#i like to think i try to move the space of the conversation immediately into something both grounded and relevant

[eu-nicola]

a game - ajax petropolus

summary: ajax just wanted to make his ex jealous... but he ended up entangled with a dark, cold and dangerously charming Addams

english isn’t my first language (words: 5,1k) (warning: none)

The Nevermore cafeteria always smelled of burnt coffee and teenage nerves. Between the murmur of conversations and the clatter of trays, Ajax Petropolus sat by the window, lazily stirring a cup of tea he had no intention of drinking. His gaze drifted over the people coming and going, though in truth, he was only looking for one person.

Enid.

She was at a table on the other side of the room, laughing at something Bruno had said. She leaned toward him with that electric energy that seemed to fill every empty space. Ajax felt the familiar knot in his stomach, a mix of annoyance and something worse: sadness.

It wasn’t that he expected them to get back together… but seeing her like that, with someone else, felt like a punch disguised as coincidence.

He lowered his gaze, trying to focus on anything else. That’s when he saw you.

You didn’t walk in like the others, pushing the door open in a rush or scanning the room for an empty seat. No. You slipped into the room as if the air itself moved aside to let you through. Dark hair spilled over your shoulders, and your pale skin stood out sharply against the background. Your deep, cold eyes swept over the place like someone evaluating a stage before deciding whether it was worth staying.

You didn’t smile at anyone, nor did you look down to hide. You simply walked to an empty table by a column and dropped a heavy book onto the surface. Ajax caught the title: Anatomy of Decadence.

And then, in his head, something clicked.

Perfect. This will definitely get her attention.

He didn’t know your name, but he didn’t need it to notice you were the complete opposite of Enid. Where Enid was light and noise, you were silence and shadow. Where Enid would hug without asking, you looked like someone who could dissect a person’s intentions before even allowing them to sit beside you.

Ajax leaned back in his chair, pretending indifference while watching you from the corner of his eye. You flipped through your book slowly, as if each page were a secret. Every now and then, you’d lift your gaze and let your dark eyes linger on people for a second, expressionless, as if cataloging and discarding them immediately.

Enid, oddly enough, was still in her own world with Bruno, oblivious. It didn’t matter. This would be a matter of time.

Ajax didn’t approach you, yet. For now, he was content to keep watching, building in his head the perfect way to start a conversation… when the moment came.

He spent the entire morning looking for an excuse to get close to you. It wasn’t easy, you moved through Nevermore like a shadow, giving no chance to intercept you. You entered classes in silence, always sat at the back, and when the bell rang, you vanished before anyone could stop you for casual talk.

But today, fate, or so he liked to believe, gave him the perfect chance.

He found you in the courtyard, sitting beneath the great willow whose branches hung like a mourning veil. A book rested open on your knees, and your expression was serene, as if the rest of the world didn’t exist. The wind played with your dark hair, and the tree’s shade wrapped around you like it was part of you.

Ajax approached with an easy gait, though inside he felt each step exposed him too much.

“Nice tree,” he said, stopping a couple of meters away.

You glanced up briefly, observing him for a second before returning to your book.

“It’s a tree,” you replied, your voice soft but dry.

Ajax smiled, trying not to be discouraged. He sat down on the grass, close enough to talk but not so close as to seem invasive.

“I don’t think we’ve talked before. I’m Ajax.”

Your dark, calm eyes lifted toward him.

“I know.”

That threw him off. He leaned forward slightly, half-smiling.

“And you are…?”

“I don’t usually answer that question the first time I talk to someone.” You turned a page slowly, as if his curiosity meant nothing to you.

Ajax let out a nervous laugh.

“Are you always this… mysterious?”

“It’s not mystery. It’s natural selection,” you said without looking up. “Not everyone survives a conversation with me.”

He studied you carefully, trying to tell if you were serious or if it was some kind of strange joke. The way you finally lifted your eyes, slow and calculated, told him you meant it. And somehow, that made you even more fascinating.

In that moment, you looked so much like Morticia Addams that Ajax almost forgot this, getting close to you, was supposed to be part of a plan to provoke Enid.

“Or maybe,” you added with the faintest hint of a smile, “you’re just the type who doesn’t know when to walk away.”

The low voice, the subtle tilt of your head, the calm precision of your words… everything about you seemed designed to ensnare. You seduced without wide smiles or obvious gestures.

Ajax leaned back on his hands, keeping his gaze on you.

“Could be… but I like to think it’s worth a try.”

You closed your book with a soft thud.

“We’ll see,” you murmured, as if you already knew how the game would end. “Maybe you’ll survive.”

Ajax was still processing your last comment when you decided to break the little mystery you’d built.

“I’m an Addams,” you said, as if it were an insignificant, almost boring detail.

His eyebrows rose, surprised but not as much as one might expect. A small, crooked smile formed on his lips.

“Right… that explains all the black.”

The way he said it didn’t sound like mockery, but like an obvious observation, like suddenly all the pieces fell into place in his mind.

You tilted your head slightly, evaluating him in silence.

“Black isn’t about aesthetics,” you replied calmly, standing up. “It’s about consistency.”

You dusted off your skirt with a slow, elegant gesture, tucked the book under your arm, and gave him one last look.

“See you, Ajax.”

All he managed to say was, “Yeah… sure,” as he watched you walk away with that same unhurried, confident cadence, as if every step were perfectly calculated. You didn’t look back. You didn’t need to.

Later that day, the gravel of the outer walkway crunched under your boots, your long shadow mingling with the towers’.

Ajax saw you before you noticed him or maybe you did notice, and simply didn’t care. He was leaning against a column, fiddling with the straps of his motorcycle helmet, when your silhouette appeared around the curve of the corridor. You were dressed in black, as always, but the setting sun cast a reddish glow in your dark hair. You seemed to fit the place too well, like Nevermore was made for people like you, or for you to consume it from the inside.

“Hey…” Ajax called, with a smile meant to seem casual, though it trembled slightly at the corners.

You stopped, barely turning your head, and your eyes met. There was no warmth in your gaze, only a vague, dangerous curiosity.

“Were you following me?” you asked, your tone so flat it was impossible to tell if it was an accusation or a simple statement.

He raised his hands, half-laughing.

“No… well, not exactly. I just… wanted to propose something.”

“What?” Your voice was soft, but sharp as a blade’s edge.

Ajax swallowed, stepped closer, and began his improvised pitch.

“I was thinking we could… I don’t know, spend some time together.”

“No.” The answer came so fast he blinked, as if he hadn’t expected the door to slam shut so abruptly.

You kept walking, your faint, strange scent, like old wood and smoke, lingering in the air for a few more seconds. He had to hurry to catch up, his boots clattering on the ground.

“Wait, hear me out,” he insisted. “It’s going to be fun.”

“That’s not my definition of fun,” you said, turning your head slightly.

“Well… maybe I can convince you to change it.”

You didn’t answer, but your silence was louder than words. You walked on with that unsettling calm, as if nothing in the world could rush you. Ajax, however, kept talking:

“Look, it’s nothing complicated. Just… showing up with me in a few places. Cafeteria, hallways, training. Let people see us together.”

“And why would I do that?” you asked, stopping for the first time. Your gaze pinned him in place, and he felt as though you were cutting right through him.

“Let’s just say… it would be useful for me,” he replied with a crooked smile. “And I don’t think you’d mind making people a little uncomfortable.”

You stayed silent for a few seconds, the wind rustling the dry leaves on the ground. Then you sighed, not in surrender, but pure theater.

“Once. To see if it’s actually fun.”

“You’ll see it is,” he said, with a spark in his eyes that made you think he didn’t really know what he was getting into.

And so, without anyone announcing it, the game began.

In the cafeteria, he’d sit across from you and pretend to pass the sugar like it was an intimate gesture, ignoring the curious stares aimed at your table.

In training, he’d always end up on your team, throwing you smiles between exercises while you maintained perfect composure.

In joint classes, he’d take the seat beside you, leaning over to say things that didn’t always make sense, but kept eyes on the two of you.

You never gave more than necessary, a word, a half-smile, a fleeting brush of hands when passing him a notebook. But those small gestures were like breadcrumbs he followed with stubborn determination.

At that hour, the cafeteria was full, saturated with voices and the mingled scent of coffee, pastries, and student nerves. Rain drummed steadily against the windows, softening the noise inside. You were seated at one of the central tables, not by choice, but because Ajax had steered you there with an excuse too quick to refuse.

He sat across from you with a smile that felt overplayed. Not that it didn’t suit his face, but it was obvious he was trying to project something… to someone.

As he idly stirred his hot chocolate, he glanced at you every few seconds, as if waiting for the perfect moment to make his move.

“Want to try?” he asked, sliding the cup toward you.

“No.” The answer was as dry as ever.

“Oh, come on… it’s good,” he pressed, leaning forward a little.

Your eyes assessed him in silence. You’d already noticed how his gaze kept drifting toward the cafeteria door. It didn’t take long to figure it out, he was waiting for someone. And that someone was probably Enid.

And then, as if summoned, she walked in. A closed umbrella in her hand, raindrops still clinging to her blonde hair. Her eyes swept the room until they inevitably landed on the two of you.

Ajax noticed. And acted.

“You’ve got something here,” he murmured, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture was slow, deliberate, his fingers brushing your skin with a softness that was anything but accidental.

Several nearby tables turned to look. And though the scene was clearly staged to appear sweet and intimate, you didn’t react the way he expected. There was no blush, no shy smile.

You simply stared at him, your calm unsettling, until his fingers withdrew.

“If you want it to be convincing, you’ll have to do better than that.”

The comment left him momentarily speechless. His smile faltered but didn’t vanish; he seemed torn between laughing it off or taking it as a challenge.

Enid, from her spot, didn’t look away. You knew it. Ajax knew it. And yet, you were the one in control of the moment.

You took your cup, sipped quietly, and looked out the window as if he, and his little theater, were nothing more than a passing distraction.

A moment later, the soft chime of the doorbell marked your exit from the cafeteria together. The air outside was heavy with moisture, carrying that metallic scent left by recent rain. You walked with a steady stride, not bothering to check if Ajax was following. But of course, he was.

“Where are you going?” he asked, adjusting his jacket as he strode to keep pace.

“Fencing practice.”

The answer was short, as if it needed no further explanation. Still, the moment he heard it, Ajax smiled.

“Fencing? With real swords?”

“No. With giant spoons,” you replied without looking at him, that dry humor of yours leaving him stuck somewhere between a laugh and confusion.

The stone hallway leading to the armory was almost empty. The echo of your footsteps blended with his, and he didn’t seem to have any intention of walking away.

“I’m coming with you,” he announced.

“And why?” you asked, pushing open the heavy wooden double doors.

“I want to watch.”

The fencing room was dim, lit only by the overhead lights casting narrow beams onto the polished wooden floor. Rows of swords, foils, and masks rested against the wall. You placed your book and belongings on a bench, slipped off your coat with a deliberate movement, and began putting on your protective jacket.

Ajax sat on the edge of a bench, elbows on his knees, watching you. There was something hypnotic about the precision with which you prepared: laces tightened, glove perfectly fitted, mask placed last.

You stepped onto the piste, moving with clean, quick thrusts, pivoting on your heel with a fluidity that felt almost choreographed. Each movement echoed on the wood, your jacket’s fabric giving a faint crackle with every turn.

“I need another fencer,” you announced suddenly, lowering your mask. Your eyes found him.

Ajax laughed, shaking his head.

“I don’t know the first thing about that.”

“I’ll teach you.” It wasn’t an offer, it was a decision.

You held out a jacket and a mask, and after a brief hesitation, he took them. As he put them on, you watched him with almost unsettling patience. When he was ready, you handed him a foil.

“Feet like this,” you instructed, stepping closer to correct his stance. “Shoulders straight. The hand doesn’t shake.”

“Doesn’t shake,” he echoed, though it clearly did.

You started with the basics: slow attacks, simple parries. The blades tapped together with a soft, dry sound that echoed through the empty room. Ajax tried to follow, though his steps were clumsy.

Then, you advanced faster than he expected. The space between you closed until the tip of your blade hovered just centimeters from his shoulder. He barely breathed. Your face, hidden behind the mesh of the mask, was only inches from his.

Silence thickened. You could hear his quickened breathing behind the mask, feel the heat of his presence so close. For a moment, neither of you moved, as if even the air refused to break that tension.

Then, without a word, you stepped back, lowered your blade, and returned to the starting position.

“Again,” you ordered, as if nothing had happened.

Ajax smiled under the mask, trying to hide that his heart was still racing.

The lesson dragged on longer than he’d expected. The metallic ring of blades and the scrape of soles against the wood filled the air. He was sweating, breathing hard, but still trying to match your pace.

Until you lowered your foil, pulled off your mask, and said, with total calm:

“I’m done.”

Ajax raised a brow, still out of breath.

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.” You stripped off the jacket in one swift motion, dropped it on the bench, and began gathering your things.

He watched you, maybe expecting you to say something more, to give him some sign he’d done well. But the only thing he got was your clipped voice, just before you crossed the door:

“Don’t come looking for me. I don’t like being bothered.”

There was no room to argue. You left like a shadow slipping out of the room, and he was left alone with the fading echo of your steps.

The next day, Nevermore’s courtyard was calm. Soft sunlight filtered through the bare branches, and the murmur of conversations floated in the air. You were sitting on a bench, enjoying the quiet, while Ajax, beside you, toyed with a twig between his fingers.

For a moment, the silence felt comfortable… until something in his gaze shifted. You followed it and saw what had changed him: Enid, arm in arm with Bruno, crossing the courtyard.

The brightness of her smile, the way she tilted her head toward him, it was like a blade straight to Ajax’s chest. His posture sank slightly, and that mix of sadness and wounded pride crossed his face.

You sighed, annoyed.

“You’re an idiot,” you said, with no attempt to soften it.

“What?” He turned his head toward you, confused.

“Look at you…” you added, your voice low and sharp. “Like the world’s ending just because she’s with someone else.”

Ajax didn’t have time to respond. You leaned toward him, grabbed him by the collar of his jacket, and pulled him to you. Your lips met his in a calculated, firm kiss, without a trace of shyness. The courtyard’s murmur seemed to freeze, and you didn’t need to look to know Enid had turned at that exact moment.

The kiss lasted just long enough to make it impossible to ignore. Then you let him go with the same calm with which you’d started, smoothing your hair as if nothing had happened.

Ajax stared at you, eyes still slightly wide, as if he couldn’t process what had just happened.

“But… why…?” he began.

You stood, giving him a half-smile, sharper than sweet.

“You’re welcome. Now she can’t take her eyes off you.”

Without waiting for a reply, you began walking toward the entrance, leaving Ajax sitting there, still dazed.

You hadn’t gone more than three steps when you heard the sudden thud of his sneakers. Ajax had jumped up so fast he nearly knocked over the table.

“Hey…” his voice came out more urgent than usual.

Before you could fully turn, he was already in front of you. He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t give you time to think. His hands cupped your face, and he kissed you again, this time without the cold calculation of the first, but with a sudden impulse that seemed to come from somewhere deep.

When he finally pulled back just a few inches, you looked at him directly, unblinking.

“And what was that?” you asked, with that dangerous calm you used when you wanted a real answer.

Ajax swallowed, his chest still heaving.

“I liked the first one.”

A slow smile spread across your lips.

“I knew it.”

He raised his brows, surprised by your certainty.

“You did?”

“Of course.” You leaned closer, enough for your voice to be a whisper laced with intent. “I always know.”

The slight tremor in his breathing told you more than words ever could. And while he might still try to convince himself this was all part of his original plan to get under Enid’s skin, the way he was looking at you in that moment betrayed him completely.

The following days began to take a turn Ajax hadn’t planned for. At first, he sought you out strategically, at the exact time in the cafeteria, the hallway he knew you’d pass, the bench where he liked to sit. But soon he realized he wanted to see you even when Enid was nowhere around.

It was no longer about proving anything.

It was something far more unsettling… and, for him, more addictive.

You, for your part, began to notice the changes. Ajax would show up in places for no apparent reason. Not with the superficial attitude you expected from him, but with a kind of genuine attentiveness. He asked questions, listened as if no one else existed in the world. And that, to you, was disconcerting.

The night it all began to feel more real, you were sitting on the stone steps in the garden, under the dim moonlight. The breeze barely moved your hair, and the distant sound of a branch brushing against a window accompanied the silence. Ajax appeared without you calling him, hands in his pockets, his expression less arrogant than usual.

“I didn’t know you came out here at night,” he remarked, taking a seat a couple of steps below you, close enough to hear you, but not enough to invade your space.

“I don’t come out,” you replied, your voice calm, almost a whisper. “I just escape.”

“From what?” he asked, tilting his head.

You shrugged.

“From everything. From everyone. Sometimes even from myself.”

There was a pause. Ajax lowered his gaze, playing with a small stone between his fingers.

“I escape so I don’t feel… out of place,” he confessed.

You looked at him, slightly surprised by the honesty.

“Out of place? I thought you always fit in.”

“That’s what it looks like,” he said with a dry laugh. “But it’s like… like I’m always playing a role. With my friends, with Enid… even with myself.”

“And now?” you asked, your voice a bit softer.

He looked straight at you, and there was something in his eyes you hadn’t seen before.

“Now I feel like I can let my guard down a little.”

Your usual instinct would have been to throw back a biting remark, something to keep the distance. But for the first time, you didn’t. You left it there, hanging in the air between you like an uncomfortable truth.

“I guess we all have our quirks,” you murmured. “Fears. Things we don’t let anyone see.”

“That’s why…” Ajax leaned a little closer, without breaking eye contact. “…I like being here. With you.”

You said nothing more, but your gaze softened ever so slightly. You weren’t ready to admit it yet, but you were starting to see that Ajax Petropolus wasn’t exactly the shallow guy you had decided to hate from the beginning.

The moon kept its course, and for a while, neither of you spoke.

The next morning was unusually bright for what you were used to. You were walking through Nevermore’s main hallway at your usual unhurried pace, eyes fixed ahead, when you heard hurried footsteps behind you.

“Hey!” Ajax’s voice sounded more cheerful than ever, and before you could avoid him, he was already at your side. He wore that big, almost childlike smile you rarely saw on him. “It worked.”

You glanced at him sideways. “What did?”

“Enid.” He made a gesture with his hands, as if tallying a victory. “She talked to me again… even came looking for me to ask something. I think she’s getting interested again.”

You nodded slowly.

“Congratulations,” you said in a tone so dry it could have scratched.

He frowned slightly, though still smiling.

“That’s it? You’re not happy for me?”

You gave him an impassive look.

“Of course I am. Can’t you see my happy face?”

Ajax studied you for a moment, trying to find any trace of emotion.

“No… it doesn’t show.”

“How strange.” You shrugged. “Well, anyway… good for you.”

You stepped forward, and as you passed him, you bumped his shoulder just enough to throw him slightly off balance. It wasn’t harsh, but it wasn’t friendly either.

You kept walking without looking back, though you heard his muffled laugh behind you.

Inside, something pricked at you. A discomfort you didn’t want to acknowledge. Knowing he had run to you just to talk… about someone else… left a bitter taste.

But admitting it… that wasn’t in your nature. You weren’t the kind to wear your heart on your sleeve. Especially not for someone like him.

For the rest of the day, Ajax didn’t stop glancing at you. Not the long, calculated stares from the beginning, but bolder, almost teasing ones, as if he were testing your patience.

In class, he sat a row closer to you, not because it was his assigned seat, but because, according to him, “the other one was cold.”

At lunch, instead of staying with his friends, he suddenly showed up at your table with a tray, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“Mind if I sit?” he asked, already setting his plate down in front of you without waiting for an answer.

“No.” Your voice was neutral, but the arch of your eyebrow made it clear you weren’t convinced.

He grinned.

“Perfect, because I’d be too lazy to get up again.”

He started making little comments about your food, about the way you held your fork, about how much it “showed” you were in a good mood. Each remark was an invisible push to throw you off your composure.

Later, when he found you in the hallway, he walked beside you closer than usual, so close you could feel his shoulder brushing yours with every step.

“Do you always walk this slow?” he asked, leaning slightly toward you.

“Do you always talk this much?” you shot back without looking at him.

“Depends.” He smirked. “With you, yeah.”

You stopped for a second, just enough for him to almost bump into you.

“And why is that?” you asked, though your voice sounded more like a challenge than genuine curiosity.

Ajax shrugged, but his eyes held a playful glint.

“Because I like seeing if I can break down that wall you’ve got.”

You brushed past him, your shoulder barely grazing his, without answering. But he noticed: even though your steps were firm, your pace was slightly quicker than usual, as if you wanted to leave him behind… or keep him from realizing his provocation was working.

And, of course, Ajax decided that only made him more determined to continue.

The training room was empty when you walked in. The scent of wood and freshly polished metal was pleasant, a sharp contrast to Nevermore’s constant buzz. You set your jacket down on the bench and began to warm up, focusing on the sound of your footsteps and the weight of the practice sword in your hands.

So when you heard the door open behind you, there was no need to turn around to know who it was.

“Didn’t know you trained at this hour,” Ajax said, with that innocent tone you no longer believed.

“I don’t.” You kept your back to him as you tried a couple of moves. “At least, not when there are witnesses.”

“Then I’m privileged.” He stepped closer, picking up a practice sword as if it were a toy. “Teach me something?”

You glanced at him sideways, remembering the last time he tried to handle a weapon. It hadn’t exactly been glorious.

“This isn’t for showing off. It’s for fighting.”

“Perfect. Teach me to fight.” He planted himself in front of you, smiling as if he were accepting an impossible challenge.

With a sigh, you positioned yourself and showed him how to stand, how to hold the weapon, how to move his feet. At first, he seemed clumsy, but soon he began to match your pace, copying your movements with unexpected focus.

“Not so bad, huh?” he said, right before you disarmed him with a quick strike.

“Sure,” you replied with irony. “If you consider dropping your weapon in two seconds part of the strategy.”

You handed him the sword again, and this time he moved faster, stepping forward to block your attack. The surprise made your next strike stop just inches from his face. And that’s when it happened.

A misstep. A little too close. His free hand catching your wrist to stop the blow, and his body leaning toward you, close enough for you to feel the heat of his breath.

“You’re getting better…” he murmured, with a smile that seemed to enjoy the reduced distance far too much.

Your eyes locked on his, cold but intense. The tension was so thick the air seemed heavier. For a moment, neither of you moved.

Then, you broke the contact, pulled your wrist free, and lowered your sword.

“We’re done for today.”

“That’s it?” he asked, following you with his eyes as you picked up your jacket.

“Yes.” You turned your back and headed for the door. “And don’t follow me.”

You left without looking back, though you knew you’d left him with a mix of frustration and something harder to hide.

After that strange encounter, night had fallen quickly, wrapping the forest in near-total darkness. You liked it that way, silent, with that dangerous edge that kept the curious away. You walked without hurry, letting the dry branches crunch beneath your boots and the cold damp seep through your coat. You didn’t want to see him, didn’t want to run into Ajax… and that’s why you were there.

Or so you thought.

The sound of hurried footsteps pulled you from your thoughts. They were heavy, erratic, too close. You turned, and from the shadows emerged a tall stranger with a twisted smile that promised nothing good.

“Well, well… an Addams all alone. Lucky me,” he said, advancing.

You stayed still, watching him with that almost unsettling calm you often used before doing harm. You knew you could handle him on your own. Your fingers moved slowly toward the weapon hidden under your coat… but you never drew it.

A noise behind the intruder, a quick movement.

Ajax.

In the blink of an eye, the snakes beneath his hat stirred and, with a single look, the attacker turned to stone, frozen in a mask of surprise and fear. Silence reclaimed the forest, broken only by your breathing and his.

“I could have taken him down myself,” you finally said, raising an eyebrow at him.

“I know,” Ajax replied, stepping closer with a glint in his eyes. “But I like showing up when you need me, even if you won’t admit it.”

“I’m not admitting it because it’s not true,” you shot back coldly, though inside… you had liked it. The moment, the gesture, the way he had stepped in without hesitation.

“Stop being so stubborn,” he murmured, and before you could answer, he closed the distance and kissed you.

It was a firm, decisive kiss, one that didn’t ask for permission. And despite everything you would have claimed hours earlier, you returned it. Not shyly, but with the intensity you reserved for the things that truly mattered.

When he pulled back just a few inches, your gaze was still locked on his.

“If this was part of your plan to keep making Enid jealous, you should know you’re enjoying it way too much,” you said, letting a small, dangerous smile curve your lips.

He smiled too, as if he’d won something more than just a moment.

“I don’t need to make anyone jealous anymore,” he murmured.

You didn’t answer. But the smile stayed there, intact, before you kissed him again.

(he’sactually good at fencing)

[starlostjisung]

from the coast with love

chapter five: what it took to survive

wc: 9.1k

ss count: 5

cw: toxic ex, toxic behaviour, cheating, manipulation

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the room buzzes with easy chatter and laughter, the clinking of glasses, the occasional rattle of cutlery on plates. the director, mr. kang, is telling a story about the challenges of shooting a scene on a windy day, and everyone is listening, nodding along, smiling. but you’re somewhere else entirely.

minho sits beside you, his eyes flicking over to you every so often, full of quiet concern, but he doesn’t say much. you know why - the man across the table, mr. choi, who hasn’t stopped glancing your way since the introductions.

choi jun seo.

the past you thought you’d buried is sitting right there in the room with you, like a shadow lurking just out of reach.

you try to focus on the conversation, the director’s warm voice, the soft light spilling over the table, but your stomach twists every time jun seo’s gaze meets yours.

you feel exposed, like someone’s peeled back a layer you’d carefully hidden. you don’t want to make a scene.

not here.

not now.

not with minho so close next to you.

minho reaches out once, his hand brushing yours lightly. a silent question, a soft offer of comfort. you want to take it, but the knot in your chest tightens. you look away, focusing on the window in front of you, the city lights flickering outside, and try to steady your breath.

you don’t say much throughout the night. your usual teasing banter with minho is replaced by a tense silence. every laugh from across the table feels like a reminder that you’re not really there, not fully. your fingers curl tightly around your glass, the coolness grounding you.

the rest of the room continues to chatter, but your world has shrunk to the space between you and the man you’re trying to forget.

you remember why you left that part of your life behind, the hurt and the distance you built to protect yourself. and now, faced with the past so close, you realise how much you haven’t healed.

when the plates are cleared and the conversation about the variety show’s upcoming schedule finishes and it moves to different stories, you feel your heart racing. it’s time to leave, even though you don’t want to admit it.

you clear your throat quietly, your voice soft but firm, “i’m sorry… i think i should go, i don’t feel good”

mr. park looks up, surprise flickering across his face, but his voice is kind, “it’s okay, y/n. if you’re not feeling well, don’t push yourself”

mr. kang nods in agreement, his calm smile reassuring but not prying.

minho immediately tenses beside you, eyes searching yours, “do you want me to come with you?”

you shake your head gently, “no. i’ll be fine. really”

but the knot in your stomach won’t loosen.

minho hesitates, his concern almost breaking through his usual guarded demeanor, but the conversation has already started up again around the table. he knows he can’t leave just yet.

you stand, gathering your things quickly, trying to ignore the sting behind your eyes. you feel every pair of eyes on you - some curious, some polite, some unreadable.

as you slip past the table, you catch changbin’s eyes. without a word, he walks around the counter and follows you.

outside, the cool night air hits your face, sharp and cleansing, but it does little to soothe the turmoil inside.

changbin falls into step beside you, silent but steady. his presence is a quiet comfort in the storm of your thoughts.

you try to steady your breathing as you walk, the weight of what’s left unsaid pressing down on you. the past you thought you escaped feels impossibly close, and your feelings for minho - new, confusing, tender - feel tangled in it all.

minho watches you leave from inside the café, his worry for you written all over his face. he wants to follow, to ask what’s wrong, but he knows the timing isn’t right. instead, he keeps his eyes on you and changbin, silently grateful that someone you trust is there for you.

then, out of the corner of his eye, minho catches seungmin, his gaze following you intently. seungmin’s face is tight, serious, his jaw clenched, eyes heavy with worry. he doesn’t look away when he feels minho looking at him, and there’s something in the way he stares at you that makes minho’s stomach sink.

the look seungmin gives you is protective, almost desperate. it speaks of something heavy - something minho can’t yet grasp, but knows must be important.

minho swallows, his quiet concern deepening into a knot of worry that tightens with every passing second. whatever is going on with you - the tension, the silence, the way your smile had faded - it’s serious. deeper than he’d realized.

he wants to ask, to reach out, but he knows the moment isn’t right. instead, he keeps his gaze on seungmin, silently pleading for answers he doesn’t have.

it’s close to midnight when they leave the café together, the team from the show spilling out into the quiet street, laughter lingering behind like steam from the windows. it should feel like the end of a good night - easy, light - but minho can’t shake the weight pressing into his chest.

you’re not there.

changbin never came back. not a word, not even a glance through the glass. and that’s how minho knows - he is still with you. the thought brings him a strange mix of relief and frustration. relief, because you’re not alone. frustration, because he’s not the one with you.

seungmin doesn’t leave the café. he stays behind, of course - he works there. minho had hoped for a chance to talk to him before they all left, maybe catch a moment alone, ask what the hell just happened. but the group spills out together, full of casual goodbyes and soft chatter, and there’s no space for quiet questions. no room for privacy. and before minho can think of a reason to linger, he’s swept up in the flow of the team heading down the street, away from the café and away from any chance to get answers.

by the time he gets home, the night is deep and still. the apartment is quiet when he steps inside. he doesn’t bother turning on the lights. he just drops his keys onto the counter and stands there for a long moment, listening to the hum of the fridge, the faint sounds of the city outside the window.

and you.

you’re everywhere.

in the silence. in the tightness in his chest. in the way his thoughts loop back to the moment you stood from the table, your voice quiet and carefully controlled, “i don’t feel good” - like the words cost something to say.

he pulls out his phone.

opens your contact.

types -

“did you get home safe?”

then deletes it.

types again -

“i’m sorry i didn’t go with you. i should have”

deletes that, too.

