped down on the couch and started to devour his dinner.

You flipped open the food on the coffee table, filling up your own plate, giving him another look, his own fixated on the screen playing before you.

“Stop staring at me,” he growled. You sunk back into the cushions, eating a few fries before you couldn’t help it.

“So.”

“Y/N…”

“Bubble baths.” He audibly growled, giving you a stern look to drop it. “You know, John Wayne took bubble baths.”

Ben was silent, angrily ripping off his crust with a large bite.

“Even if he didn’t, I think it’s nice.” Ben looked ready to bolt away to avoid this conversation but somehow he forced himself to stay seated. “Listen. I know this is going to sound stupid but it makes me feel good knowing you do something for yourself when I’m not around. It makes me feel like maybe you listen to me about the whole you’re deserving of nice things even though you’re a guy.”

Ben’s chewing was less infused with anger, all you’d get out of him that he was actually practicing a bit of self-care. 

“Want a beer?” you said, standing up. He grunted as you walked around the couch, ruffling his damp hair. “You look handsome in that color.”

The corner of his lip ticked up for a split second but you caught it. He was happy, at ease and that was more than enough for you.

__________

[zepskies]

Down to the Crust

Pairing: Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: You’ve set out on a very specific mission for Dean. The problem is, you now have ulterior motives for your (formerly) pure love of baking.

Request: Since reading your imagine, "Dean Gives You an Impossible Choice," I have not been able to shake it, one point specifically. I was wondering if I could request a fic where the reader is learning to bake pies for Dean. She's best friends with the boys, but she and Dean have undisclosed feelings for each other…

AN: You guys know I love baking shenanigans lol. This one is set at a particular time during season 14…

Song Inspo: “Joy” by Blackstreet

Word Count: 2.6K

Tags/Warnings: Flangst, hurt/comfort, hint of spice~

No, no, no, no, NO!

You did your best to scoop out the salt you’d just poured into the flour.

You can’t really be this dumb, you berated yourself. How could you confuse one white powdery thing for another? Salt vs. sugar—it wasn’t that hard!

You shook your head in simmering frustration. You decided to just dump the whole contents of the bowl, salty flour and all, into the garbage. You’d have to start again…for the third time now. 

Frankly, this was getting ridiculous. You could make cookies, brownies, even cupcakes (with homemade buttercream).

How hard could a pie really be?

Maybe it was the telltale tremble of nerves in your hands.

Maybe it was because you had an ulterior motive for doing this, besides your formerly pure love of baking.

Maybe because this promised dessert was for one pie-loving glutton who was set to come upstairs from the garage any minute. Or at least, whenever Dean’s stomach finally called him back to the kitchen.

Though recently, he hadn’t been all that hungry. He’d denied your friendly offer of a snack earlier (since when did he turn down taquitos?), and he’d barely touched the pizza you guys had for dinner yesterday. (One slice? The man could eat half a pizza in one sitting. To your knowledge, there wasn’t a pie he didn’t like.)

Dean hid it well, but he wasn’t on his game. You knew why, of course, but…

You sighed and measured out the last of your flour for a fresh try. If you messed this one up, you’d literally have to wash your hands of this mission. And yes, it had become mission fucking impossible, as far as you were concerned.

Once the flour was safely mixed with a cup of sugar, you cut up some chilled butter to create the pastry dough. You followed the instructions in the recipe even more carefully this time, from your open laptop on the kitchen counter. The keyboard was dusted with flour at this point, along with your hands and arms. You even felt it under your nails and in your hair, but you didn’t care.

You were going to make this damn pie if it killed you.

You’d even bought real cherries, not the canned filling. It meant more work for you in removing all the pits inside them, but this was worth the extra labor.

However, as it just occurred to you, you’d left them simmering with some sugar, lemon juice, and cornstarch in a pan, around the time of your second attempt at pastry dough.

“No!” you gasped, hastening to open the lid and checking the saucepan.

Oh, thank God, you thought, seeing that the cherry filling wasn’t bubbling over. It actually looked like the proper thickened consistency and smelled delicious. You just needed to do some more stirring.

An hour or so later, you had successfully shaped the dough, chilled and poured in the filling, and covered it with the (embarrassingly uneven) lattice work on top.

“Whatever. The man still believes in the Five-Second Rule. He’ll eat this,” you muttered as you slid the pie in. You even remembered to do an egg wash on top. You admired it for a moment in its raw pastry form, then closed the lid to the oven with a nod of satisfaction.

You wore a wide smile, feeling accomplished, until you turned around and saw the disaster you’d made of the kitchen. Flour was dusted across the counters, a pile of dishes in the sink, cherry remnants in the pan and dripping across the stove, and so much more. You winced at the sight.

“What the hell is this?” came a gruff voice.

Your gaze drew to the doorway with a sharp intake of breath. Dean was standing in the doorway to the kitchen with a bewildered expression on his face.

The man had a thing about people in “his kitchen.” You got ready to placate him with your hands raised as you took a step towards him, but then you gasped.

“Shit!” you yelped, slipping in some egg that had dropped on the floor. Your hand accidentally banged the oven on the way down, but your head also hit the corner of the wall.   

You ended up sprawled on your side across the dirty floor, dazed and winded. Dean hurried to your side with one of those frowns that always made you want to smooth the wrinkle between his brows.

He braced your shoulder, almost but not quite touching your hip with his free hand.

“Damn. You okay? This ain’t a slip n’ slide,” he said.

Your lips twitched at a smile, but you sighed. “I’m okay.”

“You hit your head?” he asked, beginning to help you up slowly.

“A little,” you admitted. “Nothing the old bag of frozen carrots in the freezer won’t cure.”

Dean grimaced, but after he made sure you were settled on your feet, he checked the back of your head. You tried not to blush (and revel) at the feeling of his fingers slipping into your hair, even if he was trying to feel for a knot back there.

He was close enough that you could almost feel his body heat through the black shirt he wore, for once without the outer layer of plaid. He smelled like grease and sweat; likely he’d been working on Baby.

Were you weird for kind of liking that smell?

“Well, I don’t feel any goose eggs, so you’re probably fine,” he remarked.

“Thanks, House. Is that your final prognosis?” you asked, beginning to smirk.

Dean’s gaze met yours in amusement.

“Tell you what,” he said, “If you get a headache, I give you full permission to take one of the fun little pills I’ve got in my dresser.”

You laughed. “If it’s not Vicodin, I don’t want it.”

House M.D. was one of those shows you and Dean liked to watch together, along with Game of Thrones, and even Smallville, on occasion.

Dean smiled slightly. But even that was a small feat, and something you hadn’t seen from him in weeks. Not a real smile, anyway. Before today, nothing you’d tried had been working to brighten his mood.

Not pizza Fridays. Not letting him listen to the same damn Zeppelin album without complaint for that eight-hour ride on the last hunt. Not trying to gouge his level of broodiness and offering to hang out, to be a listening ear if he needed it.

He still hadn’t taken you up on the last one. While that hurt, you also understood it. You understood how Dean dealt with things he didn’t want to think about, let alone talk about, even to his own brother.  

Dean now looked down on you knowingly, gesturing at the rest of the kitchen.

“You gonna tell me what you’re doing in here?” he asked.

You crossed your arms and raised your chin, a smile playing on your lips.

“What, can’t handle somebody else in your kitchen? What’re you, Gordon Ramsey?” you teased.

Dean’s brows kicked up, his lips twitching.

“You’ve made a mess of my kitchen any number of times, but I ain’t ever smelled sweet, sweet cherry coming out of that oven,” he said. “You’re finally making me pie?”

You had to laugh. Inside, you were pleased that he now looked excited, his green eyes dancing. You clapped your hands over his arms.

“Yes, I’m making you your damn pie. Only took me fifteen tries, but it’s happening,” you said. You turned to check on it, but the second you opened the oven, black smoke billowed out.

Your eyes widened in horror and your mouth fell open on reflex, but harsh coughs tore from your throat as you waved your hand against the smoke. Dean quickly handed you the oven mitts, and you shoved them on before taking out the steaming dessert.

The entire top crust was scorched black. Cherry filling oozed out, and not in a good way. You slammed the oven shut with your hip, and you had to toss the pan onto the counter for how hot it was.

Inside that pan was a dreadful excuse for a pie.

Dean had an arm crossed under his elbow, while a hand came up to cover his mouth as he took in the state of it. He then looked over at you.

He saw the shock, settling into pursed lips and tight shoulders. You turned in slow movements.

You saw that the oven had been switched to “Broil” on the highest setting. You’d probably messed that up when you fell and hit the dial with your hand. But Christ, was that a powerful oven.

Those old white guys really didn't mess around when they built this damn bunker, you thought sourly.

Dean took another look at the steaming pie and grimaced, despite his amusement.

“Well, she won’t be entering any beauty pageants, that’s for sure,” he teased.

His playful smirk fell, however, the moment you turned around. He saw the way you were biting your lip, and the tears brimming in your eyes.

He softened, and he went to you.

“Aww, sweetheart. It’s okay,” he chuckled, and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. “‘S probably better than I could do.”

You rested your head against his chest and sniffled. You blinked to try to stem off your tears. 

“It’s not about the damn pie! I mean, not really. It’s just…” you trailed.

You quieted, realizing you were about to say things you’d rather not.

Dean noticed though. Because of course he did.

“Then what’s it about?” he asked.

You avoided his gaze at first, though he was too perceptive not to notice. He jostled you a little against his side.

“Huh? You wanna answer me?” he asked. His lips curved at the way you were fighting a smile yourself. Your tears won out though.

You turned under his arm and leaned up on your toes, so you could hug him. Your arms twined around his neck and you held him tight.

To say it surprised Dean would be an understatement, his eyes widening a fraction. He still held you back, almost on reflex.

“I couldn’t do anything else,” you said, through tears. “Not for you, or Sam…or for Mary.”

Dean’s confusion descended into grim understanding. A weight fell deep in his gut, clenching painfully the way it always did, when he thought about his mom.

The fact that Jack didn’t have his soul didn’t make a difference, no matter what Sam said. Not in Dean’s mind, anyway.

Jack had killed their mom.

She was gone, had been taken from them. And that second loss had torn a new chasm in Dean’s heart, deeper than the last one. He held you a bit tighter without realizing it.

“I’m sorry,” you said, rubbing his back. “I know you don’t want to talk about it. I just wanted to…to do something for you.”

Slowly, Dean pulled away a little. His hands moved to your waist as he looked down on you with a heaviness in his eyes. For a moment, he just took in the contours of your face, your eyes shining with tears that clung to your lashes. You were looking up at him like all you wanted to do was fix it. And fix him.

