#i just thought it would be nice for them to have a way of saying goodbye to the narnia they knew/creatures they loved during the golden age

[plutotheplum]

chapter one | the proposal

multi x fem!reader

chapter summary: the spring season seems to have brought on an unrelenting case of baby fever. being single is a problem though... so who better to ask than your five, handsome friends?

cw: modern au, fluff, kissing, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of sex

wc: 1.7k

a/n: first chapter is here! something short and sweet before we get into the smut teehee ₍ᐢ. ̫.ᐢ₎

also on ao3!

series masterlist | next up: the magician

“I want a baby.”

Usually you’d be sitting across from your head-over-heels, doting, caring husband that would be willing to do anything for you whilst having this conversation. It’s an important decision after all, having a baby and taking care of it, having the finances to dote on your child. It’d be nice… except for the fact you don’t have a husband, or a boyfriend for that matter.

Instead, you’re sitting across from five men, currently lumped together uncomfortably on your couch, staring at you with slight bewilderment in their eyes. It was your best shot, inviting them over. 

Besides, you’d decided that it was the spring season that had caught you in its snare. Going out to a cafe, taking a stroll in the park, perusing a bookstore; babies were everywhere. It hadn’t bothered you so much until you’d set your eyes on one of the cutest, chubbiest babies you’d ever seen, its little hand curling around your finger when you’d been waiting in line to buy your book. 

Yeah… you’d gotten baby fever.

“A baby?” Rafayel asks, his brows raising, “are- are you even ready for a baby?”

“I’ve thought about it,” you reply, fingers fidgeting nervously in your lap, your eyes drifting across each of them, “a lot. I even made a short presentation if any of you would like to-”

Zayne shakes his head subtly and you sink back down into the chair, having gotten up half-way.

“I am ready,” you breathe out finally, “I’m not getting any younger and I just think it’d be nice, y’know? I wouldn’t feel so lonely anymore.”

“Why’d you invite all of us over at once?” Caleb asks, his hands folding behind his head, drawing a sound of annoyance from Xavier who he elbows in the process.

“I didn’t want to have the conversation five times,” you sigh, “besides, I figured none of you would actually agree to this. I mean, it’s sort of crazy. Do I sound crazy?”

“Maybe a little frantic,” Sylus muses, propping his elbow up on the armrest of your couch, his head tilting lazily to watch you.

“There are other options,” Zayne offers, “other than what you’re proposing. I could help you look, if you wanted. I know someone I went to medical school with, maybe they could help?”

You flush lightly, shaking your head. “I um- I want to do it naturally,” you squeak out, cheeks growing hotter when you spy the grin on Caleb’s face. “Less- less complications that way, which is why I decided to ask all of you.”

“Well,” Caleb yawns, stretching his arms above his head, managing to knock one against Xavier’s head again, “I’m in.”

“What?” you sputter, staring at him with wide eyes. “You- you can’t just agree! I had a whole thing planned and we still need to go over agreements about how this is going to work.”

“I’m not just going to disappear once you have the baby,” Caleb sighs, staring at you, his gaze never wavering. “If we do this, we’re doing it together.”

“Oh,” you say, sitting back in your chair, “well if that’s what you’d like, but I don’t want you to feel obligated or anything.”

“Obligated?” Sylus interrupts, raising his brows, “Sweetie, if you decide to have one of our kids, we aren’t going to abandon you to handle everything on your own. It’s as much of our decision as it is yours.” He pauses for a moment, crossing his arms over his chest. “With that being said, I also accept your proposal.”

“You do?” you ask, your head tilting. “Wouldn't the two of you be overkill? I really think one of you agreeing is enough-”

“It wouldn’t be fair,” Xavier pitches in finally, having had enough of being squished on the couch as he stands up, sending a brief glare towards Caleb. “It wouldn’t be fair,” he repeats, shifting on his feet, “if only the two of them got to have you. Besides, you said it was up to us to decide.”

Was he jealous? Maybe you’d dug yourself in a little too deep. You’d had fleeting moments with each of them, shared lazy kisses every now and then, had a few of their heads buried between your thighs on some nights, but nothing serious… especially not this serious.

“So all three of you,” you look pointedly at Caleb, Sylus and Xavier, “want to help?”

“Yes,” is the unanimous reply.

“I can’t have sex with all three of you!” you protest, looking at each of them, “I mean, I could but that’s besides the point!”

“You’ll have to alternate between us,” Zayne supplies, adjusting his glasses, his lithe fingers pushing them up to sit more securely on the bridge of his nose. The action distracts you for a moment, your mind conjuring up the memory of those very fingers sinking inside of your pussy only a few weeks ago when he’d been pent up and you’d been eager to help.

“Right,” you reply as though the situation made complete sense and nothing about this entire thing was crazy. “Alternate- wait,” you pause, your eyes flicking over to meet Zayne’s. “Us?” you echo, “what do you mean ‘us’?”

“Us,” Zayne says simply.

“Us- us as in you included?” you ask, voice pitching upwards with how incredulity takes hold of you, part of you hoping that your faith in the english language was now failing you.

“Yes,” he replies, his head tilting to take in your expression. “I am the most… qualified for this position.”

“This isn’t a job interview!” you snap, glaring at him, before pointing at the others accusingly, “and you are all way too eager to agree!”

“We’re helping you out,” Caleb counters, turning his attention to Zayne, “and what do you mean by qualified? You just have to cum inside of her.”

You wince at his crude words.

“I often see children during my rounds in the wards,” Zayne says coolly, “I don’t see you handling any children while you fly your plane around.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Caleb mutters, sending Zayne a glare.

“Okay,” you pitch in, hoping to ease some of the tension. “Rafayel?” you say, eyes focusing on the purple-haired man who’s been watching the situation unfold with amusement, “I’m glad you haven’t said anything, because four is more than eno-”

“Who said I didn’t agree?” he asks, raising his brows, “I’d be the odd one out, wouldn’t I? As Xavier said, that’d hardly be fair.”

“So what you’re all telling me, is that you’re all ready for a baby?” you ask bluntly, tilting your head skeptically. “Because I feel like none of you have thought this through.”

“We’re just giving you the best chance of having a baby,” Xavier says, meeting your skepticism with his own bluntness.

“Fine,” you breathe out, your eyes flitting across each of the handsome men. You’d be lying if you weren’t somewhat excited about the idea. “You’re all accepted.”

“Great,” Sylus says, standing up.

Your eyes widen when he approaches you, his arm tugging you to your feet, before wrapping around your waist.

“What are you-”

Your voice is muffled when he slots his lips over yours. You make a noise of protest until he presses closer, your eyes fluttering shut at the soothing stroke of his thumb against your cheek. A soft whine escapes you, arms sliding up to wrap around his neck, your lips working against his eagerly.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Caleb snaps.

You squeak when you’re pulled away from Sylus, arms reaching out to grab for him, only for Caleb to swat your hands away, sending you an equally harsh glare.

“I thought we were getting started,” Sylus drawls, his eyes flashing with a hint of disdain. “I’m not one to sit around and watch.”

Caleb snaps out a retort and your shoulders sag as you watch the two men begin to argue.

“Are you sure you wanna have a baby with one of them?” Rafayel asks, his voice hushed as he sidles up to you. “They seem awfully… ill-tempered.”

You blink up at him, face falling. “Do you think that’ll affect the baby?”

Rafayel nods, putting on a grave disposition until you see Zayne roll his eyes.

“We’ll alternate,” Zayne says, rubbing his temples, “like I said. It’s the fairest way and none of your egos will get hurt in the process. We can draw numbers to figure out the order.”

You end up scrawling the numbers one to five on a piece of paper, ripping them up before scrunching them, so they can’t see what’s written on the paper.

“Take your pick,” you offer, opening your hands up for each one of them to choose a crumpled piece of paper.

You stare at each of them expectantly as they open up the pieces of paper, rocking up on your toes to peek over Xavier’s shoulder. 

Two.

Well, you could handle that. You smile up at him and he smiles back, dipping his head quickly to kiss your cheek.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Caleb groans staring down at his paper.

“Did you place last?” Rafayel asks smugly, waving his paper around as though he had won the lottery. “I’m first!”

“Asshole,” Caleb grouses, ripping up his paper agitatedly, “third.”

You turn your attention to Zayne and Sylus, raising your brows.

“Fourth,” Zayne says, tucking his paper away neatly into the pocket of his trousers.

You swallow nervously, glancing towards Sylus. He gives you a devilish grin in return, flipping his paper to show you the messily scribbled five. 

“You’re not… mad about it?” you ask tentatively.

“Why should I be?” Sylus asks, running a hand through his snowy hair, the strands falling across his forehead prettily, “It just means that I get to spend the longest with you.”

Well, that sounds more like a threat than anything. You weren’t a stranger to Sylus’ ways, you’d spent a few nights in his bed, face shoved into the pillows while you’d sobbed and cried pathetically with every snap of his hips against your ass. 

“Right,” you clear your throat, hoping your voice doesn’t betray your nervousness.

Your gaze drifts over each man. Smug Rafayel, mellow Xavier, disgruntled Caleb, stoic Zayne and devilish Sylus.

Yeah, you think, you were definitely in for it.

taglist >///<

@serenitymaria @kreishin @qyuin @wegottastayfocus @novthirty @syluslittlecrows @blorbohunter @luvleixo @crimsonmarabou @skylaryoung2002 @multisstuff @chirikoheina @supermissnkta @serenity-loves-red @shi-thats-kiera @froleineeeee @jaynawayna @schooki @minyoongi-pouts @mizienjoyer @isagistar @zaynesnowflake @athena-portgas @colonelcalebs-pipsqueak @cutelittlesugarfairy @pookiei-bookie @dooopiee @rafshottestgf @thetimetravelernightmare @slytherin-min99 @envy-of-greed @paninisstuff @h0ngh0ngh0ng @nezuswritingdesk @teeheeheartless

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Movie Week

Day 1 - Fear (1996)

Male Yandere x Fem Reader, 1.7k words

 Your dad doesn't like your boyfriend.

Hardly breaking news. The amount of boyfriends who are chummy with their future father-in-law is in decidedly short supply. Like, national crisis level shortage.

Still, you aren't sure why your dad has such a problem with him.

Your boyfriend is sweet. He's charming. He takes your dog out on walks and gets along with your ancient and sour tom cat. He picks you up from school and keeps his hands to himself whenever your pops is around.

He's smart, in his own way. Good with his hands, the top student in your school's auto shop class.

A catch really. Out of your league, if you want to be honest.

But your dad doesn't want to hear any of it.

"Home before ten, not a second later."

"Don't you dare leave the living room when he's here. Either you stay where I can see you, or he doesn't come over at all."

"You're only allowed to drive home from school with him. I don't want you in that deathtrap of his any longer than you need to be."

Your boyfriend takes it in his stride. The only sign that it bothers him is the slight strain in his voice.

"Yes, sir. I'll get her home on time."

"No, sir. We won't leave the living room."

"I drive under the speed limit all the time, sir."

A different man would have given up on you ages ago. It isn't pleasant, being subjected to scrutiny and barley veiled menace every time you want to take your girl out on a date.

Somehow, he manages.

"It's easy," he tells you after yet another uncomfortable dinner with your father, his arm around the back of your seat as he pulls out of your driveway.

"I just keep reminding myself that I'm going to marry you. He'll have to soften up once I have a ring on your finger."

You can't ignore the way your heart jumps when he says that.

"Don't joke about stuff like that."

He grins at you. "Not joking. Gonna make you my wife someday."

You twist your hands in your skirt and tell yourself he's just pulling your leg. You're too young to be thinking about marriage. You need to focus on picking out graduation gowns, not wedding dresses.

Still, it's a nice thing to think about. A silly little fantasy to keep your smile in place when you get home from your date and your dad insists on grilling you. Something to dream about before bed, when the sheets are cold and you want nothing more than to have your boyfriend between them.

He brings it up again on your next date.

"Gold or silver?"

"For what?"

You're at the gun range, your boyfriend polishing up his skills. The crack of gunfire only slightly muffled by your ear protection.

He's reloading his pistol, fingers quick and fast.

"For your engagement ring."

You freeze for a second, and then start giggling.

"Yeah, right. Are you going to ask me if I want cream or ivory tulle next?"

He shrugs, cocking his pistol with a practiced, easy pull.

"I say cream. Looks better with your skin tone."

He gets into a firing stance and aims at the cut out.

"My dad might not even say yes. Have you thought about that?"

He fires. One bullet after the other until the clip is empty. The veins and muscles on his forearms stand out; he's gripping the gun that tight.

When it clicks on an empty chamber, he sets it aside and pulls off his ear protection. The retrieval system whirs as his target gets pulled towards you.

"I've thought about it," he says quietly.

You're about to say something when you catch sight of his target. Bullet holes straight through its forehead, a stray or two lodged in its throat. You count them up in your head and compare it to the amount of bullets you saw him load.

He didn't miss a single shot.

He's good with guns, but you've never seen him this accurate before. What the hell is he focused on, to land every shot?

You look up to find him watching you.

"Your dad will say yes. I know he will."

Your dad doesn't say yes.

You aren't aware of it. All you know is that your boyfriend stops walking you to your front door after school, and that your dad is awfully quiet at dinner for a few weeks.

Your dad doesn't say yes the second time either.

It's a late Friday afternoon. You're at study group with your friends while your father and your boyfriend square off against each other. Sun slanting through the big bay windows and spilling in golden stripes across the carpet.

"You're too young."

"I love her!"

"You don't even know what love is!"

"I know enough. I want to be with her. Is that so wrong? We won't get married right away."

"Not. Happening."

Your father is as tight wound as a hair trigger. Your boyfriend not much better. For a second, your dad thinks the kid might actually be stupid enough to hit him.

Go on, give me a good reason to kick you to the curb, you little shit.

He doesn't. Just pulls in a deep breath and turns to leave, door slamming hard behind him.

Your father sits down with his anger still coiled tight in his chest. Anger, and fear too. There's something about your boyfriend that unnerves him. That hair raising feeling of nails on a chalkboard. Not logical at all, but too strong to just be gut instinct.

Kid looked like he wanted to kill me.

You father has to make a conscious effort to unclench his fists.

When you get home that day, he kisses your forehead and prays that you change your mind about the whole thing. Date someone a little less... strange.

No luck. He hears you on the phone with your boyfriend all evening.

Is the kid really going to let it go? Or is he going to keep asking?

Your dad doesn't get his answer. Two days later, his car goes off the road.

Brake lines wore out and finally snapped, the cops tell you.

It's raining hard when they give you the news, little droplets of water on their uniforms despite their oversized black umbrellas.

You're too cold and stunned to answer them.

It's only when your boyfriend comes over that you manage to speak, to think of a sentence or two beyond, "But I just saw him. How can he be dead if I just saw him five minutes ago?"

He pulls you onto his lap and let's you cry into his shirt, smoothing your hair away from your face.

"It's okay baby, I'm here. I've got you."

It's only after the funeral that he asks the question he's wanted an answer to for months. The funeral parlour is almost empty. Your dad's coffin long gone.

He keeps his arm curled around your waist as you bid the last of the mourners goodbye.

"You never gave me an answer."

You blink at him, thoughts mired in molasses.

"An answer to what?"

He smiles, head tilted in that boyishly charming way of his.

"The only question that matters. Gold or silver?"