“are you okay?”

deleted.

his thumb hovers. he stares at the screen until the words blur. the glow of your name feels heavier than it should.

he locks the phone and tosses it on the couch, dragging a hand down his face. he sits there, elbows on knees, staring at the floor like it might tell him something he doesn’t already know.

you hadn’t looked like yourself. not even close. and the way you’d flinched - just slightly - whenever that man across the table looked at you, it’s burned into his brain. choi jun seo. even the name makes something curl cold in minho’s stomach.

he doesn’t know your story with him. but he knows pain when he sees it.

and he saw it.

he stands again, starts pacing the room. the quiet is too loud. every shadow feels like it could be a reason, an answer, a memory that isn’t his.

he thinks about putting on his shoes. heading to your place. just showing up, even if it’s stupid. even if you’re asleep. he just wants to see you. to know that you’re okay. to ask - softly, carefully - what happened.

but he doesn’t.

because maybe you want space. maybe changbin is still with you. maybe you’re trying to pretend tonight didn’t happen, and the last thing you need is minho pressing where it still hurts.

so instead, he picks up his phone again. unlocks it. stares at your name.does nothing.

he falls onto the bed without changing, the fabric of his jacket bunching under his shoulder as he rolls onto his side. the ceiling stares back at him, washed in shifting light from passing cars.

he tries to breathe slow. tries to clear his thoughts.

but they all go back to you.

the way your smile faded when you first saw him. the way your fingers wrapped too tightly around your glass. the silence where your teasing usually sits.

he remembers reaching for your hand under the table, brushing his fingers against yours. how you didn’t pull away - but didn’t take it, either. just looked out the window, like the city lights could offer something he couldn’t.

he flips the pillow over. sighs. checks the time - 2:18 a.m.

then 4:03.

then 4:55.

his brain won’t shut off. not really. and the few times he drifts, the dreams are strange and too vivid - images of the café, of you standing with your back to him, of voices that don’t match the mouths they come from.

at 5:30, he gives up.

he sits on the edge of the bed, rubbing his eyes hard, like he can force clarity through his skull. everything inside him feels too full. too unsettled. too much.

today is your last day in the office before you two leave to cover the variety show. he knows he’ll see you. he tells himself that’s enough. that he can wait.

but the truth is, he doesn’t want to.

he wants to understand. to fix something he doesn’t even fully know is broken. he wants to see that teasing glint in your eyes again, hear you say something sarcastic just to get a rise out of him.

he wants you to be okay.

he wants to be the one you come to when you’re not.

but for now, he waits.

he gets up. starts the coffee. pulls on a sweater, because the apartment’s gone cold in the night. the morning light is pale and dull through the windows, the kind of grey that makes everything feel quieter than it is.

minho gets to the office earlier than ever. the lights are still off when he arrives, the building hushed and cool with the quiet of a day not yet started. the air smells like fresh paper and the faint aroma of yesterday’s coffee. he doesn’t mind.

he just hopes you’ll get there early, too.

he turns on the lights. starts his computer. sets his coffee down. checks the time. he’s never this productive before anyone comes in, but today, he opens up the notes for the show coverage, the file you had to work on together. he tries to read it, but nothing sticks.

his mind keeps drifting back to last night.

you, walking out of the café with your shoulders drawn in too tightly. your voice too soft. the silence you left behind sitting heavy between him and the others.

he hadn’t been able to focus on anything anyone said after that - not even mr. kang’s ridiculous story about someone getting locked in a storage room on set.

he checks his phone again. nothing from you.

the office starts to fill, slowly. chairs squeaking. keyboards clacking. someone laughs softly in the kitchen. he hears mr. park greet someone with his usual morning energy, always too cheerful for how early it is.

minho forces himself to stare at his screen.

tries to write a headline. deletes it. tries again. his fingers hover uselessly above the keys when he hears the door open again.

he turns around.

it’s not you.

it’s hyunjin.

serious, polished, camera bag slung over his shoulder. minho frowns before he even realises.

“what? what are you doing here?”, he says, blinking, “you’re not usually in the office”

hyunjin offers a tight smile. it doesn’t reach his eyes, “i’m covering for y/n today”

minho straightens in his chair, “what?”

“she texted mr. park this morning”, hyunjin says, setting his bag down and pulling out his laptop, “asked me to take her place today. she said she wasn’t feeling good”

the words hit harder than they should. minho doesn’t even realize he’s holding his breath until his chest starts to ache.

“she’s not coming?”, he asks.

hyunjin shakes his head, eyes still on his screen, “no”

something twists in minho’s stomach. it’s not just the words. it’s the way hyunjin says them - careful, cautious, like he’s trying not to give something away. like there’s more.

“is she okay?”, minho asks, trying to keep his voice even.

hyunjin pauses. his fingers stop moving. he looks up, finally meets minho’s eyes. and that’s when minho sees it.

the exhaustion.

the worry.

not just surface-level concern - something deeper. worn. heavy.

“i’ll explain after work”, hyunjin says quietly, “i promise”

minho’s throat goes dry, “why after?”

“because right now i need to do her job”, hyunjin replies, softer this time, “and you… you need to focus”

there’s something else in his tone. something protective. not hostile, but firm. like he’s drawing a boundary minho didn’t know existed until this moment.

hyunjin turns back to his computer, starts opening files. and just like that, the conversation ends.

minho sits still for a moment, staring at the same line of text he’s been trying to write for the past twenty minutes. the screen blurs. the sounds of the office fade.

all he can think about is you.

you didn’t come.

you didn’t text him.

you’re not okay.

his hand curls slowly into a fist on top of the desk. his stomach feels tight, pulled into a knot he can’t undo. whatever happened last night wasn’t just a moment. it was bigger than that.

deeper.

he glances at hyunjin again. he looks composed on the outside - focused, efficient - but his shoulders are too tense, his jaw too tight. whatever he knows, it’s weighing on him, too.

minho wants to ask more. press for details. but the look in hyunjin’s eyes said not now more clearly than any words could.

so he turns back to his own screen. tries again.

types one line.

then deletes it.

his eyes drift to the desk in front of his, where your coffee cup usually sits. where your jacket usually hangs over the chair. where your voice usually fills the space between long hours of writing and editing, teasing him, challenging him, making this job feel less like work and more like something he looks forward to every day.

he leans back in his chair, staring at the ceiling.

you’re not okay.

and he doesn’t know how to fix that.

not yet.

the day moves slowly.

painfully so.

minho tries to focus. really, he does. he answers emails. half-writes three different headlines. but it feels wrong. all of it.

he keeps glancing at the seat in front of him - your seat. hyunjin’s there now, focused, silent, doing your job with quiet precision. but it doesn’t feel right. your name tag is still at the edge of the desk. your coffee cup still sits by the monitor, untouched. your jacket’s draped over the backrest like you just stepped away for a second, like any moment now you’ll walk in and roll your eyes.

but it’s not you.

minho checks his phone more than he wants to admit. nothing. no messages. no updates. not even a vague meme or a sarcastic comment. the silence sits in his stomach like a stone.

when the clock finally hits the end of the day, minho doesn’t even pretend to keep working. he stands, grabs his jacket, and waits by the door as hyunjin shuts his laptop.

they don’t speak until they’re outside.

the sun is low, golden light casting long shadows on the sidewalk. the street hums with the sounds of early evening - cars rolling by, someone’s music playing from a second-floor window, a group of people laughing too loudly a few steps ahead of them.

hyunjin doesn’t say where they’re going. minho follows him around the corner, past the bakery, into the quiet bar next to the office building - the kind of place that smells like wood and old whiskey, with low lights and a bartender who doesn’t ask too many questions.

they take a booth in the back, and hyunjin orders a beer without looking at the menu. minho does the same.

for a while, neither of them speaks.

then hyunjin sighs. runs a hand through his hair. and starts.

“changbin called me as soon as he walked out with her”, he says quietly, eyes on the table, “said something was wrong. really wrong. he sounded… shaken”

minho stays still. listening.

“i was already on my way”, hyunjin says, “not because of anything specific, just… i had a feeling. but once bin called, i went straight to her place”

he takes a slow sip of his drink. the glass is cold in his hand.

“when i got there, she was sitting on the kitchen floor. didn’t even make it to the couch. bin was trying to talk to her, but she wasn’t really responding. just… curled in on herself”

minho doesn’t speak. his throat tightens just picturing it.

“i called jeongin and he called the rest. seungmin showed up after the café closed. all of us went. we just-”, hyunjin shakes his head, like he still doesn’t quite know how to explain it, “we didn’t want to leave her alone. she wasn’t crying. wasn’t panicking. it was worse than that”

he looks up.

“it was like she was holding her breath. like her whole body was trying not to break”

minho presses his lips together. every part of him is tense.

“we stayed”, hyunjin says, “as long as she needed. changbin sat next to her the whole time, didn’t say much, just kept her grounded. felix made tea. seungmin brought those cookies she likes from the café. han put on that playlist she always rolls her eyes at but secretly likes. we tried everything”, he pauses and then, continues, “eventually she spoke. not much. but enough to let us know she was still there”

his voice is softer now. careful.

“around 3 a.m., the others went home. but i stayed. i didn’t want her to wake up alone”

minho glances at him, “did she sleep?”

hyunjin shakes his head, “no. she couldn’t. she tried, i think. but every time her eyes closed, she tensed up again. like her body didn’t trust rest”

minho stares down at the table, jaw clenched. he hates this. hates that you went through all of that alone until changbin stepped in. hates that you didn’t - or couldn’t - tell him anything.

but he also understands.

he’s never seen you like that, but he remembers the look on your face when you saw jun seo in the café. the way your shoulders tensed. the way your eyes shifted like you were scanning for an exit.

“she didn’t want to miss today”, hyunjin says, interrupting his thoughts, “but when the sun came up and she still hadn’t slept, i told her i’d go in. i texted mr. park for her. told him she was sick. and she didn’t argue. she just nodded. like she didn’t have the energy to fight it”

“so she’s still at home?”, minho asks.

hyunjin nods, “i made sure she ate. she was finally starting to drift off when i left”

“is she… okay now?”

there’s a long pause before hyunjin answers.

“she will be. she’s strong. but last night… last night cracked something open that she’s worked really hard to keep sealed”

minho exhales slowly. runs a hand through his hair.

“why?”, he asks, “why did seeing him - jun seo - affect her like that?”

hyunjin’s expression shifts.

not defensive. not dismissive.

just… careful.

“that’s not mine to tell”, he says.

minho nods, jaw tight, “but you know”

“we all do”, hyunjin replies, “we were there when it happened. or… near enough to pick up the pieces”

minho’s chest aches. he can feel the weight of this history pressing between them, silent but heavy. he knows better than to push, but the not knowing - it burns.

“he hurt her”, minho says quietly.

hyunjin doesn’t reply at first.

then, softly, “he broke her”

the words are simple. clean. but they land with the weight of something shattering.

minho looks away. his hands tighten on the edge of the table.

“she never talked about him”, he says, “not once. i didn’t even know he existed”

“yeah, because she buried it”, hyunjin says, “and she was doing fine. better than fine, honestly. but seeing him again… it was like watching someone get pulled under”

minho can’t shake the image. you, silent and shaking on your kitchen floor. surrounded by your closest friends, doing everything they could to bring you back to yourself.

and he wasn’t there.

“i should’ve followed her”, he says, voice rough.

“no”, hyunjin says firmly, “you did the right thing. if you’d gone after her, it might’ve made it worse. she wasn’t in a place to explain. she didn’t need questions - she needed silence and safety”

minho presses his knuckles to his lips, trying to slow his thoughts.

“she should be the one to tell you”, hyunjin says again, “when she’s ready. if she wants to”

“i know”, minho says, “i just… i don’t know what to do”

“you don’t have to do anything”, hyunjin replies, “just be there. when she comes back to work. when she’s ready to talk. just be who you’ve been. and be patient”

minho nods slowly.

he can do that.

he wants to do that.

but still, something inside him is restless. protective. like if he could just take one look at you - just see you - he’d know what to do next.

they sit in silence again for a while. the bar murmurs around them, soft and distant, like a world slightly out of reach.

minho glances at the clock, then back at hyunjin.

“will you check in on her tonight?”, he asks.

“yeah”, hyunjin says, “i’ll stop by. make sure she eats something”

minho nods.

and even though the ache in his chest doesn’t lessen, even though the worry still burns behind his ribs, something about knowing you’re not alone helps him breathe a little easier.

minho gets home just after 8.

he drops his keys, kicks off his shoes, and stands in the middle of the apartment for a few seconds - still, quiet, stuck.

he knows he should eat something. shower. do normal things.

but all he can think about is you.

he ends up pacing the living room, phone in his hand. the screen lights up with the time. 8:24 p.m.

just like last night, he opens your contact.

closes it.

opens it again.

types something.

deletes it.

types again, then stares at the blinking cursor like it’s taunting him.

after several long minutes, he settles on one message:

it feels too little and too much at the same time. not enough to hold everything he wants to say, but too much for the silence that’s sat between you since last night.

then he grabs his running shoes and leaves his house.

the sky’s already dark when he gets to the beach, but the ocean’s still awake - waves pulling and crashing, slow and heavy, like they’re carrying something too.

minho doesn’t stretch. doesn’t warm up. just starts running.

his feet hit the sand harder than they should, but he needs the burn. the ache in his legs. the wind cutting against his skin. anything to drown out the loop playing in his mind - your voice, your silence, your expression when you looked up at him and said “i’ll be fine. really”

he should’ve known better.

he runs harder.

he thinks about the way hyunjin described how you were last night - curled up on the kitchen floor, like the whole world had pressed down on you and you’d just folded under it.

it makes his chest tighten.

he pushes forward, past the dim light of the lifeguard stand, down the quieter stretch of the beach where no one walks at night. his breath comes faster, sharp. his shirt sticks to his back. his legs burn.

but the thoughts keep coming.

he wishes he’d followed you.

he wishes you’d trusted him enough to call.

he wishes you were there right now, saying something snarky about how running in the sand is bad for your knees.

he slows eventually, chest heaving, lungs burning.

the ocean keeps moving.

he checks his phone.

one message.

from hyunjin.

minho reads it twice.

then again.

his chest loosens slightly, just enough to let out a breath. he’s glad she’s not alone. glad hyunjin is there. but it also leaves him with a weird ache, like he’s on the outside of something important, and he doesn’t know how to step into it.

he types back to thank him and to tell him to keep him updated.

hyunjin doesn’t reply immediately, but minho doesn’t wait.

he turns around, walks back towards his house.

the night feels quieter now, the cold air sticking to his skin.

he doesn’t check his phone again until he’s home, peeling off his damp shirt, throwing it somewhere near the laundry basket. the apartment is still quiet. the silence wraps around him like a second skin.

he heads to the bathroom. takes a long shower.

when he gets out, the clock says 10:14.

he lies in bed but doesn’t close his eyes.

just stares at the ceiling.

wishing you’d message back.

wishing tomorrow would come faster.

minho wakes up later than usual.

the sun’s already high, pouring in through the curtains he forgot to close last night. for a second, he panics - thinks he’s overslept for work. but then he remembers it’s saturday. no office. no deadlines.

just the weight in his chest that hasn’t gone away.

he rubs a hand over his face, reaches for his phone on the nightstand. no missed calls, one new message.

when he opens your chat, he sees it.

two words. simple. soft.

his thumb hovers over the keyboard, unsure if he should say something else. ask how you are. if you slept. if you want company.

but then he hears hyunjin’s voice in the back of his mind - “be patient”

so he sets the phone down.

gets out of bed.

the apartment feels quieter than usual, but maybe that’s just him. he throws on some music - nothing loud, just enough to fill the space - and starts doing the things he’s been putting off all week. dishes. laundry. he changes the sheets. waters the plant he keeps forgetting about.

keeps his hands busy, his thoughts distracted.

after lunch, he grabs his keys and heads out, deciding to run a few errands. the market, the pharmacy, picking up some new lightbulbs from the shop down the street.

the day is warm. people are out, laughing, walking slowly like they’re trying to stretch the afternoon as long as they can. minho takes his time too. there’s no rush. nowhere specific to be.

still, by the time the sun starts to dip lower in the sky, he finds himself walking towards the café.

he doesn’t know why he ends up there, exactly. maybe it’s habit. maybe it’s hope. he knows changbin and seungmin will be inside - but part of him wonders, suddenly, if you might be there too.

maybe you needed fresh air. maybe you couldn’t stand being home all day. maybe you came here for something warm, something familiar.

maybe you’re already sitting at your usual table, tucked into the corner seat, camera bag by your side.

he knows it’s unlikely but he still hopes.

he pushes open the door.

the bell above it chimes, soft and familiar.

he steps in and the first thing he sees is the warm light spilling across the café’s familiar wood floors.

the second is changbin and seungmin behind the counter, exactly where they always are.

but it’s the table nearby that pulls his eyes.

hyunjin, felix, chan, han, and jeongin all sit there, crowded around two pushed-together tables, half-empty cups and scattered plates between them.

your usual spot is empty.

his heart sinks a little, even though he tries not to let it show.

when they see him, changbin is the first to call out.

“minho, hey”

the others follow - “hey”, “come sit”, “we’ve got space”

minho hesitates for a second, then nods and walks over.

he pulls out a chair and slides in next to felix, across from hyunjin. the group looks… tired. there’s no other word for it. not in a bad way, not defeated - just quiet around the edges, like they’ve all been carrying something heavy for a little too long.

they greet each other, trade a few half-jokes and soft laughs. han mumbles something about being too young to feel this old. jeongin steals a fry off chan’s plate and gets swatted for it. the kind of easy, worn-in banter that usually fills the space between them.

but tonight, it’s softer. subdued.

minho leans back in his chair, watches them for a moment, then says quietly, “i know it’s not really my place… because you’ve all known y/n longer and better than i have… but thank you. for being there for her the other night”

the air stills just slightly - not in discomfort, more like everyone’s acknowledging something without needing to say it out loud.

seungmin nods first, “of course. always”

chan runs a hand through his hair, eyes flicking down to the table, “she would’ve done the same for any of us”

felix hums softly in agreement, “she has. more times than we can count”

jeongin leans forward, elbows on the table, “you don’t have to thank us, she’s our family”

minho nods, eyes falling to the cup in front of him. he gets it. he does.

that’s why the next part hits harder than he expects.

it’s han who says it. voice low, not accusing - just honest.

“so now that you know her. and you’re friends with her. and with us… don’t hurt her. please”

there’s a beat of silence.

“she doesn’t deserve it”, han adds, “not even a little”

minho looks up, and they’re all watching him. not in a threatening way. not like they’re testing him. just… protective. tired. honest.

something shifts in his chest.

he thinks of you that night playing games in your house, teasing him and laughing together. thinks of your voice when you call him by his name - not sarcastic, not sharp, just soft. thinks of your laughter, the way you light up when you talk about something you love. the quiet hurt in your eyes the other night when you thought no one noticed.

he realises, then, how much you matter to him.

how much you already have.

he swallows, straightens a little in his seat.

“i won’t”, he says, and he means it, “i wouldn’t. ever”

felix offers a small smile, “good”

hyunjin nods, still looking a little tired, but lighter now.

“you’re in this now”, chan says, taking a sip of his coffee, “whether you meant to be or not”

minho lets out a quiet breath and finally allows himself to smile, just a little, “yeah”, he says, “i know”

the tension breaks after that, like a thread being gently released. jeongin starts telling some ridiculous story from the time they went to busan. han interrupts with sound effects. felix leans into minho’s shoulder and starts laughing so hard he nearly chokes on his drink.

minho laughs too.

really laughs.

and when he glances at the empty seat across from him - your seat - he knows he will see you when you’re ready.

he just hopes it’s soon.

the first thing minho thinks about when he wakes up is you.

not the sunlight warming the edge of his pillow, not the dream he barely remembers, not even the ache in his shoulder from sleeping weird - just you.

how you are.

if you slept.

if you're eating.

if you're still hurting.

he stares at the ceiling for a while, letting the weight of the morning settle over him. it’s sunday. you’re both supposed to leave for the new location tomorrow - the variety show shoot. it’s not far, just on the other side of the town, but still enough of a change to pull you both out of the routine.

he gets up, pulls on a hoodie, and makes himself coffee. the quiet in the apartment is louder than usual. the kind that fills your ears when your mind won’t stop turning. he scrolls through his phone, checks the calendar again even though he already knows what it says.

10 a.m. arrival.

he opens your chat. hesitates for a few seconds, then types:

simple. neutral. but still offering.

he sets the phone down and tries not to stare at it.

instead, he goes to fold the laundry from yesterday, answers a couple of emails he forgot about, half-heartedly checks the news.

no reply yet.

he tells himself not to overthink it. you’re probably still sleeping. or resting. or maybe you saw the message and didn’t know how to answer.

he tries not to take it personally.

he’s halfway through cleaning the bathroom sink when his phone buzzes.

he wipes his hands quickly and grabs it.

short. polite. distant.

he stares at the screen for a few moments longer than necessary, rereading the message like there might be something hidden in it.

but there’s not.

he doesn’t text again.

doesn’t ask if you’re okay.

doesn’t say he’s worried, even though it’s still sitting at the front of his chest, heavy and quiet.

he just sets the phone down, turns back to scrubbing the faucet.

you don’t owe him anything. he knows that. you’re not obligated to open up or explain or let him in.

but it still stings, a little.

not because you’re shutting him out - but because you feel like you have to.

his thoughts drift to last night. the way all of the guys had looked when he sat with them at the café - worn down, worried, like they’d all been carrying something invisible. like they were doing their best not to let it show too much.

he remembers han’s voice.

“please don’t hurt her”

he won’t. he knows that now, more than ever.

but he also knows this isn’t about him. whatever’s happening - whatever had you spiraling that night, whatever made your eyes go distant at the dinner table - it’s something deep. something that left marks. and it’s not something he can fix with a well-worded message or a drive across town.

he just hopes, when you’re ready, you’ll let him in.

even just a little.

after finishing every house chore he could possibly find, after watching two episodes of a drama he’s not even following, after scrolling through his phone and refreshing his inbox for no reason at all - minho finally gives up.

his chest is too tight, his thoughts too loud. he throws on a hoodie, grabs his headphones, and heads to the beach.

the wind is cooler than yesterday. the sky a little overcast. the kind of late afternoon that feels slow and strange, like the world is holding its breath.

he starts running. not fast, but steady. enough to feel his lungs stretch, enough to make his brain quiet down.

it works. a little.

until he sees someone up ahead.

sitting close to the shore, knees drawn up, arms around them. still.

his pace slows automatically.

it takes him a second, but then he knows. it’s you.

you don’t move when he approaches, and he doesn’t say anything at first. just walks slowly, stops a few feet away.

“can i sit?”, he asks, voice low.

you turn slightly, glance up at him. your eyes are tired, a little puffy. your smile is small, barely there. but you nod.

“yeah”

he lowers himself beside you, not too close, but close enough that your shoulders are in the same frame of space. the sand is cool beneath him, the sound of the waves steady in the background.

you don’t speak right away.

neither does he.

you stare at the sea like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

“i couldn’t stay home anymore”, you say eventually, your voice quiet, “felt like the walls were closing in”

he nods slowly, “same”

you glance at him, the faintest curve of your lips appearing for a second.

“you go running every time that happens?”

“only when nothing else works”, he says, brushing his hand through his hair, “it’s been a lot of running lately”

you let out a quiet breath. maybe a laugh. maybe just a sigh in disguise.

“i always come here when i need to breathe”

he glances at you.

“the sea makes everything feel smaller”, you add, “like whatever’s in my head isn’t so big. not here”

there’s a quiet moment before you speak again.

“you probably wonder what happened to me the other night”

his head turns toward you, but before you can say more, he cuts in - careful, kind.

“you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to”

you look down at your hands. the wind picks up a little.

“i know”, you say, “but… if you want to know, i will tell you. i want you to know”

he’s quiet for a beat. then, gently, “i do”

you nod once, slow. your voice is almost a whisper.

the wind brushes lightly through your hair as you sit beside minho on the cool sand, the sea stretching endlessly in front of you. the waves come and go, steady, like breathing. you watch them for a while, letting the rhythm hold you together, piece by piece.

then you speak.

“i moved to seoul when i was nineteen”, you start, voice quiet, “to study photography”

minho turns slightly toward you but doesn’t say anything. he just listens.

“it was hard at first. i didn’t know anyone. everything felt so… big. loud. but i loved what i was doing. i loved capturing things - moments no one else saw. and then, in my last year, i met jun seo”

his name leaves a taste in your mouth you wish you could wash away. but you keep going.

“he was… charming. the kind of person that walks into a room and everyone notices. confident, always had something to say. we started dating, and for a while, it was perfect”

you smile a little, but it’s the kind of smile that doesn’t reach your eyes.

“he supported me. showed up to my small gallery shows. told me he believed in my work. i introduced him to the boys and i met his friends too. it felt normal. good. like the kind of thing you wait for”

minho nods slowly, his expression calm, patient. you’re grateful he doesn’t interrupt.

“we were together for a couple of years. but near the end… i started feeling out of place in seoul. like no matter how much time passed, i didn’t belong there. i missed home. the sea. the quiet. so i told him i was thinking of moving back to pohang, that we could go and live here”

you pause. the waves fill the silence. your fingers curl into the fabric of your hoodie, grounding yourself.

“that’s when everything changed”

minho shifts slightly beside you, not closer, just enough to let you know he’s still there.

“he didn’t yell at first. he just… looked at me like i’d betrayed him. said things like, ‘i gave you everything’ and ‘you’re nothing without me’ and at first, i thought he was just upset. that it came from love”

you shake your head slowly, eyes fixed on the horizon.

“but it wasn’t love. it was control. manipulation”

your voice tightens, just slightly.

“he started making me feel guilty for everything. if i talked to the boys too often, he’d sulk or start a fight. if they came to visit, he’d accuse me of ‘choosing them over him’. little things, at first. then bigger. always twisting my words. making me feel like i was the one hurting him”

minho’s jaw tenses, but he still says nothing. his hands are loose in his lap, calm.

“i stopped going out. stopped sharing things. i felt like i had to constantly check how he was feeling before i did anything. it got to a point where i didn’t recognise myself”

your throat tightens. your eyes sting, but you keep your voice steady.

“the boys knew something was wrong. they could feel it, even if i never told them. but i kept making excuses. i thought… if i just tried harder, loved him more, maybe it would get better”

you let out a breath that’s half laugh, half exhale.

“it didn’t”

the waves are gentler now, or maybe you’re just hearing them differently.

“i found out he was cheating on me”, you say, finally, “it wasn’t even the first time. i think deep down, i’d known. but seeing the proof - something just… snapped”

you draw your knees closer to your chest, wrapping your arms around them.

“i packed a bag the same night. called hyunjin to tell him i was leaving. i didn’t even think. just… left. left seoul. left him. left everything”

minho is quiet for a long moment.

you don’t look at him. you keep your eyes on the sea, like it might hold you together if you just focus hard enough.

but then you breathe in, slow. and you keep going.