Well, you had to know that was a lost fucking cause. But it just didn’t stop you from staying here with him and Sam, living with them, hunting with them, being one of the last friends they had, after all these years.

It didn’t stop Dean from loving you for it, either.

He let out a breath, and he couldn’t help but raise a hand to get some of the flour off your cheek. He smoothed the back of his hand against your skin, along your jaw, and finally brushed his thumb across your lower lip, where you had worried it with your teeth.

“You’re too damn much, you know that?” he murmured.

You were blushing hot at his touch, but you frowned at his words. Until you noticed the fond glint in his eyes…and for the first time, something more. Something he was finally allowing you to see.

When he bent down and claimed your lips, your thoughts stuttered to a halt. You gripped the front of his shirt instinctively. He framed your face with his hands; they were calloused and smelled like motor oil, but you didn’t give a shit. Not one iota. Because it meant something, and your heart swelled with a warmer, brighter feeling.

You gripped his shirt tighter and leaned up to meet his second kiss. His hand moved to your lower back, pulling you flush against him. You grabbed onto his shoulders and let him invade your mouth with his warm tongue slipping against yours. You moaned, the sound echoing between you both and shooting right to his dick.

His brows furrowing, Dean’s fingers slipped into your hair again, but this time, to tangle in the strands. He walked you back until your ass hit the counter, where he grabbed hold of your thighs and hefted you on top of it, regardless of whatever stains covered its surface.

He moved in between your jean-clad thighs and encouraged you wordlessly to wrap them around his hips. You didn’t need much encouragement.

“Dean,” you whispered, between heated kisses, hands wandering down your body, exploring soft curves and warmth over clothing.

“Hmm?” he said, into your mouth. It was distracting, but you found the strength to slow things down, gently taking his face into your hands.

You both caught your breath for a moment. It allowed Dean to see the thread of uncertainty in your gaze, even though you caressed his stubble-covered cheeks.

“I just…do you…is this…” you tried, but your brain seemed to be on a short fuse. You blamed his sinful lips entirely.

Said lips drew into a smirk. Dean’s hands moved up your thighs and held your waist less gripping, more comforting (and claiming).

“I really do, and damn straight it is,” he said, slightly teasing. He did lean back in to press a gentler kiss to your lips.

“Trust me,” he said, as he became more serious. “If you want more from this…”

At that, your uncertainty melted into warmth. You released his face, holding onto his shoulders instead.

“Yeah, Dean,” you nodded. “More than anything, yes.”

He read your sincerity, and it warmed him too. Again, he gave into the urge to brush his thumb against your blushing cheek.

“I uh…I had a feeling it was always gonna be you,” he said.

You raised a brow at that, even though your smile threatened to unravel him further.

“Oh, yeah? How long?” you asked.

Dean pretended to think.

“Since that first batch of oatmeal cream pies,” he said, with a cheeky grin. “Pretty sure I was marked from there on out.”

And not just because he’d been imagining what you’d be like to taste, ever since.

You giggled, though you gestured with your eyes at the charred pan next to you on the counter.

“Guess I should try again on that pie. Wonder what that’ll get me,” you hedged, letting your thumb graze his neck. Dean smirked.

“All right, sure. Remind me to pick up a new fire extinguisher,” he said.

You guffawed and hit his shoulder, but he just laughed and pulled you in for another kiss.

It was sweet enough on its own.

AN: I know, I know. I'm a sap. 😂 Let me know what you thought of this pie-filled episode! 🥧 💕

Ko-Fi Me ☕

Dean Winchester One-Shots

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Dean W. Tag List:

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms

@foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @roseblue373

@this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma

@iprobablyshipit91 @melancholictearz @nic-kolas @sanscas @sleepyqueerenergy

@wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons

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@midnightmadwoman @brianochka @branj19 @agalliasi @venicesem

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@candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @deanfreakingwinchester

@chernayawidow @mimaria420 @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @waywardxwords @waynes-multiverse

[moonchildstyles]

Do you think you could write a blurb where witch! Harry is finally comfortable w Mitch and his friends so one night when they’re all out together Including Sarah and y/n, Harry doesn’t really pay as much attention to y/n as he usually does, and y/n becomes more clingy than usual and it makes Harry happy 🥺🥺

this is a little different than the exact request but I hope you enjoy!! thank you for sending this in:)

wordcount: 4k+

—————

Fiddling with his fingers in his lap, Harry watched as (Y/N) readied herself at her vanity. He wanted to be distracted by the sweeps of cosmetics across her skin or the flutter of her lashes as she dusted sparkles over her eyes, but he knew it was a losing battle. He'd already spent all of his distractions when he conjured up his outfit and fussed over his own hair in the mirror. His nervous hands had prepped him too early, leaving him with way more time available than he needed. 

"You know," (Y/N) started, catching his gaze in the reflection, "we don't have to go tonight if you don't want to. We can stay here and relax or go back to yours and cuddle with the girls. I don't mind." 

There was a split second where he considered her offer, folding his bottom lip between his teeth before he thought better of his indecision. (Y/N) had agreed to these plans earlier in the week and was almost done with her makeup already, there was no way he was going to let her cancel on his account. 

"No, I want to go," he insisted, matching her gaze though he figured he looked about as convincing as he felt, "I know I'll have fun, 's jus'... You know." 

A gentle smile touched the corners of his lover's lips. "I know," she assured, "We'll have fun once we get out there. This is the hard part." 

He gave a quiet nod in agreement. It was easier to stay home with her and luxuriate in the familiar, but he was trying to grow himself into a member of the world once more. Besides, Sarah's boyfriend, Mitch, was supposed to be there tonight with a couple of the others he'd met a few months back. As long as he found his space in that group again, he'd be able to make it through. 

Worst case scenario, he'd cling to (Y/N), say the word, and they'd be on their way home before he had a chance to crawl out of his skin. 

This was going to be good for him, he reminded himself as he continued watching (Y/N) through the mirror. 

He was going to have fun tonight. Probably.

—————

With his fingers laced between hers, Harry followed (Y/N) into the restaurant. The plan tonight was to go to dinner before heading to some of the bars downtown as some kind of informal celebration for Sarah's upcoming birthday. (Y/N) had gently let Sarah and Mitch know to go ahead without her and Harry (it was a small ruse to allow her some extra time to get ready and Harry an extra moment in the quiet apartment before braving the world), leaving them to be one of the last to arrive. 

The restaurant was loud and crowded, tables packed with chairs and bubbly patrons. The bar was busy, both servers and guests seated on the stools keeping the bartenders busy with plenty of orders. Fresh pizzas were being fired in the brick oven that worked as the centerpiece of the establishment, though there were plenty of spicy, greasy bar staples flooding out of the kitchen. 

As much as Harry worried over these kinds of outings, still on unsure footing when it came to the world outside of his bubble, the energy of this place fed him. Though it was a different kind of feeling compared to the hazy parties of the seventies that he was so ingrained in, this wasn't that far off from what he had been so accustomed to in the past (there were decidedly less drugs here, and more decency but that's besides the point). He could feel eyes trailing after him when he walked past, his stride bringing attention to the glimmering threads of his clothing and the woman on his arm. 

"Hey, guys!" (Y/N) greeted as they approached the table in the back the hostess had directed them to. On either side of the long table, faces turned to the sound of (Y/N)'s voice. Harry recognized the majority of them, though there were a few unfamiliar faces that he was both eager and nervous to meet. 

"You made it!" Sarah cheered, Mitch at her side with his own usually stoic features shifting into a smile when he caught Harry's eye. 

"Yeah, sorry," (Y/N) started, leading Harry down to the two free spots at the end of the bench seating, across from Mitch and Sarah and next to a familiar head of bleached hair he'd met at the concert night a few months ago. "The Uber took the weirdest way, and then hit traffic. I don't know what he was trying to do." 

Sarah shrugged and rolled her eyes as if this was a story she'd lived through just as many times herself. 

(Y/N) took the spot next to the semi-unfamiliar couple, leaving Harry on the very end of the bench without any extra neighbors. She and Sarah took up another avenue of conversation, others beginning to jump in now that the party could truly start with all guests in attendance. He held her hand tight in his lap, his attention drifting this way and that as more and more color and noise and new caught his eye. 

"Have you ever been here before, Harry?" Mitch asked from across the table, centering his wandering attention. 

"No, this is m'first time," Harry offered, a small smile on his lips. He felt a bit better knowing that Mitch was here—next to (Y/N), he was one of the only people he felt comfortable with. 

"Really?" Mitch sounded, his brows rising, "Don't you work around here, now? At that one music store?" 

Harry eagerly nodded to the question. He loved talking about his job—he loved spending so much time around music and the extra money that came with it was very exciting.

"I do, yeah," he smiled, "Have y'ever been there before? You'd love it." 

Mitch matched Harry's smile with his own grin, taking a sip from his drink with a slow shake of his head. "I haven't, but I might have to come see you sometime. Friends and family discount, right?"

Letting out a laugh, Harry nodded his head. He really hoped Mitch meant it when he said he'd come visit—he wasn't sure how to add discounts yet to the register, but he'd make sure his friend got whatever he wanted when he came by. 

As Mitch started on a new avenue of conversation, Harry relaxed further the longer the night went on, feeling less and less of the anxiety that he left the house with. He felt thoroughly distracted—comfortable, even, when the semi-familiar man (Kid, he thinks was their nickname) on (Y/N)'s other side piped into his and Mitch's conversation. The edge he had been standing on slowly dulled until he was laughing loudly and settling into his skin the way he used to back in the day. 

Once ordered, drinks and dinner were delivered to the table. Honestly, Harry almost wanted to speed through his meal knowing that the rest of the plans for the night were to head to a bar down the plaza, leaving more room to hang out with his friends. He was having too much fun to waste time like this. Under the table, (Y/N)'s hand was settled on his thigh, turning palm up once he attempted to wiggle his fingers between hers. 

Looking up at her, his hand loaded with a slice of plain cheese pizza, he saw her looking at him with a raised brow. 

"Feeling better?" she murmured to him, the others around them distracted by their own food to listen in. 

A small smile was on Harry's lips as he nodded his head. "Yeah, a lot. I forget how nice everyone is." 

"And, how much they like you," (Y/N) added, "I'm happy you're feeling better, though. Do you still want to go to the bars with everyone after?" His eager nod had to be enough of an answer with the way she let out a huff of laughter, her hand squeezing his under the table. "Okay," she smiled, "Just wanted to double check." 

