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cloudyluun · 1 day ago

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Press play (p4) | boyfriend!harry

Summary: Harry has been waiting all day—teased, taunted, and wound up until he’s barely holding it together. Tonight, control isn’t his to keep, and you make sure he knows it. Bound, blindfolded, and completely at your mercy, he learns exactly how it feels to be on the receiving end of every agonizingly slow touch, every whispered command, every ounce of pleasure he’s ever given you. But when the camera keeps rolling, and the idea of sharing his destruction enters the picture, the night takes on an even riskier thrill.

A/N: Listen… I’m not saying Harry might actually thrive in this scenario, but I am saying I had a little too much fun writing it. This was supposed to be a simple little tease, and then my brain went, “But what if we made it worse for him?” And here we are. Hope you enjoy this absolutely sinful mess. Reblog, scream in the tags, and send me your thoughts—I love hearing them!

Word Count: 4,9k

Warnings:

Dom/sub dynamics

Bondage (wrist restraints, blindfolds)

Sensory deprivation

Teasing/edging

Overstimulation

Light power play (control exchange)

Praise kink & degradation

Explicit smut (NSFW, 18+)

Filming during intimacy (consensual)

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

The sun has long since set, casting the apartment in a soft, amber glow from the scattered lamps and flickering city lights beyond the windows. The atmosphere is quiet but thick, charged with an energy that’s been simmering all day.

Harry hasn’t been able to sit still since breakfast. Since the second you let those words leave your mouth, his mind has been stuck in a loop, replaying the taunt in every possible iteration.

You better get some rest, H. You’re gonna need it.

That smug, teasing lilt in your voice had made his stomach clench, and it’s only gotten worse as the day dragged on. You’d spent hours dangling the promise of something wicked just out of his reach—brushing your fingers over his skin when you walked by, pressing fleeting kisses to his jaw with a knowing smirk, leaning in like you were about to whisper something obscene only to breathe out the most innocent words.

Every touch, every look, every casual brush of your body against his had been designed to drive him absolutely fucking insane. And it had worked.

Harry is restless now, standing in the middle of the bedroom in nothing but his boxers, running a hand through his curls with a huffed exhale. He can’t focus on anything else. His fingers flex at his sides, aching to grab, to pull, to take back the control he’s always had—but he knows.

Tonight, that control doesn’t belong to him.

He turns when he hears you enter, and fuck, if the sight of you doesn’t nearly send him to his knees. You stand in the doorway, silhouetted by the soft light spilling in from the hall, wrapped in the sheerest little thing he’s ever seen. It’s barely there, teasing at modesty but offering nothing close to it. His throat goes dry, his fingers curling into fists at his sides.

You take your time approaching, like you have all the time in the world, and when you finally stop in front of him, you tilt your head, assessing him with those sharp, knowing eyes.

“Been waiting all day, haven’t you?”

The question is a slow drag of silk across his skin, and he swallows hard, already fighting to keep his breathing even. “You know I have.”

Your lips twitch. “Poor thing.”

Harry’s jaw tenses, his nostrils flaring as he watches the slow, deliberate way you reach up to trace a single fingertip down his chest. It’s barely a touch, but it might as well be a goddamn brand. He feels it everywhere.

You lean in, close enough that your breath ghosts over his lips but never touches. “I think it’s time we make something clear.”

His breath stutters. “Yeah?”

Your fingers trail lower, dipping just beneath the waistband of his boxers before pulling away just as fast, leaving him clenching his teeth to keep from groaning.

“Mhm,” you hum, circling him slowly, letting your hands skim along his shoulders, his back, his sides—everywhere but where he needs you. “You like to be in charge, don’t you, H?”

His lips part slightly, but no words come.

You smile, dragging your nails lightly down his spine, enjoying the way his muscles twitch beneath your touch. “You like to call the shots. Like to make the rules. Like to watch me fall apart for you.”

His breathing is heavier now, chest rising and falling just a little too quickly.

You step back around to face him, tilting your chin up as you look him dead in the eye. “But tonight? That’s not your job.”

His pupils dilate.

You reach up, fisting a hand in his curls and giving the slightest, sharpest tug. His mouth parts on a quiet inhale, his lashes fluttering just barely, and fuck, if that isn’t the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

“Tonight, you listen,” you murmur, your other hand splaying flat against his chest, feeling the way his heart pounds beneath your palm. “You do exactly as I say. You give me everything I want.”

A sharp exhale leaves him, and you see it—the way his body shudders, the way his restraint cracks, the way his control fractures beneath the weight of your words.

And when you tighten your grip in his hair, pulling his head back just slightly to expose the long, gorgeous line of his throat, you swear you hear him whimper.

Your smirk is slow, dangerous. “Understand?”

His throat bobs as he swallows, his breathing ragged. And when he finally manages to get a word out, it’s barely more than a rasped whisper.

“Yes.”

You hum, pleased, releasing his hair and stepping back. His gaze stays locked onto you, his hands twitching at his sides like he wants to reach for you but knows he shouldn’t. Not yet.

“Good boy.”

The sound that leaves him is a low, strangled groan, his head tilting back slightly, his hands flexing into fists. And god, that does something to you.

You take another step back, eyes dragging over his flushed skin, his tensed muscles, the way his cock is already straining against his boxers, eager, desperate.

Your smirk deepens.

“You’re going to wish you never made me wait.”

Harry’s breath shudders. You can see it—the sharp, involuntary inhale, the way his throat works as he swallows. His entire body is pulled tight, his muscles tensed beneath his flushed skin, his hands still clenched into fists at his sides like he’s trying to keep himself in check.

It won’t last.

You step forward again, slow and deliberate, letting your fingers ghost over his collarbones, down his arms, over the flex of his biceps. His pulse pounds beneath his skin, fast and frantic, and you know that under all that bravado, under all his usual arrogance and control, he’s waiting.

Waiting for you to make your next move.

Waiting for you to break him.

And tonight? You will.

“Hands,” you murmur, holding out yours in silent command.

Harry hesitates, just for a second, and that’s all it takes for you to arch a brow, giving him a look that makes his breath stutter. He exhales slowly, jaw tensing as he finally lifts his hands, palms up, wrists together, offering himself to you.

He’s never done this before—never let you take the lead like this. And it must be killing him, giving up that control. But the way his pupils are blown wide, the way his cock is already straining against his boxers, the way his breath is coming in uneven little pants?

He likes it.

A slow, satisfied smirk pulls at your lips as you reach for the soft silk you’d left on the bed. It’s deep crimson, expensive, cool against your fingers. The same one he’s used on you before, tied tight enough to keep you in place while he had his way with you.

It’s poetic, really.

The hunter becoming the hunted.

The predator becoming the prey.

You loop the silk around his wrists, wrapping it securely, knotting it tight enough to make sure he feels it. Tight enough that every little twitch, every failed attempt to reach for you, will remind him exactly where he stands tonight.

His breathing is heavier now, the rise and fall of his chest growing more pronounced. His fingers flex slightly, like he’s testing the binds, like he’s already restless.

Good.

You let your hands drag down his arms, featherlight, trailing lower—along his ribs, down the hard lines of his stomach, stopping just at the waistband of his boxers. His muscles jump beneath your touch, his entire body pulled taut like a live wire. You can feel the anticipation rolling off him, thick and tangible, crackling like static in the air.

He’s waiting for the next move.

For your next command.

You reach for the second piece of silk—the blindfold.

His jaw tenses as he watches you, eyes flicking between the fabric and your face.

“Problem?” you murmur, tilting your head.

Harry exhales hard through his nose, his fingers curling into his palms before he shakes his head. “No.”

Your lips twitch.

“Good.”

You lift the blindfold, pressing it over his eyes, securing it behind his head with a slow, practiced knot. The moment the fabric settles into place, stripping him of his sight, his entire body reacts—his breathing stutters, his shoulders tense, his throat works through another swallow.

He’s not used to this.

Not used to being the one left in the dark.

Not used to not knowing.

And fuck, if that isn’t the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

You step back, taking a moment to admire him—standing there, bare except for his boxers, arms bound in front of him, eyes covered, every muscle tight with restraint.

Waiting.

It would be so easy to drag this out. To tease him. To make him beg.

But first, you want to make sure every single moment of this is captured.

You turn, reaching for the camera—already set up at the foot of the bed, perfectly angled. The red light blinks steadily, waiting to be turned on.

Your finger hovers over the button for just a second before pressing down.

Record.

The soft beep fills the silence, and Harry shifts. His head tilts slightly, like he’s trying to follow the sound, like he’s listening in a way he never usually has to.

He’s so used to watching. To seeing. To drinking in every little reaction, every shift in your expression, every tremble, every gasp.

But not tonight.

Tonight, all he has is what you let him hear. What you let him feel.

And the camera?

The camera will see it all.

You step forward again, letting your fingertips just barely graze the waistband of his boxers. He jolts slightly, his breath catching, his fingers twitching against the silk binding his wrists.

“Mm,” you hum, tilting your head as you watch his reaction. “So responsive.”

His throat bobs.

“You always watch me, don’t you, H?” Your voice is nothing more than a low, taunting whisper. “Always studying me. Reading me. Seeing everything.”

A sharp exhale leaves him, his fingers flexing again.

“But not tonight.”

You drag a single fingertip up the center of his chest, slow and deliberate, tracing over his sternum, up his throat, stopping just beneath his jaw. His breath shudders at the contact, his head tipping back slightly.

“You’re not going to see anything.” Your voice is a slow drag of heat against his skin. “You’re just going to feel.”

He lets out a quiet curse under his breath, and fuck, you haven’t even done anything yet.

His wrists flex against the silk bindings, muscles straining beneath his skin. The blindfold is firm over his eyes, cutting off his sight, leaving him in darkness, forced to rely on every other sense—every rustle of fabric, every slow inhale, every shift in the air around him.

You watch the rise and fall of his chest, the way his body twitches, already on edge before you’ve even touched him. It’s intoxicating.

You reach for the first tool of your torment—a feather, soft and teasing between your fingers.

The first touch is light, barely there, trailing down the column of his throat.

Harry inhales sharply.

You drag it lower, across his collarbone, letting the fine strands skim over his flushed skin. His body jerks, but he stays still, just as you commanded.

“See?” you murmur, letting the feather dance down the center of his chest. “Not so easy, is it?”

His jaw clenches.

You smile, moving lower, circling his navel, then dipping just below it. Not touching where he wants you most—where he’s already hard, already aching, cock pressing against the fabric of his boxers—but teasing close enough that he can feel it, that it drives him insane.

A shaky breath escapes him. His fingers curl, his knuckles turning white against the bindings.

You switch tactics. The feather is gone, replaced by something sharper—ice.

He barely has time to register the shift before you press the melting cube just beneath his ribs. He hisses through his teeth, his stomach muscles flexing beneath the sudden chill.

You drag it lower. Down his abdomen. Along the crease of his hip.

“You’re so fucking reactive,” you hum, tilting your head as you watch him. “I wonder if you even realize how desperate you look right now.”

A muscle jumps in his jaw. His lips part slightly, but he stays silent, obeying the rule you gave him. No speaking unless given permission.

You grin. “Good boy.”

The cube melts against his overheated skin, leaving trails of wetness in its wake. You lean down, dragging your tongue along one of them, tasting the contrast between the cold water and the warmth of his body.

Harry shudders. His hips jerk just slightly, an instinctual movement, a plea without words.

But he still doesn’t speak.

You press your lips to the side of his throat. “You’re holding back so well,” you whisper, brushing your mouth over the shell of his ear. “But tell me, H… how does it feel to be the one waiting?”

His entire body tenses. His head tilts slightly toward your voice, breath uneven.

“Every time you made me beg,” you continue, trailing your fingers lightly over his stomach, over his thighs, skipping where he needs you. “Every time you made me fall apart before giving me what I wanted… was it this frustrating?”

His exhale is sharp, ragged. His fingers twitch in their bindings.

You click your tongue. “Nothing to say?”

He grits his teeth. His self-control is fraying. You can see it in every tremble of his muscles, in the way his cock twitches beneath the thin fabric of his boxers.

You decide to break him further.

A vibrator—small, powerful—presses against the inside of his thigh.

Harry jolts.

You smirk. “Didn’t expect that, did you?”

His breathing turns shallow. His thighs tense beneath your hands as you move the toy slowly, so fucking slowly, up his leg. You keep it just off to the side, letting the vibrations buzz against the sensitive skin, but never where he really needs it.

He groans, his head tilting back against the pillows. His hands pull against the silk binding, fighting the urge to grab, to take control.

You turn the setting higher.

His breath stutters.

You trace the toy up and down, teasing the crease of his hip, the dip of his lower stomach. He’s so hard now it has to be painful, his cock straining against the fabric, leaking at the tip. But you don’t touch him there.