“when i came back to pohang, i was… completely broken. i had lost myself”

your voice is flat. not emotionless, just tired. like these words have been living inside you for too long.

“i didn’t know how to pick myself up. i didn’t even know where to start. everything felt heavy. my own reflection didn’t feel like me”

you pause, the memory of that time pressing down.

“i owe everything to the boys”

minho turns to you again, listening carefully.

“they didn’t ask for explanations. they just showed up. changbin met me at the station, carried my bags like it was nothing. hyunjin stocked my fridge before i even unlocked the door. felix would come over and just… sit with me, no pressure to talk. seungmin and jeongin made me laugh again, when i thought i’d forgotten how”

your voice gets softer, but steadier.

“chan would come by everyday after work, even if it was just for ten minutes. han sent me playlists when i couldn’t sleep. they… gave me pieces of myself back without asking anything in return”

you blink a few times, eyes stinging.

“they were the reason i found a way out of that hole. they reminded me of who i used to be. who i still was. it took a long time. a lot of time. and even now, i still have days where i feel like… like i’m still healing”

minho doesn’t say anything. his silence is careful, not heavy. he lets you speak without rushing you, without filling the space just for the sake of it.

“i shut the world out for a long time”, you admit, “i didn’t go out much, didn’t meet new people. i was scared of everything - of letting anyone in. especially someone new”

you glance at him, briefly.

“i haven’t been with anyone since him. not even close”

minho’s brows furrow just slightly - not in surprise, but in quiet understanding.

“i guess… i still feel those scars”, you say. “not always. but when it gets quiet, i remember how small he made me feel. how much of myself i gave up to try to be loved”

you close your eyes for a second.

“i was doing really well”, you whisper, “i was happy again. i felt free”

you shake your head lightly.

“and then i saw him. that night at the café. and it felt like everything started crumbling all over again. like i was back there, in that apartment, afraid to speak and i was so scared”

your hands curl slightly in the fabric of your sleeves. the waves keep moving, soft and slow.

“i hate that he still has that power over me”, you admit, “that one look from him and i felt like i was drowning”

minho’s voice comes gently after a moment.

“you’re not drowning”

you look at him.

his eyes meet yours, steady and warm.

“you’re here”, he says, “you got out. you built your life again. you let people love you. you’re not drowning, y/n. you’re surviving”

your breath catches slightly in your throat.

“you’re brave”, he adds, quiet but certain, “braver than you think”

you swallow hard. something shifts in your chest, slow and aching.

“i didn’t think you’d say that”, you admit.

“why?”

“i don’t know. i thought maybe you’d see me differently. like i’m… damaged”

“you’re not”, he says immediately, “you’ve been hurt. but you’re not damaged”

you turn back to the sea.

minho’s voice softens again.

“what he did to you… it was cruel. and it was wrong. but it doesn’t define you. not to me”

you don’t speak right away. but your eyes sting, and your throat feels tight in a different way.

“i didn’t mean for you to get caught up in all this”, you say quietly, “i didn’t expect to meet someone like you”

he smiles faintly, though it’s not playful.

“me neither”, he says, “honestly, i thought we were going to hate each other forever”

a tiny laugh escapes your lips, surprised and cracked.

“yeah”, you say, “i thought you were the most arrogant person i’d ever met”

“still might be”, he shrugs, and you almost laugh again.

the sound fades into something softer.

“but you’re not”, you say, voice barely above a whisper, “you’re… kind. and patient. and you listen”

he looks at you like he’s trying to memorize you in this moment. not the version you think is broken - but the one who’s still here, trying.

“thank you”, you say.

“you don’t have to thank me”

you shake your head, “i do. for being here. for not looking at me like i’m fragile”

“you’re not”, he says again, gently, “you’re strong. even if you don’t feel like it right now”

you feel something crack open quietly in your chest. not pain - just… release.

you sit in the silence again. but now it feels different.

minho doesn’t reach for your hand. doesn’t crowd you or try to hold the pieces together.

he just stays.

and this time, that’s enough. maybe even more than enough.

the two of you leave the beach slowly, walking side by side, your feet brushing the edge of the sidewalk. the sea behind you fades into the soft hush of the town settling into evening.

the air is cool but not cold. your sleeves are pulled down over your hands, and minho keeps his hands tucked in his pockets. you don’t walk close enough to touch, but close enough that you could.

there’s a silence between you, but it’s not heavy. it’s soft. comfortable. like an exhale.

you glance over at him, catching the way his eyes trace the path ahead like he’s thinking too much.

“you’re doing it again”, you say, voice lighter now.

he blinks, “what?”

“thinking too hard”

he gives you a look, “i’m not”

“you are. your eyebrows do that thing”

he frowns, “what thing?”

you lift a finger and lightly mimic the way his brows knit together when he’s concentrating, “this”

he scoffs, “i do not look like that”

you shrug, “okay”

a beat.

“…do i really?”

you give him a side smile, “only when you’re being intense”

he rolls his eyes, “well, forgive me for being worried about someone i-”, he stops mid-sentence, mouth snapping shut.

you glance at him, curious, but let it go. instead, you nudge his arm lightly with your elbow.

“thanks for coming to sit with me”

he glances over, “you don’t have to thank me”

“i do. i know it’s a lot”

he’s quiet for a second. then he says, “you’re not a lot”

you give him a small smile, “you’re just saying that”

“i’m not”

the wind picks up for a second, brushing your hair across your cheek. he watches you push it behind your ear, his expression unreadable.

you keep walking.

you pass the convenience store on the corner, where the lights flicker a little. minho points up at the sign.

“i still think the little cartoon shrimp on that logo looks like it’s judging me”

you laugh, surprised, “it kind of does”

“right?”

“it’s like, ‘you really needed that much instant ramen?’”

“exactly”

your laugh trails off into a breath, but it feels lighter now. less strained.

minho steals a glance at you, and for a moment, you look like yourself again. still tired, still raw - but the kind of tired that comes after crying and sleeping and breathing a little better.

you reach your street faster than you expect. the houses line up neatly, quiet and still under the early night sky. your porch light glows warmly as you approach.

you slow down when you reach your steps.

“this is me”, you say, like he doesn’t already know.

he nods once, his gaze lingering on your door, “right”

you shift slightly on your feet.

“thank you for walking me”

he gives you a soft look, “of course”

you look down for a second, fiddling with your sleeves. the quiet stretches just a little too long.

then you say, a little shakily, “can i…?”

he looks at you, puzzled for half a second, until you step forward and wrap your arms around him.

minho freezes.

he goes stiff, his hands awkwardly hovering like he doesn’t know where to put them. you feel it - the hesitation, the tension.

but then, slowly, he exhales and lets his hands settle lightly around your waist. not too tight. not too much. just enough to hold you there.

you press your face against his shoulder and close your eyes.

“thank you”, you whisper again, this time closer, “for listening. for not judging me”

“you don’t have to thank me”, he says quietly, “really”

you nod, and he feels it against his chest.

neither of you moves for a long second.

then you pull back gently, your hands lingering on his arms. you give him a soft smile - a real one this time, though your eyes are a little wet again.

“goodnight, minho”

his throat bobs, “goodnight”

you step inside, and the door clicks softly behind you.

minho stands there for a moment, staring at the door.

then he exhales through his nose and turns around, heading back the way he came.

the walk back is quieter.

his thoughts are anything but.

he tries to focus on the ground, on the sound of his footsteps, on the soft wind brushing past his jacket. but his mind is full - overflowing, really.

your voice. your story. the way your expression shifted as you spoke - vulnerable, scared, brave.

the things he’d wanted to say but couldn’t.

he hadn’t expected it to hit him so hard. hadn’t expected the weight of what you’d been through to sit like this in his chest.

you’d gone through hell. and you’d come back.

of course the boys love you. of course they protect you like you’re something irreplaceable.

because you are.

minho feels it more clearly now than ever.

you’re important to him.

and that terrifies him.

he doesn’t know when it happened. maybe somewhere between your relentless bickering and your quiet way of looking after people. maybe when you shared your lunch without asking or when you caught his wrist that day he nearly tripped over a power cable.

maybe it was when you left the café that night with the rest of the boys, and his chest hadn’t stopped aching since.

or maybe it was tonight. when you looked at him with your eyes full of memories and trusted him enough to let them spill.

his hands curl slightly in his jacket pockets.

he’s not good at this - whatever this is.

he likes control. he likes knowing where he stands.

but with you, nothing is predictable. and yet, nothing has ever felt more real.

he reaches his street and slows to a stop outside his place. the porch light flickers once when he opens the door.

inside, it’s quiet.

he drops his keys on the table and stands there for a moment, like maybe the air will offer him some kind of answer.

but it doesn’t.

so he moves through the motions - changing clothes, brushing his teeth, turning off the lights. his body does it all without asking his mind to catch up.

when he finally lies down, he stares at the ceiling.

he thinks about your face when you said you were scared.

he thinks about the way you hugged him like you were holding something fragile inside yourself, something you didn’t want to break again.

he thinks about jun seo.

about how close to you he’ll be when your work starts tomorrow.

his jaw clenches.

no. he won’t let anything happen to you.

he doesn’t know what this is between you. what it’s becoming.

but he knows this much, he wants to protect you.

he wants to be someone you can lean on.

he wants to see you laugh more. breathe easier. be free from everything that still lingers in the corners of your chest.

he turns over in bed and closes his eyes.

the sound of the waves is still in his ears. your voice still in his mind.

he doesn’t know what he’s going to do.

but he knows one thing for sure.

he’ll be there.

whatever happens next, he’s not going anywhere.

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hi my loves!!

thank you so much for reading, hope you liked this chapter and as always, your comments and thoughts are deeply appreciated 🩷

my other fics

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[noinoi10101010]

I get were molten is coming from but

ok molten I get it but there are flaws to his reasoning first of sun DIDN'T START A FIGHT moon started to conversation not sun. Also you up until this point only got moon side and not sun's and sun has suffered this treatment from moon FOR 2 YEARS! Do you honestly think sun will immediately think moon has changed for what has not even been a week yet. Do you honestly think that again 2 years of moon bs will all be fixed in what has not even been a week yet He is has given you space multiple times BRO IT'S NOT EVEN BEEN A WEEK LET ALONE A DAY! yeah he kinda has since he didn't take to him since the argument but again moon hit sun and you yourself said he was prepared moon would lash out at him and that he is not used to this behavior from moon. Sun is not being arrogant sun is not used to moon not making fun of him and treating him like shit and expect him to just move on from that. Like dude just take sun to a rage room or something say to pet out his anger that way he can fully vent about what he has been through and finally not be "petty" anymore and then try talking to him if you truly want to help

Sun heart and trust in moon has been broken yet again and you can't expect him to move on like that.

[itspileofgoodthings]

.

[prettiest-thing-in-the-morgue]

VALERIE

pt.2 of pull me in

summary : due to bruce distancing himself from reader and seeing other women - the rest of thr batfamily has to watch her willow away.

Damian carefully sets out delicate China plates onto the oak table - he always ensures that he places the golden forks and its corresponding smaller spoons next to them - just like how Name taught him . It all seems like a forgone , a distant memory , but when Damian had first moved into the manor - he met Name always cooking.

She was a woman who always preferred home cooked food over bought food - taught him that having the privilege to have food and to enjoy it was a luxury many cannot afford in this time - so the fact that this family can - they should cherish it.

He was, of course, weirded, out by it - of course, he grew up having maids cook for him - he never had to think of his next meal but because he respected Name wishes . His respect was even further upheld because Name was an amazing cook - everything she's ever made him practically melted in his tongue , the taste etched into the depths of his mind.

He remembers in his earlier days of living here - he always hovered over her in the kitchen , he found it peaceful and a way to escape to constant arguing and fighting he had with the rest of his other siblings. He always gravitated to her , he didn't understand why - he already had a mother, Talia , but for some reason, he still felt the need to be around her.

Maybe it was because Name was a quiet woman and a woman who never bothered to fix him or opted to berating him about something - instead, she opted to just live in his space , to just quietly carry about herself. That doesn't mean they haven't spoken , his very first day, he remembered her asking if he had any allergies or certain food preferences.

They had other conversations, too , like the time she caught him fiddling with the washing machine when he was trying to wash his Robin suit, and she explained the workings and mechanics of using both the washer and the dryer. Or the time she caught him sneaking out, and she literally told him to use the backdoor next time.

Safe to say , Name and him bonded quietly, but that's what he loved about her - she was patient and loving - a silent type of love not one that's too overbearing or one like Bruce's were it left you guessing.

Damian sets the jug of water at the center of the table - ensuring it was perfect and neat just like Name taught him . Jason and Tim soon enough comes barreling in with takeout bags and left them on the table half hazardly.

" Tch - Jason, just because your room is a pigsty doesn't mean our dining table has to be." Damian quarreled as he immediately straightened it . " Yeah, Jay mom has a system." Tim quirks up as he helps Damian straighten it.

Jason awkwardly rubs at his head , " Sorry - never got ma's tidy genes," he apologizes . Damian rolls his eyes, but let's out a smirk . The dining door opens again to reveal Dick and Name walking in , Dick immediately pulls out a chair for Name and helps her get situated in.

" We got Chinese takeout, ma," Dick explains as he gestures towards the bags on the table. A small smile graces name's face as she gives a small nod at the boys. They immediately lit up - glad that their mom was happy with today's dinner choice.

" Yeah, we got you your steamed broccoli and beef ma " Jason says as he carefully hands her a box . Name nods as she takes the box into her hands and rests it carefully on the plate . " Jay and I got fry rice and shrimp wontons - Dick got spicy noodles with chicken, and well, we all know Damian got his sucky tofu " Tim furthers as he distributed the boxes out.

Dick practically snatches his before sitting next to Name . He opens up his box, and the smell of the spice practically engulfs the entire room, causing everyone to cough. Jason, who has opted to sit across from Name, glares at him , " Dick how spicy did you order that damn thing -" he complains.

Tim, who was sitting next to Jason, stuffed his mouth with a wonton , " $50.00 he's gonna start crying again when he eats it -" he bets. Damian takes his seat in the opposite of Name and grumbles annoyed with his siblings antics , " Grayson I swear to God if you get an upset stomach because of this on patrol I am personally going to stab you " .

Name giggles quietly - no matter how shitty life went for her - nothing could beat watching her children be happy like this. " Ya'll are being dramatic. I just got normal level this time, alright - plus I have a better spice tolerance than you all," Dick defended as he slurped his noodles.

Everyone literally rolled their eyes at that. " Dick you got the spice tolerance of an old white man," Tim muses . " Tim - you are a white old man too you shouldn't be talking either " Jason interjects.

" This argument is pointless - you all are pathetic at cuisine - only mother and I have a superb palette," Damian adds in as he carefully eats his tofu. A collective groan echoes in the dining room. " Okay - Mom has a good palette, hands down, but definitely not you, Damian." Dick argues - pointing his fork at Damian dramatically.

" Okay, first off, I am the only one here who can somewhat replicate Mother's pelau -" Damian defends . Jason , pursuing his lips cuts him off , " You burnt the bloody rice last time. What do you mean replicate ?" Jason points out. " I said somewhat, Todd, maybe Harvard should take back your English degree," Damian snares.

" When you are making pelau , rice goes in last, and then you add in your water," Name interjects before the conversation goes south and explains - her voice soft . The batboys still - its rare their mother ever talks - ever since Bruce told her voice was annoying and grating - she very rarely spoke . Safe to say , they were overjoyed . " Thank you, ma - tell them how a real cook does it !!" Jason exclaims .

" Ma, I miss your cooking - we literally have to survive off of Alfred and Dad's poor attempts," Tim practically begs. " I'm sorry, babies, you know Mama can not cook anymore like she used to, but I'm sure Alfred and your father can cook." Name apologizes , grimacing at the ' your father ' part .

The batboys too grimance at the mention of Bruce - it's no secret that they dislike him - no matter how much Name pleads and tells them to respect him and remind them that he was their father - they couldn't bring it upon themselves to respect that man . In utter rebellion, they all start calling him Bruce - even on patrol since none of them could give a shit .

Heck, that's how Selina found out . It was like any other patrol except that night , Tim and Bruce were really deep into another argument. " Bruce - I am not going to another stupid gala - especially because Ma isn't going," he argued . " Your mother doesn't control you, Tim," Bruce argued back as he continued looking over the roof - already done with the conversation.

" Yeah, well, maybe the fact that you're married to the woman should control you from being tongue deep down in some other woman, huh ?" Tim yells back before he turns away from Bruce . Selina was standing right behind him , jaw-dropped and eyes blown open in shock . Tim shoves past her before disappearing off in the night - he couldn't stand being in either of their presence .

Before anyone could say anything , the dining room's door pushes open to reveal a scowling Bruce . His neck is covered in lipstick marks and hickies , and his shirt is wrinkled. Name practically froze in her spot , arms shaking as she took him in . She could feel all of her insecurities bubble with her - practically drowning her in scalding water .

Jason scoffs - already pissed at absolute audacity while Tim just stares - his face void of any emotion. Dick's eyes got dull, really quick when his eyes drifted between Name and Bruce and well Damian - his face was red - down to the tips of his ears was red , he was practically seething in his seat - ready to pounce .

" I thought I said to make dinner Name ?" Bruce questions as he takes a seat to the top of the table. The air is tense and cold, and no one at the table makes a move to acknowledge the sheer stupidity of his demand. " And we thought being married means being loyal to your partner," Jason sassed - his glare practically cuts into Bruce's own.

" Have some decorum at the table, Jason," Bruce corrected as he stares at Name pointedly , " Again Name , why is there no dinner prepared . Are you so lazy that you have to waste my money on cheap takeout ?" He asks again. Name stayed there frozen - her lungs began to collapse on her as panic ensnares her.

" If you want dinner prepared, then prepare it yourself." Dick seethes out . Silence consumes the table once again - the air practically thickens when the dining door opens again to reveal none other than Selina , black dress equally wrinkled and her lipstick smudged.

Name stared at her and then at Bruce before standing up , her chair scraped against the floorboards, leaving a mark in its wake. " Go rot in hell " Name says , voice dripped in calm rage , eyes boring into Bruce challenging him to say something .

Name then looked to Selina , face void of feeling as she did a once over , " Last season of Channel's couture? Pathetic , at least look good if you are going to be a homewrecker " She says casually before strutting past her as if Selina was a measly fly.

The room goes silent fast, and soon enough, everyone began dismissing themselves, leaving Bruce and Selina alone to tend to each other's bruised ego's.

thank you for reading !!

please like + share + comment

note : this is a work of fiction . This work does not represent Canon versions of Selina Kyle , Talia AL Ghul, and Bruce Wayne , please do not unnecessarily hate these characters .

[solastarr]

Ms.NotSoIndependent

Stack Moore(Sinners2025)x black reader:

Genre: smut with very little angst

Summary: once stack comes from chicago. he realizes how independent you've become and the tension you have towards him

Preview: “I knew you’d be mad... but you been treatin’ me like I'm just any other normal ass nigga. Like I don’t mean nothin’ to you,” he said, squatting in front of you so you were eye level.“Obviously, you forgot who the fuck I am... so let me remind you real quick.”

Word count: 1,192

Warning: the content with in this story contains sexual themes of aggressive conversations, fingering, smut, cunnilingus

It had been about two weeks since Stack came back into town after he and his brother's unannounced trip. He returned thinking the same sweet, charismatic, and loving girl he left behind would greet him with hugs and kisses. Instead, he was met with a cold, nonchalant, and independent woman who wouldn’t even give him a passing glance.

He knew leaving without telling you was wrong, so he had been trying to make up for it by helping you reach dishes on the top shelf, fixing the leaky sink, even offering to carry your groceries home. But every time, he was either ignored, brushed off, or straight-up told you didn’t need his help. Stack had been trying to keep his cool, hoping you’d eventually break out of this bratty phase. But today... you pushed him too far. And he snapped.

You were already having a rough day. The chores around the house stacked up as high as the dishes in the sink. Your mood was on edge when Stack decided to stop by.

“What you got planned for today?” he asked, trying to start a conversation.

You didn’t even bother responding to the man whose voice irritated you every time he spoke.

“Okay… still being a brat,” he mumbled under his breath. You turned around and shot him the dirtiest look you could manage.

Leaning lazily against a chair in the kitchen, he stayed unfazed. “Me and my brother are having the grand opening of the juke joint tonight. I want you there for me.”You immediately responded, almost cutting him off, “Not interested. I got too much to do around the house anyway.” You went back to scrubbing the dishes without giving him another look. Stack took it as another chance to lend a hand. “Well, then let me help you. I really wa—”, “I don’t need your help, Stack!” you snapped, swinging around too fast. The dish in your hand slipped and shattered across the floor. “Shit,” you muttered under your breath. You dropped to your knees to pick up the broken pieces carefully. “I don’t even know why you’re here. You left me. I’ve moved on. You need to do the same.”you said coldly.

Stack’s face dropped. His patience finally ran out. “You know I’ve been tryin’ to be nice to you,” he said lowly, the tension in the room thickening. The house grew suffocatingly silent.

Stack started walking toward you, the crunch of porcelain under his boots echoing off the walls.

“I knew you’d be mad... but you been treatin’ me like I'm just any other normal ass nigga. Like I don’t mean nothin’ to you,” he said, squatting in front of you so you were eye level.“Obviously, you forgot who the fuck I am... so let me remind you real quick.”

You stood up just as he did, trying to hold your ground.“I don’t know what the hell you talkin’ about.”He stepped forward, closing the space between you, backing you into the kitchen counter.You could feel the heat radiating off his body.“Boy, move,” you warned, trying to slip past him, but he grabbed your wrists, holding you in place. He leaned into your ear. “You forgot what it felt like when daddy was here to take care of you. But I'm back now... and I ain't goin’ nowhere.” His words made your breath hitch.

Your eyes scanned his face, trying to tell if he was serious. He started kissing down your neck, rubbing your curves, slowly lifting your dress. You gasped at the way his hands roamed, but you had longed for his touch for too long to push him away. “Stack... move,” you tried to protest, your voice trembling with hidden moans.His mouth found your sweet spot near your jawline, making your knees buckle. Stack noticed immediately, smirking against your skin.

“See? All that 'I don’t need you' bullshit...” he murmured. “But your body can’t lie to me, baby.”

You hated how your body betrayed you.But with Stack... you couldn’t even fight it.You barely registered being lifted onto the counter until you felt the cold countertop on your skin, making you gasp. Stack ran his hands up your thighs, giving small squeezes, reaching your panties.The rough pads of his fingers and his husky cologne made you melt.

He stopped, looking you directly in the eyes as he rubbed you through your panties.

Your moans slipped out despite yourself.He grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“Tell me to stop,” he said, voice rough. He leaned closer, only inches away from your face.

“Tell me you want me to leave... and I'll go.”You wanted to slap him. Push him away. Cuss him out for the pain he caused when he left. But no words came out, only breathless moans. Because deep down, you didn’t want him to leave. And he knew it.

Stack smirked, feeling your surrender.

He ripped your panties off, slipping two fingers inside you, massaging your breast with his other hand.“I know you’re mad at me for leavin’,” he growled, “but daddy’s back now. And I’m gonna take real good care of you, okay?”He slowed the movement of his fingers to an agonizing pace, waiting for your answer.“O-Okay,” you finally whimpered out, desperate for him to keep going.

He chuckled lowly. “...Okay what?” he teased, stopping again.“Okay, Daddy!” you cried out. Proud, Stack laughed in your face, cocky as ever. “There’s my girl.”

He slipped his fingers out and pushed them into your mouth.You sucked eagerly, happy to have your man back. Then he kissed you, a long, heated kiss that felt like a lifetime of waiting poured into it. When he finally broke away, he stared at your swollen lips, the hickeys blooming on your neck, the sweat forming on your skin.“Let me take care of you. Make up for lost time.”

Stack dropped to his knees between your thighs, kissing you everywhere until he reached your pussy. Without hesitation, he started devouring you, like he had been starving for you.You almost lost control instantly, gripping the back of his head, moaning his name.When you started grinding against his face, chasing the high he was giving you, he locked eyes with you.The sight nearly pushed you over the edge. But just when you were about to cum, Stack abruptly pulled away.

“Wait—Stack, please,” you whined, desperate for more.

He smirked, standing up, adjusting his suit while your juices still coated his face.

“And you said you didn’t need me,” he teased. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small wad of cash and tucked it between your breasts, brushing your skin just enough to make you shiver. “Now go get you a new dress, shoes, and get pretty for me. Cause we're going dancing tonight” He kissed your lips one last time before heading to the front door.Before closing it behind him, he turned and shot you a wink with his signature smirk. You couldn’t help but smile, still aching for the touch you swore you didn’t need.

~ first post I hope yall like it!💫

[cressidagrey]

System Failure - Chapter 3: Barcelona

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Dr. Anastasia "Ana" Wolff (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen to Mercedes? The paddock is buzzing. The media’s in meltdown.

Dr. Anastasia “Ana” Wolff, Mercedes’ notoriously brilliant, emotionally unavailable lead systems engineer and Toto Wolff’s eldest daughter, is not handling it well.  Because Max isn’t just a potential signing, he’s the man she’s been sleeping with in secret for nearly a decade.

And if the rumours are true, and Max Verstappen really is joining Mercedes, then Ana’s carefully compartmentalised world is about to explode.

Warnings and Notes: George Russell Bashing. Sexism in the workplace. Spain 2025 mention. Difficult Family relationships. Toto tries his best. Let me know if I missed something else, and I'll add it!

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

Text Messages: George Russell & Dr. Anastasia “Ana” Wolff

George: How’s Brackley holding up without me?

Ana: Efficient. Mostly quiet. Perfect, really.

George: Ouch 😅 See, that’s what I like about you. You’re so direct. No drama. No fluff. A bit cold-blooded, but in a cool way.

Ana:I’m sorry— Are you comparing me to a lizard

George: 😂 No no Just saying it’s refreshing, you know? Most women are so emotionalBut you’ve got that ice-in-your-veins thing Cold as a fish but gets the job done 💪

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Dr. Anastasia “Ana” Wolff

Ana: I wish I didn’t have feelings.

Max: Okay That’s a hell of a way to start a conversation, Poekie What happened?

Ana: Do I come across like I don’t? Like I’m cold. Or clinical. Or a refrigerated fish?

Max: Where is this coming from?

ANA George. He said I’m “cold as a fish.”

Max: Ana.

Ana: I do wish it was true. That I could shut everything off. Not feel so much. Not care so much. About work. About everything.

Max:You think not feeling would make your life easier But it’s your heart that makes you youAnd it’s the best part. There’s nothing wrong with you.People like George just don’t know what to do with you, because they are stupid. You feel deeply. You just don’t outsource it. You keep it close. Private. Precious.

Ana:I think I’d be easier to love if I were less… me.

Max: Don’t you dare.Don’t you dare try to be easier.

***

Circuit de Barcelona-Catalunya, Montmeló, Spain, - 1 June 2025

The Spanish Grandprix 2025 could probably be summed up in one word: Catastrophe. 

McLaren had built two unbeatable rocketships. 

RedBull had fucked up the strategy. 

Hard compound, safety car restart, lap 61.

10 second time penalty. 3 more penalty points. 

P10. 

1 Point for the championship standing.

In hindsight, Max did realise that what he had done to Russel into Turn 5 had not been his smartest move. 

He shouldn’t have done it.

He knew that even as he lined it up— he saw the space open, just enough to plant his Red Bull down the inside of Russell, and some ancient, stubborn reflex in him clicked like a trigger.

He went.

And he hit him.

Not hard. Not enough to retire the car. But enough for contact. Enough for the stewards to start circling.

Enough to know, immediately, that it had been stupid.

Because it hadn’t been strategy. It hadn’t even been racing instinct.

It had been personal.

Somewhere between the apex and the runoff, Max had remembered what Ana told him.

George had called her a cold fish.

Ana, who had spent a full twenty minutes spiralling over the idea that she didn’t know how to feel. Who had asked him—him—if maybe she was broken after all.

Because George Russell, with his rehearsed smirks and PR-scripted charm, had decided her quiet meant unfeeling. That her composure meant cold. That her distance meant emptiness.

Like she wasn’t the smartest person in any room. Like she wasn’t the woman who spent nights calibrating engine maps down to the nanosecond, who had once held Max’s face in her hands like it was sacred, who felt everything but didn’t bleed it out for applause.

And George had called her a cold fish.

Said she didn’t have feelings. 

And Ana—his Ana—had texted him asking if it was true.

And something in Max had snapped.