Day 1 - Fear (1996)

Day 2 - Secret Obsession (2019)

Day 3 - Hush (2016)

Day 4 - The Perfect Guy (2015)

Day 5 - The Boy Next Door (2015)

Day 6 - The Invisible Man (2020)

Day 7 - Til Death Do Us Part (2017)

[slutoru1207]

Is it alright if you make an invincible story where Mark and the reader started out as childhood friends. He dated Amber, then Eve then next is the reader. Then after that have been together for a long while now, Mark would have some crazy baby fever. Please?🥺🙏

Ooh, I love this idea!💞🥹 It’s got the perfect mix of nostalgia, romance, and a hint of humor with Mark’s baby fever. Here’s how it could go:

You and Mark had known each other for as long as you could remember. Childhood friends, then more, though neither of you really understood the difference when you were younger.

You’d both been through a lot—he with his journey to becoming Invincible, and you, just by his side through all of it. You’d been there when he dated Amber, then again when he had that short-lived relationship with Eve. But now? Now it was you and him. You’d been together for years, and every day with Mark was something new, yet always familiar, like the way he made you laugh with his clumsy yet endearing superhero stunts or the way he’d always hold your hand in public like it was a quiet declaration of his love.

Mark was the guy in your life, and somehow, it still felt like nothing had changed, even after all the twists and turns. The love between you had grown stronger, deeper, more solid with time. It was perfect, or at least it felt that way until one thing started taking over his thoughts.

It had started out subtle. A conversation here and there, as you’d talk about your future—about what it would look like a few years down the road. You'd been dreaming together, as you always did, about the house you might have someday, the trips you’d take, the quiet moments you’d share.

But lately, Mark’s eyes seemed to linger a little longer when he saw baby ads on TV. Or when he’d get super excited when a new friend or family member would have a baby.

At first, you thought it was a passing thing.

But then... it wasn’t.

One evening, as you two sat on the couch together, flipping through channels, Mark’s gaze was fixed on a commercial for a baby product. You didn’t think much of it until you noticed how still he was. His lips parted as if he were about to say something.

“Mark?” you called, tilting your head.

He blinked and snapped out of it, looking at you with a sheepish smile. "Sorry, I was... thinking."

You raised an eyebrow, suspicious. "About what?"

Mark shifted in his seat, then hesitated. His voice lowered, and his eyes were slightly sheepish. “About... babies.”

You couldn't help but laugh lightly. "Babies? As in, your babies?"

He looked over at you, eyes wide with a mix of excitement and hesitation. "Yeah... I don't know, it’s just... I mean, you know, we’ve been together for a while now, and I’ve been thinking..."

"Thinking about what?" you asked, leaning toward him, curiosity piqued.

Mark’s face softened. "About how nice it would be to have a little one around. Someone to love and take care of. Maybe someone who looks like us." He added quickly, "Not right now, of course! I mean, I’m just thinking about it. But I don’t know, I can’t help but get excited whenever I see something about babies."

Your heart warmed at the idea of Mark getting all soft over the thought of having a little family someday. But you still couldn’t stop teasing. "So, you’re having baby fever, huh?"

Mark rubbed the back of his neck nervously, his cheeks a little red. “Maybe... just a little. But it’s not just that! It’s the whole family thing, you know? A future with you... with us... It just sounds so perfect.”

You chuckled, sitting next to him. “Well, I’m glad you’re excited. But we’ve still got a lot to figure out before that happens, don’t we?”

Mark nodded, but his gaze was soft, dreamy. "Yeah... but one day, I just want to hold our baby in my arms, y’know? Teach them stuff. Be there for them."

You smiled, your heart melting at how genuine and tender his voice was. You wrapped your arms around him, snuggling into his side. "It’s a nice dream, Mark. And when the time’s right, we’ll make it happen. But for now, we can just enjoy the thought of it, right?"

"Yeah," he agreed softly, his arm wrapping around you tightly. "Right. But don’t be surprised if I start getting a little more obsessed with baby stuff around here."

It didn’t take long for Mark’s baby fever to escalate. Soon, he was the one who kept bringing up the idea of starting a family. Every time you’d talk about your future together, he'd slip in something about how awesome it would be to have kids, how he could already picture it. His enthusiasm was adorable, even if it was a little overwhelming at times.

One day, you came home to find him watching a parenting video on YouTube, his eyes wide with wonder as he took in every word. You stared at him, hands on your hips. “Mark... you really have it bad, huh?”

He looked up at you, a grin stretching across his face. “I mean, it’s all very important stuff. I gotta be prepared, right?”

You laughed. “You’re adorable. But I’m not going to let you get a baby before we even finish organizing the living room.”

Mark pouted dramatically, but you could see the spark of excitement in his eyes, even if he tried to hide it behind a little humor. “Hey, I’m just saying. Maybe we should go ahead and practice.”

You arched an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh yeah? How would you practice?”

Before you could react, Mark scooped you up into his arms, his grip strong but warm. “I’ll take care of everything. Starting with you.”

You laughed, enjoying the warmth of his embrace. "You're impossible."

But, for once, it felt right. You could already picture it: the two of you, growing a family, starting the next chapter of your lives together. And you couldn’t wait.

[invoncible]

♡ THINK I NEED SOMEONE OLDER ... ! (CECIL VER.) cw. suggestive towards the end

— as requested. i've gotten a few asks for some cecil, conquest, and nolan stuff so i'm gonna make this a mini series! the next part will probs be conquest ? i imagine you're controversially young for them in comparison. because lets be real these guys are fossils. — i probs got him ooc IM SORRY

cecil is a private man. nobody knows about your relationship, and that's how he liked it.

you were a secretary at the pentagon, a well-to-do front line desk worker that loved your low maintenance job that allowed you great pay, easy hours, and lots of benefits. 

the first time you met, he came in to work grumbling as usual about all the shit he had to deal with... until he saw your bright smile over the counter. 

"hiii!" you sprung up from your seat, offering him a coffee. "director stedman, good to see you today."

his name and 'good to see you today' rarely coincided. being the guy that made all the hard decisions didn’t leave much room for camaraderie—no one got buddy buddy with the guy in charge (except donald). 

he accepted the coffee on autopilot while scrutinizing you. you were a new face, at least to his knowledge. first day, maybe? wanting to make a good impression on the boss?

"thanks." he muttered, taking a sip and trying to hide his surprise when it was made just how he liked it. he was too picky for it to be a lucky guess, so you probably asked around... for information on him... interesting. he had to be careful with you. 

he caught your eyes over the rim of the cup; you were watching him with an equal intensity, searching for any microexpressions that would affirm you did a good job. your lips quirked up in a smug little smile when you managed to pull approval from his facade, smoothing down your pants as you dropped into your seat again. 

"have a good day, sir." you hummed, eyes flickering up to him as he walked away. 

"yeah." he cleared his throat, more confused than anything. 

he brushed it off as a fluke—again, he thought you were new and wanting to make a great first impression. which you did, by the way, but his intrigue grew when you just didn't stop.

every morning without fail, you had his coffee ready, a sweet little greeting, a warm smile. it became a comfort for him, but he didn't even allow himself to go down that road of ... affection. because you were you and he was him. 

"so, how about that secretary, sir?" donald asked him one day. 

"what about 'em, donald?" cecil sighed, but he was itching to talk about it, too. his thoughts drifted to you more often than he’d like, and it was becoming a biiit of a problem. 

“nothing.”

“you brought it up. clearly you had something to say.” cecil pinched the bridge of his nose. “so talk.”

donald’s lips quirked up ever so slightly. “are you aware they only prepare coffee for you?”

no, he wasn’t aware. it’d become so normal that he hadn’t even considered that. he might as well be hyper-aware, now. breaking people down to their innermost desires and principles were his trade, and his analytical mind was not lost on you. and so, every morning without fail, he talked a bit. went beyond the ‘have a nice day’ thing you’ve both grown comfortable with.  

you perked up in your seat upon seeing cecil walk in, another thing that endeared you to him. “director—”

“how do you like your coffee?”

you blinked, thrown off by the change in routine. “um… i like to try something different each time, i guess..?”

“if you had to choose.” he murmured, delicately accepting the warm cup from your outstretched hand. “humor me.”

that was where it started. from then on, he showed up with your coffee, performing an amicable exchange of sorts (he had ulterior motives, of course) and while you two sipped on the hot invigorating brew, you talked about how you ended up here, what you did outside work, places you’ve traveled… emphasis on you because he wasn’t going to spoil this slice of heaven with his troublesome past.

“it’s a good deal, you know?” you hummed, swirling the cup in your hand. “nice desk all to myself, easy admin work, no one annoying to handle for the most part.”

“for the most part?” he inquired, leaning over the counter. 

you waved him off as you sipped from your cup. he frowned and chucked his empty cup in the garbage behind your desk. 

“tell me.”

you laughed softly, tossing your cup along his, licking your lips of the residual taste. “mm. you have bigger things to deal with, director. things that needed your attention…” you trailed off, glancing at your screen. “what, an hour or so ago?”

“is it the end of the world?”

“no.”

“then the team can handle it.” cecil’s lips parted in a smug smile, his words holding a finality you couldn’t help but listen to. you couldn’t suppress the warm feeling pooling in your gut. “tell me. that’s an order.”

“oh?” you reacted verbally, your eyes widening, the firm command making your heart flutter. “since when do you give me orders?”

“since i care about harassment in my building.” he shot back before allowing himself to be impressed with your audacity. since i care about you. 

you giggle softly and he takes a moment to commit the sound to memory. 

“i’m just kidding,” you stand and jog your papers against the desk surface, preparing to make your rounds with the freshly printed documents. “you are my boss, after all.”

yeah… he is your boss. but with you, he often felt like you were in charge. 

you’d be lying to say this wasn’t your plan all along. you saw him when you came in for your job interview and decided to try your luck. you didn’t expect it to work, much less work well. you had him wrapped around your finger! at first, it was just a fun way to pass the time at your desk; now it was something you looked forward to everyday.

“it’s just some analyst from upstairs that comes to bug me.” you shrug with a roll of your eyes. “just stands there and talks for hours.”

“isn’t that what i do?” the question left his mouth before he could stop it, and he instantly regretted it. the more he talked to you, the less of a filter he had, rarely thinking things over before speaking and impulsively saying what’s on his mind. 

your lips spread in a small, mischievous smile, a glint in your eye. “you’re different. i like you.”

you’d become more and more forward and it was getting harder for him to dismiss the hints you dropped. the man’s been around, and he wasn’t so dumb to be blind to what you were doing. what you were trying to get him to feel. although considering that he was your boss, he was simply content with the song and dance you had right now.

he watched you walk away until you disappeared from his sight with a heavy sigh.

side note, you never saw that analyst again. 

there was one day you weren’t at your desk, and your absence rang some alarms in his head. he’d been sneaking looks at your records and would know if you requested time off. more than that, you would have told him.

he was about to walk off when he heard the doors behind him burst open and the rapid clack clack clack of shoes racing across the floor. 

he turned to watch you, looking deliciously disheveled might he add, with a raise of his brow. “y/n—“

“i’m sorry!” you stop in front of him to catch your breath. “i didn’t get your coffee today—“

“that’s fine,” cecil said lowly, his expression amused. “you run a fucking marathon or something?”

“—i got up late and… and… damn, that’s the first time i’ve sprinted in a while. fuck.” you bent over your knees, panting. “there was traffic and a whole line at the coffee shop—someone knocked it out of my hand when i was leaving—“

“hey.” he set your coffee down on the counter behind him, putting his hands on hips. “you don’t have to apologize. it was nice you even started to do that in the first place, doll.”

your eyes snap to the cup he got you, a frown tugging on your lips. “but you—“

“don’t worry about it.” 

“okay, but—“

“i said don’t worry. that’s an order.”

you huffed a breathless laugh as you straightened up. “i’m beginning to think you just like telling me what to do.” (he did.)

your odd relationship with the director came to a head at a workplace get together. a rare moment of respite which was really a space for the entire department to wallow in their misery together rather than alone.

cecil never came to these things until he knew you’d be at them. he figured he’d drop in just to scope things out, and he wasn’t sure what he expected but he definitely did not expect you, and many others, to be piss drunk. 

you recognized him through the dim light, brightening up as you usually do. you stumbled over, jostled by the packed bodies pushing and pulling you through the crowd.

“easy.” cecil murmured, coaxing the glass out of your hand. “damn, you’re wasted.” he commented more to himself than you, a short incredulous laugh slipping through his lips. 

“mhmm.” you slurred, head thumping into his chest. 

“okay.” he whispered, downing the rest of your glass and setting it aside to free up his hands. can’t let good wine go to waste. a thought passed through his head as he swallowed the beverage: this must be what you taste like right now. pump the brakes, loverboy.

he propped you back upright by your shoulders. “how ‘bout we lay off the drinks?”

“whatever you say, boss.” you hummed, a buzzed smile on your lips.

“you want a ride?”

your clumsy hands wrapped around his tie, pressing into him and tugging him forward by the loose fabric. “you offering?” 

holy shit. his eyes flickered to your delicate fingers, the same ones he’s watched type away at a keyboard, walk up and up and up his red tie. “no.” he said curtly.  

“‘nd i don’t mean a car.” you hiccup.

he paused, wondering if you realized you were talking to him, not some other co-worker. “i know.” 

you sigh dramatically, leaning into him. “you should give me your number.”

cecil groaned, shaking his head. now he knew you needed to get some water in you and sleep your intoxication off. you were saying nonsense. “let’s get you out of here, kid, i’ll call you a cab.”

“no. m’serious,” you pushed, lips pursed in a pout. “i want your number.”

his steely blue eyes narrowed at you, searching your face even as you swayed from side to side. “no, you don’t.” 

you scoffed and knocked your head against his shoulder, clinging to his arm for support as he walked you out of the gathering. “whyyyy…” you mumbled.

cecil dialed someone on his phone, holding it up to his ear as it rang. “you’re drunk, y/n. you’re not thinking straight.”

“i am!” you retorted petulantly, tugging on his arm and pulling the phone away from his head. “i’ve wanted it for a while, just took a little liquid courage to ask…” you trailed off, eyes drooping. “we have coffee dates all the time, what’s so different if—”

“woah, woah, woah.” he stopped you, “dates?” he echoed incredulously. 

you bite your lip, peering up at him while his response buffered in your inebriated mind. after a moment, you nodded. “uh-huh.”

“those aren’t dates, kid.” this bitch was lying through his teeth. he considered them dates, too, but anything to keep a semblance of control over the situation. 

“might as well be. ‘nd stop calling me that.” you scrunched up your nose in distaste. he’s never called you ‘kid’ before this and you’re beginning to think it’s his way of putting distance between you. 

“i’ll call you whatever the fuck i want.” he snapped, growing defensive. he liked your little game, the fun will-they-won’t-they thing you two had going on, but now that it was becoming real to him… now that you were forcing him to confront the feelings he knew he had for you, he had to build his walls back up again—even if it pushed you away in the process. 

“yeah? cuz you’re my boss?” you managed to shoot back, still gripping onto him for support. 