Not yet.

His body twitches beneath you, muscles flexing, every inch of him practically vibrating with need.

Finally, you lean in close, lips brushing his ear. “All you have to do is ask, baby.”

A deep, wrecked noise leaves his throat. His fingers curl tight, his body trembling.

But he doesn’t speak.

You smile against his skin. “That’s what I thought.”

And with that, you pull the vibrator away completely.

His entire body tenses—his breath catching, his head snapping forward as if to search for you through the blindfold.

You don’t say a word. You don’t touch him.

You just leave him there.

Waiting.

The silence is suffocating. The kind that stretches, thick and heavy, wrapping around his body like a vice. Every nerve in his skin is burning, still buzzing from everything you’ve done to him—and from everything you haven’t.

Harry swallows hard. His lips part slightly, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. He’s teetering right on the edge of breaking, right on the brink of snapping, and he knows it.

But he also knows you know it.

You’re watching him. Studying him. Taking in the way his muscles tense, the way his fingers twitch against their bindings, the way his cock is so painfully hard against his stomach that he’s sure it’s leaving a damp spot on the fabric.

Still, you wait.

Still, you make him suffer.

And fuck, it’s working.

A strangled groan tears from his throat, his jaw clenching, his head falling back against the pillow in a mixture of frustration and submission. His hips jerk slightly, instinctively seeking friction that isn’t there, and when that gets him nothing, he finally exhales a shaky breath.

“…Please.”

It’s quiet. A whisper. A ghost of a plea.

You smirk.

Your hands finally move—slowly, deliberately—dragging the tips of your fingers down his chest. The touch is featherlight, barely there, but after everything, it feels like fire against his overstimulated skin.

You trace the ridges of his stomach, your nails scraping just lightly enough to make him shudder, before your fingers dip lower—down the sharp line of his hip bones, toward the waistband of his boxers.

He sucks in a breath.

Your fingers hook into the fabric. You tug them down, exposing him completely, watching the way his cock twitches as it’s freed. He’s flushed, aching, so fucking hard it must be painful.

You hum in approval, letting your fingers ghost up his thighs—still not where he needs them.

“You look so pretty like this,” you murmur, tilting your head as you take him in. “So desperate. So fucking needy.”

A frustrated noise escapes him, his arms flexing against the restraints, and you know he’s fighting every instinct, every urge to take control.

You drag a single fingertip up the length of him, barely a touch, just enough to send a shiver through his entire body.

His breath stutters.

You wrap your fingers around him, finally giving him what he wants—but it’s slow. Torturously slow. Your grip is barely there, your strokes light, teasing, dragging this out for as long as possible.

Harry groans, his hips lifting slightly into your touch.

Immediately, you stop.

His entire body jerks, a strangled noise catching in his throat.

You lean in close, your lips grazing the corner of his mouth. “No,” you whisper. “You don’t get to take.”

A sharp exhale leaves him, his head tilting forward slightly, as if he’s trying to chase the touch of your lips.

You smile. “You wait until I say.”

And then you start again.

Your hand moves, slow and steady, working him up, pushing him right to the brink before stopping. Again. And again. And again.

Each time, his moans get rougher. His breathing gets more ragged. His body trembles beneath you, muscles clenching, thighs shaking.

By the third time, he’s wrecked.

By the fourth, he’s pleading.

His voice is strained, thick with desperation, edged with something wrecked and ruined. “Please. Fuck—please, baby—”

You hum, dragging your thumb lazily over the head of his cock, watching the way his stomach flexes, the way he twitches beneath you. “Please what?”

A growl rumbles in his chest, but it’s weak, a last-ditch attempt at control. “Need—”

You squeeze him just slightly. He gasps.

You tilt your head. “Need what, H?”

His lips part, but no words come out at first. He’s shaking now, his breath unsteady, his body barely able to keep up with the pleasure you’ve denied him.

And then—finally—he breaks.

His voice is barely a rasp. Barely a whisper.

“Need to come.”

A satisfied smile spreads across your lips.

You reach for the blindfold, sliding it off slowly, watching as his lashes flutter, his pupils blown wide, his lips swollen from biting back moans. His entire body is wrecked, ruined, trembling beneath you.

And still—you’re not done.

You reach for the camera, tilting it slightly, adjusting the angle so it captures every last bit of his destruction.

Then you grip his jaw, tilting his face toward it.

“Look at the lens,” you murmur. “Tell them what you want.”

His throat bobs. His fingers curl into fists. His entire body is pulled so tight it’s a miracle he hasn’t snapped yet.

He shakes his head slightly, still fighting, still resisting even now.

You click your tongue, leaning in to press your lips just beneath his ear.

“Tell them,” you whisper. “Or I stop.”

His breath stutters. His stomach clenches. He’s silent for one more second—one final, useless attempt at control.

Then, he caves.

His voice is hoarse, wrecked, barely above a whisper.

“Please… let me come.”

You smirk.

“Good boy.”

And then, finally, you give him what he wants.

The second your grip tightens around him, Harry lets out the most wrecked, guttural sound you’ve ever heard. His body tenses, every muscle coiled so tightly that he looks like he might snap apart from the sheer force of restraint he’s been clinging to.

But now?

Now, you’re tearing that restraint away.

Your hand moves with a new intensity—firm, deliberate, slick and merciless as you stroke him, dragging him past the brink he’s been teetering on for what feels like eternity. His hips lift instinctively, but this time, you let him. Let him chase, let him need, let him take because you know he can’t hold back anymore.

Not when you finally wrap your lips around the head of his cock.

The sound he makes is devastating. A choked, desperate groan, his head snapping back against the pillows, his hands flexing uselessly in their bindings. His thighs shake violently beneath your touch, his entire body shuddering with overstimulation as you take him deeper, your tongue swirling, your mouth working him with obscene, filthy precision.

You glance up, and fuck, the sight of him alone could make you come.

His lips are parted, glossy and swollen from the way he’s been biting them. His face is flushed, a deep, intoxicating pink spreading down his throat, across his chest. His eyes—blown wide, dark, glassy—are locked onto the camera now, completely undone, completely gone.

And it’s all yours.

You moan around him just to watch him shudder, just to watch his stomach clench, his fingers twitch, his entire body tremble beneath you. You work him ruthlessly, your hand and mouth moving in tandem, swallowing every wrecked noise, every desperate plea that spills from his lips.

“F-Fuck—” His voice is barely there, strangled, raw. “Gonna—fuck, baby, I’m—”

You don’t slow.

You don’t stop.

You push him further, letting the camera capture every second, every sound, every fucking moment of him falling apart for you.

Until finally—finally—he breaks.

He comes with a shattered moan, his entire body jolting, his stomach tensing, his thighs trembling beneath your grip. You take it all, swallowing everything, letting him ride it out, dragging him through every last second of pleasure until he’s whimpering, gasping, his entire frame quaking with the force of it.

And even then—you don’t let up.

Your mouth stays on him, your tongue flicking over the most sensitive spots, your hand milking every last drop from his exhausted body. His noises turn wrecked, overstimulated, raw—half-groans, half-pleas, too fucked-out to form real words.

You finally pull back, pressing a soft, satisfied kiss to the inside of his thigh, and sit back to admire your work.

He’s a mess.

Fucked-out, wrecked, panting, struggling to even hold himself together. His chest is heaving, his skin is damp with sweat, his curls are an absolute disaster against the pillows. His wrists are still flexed against the bindings, as if his body hasn’t realized he doesn’t have to fight anymore.

You smirk, reaching up to trail your fingers through his damp hair, tugging just enough to make his dazed eyes flutter open.

“That’s one,” you murmur, thumb brushing along his cheek.

His breath stutters.

You lean in close, letting your lips barely ghost over his.

“Hope you’re not too tired, baby.” A slow, wicked smirk spreads across your lips. “This is only the beginning.”

Harry makes a sound—somewhere between a whimper and a groan—his body still twitching beneath you, aftershocks rolling through him like waves. His chest is rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths, his lips parted, glossy from where he’s been gasping and moaning your name.

But his eyes—fuck, his eyes.

Blown-wide pupils, dark and glassy, flickering between your face and the camera that’s still rolling, still capturing every tremor in his ruined body. He looks completely wrecked. Helpless. Gone.

And you love it.

You drag your fingers through his curls again, tugging lightly, watching the way his lashes flutter, the way he tilts his head toward your touch without thinking. His body is still begging for more, even when he’s barely recovered from the last round.

A smug smirk tugs at your lips. “What’s wrong, baby?” you murmur, voice dripping with satisfaction. “Too much for you?”

Harry lets out a weak, breathless laugh, his voice hoarse. “You’re fucking evil.”

You hum, tilting your head. “Am I?” Your fingers trail lazily down his chest, over his stomach, feeling every little twitch and shudder beneath your touch. “Because you seemed to like it.”

His throat bobs. His fingers curl into fists against the bindings. His entire body is still betraying him, even as he struggles to collect himself.

You lean down, lips brushing over his jaw, over the shell of his ear. “You looked so pretty coming for me,” you whisper. “The camera got every second of it. Every sound. Every shake.”

A deep, wrecked groan rumbles in his chest. His arms tense, muscles flexing as if he wants to grab you, flip you over, reclaim control—but he can’t.

You don’t let him.

Instead, you take your time, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses down his throat, his chest, letting your hands wander, letting your nails scrape lightly over the most sensitive spots you’ve mapped out so well.

And when you settle between his thighs again, you feel him jolt.

“Fuck—” His head snaps up, eyes wide, body tensing as he realizes what you’re about to do.

You smirk.

“You didn’t think we were done, did you?”

His breath shudders. His hips twitch instinctively, his entire body caught between sensitivity and lingering arousal.

“I—” His voice catches. His jaw clenches. His head falls back against the pillows. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

He’s still catching his breath, sprawled out on the bed, body twitching from overstimulation, sweat dampening his curls. His chest rises and falls in uneven gasps, skin flushed, muscles trembling. He looks wrecked—completely, utterly ruined. But even in his haze, his mind is racing.

Between deep breaths, he finally mutters, “You know… people would lose their fucking minds over that.” His voice is hoarse, thick with exhaustion but laced with something darker.

You pretend not to know what he’s talking about, running your fingers lazily down his chest, feeling the way his skin jumps under your touch. Your fingertips trace over his sternum, then lower, following the slick heat of his body. The camera is still recording, its tiny red light blinking steadily beside you. You let your nails scrape lightly down his stomach before dragging them back up.

“Over what, H?” you murmur, tilting your head as if you don’t already know.

His smirk returns, slow and knowing, despite the wreckage of his body. It starts at the corner of his lips before spreading, that signature, lazy grin that always spells trouble.

“Over you,” he says, voice a little steadier now. “Over the way you just ruined me on film.”

Your breath catches, thighs pressing together at the way he says it. The way his accent curls around the words. He shifts, propping himself up slightly, green eyes dark and heavy-lidded as he watches your reaction.

A thrill runs through you, sparking at the base of your spine, igniting something dangerous. The idea of putting one of your videos online—of letting strangers see just how completely he falls apart for you—sends a shiver through you.

You bite your lip, pretending to think about it, but you both know you’re already considering it. The temptation is there, thick in the air between you.

“We could do a test run,” you suggest lightly, reaching for the camera. He watches you, expression unreadable, as you scroll through the recorded clips, replaying snippets from the night.

His moans, the way his body tenses, the raw need in his voice—it’s all there, captured in crystal-clear detail.

“This one,” you murmur, hovering over the first video you ever made together. The lighting is low, the angles perfect, the chemistry undeniable. It’s art, in its own filthy way.

His breath catches. He wasn’t expecting that. He thought you were teasing again, pushing his buttons just to watch him squirm. But now? Now, you’re serious.

The video is right there. One click. One upload. A whole new world of possibility.

You exchange a look, your fingers hovering over the button.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like ❤️‍🔥

#harry styles #harry styles fic #harry styles writing #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles smut #harry styles x y/n #cloudyluun's original post

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zaynessbeloved · 23 hours ago

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It was always you (and us)

⟢ summary: You were always a trio—Caleb, Zayne, and you. Bound by childhood, laughter, and a quiet promise that none of you would ever be left behind. But things change. And somewhere between late-night study sessions and growing up, you start to realize your heart is pulling in a different direction. The three of you were supposed to stay the same. But you’re not kids anymore. And some feelings don’t stay quiet forever.

⟢ pairings: Zayne x reader, Caleb x reader

⟢ word count: 7.8k

⟢ a/n: This is my very first published fic, and honestly, I wrote it just for fun (and feelings) with my girl Elle. It started as a small idea that slowly turned into something a little bigger (currently at 22k haha and still in progress). This is the first chapter, enjoy!

