#i have so much angst in my head right now but...

[jungkooklover777]

𝑀𝑦 𝐻𝑒𝑟𝑜 ; clark kent / superman

summary: an office romance sounds good in theory but what happens when it goes according to theory?

pairing: fem!reader x corenswet!clark kent + journalist!reader x journalist!clark kent.

trope: office romance + coworkers to friends to lovers.

genre: fluff + some angst + slow burn romance.

warnings‼️: crude language + minor alcohol consumption + near-death experience + misogynistic remarks towards reader (from a jealous coworker who’s also a man r we surprised) + idk shit abt journalism.

word count: 11,031.

random disclaimerrr: heyy haha… heyy… how y’all doin… ik ik it took me for-fucking-ever bc in all honesty, i forgot about dat doe. & i lowk had writer's block but ITS OUT NOW SO YAYYY!! happy reading! ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ ♡ © 2025 @jungkooklover777

A knock sounds at your already open door, causing you to pause your typing and look up.

“My office in five.” Your boss and an editor-in-chief— Perry White— commands.

You send him a nod and he’s on his way back.

It was a chill day until the cloud of quiet chatter evaporated and was replaced by a thick blanket of excitement.

“What is going on out there.” You curiously mutter.

You think about entering the crowd but you decide against it as you remember your initial task.

Perry may be a fair boss but his agitation takes on several forms, you do not wanna be caught on the receiving end of it.

You knock on his door and open it.

“Alright, Kent— oh. Here she is.”

You can’t see how this ‘Kent’ guy looks but he’s definitely a little over 6 feet. His gray coat outlines the broadness and muscly look of his back.

Damn, he’s kinda big.

He turns around and the only thing you can think of is Squidward whining in frustration, Oh no, he’s hot!

His eyes are a remarkable shade of blue, a lovely bunch of black curls sit atop his head, and his skin reminds you of the nice sand accompanied by the local beach.

Kent’s sporting a pair of black framed glasses and he’s the handsomest “nerd” you’ve ever seen.

You hope your ogling isn’t obvious.

“L/n, meet Clark Kent. Kent, this is Y/n L/n.”

This Greek God of a man shakes your hand and it’s warm. So. Warm.

He smiles and goddamn it is beautiful. It’s so perfect with all his perfectly straight, perfect shade of white teeth.

AND HE HAS DIMPLES?! HOLY FUCKIN’ SHIT!

“It’s nice to meet you.”

And of course, an attractive voice that matches his equally attractive face. It’s deep and confident and you’re crushing so hard on him right now.

“It’s nice to meet you, too.” You calmly say.

“Get acquainted well because you’ll be showing our new guy here the ropes. Starting now.”

Your heart drops down to your ass and you retract your hand.

Of course this had to happen to you.

“Oh, okay.”

It was in fact not okay but it’s not like you had much of a choice in the matter.

You exit first and are met with so many faces outside the office. Comically, they all look away and pretend to do something important.

Now you realize why there was a crowd earlier, because of the handsome new guy.

You ask him to wait for you while you go grab some things from your desk.

“Okay, Clark—”

You’re gone for literally 1 minute and the poor guy’s already being swamped.

There’s a blonde girl, bit of a ditz. Twirling a strand of hair while giggling over something seriously unfunny.

She’s accompanied by a guy who’s much shorter in comparison to Clark.

He’s yammering away about how he’s always wondered what it’s like to be on a farm…

“I mean, I was at one for the DP but they didn’t have much internet so we couldn’t cover much. And the smell?” He shuts his eyes and wrinkles his nose in disdain. “I can’t imagine how it was for you, man.”

You watch in horror as he takes a sniff, yes; a sniff at Clark and hums, “You smell great, though! What is that, uh, aftershave. Or sum’?”.

Clark responds with a nervous laugh at his sudden proximity. “It’s Polo by Ralph Lauren. Uh, the blue one.”

“Whaaat?” The guy laughs in surprise.

Clark folds his lips inwards and raises his brows in an awkward manner.

What do you say to that? Truly.

What an idiot, you cringe internally before coming to his aid and kicking off his first day.

It’s the end of Clark Kent’s second week. He’s a great addition to the Daily Planet team and you have to say, he’s really nice.

His first few days were spent showing him around. Perry’s office, your office, the newsroom, break room, copy room, mail room, bullpen, so on and so forth.

You were sure Clark could use a better mentor but he thought otherwise. ‘You’re a good teacher, I like learning from you.’ He said.

He was very quiet at first, kept to himself and didn’t approach anyone unless he absolutely needed to.

You were the only person by his side almost every hour he worked so it made sense to just go to you.

The more you talked to him, the more he got out of his shell.

A friendly relationship blossomed and soon, he was a willing participant.

You like to drink something in the morning while you work and you didn’t realize Clark took a mental note of that.

Since your first week together, he brought you something everyday.

“As much as I appreciate this, you’re not the drink guy.”

You were worried he thought you’d expect him to do this all the time now but he denies the notion.

“Oh it’s no big deal, I pass by a cafe on my way here so it works out. Plus, I know the owner so I get a discount every time I go.”

You smile at that. This little tradition has become an essential part of your day, it’s how you start it. It’s also special to you because it’s just for you.

Your crush on him grows by the day but you can’t help it! It’s so hard not to like this guy.

He’s still a bit shy at times but you think that’s part of his charm, and he’s got you good. He’s just Clark, a sweet guy from a small town with big arms dreams.

“So, what are the plans for today?”

He asks this everyday in hopes of going on a side quest with just the two of you.

Alas, that doesn't happen nearly as much as he'd like but at least he still gets to see you whenever he likes.

“Today, we’re going to a meeting.” You answer as you quickly send out one last email.

You grab your purse and Clark brings his notebook to the conference room.

He pulls out a chair for you and you smile gratefully, whispering a ‘thank you’.

Perry and the other senior position holders make their way in and take their seats.

“Alright, let’s get started.”

Perry announces that at the end of the meeting, there will be a spot open for another editor-in-chief.

Instantly, there’s hushed chatter of who can be nominated to fill the slot.

You’re positive you hear your name among the many different routes of conversation. You don’t notice Clark glancing at you when he hears it, too.

“L/n.”

You feel everyone’s eyes on you and want to fuse with the chair you’re sitting on.

“She’s our most talked-about reporter and has been here for almost three and a half years. How she’s doing better than most of you at this table, I have no idea. Great work, Y/n.”

You purse your lips in an awkward smile at the jab towards everyone else layered between your praises. “Thank you, sir.”

Clark allows his lips to be pulled back in a small grin, unable to hide his happiness for you.

You know some people in the room are envious of you and are incapable of witnessing your success, but you’d be damned if you let them ruin this moment for you.

The rest of the meeting goes by smoothly and it’s time for Perry to announce the new editor-in-chief.

“Of course, it came as no surprise for us to come to unanimously nominate Y/n L/n as one of our new editors-in-chief.”

You know you should be happy and a small part of you is relieved that your hard work paid off, but you’re not entirely sure.

You’ve only been here for 3 and a half years and this is a huge promotion.

Are you ready for this? How do you know you’re ready? When do you know you’re ready?

You force yourself to get out of your head and express your gratitude.

“Thank you so much, I really appreciate it.” You smile as you shake their hands, accepting their approval.

You still had some time before accepting the offer but it felt like you had to take it.

The reality is: you don’t know what you want.

Most of the people leave but some stay behind.

“Congratulations, Y/n. You definitely earned it.”

Remember the envious people that were mentioned earlier? This guy— Mark Callahan— is one of them.

He sticks his hand out for you to shake but you clock his underlying tone.

“Thanks.” You smoothly move past him to the door with Clark following.

“Bitch.” He mutters to himself.

Clark stops dead in his shoes. “What did you just say?”

Mark smirks lazily and the few of his dastardly henchmen eye you with jealousy.

Your eyes are a bit wide, lips agape at his sudden change in attitude. “Clark..?”

This is Clark Kent. The shy, dorky, kind of an aloof guy with long legs, a killer smile, and a nice heart.

You never thought he could get mad. You haven’t even see him annoyed up until this very moment.

Mark takes a step towards you but Clark is quick to get in between you and him.

He pokes his tongue into the side of his cheek and chuckles. “Relax, man. I’m not gonna hurt your little girlfriend.”

Clark steps forward, his height giving him the upper hand as Mark’s ego forces him to maintain eye contact, even if he has to tilt his chin up a bit.

“You couldn’t even try.” He softly yet subtly mocks.

Mark tightens his jaw and you can feel the tension growing.

You tentatively reach out and put a hand on Clark’s shoulder. “We need to go.”

He maintains eye contact with Mark for a moment longer before budging and walking out.

Clark’s jaw is set and you see the faintest twitch of the muscle, his face stern and hand sweeping his curls.

He holds the elevator for you and you gulp nervously.

“What… was that?” You dare ask.

He assures you it's nothing but you can feel the intensity of his annoyance radiating off of him. It fills the elevator when you step in.

You don't know how badly his blood boils at the thought of someone being so casually disrespectful towards you.

His hands were clenched tightly, his knuckles turning white from the pressure. He forcefully wipes his hands on his trousers and tries to cool down.

You let that go but can’t let go of how badly he gave you the butterflies.

You couldn’t even try.

That part replays in your mind.

It was the way he said it, like he was so sure of himself.

He was obviously putting Mark in his place but for you? He did that for you?

Your lips fold inwards to conceal the squeal (read: scream) that's begging to be released.

As the elevator arrives at your floor, Clark extends his arm for you to get out first then follows you out.

Chivalry isn’t dead?!

You don’t know much longer you can contain yourself.

“Hey, Y/n?” Clark calls out.

You swiftly turn around on your heels. “Yeah?”

He stares at you for a moment, like he’s gathering his thoughts carefully.

He has so much he wants to say. Every time you thank him for bringing you your morning drink, he wants to say, you deserve nothing but the best. He wishes to say how beautiful you look everyday, how smart you are when you're feeling doubtful.

Instead, he holds it all in and says something a friend would say. It doesn't mean anything less to you, he knows that. So he says something so kind, it leaves you with heart eyes.

“You deserve that promotion.”

In all the time you’ve spent here, not many people have said anything like to you.

There’s the fake compliments said out of spite. You’ve already gathered a mental list of who fits that category.

Then come the words of encouragement, said by a select few genuine people. Perry and your best friend, Lois are— were the only members of this group.

Clark being an addition to this list is obvious, it was only a matter of time, but it means so much coming from him.

You blink and feel lightweight.

“Thank you.”

He gives you that award-winning smile you love seeing so much and is on his way to work.

You feel distracted as you work, smiling like an idiot every now and then when his words ring in your mind.

You deserve that promotion.

Resting your head in your palm with your elbow extended in a comfortable position, you sigh dreamily; staring blankly at your loading computer screen.

“L/n.”

You immediately straighten your back and set both hands on the keyboard, suddenly irritated with how slow the network on your computer is.

“Sir?” You acknowledge him by poking your head out from behind the screen.

“Good work on the Stenson article,” He shows the newspaper bundled in his hand. “It’s gotten Star’s attention.”

You’re impressed with yourself. “Oh.”

He angles his head down to where he can see you through the space above his glasses. “You okay?”

You nod in a way that is more convincing yourself of what you’re saying than him. “Mhm. Just, uh… surprised because they’re our rivals.”

Knowing The Daily Star has its eye on you is a bit unnerving but what kind of opps would they be if they didn’t.

He hums in thought. “Well, I thought I’d stop by and let you know.”

“Right. Thanks.”

You track his movements until you’re sure he’s gone and smack some sense into yourself.

“Focus, Y/n. Focus.”

You are invited to attend a conference in Washington, D.C. along with a few handpicked journalists.

As you await for the plane's landing, your mind wanders back to the new guy. You wish Clark could’ve came.

You just think he would’ve had so much to learn and experience, nothing else…

A rattle echoing through the jet brings you out of your thoughts.

The captain makes an announcement but you feel like something’s off.

It’s the reporter in you, a 6th sense.

Another shake and now everyone’s a bit nervous, worried looks painted across their faces and yours.

You open the flap to your window and see nothing but soot. Dark gray matter surrounds the jet and it’s so thick, you can’t see past it.

You start to smell it soon and so does everyone else.

“What’s that smell?”

“It smells like… like smoke?

“Is something burning?”

The captain makes an announcement telling you to not to panic but of course that ironically makes everyone panic.

Oxygen masks drop down and you don’t waste any time grabbing yours but the dread spreads all over you when you take a deep breath in.

Suddenly, the jet jolts forward and it feels like you’re diving into something. It’s going headfirst into the direction of the ground so quickly and you can’t make sense of anything.

The passengers frantically scream and descend into chaotic paranoia as they hold on to dear life. Your heart pounds in your chest, threatening to jump out.

This is it, you think. This is how it ends for you: in a freak accident.

You close your eyes in fear and hope the impact crushes you so quickly, you don’t feel any of it.

A quick and easy death is a death that is most favorable.

Suddenly, you feel the aircraft being lifted up. The speed of which is swift yet steady, unlike the previous moments when it felt like you were falling to your deaths.

You don’t dare look out your window in fear of it all being a figment of your imagination but someone else does.

“We’re… we’re saved.” Someone calmly informs.

The plane is set down on the ground and the doors open up automatically.

Your eyes widen when you see a man in a blue suit and red cape step onboard.

He’s kind-looking. The steely blue eyes somewhat familiar, maybe it’s his aura.

“It’s alright, everything’s okay.” He smiles and you’re taken aback with how eerily familiar the action is.

“Is everyone alright? Nobody hurt?”

Everyone shakes their head simultaneously as if in a trance, left and right.

He nods in consideration. “That’s good. You all can step out now, it’s safe.”

Nobody moves. No one can! They’re still trying to wrap their heads around this miracle.

There’s this man— in a cape, no less— and he’s asking if everyone’s okay from what could’ve happened.

There’s no doubt in your mind that somehow, he is singlehandedly responsible for saving you all.

Someone in front dares to speak everyone’s mind. “You saved us.” They say as they make their way to him.

The mystery man looks at the passenger with a humble look.

He puts a comforting hand on their shoulder and escorts them out, everyone else following suit.

Everyone else but you. You’re frozen in a whirlwind of emotions, mostly shock.

You’re so out of it that you don’t even notice him coming up to you, his striking blue eyes steady on your form.

“Are you alright, ma’am?”

You whip your head up at him and realize you’re the only one onboard the plane.

“Umm, yeah. I-I think.” You furrow your eyebrows as you feel your foot stuck in a comatose position.

“Can you stand?” He gently asks.

You go to stand up from seat when a sharp pain shoots through your ankle.

A quick breath is drawn from your teeth and he notices immediately.

“Your ankle.”

“Yup.” You hastily grit out.

He looks at you in contemplation for a moment before doing what he has to do.

“Do you mind if I carry you out?”

You pause your unsteady breathing and look up at him through your lashes.

I didn’t hear that.

“Uhh…”

There is a right answer but you don’t know if it’s the answer.

He’s strikingly handsome, so unfairly dashing.

He’s looking at you with those kind eyes and waiting patiently for your word.

“No. No, I don’t mind.” You clear your throat gingerly.

The soft curve of his lips make you feel a bit at ease for a moment.

He holds his hand out for you to take and gently pulls you into him when you do, wrapping that arm around your back. He bends down to hook his other arm under your knees and lifts you so effortlessly, you feel yourself swoon at his display of strength.

Your brain goes quiet and you can’t think about anything else but him. You’re starstruck by him.

Is this a bad time?

He looks straight ahead as he walks towards the open doors but the slight curve of his lips gives the impression of a soft smile.

Soft gasps and wide eyes paint the picture of surprise and you’re immediately flushed so deeply into embarrassment.

The man holding you doesn’t say anything but he silently shares your opinion.

As he walks down the ramp, you look anywhere but at him and the very obvious audience in front.

The symbol on his chest catches your eye and you’re analyzing it. It appears to be a red diamond encasing a capital letter of the same color, an ‘S’.

You wonder what it stands for, what it means to him.

People make room for him as he walks to a spot where you can comfortably rest.

You can feel everyone’s eyes on you and it bothers the hell out of you, but you bear with it for the moment.

He finds a bench within the stagnant ocean of people and sets you down on it, an apologetic expression framing his face.

“I’m sorry.”

You peer up at him in surprise. “For what?”

He sets his hands on his hips, subtly tilting his head to the left and you see behind him the wandering eyes and gossipy mouths.

You snort softly, shaking your head lightly at their antics.

“It’s not your fault. They’re just… trying to figure out what just happened.”

He nods, turning back to the plane with a determined look.

“The ambulance is on its way.” He says as he turns back to you.

You nod, not wanting to look away from his eyes.

The air is thick with so many unanswered questions left unasked, but your throbbing ankle takes a backseat to it all.

This man is a miracle in the flesh and he’s filled your mind with so much curiosity, you don’t know what to do with it.

“You’re gonna be alright.” He says it with such confidence that you believe him.

And he’s gone, flying upwards into the air and in a direction one can only point to.

People crowd the spot he just stood in and stare up in awe at the phenomenon: a man just flew right to the sky!

What a headache and headline this is going to be.

Your ankle was as swollen as an orange, thankfully like the ones that are really small and are known as ‘Cuties’ or whatever the hell.

There's a brace on it to keep from hurting as much but the swelling's still got a long way to go.

You're currently icing it as much as you can before it falls off when you hear a knock on your window.

You hold your breath and lean ahead a little, trying to hone in on the knock truly being real or a part of your imagination.

It's when you hear it again that you decide, nope, totally real.

You move slowly, setting the ice pack on your dresser before carefully moving your leg and setting your foot down on the floor.

Eventually, you make it to your window and look through the blinds to see what could be causing that noise.

You softly gasp. “Holy shit.”

It's the guy from earlier, the same man who may or may not have saved your life. But he's floating, literally standing on air.

You pull your blinds all the way up and open your window, not hiding the shock on your face as you stare at him dumbfounded.

He titters softly, finding your reaction amusing.

“Can I come in?”

You wordlessly step aside with your mouth slightly agape, not really grasping the gravity of the situation.

He flies right into your bedroom while you budge the window back down and close the blinds.

With his back turned against you, you take this chance to make yourself look more put together. Your hands find their way into your hair and subconsciously pat down your body to press the fabric of your clothes as flatly as possible.

He’s studying your room and now you’re even more self-conscious even though it’s relatively tidy.

“I’m sorry for showing up here unannounced.” He says as he turns around to face you. “I hope I don't come off as a stalker.” He snorts softly.

You laugh along, nervous. “I was just icing it before...” You trail off, making a gesture towards the window.

He nods, clicking his teeth. “Ah, right. Sorry, once again.”

You shake your head. “No, don’t be. It’s okay.”

You move to sit back down on your bed and continue icing your ankle.

“You left your purse.”

He reveals the black purse to you and you gasp at the revelation, so relieved as you thought you were going crazy looking for it.

“Oh, thank you. Thank you so much.” You say as he chuckles softly and hands you your purse.

“No, don’t thank me. Just doing what’s right.”

Something about his words makes you pause. The familiar syntax reminds you of someone who’d do what he just did.

You don’t even look inside to see everything in order because oddly enough, you trust it is.

Your grin makes the man in front of you feel strangely victorious.

“Not many would do what’s right.”

He squints his eyes and tilts his head to the side, as if to disagree. “I think we all deserve a little grace every now and then.”

“You have faith in humanity?”

You don’t mean to start a conversation about the moral dilemma of being human but his response intrigues you.

“I do.” He answers with such confidence that you believe him.

“At least that makes one of us.” You look back down at your hands applying pressure to the pain.

“Why don’t you?” He asks with genuine wonder.

You tilt your head at him, intrigued. “Are you really asking me that?” You squint your eyes playfully. “I’m an investigative reporter. I’ve seen and heard things that have made me come close to quitting.”

“Why haven’t you then?” He cheekily asks with a smirk of his own.

You're taken aback with his playful wit exuding a flirty vibe.

You'll bite.

“Because even though my job can be draining, I still love what I accomplish.”

He's delighted with your reasoning, appreciating your love for the game.

“Well said.” He nods.

You tilt your head up, the reporter in you wanting to talk to him more.

“Your turn.”

He raises an eyebrow at your proposed question.

“What do you do?” You ask.

He clicks his teeth lightly. “Well, you’ve seen me fly. I can hear well over the distance and lift very heavy things, if that’s what you’re asking.”

He knows that’s not what you’re asking, you know he knows that.

You smile, shaking your head at his quips. “As in your occupation, Mr..?”

He stands with a knowing smile. “I’ll tell you next time.”

You blink, startled by his suggestion. “Next time?”

He walks towards your window and you follow, opening it for him.

“Until next time, miss L/n.” He says with a wink,

And he's gone.

You're left staring at his fantastic display of power, soaring into the night sky before he disappears into the clouds.

You've never been this fascinated with anything before, but he isn't “anything” or “anyone”. He's a phenomenon, man with great power.

You don't see that often.

You wonder who he really is, where has he been all this time? What's his story?

So many questions, so little time but you'll hold him to that promise of a next time.

“Next time.” You murmur in confidence that he'll find you again.

Lois enters your office with a particular pep in her step, a knowing smile on her lips as she sees you.

You don’t look up from your work as you know there’s nobody else that can enter your office that way. (even perry knocks, lois)

“Sooo?” She asks, strangely enthusiastic.

“So.” You reply uninterested, flipping through pages.

She stares at you like you know what she’s talking about before bombarding you with questions.

“Who is he? What’s he like? Where's he from—? Wait, he’s human, right?”

Your eyes widen just a fraction before you dial it down.

You can't tell anybody about your encounter with him. At least not until you've had some questions answered.

A hurried breath is pushed past your lips, your eyebrows furrowing in annoyance at your friend’s prying form.

“No comment.” You say plainly, not indulging her.

Clark walks by with a new drink of the day and sets it down on your desk, a sweet smile on his face.

“For you.”

You know those certain people who just have you on automatic smile as soon as you see them? He's quickly becoming that person for you.

“You are such a nice guy, Clark.” Lois shakes her head in amazement.

She can't believe men like him do, in fact, exist.

That causes a noticeable blush to coat the tips of his ears and spread thinly across his cheeks.

He's humble. “I appreciate that Lois.”

This tradition is a declaration of friendship, a bond he claims to regard just as much as you do.

A sip of it simultaneously warms your heart and reawakens the butterflies lying dormant in your stomach.

“I agree.” You softly smile. “You’re committed to keeping up with this.”

He looks down and pushes his glasses up with an index finger, clicking his teeth together shyly. “Well, I’m no guy in a cape.”

There he goes downplaying his efforts and staying humble, as usual.

“How’s your ankle?” He asks as he eyes it.

You look down like you just remembered. “Oh, yeah, it’s fine. The swelling’s gone down a lot so I’m good to come back.”

Lois watches the news on one of the tv’s in the room play a clip someone managed to record of said guy fly up into the air, departing with a sonic boom.

She leans into Clark a bit, looking straight at the tv with that same damned topic on her mind. “Clark, do you think he’s handsome?”

He clears his throat lightly, sniffing as he tries to figure out how to answer that wild question. “Well, I— uhh… um— he’s, he’s… conventionally attractive.” His tone gets pitchy at the end, like he's asking, not telling.

“Lois.” You sigh.

“What? He’s so cute guys, I don’t know why no one else is talking about it.”

You take a peek at Clark and find quite a bit of blood rushing to his face.

“Clark, are you alright?”

“Huh— yeah. Yeah, no, I-I’m good! I’m fine, it’s just uhh… hot.” He nods, trying to look convincing.

Lois doesn’t miss a beat. “He’s hot.”

“Oh my god.” You groan.

“No, like, seriously.”

And it’s your fault for knowing how serious she is.

“Do you guys think he’d go for me?”

“Oh, yeah. For sure.” You nod with a fake smile. “He’d be all over you.”

She bursts out laughing, her focus on the poor guy in your midst. “He’s as red as his cape.”

You turn your head to see and it’s true, he’s super red in the face and just refuses to make eye contact.

“I’m just gonna go… do that thing Perry wanted.” He sends you girls a quick nod and smile before basically running out of y’all’s presence.

You watch him go and find his vulnerability endearing. He’s not afraid to show his feelings but like in typical Clark fashion, gets a little embarrassed when he does.

She purses her lips apologetically.

You shake your head at her. “Lois, if you were a man...” You raise your eyebrows and push air out in yet another sigh.

She takes your lack of words as a sign to contemplate the idea, then says, “You’d be my first target.” with a nod and serious look.

“Get out.”

You hadn’t anticipated your savior to be the subject of fascination so soon. Later on in the afternoon, in fact.

“L/n, you’re a firsthand witness. What do you think?”

Everyone’s eyes are on you as they wait for you to tell your story. You haven’t felt this nervous since your interview with this place.

You clear your throat a bit, feeling your nerves on fire.

“I believe he stopped the plane from crashing.”

You don’t need to be a telepath to know what they’re all thinking: you’re fucking crazy.

Of course, that’s an impossible thing to do but not everyone in this room was there.

“You think… he was responsible for saving everyone that day?” Perry asks, intrigued by your line of reasoning.

“Yes. He opened the doors and immediately asked if everyone was alright and if anyone was injured.”

A few people murmur in doubt but you continue.

“I sprained my ankle somehow and he offered to help me off and took me to an area where I could wait for an ambulance.”

They eye your gloved ankle, unimpressed. (it’s not like you’re here to knock their socks off anyway)

“He helped you off the jet? How?” Someone asks.

“He, um… carried me out.” You quietly say.

The atmosphere shifts and you can really feel and see just how shell-shocked everyone is.

“He carried you out?!”

“As in, in his arms? You were carried out in his arms..?”

You immediately jump to your defense. “I’m not sure why and, or how that matters.”

They’re incredulously adamant about it. “How come? You’ve not only had a conversation but also came into close contact with him—”

“And that’s where your focus lies?” Perry cuts in.

You look at him in thanks and he nods in acknowledgment.

“I dunno.” A board member sighs. “Some mysterious, muscular man coming to save the helpless woman story won’t run headlines.”

You scoff in disbelief. “Excuse me?”

Perry feels a headache coming on.

“You asked about my encounter and I told you. I’m not here to be a headline.”

The man who thought of that “brilliant” idea is coated in embarrassment, feeling annoyed at receiving the heat.

“Anyone have any useful ideas?” Your boss asks with his thumbs pressing down on his temple.

There’s some chatter about this man and how he managed to save the plane, if he did. Some even discuss if he’s capable of being a potential threat to the country.

“You’re dismissed.” Perry says with a pointed look.

You leave with your head down and jaw tight, coming to sight with Mark.

“Excuse me.” You drop the hint of ignoring him but he doesn’t care.

“Going somewhere?” He asks with a smug expression.

You still push past him with him only to turn around and tail you.

“Yeah. Some of us have jobs to do.”

You don’t care how you look and/or sound.

You just got reduced a damsel-in-distress by a board member while your boss ignored him. Granted, he stuck up for you when it came time but he also dismissed you like you weren’t needed anymore.

Mark pokes a tongue into his cheek, his frustration with you at its boiling point. “And what’s yours? Playing hooky with Superman?”

You don’t know whether to be offended or question the ridiculous choice of name for the man, first.

You choose the first option as it’s the most relevant.

“What did you just say to me?”

He smirks like he just found a pressure point on you. He takes a step closer. “You heard me.”

He actually thinks he's got you this time.

“What, got nothin' to say now that Kent isn't here to save you?”

All that annoyance you were feeling just know? Yeah, that's amplified by a thousand now that he brought that up.

“I can stick up for myself, and I definitely won’t take any shit from you.” You spite. “If I took that promotion back then, you would’ve been fired and on your ass in less than a minute.”

You're pulling rank but it isn't rage-bait if it's true.

He's seething now. A vein protrudes from his forehead and he inhales deeply to try to keep himself together as much as possible.

“Oh, I know how you got that promotion.” He spits that venom so carelessly with the most malicious intent.

You squint your eyes in suspected belief.

Mark continues his verbal assault.

“Yeah,” He nods. “It wasn't that hard to figure out why the old man favors you so much.”

You were right, it had been what you were thinking.

The envy in him has always given off a strong stench, he literally gives the evil eye to those better than him in every way possible.

At your loss of words and hurt expression, he smirks before delivering what he thinks is the final blow. “I’m willing to bet you slept your way to the top.”

In this very moment, you realize you don’t have to listen to his shit any longer.

Your strike his face, open-handed; hard. A powerful smack resulting in a red handprint on his blanched face.

The ear on that side of his face rings piercingly loud and in his disoriented state, nearly collapses onto the floor.

A chorus of sharp gasps and sound grimaces snap you out of the adrenaline-fueled rage consuming you.

It seems that you’ve gathered quite a crowd of spectators. The horrified look on your face isn't nearly enough to convince your innocence to anyone just joining now joining in.

“What the hell is going on out here?” Perry's voice booms.

You shakily inhale, meeting his accusing gaze and you watch as he tracks a path between you and Mark writhing on the floor.

You fight the urge to roll your eyes at his pathetic acting.

“Get in here. Right. Now.”

With your chin up, you walk right past the whimpering mess on the floor; your heel almost crunching his fingers if it weren't for his reaction time.

You know you shouldn't be the one to feel embarrassed but there's still a part of you that does.

After all that you've put into this place, some overzealous, whiny little piece of shit wants to humiliate you by attempting to slutshame? In this day and age?

You huff in exasperation of being on your way to overstimulation by the very quick turn of events.

You're already sat when Mark comes in and Perry shuts the door, but not before yelling at everyone to get back to work.

You feel your victim to your far right, not wanting to sit down.

“Sit down, Mark.” Perry says before looking at him quizzically. “And why are your hands covering only one side of your face?”

You bite back an explanation and a smirk.

Mark doesn't say anything but instead opts to show, he drops both hands hesitantly to his sides.

Perry's reaction is nothing short of priceless. He thinks about exclaiming but when side-eyeing you and carefully assessing your careless reaction, he clocks it.

“I was counting on you being bitch-slapped one of these days but I was not expecting you to be dumb enough to try her.” He dryly chuckles in half admiration and half disappointment.

“Sir? You're actually siding with her right now?”

You close your eyes and mentally prepare to be fired.

Perry’s expression is that of a Don’t try me and Mark actually takes it seriously this time.

Wonder what’s the difference in you giving him that look and Perry…

“What happened, L/n?”

You open your eyes nervously and take a breath, preparing yourself to speak your truth.

“I slapped him… because he accused me of sleeping my way to the top for the promotion.”

There’s about a few seconds of silence before Perry speaks up.

“What.” He just says but it’s his tonal shift that makes Mark sweat.

“W-well, I just said that in the heat of the moment.” He chuckles nervously. “I didn’t mean that—”

Perry pinches the bridge of his nose to try to calm himself down. “I have no tolerance for this kind of behavior, Callahan. You know that.”

Said boy clears his throat and sniffs. “Y-yes sir, I do—”

“Then why did you do it?” Perry’s eyes bore into his with such intensity, it makes you a bit uneasy as well.

Mark opens and closes his mouth trying to come up with an answer to that obviously rhetorical question like a fish.

At his lack of words, your boss scratches his forehead. “Here’s an easier one: what did you think you were accomplishing by demeaning her character like that?”

Still no answer.

He puts a finger on Mark's chest, pressing into it as he says, “I’ll tell you. She is your superior because she, unlike you, gets it. She gets this job, what it means to be a reporter.”

His condescending tone towards the other male isn't unheard of but it sure as hell surprises you a lot.

Mark tightens his jaw and turns his head to look at you in malice. “With all due respect, sir, you should understand why I said that.”

“I don’t have to understand a goddamn thing.” His gruff voice reverberates through the walls, causing you to straighten your back.

Perry then carefully and slowly says, “Get the fuck outta here, you’re fired.”.

Mark dares to speak up even now. “But, sir—”

“Right now!” The older man barks his orders and like the sad little puppy Mark is, follows one last time.

When he leaves, Perry sighs and turns to sit down in his chair. He pours himself a drink, offering one to you.

You stare at him wearily before declining but he pours you a drink, anyway.

He silently takes a sip, prompting you to do the same and you feel the smooth, mellow taste of Brandy.

He groans, satisfied with the drink.

You set your glass down, feeling your nerves becoming slightly undone by the aftertaste.

It’s momentarily quiet, the awkward silence now comfortable.

You’re the first to break it. “Am I being fired?”

This is apparently funny to him because he laughs. Yes, he wheezes before giving in to the chest-laugh every man his age has.

You awkwardly chuckle along, not knowing if that's the right move.

He sighs in satisfaction once more.

“Y/n,” He begins warmly. “I can't fire you after that shitshow.”

Anyone else would think that statement was made in fear of being seen as an asshole who doesn't stand in solidarity with women but not you.

Perry White can put on a show of being a bitter old man but now's not one of those times.

“You did what you had to do and since I'm being honest,” He leans in a little like he's about to share a secret. “I'm glad you gave me a reason to kick his ass out.”

That brings a soft smile on your face, one that expresses your gratitude.

“I’m sorry you had to deal with that.”

“Most bosses wouldn't give a fuck.” The word rolls off your tongue with such smoothness, you forgot to code switch.

He takes no mind and instead lets you talk informally, he gathers you deserve that much.

“I'm not most bosses.” He wittily replies with a wink and tight-lipped smile.

“No, you are not.” You say with an appreciative nod.

You ignore everyone that didn't need your help for the remainder of the day.

As Mark took the walk of shame, it made you feel a little better when you saw people who you've never spoken to give him dirty looks and shake their head at him in disapproval.

Even though he got at least half of what he deserved, you still felt the aftermath of his words. They stung and it just made you think, how many other people feel that way?

You drowned yourself in work, you felt as if you're now obligated to work twice as hard.

Then you hear him.

“Y/n?”

You move your head from your hand and look up above your computer, spotting no other than your trusty colleague and friend.

“Clark, hey. What’re you doing here?”

“Hey, I was just about to ask you that.” He says with a boyish smile and points at you.

You smile back instinctually. “I'm just finishing up some stuff, meeting deadlines.”

“Ah.” He nods.

You eye the time and decide to save what you have left, planning to resume tomorrow.

“I was doing the same.”

You put on your jacket and grab your purse, walking out with him.

“This late?”

Poor guy, you hope he doesn't have a workload as big as yours if he's staying until almost 2 am.

“Yeah.” Clark sighs tiredly. “Perry gave me Mark's last assignment.”

You pause locking your office door, not expecting that answer.

Clark pretends not to notice.

As you enter the elevator (before clark, of course), you make light conversation.

“So ready to go home to my bed.” You tip your head back close your eyes, letting yourself rest for a moment.

“For real, I was about to fall asleep at my desk if it wasn’t for you.”

Both of your eyes open. “What do you mean?”

“I thought I was the only person here but then I saw your lamplight on so, I figured why not fight it for as long as I can.”

Had he stayed this long for you?

“Clark…”

You feel guilty and why wouldn’t you? He was basically waiting on you to call it in and stood by the entire time.

“It’s okay! No harm done.” He insists.

He was actually meaning to go home the same time you were, so he could talk to you.

He knows how pathetic that sounds but he'd rather be a pathetic man with a crush, even if that sounds elementary.

Instead, he opts on telling a half truth. “I needed the extra hours anyway.”

You turn to face him. “You did?”

Uh oh. He wasn’t supposed to say that.

Stupid sleep-deprived brain making him say things he’s not supposed to.

“Yeah, cause my research and work ethic is different from Mark’s.” He purses his lips and nods lightly.

Though he may look confident on the outside, he’s freaking out on the inside.

What was he supposed to say, the truth? Yeah, I was out late saving the planet one country at a time. That kind of stuff tends to get tiring if I have to wake up on time, ha ha ha.

He hopes you believe him and don’t inquire any further so he won't have to come up with another lie.

You hum before yawning lightly. “Makes sense.”

Clark watches you cover your mouth with the back of your hand and notices how you close your eyes when you yawn.

He also notes that you're really comfortable around him. You don't think twice about saying certain things in front of him.

He likes being the reason you let your guard down, he does the same around you.

You can see him staring into the side of your face so you turn your head, meeting his warm yet intimidating stare.

Your lips automatically purse into the friendliest awkward smile you have and he returns the sentiment.

You both then look away simultaneously. You look up at the countdown whereas he looks down on the shining metallic floor.

There’s still 25 more floors to go before you meet the garage parking lot.

The atmosphere grows a little awkward but is forgiven as there’s a shared understanding: you’re both fucking exhausted.

Though, there is something Clark wants to talk to you about.

“Y/n?”

“Hm?”

He hesitates for a moment, his mouth opening then closing as he thinks about how to bring this topic up.

“I heard about what happened.”

You slowly turn your head to him wordlessly, waiting for him to continue.

He stares back at you and you notice how blue his eyes look under fluorescent light.

“I’m sorry.” He murmurs, affected by the outburst as anyone else who gave a damn.

You’re touched.

“You don’t have to apologize, Clark.” You say as you look down at your shoes, suddenly growing shy of his eyes.

“I know,” He says. “But I care.”

The sentiment doesn't go unnoticed. Your lips turn up appreciatively.

“I know that as a woman, I'll be undermined at times but that was seriously a low blow.” You vent. “Even for him.”

Your disappointment isn't hard to assess. Even though you knew he'd be the one to say something like that, you still would've liked to be proven wrong.

Clark feels for you, you shouldn't have to feel alienated by your colleagues.

“I'm sorry nobody spoke up. I would have.”