Tipping her chin, (Y/N) puckered her lips just enough to draw him in for a short kiss. Harry felt his heart skip a beat in his chest, even if the contact was nothing more than a small peck on his mouth. The vine tethering the chambers of his heart to hers pulsed, urging him to stay close to her. 

"Thank you," he murmured, blinking up at her through the fan of his lashes. 

"For what?" she asked, nudging him, their private moment drawing on long enough to catch the attention of Sarah across the table. Her eyes softened as she glanced at them.

"Taking me tonight," he answered, keeping his voice low. If Sarah could watch, he just hoped she couldn't hear every word. "I know 'm a lot sometimes—thank you for still wanting to bring me even if I wasn't sure." 

She tipped her head, eyes fond and tender to match the smile on her lips. "Of course, H. You don't really have much of a choice, though—you're my soulmate, you pretty much have to come with me."

He knew she was trying to joke with him, get him to laugh the same way she realized her own plume of laughter, but he liked hearing her call him her soulmate to do anything more than surge forward for another kiss. 

————— 

(Y/N) with Sarah and some of the other women at her side, didn't take much time before getting their first round of drinks to indulge in the dance floor of the bar, cheering in celebration of Sarah's birthday. Harry, along with Mitch and the rest of the few that didn't want to brave the sweaty congregation all hung back, drinks in hand with a table luckily claimed along the back of the bar. 

More often than not, he had his eyes on (Y/N), watching her like she was a bubble of sunshine in the middle of the dance floor. He could hear her laughter, see her dancing with her friends, and practically feel the beam of her happiness even sitting so far off. Mitch was much like him, watching his own girlfriend as she celebrated her birthday, a fond smile on his lips. 

The third time Harry caught him gazing with hearts in his eyes towards Sarah and the bobbing ponytail on her head, he asked, "How long have y'and Sarah been together?" 

Mitch blinked his eyes away from the dance floor, Kid at his side jostling him as he laughed with his own companion. "Hm?" Mitch hummed, taking a sip from his beer as he plugged into the moment once more. 

Harry knew the feeling well: what it was like to forget the rest of the details around him when he had his eyes on his sunshine. Chin in his palm with his elbow resting on the table, Harry let a small smile sit on his lips. "I asked how long you and Sarah have been together." 

"Oh, sorry," Mitch offered, sheepishly clearing his throat, "We've been together for a little over three years, now." 

"Wow," Harry awed, the romantic inside him sinking at the thought of having that much time with (Y/N) at his side. "How did y'meet?" 

Only having time to open his mouth to take in a breath before his story, Mitch was cut off when Kid butted in. His eyes were a bit glassy thanks to the alcohol in his system, but his words were clear when he interjected: "I set them up!" 

Kid's partner—Jenny—laughed at his insistence, especially when Mitch rolled his eyes though he couldn't completely stave off the amusement on his features. 

"Barely," Mitch countered, voice a petulant mumble when he looked back at Harry, "He just happened to know the both of us, but he didn't set us up." 

"Was I not the one that invited both of you to my birthday party?" 

Harry sat back, drink in hand, as he watched the light-hearted argument. It felt nice to be sitting among friends for the first time in decades, learning tidbits about their lives and finding where he fit in within the dynamic. (Y/N) was his heart and soul, everything that made his existence feel purposeful, but this was a facet of his life he hadn't realized he was craving so badly until it was offered to him. 

"Harry, don't you think that qualifies as a set up?" 

Perking up at the sound of his name, he plugged into the conversation once more, only to have three pairs of eyes waiting on him. Both Jenny and Mitch held amusement in their gazes though Kid seemed terribly serious with his request for backup.

Unable to help himself, Harry had to prod. 

"Well," he started, breathing in a sigh as he laid his forearms out on the table, "How long after your birthday did they go on a real date?" 

It was the chatter that started almost immediately after he finished speaking that had Harry smiling into the rim of his own cup, pretending to sip as he took it all in. 

—————

With sweat sticking her baby hairs to her temples and slicking down her back, (Y/N) practically stumbled after Sarah as they drifted from the dance floor. The few others that had paraded out there with them stayed behind for the rest of the song, while Sarah had insisted that she needed another drink before she could dance any longer. Sweaty hands pressed palm to palm, (Y/N) followed her out in the semi-fresh air of the rest of the bar now that they weren't tucked between the rest of the patrons on the dance floor. It was suddenly sobering to be out of the crowd, but that didn't mean she wasn't feeling the effects of the cocktail from dinner and the celebratory shots they took once stepping into the bar. 

With Sarah leading her to the bar, (Y/N) traced her eyes through the space, knowing Harry was around somewhere but she was a touch too intoxicated to rely on the tether between them. She found him, a bright sunshiney yellow spot, tucked at the end of the booth next to Mitch with Jenny and Kid laughing along to whatever it was that Harry was saying. It was silly to her, as she took in the moment, just how nervous he had been before leaving, worrying over not fitting in, doing nothing but clinging to her side, not having fun, to now being the center of attention. It was just as she figured it would be—no one was immune to his presence. 

Tugging her forward, (Y/N) went along with Sarah to the bar until they had fought through the two-deep crowd to the counter. Sarah didn't need to ask what she wanted, instead slurring out an order of two fruity cocktails with a drunken declaration that it was her birthday. Over her shoulder, (Y/N) could see the bartender laughing at Sarah's excitement, though that information would surely garner them a discount anyway. 

Once their drinks were in hand, Sarah didn't waste time before putting the straw between her lips and gulping down the drink. "Let's go say hi, then we'll go back!" she shouted over the music after taking down the mouthful of juice and vodka, gesturing towards their claimed table with the rest of their party. 

Nodding with her own straw between her lips, (Y/N) was more than happy to take a break and see her soulmate before heading back into the sweaty throng of people. 

It took a bit of maneuvering, but making it to the table was quick enough and well worth the small spill she made on her shoes when she saw Harry's face light up when he caught sight of her. Whatever story he had been in the middle was put on pause when the pair of them made it to the table, Harry opening his arms for her to fall into. Mitch as well looked amused to see his mumbling girlfriend, a familiar glimmer in his eyes when he took her in. 

"Hi, you," Harry murmured, taking a hold of (Y/N)'s drink and setting it on the stable table. "How are y'feeling, sunshine?" 

"I'm good," she smiled, languidly draping her arms over his shoulders as she fought the urge to climb on his lap instead, "Kind of drunk, I think, though. Are you having fun?" 

Dimples deep in his cheeks, dots of glitter shimmering on his cheekbones, he looked to her with tenderness coating his gaze. "'M having a lot of fun, sunshine. Are you?" 

"Mhm," she hummed, unable to hold back from pressing a clumsy kiss to the corner of his mouth, "But I feel like I've barely seen you tonight. You said you were gonna come dance with me." 

"Sorry, love," he crooned, smiling despite the pout on her own lips, "Jus' got a little distracted, but you know 'm right here if y'need me." 

"Yeah," she sighed, drooping like some long-suffering spouse, "But, I've missed my soulmate—I know you're right here, but it's not the same. You're too busy with your friends." 

Her petulance only pulled a plume of laughter from him, even if there was something decidedly softer than before in his eyes. "You're still m'best friend, love, you know that. Jus' wanted to let y'have your fun, then I was going to bother y'the rest of the night." 

"You never bother me," she countered, canting her head.

It was Harry's turn to tip his chin and press a kiss to her lips, though this contact was much more coordinated than her previous attempt. (Y/N) sunk into the contact, allowing Harry to hold her steady just before there was a call of her name from Sarah. 

"Hm?" she asked, pulling away from Harry with her lipgloss surely missing from her mouth though it now sparkled on Harry's. 

"We need to go back," she bubbled, taking her half-finished drink with Mitch looking on with a poorly hidden smile. "Listen to the song! We need to go out there!" 

Tuning into the moment once more, (Y/N) took note of the bright notes filtering through the bar. It took only a quick look over her shoulder to see the familiar bobbing heads of the friends they had left behind to get their drinks, one of the girls catching sight of Sarah and beckoning them back to the floor. 

"Go have fun, sunshine," Harry murmured, giving her a pat on the small of her back as if to send her off. 

That seemed to be all the encouragement needed for Sarah to grab a hold of (Y/N)'s hand and take her back towards the floor. Drink in hand, (Y/N) made a point to look back to Harry and give him a small wave goodbye for the moment. His smile only widened when she did. 

—————

"I love you." 

Despite the sweet declaration, Harry couldn't help the laugh that bubbled from his chest. He tightened his grip on (Y/N) as she draped herself over him in the backseat of their Uber (a concept he thoroughly struggled with until Mitch helped him both understand it as well as order one). 

"I love you too, sunshine," Harry murmured back for the third time in the span of five minutes. 

"Nooo," she moaned, curling into him as if she weren't practically on his lap already, "You don't get it, H. I love you—like, love you." 

His heart warmed even when she slurred over her words, the night dancing and drinking catching up to her finally. He wondered what their driver thought, listening into this drunken conversation. 

"I love love you, too, (Y/N). I—" 

"Why would you say that to me?" she cried, cutting him off drawing away from him with offense written all over her features. 

Glancing at the rearview mirror, Harry caught their driver attempting to hold back her smile before focusing back on the road before her. As a quiet favor, she turned up the radio just a hair more, an offer of privacy. 

"Why would I say what?" Harry crooned, unsure of how his love for her could cause her to feel so upset. 

"You called me by my name. Why would you do that? You never call me by my name, are you mad at me?" 

It took all he had in him to keep from laughing at her distress. He hadn't meant to upset her, he had hoped by saying her name she would see he was just as serious as she was. His arm looped around her middle kept her steady at his side. 

"Of course, 'm not mad at you, love," he cooed, erring on the side of caution with his voice terribly gentle, "Jus' wasn't thinking, I guess. I love love you, sunshine." 

His amendment seemed to be just enough to placate (Y/N) once more, drawing him into her with a blissed smile. 

"I love you more than anything, honey," she told him once more, back on track with her declarations, "I don't tell you enough, but I do. You're my favorite person in the whole world, and it's crazy that we could've never met if you didn't decide to live up in the mountain and do all your witchy stuff and—" 

"Oh, love," Harry cut her off before she could say much more about whatever witchy stuff he's got up to. Even with that, hearing her say she loves him more than anything in the world was enough to have his skin pinkening and warming. "You're my favorite person, you know that. Love you, so much." 

Before (Y/N) could try to argue anymore, declare her love for him to be the biggest (which was not true, because he loved her more), the car came to a stop at (Y/N)'s apartment building. 

"Here you are," their driver declared, peeking through the rearview mirror.