Chapter 1

You were eight when you first met Zayne.

It was a warm spring afternoon, the kind where time stretched endlessly, filled with the sound of laughter and the scent of blooming flowers. You were at the neighborhood park, caught up in a game of tag with your best friend, Caleb, when you noticed him. A boy, sitting alone beneath the big oak tree. A book in his hands, his gaze locked onto the pages, completely absorbed in whatever world existed between them. He sat apart from the other children, far from the laughter, the playful shouts, and the carefree energy of summer. And you were curious.

At first glance, he looked perfectly content being by himself. Didn’t he want to play? The question lingered in your mind as Caleb grabbed your wrist, dragging you back into the game with a teasing grin, cracking a joke that had you giggling. The boy by the tree faded into the background as you ran across the playground, lost in the warmth of the sun, the breeze tangling in your hair, and the joy of Caleb’s endless companionship.

But the next day, and the day after that, he was still there. Always by the tree. Always alone. It made you wonder. It made you a little sad. Did he not have any friends? Your young mind couldn’t understand why someone would choose to sit alone every day, buried in books instead of playing. You didn’t know then that it wasn’t his choice—that it wasn’t that he didn’t want to play, but that the other kids never invited him. That they had already decided he was different. You never had to think about things like that. Not when you had Caleb. He was always there—beside you, with you, a constant presence. You played together, studied together, did everything together. The two of you were inseparable, attached at the hip. Where Caleb was, you were too. It was never just you or Caleb. It was always the duo.

As spring stretched on, you lost yourself in the playful atmosphere of endless sunny days and laughter. You loved birthdays, and when June 13th arrived—Caleb’s 10th birthday—you were absolutely ecstatic. You couldn’t sit still for even a second, dragging Caleb from one place to another, determined to make every moment special. You played games, shared ice cream, danced to his favorite songs, and let yourselves get completely lost in the moment.

Caleb always loved spending time with you, but his birthday was different. He loved it because you loved it—because it made you so excited. He let you open some of his presents just to hear your delighted giggles, watching as your happiness filled the air, warm and contagious. Looking back, your childhood was a blur of golden afternoons and endless laughter—days where time stretched endlessly, and every little thing felt like the biggest adventure. You and Caleb were inseparable, running barefoot through the grass, daring each other to climb trees, and turning even the most ordinary days into something magical.

Summers meant racing bikes down the street until your legs ached, sticky fingers from melting popsicles, and late-night stargazing on your front porch, whispering about the future in voices laced with exhaustion. Winters meant snowball fights that ended with him tackling you into the snow, leaving you both breathless with laughter. Your mittens were always too big, and Caleb—ever the big brother figure—would tug them snugly onto your hands before rolling his eyes and calling you hopeless. But his voice was always fond, his teasing always gentle.

And in between those seasons, there was always Zayne. He was there—always sitting under that same tree, book in hand, silently observing. You didn’t understand him, not yet, but there was something about the way his eyes followed you and Caleb, something unreadable in his expression. One day, when autumn painted the leaves in shades of gold, you’d finally worked up the courage to approach him. Caleb, ever by your side, followed suit, though he wasn’t nearly as curious as you.

“What are you always reading?” you had asked, tilting your head at him.

Zayne had looked up, blinking as if pulled from another world. He hesitated, glancing between you and Caleb before finally mumbling, “Stories.”

His voice was soft, quieter than you expected.

“What kind of stories?”

Zayne stared at you for a long moment before slowly turning the book around, showing you the pages. The words didn’t mean much to you at the time, but he let you and Caleb sit beside him that day, reading in silence. It was the first time the three of you ever shared a moment together. You didn’t know it then, but it wouldn’t be the last.

The first time Zayne ever truly laughed in front of you, it caught you off guard. It was a late summer afternoon, the golden light filtering through the leaves as the three of you sat under the big oak tree. You had managed to coax Zayne into putting his book down—an achievement in itself—and convinced him to listen as you and Caleb attempted to build a tiny "house" out of sticks and leaves.

“See?” you grinned, placing one last twig on top. “It’s perfect.”

Caleb squinted at it, tilting his head. “Looks like a pile of sticks.”

“It’s a house,” you insisted.

“A sad, broken house,” Caleb countered, lips twitching. “It’s gonna fall apart if the wind so much as sneezes.”

You huffed and turned to Zayne. “What do you think?”

He had been silent up until now, sitting cross-legged beside you, watching. But then, to your surprise, the corner of his mouth lifted. Not quite a smile, but close.

“…It’s a pile of sticks,” he murmured.

Your jaw dropped. Caleb lost it. He threw his head back, laughing, and you couldn’t help but gape at Zayne, stunned.

“Wait—you’re taking his side?” you accused, pointing dramatically.

Zayne shrugged, but there was something different this time. The smallest hint of amusement sparkled in his usually quiet eyes. Then, as Caleb continued to wheeze with laughter, Zayne made a sound. A small, barely-there chuckle. But it was real. And it was his. And for some reason, that tiny, fleeting laugh felt like the biggest victory in the world. From that day forward, you made it your mission to hear it again.

The first time Zayne willingly joined you and Caleb in a game, it happened so naturally you barely noticed it was happening at all. It was a chilly autumn afternoon, the leaves crunching underfoot as you and Caleb played a made-up game that involved jumping between patches of grass, pretending the ground was lava.

“You can’t step on the dirt!” you called, arms stretched for balance as you leaped from one patch to another.

Caleb scoffed. “Obviously.”

Zayne, who had been sitting on his usual spot under the tree, was watching. He always did. But today, something was different.

You paused mid-game, turning to him with a grin. “Come play!”

He blinked at you, then at Caleb, then back at you. His fingers curled slightly against the pages of his book.

“…I don’t know the rules,” he admitted after a long pause.

“That’s okay! You just can’t touch the dirt,” you explained, waving your arms excitedly.

For a moment, you thought he’d say no. But then—without a word—Zayne closed his book and stood up. And just like that, he was part of the game. He was surprisingly good at it, too.

Winter came, bringing with it a blanket of snow that turned the park into a world of white. You had made it your personal goal to get Zayne in a snowball fight.

“You can’t just sit under your tree forever,” you pouted, kicking at the snow near his boots.

“I don’t—”

Thud. A snowball hit the side of his coat. Zayne turned slowly, his expression unreadable as he looked at Caleb, who was already packing another snowball.

“You’re dead,” Zayne said flatly.

And then—to your utter shock—he bent down, gathered a handful of snow, and launched it straight at Caleb. The fight that followed was nothing short of legendary. You were laughing so hard your stomach ached, and when Zayne finally hit you with a snowball, you caught the briefest glimpse of something incredible— A smirk. Not just any smirk, but one laced with the tiniest hint of amusement. You were making progress. And it was so worth it.

Spring arrived with its gentle breezes and blooming flowers, and by now, you had fully decided that hearing Zayne laugh was your favorite thing in the world. It was rare, still. But you had your ways of getting it. Like the time you tripped over absolutely nothing while running to show him something, falling face-first into the grass.

“Are you okay?” Caleb had asked, trying to suppress his laughter.

You had grumbled into the dirt. And then—so quietly you almost missed it—you heard it. A small, breathy chuckle. When you lifted your head, Zayne was covering his mouth, shaking his head as if trying to stop himself from laughing.

You gasped dramatically, pointing. “You laughed!”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did!”

Caleb looked between the two of you, then smirked. “I think we should make her trip more often.”

Zayne actually snorted at that. You were so winning.

And then—sometime in the summer, when the sun hung lazily in the sky and the air smelled of warm grass—you finally asked him. You didn’t mean to. It just slipped out.

“Why do you always sit by yourself?”

Zayne, who had been idly flipping through a book beside you, stilled. The silence stretched. For a second, you thought he wasn’t going to answer.

Then—without looking at you—he murmured, “They didn’t want to play with me.”

Something ached in your chest.

“They—” You hesitated, brows furrowing. “The other kids?”

He didn’t nod. He didn’t shake his head. But he didn’t have to. You stared at him, processing his quiet confession, and suddenly, all those moments flashed in your mind—the way he always sat alone, the way the other kids never called for him, the way he had never been part of the laughter in the playground. That wasn’t his choice, and that realization made something burn inside you. Before you could even think about it, you reached out and wrapped your arms around him. Zayne tensed immediately, his body stiff against yours. But you didn’t let go.

“You can always play with us,” you said, your voice soft but firm. “Always.”

Slowly—so slowly it almost broke your heart—Zayne exhaled.

“…Okay.”

It was barely a whisper. But you heard it. And that was enough.

At first, it was always you and Caleb. The duo, the inseparable pair. But then came Zayne, and slowly, without anyone realizing it, two became three.

It wasn’t immediate. It happened in the small, quiet moments—the times you would grab Zayne’s wrist and pull him into whatever game you and Caleb were playing, the times he stopped hesitating before sitting beside you under the tree, the times Caleb would roll his eyes but still wait for him to catch up. And before anyone could pinpoint exactly when it changed, it just did. You weren’t just a duo anymore, you were a trio.

The change didn’t bother Caleb. Not really. It was just… different. For as long as he could remember, it had been just the two of you—his best friend, his partner-in-crime, the only person who could keep up with him. And then one day, suddenly, there was someone else. Someone else you were laughing with. Someone else you were looking for whenever you got excited about something. And he didn’t know how that made him feel.

He never said anything about it. Never brought it up, never let it slip. Because, deep down, he liked Zayne too. Zayne was… different. He was quiet, but he listened. He was serious, but his humor was sharp when he let it out. And even though Caleb would never admit it, he liked the challenge of dragging Zayne into his chaos. So he didn’t hate it. He didn’t push Zayne away. But he felt it, that small, nagging feeling in his chest.

If Zayne noticed the shift, he never said anything. Then again, Zayne rarely said much about anything. But his presence changed, he wasn’t just the quiet boy sitting under the tree anymore—he was there, fully part of everything you and Caleb did. When you and Caleb raced each other? Zayne was suddenly in the race. When Caleb got too confident in his tree-climbing skills? Zayne was the one to raise an eyebrow and call him out. When you dragged Caleb into some ridiculous made-up adventure? Zayne was following—sometimes reluctantly, sometimes willingly, but always there.

And, most importantly—when you needed him? He always showed up. Even if he didn’t understand why you cared so much, even if he was used to being on his own, even if a part of him still hesitated—he let you in. Because you never let him feel like he was an afterthought. You always made sure he belonged.

One day, after spending hours outside, the three of you collapsed onto the grass, panting, exhausted from running.

“I win,” Caleb announced dramatically, throwing an arm over his forehead.

“You cheated,” you accused, poking his side.

Zayne, still catching his breath, smirked. “Yeah, you totally cheated.”

Caleb gasped, sitting up. “Excuse me?! Since when are you taking her side?”

“Since you cheated.”

“I—I did not!”

You giggled, rolling onto your stomach, resting your chin on your hands. The summer sun was setting, painting the sky in soft hues of pink and orange, and in that moment, you realized something. This felt… right. The three of you, together. Zayne wasn’t an outsider anymore. He wasn’t just the boy under the tree. He was your friend, and that? That was never going to change.

Zayne was the first to go. The day he started high school, you and Caleb watched as he walked ahead of you, disappearing beyond the gates of a world you weren’t part of yet. It felt… weird. For the past few years, it had always been the three of you. And now, for the first time in what felt like forever, it was just you and Caleb again.

You kicked a rock as you walked to middle school, glancing at Caleb. “Think he’s gonna forget about us?”

Caleb snorted. “Doubt it. We’re too awesome for that.”

Still, the day felt different without him. But Zayne didn’t disappear. Even in high school, he still waited for you and Caleb after school, still walked home with you, still sat on the porch steps of your house when Caleb dragged you outside to play. The only difference now was that… he talked more. Not a lot. Not the way you and Caleb did. But enough.

Like when he offhandedly mentioned how boring his math class was. Or when he grumbled about an upperclassman being annoying. Or when he, for the first time ever, actually complained about homework—which shocked you both, considering he was the biggest bookworm of the three. Little things, but they mattered. Because it meant that, even though he was in high school now, he was still Zayne.

Caleb never remembered what life was like before he lived with you. He knew—logically—that there was a time before. A time when his parents’ voices filled the house, when their hands ruffled his hair, when they tucked him into bed at night. But that time had been brief. Too brief.And then they were gone. And suddenly, he wasn’t in that house anymore. Suddenly, he was standing in the doorway of a place that smelled different, with a lady who hugged him tight and spoke softly, and a little girl who blinked up at him with big, curious eyes.