“look at that, you got it. was that so hard?” he scoffed, turning away from you to prevent himself from caving. your shiny eyes in the darkness and tinted lips from the drinks made him want to throw caution to the wind. “i know you think you want something from me… trust me, sweetheart, i’m doing you a favor.”

you roll your eyes. “cuz you’re so noble like that.”

cecil’s eyes narrowed, getting into your space. he walked into you, unintentionally guiding your back into a wall. “mock me all you want, doll. the moment you lie in bed with me is the moment you’re erased from existence. i won’t allow anything to happen to you, and i’ll do everything to prevent that from happening.”

“okay?” 

he put his hands on his hips. “i don’t think you understand. i don’t do anything half-assed.”

you giggled drunkenly. “and that’s supposed to be a threat?”

“you know i love when you talk, but shut up for a second,” cecil closed his eyes like he was trying to gather himself. you always had a knack for undermining his authority. but in retrospect, he made it way too easy to do so. when he looked at you again, something had shifted.

“this isn’t a game to me,” he muttered, voice quieter now, but no less intense.

you blinked up at him, suddenly realizing how close he was—not just physically, but in a way that made your heart stutter. you were finally on the precipice of what you’d been building up to since you met him. 

cecil exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face like he was trying to keep himself in check. “i’ve spent months convincing myself i should keep you at arm’s length.” his hand curled around your wrist, not hard, but firm enough to make your breath catch. “if you push me…” he trailed off, leaning in closer… and closer… his nose brushed against yours and that singular touch sent a jolt of clarity into him. 

he pulled back, stepping back and shaking his head with a click of his tongue. “this is reckless.”

“cuz you’re my boss?” you offered, finally finding your voice, your mind no longer occupied by his proximity or the scent of his cologne. 

“uh-huh. and i can’t be your boss if i’m with you like that.” cecil adjusted his tie and shirt. “also. you’re drunk.”

“i’m not that drunk.” 

“drunk enough.” he shot back with a raise of his brow. 

“cecil.” you step towards him, reaching out to him. your heart swelled when he didn’t try to evade you. your hand fastened around his wrist. “i’m telling you i’m not. scrub me from your records for all i care. keep an eye on me. i know you do that already, anyway. the only thing that’s changing is that we’re both getting what we want. i don’t want you to just be my boss.”

he groaned, turning away from you despite the tether you had on his arm. “don’t say that shit.”

“what? that i want you?”

“will you stop?” cecil turned to you, a scowl on his face. 

your lips split into a grin. his instructions never really worked on you. “do you want me to?”

cecil rolled his eyes. obviously the answer was no. “...fuck.” he cursed before dragging you outside, storming across the parking lot.

he stood next to his car. “last chance to back—”

“fuck no.” you scoffed with that stupid grin of yours and cecil wasted no time ripping the back door open and shoving you into the back seats. he quickly followed you inside. 

his breath hitched as you clambered onto his lap, hands landing on your hips. for a brief moment, he hesitated—just a fraction of a second before he kissed you. 

it was rough and desperate and months in the making, like he couldn’t get close enough, like he couldn’t pull you in fast enough. his hands slid down the curve of your ass, pulling you up further on his lap as he let his legs shift apart. your fingers tangled in his hair as you pulled him deeper.

“you’re so fucking annoying,” he growled against your lips, his grip tightening around you contrary to his declaration. 

you laughed brightly. “you're taking me to coffee tomorrow. but for now... still up for that ride?”

© invoncible

[azzibuckets]

letters from dallas part 1

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

a/n: in which i neglect all the other series and fics im supposed to be writing to send more angst ur way <3

lfd masterlist | main masterlist

May 1, 2025

Dear Azzi,

It fucking sucks here.

I know I’m supposed to be thankful for this opportunity. And I am, I swear. My teammates are nice. Arike’s been showing me around downtown. Nai and Lyss are funny. They’ve adopted me, called me their child. They remind me of us.

My therapist said it’s good to write down my feelings. Not sure how she’d say if it was letters, letters to you, but hey, something is better than nothing.

I saw a trailer for Frozen 3 last week and I thought of you. I hope you’re doing well. I called KK the other day. She was so excited - I felt bad. I haven’t been as good as I wanted to be with talking to our team - well, your team now - but it hurts too much knowing that they get to spend every day with you and I can’t. I asked her about you. She seemed hesitant to tell me. But I kept nagging her and she told me you’re good, spending a lot of time reading and stuff. Said they finally got you off Colleen Hoover. She wants me to move on, I can tell. It’s killing both of us, how I can’t let you go. But I guess writing these letters and stuffing them in my closet are how I’m trying to get my closure and deal with my feelings, so maybe this will help.

You’re on my fucking mind all the time, and I wish you weren’t. I miss you so bad sometimes it hurts to exist. If you saw the amount of melatonin I take every every night just to avoid you in my dreams, you’d probably yell at me.

Love,

Paige

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

June 7, 2025

Dear Azzi,

Have I mentioned that Drew hasn’t been talking to me? He blames me for our breakup, and he misses you like hell. I do too.

I played like shit in the game yesterday. I can’t believe we lost to the Sparks. It was nice seeing Cam again though. I don’t know if you remember, but it’s our anniversary. I saw that you were at the soccer game with the girls. You looked really good, really happy. I guess it doesn’t affect you like it affects me. And I know that should make me like, mad, or jealous. But I’m glad at least one of us is healing?

Honestly? it sucks having to see your face all over social media. It sucks even more whenever I go on my Instagram page and you’re all over it too. I could be salty and delete all of it, but that would start too much drama. Besides, that would mean deleting like half my posts

I wonder how Jose and Jon are doing. Jon unfollowed me the other day. That one hurt pretty bad. I miss my little brothers, and I miss your parents.

Love,

Paige

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

August 28, 2025

Dear Azzi,

Yesterday was a fucking shit show. Honestly, I didn’t expect you to even show up when I heard you guys were coming. It was weird, seeing you in the audience. It was everything I’d always imagined, you coming to my games, but it also made me feel sick, knowing this is what could’ve been. What should’ve been. I was nervous the last quarter thinking about what to say to you after the game, but god, Azzi, you couldn’t even look at me. I tried to talk to you after the group pic but you disappeared.

Maybe it’s a good time to tell you that Katie and Tim were at my game last week, against the Mystics. I’m gonna be honest, when I saw they were there, I avoided them, and I’m not proud of it. I ran to my car straight after the presser but somehow they found where I parked and were waiting next to it?? If this was a different circumstance I would’ve laughed.

All they told me was great game before I started crying. I don’t even know what came over me. But your mom hugged me and that made me cry even harder. They told me I was their daughter no matter what, and they loved me. I wrote it down as soon as I left because I didn’t ever wanna forget.

Azzi, we didn’t even marry each other like we promised, and I still feel like we left a broken family. I didn’t mean for this many people to get hurt, for this many relationships to shatter because ours did.

It makes forgetting you so much harder, and that’s what pisses me off. That I’ve injured my knee and gone through months of rehab and moved across the country to a brand new city, yet this is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

From,

Paige

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

October 2nd, 2025

Dear Azzi,

I was calling KK again and I didn’t ask about you this time. I think I’m making some progress.

Arike keeps trying to get me with some of her friends, but it still doesn’t feel right. I think I need a little bit more time.

From,

Paige

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

October 20, 2025

Dear Azzi,

I turn 24 today. Damn I feel old. I’ve spent a third of my life now loving you.

From,

Paige

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

October 22nd, 2025

Dear Azzi,

I just got your present in the mail. You didn’t have to. I love it. Thank you.

- Paige

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

November 11, 2025

Happy birthday big head. I think you probably received my gift by now. I debated on writing a card, but you didn’t write me one, and I’ve decided to leave the cards (haha) in your hand. So I’m just following your lead. I hope you enjoy 23.

- Paige

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

December 7, 2025

Azzi,

Hell of a game yesterday. Proud of you. National player of the year performance

- P

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

April 5, 2026

Az,

LET’S FUCKING GOOOO. Shit, man. Two peat natty champs??? Unbelievable. My hands are tweaking out, I can’t even read my own handwriting. I knew you could do it, Az. Thank you for not forcing me to wear irish merch..I never look good in green like you do

- P

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

April 13, 2026

Azzi,

Drafted to the Sky????

See you so fucking soon

Nice fit at the draft btw

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

May 16, 2026

Dear Azzi,

Fuck, the way you smiled at me after that game. Maybe I’ll have the courage to finally text you. I know it’s probably not the best idea but…I still regret everything. It’s been a little bit more than a year and it still hurts as bad as it did the first day. Is this normal?

Love,

Paige

[wendichester]

hi💕 would you please write something sweet about (possibly gender neutral) reader having a very young sibling (talking about VERY young. like 6 or 7 years old or younger) that has grown very attached to the boys?

they met on a hunt and decided to stick together, and ever since the little kid can't stop spending time with Dean and Sam, always keeps them company etc.

(bonus idea: one night maybe Sam is looking after the kid since reader left for a hunt, putting them to sleep, and the kid reveals that reader has a thing for Sam.. and always talks about him to their sibling. idk it could be cute)

₊˚⊹ ᰔ bedtime secrets,

summary. kids and their blabbering mouths. no secrets are safe! especially possible crushes.

pairing. sam winchester x gender neutral reader

wordcount. 400

notes. first time writing gender neutral reader, so I hope I was able to do it well! thank you so much for requesting sweets 🩷

Sam tucks the blanket up to your brother's chin, smoothing it out the way he’s seen you do a hundred times. He blinks up at him sleepily, small hands clutching the stuffed rabbit he refuses to sleep without.

“You comfy?” he asks, voice soft.

A slow, drowsy nod. “Mhm.”

Outside, the motel room is quiet—just the occasional hum of passing cars and the faint murmurs of Dean watching TV in the other room. You’re still out on a hunt, and Sam had offered to keep an eye on your sibling for the night. It’s been… nice, honestly. The little kid has been glued to him and Dean ever since you all met, and Sam can’t deny that it’s kind of adorable.

He moves to stand, but before he can, a tiny hand reaches out, grabbing his sleeve.

“Sam?”

He sits back down. “Yeah, kiddo?”

He hesitates, eyes darting toward the door like he’s making sure you’re not about to burst in. Then, in a conspiratorial whisper, he says, “Y’know, they talk about you a lot.”

Sam blinks. “Who does?”

“[Reader],” he whispers, like it’s a top-secret mission. He rolls onto his side, propping his head up with his little hands. “They looove talking about you.”

Sam’s lips twitch. “Oh yeah?”

Another big, dramatic nod. “All the time. Like—like how you’re super tall and smart and really nice and how you always smell good—”

Sam chokes on a laugh. “They said that?”

“Mhm.” His little face scrunches up in thought. “And one time they said your hair looks soft. And one time, they said your hands were really big but in a cool way, not a scary way.”

Sam bites the inside of his cheek, warmth creeping up his neck.

“Oh, and they always get excited when you say their name. Like, always.” The kid yawns, eyes fluttering sleepily. “I think they like you.”

Sam is still recovering from the hands comment, so that one hits hard. He clears his throat, unsure what to do with the ridiculous smile tugging at his lips.

“They say anything about Dean?” he teases, trying to shift the attention off of himself.

The kid shrugs, already halfway to sleep. “Sometimes. But mostly just that he’s loud.”

Sam snorts.

A moment later, his tiny voice murmurs, “You won’t tell them I said that, right?”

Sam chuckles, tucking the blanket up one last time. “It’s our secret.”

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @taurus0queenie33 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @whereiwakewarm ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas ⋆ @blackmarketfruitrollups ⋆ @impala67rollingthroughtown ⋆ @rulesareshadesofgrey ⋆ @nervoussystems ⋆ @daryls-luvrr ⋆ @sunnyteume ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @angelblqde ⋆ @mostlymarvelgirl ⋆ @whisperingdaze ⋆ @bossyblondie ⋆ @iluvnewtie ⋆ @dyhsversion ⋆ @s0urw00lf ⋆ @mrs-pondwater19 ⋆ @myceliumsunshine ⋆ @idk6505 ⋆ @giggles1026 ⋆ @idontwannabehere7 ⋆ @bamboobooshark ⋆ @ocelotlist51 ⋆ @lelapine ⋆ @pwin098 ⋆ @lacysretribution ⋆ @i-love-gvf ⋆ @lemonswinchester ⋆ @4k1vrr ⋆ @defnot-svnshine ⋆ @szyszoszelest ⋆ @angelicalm3ss ⋆ @writtenbyhollywood ⋆ @larasalii ⋆ @yeehawgiddyup13 ⋆ @xo-zeze ⋆ @jules-pagie ⋆ @freeluigihesbae ⋆ @viarasvogue ⋆ @ladykitana90

[archangeldyke-all]

Angel I need to share this with you. I saw this tiktok where a girls bf switched shoes with her on the way back from a night out. So he took off his shoes and gave them to her so she could be more comfortable, and then he put on her heels and walked the rest of the way back in them.

You think our sweet sev would do that???

- 🐥

oh COMPLETELY!!!

men and minors dni

this evening, when you decided to wear your most uncomfortable pair of heels, you were under the impression that tonight would be a lowkey dinner date, where the most walking you'd have to do was to and from the car.

that had been the plan. and dinner had been great. you and sevika spent the evening making lovey eyes across the table from one another, feeding one another bites of your dinner, and laughing.

but then you'd gotten back to your car, sevika had turned the key, and a horrible grinding noise rang out.

"fuck is that?!" you ask. sevika groans.

"it can't be good." she says.

so, your evening takes a turn. you spend forty five minutes sitting in the car waiting for a tow truck, then another forty five letting the mechanic poke around under the hood.

"yeah, i'm gonna have to take it to the shop." marcy the mechanic says. sevika groans and you rub her back.

"how long 'til it'll be ready?" your wife asks. marcy shrugs.

"two days, a week at most."

"a week?!" sevika cries.

you squeeze her shoulder. "relax, baby. marcy, thank you so much for coming out so late." you say.

"'course. you ladies need a ride home? it'll take a few minutes for me to get the car hitched to my truck, but i don't mind stopping on the way back to the shop."

you shake your head. you're tired and you just want to get home. you're only a few blocks away, and sevika probably needs the walk to calm down anyways. "that's alright, we'll hoof it. thanks marcy. text me when you get back to your shop safe, alright?" you ask.

marcy salutes you. "will do. you ladies have a good night. or... as good a night as you can, after this."

which is how you find yourself walking half a mile in your worst fucking shoes.

you manage just fine for the first few blocks. by the time you're in your neighborhood, your feet are aching and you're clinging to sevika's arm for support.

and now, three blocks from home, you just can't take it anymore.

"hold on, honey." you groan as you pull sevika to a bench. she frowns at you in concern.

"you alright?" she asks, pinching your cheek sweetly. you chuckle.

"my feet are killing me. just give me a few seconds to rest and i'll be good to go again."

sevika giggles and sits beside you, kissing your head. "didn't plan on an evening stroll, did ya?" she asks. you snort.

"no, i didn't."

"not our best date night." sevika laments. you laugh.

"not our worst either, though." you say.

"no? which one was our worst?"

"hmm... remember that time the restaurant caught on fire during our anniversary?"

sevika bursts into laughter. "you think that was our worst? our dinner was comped and we got free drinks for life!"

you snort. "well, what do you think our worst date's been?"

"the time we tried to go for a hike and a fucking hail storm started. i thought we were gonna get fuckin' iced off the mountain." she says.

you laugh and rest your head on your wife's shoulder. "god, that was horrible."