"Thank you," Harry smiled, the curl widening when (Y/N) seconded him with a bright chirping Mhm! 

"You're welcome," their driver smiled, "Have a nice rest of your night, you two." 

"We will!" (Y/N) brightly answered, struggling to get her seatbelt off. 

After helping her out, Harry collected (Y/N) in his arms and kept her steady when she stepped out on the sidewalk. She gave a final wave to their driver before clinging to Harry as he led her towards the building. 

"I had so much fun tonight, Harry," (Y/N) drawled, hanging off of him as he entered all the codes to get inside the building, her eyes warming the line of his profile. "Thank you for coming with me and taking care of me." 

"Thank you for bringing me with you," he said, parroting the sentiment from dinner. 

As he listened into her babblings as he took her up to her apartment, Harry felt his heart bloom like the petals in his garden. He'd had a perfect night, truthfully. While these were still people he had met through (Y/N), it didn't feel like he had spent the night with people putting up with him because of who his soulmate was. He felt like he had spent the night with his own friends, the kind that would have been a part of his hazy memories from the seventies, full of laughter and silly conversation. 

All for him to end the night with the love of his life. 

"I had a lot of fun tonight too, sunshine," he crooned to her, getting her safe inside the apartment once more. "I love you." 

"But, Harry, you don't get it." 

He could only laugh as he led her to her bedroom. He knew she would be arguing with him over the rest of the night.

Harry couldn't be happier.

—————

thank u sm for reading, sorry for any mistakes, and if you have any ideas of your own please send them in!!

[delfiore]

—LIKE REAL PEOPLE DO.

pairing: leah williamson x reader

synopsis: a collection of private moments from a relationship between two public figures.

word count: 3.4k

warnings: IMPLICIT SMUT

a/n: this fic was proudly sponsored by hozier’s entire discography and my need to get a gf

SEQUEL: DO YOU THINK I HAVE FORGOTTEN ABOUT YOU?

ONE. As It Was.

As it always was, London was raining when you came home.

The pitter-patter of the rain hitting the window panes reminded you of childhood, when it was autumn and smelled like the earth, and burying yourself in the piles of dry leaves in the backyard was like swimming in the clouds.

The rain reminded you of love and hot cocoa and scented candles.

The apartment was bathed in an orange hue from the three candles placed neatly on the coffee table when you dragged your suitcase inside. You could still hear the rain when you saw the way her eyes lit up and felt her heart pressed against yours.

You let yourself smile like it was the easiest thing in the world; because it was. You were home because you were with her.

TWO. Eat Your Young.

“Babe! What d’you want for dinner?” You heard her call from the living room.

You had just finished a chapter from your book. “Eh . . . pasta?”

“We already had pasta last night, love.”

“More pasta?” You smiled sheepishly, seeing the way she rolled her eyes but went along with your idea.

To her, there was never anything she could have the heart to deny you from, especially now that she had you back after having lent you to your work for so long.

You were supposed to be halfway across the world filming your new movie. It was only because of the writer’s strike, an unforeseen event, that gave you back to her. You had flown back from a shoot to be there for her in the days after she ruptured her ACL and when she had her surgery, but she found herself missing you the moment you left for work again.

Music played softly from the speaker on the kitchen counter as you chopped the cherry tomatoes while she boiled the noodles since that was the only thing you were okay with her doing without burning the entire building down.

“Remember to let the water boil first,” you said without turning around.

“I did,” she whined, her words trailing longer than necessary if she was telling the truth.

You stopped chopping and glanced behind your shoulder with a deadpan. “Leah.”

The water was clearly not bubbling, and yet the poor rigatoni noodles were already dunked in the pot.

“I’m sorry, I forgot again,” the girl smiled sheepishly.

You rolled your eyes at her and shook your head as she sidled up behind you with her arms around your waist.

You could never grow tired of being held in her arms like this, the warmth created by her chest pressing up against your back, and the anticipation of her timid kisses against your neck. The knife in your hand had long been set down in fear of injury by your trembling hands. Your footballer always liked to tease you until you had no choice but to submit.

“Am I forgiven?” Her voice was husky in your ear.

You were quick to regain your composure before you turned around. “Depends on if those noodles are edible or not.”

“Or we could just ditch dinner and eat each other instead.”

“Cute,” you grinned and pressed your lips against hers. You heard the slightest whimper when you gathered her bottom lip with your teeth and lightly tugged on it. “Needs some seasoning. Otherwise, good enough.”

“That’s what I meant, obviously.”

In the end, the pasta was long forgotten, and you had to order a pizza instead because, by the time she was done, you could barely walk to the other side of the kitchen.

THREE. I, Carrion (Icarian).

You had always been uncomfortable with silence. It was why you brought your speaker everywhere, why you preferred the city over the countryside, why you always felt the need to fill the silence in a room with conversation where there were other people. To you, silence meant a weapon, a way of waging war without actually doing it—the cowardice of dishonesty. So any chance you had to snuff out a glimpse of it, you did. Most of the time, though, the only war waged was the one you did to yourself in your mind.

But whenever you are with her, none of those threats present themselves. She has made silence enjoyable and something you wish you had learned to appreciate earlier, not fear it.

She had put on a movie for the both of you to watch on the couch. You usually felt the need to provide commentary were you with friends, but you were content with enjoying the movie in silence, occasionally looking over to your blonde lover to admire her on the other end of the couch. Your left leg was currently stretched across the cushions, as Leah gave you a foot massage whilst watching the movie.

Sometimes she didn’t feel real, like it was all a sick and twisted dream waiting to drop you on your head when you wake up. But it never did, because every time you reached for her, she was always there; even when you were timezones apart, she would find a way to be there for you in spirit.

“Babe, watch the movie. I like this one,” she spoke, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“I feel like it should be me giving you a foot massage,” you said, lifting your chin towards her healing knee.

“Nah. You were the one sitting on a 12-hour flight to get back here,” she put pressure in the center of your foot.

With your arm on the backrest, you lifted it to brush the tips of your fingers against her hair, inching closer toward the skin on her neck. She noticed, of course, and sent a cheeky grin your way.

Your lover smiled and laughed like a child does. You loved it whenever she showed her teeth when she smiled, stripping down the front of the stoic and reliable captain of European champions that she had to be. You hated that she always lifted others up, yet put so much pressure on herself. You wished that she would be selfish sometimes, for when you weren’t there to pick up the pieces.

You never fared well, being away from her for long, which was why when she pulled you towards her and closed the distance between the two of you on the couch, you obliged.

“I love you,” she whispered after pressing a slow kiss on your lips.

With a lovesick sigh, you caressed her cheek and repeated her words. You loved the way her blue eyes narrowed watching you when you were so close to her face. The movie was running on the TV, but the only one you wanted to watch was her. You’d have to rewind it later.

FOUR. To Someone From A Warm Climate (Uiscefhuaraithe).

There was a simplicity in all of it. This aspect of your life that, amidst the chaos and complications and unfairness in the world, was just that. Love. It was simple, it was sweet, it was yours.

It reminded you of a quote you read once: “He is half of my soul, as the poets say.” If anyone asked you why you loved her, you wouldn’t be able to answer. It would simply be that because she was she, and you were you.

Maybe Zeus never intended for soulmates to find each other. He was the one who split them up in the first place because he knew they would be impossible to part if the two halves merged.

She is half of your soul, as the poets say.

There was something so transcending about loving someone, and having it reciprocated. Every part of it; the good, the bad, the ugly. But you wanted all of it. You wanted to experience everything with her, because she was half of your soul, and it was the only way you could ever feel close to whole again before Zeus split you into two.

Your lover was panting quietly on top of you, her golden hair falling over her face like a lion’s mane. Her eyes fluttered close, her lips parted, her skin was hot to the touch. You watched, seeing the slightest shift in her face as she pulled your legs to her chest, the friction of her rocking slowly turning palpable as it fell into a rhythm. You would hold onto her, your fingers pressing down to create temporary craters into her skin, treading lightly, not wanting to disturb her pleasure, like a lone astronaut exploring a rogue planet.

You sighed contentedly hearing her quiet whines, an indication of an impending release. Your lover has never been loud, like she was saving everything she was feeling for you like everything would only be contained in these four walls, only for the both of you to share.

At some point, she had mumbled something and leaned down to flip you on your front. Even while her movements were restricted by her healing knee, she still liked to be as rough as she could, and you liked it, when she was always so sweet and gentle out of bed. It made you feel wanted, the way she pinned you to the bed and pressed herself against you, the way she intertwined your fingers and coaxed you through your high and kissed you until your lips were bruised and pulsating.

She made you feel wanted, even after you both had given each other euphoria, her frantic kisses to your skin always managed to elicit short giggles out of you. You would whisper in her ear after she had rolled over, the bedsheet warm and damp where she lay, holding her lean body close to yours, just like before Zeus had split you in half.

You are half of her soul, as the poets say, and unless a primordial god physically grabbed you by the waist and tore you away from your soulmate, you would stay here, one moment after another, until infinity. After that, you’d wake up the next morning and do it all over again.

FIVE. Wasteland, Baby!

Your lover was a light sleeper. You had discovered that within the first few months of dating. The way she stirred awake was not dissimilar to how a fussy baby wakes up at the slightest of noises. Usually, she would be quite grumpy as well.

Your circadian rhythm looked more like arrhythmia with the jet lag you were experiencing, in addition to the irregular hours you slept due to having to adjust for filming. Which was why you were in the living room, reading, so your tossing and turning wouldn’t disturb her sleep.

Once again, whenever you were with her, the silence didn’t bother you. Not when you were bathed in her scent wearing her sweater and the premise of her resting a room away from you.

It was around two in the morning when you heard the bedroom door open and close, and the sound of quiet feet shuffling on the floor.

“Hey, you. Why are you awake?” You asked gently, extending a hand out to her.

“I woke up to use the bathroom and you weren’t there,” her bottom lip jutted out like it always did when she wanted your attention.

You stifled a giggle and a coo at how adorable a 26-year-old woman could be. “I just thought I’d leave you be since I couldn’t sleep.”

Without prompting, your lover made herself comfortable on the couch and snuggled into your side. “You’re wearing my jumper.”

You continued reading with one hand while the other rested on her head, and stroking it lightly. “Yeah, found it lying around.” You placed a short kiss on her hair.

“I love this, Y/N,” she said, her words nearly unintelligible from mumbling into the fabric of your sweatshirt. “I made a Pinterest board the other day for our future home.”

“Ooh, tell me more.”

“I’d like to live in the countryside somewhere, with like a farm. It’ll be a cottage with vines all over the walls and everything, wooden kitchen set, a sunroom.”