“I know.” You say. “Thanks, Clark.”

“Of course. Anytime.”

You think about how nice it is of Clark to say this but you’re reminded of his absence prior.

“Where were you today, by the way. I barely saw you.”

He lies straight through his teeth. “I was out running some errands.”

He was actually stopping a country from getting actively bombed but that’s a story for another time.

“Perry still giving you the Miranda treatment?”

He chortles at your reference. “What can I say, I make a great Andrea.”

“You do. Who’s your Emily?”

You both take a moment to think about this.

“I got nothin’.” You say.

Clark agrees, although he’s come up with an alternative approach.

“There’s Mark, but he’s more Emily to your Andrea.”

You make a motion to wrap your hands around your neck and pretend to choke yourself.

It gets a good laugh out of him.

You blow a soft raspberry. “I just want my Nate. Without the “I'm insecure and feeling jealous because my partner is having it better” part.”

You look up at him and say without thinking, “You’d make a great Nate.”

You’re so tired, very exhausted from the day taking a toll on you, which explains why you’re just saying random shit.

Clark feels hot, like his whole face is on fire. He chuckles bashfully, very obviously failing at trying to not let that affect him so much.

The elevator dings and you both look up, finding the doors to open and reveal the garage parking lot.

“So, what do you mean by that? Exactly.” He furrows his brows and pushes his glasses up.

You step out, feeling all of your nerves turn to ice as you realize the weight of your words. “Oh, you know. You'd be a supporting and secure boyfriend.”

He's stumped, left watching as you walk to your car.

You wave goodbye before getting into your car and he returns the gesture.

You turn to face him, walking backwards. “Good night, Clark.”

He feels the blood wash over his heart like the ocean returning to shore.

“Good night.” He murmurs fondly.

“Dude, this is a terrible idea.” Jimmy scolds. “Your worst one yet, and you barely have those!”

But Clark isn’t listening, he’s already made his mind up.

“If I like her as a man then I have to respect her as Superman.”

Okay, that was a bar, Jimmy concedes.

“Besides, she wouldn’t tell anyone.” Clark adds.

Of course you wouldn't tell anyone about Clark’s identity, he knows that.

“I know that,” Jimmy sighs. “But think of your relationship with her as Superman from a journalistic standpoint.”

Jimmy just wants the best for his best man, he wants Clark to really think about this. l

“She won’t let her bias for you stop her from doing her job, even if that means asking questions you can’t answer directly.”

Diving headfirst into something like a romantic relationship without going over the logistics is bound to crash and burn.

But it’s you, the same woman who understands him. You see him, know him. You’re not one to hide how comforted you feel when he’s around, he literally hears your heart rate when he dotes on you.

You must feel the same way. Right?

But how would you react to this? Would you still feel the same? Would you still view him as the same Clark who goes out of his way for you?

After some careful consideration, Clark comes to a conclusion.

“Okay.” He says.

Jimmy closes his eyes in relief, sighing at the fact that his friend chose his mind over his heart.

“I’m going to tell her everything.”

Jimmy slaps a palm across his forehead all wide-eyed, not believing he got bamboozled this way.

He now has to watch his best friend throw everything away for the ruzz (reporter huzz).

Clark feels a weight lifted from his chest at this decision. He's always wanted to tell you but his moral obligation was to this planet, regardless of what heart entails.

He walks to your office, stopping just before the door to check on his appearance. He moves his head to the side, inspecting his hair. He then fixes his tie and glasses.

Satisfied with himself, he knocks and waits for your approval.

“Come in.”

Clark pokes his head in comically.

Your eyes flit up and when you see him, giggle at his silliness. “Hey, you.”

His chest warms at the sight and sound of your delight.

You seem so easygoing, truly content when you smile or laugh. Do you know that?

His takes in your face.

Your hair shines from the light, cascading down your shoulders and framing your it nicely.

Your eyes are on him and every time you look at him, he feels as though he can tell you anything. And though they're beautiful, his favorite part about your face have to be your lips.

You're a very expressive person so your words and reactions make up everything about you.

He loves seeing them pull you into a smile and laugh, especially when he's the reason.

It’s like a reward, seeing you joyful because of him.

He's momentarily distracted by the sight, always on the verge of forgetting his objective as soon as your pretty lips move around.

You say his name like you're in the middle of something.

He blinks, shaking himself out of his daydream. “I'm sorry, what? I was not paying attention, I'm sorry.”

It's refreshing to see a man apologize so much but it feels weird coming from him.

“It's too early for this, I know.” You jest kindly. “I was asking what can I do for you?”

“Oh! Right, why I'm here.” He chuckles, embarrassed.

Get it together, Clark he warns himself mentally.

“I, um... I wanted to ask you something.”

You lean your elbows on your desk, giving him your undivided attention. “Sure, what's up?”

He walks to your desk, taking out a sticky note folded in half. He hands it to you.

I have something I want to talk about, meet me in the mailroom? Lunch on me ;)

You can't with this guy sometimes. Asking you to lunch via sticky note?

“That is seriously the cutest thing ever.” Lois coos.

You've been smiling since he gave the note to you, grinning at him as he walked out of your office.

You even did a celebratory squeal before containing yourself.

“Isn't it?” You giddily ask. “Ugh, he's so cute.”

Lois nods in agreement, wondering when she's gonna find her own Clark Kent.

“What do you think he wants to talk about?” You ask.

Lois looks at you bewildered. “What do you mean? Isn't it obvious?”

You stare at her expectantly, blinking.

“Oh my god.” She groans. “He's gonna tell you how bad he wants you, Y/n!”

“He is?” You say, hopeful.

She nods ecstatically and spins you around in your chair to face her. “Think about it. You two have been dancing around this unspoken attraction between you for how long?”

You instantly give her a time period. “Almost a month.”

“That was rhetorical.”

“Oh.” Your lips pull to the side, sheepishly. “Sorry. Continue.”

“The point is, he obviously feels for you. It was just a matter of when he’d get the balls to make the first move.”

You nod along, finding her logic unarguable.

“Okay. Okay, so I just walk in and tell him—”

“No, no, no. What? Don't do that! He's the one asking you to come over so let him go first.”

“Right, right.” You blink. “Let him go first, you're right.”

Lois puts a sympathetic hand on your shoulder. “You're nervous, and that's okay. Just breathe, be calm, cool, and collected. You're Y/n L/n, investigative reporter at the Daily Planet.”

“I’m Y/n L/n, investigative reporter at the Daily Planet.” You repeat like a mantra.

Lois smiles encouragingly, being your best hype-woman.

“You’re fucking amazing.”

You close your eyes and blindly trust her. “I’m fucking amazing.”

“You’re the baddest bitch here and you know it.”

You blow air deeply, feeling yourself relax a bit. “I’m the baddest… bitch here and I know it.”

“Fuck yeah, you do!” She exclaims and you find yourself smiling, shaking your head at her theatrics.

You fucking love this girl.

“You got this, okay? Don't think too much, it'll feel natural once you let him talk.”

You feel like you’re about to get in the boxing ring with your everything that could go wrong.

“Go get him, tiger!”

It's lunchtime and for the first time in history, you're not hungry.

You can't even think about eating out of anxiety.

You walk towards the mailroom and suspire when you go to twist the door handle.

You're immediately met with the dreamy pair of eyes you were hesitant to see.

You shut the door behind you, none of you want to be the one to move first.

“Hi.” He hums.

“Hi.” You say, equally as soft.

He clears his throat lightly and gestures you over, some sandwiches and sodas decorating the table.

“Panera?” You say with glee.

His lips pull back at your reaction. “Yup.”

You reign in your excitement, remembering why you came here in the first place.

“So.” You hint subtly.

“Sooo.”

You tilt your head at him, narrowing your eyes playfully at him. “Sooo, what'd you have to tell me?”

He clicks his teeth. “That's the question.”

You tip your head back and half-whine, half-laugh. “Oh my god, stop baiting me!”

Clark finds humor in edging you on like this, how often does he get to see you so highstrung?

“Okay, okay, alright.” He airily chuckles. “I'll stop.”

You blink patiently, the remnants of a grin on your face.

He soughs, building up the confidence to tell you how just much he feels for you.

“Okay.” He licks his lips, meeting your gaze.

He's caught, mesmerized by the way your attention is on him. He doesn't realize just how heavy his stare is until he watches you squirm.

“Clark..?” You call out to him thinking he's spacing out.

“Sorry.” He says on default, though he's not really apologetic for anything at all.

You're just so—

“Beautiful.”

Your breath catches in your chest and he's mortified.

“I, I just said that... outloud.” He stammers.

You watch him scramble for a way out.

“I'm sorry— not that you aren't beautiful, which you are. You so are.”

He cringes at himself and you hold back a simper, finding him so endearing.

“I just, um... Alright, here's the thing.” He claps both hands together softly.

“Mhm.” You nod, furrowing your eyebrows and to show you're just as serious about what he has to say.

“I... I have, uh— wait, no. That's not right.” He mutters to himself.

You come closer, standing right in front of him. “Clark.”

He looks down, stunned at your proximity and stops babbling.

“Just say it.” You coax gently. “Whatever it is, I'm sure we can work through it, together.”

Together. He thinks about the good ending, the one where you do end up getting together.

As you look up at him with those kind eyes, he feels everything he has to say come right out.

“I can't stop thinking about you.” He confesses.

You blink, startled by this even though you were expecting it.

“I like you, a-a lot, and I have so much to tell you.”

Clark's eyes flit between yours, desperately searching somewhere for you to feel the same.

He hears your heartbeat skyrocket, he feels your hands shake slightly from the adrenaline. The smell of your perfume thickens the air and he can't get enough. He can almost taste the color of your lips with how close they are.

He gulps, growing jumpy from your silence.

“Say something, please.” He whispers.

Another moment of quiet, not voluntarily. You're just trying to find the right words, yourself.

“I... I feel the same.”

That familiar megawatt smile graces his lips and you feel the tables turn, you in his previous postition and he in yours.

“I have for a long time.”

His eyes crease at that and he can't help the laughter bubbling out of him.

You laugh with him, not believing this is happening right now.

“You have no idea how long I've been holding that in.” He tells you, leaning on the table behind him.

“Not longer than me.” You suppose.

His eyes quirk up, silently asking you to go first.

So you do. “Since you started bringing me my daily dose of energy.”

He hums.

“Now, you.”

He looks at you with the fondest expression ever, you hold yourself back from kissing him stupid.

“Since my first day.” His voice thick with honey.

Your eyes soften and though he's won, you don't take this as a loss.

“Seriously?”

You don't mean to be so anticlimactic but how else does one react to feelings of romance being reciprocated?

As if Clark Kent couldn't get any more attractive, he takes your hand with the utmost care and rests it right on top of his heart.

“Can you feel that?” He asks while gauging your every little microreaction.

It speeds up gradually as your hand connects with the fabric of his shirt, pure electricity binding you together.

You nod, involuntarily fighting the tears you sense.

“Aw, don't cry.” He cradles your face in his hands and you close your eyes, overwhelmed by his affection for you.

“Come on, let me see you.” He ducks his head down, trying to catch your shy eyes.

When you finally do, he smiles so brightly that you swear it's like looking directly into the sun.

“There she is.”

You chuckle weakly, sniffling once.

He lets go of your face and can't resist the temptation of not touching your arms. He rubs them up and down a couple times, feeling goosebumps arise in their wake.

“Can I have a hug?” You ask, looking back at him through your lashes.

He feels his heart stop right there, that look sends him over the edge and you don't even know it.

Clark wordlessly leans down and pulls you in, his strong arms wrap around your waist comfortingly while you reach up on your toes.

You rest your head on his shoulder and feel your hearts beating under each other so passively, a sigh escaping the confines of both your mouths simultaneously.

Something about this feels like déjà vu, like you've been in a similar position.

“Hey.”

“Hm?”

“Remember that conference I was supposed to go to in DC but got cancelled because the jet almost crashed?”

He pulls away with a straight face, hiding the absolute chaos unfurling behind those eyes.

“Yeah..? Why?”

You look at the door then back at him.

“I haven't told anyone about this but afterwards, Superman came by my place.”

“What? No way!” Clark gasps.

You nod cooly.

“So, what happened? What'd you guys talk about?”

You tell him how he stopped by to return your purse but something has been bugging you since.

“I just don't know how he got my address.”

“Oh, that's easy.” He doesn't feel like playing this game anymore, too many sweats. “I know where you live.”

You’re perplexed and then some because what does that mean?

“What are you saying?”

He puts both hands on your shoulders and gives you a riddled look that says, Come on, think about it. You know what I’m saying.

A lightbulb turns on in your head but it can’t be. There’s just no way you’re thinking what he’s thinking.

You’re too flabbergasted to say a word. You just stare at him, open-mouthed and wide-eyed as you say it out loud.

“You’re… you’re— you,” You chuckle dryly, your head spinning a bit. “You’re Superman?”

He doesn’t give any indication of agreeing with you but his silence does.

Clark’s trying to get a read on you.

You then cover your mouth with both hands, muffling an excited ‘Oh my god!’.

He feels reassured.

“You’re Superman!” You whisper-scream.

“Yes, yes. I am.” He nods while checking the door to see anyone coming in.

You just stare at him in wonder, taking this all in.

It all makes perfect sense.

Who else would be selfless enough to protect those who can’t protect themselves? To have integrity the most Clark Kent trait you can think of.

You know Clark has a big heart but this? This is next level.

“Why are you telling me this?”

He looks at you like the answer to that is simple, which to him, is. It’s always going to be simple if it involves you.

“I don’t want to start this on a lie.” He reveals as those damned blue eyes fixate on you.

You can fly right now.

He leans in ever so slowly, tracking any detail on your face that may give away the impression of not wanting him in your space.

When he finds none and is absolutely sure, he puts a hand on your cheek and asks, “Can I kiss you?”.

“Yes.” You sound softly and it’s as if a prayer has been answered.

Your eyes flutter shut and he parts his lips for you, you anticipate them to be just as soft and lush as they seem.

He believes he’ll finally be able to understand the languid nature of your mouth and decipher its meaning.

Sparks fly when you make contact, it strengthens the electricity that makes your chemistry.

The kiss is a breath of fresh air, the kind that blows in quietly; peacefully.

He’s sweet, undoubtedly so. His palms hesitantly splay across the curves on your waist. You smile at the soft touch and he does as well.

Your hands are on his chest and you can feel every pulse, flutter, and pang of his heart.

You think it’s poetic; the influence you have on his heart, both figuratively and literally.

He rests his forehead on yours and you look up at him from under your lashes.

He’s about to speak up when he hears something, something you don’t.

His ears perk in the direction of the distressed sound and he turns his head apologetically.

“I have to go.” He regretfully informs.

You reach up to kiss his cheek and rid him of guilt.

“When you come back, I’ll be right here.”

Clark hugs you once more and asks, “You’re my hero, you know that?”.

You chortle and respond with, “Is that Superman talking or you?”.

“Both.” He pulls back with a kiss on your head, winking at you with a cheeky grin.

He runs out the door and leaves you with the ghost of his touch and words that form a sappy smile on your face.

Superman may be the world’s hero, but Clark Kent is yours.

[secretivemessenger]

i cooked smth chat

☆ top M!reader x bttm cheater bf x switch dude ur bf cheated on u with lol, no specific character other than kev a rando name i thought of.

★ cw: non/dub-con, cheating, cuckholding, bondage mentioned, porn with some plot, bad attempt at angst that takes a 360 and becomes porn, very poorly written (i think idk i’m rusty.. can’t tell whats good writing and whats not)

☆ synopsis: you catch ur highschool sweetheart cheating on u so u just fuck the guy he cheated w infront of him wowie

★ AUTHOR’ rambling: uh i couldn’t care less who interacts so just jack off and enjoy i suppose hhhh its so bad guys i forgot how to write, if anyone is even reading my ramblings on here tell me if i did a good job on this one and praise me 🧏‍♂️.

NSFW content under the cut, proceed with caution.

im thinking reader whos been in a highschool sweetheart relationship with his beloved.

all was great, all was good until it wasn’t. you noticed a fridge growing between you both, what could it be? he’s not as enthusiastic with you as he used to be. always declining your date invites with the excuse of being busy with uni projects? all good no problem. then he’s not texting you as often anymore, his texts becoming shorter each day till they were non existent.

soon after you start seeing less of him each day, he walks by you down uni halls like some sort of stranger, like you weren’t the love of his life? or maybe that wasn’t how he saw you anymore.. it can’t be, he loves you dearly like you love him, right?

you were filled with self-doubt. perhaps you’re just too paranoid, yeah that has to be it.. you were just overthinking it. all until you saw him again, with the company of a man you never saw before! must be a friend of his, but the look on his eyes was intimate, intense and sexual even, you recognize that look, of course you would you’ve seen it a million time before, and every time he presented that look you were always on the receiving end, so why was he looking at this random guy with that same look.

suspicion arises within you and it makes you feel terrible, how could you possibly think that the person you share so much memories with could be cheating on you? what if it was nothing like that and you just painted your boyfriend with such dirty light, you’d never forgive yourself if that was the case. you have to confront him about it, to make sure that your dark thoughts are nothing but false.

you make your way to his dorm hastily, every step you take felt heavy with emotions, you were scared that you admit to, you almost want to just turn around on your heels and go back to your own dorm but you can’t, you know if you don’t have this conversation with him now you’ll never muster up the courage ever again.

so here you were twisting the spare key he gave you, slowly opening the door to a, well shocking sight. but is it really shocking? you’ve been overthinking it too much you already saw this outcome in your mind many times, it’s laughable honestly. seeing your so called boyfriend all tied up and wet, hands tied up to the bed frame, back arching against the sheets, legs splayed out and spread like some cheap whore while getting his hole plowed and crying out like some porn star, by the same said unknown guy you saw him with earlier.

the room was dimly lit, the scent of sex that filled the air was almost suffocating to you. your heart pounded you took one slow step at a time.

is it a surprise, not really. does it hurt? very, it stings even, not to mention they took no notice of you when you opened the door, being too immersed on fucking like rabbits. it isn’t until you’re right behind said rando that your boyfriend seems to take a notice of you, his eyes stare in shock but before he says a word he cries out “k-kev” he threw his head back moaning while the so called kev unaware of your presence behind him “oh yeah, feels good right. cmon say my name again” “KEV- kev wait wait pleas—“

poor little kev, too lost in the warmth of a tight wet hole squeezing him dry, he doesn’t slow down but goes even faster. gripping your little boyfriend’s thighs and spreading them open even more, plowing hard and fast while cussing out bout how good it feels

“wait hng please— i can explain” his words cut off by a sharp gasp from a particularly sharp plow by kev.

kev finally looking took a glance to the back once noticing the shadow hovering behind him, but he isn’t quick to react to you yanking his head back hard before shoving him back down onto your boyfriends sweat-slicked skin. your boyfriend whimpered and gasped after being hit with kevs weight, his tiny cock leaking a ruined orgasm against kevs tummy.

wanting to say something your boyfriend opened his mouth for a chance to redeem himself but you cut him off by shoving your two of your fingers down his throat making him gag and choke, his eyes rolled back struggling to breath as you practically fucked his mouth with your fingers to get it wet, not hesitating to shove them even deeper towards his throat, as tears rolled down his eyes while they rolled back.

once your fingers were out he choked out and coughed breathing in the air that was stolen from him, as he looked at you pleadingly.

you fully ignored him and turned your attention to kev while he struggled and tried to get out of your grasp, honestly he looked more of a twink than your own boyfriend how could he possibly been able to top and satisfy him while you were literally right there… eh no matter.

you kept one hand on his hair forcefully pinning his head down while you reached your saliva slicked fingers back to his hole, sliding them against the tight opening, he instinctively clenched down, but you forced your way inside regardless. one finger at a time, thrusting in and out.

one finger in drawing out a pained cry from kev as he babbled out incoherently. two fingers in and he’s violently shaking while his hips twitched and pulsed pushed harder against your boyfriend’s prostate making him cry out and shake his head. three fingers in and kev is already braindead, mind overloaded, body aching and out of control as his hips bucked against your fingers making him thrust up onto your boyfriend aswell in the process.

“is this really who you decided to cheat on me with? really?” you said with a disappointed huff looking at your boyfriend whos sobbing and trembling while you continued to stretch and pump your fingers in kevs hole, slowly getting him used to it. “you had better but guess you really like sabotaging what you have”

kev groaned being in his own little world as you curled your fingers at just the right angle giving him an euphoric feeling, his legs shook desperately, fucking himself back against your fingers and into your boyfriend’s welcoming hole, gosh he felt like he was in heaven. kev can feel the tightness against his cock increase at your degrading words and even he clenched his hole tight around your fingers but all he muster up is a sob and a pathetic little slutty whimper that he never realized he could make.

you withdrew your fingers out roughly earning a shake of kevs ass and a loud moan, almost a disappointed whimper even. giving his cheek a light slap then leaning down to whisper in kev’s ear “don’t worry, i got something better for you”.

unzipping your pants and pulled down your boxers you took out your cock and rubbed it between kev’s cheeks, really humping him and getting him to feel it as your purposely press against his hole with your tip then just sliding against it without going in. kev wanted to cry out and beg you to just shove it in if it wasn’t for the fact he was so fucked dumb from your fingers alone.

no worries tho, you knew what he wants, not that you can read his mind or anything but the way kev looked back at you, with sex-drunk looking eyes and pouting lips was just like that of your boyfriend’s, needy and very much dick-craving stare, who were you to deny a whore its purpose?

and just when your boyfriend thought he could have a moment of respite, he’s being pounded into again. he starts sobbing and begging you to stop, spouting out “i’m sorry” and “forgive me”. but just like kev you threw your head back at how tight he was, your cock fighting to force itself even deeper in his little virgin hole, while kev is crying out in pain and somewhat pleasure, slowly losing more and more control over his body as he thrusted his hips front and back.

you watch as kev humps back and forth getting more of your cock in his hole and fucking into your boyfriend who’s lost in shameful bliss, and honestly you couldn’t feel a thing, he is inexperienced in bottoming you assumed… even tho he looks like one, ah well you just have to regain control again.

as you deemed kev well adjusted for your cock you finally grabbed his hips stilling his body and pulled back far leaving the pre-covered tip hovering just a bit inside his hole then thrusting your hip fast again reaching all the way past his prostate and deep in his guts, oh god kev felt like throwing up, screaming out as he felt like he got punched in the stomach,, oh he just came.. well that’s embarrassing.

kev tried to mask his ejaculation from you, he didn’t want to admit he just came from getting a cock up his ass but you took notice regardless, of course you would just from the way his back arched out? let alone his girly-ish moan that kev himself didn’t know he had in him.

you looked directly into your boyfriend’s eyes, as you started up a slow pace fucking in and out of kev’s hole, “pathetic really, this guy is who you choose instead of me? unreal” but at this point neither lev or your boyfriend could register anything.

kev gasps and screams as his hole finally gets its taste of an actual cock for the first time, while your boyfriend trembles as he’s forced to endure kev’s cock fucking into him over and over again.

you really set a brutal pace for a first up the ass timer from the way kev was screaming, a bit annoying but honestly appealing to your ear.

with every thrust you make kev feels more and more like he’s in heaven, his perky nips rubbing against that of your boyfriend as he’s being manhandled by you, it was almost like they were kissing tits for tits. not only that but kev felt highly overstimulated, feeling pleasure from two end points, gosh how can this feel so good, he feels like he’ll cum again.

and he wasn’t the only one you can tell, as you continue to fuck up into kev but your eyes are glued to your boyfriend, staring daggers at him, seeing the way his face twists into different stages of sorrow and pleasure, soon he’s also braindead with his tongue hanging out like a used out whore from being double pounded, all while he struggled against his bound hands. now that’s a look you’re well familiar with, but no shot yer gonna have a cheating bitch get that sort of privilege.

you wrap your hands around kevs tummy and pull him back to and out of your boyfriends hole, pulling him back until his back is pressed against his chest, he whimpers out and shakes his head as you place him on your lap and spread his thighs wide.

your boyfriend whimpers out at the feeling if emptiness, and more so the look you gave him as you started thrusting up into kev while staring daggers onto him never cutting of eye contact. you want him to be ashamed, and more than anything you want him to feel jealous that he can only watch as you pound another,

unless he was into being a cuck then thats just sad.

what’s more sad is how unsatisfied you feel right now, your cock is hard and raging as you fuck into kev while manhandling him up and down on your cock in sync with your thrust, but you barely feel anything, more like kev is feeling most of it. sobbing, bawling and moaning like he was getting beat up, well he was getting his guts beat up thats one thing.

kev sobs turn into hoarse screams, his body shaking as he was fucked into over and over again. deep, you were in sososo deep in this position, he can feel you even deeper and it feels so good, way too good. god.

all while your boyfriend watched, tied down helplessly to the bed, years streaming down his face non-stop, as he watched you downgrade kev into a mere fleshlight right before his eyes, he shoulda been more careful, but shoulda coulda woulda all he can do is watch pathetically as his lil cock twitched at the sight against his own will.

kev lost in pleasure as he unconsciously reached a hand to his wet cock but was stopped mid stroke by you who took grabbed onto his cock instead, wrapping your hands around the moderate sized cock and squeezing tight, making kev shake his head left and right begging you to give him release.

“patience, well can’t assume you have any since you couldn’t wait to plow another man’s boyfriend,, well ex now i suppose” you said out-loud to kev while directly staring at your boyfriend.

you didn’t stop for a second continuing to fuck into kev, you fucked into him so deep you could swear you saw the outline of your cock against his stomach,, seriously how did he of all people get to fuck boyfriend? you weren’t sure with how he huffs and puffs random nonsense, fully cock-drunk.

you fucked harder into his hole, still being as tight even though you stretched it out properly.

you started to feel it more the harder his hole squeezed your cock and the more desperate your boyfriend looked at you, not kev but you.

was he envious? did he want to be the one getting fucked instead? maybe he finally realized the mistake he did, the fact that this kev will never be able to satisfy him like you will. well you were gonna give him a little taste.

you sped even more groaning as you felt yourself closing in on your peak, you chomped down onto kevs neck and closed your eyes, all while still holding a firm grip on kev’s cock preventing him from any form of pleasure other than your cock ramming into his guts.

your thrust grew shallow as you threw your head to the back, thighs shaking as you slowly move. “fuckk,,, there we go” your spunk shot up deep in kev’s guts as you stayed still making him cry out, it felt hot, he felt like his stomach was boiling.

and when you finally released your hands off his cock he came with a scream, one so loud you’re sure the dorm next door will not be appreciative about it.

the feeling of warm cum filling him to the brim and your cock pushing hard against his prostate plus being denied resulted in him orgasming a long streak of white that shot all the way to you’re boyfriend, soaking him fully.

some reached his face, eyes and bits even in his hair, “truly filthy”.

you pulled out and pushed kev till he fell forward on your boyfriend, losing all his strength to make even a single move.

you stretched out your arms and sighed, then got up and took one last glance at the sight before leaving, a job well done.

—-

you received a text message from an unknown number! report or accept the message?

report - accept

message has been accepted

unknown: hiya uh kev here 😶‍🌫️ u free after roll-call tmmr at midnight by chance?

[suliigwp]

IT TAKES TWO— TO TOXIC

max verstappen x reader | angst

SULI: it was a little hard for me to finish this cus I was feeling quite bad if ykyk lol but I did finish it— this is part one, I have the second one planned... Hope you guys like it — this is set in MV33 era. PART ONE.

SUMMARY: you two were young, didn't know what you were doing, didn't know how to handle something so serious both of you got yourselves into.

WORD COUNT: 4,987

WARNINGS: Sexual Scenes, 19yo. Having sex, Swearing, Toxic Situationship, Jos Verstappen.

It was nearing one in the morning, and you were still wide awake—though not by choice.

Your tiny apartment off campus was dimly lit by the glow of your desk lamp. The pages of your criminal law textbook were starting to blur as your highlighter hovered over the same line for the third time. The coffee you made at eleven had long gone cold. You’d been wearing the same hoodie since yesterday. Your legs were tucked underneath you, bare skin chilled against the worn couch, and a dull ache pulsed behind your eyes from reading too long.

You didn’t even hear the first knock.

Just a faint, distant tap. Then another. Then again—sharper this time.

You frowned, paused your music, and turned your head slowly toward the source. The window. The one by your kitchen table.

You already knew.

With a sigh heavy enough to carry a storm, you got up, heart already pounding as you pulled the curtain aside.

There he was.

Max Verstappen. Hoodie pulled over his messy hair, a smirk already ghosting his lips. One hand shoved in his pocket, the other lightly rapping his knuckles against the glass.

Like it hadn’t been four days since you’d heard from him. Like he hadn’t vanished after his last race without even a text. Like he belonged here.

You unlocked the window, sliding it up just enough to hiss, “Are you serious?”

He grinned. “You gonna let me in or make me stay out here with the raccoons?”

You gave him the coldest look you could manage. He climbed in anyway.

He landed softly, moving through your apartment like muscle memory. Like he still remembered the creak in the third floorboard or where your slippers always ended up. He shook out his hoodie, dropping it on the back of a chair, and straightened up, looking around like something had changed.

Nothing had.

Not really.

"You look tired," he said, nodding toward the scattered textbooks. “Midterms?”

You blinked at him. “Don’t.”

Max looked at you then. Really looked. You hated that he still had that effect on you—like you were some kind of puzzle he never quite solved, like he’d missed something and was always chasing the answer.

“Four days, Max,” you said flatly. “Four days and not even a message.”

“I figured you didn’t want to hear from me,” he said with a shrug, stepping closer.

You backed away.

“Stop doing that. Just... dropping off the planet and showing up whenever it suits you. I’m not a stop on your way home from the airport.”

He raised a brow. “I didn’t come from the airport.”

You crossed your arms. “Where, then?”

“Hotel,” he said. “Dropped my stuff off. Thought about sleeping. But I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

You hated how fast that cracked your composure.

You hated him for knowing it would.

“You can’t keep doing this,” you said, voice lower now. “This doesn’t mean anything, Max. You don’t text me. You don’t call. You don’t want anything real. You made that pretty fucking clear.”

He was right in front of you now. So close you could smell his cologne, the rain on his jacket, the faint scent of grease still clinging to him from the garage. You didn’t move.

“I know,” he said softly. “I know I fucked everything up.”

“You didn’t fuck anything up,” you whispered. “Because there was nothing to ruin.”

His hand brushed your wrist. Just a touch. Gentle. Familiar. Dangerous.

“Then tell me to leave.”

You opened your mouth, but the words wouldn’t come.

Because you didn’t want him to.

Because part of you still ached for him, no matter how much it hurt to admit it.

So you didn’t say anything.

And he kissed you.

Hard.

You gasped against his mouth, stumbling backward until your hip hit the edge of the table. His hands were under your hoodie in seconds, fingers finding your waist like they never forgot where they belonged. You let yourself melt into it for one stupid, selfish second—his body pressed against yours, his breath warm on your skin, your fingers twisting in the fabric of his t-shirt like you needed to hold onto something.

“You’re not staying,” you mumbled against his lips, but your voice was already trembling.

He pulled back just enough to whisper, “I never do.”

But he was already kissing you again. Pulling you closer. Lifting you up until your legs wrapped around his waist and he carried you to the bed like he hadn’t done this before—but like he wanted to do it right this time.

Later, the room was quiet.

You were curled under the blanket, back to him, staring at the wall. His arm was draped over your waist, fingers tracing mindless shapes into your skin.

“You make me feel crazy,” you said quietly.

He didn’t answer at first.

Then, finally, a whisper: “You drive me insane too.”

You turned, just enough to see his face in the dark. His expression unreadable. His mouth drawn into a tight line like he wanted to say more but didn’t know how.

“Do you even care what this does to me?” you asked, and your voice cracked.

Max looked at you, and for once, he didn’t joke. Didn’t deflect.

“Yeah,” he said. “I do.”

And then he stood.

He got dressed slowly. Pulled his hoodie back over his head. Grabbed his keys. And without another word, he slipped out the window and disappeared into the night.

You lay back, eyes burning.

You told yourself next time, you wouldn’t open the window.

But you knew you would.

…

One of their good nights—late, quiet, unguarded.

It was 2:13 a.m. The streetlights outside her apartment blinked slowly against the curtains.

She should’ve been studying. She still had case briefs open on the floor, a half-highlighted textbook on her desk.

But he was on her bed—half-asleep, shirtless, hair still damp from the shower she made him take after sneaking in.

She sat cross-legged beside him, highlighter in one hand, the other idly tracing the line of his shoulder blade.

“That can’t be comfortable,” he murmured.

She looked down. “What?”

“Sitting like that. While you study. You’re gonna destroy your back.”

She raised an eyebrow. “This from the guy who gets thrown around in a car at 300 kilometers per hour.”

“Still. Come here.”

He reached out lazily and pulled her in by the wrist until she was lying across his chest.

Her cheek pressed against the warm skin just above his heart. It was beating steady. Softer than she expected.

She closed her eyes for a second.

“You know this is stupid,” she said quietly.

“I know.”

“It’s going to end badly.”

“Probably.”

“So why are you still here?”

He didn't answer right away. Just curled his arm tighter around her back. His thumb moved in small, slow circles against her spine.

“Because when I’m with you,” he whispered, “the noise shuts off.”

She stilled.

“And that never happens for me. Ever.”

The room went quiet. Her hand moved up to rest just beneath his jaw.

He turned his head slightly. Kissed the top of hers.

“Just stay,” he said. …

The office was too quiet.

You’d been staring at the same corner of the window for five minutes. Your fingernail scraped the edge of your paper cup like it might crack under your thumb.

Your therapist waited.

She always waited.

“I don’t know why I’m here,” you said finally.

You knew it was a lie. But you said it anyway.

Across from you, she gave you a gentle nod. “That’s okay. We can figure that out together.”

You rolled your eyes. You hated that kindness. That soft, neutral patience. You weren’t used to it. You didn’t trust it.

“I’m tired,” you said, more sharply this time. “Of pretending like I’m fine with everything. Of trying to be fine when clearly I’m not.”

She leaned forward a little, still calm. “Is this about Max?”

Your stomach clenched.

You shrugged, trying to look unaffected. “It’s always about Max.”

Silence again.

You looked down at your hands. Your nail had finally broken. You picked at it like that was more important than this conversation.

“He’s not even... He’s not my boyfriend. He never was. He’s just this—this stupid habit I can’t quit.”

“Do you care about him?”

You swallowed.

“That’s the problem.”

The words fell like they’d been waiting to escape for weeks.

“I care too much. And I hate it. I hate how easily he gets to me. I hate that he doesn’t have to try. I hate that he doesn’t even want the same things, and I still let him in.”

“What do you want?” your therapist asked, gently.

You blinked.

“I want him to feel it,” you said slowly. “I want him to know what it’s like to not be enough.”

There it was.

Your throat felt tight. Your hands were suddenly too hot. You crossed your arms and sat back in the chair like the confession hadn’t cracked your ribs open.

“I’ve done everything right,” you said. “I work hard. I don’t get attached. I study. I keep my shit together. I try to be good, and I try to be calm, and I try to be the better person—and it never fucking works.”

“So what would happen if you stopped trying to be the better person?”

That question landed hard. You looked away.

Your voice dropped to a whisper.

“Then maybe he’d finally hurt like I do.”

…

It was late. Again.

You didn’t ask how he got in this time—whether it was the window or the spare key you hadn’t had the guts to take back. You were in the kitchen, barefoot in a t-shirt and shorts, when he walked in like he owned the air you were breathing.

Your spine straightened.

“You’re back,” you said flatly, not even looking at him. “Must’ve run out of other places to go.”

Max dropped his bag without answering. He stood in the doorway like a shadow you couldn’t shake.

“You’re pissed,” he said, voice quiet. Too calm.

You snorted. “You disappear for four days, show up in the middle of the night like it’s your fucking right, and you think I’m pissed?”

You turned then, and he looked just as tired as you remembered. Maybe worse. Red-rimmed eyes, messy hair, jaw clenched tight like he was swallowing everything he wanted to say.

“You didn’t text either,” he said. “Don’t act like it’s one-sided.”

You stared at him. That stupid, familiar twist in your chest burned.

“You’re unbelievable.”

He stepped closer. “Why? Because I don’t grovel when you go quiet for days?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Because I don’t have time to babysit a man who doesn’t know what the hell he wants.”

The second it left your mouth, the air in the room shifted. He laughed—but there was no humor in it. Just that mean, sharp, cutting edge he knew how to wield when you touched a nerve.

“You think I don’t know what I want?”

“Clearly you don’t.”

“No,” he said, stepping into your space. “I think I do. I think you just like pretending you don’t care.”

He was close now. Too close. And your voice dropped.

“Don’t act like you love me, Max.”

He didn’t flinch.

But he didn’t back away either.

“You’re not special,” you added coldly. “You think you are, but you’re not. You’re just another boy who thinks wanting me is enough.”

His hands curled into fists. You turned your back.

“You know,” he said, voice low, “I’ve actually been trying. To be good for you. To keep up.”

You exhaled a laugh—hard and hollow. “Trying?” you repeated, venom in your tone. “You flirt with every girl in the paddock. You disappear. You show up like this and expect what? Gratitude? You’re a little boy playing at being serious.”

Max’s face darkened. “I didn’t know there was a checklist.”

You walked past him, brushing his shoulder. Intentionally casual.

He was breathing harder now. You didn’t stop.

“I don’t need you to try,” you said, twisting the blade. “I don’t need anything from you.”

“Then why do you let me in?”