"or maybe the time we took jinx and isha to the aquarium and they both got food poisoning."

"they never shoulda eaten the fish sticks in that cafe. 's just wrong to eat fish in their own fuckin' house." you giggle.

"fuck, we were in that bathroom for hours."

"i'm just glad the cleaning staff was so fuckin' nice about all the vomit. i woulda banned us for life." you say.

sevika cackles and kisses your head. "how are your feet?"

"still sore, but i can manage."

"don't be stupid." sevika grunts. you frown, not understanding what she means until she bends over and starts untying her shoes.

"what're you doing?"

"i'll trade with ya."

"sevika!" you laugh. "we are not the same shoe size."

she giggles and shrugs. "so? we only got three blocks left."

"have you ever even walked in heels before?"

sevika shrugs again. "no. but how hard can it be?" she asks as she wiggles out of her shoes. you snort.

"sevika, you're gonna break your ankle."

"so, i'll hold your hand." she says. she shoots a mean glare at you, like she's daring you to protest further. you just roll your eyes and slip your heels off.

"i really don't wanna visit the hospital tonight, sev."

"i'll be fine." she giggles, handing you her fancy dress shoes and taking your heels in her hands.

you laugh as you watch her slip into them, standing with a slight wobble, before turning around and crouching to tie her shoes on your feet for you.

"my prince charming." you giggle. she winks up at you.

"i'm the one in the fancy slippers now, babe. think that makes me cinderella."

sevika helps you stand, and you sigh in relief at the feeling of your feet flat on the pavement. "thank you, love." you say, kissing her cheek. sevika winks at you, then weaves her arm in yours.

"anytime, dear."you start your walk back with slow, careful steps, holding onto sevika's arm and eyeing her feet in your stilettos. but, after a few moments, sevika lets out a scoff and straightens her spine. "this isn't so bad." she giggles. "look, i bet i could even--" she jumps a bit, and you cringe as she does.

"sevika! be careful!" you laugh.

your wife giggles, then starts jogging ahead of you. "oh, babe, these are easy. fuck are you complaining for? look!" she starts a little jig. you're shaking your head in disapproval, trying your best to swallow back your laughs. but when sevika trips and falls face first into your neighbor's front yard, you can't help but cackle.

kofi

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@kissyslut @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@lavenderbabu @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @my-taintedheart

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp

@iamastar @sevikitty @butchchase @nhaaauyen @annesunshiner

@mirconreadzztuff22 @veoomvroom @lushh-s3vik4s @katyawooga @lesbodietcoke

@strawberrykidneystone @vkumi @fict1onallyobsessed @dvrkhcld @sweetybuzz25

@sluttysierraaa @snake-in-a-flower-crown @ruiwonderz @littlemisszaunite @biblicalcrybaby

@blackgaladriel @nightlyconfusion @dancingqu33n17 @losernb @p1nkearth

taglist!!

@sevikas-baby @ghostscandys @sevikasllver @runawaybaby3 @lesbones

@chezze-its @lez-zuha @vikashoneybee @shanesevikasfuckdoll @imheadintothemountains

@ferxanda @helaenabugmom @spookymomfriendtm @leeidk87 @cinnamowor1d

[inseobts]

Fool

law x reader

you meet your former captain again after months, after having walked away from that unrequited feeling, not knowing that, in reality, he loved you too (part 1 - if only she knew but you can read and enjoy this even without reading the other one)

inspired by the song: fool by winner

a/n: uhm idk if this sucks but I did it based on my fav group's music so be nice eheh (ฅ́ ˘ฅ̀)♡ also I firstly made it about zoro but then I got reminded of an old request (if only she knew) so I turned it into a sequel for law.

words count: 3.5k

tags: angst, argument, regrets from law

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

The crowded port buzzes with life, laughter, and the scent of grilled seafood wafting through the air. You weren’t expecting to run into them, into him. But fate, it seems, has a cruel sense of humor.

The Heart Pirates.

You spot them before they see you, their familiar ship docked near the edge of the harbor. For a second, you consider turning around, walking away before anyone notices. But then a loud, familiar voice cuts through the air.

"Hey—! No way! It's you!" Penguin’s excited shout freezes you in place, and in an instant, all eyes are on you. The crew’s expressions shift from shock to joy, and before you know it, you’re being pulled into warm greetings, pats on the back, and teasing complaints about how long it’s been.

But one pair of eyes lingers on you longer than the rest. Law stands at the back, arms crossed, his usual unreadable expression in place. But there’s something there, a flicker of something in his golden gaze that you can’t quite place.

The tension is broken when Shachi grins "You gotta eat with us today! Just like old times. No excuses."

You hesitate, but your stomach betrays you, growling at the thought of a warm meal. And the truth is… you missed them. More than you’d like to admit.

"Fine," you sigh, rolling your eyes "But you’re paying."

The crew erupts in cheers, dragging you toward their ship, the warmth of old friendships making it impossible to say no.

Dinner is chaotic, loud, and full of laughter. The crew fills the space with stories of their latest misadventures, and for a while, it feels like nothing has changed. But beneath it all, you can feel the weight of his gaze on you, the space between you and him.

As the plates pile up and the drinks flow, the crew starts throwing casual questions your way.

“So, how have you been?” Bepo asks, his voice gentle, though his eyes are searching.

Shachi leans in with a knowing smirk “Yeah, how’s life been treating you?”

Their words are light, playful even, but you can hear the unspoken question beneath them. They all know. They knew before you left. They had seen the way you looked at your captain, the feelings you tried so hard to hide.

And they had seen the way he looked at you leaving, even if he never admitted it.

The room may be full of laughter, but there’s an undercurrent of tension, one that only grows when Law remains silent, nursing his drink and watching you from across the table.

Penguin nudges your arm, his grin teasing but his eyes soft “Bet you haven’t found anyone to boss you around like a certain captain of ours.”

You roll your eyes, playing along “Like I’d go looking for that.”

The table erupts in laughter, but there’s a knowing look exchanged between them all. They’re testing the waters, trying to see if your heart still beats for him, but careful not to push too far. And as much as you try to brush off their words, you know the answer. It never stopped.

From the other side of the table, Law exhales sharply, setting down his drink with just a little too much force.

The crew exchanges glances. They’ve been waiting for this. They had hoped that bringing you back, even if just for one night, would finally push the two of you to talk. But as they watch the tension build, they realize they can’t force this. Whatever needs to happen between you and Law can only happen if you’re alone.

Then something happens, maybe an accident, a spilled drink, or just the natural (or so they act like) shifting of the group, but suddenly, you and Law are alone. The noise of the crew fades into the background, leaving only the two of you there.

The setting sun paints the sky in shades of gold and pink as you stand outside the tavern, staring out at the ocean. The breeze tugs at your hair, but you don’t feel it. Your thoughts are elsewhere, tangled in the mess that the crew just made to leave you two alone.

And then Law.

He’s the only thing on your mind right now. He’s the reason your heart feels like it’s being torn in two for months, or even years at this point. You missed him like hell, but the words he said to you, before you left, will never leave your mind…

“Get lost from my sight.”

They echo in your ears, stinging with every memory of just one the moments he made you feel unwanted. He has always been distant, and you always tried to reach out. You tried so hard. But that night, everything in you snapped. You got tired of his anger, his harsh words, they cut deeper than anything you expected.

You turn away, unable to face him again. The tears threaten to spill at the memories, but you fight them back. His words hurt, but it’s more than that. It’s the feeling that something between you is broken now, something that can’t easily be fixed.

He doesn’t speak at first. Just stands there, close but not close enough. You can feel the space between you, thick with unspoken words and regret. Your back remains turned to him, but you don’t have to look to know he’s still standing there, his presence heavy in the air.

Finally, his voice breaks through the silence. It’s softer than you ever remembered, because now there’s something else... regret. You can hear it, and it twists something in your chest.

“Get lost from my sight.”

You don’t turn around. His words still feel like a slap in the face, even though the venom has faded from them. Law’s not speaking to you now. He’s speaking the truth of what he felt in the moment, the words he had let slip too many times in his anger.

“Those cruel words… I spat out without hesitation.” His voice trembles, a small crack breaking through his usual composure “Anyone can see… I was a fool.”

Your heart clenches at his words, but you don’t say anything. What’s there to say? He’s the one who pushed you away, and now, here he is, broken, admitting to it.

You take a deep breath, your throat tight, as you finally turn to face him. His gaze is on the floor, his fists clenched, but you can see the regret in his eyes. It’s raw. It’s real.

“Even if I’m sorry now, nothing changes. I know.” His voice is quieter now, the weight of what he’s said settling between you both “Nothing changes...” he repeats, more to himself than to you, as if trying to accept it.

Law steps closer, and you don’t move. You’re not sure if you want him to come closer. He’s the one who pushed you away, and yet, here he is, still reaching for you in his own way. His voice breaks the silence again.

“It’s okay to swear at me, even that’s not good enough. I just wanna hear your voice. I just wanna hear you talk to me...” His words feel fragile, like he’s hanging on by a thread, and you can feel his desperation in every syllable.

You open your mouth, but no words come out. What is there to say? What can you say after everything that’s happened?

“Fool, stupid. I now know it’s all my fault.” His voice cracks as he says it, the self-loathing dripping through every word “Dummy, idiot. I now know it’s all my fault.” He shakes his head, the weight of his mistakes crushing him “I pushed you away.”

You stand still, watching him, not knowing what to do. He’s broken, you can see that, but can you forgive him so easily? He hurt you so badly that part of you doesn’t know if you’re ready to let him back in.

Law takes another step toward you, this time closer than before, and you instinctively take a small step back. He notices but doesn’t say anything. He seems unsure of everything now.

“I said I was selfish. Only knew myself. I think I’m crazy.” His voice is barely above a whisper, the regret so deep it almost hurts to hear “It’s me who pushed you away.”

The words hit you like a punch. You know he’s not lying. He has been selfish. He’s pushed you away. But hearing him admit it… you want to believe that it’s enough, that his regret is real.

But still, you stay quiet, unsure of how to process the storm of emotions swirling inside you.

He steps even closer now, his eyes searching yours, like he’s begging you to say something, anything.

“I was a fool” His voice falters, and his gaze drops to the ground as he shakes his head “Even if I regret it now, nothing changes, and I know it.”

There it is again, the finality in his voice. He knows the damage is done. He knows you might never look at him the same way again. And that hurts. More than anything.

You feel your heart aching, but you don’t know what to do with it. His regret is clear, but is it enough? Is it enough to fix what he’s broken?

Law reaches out, but stops just short of touching you. His hand hovers in the air for a moment, and then he lets it fall, his shoulders slumping.

“I don’t care if it’s just a short moment. I'm glad I could see you once more… For the last time.”

His voice cracks, and you can feel the desperation in him. He wants something from you, but what? Forgiveness? Understanding?

“You used to dazzle, and now you’re far away. Going through the scattered memories, I long for you every day.” His words are soft now, almost pleading.

You take a shaky breath. His voice, his confession, it all makes you ache, but you still don’t know what to say. You want to reach out, to tell him that it’s okay, that you forgive him. But you’re not sure if you can just let it go that easily. The hurt is still there.

“Yes, I know I’m late. But please... I wish you could just come back as if nothing happened.” He speaks the words as if he’s begging the universe itself to let you come back to him. But you don’t know if you can.

You turn away, not because you want to, but because you don’t know how to respond. His words, his pain, they echo in your mind, but you’re not ready. Not yet.

The silence between you both is deafening. Law stands just a few feet away, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, his face still full of regret and confusion. He doesn’t know what else to say. You can see it in his eyes he’s waiting for something, anything from you. His gaze flickers over your face, searching for a sign that you’ll let him in again.

But you can’t bring yourself to speak. You’re not sure if you can.

The world around you feels distant, like everything is happening in a dream, and you’re not sure if you want to wake up.

Law shifts his weight, taking another small step forward. You hear him inhale deeply, the weight of his next words heavy in the air.

“I know I’m late,” he says, voice barely a whisper, but it’s enough to cut through the silence “I know I messed up, and it’s my fault. I was selfish. I only thought about myself. And now… now look at what I’ve done.”

His words are raw, stripped of all his usual bravado. This is the Law you’ve never seen before, vulnerable, lost, and so deeply ashamed.

You feel your chest tighten as his words settle into your bones. The storm inside you rages on. You’re angry. You’re hurt. But you’re also confused. You want to hate him. You want to shout, to tell him how much he’s hurt you. But every time you look at him, every time you hear the sincerity in his voice, it feels like something in you starts to crumble.

“I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean the things I said. I… I was stupid. I didn’t think.” his voice cracks, and you can hear the frustration in his tone “You didn’t deserve that. You didn’t deserve me being so… so careless.”

You stay silent. You can feel the anger rising in your chest, the hurt threatening to swallow you whole, but you can’t say it. Not yet. Not when he’s standing there, looking so torn apart.

Law takes another step closer, his voice trembling with the weight of his words.

“I know I was an idiot. A complete fool. I pushed you away, and now I’m the one who’s paying the price” He’s so close now you can almost feel the heat of his body, but the space between you both feels like a vast ocean. His eyes meet yours, and you can see the depth of his regret, the raw pain that he’s trying to hide “But I can’t stand this. I can’t stand being without you. I need to hear your voice. Please… just give me one more chance.”

His words hit you like a wave, crashing over you with all the force of the emotions you’ve been trying to bury. The storm inside you threatens to explode, and for a moment, you can’t hold it back anymore.

You turn to face him fully, your heart hammering in your chest. His gaze never wavers from yours, his expression pleading, desperate.

“Fool, stupid,” you hear him mutter again, almost to himself “I now know it’s all my fault.” He’s repeating it like some sort of mantra, the guilt weighing him down with every word.

You want to scream at him. You want to throw your anger in his face and tell him how much he’s hurt you, how much you’ve been suffering because of him. But instead, your voice cracks as you finally speak.

“Law…” Your voice is barely a whisper, but it’s enough to get his attention. His eyes lock onto yours, searching, hoping.

“I… I don’t know if I can just forgive you like that,” you say, your voice trembling “You hurt me. You pushed me away without thinking about how I felt. I gave you what you wanted before leaving for good. I gave you your space. All while I was hurting, thinking you hated me. And now you expect me to just forget it?”

Law flinches, the weight of your words hitting him harder than anything else. His face falls, guilt flashing across his features.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me. I don’t even deserve it,” he says quietly, almost to himself “I just… I just want you to know that I’m sorry. I know it’s too late, but I needed to say it. I needed you to know that I was wrong. I’ve always been so focused on myself, on the crew, on work… but you were right there beside me, trying to help me and all I did was pushing you away because of my own pride.”

The sincerity in his words cuts through the tension like a knife. You can see it in his eyes now, the man you’ve known for so long, the captain who’s always carried himself with such confidence, now breaking down in front of you. He’s not just asking for your forgiveness. He’s asking for a chance.

You swallow hard, your mind a whirlwind of emotions. You’re torn. Part of you wants to forgive him, to reach out and pull him into your arms and tell him it’s okay, that everything will be fine. But another part of you feels like that would be too easy. Too quick.

Law’s head drops, his shoulders slumping in defeat. His hands fidget at his sides, unable to find comfort in anything. He’s exhausted, physically and emotionally, and it’s clear that he doesn’t know how to fix what’s broken.