You had been four when he moved in. He had been five. He didn’t remember a lot from that time. Just small things. Like how, on the first night, he had been too scared to sleep. And how you had peeked into his room, a stuffed animal clutched in your little hands, and wordlessly climbed into the bed beside him. You didn’t say anything. You didn’t ask if he was sad, or if he missed his parents, or if he was scared. You just curled up next to him, close enough that he could feel your warmth. And for the first time since his parents were gone, he didn’t feel so alone. Even if he hadn’t understood it back then, Caleb knew one thing. You were special. And he was never leaving your side.

You were scared of thunderstorms.

The kind that shook the house, rattled the windows, and made the sky split open with jagged streaks of lightning. The kind that made you burrow under the covers, heart pounding, waiting for it to pass. And maybe that’s why, on nights when his nightmares took hold—when the weight of missing his parents became too heavy—he would creep into your room, pulling the blanket over himself without a word.

Maybe he thought that if you were scared too, neither of you had to be alone. Your bed became his safe space, just as his presence became yours. By the time you were old enough to truly remember, it had already become a habit. Whenever the rain started pounding against the windows and thunder rolled through the sky, it was just understood—Caleb would slip into your bed, or you would crawl into his, until the storm passed. Neither of you ever talked about it, because neither of you needed to.

The treehouse was your world.

You and Caleb had built it together—or, well, mostly Caleb and your grandma’s neighbor, who happened to also be Zayne’s dad, while you helped with the “important” parts, like picking the fairy lights and carving little drawings into the wooden beams. It was your little escape.

Your names were scrawled into the wall in messy handwriting, surrounded by doodles and marks of all the summers you had spent there. There were blankets tossed over the wooden floor, fairy lights draped across the ceiling, and a stack of books that mostly belonged to Zayne now. The three of you had spent entire summers there—sneaking snacks inside, telling stories, and falling asleep under the soft glow of the lights. Some nights, Caleb and you slept there instead of inside—wrapped up in blankets, listening to the crickets sing. Zayne rarely stayed overnight, but sometimes, when the night was quiet and the sky was clear, he stayed just a little longer.

Tonight was one of those nights. It was late. The fairy lights in the treehouse flickered softly, casting a warm glow over the walls, while the summer breeze filtered in through the open window. Caleb had basketball practice after school, and for once, it was just you and Zayne. He was leaning against the wall, flipping through one of his books, his dark hair falling slightly into his eyes. And then, before you even thought about the question, it just… slipped out.

“Have you ever kissed anyone?”

Zayne froze. His fingers stilled on the page, his body going rigid—not dramatically, but enough for you to notice. You blinked at him expectantly, waiting.

“…No.”

The answer was simple. Direct. But there was something about the way he said it—something unreadable in his expression, like he wasn’t sure why you were asking.

You hummed, kicking your legs idly where you sat. “I don’t think I’d want my first kiss to be random. It should be with someone special, right?”

Zayne’s gaze flickered to you then—just for a second, just long enough to feel like he was studying you. Then he looked away, flipping the page in his book.

“…Yeah.”

And for some reason, the moment lingered. The air inside the treehouse felt warm—not because of the summer night, but because of the conversation. Zayne had gone back to flipping through his book, but something about his posture felt… different. Like he wasn’t really reading anymore. You were still thinking about what you’d said. He finally looked up, really looked at you this time. Neither of you noticed when you started leaning in closer. It was slow, unintentional—just a shift in the space between you, an instinctive pull. Your faces weren’t far apart anymore. It wasn’t weird, not exactly. You weren’t even really thinking about it. You were just… there. Close enough that you could count the darker flecks in his hazel eyes, close enough to feel the quiet in-between the words. And then—

“Hey! You guys up there?”

Caleb’s loud, laughing voice shattered the moment, along with the distant thud of his shoes hitting the wooden steps as he climbed. You and Zayne jerked apart immediately. The space that had disappeared between you suddenly existed again, like a wall had been placed there, forcing you both back into place. Zayne cleared his throat, too quickly. You looked away, too fast.

Caleb swung himself inside, still slightly breathless from practice, tossing his basketball onto the floor with a smirk. “Did you guys start without me?”

You forced a laugh. “Obviously. You’re late.”

Zayne didn’t say anything, but his hand gripped the book a little tighter. And just like that, the moment—whatever it had been—was gone. Neither of you ever mentioned it again.

It wasn’t fair.

For as long as you could remember, you and Caleb had always gone through everything together. School, summers, childhood—all of it. But now, things were different. Zayne had already been in high school for a year, and now Caleb was joining him, leaving you behind in middle school for one more endless year. You tried not to let it bother you. Tried. But the first morning of the new school year, standing at the sidewalk where you always met up, watching as both of them headed off in a different direction without you… Yeah. It stung. You kicked a rock with your shoe, crossing your arms.

“Cheer up, Pipsqueak,” Caleb smirked, nudging your head playfully. “It’s just one year. You’ll survive.”

You scowled up at him. “I hope you trip on the stairs.”

He threw his head back with a dramatic gasp. “How dare you? After everything I’ve done for you?”

Zayne, standing a few steps away, rolled his eyes. “Don’t be an idiot, Caleb.”

“Oh? What, so you get to be mean to me, but she doesn’t?”

“Yes,” Zayne deadpanned.

You huffed, adjusting your backpack. “Whatever. Just don’t forget about me while you two are off having fun.”

The words were meant to be a joke, but for some reason, they didn’t feel like one. Neither of them said anything at first.

Then, Caleb slung an arm over your shoulder, grinning. “As if we could forget this little menace.”

Zayne didn’t say anything. But when Caleb let go and started walking ahead, Zayne lingered for a moment. His eyes flickered to you, thoughtful, unreadable.

“…See you later.”

And then he left, walking alongside Caleb, disappearing into the high school crowd. And just like that, they were gone.

Zayne never thought about things like this. Things like… whatever had happened that summer night in the treehouse. Because it wasn’t a thing. It wasn’t. And yet… Sometimes, when you spoke—when you tilted your head, or laughed a little too loudly, or smiled that particular way you did—he would remember.

Not clearly. Not in a way that made sense. Just in flashes. The space between you, the way you leaned in, the way it didn’t feel strange at all. And you had forgotten. He knew you had. Because you never brought it up, never acted any differently. And Zayne… didn’t know why that irritated him. Didn’t know why he couldn’t forget, even when he wanted to.

Caleb was thriving in high school.

He was made for this kind of social environment—laughing with new people, jumping into clubs and activities like he had been waiting his whole life for them. And you? You felt… a little lost. Lunch breaks weren’t the same. Walks home weren’t the same. Caleb still texted you constantly, but it wasn’t like before. Because before, it had been a trio. And now, for most of the day, it was just you. But the worst part? Zayne wasn’t answering your texts as often. And maybe you were being dramatic, maybe you were just overthinking it, but for the first time in years…

You felt like you were losing something.

One evening, after a particularly bad day, Caleb showed up in your room.

“Alright, Pipsqueak,” he announced, flopping onto your bed like he owned it. “I hear you’re being emo. Explain.”

You groaned, burying your face into your pillow. “Go away.”

“Nope.”

“You’re annoying.”

“Incorrect. I’m charming.”

Despite yourself, you let out a muffled laugh into the pillow.

Caleb poked your shoulder. “You know you’re not actually alone, right?”

You hesitated. “…It feels like it.”

He didn’t laugh this time.

Instead, he sat up, tilting his head at you, his voice unusually soft. “You still have me.”

You sighed, rolling onto your back, staring at the ceiling. “And Zayne?”

“…Zayne’s an idiot,” Caleb said, stretching out dramatically. “Don’t take it personally.”

You turned your head to look at him. “…But why does it feel like he’s avoiding me?”

Caleb blinked. Then shrugged. “Dunno. But whatever it is, you know he wouldn’t just ditch you, right?”

You didn’t answer. Not because you didn’t believe Caleb. But because, for the first time in years, you weren’t entirely sure.

Zayne wasn’t avoiding you. Not really. He still walked home with you and Caleb most days. Still sat at your kitchen table, half-listening to Caleb’s endless rambling while flipping through a book. Still showed up when you needed him. But something was… different.

You felt it in the way his replies to your texts came slower than before. The way he didn’t linger as long after school. The way, sometimes, when you reached out—when you wanted to talk—he seemed like he was just out of reach. And it wasn’t like he was disappearing. But it also wasn’t like before.

If anyone was enjoying high school, it was Caleb. Because, of course, he was.

“Did you see that shot?” Caleb grinned, spinning his basketball in his hands as you walked home together. “Full-court, perfect aim—Coach actually looked impressed this time.”

You rolled your eyes fondly. “You mean the shot you almost missed?”

Caleb gasped dramatically. “You wound me.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I’m happy for you, though. You really love this, huh?”

Caleb’s face lit up in a way that made something warm bloom in your chest.

“Yeah,” he admitted, spinning the ball again. “Feels like I belong there, you know?”

And you did know. Because Caleb was the kind of person who needed to move, needed people, needed energy. Basketball gave him all of that.

You smiled at him. “You better not forget about me when you become a big basketball star.”

Caleb threw an arm around you, grinning. “Please. Like I’d ever forget my Pipsqueak.”

Zayne wasn’t at lunch again. You weren’t even surprised anymore. You sighed, resting your chin on your hand as Caleb shoveled food into his mouth across from you.

“Does he even eat anymore?” you muttered.

Caleb snorted. “Nah, he just absorbs knowledge and survives off of it.”

You huffed. “It’s not fun without him.”

Caleb gave you a look. “Pipsqueak. He’s taking college classes. You really think he has time to sit around and listen to me talk about basketball for an hour?”

You scowled. “I do.”

And maybe that was selfish. But… Zayne had always been there. And now? Now, he was in a world you couldn’t reach. A world of professors and college students, textbooks and assignments that weren’t high school-level anymore. And maybe you weren’t supposed to feel left behind, but you did. Just a little. The worst part? Zayne noticed.

One evening, as you sat on your porch, staring at your phone, debating whether or not to text him first—he showed up. Not Caleb. Not anyone else. Zayne. He stepped onto the porch, hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable.

“You good?” he asked, voice low, unreadable.

You blinked at him, caught off guard. “I—yeah. I’m fine.”

Zayne didn’t look convinced.

He leaned against the porch railing, watching you for a moment. Then, quietly, “You’re bad at lying.”

Your lips pressed together. “…Maybe.”

The silence stretched between you, filled only by the distant sound of cars passing by.

Then, without looking at you, Zayne murmured, “You know I’m still here, right?”

Your heart stuttered. Because he knew. You hadn’t even said anything, but he knew. And just like that, the ache in your chest wasn’t so heavy anymore.

High school felt different. Not just because you were finally there, not just because you weren’t the one being left behind anymore—but because, after what felt like forever, things between you, Zayne, and Caleb started feeling right again. The first day had been overwhelming, with crowded hallways and unfamiliar faces, but before you could get too lost in it—

Caleb slung an arm around your shoulder, grinning. “Welcome to the big leagues, Pipsqueak.”

And just like that, everything felt normal again. You weren’t expecting to share any classes with either of them. But then, one day, there he was. Sitting by the window, leaning back in his chair, eyes half-lidded in boredom—Zayne.

You almost did a double take when you walked in and saw him sitting there. A class with him? This was so unfair. Because how were you supposed to focus when he sat there, barely paying attention, yet still somehow absorbing everything? You found yourself staring more than you should, watching the way he absentmindedly twirled a pen between his fingers, the way his jaw tensed slightly when he was thinking, the way he always knew the answer even when it seemed like he wasn’t listening. He probably noticed, but he never said anything. And for some reason, you couldn’t stop watching him.

Caleb made it his mission to drag you and Zayne to every single game.

“You have no choice in the matter,” he had announced one day, spinning his basketball on his finger. “You two are my biggest fans. Right?”

Zayne, deadpan, “No.”

You, grinning, “Obviously.”

And so, you went. At first, Zayne only tagged along because Caleb pestered him into it, but over time, something changed. The late-night games. The adrenaline-filled wins. The way you and Zayne would sit together in the stands, watching Caleb sprint across the court, laughing whenever he got too cocky. You didn’t realize how much you missed this. How much you missed him.

Zayne wasn’t nervous about the driving test. Not that he’d ever admit if he was. But still, something in him had tensed as he sat through it—hands gripping the wheel just a little too tight, jaw set a little too firm. And then, when he aced it, when the test was over and he had the license in his hand—

Caleb cheered first, throwing an arm around his shoulder. “Look at you, Mr. Responsible!”

You grinned, stepping closer. “I knew you’d pass.”