“I can see that,” you said, “what about the city? You ever dreamed of living in New York? Paris? Hong Kong?”

“I’d feel like a fish out of water. I can barely stomach London. You’d been to all those places.”

You have, but nowhere felt like home unless you were with her. You could make a home in Antarctica if she was there with you.

“All of them are overrated anyway.” You hummed. “I like it wherever I’m with you.”

Her nose crinkled whenever you’d say cheesy stuff like that. You never knew how much those words made her heart skip a beat, as she buried her face in your neck.

“I realized as I said it,” you scrunched your face too.

“Working with Wes Anderson made you a sap now, hasn’t it?” She quite enjoyed this side of you. “It’s fine. I like it.”

Sleep found her again shortly after. In the morning, she woke with a sore back, but her heart was full, realizing she had been tangled in your arms all night.

SIX. Swan Upon Leda.

To know pain; the kind of pain that cuts through your flesh and leaves you bleeding dry. A stinging sensation that soon turns into agonizing hellfire and the knowing that there are several more spirals of hell still waiting to make you bleed. It was to witness someone who was half of your soul be in pain whilst you were powerless against the evil, and all you could do was pray that it would spare your soulmate and take you instead.

Your hand clasped around hers like iron chains, rubbing her back soothingly, as if the warmth from the back might manifest in her front and assuage the pain. She lay on the bathroom floor, her breathing slow and hard, like she was grappling with the evil that, by the looks of it, was winning. Clutching the heating pad to her stomach, her only lifeline, she curled away from you and into herself even further.

“Love, let’s move you to the bedroom where you can lay comfortably, yeah?” You asked gently.

She huffed and grunted. “Can’t move. Hurts.”

Your lover, your Lioness, Queen of Europe, falling apart by an invisible evil, immobilizing her like a wounded deer. The coldness of the tiles couldn’t have helped, but she couldn’t move.

Spare her. Give me the pain instead.

You leaned down, lowering yourself slowly to the cold, until you were flat on the floor too. Gently, you pulled her to turn to face you. Your Lioness was clenching her jaw, a vein splitting her forehead from how hard she was trying to pretend it didn’t bother her.

And it stung even more when she let out a choked sob.

Then she said with a trembling sigh, “Don’t want you to see me like this.”

Her face was stained with streaks of silent tears, a sign of the raging battle she had to endure for years finally getting the best of her. But the evil had never seen the best of her; she reserved it all for you.

“Oh, baby.” Your hand came up to cup her face, the frame that held the entire world.

It didn’t matter that your lover was curled up on the bathroom floor, she was still your bravest girl, your strongest soldier, and your fiercest Lioness.

“You’re the strongest person I know,” you said sincerely, “and I’m not leaving you, not now, not ever.”

Your lover beamed tearfully like sunshine in the rain and clung herself onto you.

Young love was the thing of fairytales. You would never claim to have it all figured out, but if what you had wasn’t love, you didn’t know the half of anything.

SEVEN. Like Real People Do.

As serious as your lover made herself out to be, she was the biggest goof on the planet the moment a drop of alcohol entered her system. Never acted out of line, never said anything that she’d regret in the morning, just the rowdiest thing that considered waving her arms in the air while wobbling back and forth dancing. It made a spectacular scene to watch, especially whenever she was with her best friend, whom you had to thank for bringing her into your life.

Even the people in her life who knew her as responsible and trustworthy would be concerned at this entirely different side to her, to which you only waved them off with a laugh, and said, “She’ll be fine.”

She would always be because she always had you to take care of her.

“Water, babe?” She knew to listen to you and chugged the whole thing in one breath.

“Come dance with me?” She offered when the DJ slowed the music.

She looked too good not to, so you took her hand and followed her to the dance floor. Once there, she wrapped her arms around your waist and pressed a kiss on your forehead. “Come closer. You smell so good.”

You laughed. “Creep.”

“This is our song,” she chuckled.

The familiar melody elicited distant memories of shy ‘hello’s and stolen glances, her best friend pushing her towards you, and her keeping your number on the phone all night until she finally gathered the courage to press on it.

It was the first song on every playlist you sent each other, like a stamp, a greeting, a confession.

It was the song that played when it was just the two of you alone after she became her country’s pride and joy.

“I remember,” you said, brushing a strand of her hair back from her blue eyes, dazed ones that looked at you like you held the world in your hands. “I thought you’d be more confident, just from seeing how you are on the pitch. It was very endearing.”

“I was nervous, okay?” She groaned, laughing quietly. “I didn’t wanna embarrass myself in front of a movie star.”

“I’m glad you asked me to dance, even though—”

“I’m shit at dancing, yeah.”

You giggled, and bumped her nose. “I feel so lucky to have you in my life.”

She was swaying you back and forth, humming to the song gently, a far cry from the first time you had asked her to dance, and she panicked and said her legs were made for football and not dancing.

“I’m still shit at dancing,” she chuckled.

“I don’t care,” you shook your head. “I still love you.”

“Even if I’ve got two left feet?”

“Mmhm.”

She grinned and kissed you, inhaling deeply. “I can feel Alex taking pictures of us—Yup, her phone is out and it’s pointing at us. Very subtle, Alex.” You laughed when you turned around to see your lover already flipping the bird at her best friend.

“We do have her to thank for getting us to meet.”

“That’s ‘cause she beat me to it first. I would have found a way to you.”

“You didn’t even know me then, babe.”

“Yeah, but I’d still find my way to you.” She was giggling because you had pulled a face. “What? It’s true.”

Leah loved deeply, and boldly. You made her feel special like she was the only person in the world. You also made her feel ordinary, like she wasn’t the face of a nation and only any other stranger walking down the street. Inside the little bubble you were both in, you were just Leah and Y/N, two people in love.

The song had come to its end, and yet she still hadn’t let you go. Three little words sat on the tip of both of your tongues. You pressed a kiss to her lips first. She kissed you back, on the lips, then on the neck softly.

I love you.

I love you.

What you didn’t know was that she planned to make you a promise of forever, with a ring hidden in a drawer waiting at home.

Simple. Sweet. Ours.

EIGHT. De Selby (Part 1).

“Lee?”

“Hm?”

“Would you still love me if I was a worm?”

“Mate, honestly like—“

[reigningqueenofwords]

Pinky Promise

Pairing: Dean x Reader Word count: 1,409

Read on AO3

“I have to go to my aunt’s wedding this weekend. So I won’t be able to play with you alllll weekend. I’m gonna be so bored.” You sighed, lying on the floor of the tree house your father built you a couple years prior. At 10, it was still your favorite place in the world. 

Dean made a face. “That sucks!” He was your best friend in the whole world, and you spent every weekend playing together. “What am I supposed to do? Play with Sammy?” 

You giggled at that. “Guess so.” You smiled at him. “What’re we gonna do when we grow up and get married?” You pouted. “We won’t be able to play every weekend together.” 

“Well, I just won’t get married if I can’t play with you.” He said easily. 

Sitting up, you had the look on your face that told him you had an idea. “What if we make a pinky swear?” You started. “If when we’re 25, we’re not married to other people… we get married.” Why wouldn’t you want to marry your best friend? 

He thought for a minute and held up his pinky. “Alright.” He grinned when you looped your pinky finger with his. 

It had been almost 15 years since that day. You hadn’t thought of that day in ages. Dean was still your best friend, too. That never changed, and neither of you let anyone get between the pair of you. Sure, there had been girls over the years that tried to get between you, but he swiftly dumped them. Chewing on your lip, you pulled up a text to Dean. Do you remember the pinky promise we made when we were 10? You sent. You and Dean shared a birthday, meaning both of you would be turning 25 in just over a month. 

After a few minutes, he replied. Sure do! 😉 He sent, making you chuckle and roll your eyes. Why, what’s up? Meet someone and need to back out? 

Your eyebrows shot up at that. Actually, I was just asking if you remembered. I mean, our birthdays are in a month. Don’t you think you should start looking at rings, mr? 😛 You sent, sitting up and looking around your room. It was December 20th, and you’d be driving home to your parents in a few days. You’d see Dean then, too. His parents lived a block over from yours. 

Who says I haven’t been doing that already? Hmmmm? He countered. 

You highly doubted that was the case. Are you trying to tell me that you, Dean Winchester, man who has never dated anyone for more than a year…has been looking at engagement rings and actually plans to make good on this 15 year old pinky promise? Getting up, you made your way to your kitchen. It was almost dinner time, but you didn’t know if you were actually hungry. Your mind was on overdrive. As you got older, you felt Dean would laugh off your pinky promise. He’d say you were just a couple of dumb kids. 

I take pinky promises extremely seriously. Especially ones with my best friend. He sent, making you smile softly at that. 

Please just don’t propose at Christmas in front of everyone lol That’s too much attention for my liking. You knew he’d understand. Small bits of attention were fine, but you liked blending into the background. He was the more outgoing of the two of you. 

I promise 😀 He assured you. What day are you getting here, anyway? 

The idea of dinner forgotten, you leaned against the counter. On the 23rd. You?  

You watched the little bubbles pop up on your phone, hoping he would get there early, too. Guess I’m getting there on the 23rd, too. Meet me in the tree house? I’ll bring the beer, you bring the pizza? 

Grinning, you giggled. Deal. Meet me there at about 4? 

It’s a date! 

The afternoon of the 23rd, you stepped into your parents house. “Dad!” You called out, dropping your bags. It was 2pm, so you had two hours before Dean showed up. 

“There’s my girl!” He grinned, pulling you into a hug. “How was your drive?”

“Good.” You told him. “We want to hang out in the tree house, but it’s cold. Help me hang up some blankets or something so we won’t freeze?” You asked, keeping your arms around him. 

He chuckled. “I did that yesterday. Dean called and tried to offer to pay for anything I need to make it a bit warmer out there. You could sleep out there. I made it so warm.” He said proudly. 

“Oh wow!” You chuckled. “Thank you! Where’s mom?” Although you’d seen them for Thanksgiving, you missed them a lot. 

“Getting ready for our date. I’m taking her out while you and Dean act like kids in the tree house again.” He kissed the top of your head. 

You laughed, looking forward to this time with your parents, and your best friend. As far as you knew, no one but the pair of you knew of your pact. You never mentioned it to your parents, or other friends. Dean never told you he’d told anyone, and he wasn’t one to be very open with many people. However, you also knew all parents involved would be excited. Your parents loved Dean, and his parents loved you. 