Because she wasn’t cold. She wasn’t robotic or hard to love. She was private. Careful. Brilliant in a way that lit up slowly and then consumed you, if you were smart enough to wait for it.

And George Russell didn’t get to flatten that down into a punchline.

Not about Ana.

Not ever.

So Max had hit him.

A decade of work to master his temper and he’d still hit him.

Not with his fists. With his car. In the middle of a race.

Like his father.

The realization sat in his chest like gravel.

He saw red, and he made it someone else’s problem.

That was dangerous. Stupid.

And it scared him.

Because Ana deserved better. He was supposed to be better.

Not the man who weaponised his anger. Not the one who made it everyone else’s fault.

Max pressed his palms to his face after the race, after the press. Inhaled. Exhaled.

It hadn’t helped that even before the race had been hell. That he had been driving at 110% percent to somehow claw himself to P3.

That he knew that he didn’t have a chance against Lando or Oscar, not because he wasn’t driving good enough, but because the car wasn’t there. 

The race had been hell.

Not spectacularly, crash-and-burn hell. No. That would’ve at least come with adrenaline.

This was worse. This was futility.

And Red Bull—his team, the team he’d bled and won and clawed with—had just shrugged.

“We’ll review it.” “We’ll get it fixed before Silverstone.” “Bad luck today, mate.”

Max had nodded. Said the right things to the cameras.

Now, he just sat. Still. Drained.

And for the first time—not in anger, not in a surge of rage, but in something quieter, colder—he thought:

What if it’s time?

He’d given everything to this team. And in return, he’d gotten four championships, a dynasty, and—now—a ship quietly splintering at the keel.

Red Bull was falling apart.

And Max was tired of pretending that he couldn’t feel it too.

Max was tired. Not physically—he’d trained through worse. But mentally. Emotionally. Like he was pushing against a wall that wasn’t going to move, no matter how many laps he strung together or how precisely he hit his braking zones.

He was tired of being the fastest driver in a car that wasn’t built to win anymore.

And Mercedes…

2026 regulations loomed. And Mercedes, quietly and steadily, had stopped stumbling.

The car looked coherent. The power unit had held steady. And maybe most damning of all—they looked like a team that knew what it was building toward.

Mercedes had a plan.

Mercedes had 2026 circled in red, and every whisper said their power unit was terrifying. 

He stood slowly, knees stiff.

The thing was… he didn’t even know if it was about performance anymore.

His head leaned back against the wall, eyes fluttering shut for a moment.

He wasn’t angry anymore.

He was just tired.

Tired of dragging a team that couldn’t keep up.

Tired of pretending he didn’t already know where this was going.

Because Ana was there. In Brackley. Building something that worked. That made sense. That held.

And maybe—just maybe—he didn’t want to win another championship alone.

Maybe he wanted to win it where she could see him.

He could see it—clearer than ever.

A fresh start.

A reset.

A future that didn’t feel like death by a thousand strategy errors.

And maybe more than that—her.

He wouldn’t say it out loud. Not yet. Not even to himself.

But the thought curled low in his chest, warm and terrifying.

If I went to Mercedes… I could be near her. Not just at night. Not just when we’re pretending it’s nothing. Every day. In the same garage. On the same side.

He let out a slow breath.

Maybe it was selfish. Maybe it was reckless.

But Max Verstappen had never been afraid of taking a corner flat.

And this?

This was starting to look like the cleanest racing line he’d had in months.

***

Mercedes F1 HQ, Brackley, England - 1 June 2025

It was a Sunday.

A quiet one — at least in theory. 

Granted it was Race Day, but most of the needed staff was in Barcelona, at the track. Most other staff was at home.

Ana was in her office. Waiting to get a call from trackside that they had broken one of the cars. Or getting a headstart on telemetry…or doing some very much not needed budget spreadsheets…

Because, well… she didn’t really do hobbies.

She’d tried. Once. Or twice. Bought watercolours. Took one yoga class. 

But the truth was this: spreadsheets made more sense than socialising, engine maps were easier than emotion, and a baseline simulation was as good a distraction as anything else. Better, even. Machines didn’t ask her how she was feeling. They just did what they were told.

She had one monitor running component lifing data for 2026. Another with simulation outputs from a recent bench test. The third screen — muted, mostly ignored — was the live F1 broadcast from Spain. Lap 60.

Ana wasn’t paying it much attention. Not until she saw the timing screen glitch — yellow flag, Turn 5 — and her peripheral vision caught a flick of a Red Bull diving off-line.

She blinked, sat up straighter, and clicked the stream into full screen.

Her jaw tightened.

It was Max.

She watched the replay feed switch to show it: Charles and Max going side-by-side down the straight, a brush of contact. 

Then Russell lunging up alongside Max…

Ana’s hands curled slightly against the edge of her desk.

And then—

The overtake attempt.

The so-called “let through.”

And then the second lunge.

The impact.

Ana flinched.

Not visibly, maybe. But her stomach twisted.

She knew that look in Max’s driving. The one that said he wasn’t thinking clearly. That the red mist had taken over.

She’d known him long enough to recognise the difference between aggression and anger. Between instinct and intent.

That… had been intent.

“Goddamn it, Max,” she muttered, too quiet for anyone to hear.

And then, a beat later, George came on the radio. Cheerfully smug. Like he hadn’t just nearly sparked a full collision. Like he hadn’t—

She sat back in her chair, exhaling slowly, a hard knot pressing under her ribs.

Ana had always been able to compartmentalise. That was her gift. Her survival mechanism. But this—

This was personal.

Not the race. Not the lunge.

But the memory of George’s message from days before. The casually cruel line. Cold as a fish.

She hadn’t told anyone how much it hurt.

Not even Max.

And now he’d—

Her phone buzzed on the desk. A message from engineering ops. She ignored it.

Instead, she rewound the race footage. Just to be sure.

She watched it again. The lunge. The contact. The way Max didn’t even try to hide the retaliation.

It was reckless. It was stupid. It was absolutely not championship-calibre driving.

And it was for her.

Ana wanted to scream.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Dr. Anastasia “Ana” Wolff

Ana: Are you insane?

Max: Hi I’m fine, thanks for asking

Ana: You got a ten-second penalty for trying to punt George into the wall. That’s not “fine”

Max: In my defense he had it coming

Ana: That is not a defense That is premeditated stupidity on cold tyres

Max: He called you a cold fish. I wasn’t thinking clearly.

Ana: So you decided to retaliate at 280km/h during a live race?!

Max: I know. It was dumb.

Ana: I am not going to argue about that. It was dangerous.

Max: Yeah. I know that too. It wasn’t about the race. It was about… I saw him. And I thought about what he said to you. And I got angry.

Max: So you weaponised a Red Bull chassis. Great. Rational behaviour.

Max: I didn’t mean for it to go that far. I just— Sometimes it gets ahead of me. The anger. I hate that I still do that. That I am like this.

Max: I don’t want to be like my father. Not on track. Not off it. Not ever.

Ana: Then maybe don’t crash into people at 280km/h when you’re upset.

Max: …

Ana: Don’t do it again. I don’t need defending. I need you safe.

Max: Copy that. No more defending your honour with multi-million-dollar carbon shrapnel.

Ana: Good. Also, apologise to your engineer and maybe the team.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Victoria Verstappen

Victoria: WHAT the heck was THAT, Maxie??? Just saw the replay. Are you trying to reenact Fast & Furious: FIA Edition???

Max: Hi Vic Love you too

Victoria: Don’t “Hi Vic” me Turn 5?? Turn 5?! Did GP put you on Red Bull and rage or were you just feeling a little unhinged for the weekend?? I just watched you try to yeet George Russell into another zip code in front of the entire world. Are you trying to collect penalties like Pokémon?

Max: Okay yes I know It was reckless I got emotional

VICTORIA It was reckless. It was stupid. And it was exactly the kind of shit Jos used to pull when he lost control.

Victoria: Max. I need you to hear me properly right now.

Victoria: Do not become like he was. Not even a little bit. Not even when it feels justified. Not when you’re angry or frustrated or hurt. Because it starts like this—these little moments—and then one day you look in the mirror and he’s there.

Max: Vic—

Victoria: No. You’re better than that. You always have been. But better doesn’t just happen. You have to choose it. Every single time.

Max: I know. I know. And I hate that today I didn’t. It scared me too.

Victoria: Good. Let it scare you. Then remember you have people around you who will drag you back if you start slipping. Even if we have to slap sense into you mid-race.

Max: You’d absolutely do it.

Victoria: Damn right. Now go apologise to whoever had to explain that radio message to the Sky Sports team. And maybe buy GP a bottle of something expensive.

Max: Already on it.

Victoria: Stay good, Maxie. Not perfect. Not soft. Just good. You owe that to yourself. And to us.

***

Group Chat: “WHO IS MAX VERSTAPPEN DATING”

 (Members: Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Carlos Sainz, Daniel Ricciardo)

Lando: BRO.

Lando: WHAT DID WE JUST WATCH.

Oscar: Which part? The Leclerc move? The Russell collision? The radio tantrum?

Daniel: No no. The emotional unravelling of a man in real time.

Carlos: That was not racing. That was vengeance.

Oscar: Okay but can we just agree—this wasn’t about George.

Carlos: …yes.

Oscar: This was about something else. Or like… someone.

Daniel: I’m just saying. You don’t risk a 10-second penalty unless you’re fighting for something personal.

Lando: Do you think he’s in love?

Carlos: You think he’s in love with George?

Lando: NO— I MEAN IN GENERAL Not with George Oh my god Carlos.

Daniel: Plot twist: Verstappen’s long game has always been to date George Russell and then drive him into a wall.

Oscar: Honestly I’ve seen worse dating strategies.

Carlos: We are getting off track.

Oscar: Max’s been weird all year.

Carlos: He looked at George like he was trying to commit manslaughter with a carbon front wing.

Lando: Okay but… WHO IS IT THEN.

Carlos: He’s hiding something.

Daniel: You don’t say...

Oscar: Ten bucks says there’s someone we’ve never seen. Someone completely under the radar.

Lando: No WAG content No paparazzi No vacation leaks Nothing

Carlos: He’s a married man and we’re going to find out when she files the tax returns.

Oscar: Whoever she is… She has that man in an emotional chokehold.

Lando: He literally risked a podium to make a point.

***

Group Chat: “TEAM 33”

 (Members: Max Verstappen, Jos Verstappen, Raymond Vermeulen)

Max: I want to talk to Mercedes.

Jos: …what are you talking about?

Raymond: Is this a joke?

Max: No. I’m serious.

Raymond: Max, we’ve had these offers before. You always said no.

Max: I’m not saying no anymore.

Jos: Is this about Red Bull? The car?

Max: It’s about everything. The car. The future. The team direction. The way I’m driving at 110% just to get P4. And the fact that I’m tired of hearing next year every week.

Raymond: You’ve never once seriously considered leaving. Not since you joined. What’s changed?

Max: I think I’ve given everything I can here. And I want to win. Not manage damage every Sunday.

Jos: Are you sure this isn’t emotional? You’ve had rough seasons before.

Max: No. This is different. I don’t trust the plan anymore.

Raymond: If we talk to Mercedes, it’ll leak. Are you ready for that?

Max: Let it leak. Let everyone lose their minds. But set up the meeting.

Jos: And if they offer something real?

Max: Then I take it seriously. For the first time.

***

Lambiase Residence, Milton Keynes, England - 2 June 2025

GP didn’t even bother offering Max a drink. Just pointed to the kitchen chair like this was a routine —which, after nearly a decade, it kind of was.

They were sitting in his kitchen, a quiet space full of mismatched chairs and half-finished house projects, telemetry open on the tablet between them. Francesca’s, GP’s fifteen year old daughter, school prospectus laid forgotten on the counter. The kettle had boiled twice and been ignored both times.

Max the dog had greeted Max the human with a wagging tail and had then trotted off behind Eloisa, GP’s wife, up into the home office. 

Max dropped into the seat with a groan.

GP didn’t sit yet. Just leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching him.

“You want to explain what that was with Russell?”

Max didn’t answer right away. Just sighed, dragging a hand over his face like he was trying to wipe the whole race off with it.

GP raised a brow. “Max.”

There was a beat. Then another. And then, finally—

“It was because of Ana.”

GP nodded once. “Ah.” He didn’t even pretend to be surprised. “Of course.”

“Don’t start,” Max muttered.

“I’m not starting,” GP said mildly. “I’m just… continuing. The ongoing saga of You Two: Will They, Won’t They, Why Haven’t They.”

Max exhaled like someone had punched the air out of him. “She texted me after qualifying. Asked if I thought I was a cold fish, because George said she was.”

GP winced. “Christ. That man has the emotional intelligence of a spoon.”

Max laughed, hollow. “She said she wished she didn’t have feelings. And then you told me to give him the position back and I…” He gestured, helpless. “I snapped.”

GP finally sat across from him. “Yeah. You did.”

Max didn’t look up. “I lost it. I just—there was already the Leclerc move, the tyres were cold, I was pissed off, and then I thought about that. And I wanted to prove something. I don’t even know what, exactly. But I didn’t think. I just drove angry.”

GP didn’t say anything for a moment. Then: “Well, that’s deeply fucking stupid.”

Max huffed a laugh. “Yeah.”

“You’re lucky nobody got hurt.”

“I know.”

GP ran a hand over his head “You’re not your father, Max. But you don’t get to pretend you’re not his son either. You’ve got his instincts—good and bad. And if you don’t finally learn to catch yourself before the fuse runs out, you’re going to burn the whole damn garage down.”

“I don’t want to be like him.”

“Then don’t. Especially not for a man who thinks a woman’s worth is in how she reacts to him.”

Max looked up. Something raw and earnest flickered behind his eyes.

GP’s voice softened. “You care about her.”

Max nodded. “Too much, maybe.”

GP leaned back in his chair, studying him. “You know,” he said slowly, “you two are exhausting.”

“Thanks.”

“I mean it. Tiptoeing around each other like there isn’t a whole decade of… whatever the hell this is.”

Max didn’t answer.

GP narrowed his eyes. “Are you ever going to stop?”

There was a pause. Then Max looked up, voice low but certain.

“I want to talk to Mercedes.”

There wasn’t a dramatic pause. No gasp of surprise. Just GP, sitting back in his creaky kitchen chair like Max had confirmed something he already knew.

“Alright,” GP said, after a moment. “You’ve thought it through?”

“I’ve been thinking about it for weeks.” Max rubbed a hand over his jaw, gaze fixed somewhere over GP’s shoulder. “At first it was just a maybe. A backup plan if things didn’t change. But then… it became the plan.” he said, voice low. “I know you have a job at Red Bull.”

GP didn’t look up. “That’s an understatement.”

“I’m not asking you to leave it.”

That made GP glance over.

Max shifted, elbows on knees, fingers laced tight. “I just… If I do this—if I really consider it—I’m not expecting you to come with me. You’ve been here forever. You’ve got your team, your systems, your—”

“Let’s go to Mercedes.”

Max blinked. “What?”

GP leaned forward now, calm and serious and unflinching.

“I said let’s go to Mercedes,” GP repeated, with a casual shrug like they were talking about a road trip and not blowing up a decade-long dynasty. “You, me. Pack up the telemetry server and your dramatic helmet collection and let’s go.”

Max stared at him. “I’m not joking.”

“Neither am I. Let’s go. If this is where it ends, then it ends. But I’m not doing this job without you. I didn’t sign up to babysit whoever they throw in that car next.”

Max stared at him. “You’re serious?”

GP shrugged. “Mate. You think I’m going to hang around here while Christian and Helmut do budget gymnastics and blame the floor for the fact we haven’t been competitive in four months? You’re the reason I come to work.”

Max’s mouth parted. “You don’t even want to hear the rest of the plan?”

“I’ve heard enough. The car’s shit. Helmut thinks solving performance issues means yelling louder. The team’s scattered. You’re exhausted. And I’ve been watching you drive like you’re trying to drag a wheelbarrow through quicksand.”

Max laughed, startled. “Jesus, GP.”

GP leaned forward, setting the mug down with a quiet clink. “Max, I’ve been at Red Bull longer than I care to admit. I’ve survived engine changes, regulation chaos, Christian’s PR disasters, and your puberty.”

Max huffed. “Barely.”

“But I’ve also watched this team stop evolving with you,” GP continued. “And I’ve watched you carry more than your share of the weight while pretending you weren’t.”

He paused. “You’ve outgrown this place. That’s not betrayal. That’s just truth.”

Max looked away, jaw clenched.

“And for what it’s worth,” GP added, “I’ve already downloaded every file I care about. They’ll probably revoke my login the second you say yes, so I might as well get a head start.”

That made Max laugh. Quiet. Surprised.

“I thought you’d fight me on this.”

“I am fighting you,” GP said dryly. “I’m fighting for you to finally have a car that deserves you and that doesn’t chew its own floor upgrades. And for me to stop spending Thursdays arguing with people who think duct tape is a performance solution.” Win-win.”

They sat in silence for a moment longer.

Max looked down at the table again. “I just didn’t want to ask you. I didn’t want to make you feel like you had to choose.”

“You didn’t ask,” GP said simply. “I chose anyway.”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

GP gave him a look. The kind that said don’t be an idiot. The kind he usually reserved for Friday debriefs and bad tire management.

“Max,” he said, “you’re not just a driver I work with. You’re—” He stopped. Then rolled his eyes. “—okay, I’m not doing the emotional bit. But you know.”

“Yeah,” Max said, voice low. “I know.”

“Besides, someone’s gotta keep you from crashing into people just because your crush got her feelings hurt.”

“She’s not my—”

GP held up a hand. “Save it. I have a teenager. I know denial when I hear it.”

Max huffed. “You’re insufferable.”

They sat there for a beat. The weight of it all—ten years, four championships, one legacy—settling around them like dust.

Max swallowed. “You really think it’s the right call?”

“I think,” GP said, “if you want to win again—and I mean really win, build something new, start fresh—you’re not going to do it in a car that eats its own gearbox every Sunday.”

Max nodded slowly.

“And,” GP added, “if there’s ever been a time to walk into Brackley, it’s now. You’ll have leverage. You’ll have options. You’ll have her.”

Max looked up sharply.

GP just smirked. “You’ve carried this team long enough, Max.”

Max exhaled slowly. “So… Mercedes. Let’s talk to them.”

GP nodded once. “Mercedes,” he said. “Guess I better start brushing up on my passive-aggressive British email etiquette. You start figuring out how not to try and kill someone in turn five.”

“Noted.”

And just like that, the next chapter began — not with fireworks, but with cold tea, a messy kitchen, and the kind of loyalty that didn’t need to be asked for to be given.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Toto Wolff

Max:

Toto.

I think it’s time we had that conversation.

Toto:

Max.

Let’s talk.

***

Wolff Residence, Monaco - 2 June 2025

The sun had just started to dip beneath the horizon, casting a soft orange haze across the quiet Monaco sky. Susie was perched on the terrace sofa, legs curled beneath her, glass of white wine in hand, reading out messages from Jack’s school group chat and occasionally sighing at the absurdity of it all.

Toto’s phone buzzed once. Then again.

He glanced at it without much interest—he’d told his assistant not to bother him tonight unless something was on fire or Kimi had managed to break another sim rig.

But it wasn’t his assistant.

It was Max Verstappen.

Max: Toto. I think it’s time we had that conversation.

Toto stared at the screen. Blinked.

“Is it Ana?” Susie asked gently from across the terrace, noting the sudden stillness in his posture. “Everything alright?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Just turned the phone slightly in his hand like he needed a different angle to confirm the name.

“No,” he said slowly. “Not Anastasia.”

He held the phone up slightly for her to see, then clicked it back on to show her the screen.

Susie’s eyebrows rose. “Well. That’s a short sentence with very large implications.”

Toto ran a hand over his mouth, heart ticking up just slightly—not with nerves, but with the weight of knowing what might be coming. 

He looked out toward the sea, then back at his phone. His voice was low.

Susie set her wine down. “Do you think it’s real this time?”

Toto’s voice was quieter than usual. “I think something changed.”

She nodded slowly. “Spain?”

He nodded back.

They both knew. Max Verstappen didn’t lose control often. And when he did, it wasn’t over tyre temps or DRS issues. Not really. Something had cracked.

“I thought he’d wait until after the summer break,” Susie said. “After Spa, maybe.”

“I did too,” Toto admitted. “But maybe he’s done waiting.”

He didn’t say what else he was thinking.

That maybe this wasn’t just about engines and chassis and unstable rear ends. That maybe this had as much to do with the exhausted look Max had worn all weekend

He stood, the motion slow but certain, already reaching for his laptop on the small table nearby.

Susie watched him move with the kind of quiet amusement that came from over a decade of knowing when something big was about to land.

“You’ll keep it professional,” she said.

Toto gave her a tight smile. “Of course.”

Then paused, thumb hovering over the message thread.

“…but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy the thought of beating Christian Horner at his own game.”

Susie raised her glass slightly. “You always did like chess.”

Toto: Max. Let’s talk.

Toto sent the message, closed his laptop, and stared out at the darkening sky.

Let the endgame begin.

***

Mercedes F1 HQ, Brackley, England - 3 June 2025

Tuesday lunch had never been about comfort.

It was about silence. Sanity. A brief, ritualized act of mutual disengagement from the absolute circus they all worked in.

Which is why, when Kimi Antonelli slumped into his usual chair at exactly 12:01, Ana said nothing.

Just passed him a plate.

He didn’t take it.

That was new.

She looked up.

Kimi was doing the thing where he stared at the floor like it had personally offended him. His arms were crossed. His curls were still damp from the simulator session. His entire energy radiated the vague hopelessness of someone trying not to cry in a public restroom.

No one said anything. That was the rule.

Ana unfolded her linen napkin, took a bite of her salad, and watched Kimi absolutely vibrate with unspoken crisis.

It took four full minutes before he cracked.

“I think I’m going to fail everything,” he muttered.

Valtteri didn’t look up. “Define everything.”

“School. Exams. Life. Racing.”

“Racing is dramatic,” Bono said mildly, slicing an apple. “It was an oil pressure issue. Not your fault.”

“You didn’t even get a dramatic exit.” Valtteri said with a shrug. “DNFs sucks.”

Kimi made a noise halfway between a laugh and a cough. It was small. But it counted.

Ana’s gaze was still on Kimi.

He was slouched. Defensive. His tray untouched.

She could see the patterns. The same sharp-edged spirals she used to chase down in code. Fractal-level self-doubt.

“And school?” she asked, voice softer now.

“I suck at actual exams. I panic. I go blank. I’m going to bomb everything and then next year when I crash out of Q1 someone’s gonna be like ‘he couldn’t even pass maths and it’ll be on a meme page forever. Italian, History, I’m okay. But maths is a mess. And I forgot the ethics reading and now I’m behind on revision and I still don’t understand half the equations and—”

Ana reached for her tablet. “What’s on your syllabus?”

Kimi blinked. “What?”

“Your syllabus,” she repeated. “For math. Show me.”

He stared. “Why?”

“I want to know what kind of nonsense is making you think you’re stupid.”

Bono snorted.

Valtteri hid a laugh behind his coffee.

“What part don’t you understand?” she repeated, tone flat. “Give me an equation. Or a concept. What’s tripping you?”

Kimi opened his mouth. Closed it.

Then: “How is that your reaction?”

“Because failure isn’t useful,” she said. “Give me something I can solve. Show me what the question was,” she said. “We’ll start there.”

Kimi stared at her, like she’d just offered to rebuild his entire life with a screwdriver and a stable baseline.

“…Okay,” he said, finally. “But don’t judge my handwriting.”

“I’ve seen Bono’s post-race notes,” Ana replied. “Nothing can be worse.”

“Hey,” Bono said, mildly wounded.

By the time lunch ended, Kimi had explained three exam problems, Bono had offered him an espresso for every passing grade, and Valtteri had somehow convinced him that DNFing in Barcelona was a rite of passage.

Kimi left the room with his shoulders slightly straighter.

Ana went back to work with a pencil smudge on her sleeve.

She would never say it aloud — certainly not to Kimi — but it reminded her, distantly, of Max. Not in the way he drove, but in the way he carried failure. Quietly. Like a debt to be repaid in blood.

It made her chest ache, in a way she didn’t have language for. So she didn’t dwell. She just went back to her schematics, her engines, her simulations.

But she made a mental note to follow up on the exam dates.

Just in case.

***

Unnamed Restaurant, London, England - 4 June 2025

The restaurant was nearly empty by late afternoon. It was cool, quiet, and sharply efficient—just like everything else about them.

Raymond Vermeulen was shown into a private room near the back. No cameras. No journalists. No names on the door.

A small table. Two chairs. Andreas Stein, one of Mercedes’ senior liaisons, stood as Raymond entered. They shook hands—brief, firm, and with the wary politeness of men who had danced around each other for years but never like this.

Not when it mattered.

“Raymond,” Andreas said evenly. “Pleasure.”

“Let’s not waste time,” Raymond replied, taking the seat across from him.

He’d said it before. Over the years, they’d entertained offers. Ferrari. Mercedes. Aston. But it was always gamesmanship. Leverage. A chessboard move to keep Red Bull sharp.

But this time, Max wasn’t bluffing. For the first time since he was 16 years old and grinning next to a Toro Rosso, Max Verstappen was thinking about leaving.

And Raymond wasn’t sure Red Bull even realized it yet.

This wasn’t the first time someone from Mercedes had reached out. There had been feelers. Quiet compliments in passing. Once, an envelope slid across a table during an off-season dinner with vague performance clauses and large numbers. Max had laughed. Crumpled it up without even reading past the first page.

That had been six years ago.

But now?

Now he was here.

Not to posture. Not to threaten. To listen.

And that, more than anything, told Raymond how real this had become.

Andreas didn’t offer small talk. He didn’t need to.

“So. You’re here.” A faint smile. “That already says something.”

Raymond leaned back in his chair, one leg crossing over the other. He’d never liked this part—the cloak-and-dagger meetings, the half-truths and legal gray areas. But this wasn’t about leverage anymore. This was about possibility.

“I didn’t come all this way for coffee.”

Andreas inclined his head slightly. “Then I’ll be direct. If Max is serious, so are we. The door is open.”

Raymond didn’t blink.

“You’d have to clear a seat.”

“We’re aware.”

“You’d have to buy him out of a very expensive contract.”

“If he wants to come,” Andreas said, “we’ll make it work.”

There it was. No flinching. No hedging. Just quiet, German certainty.

And it hit Raymond with more weight than he’d expected: they still wanted him. Even after everything. The dominance, the title fights, the perception of him as too embedded in Red Bull to ever leave. They were still ready to tear up their roadmap and rebuild around Max Verstappen.

And this time, Max might actually say yes.

“You’ve courted him before,” Raymond said slowly. “He’s always said no.”

Andreas didn’t move. “Has he said no this time?”

Raymond looked away, eyes flicking toward the darkened window that separated them from the paddock.

“He’s asking questions,” he said finally. “Big ones.”

“What changed?”

“He’s driving at 110% every weekend just to finish fourth. He’s tired. We all are.”

Andreas nodded once, not interrupting.

“There’s no unity anymore,” Raymond continued. “The leadership is fractured. Nobody’s thinking long-term. Everything is about putting out the next fire.”

Andreas didn’t pretend to be surprised.

“We can offer long-term,” he said. “You know that. The 2026 power unit’s already deep in development. We’re ahead of schedule.”

Raymond gave a short, skeptical breath. “That’s what everyone says.”

“I don’t mean PR-deck ahead. I mean actual, reliable, wind tunnel-validated, track-modeled progress. We’re not playing catch-up this time. We’ve learned our lessons.”

A pause.

“The engine,” he said simply. “Ours is further ahead than most believe. And it’s not just hardware. The integration work’s been meticulous.”

Raymond tilted his head. “I’ve heard rumors.”

“You’ve heard fragments,” Andreas corrected. “The architecture is clean. Adaptable. Fast off the line and efficient where it counts. Not draggy. Not stiff.”

“And who’s leading that?”

Andreas didn’t hesitate.

“Dr. Anastasia Wolff.”

That name caught Raymond off guard. His eyebrows lifted. “Toto’s daughter?”

“Yes. And not because of her surname. She’s been deep in the development cycle for over a year. Quiet. Brilliant. Brutal in data reviews. The team calls her the scalpel. She’s leading the systems architecture for 2026. The hybrid interface especially. Max would have direct input.”

Raymond didn’t reply immediately. It wasn’t news—he’d heard whispers. Seen the articles that mentioned her name deep in the technical columns. He just hadn’t realized how close she was to the core of it.