You turned slowly, arms folded, jaw tight.

“Because you're easy.”

His face changed.

“Because you make it easy to forget how alone I am. Because you’re stupid enough to come back every time. Because I know how to use you.”

He didn’t move. You could see it happening behind his eyes—that part of him cracking, splintering, trying to patch itself back together before you noticed.

But you wanted him to feel it. You wanted him to know he wasn’t the only one who could cut deep.

“I’m not stupid,” he said.

You stared at each other. Breathing hard. The silence stretching thin.

He nodded— like he understood, or tried to make himself understand.

“You’re right,” he said. “This is easy. Because it’s nothing.”

Then his hand reached up. Brushed against your jaw. And just like that, the whole thing snapped.

You kissed him first—angry, teeth, heat. He kissed you back like he wanted to make you pay for it.

Your hands were in his hair, dragging him in. His mouth was rough, relentless, like he was trying to forget everything you’d just said. He shoved you back against the wall, and you clawed at the hem of his shirt. It hit the floor. So did yours.

He lifted you in one movement. Your back hit the bedroom door.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” you whispered, as he kissed your throat.

“No,” he muttered, voice raw. “Just fucking convenience, right?”

You ripped his hoodie off, fingers tangling in his shirt, clawing it over his head. He pushed you onto the bed, your back hitting the mattress, lips never leaving yours.

“You hate me?,” he breathed, as he pulled your shorts down.

“I do.”

“Liar.”

He shoved your knees apart, dragging his fingers up the inside of your thigh slowly—like he was daring you to stop him. You let your head fall back as he sank two fingers inside you without warning. You gasped.

“Still so fucking wet for someone you hate,” he growled, curling them.

You moaned, one hand gripping the sheets, the other fisting his hair.

“You’re and idiot if you think it's because of you,” you said again, like you did most nights.

“Keep saying it,” he said, “see if I believe you.”

You pulled him in, and the moment he lined up, there was no pause. No tenderness. He pushed into you in one sharp, brutal thrust that knocked the air from your lungs.

“Fuck—Max—”

“That’s it,” he groaned. “Take it.”

His rhythm was relentless. Angry. Your bodies colliding with enough force to shake the frame. You kissed like you hated each other. Touched like you couldn’t stop. Every time you cried out, he swore under his breath like he was falling apart.

“I fucking hate you,” he whispered into your neck. “And that's the only thing that makes this enjoyable— fuck.”

You choked out a sound that could’ve been a sob. Could’ve been a laugh.

“That’s what you’re good for.”

He pulled your wrists above your head, pinned them there. His mouth met yours again, slower now, but more vicious. Tongue, teeth, lips. Bruises bloomed along your collarbone. His name left your mouth like a confession.

You came around him with your body arching violently, and he followed right after, groaning against your throat like your skin was the only thing keeping him from shattering.

…

The debrief room was empty when Jos walked in.

Max sat alone at the small table, still in his fireproofs, elbows on his knees, sweat drying at his temples. He hadn’t spoken to anyone. He hadn’t taken off his race boots. He just stared at the floor like it might change what happened out there.

He heard the door open.

Didn’t look up.

He didn’t have to. The air changed when Jos walked in. Always did.

The silence dragged.

Then, quietly—flat and surgical:

“P7.”

Max swallowed. Didn’t speak.

“I watched that lap twice. You braked too early into Turn 9. You hesitated on the exit.”

Still, Max said nothing.

Jos stepped closer. Voice still calm. Still cold.

“You don’t trust the car. Or you don’t trust yourself. Which one is it?”

Max blinked once. His jaw was clenched so tight it ached.

Jos walked a slow circle around him. Not pacing—hunting.

“I warned you,” he said. “Didn’t I?”

Max stared at the floor.

“That girl—what’s her name? The one you sneak off to every time you’re home. She’s in your head. And now?” He gave a humorless chuckle. “Now she’s in your driving.”

Max finally lifted his eyes. Just for a second.

That was enough.

“You think I don’t see it?” Jos said, sharper now. “The late nights. The missed sim sessions. The soft hands on track. You’re slipping, Max.”

Silence.

“And for what? Some law student who strings you along when it’s convenient? Who wants to feel important because you’re hers?”

Jos leaned closer, voice barely above a whisper.

“You’re a world champion. Act like it.”

“Or walk away now—before you humiliate yourself further.”

Max’s throat worked, but no sound came out.

He couldn’t look at him.

Because Jos wasn’t wrong—not in a logical way. Not in the way Max had been taught mattered.

And worst of all?

Jos didn’t yell.

He didn’t even raise his voice.

He didn’t have to.

Max nodded once. Small. Robotic.

Jos didn’t say goodbye. Just left him sitting there—small in a room that suddenly felt too big.

…

TWO MONTHS LATER

The rooftop was already buzzing. Warm amber lights stretched from one end to the other, strung between trees and wrought iron posts like constellations of people wealthier and weathier than each other. Champagne clinked against crystal. Laughter drifted like perfume. Everyone looked like they belonged.

She didn’t.

Still, she moved through the crowd like she had somewhere to be. Like she wasn’t already scanning every face before she even made it to the bar.

A friend had dragged her here. Said she needed to “come back to life.” She’d laughed at that—come back to life from what?

She accepted a glass of something dry and cold from a passing tray and forced herself to sip. The music was light jazz, layered under the hum of conversation and the occasional stiletto on tile. Her heels clicked softly as she stepped away from the crowd and toward the edge, where the view swallowed the coastline whole.

And for a minute—just a minute—she almost relaxed.

She took a breath. Closed her eyes. Let the wind lift her hair off her collarbone.

You’re fine. It’s fine. He’s not here. It’s Monaco. You’ll never see him again.

She turned to face the party.

And then—

there he was.

It felt like a blow.

Like the air had been sucked out of the rooftop and into her lungs all at once—too much and not enough.

He stood maybe ten feet away, a little to the left. Backlit by gold lighting and the soft, artificial warmth that made everyone glow. Dressed in black. No tie. Shirt open just enough to show skin. One hand curled around a whiskey glass.

The other?

Resting on the waist of a girl she didn’t recognize.

Blonde. Long legs. One of those bright, effortless smiles that made people look twice. She was saying something—leaning in too close—and Max was grinning. At her. With her. Like it was easy.

Her chest tightened. Not dramatically. Not like in the movies. Just… pressure. Like the zipper on her dress had suddenly been pulled too tight.

He hadn’t seen her yet. Or if he had, he was doing a damn good job pretending he hadn’t.

She couldn’t look away.

There had been a time—not long ago—when that hand had rested on her waist like that. When his smile only softened when he looked at her. When he whispered things meant only for her in the dark of her apartment, skin to skin, breaths tangled like confessions.

Now he was here. With someone else. Laughing like he hadn’t gutted her. Like he hadn’t left her in silence.

Like she’d never existed at all.

She took a slow step back. Then another. Her fingers gripped the flute so tightly the stem might snap.

Someone brushed past her shoulder, and still she didn’t move. Just watched.

And then—he looked up.

Eyes straight to hers. No warning. No build-up. Just bam—eye contact like a slap.

She didn’t flinch.

He did.

Barely. But enough. The shift in his jaw, the flicker in his eyes. He knew. He remembered.

His smile faltered. His shoulders squared. He said something to the girl—quick, quiet, brushing her hand away like it burned.

And then?

He just looked at her.

No expression. No excuse. No apology. Just stood there, like a monument to everything he wasn’t brave enough to say.

The noise of the party dulled around her. Her vision narrowed. All she could see was him, and all she could feel was—

Nothing. Just hollow.

And that was worse.

Because once upon a time, she’d wanted to scream at him. To cry. To beg. To understand.

But now?

She just wanted to leave.

So she turned, slow and deliberate, and walked away. No drama. No words. Just her spine straight and her heartbeat in her ears.

He was smiling. He was touching someone else. He looked well.

And she stood there like a fool with a champagne flute and shaking hands, trying not to throw up on her heels.

So when the guy from earlier—Luca, or maybe Leo—brushed past her again with that smirk and a flirty little, “You changed your mind yet?”

She smiled.

“Actually, I did.”

She took his arm.

It was too easy. He was tall, attractive, probably rich. Wore his confidence like a linen blazer. He looked at her like she was the most interesting thing in the room—and for once, that’s exactly what she wanted.

But it wasn’t about him.

Not even a little.

They moved through the crowd slowly, deliberately, like something worth watching.

She let her hand rest on his chest. She leaned in when he spoke. She laughed at nothing.

And then, like a magnetic force pulling her spine to attention—

She felt it.

Eyes.

Heavy. Unrelenting. Burning into her like headlights on an open road.

Max stood where she’d left him. Same black dress shirt, same perfect hair. But now?

He was still.

The girl who’d been beside him was gone—just an empty space and a lowball glass in her place.

And Max was staring.

Across the entire rooftop, through the sea of fake smiles and soft jazz, straight at her.

Jaw clenched. Expression blank. That specific kind of rage that looked calm to strangers but sent her heart racing because she knew better.

Let him feel it.

She turned slightly in the other guy’s arms, just enough to face Max.

Then, without breaking eye contact, she leaned in and said something into Luca’s ear—something low and meaningless. It didn’t matter what.

He grinned. Handsy. Confident.

“You’re trouble, aren’t you?” he murmured against her hair.

It took exactly eight seconds of watching her drape herself all over that guy for Max to lose it.

He saw the laugh—the way she tilted her head, all neck and soft skin. The way she pressed her hand to the guy’s chest like she owned him.

And when the guy leaned in and kissed her?

Max didn’t think.

Didn’t breathe.

He moved.

Straight across the rooftop. Fast. Focused. Unforgiving.

People noticed. Someone called his name. He didn’t care.

“What the fuck is this?”

His voice hit her sharp—cutting straight through the crowd like a shot fired.

She pulled back from the guy, slow, and turned to face him.

“Don’t start with me.”

“Start? You’re the one playing games like some bored little brat.”

“Go back to your blonde,” she snapped. “You seemed perfectly fine thirty minutes ago.”

“Don’t fucking mention her.”

“Oh? Why not?” she spat. “Did I ruin your perfect night with your arm candy? Sorry, Max, I forgot I’m not allowed to exist anymore.”

The guy beside her shifted. “Is there a problem—”

“Stay out of it,” Max barked without even looking at him.

“Jesus,” she said, eyes narrowing. “You think you still get to talk to me like that?”

“I think you’re acting like a goddamn child.”

“And you’re acting like you have a say over my actions.”

The slap still echoed when he grabbed her arm.

Not roughly. Not gently either.

Just… firmly. Like he was done holding back.

“We’re not doing this here,” Max said, voice low and dangerous.

“Get off me—”

“Now.”

“Let go of me!” she barked, heels scraping across the tile as Max dragged her down the hallway just off the rooftop terrace.

He didn’t. Not until they were far enough from the music, the chatter, the pretty fucking people pretending they didn’t just witness a public meltdown.

The second they were alone, he spun on her.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?”

She shoved him hard in the chest. “Don’t touch me like that ever again.”

“You’re lucky that’s all I did! What the fuck was that?”

She laughed—a sharp, bitter, fuck you sound.

“You mean the part where I kissed someone? God forbid I get a taste of how it feels to be you.”

“I don’t parade people around to get a fucking reaction.”

“No, you just disappear and show up with some blonde on your arm like you didn’t ghost me for months.”

“Are you still crying about that? Jesus Christ.”

“You’re such a fucking asshole.”

“And you’re still obsessed with me. Look at you.”

“Obsessed?! I didn’t even know you were gonna be here, Max!”

“Yeah? That why you’ve been eye-fucking me all night while hanging off some guy who couldn’t even spell his own name?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“No. You want to act like a child, I’ll treat you like one.”

She got in his face then. “Try me.”

“You don’t want that.”

“No, you don’t want it—because the second I hit back, you fold like a little bitch.”

He stepped closer.

“Keep talking, princess. You’re a fucking expert at running your mouth until someone actually calls you on your shit.”

“Says the one who ran away.”

“I ran because you were a ticking fucking time bomb!”

“YOU ran because you’re a coward!”

“I ran because I was sick of pretending I wanted more than just fucking you!”

Silence.

“You fucking bastard!” She lunged at him, open-palmed fists pounding at his chest, arms, shoulders—anywhere she could reach. He didn’t block it. Didn’t flinch. Just stood there while she screamed.

“You really think you’re some gift to the world?! You think I was lucky to be used like that? You think that makes you a man?!”

“Don’t fucking twist this,” Max growled.

“Twist it? I lived it! I bled for it! I broke for you, and you’re standing here like it was all some joke?!”

“You’re not the only one who got fucking hurt!” he roared, finally shoving her back just enough to breathe. “You think I didn’t hate myself every time I left your place?! You think I didn’t feel like shit every time I lied to myself and said it was casual?!”

“Then why the fuck didn’t you stay?!”

“Because you made it impossible!”

“No, Max—YOU made it impossible. You needed me to be a fucking lifeboat while you drowned in your daddy issues and your career and whatever the hell you blame the world for, and the second I needed YOU—gone. Like a fucking ghost.”

“Oh shut the fuck up about needing me. You needed control. You needed power. The second I stopped crawling, you didn’t want it anymore.”

She shoved him again, harder this time. “You are so fucking delusional! I didn’t need control. I needed someone who didn’t treat me like a goddamn distraction.”

“You were a distraction! You were the only thing I couldn’t shut off!”

“Then you should’ve told me that before you shoved yourself inside me like it meant something!”

“Don’t do that!”

“Why not?! Too real?! Or too fucking true?!”

“You never cared about me!” she screamed. “You just liked that I made you feel wanted!”

“And you just liked that I hated myself more than you did!”

“Fuck you!”

“Fuck you too!”

“Hey! Enough!” Carlos burst in, grabbing Max by the shoulder, yanking him back so hard he nearly stumbled.

“Get your shit together, man. What the fuck are you doing?!”

At the same moment, Rebecca slipped between them, arms out, shielding her like a wall.

“Hey, hey—look at me. You’re done. That’s enough.”

“Don’t fucking touch me,” she snapped, eyes wild, voice still shaking.

“I’m not touching you,” Rebecca said calmly. “I’m standing between you and another goddamn breakdown.”

Max tried to surge forward again, eyes burning. “You think I liked walking away?! You think that was easy for me?!”

Rebecca held her ground. “You’re not saying anything that’ll fix it now!”

“Let him say it,” she spat. “Let him say every shitty little thing he’s been dying to throw in my face.”

“No,” Carlos said. “Because he’s not thinking. He’s not feeling! He’s burning everything to the ground because he’s afraid you’ll beat him to it.”

She blinked. Swallowed. Shook her head hard. “Don’t do that therapist shit right now.”

“Then go,” Rebecca said softly, still in front of her. “Come on. Let’s just go.”

“You’re not walking away from me again,” Max said, still breathing hard.

She looked over Rebecca’s shoulder. “Watch me.”

Then she turned and walked out. Rebecca followed.

Carlos waited. Watched Max.

“That’s twice now,” he muttered. “You gonna make it three?”

Max didn’t answer.

He just leaned back against the wall, dragged both hands down his face, and whispered—

“Fuck.”

PART TWO INCOMING...

Taglist, comment to be added; @angstynasty @cryinghotmess @mits-vi @dramaticpiratellamas @mimisweetz @mrssaturday @chiara8104 @moonlight-girls-posts @linnygirl09 @rue-t @danielricroll @the-vex-archives @trees-are-books @blodwyn4u @yoruse @ccrickett-t @l-a-u-r-aaa @multifans-things @woderfulkawaii @azrinableuet @mayax2o07 @everyday-is-sunday365 @devilacot @faithxyu @freyathehuntress @suibianupyourass make sure you can be tagged!

[skhv67]

this is my first time requesting but could you do post-surgery hyun ju with scissoring and she talks us through it omg🤭 + gentle/romantic aftercare

cw: smut, scissoring, implied inexperienced reader, reader tries to top and fails, top hyun-ju, post op hyun-ju, a tiny smidge of angst and fluff by the end. MDNI

wc: 1,4k

a/n: i have like 102873 wips to finish but I just had to do this one 😭

Hyun-ju loved how easy it was to make you scream and cry under her touch. How imprecise you were in comparison with her. The way you moved imprecisely, out of desperation for release. How you squirmed around her experienced fingers, which always moved so carefully, taking their time to explore you and hitting where you needed her the most with utmost exactitude.

Your adorable disposition to match her expertise is what had brought you to this moment. You between her legs, attempting to rub your cunt against hers.

"Are you gonna make me feel good, baby?" her tone was sweet, encouraging you to start moving.

Before you can respond, she gently repositions you, guiding your already slick pussy against hers. A hiss left your lips as you started moving in a slow pace. Not missing her clit was proving to be harder than you thought, even with her hands keeping you in the right position.

Your muscles didn't take too long to feel tired and sore only five minutes in, and you were struggling to get a satisfying rhythm. Frustration was taking over your movements, which started to become more rushed and messier. The feeling of her cunt on yours and the expecting look in her kind eyes clouded any shred of control you had over your craving body.

"You feel so good", she moaned, eyes now fixed on how your slick coated her folds.

Her pretty sounds hurried the movement of your hips, mind starting to feel dizzy and pleasure taking over the little composure you had left.

At that point you were too fucked out to notice your rushed strokes had strayed away from her cunt and you were just mindlessly rubbing yourself against her thigh, but she was enjoying too much seeing how hungrily you grinded against her, despite you missing her aching core constantly.

"Feels good?" she gripped your hips tightly as you continued to ride her.

You could barely hear her through the deafening sound of your heartbeat. Her hands squished your hips warningly, and you manage to mutter an incoherent string of yeses, head nodding along with your words.

Hyun-ju's breath started to hitch. Catching glimpses of your wet sex between your movements had her itching to push you down and lick your mixed juices from your cunt, but she decided to let you have your moment.

As desire kept building up in her stomach, she was starting to struggle not to touch herself while seeing you so lost in your pleasure, but she didn't want to correct you, too scared of interrupting your dazzling state. At least until you came, which didnt seem too far away anyway.

She noticed your thighs starting to shake, body rocking aimlessly against hers. Her hands helped you to keep your rhythm, guiding you to reach your climax.

"Doing so well for me, pretty", her sweet praise made your sensitive clit throb with need. "Keep going."

A harsh orgasm washed over you and whatever words Hyun-ju said next don't reach your ears. Your legs clenched around her leg, breath still ragged, and eyes closed in bliss. She stared at you tenderly, fingers caressing the soft skin of your hips.

Delicate hands touch your cheek as you fight to keep rubbing against her through your orgasm, to no avail, and soon enough she's throwing you on your back without a warning.

It takes you a few seconds to ground yourself, mind still hazy from your climax. You see her sitting in front of your spread legs.

"It's easier if we're both laying down" she explains, positioning her sex in front of yours.

You nod shyly, a bit embarrassed by her correction.

"Y'good?" she asked, eyes looking into yours for permission to keep going.

You fight a smile creeping up your lips, finding her hesitation endearing. She then swiftly pulls her body into yours, connecting you both again.

A shaky breath escaped her lips, the feeling of your warmth wetting her cunt was intoxicating. She wished she could drop to her knees and slip her fingers into your dripping pussy. It looked so swollen and inviting, but you had begged her for this so nicely that she couldn't just give into her urges.

You quickly noticed she was right, now you could feel her better, closer. Her body fit ridiculously well against yours. The sensation of her slick folds rubbing against your clit was electrifying and the pace she set had your legs shaking.

She looks down where youre connected and her hands clenched the sheets at the sinful sight of your slick-wrenched thighs.

She's forced to turn her gaze away when she felt her high approaching. Her back arching as she kept rocking her hips against yours. The urgency of her movements threw you over the edge again before she could even reach her first orgasm.

Hyun-ju chuckled when she felt your core throbbing, but you were too far gone to feel embarrassed anymore.

"Gimme a hand, baby?" her ragged breath sent shivers down your spine.

You tried to move against her, but your body was too sore and tired to cooperate. Determined to fulfill her request you plopped down in front of her glistening pussy and started devouring it just how she had taught you.

"Look at me" your hazy eyes locked with hers at her command.

You'd swear you could cum at the mere sight of her chest going up and down in harbored breaths and her dark hair sticking to her pretty face ever so alluringly.

Lust-filled eyes looked into yours as you lapped on her cunt greedily, tasting every single drop of cum dripping from her warm hole. The fact that you could taste your own juices made you roll your eyes in ecstasy, rolling your tongue on her clit with more urgency than before. Your digits teased her entrance as your wet lips sucked on her swollen bud, finally making her reach her high.

Hyun-ju thrusted her cunt against your eager tongue as she rode off her climax and you didn't stop sucking on her soft skin until she gently pushed you away.

◇

She laughed softly at your exhausted expression, "it's a hard position, not my favorite pick"

"J's wanted to try" your voice sounds muffled against her sweaty skin.

Placing your head gently on the pillow and unwrapping herself from your grasp, she left to the bathroom for what felt like hours before she came back with a wet towel and a glass of water. Trying to disturb you as little as possible, she cleaned you carefully enough to not overstimulate your sore nub, fingers tracing and massaging over the marks she left behind on you today.

"Your turn, lay down"

As you're about to get up to get a towel, you hear her snort behind you. Big eyes looking at you with amusement, but she quickly gave you an apologetic smile, "I already cleaned myself"

With a loud whine you drop yourself back down with her. You close your eyes as a slight pout made its way into your face, unable to hide your disappointment. It wasn't new for your girlfriend to put your comfort over hers, and while it melted your heart feeling so taken care of, her excessive selflessness frustrated you.

You feel her plush lips on your forehead, kissing your frown off your face, and you suppress the giggle threatening to escape your lips when the soft hair of her bangs tickled your skin. You hear her mumble a little 'sorry' as she kissed your pouty lips.

A weak sigh slips out of your mouth, too tired to be mad at her right now.

"I just wanna take care of you too"

Your heart nearly jumped out of your chest when you felt a soft peck on your eyelid.

You open your eyes, Hyun-ju still leaving a trail of soft kisses throughout your face, "I know, I'm sorry"

She looked genuinely sorry. You knew she was having a hard time unlearning these habits, still feeling guilty and vulnerable whenever she was selfish in the slightest.

"I don’t understand how you never get tired after... Y'know" you changed the subject, choosing not to ruin the moment for her.

She looked away with a smug, yet shy grin on her face. Her face looked so angelic before you. Her skin was glistening and her make-up had been wiped off, leaving her swollen pink lips and big shiny eyes bare before you.

"Work on your stamina", she giggled.

Rolling your eyes, you press a quick peck on her nose before forcing her to rest her head against your chest, still feeling her giggles reverberating through your body.

[shuamorollss]

I hate you, in ways I can't even fathom...

✩˖. ˖˙ ❝ As Mingyu sets up a farewell party before his leave for college. He finally gets the courage to have one last chat with the person who he dearly hates and deeply adores. ❝

Established e2l, best friend's brother trope, kinda angst with fluff ending, both of them being an overthinking mess, Gyuri as Mingyu's sister >_< Warnings— confrontation scene is kinda corny but bear w me, Sloppy writing but again, bear with me. + anything else I forgot :P

note — I've written this a year ago and finished it like a few month back portraying another idol(Sunghoon) but I changed it to Mingyu the last minute bc I haven't been updated w Enhypen nowadays and I wanna focus on posting svt-related fics :'( Did some small tweaks here and there since I genuinely really liked how I wrote this fic and thought, "Wow, I should post this." and I did. 😁

note 2 — I'm starting my college year in just a few weeks as psych freshie! Rlly excited for this new fresh of air and I'm already expecting my hectic schedule during this, but since I regained my enjoyment in writing, I might post more from time to time just to relieve my stress after writing countless of essays during my senior year. Actually, I've already been working on a S.coups fic recently and I'm really passionate abt this one! Anyway I'm rambling atp so just... Enjoy this fic! I'm officially back in tumblr nation! :P

© shuamorollss. please do not modify, edit, copy or reproduce any of the works published.

Mingyu delightfully chatters with the guests, his eyes couldn't stop darting your way as you talk to his sister. The curves of your lips senses the enjoyment of your current conversation, the way your eyes sparkled at whatever his sister was saying, and the way how gentle you sip your drink as your eyes never left on his sister's talky figure. This observation felt odd to him since why would he take notice of you, sipping your drink? And why isn't he paying attention to what his mom's friend has to say?

Even if Mingyu’s eyes are forcing itself to glue onto the nice woman in front of him, the one who stuck mostly is you, in his mind.

He felt devastated, to say the least. The thought of not teasing and annoying you for a long time, and most importantly,

not seeing you for a very... long time.

As the thought progresses in his head, the more his heart sinks at every ounce of your presence dissipating into his life.

Despite that, what he fears right at this moment is you forgetting that very presence of him in your life.

As much as him slowly forgetting you haunts him (which is impossible now considering you have forever been engraved in this man's mind and soul), what trickles him more to despair is that if you forget him, he becomes a nobody into your vision. Possibly his life.

So how? How would he be able to tell you that he doesn't want you to forget him, and that you should be aware that he cherishes you, so much. Maybe even too much.

As the conversation came to its end, relieved that the woman didn't suspect the man's uninterest towards her blabber. Mingyu finally came to an impulsive courage to look for you, tell him how he feels, and probably start a relationship with you? Who knows? He'll make sure to maintain a long distance relationship with you even if things get busy.

As long as he's doing it for you, he won't hesitate for anything.

However, as minutes passed, he looked back to where he last saw you.

You were gone.

Mingyu's house isn't huge, so he might be able to spot you at some corner in no time.

Although he looked everywhere and every corner inside the home.

Still no sign of you.

Where are you? Did you go home?

…

..

.

Did he miss his chance?

Not even daring himself to ask anyone about your whereabouts, his emotions quickly transformed into a gloomy blob, in an attempt to remain wobbled down and never move for the rest of the event too much to his dismay of finally losing you from his life.

Though he couldn't stand the embarrassment of his emotions overcoming his actions.

So, he kept it in.

He explored everything within these house walls without receiving concern on the guests' ends. He knew every room and place by heart from childhood, yet he still had the initial thought that you must've gone home already.

As he felt his heart dripping tears, he made his way outside his house, in hopes to see you outside at the very least, if you left, just leaving, or you might be outside right at this moment. He would wonder if he would make it out in the same nick of time as yours, not wanting to expect your figure already gone so early in the evening.

When Mingyu twisted the knob and pushed the door, he was met with your gasp, "Huh!—” turning your head in a panic from the tense creak of their front door.

Mingyu's heart immediately quickens, a feel of an arrow penetrating his chest as he lays his eyes down on your intense state, sitting down on a stair.

A noise that quickly makes his heart leap. Thank goodness, really.

"I thought you left?" Mingyu calmly, yet his cheeky smile never seemed to fade.

"I was just about to.." You responded, eyes shifting to the other house across the street.

"Oh."

His eyes followed yours as it landed on the same house you were still looking at. Thus, creating dead silence within your bubble area..

The silence didn't seem welcoming to you, as if Mingyu was fed up with your presence. You have always felt that his uninterest for you was always evident. They all felt real, and the way his eyes look at you with pure intimidation gets off with barely ease.

Yes, the silly banters still happen. Yet as time passes by you feel convinced that he progressively decreases his fondness of you.

You only came to realize this when you started to notice every bit of his actions and demeanors.

The way he avoids you, the way his eyes barely look into your way anymore when you tell him a snarky comeback you feel proudest to even say…

And the way he barely even talks to you in general.

Which was already odd to say the least, you would never observe someone this close before.

Yet here you are.

These observations you had discovered within Mingyu completely changed how you were around him. Sure the bickering and playful hatred stayed, yet those times couldn't stop you from overthinking that maybe you have gone too far with your words? Gradually being aware about the peculiar feelings for the man.

You’re still aware, of course. However, you have no idea what you want to be for him.

In some certain aspects, you crave for his attention...maybe a lot. As humiliating as it sounds.

Subconsciously imagining holding his warm hands similar to what happened back to the day you exactly started to overthink how you see your dearest best friend's obnoxious brother.

It's scary. It's dreamy.

It's everything you wish you never wanted.

Despite all this, you figured that anything close to being equals would be impossible to happen now. Since Mingyu seemed to not seek your presence around anymore. Even for just one small talk that consists of nothing but insults.

He was starting to avoid you for weeks, not even saying a word when you attempted to say hello.

It left an unhealed wound inside your heart. Even with this. You still attended his farewell party in hopes to see him one last time, even from afar(Also his sister invited you).

Seeing him again after weeks, makes you feel somewhat… humiliated.

As if every time you land a gaze at his way, you felt like falling to a pit once more. Rock bottom.

"We...Well, I...I should go now." You quickly stood up to your feet with anxious heaves of breaths, not wanting to prolong the awkward air.

He watches you, perplexed. "Huh— what? Already?" Mingyu stutters, his eyes shifting his gaze onto you with faint disbelief.

As he watches you about to take a step out of their porch, Mingyu mutters a word that you hear inaudibly.

You turn around subconsciously to see the man's figure startled as your eyes meet his, as if you had heard him mutter something about you.

"I'm sorry..."

"Huh? What do you mean?" you raised a brow.

"I said that you should go if you want but I also said I didn't want you to go and that—"

"You told me not to go?"

"Kinda..? I thought... you heard me say that…"

Your lips fight to plaster a small smile, still awkward, but still warm. "I didn't."

Mingyu inhales sharply, his heart thudding from the inside, "Well, don't go... just yet. We should talk."

Your body shifted to his direction, endeared by his bashful demeanor despite his body looking utterly intimidating to an outer view. Your chest feels relaxed at the thought of Mingyu finally having the means to talk to you even after his unexplained ghosting.

You joined him, your best friend, who's leaning forward onto their porch ramp beside him.

"Congratulations, by the way." You started, following his gaze into the nowhere streets of the neighborhood.

Mingyu felt the temperature rising in his cheeks, the genuine smile he shows at your greeting sets your heart at bay. Mirroring his sweet smile you always do enjoy and engraved.

"Thank you." He beamed, blinking onto your view beside him, then darting his vision in front.

Silence bloomed over once more. Subtly queasing over the small twists and turns your stomach was doing being just a few meters beside Mingyu.

"Congratulations to you too." he adds, finally dissipating the awkward feeling in your stomach and for what it seemed to be for the both of you. Receiving a questioning look shifting onto him.

"For what?" You laughed anxiously.

"You won't get to see this handsomely infuriating face anymore,"

You rolled your eyes and scoffed at his response. It was typical of him to have thought about it anyway. Though, you’ll miss it. Miss these moments with him.

You fix your composure as you feel your back slightly aching now, maybe the posture wasn't that daring to see when Mingyu went out through the door and met with your figure. But oh well.

“Wow.” You sneak out a short chuckle. You didn't know why but something about reliving the banters with Mingyu just made this whole lighthearted talk quite upsetting.

Mingyu was quick to catch the light flickering out of your tone, just by the forced chuckle alone. It made him… visibly concerned.

He shifts his gaze onto you once more, all while you were set to check up on the cutes-y house down by the road. Watching Mingyu’s beam slowly falter from your peripheral vision.

“Something on your mind?” He asks, sounding genuinely worried that got you feeling all the more gloomy.

You whip your head to look at him with widened eyes. You clearly didn't want to set off that vibe but you did, and the man read that all too well.

“No… I mean, No.” You clarify, laughing off with a slight curve on your lips to disregard the small crack in your heart.

Mingyu scoffed, unconvinced and skeptical, “I know that tone of yours. You're not fine.” He said.

Since when did he know that? You ask yourself, furrowing a brow at him.

You were silent, the air between you was silent, and it only confirmed Mingyu’s assumption.

He heaves out a sigh, darting his gaze to the house across the street, relaxing his shoulders and elbows as he leaned comfortable by the ramp.

“Look, I don't know if you're sad that I’m leaving and all… Since we never really haven't been in talking for awh—”

“I’m sorry.”

“Huh?” Mingyu blinked,

“I’m just, sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?”

“Cause you're like that!” You exclaimed, raising your brows in defense. You felt a bit of heat rising through your temper for absolutely no reason. You were upset, yes, but in no way was it valid for you to let it all out on the guy who barely did anything to you.

If ever, you should be putting all this anger to yourself. On how long it took for you to realize that you might actually… I miss him too much.

“You hate me, right?” you asked, but the man knew that was a rhetorical question. “You don't like me. In fact, you hate me. You didn't like it when I'm within the walls of your comforting space. You hate it when I’m closer to your sister than you are with her. You hate me because I’m considered as someone who’d only give nothing but bad things to your sister who’s so pure and innocent.”

“And you know, I hate you too. For being so protective and always pulling me down a slippery slope. Calling me names to convince Sophia that I’m nothing but a pot of bad luck. I fucking hated it whenever you steal my favorite spot at my favorite café.”

“And you know… our reasons aren't all that bad. It’s nothing big, you don't hate me cause I made a huge mistake, and vice versa. And then we have our moments when we got along, shared a laugh, and worked together.” She scoffs out a laugh, it seemed sarcastic and demeaning that Mingyu sensed understandably.

“And then after actually getting along. You’d take a step back and pretend nothing happened. Like we’re back to square one of heated arguments and bickering.”

“I should hate you, I really should, but I couldn't. Not when I see your presence and feel myself fumbling through the clouds with a thudding chest. I hate you, but why? Is it because you see me as a bad influence? Is it because of your intended stealing of my favorite seat? Or is it that you made me feel things I don't wanna feel?”

There was another silence. Mingyu couldn't really speak out about his thoughts. It was all too sudden. You were all too sudden.

“And—And now we're here. I’m attending your farewell party and then we’re talking like old pals again.” Your lips curved into a forcing smile, at least you were finding a bright side in all of this. Yet… it still cost nothing.

Mingyu was just there, standing. His eyes staring with confusion alongside a plethora of questions. He understood your outburst well, but his mind is utterly conflicted whether or not you were implying something he hoped you were trying to imply.

“What are you trying to say right now?” Was all the man could muster. He was just as baffled as you are quite frankly.

You knew that quite well, since you also didn't expect those thoughts to become verbal. All for him to hear.

You took a deep breath. “What I'm trying to say is, I like you. I like you so much.” You pause, now keeping the time to gather your thoughts.

“And it kills me slightly that you’ll never see me that way, because all I am to you is that I’m your sister’s annoying best friend.”

Mingyu stares, opens his mouth and closes it once more. He didn't know what to say. The thoughts in his mind were scribbling elsewhere with jumbled letters he couldn't muster anymore.

All he knew was his heart was beating. Fast.

You look down to the wooden floor, then darting up to take a look on his face. A face that’ll confirm your rejection. A face that shows so much confusement and annoyance.

“Do you hate me?”

All that took was for Mingyu to finally hit himself in his own senses by the words left from your mouth. Your breath hitched, eyes glistening with worry and hope.

Mingyu was all the more baffled to have heard such things from you. Your doubts, your fears, your feelings.

It’s new to him. All of this was new to him. He swore to himself that you hated him, and that's what kept himself away.

And now you're here, telling him how you feel, telling him things you wish to have just kept to yourself if you just went home, or just not attend at all—

“I do.”

Crack.

“What?” You mutter, your breath shaking. Startled through his cold answer.

“I hate you. We both know that.” He says, removing the contact of his elbows through the wooden ramp of their porch. His stance facing you as you look at him with curiosity.

“I hate you because you’re always clinging to my sister. You’re always letting her do things she wouldn't normally do. For getting out of her comfort zone." He says, seeping the assumption of him telling a whole list of why he hates you.

It’s only going to shatter you right here, right now.

“I hate you because you're such a know-it-all. You know how annoying you are when you’re like that?” He chatters, taking small steps closer towards you. His eyes pierced through you with intention.

“I hate you because you know how to fight back. Ways so snarky and defensive. Your complaints are pretentious and deafening.” He scoffs. Taking another step closer.

Bit by bit, his words start to dig into your heart. Feeling all walls crash to you each step he has taken.

It’s suffocating, it's baffling.

Though, you couldn't be expecting a good outcome from the man who you never once deemed a friend.

…

..

.

“And honestly, that made me realize how cool you actually are. And that got me jealous.” Another creak on the wooden floor.

“It made me reasonably look up to you.”

One last step. As if you're completely towered by him.

“and worse of all. I hate you,”

and Silence. You couldn't ponder for a more rational approach. Hell, you couldn't even think of anything at this point. All the things grazing in your mind were countless blurs and just incoherence. You couldn't get yourself to speak up and spit a genius counter. All you could do against him was stay silent as he took a deep breath before continuing his words.

“Because it took years for me to finally tell you that I love you. For the longest time.”

That, you didn't expect.

Your eyes whip up to meet his mellowed eyes, staring directly at you. With intentions and wants.

He wants for himself to be closer…and more closer to you.

You could feel your chest pumping rapidly, your breath hitching at the overwhelming feelings stirring up in your stomach. Your mind was fully blurry at this point, nothing in it but him, Kim Mingyu. The menace he is.

You kept your gaze onto him, freezing your expression as he gently held your hand. The contact of his warmth sends shivers down your spine. Slowly holding it up as his head lowers down, his soft lips fervently pressing on the dropped down temperature of her hand.

“Telling you that I love you…the same time I have to say goodbye.” He whispered, adding to his previous confession.

This is where you processed it. The entirety of it. His words, his intentions, his own wants match to your needs.

The need to have him this close, that's what you need right now.

Because after all this time, he wanted you just as much as you wanted him.