“Please,” he whispers again, his voice barely audible “Just… just let me make it right.”

You stand there, torn between the feelings of anger, sadness, and the remnants of the love you’ve always had for him. His words are genuine, but is it enough? You don’t know. You don’t know if anything will be enough to undo the hurt he caused.

But as you look at him, really look at him, you see the pain in his eyes, and you feel the wall inside your heart start to crack.

You can’t undo the past. And maybe it’s too soon to forgive him fully. But you can’t let him keep carrying this weight by himself either.

You take a deep breath, your heart still racing in your chest.

“I don’t know, Law,” you say quietly “I’m not just going to pretend nothing happen.”

Law nods slowly, his expression a mix of regret and relief. He doesn’t speak, but you can see the understanding in his eyes. This is far from over. The road to healing, to forgiveness, will be long and difficult. But for now, this is a start.

“I know,” he whispers, stepping back, giving you space “I’m willing to wait. As long as it takes.”

You nod at him, because maybe that’s enough for now.

The silence between you and Law is thick, heavy with everything that has been said and everything that hasn’t. His eyes are still on you, searching, waiting, but you don’t know if you’re ready to give him a proper answer. Not yet. The emotions swirling inside you are too much, too tangled to sort through in just one moment.

Then, just as you open your mouth to say something the sound of hurried footsteps echoes from the shadows. Before either of you can react, the crew bursts into the room, their faces alight with mischief and unrestrained grins.

“Ahh, finally!” Penguin announces, throwing his arms up dramatically “Took you two long enough.”

Your stomach drops “Wait, what—”

Bepo nods sagely “We were listening the whole time... sorry.”

Your eyes widen in disbelief as you glance at Law, who pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling sharply “Of course you were...” His voice is flat, but you can hear the underlying exasperation.

Shachi waves a hand dismissively “C’mon, Captain, don’t act like you’re mad. We did you a favor.”

“I didn’t ask for a favor” Law grumbles, crossing his arms.

The crew doesn’t care. Instead, they exchange knowing looks before turning their attention to you.

“So,” Ikkaku starts, leaning in with an eager expression, “does this mean you’re back?”

Your breath catches in your throat “I—”

“I mean, you missed us, right?” Shachi adds, wiggling his eyebrows “And you obviously missed our dear Captain here.”

You shoot him a glare, but the heat creeping up your face betrays you. Law, for his part, looks about two seconds away from kicking them all out, but the crew is relentless.

“Look,” Penguin says, his grin softening into something more genuine, “we just want you to be happy. Both of you.”

Bepo nods again “You belong with us. With him.”

Your heart twists at their words, and you glance at Law, who’s watching you carefully. His expression is unreadable, but there’s something there, hope, uncertainty, a silent question only you can answer.

The room feels impossibly small with all eyes on you, but deep down, you already know what you want. You’ve known all along. This is your family. And Law… Law is the person who has always held your heart, no matter how much pain the journey brought you.

Taking a deep breath, you meet Law’s gaze and finally speak “If you’ll have me… I’d like to stay.”

For the first time that night, Law’s lips twitch into the ghost of a smile “Idiot,” he mutters, but his voice is softer now, tinged with relief “You never had to ask.”

The crew erupts into cheers, celebrating your return like it’s the greatest victory of all. Shachi and Penguin slap Law on the back, while Bepo all but tackles you into a hug. The warmth of their acceptance, their excitement, is overwhelming, but it’s exactly what you needed.

Law doesn’t say anything else, the crew slaps his back more and he loses his balance and is now close enough that your shoulders brush.

Your eyes meet his, and for a moment, everything else fades away. A faint blush dusts both your cheeks as you get lost in the quiet intensity of his gaze, drawn into each other as if the rest of the world has ceased to exist.

The noise in the room gradually dies down as the crew starts noticing, nudging and elbowing each other with smirks and wide grins. One by one, they fall silent, watching as you and Law remain caught in each other’s stare, completely oblivious to everything around you.

Then, just as the moment stretches unbearably long, Shachi clears his throat loudly “Oi, oi, are you two gonna keep making heart eyes at each other or what?”

The spell shatters instantly. You and Law both snap back to reality, faces burning, while the crew bursts into laughter and cheers once more.

Despite the teasing, despite the embarrassment, you can’t stop the small, genuine smile that tugs at your lips. Because in this moment, with Law beside you and your family around you, everything feels right.

You’re home.

[binisainz]

does this feeling go both ways ? ⸻ lando norris x reader ⋮ part four .

part  one,  two,  three,  four,  epilogue. word  count.   4.9k a  study  on.   non-linear  storytelling,  childhood  friends  to  strangers  to  lovers,  stem  girlie!reader,  mechanic!reader,  the  happy�� ending  i  promised. author's  note.   OH  MY  GOD  IT'S  FINISHED  !!  this  behemoth  of  a  fic  is  just…  thank  u  all  for  following  me  on  this  insane  journey  that  literally  just  started  because  i  had  a  shower  thought  about  lando  in  an  amylaurie  au.  no  other  reason  except  that  !!  but  god.  thank  god  it's  finished  !  here's  the  happy  ending  i  promised  you  :) the  ending  actually  surprised  me  because  half  of  it  was  already written  to  be  included  in  chapter  3  before  i  sent  a  snippet  of  it  over  to  kae  (  @tsunodaradio  )  that  made  me  realize…  wait,  this  should  be  for  the  last  chapter.  so  muaaahh  special  thank  u  to  kae  especially  for  that  ! but,  yeah,  thank  you  all  for  being  here.  all  the  reactions  to  this  fic  have  genuinely  made  me  feel  like  i  got  on  that  podium  myself.  i  have  so,  so  much  to  say  about  this  fic,  but  i  guess  i'll  save  that  for  the  epilogue  :)  bc  surprise  !!!!  there  is  one  :D mixtape.   do  i  wanna  know  cover  by  hozier,  all  my  ghosts  by  lizzy  mcalpine,  true  blue  by  boygenius,  this  love  by  taylor  swift,  garden  song  by  phoebe  bridgers,  everywhere,  everything  by  noah  kahan,  love  you  for  a  long  time  by  maggie  rogers.

NOW, 2024.

woking, in the summer, is still… well, woking. still grey, still muted in that distinct way that woking always is, except now the air is thick and humid, and the sun hangs just a little too high in the sky for comfort. still, it’s better than winter, better than the biting cold, better than the way february felt like a graveyard of things you didn’t know how to bury.

time heals all wounds, eventually, they say. you don’t know if you believe in that, but time has made them scab over at least. maybe that’s enough.

the mclaren headquarters hums with activity, voices overlapping, cameras flashing, the faint buzz of machinery somewhere in the distance. business as usual. you like it here, more than you thought you would. your laptop and phone are heavy with the weight of a job offer, a future you hadn’t fully considered, not really. it sits in your inbox, waiting. you have until sunday to decide.

it should be a nice day today. it should be fine. it is fine. except it isn’t, because he’s here.

you don’t know why nobody told you. maybe because they didn’t think it mattered, because it shouldn’t matter. and it doesn’t. not really. it’s just— what the everloving fuck? you thought you’d have more time.

but no, there he is, all too familiar, in his team kit, half-zipped hoodie hanging loose around his body, curls unkempt. you can hear his voice even over the ambient chatter of the media crew, see the way he moves, how he carries himself with easy confidence.

his co-driver sees you first, looks at you with a knowing expression, like he’s in on a joke you don’t find funny. your mind moves too fast, filling in the blanks of, oh god, he told oscar fucking piastri about me. about the girl who turned down a formula one driver. kind of.

fuck. great. amazing. splendid, even. that’s just what you are, aren’t you? a story, a joke, something whispered in locker rooms and motorhomes. maybe lando didn’t even mean it in a bad way. maybe he just said it offhand, absentmindedly, because that’s what happened. but still, the thought makes your stomach churn. makes your hands itch to leave.

so you do. you mutter some half-hearted excuse to the nearest person— something about needing to check something, maybe, you don’t know, you just need to go.

it’s not cowardice. not really. it’s just— well, self-preservation. you know the way your pulse picks up when he looks at you, how your breath catches, how the world narrows down to nothing but the space between you. you can’t do that today. not now.

but of course, lando follows.

the hallway is long and white and empty, and it kind of reminds you of hospitals, of clean sheets and beeping monitors and the fluorescent lights of a summer ten years ago, when you broke your arm and he sat by your bedside, legs swinging off the chair, promising he’ll take you to the lake when you’re all better.

(he never did, though. and maybe that should’ve been your first clue.)

he says your name.

you don’t turn around. just cross your arms, stare down the glossy floor. “i think we’ve talked enough, actually, norris. go back to your fans.”

there’s a beat of silence, then: “okay, but i want to stay.”

you squeeze your eyes shut. breathe. in, out, in, out.

when you turn to face him, he’s already watching you. eyebrows drawn together. his expression is unreadable, but his presence isn’t. it’s loud, takes up too much space, even though he’s just standing there, hands shoved into his hoodie pockets.

your throat feels tight. you don’t know what you were expecting, really. an apology? an explanation? none of it matters anymore. still, the words push past your lips before you can stop them. “did you do this?”

lando’s brow furrows. “do what?”

you exhale sharply, frustration creeping into your voice. “don’t play dumb, lan, it doesn’t suit you. did you pull strings? talk to someone?”

his face shifts, confusion flickering before something almost sheepish takes its place. “i mean… kind of? i orchestrated the whole media day here because i wanted to see you, if that’s what you’re asking.”

your breath catches, your fingers tighten around your phone, your whole body locks up like you’ve been caught off guard. because it’s not fair, the way he says it so easily, so plainly, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. like of course he’d do all this just to see you.

so you swallow hard, shove it down, focus on what you really meant to ask in the first place. you shake your head, press your lips together, steady yourself. “no,” you say, voice even. “i meant the job offer.”

his expression drops, realization hitting all at once. “oh.” his head jerks back slightly, eyes scanning your face, searching. “no. i— i didn’t even know you applied.”

and for a second, just a second, you can breathe again. because his eyes widen a little, mouth parting like he’s about to say something else, and you can see it— the genuine surprise, the way his expression shifts into something close to excitement, something proud.

“you applied to mclaren?” he asks, voice almost… hopeful. like the thought of you here— with him— is something good. something worth smiling about.

and for a second, just a second, you think: maybe it is.

maybe you’re not a fraud. maybe you did this on your own, maybe you’re actually good enough, maybe all those nights spent hunched over your laptop weren’t all for naught, maybe—

but no. your mind doesn’t let you have that. not yet.

lando shifts on his feet, glances away for a moment, then back at you. he takes a breath, “can we talk?”

you hesitate. then,  “okay.”

his lips part slightly, like he wasn’t expecting you to agree, like he was bracing for another rejection. but then he grins, slow and wide, something warm creeping into his features.

you roll your eyes, crossing your arms again. “after you finish on the podium on sunday.”

he exhales a quiet laugh, shaking his head, his grin growing impossibly wider. “that a promise?”

you shrug, feigning nonchalance even as your heart is racing, hoping, praying that he doesn’t comment on how red your face has gotten. “just stating facts.”

and— god, he’s smiling so hard now, like you just handed him the goddamn moon, like this— you— are something he wants to hold onto. something worth waiting for. and it’s unbearable, the way he’s looking at you, like you’re something precious, like you’re something he wants.

he lingers for another moment, watching you, and you can see it in his face— he doesn’t want to leave. he’s scared you might disappear if he does. and fuck, part of you wants to tell him to stay, wants to reach out, wants to pull him back in like muscle memory, like instinct. but you don’t. you can’t.

instead, you nod towards the end of the hall. “you should probably go.”

he nods, but doesn’t move. then, finally, “yeah. yeah.”

he takes a step back. then another. still smiling, before he finally turns, walks back into the crowd.​​you exhale, half-expecting the breath to feel like release, like something you’d been holding in all this time— but no. you’d been breathing just fine.

NOW, 2024.

your parents’ house still smells like it did when you were ten— laundry detergent and motor oil, the sharp tang of vinegar from the pickled onions your mum keeps in jars by the kitchen sink. the walls are the same too, yellowed from age and the heat of too many summers, though your dad swears he’ll get around to repainting them. he won’t. it’ll be fine.

home is home. it always has been.

it’s familiar. more than anything, more than woking, more than the mclaren headquarters. this is home. and for the first time in a while, you let yourself sink into it.

you don’t watch the race live. your da is still at the garage, sorting through a backlog of clients before the grand prix weekend floods the town with people who suddenly remember they need their cars fixed. your mum has just locked up the laundromat, and maggie is watching her five-year-old, daisy, try and fit her entire fist into her mouth.

you’ve been on your phone exactly twice today. the first was at noon, when you schedule-sent your job acceptance email to mclaren, because somehow tricking your brain into thinking future you was responsible made it feel less like an impending life-altering decision and more like a minor errand. the second is now, as the silverstone race rerun plays on tv, your inbox confirming the email has, in fact, been sent. future you is now present you’s problem.

hamilton finishes p1. lando takes p3. a podium.

you should be happy. and you are, kind of. proud, even. you ignore it, busy yourself with clearing up the empty bowls of crisps and the half-finished drinks on the table, the chatter of your family filling the space around you. you don’t even hear the knock at the door at first.

but then daisy is waddling over, tugging at your sleeve before you can reach the kitchen. “someone’s at the door.” she announces, with all the confidence of a five-year-old.

you glance at the clock. past eight. weird. but whatever. you set the bowls down, brush your hands against your jeans before walking over, unlocking the door without much thought—

and then you freeze.

lando stands outside, looking like he’s either just finished a race or sprinted from the gate to your front door in record time. his race suit is gone, replaced with something more comfortable, but the helmet marks on his cheeks remain, deep and red and criminally distracting.

before you can even begin to process the sight of him, daisy walks over, gripping the hem of your shirt and staring up at lando with wide eyes. “holy shit,” she says. “it’s the guy from the tv.”

a full-body cringe overtakes you as maggie barrels in, already mid— “daisy, what have we said about swearing—” only to cut herself off when she sees lando standing there. she blinks. “holy shit,” maggie echoes. “it’s the guy from the tv.”

lando, menace that he is, has the audacity to laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. you, on the other hand, are actively considering whether it’s possible to spontaneously combust from secondhand embarrassment alone.

“we’re trying to have daisy unlearn some words,” you mumble, staring at the floor.

“no, no, it’s fine,” lando says, grinning. then he hesitates, glancing between daisy and you, before gesturing vaguely. “is she…? is there a reason why you didn’t…?”

you register what he’s implying exactly two seconds too late, and the sheer embarrassment slams into you like a freight train. “oh my god, no,” you blurt out, voice an octave too high. “jesus. she’s maggie’s.”

maggie, the fucking traitor, giggles before ushering the rest of the family back inside, leaving you alone with lando at the doorway.

and just like that, you’re thirteen again, standing in your parents’ garage while lando tells you he’s going to be a formula one driver someday, and you tell him— with all the confidence of a preteen who thinks she knows everything— yeah, i know.

you don’t know what to say. and he, apparently, doesn’t either, shifting on his feet, hands tucked into his pockets. the silence stretches, almost unbearable, until he clears his throat.

“i think you owe me a conversation,” he says, and you hate the way it makes your heart stutter.

you force yourself to shrug, crossing your arms. “we didn’t schedule it.”