He exhaled slowly. “That explains a few things.”

“2026 is a clean slate. New regs, new engine philosophy. He could be the centerpiece,” Andreas said. 

Raymond gave a quiet, humorless breath. “You’ve already written the press release, haven’t you.”

Andreas smiled faintly. “We’ve dreamed about it.”

Later that night, Raymond stepped out into London air and called the only person who would understand the weight of what had just shifted.

Jos picked up on the second ring.

“How did it go?” he asked, voice gruff.

Raymond hesitated. Not for drama. Just because saying it aloud made it too real.

“They’re serious,” he said.

A pause.

“And Max?” Jos asked.

Raymond swallowed.

“He’s more serious than I’ve ever seen him.”

And somewhere, deep in the pit of his stomach, Raymond felt it for the first time—the slow, seismic crack in the foundation of everything they’d built.

Raymond exhaled. “If we keep talking, it’ll leak.”

“I assume he’s ready for that?”

Raymond nodded once. “Let them lose their minds.”

***

Mercedes F1 HQ, Brackley, England - 4 June 2025

The box was sitting on her desk when Ana arrived.

Unmarked. Medium-sized. A printed label with her name, nothing else.

Ana frowned.

She didn’t do surprises. She didn’t like surprises. Surprises, in her experience, rarely meant something good. Surprises were miscalculations in clean systems. A last-minute reg change. A test that failed. A driver ignoring strategy.

Still, she peeled back the lid carefully, ready to find spare simulation notes or sensor modules.

But what she found was—

Clothing.

Folded with precision. Nestled in tissue paper. A small black envelope on top, unsealed.

She opened it.

Let me know what works. We’ll make more.

She would recognise her father’s handwriting everywhere. Ana stared at the card for a long moment, then reached for the first item.

A team polo.

Same cut. Same design. Same branding.

But softer.

She ran her hand across the inside hem and her chest clenched.

It didn’t bite.

It didn’t snag.

There were no tags.

The seams were flat-locked and pressure-tested.

The collar was gently structured, not stiff.

The cotton blend was like air. Like comfort. Like someone had listened.

This wasn’t from stock.

This had been made.

Specifically.

For her.

Ana didn’t move for several long seconds.

Then she reached beneath the polo and found more:

Beneath the polo was more:

A black zip-up team jacket in brushed cotton fleece, no inner lining, no collar tags.

A long-sleeved shirt with elastic cuffs that didn’t squeeze.

A matching hoodie with her initials embroidered inside the cuff in matte thread.

All of them in her standards. Her sizes. Her tolerances. Her sensory profile, without ever needing to say the word.

She rubbed it between her fingers, then pressed it against the inside of her wrist.

It didn’t sting.

She exhaled slowly.

No one had said anything. No one had made a show of it. There’d been no big team email. No label that marked her as different.

Just this box.

Just a quiet, practical kindness.

Not because she had submitted a request.

Not because she’d complained.

But because Toto—her father—had noticed.

She hadn’t asked for this. 

Because asking had always felt dangerous.

Toto hadn’t even known she existed until she was eight years old. One day she’d been a quiet, stubborn child in her mother’s apartment in Moscow; the next, she was standing on the steps of a townhouse in Vienna with her hand in her mother’s and a suitcase at her feet, being told this was her father.

Toto had been a stranger then. A man built of steel and ambition, who hadn’t even known she existed until her mother—beautiful, and already done with parenting— had dropped Ana off, kissed her forehead once, and never came back.

She’d tried to behave.

She’d tried not to take up space.

He hadn’t known what to do with her.

Not at first. Maybe not even now.

He tried — she would never say he didn’t try — but he tried in the way engineers try to fix a machine they didn’t build. He tried with spreadsheets and plans and the occasional misfired offer to go karting. 

She remembered the early years with him like walking through a museum on tiptoe—careful not to knock anything over. She was too quiet, too smart, too strange. He hadn’t known how to talk to her. She hadn’t known how to ask for what she needed. Somewhere along the way, that became their normal.

So she learned to manage herself.

To be small. Quiet. Perfect. To learn early that needing things just made her difficult. That emotions were inconvenient. That pain was better ignored.

She’d learned to eat what didn’t upset her stomach, to wear what didn’t make her skin scream, to find silence where she could and control what she couldn’t.

And then one day, after twenty years of managing herself, she had tugged at the collar of her Mercedes team polo and muttered, “They’re polyester. They feel like sandpaper dipped in hot glue.”

And Toto had heard her.

He’d listened.

She’d never really believed she fit anywhere in his life. She was the footnote. The consequence. The Moscow Mistake. The burden someone had left him with and that he’d… kept.

And yet—

This box.

This box was not the work of a man who had forgotten she existed.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t emotional. There was no speech, no label, no ceremony.

It fit. For once, something fit.

***

Text Messages: Toto Wolff & Dr. Anastasia “Ana” Wolff

Ana: The shirts arrived. They fit.

Ana: Thank you.

Toto: You shouldn’t have had to work in something that hurt. You don’t have to ask to be comfortable.

Ana: I didn’t want to be a problem.

Toto: You’re not. You never are.

Ana: …Okay. Still. Thank you.

Toto: You’re welcome, Sternchen.

***

Group Chat: “TEAM 33”

 (Members: Max Verstappen, Jos Verstappen, Raymond Vermeulen)

Raymond: Spoke to Andreas. It’s real. They’d move pieces if you’re serious.

Jos: What kind of pieces? Russell?

Raymond: Didn’t say. Didn’t deny either.

Max: They’d do it. And honestly… I’m leaning that way. 2026 looks promising.

Jos: The engine?

Max: The whole package. The new hybrid system. The energy deployment modeling. It’s miles ahead.

Raymond: That’s what they claimed. Said it’s being led by Dr. Anastasia Wolff.

Max: Yeah. It is. She designed most of the integration protocol herself. Used her degrees from Cambridge. Plus her doctoral thesis laid the foundation for her work.

Jos: … How do you know that?

Raymond: Wait. How do you know that?

Max: What?

Raymond: Her doctoral thesis?

Jos: Cambridge degrees?

Max:

I’m just saying—if she’s part of that project, it’s going to be serious. She doesn’t work on nonsense.

Raymond: Max, do you usually read the academic credentials of Mercedes’ engineering staff?

Max: …I’m interested in the project.

Jos: You’re interested in her, clearly.

Max: That’s not— I mean— We’ve talked. About work. A few times.

Raymond: You just cited her entire CV like it’s burned into your brain.

Jos: Max. Do you have a thing for Toto’s daughter?

Max: That’s a wild accusation.

Raymond: Oh my god. This is about more than just the car.

Jos: You’re switching teams for a girl?

Max: I’m switching teams because my current one’s imploding. But the possibility of working with someone I respect doesn’t hurt.

Raymond: Does “respect” usually include memorizing their thesis?

Max: Goodnight.

Raymond: We’re circling back to this.

Max: No, we’re not.

***

Text Messages: Jos Verstappen & Raymond Vermeulen

Jos: Tell me I’m wrong.

Raymond: About what?

Jos: About Max changing teams because of a girl.

Raymond: … You think?

Jos: I know. The way he was going on about Anastasia Wolff. he brought up her degrees, Raymond her doctorate he was quoting her credentials like he’s a LinkedIn profile in love

Raymond: He did have a tone.

Jos: Tone?? My son is ready to defect to Mercedes because Wolff’s daughter builds sexy battery systems.

Raymond: So what are we saying here You think Anastasia Wolff is the reason he’s considering leaving Red Bull?

Jos: I think it’s a factor He’s always been loyal—to people, not just teams And if she’s at Mercedes…

Raymond: To be fair, she’s not Toto 2.0. She’s more like… Terminator with a PhD.

Jos: God help us. He’s changing cars for a girl.

Raymond: He hasn’t changed yet.

Jos: No, but he’s thinking with something other than the steering wheel. That’s how it starts.

Raymond: To be fair, he stayed loyal to Red Bull for nearly a decade.

Jos: Because he had the fastest car. Now he has feelings. This is a disaster.

Raymond: So what do we do?

Jos: We pray Mercedes screws something up. Or that Anastasia Wolff breaks his heart before he signs the damn paperwork.

Raymond: That’s dark.

Jos: I raised him. I know what he’s like when he’s in love. He goes all in.

Raymond: You don’t think it’s the car?

Jos: Oh, it’s the car. But it’s also the girl.

Raymond: God help us.

Jos: God help Toto. If this goes the way Max wants it, he’s going to be father-in-law to a four-time world champion.

***

[maruflix]

YOU ARE SO GORGEOUS (IT MAKES ME SO MAD!) #oneshot #hoshinasoshiro #f!reader

hoshina is unfamiliar with the concept of personal space. unluckily for you, the huge crush you have on your vice captain is the least of your worries when he keeps catching you absolutely losing it. / REQ.

feat. hoshina soshiro　　⎯⎯　wc. 2.0k

contents: female reader, reader is an officer in the third division, fluff, stoic reader, reader cannot express her feelings, not-so-oblivious hoshina, kissing

When any kind of problem arises, the Third Division knows three things for sure:

Go get Captain Mina Ashiro to solve the problem for you.

If she’s busy with other important stuff, Vice Captain Hoshina Soshiro will do.

Should the Vice Captain be unavailable as well, look for Platoon Leader Y/N instead.

You don’t mind being busy— you’re happy to know that your fellow soldiers look for you in times of need. The thing is, sometimes people look for you to ask you where the Vice Captain is.

... and you hate Hoshina Soshiro.

It might surprise people to know that you’re able to feel emotions as strong as hate. You’re a naturally stoic person after all.

No noise readies you, no words shake you out of yourself, no person makes your emotions fluctuate — but Hoshina Soshiro is the only exception.

When other people would get discouraged to get close to you because of your lack of emotions, Soshiro is always at ease near you, like the two of you have been friends for a long time.

The way he smiles, the way he runs a hand through his hair, the way he stands— he’s so gorgeous it makes you so mad.

Like right now; the sound of blades clashing against each other rings in your ears as you try hard not to gape at the glorious display in front of you.

Kafka, huffing and puffing with sweat all over him as he desperately tries to keep up with his opponent, while Soshiro moves around with grace, delivering blows that seem so elegant and yet is enough to make Kafka stumble around like a puppet.

You watch, unsurprised, when Kafka falls down ungracefully, butt planted on the floor. Soshiro’s mouth starts moving (probably giving him some pointers) but all you can think about is how perfect he looks as a bead of sweat trails down his neck.

“Hey, it’s your turn.” Kikoru elbows you rather hard, making you snap out of your trance. Your face falls in an immediate deadpan as you stand up, passing by a dejected Kafka.

Soshiro smiles at you, seemingly unaffected by his earlier spar. “Oh no, I’m gonna have to open my eyes for this.”

He says it loud enough for everyone to hear and your heart leaps.

The spar lasted longer than the one with Kafka, but it still ended up with you losing. Well, there’s a reason he’s the Vice Captain and you’re the Platoon Leader.

As a competitive person, you should be angry for losing— but how could you, when Soshiro pulls you up and pats you in the back?

“You’re a great fighter. I might hafta to sit down and take a break.”

The poker face you successfully maintained should’ve given you a goddamn Grammy.

Soshiro spots you in the cafetaria and immediately makes a beeline to your table.

“’scuse me, coming through!”

The surprise in your eyes is gone as quickly as it appears. The entire table greets him warmly while you continue to eat. Soshiro smiles, sitting down next to you as Kafka scrambles to get out of his way.

Reno is trying to strike up conversation, but his only focus is on you. You seem so unconcerned about everything. He likes that about you too, but he wishes you’d let down your guard with him. How could he know whether you liked him or not? — not that he’d stop trying to get your attention.

Soshiro eating the rest of his apple while he watches you slurp down the last remains of your soup. Even when you eat, you look absolutely divine.

Just then, a lock of hair falls down your face, hanging dangerously close to your food. He instinctively reaches out to brush it out of your face.

“Whoops, wouldn’t wanna get that in the soup.”

Soshiro is aware of the stares he got from his subordinates, but seeing those beautiful eyes of yours look at him makes it worth it. Shocked, he watches as your eyes flash through different emotions before finally returning to its usual calm state.

“E-excuse me.” You didn’t give him time to speak before standing up and walking away.

“Wait!”

Did he just hear a stutter?

You walk fast, but Soshiro managed to keep a comfortable distance away from you. He lets you put away the tray of food and is about to call your name when you disappear inside the toilet.

He halts, opting to wait for you, resting his back against the wall. Then he hears something weird.

“AARRGGGHH!!!”

Posture immediately straight, his body involuntarily jerks to the sound of the scream, wanting to check out if you’re okay. Because it’s the sound of your scream.

He doesn’t have to, because at that moment the door swings open and you walk out of the toilet.

Red-faced.

He’s still standing in stunned silence when you slap a hand to your mouth and run away.

If Soshiro wasn’t worried before, he’s definitely worried now.

You keep avoiding him throughout the rest of the day. When you cross paths, you would refuse to look at him in the face. You’d only give him a halfhearted salute before fleeing.

The thing that bothers him is how hot and bothered you look. Are you feeling under the weather? Soshiro knows how hardworking you are, so he’s worried that you’re forcing yourself to work even though you’re sick.

“Platoon Leader, come here for a sec.”

You begrudgingly make your way to him, still not looking at him in the eyes. Fidgeting, sweating, and looking very, very bothered.

“Platoon Leader, are you sick?”

“No, sir.”

“Excuse me.” is his only warning before he presses his palm against your forehead.

Surprisingly, your temperature is... normal?

“W-what the-” Flinching, you make a big reaction and jerk away from his hand. Still, your face is calm. “If that’s all, I’ll take my leave.”

Soshiro sighs as you speedwalk away. Temperature aside, he’s 101% sure that you’re sick. After all, why else would your face be so red?

Unless...

You’re dreaming. You’re dreaming. You’re dreaming. Because there is no goddamn way Soshiro just touched your face.

You have no clue where you’re walking. You just wanted to get away from the only person who’s able to make you lose your cool. So you head outside, to the gardens. You pass by Haruichi on the way there.

“Hey, have you seen the Vice Captain around?” He calls out after you, making you want to scream in frustration.

Can people stop making you remember the existence of the drop dead gorgeous Hoshina Soshiro?!

“I don’t know! Maybe China!”

Haruichi looks very confused. You brush past him.

Full of nerves and unsure what to do, you finally sit down on a bench to catch your breath. You can still feel his fingertips on your forehead and see the worried expression in his handsome face.

He’s worried about you. You’re about to bury your head in your hands and squeal when you catch sight of the very same man walking towards you.

Like a cue, the mask is back on. You wanted to pat yourself in the back for how quickly you’re able to gather your composure. You’d rather die than embarrass yourself in front of your crush... although you just did that when you walked out to a surprised Soshiro.

He didn’t hear you scream, did he?

Did he?

You stand up as Soshiro stops next to you. He’s smiling his usual smile, but something is eerie about it. Like he knows a secret.

“Can I test something?”

You blink once. Twice. Then you nod.

“Walk with me.”

You follow him, puzzled.

Suddenly, he loops a hand around your shoulders.

Your heart misses a beat and you nearly stumble, but you catch yourself with sheer willpower. The stoic expression is getting harder to maintain, the smile on your lips itching to blossom.

“What... why?”

There are chills running down your back when you look up at Soshiro. His smile is wider now, like he absolutely knows a secret.

He absolutely knows.

You break free and run for your life.

Soshiro feels kinda guilty now. He didn’t mean to fluster you so much; he just felt so happy and flattered that he actually managed to make you blush.

That’s why he’s making his way to your quarters, hoping to apologize for teasing you too much today. Soshiro has loved you for many months now; he has no problems taking it slow until you’re ready to trust him with all your emotions.

The door is slightly ajar, so he pushes it open quietly, not wanting to alarm you. He’s about to knock on it to signal his presence when he sees the state you’re in.

Facing away from the door, your body is half slumped on the floor and half on the bed. You’re clutching a giant pillow to your face.

“AAARRRRGGGMMMM” Without warning, you scream, the sound drowned out by the pillow you’re burying your head into.

His mouth drops open but it quickly stretches into a smile.

You raise your head, revealing your blushing face, before slamming it down on the pillow again. A string of unintelligible noises follow soon after.

He clears his throat.

You pause mid grumble and the air is still. Slowly raising your head, you turn your head to the door. The two of you lock eyes.

“Vice Captain! Get out!”

Instead of getting out, Soshiro lets himself in and closes the door behind him. He chuckles at your terrified expression, finally seeing an emotion other than complete indifference.

“So you’re really not sick? Just blushin’ around me?”

You gape, looking very offended but unable to counter him.

“Oh, good. I thought my crush was unrequited.”

Your eyes widen.

“Hey, can I kiss ya?”

“Wh-what?!”

“Sorry. You just look so cute right now. Is that a no..?”

Soshiro moves closer, now kneeling down in front of you. A teasing smile is still present on his features. Gently, he strokes his thumb down the right side of your lips. Gauging your reactions.

You didn’t want to give him any, but even a great actress needs her breaks. A shy smile breaks through your cold facade, and Soshiro beams.

“Oh, this is so cute. I must kiss ya now.”

You don’t know where to look, eyes flitting everywhere but him, but you let him lean into you until you can feel his breaths against your skin.

“W-wait,” you gasp meekly. Soshiro’s other hand is around your waist now. “I’ve never kissed anyone before.”

Soshiro shivers in anticipation. “That’s okay,” he whispers and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, “just follow my lead.” And he presses his lips against yours.

It’s so cute how shy you are, so much so that you’re trembling under his touch. He’s pretty sure he heard a whimper when he tightens his hold on your waist. It takes everything in him to control himself when you tilt your head back, parting your lips a bit further for him.

You don’t know how long time has passed because your head is still in the clouds even after he pulls away. It’s embarrassing how a simple kiss leaves you a mess; your breaths ragged and cheeks flushed.

You, who’s usually so stoic, calm and composed, looking like this under him—

“I want to say that I’ll stop teasing you, but I would be lying.” Soshiro grins when you bury your face in his chest.

You’re sulking a bit now. How dare he make you look like a complete idiot. “Whatever. You won’t get another reaction out of me anyway.”

“Is that a challenge?”

After that, he tries to get your attention every time you’re in the same space as each other. He’ll tease you, praise you, sling an arm around your shoulders, hold your things out of reach, all that just to get a rise out of you.

Of course, everyone knows he’s down bad. He acts like a schoolboy trying to get attention from his crush in all the wrong ways. So now even more people ask you about Soshiro; where he is, what he’s doing, like they’re completely convinced you two are an item.

Well, you are.

But with so many people teasing you about your relationship, it’s getting hard to hide behind a calm face. You smile a lot more often, especially when he’s around. Your reputation as the division’s most calm and composed soldier quickly fades into memory. At least you got yourself a hot boyfriend...?

Oh well. You win some, you lose some.

[gf2bellamy]

queen why do i feel you'll EAT writing about shy! reader and subtly flirty post-prison reid? 🤭

shy — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: shy / awkward reader , they're working on a case so mention of victims / unsub etc. a/n: HEYY thank you for your request hope you like this i gave it my best shot <3

“And the two of you can work on the geographical profile.” 

Your head snapped up at the sound of your name, eyes meeting Spencer’s for the briefest of moments before you instinctively looked away, pretending to refocus on the files in front of you. Heat crept up your neck, and you tapped your fingers lightly against the table, a nervous habit you never quite managed to shake. 

Spencer’s gaze flickered down to your fingers, watching the repetitive motion before shifting his attention back to his own files. He knew you were shy—reserved, careful with your words—but over time, he’d started to notice something else.

You were even quieter around him. 

Forty-five minutes later, you arrived at the police station with the rest of the team. The usual chaos of a local precinct swirled around you—officers moving in and out, phones ringing, hurried conversations about the case at hand.

As the others scattered to their respective tasks, an officer led you and Spencer to an open conference room, giving you both space to work. 

You slipped your bag from your shoulder and draped your jacket over the back of a chair before settling into place. Just as you were pulling out your notes, Spencer’s voice cut through your thoughts. 

“Do you want coffee before we start?” 

You hesitated. You did, of course. You always started your work with coffee—it was practically a ritual at this point. But the last thing you wanted was to inconvenience him. 

“No, that’s fine,” you said, offering a small, polite smile before looking back at your notes. 

Spencer didn’t respond, just studied you for a moment, then turned and walked out of the room without another word. 

A few minutes later, the door creaked open again, and Spencer reappeared, carrying two cups of coffee. Without a word, he set one down in front of you before taking his own seat. 

Surprised, you looked up at him, eyes wide. “Spencer, you didn’t have to—” 

“I know,” he interrupted gently, stirring a packet of sugar into his coffee. “But you always have coffee before you start working, and I didn’t see you get one today.” 

Your fingers curled around the cup, the warmth of it seeping into your skin. You glanced away, hoping he wouldn’t notice the way your lips curled up into a small, bashful smile. 

Spencer noticed. And he smiled too. 

You two worked side by side, occasionally exchanging thoughts on the profile as new details emerged. Every now and then, Spencer would glance at you, watching how you furrowed your brows in concentration, the way your fingers tapped against the table when you were deep in thought. 

At one point, a police officer working the case stepped into the room. He was friendly—maybe a little too friendly. He started asking about the case, directing every question to you instead of Spencer.

At first, you simply answered out of politeness, not thinking much of it, but as the conversation continued, it became clear that his interest went beyond the case. 

Spencer noticed immediately. The officer’s body language, the way he leaned slightly toward you, the casual, almost playful tone in his voice—it was obvious.

And it was bothering him. A lot. 

He watched as you shifted slightly in your seat but too polite to ignore the man’s questions. Spencer could see it—you weren’t necessarily reciprocating, just trying not to seem rude. Still, that didn’t stop the uncomfortable twist in his stomach. 

His grip on his pen tightened. Then, without looking away from the officer, he spoke. 

“We have to keep working on this,” Spencer said, his voice even but firm. Then, after a brief pause, he added, “Alone.” 

The single word carried weight. 

You bit your lip, lowering your gaze to your files, unsure how to react. The officer hesitated for a second, as if debating whether to challenge Spencer, but ultimately nodded and excused himself from the room. 

Once the door clicked shut behind him, the room felt quieter—almost tense. You tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, not quite meeting Spencer’s gaze. 

"I'm sorry," you mumbled, keeping your gaze fixed on the open case file in front of you. "I didn’t mean to—" 

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

Spencer’s voice was soft, but there was an unmistakable certainty in it. You hesitated before glancing up at him

You shifted in your seat, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “I just… I didn’t know how to get out of that conversation without being rude,” you admitted. 

Spencer let out a small hum, tilting his head as he considered your words. “You really don’t like making people uncomfortable, do you?” 

You exhaled a small, breathy laugh. “No, I guess not.” 

He nodded, then tapped his pen against the table. “Even when they’re clearly making you uncomfortable?” 

Your fingers tightened slightly around your pen. “I mean…” You hesitated, suddenly very aware of how intently he was watching you. “It wasn’t that bad.” 

Spencer’s lips twitched, almost like he was holding back a smirk. “Right. Not that bad.” His voice was thoughtful, but there was something teasing in it. 

You furrowed your brows. “What?” 

He shrugged, flipping a page in his file.“It’s just interesting,” he mused, his tone casual. “Watching someone else try so hard to get your attention.” 

You blinked, suddenly feeling warm. “What—” 

“Not that I can blame him,” he added smoothly, cutting you off. His eyes met yours, and this time, he didn’t look away. 

Your breath hitched, and you quickly dropped your gaze to your files, trying to will away the sudden heat in your face.

Spencer chuckled, the sound quiet but amused. “I’m just saying,” he continued, leaning slightly toward you, his voice lower now. “If he had been paying closer attention, he might’ve noticed that you weren’t interested.” 

You swallowed hard, fingers gripping your pen. “And what exactly makes you so sure of that?” 

He smiled—just enough to be infuriating. “Because,” he said simply, “you get a lot quieter when you actually are interested.” 

Your heart skipped a beat. 

Your lips parted slightly, ready to respond—except you had no idea what to say. Spencer, ever the profiler, seemed to pick up on that, because his smirk deepened just a little before he finally turned back to his notes, acting as if nothing had happened. 

Meanwhile, you stared at your files, pretending to read, even though the words in front of you had lost all meaning. 

Some time later , you were staring at the board, your eyes scanning the map and the scattered notes pinned to it. The geographical profile was coming together, but something felt off—something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

You were pretty sure you had found a pattern, a connection that might help narrow down the unsub’s next move, but the last thing you wanted was to sound like a complete idiot.

Especially not in front of Spencer.

The way you could barely string a sentence together around him was embarrassing enough, and the fact that he had already picked up on it made it even worse. 

Your fingers absentmindedly traced the edge of the file in your hands, your thoughts racing. The more you stared at the board, the more convinced you became that you were onto something.

 Before you could gather the courage to speak, Spencer appeared beside you, his presence so close that you could almost feel the warmth of his arm brushing against yours.

You froze, your breath catching in your throat as he tilted his head slightly, his gaze flickering between you and the board. 

“What are you thinking?” he asked, his voice soft but curious. He was looking at you from the side.

You swallowed hard, your fingers instinctively reaching for the necklace around your neck, twisting the delicate chain between your fingers.

“Oh, nothing,” you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper. You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks, and you quickly averted your gaze, focusing on the board instead of him. 

 Spencer didn’t move. He stayed right where he was, his eyes still on you, waiting. The silence stretched between you, and you could feel the weight of his attention pressing down on you.

Finally, he spoke again, his tone gentle but persistent. “You’re staring at the board like it’s about to reveal the secrets of the universe,” he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. “If you’ve noticed something, I’d like to hear it.” 

 You hesitated, your fingers still fiddling with your necklace. “I just… I think there might be a pattern here,” you said slowly, gesturing toward the map. “The locations of the victims—they’re not random. They’re clustered, but not in a way that’s immediately obvious. It’s like… like the unsub is following a specific route, but he’s deviating just enough to throw us off.” 

Spencer’s eyebrows lifted slightly, and he turned his full attention to the board, his eyes narrowing as he studied the map. “Go on,” he said, his voice encouraging. 

You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to focus. “If you look here,” you said, pointing to one of the pins on the map, “the first victim was found near this intersection. The second was a few blocks away, but still within walking distance. The third was further out, but if you draw a line connecting them, it’s almost like…” You trailed off, suddenly unsure if you were making any sense. 

 “Like he’s spiraling outward,” Spencer finished for you, his voice tinged with excitement. He stepped closer to the board, his eyes darting between the pins as he followed the pattern you had described. “You’re right. It’s not random. He’s moving in a deliberate pattern, but he’s expanding his radius each time.” 

 You nodded, relief washing over you as he validated your theory. “Exactly,” you said, your voice gaining a little more confidence. “And if we can predict where he’ll go next, we might be able to catch him before he strikes again.” 

 Spencer turned to look at you, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “That’s… really good,” he said, his tone genuine. “I hadn’t considered that, but it makes perfect sense.” 

 You felt a rush of warmth at his praise, and you couldn’t help but smile back, even as you tried to hide it by looking down at your notes. “Thanks,” you said softly. “I just… I didn’t want to say anything in case I was wrong.” 

 Spencer shook his head, his expression softening. “You shouldn’t doubt yourself like that,” he said. “You have a good eye for details. You should trust your instincts more.” 

 His words caught you off guard, and you glanced up at him, your eyes meeting his for a brief moment. “I’ll… try to remember that,” you said softly. 

 Spencer didn’t say anything else, but you could feel his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before he turned back to the board, his mind already racing with the new information.

You stood there beside him, your heart still pounding in your chest, but for the first time, you felt a little less unsure of yourself.

Two days later, the case was finally wrapped up. The unsub was in custody, and the team was heading back to Quantico. The relief was palpable, but so was the exhaustion. You were walking toward the jet, your go bag slung over your shoulder, when Spencer caught up to you.  

 “Let me help you,” he said, reaching for your bag before you could protest.  

 “No, no, it’s fine,” you said quickly, instinctively pulling the bag closer to you.

But before you could say anything else, he gently took the bag from your hands, his fingers brushing against yours for the briefest of moments.  

“Thank you,” you mumbled, your voice soft as you glanced at him. He was walking beside you now, his pace matching yours, and you couldn’t help but notice how close he was.

Close enough that you could catch the faint scent of his cologne—something warm and subtle, like sandalwood and books. 

Spencer just smiled, adjusting the strap of your bag on his shoulder as you walked. The late afternoon sun cast a golden glow over the tarmac, and the sound of the team’s chatter filled the air as they made their way to the jet.  