And that is enough for you to know that whatever this is between you, isn't one-sided anymore. Or never at all at this point.

He holds onto your hand for dear life as he leans closer. His eyes drop down to gaze at your plump lips with fervent need.

“I want you, Y/N.” He whispers. Filled with honeys and sweets and your heart makes mellow beats while you perk up a grin with evident anticipation.

“Please…” He adds, his voice lowering in tone. Shaking almost. Transferring your soft hands to cup the side of his face with ease. Slowly pulling him closer to your embrace.

“Mingyu…” You whisper mellowly, eyes meeting him, desperately seizing you in this distance.

“I have wanted you for the longest time.” He blurts out, interrupting your words for a few seconds until he couldn't get the right capacity in his brain to process any more words of longing as he lunges in and breaks the distance. “More than you think.” His lips have finally met yours in a passionate kiss.

Both mouths mold to each other in complete unison. He moves his hands up to your hips and pulls her even closer to him, pressing his whole body against yours too in order to feel her skin to skin contact.

He pulls back slightly, just so he can get a few words out in between his kisses on her lips. "I need you to be mine." he whispers softly, a slight desperation in his tone as he pulls you close again, kissing you once more. His tongue makes a leeway to explore your own as you feel your mind and stomach daze into wondrous bliss. Body suddenly feeling as if it fell from the clouds landing onto a pile of soft petals of daisies and tulips sending you into utter euphoria.

This is what you wanted. This is what you needed.

Now, feeling breathless under his grasp. You finally managed to inhale sharply, taking the initiative to pull yourself back from the contact with the close distance still intact. Panting from the pressure and brain cloudy from that whole instance. You felt your stomach churning and twisting as you took each breath to process that you really just kissed Kim Mingyu.

There was silence between the two of you. The only noise being the chatter and laughter happening inside Mingyus’ abode as the both of you stare into consciousness.

All you could play in your head were his soft whispers of being yours. He wants you, and you, and you, and you—

“Y/N.”

You snap out of your imaginative trance as your eyes dart up onto his face, looking down at you in another crave to taste your lips once more.

But he refused to dig it himself. Instead, he just held your face. Carefully. His thumbs rubbing your cheeks with soft grace.

“I want you. I love you. I don't wanna leave you.” He chanted almost everything he felt, causing your heart to mellow at his honeydew words. The edges of your lips creeping up into a smile, leaning close to him to have your foreheads touching.

“I don't want you to leave either,” you start, your smile slowly faltering. “But…we both know you have to.” You retort. Your tone lingering with disappointment, kicking back to the reality of it all. “This is huge for you.”

His thumbs began to rub extremely slowly as he muttered the words, “I’ll take you with me.” Causing you to slightly widen your eyes at him, startled.

“Mingyu, you can’t—”

“I know I can't.” He huffs, “Just please, stay with me for now. I’ll leave tomorrow, and I all I want to be with you right now…fuck.” He hissed by the end, transferring his hands as it held your waist. Pulling you into his embrace.

This is the first time you have felt Mingyu’s need.

And it’s solely for you.

Though you have known before that after this, and for the days leading on, you will have to endure the moments without his presence. He’s going to a prestigious university and you are left here with your best friend, who’s also his beloved sister.

One more year wouldn't be that bad.

“I'll come to you after I graduate,” You mumble through the fabric of his shirt, causing him to perk up a smile as he tightens the embrace.

“I promise you that.” You finish with a smile.

…

You and Mingyu finally made amends and had a passionate talk about your own futures and plans with mutual bonds and respect. Both of you finally decided to get back inside the party, with him opening the door for you. Taking a step foot into his home with giggles and smiles then immediately stopping at the sight that welcomed them.

Mingyu raises a brow at his sister alongside almost every guest within the party looking at their way with sly smirks and teasing grins.

“Uhm… Gyuri?”

Sophia widens her eyes, acting clueless. “What?”

“What's going on?” He questions once more. His hand lightly grazed up to hold yours at his back, wanting the people at front to see the contact.

But they already knew what's up.

“Well…” Gyuri widens a beam as she inhales before continuing. “Not only did you get into Harvard… But you also got yourself a girlfriend?!” She broadcasts with evident ecstasy. Causing almost all of his relatives, friends, and family to celebrate and cheer that caused the both of you and Mingyu to stare in confusion.

“Wait, what are—”

“Oh don't worry dear brother.” She grinned slyly, reaching ear to ear.

“I heard everything.”

[zepskies]

awwww I'm blushing!! 🥰 Thank you so much, friend!! 💕

the opening itself was so good, you have such a way with descriptions it's so easy to get immersed and be able to visualize it all ✨

ehehe I'm so glad you enjoyed the steamy opener! 😘

prime example right here. the wordplay? the phrasing? the descriptions?? insane. chefs kiss. 🤌🏽💋 had me blushing, fanning myself, talking into the air — amazing ❤️‍🔥🫠

🤭💜🤭💜🤭 legit thank you so much!! Gotta admit, smut writing is my biggest challenge lolol

this is so sweet are u kiddingggg 😭

Aww that was my favorite part to write for this scene tbh 🥹 finally we get Mark's side of the missing her, wanting her, hurting without her. 💙

this had me cracking up

LOL I'll admit the "dropping the soap" was a bit cliché, but it still made me giggle 😂

aghhh my heart 😩 the bathroom scenes in the show have been making my chest ache fr, i'm worried for himmm 🥺 (and now i'm worried for him in this series-verse too... loll)

omg yesss, they're literally hurting my heart so much, so of course I had to inject one here lolll (oh, expect more of that kind of angst to come, unfortunately 🥲)

cryinggggggg i love this, and them 😭

Ok, thank you for highlighting my actual favorite line. It may be too sappy but I couldn't help myself 😂💕

I’ll admit this soft sequence with her mom made me cry a little 🥹 i've been missing my mom a bit extra lately and this really took me back to being in the kitchen with her :') lisette seems so sweet already, I loved her dynamic with the reader and with mark 💙 (even with rachel, ik that look of disappointment has gotta sting 😗)

I'm so sorry, hun. I didn't know you lost your mom. 🫂💙

Yeah, Lisette is a sweetheart for real. 💓💓💓 She def treated Mark like family (and was verrrry disappointed in Rachel)

i know that's right !!! now this i love to see, get her 🤣 I love that she went straight for the punch, that bitch deserved to get milly rocked hard lmao

Ohhhh get ready lmaooo. Reader is NOT playing - whem she said on sight, she really meant on sight 🤣

yikessss, i feel for him. traffic here is a nightmare but rush hour? blegh 😔

Ooh are you out in Cali? Forgive me if I ever misrepresent the state bc I've actually never been there loll

aaaand crying again. i love that he had that with her and I hope with time he can get that again 💙

aww don't worry, he'll get a piece of that again in this one-shot (and maybe more later on in the series) 🥹💙

hooooooly shit lmfaooooo this is so much better than i could imagine. para que se le quite a la pendeja 🤣

ahahaaaaa exactamente! 😏

and she's stiiillll lying like oh my god girl, give it up 🤦🏽‍♀️ bien que tiene los cojones para hacer desmadre pero no para decir la verdad? wild.

por eso - ella necesita quantos cocotazos to get her head right. lying ass bitch 😂

man :(( I feel for them, I really do. hopeful for those second opinions...👀

oh we're gonna work on it! 😅

I hope this truly sits with her, and settles deep into her bones. not for a redemption arc, but so she can actually take the time and effort to self reflect and stop being such a nasty person with terrible intentions. like her apologies mean nothing considering it took over nine months and a face full of dog shit to admit to what she really did.

Yeah I doubt I'll write a true redemption for Rachel, but this is an important step for her realizing the scope of the damage of what she's done to both reader and Mark 💔💔 (and she doesn't even know about his diagnosis). She's truly damaged and vindictive

i'm glad the table setting ended up working out, with a much better third guest :p i'm truly obsessed with mark and this little series verse, 💙💙 i'm excited to see where you take this !!

Yesss exactly! Mark gets to be their #3, and he gets a home-cooked meal, even if it means he has to come clean to his second mom too 🥲

I'm so happy you love this storyverse because I'm having so much fun with it so far! 🥰 I can't wait to share more of it soon 💞💞

SISTER, SISTER

Pairing: Mark Meachum x F. Reader

Summary: You and Mark have an emotional reconnection after he finally comes clean. But that also means you have some unfinished business to take care of with your sister, Rachel.

AN: Wrote this last week because I guess I can't stop myself! 😂 So yep, these Mark stories have officially become a series of one-shots called — ‘Til When Do Us Part. This one is also a gif check requested by my friend @lamentationsofalonelypotato for the 5K Follower Celebration. I think this is an important puzzle piece to explore after Catastrophic Blues. 😉

Word Count: 4.6K

Tags/Warnings: [Set during 1x02] 18+ only! Reunion smut, fluff, an epic cat fight (lol), angst, hurt/comfort

Series Masterlist

His hair dragged through your fingers again. First soft and loose, then gripped tight—desperate, hot tingles across your skin.

It was almost too much.

A halting moan fell from your lips, his biting kiss along your throat as he moved inside you.

“Fuck. Takin’ me better than ever, baby,” he said into your skin, his words gritted out and tinged with smoke and relief. “Gonna feel me for fuckin’ days at this rate.”

The sound of his voice reached deep into your bones. The safety of his arms caged you underneath him on his bed, the old mattress creaking with every test of the springs. He wrapped an arm around your thigh like curling steel, opening you up more for him, making his rolling thrusts hit deeper. Harder. A man possessed.

You gasped, your pussy already throbbing in time with your heartbeat. Your words were barely syllables, but they escaped you nonetheless. "Oh, fuck. Mark..."

He smirked into your neck. His lips trailed down to your shoulder and nipped harder with teeth, just to feel you writhe against him. You whimpered, your sensitive nipples brushing against his chest when you arched back up into him.

His hot breaths further ignited your skin. Your nails raked down the back of his neck and down his shoulder as you held on for the ride—an obscene squelching of wetness and hot breaths, skin against flushed skin. Your fingers pressed into every divot of muscle, as if you could sink right through his skin and make him feel you. Not for days. Forever.

You didn’t have words to speak. It was all in your eyes when they met his. Raw, vulnerable, glassy with pleasure, your breaths unsteady with emotion.

He pulled back a little, just so he could slip his hand between your bodies and find your slick, swollen clit again. He swept the pads of his fingers in the angles and rhythm he knew would serve you best in between his thrusts.

He swallowed your gasp of his name, your whimpers as you shuddered and came. A sensation like kaleidoscope colors, bursting like so many stars. You fucking squeezed him from the inside out for the third time tonight, finally forcing a ragged groan from his own lips as he spilled into you. His hips stuttered a shaky and powerful release.

You grabbed his face and poured your soul into that kiss, a wet and filthy meeting of lips and tongues.

Panting breaths forced their way through his nose, but he wouldn’t break that kiss for all the world. He finally had you back in his arms. He had the scent of your floral soap in his nose, your familiar sweetness on his tongue, your hair threaded through his fingers. He had it all.

It wasn’t the faded memories he clung to in a brick-and-mortal cell, or the daydreams of what if that had been torturing him whenever he saw a girl in a white dress, or a family sitting at dinner with their little kids in highchairs. 

It was you, solid and real.

Your kiss swollen lips dragged from his slowly, reluctantly, with shaky breaths in between.

He let your thighs slip down to rest more comfortably around his hips, but he didn't move just yet. He stayed buried deep inside you.

He brushed your frizzy hair away from your forehead, his eyes a little softer, less crazed. You sniffled as a tear rolled from the corner of your eye. He swept the wetness away with his thumb.

“I know it was good, but you don’t need to cry, sweetheart,” he teased lightly. There was a tender note in his voice though.

Your heart clenched to hear it. Part of you still couldn't believe this was real. Despite yourself, you laughed a little, breathless and boneless.

“I guess it’s just, um…it’s been a while.”

“Really? You haven’t, uh, been seeing anyone?” he asked, trying to hide the hope from his voice.

You snorted. “No.”

Plain and simple. He quirked a smile.

“And you?” you asked reluctantly, as if the answer wouldn't tear into you if he said any form of yes.

He almost laughed. “I was in lockup for nine months, remember?”

Relief allowed you to relax again. A smirk began to curve your lips as your fingers tapped an idle rhythm on his dewy arms.

“What, you didn’t get yourself a little boyfriend? No ‘drop the soap’ action?” you teased.

Mark’s jaw nearly unhinged. He stared down at you, disbelief and amusement warring for dominance at your cheek.

“Oh, you think you’re funny, huh?”

Your whole body shook in effort to contain your giggles, but you couldn’t help yourself.

His tongue poked the inside of his cheek as he tried not to laugh. Honestly, he should’ve expected nothing fucking less from you.

You were still kee-keeing when you caressed his bearded face with both hands, then twined your arms around his neck. But soon, you sobered up.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t… You had to live with those animals for almost a whole year. I can’t even imagine how deeply shitty that was. How scary,” you said.

Mark huffed, shaking his head. He rubbed your arm and pressed a kiss to the inside of your wrist.

“Heh. I was in hell long before I walked into Palmdale,” he said.

The confession slipped through his lips before he could think better of it, but there it was. Your expression fell even more. With a sigh, he stroked your cheek. Then he carefully withdrew, pulling out of your heat. You both felt the loss with soft groans.

He climbed out of bed just to grab a towel from his bathroom for the cleanup.

This was the first time you’d come to his place, just a couple of days since he took you home from that bar in Downtown. Two days since he came clean to you about what happened in Venice. Two days since you somehow found it in your heart to forgive him.

He still didn’t know what the hell he was doing with you. He hadn’t discussed it with you, hadn’t labelled it. It was almost as if you two had picked up from where you left off, except this time, there was an unknown expiration date.

That reminder literally hit him between the eyes. It forced him to pause in the bathroom and white-knuckle grip the edge of the sink. He grimaced and willed the pain away, stifling a grunt. Fuck...not even a moment's fucking peace.

"You okay?" your voice filtered over from the bedroom. Mark turned his face away from the mirror, just in case you could catch an angle of him.

"Yeah," he said, a little rougher. He breathed in deep, until the sharpest edges were passed. He padded back out and brought the dampened towel back to you.

It was late, but he still checked his phone on the nightstand for any missed notifications. He never knew when he might get called in by Blythe—another thing Mark couldn’t tell you about. He wondered if the taskforce was on your radar anyway, what with how D.A. Valwell was consistently trying to butt into their operations.

So far, you hadn’t mentioned anything weird going on with your boss in the office. Maybe Valwell was keeping you out of it. As he should.

You welcomed Mark back into bed and under the covers, luring him into a kiss as he settled in beside you. He drew you into his arms and couldn’t help but stare. He took in every contour of your face. Every shade of beauty.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Have I said that yet?”

A slight, sad smile twitched at your lips. Your heart pulsed sharply.

“What’s happening to you isn’t your fault. There’s no reason to be sorry,” you said.

“There is a reason,” he nodded. “I didn’t want to leave you twisting in the wind. I just…”

“I know,” you sighed. You watched his profile as he looked ahead, rather than at you directly. A deep breath ran through him, not altogether steady.

“I love you,” he said. He swallowed, jaw clenching. “Think it’s pretty obvious that I never stopped.”

You guided his face back toward you with a gentle hand on his cheek. Your thumb brushed over his lips.

“It’s become painfully clear to me,” you said, “that I’ll never love anyone like I love you.”

Morning came, and you weren’t ready. You didn’t want to leave this house with its familiar smell and its gray-blue walls, which you and Mark painted together. After he inherited the house from his mother, who passed away a few years ago, you helped him clean and touch it up without losing the character of the house.

You were going to officially move in with him after you two got married and let go of your Downtown apartment that was close to your job, but often so empty. Obviously, that move never happened.

“You’re having dinner with your mom tonight, right?” Mark asked, pulling you from your thoughts.

You finished tucking in your blouse into your skirt and began to fix your hair in his wardrobe mirror. You had to go into work, and so did he. He was buckling his belt over his jeans, already dressed in a dark green shirt and one of his favorite leather jackets—the black one you helped him pick out.

“Yeah, every Tuesday,” you nodded. You turned and reached for the edges of his jacket. “I know it’s your business to share, but…can I tell her about what you’re going through? That we’re back together? She would want to see you.”

Mark hesitated. “I’d like that too, but let's just keep this between you and me for now.”

You frowned. “I still can’t believe you haven’t told your precinct. How long do you plan to work like this? Mark, what if…what if something happens when you’re on the job? I mean medically.”

He couldn’t blame you for your worry and concern. He held you by your arms and gave a reassuring squeeze.

“You know I’m on a case right now. It’s important,” he said, trying to communicate the gravity of it through his eyes, the tone of his voice. “After that’s done…I don’t know. We’ll talk about it. That and the, uh, second opinion stuff.”

Despite your lingering worry, a small smile peeked through. “At least you said we.”

Mark flickered at a smile too. He bowed down to kiss you on the forehead, lingering there with a short sigh. Ever since he left you, he’d been operating with a reckless head and a worse heart. But if you were determined to stick this out with him, like you seemed to be, then it wasn’t just about him anymore.

He’d have to protect you too.

“Mmm, smells good, Mom,” you said, shutting the door of your childhood home behind you. Inside, the modest three-bedroom house was filled with the rich savory smell of something warm in the oven.

Your mom, Lisette, waved you over with her oven mitt hand. 

“Hey, honey. Come ‘ere and taste this.”

She took out a large glass pan filled with beef pot roast, complete with carrots, little yellow potatoes, and charred sprigs of rosemary on top.

“Wow, all that for just the two of us?” you asked, kissing her on the cheek. She just smiled and gave you a forkful after she blew on it first. You took the bite and fairly melted.

“Ughhh, so good. It’s been a long time since you made a whole…” You trailed off as you realized it.

Lisette’s smile turned bittersweet. “Yeah, it was your father’s favorite.”

She took off her oven mitts and left the pan to cool on the counter. She braced a few fingertips on the edge of that counter, as if her mind contained too many memories to sort through. You brushed a hand against her arm, earning her attention.

“Thanks. I brought dessert too,” you said, raising the grocery bag in your hand. You set that on the counter as well. You gave your mom a hug, warm and comforting.

Lisette sighed and hugged you back gratefully. She rubbed your back, like good moms did. But when she pulled back, she noted the smile on your face with a raised brow. It was genuine, not the fake ones you gave to pacify her. In fact, you looked more relaxed, more like yourself.

“You seem…”

“What?” you asked in confusion.

“I don’t know. A little happier today, I guess,” she said. “Did something good happen at work?”

You huffed. “No. Valwell’s antsy and frustrated about something, but every time I ask what’s wrong, he tells me it’s fine. Nothing for me to worry about.”

Not to mention, he’d taken three long lunches at odd times in the past week alone. Every time he got back to the office, he seemed more agitated and upset, storming through the halls like they owed him rent money.

“Well, it’s probably above your clearance, honey,” said Lisette. “If he wanted you to know, he would tell you.”

You frowned thoughtfully, tapping a nail on the counter. Before you could think too hard on it, your mom subtly cleared her throat, the way she always did when she was a bit nervous. She busied herself with grabbing silverware for the dinner table. Your brows drew together.

“You grabbed three sets,” you pointed out.

“Mhmm,” she nodded. “We’re going to be three today.”

“Who else is coming?”

Lisette hesitated, didn’t seem to want to meet your suspicious gaze. “Your sister. I invited her.”

Your face fell. Stony and incredulous.

“You did not.”

“I did. You two haven’t spoken in almost a year.”

“For good damn reason, Mom!”

“I know,” Lisette said, in a sharper voice than you expected. After a moment though, she softened. “I know. What she did to you…it’s frankly incomprehensible. But she’s still your sister. Your father would be sick to know you two are fighting like this.”

A harsh sigh fell from your lips. You rubbed your temples with both hands.

“We’re not fighting,” you said. “I’m just choosing to pretend I’m an only child.”

Lisette gave you a sad frown that spoke more volumes than her words could. You felt a stab of guilt for it, but you didn’t take it back. If you had to see that hateful bitch today, then you wouldn’t hold back this time. It would be on sight.

And…of fucking course.

As if on cue, there was a commotion at the front door. The lock began to turn and click. Then the door slid open, revealing Rachel with her key to the house poised in hand. She was a personal trainer and yoga instructor, so she was wearing her skin-tight Halara leggings (yes, the “TikTok Leggings”), along with a breezy crop top.

She had a chain-link purse strung over her shoulder and oversized sunglasses on the bridge of her nose, but you could still see her eyes widen when she caught sight of you, her steps stopping short in the doorway.

You stared right back at her. Your teeth clenched, like a train grinding against the tracks at a hard stop and shooting off sparks. Everything Mark told you two days ago came rushing through your mind—every unwanted touch, every disgusting, manipulative word she used to try and spin him into her web while he was at his worst.

“What—What’re you doing here?” she said, a frightened little deer caught in your trajectory.

You didn’t even answer. You couldn’t speak.

You just moved, rounding the kitchen counter and cutting through the dining room with a purpose. Rachel squeaked, and she scrambled to back out of the house the way she came in. She flung the door open and retreated.

You followed.

“I know what you really did, you lying, psycho bitch!” you hissed. Your voice carried and seemed to slap Rachel upside the head. She stopped on the stone walkway leading up to the house. She turned around, lifted the sunglasses to the top of her head, and she glared at you warily.

“What’re you talking about?” she shot back.

You laughed in disbelief. “Oh, don’t act dumb now. What you did to Mark isn’t just reprehensible. I should file a report and get you fucking arrested for being a vile cunt.”

Rachel’s eyes flashed. Her face screwed up in anger, so much that she strode back up the steps and slapped you across the cheek. Your head twisted to the side at the stinging blow. You even stumbled a little, but your shock gave way to a grim smile.

Can we say, self-defense?

Her face dawned with realization, just a bit too late. She didn’t even have the instincts to duck your punch.

“Goddamn it. Fucking move, people!” Mark muttered uselessly at the cars in front of him.

It had been a long damn day. It also looked like he and the team were heading to Mexico in the morning. Doing a drug run for Javi, a local cartel boss, would hopefully get them one step closer to finding out who he carried a shipment of goddamn fissile material for. They had to find out who was trying to orchestrate another 9/11 in California. 

Mark was on his way home, cutting through L.A. traffic the best he could during rush hour. His stomach was practically attacking his liver in hunger. He also wanted to see you before he left, hopefully for just a day or two.

Didn’t you say you were over at your mom’s for dinner? Damn, that woman could cook.

How many Sunday dinners had he spent with your family in the past five years? All those Christmases and Thanksgivings, birthdays, Fourth of Julys at the beach and Memorial Day backyard barbeques.

Your mom was a sweetheart, too. She always bought him gifts at Christmas, never forgot his birthday, always saved him a special cut of whatever she was cooking. Truth be told, she was like a second mother to him, especially after his mom passed.

Mark sighed. He closed his eyes for a moment and let his head slowly fall back against the headrest. A warning flash of pain echoed through his skull, like a small oyster knife on the twist.

Fuck me.

It would be good to see Lisette—and be able to share another one of those meals with you too, however many of them he had left.

The traffic light finally turned green. Mark found himself changing lanes, then changing directions. Another twenty minutes had him pulling up to your family home on a quiet residential street.

Well, it was usually quiet.

“Aw, shit.” Was that Rachel out there on the driveway? What the hell was she doing here?

She was beelining up those cobblestone steps right for you. She threw you a slap so hard it snapped your head to the right, making your hair fly in your face.

“The fuck?!” His angry brows furrowing, Mark parked the car and unclipped his seatbelt quick, but when he next looked up, he caught sight of your swift left hook.

“God-damn,” he couldn’t help but laugh. As a man of the law, he knew he should've been stepping in right about now, but this opportunity was a little too satisfying to give up. He stayed where he sat to watch the show.

Rachel went down like a sack of shit.

And you didn’t waste no time. You pushed her the rest of the way down into the grassy front yard and got on top of her, pinning her arms behind her back and wedging your knee in her spine. Before she could swing back and headbutt you, you shoved her face into the grass.

Your dad taught you pretty damn well.

Rachel screamed and cried for help, but all it did was fuel your ire. You felt crazy and deranged, but you also felt alive too, for the first time in a long time.

Meanwhile, your mom watched in worry from the porch. Her protests weren’t strong enough to reach you though.

“Get off me, you fat ugly bitch!” Rachel screeched.

You saw a nice little brown pile the neighbor’s dog must’ve left this morning. It was just close enough for you to grab (unfortunately) with your bare hand. You pulled her head back by her hair and smeared dog shit all over her face—her cheeks, her forehead and chin. Her shrill screech reached new heights.

The neighbors could’ve been watching with shocked open mouths and iPhone cameras raised high, but you didn’t give even half of a fuck. You did quiet her down though, by shoving her face back into the dirt. The lawn was still nice and damp from the afternoon sprinklers.

“Yeah? You like that? Keep talking shit and I'll break your fake-ass nose, which I helped pay for!” you shouted. “I waited in that fucking lobby for hours while they hacked off the old one. I gave you cold compresses for your swollen, puffy lobster face. Now how about I snap that shit off like you’re Mr. fucking Potato Head?”

She cried as if you were killing her. Dramatic, as always. But eventually she stopped wriggling and thrashing so much, just shaking her head and sniveling. Realizing she wasn’t about to get out of this so easily, she switched tactics.

"Okay." She splayed her hands out the best she could behind her back in surrender. "Okay! Jesus Christ, I'm sorry!"

“Oh, yeah? You’re sorry? What’re you sorry for?” you asked.

"I already told you I fucked him! I fucked your fiancé!"

"No, but you tried to," you seethed. "You just couldn't, could you? Because he's a good man, and you're a lying slutbag. Isn't that right?"

Rachel tried to deny it, but the harder you shoved her shit-stained face into the wet dirt, the more she coughed and spluttered. You eased up just enough for her to nod her head, lips trembling.

“I-I’m sorry. I-I was wrong. I didn’t mean for it to end up so bad,” she sobbed. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, just let me go—”

Tears began to sting in your own eyes. “Do you know what you actually stole from me?”

Your breaths shook, along with the inner most depths of your soul. You bent closer to her ear.

“Time. That’s what you took from us,” you said, a coarse whisper. “Time we’ll never get back.”

Rachel continued to cry pitiful tears. You almost, almost started to feel bad for her.

But then, you didn’t. Too many memories were rising to the surface.

“Why’d you do it, huh? Danny Mendez wasn’t enough for you?” you said. “Oh yeah, you remember him, back in high school. You made out with my boyfriend the night of my senior prom, bitch!”

Oh yeah, that was a fun little memory to unlock from the brain bank. You realized now that it established a pattern of behavior, one you still couldn't completely understand. It hurt your heart.

“Why?” you demanded through blurry tears. “Why do you hate me so damn much?”

“Because!” she yelled. Her own tears had mixed with the shit smears on her face. Her lips wobbled. “Everyone thinks you’re so fucking perfect! Mom…Dad…he practically worshipped you.”

Your brows knitted together. “No, he didn’t. What the hell are you talking about? He rode my ass all the time! Way harder than he ever did to you.”

Your dad had been a good man, but he'd also been a fucking hardass. A former marine turned LAPD, from officer to Homicide Detective, and finally Captain. In typical firstborn syndrome fashion, you took on the brunt of his expectations, and even resented him for it at times. But you eventually saw the wisdom and the work ethic he was trying to instill in you.

Then again, it would’ve been better for everyone if he had paid closer attention to Rachel. She had been a wild child who even you had a hard time corralling. Your mom was a loving, nurturing person, but unfortunately, not much of a disciplinarian. Your father had too much on his plate at work to wrangle Rachel in as much as he’d wanted.

“Because he believed in you!” she said. “He didn’t just pick at you or criticize you or tell you what to do like you were one of his little soldiers. He talked to you like…like a person. Even…even when he was dying. He only ever asked for you, or for Mom. He never asked for me.”

You heard the resentment and immature selfishness in her voice, but you also heard the hurt. The deep kind of hurt that could make you lash out at others, just to try to mask the pain.

After a long moment of hearing her pitiful sniffles, you sighed.

“He did ask for you,” you admitted. “That day, when you and Mom went out to get coffee, and it was just me and him…I think he knew it was the end. He opened his eyes for the first time in days, and he said your name. His eyes went all around the room, like he was looking for you.”

Rachel’s body shook underneath you. Her quiet sobs of realization reached your ears.

“I called you, but you didn’t pick up. Maybe you had your phone on silent because we were in the hospital… Anyway, a few minutes later, he was gone,” you said. “But he loved you, Rachel. He just hated that he couldn’t stop you from becoming what you are. Selfish. Insecure. Immature and vindictive. A truly heinous combination.”

Rachel had long stopped fighting you. She just cried and shook like a leaf.

You jolted at a touch on your shoulder. You were surprised to find Mark, looking down at you with calm reassurance and a tinge of humor in his eyes.

“All right, sweetheart. Think she’s had enough,” he said.

Rachel gasped and craned her neck up as far as she could. Her eyes went impossibly wide, her mouth falling open in shock to see him.

Mark helped you up with one hand on your arm and another around your waist. He guided you away from your sister. Rachel pushed off the ground and scrambled shakily to her feet. She wiped at her disgusting face painted with three kinds of shit, but shame was what radiated the most when she looked up at you and Mark.

“I…I’m sorry,” she said.

It was the first time you actually believed her. You didn’t say anything, but you swallowed tightly.

Rachel shot one last glance at Lisette, who was teary herself with disappointment. Rachel grabbed her purse off the ground and retreated quickly to her car. You watched her go, releasing a deep breath and the rest of your fury.

Mark massaged the back of your neck, pressing a kiss to your temple. He felt a surge of pride well up in his chest for you. Not just for being a veritable badass and handling your business, but for still having the kind heart he knew underneath.

“You good, Rocky?” he asked with a note of teasing.

Your lips tugged reluctantly at a smile. You wondered how much he saw. How much he heard. All you knew was, you really needed to get cleaned up.

“I don’t know. I might still be a danger to myself and others,” you said, a little slyly as your gaze ran up to his. “Might even need you to restrain me.”

His brows rose, his resulting grin showing teeth. You still knew how to catch him off-guard, in the best fucking way.

“Mark, is that really you?” your mother asked from the porch.

You two had to put a little pin in your game, for now, but his green eyes were full of promise. His lips twitched upward and he squeezed your waist. Then he looked up.

“Hey, Lisette. Been a while.”

When you and Mark ventured up the steps to join her, Lisette welcomed him into a warm, warm hug. The kind that sunk into his bones and made his shoulders feel a little lighter.

She later sighed and pulled away, giving you both a raised brow.

“It looks like there’s more to the story of what happened last year,” she said.

“That there is,” Mark nodded. He shared a look with you, and with your clean hand, you rubbed his back in support. However he wanted to do this, you would back him up.

“Well, we can talk about it over dinner,” Lisette said. She opened the front door to the house, giving a small smile. “I made a pot roast.”

Mark’s face broke into a grin. “Oh, I’m excited.”

You and your mom had the same laugh, like sweet sunshine.

“You remember my pot roast?” Lisette asked.

“’Course I do. With the little potatoes, sprinkle a’ rosemary?”

Mark held the door open for you like the gentleman he was, and he shut it behind him.

AN: Sister, sister, dog shit eater. Amirite? 🤣

I have another Mark fic in this storyverse for you guys next week! I do have more ideas too (especially after watching 1x05 😭), so I plan to continue this little series as we get deeper into the season. 💜

But until then, I'd love to know what you guys think of this one! I think reader and Mark deserve a lot more "making up for lost time" moments lol. And was her confrontation with Rachel everything you wanted it to be? 😂

Next Time:

Your arms wrapped around his waist from behind. A smile began to tug at his lips on reflex. He felt your head resting against his dewy skin. Your hands inched up his chest and playfully teased with your nails. Little sexy scratch. Little kiss between his shoulder blades. 

“Go back to sleep, baby,” he said. A teasing note crept into his voice, “It’s too early for you.”

“You got in late last night.” Again. He’d been pulling late hours all week. Whatever case he was on, you had a feeling it was a big one. He still wouldn’t give you any details though. Not even when he was gone for almost two days, coming back smelling like a rancid farmhouse and covered in sweat and grime.

“I want to see you,” you added softly. “Kinda the whole point of me being here.”

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[mrs-delaney]

Behind the Lens | Epilogue

🏈 joe burrow x reader

📸 Catch up on Behind the Lens — in case you're behind 👀

📝 Read all my stories on the Masterlist

✨ Join the taglist so you never miss a story ✨

★ i’m online — let’s chat ★

📩 Reader Request: Reader has been working for the bengals since Joe got drafted. She can be a social media admin, public relations liaison or even a physical therapist. She’s been in love with him but it is unrequited while he was with Olivia and when they break up she thought that she had a chance but he starts seeing the influencer but please make it a happy ending. Angst as fuck but happy ending. I want to see this girl yearning for fucking years before she gets him and I want him to realize that she is the love of his life.

Author's Note: this one didn’t come easy, friends, but i’m proud of how it turned out. the story isn’t over. i still want to check in on these two from time to time and play with some of those alt endings y’all have asked for.

the group wanted spice and i hope this delivered for you. 💕

Thank you @crazytheoriststrawberry!

Taglist:@honeydippedfiction @harryweeniee @mruizsworld @cixrosie

Monday Morning - February 2027 - Y/N's Office

Y/N scrolled through the weekend's social media numbers, coffee in one hand, phone buzzing nonstop in the other. The AFC Championship posts were still climbing; every angle of Joe's touchdown celebration, every shot of confetti falling, every player quote about finally getting back. Good content. Great engagement.

Now came the hard part.

"Morning," Sam said, dropping into the chair across from Y/N's desk with her own coffee and an iPad. "Sleep at all?"

"Some. Joe made me put my laptop away around 2 AM." Y/N glanced up from her screen. "You?"

"Not much." Sam scrolled through her tablet. "ESPN wants extended access. Sports Illustrated is also pushing for exclusive behind-the-scenes access. And I've fielded about twenty credential requests since yesterday."

"Twenty?" Y/N finally looked up. "Seriously?"

"Yeah. Twenty. Everyone wants the redemption angle. Joe's first championship shot since 2022."

Y/N's stomach tightened. 2022. The year she'd watched Joe lose the biggest game of his life while she documented it from a professional distance, loving him quietly while he grieved with someone else. This time would be different. This time, she'd be right there with him, whatever happened.

"Where's Tyler?" she asked.

"Setting up the conference room. Jess is downstairs managing the media circus that's apparently starting at 7 AM now." Sam paused. "You nervous?"

"I'm… focused," Y/N corrected. "And maybe a little nervous. The team's worked so hard this season."

Before Sam could respond, Tyler appeared in the doorway, tablet in hand and the slightly frazzled expression of someone who'd been fielding media requests since dawn.

"Morning meeting in five?" he asked. "I've got the content calendar pulled up, and we need to discuss interview logistics before the facility gets crazy."

"Perfect timing," Y/N said, saving her work and closing her laptop. "Sam, bring those credential requests. Tyler, please tell me you're caffeinated."

"Triple shot," he confirmed. "Figured I'd need it."

As they headed toward the conference room, Y/N's phone buzzed with a text from her brothers' group chat:

Lucas: SUPER BOWL WEEK. Holy shit.

Matt: Don't screw this up for Joe.

Aaron: She's a professional asshole. Don't screw this up for YOURSELF.

Y/N smiled despite her nerves, typing back quickly:

Y/N: Thanks for the vote of confidence. I'll try not to ruin anyone's career.

The conference room felt smaller than usual, with content calendars spread across the table, camera equipment stacked in the corner, and the weight of the week ahead pressing down on all of them. Y/N took her seat at the head of the table, looking at her small but capable team.

"Okay," she began, her voice steady despite the flutter in her chest. "Let's be real about what this week is. We've got five days to cover the biggest game any of us will probably work. Everyone's going to want access, everyone's going to have opinions, and about half of the questions are going to be about things that aren't football."

"No pressure," Jess muttered, earning a small smile from Tyler.

"There's always pressure," Y/N said, opening her notebook. "Tyler, you're handling quarterback interviews and features. Jess, you've got a supporting cast, including line, receivers, and backs. Sam, you're on logistics with me."

Tyler scribbled notes on his tablet. "What about the personal stuff? The relationship questions?"

Y/N had been dreading this all weekend. "Standard response: personal life provides stability and support, keep it general, redirect to football. If anyone pushes, I'll handle it."

"And if they want shots of you two together?" Jess asked.

"They won't get them during work hours," Y/N said. "This week is about Joe the quarterback, not Joe the boyfriend."

Sam nodded. "Smart."

Y/N's phone buzzed with a text from Joe:

Joe: Team meeting in 20. You coming?

She looked at the message for a moment before responding:

Y/N: Yeah, heading down in sec.

Joe: Good. Need my VP there.

Y/N looked up to find her team watching her.

"That was Joe," she said unnecessarily.

"We figured," Tyler said. "Team meeting?"

"Twenty minutes." Y/N closed her notebook and stood. "Questions?"

"Just one," Sam said, gathering her papers. "You ready for this?"

Y/N considered the question honestly. "Ask me Saturday."

* * *

Kayla was already going through the schedule when Y/N walked into the conference room. Joe sat a few seats down from her, scrolling through his phone with that restless energy he got during big weeks.

"Okay, Wednesday is media day," Kayla said, pulling up the schedule. "Joe, you've got six interview slots. The longest one is ESPN at forty-five minutes."

Y/N took her seat at the table, pulling up her notes on her tablet.