And before he could react, before he could even think about it— You pulled him into a hug. It wasn’t long, wasn’t dramatic. Just a quick, warm squeeze. But for some reason, Zayne froze. For some reason, when you pulled away, he felt the warmth lingering longer than it should. For some reason, as Caleb kept talking, Zayne wasn’t listening— Because he was thinking about you. And he wasn’t sure why.

It was past midnight, and you couldn’t sleep. Not because you weren’t tired—but because Caleb was in your room, lying across your bed like he owned it, rambling about absolutely nothing.

“Dude,” you groaned, rolling onto your side, “go to sleep.”

“I can’t,” Caleb whined, stretching dramatically. “I’ve got too much energy.”

You shoved a pillow at his face. “Then go do push-ups or something.”

He gasped, snatching the pillow away. “Rude.”

You sighed, staring at the ceiling. “What do you wanna do, then?”

Caleb sat up suddenly, eyes lighting up. “Zayne has his license now.”

You blinked. “Okay?”

Caleb grinned.

“Let’s wake his ass up and make him drive us to get snacks.”

Sneaking out of the house was easy. Finding a rock small enough to throw at Zayne’s window? That took a second.

“Not that one,” you whispered as Caleb picked up a suspiciously large rock.

He scoffed. “Relax, I wasn’t gonna break his window. Probably.”

Rolling your eyes, you grabbed a tiny pebble and chucked it. Tap. Silence. Then— The window creaked open, and Zayne’s very unimpressed face appeared.

“…Why.”

Caleb grinned. “Late-night snack run.”

Zayne blinked slowly, then rubbed his face. “…You’re idiots.”

You put your hands together, pleading. “Please?”

Zayne exhaled, long and suffering. Then, finally—

“…Get in the car.”

Fifteen minutes later, you were in Zayne’s car, heading to the store. And because life was unfair, you had been bullied into sitting in the backseat.

Caleb smirked at you through the mirror. “Sorry, Pipsqueak. Seniority rules.”

You scowled, kicking the back of his seat. “I hate you.”

“Love you too.”

You crossed your arms, grumbling. But then, your eyes flickered to the rearview mirror. Zayne wasn’t looking at the road. He was looking at you. It was brief—so brief you almost missed it. But his gaze met yours for just a second before he looked away, his fingers tightening slightly on the wheel. And for some reason, your stomach flipped.

Grocery stores at 1 AM felt different. Everything was too quiet, too empty—except for you three, laughing as you grabbed way too many snacks.

“Put the Oreos back,” Zayne sighed, rubbing his temple.

“No,” Caleb and you said at the same time.

Zayne exhaled. “Why do I even try?”

You convinced Zayne to stay longer and join you and Caleb for the snacks. Or, well—Caleb did, but you definitely helped. So now, the three of you were curled up on your bed, laptop open, blankets everywhere.You were in the middle.Which was fine. Totally fine. Except Zayne’s arm was really close. And at some point, beneath the blanket—Your pinky brushed against his. You froze. He didn’t move. And then—slowly, barely noticeable—his pinky almost intertwined with yours. Not completely. Just enough to feel it. Just enough to make your heart pound. And then—

Caleb shifted beside you, muttering in his sleep. The moment shattered. Zayne pulled his hand away. You stared at the screen, pretending like nothing happened. Neither of you said a word. But you felt it. And so did he.

Studying with Caleb and Zayne was a gamble. Because one of them took it too seriously – Zayne, and the other one barely took it seriously at all – Caleb.

“I don’t need to study,” Caleb announced one night, stretching his arms behind his head. “I absorb knowledge through pure, natural talent.”

Zayne didn’t even look up from his textbook. “That explains your grades.”

You snorted, while Caleb gasped dramatically. “Excuse me? I’ll have you know I’m a scholar!”

“You misspelled your own name on a quiz last week,” you reminded him.

Caleb scowled. “...That’s not important.”

Zayne sighed, flipping a page. “You’re actually hopeless.”

But still, despite the chaos, you always ended up spending hours together—Zayne dragging Caleb through assignments, Caleb making you both laugh until your stomach hurt, and you somehow keeping the peace between them. And in those quiet moments, when Caleb finally passed out with his head on his books and Zayne was still scribbling notes in the dim glow of the desk lamp—you realized something. You liked this.

The three of you, together.

“Absolutely not.”

“Come on, Zayne,” you whined, dramatically throwing yourself onto Caleb’s bed.

Caleb smirked. “Yeah, what’s the problem? You scared?”

Zayne gave him the flattest look imaginable. “Of what?”

“I dunno. Sleepovers. Fun. Emotions.”

Zayne sighed. “I just—”

“Dude.” Caleb clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve literally known us your entire life. Just stay. One night won’t kill you.”

Zayne hesitated. Then, after what felt like forever—

“…Fine.”

You and Caleb immediately high-fived in victory.

Zayne groaned. “I hate both of you.”

Caleb grinned. “Love you too, buddy.”

It was way too late when the three of you finally crashed onto the bed, blankets and pillows everywhere, laptop propped up playing a movie no one was actually paying attention to. Caleb had long since passed out, one arm hanging off the bed, breathing deep and even. You, however, were still awake. And so was Zayne. The laptop screen flickered softly, casting faint light across the room. You turned your head slightly, finding him lying beside you, eyes still open, staring at the ceiling.

“You’re not sleeping?” you whispered.

Zayne exhaled through his nose. “I don’t sleep much.”

You hummed in understanding, shifting under the blanket. “Do you regret staying over?”

He was quiet for a moment. Then, his voice—low, but honest—

“…No.”

Something in your chest warmed. And in the silence that followed, neither of you said anything else, but somehow, nothing needed to be said.

Spring had always been your favorite time of year. The air was warmer, the days stretched longer, and everything felt alive. But this year, something felt different. Not in a way you could explain—not in a way you could name—but in the small things. Like how Zayne’s eyes lingered on you longer than before. Or how, sometimes, when you laughed a little too loudly, his jaw would tense like he was trying to ignore something. Or how he always looked away first. Not that you noticed.

Not that he understood. But it was there. Somewhere.

The buzz around school had been nonstop. Whispers of an upcoming beach party floated through the hallways, carried by excited voices and knowing smirks. Someone’s older sibling had planned it—a night of bonfires, music, and, supposedly, sneaked-in alcohol. It was all anyone could talk about.

“A bonfire on the beach?” Caleb had said, throwing an arm around your shoulder, wiggling his eyebrows. “C’mon, Pipsqueak, we have to go.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t there going to be alcohol?”

Caleb grinned. “Probably. But that’s part of the fun.”

You rolled your eyes. “We’re minors.”

“Technically, only you and I are minors.” He pointed at Zayne. “He’s practically an adult.”

Zayne, who had been leaning against the lockers, arms crossed, immediately shook his head. “No.”

Caleb gasped dramatically. “We haven’t even asked yet.”

Zayne sighed. “You don’t need to.”

“But—”

“No.”

Caleb turned to you with a look. “Help me.”

You smirked. “C’mon, Zayne. It’ll be fun.”

Zayne didn’t even look at you. “Still no.”

“Think about it,” Caleb pressed, grinning. “Bonfire, the ocean, people sneaking in drinks, questionable life choices.”

“That’s exactly why I’m saying no.”

“Okay, but imagine—”

“I’d rather not.”

You sighed, clasping your hands together. “Please?”

Zayne hesitated. And for a moment—just a moment—he glanced at you. You smiled at him. Something shifted in his expression.

“…Fine,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

Caleb fist-pumped the air. “Victory!”

You grinned. “Took you long enough.”

Zayne exhaled, shaking his head. “I hate both of you.”

Caleb slung an arm around him. “Yeah, yeah, we love you too.”

But Zayne wasn’t looking at Caleb. He was looking at you. And for some reason, he didn’t know why that mattered.

The bonfire flickered against the night sky, casting golden light over the shifting sand and the chaos of high schoolers experiencing their first taste of reckless freedom. Loud music blasted from a portable speaker, blending into the sounds of crashing waves. Some people were dancing barefoot in the sand, others were sitting on old blankets, laughing, talking, shouting over the music. And then, of course, there were the red plastic cups. Which definitely held the sneaked-in alcohol.

“This is insane,” Caleb breathed, looking around, eyes lit with excitement. “Our first real party.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “It’s kinda cool, right?”

Caleb grinned. “Are you kidding? It’s legendary.”

Zayne, standing slightly behind you both, crossed his arms, deadpan.

“…It’s a nightmare.”

You turned to Zayne, stifling a laugh. He looked so out of place. His arms were crossed, his usual brooding expression even more intense, his eyes scanning the chaos like he was already planning an escape.

“I hate it here,” he muttered.

Caleb slung an arm around him. “C’mon, lighten up, grandpa. We’re here now—might as well make the most of it.”

Zayne scowled. “You forced me to come.”

Caleb ignored him.

Somehow—someway—Caleb got his hands on drinks. You didn’t even question how.

“Here,” he said, shoving a red cup into your hands.

You blinked. “Wait—”

“Bottoms up!” Caleb downed his drink immediately, tipping his head back without hesitation.

You sniffed yours hesitantly. The smell of alcohol hit you instantly.

“…I don’t know if I should—”

“Pipsqueak,” Caleb cut in, grinning, “I’ll literally never let you live it down if you chicken out.”

You scowled. “You’re so annoying.”

But—fine. You tipped the cup and took a sip. It burned.

You coughed. “What the hell?”

Caleb laughed. “Not so bad, huh?”

You glared at him. “It tastes like actual poison.”

Then, almost as if it was fate, you turned to Zayne. He was watching you, arms still crossed, expression unreadable.

“…No,” he said flatly.

Caleb gasped dramatically. “You haven’t even heard what I was gonna say!”

“You were going to tell me to drink that,” Zayne said, eyeing the cup Caleb was now shoving toward him.

Caleb grinned. “And?”

“No.”

“C’mon, just one sip.”

“I hate you.”

“That’s fair, but—”

“Fine.”

And just like that, Zayne grabbed the cup and took a single, slow sip. You and Caleb watched intensely. He swallowed. Expression unreadable. Then, after a long pause—

“…This is disgusting.”

You burst into laughter. After the drinks, the atmosphere felt different. Looser. Warmer. The bonfire crackled, sending embers into the dark sky. The waves lapped against the shore, a gentle hum beneath the music. And then—Caleb grabbed your hand.

“Let’s dance.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Dance with me!”

You hesitated, but only for a second before laughing and letting him pull you into the crowd. The sand shifted beneath your feet as you moved to the beat of the music, Caleb spinning you dramatically, making you laugh even harder. It was easy. Carefree. And Zayne was watching.

Standing just outside the crowd, eyes slightly narrowed, his jaw set, his fingers twitching like he wasn’t sure why he was even paying attention. And then—for the first time— He saw it. The way your hair had grown longer, the way you carried yourself, the way your laugh sounded different now. For the first time, you didn’t just look like his childhood friend anymore. You looked like a teenager. Slowly growing into a beautiful young lady. And maybe he would’ve brushed it off. Maybe he would’ve ignored it completely.

But when he glanced at Caleb— Caleb was watching too. Noticing too. And for some reason, that realization made something unsettle in Zayne’s chest. He turned away before he could think about it too much. But the thought lingered.

Caleb was in his element. You were giggling breathlessly, twirling under his arm, the music thrumming beneath your feet as the sand shifted with every movement. But Zayne? Zayne was standing there, arms crossed, watching with his usual broody expression, very much not dancing. You caught sight of him just as Caleb spun you again, your heart pounding with the rush of movement and laughter. And in that carefree, giddy moment— You grabbed his wrist. Zayne stiffened immediately.

“No,” he said flatly.

“Yes,” you grinned, tugging him forward. “C’mon.”

“I don’t—”

“You have to dance with me at least once.”

He exhaled sharply, already regretting his life choices. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are.”

And somehow, someway— You won.

At first, he barely moved. You and Caleb did most of the work, laughing as you tried to get him to at least step to the beat. But then—You laughed. Not just any laugh. That carefree, childlike giggle—the kind that had always been impossible to ignore. And for some reason— Zayne sighed. And gave in. It wasn’t much. Just a shift in his stance, a half-smirk as Caleb exaggerated his movements, a barely-there sway in time with the music. But it was something. And it felt… nice. The three of you, laughing under the night sky, the bonfire flickering in the background, the waves crashing in the distance. Like nothing had changed. Like everything was exactly the way it was meant to be.

Later, after the music had died down a little, the three of you collapsed around the bonfire, warm from the heat of the flames and the lingering buzz of the night.

You were leaning against Caleb’s shoulder, eyes flickering between the flames and the dark ocean beyond. “What do you think we’ll be doing in ten years?”

Caleb hummed thoughtfully. “Hopefully not flipping burgers.”

You laughed. “That’s a low bar.”

He grinned. “Hey, I have goals, okay?”