 “You did good work on the case,” Spencer said after a moment, his tone casual but sincere. He glanced at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled. “Really good, actually.” 

You felt a rush of warmth at his words, and you quickly looked down, your fingers instinctively reaching for the necklace around your neck. You twisted the delicate chain between your fingers, a nervous habit you couldn’t seem to break.

“Thank you,” you said quietly. “That… means a lot.” 

Spencer didn’t respond right away, but you could feel his gaze on you, steady and thoughtful. The two of you walked in comfortable silence, the jet now in sight.

The rest of the team was already boarding, their voices carrying across the tarmac as they chatted about the case and what awaited them back home. 

When you reached the plane, Spencer stepped aside to let you board first. You murmured another quiet “thank you” as you climbed the steps, feeling his eyes on you the entire time.

You climbed the steps onto the plane, settling into your usual seat by the window. Spencer followed, stowing the bags in the overhead compartment before sliding into the seat beside you.

The proximity made your breath catch, and you quickly busied yourself with adjusting your sweater, trying to ignore the way your heart was racing. 

As the plane’s engines hummed to life, you found yourself fidgeting again, your fingers toying with the necklace around your neck. It was a nervous habit, one you couldn’t seem to shake, especially when Spencer was this close. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him glance at you, his gaze dropping to your hands before shifting back to your face.

For a moment, he hesitated, as if debating whether to say something. Then, without a word, he reached over, his fingers gently brushing against yours as he stilled your hand. 

“You’re going to break it if you keep doing that,” he said softly, his voice low and warm. 

You froze, your breath hitching as his touch sent a jolt of electricity through you. His hand lingered for a moment, his fingers lightly tracing the chain before he pulled away, leaving your skin tingling where he’d touched you. 

“Sorry,” you mumbled, your face burning as you dropped your hand into your lap. 

Spencer chuckled, the sound quiet but amused. “Don’t be,” he said, leaning back in his seat. “I just… don’t want you to ruin something that’s clearly important to you.” 

You glanced at him, your heart pounding in your chest. There was something in his tone—something teasing but tender—that made your stomach twist.

“It’s just a habit,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. 

“I know,” he replied, his eyes meeting yours. “But you don’t have to be nervous around me, you know.” 

Your breath caught, and you quickly looked away, focusing on the window as the plane began to taxi down the runway. “I’m not nervous,” you lied, your voice shaky. 

Spencer didn’t respond right away, but you could feel his gaze on you, steady and unwavering. “Okay,” he said finally, his tone light but with a hint of amusement. “If you say so.” 

You bit your lip, trying to suppress the smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. The plane lifted into the air, and you leaned back in your seat, the hum of the engines filling the silence between you. 

After a few moments, Spencer shifted slightly, his arm brushing against yours as he reached for the book he’d stashed in the seat pocket. You glanced at him, your heart skipping a beat at the way his fingers traced the spine of the book before he opened it. 

For the rest of the flight, the two of you sat in comfortable silence, the occasional brush of his arm against yours sending a thrill through you.

And as you closed your eyes, the faintest of smiles on your lips, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, Spencer Reid saw something in you that you hadn’t quite seen in yourself yet. 

[whor3ing]

𝑩𝒆𝒕𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒔 | 𝑪.𝑺

▶︎ ၊၊||၊ BREAK FROM TORONTO , PARTYNEXTDOOR

chris sturniolo!bf x f!reader

WARNINGS : smut, phone sex, FaceTime, tapping it on the screen, established relationship, lots of dirty talk, mutual masturbation, mentions of breeding! mentions of spitting (in mouth) usage of “slut”

╭────── · · ୨୧ · · ──────╮

IN WHICH.. after a rough day and missing Chris while he’s away, What starts as playful teasing to cheer you up, quickly turns intense. Chris guides you through the heat of the moment, making the distance between you feel like nothing.

╰────── · · ୨୧ · · ──────╯

second tumblr post! word count : 4.4k ♡

Any day without Chris' arms around you late at night felt like something was missing, similar to the last piece to a nearly finished puzzle, the one that had made everything click into place.

You'd gotten used to his warmth, the way his body seemed to fit against yours so perfectly, the steady beat of his heart slowly lulling you to sleep every night without fail. Being in his arms made you feel safe, loved, and wanted. With each breath, each beat of his heart, you felt your mind grow quiet and your body relax, as if each hum of his heart was him whispering "i love you' over and over.

You knew him going on this brand deal trip had been a good idea for the channel, and you knew that it had already been planned months in advance, but missing him was hard, and missing him was painful. It was only supposed to be a few days now, but each one seemed to drag on longer than the last and it made you relentlessly question if the clock was against you, if time moved slower than it actually did.

Just the night before he had left, his arms had been curled around you and you had been resting on top of his chest, his fingers combing through your hair. Everything had been perfect, everything had felt complete. But tonight, you were alone, and it felt like the quiet of the room echoed louder than it should.

Your day at work had been a full-on nightmare—endless tasks, long hours, all of it seemed to last forever. Every email you had sent felt as if it was another weight added onto your shoulders, and every conversation felt like it had drained every ounce of energy from you. Even now, the fluorescent lights of the office still lingered in your eyes, making your head throb with a dull ache.

Usually, you would come home to Chris, the soft sound of his voice greeting you, followed by his arms pulling you into a warm embrace. He would hold you close, put on a random film and snuggle into you, his hands always wandering to your thighs. He would rub his palms on them, cursing at how soft your skin was while smiling at you, and with that, he would lean in to kiss your forehead as you would drift off.

But tonight was different. The apartment was cold without him, the sheets of your shared bed empty and frigid.

With a sigh, you pick up your phone, swiping up to enter your password.

Your thumb hovers over Chris' name in your contacts; needing to hear his voice, needing him to somehow fill the empty space in your chest, the same emptiness lingering throughout the entire apartment.

Without thinking too much, you press call.

The phone rings only twice before Chris picks up and upon the first word he speaks, you can hear the smile in his voice, immediately warm and familiar.

"Hey, sweetheart, wasn't expecting you to call so early, what's up?"

Sinking into your bed, you let out a heavy sigh, letting your gaze drift upward to the ceiling fan, its quiet hum the only other noise in your quiet apartment.

"Hey," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper, the word catching in your throat. You clear your throat, trying to dislodge the lump that's formed there, and continue, "I needed to hear your voice, I miss you."

As the words leave your lips, you feel a slight tremble in your voice, something that your boyfriend, Chris would never dare to let slide.

There's a pause on the other end, and when he speaks again, his tone is softer, full of concern. "I miss you too, you alright, baby?"

You nod, even though he can’t see it, your eyes fluttering shut as you take in his warm voice. "Just… it’s been a rough day," you admit, curling into your blanket. "I can’t stop thinking about you, Chris. It’s so hard without you here."

You hear him chuckle from the other side of the phone, his voice still soft and concerned, "I wish I could be there with you right now. You know I’d make it all better, right?"

"I know," you murmur, your lips pursing. "I just miss everything about you. I miss your arms around me, I miss your smell."

He lets out a light, teasing laugh, cutting out slightly over the phone as he inhales afterward. "My smell, huh? Really, ma? You miss the way I smell?" He chuckles his laugh sweet, "You sure it’s not just my cologne you’re missing?"

You shake your head as he talks, sitting up and propping your back against your headboard, a smile finding its way onto your face. "No," you say pausing as you try to sound serious, "It's you. It's just you."

You smile as Chris lets out another laugh, his voice playful, "Well, well, aren’t you the romantic." He pauses, letting out another soft giggle. "You must really be going crazy without me, huh? Can’t even sleep without my scent on your pillow."

Without thinking you laugh, slapping your hand down onto your comforter as you giggle, "Shut up, it's not funny!"

"It’s a little funny," he teases, his voice husky. "There's that laugh I love," he murmurs.

His words settle in your chest, and a warmth spreading through you. "You’re ridiculous," the smile tugging at your lips as you talk. "But I missed you, I missed you so much."

"I know, baby, I miss you too," he murmurs, chuckling. "Maybe I should become a therapist, I should start charging you for daily sessions with how fast I brought that smile back."

You roll your eyes as you let out another small laugh, raising an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? What's the payment plan like? Not sure I can afford daily, maybe weekly."

"Depends," Chris pauses and there's a silence on the other end of the phone.

After a few seconds, a low chuckle leaves his lips. "You offering cash, or are we talking.. other forms of payment?"

You smile, licking your lips and leaning your head back to rest against the headboard. "Wow, so nasty of you to be talking like this when your brothers are god knows where."

You hear rustling for a moment over the phone before you hear Chris chuckle again, the sound absolutely adorable. "I may be a little dirty, but I'm still a gentleman," He whispers, his voice like velvet even despite the crackles of the air in the background as he speaks.

You can almost hear the heat in his voice and it burns you even through all of the distance, leaving tingles on your body as he continues, "Matt and Nick went out, some stupid costume store for a video idea. They're going to be gone for a while, and I have to admit, I'm kind of glad."

His voice drops to a low, husky tone, sending shivers down your spine. "I was thinking about you baby, and I couldn't focus on anything else."

You feel a warm blush rise to your cheeks as you hear his words through the phone, your pulse beating faster, so loud you can nearly hear it through your ears. "What were you thinking about?" You ask curiously, soft grin reaches your face and your hands begin to toy with themselves as you lay the phone on your lap to listen.

"I was thinking about how your breath hitches when I do that thing with my tongue, and how your fingers would dig into my back when I do that thing with my hands."

"How your back arches when I fuck you," He pauses, his voice exasperated. "When I tell you to keep looking me in the eyes while you take my cock in that dripping pussy of yours."

His words leave you breathless and full of desire. You can feel your face burning with heat, your nipples hardening against the fabric of your top with every word he speaks, as if his words are urging you to want him even more than you already do.

"Chris..." You whisper, his name barely audible over the sound of your own ragged breathing.

"Yeah, baby?"

"I want you," you finally manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper. "I want you so bad, Chris."

"I want you, let me see you, baby," You hear him lick his lips, his breathing just as loud as yours. Turn on your camera, can I see your pretty face?"

You smile, pressing the familiar FaceTime button, and as the camera flickers to life, you adjust yourself to fit in frame, the soft light from your room casting a glow over your features, putting them on full display for him.

Chris' camera flutters to life soon after, you see him in the corner of the screen.

The first thing you notice is his hair, tousled and messy as if he's been running his fingers through it out of habit. The soft lights of his hotel room and the sunset outside of his window catch faint golden undertones onto his skin, making him look like an absolute dream.

His jawline catches the light when he shifts slightly to look closer at you, the shadow of his stubble visible to you as a grin forms at the corners of his mouth, a grin that's just for you.

He looks absolutely perfect, in fact, you weren't even sure how a person could manage to look that good during every second of the day until you had met him.

The most amazing part? He was all yours.

His voice pulls you back to reality, warm and teasing. "See something you like, or are you just gonna keep staring, baby?"

You roll your eyes, though the blush creeping up your neck betrays you. "Oh, please," you tease. "You’re the one who wanted to see me."

Chris leans a little closer to his screen, his piercing blue eyes sharpening as he takes you all in. His eyes travel over your frame, lingering for a moment before his lips part slightly, his voice dropping just a bit. "I mean, can you blame me? Look at you."

His eyes trail over you slowly, and then he pauses, his lips curling into a smirk. "Wait a second... Is that my shirt?"

You glance down, your fingers instinctively brushing over the soft fabric, the only thing you were wearing a side from your underwear, "What if it is?" you ask, arching a brow, trying to sound casual despite the sudden flutter of your pulse in your chest.

His laughter comes easy, warm and deep. "You’re unbelievable," he mutters, but there’s something softer behind his tone. "I was wondering where that went."

Relaxing a bit, Chris leans back slightly, running a hand through his hair, but his gaze never leaves you. When he speaks again his voice is soft but teasing, "You know, you wearing my shirt like that? It's not fair."

"Fair?" you repeat, tilting your head with a playful smile. "What’s not fair about it?"

Chris sighs, tugging at his hair,"The fact that I’m sitting here wishing I could take it off you myself."

"Maybe if you were here, I’d let you," you murmur, your eyes locked onto his.

"Don’t tease me like that, baby." You watch as his tongue licks around his lips, his eyes laced with desire, "You know I’d do it in a heartbeat."

"Who’s teasing?" you reply softly, your fingers toying with the hem of the shirt. There’s a moment of silence, charged with electricity, before you meet his gaze again. "What if I took it off right now?"

Chris’s breath hitches audibly, his confidence momentarily faltering as his eyes darken. "Don’t say that if you don’t mean it," he murmurs, his voice low and rough.

Adrenaline and desire course through you as you slowly lift the hem of the shirt, just enough to tease him, right below your breasts, allowing them to peek out, just a little bit. His reaction is immediate—his eyes are glued to the screen, his jaw falling open as he takes in the sight of you. .

"Your turn," you say softly, smiling as you tease him. Your hands reach up to rub at your tits, the hem just covering your nipples.

Within an instant, Chris shuffles slightly letting the camera fall to the side of the bed. You hear the sound of fabric sliding against his skin and a moment later, he picks up the phone resting it on top of his stomach, one of his arms behind his head as he props it up to see you rubbing your tits for him.

Suddenly, he angles the camera even further down, revealing a very obvious bulge in his boxers. His boxers are tight against his cock and you feel yourself nearly drool as the outline of his hard dick is directly on display in front of you, straining against the fabric.

You watch as his fingers trail over the waistband of his boxers, teasing you just as much as you’ve been teasing him. He’s still staring at you, waiting for your next move.

Your hands move instinctively, pulling your shirt off, your tits falling out from underneath his shirt. You reach over, letting it fall to the side of the bed as you arch your back slightly, giving him a better view, as your fingertips trail across your bare chest. His eyes seem to devour you from the screen, and you know he’s getting just as impatient as you are.

You drag your fingers down your body, feeling the slight shiver of anticipation in your fingertips. The way his eyes stay locked on you makes your pulse race faster, a part of you already craving him even more. You glance, making sure he’s watching as your hand moves lower, slipping down to rub against your thighs, just as he would if he were with you.

His breath hitches as you continue rubbing yourself, the sound of his voice a low growl in your ears, even with the static from the call.

"God, you're so fucking beautiful."

His breath is hoarse as you see his hand slide down his body, down his abs as he rubs them for you through the phone, just as you would.

"I want you to take those panties off, please baby. Let me see all of you."

His words stir something deep inside you, and without thinking twice, you push your pants down, dragging them past your thighs, over your hips. Your heart races as you make sure he’s watching, feeling the weight of his gaze as you slowly expose yourself to him, piece by piece, just like a puzzle.

His eyes glisten as he watches you take them off, his mouth open, full of drool as you open your legs for him, placing the camera directly in front of your pussy.

"God, fuck. You're so fucking wet."

His words send shivers down your spine as you feel your body heat up, the anticipation of what's to come making your heart race. You watch him on the screen, his hand still rubbing his abs, his eyes locked on the camera pointed at your pussy.

"I want you to touch yourself, show me how much you want me," he murmurs as his hands slide further down his body. He smiles, angling the camera right below his bulge as he begins to rub on his v-line.

With instinct, your right hand slides up your body slowly. Your hands slide against your thighs, your stomach, all the way up to your mouth where you silently spit into your hand.

Your hand slides back down your body, your fingertips brushing against your needy clit, so wet and so wanting.

"Wish I was there, my god.. I would spit in that beautiful mouth and make you use that to rub yourself," he murmurs. Your eyes stay trained on his and on his body as he slides his boxers down, his cock springing out from under them.

His words are like a drug to you, making you even more aroused. You moan into the phone, your breath coming in short gasps. Your eyes follow his cock as he spits onto his hand in the same way, his hand sliding to hold the base of his cock.

With a small chuckle, he positions his phone to be right below it. You can see how big he is, how thick he is. He smiles, leaning his cock forward gently to tap it directly onto the camera.

The head of his cock hits the camera with a loud thud three times, you can hear how hard he is.

"Do you like what you see, baby?" he asks, his voice low and seductive as his cock stands straight up, his fingers beginning to slowly stroke against his rigid shaft.

“Do you like it when I slap this dick on this camera for you, just like how I should be slapping it against your clit while I make you cum for me with my fingers.”

He continues to tease you, slowly stroking his cock as he talks dirty to you. "I bet you wish you were here with me, don't you? Feeling my hot cum on your tongue."

His words cause you to rub your clit even faster, your hands diving into your wet folds as you watch him stroke himself.

He leans in closer to the camera, his cock just inches from the lens.

"Mmm, you're such a dirty girl, aren't you?"

He moans, biting on his lips as he watches you pleasure yourself to him. "You love watching me jerk off over the phone for you, don't you?"

He gives a slight thrust of his hips, his cock twitching in his hand. "I bet you'd love to taste it, wouldn't you? To have my cock in your mouth, down your throat, choking on it as I fuck your face."

You moan, murmuring yes a thousand times as you rub your puffy wet pussy for him, your breath hitching every second with just how good he makes you feel.

"Take your fingers and slide them into your wet pussy, baby," he moans out, his hand working magic on his cock as he strokes it even faster for you.

You can see so much precum, so much of his spit running down the sides of it with every stroke he makes. You can't help but wish that it was your spit, that his precum was deep down your throat, and looking at him, that's all you can think about.

You wish you could run your tongue against the shaft of his dick, you wish his hand could be replaced with yours. You wish it was your mouth he was fucking into instead of his hand, wishing that it was your pussy making him feel that divine.

He groans as he sees you slide your fingers inside of your pussy, smiling with his tongue over his teeth as he sees you begin to finger yourself.

You moan softly, arching your back as you push your fingers deeper into your wetness. You glance down at the phone, watching his eyes follow your every move. You can see the lust in his gaze, the desire to be with you right now.

"Oh fuck," he breathes, his voice thick with need. "I wish I was there with you."

The tip of his cock swells, his shaft hard and rigid, just aching for you, and his hand immediately picks up the pace on his cock as he imagines that your fingers inside of you is his cock instead, fucking you so deep.

"I want to fuck you so bad," he whispers, voice strained with desire. "I want to feel your tight pussy wrapped around my cock, milking me dry."

He groans, his hips thrusting forward as if he could push his cock through the screen and into you, if only it were that simple.

"I want to breed you," he whispers, his voice thick with desire as he pumps his cock with his hand, stroking it so good for you. "I want to fill your pretty pussy with my cum and make a baby with you."

“tell me you want that”

You gasp, your fingers only moving faster at the mention of having his cum inside of you, spilling out onto your thighs. "Oh god, yes Chris, I want you to breed me.” you moan, slipping your fingers out of your warmth to rub at your swollen clit again in large circles.

You can hear him taking deep breaths on the other end of the line, trying to control his voice from faltering as he rapidly strokes his cock for you. "I wish I was there with you," he says again, his voice strained.

"I would cum inside you, I would cum in you and then I would finger that pussy and rub it all over that wet clit," he moans in the middle of his talking, his voice coming out as if it was meant to be a whine.

You can feel your orgasm building, your fingers moving faster and faster on your clit as you moan louder. You moan, reaching your other hand down to finger yourself at the same exact time, "Oh god, I'm going to come, Chris please come with me," you gasp, your voice breaking.

It's as if you can almost feel him with you, his hands on your thighs holding them for you as he watches you come undone.

“No, slut. Hold it for me,” he coos suddenly.

You gasp out exasperated, your mouth quivering as you slow down your pace, trying to hold yourself together. You want to come so bad for Chris, you want to soak your sheets and scream out his name.

But he won’t let you.

You look at him pleadingly, he can see you so exposed so vulnerable as you look at him, pleading with your eyes.

“Aw, does my baby want to cum for me?” Chris’ voice is soft, as he spits into his hand, his hand slimy and wet as he slides it back onto his cock, rubbing it so fast for you.

You can hear him grunt as he urges you to continue, “I didn’t tell you to slow down. Rub that pussy, now.”

Obeying, your hands find your clit again and you rub your wetness in circles, his eyes never leaving you, moving from your cunt to your face to your tits and back again.

Your legs shake as your movements urge you closer to release, your pussy clenching, begging for his cock inside of you.

Chris nods at you, his voice whiney, “Oh fuck, ma. Oh god, put your fingers back in there for me.”

You whimper as your fingers enter you once again. Staring at his cock, you imagine that instead, it’s him entering you. Chris fucking your pussy so good, Chris in front of you pounding you into the bed.

He lets out a moan, his cock making you salivate and his noises driving you insane with how badly you crave him.

Within an instant, Chris can’t seem to hold himself anymore and instead of denying you like he loves, he’s too close to make you beg anymore.

"Come for me baby," he groans, struggling to keep his eyes open to look at you. "Come all over your pretty hands for me, yes.. God yes."

“Please, Chris,” you whimper, your voice pleading, desperate to come with him, “I need you… I need to feel you.."

"Show me how much you need me, do it slut," he moans, stroking faster. "Show me baby, let me watch you."

Chris leans forward, his lips parted as he breathes your name, his hand still gripping the phone tightly, positioning it so he can see you, and you can see him.

You move your fingers faster, harder, needing that release more than anything else. You hear him do the same, his hand moving faster, each stroke pushing him closer to his ownrelease.

"Come on, baby," he urges, his voice a low growl. "Let go for me. I want to see you fall apart, tell me you want my come.”

“I want you to come, Chris. Please come for me,” you murmur as your body starts to convulse.

You feel your whole body tense with his words, your back arching as the pleasure rips through you, your hands nearly dropping the phone as you finally come for him.

You're lost in the moment, unable to think, unable to do anything but gasp for air, your hand still between your legs as your body quivers, waiting and watching for Chris to come for you.

As promised, Chris follows right behind you, his moans louder than before, and you can hear the sound of him finishing, his voice raw with release and raw with pleasure. You watch as his come drips from the tip of his cock, begging to be licked up.

On the other end of the screen, Chris collapses back onto his bed, laying fully down, his face flushed and his hair messy, his cum all over his stomach.

"Well… that was definitely worth the wait," he murmurs, his voice warm and affectionate. "God, I wish I could kiss you, baby."

You smile to yourself, your heart fluttering at his words. "I wish you could too, Chris," you whisper back, "Come back soon, I'm dying without you here."

"Just a few more days, my love. I promise." He smiles, messing with his hair as he smiles at you. "And when I get back, I’ll take you out, wherever you want to go. Maybe a fancy dinner… or," he pauses, giving you a sly grin, "we could go somewhere more fun, like an amusement park. Y'know, so I can win you a giant teddy bear."

You can’t help but laugh at the image of him winning you a stuffed animal, and you playfully roll your eyes. "An amusement park? Really?" you tease, "You’re gonna win me a stuffed bear?"

"Yeah, absolutely. I’ll win you the biggest one, just so you can carry it around everywhere and make everyone jealous." His smile widens, a grin too big for his face. "And then, we’ll ride all the roller coasters, just to make sure you’re holding onto me the whole time."

He chuckles, throwing his head back at his own remarks.

He makes a soft kiss sound as he continues,"hey, I’m just trying to make sure you don’t fly off the ride. Somebody’s gotta keep you safe, right?" You roll your eyes, smiling at how adorable he is.

"And I think you’d be holding onto me for more reasons than just the ride."

You raise an eyebrow, your heart racing a little as you grin back at him. "Is that so?" you tease a serious undertone to your voice. "Well, maybe I’ll just hold on tight to you then, but only if you win me that bear."

"I'm gonna win you the biggest damn bear you've ever seen."

i love my cutie endings, thank you so much for reading! sorry for any writing mistakes

𖧧 𝑪𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒆 𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

matt version : here !

[lazysoulwriter]

first date with pedro pascal ── .✦

He overthinks it. So much.

He picks the date spot carefully, making sure it’s low-key and cozy. Not too fancy, not too loud. Somewhere that feels like him. He has a full-on fashion crisis beforehand. Stares at himself in the mirror like, “Too cool? Too casual? Do I look like a man who respects therapy?” Spoiler: he looks perfect. Always does.

He’s there ten minutes early. Just pacing. Probably texting his friends: If I say something awkward, should I fake a cough and run? Be honest. They all tell him to calm down. They’re right. Because when you show up?

He forgets how to breathe for a second.

“Wow,” is all he says at first. Quiet, wide-eyed, smile slowly spreading. Then a little laugh. “You’re gonna ruin me, aren’t you?”

—

The vibe is easy. So easy.

Conversation flows like you’ve known each other in ten other lifetimes. He’s goofy. He makes fun of himself. Tells stories with too many side tangents. You laugh until your cheeks hurt. He watches you like you’re the main character in his favorite book.

You learn that he likes secondhand bookstores and hates olives. That he reads poetry sometimes before bed and leaves voice memos for his friends when he misses them. You tell him about your weirdest dreams, your favorite trash TV show, the dumbest lie you told as a kid. He loves all of it.

—

He brings you a tiny little gift.

It’s not flashy. He’s not trying to impress you. He just... saw something and thought of you. A tiny pin from a vintage shop. A short story. A folded page from a magazine with something beautiful on it. He hands it to you like he’s nervous you’ll think it’s dumb. You don’t. You treasure it instantly.

—

He wants to touch you. So badly. But respects every second of your space.

If your knees touch under the table, he doesn’t move away. If you brush his hand, he smiles so shy and proud. Eventually, he gets brave enough to hold your hand. When he does, his thumb immediately starts tracing little circles on your knuckles, like he’s soothing both of you at once.

—

When it’s time to leave, he walks you wherever you need to go.

To your car. To your door. He stays until he knows you’re safe. He’s buzzing with the kind of affection that feels too big to fit in his chest. He wants to kiss you so badly—but only if you want it, too.

If you do kiss him, it’s soft. Like a promise. If you don’t, he still leaves you with the warmest smile and the gentlest goodbye.

“I had the best time. Like… scary good. Can I see you again?”

—

That night, as you lay in bed replaying it all, he sends a voice note. His voice is low, a little tired, but sweet as ever.

“Hey... just wanted to say thank you. You’re kinda stuck in my head now. Hope that’s okay.”

And that’s the first of a million times he makes you feel like the only person in the world.

requested! thank you. ✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.

[sillylilsquid]

it was always you

pairing - hyun-ju x reader summary - After years apart, a surprise dinner brings you and Hyun-ju back into each other’s orbit. Hyun-ju has finished her transition; you never stopped loving her. In the quiet aftermath of slow, devastating intimacy, Hyun-ju learns what it means to be fully seen–and fully wanted. warnings - afab!reader, post-transition!hyun-ju, explicit sexual content, 18 + minors dni!! 4.4k words

You’re halfway through your glass of wine when you hear her laugh. It doesn’t register right away. You’ve been zoning in and out of conversation all night–politely nodding, smiling, pretending to follow the chatter about jobs and breakups and someone’s new dog. You almost don’t notice the person who slides into the empty seat next to you.

Then: that laugh. Low. Warm. A little rasp at the end, like she still doesn’t quite know how to laugh without giving something away.

And then she turns toward you. And your breath catches.

Hyun-ju.

It’s been…god, years? You’re not even sure how long. The last time you saw her, she still wore her hair chopped super short and rarely made eye contact. Now she’s sitting next to you like she owns the space–gold hoops glinting in the restaurant light, her hair almost brushing the tops of her shoulders now, mascara coating her thick lashes.

She looks like a woman who knows exactly who she is.

“Hyun-ju?” you say, voice too soft.

Her eyes flick toward you–and they soften immediately. She tilts her head. “Well, shit,” she murmurs, smiling slow. “Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

You don’t know what to do with your hands. Or your face. You smile, too big, too awkward, and tuck your napkin into your lap like that’s going to help. “I–hi,” you manage. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Min said he was bringing some old friends,” she shrugs. “Didn’t realize you were that old friend.”

You laugh, it comes out breathy. “Yeah. It’s…been a while.”

She hums. Her eyes linger on you for a moment longer than polite. “You look good.”

You blush. Instantly. She notices, of course she does, and leans back just enough to stretch–her arm brushing yours as she moves. She smells like citrus and something woodsy. Expensive and intoxicating.

“You, um–” you swallow. “You look amazing. I mean–like, really. You look…” You trail off. You don’t know how to finish the sentence without sounding unhinged.

She grins, the corner of her mouth lifting. “Thanks, baby. You always were too sweet to lie.”

Oh god. 

You busy yourself with your wine glass. The room keeps talking–Min laughing across the table, two of your other friends arguing about astrology–but it all fades. Hyun-ju’s body is angled toward yours now. Her knees humps yours under the table and stays there.