Dean hadn’t been lying. He had been looking at rings for you. He’d snuck into your childhood bedroom and borrowed a ring from your jewelry box when he was there for Thanksgiving. This way, he knew what size ring to get. He didn’t want to risk getting the wrong size. 

What you didn’t know was that part of the reason he never dated anyone for too long was because he kept this pact in mind. It had always been you. He crossed his fingers that you’d both reach 25, unmarried, and not in a serious relationship. 

He pulled into your parent’s driveway, grabbing the beer from the passenger’s seat. Part of him felt like he was coming home every time he got there. Smiling to himself, he made his way to the backyard. He could see some light from inside the tree house, and got excited. You were already in there. “Honey! I’m home!” He called, making his way up. It was a bit awkward with the bag with beer, but he managed. 

“Dean!” You beamed when you saw him. As soon as he was completely in the tree house, you all but tackled him. “I’ve missed you.” You pouted as you pulled away. 

He chuckled. “Well, here I am.” He swallowed. “I have something for you.” 

“Dean, Christmas is in two days. You can’t wait two days to give me my Christmas present?” You teased. 

“This isn’t your Christmas present. That’s in my trunk.” He told you, pulling out the small ring box. “I know we were just a couple silly kids when we made that pinky promise, but you’ve remained my best friend for all these years. You know just what to say on the days where everything has gone wrong. There’s no one else I could ever picture myself being with for the rest of my life. Will you make good on that pinky promise and marry me?” 

Your eyes were wide, and you felt a tear fall down your cheek. “Yes!” You grinned, watching him slip on the ring. “How long have you been planning this?” You giggled. 

“I borrowed an old ring of yours at Thanksgiving.” He admitted. “It’s on my nightstand. Kinda didn’t wanna give it back yet. And we spent a lot of time in this tree house, where else would I propose to you?” 

You couldn’t stop smiling. “Guess we should talk about moving closer together, huh? Or moving in together?”

“Actually…” 

Furrowing your brows, you weren’t sure what he was going to say. “What?” 

He looked proud. “I put a down payment on a house. Just a couple streets over.” He told you. “Your dad already has plans to buy a treehouse in that backyard.” 

“My dad knew about all this?” 

Dean shook his head. “He knows I’m buying that house, and that I’d like a treehouse like this one, but I didn’t tell him I was proposing.” While he knew your dad would approve, your dad might have let something slip. “So, looks like we have a wedding to plan, sweetheart.” 

“Damn right we do!” 

[steviewashere]

Flames of Desire

Rating: General CW: NoneTags: Post-Canon, Canon Divergence, Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Christmas, Light Miscommunication, Getting Together, Love Confessions, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fireplace As a Plot Device, Hot Chocolate as a Plot Device, Steve Harrington Loves Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson Loves Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, First Kiss, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Sappy Ending This is for the Spicy Six-Ber Month Challenge, hosted by the wonderful @thefreakandthehair. I claimed the prompt: Fireplace.

❄️————————❄️ There’s a stack of watched, rented VHS tapes on the coffee table. Next to two half-empty mugs of hot chocolate, rapidly cooling from the mountains of whipped cream he had been egged into topping them with. And a warm body pressed from shoulder to foot next to him on the couch, watching on at the static ripples of Michael J. Fox’s face in Family Ties, television propped in the corner of the living room, volume low because their eyes have been dipping and dipping like toes into a prepped bubble bath—close to that pure, utter, and complete relaxation they’re craving.

His head is nestled awkwardly on Eddie’s right shoulder, propped up by a bony joint and his ear alone, and his neck is aching something awful, yet he’s simultaneously too comfortable to move. Eddie’s tracing his fingertips over Steve’s own right shoulder, his bicep, connecting moles that aren’t showing right now—somehow memorized by times where his shirt was peeled off, probably sometime in the late summer under an unforgiving sun, ready to sink into a pool he’s recently learned to not fear. And something is full inside him.

Full and large like the red-orange shifting flames coming from the centerpiece of the living room, the beloved fireplace he’s known to light since his dad showed him how. The Duraflame log lit up behind the screen, crackling low and painting the side of Eddie with the glow.

Eddie’s eyes do something beautiful because of the light. Glowing in their own way. Going from dark chocolate melted for their mugs to drizzles of honey swirling in spiced chai. Deliciously gorgeous no matter which way Steve observes them, even as cliche as it is to compare them to chocolate. They’re dark, though, the same way logs are for the fireplace. Dark, but made to be comforting. He hums, eyes still roaming over Eddie’s soft face, and keeps his neck angled sharply. The discomfort is worth it, here under Eddie’s warmth, his beauty, the heavily saturated love that flows through Steve—even if he tries to push it away.

We’re friends, he tells himself, not for the first time.

Something’s different about this one, though. Charged. He never felt this sort of adoration, this ember to full-blown bonfire in his chest. Never towards Tommy. Definitely not towards Robin, but there’s adoration there, too—different.

This one is coffee and pancakes, maple syrup smiles, and groggy giggles at the dining table. Candles with slow burn wax, vanilla wafts and cinnamon flames. Reruns and greasy pizza dinners, breadsticks from the same bag, wiping marinara from each other’s faces because the other can’t find it. T-shirts lost, coming back with amber-musk cologne and citrus-lavender detergent, soft sleeves and worn graphics, apologies loose from the tongue, covered by soft snorts and playful eye rolls—“don’t worry about it, at least it’s back.”

A vest he has yet to return, blood-free and loose strings stitched. The collar white-worn from how many times he’s stroked his thumbs over the fabric. Its weight in his lap, contemplated over time and time again. Questions forming in his brain about what Accept plays and who Judas Priest is; a tape stuffed in his bedside drawer, rewound and played again, The Last in Line. Handfuls of dice with polished edges, promises to himself that he’ll gift them this time, next time, some time.

Falling in love.

One slow step at a time.

Burning up with it now like the log in the fireplace. Slow and then all at once. Dancing, warming, glowing. Not like the weak foundations of a house; akin to relationships in the past that were one-sided, collapsing under its own weight. This friendship he has with Eddie is give one, take one. One foot in, then a hand, two bodies on a couch, bellies full of hot chocolate and Christmas gold coins from this morning—Eddie’s stocking dumped over his lap, “I’m sharing my fortune,” he had told Steve, “let’s eat up, sweetheart.”

Eddie brought him a gift.

A sweater he eyed at the mall in the town over. Some Macy’s sweater, an ochre yellow like his other one, the price tag noticeably missing. But Eddie’s smile—his smile—dimples proud and teeth shiny, eyes crinkled, honey brown from the glow of fire. He excused the rosiness of his cheeks to the fireplace, the heat of the room, the gentle breeze still coming in under the front door.

And he had handed over his own little wrapped thing. …And Justice For All tied off with a ribbon, ready to be popped into Eddie’s Walkman. Two years of friendship culminating, little gifts here and there, knowing Eddie would’ve gone looking. He steered Eddie away from the Metallica section of their local record store; only for a couple months, but it felt like a lifetime. He presented the tape with his own smile, with laughter when Eddie’s hands shook and he tumbled about the living room on jumping legs—all signs of sleep that previously exuded, gone in a single rip, pried away with the wrapping paper on the floor.

Jokingly, Eddie had smacked a wet kiss to Steve’s cheek.

He took the scraps like a starving dog.

If that was all he could get, it would suffice. They were happy. And close.

Closer, now. Burning fire, Family Ties, coin wrappers, hot chocolate mugs. And Eddie’s honey glistening eyes, dark like firewood, lightened by that sweetener.

Eddie looks away from the screen, mouth open with words poised, and spots Steve already on him. “Hey,” he says instead of what he planned, “somethin’ on my face?” There’s a sort of sleepy sweet gargle to his voice, deep in the vowels and loose on the consonants—like he can’t quite bother to clear his throat, too busy with already speaking, already looking directly at Steve. He watches Eddie make a show of trying to clean off his face, merely smearing his palm over his rosy cheeks.

“No,” Steve breathes, “just…” This close, pressed against each other, he can hear each soft intake of Eddie’s breath. He squishes his face deeper into Eddie’s shoulder, suppressing the urge to do something stupid; like grin without reason; like kiss him. Yeah, that’d be pretty dumb. “‘M really glad you came over today,” he murmurs.

Once more, Eddie glints. Smile stretched slow, teeth light orange from the flames, tired eyes, and pink cheeks. There’s chocolate in the corner of his mouth, now that he’s really looking, soaking in all of Eddie’s features; Steve’s fingers tingle with the urge to reach up and swipe it away. Eddie breathes out a chuckle, not sharp and brash like it normally would, but reserved—comfortable; private. “I’m glad I came over, too,” he says, speaking soft, “no place I’d rather be, honestly.”

“Even though you could’a spent the day with Wayne?” And it feels right, especially private, to keep his voice low, too.

“I mean…he understood, y’know? We usually do our holiday stuff the day after Christmas anyway. So.” Eddie shrugs minutely. “You invited me over for a date, sweetheart, I couldn’t say no. ‘Sides, I’ve been tiptoeing towards this for awhile.”

All at once, the room’s warmth evaporates from Steve’s limbs. He goes cold, frozen, completely and utterly still. His head pulls up quickly from Eddie’s shoulder, neck pleading from the movement. “Wh…what?”

“This date. I’ve been looking forward to it for a bit. I’d be stupid to pass it up.”

“Wait…wait wait wait. You thought this was a date?”

That makes Eddie freeze. His thumb still running over Steve’s bicep comes to a stuttering halt. Head whipping over, big bug eyes landing on Steve’s. Wide and caught and wholly confused. Meekly, “Is this…is this not a date?”

“Um…I…um, no?”

Just as fast as he froze, Eddie is pulling himself away. Arm falling from Steve’s shoulders, jumping a few inches away, keeping his hands to himself. “Oh…oh, fuck. Steve—I—I swear, man, I thought this was…oh, this is so embarrassing.” He tugs at the ends of his hair, face coloring a bright red, pink cheeks going pinker in the yellow-orange glow. Somehow, even now, Steve finds him still endearingly beautiful. “Jeez. And I…I was thinking of kissing you, too! I mean you didn’t need to hear that, but I—Oh my god, I should go.”

A part of Steve melts, just as plastic does in fire—quick and nauseous and horrible. And Eddie’s standing up from the couch, further flipping Steve’s now upset stomach, trying to get away from it all. But he’s faster.

Faster still.

He reaches out and tugs on Eddie’s right wrist, bringing him flopping back down on the sofa. Eddie looks to him again, just as startled and eerily fearful as before.