“i can wait.” he smiles, small but certain. “i’m good at that.”

you don’t know what to do with that, with him standing there like this, earnest and real and so painfully him. you lick your lips, then take a step back, gripping the edge of the door. “i'll be back in woking tomorrow.”

his eyes flicker down to your lips, just for a second. then he nods. “okay.” another pause. “okay. i can wait until tomorrow.”

he looks like he means it.

you don’t trust yourself to say anything else, so you nod, once, and then— because you physically cannot take this any longer— you shut the door, maybe a little too quickly, pressing your back against it as if that’ll stop your heart from racing.

it doesn’t.

when you finally look up, still pressed against the door, you’re met with five sets of expectant eyes staring right at you. your mum, your da, beverly, maggie, even daisy, all watching like they’re waiting for you to do something, say something.

“what?” you say, voice a little too defensive, a little too high.

your mum speaks first, leaning against the arm of the couch, eyes narrowed at you like she’s trying to work out how she ended up with a daughter this emotionally repressed. “are you seriously turning that boy away?”

you sputter. “i— i didn’t— turn him away, per se, i just— he said tomorrow. we’re talking tomorrow.” you wave a hand vaguely, like that explains anything. “besides, it’s not—”

“oh my god,” beverly groans. /

               /     “you absolute idiot,” maggie says at the same time /

  /     — to which daisy gleefully echoes with an, “idiot! idiot!”

“oh my god.” you rub your hands over your face. “you guys are so annoying.”

but then— another realization creeps in, and you glance down at yourself, at your family. your dad, wearing the mclaren quarter-zip you’d gotten from the internship. maggie in an oversized orange long sleeve, beverly with a cap, your mum with the logo on her t-shirt. even daisy’s little socks have a bright orange trim.

oh.

oh, god, no.

that’s why he was laughing.

if you were embarrassed then, you’re mortified now. “i can’t.” you say, groaning. “this is so embarrassing.”

“what’s embarrassing,” maggie says, dead serious, her daughter looking up and mirroring her expression, “is that you’re still standing here.”

daisy gasps dramatically, like this is the most romantic thing she’s ever witnessed.

“i’m not—” you start, but maggie is already moving, pushing you toward the door, and beverly is right there with her, yanking it back open before you can resist.

“go,” maggie hisses.

“before it’s too late,” beverly adds, way too theatrically.

you hesitate for half a second, but then you see lando— still lingering by the gate, walking slower than he normally would, like maybe, just maybe, he was hoping you’d do exactly this.

and your heart lurches.

so you do the only thing that makes sense.

you run.

⸻  𐙚  ⸻

you don’t think about it, don’t hesitate, don’t let yourself overanalyze the sheer fucking absurdity of it all: you just move. shoes hitting against the pavement, wind tangling in your hair, breath coming in short, uneven bursts, and you see him, just barely, lingering by a car parked on the curb.

for a moment, your brain doesn’t register it beyond an obstacle, something to swerve around, something that shouldn’t matter.

but then it does.

and oh. huh.

it’s not his usual car. not the one he takes to woking, not the flashy sports car, not the kind of thing lando norris is expected to be seen in. it’s old, a little worse for wear, the once-sleek paint job now dulled by time and familiarity, fitting in all too well with the rest of the street.

and then it clicks.

“you still have this thing?” you ask, breathless, as you come to a stop beside him.

lando startles, blinking at you like he hadn’t expected you to actually chase him down, even though he’d slowed down just enough to let you. his gaze flickers from you to the car, and there’s something almost sheepish in the way he shrugs. “thought the sports car would draw too much attention.”

he’s right. it would. but that’s not the point.

the point is— this car. this exact car.

you remember the first time you saw it, back when your dad spent weeks fixing it up for a client. you were six, a little too nosy, a little too eager to be involved, peering over the open hood like you knew what the fuck you were doing. and then there was lando— smaller, scrawnier, grinning wide as he told you he was going to be a race car driver one day.

it’s been years since then, but the memory is so visceral you almost feel like you could reach out and touch it.

lando, squints at you, his gaze snagging on the oversized hoodie you’re wearing. he frowns. “seriously?”

you blink. “what?”

he gestures at the bright orange mclaren logo on your chest, then at the number 81 printed just below it. “piastri?”

you look down at yourself like you hadn’t been wearing this hoodie all fucking day. “they ran out of yours.”

lando stares at you, mouth opening and closing like he’s trying to find the words to properly convey his offense. “they ran out— i’m literally on the team.”

“right, and piastri isn’t?”

lando groans, dragging a hand down his face, but he’s smiling, the kind of soft, reluctant smile that makes your stomach twist.

and then the moment stretches, lingers, because you’re both just standing there, not quite sure what comes next.

so you get in the car.

you don’t ask where you’re going, don’t even think to, because it doesn’t matter. the whole world could be talking about lewis hamilton right now, about his win, about the way he’s just broken a streak of bad luck with a masterclass drive, and you should care— you know you should care— but right now, it’s just lando.

lando, with one hand on the wheel and the other resting on the gear stick, fingers twitching like he wants to reach out, like he wants to touch. lando, glancing at you between streetlights, expression unreadable but eyes unbearably soft.

“congrats on p3.” you say, because it feels like you should.

he exhales a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “kind of hard to care when everyone’s just talking about lewis.”

you offer a weak smile. “i care.”

his fingers twitch again.

the car slows, then stops, and it takes you a second to realize he’s parked.

“you were right,” he says, suddenly.

you blink. “about what?”

lando turns to face you fully, fingers curling around the steering wheel. “february. i put you on the spot. i shouldn’t have done that.”

“lando—”

“no, i mean it,” he cuts in, shaking his head. “you were right. i didn’t think about how it would feel for you, how it would look. i just— i was selfish. i wanted you there, and i didn’t stop to consider how much pressure that would put on you.”

the way he says it, so genuine, so sincere, makes something crack inside of you. you swallow past the lump in your throat. “it wasn’t just you,” you admit, voice quieter. “i didn’t think i deserved it. still don’t, sometimes.”

lando’s jaw tenses, his grip on the wheel tightening. “you do.”

you open your mouth, but he doesn’t let you argue. “you do,” he repeats, softer this time, like he’s willing you to believe it. “you’re fucking brilliant, kit-kat, and i don’t know why it took me so long to say it, but you are. i meant what i said back then. i see you, i do.”

it’s not like he fixes you, not like the years of doubt just suddenly disappear— but maybe, just maybe, the cracks in your armor get a little bigger, letting the truth seep in.

you don’t think.

you just move.

you lean over the center console, seatbelt digging into your ribs, and press your lips to his.

it’s dizzying. it’s years of something bottled up so tight that the second it spills, it nearly drowns you.

it’s lando, warm and solid, his lips soft, but still so insistent, like he’s trying to make up for lost time, for all the moments that could have been, should have been, all the moments that weren’t.

you’re realizing how uncomfortable the position is, seatbelt straining against your shoulder, but you don’t particularly care— you don’t care about anything except the way his hand slides down, fingers pressing into your waist, holding you there.

he exhales against your mouth, shuddering, and it makes your head spin. you scrape your nails against the base of his neck, threading your fingers into the curls at his nape, and he groans— actually groans, and oh god you’re hoping you can hear more of that later— low and breathy, like you’ve just knocked the wind out of him. it shoots straight through you, heat pooling in your stomach, and you feel drunk on it, on him, on the sheer fucking magnitude of it all.

when you pull back, breath uneven, lando is staring at you like you’ve just upended his entire world. he exhales, then grins. “is it presumptuous of me to ask you to tell your family not to wait up for you tonight?”

your brain short-circuits. so you say the only thing you can think to actually say: “i accepted the job at mclaren.”

lando blinks. then, “why do i find that so hot?”

you don’t realize how much space there still is between you until he moves again, his fingers tracing a slow path down your spine, and then—

click!

the seatbelt snaps loose, and before you can react, his hands are on you again, tugging you properly into his lap, so seamlessly smooth you almost don’t register what just happened.

“did you just unbuckle my seatbelt?” you ask incredulously.

lando hums, utterly unbothered, leaning up to close the distance between you. “mhm.”

“without looking?”

he grins, teeth scraping against your bottom lip, and it’s so unfair, how effortlessly he makes you lose your train of thought. “thank you, driver reflexes.”

you scoff, but it comes out breathless, and before you can come up with something sarcastic, something that might actually wipe that stupid smug expression off his face, he kisses you again.

he pulls back just enough for his lips to brush against yours as he speaks, breathless and wrecked and so fucking lando. “okay, i can't wait to get you out of this hoodie.”

you huff out a laugh, still trying to remember how to breathe. “okay, now that’s presumptuous of you.”

he startles, blinking, and then— “i mean, it’s my teammate’s number,” he says, a little too quickly, like that’s what he meant all along, like he wasn’t just thinking about peeling it off of you. “it’s— i’m just saying, it’s—”

you know.

you know, and you grin against his mouth before kissing him again.

THEN, 2010 … which blurs into NOW, 2025.

the toaster isn’t working.

this, in your opinion, is a grave offense.

it’s been sitting on the kitchen counter for weeks now, abandoned and replaced, but you can’t stop thinking about it. you hate when things break. it doesn’t make sense to you— how something can work perfectly fine one day and then be completely useless the next.

it’s not fair, really, that your parents replaced it already. the new one is shiny and red and stupid. you could fix the old one. you know you could.

so you’ve taken it upon yourself to fix it. of course.

the toaster is in pieces. a dozen little metal parts scattered across the floor of your bedroom, lined up in careful, meticulous order so many little pieces, all clicking and moving together like a puzzle. you love puzzles.

your tongue pokes out the side of your mouth as you grip the tiny screwdriver in one hand, twisting, tugging, wedging the tip under a stubborn screw that refuses to budge. your fingers ache from prying at things that don’t want to be pried at, but you’re close— so close to figuring out what’s wrong, to fixing it. 

you love figuring out how things work.

you’re so focused you don’t even hear your sisters leaving. you don’t notice when the house empties out, don’t register the hurried voices, the sharp slam of the front door. you don’t realize you’re alone.

not until the doorbell rings.

you jump. huh. you weren’t expecting that. you wipe your hands on your shirt, nevermind the grease and dust, carrying the toaster and your toolkit down to the kitchen.

where is everyone?

the house eerily quiet now that you’re aware of it. no footsteps. no murmured voices. no maggie bossing josie around. no beverly humming some stupid song under her breath. a strange, twisting feeling settles in your stomach as you make your way to the door, stretching up on your toes to look through the peephole. and then—

lando is standing on the porch.

you blink at him.

he blinks back.

“hi,” he says.

“hi.” you frown. “what are you doing here?”

“josie called me,” he says, holding up his phone like it explains anything. “she said they’re at the hospital with beverly. asthma attack.”

your stomach twists.

beverly gets bad asthma sometimes. you know that. you’ve seen it before, seen the way her face crumples as she gasps for breath, the way maggie and josie move fast, faster than you’ve ever seen them move, scrambling for inhalers and car keys and coats.

you swallow hard. “oh.”

lando shifts on his feet. “your parents are there too. josie asked me to come over. to, uh.” he scratches at his nose. “keep you company.”

you’re not sure what to do with that. you cross your arms, eyeing him carefully. “do you have anything better to do?”

he shrugs. “not really.” then he grins. “besides, you’re great company.”

you squint at him, trying to gauge if he’s making fun of you. you’re used to people making fun of you. you’re the smartest kid in your class— actually, you’re the smartest kid in the whole school, probably— and sometimes people don’t like that. but lando doesn’t look like he’s teasing.

which is… fine. whatever.

you step aside, jerking your head toward the kitchen. “well, i was busy.”

“yeah?” he kicks off his shoes, follows you inside. “doing what?”

you gesture to the counter, where the toaster sits in pieces. lando stops, tilts his head. “uh. you know you guys have a new one, right?”

“obviously,” you say. “but this one’s not working. so i’m fixing it.”

he hums, wandering closer. “you sure you know how?”

“of course i do.” you scowl at him. “i’ve read like, ten manuals. and i looked it up. and i’ve fixed other stuff before.”

“like what?”

you open your mouth, then pause. “well. nothing yet. but i know i can.”

lando just grins, like he finds that funny. you don’t get what’s so funny about it.

but then he holds the pizza box he brought, setting it on the table. “you wanna eat first?”

you hesitate, glancing back at your toaster. it’s important, obviously. but your stomach is growling, and lando did bring food, and— well. it’s not like you can’t finish later.

so you nod, dragging the toaster pieces toward the kitchen counter while lando opens the box. he slides a slice onto a plate for you, then one for himself.

you eat while you work, half-focused on the toaster, half-focused on the conversation.

lando’s been karting for a while now, long before you even met. he talks about it sometimes, but not as much as you’d like, because you want to know everything. not about the racing, really— you don’t care that much about that— but about the karts. about the mechanics of it, about how they work, about what makes them faster than normal cars.

“aerodynamics,” he answers, when you ask.

you scoff. “yeah, obviously. but what kind?”

he blinks. “the fast kind? what do you know about aerodynamics?”

you huff, setting down your pizza, wiping your hands on a napkin before grabbing two of the toaster’s metal panels. “okay. see these?” lando nods.

“pretend they’re wings,” you say, holding them up at an angle. “if a car is going really fast, air hits the wings, right? but if they’re tilted down like this, the air pushes against them, which pushes the car down. that’s downforce. more downforce means the car stays on the track better, but too much can slow it down.”

he watches, amused. “what about drag?”

you pick up a wire, twirling it between your fingers. “drag is when air pushes against the car in the opposite direction. good aerodynamics means less drag, so the car can go faster.”

lando watches you, eyebrows raised.

you huff. “you should know this already.”

“i definitely should,” he admits, grinning. “but it’s more fun when you explain it.”

your face feels warm. you pretend you don’t hear that.

after dinner, you pick a movie. you let lando choose, because he did bring the food, after all, and he picks something you don’t totally hate. you sit side by side on the couch, chewing absently on the crust of your last pizza slice, eyes half-focused on the screen. at first, you keep your arms crossed over your chest, but after a while, they loosen, and your head tips back against the couch cushions.

the toaster sits in pieces on the counter. beverly is in the hospital. your parents and sisters aren’t home. but none of it feels as heavy as it did earlier.

your eyes slip shut. just for a second.

when your family comes home, the front door creaks open, footsteps shuffling in. your mum pauses, standing in the doorway of the living room, watching.

you and lando are curled up on the couch, the tv still playing, the glow flickering over your faces. your head rests against his shoulder, his cheek tipped slightly against your hair.

she exhales, soft. “oh, how cute.” then reaches for her camera, snaps a picture.

later, it gets printed, tucked into a photo album, slipped between birthday parties and holiday dinners and old school plays.

(you don’t find it until years later, flipping through old pictures on a trip home, fingers pausing on the slightly worn edge of the page.

"oh, that’s a sweet one," your mum says over your shoulder, like it’s just another picture.

you slip the photo out of its plastic sleeve, take it back to your flat, left forgotten as you toss your bag onto the counter, too lost in the flurry of work and groceries.

later, someone else finds it. picks it up from where you left it on the counter.

“we were always like this, weren’t we?” a voice says, and when you look up, he’s already smiling.)

fin.