“You still in the city?” she asks, like it’s just casual conversation. Like her voice isn’t wrecking you from the inside out.

You nod. “Yeah. Moved last year. Teaching now. Nothing glamorous.”

“Doesn’t have to be glamorous. Just has to feel like yours.”

You glance over. Her gaze is steady. It always used to be sharp, skittish, distant. Now it’s soft, patient.

She looks at you like she’s remembering every version of you she ever saw. Every version she might want to know again. “Wanna catch up properly after this?” she asks.

You don’t even think before you say, “Yes.”

The restaurant spills out into the warm hum of evening–street lights buzzing, sidewalk still holding the day’s heat. You’re walking beside Hyun-ju, not quite brushing shoulders, but close enough to feel her there. Solid, present, real.

“Mine’s just around the corner,” she glances down at you. “If you wanna keep talking.”

You nod. “Yeah. I’d like that.” She smiles. Doesn’t say anything else.

Her apartment is quiet, warm-toned, soft in a way you didn’t expect. One wall is lined with plants. The furniture is minimal, clean, cozy. There’s music humming low from a speaker somewhere–just instrumental, ambient, barely there.

You toe off your shoes by the door, trying not to look like you’re too flustered. “Make yourself comfy,” she says as she sets her keys on the counter. “I’ll open us a bottle.”

You nod and sit on the couch, your knees a little too close together, hands folded like you’re in church. The cushions are deep, the kind you can sink into if you let yourself.

She moves confidently around the kitchen. You steal a glance at her–how good she looks in those high waisted jeans, the little tuck of her shirt, the slope of her back. How grounded she seems. Settled.

When she returns with two glasses of wine, she hands you one before sitting beside you–not too close, not too far.

You take a sip. It gives you something to do with your hands. Your nerves are alive and buzzing. “You’ve really changed,” you say quietly, then wince. “Wait, I–I didn’t mean that in a bad way. I just–”

Hyun-ju smiles softly, like she knew what you meant all along. “It’s okay,” she says, setting her glass down. “I finished my transition about nine months ago.”

Your heart lifts into your throat. “Are you happy?” you ask, before you can second guess the question.

She looks at you, and her eyes go warm. “More than ever.”

You smile. It pulls up slowly, genuine and bright. “Good,” you murmur. “You deserve it.”

Something flickers across her face then–something quiet and hard to name. Gratitude, maybe. Or relief. Or maybe just the strange sweetness of being seen.

She leans back into the couch, her glass resting against her thigh. The music plays on. You glance down at her hand–how close it is to yours on the cushion.

She says, “You’re still the same.” You look at her surprised. “I mean that in a good way,” she adds, teasing, her mouth titled in a grin.

You laugh. “God. You always used to say that to get out of trouble.”

She hums. “Worked then. Still works now.” Your knees brush. 

Neither of you move away. You swirl the last of your wine before finishing it in one smooth sip–nerves or habit you’re not sure. Then you lean forward, setting the empty glass on the coffee table a little too gently, like you’re afraid to break the moment by moving too loud.

Hyun-ju’s watching you, glass still in her hand, eyes half lidded and lazy. “Did you finally dump your stupid boyfriend?”

You laugh, a real laugh. “Yeah,” you lean back into the couch. “Like…three months ago, maybe.”

“Finally. He was a loser.” Hyun-ju smirks into her wine.

You laugh. “He wasn’t that bad.”

“He wore toe shoes,” she deadpans.

Your face scrunches. “Okay, yeah, he was that bad.”

She grins, pleased. “And he never deserved you anyway.” That last bit lands differently. Not a joke. Just quiet and soft.

Your breath catches before you can stop it. “You remember that night he picked a fight with me at Min’s party?”

“Of course I do,” her voice dips lower. “I wanted to kill him.” You glance at her. She’s already looking at you. “He made you cry. Then pretended like it was your fault.”

You nod, a little stunned. You hadn’t known she noticed. Let alone remembered.

“I almost followed you out when you left,” she admits, eyes not leaving yours. “But I thought…I didn’t have the right?”

You’re suddenly very aware of how close you’re sitting. The warmth of her body next to yours. The way her knee is angled toward you now, not just brushing by accident. “You could’ve,” your voice is barely above a whisper. “I would’ve wanted you to.”

She looks at you for a long beat. “Yeah?” she asks, like she doesn’t quite believe it–but wants to.

You nod. Her fingers drum lightly on her glass. She sits it down beside yours, the clink of it echoing in the quiet room. Then she shifts–just slightly–turning more toward you. Her thigh touches yours now. Firm and intentional.

“You always looked at me like you wanted to say something. Back then.” She murmurs.

You swallow. “So did you.”

Her gaze drops to your mouth for half a second, then back up. “Maybe. But I wasn’t ready to be seen. Not like that.”

You nod slowly. “And now?”

Her lips twitch, but it’s not a smile. It’s something heavier. “Now I want to be seen by you.”

The silence stretches again. You don’t move. You don’t even breathe. She reaches up, fingers brushing a stray piece of hair from your cheek. Her touch is feather light. Your heart slams against your ribs.

Then her voice, impossibly gentle: “Can I kiss you?”

Your heart skips. Then stutters. Then finally crashes against your ribs as you whisper, “Please.”

Hyun-ju doesn’t hesitate after that. She leans in slowly, giving you every second to pull away–but you don’t. You tilt into her, breath caught in your throat.

And then she kisses you. It’s soft at first–just the press of her mouth against yours, careful and reverent, like she’s memorizing the shape of you. You sigh into it, lips parting as she tilts her head and kisses you deeper, her hand sliding to the side of your face, thumb brushing the hinge of your jaw.

Your whole body warms. Nerves lighting up in places you forgot how to feel. She kisses like someone who’s waited years to be allowed. Someone who’s had this dream over and over and never expected it to be real.

You shift forward on the couch without thinking–closer, closer–until your knees brush hers and your chest is pressed to hers and it still doesn’t feel like enough.

Then her hands settle on your waist. Her grip is steady. Grounding. And you let her guide you–up, over, into her lap.

You straddle her, thighs on either side of hers, your skirt bunching up as you settle. She exhales sharply, hands tightening, eyes flicking over your face like she can’t believe you’re really here like this–like this.

“Is this okay?” you murmur, breath warm against her mouth.

She nods, voice low and frayed. “More than okay.”

You kiss her again. Harder now. Sloppier. All the years of restraint unraveling between your mouths. Your hips shift, instinctive and desperate–rolling down against her, slow and uncertain, your breath catching the second your body feels her under you.

Hyun-ju groans. It’s the softest sound–but it punches the air from your lunds.

Her hands slide up your back, one settling between your shoulder blades, the other drifting lower. She’s holding you like she doesn’t want to let go, like she doesn’t quite believe she’s allowed to touch you this way.

And you–God, you can’t stop kissing her. Your fingers slide into her hair, tugging gently. Her lips part with a shiver. You grind down again–needy, dizzy. Her thighs flex beneath you.

She gasps. “Baby–”

You freeze, eyes wide, suddenly remembering everything. “Did I–” you whisper, panic bubbling in your throat. “Did I do something wrong?”

Hyun-ju’s eyes widen, hand tightening on your hips. “No,” she says quickly. “No, sweetheart. Just–” Her voice softened. “Breathe. We can go slow.”

You nod. “I want to…I want to learn what you like. I don’t want to mess this up.”

Her hands slide up to cradle your face again, thumbs stroking gently under your eyes. “You’re not going to mess anything up,” she whispers. “You asking me that? That’s already everything.”

You feel your breath leave your body in a shaky rush. “I want all of you,” you mumble, “I want to touch you right.”

Hyun-ju swallows thickly, eyes bright. Then she leans up and kisses you again. Slower this time. Her hands stay on your cheeks, keeping you close, steady. And underneath you, her body is trembling too.

You don’t remember when the kisses turned desperate again–when you started rocking forward in her lap like you couldn’t help it, your fingers fisting in the fabric of her shirt, her hands steadying your hips like she was trying to slow things down.

You only know the second she pulls away, her lips flushed and parted, her voice low. “Come here,” she murmurs, and then she’s stradlig–effortlessly, your body curled into hers, your legs instinctively wrapping around her waist as she lifts you up like you weigh nothing.

You gasp. Laugh a little. “Jesus–”

Hyun-ju’s grinning now, carrying you through the hall like it’s second nature. “That’s what years in the military gets me.”

You cling together, breath hot against her throat. “You were always so strong.”

She huffs a laugh. “Only ever wanted to be strong for the people I cared about.”

That makes your chest squeeze. You don’t know what to say to that. So you kiss her again instead–messy, open mouthed, grateful.

Then you feel the bed beneath you. She drops you onto the mattress with a soft bounce, and your breath hitches as she leans over you, her hands braced beside your shoulders. Her eyes rake over your face, your chest, your parted lips. You feel seen. Not just naked–wanted.

She brushes her thumb across your bottom lip. “You sure?” she whispers. “We don’t have to rush.”

“I’m sure. I want you.”

And then you both start to move. Not rushing, not toward undressing. Just into each other–your bodies tangled in the middle of her bed, mouths locked in slow, hungry kisses.

She’s leaning against the headboard, legs parted just enough for you to settle over her. Your thighs straddle hers, arms braced on either side of her shoulders, and she looks up at you like she’s starving.

You kiss her harder. She groans, low in her throat, pulling you in by the hips, and then her mouth is at your neck–sucking, licking, dragging her teeth just enough to make you gasp. You let her. You let her mark you.

Normally, you’d squirm at the thought of hickies–feeling too visible, too exposed–but not when they’re from her. Not when they come with the press of her body under yours, the sound of her breath catching as you grind down a little harder.

Her hands squeeze your ass, fingers digging in just right, and you moan before you can stop yourself. That earns you a grin–crooked, wicked, half lidded.

“Fuck,” she murmurs, voice rough. “I’ve always wanted your ass in my hands.”

You let out a laugh and then you’re pulling your shirt over your head in one smooth motion, tossing it to the side without a second thought.

She goes quiet. You reach for the hem of her shirt, sliding it up over her stomach slowly. She tenses just a little–but you pause immediately, eyes searching hers. “I–” you start, ready to stop.

But she nods, steady this time. “You can take it off.”

So you do. You ease it up, baring the soft slope of her belly, the delicate line of her ribs, the deep curve of her waist. She helps a little–lifting her arms–and then it’s gone, flung somewhere behind you.

She’s still in her bra. So are you. You stay like that, just looking at each other–half naked, flushed, breathing each other in.

Then her hands come back to your hips. Sliding under the waistband of your pants just slightly. Her thumbs stroke your skin, and you swear your pulse jumps.

God,” she whispers. “You’re so fucking pretty.”

You duck your head and kiss her–deep and slow, your chest pressing to hers, the friction making you both sign into each other. “I’ve always wanted this,” you whisper in between kisses. “I’ve wanted you.”

Her mouth finds your jaw, then the shell of your ear. “I used to dream about this,” she breathes. “You, straddling me like this. Moaning in my mouth. Telling me I can have you.”

“You can,” you say. “You have me.”

You kiss her like you’re trying to memorize her mouth. Every curve of her lips, the sound she makes when you nip gently at her bottom lip, the way her breath catches when you roll your hips just right.

Her hands slide up your bare back, warm and sure, until her thumbs brush just beneath the strap of your bra. She doesn’t try to take it off. Not yet. She’s too focused on feeling you.

You lean back slightly, just enough to see her face, and your breath stutters at the sigh of her. Hair mussed. Lips kiss-bitten. Chest rising and falling beneath black lace. She’s radiant.

You lean down again, kissing over the swell of her breasts, your lips trailing reverent, open-mouthed kisses across the edge of her bra. “Fuck,” she whipsers, hands tightening on your hips. “You’re driving me crazy.”

You smile into her skin. “Good.” You shift lower, still straddling her thighs and then her mouth is on you–kissing over your chest, sucking a bruise into the delicate skin just above the cup of your bra.

“You’re unreal. You know that?” she mumbles.

You shake your head, flushed breathless. “I just want to make you feel good.”

“You already are. You’re fucking perfect.”

Her hands slide down again–palming your ass, squeezing, guiding you to roll your hips forward. The friction is enough to make you moan, your hands clutching her shoulders for balance. She watches you like you’re art. Like you’re something she’s only ever dreamed of having.

“Can I take these off you?” she murmurs, fingers bruising the waistband of your pants.

You nod, dazed. “Yeah–please.” You left your hips, and she helps you peel them down, her hands slow, steady, careful not to rush.

The air hits your thighs and you shiver, left in your underwear, your body hot and aching. “God,” she breathes. “Look at you.”

You bite your lip. “Your turn?”

Her mouth twitches into a soft, teasing smile. “You gonna be gentle with me?” You slide your hands down to her waistband, kissing her once more–soft and slow.

“Always.”

You take her pants off the same way she did yours. Careful. Slow. Kissing your way down her body, your hands reverent as you ease the fabric over her hips and thighs, baring more and more of her to your touch.

She’s gorgeous. All of her. When you sit back on your heels you take a second to look at her–both of you in nothing but your bras and underwear now, your bodies flushed and aching, your eyes glassy with want.

“You’re so beautiful, Hyun-ju. You have no idea.”

She reaches up, fingers curling behind your neck to pull you down again. “I think I do. When you look at me like that.”

She kisses you like she’s starving. Hands roaming your bare back, tongue in your mouth, moaning into you as you grind down on her lap. The fabric is soaked now–your underwear clingy and damo, hers stretches tight against the heat of her. Every time you roll your hips, she groans like it’s the first time she's ever been touched. 

You’re both gasping by the time you pull away. “Take this off,” she whispers, slipping her fingers beneath the band of your bra. “Wanna see you. Wanna taste.”

You nod, dizzy. Her hands help you unclasp it, and the second you’re bare, she’s touching–palming your breasts, squeezing gently, brushing her thumbs over your nipples until you whimper.

“So fucking pretty,” she breathes. “I used to jerk off thinking about your tits, you know that?”

You let out a wrecked laugh, squirming. “Fuck.”

She leans forward, dragging her tongue over one nipple, then the other, sucking one into her mouth until you’re gasping, thighs tightening around her hips. Her voice is low and wrecked. “Sound so good, baby. Let me hear you.”

You reach for her bra, hands shaking a little. She sits up to help, her breathing shallow, eyes locked on yours. “You sure?” you whisper.

She nods. “Yeah. I want you to see me.”

You unclasp it slowly, peeling the fabric away. And she’s perfect. You don’t rush. You kiss her collarbones, her chest, her sternum–every inch. Your hands slide up to cup her breasts, brushing your thumb over her nipple and she whimpers.

“Fuck–” her head tips back, neck bared, breath caught. “Touch me. Please”

You shift lower, settling between her thighs, kissing your way down her stomach. You hook your fingers under her underwear and pause, looking up.

She nods, mouth parted. “Take them off.” You do. Slowly. And then she’s fully bare beneath you. Legs parted. Glowing in the low light.

You kiss the inside of her thighs, your voice shaking. “You’re so beautiful, Hyun-ju.”

She groans. “Don’t stop saying that.”

You kiss higher. She gasps when your tongue finally touches her–soft and wet and eager. Her thighs tremble. “Fuck–baby–” her hands tangle in your hair. “Just like that, don’t stop.”

You lick her slowly, firmly, over and over, then slide two fingers inside her–tight and hot and pulsing around you. She moans–deep and loud–and it goes straight to your core.

You fuck her with your fingers, your mouth still on ehr, her hips jerking, her voice breaking. “That’s it,” you whisper. “God, you taste so good. Been thinking about this for years.”

She’s panting now, eyes squeezed shut.

“Gonna come for me?” you ask, curling your fingers just right.

“Yes–fuck–don’t stop, I’m–” And then she shatters.

Her thighs clamp around your head, her voice spilling out in choked, messy sounds, her body shaking as she comes on your tongue, over your fingers, into your mouth.

You don’t stop until she pulls you up–dragging you into her arm, into her kiss. She’s still trembling. Her mouth is hot and open under yours, her hands pulling close. “I wanna make you feel that good,” she whispers. “Wanna ruin you.”

You smile, flushed and wrecked. “Then do it.”

Hyun-ju kisses you hard–possessive now, tasting herself on your lips, her hands roaming hungrily over your body. She rolls you onto your back without effort, settling between your legs, her body warm against yours.

She kisses her way down, slow and greedy. Over your collarbones. Your breasts. Your ribs. “You smell so good,” she groans. “So fucking sweet down here.”

Your underwear is the only thing left between you, soaked through and clinging. She presses her mouth against it, tongue flat and slow, and your whole body arches off the bed. “Oh my God–”

“That’s it,” she says, breath hot against the damp fabric. “Let me hear you.”

You whimper as her fingers slide the fabric aside–just enough to expose your soaked cunt–and she groans when she sees how wet you are.

“All this for me?” she murmurs. “Shit, baby. You’re dripping.”

And then she dives in. Her tongue is steady and deep, licking through your folds, sucking gently on your clit until you’re gasping, your thighs twitching around her head. She doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even slow.

When she slides one finger inside you, you moan so loudly it echoes. “F-fuck, Hyun-ju–”

“God, you’re tight,” she moans, her voice a mess. “Taking me so good. Look at you.”

She curls her finger just right, then adds another, and you’re gone. Eyes rolling back, hips grinding into her mouth, hands clutching the sheets.

“You’re perfect,” she praises. “So wet. So soft. This pussy was made for me.”

You can’t think. Can’t speak. Your thighs are shaking and your stomach’s tightening and she keeps whispering–

“You gonna come for me, sweet girl?”

You nod, crying out.

“Say it,” she demands. “Tell me who’s making you come.”

“You–fuck, you. Hyun-ju, please don’t stop–”

She doesn’t. She fucks you with her fingres, tongue on your clit until your whole body breaks. You come so hard your vision whites out–your legs locked around her shoulders, your voice hoarse from screaming her name.

When you finally collapse, panting, dizzy, she crawls back up to you–kissing your thighs, your stomach, your breasts. Her mouth presses to the corner of your eye, your temple, your cheek.

“Still with me?” she whispers.

You nod weakly. “Barely.”

She grins. “Good.”

You’re both a mess–sweaty, trembling, flushed. She pulls the blanket up around you, still your skin wherever she can reach.

You murmur, half laughing, “I think you actually ruined me.”

Hyun-ju cups your face gently. “Good. I meant every word.”

Later, when your bodies stop trembling and your breathing evens out, you both lie tangled in each other’s arms–bare skin pressed to bare skin beneath the blanket, the room warm with the scent of sweat and sex and something softer underneath.

Hyun-ju’s fingertips trace lazy shapes on your hip, her breath steady against your collarbone. Neither of you speaks for a long time.

Eventually, you whisper, “Do you want to shower?”

She hums. “Only if you come with me.”

You smile, exhausted and warm. “Always.”

The shower is quiet. Gentle. No more teasing–just soft touches, shared shampoo, the warmth of water running down your bodies as you help each other rinse clean.

Afterward, she wraps a towel around your shoulders and leads you back into her bedroom. You both tug on oversized t-shirts–no bras, just underwear–with bare legs and damp hair.

She sits you at the edge of her vanity, flicks on a soft light, and rummages for her micellar water and cotton pads.

“You don’t have to–” you start.

“I want to,” she says. “Let me.”

She stands between your knees, gently wiping away the smudges of makeup still clinging to your eyes, the faded lipstick on your mouth.

When she dabs at your cheek with the last bit of cleanser, her hand falters. Just slightly. You look up. Her eyes are shining.

“I used to dream about this,” she says quietly. “Not just the sex. But this. You. Seeing me like this, and still…staying.”

Your throat tightens. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted.”

She flinches at that. Barely–but you feel it in the air. And when she turns to toss the cotton pad away, you catch her hand.

“Wait,” you whisper. “Don’t do that. Don’t hide from me.”

She swallows. “I’m not trying to. It's just–hard. Being bare like this. I never felt…pretty enough. Not really.”

You reach for her, cupping her face in both hands. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Her breath catches. Her eyes close. You kiss her, soft and slow, and then pull her into your lap, letting her curl into your arms. And then you say it–bare and trembling: “Don’t leave me again.”

She pulls back, startled. “What?”

“That was too long,” you say, voice thick. “Too hard. I missed you everyday. I didn’t know how to–how to move on from you. I don’t want to do that again.”’

She stares at you, like she's trying to memorize your face. Then she kisses your forehead, voice shaking when she answers. “Never. I’m not going anywhere.”

You hold her tighter. “I’m here,” she whispers. “For as long as you’ll have me.”

taglist - @lesmiix, @shesruinqtion, @diouna, @jeongteen, @natwendigo

[romanticintheory]

Hello!!!! I was wondering if you could write an angst with Ghost/Simon where the reader was too clingy after having a bad day and he lashed out on her but he didn't think anything of it because the next day the reader was acting normal. He only noticed after a few weeks when reader became more distant and quiet. Feel free to ignore if it's too weird or you don't like it!!! ♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

this one is dedicated to all the ones who were hurt and never got that apology. hope this alleviates the pain.

simon "ghost" riley x gn!reader || masterlist || request rules

-there was no one specific reason as to why today turned out to be a bad day. it just was.

-from accidentally burning yourself trying to make breakfast after waking up late to having to deal with the most insufferable customers, it just wasn't your day today.

-but it was okay, because you had simon to return to when everything was said and done.

-the frown on your face immediately softens the moment you see him walk through the door to your shared home. as soon as he pulls his mask and boots off, you make your way toward him and engulf him in a tight hug.

-you are painfully (but understandably) unaware of the thin veil of his patience and the frustration that had been brewing within him in the past few hours. he half-heartedly returns the embrace.

-"how was your day, si?" you ask him gently.

-"fine," he responds shortly, hoping there isn't more to the conversation.

-even after you pull away from him, you trail behind him as he moves around the house. this wasn't irregular behavior from either of you. simon wasn't usually the most talkative person in the room, anyway, but he loved to hear your voice. that was one of the things he loved about the two of you together; you filled the space he couldn't.

-today, though, was different. he was pissed off at all different kinds of people. for some reason, couldn't bring himself to tell you that he was having a bad day and needed some space, especially because it was evident you were having a bad one yourself.

-so when he turned on his heel after listening to your rambles for as much as he could take and lashed out at you, he tried not to think about the unbearable amount of guilt seeping into his veins.

-"would you just stop clinging to me for five minutes? god, 's like i can't get away from you or your constant fucking talking!"

-you had heard stories, mostly from simon, about the kind of man he could be when pushed to his limit. mostly, it was of violent, physical acts when it came to work or protecting the ones he loved. other times, he would tell you about when he'd lash out at others just like he did to you, now, and he always told it to you with a quiet fear. there was an unspoken meaning to him telling you about the times he's acted out: i don't want to do the same to you. i don't want to hurt you.

-but here he was, towering over you with a coldness in his eyes and a dryness in his throat from the sheer volume of his words.

-averting your gaze from his, you let out a meek, "'m sorry," and watch as he slams the door in front of your face.

-when he slinks into bed next to your sleeping form later that night, ridden with shame and guilt, he misses the tear-stained face hidden from him. after his outburst, you felt like all of the energy in your body had been taken away from you and retreated to bed early. you cried on and off for hours.

-you always thought you had a clinging problem. it was an insecurity you carried with you starting from childhood. friends would become acquaintances and family would keep you at arms-length. after years of believing the issue was you, simon walked into your life and told you different.

-if you stopped talking because you thought he stopped listening and was uninterested, he'd always turn back to you and genuinely ask why you stopped talking. whenever you apologized for hugging him for too long or asking to spend time with him for the third time that week, he'd always tilt his head at you and say in that low, sincere voice, "but i love you?"

-for all those reasons, you tried to give him the benefit of the doubt despite how much he hurt you. so, when he tries to bring it up the next morning, you do your best to brush it off. he was having a bad day. that was all. no need to make a fuss.

-"listen, love," he calls to you as you pop your piece of toast out of the toaster. "about last night-"

-completely disregarding his words, you look at the clock and stuff your phone into your pocket. "it's fine. honestly, simon," you tell him with the best smile you could muster. "i'm gonna be late. i'll see you tonight."

-you were so adamant on getting out as quick as possible that simon had no time to respond. he thought to himself that maybe he was making a bigger deal out of it than you. maybe there were no hard feelings and you were completely fine. after all, he was always overly worried for you, anyway.

-so, when you came home, he didn't mention it. it was as if last night didn't happen, and the two of you were perfectly fine. there were times where simon thought you were being a bit more restrained in your movements or words, but he tried to chalk it up to just him being overly paranoid. you said it was fine, so it was better not to push you on it, right?

-at first, you were doing really good at keeping yourself from overthinking the situation. however, as time went on and you paid more attention to how you acted around your boyfriend, you began to wonder if you were really that clingy.

-as the week progressed, your state of mind would deteriorate. what if it wasn't just a bad day? what if that was what he thought the entire time and was just waiting for the right moment to tell you? had he just been trying to cheer you up about your insecurities the entire time? and if he was, how much of this relationship was even real, then?

-the more you thought about it, the more distant you became. the last thing you wanted to do was make simon feel like he was being suffocated by you. you slowly stopped initiating physical affection with him, restricted talking about your day to a few sentences, and tried to answer simon's questions in one word when possible.

-he notices. of course he notices, it was like a stranger was living where you were supposed to be, and he missed it. he missed you.

-he asks you about your change when you're getting ready for bed, pulling the rest of your nightshirt over your head. despite being exhausted from work and looking like you were sitting out in the wind, he thought you never looked more ethereal than you did now.

-"(y/n)," he said.

-"hm?" you hummed to him, not turning toward his direction. you sat down on the edge of your side of the bed, turning off the lamp at the same time.

-your lack of emotional presence was starting to eat at him. he sat down next to you, the mattress dipping beneath his weight and forcing you to lean toward him.

-"you alright?"

-"yes. why?"

-"i dunno, you just seem..." his eyes tried to find yours, but you couldn't bring yourself to meet his gaze. "quiet."

-it was then that you looked at him, and it was scary to simon because he couldn't make out the emotion in your expression. there was nothing he could read.

-"isn't that-" you had to pause to try and stabilize your wavering voice. "isn't that what you wanted?"

-there was a tension-filled silence that settled in the room, and for a second you were worried that what you said was somehow incredibly offensive.

-finally, he chokes out, "i'm sorry."

-again, you try to muster up a smile. "it's fine, i already told you. i should've known you wanted space."

-"no."

-"no?"

-"it was my fault," he explains. "how could you 'ave known? i didn't tell you i wasn't in the mood that day, and that's not even considering the way i talked to you. i shouldn't have- nothing excuses what i said to you."

-still, you were convinced you were to blame. "well, i have a history of being clingy, so," you were trying to come up with more excuses for him. for most of your life, you had decided that you were the issue. it couldn't be any other way, right?

-"i know. it's one of the things i love you for," he says quietly. "not to sound cheesy but it's what makes you you, and i don't want you to lose that jus' 'cause i'm still shitty at communication."

-you knew in some capacity he was right. there was no excuse for how he talked to you, but the next words you wanted to say evaded you.

-simon thought about talking some more. instead, he grasped your back with one hand and slid his other underneath your legs, repositioning you on his lap. it was like a silent plea from him, a way of proving that he wanted to be close to you just as much as you wanted to be close to him.

-"you're sure i'm not too clingy?" you ask tentatively.

-"positive," he reassures you, rubbing small circles on your back with his thumb. "you wanna know something?"

-"what?"

-"if i wasn't so fucked up-"

-"you're not fucked up."

-"right." you never let him talk badly about himself. that was something he was still getting used to after all this time. being loved and learning to love himself. "well, if i didn't grow up the way i did and became the person i am, i'd probably be way clingier than you."

-"that's impossible," you deny, unconsciously letting yourself lean into his touch.

-"you don't know how much i want you. if my mind and body would let me, i'd be close to you all the time, showing you the attention you deserve."

-"you give me plenty."

-"agree to disagree," he stops with the circles and pulls you impossibly closer to his body. "but 'm trying. 'm trying to learn to let you love me and to not be afraid to love you. 'm sorry, love. i stopped trying that night, and i think it'll be the death of me."

-you let his words sink in, a thoughtful look on your face.

-"next time you'll tell me, right? what you're thinking?"

-"pinkie promise," he agrees, letting the hand under your legs slide out and raise his pinkie finger toward you.

-in return, you link your pinkie with his to seal the promise, and it feels as though the heavy tension in the air has cleared away.

-"i love you," he says, feeling bold from his previous admission.

-"i love you, too." there's that smile on your face. he never realized until now how he probably couldn't live without it.