You turned to Zayne. “What about you?”

Zayne, who had been idly staring at the fire, barely hesitated before answering.

“Medicine.”

You blinked. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said simply. “Cardiac surgery.”

Caleb whistled. “Damn. So you’re gonna be, like, the best surgeon ever?”

“That’s the plan.”

You smiled softly. “That’s really cool, Zayne.”

His eyes flickered to you for just a second. Then he looked away. “…Thanks.”

Caleb stretched, grinning. “I, for one, will be flying fighter jets.”

You and Zayne turned to him.

“…Fighter jets?” you repeated.

“Yep.”

Zayne raised an eyebrow. “You barely passed physics last semester.”

Caleb rolled his eyes. “I have other skills, okay? I love planes. And I will fly them.”

You laughed. “So, you’re gonna be in the sky, Zayne’s gonna be in an operating room… and me?”

You paused. The realization hit you mid-sentence.

“…I have no idea.”

They both turned to you.

“You’ll figure it out,” Caleb said confidently.

Zayne nodded once. “You don’t have to know yet.”

You exhaled, staring at the fire. “I guess.”

And for some reason, at that moment—It felt like time was slipping too fast. Like this—the three of you, sitting together under the stars, laughing, dreaming about the future—Wouldn’t last forever. But maybe, for now, that was okay. Because tonight, everything was exactly where it should be.

.ᐟ✧ THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL ONLY POST HERE AND ON MY AO3.

.ᐟ✧ translations or reposts of my work on tumblr, ao3, or other sites ARE NOT permitted. please do not ask. do not reuse my blogpost headers, dividers, or layouts. these are original designs of my own. thank you!

#love and deepspace #lads zayne #lads caleb #zayne love and deepspace #love and deepspace caleb #zayne x reader #caleb x reader #zayne x you #caleb x you #lads #zayne lads #caleb lads #doctor zayne #zayne x non mc #caleb x non mc

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pawfated · 6 hours ago

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AITA FOR SLEEPING WITH MY STEP SISTER AND LYING TO MY "GIRLFRIEND" ABOUT IT ?

• r/AmItheAsshole / 16.4M Members

My girlfriend (f25) and i (m26) did causal hookups which turned into what she calls dating and what i call keeping her around for fun. She thinks everything we do is real. the dates every other month, the love you's and whatever else comes with a real relationship.

she constantly brings up wanting to meet my family and i avoid the question more times than many because meeting my family is basically a silent confirmation that our "relationship" is serious.

i know most of you reading this is probably saying to yourselves " why not breakup with her?" and i really don't have an answer to your question.

eventually i do get sick of her asking and give in and say yes, not because i came to my senses but because I'm tired of hearing the same question every other month.

The following week comes around and we are at my place saying introductions to my parents when i notice that my little (f20) sister is nowhere to be seen and before i could ask my father her whereabouts, she is running down the stairs yelling the nickname that stuck throughout our childhood, "RAFEYYYYYY!"

let me clarify a few things before i admit to fucking my sister on the internet, she is my step sister.

the dinner goes well enough for my girlfriend to stop asking about any other family gatherings but eventually she becomes skeptical of the type of relationship me and my sister have.

she constantly brings up how my sister is to attached to me, her touches are intimate for us to just be close and my sister needs to find her own friends and stop hanging around me 24/7.

i guess you could say this is a big strain in our "relationship" due to my sister always being around. We eventually end up having an argument about it, which she questions if i ever slept with my sister.

of course i did but i won't admit it to her, what fucking idiot would admit something like that? so i lied and told her "no, she is just my sister. she acts the way she does because she never had an older brother and she trusts me more than anyone." she believed it.

rafe doesn't even know why he is confiding in random strangers on the internet about him hating his girlfriend and fucking his sister. yet that doesn't stop him from posting his half confession and from reading the comments.

Read Comments.

tophat: dude. there's no way you fucking posted this.. • original poster: you see the fucking post don't you? maybankkk: where's the rest??? • original poster: ur a loser if you think i would ever post about how i fucked my sister. i don't need sick fucks like you to get any ideas about that shit.

rafe remembers every detail about that day. he had you laid out on his bed whining and panting as he left dark red and purplish marks on your collarbones, you weakly push at his shoulders trying to get him to let up on your sensitive body but he just laughs and pins your arms down.

your hips pushed up against his thigh that is slotted in between your legs, he moves away from your collarbone, bringing his fingers up to his mouth to collect his spit and smearing it against your hardening nipples, you let out a gasp, the stimulation between your cunt pressed up against his thigh and him playing with your nipples becomes to much; you've always been so sensitive.

he pushes your hips down, " always so needy." he says it tauntingly, like you're an ungrateful child. he moves from in between your legs as you were about to protest he tells you to relax and that he isn't going anywhere.

Rafe has never been this gentle or intimate with anyone let alone his girlfriend, he should feel bad about that he is cheating on his girlfriend but how can he when he has you so desperate and clinging on for more.

he is at your side now with your legs spread open, he uses his middle and ring finger to rub circles against your clit, you moan. "yeah, you feel good sweetheart?" he says it so softly, you nod as he slots his fingers in between your folds collecting the wetness and pulling away and seeing the line of slick, " oh my god.." his voice is breathless, he brings his fingers up to his mouth and sucks on your arousal without hesitation like its the most normal thing he has done.

it was embarrassing, you were embarrassed by his actions because it was perverted, yet you don't stop him from leaning in and kissing you despite him just tasting you from your most intimate parts, he groans deepening the kiss, pressing his pelvis up against your unclothed cunt. your hands find their way into his hair, fingers become entangled as he begins to rock his hips up and down; dry humping you.

you beg him to take his boxer off so you can "feel him better" and that you "just want to be close to him" and who is he not to give you what you want? as he removes his boxers, he hears you asking if you can be on top of him.

so here you are, on top of your step brother with his cock slotted in between your dripping cunt like it belongs there. you look down to see where you two are connected and smile, "so cute, you like the way we look together huh?" rafe says it so softly as he puts his hand on your hips and guides you back and fourth, you watch as his cock disappears into your cunt and his tip bumps into your clit.

rafe is sure this is how he dies, from dry humping his step sister. the grip he has on your hips tighten as he moves your hips faster. you gasp, the burn in your stomach comes to quick, he just sat you on his cock and you're already about to cum from a few love taps by the tip of his cock. you cry out, the grip on his shoulder becomes tighter, you shake your head trying to convince yourself not to cum but rafe knows you to well " awe, come on baby. its okay, make your big brother proud."

indeed you did make him proud. so no rafe doesn't feel bad for lying to his girlfriend nor does he feel bad for giving you the intimacy and love that he is supposed to be giving his "girlfriend".

#𝓫𝓸𝓸𝓴𝓼 𝓸𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓬𝓪𝓯𝓮 𝓽𝓪𝓫𝓵𝓮 ₊🍨 ˚#stepbro!rafe #rafe x reader #outerbanks rafe #rafe fanfiction #rafe x you #rafe smut #rafe x y/n #rafe imagine #stepbro!rafe x stepsis!reader #hmm idk how i feel about this but lets see if others enjoy!#BRING DRY HUMPING BACKK!

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bradleysass · 2 days ago

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Based on this - @siriusblackdevotee - Jily - James is a hopeless romantic

Chapter Five: The Wedding (or, How I Cried More Than Anyone and Sirius Black Nearly Set the Venue on Fire)

You’d think, after years of loving Lily Evans, after dating her, proposing to her (in the most disastrous yet successful way possible), and spending every single day utterly besotted with her, that our wedding day would have felt like the natural next step.

It was not.

It was a cosmic event. A miracle. A moment so staggeringly important that I, James Potter, nearly passed out before making it to the altar.

But let’s rewind a bit.

The Morning of the Wedding

I woke up at an ungodly hour (5 a.m.—5 a.m., as if I was some kind of lunatic) because I was about to become Lily Evans’ husband.

Sirius, my best man, was absolutely useless. He stumbled out of bed at a far more reasonable hour and found me pacing the room, fully dressed, looking like I was going into battle instead of getting married.

“Mate,” he said, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “Are you—why are you dressed already? The wedding isn’t for another five hours.”

I turned to him, wild-eyed. “I’m getting married today.”

“Yes,” he said, patiently. “That is typically what happens when one proposes marriage.”

“I’m getting married to Lily Evans.”

Sirius patted me on the shoulder. “Yes, and we’re all very proud of you for somehow convincing her to go through with it.”

The Ceremony

Look, I’ll be honest with you. The ceremony is a blur.

Not because I wasn’t paying attention—quite the opposite, actually. The second Lily Evans walked down that aisle, my brain ceased all higher function.

She was breathtaking. She always was, but that day? Unbelievable. It was unfair, really, how stunning she looked. She could have asked me to do literally anything in that moment, and I would have agreed without hesitation.

“James,” she whispered when she reached me.

I had no idea what I was supposed to do. I was so in love with her, so completely overwhelmed, that I just stared.

Then she smiled—my smile, the one she reserved just for me—and I, James Potter, started crying.

(Not just a tear. Not just one respectable, manly tear. Full-on crying. I had to physically wipe my eyes while Remus looked on, clearly torn between being emotional and making fun of me later.)

To my relief, Lily also teared up. Which meant that neither of us had room to judge the other for being a sentimental mess.

Somewhere in there, we said our vows, exchanged rings, and officially became James and Lily Potter.

(But again, blur. All I remember is looking at her and thinking: I get to love you forever.)

The Reception (Also Known As: The Incident)

Everything was going great. I had a wife. People were drinking, dancing, Sirius was giving an absurdly long speech about how he ‘always knew’ I’d end up with Lily, even though he had spent years betting against me.

And then it happened.

One moment, there was champagne. The next, there was fire.

“SIRIUS ORION BLACK,” Lily shouted across the venue, “WHAT THE BLOODY HELL DID YOU DO?”

“Technically,” Sirius called back, “it was an accident.”

To this day, no one knows how the table centerpiece caught fire. Some say it was a knocked-over candle. Others say it was Sirius trying to ‘add flair’ to his toast. Regardless, it took three wizards and a bucket of water to put it out.

Lily glared daggers at him.

Sirius, unbothered, raised his glass and said, “To the Potters!”

The guests cheered. Lily sighed, pinched the bridge of her nose, and muttered, “This is my life now, isn’t it?”

(For the record: Yes, love. Yes, it is.)

Final Thoughts on the Wedding

Was it chaotic? Yes.

Did I cry like an absolute fool? Also yes.

Was it the best day of my life? Without question.

Because at the end of it, I had a wife.

And not just any wife.

Lily Evans Potter.

#marauders #jily #james potter #lily evans #microfic #James's autobiography

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danothan · 1 year ago

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i think above all else, i tie my aro identity to my autism. like sometimes i wonder if i’m aro just bc i’m autistic, and ykw that’s totally fine for me lol

and while we’re at it, that might be the case for my gender too. being non-binary is quite literally rejecting the binary, and being aro basically subscribes you to relationship anarchy, which also inherently rejects societal norms

that’s so peculiar to me now looking back on myself as a child. i knew romance and gender weren’t fake, but they definitely didn’t feel real lol. i wonder if other queer ppl felt this early on too, and if being neurodivergent makes a difference

i remember being incredibly frustrated every time gender was brought up with validity. “boys and girls” was like saying “cats and dogs.” it’s a phrase to communicate an idea, but we all know they’re not the only ones. romance didn’t rly frustrate me so much as it felt like participating in a game. it was fun choosing ppl to have a crush on, until i was on the receiving end. like, we’re still playing, right?

ppl always say autism means you don’t get social cues, but i don’t think i was misunderstanding anything. i think i was just questioning their value

#one time in kindergarten i was asked if i loved my mom #it was meant to be a given but i didn’t respond immediately #i just pondered it rly deeply bc i understood that ‘love’ was a strong word and i didn’t wanna just answer unthinkingly #but i was just met with a concerned look and suddenly i was overwhelmed w guilt and just started crying (damn i cry a lot dont i)#bc how dare i make my mom look bad by not saying i loved her? why did i have to think abt it shouldnt it be obvious?#idk why it translated to shame. i didn’t hesitate bc i didn’t love her i hesitated bc i wanted to make sure i meant it #i think from that day on i always questioned this idea of love in every sense of the word #that might be why i’m so obsessed w lovecore and fictional romance too. aestheticizing it naturally invites analysis #and ofc fun lol i do just love love at the end of the day #aro #genderposting #autisms #danbles #hmmm #lovecore

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juliareed · 7 months ago

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youtube

Fandom: Alias Relationships: Sark/Sydney Song: Spiracle by Flower Face Content warnings: Blood, death, violence, spiders, insects, flashing lights

#aliasedit #alias #sydney bristow #julian sark #sark x sydney #ssplus #fanvid #myedit #s/s dares to ask a question #what if your mother created a killing machine and that machine was obsessed with you BECAUSE it's your mother who made him.#like it's a part of his code your mother designed. or not code - but because he learned everything about the world by watching her.#like the only kind of humanity your mother allowed him - the only kind of humanity left after she was done with him - was this.#because it's the only kind of humanity she allowed to herself.#to not ever be completely sure if your mother ever loved you and then learn something like this?#what if your mother's killing machine grew up hearing stories about you.#what if your mother's killing machine looked up to you as a child and wanted to make your mother proud just like you did.#what if your mother's killing machine learned about your existence a full decade before the two of you met.#what if your mother's killing machine was conditioned to love you.#what if your mother on purpose designed her killing machine to be flawed. to have a weakness that shouldn't be there.#from her words all to protect you. and what if one day her plan backfired.#what if one day your mother's killing machine turned against your mother for you. turned against his creator for you.#what if your mother's secret plan worked A LITTLE BIT TOO WELL and she lost control over you both. what then. literally what then!!!!!!!#also i don't think we talk enough about that scene in conscious where in sydney's dream jack turns into sark's father.#what if i dreamed my father was your father. what if you said my mother was like your mother. what exactly does that make us.#and what if we also shared a name. what if a part of me - the part i feared the most - had your name.#while working on this realized also that i want a fic where every day for months sydney sees a ghost of someone sark killed.#it's always someone different. and at some point it starts to feel like it's never going to end.#the ghosts will be right there with her for the rest of her life. as always i just want #some sydney introspection and sydney grappling with the idea that her own mother turned a human being into THIS.#which goes along with facing the fact that it could have been her on his place.