[urcoolgf]

can’t fight this no more

pairing. bf¡drew && singer¡reader

content. fluff

summary. almost a year later, you and drew are stronger than ever. a newly releasing single, and another album on the way has drew thinking about the future

more bf¡drew && singer¡reader

meet singer¡reader

ever since you let drew listen to your songs from your last album, he’s been all but begging you to let him in– even just a little more– on this album. you, of course, obliged. it’s been amazing having him be a bigger part of your next studio album titled ‘positions’– the name just as suggestive as the rest of the album. although, this wasn’t just a lustful album, it was about the most pure form of love you had ever experienced– drew.

but, before ‘positions’ dropped, you collabed with justin beiber on a single you were planning to release before positions. the song wasn’t on the album, but it felt essential to the lead up of ‘positions’.

‘stuck with u’ not only featured justin beiber, but you even added a little snippet of drew’s voice in the beginning. he didn’t know that yet– while he had been a consistent figure in the making of ‘positions’ he had no clue about this single.

you were torn with how you wanted him to hear it for the first time. waiting until it released felt fun, but kind of shady–like you had hid it from him, which you technically had. playing it from the studio was normal at this point, and you didn’t want normal. you wanted this one to be different. the song was set to release in two days so you needed to think of something, and fast.

almost as if someone was listening to your thoughts, your phone rang. it was your manager.

“hey! what’s up?,” you picked up the phone, a certain cheeriness in your tone.

your manager began speaking as if he was frazzled– which he probably was, “hey y/n. i know it’s last minute, but they’re having an event at the coffee shop around the corner– the one you love–”

which also happened to be the one you met drew at.

“and they had a band, but their flight canceled– blah, blah, excuses, excuses… point is– would you be free to do a little live singing there… like tonight? you can perform whatever songs you’d like. maybe even some snippets from the new album?,” his tone was hopeful, which surprised you because you were never the type to pass these little gigs down– especially in your city.

“of course! i’d love to,” you replied, a smile spreading across your face that your manager couldn’t see, but he could hear it. this was literally the perfect opportunity to expose drew to ‘stuck with u’.

“awesome! alright, i’ll call them back, let them know. it starts at 7pm. talk later y/n,” and before you could say goodbye, he had hung up.

you couldn’t help the almost giddy feeling in your stomach. you were so excited, but you were nervous, too. performing the song as drew’s first listen was risky, but it would be memorable.

drew was currently visiting his sister in the next city over, so you just shot him a quick text.

y/n: meet me @ our coffee shop 7pm i love u

he replied almost instantly– as he always does.

drew<3: I’ll be there. I love you baby🩷 PS Liliana says hi!

drew <3: sent 1 attachment

a soft smile spread across your face unknowingly. you clicked on the image of his baby niece in his arms– the picture clearly taken by his sister– and just like that all your anxiety had washed away. drew was the most caring, amazing person you knew. he was going to love whatever you performed.

tonight was going to be perfect.

—

you got to the coffee shop about an hour early to set up, and meet your manager. you told him you wanted to perform ‘stuck with u’, and he luckily had found another male singer who was willing to sing justin’s part in that short time.

“hey y/n! this is jackson! he’ll be singing with you tonight,” your manager walked up, hand behind jackson’s back, guiding him to you.

“hey jackson! nice to meet you,” you beamed at him. you were excited for tonight, and super grateful your manager found someone on such short notice.

“you too. i’m a huge fan,” he smiled brightly, hand extending towards you. you took it, and shook his hand gently.

the two of you bounced vocals off each other a bit before the host was telling you it was 3 minutes ‘til show time. you peaked your head out into the small crowd– news didn’t spread that fast that you were headlining, but you didn’t mind. you liked the smaller crowds, more intimate. you saw drew sat at a table by himself, looking around for you and checking his watch.

“1 minute,” the hostess whispered to you, drawing your attention from the crowd. your phone pinged, so you quickly checked it.

drew<3: Hey baby I’m here. Where are you?

a sweet message, one that would have to go unanswered as the host began to announce you and jackson. the two of you walked onto the small stage they had set up in the corner of the shop.

as soon as you stepped out, your eyes went to drew– the shocked look on his face, followed by a soft smile. the host let you take over the mic so you could announce the song you were going to sing.

“hi everyone! thanks so much for coming out tonight. i’m so excited to be here, and i know jackson is, too. this first song we’re gonna sing is a new single of mine, releasing soon. so get excited because you’re getting a sneak peak! i wanna dedicate this song to someone special in the crowd tonight… drew, this is for you baby. i love you,” he couldn’t contain the huge smile taking over his face, mouthing the words ‘i love you, too’ back at you.

the slow beat began to play through the sound system they had set up, you requested the original track (with drew’s voice) be played just without the vocals so he could hear that he was part of it.

mmm

hey, yeah

(that’s just for fun)

(what?)

(i’m stuck with you)

drew’s face was nothing short of rewarding. the surprised look was something you would probably remember forever. you just shot him a small, mischievous smile, which he returned with a soft laugh that you obviously couldn’t hear, but you knew what it sounded like.

ah

i’m not one to stick around

one strike and you’re out, baby

don’t care if i sound crazy

but, you never let me down, no, no

that’s why when the sun’s up, i’m stayin’

still layin’ in your bed, singin’

the low octave of your voice, accompanied with the almost sultry look you were giving drew right now was driving him crazy. the truth is– he had gone to his sister’s, but he had left early to make a stop at the jewelry store. you didn’t know it, but a ring was hidden in his jacket pocket right now.

when you had asked him to meet you at the coffee shop where you had first met him, he didn’t see a more perfect opportunity to make you his forever.

i could stay here for a lifetime

so, lock the door and throw out the key

can’t fight this no more, it’s just you and me

and there’s nothin’ i, nothin’ i, i can do

i’m stuck with you, stuck with you, stuck with you

drew’s mind was blown– not only at your amazing vocals which would never fail to amaze him, but at the lyrics. ‘stay here for a lifetime’, ‘stuck with you’. it was like you knew what he was planning.

a few verses later, jackson took over. you only sang some harmonies and backup vocals for him, prancing around the stage, moving to the beat.

drew just watched you in awe. yeah, the other guy was good, too, but you were mesmerizing. you weren’t even singing and he was absolutely hypnotized just by your stage presence alone.

woah

baby, come take all my time

go on, make me lose my mind

we got all that we need here tonight

your two tones worked together beautifully as the bridge took over, and the song hit its climax– the jazzy tune taking over the café. everyone in the place was bopping their heads to the tune, some even throwing some impressed whistles at your vocals.

baby, run your mouth, i still wouldn’t change

all this lovin’ you, hatin’ you, wantin’ you

i’m stuck with you, stuck with you, stuck with you

stuck with you, stuck with you, stuck with you

it was the end of the song, but you extended your vocals, hitting high notes that drew didn’t even know was possible (he did. he had listened to you for the past few months, and had seen you do inhuman things with your voice, but still)

as the song faded out, you simply walked off the stage for an intermission, ‘stuck with u’ playing softly in the background as people moved about. applause and cheers were still booming through the small shop as people ordered snacks and drinks.

you walked over to drew, sitting in the seat across from him. despite you both being famous, no one was really bothering you– which you were kind of grateful for.

“hey baby,” you said softly, warm smile on your face as you awaited his response to the song.

“hey love,” he replied with equal softness. he reached his hands out to take yours which were resting on the table– or at least, you thought that’s what he was doing.

something cold hit your hand instead. you looked down to find a beautiful diamond ring with a small pearl attached to the gem. your breath caught in your chest, looking back up at drew in equal parts confusion and shock.

“drew… wha–,” you began before he cut you off.

“y/n… will you marry me?”

© 𝐔𝐑𝐂𝐎𝐎𝐋𝐆𝐅. est. 2025

TAGS .ᐟ @yktayy9669 @drewsswifeyy @drewrry @frankoceanluvr11 @dearestmillls @icaqttt @lynoriax @hpboysslut2707 @stoned-writer @angvl3tears

[demon-at-peace]

DC + DP JLD Danny

DC + DP JLD Danny

Danny has to make money somehow right? So he become a cult circle advisor, need help with a spell, incantation, drawing runes? Just call him right up, he even offers classes for beginners.

Naturally he encounters JLD and they are pissed. He’s the reason satan is getting called so often, he’s the reason why they have so many issues? But it’s a perfectly legal business operation, so to prevent their problems, they hire him. He teaches newer magicians, older magicians, he’s the official translator and teacher for the JLD.

The younger heroes love him, he doesn’t pester you, doesn’t scold you if you call the wrong inter-dimensional being. He brings snacks, and hangs up their art, he’s fun. The adults disagree. He scolds them, scowls at them, and most of all pranks them.

The first time a wormhole swallowed them up they freaked, until they saw the “Pranked ya” sign. To the JL Danny with his insufferable Midwest manners is horrible. But ultimately the best at occult stuff so they can’t fire him. Also because he would be right back to making money through cults.

I eventually they call him in to summon “the king of the infinite realms” a title he dumped of Pandora while he was at college. He’s nervous, but does the summoning anyway, because what else is he supposed to do? He needs to pay his bills.

She pops up in her wrath and looks ready to smite them. Before she realizes who they are.. “are you those heroes phantom loves?” Danny groans shrinking into himself, of course she wouldn’t recognize them for saving the world. No just his fanboying. Or should he say Phan-boying?

“A ways unfortunately the king decided to take a vacation in your realm so you won’t be able to contact him,” she groans. “Very nice circle though,” she hums as she looks at it in admiration. Then he eyes widen in understanding.

Then her head snaps up and she looks right at him, “Phantom, you look positively dashing, and Wulf certainly taught you how to do circle wonderfully!” She cheerfully floats over to him. Danny groans.

“Pandora I was supposed to be disguised! Now I have to configure a brand new identity!” He glares at her.

“Right sorry, I forgot the pains of maintaining a mortal identity.” Pandora hums

“Your phantom?” The bat asks. Crap now the justice league is glaring at him!

“Yeah?” He whines staring at them pitifully. He really wanted to finish college. “What?” Green Arrow jumps.

“sure am,” Danny sneers glaring at him. “What? You think ‘he should have told us’?” Danny mocks him. “As if you snobby bag of shit, we learned you know, I’m not dumb enough to let us get hurt!” Danny glares at them.

Pandora sighs, grabbing Danny’s hands, “look they might not know, the acts were kept on the down low;” she soothes. “Just hear them out; they did summon you;” she lets go when Danny nods.

“Fine, what do you want?” Danny crosses his arms, and looks like phantom. The JL stares at him in horror, and he looks remembers, the scars.

He’d panicked when he first saw them asked why they hadn’t healed. Frostbite told him they’d last as long as the trauma did, ghosts were creatures of emotions after all.

“What do you want?” He repeats glaring at them. They seem unnerved, shifting uncomfortably and exchanging glances.

”We were hoping you would deal with a ghost-“ Batman starts.

”Where are they?” Danny cuts him of. Looking around as if they’d randomly appear.

”Currently terrorizing LA with plants.” One of the leave members groans. “We thought is was poison ivy at first-“

“of course it’s f*cking undergrowth!” Danny groans. “Well bye, for good I guess,” he turn to Pandora, “Thank you sooo much for blowing my identity.”

the ghost wilts glowing a little less brightly “Sorry Phantom.”

“It’s fine,” he snaps his fingers and a portal forms.

“Wait! for good?” Superman asks, “Why?”

Danny looks at him in confusion, “I lied, and I’m an eldritch being, “ he sighs “I mean I’ve dealt with it before, I’ll just had back to the realms.”

”Stay,” to Danny’s surprise it’s the bat who says this. “We already have other eldritch beings,” he sighs.

“Maybe,” Danny smiles and steps through the portal, his eyes twinkling like stars.

—-

Why Pandora? Cause I was like ember would do that, but why would she be regent? So I chose her. Also do I sound American? Cause someone asked me if I was from like Texas on one of my fics, and I was like do I really sound that American?

Also idk how this works but I’d like people to know I’m totally open to asks, like idk if you have to say so or not so I just thought would.

Bye :)

[haikyu-mp4]

Infiltrating Seijoh – Kageyama x reader wc 738 – gn!reader

When Kageyama went to the Aoba Johsai campus to spy on their volleyball team, he thought his excellent disguise of normal gym clothes and an angry walk was enough to make him blend in.

He didn’t notice all the people whispering as he passed, only focused on the gym facility until-

“Hi! Would you like to sign up for the pottery club?” you asked him, bright as ever.

Kageyama stopped abruptly and gaped at you, stuttering over his words. His eyes glanced between you and the building he was there for. “Uh- Uh-“ If he says no, maybe that reveals he’s not from your school, he thought. “Y-Yes!”

Your eyes brighten as you gasp with joy, bouncing slightly on the pads of your feet. “Great! I just need your name and e-mail address on this form to register you.”

He pursed his lips, once again thinking that might have him busted. However, you held out the paper with such a happy aura that he signed it automatically as if enchanted. “Can I go once without being registered? Just to… Try it?”

You hummed briefly, shrugging your shoulders as you seemed to settle on an answer. “I don’t see why not.”

That’s how he sneaked back into Aoba Johsai two days later. Luckily, there was one day they didn’t have volleyball training back at Karasuno.

Somehow, he managed to find his way to the basement where you hosted the pottery club. The windows were high on the walls, barely above ground level, to give a hint of sunlight. Four tables combined into a square in the middle of the room, with some tools at each station.

You bounced over to him the second he entered. “Kageyama! Hi, how are you?”

Kageyama blinked in response, clearing his throat. “Good. You?”

“Very good, now that you’re here.” That’s when he noticed you were the only two people in the room.

“There’s no one else?”

You awkwardly scratched the back of your head. “They’re just late, but we can get started without them.”

So you spent about forty minutes showing Kageyama the ropes of pottery, getting him started on some basics and talking him through it.

He wasn’t very good at this art form, but he wasn’t useless, either. You noticed how well he took directions, and overall, it had been a nice time so far.

“So, Kageyama. Tell me more about yourself,” you encouraged, sitting quite close to him to help with his creation. Definitely not just because you enjoyed how his ears burned from your closeness. “Do you have any hobbies?”

Kageyama was nervous, but now it was more because of you than the infiltration of another school. “I play volleyball.”

You perked up with a questioning sound falling from your lips. “So you’re on the volleyball team with Oikawa?”

The flustered boy answered without a second thought. “No, I’m in Karasuno.”

The silence that fell over you wasn’t uncomfortable, and he took his foot off the pedal to the turning board so he could glance sideways at you and gauge your reaction. Just as you were about to say something, the door burst open as two girls and a boy entered, making quite a ruckus.

With a gulp, you took Kageyama’s arm and pulled him to his feet. “About time you guys showed up.” You chuckled and headed for the door with Kageyama’s wrist clutched in your hand. “I’m just going to show Kageyama out, you guys can continue our projects.”

You escaped into fresh air, and both took big gulps of it. Kageyama couldn’t look away from you, a question mark seemingly emitting from his blueberry eyes. “Are you going to report me?”

With a scoff, you stared back as if the question was absurd. “No.”

“Why?”

You looked around for the closest exit off campus where Kageyama might escape without getting caught, then turned back to him. “I quite like your company.”

Weeks later, you’re the only Seijoh student in a crowd of Crow supporters, hiding in the bleachers at the qualifiers. It was terrifying to betray your school’s team that way, but you were lucky enough to get a black uniform jacket from Kageyama before you came.