Steve can’t make his mouth spit out the words he should. All those things he’d been thinking. How beautiful Eddie is. The slow moments over the last two years, every moment one increment closer to getting what he truly wants. He should be nonsensical. Explain. Paint the picture. Just as he did in the past for other people he fell face first for.

But Eddie’s looking at him. At him. Honey eyes. Pink cheeks. Plump lips.

The chocolate in the corner of his mouth both from their drinks and the coins. That scar he received for trying to buy more time, silver and soft and healed on his jaw. His hair cascading to his shoulders, heavy and dark. And him just alive on the couch, here to share the holiday, lit by the fireplace, cozy in a Christmas sweater and sweatpants. Soft. Sweet. Sacred.

He leans in, slowly as to give Eddie time to dodge, but when he doesn’t—it’s a simple decision from there. Closing his eyes, even if he’s reluctant to do so, reluctant to not see Eddie’s beauty. But he kisses him. Once, tender, slow moving with his lips. Their mouths sticky when he begins to draw back for a second, but he doesn’t get the chance to pull away completely, Eddie is welcoming himself back in. Hands cupping Steve’s cheeks, fingers pushing lightly into the soft give of his face, firm where they’re placed, but overall gentle.

Eddie’s hungry with how he kisses. As if needing this. It’s a little sloppy, the way he drags his lips, but Steve doesn’t care. They’re kissing. Sweet and sugary and milk chocolate on their tongues, when they introduce them to each other. Slow, but sure. New.

Though, Steve kindles a new flame—one flickering in his chest, warm and fragile—a candle, a firebox where this kiss is the first of many.

When he opens his eyes, Eddie’s already looking at him. Looking at him, looking at him.

“I didn’t know it was a date,” Steve whispers.

Breathing a chuckle, Eddie swipes his hands tenderly down the sides of Steve’s neck, setting in the crooks of his arms, heavy as they lay. “I didn’t either, sweetheart.” Those molten eyes bounce briefly, left and right; there’s something laying in them that Steve’s never really seen directed at him before, gooey and tender. Maybe that’s love? “So…so that was a pretty great addition to that Christmas gift, huh?”

“Yeah,” Steve murmurs, words bright with his smile, “guess it is. Wish I knew it was a date.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Mhm. I would’a made us a nicer dinner instead of ordering pizza.”

“Next time, sweetheart. We’ll make a whole shebang of it. Keep the fireplace lit, have more hot chocolate, watch a bunch of movies…and we’ll have spaghetti and I’ll kiss you later that night and taste the tomato sauce you made. I bet it would still taste good.”

Steve wriggles slightly in his seat, hands wrangling up for Eddie’s, gripping to them hard. He can’t contain his bubbling excitement, stirring and stirring and swirling inside him. He’s too warm, under his pajamas, from the fire, from the love overcoming him. And he can’t stop smiling. Stretched wide, cheeks bulbous—so big he almost can’t see—eyes squinting hard. “Y’don’t know what my spaghetti tastes like, Eds,” he protests.

“Bet it would taste like that kiss did, though. Made with your love?”

He giggles and sways and swoons. “That was so corny.”

“Yeah, but I’m not wrong, am I?”

“No,” Steve sighs, relenting. He couldn’t even hide in his own hands. Face too bright and his body too vibrant and his heart pounding too hard, hard enough it could probably be heard if the television were turned down just a smidge. His stomach flips, a good way this time. And he’s too aware of the fact that his palms are clammy, fingers gripping too tight to Eddie’s hands, not wanting to let go. “Is it that obvious how I feel?”

Eddie lifts up one of his hands, squeezing his index finger and thumb together closely. “A little bit,” he says, “but it’s cute, Stevie. Could tell the moment I saw you lookin’ at me, your eyes all over me. Don’t even think you could see how I was looking at you, baby.”

“How were you looking at me?”

“Like I’m in love,” Eddie easily answers. “Because I am. Have been. For a long while now.”

“Really?” Steve breathes. “You’re in love with me?”

“Mhm. I love you to the moon and back, sweetheart.”

Steve squeezes their hands again. The fireplace crackles. There’s still chocolate on Eddie’s mouth. His heart beats hard, gazing deep into those swirls of honey, and it’s all so right. “I love you, too,” he murmurs, “been wanting to say that for forever.”

Tugging gently on their joined hands, Eddie begins to lean back on the sofa. “Come on, baby, let’s cuddle a while longer. Maybe we can gaze at each other some more?”

“Nothing else I’d rather do.”

❄️————————❄️

[cottonlemonade]

omg this idea is so cute i love it so much🫶

can i have a medium, warm milk with honey to go for sunarin please?

Night Routine

word count: 509 || avg. reading time: 2 mins.

pairing: University AU!Suna x chubby!Reader

genre: fluff

warnings: none

request: fluffy night routine with your boyfriend Suna

“I wanna go home.“, Rin whined as he slumped over, face pressed against the pages of his text book.

You highlighted a promising title on your reading list when you replied, “No one‘s stopping you.“

Your boyfriend turned his head to look up at you from the desk, narrowing his eyes in pouty annoyance, “No, your home.“

Suppressing a little chuckle you reached out to run your fingers through his hair and he grumbled but relaxed.

“Gimme like two minutes to go over this page again and then we‘ll leave, alright?“

Rin closed his eyes and nodded, enjoying your touch.

In fact, he asked for another 5 minutes of you playing his hair before he let himself be pushed off the chair to get going.

The library was quite empty when you walked through the big lobby, Rin’s fingers interlaced with yours, his step eager to finally reach freedom. Taking in the fresh night air in deep breaths he pulled you along. On the way back to your apartment you stopped to get a bubble tea and then discussed what kind of take-out you‘d order tonight.

Now, everyone and their front yard cherry tree knew that Rin was whipped for you but only few had ever seen the extent of it.

It usually started in the elevator. He‘d be behind you and wrap his long strong arms around your soft, squishy middle, resting his chin on your shoulder - or uncomfortably on your head when he felt like a menace. On colder days he would wrap his oversized jacket around you at this point, but since the weather was slowly getting warmer, he opted for an extra tight hug instead.

Clinging to you like this you‘d shuffle to your front door and fumble for your keys while he did absolutely nothing to help.

Once inside, it took a minute or two, followed by a lot of kisses for him to let you go.

As per usual, he jumped at the opportunity to shower first, taking great pleasure in trying out quite literally all your bath products and coming out of the bathroom smelling like a sweet fruit smoothie, the towel wrapped around his head like you taught him. He ordered the previously agreed upon take-out while you took a steaming hot shower that was long enough to slow cook a medium sized country chicken, and then joined him on the couch for a movie and cuddles. After finishing up your dinner - pizza that night - you‘d decide on a face mask and take turns applying it for the other. Suna would snap about a dozen pictures of you both pulling faces under increasing difficulty as the mud masks began to dry.

Then you‘d go to clean your faces, Rin making a mess of the sink in the process.

As you both brushed your teeth, he combed your hair, toothbrush hanging from one corner of his mouth.

He‘d give your butt a playful slap when he was done, offered you a minty fresh kiss and finally shuffled along behind you to bed.

a/n: thank you so much for your request! Please enjoy 😊🌟

for requests see here

[blueberryarchive]

thoughts on 80's slasher!jk...♡ (18+)

more here

(because i can't stop thinking about him)

There was something so cruel and fun about being part of a sleepover. The sweet aroma of vanilla and nail polish compacted in the room covered in colors. The muffled laughter of 2 in the morning, Steph's mother sleeping on the other side of the wall where the Billy Joel poster is. The yellowish silhouettes move slowly as they write on small pieces of paper, concentration makes them frown, smile flirtatiously at the ceiling.

“Can it be any guy?” Bobby Joe asks, tossing the piece of paper in the corner to grab another one, Steph rolls her eyes knowing full well why she would ask such a question.

If Bobby Joe was talking about any guy there would be no problem but the three girls, including you, knew perfectly well that sweet BJ wanted to put the philosophy professor's name in big italics.

“We're not going to call Mr. Hogg, Bobby Joe. I don’t want to hear him pull his old and saggy out just because I said the word ‘wet.’”

“I thought this was a game.”

“Exactly, it's a game. I don’t want to develop an infatuation with men over forty-five.” Liss attacked folding her game papers into four.

Your fingers fidgeted on the piece of paper on your knee. You couldn't write your boyfriend's name, obviously, it wouldn't be as fun since Jimin knows your friends' voices and it wouldn't be as fun to see one of your friends flirt with Jimin on the phone.

“Come on, Boo. Don't you know another man besides Jimin? Steph laughed. Bobby Joe and Liss put the names inside Elmo's mug.

No, you wanted to answer. But what's so fun about that. Now that you think about it, you should have brought your Monopoly or the old Ouija that your brother hides. It wasn't a good thing to ever leave the games to Steph.

Liss sat her face on your shoulder looking at the yellow paper, empty, desperately empty. You can put the name of someone who isn't in college, she whispered to you, taking pity on your sorry male record. And that's what you did, you chose your neighbor, only two people know how long you and Cooper haven't seen each other: God and your mom. And that was perfect, he wouldn't know your voice if you called him to ask him what his favorite position was.

Dan Cooper, the “o”s looked like long zeros and the ink pooled at the edges, demonstrating your hesitation in looking for another man in your life you wanted to call for a prank. But it was too late, Steph took the paper and crumpled it before you finished the R.

“Who dares to call first?” Liss held the cup, turning the papers over with a spoon.

Bobby Joe sighed looking into the darkness of the room. You noticed her nervousness, perhaps regretful.

“I want to change the last name…”

“Don't be a pussy, BJ.” It gushed from your lips, the Malibu bubbling in your throat with the taste of the Caribbean islands and the triple cheese pizza you had for dinner. None of the three expected to hear your babbling so early and in so few milliliters of rum.

“Well, you start, take a piece of paper.” You heard her mumble something about putting your stepfather's name on the cup, you ignored her as you took the paper that first fell on the carpet.

“Wait, let me turn on the camera.” Liss got up taking the camcorder that her father gave her for her new career in communication. Now the lens focused on the college antics of your group of friends and, occasionally, the artsy pornos that she and her boyfriend tried to sell on college corners.

Of the ten papers, the one you took seemed to be folded with the delicacy of origami. You unfolded until you undid the little cube and found a name that you have rarely heard or even thought about.

“Jungkook Jeon?” You feared you had said the name wrong but the looks between your friends were not looking for a good pronunciation but rather who dared, in fact, who even thought of trying to flirt with such a specimen.

Steph let out a squeal as she almost dropped her drink on her favorite sweater.

“God, Liss surely wrote that.”

"Why me?"

“You've always liked weird men.”