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sukunasweetheart · 4 months ago

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Being the bane of sukunas existence as you're his girlfriend because you act like a perverted old man around him... he kinda digs it tho, its mildly hilarious and he doesn't dislike the unhinged attention (he tries to be so lowkey about it)

Every once in a while, you'll caress his behind or fondle his big boobily man breasts, the same way he does to you. he was only stunned at first - now he is completely unphased by your sneaky little hands.

he texts you, asking you what you want for dinner, and he's not surprised when the answer is "i want you oiled up and naked in bed by the time i get home". then he just replies with "making pasta"

Big obnoxious smacking noises when you kiss him all over, and sukuna just lets you be, he'll be sitting on the couch turning the tv on and here you come, smooching his cheek. sometimes, its the top of his head, other times, its his forehead or neck. if you do it too much though, you'll get covered with his bite marks in return.

when sukuna gets up to go to the toilet, you ask him if you can hold his peepee while he takes a piss, bc you saw a funny tiktok talking about it... he gives you a silent judgmental stare as he closes the door on your face. but behind it, he lets out the tiniest snort and shakes his head bc the idea of it is so ridiculous.

one time when you go outdoor camping with him you genuinely accidentally stumble close to sukuna who is taking a leak in the forest bush area and he catches you staring from behind as he's buttoning himself back up. and then he's chasing you down while you're screaming that it was an accident and that you only heard him peeing and didn't actually see anything. (not that you don't know what it looks like, anyway.)

when he's sweaty after a workout or some physical exertion, you'll definitely be approaching him deviously, talking about some "covered in flavour" type of bullshit... he'll push your face away and head into the shower but his ears are flushed with red.

just... sukuna who will let u mack on him endlessly bc he secretly doesn't hate the doting 🥹🥹🥹 and if you're not being obnoxiously lewd or affectionate?? thats when he knows something's up...

and obviously, every now and then you'll say something that makes him know that you're not just lusting over his body.

during a walk back home on a summer afternoon, you point upwards while holding his hand and looking up.

"sukuna, look. you're in the sky."

he reluctantly looks up, expecting some sort of dick shaped cloud or something like that. but there are no clouds in sight.

"what is there to look at?" he asks, quizzically.

"the colour, silly. when the sun's still setting, the sky always gets like this, around the same time everyday. the pretty pinkish colour, like your hair."

he turns silent and observes the sky for a minute. you call him silly, as if it's an everyday thing that you compare a person with the literal sky.

"it's my favourite time of the day..." you mumble, just barely audible to his ears. and something about the way you stand there, and speak so softly, makes you look so pretty to him. "i'll always think of you when the sun is setting."

"oh- but i think of you everyday regardless, i suppose."

he already knows that. he already knows you love him. why does he feel so flushed right now?

"alright, i get it. enough. let's continue home," he urges you, holding your hand tighter. you follow him down the street, like a puppy.

life couldn't feel more at peace right now, with your fingers interlocked with his, listening to you hum your favourite song on the way home, the street now covered with the orange light of the sunset.

"any ideas for dinner?" he asks, a few minutes after some silence.

"mmm..."

oh, he regrets asking the question now, fully knowing what's coming.

"i want your tatas in my mouth, please."

"tatas?" sukuna's asks with furrowed brows.

after bursting into laughter at the way he said it, you attempt to think up an actual food you want for dinner.

"...just for tonight." sukuna mutters.

"huh?"

"don't ask me again, i might change my mind."

"wait- really?"

let's just say, your mouth had a taste of heaven for the first time that night.

#sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #jjk x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna smut #ryomen sukuna #jujutsu kaisen x reader #sukuna x y/n

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fushitoru · 5 months ago

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seperation anxiety! a (clan head) gojo satoru fic

pairing ⸺ clan head!gojo x wife!reader

summary ⸺ satoru begs you to attend a meeting with the higher-ups, but not for the reasons you thought. inspired by this art by @/baobei-bu!

warnings ⸺ SMUT, gojo is a warning by himself, VERY public sex, reader has a vagina, fem reader implied, no penetration, fingering, fondling, making out, panty-ripping, exhibitionism, kinda cucking but the only ppl humiliated and humbled are the higher ups, porn no plot, but plot if you squint, reader is a strong independent woman (until gojo charms her, bc who wouldn't turn into a cockslut for gojo?), this took me at least five hours to write for no good reason?, not edited (like always....)

a/n pls enjoy and thank u to the queen for making such delicious art (p.s. go to their twitter for nsfw ver i squirted)

general masterlist

“Pleaseeeee,” Satoru has his face buried in your chest, nuzzling in further while complaining. It’s almost comical how he—head of the biggest clan in Jujutsu—is leaning down to match your height. You, meanwhile, stand firm, arms crossed, regarding him with a mix of exasperation and reluctant affection as he leans down to meet your gaze. “Will you come with me?”

The question comes as the dreaded meeting with the higher-ups looms, a gathering he's been dodging all day. It technically began ten minutes ago, and you barely managed to wrangle him into his formal kimono just twenty minutes earlier. You sigh, fingers brushing his hair. “Satoru, you know what they think of me. I'm not exactly their favorite person.” You’re both standing in the middle of your shared bedroom, you imploring him to be on time for his meeting to avoid getting even further shit from the higher-ups.

Mind you, you’re the more rational one between you and Satoru—in fact, most of the people who know you would agree that you’re a very mature, wise person in general (with the exception of some circumstances, of course). And despite the respect your skill commands, the higher-ups have never warmed to you, not since you refused to play a pawn in their games. Marrying Satoru, the one jujutsu sorcerer they could never control, only amplified their discontent. They see you both as threats—powerful sorcerers bonded in defiance.

At the mention of "higher-ups," Satoru's pout deepens, and his pleading voice grows more insistent. “Pleeeease,” he drags out, practically whining. “I have separation anxiety.”

You feel a pang of sympathy. These meetings are miserable for him—hours trapped in a room with men twice his age, trying to dictate his every move. “I don’t know, Satoru…” you murmur, hesitating.

But Satoru takes advantage of your softening resolve, hugging you tighter, his face pressing into you again. “Don’t make me go in there alone!” he says, his voice muffled. “You have no idea how much you silence them. One word from you, and they all think twice. I’m already one step away from wanting to kill them all.”

A sigh escapes you as you realize he’s not letting up. And while you’re reluctant, you know that your presence, your opinion—one of the few he truly values—might actually give him a sense of calm in that harsh room. “Alright, alright,” you concede finally, hand smoothing the fabric of his sleeve. "But no making a scene."

His answering smirk is smug, giving you a fat, sloppy kiss on your cheek that you’re not afraid to show your partial-disgust about. You all but have to wrestle him off of you white he’s smothering you in kisses, getting out something about how much loves you, oh so thankful to have such a wise wifey like you as you get ready in a kimono similar to his and head to the limo waiting outside of the manor you and Gojo reside in.

As soon as you get in, Gojo turns sharply to Ijichi, who’s shifting the gear. “Put the divider up.”

“O-Okay, Gojo-san.” A little intimidated by the commanding tone in your husband’s voice, he quickly presses the button to activate the screen, and Gojo pounces on you, grabbing you and hoisting you up by your sides to put you on his lap.

“Satoru!” you exclaim, surprised as he captures his lips with yours. His hands roam your body as he moans, almost obnoxiously, because he knows you’re always paranoid whenever he initiates anything in public. Your crotch aligns with his thigh, big and stuffed with muscle as he drives your hips to grind on him, and despite yourself and your circumstances, you find yourself leaning into his touch.

“My pretty wife,” he purrs, now trailing kisses down your jaw and into your neck. “So pretty, so supportive.”

Despite his dizzying movements, you try to get a hold of yourself. “Satoru, we shouldn’t be doing this here. We need to discuss what to sa—”

“Fuck that,” he sighs, so breathless that you want to cave in.

“No, but—”

His eyes darken, and his hands start creeping up your legs, going slowly and slowly closer to your pussy. “Baby, you know I value what you have to say,” and his fingers graze your folds, making you leak even more with his teasing, “but I wanna listen to something else.”

He drags his index finger up and down your slit, making you whimper. His fingers then prod into your hole, putting pressure there but not quite delving in. “Satoru,” you whine out, clutching his upper arms as he has his way while toying with you.

“Yea, that’s what I wanna hear,” he groans, giving you a kiss. It is then that he rewards you with inserting his digit in, curling to hit your spot as he fingers you. HIs other arm is around you, holding your panties’ crotch to the side to allow him to touch you. “My good girl.”

As he’s touching you, the squelching sounds fills the enclosure you’re in and you’re desperately praying to God Ijichi can’t hear the lewd things the both of you are doing in the back. You’re just reduced to whimpering, unable to reject Satoru’s dizzying touches, his free hand leaving your panties to grope at your inner thighs, ass, and breasts. It’s like he’s devouring you with his kisses, urgent, as he continues curling his fingers.

Between kisses, you try to get out a “Satoru—mmph,” smooch, “we shouldn’t be—mm” smooch, “shouldn’t be doing this here!”

“What,” he drawls, and with the glint in his eyes you know the fucker’s trying to toy with you, knows what he’s doing is mischievous. “I can’t touch my wife?”

Before you could utter a response, however, the limo suddenly slows, and the sensation of using the brakes to stop the car makes you sober up. “We’re here, Satoru we need to go—-” As you’re trying to rip yourself off his lap, he pulls out the finger that was inside you and uses his hand instead to entangle it with the crotch of your panties, pulling and pulling until the cloth is nothing but shreds, falling off your body.

Oh my god, you were not paid enough for this shit.

With his oh-so-irritating eyes—the same ones that you spent despising in your early school years—he looks at you through his pretty white lashes as he makes a show of sniffing the now tattered shreds that were your panties and putting them in his pocket. Under your kimono, you can feel your slick escaping your panties as the cool air wafts through it, landing on your pussy. You look at him in disbelief. “I can’t believe you just did that.”

He giggles, giving you a kiss on the cheek while helping you off his lap, putting a hand on your head to make sure you didn’t bump your head against the car’s ceiling. “Let’s go and deal with those hags, my love.”

To be honest, you don’t really understand why Satoru is so handsy today. He’s on some sort of man-ovulation, you think, as you stride into the room. Even ripping off your panties was a bit excessive, if not out of pocket (no pun intended). Breaking out of your thoughts, you grounded yourself in the present, noticing hostile eyes turned towards your husband, and then you. You match their barely-subtle glares with a stink eye of your own, holding your chin up as you walk past them dismissively. Just as you’re about to take a seat next to Gojo—being mindful of your kimono so you don’t flash any of these old bastards—one of them speaks up.

“Gojo-sama, why is this woman here?”

You continue to take your seat, noticing Satoru’s jaw clenched. But right as he’s about to say something, you cut in for him. “This woman,” and you smile, deceptively sweet, “is the lady of the clan. It would do you well to remember the hierarchy of the Gojo clan.” You don’t need to turn to look at your husband to know he has a proud smile on his face, making no effort to hide his smugness. What shocks you instead is that he swings an arm around you, effectively dragging you closer to him until you’re basically sitting on his lap, and his hands go to roam your sides.