"We can break it into segments if you want." Kayla mentioned, consulting her notes. 

"No, I'd rather get it over with." Joe ran a hand through his hair. "What about the personal stuff? They're going to ask."

"Standard deflection," Kayla said. "Personal life provides support, redirect to team preparation. Y/N's drafted some talking points."

All eyes turned to Y/N, who lowered tablet. "The basic approach is to acknowledge the question, give a brief positive response, and pivot to football. If they push, you say you're keeping focus on the game this week."

Joe nodded. "What if they ask about you specifically?"

Y/N felt the room's attention shift slightly. "Same approach. 'She's great at her job; I'm focused on mine.' Don't elaborate."

"Good," Joe said, then looked at Kayla. "What about photo ops? Team stuff only, right?"

"Right. No couples shots during work hours," Kayla confirmed. "Y/N will be working anyway, so it shouldn't be an issue."

"Logistical question," Sam jumped in from across the table. "Transportation to media day? Joe's taking the team bus or separate?"

"Team bus," Joe said without hesitation.

Y/N smiled slightly while taking notes. That was pure Joe, always thinking about how things looked to his teammates.

"Timeline question," Tyler said, scrolling through his tablet. "We need quarterback availability for our internal content. When works?"

Joe looked at Kayla, then at Y/N. "When do you need me?"

"Thursday morning?" Y/N suggested. "After the official stuff but before practice."

"Done." Joe's response was immediate.

The meeting went on for another twenty minutes, covering schedules, backup plans, and logistics. Y/N jotted down notes, her mind already organizing the week ahead.

"Questions?" Kayla asked as things wrapped up.

The room was quiet, everyone already mentally organizing their week.

"Alright, let's make it a good week," Kayla said, closing her laptop.

As people filed out, Joe lingered, checking something on his phone. Y/N packed up her things, aware he was waiting for the room to clear.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, moving closer.

"Good. Ready." He looked up at her. "You?"

"Same." She leaned down and kissed him quickly. "See you at lunch?"

"Yeah. Love you."

"Love you too."

* * *

Game Day

Y/N stood on the sideline, camera raised, heart hammering against her chest as the clock ticked down. Twelve seconds. The Bengals were up by four, but she'd seen too many games flip in the final moments to feel safe. Around her, the media crew buzzed with nervous energy, but Y/N kept her focus through the viewfinder.

Joe was in the huddle, calm as ever, his voice carrying over the crowd noise as he called the play. Even from fifty yards away, Y/N could see the controlled intensity in his shoulders and the way he held his head. She'd documented this exact posture hundreds of times over seven years, but never with stakes this high.

The teams lined up. Y/N adjusted her position, making sure she had a clear shot of Joe. Her brothers were somewhere in Joe's box behind her. Lucas had texted her a photo of them twenty minutes ago, all wearing Bengals gear, all looking more nervous than she'd ever seen them. For seven years, they'd watched her love this man from a professional distance. Today was finally different.

The snap. Joe took the ball, dropped back, and immediately took a knee. The crowd erupted, but Y/N kept shooting, capturing the exact moment Joe stood up and raised both arms. Game over. Super Bowl champions.

Confetti cannons exploded from every corner of the stadium, orange and black streamers falling like snow. The sideline erupted into chaos, players running in every direction, coaches hugging, officials trying to maintain some semblance of order. Y/N lowered her camera for just a second, letting herself feel the moment. They'd done it. Joe had done it.

Then she raised the camera again because this was her job, and she was good at it.

Through her lens, she watched Joe get mobbed by his teammates. Ja'Marr lifted him off the ground, screaming something Y/N couldn't hear over the noise. Tee was jumping up and down like a kid. The offensive line had formed a circle around Joe, all of them pointing at him and yelling.

But then Joe stepped back from the celebration, his head turning, scanning the field. Y/N's heart stopped when his eyes found hers across the chaos. Even with fifty yards and about two hundred people between them, she felt that look.

Joe started walking toward her.

Y/N raised her camera again, muscle memory taking over as her professional brain kicked in. This was content gold, the Super Bowl MVP walking across the field, pushing through the celebration, confetti in his hair, the biggest smile she'd ever seen on his face. She kept shooting as he moved, tracking him through the viewfinder.

A reporter stepped into Joe's path, microphone extended. Joe said something Y/N couldn't hear, shook his head politely, and kept walking. Another reporter tried the same thing. Same result.

"Burrow! Burrow!" someone was shouting from the media area, but Joe didn't even look over.

Ted grabbed Joe's jersey, trying to pull him into a celebration selfie with fans in the stands. Joe laughed, said something to Ted, and pointed toward Y/N. Ted looked, grinned, and let him go.

Y/N kept shooting. Through her lens, she watched Joe navigate around a camera crew, step over cables, and dodge a sideline photographer who was backing up and not watching where he was going. His focus never wavered. He was walking to her like she was the only person in the stadium.

Another group of teammates caught up to him, the entire defensive line, all trying to lift him up for a group celebration. Joe laughed and let them hug him, but when they wanted to carry him toward the team bench, he shook his head and pointed again. This time toward Y/N.

She was still shooting, still capturing everything, but her hands were starting to shake slightly. Not from nerves from the realization that in his biggest moment, when everyone in the world wanted a piece of him, Joe Burrow was walking straight to her.

More people tried to stop him. A league official with a clipboard. Someone from the broadcast crew. Another reporter. Joe was polite to all of them, but he didn't stop moving. Y/N tracked him through the camera, watching him push through the chaos with the same determination he showed in the pocket under pressure.

Thirty yards away now. Twenty.

Joe's uniform was dirty from the game, his helmet long gone, his hair messy from teammates running their hands through it and sweat. But his eyes never left Y/N's, even as she kept the camera between them, still working, still shooting, still doing her job even though her heart felt like it might explode.

Ten yards.

"Y/N!" someone called behind her, probably Tyler or Sam, trying to get her attention for something work-related. She didn't turn around.

Five yards.

Joe stopped right in front of her, close enough that she had to lower her camera to look at him properly. His chest was rising and falling quickly, whether from the game, the excitement, or the walk across the field; she couldn't tell. But he was grinning like she'd never seen before, and there were actual tears in his eyes.

"Baby, you did it," Y/N said, and her voice came out smaller than she'd intended.

Joe reached for her, his hands finding her waist, pulling her closer. "I literally could not have done this without you," he said, and his voice was rough with emotion.

Y/N let her camera hang from the strap around her neck and threw her arms around him. Joe lifted her off the ground, spinning her once before setting her back down, and when he kissed her, she could taste the Gatorade and sweat and pure joy.

Around them, the celebration continued, players screaming, confetti still falling, and music blasting from the stadium speakers. But for just a moment, Y/N felt like they were the only two people in the world.

"Y/N! Y/N!" The voice was more insistent now, and Joe pulled back, still holding her, as a league official approached with a clipboard and a stressed expression.

"We need him for the trophy presentation," the official said apologetically.

Joe looked at Y/N, then back at the official. "She comes with me," he said.

"Sir, only team personnel—"

"She is team personnel," Joe said firmly. "VP of Digital Media. She's been documenting this whole story for seven years. She comes with me."

The official looked at Y/N, then back at Joe, clearly recognizing that this wasn't a fight worth having with the Super Bowl MVP.

"Of course," he said. "Right this way."

Joe took Y/N's hand. "Come on," he said and pulled her toward the center of the field where they were setting up for the trophy presentation.

As they walked together through the mayhem, Y/N caught sight of the big screen showing a replay of Joe's walk across the field to her. In Joe's box, she could see her brothers on their feet, Lucas pointing at the screen, all three of them losing their minds.

Seven years. Seven years of loving him from behind a camera, of documenting his story while staying carefully outside of it. But now, walking across the Super Bowl field with Joe's hand in hers, Y/N finally understood what it felt like to be in the story instead of just recording it.

And it was better than she'd ever imagined.

* * *

The Celebration

The party venue was packed wall-to-wall with players, coaches, staff, and families, everyone riding high on the excitement of their first championship. Y/N stood near the bar with a champagne flute she'd barely touched, watching Joe work the room like the natural leader he'd become. He had the Lombardi Trophy tucked under one arm and was taking photos with what seemed like every person in the building.

"Still can't believe we're here," Lucas said, appearing beside her with his own drink. Her three brothers had flown in for the game, all of them still riding the high of watching their sister's boyfriend win his first championship.

"I can," Y/N replied, watching Joe laugh at something Ja'Marr said. "He's worked for this his whole life."

"Yeah, but you being here with him?" Matt joined them, gesturing around the room. "Five years ago, you were texting us from that other Super Bowl, crying because you had to watch him lose with someone else."

"Thanks for the reminder," Y/N said dryly, but she was smiling.

"I'm just saying," Aaron added, the youngest brother always the most direct, "this is your championship, too. You earned this."

Y/N felt her throat tighten slightly. She'd spent so many years on the outside, looking in, documenting other people's celebrations and moments. Tonight, she was part of it.

Earlier, when Coach Taylor had pulled her into a group photo, he'd just said, "Y/N, get in here. You've been with us since the beginning." Not "our media coordinator" or "Joe's girlfriend." Just Y/N. Like she'd always belonged.

Tee Higgins hugged her and said, "Thank you for keeping our boy sane all these years." As if she were part of the team, not just someone who worked for it. Her five years of careful professional distance hadn't fooled anyone about how much she cared.

She kept expecting someone to hand her a camera, to ask her to document the moment instead of living it. But her hands were empty except for champagne, and for once, she wasn't responsible for capturing anyone else's joy.

Across the room, Joe caught her eye and grinned, holding up the trophy and pointing at her. She laughed and raised her champagne glass in response. Even from thirty feet away, she could see the exhaustion starting to creep into his face, but he was still going, still making sure everyone felt celebrated.

"You know he's not showing off the trophy, right?" Lucas said quietly, watching the exchange. "He's showing off you."

Y/N felt her throat tighten. "Don't make me cry at this party."

"I'm serious. Look at him."

"Like you're the real prize," Matt added.

"And that he's got plans for later," Aaron joked.

"Oh my god, you're all disgusting," Y/N muttered, but her cheeks flushed.

The truth was, she'd been thinking the same thing. There was something in Joe's eyes tonight, an intensity that went beyond just winning the Super Bowl. Every time their eyes met across the room, she felt the promise of how they were going to celebrate privately once they were alone.

"Y/N!" Kayla appeared with a group of staff members, all of them slightly drunk and very excited. "We need pictures! Team leadership!"

An equipment manager she'd worked with for three years told her, "You know, we always wondered when you and Joe would figure it out. You two just... fit." Like everyone had been watching a story, she thought she'd kept hidden.

The offensive coordinator's wife hugged her and said, "I'm so happy for you both. We could all see how much you cared."All these people had been watching her love Joe from a professional distance, and somehow, that felt less embarrassing than she'd expected. More like they'd been rooting for her all along.

When she posed for a photo with the coaching staff wives, someone said, "Finally! You're always behind the camera."And Y/N realized that's exactly how it felt like she was finally stepping out from behind something that had kept her separate, kept her safe, but also kept her from fully living her own life. She kept catching glimpses of Joe across the room, and every time she looked, he was already looking back.

Finally, around 11 PM, Joe made his way over to her. He'd set the trophy down on a nearby table and looked more relaxed than she'd seen him all night.

"Having fun?" he asked, sliding his arm around her waist. 

"Yeah. Weird, not working for once."

"You like it?" 

"I could get used to it." Y/N leaned into him slightly. "You look tired."

"I'm not tired," Joe said, his voice dropping slightly. "I'm just thinking about getting you home."

Y/N felt heat pool in her stomach at his tone. "Joe..."

"We've been here two hours," he said, his thumb tracing circles on her hip through her dress. "I think we've done our social obligation."

Y/N looked around the room. The party was still going strong and would probably go on until 2 AM or later. Her brothers were deep in conversation with some offensive linemen about something that involved a lot of hand gestures. Everyone was having a great time.

"You sure you want to leave? This is your night."

Joe's hand tightened on her waist. "This is our night. And I want to celebrate it properly."

The way he said "properly" made Y/N's knees feel weak.

"Okay," she said quietly. "Let's go home."

Joe grinned. "I'll call the car."

* * *

Twenty minutes later, they were sliding into the back of a black SUV, Y/N having said goodbye to her brothers (who gave Joe looks that clearly meant "take care of our sister"), and Joe had done one final round of thank-yous and see-you-laters.

The moment the car door closed, the energy between them shifted. They weren't touching, but Y/N could feel the heat radiating off Joe's body next to her in the dark backseat.

"How long to get home?" Joe asked the driver.

"About twenty-five minutes with traffic, sir."

Joe nodded and settled back in his seat, but Y/N caught him glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. She was very aware of her dress riding up slightly, of the way Joe's hand rested on the seat between them, close enough that she could feel the warmth of his fingers.

"So," she said, trying to sound casual, "Super Bowl champion. How does it feel?"

Joe turned to look at her thoroughly, and the expression on his face made her breath catch. "You'll find out soon enough."

The ride home felt like the longest twenty-five minutes of Y/N's life. They made small talk about the game, the party, and her brothers, but underneath it all was this current of anticipation that had Y/N shifting in her seat. Joe's hand eventually found her thigh, his thumb tracing patterns on her skin that made it hard to concentrate on anything he was saying.

By the time they pulled into their driveway, Y/N felt like she might spontaneously combust.

Joe thanked the driver and came around to help Y/N out of the car, his hand lingering on hers longer than necessary. They walked to the front door in silence, but Y/N could feel the tension crackling between them.

Joe fumbled slightly with his keys, and Y/N smiled. "Smooth."

"Shut up," Joe said with a grin, finally getting the door open.

* * *

The moment they were inside with the door closed behind them, Joe's hands were on her. He pressed her back against the door, his mouth finding hers in a kiss that was hungry and desperate and tasted like champagne and victory.

"Finally," he muttered against her lips, his hands working at her zipper.

Joe pulled the dress down, and it pooled at her feet. He stepped back to look at her, his eyes dark.

"Fuck," he said quietly.

Joe stepped in close, his thumb dragging slowly along the edge of her underwear like he wasn't in a hurry, even though everything about his posture said otherwise. His gaze swept down and back again, deliberately. Possessive in that quiet way, he always was.

"You've been a problem all night," he muttered, voice low and rough at the edges.

Y/N tilted her head, almost smiling. "Problem?"

"Yeah. Seeing you walk around all night like that, looking like that, knowing you're mine now. Watching everyone finally see what I see. My team looking at you like they're proud. People treating you like you belong with me instead of just working for me."

Y/N tilted her head. "What are you gonna do about it?"

He bent and kissed her jaw, messy, open-mouthed, not careful.

"Show you."

The laugh caught in her throat, half amusement, half breathlessness as he dipped his head lower, mouth finding the side of her neck.

"Joe…"

He smiled again, but he didn't look up. Just mouthed at her throat, thumbs brushing bare skin where her underwear sat too low on her hips.

"Let me see you," she said, her hands already pulling at his shirt.

Joe let her pull it over his head. Y/N's hands moved up his chest, around his shoulders, pulling him down to kiss her again.

"Come on," she said, pulling him toward the couch.

When they got there, she looked at him. "Remember the first time we did this here?"

Joe's eyes darkened. "You took care of me."

"Yeah, well. This time's different." She pushed him down onto the couch. "This time we won."

Joe leaned back, looking up at her. "And how are you going to take care of me now?"

Y/N dropped to her knees between his legs, hands moving to the button of his jeans. "Let me show you."

Joe's breath hitched, quiet but there, his hand flexing on the couch cushion next to his thigh like he was holding himself still.

When she tugged his jeans and boxers down far enough, he shifted automatically to help, no words exchanged, no hesitation.

Y/N's fingers wrapped around him, firm but unhurried.

Joe exhaled through his nose, eyes heavy-lidded now, head tipping back just a little as she leaned in—slowly.

She didn't tease. Didn't say a word.

Just… took her time.

And Joe let her.

His hands stayed at his sides at first, shoulders tense, fingers flexing on the cushion like he was trying to let her lead like he was holding himself back on purpose.

But the second her mouth closed around him, all that control cracked.

His hand slid into her hair immediately, not rough, but heavy like he couldn't help it. Like he needed the anchor.

Joe didn't speak. Just breathed hard through his nose, jaw tight, eyes on her like she was the only thing tethering him to the moment.

Y/N worked him slowly, steadily, and intentionally. Her thumb slid just beneath, her wrist turning at the top, her tongue dragging deliberately at the underside as she set the pace.

Joe's thighs tensed under her hands, his hips shifting, barely, but enough. Enough that she knew.

He muttered something under his breath, not articulate, just a sharp sound that hit low in his throat as he sank back further into the couch.

"Jesus," he finally managed, voice rough now, breaking. "Baby… fuck."

But he didn't stop her.

Didn't try to take back control.

Didn't even move, except for his grip tightening a little more in her hair like he needed that to stay grounded.

Y/N looked up then, eyes meeting his, and that was it.

His breath stuttered hard, chest rising fast now. His jaw clenched so tight it trembled.

"Yeah," Joe muttered, low and almost to himself. "Yeah… just like that."

His breath hitched again when she hollowed her cheeks just slightly, fingers tightening at the base.

"Shit—" Joe's hips twitched, restrained but instinctive, his thighs flexing under her hands now.

Y/N didn't break eye contact.

That alone seemed to wreck him more than anything else.

His head dropped back, mouth falling open, breath rough and uneven now.

She could feel the tension in him, how tight he was holding, how close. His grip on her hair tightened, less grounding now, more guiding.

"Fuck… baby—" His voice cracked again, sharp and ragged, a warning without actually telling her to stop.

But she didn't.

She kept going, slow but unrelenting, thumb sliding at the base with every stroke, tongue dragging precise, perfect.

His body jerked once, thighs tightening hard, breath catching sharp.

Then it broke.

Joe swore again, low and desperate, hips lifting just enough that she knew he couldn't hold it back any longer.

His hand in her hair flexed tight as he came, rough, the sound he made half-groan, half-breathless laugh, wrecked but soft at the edges, like he couldn't believe her, couldn't believe this.

Y/N stayed there.

Held him steady through it, hands smoothing over his thighs like a tether as his chest rose fast and uneven.

His grip loosened only when he finally exhaled all the way, head tipping forward, eyes heavy-lidded now quiet and undone.

For a second, neither of them moved.

His hand slipped from her hair, fingers brushing her cheek as he caught his breath.

She wiped the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand, slow and easy, eyes still on him.

Joe let out a breathless laugh, rubbing a hand over his face, then down his chest, like he was trying to come back to himself.

"You good?" she asked, voice low but even, that little half-smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

Joe met her gaze then, completely relaxed for the first time all night, eyes soft, jaw loose, a quiet kind of wonder there.

"Yeah," he said finally, voice rough but steady now.

Joe's breath evened out just enough before he leaned forward, hand slipping under her chin to tilt her face up.

"Come here," he said, voice still low and rough.

Before she could move, he was pulling her into his lap.

Y/N laughed quietly, caught off guard but letting it happen.

Joe’s hand slid up the back of her neck, fingers threading into her hair as he kissed her. Deep. Slow. Messy.

"Your turn," he murmured against her mouth.

He shifted, lifting her easily, setting her back on the couch where he'd just been. Then he dropped to his knees in front of her without saying another word.

His fingers hooked under the waistband of her underwear, dragging them down slowly, like he was already savoring it.

When he settled between her thighs, he didn't look away.

Just ran one hand slowly up her thigh, watching her the whole time, mouth brushing just above her knee before dragging higher.

Y/N's breath hitched when his mouth finally replaced his fingers.

Joe didn’t say anything. No smirk. No commentary.

He just locked in.

His mouth was hot and sure, tongue dragging over her slow, deliberate.

Y/N's fingers slipped into his hair fast, grip tightening almost immediately, hips shifting before she could stop herself.

He didn’t let up.

He was determined to return the favor thoroughly and without distraction.

Her thighs trembled when he slid his hands up to anchor her hips, holding her exactly where he wanted her, not giving her room to shift away.

The only sound in the room now was her breathing, uneven and loud in the quiet, and the occasional sharp exhale from Joe when she pulled too hard at his hair.

Joe kept going.

If anything, the longer he stayed there, the more precise he got, adjusting pressure exactly when she needed it, tongue dragging and circling, lips sealing over her just right.

Her head tipped back, breath catching as she gasped his name — and Joe’s hands just locked in tighter.

"Yeah?" Joe muttered, voice low, rough against her skin. "You like that?"

He didn't wait for an answer, just dragged his mouth over her again, slower this time, tongue flattening as he worked her precisely the way she needed.

Her breath hitched hard, hips stuttering under his grip, but he kept her right where he wanted her.

"Fuck—" she gasped, fingers twisting tight in his hair now.

Joe smiled then, that quiet, smug smile she felt more than saw, before closing his mouth over her again, the pace just steady enough to undo her completely.

Her thighs trembled under his hands, her breath coming quick now, uneven, sharp.

Joe kept going, unhurried, exactly how she needed.

When her fingers tugged harder at his hair, his grip on her hips tightened to match, holding her still, anchoring her when her body was starting to slip away from her.

"Joe—" she gasped, voice already breaking.

He glanced up just long enough to catch her eyes, dark and sure.

"Let go," he said simply. Low. Rough. Confident.

That did it.

Her back arched hard as it hit, breath catching, hips jerking once before he pinned her back down, steady, unrelenting, working her through every second of it.

Her fingers slipped from his hair, her body going slack even as her thighs kept shaking against his shoulders.

Joe didn't pull back right away, just pressed a last slow kiss to the inside of her thigh, a deliberate drag of his mouth that felt both soft and possessive.

When he finally looked up at her, he was already smiling, that same quiet, crooked smile that said he knew exactly what he'd just done.

Joe sat back on his heels, hands still resting on her knees, thumbs brushing over her skin like he wasn't quite ready to let go yet.

Joe stayed there for a second, just looking at her, wrecked and sprawled and still catching her breath.

Then he leaned forward again, hands sliding up her thighs, grip tightening as he nudged her legs apart a little wider.

"Yeah," he said, voice low, rough. "Not done."

She watched him, a lazy smile playing at her lips, still too breathless to say anything.

Then he moved, fast pushing himself up from his knees and stepping out of his jeans completely.

His gaze didn't leave hers as he climbed onto the couch, crowding into her space, one knee between her legs as he settled over her.

The air felt heavier now — familiar but charged.

Joe's hands slid to her hips, thumbs brushing skin as he shifted lower, lining himself up.

When he pushed in, it was slow but deep, and the sharp breath he let out hit right at her ear.

"Fuck," he muttered, voice low, jaw tight, head dipping as he sank all the way in.

His forearm braced next to her head, the other hand sliding under her thigh, lifting it just enough to get her exactly where he wanted her.

He didn't move at first; he just stayed there, fully inside her, breath coming rough, eyes locked on hers.

His mouth brushed hers once, almost a kiss, almost not before he started to move.

Slow at first. Deep. Every push was deliberate, dragging just enough to pull another quiet gasp from her throat.

Joe's breath stayed rough against her skin, his jaw tight, eyes half-shut but still locked on her. 

One hand slid under her thigh again, lifting just slightly so he could angle deeper so she felt every inch.

"Jesus, Y/N…" he muttered, voice breaking on her name.

His pace stayed steady, each thrust hit right, his grip firm on her hip now, holding her exactly where he wanted her.

Her fingers slipped into his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan, low and sharp, hips snapping a little harder in response.

"Yeah?" he murmured, breath hot against her neck. "That what you want?"

She couldn't answer; her breath was gone, her back arching under him, but it didn't matter. He could feel it.

Joe kept going, rhythm tightening just slightly as she started to unravel again, her legs tightening around his waist now, pulling him closer.

Her nails scraped lightly at his back, and he hissed, pace stuttering once like she was undoing him right along with herself.

Her breath hitched sharp, fingers tightening at the nape of his neck, thighs trembling again.

Joe felt it and didn't let up.

"That's it," he whispered, voice raw now. "Come on."

Her whole body tensed under him and then gave out all at once a breathless, broken sound catching in her throat as she came, hips jerking up to meet his even as she fell apart.

Joe cursed under his breath, rough, ragged, and chased her right over the edge, pace snapping hard as his grip locked tight at her hip, head dipping low against her neck as he followed.

Joe didn't move right away.

Just stayed pressed to her, breath still rough, forehead tucked against her shoulder like he needed a second to come back to himself.

"You okay?" Y/N asked quietly, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on his back.

"Yeah." Joe lifted his head to look at her, his eyes still soft. "Last time we were here like this, I was falling apart. You put me back together."

Y/N smiled. "And now?"

"Now we're celebrating." He brushed a strand of hair from her face. "Feels like we finally got it right."

"Took us long enough."

"No shit."

"Come on," he said quietly.

Y/N took his hand and let him pull her up. Joe headed to the kitchen for water while she went to the bathroom; both of them moved with the easy rhythm of people who had done this countless times before.

When Joe came back with two glasses, Y/N was already pulling back the covers. They settled into bed together, Y/N automatically curling into his side, her head finding its usual spot on his chest.

"Good night, champ; I love you," she murmured against his skin.

Joe's arm tightened around her. "I love you too. I'm glad you're here," he said quietly. "I'm glad I get to celebrate this with you."

"Always."

* * *

Y/N sat at the kitchen table with her laptop, scrolling through last night's footage. She had the 2022 Super Bowl loss pulled up on one side of her screen, Joe's celebration from last night on the other. Her coffee had gone cold an hour ago.

She was lost in the editing when she heard footsteps on the stairs. Joe appeared in the kitchen, hair messy from sleep, wearing just sweatpants and looking more relaxed than she'd seen him in months.

"Morning," he said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head before moving to the coffee maker.

"Morning. How'd you sleep?"

"Like the dead." Joe poured himself a cup of coffee and refilled her mug. "What are you working on?"

"Just putting together some highlights." Y/N gestured at her screen. "Thought it might be good to show the journey. Then and now."

Joe leaned over her shoulder, watching the split screen. On the left, his face after losing in 2022 - hollow, disappointed. On the right, last night's celebration, pure elation, confetti in his hair, the biggest smile she'd ever captured.

"Jesus," he said quietly. "That's quite a difference."

"Five years," Y/N said. "A lot can change."

Joe was quiet for a moment, still watching the footage. "Seven years ago, you started documenting a story," he said finally. "Did you think it would take this long to get the ending right?"

Y/N looked up at him. "I didn't think I'd be in the ending. I thought I'd just be the one recording it."

Something shifted in Joe's expression. He straightened up, running a hand through his hair.

"Give me a second," he said, already heading toward the stairs.

Y/N nodded, turning back to her laptop. She assumed he was using the bathroom or getting dressed. She kept editing, pulling her favorite shots from the night  Joe lifting the trophy, his teammates mobbing him, the moment their eyes had found each other across the field.

She was so focused on the work that she didn't hear Joe come back downstairs until he cleared his throat behind her.

"Y/N."

She turned around and froze. Joe was standing there holding a small black ring box, and her brain completely short-circuited.

"No fucking way," she squeaked, her hand flying to her mouth.

Joe's nervous expression broke into a grin. "Yes fucking way."

Y/N stared at him, then at the box, then back at him. "Joe, what—"

"I've been thinking about this since we got together," he said, moving closer. "But I got the ring a few months ago when I knew we were going to make the playoffs. When I knew we had a real shot at this."

Y/N's eyes were wide, her heart hammering in her chest. "Joe..."

"The timing feels right," he continued, his voice steady despite the nerves she could see in his shoulders. "Morning after we won everything. Just us. No cameras, no crowd, no pressure. Just... us."

He opened the box, revealing a simple, elegant ring that was so perfectly her taste it made her chest tight.

"I want you in every frame of my life," Joe said quietly. "The victories and the defeats. The championships and the heartbreaks. All of it, together."

Y/N felt tears starting to well up. "Are you seriously proposing to me right now?"

"I'm asking you to marry me," Joe said, his voice soft but certain. "I'm asking you to be my partner in everything. Forever."

Y/N looked at the ring, then at Joe's face - hopeful and nervous and so full of love it took her breath away.

"Yes," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "Yes, of course, yes."

Joe's relief was immediate and overwhelming. He pulled the ring from the box with slightly shaking hands and slipped it onto her finger. It fit perfectly.

"How did you know my size?" Y/N asked, staring at her hand in wonder.

"I may have stolen one of your rings a few months ago," Joe admitted with a sheepish grin. "Sam helped."

"Sam knew about this?"

"Sam helped me pick it out. She said you'd hate anything too flashy."

Y/N laughed, wiping at her eyes. "She was right."

Joe pulled her up from her chair and into his arms, kissing her soft and deep and full of promise.

"I love you," he said against her lips. "My fiancée."

"I love you too," Y/N said, then pulled back to look at her hand again. "Holy shit, we're engaged."

"We're engaged," Joe agreed, grinning like an idiot.

Y/N looked at the ring, then at Joe, then at her laptop screen, still showing the split footage of his loss and victory.

"So this is what it looks like when you get everything you never thought you could have," she said softly.

"This is what it looks like when you finally get it right," Joe corrected, pulling her close again.

Y/N closed her laptop, the 2022 footage disappearing from view. That chapter was over. This was their beginning.

She pulled out her phone, holding it up to capture them both - Joe with his messy hair and a huge smile, her with tears still drying on her cheeks, and the ring catching the morning light.

"Our first photo as an engaged couple," she said, taking the selfie.

Joe looked at the picture over her shoulder. "Perfect," he said. "Absolutely perfect."

For the first time in seven years, Y/N wasn't behind the lens watching someone else's story unfold. She was exactly where she belonged - in the frame of the life they were building together.

[skyespaddock]

You & I ✨ Chapter Five

Lando Norris x Madeline Green (ofc)

Summary- Madeline Green’s life has always been intertwined with Lando Norris. An invisible string has always tied them together, but what if they were meant to be more than friends?

What happens when the universe flips their lives upside down? One moment, one line crossed, and they are forever connected by more than just an invisible string. 

Warnings-  Friends to lovers, growing up together, parent with cancer, loss of parent, pregnancy, angst and a whole lot of fluff. 

Notes- Please don't be shy, I love hearing your thoughts and especially look forward to them on this chapter! - Skye x

Madeline’s childhood heart belonged to the white country style house before her. It looked the same way it did when she was six.

The only signs of passing time were the now chipped paint on the steeping stones Flo, Lando and her had painted when she was eight. A fresh coat of paint that had been applied to the garden fence, and the notably dark bedroom windows upstairs.

Despite the years, Cisca's rose bushes never quite recovered from Lando’s motor bike incident eighteen years ago. Madeline laughed at the still dented bush, picturing a much smaller Madeline and Lando standing in this very spot.

Lando, a smile graced her at the thought. She missed him. 

She had just gotten used to having him, being with him. Morning walks, lazy days in bed, him knowing her coffee order by heart, and her cooking him dinners. 

Reality had returned. Duty called, and dragged him away to the Netherlands. He had invited her to join him, but she reminded him of her job. Her new duties lurking and unhappy about her vacation time.

Madeline shook off the painful longing to see her boy, and continued up the stone steps of the Norris household. 

Before she could raise a fist to knock, the door flew open. The woman who had always been a second mother to her enthusiastically ready to greet her. 

“Madeline!” Cisca’s arms stretched wide. Inviting the girl into a warm embrace. Rocking her side to side. Madeline returned the gesture. Resting her head on the woman’s shoulder. Reveling in the reminder of what it felt like to be in a mothers arms. 

It would never hold a candle to her own mother’s embrace, but if anything could ever be second place. It would be this.

“Hi Cisca.” Madeline smiled, comforted by the woman's homey smell. Lavender and whatever she had been baking that day.

“I’m so glad you were able to come back and visit. Those fancy accountants have been keeping you way too busy.” The woman led her through the house into the kitchen. The same kitchen where she had learned that Lando could not be trusted around a stove and where they spent many afternoons at the kitchen table with crayons and piles of scribbled on paper. 

“Them and my son, they're stealing you from me.” She added.

Madeline laughed as a cup of tea and a slice of her favorite chocolate cake was placed in front of her. Aurora Green might have been the better cook, but Cisca would forever have her beat at baking. 

“Well you’ll have to take that up with your son.” Madeline laughed, digging into her treat. 

“Oh I will.” The woman winked before pestering the girl with an array of questions, ranging from how many vegetables she was eating to the contents of her many work spreadsheets. 

___

Sunset fell across the surrounding garden, welcoming nightfall. The two had relocated from the kitchen to the back deck. 

“So” Cisca turned toward her, eyes narrowing with mischief. “Whats going on between you and my son.” She asked with a playful smirk that screamed I’m onto you. Onto them. 

Shit. 

Max was right. She really was a bloodhound. 

Madeline knew this topic was unavoidable. However she'd been hoping that Lando would be around to handle telling his mother. Curse him and his unstable schedule.

Madeline smiled nervously. Hoping Ciscia wouldn't combust and that Lando wouldn't kill her for telling his mom about them while he wasn't present.

Ciscia finding out was inevitable, so there was no use delaying that. But when faced with the question all Madeline could muster was a disoriented “umm, uhh” while awkwardly shifting in her seat. 

Cisca laughed at her pain. Head falling back in delight. “This isn't an interrogation sweetheart. I already know the answer, I just want to know how long.”

“Do I even want to know how you know?” Madline sighed in defeat, laughter bubbling beneath the surface.

“Motherly instinct, plus you two have been insanely obvious this past year.” Cisca stated as if it was the most simple thing in the world. 

Madeline had long since resigned to the idea that she and Lando had been dancing around each other for far too long. His mother was just another spectator that had seen it from the sidelines all along.

“A few weeks ago in Spain.” She confessed. “On the private weekend he booked for us.” She sighed at the memory. Wishing she could go back to beachside cocktails and intimate dinners. Most of all she wished to go back to Lando. 

“Wait.” Cisca's face fell in confusion. “Thats less than a month ago?”

“Yeah?” Madeline responded, the woman's puzzled expression causing her own confusion. 

“Honey.” Cisca gave the girl a look over the tops of her glasses that only a mother could give. “You and I both know you two were up to something long before then.”

Leave it to Cisca to dig for the details. She loved her mothers best friend, but she was not going to tell the woman about her drunk makeout session with her son in Monaco that started all this. That was where she drew the line.

Madeleine sighed, knowing she had to give the woman something. “Officially we've been together as of a few weeks ago. Unofficially we've been together since Monaco. That seemed to please the woman who leaned back in her chair, adjusting her glasses to sit high on her nose. 

“I’m happy for you sweetheart. You two were starting to make us nervous with this whole will they won’t they game.” She said, earning a laugh from Madeline.

So far this was going a lot better than she had pictured, but she still cursed Lando for leaving her to face his mothers blinding delight alone.

“Ever since you were babies you two were destined for each other. I remember one day your mother and I put you two down for a nap. You both screamed and cried for twenty minutes, nothing could get you two to settle down.” Cisca reminisced on the fond memory. “Until your mother suggested moving you two into the same bassinet. The moment I placed Lando next to you the cries stopped.”

Madline had heard this story many times growing up. It was always Cisca and her mothers favorite story to tell at gatherings. Partially because it never failed to make Madeline and Lando blush. 

Madeline would never forget the last time her mother told that story. That was the last time she ever saw Aurora Green. The last time she ever saw her mother.

It saddened her to know that she would never see them like this, happily in a relationship. But something told her that her mother always knew they belonged to each other.

“It was then that we knew you were two parts of a whole. We didn't know when or how it would play out for you, but we always hoped it would.” Cisca continued, eyes slightly damp at the memory of her friend, who never got the chance to see her wishes come true.

“What do you think she would say?” Madeline asked. 

“She would tell you to let yourself be happy, that you deserve this.” Cisca reached a hand out to cover Madeleine’s. “She would also tell you that when you're ready to get married we have a very extensive google doc with wedding plans.” 

That drew a laugh from Madeline. “Oh so you've really thought about this?”

“I’ve been lighting candles to manifest this moment every day since you were born.” Cisca squeezed her hand firmly. 

Under all the jokes Madeline knew that the woman was happy, no, delighted for them. Cisca’s approval cemented the fact Madeline knew deep in her soul. Her and Lando were right. They were meant for each other. 

She would spend the rest of her life loving him in a new way. Nothing could take that away. 

___

It was long past normal working hours when Madeline exited the office doors. 8pm to be exact. A co-worker had been out sick all week, leaving Madeline to pick up their extra work. 

Pietra would scold her for taking all the work herself and not delegating it to other members of the team. But Pietra wasn't here. Her and Max had gone to Portugal to visit family. Leaving Madeline suffer through her bone tired state in solitude.

Lando was off, busy traveling for press duties following the race in Italy. 

All Madeline wanted was a warm meal and to curl up in bed. Preferably with Lando, but the weighted blanket he had gifted her in his absence would have to do tonight. 

Pulling into the driveway, tired eyes fighting to stay focused. Madeline paused. Blinking. 

Once. 

Twice. 

Surely she was seeing things.

There was an unexpected car parked in the driveway, in place of Max’s usual vehicle. But this was not an unfamiliar vehicle. No. She was very familiar with the papaya Mclaren parked in front of her house. 

It belonged to Lando on the days he was in Woking at MTC. But why was it here now? 

To her knowledge Lando was running around Europe attending fancy events in the name of good press. 

Throwing all caution to the wind, Madeline jumped out of her car making a beeline for the front door. Hastily jamming her key into the door before ripping it open. 