“You like octogenarians, you bitch.”

“Who the fuck is Jungkook?” You were starting to get desperate and the tiny flickering light from the camera was starting to feel like needles in your pores.

Steph takes another drink before proceeding to explain.

“He's a guy in econ class, a complete loser. He doesn't look anyone in the eye and walks around like he wants the earth to swallow him all the time."

“And why do y'all put it in the pile?” If you were going to call someone, it had to at least be worth it.

Bobby Joe and Liss look into each other's eyes and smile knowingly. BJ's bubblegum-pink coated index fingers come together and then spread alongside her smile.

“Several of the guys on the team have seen him in the showers.”

“I don't believe any of the men on the football team, that's what they said about Marc and he had a micro dick.” Steph looked pointedly at the camera. “Plus he doesn't even get up from the stands, I've never seen him play.”

“Jimin started calling him Junghood.” BJ played with her gum, twirling it around on her finger.

Jimin had never mentioned the guy to you.

“Junghood?”

“He likes to play with his bow and arrow in his free hours, like a Robin Hood.” Liss looked for another light, she wanted tried to see every line that formed on your forehead.

“The name is so stupid…no offense.” Steph finished her drink and handed you the heavy book.

You grabbed the phone directory and headed to J. The last name was easy to find and the dial easy to rotate, until your nerves choked you listening to the buzzing on the other end of the line. You wished he didn't answer, but you were also intrigued by the description. How is it that one of the players on the football team, who was supposedly well-hung and caught the attention of your little elite, was so relevant? And why didn't you know about him?

Your friends didn't focus on dragging unfortunate people through the mud, that's a high school girl thing. In college it was a matter of continuing to climb the ladder, maybe marrying a stockbroker from New York or becoming an intern at Vogue just so you could rub it in other people's faces.

And unfortunately for you, it was a Saturday night and of course this Jungkook guy would take the call. ‘I Can’t Quit You, Baby’ reverberated softly in the room, his breathing hitched and heavy. Had you woken him up? Suddenly, you were aware of all your senses, of the sense of the cassette filling up with frames of your stupid face trying to do a function as human and basic as talking, of the two shots running through your system. But oh…

"Hello?" His voice was raspy, sweet, a little nasal and whiny.

BJ squeezed your chin shaking it from side to side, enjoying your cowardice. Your face was toasted with a simple word.

“Jungkook?” You swallowed, your finger curling around the phone's pink cord.

"Who is it?" Complainant moved between the sheets until he was silent. “Fuck, it's two in the morning. Is this another one of the evangelical whores trying to sell me Bibles? I already told you what I would do to y'all if you called me again.”

And the threat sounded like a foreign promise that you wish you had heard alone. You looked at Steph who was drawing a cock next to his name, her eyes closed sensually as she stuck her tongue out.

“I just heard a rumor a couple of days ago and, you know, I haven't been able to sleep thinking about it being true.” Your voice turned to molasses, your eyebrows curled and your shoulders tensed in acted innocence.

“No, I don't sell pot. Is that it, princess?”

“Is it true that you have a big dick?” Steph, Liss and BJ were shocked. You stole the Malibu from one of them, you didn't even have the courage to talk to Jimin like that when you two were alone.

The girls ran as quietly as possible out of the room and down the stairs, opening the other phone to listen to Jungkook. But it was useless, since the person questioned did not respond. The camera already forgotten on the bed, you kneeling on the carpet hugging Liss's pink Care Bear between your legs.

A small laugh, the click of a lighter, a drag.

"What?" You could hear him reposition himself in his pillows. " You would like to know how big the weirdo in your class is, you fucking slut.”

No, ew.

“Yes, I say, if it is true.”

“How much would you like to know, mm?”

This wasn't the answer you were looking for, you thought maybe he would hesitate on your question or just hang up out of embarrassment. Maybe you should have stopped five more minutes and brought Clue or Guess Who? that was in your closet.

You thought about every face in the college hallways, about your boyfriend's friends, and about those you met at the mall or behind the movie theater on Sundays. None matched his voice.

“I told you I haven't been able to sleep for two nights, isn't that enough?”

“Maybe with a proper fuck you would relax, don't you think?”

You swallowed, letting your eyelids droop. Your hand approached the camera and you turned it to the wall so it could record its own reflection in the mirror.

“Can't talk, love? I thought you were the one who was going to play a lil' prank on me and leave me hard as a log on the other end of the line. What happened, do you really want me to crash this dick into your pretty pussy?” His laugh was mocking, he knew what he was saying and how he said it: with his hisses, deep tones; all through the smoke of an improvised cigarette in the late night.

You squeezed the bear between your legs and sighed.

“I've never been so…”

"Dirty? Badly spoken? Pleb?"

“So direct.”

“Isn't it so fucking good, though? Being able to say out loud that you think about my cock at night” The bass solo repeated itself like an angelic tune intertwined with his words.

It was hard to follow the joke when your panties started sticking to your lips with every word that came out of his mouth. Your friends had abandoned you so theycould listen downstairs and in the darkness of the room you could only imagine a headless body stretching your legs up to your shoulders, your pussy trying to make room to choke on the throbbing veins of an unknown dick.

“Do you want to touch yourself?” His question sounded like a command and your hips leaned forward, rubbing against the rough carpet.

"No."

"Ya' sure? Because just with your absence of words you have me squeezing my base. Can you imagine if you could take it all like a champ? I know whores like you, they dare to take on a whole team if they feel like it.”

His sly laugh was the last thing you could hear before hanging up the phone. You rose from the carpet searching for the cassette in Liss's camcorder, your thin fingers trembling as you destroyed the evidence of your pusillanimity and lust.

The three girls walked slowly to the room, all grouped on the bed like judges of the case. Looking for an explanation in your features but there was only one order.

“Nobody talk to Jimin about this, okay?”

The judges looked at each other, nodded in unison. Apparently bedtime approached earlier than expected and you were grateful that the alcohol had knocked out your friends so quickly.

You ran to the bathroom with the memory of his voice still fresh. The humidity still warm between your legs, you held onto the sink while you held back your moans, your forehead pressed against the mirror and your drool falling into the drain with the voracious hunger that only imagination can give.

[vivwritesfics]

I feel like we need a return of witch!oscar

Maybe reader finds one of his books and tries to make a potion from it despite not understanding any of it

No but I started thinking last night I could do a whole witch!oscar thing but i've got so many things to come out first that this might be an eventually situation. For now pls keep sending in witch!oscar

Oscar had been insanely protective over his things when she first moved in. Like, crazy protective, to the point where they fought and she threatened to move out.

(He wasn't ashamed to say he'd begged her to stay. The fighting, though, it wasn't for nothing. It was to keep her safe, even if she didn't understand that. Oscar would do it all over again to keep her safe).

But, as it came to a year of living together, Oscar had stopped this crazy protective thing he had over his stuff. He stopped guarding that bookshelf full of recipe books like a crazed dog and no longer bothered hiding that box full of God knows what under the floorboards under his bed.

(Now, understand, Oscar would have told her. If he didn't think the information would have put her in more danger, he would have told her exactly what he was. It was eating him inside, her not knowing as she slept against him, content in this safe bubble Oscar had created. Created through lies that had him feeling sick and the protection spell he'd put on the apartment).

Even now that Oscar trusted her with his things, he hated leaving her in the apartment on her own for extended periods of time. If he'd just told her what she was, she couldn't be in danger of accidentally cracking open a spell book and messily casting an incantation. But, when the council called, Oscar had to answer.

(She was what this meeting was about, actually. Most witches were solitary creatures, preferring company of their own kind and even that was rare. Oscar was the exception, with his human girlfriend. As much as the other members of the council looked down on it, on their relationship, they knew they had to try and keep her safe from any magical mishaps).

"I didn't even know you had to go on business meetings for your work," she whispered that morning, cheek pressed against her shoulder.

He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head. "I know," he mumbled. "But I'll be back before you know it."

Before he left, Oscar doubled the protection spell around the apartment. They hadn't been apart for this long since she'd first moved in, and part of Oscar just knew the council was holding the meeting on the other side of the country to test him, to test his patience.

She knew Oscar wasn't going to be in when she got back from work, but that didn't mean she didn't already miss him terribly. Making dinner, something Oscar usually took care of, was a chore that evening.

(It was the only time, aside from the protection spell, that Oscar used magic around her. He was a terrible cook, but it was partly how he'd won her over. Even if she found out what he was, he could never reveal this secret about his cooking).

When she pulled the most basic of ingredients out of the fridge, she spied something on the counter. One of the books from Oscar's shelf. He must have left it there on purpose, she figured. A book full of Australian delicacies he'd left for her so that she didn't miss him too much.

She cracked open the book and decided to make the first thing she saw, some kind of soup.

The ingredients were so odd, but they had all of them in the kitchen cupboards. Gathering up the ingredients, she started about making this odd, Australian soup.

(Maybe, if she looked a little closely, if she'd even considered being a little wary of her boyfriend, she would have noticed that this wasn't a recipe book, and this wasn't a recipe book).

It didn't look like anything Oscar had made. If she wasn't so hungry she would have tossed it and bought a pizza, chalked it up to her (lack of) cooking skills. But her stomach was grumbling and it didn't small that bad.

All it took was a single spoonful. Bless her, she didn't realise she'd made enough to dose an entire football stadium full of people. But one spoonful and she was on the phone to Oscar, crying about how much she missed him in a way that just wasn't her.

"Oscar," she cried through sobs as he thanked his lucky stars that he had a moment to pick up.

"Has something happened?" He asked quickly, panic in his voice.

She sniffled. "Yeah. I fucking miss you and my soup isn't as good as anything you make and I hate it and I want you to come home and I think we should get married and I think we should get a dog."

By the time she'd said the final few words, she was no longer crying. No, she was happy, excited even.

"Oh fuck." Oscar hadn't meant to let that slip, but he certainly didn't think it would make her cry again. "Oh, sweetheart, what have you done?"

It had to be one of those fucking love potions Oscar hated to much. And, to make things worse, it had been his fault. He'd left the book on the kitchen counter, of course she was going to think it was a recipe book.

Damn the council meeting, his girl needed him. "Sweetheart, can you throw the soup away for me?" He asked. There was no response, but Oscar could hear her moving around the kitchen, hopefully doing it.

"Done. It was gross anyway," she mumbled.

He let out a laugh, if only to comfort her. "Great. Go and get changed into one of my shirts and get into bed. I'm on my way and I'll make you something proper when I get home."

"Hurry back?"

"Of course."

If you enjoyed this, please feel free to buy me a coffee