As the game began, any worries fell off your shoulders along with his jacket. There was no such thing as being too loud in cheering for Kageyama.

After all, he’s taking you out on a date after the game.

masterlist

[dokries]

click click!

pairing: lee seokmin (dokyeom) x gender neutral reader

genre: fluff, established relationship

word count: 505

warnings: none!

author note: hi :) i’m alive !!! just some seokmin fluff but i hope you enjoy reading ‎♡

masterlist

“seokmin, get back here!”

despite your call, your boyfriend continues to speed away from you, clutching his phone close to his chest.

“no! you said you were going to delete everything!” he exclaims back, almost in horror of just the thought of his hard work being gone.

“i didn’t say that!” you huff back, climbing over the couch to get to him faster.

seokmin had been showing you a cute video he got of a puppy the other day (with permission from the owner of course, even if it was awkward to ask) and right before he exited out of his gallery, you saw a familiar face—your face.

you squinted, asking him hesitantly why exactly he had over two hundred pictures of you and he froze up, giving you the perfect opportunity to open up the album of…well, just you.

most of them were ones you’d never seen before, and seokmin almost always showed you the pictures he took of you, even if they were candid—or so you had thought before seeing all of these.

there were some from the trip the two of you took to the beach during the summer, both of your birthdays, and even…yesterday? he took photos of you yesterday?!

you click on the most recent ones, recognizing the back of your body as you walked in front of him on the way back to your place after stopping by the convenience store for ice cream, since seokmin wanted some.

you hadn’t even registered him taking these, and suddenly it made sense why he would be quiet sometimes when you were together, giving you a sweet smile if you asked before changing the topic to something else—he was always taking pictures and saving your time together so he could look back on it.

right now though, seokmin’s pout once you corner him is the only thing on your mind as he looks at you pitifully.

“please…i’m sorry for not telling you about these,” he mutters, looking away once you make eye contact. “i just thought you looked really nice and wanted to remember it, that’s all.”

your heart melts a little as you respond, taking his free hand in yours softly. “i’m not mad at you. i’m just…surprised at how sweet you can still be, despite knowing how you already are.”

seokmin lights up but looks at you shyly. “it’s really not that big of a deal! i’m just glad you like them.”

you giggle and he smiles back at you, kissing you gently on the cheek before sitting back down on the couch, taking your interlocked hand with him so you sit right next to him, like you always have.

“do you wanna see my favourite ones?” he asks, already scanning his phone screen for the ones in his mind, and you can’t help but let out a laugh.

“i would love to.”

the grin you get back makes the rest of your day so much brighter than you thought it would have been, even with seokmin by your side.

[vinylfoxbooks]

March 26 - Skeptic | @into-the-jeggyverse | wc: 899

“I don’t like Regulus’ new partner.” Sirius mutters low to his boyfriend. They’re settled on the couch, mugs of tea in hand with Remus reading and Sirius curled around his partner, lost in his own thoughts. Said Regulus and partner have just left for the night, tucking into Regulus’ room. He says it only when he can’t hear them shuffling around between the bathroom and Regulus’ room anymore. 

Remus hums, putting a thumb on his line, “What about them?” 

“I don’t know, they're just… weird.” 

“I’m a werewolf, love, I don’t think you can be talking about dating someone a bit ‘weird’. I’m sure Regulus thought the same thing of me when we first met.” 

“That’s a lie,” he shakes his head, “He liked you from the beginning. I think it was all the nerdy book talk.” 

Remus gives him a flat look, “We both know that’s not true, I may have placated him with the ‘book talk’ but he was on edge around me for months after we first met.” Then, after a couple seconds he bookmarks his book and settles it on his lap, “What about them is weird to you?” 

Sirius sighs and takes a moment to formulate his words, “They… came in here strong in an… odd way. Wearing odd, hand-me-down-looking clothes that were all dirty, the way they talked was… it was like they weren’t really present.” 

“What are you trying to say?” Remus sighs, seemingly getting frustrated with his boyfriend, “And it better not be you stuck up family beliefs trying to prevent you from seeing your brother happy.” 

“I don’t think that’s it.” 

“Don’t you?” Remus hums, “I came walking into your house for the first time in a similar state, so what makes you so skeptical about Regulus’ partner?” 

“I just-”

“Listen, Sirius.” Remus sighs once more, turning to lake eye contact with him, “Your brother is clearly happy with James, it’s obvious with the way that they look at each other. They’ve also seemingly been dating long enough that Regulus would have been turned away by them if something was wrong. James clearly cared about Regulus.”

“But-”

“No, Sirius. Your brother can take care of himself, in fact we both know that he prefers to. Whether James is ‘weird’ or not, they’re nice and they seem to treat Regulus well and that’s all that matters. It should be obvious that Regulus introducing them to us was just a courtesy.” 

Sirius sighs, “I know…” 

“Excuse me,” A voice says behind them, making them both turn to it. James stands politely in the entrance to the hallway, gazing at them with the most present look in their eyes that SIrius has seen from them all day, “Where do you keep the tea that Regulus likes?” Sirius takes them in while Remus answers for him, noting their threadbare sleep clothes and lack of as many charms and jewelry pieces as they were wearing before. There are still a couple bracelets on their wrist, blue and with little eyes on the beads, and a couple pieces of jewelry in their piercings, but they’re much less decorated than they were before. 

Remus hums and watches them for a moment, “In the cabinet opposite the sink, we just had the kettle boiling so it shouldn’t take long. Mugs are in the cabinet to the left of the sink.” 

James smiles at him, “Thank you.” And with that, they sweep into the kitchen and the couple can hear the telltale signs of someone preparing some tea. Remus gives his boyfriend a look, Sirius just shakes his head and lays it on the taller’s shoulder, smiling when a hand comes up to pet through his hair. 

When they come back out a couple minutes later, Remus hums, “James?” After making sure he has their attention, he starts, “Can you tell me about how to care for the basil you got us?” 

James nods, making their way over to the couch chair and settling in it, muttering something as they put the mug of tea on the coffee table, “Basil is a bit persnickety about its care. It needs lots of sunlight, so putting it in your sunniest window is best, and it’s demanding on water. Keep the soil moist at all times. Watering it every couple of days would be best.” They gaze over at the beautiful, hand painted pot that holds the half-started basil that Sirius and Remus put on the coffee table when James handed it to them, “Once it starts consistent leaf growth, then you can start cutting off the leaves and using it for things like cooking, I’ve found that homegrown basil is extra flavourful. It’s also spiritually protective, believed to bring luck, wealth, and health to a household so take care of it and it’ll take care of you.” 

Remus seems a bit taken aback by the last part, but he collects himself after a moment and nods, “I’ll keep that in mind, thank you James.”

James smiles at him, moving to stand up, “Of course, have a good night you two.”

“You as well.” And with that, James makes their way down the hallway and into Regulus’ room once more. The interaction leaves Sirius conflicted, but he doesn’t comment on it anymore. Remus picks up his book and continues reading, shooting a glance at their new plant every once in a while.

[getaapologist]

More Geta x servant reader, how does he react when she’s upset? Like imagine reader trying to hide it cus she doesn’t think it should be such a big deal, but trying to suppress it only makes it worse, and she can barely hold it together to not cry in front of the emperor.

A/N: I'm not sure this is EXACTLY what you meant, but it's what came out. Hope you enjoy it!

[ prior servant!reader entry can be found here ]

“We have taken too much time, little lamb,” Geta teased, a large hand finding your hip, sliding slightly lower, around. Squeezing. “We will be late.”

A heat grew, as if it wasn’t quenched just ten minutes before.

“You will be late,” you corrected, pulling at the green fabric.

His amused grin could be seen in the mirror just over your shoulder. “Perhaps. But it is your fault.” 

A slight pull as he moved away, finally beginning to get dressed.

You looked down to the tray full of jewels, mostly his. Picking up a couple of smaller rings, you slid them on your fingers. Some thinner bracelets, too. Geta liked fiddling with them, spinning them where they sat on your wrists.

Lifting the necklace like it was the easiest choice in the world, you slipped it over your head. Because it was.

And it promptly clattered to the floor.

Confusion. Mild horror. 

It was painful to kneel down and scoop up the glittering strand, fingers combing through the embedded jewels to locate the reason. The cause.

A ring. Split. Almost as if wrenched apart, but how could that be?

“...Little lamb?” 

Geta’s voice was questioning, curious, as he stepped over to you.

“It is nothing,” you assured him, turning away, the gifted necklace’s broken clasp held between your fingers. You pressed hard, trying to force back the strange swelling of emotions at the sight of it.

It was just a necklace. You could imagine him saying that. You have others.

The amount of attachment you had to it was a surprise to even you. You wore it frequently without a second thought or awareness of how much it mattered to you. But as you felt the ring of metal that had split open pressing harshly into the pads of your fingers, you knew you would miss it terribly.

His large hands gripped your upper arms, turning you to face him, his face down near yours, eyes searching, fearful and cautious. 

“What is it?” 

As he spoke the words, his eyes fell to your hands, noticing what you held. How you were holding it. His fingers covered yours in an instant, gently prising the metal from them, examining it.

“It’s broken,” he commented.

“I do not know how it happened,” you mumbled, emotions bubbling up and spilling over, a few stray tears making their way down your face as you closed your eyes to the sight of it in his hands.

“Mea mellitula,” he soothed, a smile in his voice, “it is just a—”

Frustration. Sorrow. They were forced out as you interrupted him, eyes closed, brows drawn together. “It is not just a necklace.”

Silence filled the room. You missed the slight sting of the broken metal threatening to pierce the skin of your thumb. It was irrational, surely he wouldn’t understand. How could he?

The soft touch of his fingers to where your brows knit in anguish was unexpected. He pressed gently until the tension there dissipated. 

“This one in particular. It means something to you,” he realized. “Why?”

You opened your eyes, casting them down to look at the jeweled necklace, the pretty earthen tones matching quite a few of his rings. It took you a moment to piece it together, and a moment more to articulate it to him.

“It is the first thing you personally gifted me, Geta. I… It felt nice, knowing you thought of me.”

His face slid into a sly grin, the necklace set aside, forgotten. “Oh, my little lamb, I am always thinking of you.”

Your frown grew, the sentimentality lingering.

“Please, look at me,” he requested, his fingers finding your chin, your cheek, urging you to meet his amber eyes, glowing in the evening firelight. 

Reluctantly, you did. His hand on your cheek took the time to wipe away any lingering tears, swiping beneath your eyes gently, slowly. He didn’t speak until he was done.

“They can fix it. Would you like that?”

A slow nod.

He smiled, smoothing a hand over your hair. “There. No more tears.”

A gentle kiss was pressed to your temple before his hands left you. He stepped away, to where his clothing was stored.

Your eyes fell to where the necklace sat, still broken, on his desk, among papers and tablets. Drawings. Maps. As if it were another duty he was now responsible for. 

Looking over the tray of jewelry, the other options just felt wrong, even in light of everything. Not quite the right color. Too long. Too tight to the neck. 

This is ridiculous.

A thin wooden box was held before your eyes, interrupting your stewing.

“Here. I was saving this for… well, it doesn’t matter. Now’s as good a time as any.” 

You accepted the box. He sat on the edge of the vanity watching you, eyes darting from the box as you attempted to prise it open, up to your face, waiting for your expression.

As the lid lifted, the item inside glittered even more brightly than the other necklace. Stones of deep red, polished to shine, attached to a golden chain. It was beautiful. 

“Geta, this is…”

“Do you like it?” he asked, hopeful. 

As if you could ever dislike such a thing.

“I love it. Is this really for me?”

He smiled, something more than just affection in his eyes. “Of course it is. Here, let me put it on you.”

He pulled the shiny, new necklace from the box and stepped around you, pulling it slowly up over your collarbones, his knuckles brushing the back of your neck as he dealt with the clasp. Once it was secured, he smoothed his fingers along the golden chain, drawing the slack down until it sat right where it was meant to.

“It’s beautiful,” you smiled, bringing your hands up to touch it, adjusting it slightly. 

His arms wrapped around your middle, his chin resting on your shoulder. His eyes moved from the reflection of the necklace up to your face.

“Yes. Beautiful.”

[tiredeg]

All I have are smoking guns (George/Alex, outsider POV, 600 words)

“It was so funny,” Lando tells them all, “I went over to Williams earlier to say happy birthday, and it literally sounded like they were having sex. It was all moaning and grunting, I actually thought Alex had a girl in there until he said George’s name.” 

Kimi hasn’t really been paying Lando too much attention, more focused on debating whether he still has time to pee, but maybe this is something he could use on George. Maybe they were fighting, maybe George will be distracted in the car. 

“That would give it away, yes,” Alex says. He’s sipping from his straw like he doesn’t care, like he’s happy to stand here and listen to Lando tell his little story to half of the grid. 

“Except,” Lando keeps going, “it was more like Georrrrge” — he throws his head back and moans dramatically. Netflix aren’t here this weekend, Kimi doesn’t think, but they’d have loved that one. Might even have made the trailer.  

Alex laughs, so Kimi lets himself snigger too. He stops when he sees George coming. Alex doesn’t. 

“Chaps,” George nods as he steps in behind Alex. There’s not much room where they’re huddling behind the barriers until they absolutely have to go out for the parade. Not much room, but probably enough to accommodate George in the circle. He doesn’t move. 

“We were just talking about you,” Alex leans back into him. It makes him lose some height, makes it so that he has to look up at George. They probably aren’t having a fight then, just wrestling over something. Damn. 

“Oh yeah?” George leans in, obviously interested. 

“Lando here was just telling us how he overheard our life-changing shag earlier in my room.” 

“Woah, woah, woah,” Lando cuts in, “nobody said anything about life-changing, don’t give yourselves too much credit.” 

“I wasn’t life-changing?” George gasps, one of those little faux-shocked things he loves to do when somebody makes a joke about him in a meeting. It always works—Kimi’s been thinking of trying it out, but it probably won’t land the same for him. 

“Eh, you were fine,” Alex wiggles his hand in a so-so gesture. 

“Fine?” George’s voice is higher now—he’s good at this. “I come all the way over to Williams to give you a birthday seeing to, and all you can say is fine?” 

“Hey, I could have been seeing to you,” Alex has been doing a good job at keeping his voice steady before, but now even Kimi can hear the smile seeping through.  

“Not likely,” Lando snorts. 

“Oi!” 

It devolves from there until they’re finally called outside. Kimi manages to get up next to Max as the parade starts, nice. He isn’t half as much of a dick as George likes to paint him—whatever’s going on there isn’t Kimi’s problem. Honestly, he likes talking to Max anyway, but he especially likes the little wrinkle between George's eyebrows whenever he catches them talking.  

Speaking of, where—oh, George is over talking to Nico. He looks happy enough, giving little waves out to the crowd every now and then, as if anyone is looking at him when Lewis is in red beside him. George’s face changes as Kimi watches, flowing from bland politeness to something warmer. Nico might not have noticed, hasn't had to spend as many excruciating meeting room hours with him, but Kimi can tell. Besides, it's only Kimi at the correct angle to see Alex’s foot, small in his boot, run along the back of George's leg. They're lucky Mercedes aren't in white this weekend, or there'd be a mark. Though, he supposes, even in plain sight probably nobody would notice.