Hoping, praying she saw the boy she wished for every night, and not a cereal killer with an exquisite taste in cars.  

Madeline stopped in her tracks as she surveyed the scene before her.

The loud overhead kitchen lights had been turned off, the only light coming from the soft lamp in the living room and warm candles scattered throughout the space. 

The welcoming couch was piled with extra pillows and blankets, an episode of her favorite tacky reality tv show was cued up on the television, complete with a pizza box sitting on the coffee table.

There, waiting for her in a cozy pile on the couch, was Lando. 

She was so happy she almost started crying. Her bag dropped, making a soft thump as it greeted the ground. 

“Last time I checked you worked nine to five not nine to eight.” Lando spoke with a lighthearted grin, but his voice carried concerned undertones. 

“Can you scold me while cuddling me?” Madeline whined, throwing her body onto her boyfriend. Feeling the comfort she longed for every night since they parted. 

His legs moved to secure her between them, warm arms welcoming her home. “I’m just worried about you baby.” He mumbled into her hair.

“My co-worker has been sick all week, I’ve been picking up the slack.” She responded, tension of the long day easing now that she was in his arms.

"Isn't that what you have an entire staff of people for?”

“It’s my job to handle things like this.”

“That doesn't mean you can't ask for help Mads.” Lando gently reminded her. 

“How’d you get here anyways?” Madeline swiftly changed the subject away from her age old overworking tendencies.

Lando sighed, she could tell he knew what she was doing but allowed her to get away with it anyways. 

“Brand event was canceled, I saw an opportunity and I took it.” He explained, hand running up and down her back. “Good thing I did, someone's gotta feed you.”

She hummed into his sweatshirt. Fully content. Thanking whatever fancy brand had canceled and sent her boyfriend back to her. “I would have managed. But I’m glad you're here.”

“Me too baby. Let's eat, yeah?”

___

Rain cascaded from the sky in bucketfuls on the anniversary of Aurora Green’s death. 

Some would call it depressing, making a sad day even harder. But to Madeline the rain was perfect. 

Madeline loved the rain. She loved the smell it carried in the air, the soft white noise, the cozy feel of the grey clouds that brought it. Most of all she loved it because it reminded her of her mother.

Aurora Green loved the rain first. 

She passed her love on to her daughter one rainy day when the three year old had complained of not being able to go outside. 

“Nonsense.” Her mother had replied, and ten minutes later they were dressed in raincoats and matching pink rain boots.

Madeline recalled that day as she stood  in front of her mothers grave. “Aurora Green, Mother, Wife, and Friend.” The smooth, well manicured stone read.

They had spent that day jumping in puddles and dancing in the rain, only coming inside when her father expressed worry for the two catching a cold. 

They spent the evening eating warm soup and watching movies, huddled under blankets. It would be forever engraved in Madeline’s mind as one of the best days of her life.

The memory was worth even more to her now that the days with her mother had passed. The woman who had taught her to love the rain, now a part of the clouds.

A black umbrella shielded her from the downpour and the man who held it shielded her from harm. 

Lando had refused to let her face this day alone. Telling Zak and Andrea to move his sim times around because he would be absent. Madeline needed him today. A fact she wasn't afraid to admit. 

“Three years,” Madeline exhaled, shifting closer to Lando, to his safety. “I can't believe I’ve lived three years without her. I wonder if she can see me? If she’s been with me” 

“She’s here.” Lando confidently assured the girl. “Thats why it’s raining, it’s her way of letting you know she's here.”

Madeline looked up, giving him a weak smile.

“I’ll go wait in the car, I'll give you a minute with her.” Lando offered before handing over the umbrella and sprinting back to the parking lot. Slipping and sliding his way through the graveyard. 

It shouldn't have been funny. Not on a day like today, but she couldn't help smiling as she watched him go. Shutting himself safely in the car. 

“Hey momma.” She crouched, centered in front of the stone.

“Three years without you, and I don’t know how I’m still going.” She sighed hoping wherever her mother was, she was listening. 

Probably smiling at her only child.

“You’d be happy to know Lando and I are together now. I wouldn't be surprised if you pulled some strings with a higher power to make that happen.” She laughed. Picturing her mother having coffee with the higherups in heaven charming them into pulling strings for her daughter to end up with her love faster. 

“Cisca told the crib story again when she found out.” Madeline traced the engraved letters with her eyes, mapping out her mothers name. “I know it was always your favorite."

“I’ll never get used to you not being here, but I know you’d be happy to see where I am. I miss you, dad misses you, more than ever." Madeline took a tentative step forward, placing a hand on the cool, slick gravestone. “I love you mom.” 

With a heavy heart and a light sigh she turned away from her mothers resting place. Moving toward the obnoxiously bright Mclaren. Engine already running, the car warm and waiting for her. 

Just like the boy inside. 

___

The weekend was supposed to offer a quiet reprieve from the bustle of her office. However, since Madeline had begun to take work home on her laptop that was no longer the case.

Madeline sat on the couch. A gorgeous October afternoon passed outside, but she was inside hunched over numbers. 

It could wait, really. The task  wasn't anything urgent, but if she got ahead on this she could get a jump on new clients, and pick up a new batch of work later next week. It was silly, but Madeline aimed to please. Even at her own expense.

A soft buzzing pulled Madeline away from the blue light of her computer. Glancing up at her phone, smile tugged at her lips upon seeing the contact trying to reach her. 

Lando’s contact picture was one of her favorites. A silly picture she had taken after Silverstone. The camera was angled over his forehead, making his face look odd and elongated. His P2 trophy was squished against his face. He was laughing, probably about how ridiculous the picture was. It was perfect. Something just for her. 

No one else got Lando like this, like she did.

“Hey, speed racer.” She set her computer aside. Giving him her full attention. 

“Hey, pretty girl.” A wide smile evident in his voice.

Madeline could picture him sitting in his driver's room, race suit on. Moments away from getting in the car, smiling over a last minute phone call to her. 

“Ready to keep your podium streak alive?”

“You know it, it’ll be four if I can make it today.”

“Thats a good number.” She laughed.

“Yeah.” He sighed. “It is. I really miss you.”

“I miss you too.” She did. She really did. She so desperately wanted to see him. To hug him. Run her fingers through his hair and bring him breakfast in bed. Tell him she loved him and feel him next to her as they floated in their separate dreams. 

“What if?” Lando’s voice gained that mischievous tone she recognized well from many troublesome adventures as both adults and kids. “If I get a podium, you come to Mexico City next weekend. I’ll fly you out, I’ll make it so you miss as little work as possible, and you’ll be with me.

Madeline knew she never stood a chance against him. If he didn't get a podium she’d still come if he asked her. There was no point in fighting it.

“Oh that confident are we?” Her tone matched the mischief in his voice. 

“For you, always.”

“Okay well you have yourself a deal Mr. Norris.” She laughed.

“Pleasure doing business with you, Ms. Green.” 

Rustling and low voices filtered through the phone signaling that Lando would have to leave her for the car.

“I’ve gotta go Mad’s.” His words a reluctant sigh. “But I’ll get you that podium. I love you"

“I don’t doubt it Lan, just come back to me, okay. I love you.” Madeline had given up on telling him to drive safely back in the karting days. Nothing about what he did was safe, but she had faith in him. That he would walk out of that car.

She had to. 

___

Madeline’s eyes couldn't tear their gaze away from the screen as the papaya car crossed the checkered flag in P2 in the United States Grand Prix. Earning his fourth podium in a row. A stark contrast from how his season had started. 

Mclaren was finally able to put the pieces together on the car, and Lando was driving it spectacularly. 

Madeline smiled, knowing that this time next week she would be with her boy. She would have to bring her laptop and would still have a mountain of work to return to, but it would be worth it.

As Madeline prepared to roll into bed. An early Monday at the office awaiting her, a chime sounded from her phone. Not a phone call. Just a text from Lando.

Flight details, for next week. 

Madeline fell asleep that night smiling.

___

The Mexico City Airport was packed with people as Madeline maneuvered through the bodies, trying to get to her pickup location. 

She had stated multiple times that Lando did not have to come to the airport to pick her up himself, and that she could take a car. He had simply laughed, told her she was silly, and that was that. Argument over, plans decided.

“This is your idea of an incognito car?” Madeline asked, settling into the matte black McLaren her boyfriend was loaned for the week.

“It’s black, that's as incognito as you get.” Lando defended, settling her suitcase safely in the back. Double checking that she was buckled before taking off toward their hotel. 

“It’s a Mclaren Lan, nothing about that is subtle.”

“You love it.” Lando winked, placing a hand on her legging covered thigh, desperate to touch her after so long spent apart. Madeline knew she missed him. But she hadn't realized how much she longed to be in his presence until she was back beside him. 

___

The crisp white hotel sheets were rumpled around them. Only the small lamp on Madeline’s side of the bed illuminated the room. The city bustled beyond the window panes, unknowing to the cozy cocoon they had created within the walls of the hotel room.  

Media day had proven to be rather uneventful. Just typical press conferences with plenty of unserious answers from Lando, and the Mclaren pr team making their drivers do strange TikTok trends.

The day concluded with a nice dinner out in the company of George and Alex. An event that reminded Madeline of Lando’s days in the lower formulas. A night full of laughter and stories.

But nothing compared to going back to the hotel with Lando. Settling into the soft mattress. Her pillows remained unused, as she preferred resting her head on Lando’s chest. Feeling his heartbeat. The steady rise and fall of his chest. 

The soft rhythm was quickly lulling her to sleep.

A sleep that she had been fighting for the past half hour. Wanting to stay awake, be present, enjoy every second she had with him before they were inevitably ripped apart once more. 

But Lando’s fingertips tracing the expanse of her spine was the final straw. 

Losing to her boyfriend's soothing motions, she allowed her eyes to remain closed. Letting out a sigh in contentment, before surrendering to sleep.

___

“Mad’s if you don’t take that computer out of your bag I’m going to throw it off the hospitality roof.” Lando scolded, pulling his Papaya polo over sleep tussled curls.

Madeline huffed, placing her hands on her hips like a disappointed mother. Lando turned to send the look back to her, locking them in a disappointed mother face off.

In truth Madeline knew this would happen. There was no way Lando would let her work on a race weekend. That didn't stop her from working on the flight over, and even sneaking her laptop in for free practice day to answer emails and update files while Lando was out of the car and busy with team duties.

She thought she would be able to sneak it in again. Clearly she was wrong. 

“It’s just for the time between sessions Lan, I’m being productive.” She argued. 

“You're being a workaholic.” Lando fought back. Crossing the room to snatch her laptop from the oversize bag she had brought for this very purpose. “I’m locking this in the safe so you can't get it for the rest of the weekend.” Lando’s voice carried a tone of finality that told her he would be taking any more arguments from her.

That didn't stop her from trying. “But Lando, what am I supposed to do? Wait like a lost puppy while you're busy with media and debriefs?” She winned, pulling out her best puppy dog eyes.

“That’s not going to work on me.” He laughed at her antics. “You can socialize like a normal person, Oscar’s girlfriend Lily is going to be there, you can form an alliance with her.”

“You just want all my attention to yourself.” Madeline reluctantly accepted defeat. Knowing that Lando had her best interest at heart. 

“Okay, you caught me.” he held his hands up in mock surrender. “Don’t put your shoes on till I get this locked up, that's my job.”

Madeline smiled watching him retreat to lock up her contraband laptop, wondering what good deed she had done in a past life to deserve this boy. 

___

Instead of socializing, Madeline settled for a more productive use of her downtime, doom scrolling through instagram. Specifically the growing number of photos posted of her and Lando from that very morning. 

Hundreds of paddock photos containing her face existed on the internet. Ones of her with Ladno, his parents, their friends, even solo shots of her minding her business. She was no stranger to seeing pictures of herself online, and reading speculating comments about her and Lanod’s relationship.

It only took one look at the newest batch of shots to understand why these had gained so much traction. 

The photo on her screen captured them mid step, side by side. She remembered this part of their paddock walk, it was busy and chaotic. 

Lando had moved a guiding hand to the small of her back, a tether to help her through the crowded space. It was a harmless gesture. Something she hadn't thought twice about in the moment. 

The candid photo however, captured it perfectly, and the hundreds of people in the comments had caught onto the possible implications of such a gesture.

“Looking at paddock photos on quali day, risky business if I say so myself.” A light feminine, British voice sung behind her. 

“Well I’ve got nothing else to do.” Looking up at the smiling brunette, Lily. She remembered seeing her in passing at Bahrain, but the two had never officially met. 

“Mind if I join you?” Lilly asked, gesturing to the empty seat across from Madeline.

“Not at all.” She smiled, happy to have someone to keep her company in the lonely hospitality suite. 

“I’m Lilly by the way.” She politely introduced herself.

“Madeline, it’s a pleasure. It’s great to have some female company around here for a change.” Madeline stowed her phone safely in her purse. Declaring her doom scrolling over with, now that she had a kind face to converse with.

___

Qualifying had been, for lack of a better word, horrendous for Lando. A late yellow flag from Fernando Alonso blocked him from putting in a final fast lap in Q1. Landing him an unforgiving P19 for tomorrow's race. 

Madeline took in the scene before her. The usual happy, smiley Lando was gone. Replaced by the harsh self deprecating boy hunched over himself on their hotel bed. Duvet wrinkled around his body as if it wished to comfort him. Lights turned off, leaving him wallowing in darkness.

Lando had gone quiet since getting out of the car. Wanting to get through media and debrief as quickly as possible. 

Madeline respected this. She knew he had to process, but she wouldn't sit here and let him belittle her favorite person in the universe.

The overthinking boy didn't stir when she flicked the corner lap on. It’s light illuminating his tired frame.

Her steps toward him were steady and sure, before taking a seat beside him. The moment he registered her presence, his head fell to her shoulder. She took the action as a sign to pull him into her. Arms reaching around his back, moving his head to rest securely underneath her chin.

It was a position he held her in often. She loved the feeling of being cocooned in his presence. Of being able to feel his steady heartbeat. She would do everything in her power to give that same comfort back to him.

His arms encompassed her waist. As if she was his only anchor in an ocean of chaos. 

“It’s not your fault.” She pressed a kiss on his brow bone. Her hands came to gently massage the tight mussels in his neck. Feeling his sigh of relief in response. She had spent years memorizing the areas of his body that held the most tension. His neck taking the majority of the beating. “You’ll make it up tomorrow.”

“I shouldn't have to.” The words were mumbled into her shirt. His fists clenching the material.

“You can’t change what happened Lan. All you can control now is how you react. Don’t let this trip you up. Get in the car tomorrow and show those back runners who's boss.” She finished, kissing the corner of his lips.

“I’m really glad you’re here.” He smiled into the kiss.

“Me too. Now get in bed so I can cuddle you.”

As Lando rushed to get ready for bed with more enthusiasm than he’d had all day, Madeline knew he was going to be okay.

___

There was one thing Madeline knew for sure. Mexico City loved Lando Norris. Whether they loved the British boy for his smile and whole heart or for the on track entertainment he was currently providing she was unsure.

Her papaya headset blocked out the deafening noise of the crowd every time he performed an overtake, but she could feel their energy buzzing in the air. 

It had been a rollercoaster to say the least. From starting P19 to rising up to P10, only to get passed on the restart after Kevin Magnison brought out the red flag, dropping him down to P14.

Madeline winced as Lando made yet another flawless over take, this time on Daniel Ricardo to bring him up to a well earned sixth.

She shared a smile with Lilly, the two providing each other with emotional support for the weekend. Knowing that even if this hadn't been a picture perfect weekend, the papaya boys would still bring back a solid haul of points. 

The girls shared an embrace as the checkered flag waved. Madeline gushed with excitement. P19 to P5.

For all his self doubt Lando had talent and delivered when it mattered and she would spend the rest of her life helping him fend off the toxic voices in his head. 

___

A blanket of darkness greeted them as the hotel room door clicked shut. Soft rustling ensued next to her as Lando fumbled for the light. His success was rewarded with a small click, and a flood of low light. 

The room was just as they left it that morning. Madeline’s clothes neatly folded and hung up, her book on the bedside table. Bed now neatly made, open and inviting to her tired body. 

Then there was Lando. Who for all his extensive traveling, one would think he’d have settled into an unpacking routine by now. 

Unfortunately for Madeline that was not the case. His suitcase sat open wide, various hoodies, shirts, and flashes of papaya sticking out every witch way. It was cute in a messy, endearing way. It made Lando, Lando.

With hands still intertwined she was wordlessly pulled into the room. Only coming to a stop once they’d reached the end of the bed. Lando paused, standing in front of her. Even in the low light Madeline could make out the colors of his stunning eyes. 

Lando reached an exploratory hand to her shoulder. Slipping his fingers underneath the fabric of her sleeve. Tracing the warm skin living beneath. 

Madeline smiled, fully content. Hands reaching under his team polo to return the sentiment toward the skin of his lower stomach. Tilting her head up. Just the tiniest amount, as if to say “kiss me please.” Lando smiled, gladly closing the gap between them. One hand still placed delicately on her shoulder. The other reaching to cradle her jaw, bringing their lips together. 

Their lips locked in a twisting flurry of lust and desire, but the connection also felt safe. Like coming home to an embrace she never wanted to leave.

The kiss intensified as his hand got tired of sharing her shoulder with the soft material of her top. He slowly slid the material down her shoulder, exposing the lacy surprise waiting beneath. 

Lando pulled away, just for a moment to situate them on the bed. Then paused, looking at her lacy bra that was now on full display for him.

“You have papaya lingerie?” Lando asked, mouth dropping in astonishment. 

Madeline giggled. It had started as a meaningless joke. Something Madeline had seen while out shopping, she told herself it was stupid. But it reminded her of him and she couldn't wipe the smile off her face at the thought of him seeing it. Seeing her in it. 

So without a second thought she had bought it, and tossed it in her suitcase. Looking at his face now she could say it was one hundred percent worth it.

“Oh this?” She innocently asked. Playfully batting her eyelashes. “You like it?”

“Oh I love it, but unfortunately it’s gotta go.” He laughed before gently pushing her back onto the bed. She landed with a soft bounce, wrinkling the previously pristine duvet. Sounds of their laughter bounced off the walls as they tangled deeper into each other.

___

Madeline’s bed was cold when she awoke the day of her twenty-fourth birthday, but her heart was warm as she surveyed the sight waiting for her in the kitchen.

Wildflowers had taken over the kitchen counter, the bright orange petals staking their claim on the space. She didn't need a note, a text, or a phone call to know who was responsible for her favorite flowers. 

Lando, always Lando. 

Somehow from across the world in America, Lando was still able to surprise her. To pull her heartstrings across oceans and borders. 

It might have been yet another birthday apart, but Madeline felt closer to him than ever.

___

Flurries of sparks were normal in Las Vegas, bright lights shining through the tv screen. But the amount that were flying from Lando’s out of control Maclaren were not. 

And then, impact. Hard brutal impact. 

The room went silent, Max and Petra leaned forward in their seats next to her. Pietra grabbed her hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. Madeline was unsure if the silence was due to shock or the defining buzz between her ears. 

“I’m okay” The words came strained as if Lando was fighting for the breath to say them with. But it was something.

___

An hour passed, an hour marked by painful dread. 

Lando had been airlifted to the hospital. She had been told that much.

Jon had promised to call with an update, all Madeline could do was wait. Staring at her phone, waiting for it to light up with Lando’s trainer’s name. 

She waited, and waited. The race still playing out on the screen, now long forgotten.

Finally, her phone lit up. It never got the chance to buzz, Madeline had answered within a second. Giving Jon zero space for greetings she let her concerned questions fly.

“How is he? Is he okay?” 

“He’s okay,” the trainer spoke with a laugh. How could he be laughing at a time like this?

“Actually he’s more than okay. They gave him some hard meds for the pain, and let's just say he’s really enjoying them.”

Jesus Christ. Madeline had been worried out of her mind and the whole time her boyfriend had been high on pain meds? 

“Can I talk to him?”

“Yeah, but I’m not responsible for anything that comes out of his mouth.” Jon laughed and Madeline could hear rustling through the line as the phone was handed to Lando.

“Baby!” Madeline was forced to momentarily move the phone away from her ear as his defining voice screeched through the device. 

“Hi, Lan. How are you feeling?” 

“I feel great, I don’t know why everyone is so worried.” His words came out jumbled and slurred. If Madeline hadn't known him so well she might have not been able to make them out.

Before she could respond he kept going. “Did I at least look hot when I crashed?” Okay this was definitely the drugs talking, adorable, but definitely the drugs. 

“You looked like you gave me a heart attack.” Madeline fought the smile that rose to her face. She was still worried for him, all she wanted to do was hold him. Hold proof that he was okay. But his slurred words told her that at least he wasn't in pain, he would be tomorrow. For now he was just a boy, loopy from pain meds and attention from his girlfriend.

___

Very few things could make Madeline Green call out of work. She had trudged to work the last two days through exhaustion, but she drew the line at a stomach bug. Which is apparently what plagued her now. 

That was the only explanation for why she had spent that past hour of her morning crouched over the toilet.

“Could it be food poisoning?" Pietra questioned, rubbing the girls back in support.

“You've literally cooked for me the past two days.” Madeline laid back on the bathroom tile, desperate for anything to cool her skin and distract from the crippling nausea.

“Okay, hopefully it’s not that.” Her friend concluded. 

“Please don’t tell Lando or else he won’t let me fly tomorrow.”

“Madeline you can't fly like this.” 

Madeline, Pietra, and Max were due to fly out tomorrow evening to meet Lando in Abu Dhabi ahead of the final race of the season. Madeline refused to let a little stomach sickness get in her way.

“Okay, do you notice any other symptoms? Have you felt bad or off in the past few days?” Pietra tried to work with her to figure out why she was feeling so low all of a sudden.

“I’ve been tired, like really tired. I think I fell asleep at my desk yesterday, and my boobs hurt. I also almost threw up at the smell of my co-works tuna sandwich the day before that.” Madeline added mindlessly from her place on the floor. Too busy fighting back the next bout of nausea to fully process what she just said. 

What all those symptoms pointed toward when put together.

But Pietra did.

“Madeline.” She might have not put the pieces together, but she noticed the change in her friend's voice immediately. Panic. Shock. Apprehension.

“What?” She slowly pulled herself up from the cool tiles to face Pietra.

Her friend took a deep breath. As if preparing to speak to a frightened, unsuspecting animal. 

“Do you think?” She paused. “Do you think that it’s possible you could be pregnant?"

Madeline stopped breathing. The world came to a screeching halt.

A heavy pressure gained weight between her ears as the symptoms suddenly clicked.

Shit, Pietra was right. How could she be so stupid? How could she not put the pieces together?

Wait, no. That's impossible. She had just had her period. 

“No. I had my period last week, it can't be that.” Madeline reasoned. Surely she was in the clear, this was nothing to panic about.

Pietra seemed sceptical. “How long did it last?”

Madeline’s forehead scrunched, trying to remember, “Uhh, just like two days.” Her period had always been irregular, ever since she was a teenager. So when her cycle came short, sweet, and light, she hadn't questioned it. 

But now she did. “Mine’s usually short. It means nothing right? Right?” Madeline tone practically begged her friend to reassure her. Tell her everything was fine. That the logic made sense and she had nothing to worry about.

Unfortunately for Madeline, Pietra did no such thing. 

“Madeline.” Pietra sympathetically moved her hands to the girl’s shoulders. “I think we need to get you a test.”

No. She shook her head in denial. Tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. 

How could this happen? What if it came back positive?

Her and Lando had only been officially together for what? Four months? 

She had her demanding job. He had his even more demanding job. All the travel. They didn't even live in the same country for crying out loud. 

Yes, she’s known him her whole life. Yes, she loved him more than anything. But this. They could never be ready for this. Not now. 

Sobs escaped ripped from her lips as Pietra moved to wrap steady arms around her. The usually soothing embrace doing little to quell the anxiety wrecking her body. 

“Madeline just breathe, okay? We don’t know anything yet. Let's get a test, and go from there, yeah?” Her friend asked in a soothing voice that oddly resembled that of her mother. Oh the things she would do to be able to call her mother right now.

“And if it is positive we’ll go from there, okay?”

“Okay.” Madeline agreed, she had no choice but to.

___

The pregnancy test sat face down on the bathroom counter with Pietra’s phone timer as company. One minute left, the timer read.

One minute stood between Madeline and potentially life altering news.

Lucky for them Max was out of the house that morning on official Quadrant business. Giving them a few free hours without him snooping around. That made this whole process only slightly easier. 

The timer pinged.

Neither of them moved.

“You want me to turn it?” Pietra questioned, not daring to make a move toward the test yet. 

“I just- I just need another second.” Everything was moving too fast. Madeline couldn't process it, what this could possibly mean for her future. For Lando’s. For their future together.

Pietra nodded in understanding. Giving her friend an extra moment.

“Lando- If it’s positive this could ruin his life. The career he’s worked so hard for. What if he doesn't want me anymore?” The earlier tears returned to Madeline's eyes. Falling to her now puffy cheeks. 

“Madeline, no.” Pietra swiped warm thumbs over the terrified girl’s skin. “Nothing could ever make Lando leave you. If that test is positive, he will stand by your side. We all will. Me, Max, Lando, your dad, Lando’s parents. You will not be alone, I can promise you that.” Pietra spoke so confidently it made Madeline’s sobs intensify. God why was she so emotional? 

Right, it was probably because she was likely pregnant. The thought turned her attention back to the test, still facedown. Result already determined, but hidden from sight. 

“Are you ready?” This time Pietra moved toward the counter. Hand reaching to flip the test.

No she wasn't, everything felt wrong. 

In a sudden burst of energy fueled by blind panic, Madeline pounced toward the counter. Swiping the test before Pietra could uncover its results.

“No, no no. I can't do it!” Madeline panicked running out of the bathroom nearly crashing into her dresser on her dash through the house.

“Madeline, avoidance is not the answer here!” Pietra attempted to calm her anxiety consumed friend, while simultaneously chasing her through the house. 

They ended up in the kitchen. Running laps around the kitchen island. Playing a strange game of cat and mouse, where Pietra made a move from across the island and Madeline frantically scrambled to counter it. Keeping her as far away from the test as possible. 

That was until Pietra did something Madeline could have never expected. She had never seen her friend move so fast in her life.

In a sudden blur of blonde the girl flailed her body across the kitchen island. Outstretched hand knocking the test out of Madeline’s, sending it flying. 

The airborne test soared high above them, hitting the kitchen light with a soft clink, before falling in what felt like slow motion. 

It hit the marble with a sharp crack. 

Face up. 

Both girls leaned over their respective side of the counter. The pregnancy test remained unharmed in the heat of battle. But instead of the one red line that was there when she first opened it. 

There were two.

___

Madeline had always wanted to be a mother. She longed for little shoes by the door, piles and stuffed animals in the living room, and happy souls to nurture. But in every instance where she imagined being a mother, none of them started like this. 

She imagined being married in a stable long term relationship. Reading the test results with her partner beside her. Feeling nothing by joy.

Here in the kitchen staring at the positive test, Madeleine felt nothing but fear. With an unhealthy side of shame. 

How could this be happening? How could they stupid enough to let this happen?

Madeline closed her eyes, hoping to wake up and have this be all be one strange melatonin induced dream.

But it wasn't. The test was still on the counter, positive. With Pietra's eyes still locked on it, shock commanding her features. Her friend was usually a calm, collected voice of reason, but even she didn't know how to process the two lines staring back at them.

Both girls had been so lost in shock from the results, and adrenaline from their chase through the house, that neither of them registered the sound of the door clicking shut. Followed by the soft shuffle shoes sliding off and the jingle of keys being hung by the door. 

Neither of them looked up in time to notice a third party staring at the same sight in front of them. 

“What in the bloody hell is happening?” Max asked in half exasperation, half fear. Standing in the doorway for god knows how long. 

This just went from bad to worse.

It’s not that Madeline didn't want him to know, he would find out eventually. But she didn't want him to find out like this. She wanted to keep this as contained as possible until she was able to tell Lando. 

Madeline recognized the second Max zeroed in on the pregnancy test. Still sitting casually on the counter as if it hadn't just uprooted her entire life in a matter of minutes. 

“What is that?” He pointed as if they had brought a unicorn into the kitchen. 

“I think you know what it is Max.” Madeline mumbled, face tilting toward the ground. Wishing it would swallow her up. 

No one moved to stop Max as he stepped closer to the test. Close enough to now read the results.

“Jesus.” Max sighed, hand rising to his temples, as if the stress was giving him a headache. Madeline could sympathize, her own head felt like it was about to erupt. 

It was then that Pietra finally moved. Gently grabbing the test and removing it from view. Granting Madeline the small reprieve of no longer having it directly in her line of sight. 

Max looked between the two, eyes wild as if his brain was rebooting from shock. “Which one of you took it?” He asked anxiously.

Madeline let out a half sigh, half sob. Knowing the sooner she accepted it the sooner she could figure out next her steps. The first one being how did she tell Lando she got pregnant when they have barely been together four months.  

“Mine.” She whimpered. “It’s mine.”

[kotonoba]

Clashing of Swords (Law/GN!Reader)

Summary: "The winner takes all," he regrets saying that, now that you stand your ground in his place, praying he gets to safety.

a/n: Hey. In my defense, I did want to write a part two. But one of my proofreaders is like: "I cried, but you don't need a part two, let them suffer." So, uh, here ya go.

Warning(s): canon-typical violence, angst

Posted on AO3

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”I love you,” was the last thing Law heard from Cora before the chest went dark. Before he cried for the man who was like his father, he was killed by his own brother. That's how it always went. The nightmares never differed. Law shot up from his bed, panting, with tears streaming down his face. The vivid dreams always get him when he's traveling to a new island.

He holds his head tightly, eyes shut in the darkness of his room, hoping to get rid of the nightmare-fueled thoughts in his mind. His body flinches when he feels a pair of arms wrap around him. Patting his back in a soothing motion, soaked in your scent, “Baby, did you have a nightmare again?” You whispered lovingly. He cracks an eye open, adjusting to the darkness. His racing mind calms down as he desperately hugs you back. Taking in your scent as if it were his drug and the only thing keeping him sane. He melts in your touch, like ice to fire, “Don't worry, baby, I'm here.” He nods his head, a tear-stained face burying itself against the crook of your neck. During times like these, he needs to be grounded in reality. He needed comfort and stability.

Initially, he had thought it was better not to fall in love; it was a risky proposition. But he couldn't stop his foolish heart. He was captivated by your kindness, your knowledge, your smile, your voice, and most importantly, you. What was his excuse for inviting you to join his crew? You swam well, you would fit right in. His crew teased him, embarrassingly, and he tried to brush it off until he heard you laugh. It was his drug to listen to you laugh. When his first nightmare struck, you were as understanding as always. You soothed him with your presence, grounded him in reality, and promised him you'd stay with him.

You promised. That's what mattered to him. So, tell him why, as Bepo carried him to safety from Blackbeard's grasp, your vivre card begins to singe. Exhausted eyes frantically scanned the surroundings until the sound of clashing swords triggered his panic. There you stood, barely holding your ground against one of the emperors of the seas, while he was being carried away from the island. “Bepo, the crew… bring me back…” Bepo, the crew, my lover is still there, they promised, I can't leave them there, was what he wanted to say. He wanted to use Room, he tried to switch your spot with his. So long as you're safe. But he was too tired, too hurt, pushed beyond the limit of moving.

“Captain, believe in our crew, believe in them, we're the Hearts Pirates for a reason, they will be fine so long as you're okay,” Bepo grounded Law to reality. But, he couldn't stop the worry as he felt your Vivre card burn in his possession. Burn until he lost consciousness; burn until the last thing he saw was your smile; burn until Bepo dove underwater, out of the grasp of Blackbeard. The last thing he recalls was your Vivre card, which he was holding on to for dear life. He succumbs to his exhaustion; this time, he doesn't dream of Cora. This time, he dreams of cuddling with you, telling you how much you matter to him, how he would happily lay his life down for you, and how you mean the world to him. Telling you: ”so don't abandon me, I can't lose you too.”

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[eugism]

I think the horror potential of Obey Me is sooo overlooked.

Like sir, you're living with seven of the strongest demons in Hell. And yeah, it's easy to forget that sometimes but the stuff you can do with it?

For example, a lot of people forget that Leviathan is literally the Grand Admiral of Hell's Navy. He's been to wars and he has most definitely killed people. Every brother—one way or the other—has killed people. And the potential it has is so high it drives me insane when people don't even think about it.

Yes, the game is light hearted but come on, you live with demons, the stuff they've done (and still do) can and will be morally wrong, and God, do I love it.

The brothers are still big shots in Devildom. Right under Diavolo himself. I like to imagine that a lot of demons are scared of them. You can't look me in the eyes and tell me that a lowly demon can have an argument with Satan, for example, and not get their head blown off. Death doesn't really mean much, especially when it's a low ranked demon they could find a million of in the span of minutes. The brothers are old asf and they've seen the wars in Devildom, too. They most likely fought in them.

Now you may have the argument of "But Mammon constantly gets kicked out of casinos, he gets beaten blah blah" and to that I say; He's Mammon. No matter how pathetic he may seem he's still the second eldest. And if you ask me, one of the most emotionally intelligent and mature ones among the brothers. The reason why Mammon is so often walked over is because he doesn't show his strenght. He has the emotional capability and general strenght to not lose his cool even if he's getting insulted by a low-life who he could obliterate in a second.

But back on track, as I was saying, I believe that all of the brothers have killed people, justified or not, and I just need more fics where they're horrifying demons. Batshit insane. A flick of the wrist and blood's everywhere. The angst you could pull off with it makes my mouth water. Like, just imagine accidentally witnessing one of the brothers killing someone and act like it's nothing. THE POTENTIALLL OH LOOOORDDDDDDD

[joooooniecore]

After all this time - Chapter 11

Your friends have been successful enough to drag you out of your workaholic routine for a vacation out of country.

The only problem? Your long term crush who actually used to be your best friend is also going there. And he is bringing his girlfriend, your ex-female best friend.

What could go wrong? Right?

✧˖* pairing: ex-bestfriend!mingyu x f!reader

✧˖* chapter count: master-list

✧˖* genre: ex-best friend mingyu, friends to strangers to friends to lovers, fluff, angst, slow-burn, smut.

✧˖* playlist: spotify playlist

✧˖* full work warnings: resurfaced old feelings, toxic relationship(not between the main characters), angst, confusions, resentments, past misunderstandings, a very slow burn

✧˖* explicit warnings: penetration, explicit language, cursing, bodily fluids, praising, body worship.

✧˖* author's note: oh no a cliffhanger! i had to okay. its not because i hate everyone who is reading this story but there has been a lot thats going on in my life currently. i have been planning a move out of my childhood home as y'all know and so i am unable to really sit down and write it properly. now i am not someone who puts half ass efforts in writing and calls it a day. i want the angst to really stand out so i will be writing it in the next chapter, in a better way because we all deserve an angsty passionate confession after the torture of 10 chapters. so please wait a little more. i might even post the final chanpter before the next monday. thank you for always supporting. i really love the comments you guys put under the stories. i love y'all so so much!!

--- love, artemis.

✧˖* tag-list: @ana-marais98 @chezsophie-blog @ppaia @mingyuisthevictimofsvt @tokitosun @iarayara @cheolliesvt @seungcheolsblackcard @alohacrispyrn @minhui896 @callmemadhatter @xxluvzrrrx

COMMENT TO BE IN THE TAG-LIST!<3

<< chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 4 | chapter 5 | chapter 6 | chapter 7 | chapter 8 | chapter 9 | chapter 10 | chapter 11 | chapter 12(finale)>>

You woke up from the constant ringing of your phone. The ringtone annoying you as you fumbled a bit before finally reaching your phone that was on the bedstand.

“Hello?”, you mumbled into the receiver, your eyes still closed.

“___? Are you still sleeping?”, came Jihyun’s voice.

“Yes. Why?”, you said as you slightly opened your eyes to check the time. It was almost afternoon.

“Oh my god! I overslept!”, you panicked a little before sitting up and then realizing that you don’t have office.

“Calm down young lady!”, came Jihyun’s voice with a giggle.

“Yeah. Sorry. What happened?”, you finally asked Jihyun.

“Just asking whether you would come to the party or not”, Jihyun finally said.

“Party? Seungcheol’s house?”, you asked, eyes widened by the news.

“Yes.”, Jihyun said.

“You guys have returned back, right?”, you asked, finally settling down.

“Yes, just returned.”, Jihyun said.

“Quite a bold picture you posted there by the way.”, Jihyun giggled a little as she teased you.

“Yeah. It was Jeonghan’s idea and Steven was mischievous enough to play along.”, you said with a sigh.

You weren’t really sure if you did a good thing by putting up a picture of your hand beside his on the dinner table but it was a great idea of proving to the world that you have moved on. You are not normally someone who goes around proving people things but the way Maya had reacted needed to be tamed so you did what you could do. Showed her that you don’t really need Mingyu anymore, which was an absolute lie.

“Mingyu was fuming when he saw it.”, Jihyun’s voice cut through the thoughts in your head.

“Huh? What?”, you asked dumbfoundedly.

“Yes. I saw him seeing the picture, grinding his teeth and then closing his phone before a frustrated sigh.”, Jihyun explained in such a casual voice that you almost beleieved she was joking.

“You are joking right?”, you asked.

“No. You can ask Jeonghan too. He was with me.”, she said.

“When did this happen?”, you were too curious to know.