-he kisses you on the lips, and for a moment the two of you just stay there in each other's arms, forgiving the past, healing the present, and dreaming of the future together.

[uhhhj13iguess]

stiles, are you hard right now?

stiles x reader

summary: you and stiles make a break for the supply closet the second a fight breaks out at the bank. a series of unfortunate events ensues.

wc: ~1k

masterlist and taglist!

“holy shit — janitors closet, go go go!” stiles shoved you towards the door, stumbling over you to get away from the vault scene going on just in the other room.

both breathless, you squeezed into the dark and cramped room, both of you fumbling to shut the door and turn the lock. despite the commotion happening on the other side, the finally locked door gave you relief, and you took a breath for what felt like the first time in hours.

you turned around, feeing around for the pull chain lighting in the dark. when you found it and yanked, you regretted it immediately. your stomach turned at the sight on the floor in front of you.

before you laid a body, too maimed to recognize. you started the step back, realizing how close you were to the blood pooling on the ground, and tried but failed to suppress a shriek.

“s-stiles!”

internally, stiles wasn’t doing any better at the scene before him, but he kept his composure and moved quickly to cover your mouth before you made anymore noise and gave away your hiding spot as the pack continued to fight off the Alphas.

he pulled you close, taking to keep you as far away as he could from the body. you murmured against his hand so he released it, hands still on you as they rested across your shoulders and kept your back flush against him as he had his own pressed against the door.

“holy shit we should’ve stayed in the car.”

you nodded fervently, the hairs standing on the back of your neck as he whispered against your skin. you realized now just how close you two were. you sat in silence for a minute before you noticed something else as well.

“stiles is that-“

“hm?” he hummed in your ear, looking past you to see what you were referring to.

“are you, i mean — is that what i think…”

you shifted against him and he immediately knew what you were talking about. his eyes shot open and he tried to press himself against the door, trying to create any possible space between the two of you as he could. he would sink into the wall and disappear forever if he could.

“uh, is what? i don’t, i don’t know, or i mean i don’t —“

“stiles —“

“i think uh,” he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will this conversation over. “it’s something else —“

“stiles, are you hard right now?”

surely this had to be worse than his fate out there in the fight.

he let out a huff of air against the back of your neck, and you could feel how tense he was.

“no, i no of course not, i mean,

i, no yeah okay,

yeah, maybe, fuck”

a smirk plastered across your face, a new emotion beginning to overshadow the fear from night you were having.

“there’s a dead body less than a foot away from us, are you serious right now?”

“listen im not proud of it, alright? okay so,

shit, jesus christ im sorry.” he tried desperately to find the door handle behind him, willing to face the violence outside the door if it meant getting the hell out of there.

you didn’t move a muscle, still standing flush against him, the silence in the closet only being met by the sound of stiles’ hand struggling with the door lock.

“is that because of me?”

stiles let out an exasperated breath of air. “jesus (y/n), it’s not from the fucking body, what kind of question is that?”

you held back a chuckle, his remark reminding you of the body you had momentarily forgotten about, and you subconsciously pressed harder into stiles, disgust winning as your primary emotion again at the sight of whoever was in this closet before you.

he couldnt take the silence, nor you getting even closer to him.

“i’m - im sorry y-you’re just really close and im not trying to and —“

“stiles don’t worry about it, we’ll talk about it later. we need to get out of here.”

stiles sighed, worry overtaking him. “okay but talk about it as in you yelling at me and calling me a perv and that you never want to be near me again, or talk about it as in —oh,”

you pressed your hips hard against his, grinding against how hard he was. you smirked at the whine that escaped his lips as you did so.

“i said we can talk about this later, stiles, maybe not in front of someone while their organs hanging out.”

“right yeah let’s, yeah no of course yeah let’s—“

before he could even get his hand on the doorknob, the door swung open, causing him to fall backwards and hit the ground with a groan.

“jesus fuck” stiles collected himself and met the eyes of isaac, not impressed with the inquisitive look on his face.

“we’re done and headed out. nice hiding spot, guys”

you rolled your eyes at him. “yeah whatever, let’s head ou-“

“what’s that smell?”

“huh?”

isaac looked towards stiles with a smirk. “you reek of lust.”

stiles couldn’t move a muscle if he wanted to. there was no way this was happening.

“what the hell happened while we were out here fighting for our lives?”

you swore all of the blood drained from stiles’ face, and you matched isaac’s smirk at the sight.

stiles tried to stutter out a sentence, only to be met with more amusement from issac. he grumbled and shoved him out of his way.

“this is why no one fucking likes you, isaac.”

[chiara8104]

boyfriend material | OP81

summary: oscar, someone who is viewed as emotionless shows you who he truly is.

parings: norris! reader x oscar piastri, norris sister! x lando norris

warnings: not proofread (i’m sorry!) , swearing, fluff, suggestive (if u squint), lowercase!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

-end of 2022 season-

lando had told you the news of having a new teammate, oscar piastri. you were upset that danny ricciardo, someone who you became close with over the years he was at mclaren was gone. when lando left your apartment you immediately pulled out your phone and researched everything you could about oscar piastri. you found out he was the same age as you, and australian like danny. he wasnt bad on the eyes either... but you would never admit that to lando.

"i guess zak has a thing for aussies," you mumbled to yourself.

time went on when lando babbled about the next years car when he came over, and obviously oscar.

"the car better be good this year," he took a sip of his coffee, "i cannot stand being called 'lando no wins' again," he rolled his eyes in annoyance.

you let lando continue his vent, spacing out every once in a while until a familiar name fills the space, "-oscar" lando continues. you quietly nod, trying to act like you knew what he said. by the time he was done his venting he had to leave for a flight to the UK to meet oscar as well as a LOT of meetings with the team.

"well, im off," he smiled at you. "bye!" you shut the door in his face.

later that evening you decided to research more about oscar.

-2023 -

lando had offered you tickets to the monaco grand prix, you couldn't say no. once you arrived in the garage your mum engulfed you with a hug. "i have missed you so much, my baby girl, watching her older brother." you cringed at her words slightly. "hey mum!" you smile. your eyes scanned the room, searching for your brother to wish him good luck. when you were looking around for your brother, you bumped into a tall figure, causing you to slightly stumble back, “oh my goodness! i am so sorry,” you sheepishly said. looking up and feeling the heat from your cheeks, you were standing face to face with oscar. the guy you were basically secretly crushing on. he smiled politely and you grinned back at him “it’s okay!” he rushed off, having to do media duties… or something.

that was your first interaction with oscar, it felt weird. it felt… awkward. you quickly scurried off and found your way to landos driving room. magui was hugging him tightly and whispering something in his ear before a quick peck on the cheek. you cleared your throat slightly, and they turned to face the door, you smiled softly and said your quick “hi!” to magui as you moved towards the pair. “good luck today lan, you’re going to do amazing!” you give him a quick hug, “thanks! the pace was pretty good in quali so i think im going to do well,” he was always so technical when he talked to you about racing, you rolled your eyes slightly, but letting him continue his ramble.

when he was done rambling you and magui left together, giggling at some random conversation you were having, until oscar was brought up. “yeah lando mentions oscar a LOT,” magui laughs, you choked on your own spit “..really?” you peeped out. “yeah… i don’t really know why,” magui commented.

monaco gp weekend – later that evening

after the race, the mclaren hospitality suite was alive with celebration. though neither driver landed on the podium, both had impressive drives, and morale was high. you stood by the bar sipping a drink, chatting with magui when a familiar low voice spoke from behind you.

“you survived your first race weekend of the season,” oscar quipped with a crooked smile, his eyes scanning yours briefly before looking away.

you turned, your heartbeat quickening. “barely. i think i lost ten years of my life every time someone overtook lando.”

he chuckled, the sound soft and unexpectedly warm. “i know the feeling. my mum’s the same—can’t watch half my races.”

there was a pause, but it didn’t feel awkward this time. just quiet. comfortable.

you looked at him more closely now. the sharpness of his jawline. the slightly damp hair from his post-race shower. he wasn’t just “not bad on the eyes.” he was… beautiful. and that thought sent a guilty chill up your spine.

he nodded toward the empty chair beside you. “mind if i—?”

“go for it,” you gestured.

you watched him sit, seemingly calm. but every so often, his knee bounced or his fingers tapped a silent rhythm against his thigh. nervous? you weren’t sure. he was a mystery still.

“good drive today,” you offered casually. “really smart racing.”

his lips twitched upward slightly, but not into a full smile. “thanks. means a lot, especially coming from you.”

you tilted your head. “me?”

“yeah. i’ve heard a lot about you,” he said, sipping his drink. “lando talks.”

“god. what did he say?” you groaned.

oscar smirked. “just that you’re the bossy younger sister who acts like she’s not interested in f1 but secretly watches all the replays and yells at the tv.”

you burst out laughing. “he’s not wrong.”

his eyes lit up at your laugh, and for a moment, he looked at you—not as lando’s sister. just you.

you quickly looked away, cheeks flushing. “well, i’ll let you celebrate. i’m sure you’ve got, like, media stuff and people waiting for you.”

he stood, but before he walked away, he leaned down just slightly, close enough for only you to hear. “i’ll see you around, y/n.”

your name on his lips stuck to your skin like honey.

silverstone – july 2023

you weren’t expecting to be invited again, but lando insisted you come to the british grand prix. he said your presence was his “good luck charm,” which you suspected was just code for “mum keeps bugging me to spend time with you.”

when you arrived at the paddock on friday, oscar spotted you almost immediately.

“back again?” he asked, walking beside you toward the hospitality area.

you gave him a smirk. “what can i say? i love watching you guys drive around in circles.” you obviously knew they weren’t circles but wanted to bother him.

he raised an eyebrow. “you watch me?”

you froze. the words had slipped out too easily. “i mean, both of you. obviously. lando… and you.”

he looked at you for a second longer than he should have. “right.”

that night – hotel lobby

later that evening, you wandered down to the hotel lounge, dressed in an oversized hoodie and bike shorts, looking for snacks. you hadn’t expected anyone to be around, but there was oscar, alone on a sofa, headphones hanging around his neck and his laptop in front of him.

you tried to sneak past, but he noticed you.

“midnight snack?”

you grinned. “yep. you?”

“couldn’t sleep,” he said, gesturing to the seat beside him. “sit?”

you hesitated, then gave in. “sure.”

you sat closer than you expected to. too close. his thigh brushed yours and neither of you moved.

“what are you watching?” you asked, peeking at his screen.

“driver data,” he replied. “and youtube. because i’m secretly boring.”

you giggled. “i don’t think you’re boring.”

he glanced at you. “no?”

“no. i think you just pretend to be boring so no one sees how much you actually care about everything.”

that made him pause.

he studied you for a second. “you always do that.”

“do what?”

“see things. about people. that they try to hide.”

your breath caught in your throat. the air between you shifted. heavier. slower.

“i see you, oscar,” you whispered.

he didn’t say anything. just stared.

and then, in a moment that felt suspended in time, he reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. his fingers lingered just a second too long.

“y/n…” he said, like he wasn’t sure he should continue.

“yes?”

“if lando knew i wanted to kiss you right now, he’d kill me.”

you blinked, heart hammering.

“then don’t tell him,” you whispered back.

and that was it.

his lips brushed yours softly, testing. a quiet, careful kind of kiss. but the moment he felt you respond, his hand cradling your jaw now—it deepened. his breath was warm, his lips confident but gentle. everything about him. the guy known for being emotionless and distant, was raw and exposed in that moment.

when you finally pulled apart, breathless, you whispered against his mouth, “i knew you weren’t boring.”

he chuckled, pressing his forehead against yours. “you’re going to be the death of me.”

a few weeks later – budapest

you were officially in over your head.

texts had turned into facetime calls. quiet hotel meetups. a hand on your back during track walks. subtle glances when lando wasn’t looking.

no one else knew—not even magui. it felt too fragile to share yet. like your own little secret universe.

but in that tiny hotel room in budapest, you sat on oscar’s lap, legs on either side of his waist, wearing one of his mclaren t-shirts, his fingers drawing lazy circles on your thighs while you fed him strawberries stolen from catering.

“i like this side of you,” you murmured.

“what side?”

“this. touchy. smiley. soft.”

he leaned forward, nose brushing yours. “i’ve always had it. just didn’t have anyone to show it to.”

you kissed him again, softer this time. more careful.

“i want to keep this quiet for now,” he whispered into your collarbone. “not because i’m ashamed. just… i like having you all to myself.”

“good,” you replied. “because if lando finds out, we’re both dead.”

he laughed against your skin. “worth it.”

——————————————————————————————

a/n: hey guys! i love when i lie and say im going to be more active LMAO! anyway, here’s another oscar piastri x reader because i am a sucker for oscar fanfics i swear, anyway, please give me requests because atp i am just writing random ideas. there will definitely be a part 2 if u want it? i can make it a smut as well if some ppl want it! let me know ! love you guys! thank for the support from my other oscar fanfic! xoxo chia!

[starryjake]

teddy bear pajamas pt. 3 | l.h

part 1 part 2

pairing: heeseung x fem!reader

warnings: alcohol consumption, car sex, fingering, tasting cum, unprotected sex, cumming inside, finger sucking, spitting (lmk if i missed anything!)

“a little more to the left.”

you huffed impatiently, moving the banner over to the left by just a smidge.

“too far,” jay said. “more to the right.”

you groaned, setting the banner down all together and climbing down from the ladder.

“i can’t believe you’re making me hang decorations for your party,” you guffawed. “what do i even get out of helping you?”

“you get to go to the party, duh,” your brother replied, grabbing the banner and climbing up the ladder himself.

“well i assumed that was a given considering i live here,” you retorted.

“well i’m not afraid to kick you to the curb if you don’t start getting the snacks ready,” jay responded.

rolling your eyes, you opened the refrigerator and started pulling out ingredients for the snack plate you were assigned to make for tonight. once you pulled out all the ingredients, you pulled out your phone, checking for a notification you hadn’t received.

“so,” you started, tucking your phone back away and trying to hide your disappointment, “are all your friends gonna be here tonight? like, all of them?”

jay was focused on stapling the banner in place, his eyebrows furrowed together in concentration.

“yeah, of course,” he responded, only half paying attention to you.

that was the only answer you needed though. it meant heeseung would be at the party tonight. heeseung, who fucked you in your bed the other night and then hadn’t contacted you a single time since.

you’d been glued to your phone, checking nonstop and waiting for him to text you, call you, like your instagram picture, anything. yet he’d been silent, and that crushed you.

seeing him tonight at the party scared you. would he ignore you? would he pretend nothing ever happened between you guys?

you had no idea what to expect, and you were terrified.

-

the party was in full blast. yours and jay’s shared apartment was more packed than you’d ever seen it before.

it was nearing midnight and you’d still yet to see heeseung. in fact, you hadn’t seen him or any of jay’s immediate friend group, which also included jake and sunghoon. you were relieved, but also anxious that he could appear in front of you at any moment.

you were in the kitchen fixing yourself a drink to help calm some of your anxieties when suddenly you heard the front door open, close, and then a loud eruption of cheers and conversation. the loudness and excitement of it all was enough to make your heart start thumping fast in your chest.

then you heard their voices, but it was too late for you to run out of the kitchen because there they were, walking right over to where you were at the drink station.

“hey, y/n,” jake greeted, pulling you into a tight hug.

your face was pressed against his chest, momentarily allowing you to catch your breath. you had to think fast about how you were going to approach heeseung.

“hey,” you replied, forcing a smile once you pulled back.

sunghoon greeted you next, ruffling your hair in a playful manner. you then turned to heeseung, who made eye contact with you, and then turned the other way to grab a drink, not saying a word.

you gulped, looking down at the floor. a wave of sadness overcame you because what he just did was all you needed to see to understand that he did regret what you two did, and now he wanted nothing to do with you.

you walked out of the kitchen and beelined straight for your bedroom. you didn’t want to leave the party, but you just needed a moment to collect yourself.

you little moment of peace ended up taking 30 minutes. it took you a while to muster up the courage to go back out there, but eventually you did.

the party had died down slightly, making it easier for you to walk down the hall and back into the main living space.

you took in your surroundings, first noticing your brother on the couch with an unfamiliar girl in his lap. a few feet away from them, sunghoon was dancing with some girl, and jake was playing beer pong with a group of people. heeseung was nowhere to be found.

your hopes were raised. you thought he must’ve left if he wasn’t around any of his friends.

with a slight hop in your step, you entered the kitchen to nibble on the snack plate you’d made earlier in the day. as you ate, you looked out the kitchen window which had a direct view of the balcony, and there he was.

he was standing outside by himself. his back was turned to you, but you knew it was him. he was leaning over the balcony railing, staring ahead at the city in front of him.

you weren’t sure what came over you. the alcohol, or maybe the rage that came with the fact he had been blatantly ignoring you after what occurred between you two the other night. but suddenly, you were opening the balcony door and joining him outside in the crisp late-fall air.

he turned around upon hearing the door slide open and was visibly surprised to find you standing there. it was unlike you to confront him, to confront anyone, but you were angry. you felt used and you wanted an explanation.

“oh,” he said. “hey.”

for a moment, you didn’t know what to say. you cursed how attractive he was in that moment because it’d rendered you speechless.

“hey,” you responded.

“how are you?” he asked.

“maybe you’d know if you’d bothered to text me,” you snapped.

you were shocked with yourself as soon as the words left your mouth. heeseung looked shocked for a moment as well, but then the guilt set in and took over his face.

“i’m sorry, y/n,” he sighed, leaning onto the balcony again. you crossed your arms and waited impatiently for whatever excuse he was going to pull. “i wanted to text you, i just…i got scared.”

“scared?” you repeated. “what’s so scary about me?”

“nothing,” heeseung said, turning his head to look at you. he then smiled a bit and shook his head. “there’s nothing scary at all about you…except the fact that i feel like i betrayed jay by sleeping with you.”

“he doesn’t know,” you assured.

“i know,” he replied, sighing. “that’s the bad part. i’m keeping this huge secret from him and i know he’ll be pissed if he finds out.”

“maybe not,” you shrugged.

heeseung gave you a look, which was deserved because not even you believed yourself. he was right in that jay would be very angry to find out heeseung had sex with you.

“well, you could’ve told me that instead of saying nothing,” you uttered quietly. “it felt like you just used me for what you wanted and then tossed me out when you were done.”

“no no no,” he hurriedly shook his head, planting his hands firmly on your arms and looking directly into your eyes. “that is not what happened, i promise you. i wanted to text you so bad and then when i saw you earlier tonight i just freaked out and didn’t know what to do. i’m so sorry, y/n.”

it was hard not for you to immediately forgive him with the way he was pleading to you and looking into your eyes so thoughtfully. you gulped, forcing your gaze on the ground.

“what now?” you asked.

“what do you mean?” he wondered, his hands still gripping your arms.

“are we ever gonna…” you trailed off, too embarrassed to speak.

“gonna what?” he asked, his thumbs starting to caress your skin. “do it again?”

you nodded shyly.

“do you wanna do it again?” he asked.

“i—i mean—yeah,” you sputtered out.

the corners of his lips turned upwards at that.

“come on, baby, let’s go for a drive.”

-

you weren’t entirely sure how you got in this position, how you ended up shirtless in the back of heeseung’s car dry humping his lap. but there you were, and you were already a moaning mess.

his hands were all over you, stroking and feeling your warm, smooth skin. he kissed your neck while your clothed lower half ground down on him.

he rolled his neck up to look at your face. it was somewhat difficult to see the details of your face in the darkness of the night and the darkness of the random deserted parking lot you were parked in. but he could see your eyes, your starry, glistening eyes.

“how are you this pretty?” he whispered, looking at you in pure awe.

you blushed, hiding your face in his chest. he rubbed your back, his entire body feeling like it was engulfed in flames, and then he really knew for sure that he had a real, genuine crush on his best friend’s sister.

you shifted off his lap, much to his disliking, and planted your hand on his bulge. he bit his lip, watching you stroke his outline over his pants. you smiled, watching the way his breathing got heavier even though you’d hardly touched him yet.

“heeseung,” you said, slowly sliding your hand into his jeans.

“yeah?” he whispered, wrapping his arm around your shoulder.

“i want you to fuck me in this car,” you told him, biting your lip to hold back your excited smile.

heeseung nearly fainted. you were so not the shy innocent thing he thought you were. you were lewd when you were turned on and he loved it. the more time he spent around you, the more perfect he discovered you were.

“fuck,” he swallowed, nodding. “okay. i’ll fuck you, baby. i’ll fuck my sweet girl as much as she wants.”

he hurriedly unbuttoned his jeans and tugged them down his legs, which was a lot harder than it should’ve been in the tight confines of his car.

eventually, he was left in his boxers. he watched as you pulled your own pants down, and once you were left in your underwear, he pulled you back into his lap. the lesser amount of fabric separating the two of you made it easier to feel his cock, feel how hard and heavy it was.

he leaned forward and attached his lips to your chest, sucking on your collarbones and moving down to your tits. he kissed each of your nipples, smiling against your chest at the way you shuddered and pushed your hips against his crotch, desperate for some friction where you needed it the most.

he lifted your hips up off of his lap momentarily to slide his boxers down his legs, leaving his lower half exposed. his cock, hard and eager as ever, sprang out and stood long, his tip glistening and shiny from spilled pre cum.

if the confines of the car weren’t so restricting, you would’ve leaned down and licked along his tip, getting a taste of his salty precum. instead, you trailed your fingers along his tip, gathering as much of the liquid as you could, and shoved them in your mouth, moaning at his taste.

heeseung grabbed your hips again and laid you down on his car’s leather seats. he positioned one of your legs over the back of the seat and the other one to the floor, spreading your legs the best he could in the limited space you were working with.

with your legs spread, he rubbed your clothed clit with his thumb, feeling the wetness seeping through the thin fabric of your underwear.

he pulled your panties to the side, exposing your trembling, glistening pussy to him. he traced your hole with his middle finger before sliding it in. your hole sucked him in with ease from how aroused you were, how ready and willing you were to take him.

you moaned as loudly as you wanted since he was the only one who’d be able to hear it. you didn’t have to worry about your brother finding you guys since he was too busy hosting a party and probably had no idea that you guys had even left.

heeseung immediately slid in another finger and started massaging his fingers inside you. you let out soft little whimpers as you subtly humped your hips up, trying to fuck yourself down on his fingers. he had to take a breath to calm himself down, to keep himself from busting without even touching himself. you just looked too perfect like this, spread out in the back of his car letting him finger you.

once he felt like you were stretched and prepared enough to take him, heeseung pulled his fingers out of you. they were absolutely drenched in your arousal, so much so that when he spread his fingers apart, strings of your sticky witness webbed between them.

you turned your head to the side in embarrassment, missing it when heeseung used that same, wet hand to jerk himself off for a minute, covering his cock in your arousal, to get himself ready to be inside you.

he held your panties to the side again, about to position his cock with your hole and slide right in before he stopped himself.

“you ready, my baby?” he asked, tilting your face so you were looking at him.

“please,” you begged. “put it in, hee.”

it was what heeseung expected you to say, but he wanted to check anyway.

he chuckled breathily and slid his cock inside you, your hole taking him in so sweetly. it was warm and wet and unbelievably tight, just like he remembered it to be from the other night.

“oh, fuck,” he groaned out as he pushed himself in as deep as he could go, stopping once he bottomed out and your pelvises were pressed together.

you closed your eyes and a dizzy smile appeared on your face. he hadn’t even done a thing yet but you already felt so good, just to have him inside of you again. to have him all the way buried inside of you felt unbelievable.

“what’s that?” he asked, laughing softly. he tickled your cheek, making you open your eyes. “what’re you smiling about?”

“nothing,” you shook your head, refusing to tell him what had you smiling.

“you feelin’ good?” he wondered, rubbing your thigh assuringly.

you nodded. “need you to move.”

heeseung complied immediately, slowly pulling his cock out nearly all the way and pushing it back in. your walls enveloped him, stretching around his length and taking him like you were made for it.

his thrusts picked up quickly. you barely needed time to adjust since you were so wet and so absolutely needy for him. so, when he started fucking you hard enough that the car was shaking, you didn’t complain at all.

in fact, you were practically crying from the pleasure. moan after moan and curse after curse and whine after pleasured whine tumbled past your lips, so fucked out and far gone already.

heeseung held your thighs as he slammed his cock in and out of you, alternating between watching his cock disappear in and out of you and looking up at your pretty face. he opted for your face because your eyes were watery and your nose and cheeks were red, and you were even starting to drool, and it was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen. he was ruining you.

“f-feels so fucking good, heeseung,” you sobbed.

“yeah?” he said, suddenly pulling out.

you frowned up at him for suddenly putting a stop to your immense pleasure. to just pull out so suddenly like that, you almost got mad.

he took ahold of his cock in his hand and pressed it down against your pussy, grinding his hips back and forth and rubbing it along your slick folds. it felt so heavy on your pussy, so long and hard and perfect for you.

“oh…” you moaned out, watching his cock rub on your pussy.

he leaned down, unable to go a second longer without kissing you. you shoved your tongue into his mouth and he immediately rubbed his against yours, exchanging an excess amount of saliva.

“put your head back,” he commanded.

you tilted your head back, watching in fascination as he let a wad of spit slowly trickle from his mouth and land on your awaiting tongue. you swallowed it with a moan, pressing his warm body down onto yours. you wanted to be as close to him as possible. you wanted to feel his skin on your skin and never let him go.

“you’re so fucking hot,” you said, running your fingers through his fluffy hair.

heeseung left you with a peck on your lips before sitting back up so he could get back into the position of fucking you again.

kneeling, he re-entered you, sighing from how fucking good it felt every time. every time he first slid into you, it felt magical.

he began thrusting even quicker than before, licking his thumb before bringing it down to rub your clit. you moaned pathetically, your legs starting to shake and your toes starting to curl from the added pleasure.

“oh f-fuck, hee,” you cried out. “mmm, don’t stop! please please please!”

he could tell you were getting closer by your gummy walls clenching impossibly tight around him and your desperate words. luckily for you, he had no intention of stopping, only going harder.

he plummeted his cock into you, his tip hitting spots of you that were almost uncomfortably deep, but not quite.

you were shaking and writhing beneath him and he kept going and going, needing to see you cum because he knew it was going to be harder than any other time he’d witnessed before.

“hee,” you sobbed. “i’m gonna fucking cum. please, oh fuck!”

your legs tightened around his waist and your eyes rolled into the back of your head. your mouth opened in a silent scream as you started cumming around his dick and on his thumb, which was still rapidly fingering your clit.

“goddamn,” he growled, feeling the knot in his own stomach hint at unraveling.

you just looked too fucking unreal when you came. a tear trickled out of your eye, drool sliding shamelessly down your chin. you were such a perfect mess, he needed to fuck you full of his cum.

“oh, my sweet baby girl,” he said, still pounding you despite how hard you just came. “i’m gonna fuck you so full of my load, angel. you want that? you wanna feel all full of my—fuck—full of my cum? you wanna be filled, baby?”

“please, hee!” you begged, nails clawing down his back. “cum inside me, please. need it so bad.”

with a few more thrusts, heeseung finally stilled inside you and you could feel his warmth filling you up. streams of his cum overflowed inside you and you felt euphoric as you laid there and took it all for him.

he had his eyes shut tightly as he lightly thrusted his hips, riding out his orgasm and forcing out as much cum as he could. his grip on you was painfully tight, but you wouldn’t dare stop him now, not when he was cumming so beautifully.

he regretfully pulled out of you a moment later, watching in exhaustion and awe as his creamy white cum came spilling out of your used hole. he moved your underwear back to cover your pussy, watching the way his cum seeped through the fabric and spilled out the sides.

“fuck,” he muttered. “so messy ‘n pretty.”

he rubbed his fingers over the wet fabric, sliding them up and down your puffy folds. you moaned out, setting your hand on his wrist to stop him.

“sorry,” he said with a tired smile.

he handed you your clothes and while you got dressed, he dressed himself as well. there was cum all over his leather seats, but he would have to deal with that at another time.

“c’mere,” he urged once you were both finally calmed down.

you let him wrap his arm around you and kiss the top of your head, leaning into his shoulder tiredly.

“you did so good for me,” he told you. “do you want me to take you home? or do you wanna come to my place?”

that answer seemed quite obvious.

“your place,” you said.

“i was hoping you’d say that,” he said.

the two of you moved to the front seats where heeseung began driving in the direction of his apartment, his mind and his heart racing about what the two of you just did and what would happen next.

-

well! anyway…part 4?

thank you for reading!