“Today morning. When we were waiting for the flight at the airport. He sat a little away from everyone. Me and Jeonghan were loitering when we saw him check the picture.”, Jihyun explained the whole incident.

“So basically, you both were spying on him.”, you rolled your eyes but smiled fondly.

“Sort of but hey at least you got the information.”, Jihyun laughed which made you laugh too.

You both talked for another half an hour about what you both will wear and then decided to meet outside of Seungkwan’s house, before driving to Seungcheol’s house.

The rest of the afternoon went along fast, as you freshened up, and decided on which dress to wear.

Unbeknownst to you, a phone rang somewhere in another part of the same city you live in.

“Hello?”

“Seungcheol hyung, it’s me. Mingyu.”, Mingyu’s voice came out more strained than he tried.

“Yes Mingyu-ah, what’s up?”, asked Seungcheol as soon as he heard the difference in the younger’s voice.

“I-I broke up with her. I did it.”, his voice was shaking but he was determined to not cry.

“What? Oh. Are you okay?”, Seungcheol was now fully attentive of every exhale that came out of Mingyu’s mouth.

“Yes. I mean, can you meet me?”, Mingyu asked, the tremor in is voice evident.

“Yes of course. Where are you?”, asked Seungcheol as he grabbed his keys.

“Very close actually. I am in the ___ café, near your house.”, there was some shuffling on the other side.

“Yes, okay wait.”, Seungcheol dashed out of his door and within a few minutes was in front of the cozy café.

He quickly got in and searched around a bit before his eyes landed on the slouched figure at the farthest corner of the room. He passed through several rows in the busy café and was finally standing right in front of the younger.

“Mingyu.”, he finally said as he saw the younger raise his head in a slow manner.

“Hyung.”, his eyes were watery as he tried to control his tears.

“I did the correct thing, right?”, Mingyu asked as soon as Seungcheol settled down.

“Yes. She was cheating on you Gyu.”, Seungcheol softly mumbled as he tried to sooth the heartbroken boy.

“Even I know that. But we have been together for so long. I think I got used to her presence.”, Mingyu explained after taking a deep breath.

“I know. I understand that. It’s completely normal to feel this heartbroken even if the relationship meant nothing during the ends.”, hearing Seungcheol say that calmed Mingyu down a bit.

He really wanted to forget about this. All his life he has stopped himself from feeling guilty for never confessing to ___ and he used to make himself believe that Maya was the one for him but now seeing how she sucked the life out of him was tough to watch. He really wanted to scold his younger self for not choosing ___.

“I doesn’t matter anymore.”, Mingyu finally said in a small voice.

“What do you mean?”, Seungcheol asked, a little confused.

“Didn’t you see ___ Instagram story?”, Mingyu asked as he took out his phone and showed him the screenshot.

“I don’t think you should believe everything you see.”, Seungcheol tried to explain without giving away the fact that it was all a stunt.

“I will come off as desperate if I confess now.”, Mingyu’s shoulders slumped even lower if that was possible.

“What’s the worst that can happen? She says no. But at least you will be able to get over the thing.”, Seungcheol said.

“Are you sure? Should I really confess?”, asked Mingyu.

“Listen, your friendship with her is anyways ruined after the stunt Maya pulled. I just want you to get this over with. Talk with her. She is far more intelligent than all of us. I just know that she will understand.”, Seungcheol was trying so hard to not spill the truth but Jeonghan had warned him. He was in no way allowed to tell Mingyu that the date meant nothing to ___.

 “Okay. I will talk with her today at the party.”, Mingyu seemed to look determined. Seungcheol heaved a sigh of relief as he patter Mingyu’s back and ordered coffee for both of them.

The evening came earlier than intended. You were almost ready as you slipped into the sage green dress that you have saved for this occasion. Your cheeks burned red when you remembered how Mingyu had paid for this one. It was a bold move, to wear the dress someone else’s boyfriend bought for you but you were feeling rebellious today so you decided to show up in this one and make Mingyu regret every decision he has ever made.

The makeup was subtle, your bold red lips making a statement. You decided to leave your hair as it is, the soft waves cascading down up to your waist in a dramatic fashion. You wore your diamond earrings. You had the exact color heels to go with the dress which made you extremely excited. After finally getting all dolled up you decided to call Jihyun.

“Are you ready?”, you asked as soon as the call got connected.

“Yes. I am almost out of the door.”, Jihyun said as she screamed for Vernon to get moving.

You giggled as you ended the call and decided to head out too. The walk to Seungkwan’s place was short but it took you a bit more time since you were wearing pointed heels and the weather was cold.

You reached within fifteen minutes as you rung the bell to his apartment.

“Oh my god you look gorgeous.”, Seungkwan gasped as soon as he opened the door.

You laughed a bit as you entered the warm apartment.

“I am shivering.”, you confessed.

“That can’t be it. We need shots.”, Seungkwan dramatically commented as he rushed inside to bring out a shot glass and some vodka.

“What? Before the party?”, you laughed as you settled down on the couch.

“Yes. At least one shot. You will be warm and not that drunk.”, Seungkwan explained as he poured you a shot.

You chugged it in one go, your face crinkling from the strong taste as you laughed along with Seungkwan.

“Wow that was intense.”, you said as you kept the glass on the coffee table.

“Let me prepare one for Jihyun too.”, he excitedly commented.

After taking a few shots, you, Jihyun and Seungkwan were finally ready to go to the party.

Your heart was beating fast because you knew you were going to see Mingyu and Maya there. Every minute of it felt like running away, going to your home, lying in the cozy blankets and watching sappy romance movies till midnight.

Seungkwan might have noticed your discomfort as he pulled you right towards him in the cramped space of the hired car.

“Don’t plan on running away. This is a party of your close friend, not Maya’s.”, Seungkwan reminds as you huff a bit for you have been caught red handed.

Running away felt like the best option but all your life you have ran away from problems. Fights and quarrels have always scared you, as they give you panic attacks, so running away has always been your plan A. But now you have to be strong, and face the consequences. You can’t avoid Mingyu forever, even if that means making him realize what kind of shit person he has been dating.

“I won’t.”, you said with an assuring smile.

The party was going on in full swing. Seungcheol has invited some of his colleagues too and your group of friends. He has always been a very shy person when it came to making friends, so it makes you happy when you see him surrounded by friends that he has chosen.

“Happy New Year’s Eve Cheol!”, you screamed over the music as you hugged the man in front of you.

Seungcheol beamed, his dimples making an appearance as he engulfed you in a warm hug. The hug not only felt celebratory but also a gentle reminder that he is always here with you and that you can stop running away from your problems. You gently smiled as you detached yourself from him before stumbling into Jeonghan.

He was looking extra pretty with a shimmery top and white leather pants.

“Now you look like a piece of art sir.”, you smiled as you threw yourself into your office best friend’s arms.

“Don’t even start. You look gorgeous as fuck. If I were straight, I would have proposed you right here.”, Jeonghan giggled.

You enjoyed the compliments as it made you feel a little bit more comfortable in the way you were dressed. You have always been a little less comfortable in your skin whenever you dressed in something out of your comfort zone but your friends never failed to push away your insecurities.

You got introduced to some of Seungcheol’s colleagues including a man named Dokyeom and he was the bubbliest person you have ever met. He was all lame jokes and giggles which was entertaining to watch.

“Hyung has said a lot about you.”, he said.

“All good things I believe?”, you asked back with a smirk.

“Yeah mostly.”, he said with a wide smile.

“Are you enjoying the drinks?”, he asked again, leaning a little closer for you to hear clearly but maintaining a respectful distance.

“Yes, a little. I am not planning on getting drunk tonight.”, you mumbled.

“Planning to finally confess?”, Dokyeom said with a silly smirk.

“Even you know about that?! Great!”, you said with a huff as heat crawled up your neck because of embarrassment.

“I love talking about love. So, it’s kind of adorable.”, he laughed and you smiled along with him. It was easier to smile around him as he was just silly.

“I think the man of the hour is here.”, Dokyeom said as he rushed away from you before you could question his statement.

You turned around only to meet your eyes with Mingyu. He was looking extremely handsome. With a maroon red shirt, the first three buttons unbuttoned and jeans. His hair was shorter than you remember and was styled perfectly. His eyes met yours. You have known him for the longest time and you saw the flicker of something unknown in his eyes. You tried to avoid his gaze, acting like you haven’t noticed him but he was approaching you, with steady steps and a determined face.

“Happy new year’s eve, ____.”, he said as soon as he was right in front of you.

“Same to you.”, you said as you averted his eyes and tried to involuntarily search for Maya. You have no wish to again listen to her rude remarks.

“She isn’t here. We broke up.”, Mingyu said as he minimized the distance even more.

“What? Why?”, you asked, clearly shocked.

“For you.”, he whispered as he dipped his head right beside your right ear, a trail of goosebumps breaking out in the skin of your neck.

“You don’t get to say that now Mingyu!”, you could almost feel yourself getting enraged.

You have waited so many years for him to realize how toxic Maya is. You have waited for the response of your letters. You have waited for some kind of apology. You have waited for him for ages. And now, after you have decided to move on, he is standing here with that stupid smirk on his face as if he has done you a favour by breaking up with his long-term girlfriend.

“What?”, Mingyu dumbfoundedly looked at you and that made you even more angry.

“I need some air.”, you said as you yanked your hand off his grip and walked out into the balcony, unbeknownst to the fact that Mingyu was already following you.

click <<here>> to go to chapter 12(finale)!

✧˖* end notes: posting every monday! do suggest me ideas if you have any. also do like and comment!! it gives me motivation to write better.<3

[louloulemons-posts]

I’m not a baby

Bob Reynolds X Reader

Word Count : 0.4k

Summary : Bobs feeling a bit frustrated being treated like a child.

Warnings : Not many, just Bob being annoyed at the team lmao. Just comfort fluff, no angst.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

“Hey,” i said softly, leaning on the doorframe. “Oh … hi,” Bob mumbled, looking down at his hands.

“Can i come in?” With a nod of his head in reply i stepped into his room. “It’s cosy in here,” i compliment. It was, he’d made his room into a snuggly cave - books, candles, fairy lights, blankets and throw cushions.

“Did you … um did you need something?” He questions, half looking at me. “I know you’re having a rough day and I didn’t want to point it out in front of the others … so I just thought i’d check in privately.”

“Oh … um .. i’m fine.”

“Bob,” i gave him a look.

“Okay … maybe i’m not, but i will be.” I hummed and sat down beside him, leaving a gap.

“It’s okay if you’re not right now. That’s all i wanted to say, and i’m not here to pressure you to open up about everything, I just wanted to let you know i’m here.”

He finally met my gaze them, “Really?”

“Of course, we’re friends, and i get if you don’t wanna talk to me and would rather speak to Lena-“

He cut me off with a shake of his head, “I like talking to you too. I just … can i ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“And you’ll be completely honest with me?”

“Bob when am i not honest?”

“That’s … true,” he chuckled weakly. “It’s just all the stuff with the Sentry … i feel like everyone’s treating me like a baby and like i’m weak, i’m a fully grown man you know. And i know I was a mess and I know about the Void and i get that you all worry and-“

“I’m sorry,” i cut him off. Bobs brows furrowed, he looked at me confused, “What? For what?”

“If you felt like i’ve been babying you, I promise that wasn’t my intention and I’ll keep it in mind.”

“I … thank you.”

“Of course, thank you for telling me.” He nodded, tugging his sleeves over his hand a bit. “Look i don’t think you’re a baby Bob, I know you’re an adult, I think we just wanna make sure you’re okay … I guess we just don’t know how to go about it huh?”

“I guess … I just don’t want you to see me as baggage.”

“I don’t, trust me Bob, you and Sentry and Void are not baggage, you’re complex and recovering … it’s a lot and i understand that to some degree … but if you need someone to rant to … i’m here okay?”

“Thank you … seriously, and thanks for not acting like i’m a kid.”

“Anytime,” i smiled, “Serious question tho.”

“What is it?” he questioned.

“Wanna get ice cream?”

A grin lit up Bobs face, grabbing my hand he dragged me to the elevator.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

Okay so I know it’s been a while, I’m so sorry, life has been INSANE. I watched Thunderbolts and I’m in love with Lewis Pullman it’s not even funny.

Please leave any requests - doesn’t have to be for Bob specifically (Can be Bob Floyd, Rhett Abbott, etc)

Anyways, i’ve missed you very much, i hope this fic wasn’t too bad i’m kinda rusty lmao.

Love you all

- Lou

[imnotjustreadingg]

she's spoken for

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader (y/n) Genre: Fluff, slight angst (from the creeps), protective!Bucky, established relationship Word count: 909 Summary: Y/N, Nat and Wanda decided spending the night out. No Avengers, no mission, no reports, no Fury, nothing but being with each others and a couple of drinks. Creeps beings creeps not accepting a no for answer

The pub was crowded but cozy, filled with the smell of fried food, cheap beer, and the faint hum of classic rock over too many conversations. Y/N sat wedged between Wanda and Natasha in a booth near the back, sipping from her glass and laughing at some wild story about the last mission. She loved nights like this normal, unassuming, no super suits or world-ending stakes. Just girls’ night. Just a chance to breathe. But of course, someone always had to ruin it.

“Hey, ladies,” a slick voice interrupted, low and unwelcome. Y/N didn’t even look up at first. She was hoping maybe ignoring would be enough. But the presence stayed. Two men, both tall, both reeking of confidence and cologne. “We couldn’t help but notice you over here,” one of them said, eyeing Natasha like she was something on a menu. “Thought we’d come say hi.” Wanda rolled her eyes. “We’re good, thanks.” 

“Don’t be like that,” the other one said, focusing on Y/N now. “You look like you could use a real drink.” Y/N smiled tightly. “I’m actually in a relationship.”

“So?” he smirked. “He’s not here, is he?” That did it. Y/N reached casually for her phone. Beneath the table, she typed quickly.

To My Man: Bucky To My Man: Creeps at the pub won't back off To My Man: I'm with Nat and Wanda. Can you come in?

The response came in less than ten seconds.

From My Man: On my way. From My Man: Steve and Sam are with me From My Man: Keep your back to the wall

God, she loved that man. She was perfectly able to handle the situation alone. Nat was a trained spy and Wanda was simply Wanda. But tonight, alcohol and night free of avengers duties, a hand would be nice.

“I said no, thank you,” Natasha said sharply. Her hand was on her drink, but her tone was that special Widow-venom kind that meant you’re two seconds from regretting everything. But the guys were drunk. And dumb. 

“C’mon, red,” the first one grinned, leaning a hand on the table. “Don’t play hard to get-”

“Take your hand off the table before you lose it,” Wanda said coldly.

Y/N, bless her non-super-soldier patience, took another sip of her drink. “I’m just giving you a warning. My boyfriend’s not a fan of this kind of thing.”

“Is that supposed to scare us?” Y/N didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. Because the door to the pub slammed open like a thunderclap. Heads turned. Conversations halted. James Buchanan Barnes walked in, six-foot-something of coiled fury in a dark jacket and storm-blue eyes scanning the crowd until they landed on her. Right behind him, Steve Rogers. Casual in jeans and a Henley but radiating Captain America energy like a damn sun. And then Sam, who looked less angry and more annoyed like someone had interrupted his night off, but still very much ready to throw a man through a window. The guys at the table didn’t notice at first. Until Bucky was there.

“Hey, doll,” he said, ignoring the creeps entirely as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to Y/N’s cheek. “You okay?”

“Much better now,” she said, beaming up at him.

The air changed immediately. The two men stepped back slightly, confused and then horrified.

One of them squinted. “Wait… is that… that’s-”

“Bucky Barnes,” Steve said, stepping forward with that classic I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed and capable of breaking your spine face. “And you’re bothering our friends.”

“I–we didn’t know—”

“You knew,” Sam cut in. “You just didn’t care.”

“I tried to warn you,” Y/N added sweetly, finishing her drink.

Bucky finally turned his attention to the two men, his metal hand flexing at his side. “You talk to women like that often?” he asked, calm and deadly. The one in front stammered, looking at Wanda like she might save him. She didn’t blink.

“I asked you a question,” Bucky said again. “N-No, sir. We—we were just leaving.”

“Good,” Steve said. “I’d hate to watch Barnes lose his temper. This place just renovated.” They practically ran. Once they were gone, the booth burst into laughter.

“You are such a drama queen,” Sam said to Bucky, sliding into the now-vacant seat beside Wanda. “I was being polite,” Bucky muttered, sitting beside Y/N and pulling her protectively close. “They’re lucky all I did was look at them.”

Y/N leaned into his chest. “You got here fast.”

“You used the code. ‘Creeps at the pub’? That’s our equivalent of DEFCON 1.” She smiled. “I love you.” He softened instantly. “Love you too, doll. You really are okay?”

“Yeah. I just… didn’t want to handle it alone. And you’ve got that whole scary boyfriend aesthetic.”

Steve chuckled. “That’s putting it lightly.”

Nat lifted her glass. “To scary boyfriends.”

Wanda smirked. “And to men who know how to take a hint.”

Sam raised his glass. “To girls’ night… slightly upgraded.”

Bucky kissed Y/N’s temple. “Next time, I’m taking you out myself. Somewhere with fewer idiots.”

She grinned. “Bucky Barnes going clubbing? I’d pay to see that.”

“Don’t push it,” he said, but he was smiling now — soft, safe, hers.

And as the music started up again, and the table filled with laughter and drinks and stories, Y/N settled back into her seat, hand tangled with Bucky’s metal fingers, heart calm again.

Because sometimes? Scary boyfriend privileges were the best kind.

[honeypiehotchner]

The Gambit (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part thirty-three

Coming up for air from my other one shot idea for today's Gambit update as promised 🤭

Warnings: our usual angst but more about r's father that is 🫣, bits of fluff here and there, local cops being local cops, that's about it i think

Hotch knows this is inappropriate. He knows this is so beyond unprofessional. He knows a “no fraternization” seminar is certainly in his future if this goes any further.

But when he sees you lying there, sleeping soundly, he can’t bring himself to care. He’ll deal with Strauss, with HR, with anyone who tries to make this something it isn’t.

He doesn’t know why he’s thinking ahead like this — because the two of you haven’t talked. Richard Monroe turned up dead, the unsub left the body outside your old school, and you had (and fought off) a panic attack and somehow remained standing. You have no idea how strong you are.

Hotch tucks the blankets better around you before forcing himself to sit in the desk chair and go over some files while you rest. Rossi texts him updates from the precinct — nothing viable — and not-so-subtly asks how you’re doing.

She’s sleeping, Aaron types back with a slight eye roll. Dave certainly gets even nosier with every passing day.

How did you manage to do that? is Dave’s reply.

Aaron turns his phone over and doesn’t answer. Instead, he looks over his shoulder to check on you, but you’re fast asleep, little puffs of air escaping your lips peacefully.

He turns back to his files. They’re coming up empty so far, and it’s starting to worry him.

Yes, the majority of these officers were raised here, but aside from some charges that have since been dropped and were clearly the result of teenage ambition, there is nothing untoward, nothing to suggest that one of them might know more than they’re letting on.

Frustrated, Aaron grabs his phone and steps outside into the hall, keeping the door open a crack, and his back pressed against it protectively. He dials Rossi.

“Aaron?” Dave answers.

Hotch keeps his voice quiet, “I’m not finding anything. Some vandalism charges from spray painting the playground, from egging a police officer’s car, all while teenagers. That’s nothing to write home about.”

“I agree,” Rossi sighs. “It’s the same here. Small things, no indicators of the kind of behavior we’re looking for.”

Hotch rubs his forehead. “We’re— We’re grasping at thin air, Dave.”

“We’re still missing something.”

“How can we be missing something still? After all this time?” Hotch fights to keep his voice low. “I can’t leave her alone. I’ve got a bad feeling.”

“I know you do,” Dave says quietly. “You sure it’s not mixed with something else?”

Aaron sighs. “I don’t know.”

“Have you two talked?”

“Yeah,” Aaron murmurs, a fond smile toying at his lips. “We have. But—” Your fucking raccoons interrupted us and she hasn’t acted the same since. “Obviously we were interrupted with Richard’s death, and…” He trails away, shaking his head. “Now isn’t the time.”

“Now might be the time,” Dave argues. “To let her know how much you care. How much you’re worried about her.”

“She knows, trust me,” Aaron says. “She was angry with me for making her get some rest—”

“You did spring that on her.”

“Because you know she wouldn’t have agreed if I tried to ask.”

“Maybe,” Rossi muses. “Or maybe you could try something new, try talking to her before making an executive decision about her. You did it on the jet.”

“Right.” Aaron sees his friend’s point. Maybe you would be more open-minded about his help if he would talk to you first, especially now, after getting things out in the open about how he was trying to help all those years ago. The jet was different; it was in relation to work. And as much as he tries to convince himself that ordering you to nap is also considered work, he knows it isn’t. He knows it’s something else. “I’ll try.”

“Good,” Dave says. “You should try to rest too, if you can.”

Hotch thinks back to earlier. You had told him he needed to rest too, and he hadn’t planned on it, but maybe he should. Maybe an hour.

When Aaron heads back inside, you’re on your side, eyes cracking open.

“Hey,” he whispers, shutting the door. “Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.”

“C’mere,” you murmur, obviously still half asleep. “Y’gotta nap too.”

He smiles. “Alright. I concede.”

He strips his suit jacket and tie off but leaves his pants and shirt. He’s just about to crawl into bed beside you when you give him a funny look.

“You’re gonna wrinkle your clothes.”

“It’s fine.”

“That can’t be comfy.”

“It’s just a nap.”

You shrug, snuggling further into the pillows and shutting your eyes. Hotch sighs.

He takes off the dress shirt, and hangs it over the back of the desk chair. When you don’t move, clearly drifting off again already, he strips down to his boxers, draping his dress slacks over the chair too.

He sets his phone on the nightstand before sliding into bed beside you. You might be half-asleep, but you move closer to him instantly, curling into his side and sighing happily. Aaron wraps an arm around you, chuckling softly as he tucks you into his chest.

+++

You hate being back in this town.

You wake with a start, the gunshot in your dreams still echoing in your ears as if it happened just now. One quick glance around the room tells you it didn’t. You’re in bed, in a hotel room, and you’re alone.

Well, almost alone. There is currently a koala clinging to you in his sleep in the form of Aaron Hotchner.

You laugh softly as you try to twist in his arms, but have no luck. You don’t even know what time it is, but knowing Hotch, he set alarms, so you can’t be late for anything.

You let the comfort of that — and his arm around your waist — lull you back to sleep again, even if for just another few minutes. And it was the worst idea you’d had all day.

This time when you wake, you manage to fling yourself out of Aaron’s arms, sitting up so suddenly that he is woken with a jolt.

“What is it?” He’s alert instantly, the man and agent that he is. His hand comes to rest on your shoulder.

“Sorry,” you laugh it off. “You ever have a dream and wake up, then fall back asleep and the dream picks up right where it left off?” You’re rambling and you make no sense, but that doesn’t matter. “We should get back to the precinct.”

You stand up and head for your work clothes still hanging up where you left them. You’re barely touching the fabric when Aaron is behind you, hand on your shoulder again.

“Talk to me,” he says. “What happened in the dream?”

To his credit, he doesn’t try to turn you around to face him. You don’t think you’d be able to speak if he did.

“My um,” you pause, clearing your throat. “My dad almost shot me. It was real.”

You hear him sigh. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, his hand dropping down to your arm, thumb rubbing your skin gently. “It wasn’t real, it was just a dream.”

You shake your head. “It was a dream, but it was also…a memory.”

His motions falter. “What do you mean?”

You start shaking your head again. “It’s stupid, it’s probably my mind twisting my memories because I learned about what my dad did and now everything is tainted with that—”

You stop to catch your breath when Aaron says your name, his voice quiet, broken.

“We were getting lunch together,” you murmur, taking the clothes off the hangers just to busy your hands while you speak about this. “It was a good day.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t even know,” you huff. “We were having a good day. Mom had gone to run some errands, Dad took me out for lunch, it was the weekend so I was just surprised and happy he was home. We went to my favorite sandwich place nearby— It’s probably not even here anymore. But I was just eating, he was talking. I guess I said something wrong?” You don’t even realize Aaron has turned you around until he’s taking both of your hands in his, trying to meet your eyes. “I don’t think I even knew he had his gun on him — I knew he had one, that’s normal for a family in Alabama, but like, shotguns. For hunting deer. Not a pistol.”

“He tried to shoot you?” Aaron prompts.

You nod. Shake your head. Nod again. “He shot the floor. He was looking over my shoulder.” You pause. “And then we left, and when I got up I saw that it was— It was so close to my foot, Aaron, he nearly shot me.”

“And you left— Was he angry with someone that worked there?”

“I don’t know, I was too shocked by the fact that he shot the fucking floor where my feet were,” you snap, yanking your hands out of his. You wipe your palms on your shirt.

“What was the place called?”

“I don’t know, something Deli,” you shake your head. “It was in a trailer— Does this even matter?”

“It might, we can look into it,” Hotch says, keeping his hands by his side. “Why don’t you take a shower?”

“Hotch, I don’t have time—”

“What will help you calm down?” he asks. “What can I do?”

You sigh. “What time is it?”

Hotch looks like he doesn’t want to answer, but he does anyway. “Almost 11:30.”

“Okay. Can you—” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “I don’t fucking know what to do.” You breathe shakily. Then, you ask him something that surprises the both of you. “Can you tell me what to do?”

He nods slowly. “Take a shower,” he starts. “It’ll help. I’ll get dressed. I’ll call Rossi and tell him what you told me, we’ll get Garcia to look into it. Do you remember how old you were?”

You shake your head. “Elementary school, I think.”

“Okay, that narrows it down, good job,” he says softly. “We’ll leave when you’re ready and get back to the precinct and go over everything with the team. Find some new leads and we’ll follow them. We’ll get this guy.”

You nod. “Okay. Okay, I’m gonna—”

“Shower,” he says, one hand coming up to your arm again, guiding you toward the bathroom.

You walk with him, pausing just outside the bathroom door to turn around. You hesitate for a moment before throwing your arms around his neck.

He stumbles for a second before his arms encircle your waist, squeezing you tightly against him. As if a promise to protect you from anything bad that will ever come your way again.

“Thank you,” you whisper, pulling back to press a kiss to his cheek.

You’re into the bathroom and shutting the door before Aaron can even register what just happened.

+++

The team is waiting for you and Hotch when you arrive back at the precinct. You don’t necessarily look well-rested, despite your nap, but you do feel marginally better, and Hotch had you change clothes instead of wearing the same ones from before. A fresh start. A reset.

“What do we have?” you ask casually, hoping the team of profilers will pick up on the fact that you do not want to talk about you being practically ordered to get some sleep.

“They have mostly clean slates,” Rossi starts as Hotch shuts the conference room door. “Some petty theft, some vandalism, mostly from teenage years. One officer has a sexual harassment charge that I’m eager to ask about.”

“Who?” you ask. Not that you think that officer might be the unsub you’re looking for, but it’s all you’ve got so far.

“The deputy,” Rossi says. “Laneman.”

“Wait before questioning him,” Hotch interjects, just a touch of warning in his words. “I’m not sure I want these guys knowing we’re investigating them just yet. We need their help while we can get it.” He pauses. “We need to ask them about Adkins. Watch their behaviors, see if anyone recognizes the name or knows maybe more than they should.”

“How are we going to do that without it being suspicious?” Prentiss chuckles. “As far as they know, we’re just investigating Richard Monroe and his death.”

“And the guy was a serial killer, I’m sure they’re wondering why the hell we’re even being called here to investigate,” Morgan adds. “He had a lot of enemies, a lot of victims’ families that would’ve had more than enough motive.”

“But it’s the letter,” Reid says. “It— At times it almost reads like a suicide note, other times like an apology to you,” Reid looks at you, “but for what? And if it isn’t Richard who wrote it, if it’s the unsub, a suicide note makes sense, to make us think Richard killed himself, but the overkill immediately rules that out. It’s like—” Reid pauses and makes a face, stopping himself.

“What? What are you thinking?” Hotch asks.

“It’s almost like our unsub had this all meticulously planned out from the beginning, step by step, right down to this moment, but something threw a wrench in his plans and…that’s why there was such a brutal overkill.”

“Like he and Richard were part of a team to find her, until Richard bailed—” Morgan starts.

“Because the unsub brought Lila into it and Richard said he promised that he wouldn’t,” you finish. “Richard didn’t write that letter. The unsub did. Richard didn’t visit my dad in prison. I visited Richard. This unsub must’ve visited Richard as well, wanting to find out how to get to me, and—” Your eyes go wide and you turn toward Hotch. “The car chase.”

“Richard told the unsub we’d be there,” Hotch says. “Told him the exact time. It had to be approved in advance, he would’ve known in advance.”

“This unsub wasn’t friends with my dad, not as close as he and Richard must have been, or someone else the unsub witnessed being friendly with my dad— But he wanted to be. He wanted my dad’s approval for some reason. He wanted to be noticed by him,” you carry on, not sure where you’re going, but hoping it’s going somewhere. “And my dad must’ve written him off. Didn’t give him the recognition he was looking for, and it upset him. So he kidnapped me to get his attention.”

“And your father made it very clear that he wasn’t happy with whoever took you,” Rossi adds. “So that upset the unsub further. He wasn’t getting validation, he was getting contempt.”

“We’re just talking in circles here,” you sigh, propping your chin in your palm. “This feels like everything we’ve already known.”

“Assumed, and now it’s confirmed with behavior,” Hotch says softly. “But we are going in circles. We need to find out what these men know about Adkins.”

“Leave that to me,” Reid smiles, a little too deviously for him.

“Really, genius?” Morgan chuckles. “What are you going to do?”

“Ask them if they’ve heard of him,” Reid shrugs. “In my own way.”

Everyone shares looks.

Emily tilts her head with a smirk. “This is going to be good.”

+++

It’s like a well-orchestrated dance, the way Hotch rounds everyone up to set the scene for Reid to interject. The plan is to begin giving the profile, and Reid is going to start one of his rambles, this time about how the infamous serial killer Carson Adkins was from right here in town.

Rossi, Hotch, Prentiss, and Reid stay at the front of the room, while you, JJ, and Morgan hang around the sides, gauging reactions from there.

You’re not even sure what you’re going to be looking for. You wouldn’t be surprised if any (or all) of them have heard of your father. They obviously have no clue you’re his daughter, which is how it needs to stay, but unfortunately for everyone, your father is famous for his killings, and for turning himself in when you were kidnapped.

You can’t even count on two hands the number of articles you read that argued he had a heart because he turned himself in for his daughter. You don’t know that it was any indication of him having a heart or not, but you do know that he killed all those women and somehow wanted you to be safe.

Two things can be true at once, you guess, but those two things? Some days it just makes no sense.

“As you’re all aware, the victim, Richard Monroe, had been on the FBI’s Most Wanted for some time, so he has no shortage of enemies,” Rossi starts.

“This rings true in the injuries Richard sustained,” Prentiss continues. “It was the very definition of overkill. Whoever is responsible, they held a grudge against Monroe, probably for many years.”

“Do you think it could be like a family member of one of his victims?” Officer Hunt asks.

“I said save your questions for the end,” Deputy Laneman scolds with a huff.

“It’s alright Deputy,” Hotch says with a nod. He looks at the officer that spoke up. “It’s possible, yes, we’re looking into the whereabouts of the victims’ families.”

“But there could be some victims we don’t even know about,” Reid chimes. “So we’re not sure.”

“This guy is angry,” Morgan says from the other side of the room. “That kind of anger doesn’t just go away with getting revenge. We think he’ll slip up again.”

“So you’re sure we’re looking for a man?” another officer — Smith, you think — questions.

“We believe so,” Hotch replies. “White male, mid-30s to mid-40s, most likely the same build as Monroe, if not slightly larger. Monroe put up a fight, but was ultimately overpowered. This suggests our unsub was able to subdue him by brute force before continuing to injure him post-mortem.”

“Richard Monroe was just one of the famed and known serial killers in this region,” Reid begins, and just by the tone in his voice, you know where he’s heading. You scan the officers carefully, even the deputy who stands not far from you, arms over his chest like a shield. “Actually, uh, did you guys know that Carson Adkins, The Strangler, was from this town? His home was not far from here—”

“That’s enough, agent,” Deputy Laneman all but growls.

You cut your eyes to him, not moving your head, not wanting to raise any suspicions.

Hotch, however, fully turns his head to glare at the man. “Deputy, may I speak with you in private?”

“Whatever it is, you can say it in front of my men.”

“No, I think we should speak in your office,” Hotch gestures to the door. “After you.”

The deputy almost looks like he’s going to put up a fight, but he doesn’t. He clicks his tongue and bulldozes into his office, leaving the door ajar for Hotch to follow through. Hotch doesn’t look at anyone as he goes, and you can tell he holds himself back from slamming the door.

A tense silence settles over the room.

Reid, in all his blessed awkwardness, clears his throat. “Uh…sorry.”

Officer Robinson chuckles. “Don’t be sorry, kid, he’s a hothead.”

“We’ve all heard of him, though,” Officer Smith says. “The Strangler, I mean.”

Everyone pipes up in agreement.

“Even I’d heard of him, and I’m not from around here,” Officer Robinson adds. “He’s a boogeyman here, y’know? Almost like a myth.”

You swallow around the strange lump in your throat. Your father, a boogeyman in your hometown, even as a ghost.

“Yeah,” another officer, Whittler, laughs. “My brother used to tell me if I wasn’t quiet at night The Strangler was gonna jump out and get me.”

Everyone laughs, punching each other's shoulders in agreement with similar childish laughs.

You roll your eyes and head back toward the conference room. None of them are taking this seriously. You need a new angle, one that doesn’t involve asking any of these officers for insight. Clearly they won't be helpful.

+++

Hotch finds you, alone, in the conference room after his rather unproductive discussion with Deputy Laneman.

You’re staring at the board, at the photos of Richard’s body, at the photos of the charm bracelet and letter since both have been sent off for prints.

Hotch doesn’t even get to ask what’s upsetting you before you tell him.

“They’re just laughing,” you say, disgusted. “He’s a boogeyman,” you mock. “Our unsub is not in this precinct, clearly. They’d all run away screaming if he was.” You pause, finally turning to look at him. “What about the deputy?”

Hotch shakes his head. “He definitely has some anger issues and is probably aggressive when he’s drunk, but it’s not him. He thinks we’re wasting time by being here.”

“Wasting time? We haven’t even been here a full day yet.”

“I know,” Hotch says. He studies the pictures again. “What are we missing?”

You snort. “Everything, apparently. Every time I think we’re about to get a grip on this guy, it turns out he’s somewhere else entirely.” You chew on the inside of your cheeks. “Did Garcia ever look into the deli?”

“It’s on her list,” Hotch sighs. “I still have her looking into every officer’s background here, just in case.”

You nod. “It was nothing special, anyway. Except that their pickles were homemade.”

Aaron shares a soft smile with you. “Still. I’ll have her look.”

“And the victims’ families?” you ask with a smirk. “Or was that just to keep them thinking we’re not at all digging into their credit histories and tragic backstories?”

Aaron rolls his eyes at you, still smiling. “That was the truth. It’s on Garcia’s list.”

You raise your eyebrows with your grin. “Remind me to get her one of those big baskets of chocolates when we get back. And a bouquet of roses.”

He chuckles. “Funny, I was thinking of getting one of those for you.”

Your breath stutters a little as you turn toward him, realizing with a shock that he’s being sincere. “Well,” you knock your shoulder into his arm lightly. “Sorry to ruin your master plan.”

“You’re forgiven,” he replies, his fingers grazing the back of your hand.

The door to the conference room flies open and you yank your hand away, returning to crossing your arms over your chest. Hotch straightens and resumes his Unit Chief demeanor.

He waits until the door shuts behind JJ, Prentiss, Morgan, Reid, and Rossi before asking their thoughts on the officers.

“They were too busy laughing about a boogeyman to even suspect any sort of connection,” Morgan snaps. “I mean, seriously, how are we supposed to get anywhere if these guys don’t even seem a little concerned that whoever killed Richard Monroe might kill someone else?”

“I know,” Hotch sighs. “Prentiss, Rossi, go back to the dump site, see if there’s anything we missed. JJ, check on the bracelet, see if they’ve made any headway with the prints, if they haven’t, try to get it sped up if you can. Reid, Morgan, I’m having Garcia look into some of the families of Richard Monroe’s victims, help her determine anything suspicious, make some phone calls, see where everyone is.”

“What about us?” you ask.

“We’re going to drive around,” he says. “I want to see if any place jogs your memory. And see if Carson Adkins truly does haunt this town like the boogeyman they say he is.”

[thatonegirlonhere]

Han x GN!Reader

What happens when Han calls you in the middle of the night because he’s having an anxiety attack?

Content warning: angst, fluff, anxiety attack

Word count: ~750

Master list

The call came just before 1AM.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand—soft but persistent—and when your sleepy eyes focused enough to read the screen, you blinked in surprise.

Quokka 🫰🐿️ calling…

Your stomach tightened. He never called this late unless something was wrong.

You answered immediately.

“Ji?” Your voice was hoarse with sleep.

There was silence on the other end. Then a shaky inhale.

“I– I’m sorry,” he whispered, and you could already hear it. The strain in his voice. The shallow breaths. The way he was trying to hold it together and failing. “I didn’t mean to wake you. I just… I didn’t know who else to call.”

You were already sitting up, blanket falling from your shoulders.

“No. It’s okay. I’m here,” you said, heart pounding. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

“I– I don’t know.” He let out a panicked exhale, like the act of speaking hurt. “I was writing and it just hit me. My brain wouldn’t shut up and now my chest is tight and my hands—my hands won’t stop shaking.”

You could picture it. Him sitting on the floor in his studio, hoodie pulled over his head, surrounded by papers, music still playing low in the background while his mind spiraled faster than he could catch it.

“I feel like I can’t breathe,” he choked, voice breaking. “God, I’m so sorry. This is so stupid.”

“Han Jisung,” you said gently but firmly. “You’re not stupid. You’re having an anxiety attack. You called me, and that’s the strongest thing you could’ve done. I’m really proud of you, okay?”

He was quiet for a second. You heard a sniffle, then the soft rustle of him moving.

“I feel like I’m drowning and nothing even happened,” he whispered. “It’s just… pressure. The album. The deadlines. The expectations. I feel like I’m never enough. Like I’m letting everyone down.”

Your heart cracked.

“Oh, Ji… no. You’re not letting anyone down,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “You are so loved. You’re doing your best, and your best is more than enough.”

“But it doesn’t feel like it,” he breathed. “It never feels like enough.”

You hated that he felt this way.

“Okay,” you said softly. “You don’t have to fix anything right now. You don’t have to do anything. Just listen to me, alright?”

You could hear the quiet desperation in his silence, the way he clung to the sound of your voice like a life raft.

“Let’s breathe together. Can you try that with me?”

“Yeah,” he whispered. “I’ll try.”

“Alright. In through your nose. One… two… three. Hold it. And out through your mouth. One… two… three.”

You guided him through it, again and again, until the jagged edges of his breaths smoothed out a little. Until you heard less panic and more exhaustion.

“Your voice,” he mumbled. “It makes it easier to breathe.”

Tears prickled behind your eyes.

“I’ll stay on the phone as long as you need,” you promised. “You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. We can just be quiet together.”

“I’m scared sometimes,” he admitted, voice barely audible now. “Of how easily my mind turns on me. Of not being strong enough.”

“You are strong,” you said. “Not because you push everything down, but because you let yourself feel. Because you still keep going even when it hurts. That’s real strength.”

There was a pause. Then, softly:

“I love you.”

You swallowed, your heart full.

“I love you too, Ji. So much. I’ve got you, okay? You’re not alone.”

He sighed—slow, shaky, but calmer than before. “Will you stay on the line until I fall asleep?”

“Always.”

⸻

You talked to him about your day. About the stray cat you saw curled up on someone’s scooter. About the terrible snack combination you tried earlier. Anything to help him focus on something lighter.

Eventually, his breathing evened out. You could hear the slow, steady rhythm of his breath on the other end, the faint scratch of his sleeve as he shifted in bed.

“Ji?” you whispered.

No answer.

He’d finally fallen asleep.

You didn’t hang up. You just lay back, phone still against your ear, listening to the soft sound of his breathing.

And you stayed.

Because when someone you love is drowning, you don’t let go.

You hold on.

You anchor them.

You whisper love until they float again.

[ghostlynightpanda]

Hello! I’ve recently read your Kakashi fic, and I really loved it. The way you wrote it was so good—got me gigglin and shii HAHAHAH 🙈

I was wondering if you can write something Naruto again—perhaps something of the like!! Maybe something angst to fluff hehe 😵‍💫 It can be any character cuz honestly they all have their own unique charms, but my personal favorites are Gaara, Sasuke and Itachi, also Naruto himself (he’s so underrated in his own show 😭).

Unfortunately, I don’t really have an idea in mind right now 😞. If it’s not much to ask, surprise me!

Thank you so much 💕

Even the Desert Blooms

synopsis: When you're gravely injured on a mission, Gaara is forced to confront the terrifying possibility of losing you. As he sits by your bedside during your slow recovery, he finds solace in the quiet memories of how your bond first began, each one a reminder of the trust, warmth, and love you brought into his life.

content/warnings: Gaara x fem!reader, angst and fluff, canon-typical blood and violence, 7.020 words

The air in Sunagakure was hot and dry, as always, but the sun was just beginning to dip low, softening the harsh light into a pale orange glow across the rooftops. The wind carried sand through the narrow streets in quiet hisses, and the gates of the village stood open, watched over by shinobi stationed along the sandstone wall.

Then the alarm sounded.

A hawk cry, short, sharp, urgent. Not the usual signal for a returning squad. This one meant emergency medical response.

Temari was the first to reach the gates. Kankuro arrived seconds later, barely out of breath, his puppet scrolls slung over his back. They saw the squad before they even crossed the threshold. Three shinobi, battered but upright, moving fast. Two were carrying a fourth.

You.

“Shit—” Kankuro swore, his voice catching.

Temari didn’t say a word. Her breath stopped in her throat as she saw your body, limp between two teammates, blood-soaked cloth barely clinging to you. Your head lolled to the side, lips cracked and pale, skin slick with sweat. You weren’t conscious. You didn’t even look alive.

“MEDIC!” Temari shouted, already running forward.

A pair of medical-nin met them halfway down the path, chakra glowing bright in their hands. One took a look at your chest, where a jagged wound gaped, barely sealed, and cursed under his breath.

“She shielded us,” one of your squad members gasped, his voice raw with guilt. “Enemy shinobi—ambush—she took the hit. She—she should’ve died, we don’t know how she stayed up long enough to get us out.”

Temari’s fists clenched. Her heart felt like it had frozen mid-beat.

“Get her to the hospital now!” she snapped, and the medics obeyed, already flashing through hand seals as they moved you onto a stretcher. The other shinobi limped behind, guilt written all over their faces.

Kankuro stood silent for a moment, hands clenched at his sides. Then his voice dropped low.

“Temari… what about Gaara?”

Temari’s stomach turned cold.

She knew what Kankuro was really asking. Do we tell him now? Can we?

She didn’t answer immediately.

Gaara had endured so much already, had lost so much. And even though he had grown, healed, changed, the scars ran deep. He had learned how to protect people, how to lead, how to love. But he had never learned how to lose without breaking.

And you…

You weren’t just his partner. You weren’t just another shinobi.

You were the one thing in his life that had taught him softness. Quiet safety. You were the only one who could look past the Kazekage and still see him. The man beneath the title. The boy who had been broken and learned how to rebuild—with you.

Temari’s voice was hoarse when she finally answered.

“If she dies…” she whispered, “I don’t know what that’ll do to him.”

Kankuro’s jaw clenched, his eyes dark with worry.

“Then we don’t let that happen,” he said firmly. “Not on our watch.”

Temari nodded, already turning on her heel.

“I’ll go to the hospital. Stay here. If he shows up… stall him. Just until we know whether she’s…”

She didn’t finish the sentence. She didn’t need to.

Both of them were already preparing for the worst. Not because they didn’t believe in you, but because they’d seen too much. And they knew their brother too well.

Gaara hadn’t been told yet. But the moment he found out, everything would change.

The last rays of sunlight streaked low across Sunagakure, washing the stone buildings in a golden haze. The village pulsed with its usual evening rhythm. Markets closing, shinobi returning from patrol, sand drifting softly between alleys.

Gaara stood at the edge of the Kazekage’s tower, eyes scanning the streets below.

He’d heard the alert, an emergency return. A squad brought back injured. But no names had been given. And no knock had come to his door.

You hadn’t come.

His fingers flexed once at his side, barely perceptible. Then he stepped away from the window.

Maybe your team had been delayed at the gates. Maybe someone was hurt and you’d accompanied them to the infirmary. You were always the last to leave someone behind. You’d made that part of your mission philosophy. No one gets left alone when they’re in pain.

Still…

You should’ve come to him.

You always came.

That was your ritual. Ever since the early days of your relationship, before it was even spoken aloud. After every mission, long or short, dangerous or routine, the two of you would seek each other out. Just to check in. A look, a word, a touch if no one was watching. That was how he stayed grounded. That was how you both stayed connected.

So where were you?

Without meaning to, Gaara stepped down from the tower, his pace quiet but quick. His gourd shifted lightly on his back as he crossed the plaza, scanning every face, every group of shinobi returning from duty.

No sign of you.

Then—

“Gaara!”

The voice was too casual, too loud, and too obviously trying to sound relaxed.

Kankuro.

Gaara turned his head slowly as his brother approached, waving one gloved hand and grinning in a way that was a little too forced to pass as natural.

“I was just looking for you,” Kankuro said, falling into step beside him. “Been thinking we don’t catch up enough lately. I mean, you’re always in your office, I’m out on patrols. Figured we should, y’know, talk.”

Gaara blinked.

He kept walking.

“What is it?” he asked flatly, not stopping.

Kankuro let out a stiff laugh. “Can’t a brother want to have a conversation? What, I need a mission file to get your attention now?”

Gaara’s steps slowed. His eyes narrowed, subtle but sharp.

“You’re avoiding something.”

“What? No. I’m just—hey, how about that new sand-sealing tech they’re trying in the western outpost? That’s interesting, right?”

Gaara stopped walking.

His voice was quiet. Unmoving.

“Where is she?”

Kankuro froze for half a breath too long.

Gaara’s jaw tightened, the faintest twitch near his temple.

“You know we speak after missions,” he said, not accusingly, but with a restrained edge, a thread pulled tight. “She would’ve come to me. She always comes to me.”

Kankuro opened his mouth, closed it, then ran a hand through his hair.

“She… probably went to the infirmary. One of her squadmates was in rough shape. You know how she is, always watching out for everyone else.”

Something cold curled low in Gaara’s stomach, but he nodded once. That made sense. It had to make sense.

You weren’t hurt.

You couldn’t be hurt.

You were too fast. Too clever. Too sharp. You knew how to read enemies before they even struck. You never let your guard down. You never made reckless moves. You were always the one who came back standing, even if bruised.

You weren’t allowed to be the one bleeding on a stretcher.

Because Gaara couldn’t even form the thought.

Because if he did—if he even let the possibility exist—it would unravel everything inside him.

He took a step toward the direction of the hospital.

“I’ll go see her.”

Kankuro’s hand shot out instinctively, grabbing Gaara’s arm.

Gaara stilled.

The look he turned on his brother was slow, dangerous, not angry, but unreadable in the worst way. A calm before the storm.

Kankuro swallowed.

“You should wait,” he said quietly, his voice cracking at the edge. “Temari’s with her. Just… give it a second.”

And that was the moment it happened.

Gaara’s eyes didn’t widen. His body didn’t tense. He didn’t lash out or shout or even speak.

But something inside him stopped.

Kankuro felt it. Like the entire world had paused around them, just for a breath, just long enough for silence to settle like a shroud.

He didn’t ask what his brother meant. He didn’t need to.

Because now, the thought had formed.

And once it was there, it wouldn't go away.

Kankuro’s hand was still on his arm. Still holding him back. Still silent.

Gaara turned toward him again. And this time, his voice was not calm. Not sharp either. Just barely held together.

“Tell me.”

Kankuro hesitated.

He’d faced enemy shinobi stronger than him. Puppets breaking around him. Missions where the odds were nearly zero. But in this moment, looking into his little brother’s face—really looking—Kankuro almost flinched.

Because Gaara wasn’t the Kazekage right now.

He was a man who was slowly being hollowed out by a single name.

Yours.

“…She’s alive,” Kankuro said first, quickly, as if those words might shield Gaara from what came next. “But it’s… bad, Gaara. Real bad. Internal bleeding. Deep chakra exhaustion. Poisoned blades, maybe. We don’t even know how she stayed conscious long enough to get the others to safety.”

Gaara’s face didn’t move.

No breath. No blink.

Only his fingers curled in.

“Temari’s with her,” Kankuro added, softer now. “The medics are doing everything they can. But they… they’re not making promises.”

Silence stretched between them. Oppressive. Dry. Heavy with everything left unsaid.

Kankuro didn’t try to stop him again when Gaara turned.

He didn’t say another word as Gaara stepped away, his sand shifting around his feet in short, controlled bursts, like it could sense the tremble in his center and tried to hold him steady.

He walked toward the infirmary again. But it wasn’t a walk. It was a sentence.

Each step dragged more than the last. The distance seemed to stretch longer with every building he passed. Every corner he turned.

He didn’t want to see you like that.

He didn’t want to know.

But he had to.

Because you were his.

And the silence in his mind had started to scream.

The streets blurred around him. Sounds faded. Even the low sting of sand in the wind felt distant.

All he could see was the image of you, burned behind his eyes.

Not how you looked the last time you kissed his cheek before leaving on this mission. Not the smile you wore when you'd handed him tea late at night, teasing him for always falling asleep over paperwork.

No.

He was back to the first time.

The first time he saw you.

You stood at attention in his office, the late afternoon light slicing in through high arched windows, painting the floor with golden shadows. He sat behind a wide desk, still as stone yet somehow… present. Watchful. His posture was flawless, composed, not stiff.

You were a shinobi of the Sand, stationed for over a year in a small outpost village at the far edge of Wind Country, just within Sunagakure’s jurisdiction. A lonely post, but a crucial one. Assigned to monitor the movements of a neighboring nation, one rumored to be eyeing Suna’s land with dangerous ambition. You’d spent months in the heat and grit, watching and waiting, sending reports that vanished into silence. Until finally, you were recalled.

Recalled to serve under the newly appointed Kazekage. Under him. 

You bowed low. “Y/N, reporting for duty as requested, Kazekage-sama.”

Your voice echoed slightly in the high-ceilinged room. He gave no nod, no greeting, just… listened.

You launched into your report, detailing border surveillance, the political instability to the north, and the subtle shifts in foreign patrol routes. You explained how the threat of aggression had diminished in recent months, how Gaara’s rise to power had created not just internal stability, but a kind of wary respect beyond Suna’s borders. Peace, slow and cautious, was finally stretching across the desert.

Throughout it all, he didn’t utter a word. But he never looked away.

He listened to everything you said. Carefully. Completely.

When your report ended, silence settled between you.  

“I’ll do my best to support you, sir,” you finally added, voice even. “Please let me know if there’s anything you’d like prioritized.”

His gaze lingered. Not piercing. Not warm. Just... distant. As though you were separated by thick glass.

Then, at last, he spoke. “The trade reports from the eastern border.” He gestured faintly to a small stack of scrolls beside him. “They’re incomplete. Begin there.”

You stepped forward, collected the scrolls with a silent bow. He didn’t look at you again, his focus already returned to the document before him, the seal of the Kazekage gleaming crimson beneath his hand.

It was as if you had never entered the room at all.

“Yes, Kazekage-sama.”

That was how it began.

Your days in his office stretched long and quiet, filled with the rustle of scrolls and the faint scratch of ink on parchment. You spent days reviewing trade manifests, mission reports, and correspondence. Just another figure at the edge of the room, working in silence.

Gaara never spoke unless necessary. He didn’t greet you when you entered, didn’t bid you farewell when you left. He didn’t comment on your work or ask about your progress. He didn’t know how.

But he watched. And he noticed.

Noticed how you always smiled at him, not scared or unsure. Just a normal smile.

Noticed how you spoke respectfully but honestly. You weren’t scared, you were just giving your opinion. 

Noticed how you never tiptoed.

Others looked at Gaara like a weapon. But you looked at him like a person. Like someone who mattered, not because of his title or history, but because he was trying. Trying to lead. Trying to change. Trying to be better.

And to him, that meant everything.

The hospital gates appeared before him.

His feet stopped.

The world kept moving. Sand blowing past his ankles. He stared up at the stone archway, at the white wall behind it, the symbol of Sunagakure etched in clean lines.

He couldn’t step inside.

Because stepping inside would make it real.

It would mean seeing the blood on you. Seeing the way your chest might not rise. Seeing the strength he had built his world around, the quiet, steady pulse of you, crumbling beneath bandages and chakra threads.

But he wasn’t allowed to run.

He wasn’t that boy anymore. The one who shut the world out and curled into his own hate. He wasn’t allowed to fall back into silence, not when it was your voice that had taught him how to speak again.

So he stepped forward.

Into the place where his worst fear might be waiting.

And where the person who ever made him feel alive might be fighting for her life.

The door to your room creaked open under Gaara’s hand.

The scent hit him first. Not fresh blood, old. Dried. Soaked into bandages, into skin. The stale metallic tang of it twisted in his gut like something alive.

The light in the room was low. A single paper lamp burned on the far wall, throwing amber across the space, as if trying to be gentle. As if dimming the truth would soften it.

Temari stood near your bedside. She looked up when Gaara entered, eyes red at the corners, arms folded tightly across her chest like she was holding something in.

She didn’t speak.

Didn’t have to.

She stepped back without a word, giving him space—giving you space—and slipped out the door, shutting it behind her with quiet finality.

Then it was only Gaara and you.

And the sound of your labored breathing.

It was ragged. Inconsistent. A tremble between each inhale like your lungs couldn’t quite remember how to pull in air.

You lay so still.

You never lay still. Even in sleep, you shifted and turned, breathing evenly, the faintest frown on your face when dreams grew tense. You always stirred when he got close, murmuring soft things half-caught between dreams and waking.

Now you didn’t move.

Your forehead was wrapped in linen, stained rust-red at the edges. There was a cut over your temple. Deep. Too close to your eye. More bandages curled around your ribs, down your arms. A chakra seal pulsed faintly on your abdomen, an emergency medic jutsu working overtime to keep your internal organs stable.

Your hand, the one closest to him, lay limp by your side.

He stared at it.

He had held that hand so many times.

Carefully. Rarely in public. But always like it meant something sacred.

Now it was cold.

He stepped forward. Sat beside you on the edge of the bed, every motion controlled, quiet. His gourd sat heavily against the floor behind him, but he ignored it. His eyes never left your face.

So pale.

You looked… wrong like this. Wrong because the person who once stood against assassins and sandstorms, who stood beside him without fear, who held herself like a blade made for protection, was now reduced to shallow breath and silence.

Something twisted in his chest.

Something old.

Something familiar.

Fear.

He’d known loss before. People leaving. Dying. Turning their backs.

But this? You?

You weren’t supposed to become a memory.

The image of you shimmered before his eyes, and slowly, it began to change. Not what he saw in front of him. Not the blood and bruises and silence.

But a memory.

You. Standing in his office long after everyone else had left, filing scrolls you weren’t assigned to. Quiet. Steady. Present.

He remembered the way you’d glanced at him that day, not intrusively. Just… aware of him. Your eyes soft. Knowing. Patient.

The wind outside was quieter than usual tonight.

A rare calm had settled over Sunagakure. The kind that only came after long weeks without raids, political tension, or border patrol flare-ups. The streets below the tower were silent. Somewhere beyond the city walls, cicadas chirped faintly beneath the desert stars. A breeze slid through the open office windows, tugging gently at the edges of parchment on Gaara’s desk.

It should have made him feel at ease.

But it only reminded him how long he’d been sitting at his desk.

The soft rustle of parchment was the only sound between you. You sat across from him, calm in the low glow of the desk lamp, ink gliding across mission logs with the practiced ease of someone used to late nights. Your presence was steady, familiar, and silent. Just how he needed it.

Gaara’s fingers twitched over his pen, hovering above an unfinished scroll. He was still, composed… but slow.

Too slow.

He blinked once. Then again. The third time, it took effort to reopen his eyes fully. His posture held just barely. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized he hadn’t eaten dinner. There hadn’t been time. There never was.

You glanced up at him.

Not with pity. Not with scrutiny. But with quiet awareness. Understanding.

That look was enough to make something shift in his chest. Not because it made him feel weak. But because it didn’t.

It made him feel seen.

Still, he didn’t stop. He wouldn’t. The work needed to be done. The pile of reports hadn’t shrunk. The missions hadn’t paused. So he forced his hand to move again, forced his pen to drag across the parchment with focus that was beginning to falter.

Until it didn’t.

He wasn’t sure when exactly it happened. One moment, he was staring at a half-written kanji. The next…

There was darkness.

He didn’t dream. He rarely did. But he felt something. Peace, maybe, or the pull of exhaustion finally allowed to take hold.

And then—contact.

A hand.

Soft. Careful. Light pressure against his shoulder. Gentle, but unfamiliar enough to make his instincts flare.

Gaara’s eyes snapped open.

His body reacted faster than thought, upright in an instant, chakra flaring, the familiar scrape of sand rising around him in a whisper of defense. His breath caught, shallow and sharp, muscles already preparing for an enemy—

But then he saw you.

And the world stopped.

The sand froze mid-surge, hanging weightless in the air before it retreated, almost embarrassed, back to the gourd at his back. His fists unclenched. His shoulders loosened. His heartbeat, so ready to roar, slowed.

You were still standing beside him, hand on his shoulder, completely calm.

“…It’s me,” you said softly.

Of course it was.

He swallowed once, dry. The office felt colder now, though he could feel the blanket draped across his shoulders. His eyes flicked down to it, then back to yours.

“I fell asleep,” he said. The words came out low. Unbelieving.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had, not with someone else in the room.

But you didn’t look smug or surprised. You didn’t tease or pry. You simply offered him that same quiet, steady presence you always had.

You’d noticed he was tired. You’d seen what he wouldn’t admit. And instead of pointing it out, you’d let him rest.

Trusted him to be vulnerable.

And somehow, what shocked him most wasn’t the fact that he fell asleep. It was that he let himself do it while you were still in the room.

And now, sitting there under your quiet gaze, the blanket still warm over his shoulders, one undeniable truth settled into him like desert sand after wind:

He trusted you.

More than he had trusted anyone in years.

He exhaled slowly, looking at you. “…How long?”

“Almost two hours,” you replied. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

You had gone out of your way to let him rest. To bring him comfort.

And he hadn’t even noticed the plate on his desk until you gave a quiet nod toward it.

“I thought you might be hungry,” you said softly. “It’s still hot. I just brought it back before waking you up. You need to eat.”

There was no insistence in your voice, no judgment. Just gentle certainty. A quiet sort of care that didn’t demand, only offered.

He didn’t answer at first. He couldn’t.

But when you handed him the tray and moved to guide him gently out of his chair, he stood.

Without resistance. Without hesitation.

And when you told him to eat in peace and rest, just for a few hours, that you’d finish up the reports…

He didn’t argue.

Not because he was too tired, or because the work didn’t matter. But because, somehow, your presence made it feel like it would be okay.

There was a warmth that lingered when you were near. A rare stillness that settled inside him, soft, unfamiliar, but welcome. He trusted you. And in that moment, that trust felt like safety.

So he let go of the weight. Just a little.

And for the first time… he didn’t feel alone.

The room was quiet. Too quiet.

The only sound was the steady rhythm of the wind against the window shutters and the wet, uneven wheeze of your breath. 

Gaara sat beside you, unmoving, your hand cradled gently between both of his.

Your skin was cold. Too cold.

He hadn’t spoken since he’d arrived.

He hadn’t needed to. His presence said more than words ever could. He hadn’t even realized he’d sat down at first. His legs had moved on their own, folding into the chair, bringing him to you without conscious thought. Now he sat bent forward, his forehead nearly brushing your hand.

You lay so still. Your body wrapped in white linens, stained through in some places with dried blood they hadn’t been able to clean yet. Bandages crisscrossed your ribs, your arms, your temple. There was a line of stitches near your collarbone, sharp and angry against your skin.

Gaara’s thumb traced just beside it.

Slowly. Reverently. As if touching you too hard would make the wound worse.

“I should have been there,” he said, finally, his voice a low murmur against the silence. “You wouldn’t have… If I had just gone with you…”

He trailed off.

It wasn’t his way to speak in half-formed thoughts, but this—this wasn’t something he'd ever trained for. No mission report, no diplomatic meeting, no enemy shinobi had ever made him feel as helpless as seeing you like this.

“I know how strong you are,” he said, his voice quieter now. “You’ve always been strong. But… I never once thought I’d come back to an empty office and not feel you following close behind me. You always came back.”

His eyes fell to your chest, watching the rise and fall of your shallow breaths like it was all he had left to believe in.

“That’s how I knew everything would be okay, even on the worst days. You always came back.”

Something in his throat closed. He swallowed it down.

The wind howled a little louder outside, and a draft caught the edge of your blanket. Gaara stood briefly, pulled it up over your shoulders, and tucked it in carefully. Like if he made you comfortable enough, you might stir. Might open your eyes and scold him for not resting, too.

When he sat back down, he took your hand again.

Held it tighter this time.

“I’ll wait,” he said softly. “As long as it takes. I’ll be right here when you open your eyes.”

His gaze never wavered. Not from your face. Not from the flicker of life you still carried.

“You don’t have to come back for the village. Or for your team,” he murmured. “Just come back for me.”

He bowed his head over your hand, pressing his lips gently to your fingers.

And there, under the weight of hope and silence, Gaara of the Sand—your Kazekage, your quiet storm, your steady heart—sat vigil by your side.

Waiting for you to come home.

The first threads of dawn crept through the shutters, casting soft golden streaks across the infirmary walls. The air was still, the kind of quiet that came after long nights of holding your breath.

Gaara hadn’t moved.

He sat in the exact same position as before. Your hand in his, head slightly bowed, eyes locked on your face like if he looked away for even a moment, he might miss something.

He hadn’t spoken again after whispering that last promise.

But every second, he was speaking in his own way, through the tension in his shoulders, the sleepless shadows under his eyes, the way his fingers never once loosened their hold on yours.

A faint knock sounded at the door before it opened.

Gaara didn’t move.

The healer stepped inside quietly, a slim woman with greying hair and lines around her eyes from decades of worry. She had a clipboard tucked under one arm and chakra still humming faintly at her fingertips from an early morning diagnostic jutsu.

She approached carefully, like one might approach a lion in mourning.

“Lord Kazekage,” she said gently.

He didn’t answer. Just blinked slowly, lifting his gaze to her.

She nodded, respectful and soft, before glancing toward you.

“She made it through the night,” the healer said, voice steady, but low. “That alone is something worth holding on to.”

Gaara exhaled, slow and soundless.

The woman stepped closer, checking your vitals. She let her chakra spread across your body with practiced movements, brows furrowing slightly in concentration.

“The worst of the internal bleeding has stopped,” she continued. “But her chakra pathways are still severely damaged. We’ve stabilized her physically, for now, but… we don’t know if or when she’ll regain consciousness.”

Gaara looked at her fully for the first time. His eyes were unreadable. Not cold. Not angry. Just… focused. Like the weight of the entire world sat behind that gaze, and she had just told him it might fall apart.

“Is there anything else I can do?” he asked. His voice was low, but clear. Calm, as always. But the strain in it was unmistakable.

The healer paused, a little startled by the question. So few ever asked that. Not with real intent.

She hesitated. “At this point… no treatment will help more than rest. But you being here… it helps. Some shinobi,” she added, glancing down at you, “fight harder to come back when they’re not alone.”

Gaara turned back to you.

He didn't speak again, just gave the smallest nod, as if to say then I’ll stay. No matter how long it takes.

The healer set the clipboard down and left as quietly as she came, letting the door click softly shut behind her.

And once again, the room was quiet. Still.

Gaara shifted only slightly, adjusting in his chair. His hand found yours again, he hadn’t even realized he’d let go.

He looked at your face for a long time.

Then, quietly, with only the whisper of wind beyond the window for company, he said: “I know you’d yell at me for not sleeping.”

He paused, voice barely more than a breath. “But I’ll rest when you wake up. Not before.”

And with that, Gaara leaned forward just enough to rest his forehead lightly against your hand, eyes fluttering closed, drawing strength not from sleep, but from simply being near you.

From hoping.

From waiting.

It had taken over a year. A long, careful year of quiet companionship, long nights in his office working beside each other, small gestures, and conversations that slowly stitched together a fragile but growing trust.

Gaara didn’t ask to spend time with people.

And he certainly never asked anyone out.

But the you casually mentioned that a traveling lantern merchant would be passing through the outskirts of Suna that night—a man who came only once a year, setting up a path of paper lanterns that followed the edge of the desert like glowing stars.

Gaara asked something he had never dreamed of saying out loud.

“Will you take me there?”

It wasn’t just a question about a walk or a set of glowing lights. It was an invitation to something he had never done before.

Trust. Hope. Letting himself want.

When you didn’t laugh or hesitate—when you simply smiled—he felt something shift, deep and quiet in his chest.

The desert wind had been gentle that night. The stars were out, though he barely looked at them. His eyes stayed on the path ahead, on the light of the lanterns, glowing like little pieces of peace, dotting the sands with soft color.

He had expected the display to feel… extravagant. Loud. Maybe even foolish.

But it wasn’t.

It was quiet. Sacred, almost.

Each lantern pulsed softly in the breeze, like a heartbeat. People passed by in hushed tones, whispering stories or childhood memories, brushing fingers along the warm paper as they walked.

And he…

He had never seen anything like it.

He’d never done anything like it.

You walked beside him with your arms loosely crossed, your voice warm as you explained each lantern’s meaning. But you didn’t overwhelm him. You didn’t push.

You let him take it all in.

And somewhere between the second and third row of lanterns, he realized—

He wasn’t afraid.

Not here. Not with you.

It didn’t matter that the world had taught him fear from the moment he was born. It didn’t matter that his childhood had been nothing but cold isolation and silent suffering.

Because right now, in this moment, there was no fear nor hatred. 

Just… light. And you.

He remembered the paper the merchant gave him. How long he stared at it, unsure if he even had the right to wish for something.

Wishes were for other people. For children. For those who still believed they had something to lose.

But for the first time in his life, he did.

He had you.

And he wanted to keep you safe.

So he wrote the only thing that made sense. The only thing that mattered.

Let her stay safe.

Gaara’s breath hitched slightly as the memory faded.

He squeezed your hand, just a little tighter.

“I made a wish that night,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “I never believed in things like that. Still don’t.”

His gaze flickered to your face, so pale and unmoving. “But I meant it.” 

A long pause. The only sound was the faint creak of the chair as he leaned closer. “I’ll wait for you,” he said softly. “As long as it takes.”

His thumb brushed your knuckles again. “You’ve stayed with me through everything. Now it’s my turn.”

The lanterns might’ve gone out that night, but their warmth never left him.

Not as long as you still breathed.

The room didn’t change much. The light came and went. The sound of sandals against the stone floor outside marked the passing of each day. Healers came and went in silence, their eyes careful when they looked at him. Temari brought food and words he couldn’t remember. Kankuro checked in without saying anything at all.

But Gaara never left.

He stayed by your side, every day and every night, sitting in that same chair, holding your hand as if it anchored him to something real. Something alive.

He spoke only to you.

Not much. Just soft, steady words. Stories you missed, political nonsense you hated, a poem once, though he didn’t admit it was one. Just to fill the space. Just to let you know you weren’t alone.

He memorized the way your fingers felt, the way your chest moved in those fragile breaths. But your face—still, always so still—haunted him.

And then, on the morning of the thirteenth day—

You moved.

It was small. A twitch in your fingers against his palm. Barely anything. But to him, it was everything.

He jolted upright, green eyes snapping to your hand. “Y/N?”

There was no answer. Not right away.

But then your eyelids fluttered. A flicker. Another breath.

Your face twisted slightly, brows pulling together as though waking from the deepest sleep, the worst dream.

And then your eyes opened.

They were hazy, unfocused, but they were yours.

Alive.

“Y/N,” he said again, more firmly now, breath catching in his throat.

Your gaze dragged slowly to his, blinking as if it was too bright, too sharp. “...Gaara?”

The second he heard your voice, broken and dry and small, his entire body softened. Like a string that had been stretched too tight for too long finally giving in, letting go.

“I’m here.” He reached with both hands now, cupping yours between his palms. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”

Your lips moved, trying to form a thought, but the words didn’t come. You were too tired. But it didn’t matter.

He understood.

You were awake.

That was all he needed.

He lowered his forehead to your hand and stayed there for a long time, his breath shaking quietly.

“I thought I lost you,” he said into your skin. “I didn’t—” He stopped himself, steadied his voice. “It won’t happen again. I swear.”

He raised his head just enough to meet your eyes again, steady and unwavering.

“I will protect you. Always. No matter what. I won’t let you go through something like that ever again. Not while I’m still breathing.”

You blinked slowly, tears starting to pool at the corners of your eyes. You didn’t have the strength to cry yet, but the look you gave him, so full of exhaustion, pain, and love. That look said enough.

And Gaara held your hand like a lifeline.

Like the one thing in the world he would never, ever let go.

It’s been a couple of days since you woke up. You were getting stronger. Not fully better, not yet, but stronger.

You could sit up without the room spinning. You could speak without your throat burning raw. And most importantly: you were still alive.

The door creaked open softly, and your heart lifted before you even turned to look.

He was always quiet when he entered. Always careful not to disturb you. But somehow, you felt him every time before you saw him.

Gaara stepped inside, still wearing his robes, though the cloak was missing. He looked tired, more so than usual, but there was something softer in his face now. Not the relief he wore the day you woke, but something steadier. Calmer.

In his hands, he held a small bouquet.

Your eyes widened a little.

Not extravagant. Not loud. Just a quiet arrangement of warm desert blooms. Soft orange and pale golden blossoms cradled in thick, silver-green leaves. It was beautiful in its simplicity, and oddly familiar.

You looked up at him as he approached, a smile slowly forming on your lips. “You brought me flowers?”

Gaara hesitated near the bed. “They’re desert lilies. They… grow where the wind doesn’t reach. In the cracks of the rocks. Quiet places.”

Your eyes flickered to the blooms again, then back to his.

“I remember,” you said, voice still hoarse but laced with warmth. “You gave me these before.”

He nodded once. “The night I asked you.”

You stared at the flowers for a moment longer, surprised by the small ache in your chest, not from pain, but from memory. You looked up at him, softer now, eyes shining. “That was… a good night.”

“I think about it often,” Gaara admitted, setting the flowers gently on the table beside your bed. “Even now.”

He pulled the chair beside your bed a little closer and sat, leaning slightly forward, elbows resting on his knees, his hand finding yours out of habit.

His thumb brushed your knuckles once.

Your eyes drifted half-closed at the touch, comforted by it, even as your mind was already falling backward, drawn into the memory, into the moment where everything had changed between you.

The wind had quieted for once.

It whispered instead of howled, soft through the sandstone streets, winding between sun-warmed buildings, rustling the corners of your robes as you and Gaara walked side by side. The desert, even at night, still held warmth from the day. The air felt alive. Peaceful. Like it was waiting.

Your pinkies were interlinked.

Not fully holding hands, not yet. That kind of contact had once terrified him. But your pinky brushed against his like it belonged there. No demand, no pressure. Just you, anchoring him with a touch so light it would be nothing to anyone else. But to him, it was everything.

In your other hand, you held a small bouquet. Desert lilies, blooming despite their harsh home, stubborn and beautiful, like you. You looked down at them every few steps, smiling each time as if they were something precious.

He still wasn’t sure how you managed to make his heart ache and settle at the same time.

You’d been walking together for a while now. Not saying much. But that was how you always were, and Gaara had grown to treasure that quiet. You didn’t fill silences with noise, you let them stretch, let them breathe, let them mean something. You never asked for more than he could give. And because of that… he gave you more than he ever thought he could.

It had been months, many months, since your first real “date,” a simple walk that became a routine. And still, this was as far as you’d gone. Pinkies and occasional glances. Never anything more. And yet… you were still here.

He looked at you then, as you tipped your head up toward the moonlight, eyes reflecting the silver glow above. The desert stretched before you both, vast and open, glowing faintly beneath the full moon. Even the sand shimmered under the stars, and the dunes rippled like ocean waves in the dark.

You leaned slightly against the low wall that lined the edge of the lookout, your gaze soft and far away. He watched the way the wind brushed strands of your hair from your face, how the soft light caught on your eyelashes. You looked… peaceful. And it struck him then, all at once, in a way that felt like the final piece of a puzzle clicking into place.

He didn’t just care for you.

He trusted you.

He needed you.

And he wanted to keep you in his life, not just for now, but for whatever came next.

Gaara took your bouquet and set it gently down on the stone wall beside you. Then he turned to face you fully.

You blinked at the sudden shift and looked at him curiously, your pinky still laced with his. That simple contact now tethered him like a lifeline. He brought his other hand up slowly and deliberately, and took your free hand in both of his.

You went still, but not startled. Just quiet. Waiting.

His eyes met yours. Deep, sea-glass green and utterly steady.

“I don’t know what people are supposed to say in moments like this,” he said softly, voice low, nearly lost to the breeze. “I never learned. And I’ve never felt it before. Not like this.”

You didn’t interrupt. You didn’t urge him forward. You just listened.

“I want you beside me,” he said, each word deliberate, heavy with meaning. “For as long as you’ll stay. I want to wake up knowing you’re in my life. I want to protect that. Protect you. I’ve never asked anyone for something like this… but I’m asking now.”

He swallowed once.

“I want to call you mine.”

You didn’t speak right away.

But your eyes shimmered, not from tears, but from the weight of what he said. Slowly, you closed your fingers around his.

“I’ve been yours,” you whispered. “Since the day you let me stay beside you.”

The night air wrapped around you both like a gentle cloak. The lanterns from distant windows flickered faintly in the distance, golden against the blue night.

He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, and smiled. Small. Barely there. But real.

You had never seen anything more beautiful.

He didn’t kiss you that night. He wasn’t ready, not yet. And he knew you wouldn’t expect it.

But when you gently rested your forehead against his, eyes fluttering shut, his hands still holding yours…

He knew.

You were home.

The scent of those same flowers lingered faintly in the room, mixing with antiseptic and the distant wind. Gaara sat beside you once more, your hand in his.

You were safe.

And this time, he would protect what he loved. With everything he had.

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