Now, some old grandpa starts talking, commencing the meeting, on their usual bullshit of the need for extermination of Sukuna’s vessel, but Satoru pays them no mind. Instead, what they receive in response is non-committal hums as his hands drag themselves up your stomach and down where your legs are crossed to the hem of your kimono, and then under.

Any semblance of paying attention to the meeting and responding to their infuriating beliefs leaves your mind as you blank out, panicking that Satoru is trying to commit public indecency with you. As an argument erupts between the higher ups about something, you turn to Gojo to furiously whisper, “What is wrong with you today?! Cut it out.”

In your life, you’ve fought many curses, first grade and even special grade included as you climbed up the ranks of Jujutsu sorcery despite having a non-sorcerer upbringing. What you will never be able to defeat, however, is your husband’s charm. Satoru knows what he’s doing as he lets out a deep moan in your ear, making you squeak and become even more flustered, as he continues to make lewd noises, puffs of his breath fanning across your neck.

a/n gojo the type to start moaning randomly to make you fold #sorrynotsorry

The indecency of all of it—-Gojo basically whimpering in your ear sweet nothings like good girl, that’s my wife, gonna let me finger you in front of all these ugly hags, right?—-being loud in your ear but also just quiet enough that you’d only hear made you so wet, heat throbbing between your thighs as Satoru’s hands start rubbing your fold. It’s a teasing touch, one not enough to satisfy you but to stimulate you nonetheless.

It’s just when his index finger starts slowly circling around your clit that you buck your hips slightly, making him look at you teasingly, peering down at you from above your shoulder. “Oh you liked that, didn’t you?”

“I hate you,” you puff out, trying to fight the heat creeping up your neck as Satoru’s circles on your clit get more tangibly, simulating you oh so deliciously. To make sure you hold yourself up, you set your elbows down on the table, Satoru’s arms engulfing you as you’re forced to take whatever touches he’s giving you under the table.

“She’s so loud,” he whispers, pointing out the noises your pussy was making as his digits roved over your folds. The squelches were tangibly there, audible to anyone who would strain their ears. You could tell your lack of response to the meeting was catching attention, because there were several eyes towards you, waiting for something; it was then you realized that they had posed a question but were simply too fucked out to respond.

A voice comes out to reprimand your husband sharply. “Gojo-sama, this is hardly appropriate.”

Satoru chuckles, not stopping his ministrations as he picks up a cup filled with water, his smug gaze still turned towards you while observing and appreciating your every hiccup and reaction. “Can’t my spouse attend this meeting? I value her opinion above everyone else’s in this room, after all,” he drawls, lodging his chin in the curve of your neck. “Besides,” and he flashes a dangerous grin to the man who spoke out, “weren’t you the ones who were oh so worried about me not having an heir?”

At this point, you’ve filtered out all noises, focusing and honing in on the sensation of your orgasm coming. His digits are playful, curling up to hit your g-spot repeatedly, his palm tickling your clit. Each time he hits your spongy spot a bout of electricity runs up your body, pulling you closer and closer to your orgasm.

“But guess what,” and he gives you a kiss on the cheek, despite the aversion the rest of the higher ups have to any displays of affection, “we can solve that problem right here, right now.” He punctuates it with a harsh sink of his fingers into your plush cunt, and, with that, you finally cream his fingers, a result of Satoru teasing you all day now. You try to temper the shakes wracking your body by slamming your fist against the table, trying not to moan out.

It seems that no one’s seen you riding out your orgasm out so visible, because there are gasps around the room at how obscene Gojo’s suggestion was. “It is shameful of you to be saying such things, Gojo-sama!” one of them sputters out, red with anger and outrage.

Your husband not so subtly rolls his eyes. “Then don’t bring it up all the time, old man.” Satoru knows how touchy and vulnerable you are right after you cum, so he’s running his hands softly up and down your thighs to quell your quivers affectionately. “Actually, what about this? You all haven’t witnessed us consummate our marriage, correct?” He smirks. “What about witnessing the heir-making next time?”

general masterlist

a/n pls see the vision like i want gojo to claim me and rail me into next tuesday while the higher ups just watch uncomfortably like maybe i am a freak like that. like gojo would be so obsessed with how he's claiming you in front of the fuckers that piss him off so much...might do a part two if pookiesa like this :P

comment and reblog to let me know ur thots :3

#divider by cafekitsune #aashi writes #gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojo x you #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk #jjk fic #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru

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apatheticsunday · 20 days ago

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Gotham TikTok

AKA "Danny moves to Gotham and records TikToks with absolutely deranged captions. He films Get Ready with Me in Gotham videos, fit checks, and even A Day in the Life of a Ghost in Gotham! Except everybody is freaking the fuck out in the comments" prompt idea!

No, you don't understand, I'm obsessed. Like, what if Danny's idea of "safe" is just... anything that doesn't actively try to kill him? So Metropolitians, Star City, and Central City citizens are literally biting their nails and sweating bullets every time he posts, because what if he gets merc'd by the "Eight Heads in a Duffel Bag" Red Hood?? And that's one of the nicer villains in Gotham. And Danny's just like wow, this place is niiiiiice, I haven't even been murdered yet!

Maybe Jazz took a 12-year-old Danny to Gotham to escape their parents. Gotham's cheap, dirty, and doesn't ask questions: it's the best place to go to disappear because damn near half the city's population are either super villains, hostages, dead, or vigilantes. She gets a job at an understaffed hospital as a clinical psych intern. She enrolls Danny for online schooling because she's scared a public high school would be too easy for their parents to track.

Which leaves Danny alone for hours. He makes a TikTok account called "Danny Phantom" because, c'mon, he's a kid. And, like most kids, he doesn't really comprehend the idea of a digital footprint or that his account is public, accessible by literally anybody.

He's also a little shit. So, the first TikTok he uploads is of a man getting carjacked, but the caption reads: love to see people helping each other. remember it's always okay to ask for help! it's okay, I don't know how to parallel park, either :)

And you just see this guy in a mask shove a businessman away from his car, gesturing with his gun, before getting into the driver's seat. Except the car is parallel parked so the carjacker just slowly inches back and forth between a Prius and a Honda until he can wedge himself out of the parking space. And then gets stuck in stand-still traffic. The TikTok goes viral. It's talked about on the Gotham news and Gothamites are losing their shit, pointing out the exact moment you can see the carjacker start to soundlessly cuss through the car's windshield or the way the businessman is just... standing on the side of the road, watching with a deadpan look.

Danny doesn't know about it being on the news, but he sees all the comments, likes, reposts, and feels something. He wonders if this is what Ember feels every time people listened to her music. So, he keeps posting. Usually, it's short three-second videos of a hilariously unexpected situation with an even more deranged caption. But then he's accidentally caught in the reflection of a store front while recording and doesn't know, posts it like he always does; only for this TikTok to go viral, too. Because "Danny Phantom" is a child??

He doesn't notice the shift in his comments, but the public opinion quickly changes from wow, Gothamites are just like that huh lol to what the FUCK, kid, get inside!!! anytime he posts.

Except Danny never gets hurt. Even in the most dangerous situations, when you'd think this kid is a goner for sure, he's just happily yapping in the background. He's so different from Gothamites because he lacks that dead-eyed, despair-inducing aura of someone who's lived in a hellmouth their whole lives. (A couple people post that Danny kind of reminds them of Golden Boy Brucie Wayne, all air-headed and unrealistically optimistic, and suddenly there's memes of "what happens when you've never gotten shot in Gotham" or "how i act when Commish Gordie accuses me of shoplifting again" with them side-by-side.)

And then Danny's posts go viral again and again. Danny doing a fit check with a blond-haired woman with a checkered outfit, she ruffles his hair and kisses him on the cheek. A picture of him wearing an old jean jacket with a bright red lipstick smear on his cheek is trending for weeks. Spoiler, fully suited up in an all-purple vigilante attire, and him shoving gas station hotdogs in their mouths. He even has videos of him clearly in Killer Croc's lair, with comments of are you in the sewers??? DANNY??? and he responds, no, i'm in mom & dad's basement :) (Waylon Jones is actually sitting behind him in one of the videos, intently watching a TV show on an iPad.)

Everybody adores Danny - Rogues, Gothamites, even the Bats. (There's at least six videos of Nightwing teaching Danny how to do backflips, handstands, and other acrobatic moves. Even the youngest Robin has been caught on camera quietly talking with Danny, a shocking lack of violence that left half the city's population suffering from cuteness aggression for the kids.)

So, yeah, Danny belongs to Gotham.

But the internet is widely accessible and Danny made it so, so easy to find him. Jazz obviously didn't know he was posting videos of himself publicly; she was too tired after back-to-back 12 hour shifts at the hospital that she hadn't even checked social media in months. Otherwise, she would've told him to be careful, to never show his face or post his real name on the internet. Then again, Jazz would never have expected all of Gotham (and Superman himself, totally endeared by the kid after Kon and Jon showed him a couple TikToks) would beat the absolute shit out of anybody going after Danny.

Imagine GIW's surprise when they track down Amity's former residential Ghost only to find an entire city frothing at the mouth to protect their Phantom.

#dpxdc #dp x dc #danny fenton #danny phantom #batfam #i had to add waylon in here somehow #he's my boo my poor misunderstood scaley boy #who eats people sometimes #its not cannibalism if you're technically not human folks #danny's not in danger though because he's already dead

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bloodnight-blaze · 2 months ago

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“ who cares, baby? i think i wanna marry you. ”

ft. xavier, zayne, rafayel, and sylus w a gn!reader.

synopsis: you marry the love of your life.

notes: started off as silly thoughts for my friend and then turned into this so. take it. enjoy it.

warnings: not canon to the story of the game, self-indulgent, weddings, sickeningly sweet fluff, they all cry lol, it's short and it's sweet, reader does wear a dress so sorry if that's something that makes you uncomfortable, petnames used: starlight (x), sunshine (z), angel (r), princess (s).

XAVIER — certainly fantasized about getting married, but it was never something he actually expected to happen. Not until he met you. It wasn't love at first sight, but when you two entered a relationship, he could just see himself marrying you.

When he proposed, he had been so nervous that he barely slept the night before, which is saying something. But you accepted with a bright smile, and the man nearly smothered you to death with a hug. The mere thought of marrying you has him smiling, honestly.

He doesn't care how big or small the wedding is, though when it turns out to be a small wedding he finds he prefers it that way. There's an air of excitement at the wedding, most of the guests being your own friends and family since there wasn't anyone for him to invite.

Xavier knew he was going to cry. There's no denying it, he knew he'd cry at some point during the day because, I mean... he's marrying you. He's the luckiest man alive. He just thought he'd hold strong a little longer, but the tears were falling when you walked down the aisle in your breathtaking dress.

His gaze was drawn to you the entire time. Nothing else mattered but you. The way the fairy lights bathed you in this beautiful golden glow, the way you smiled at him with all the love in the world... it was like you contained galaxies in your eyes.

The vows were short and sweet, and when the officiant says you two can kiss, he was quick to gently cup your face in his hands. He could only hope the kiss he pressed against your lips conveyed the sheer and utter adoration he felt for you.

This was the beginning of a new chapter for the two of you, and while he's sure nothing will change, he can't help but being excited at the idea of being able to refer to you as his spouse.

ㅤ— “ I love you, my starlight. Until every last star dies, I love you. ”

ZAYNE — had always known that he would marry you one day. Ever since you two were kids, he had imagined it. You're the only person he's ever loved, so if he ever got married, it would be to you or no one at all. It was only a matter of time, really.

The actual proposal was nothing big. You two had dinner at his place and the box with the ring rested in the place he knew you'd be able to see it. He hadn't been nervous when he proposed, but he can't deny that his heart was racing when he popped the question.

He'll definitely want the wedding to be small, just a couple of friends and family on each side. His parents were overjoyed to learn about his engagement and made sure to clear their schedule for the day of the wedding, and he had invited a few friends from work as well.

Zayne hadn't really wanted to cry, especially not in front of so many people, but he couldn't stop the tears from blurring his gaze when he saw you walking down the aisle. How could he not cry, when he felt so overwhelmed by his love for you?

It was the first time he saw you in your wedding dress as well, since you had been so adamant at keeping to tradition. You weren't lying when you said you would match your dress to his suit.

The bouquet of flowers in your hands only added to the beauty of... everything about you. So he won't deny that he cried, his gaze never once breaking from you even when the officiant started to speak.

He was able to keep his tears in check for the rest of the ceremony, and once you two were home and no longer wearing your wedding clothes, he found it near impossible to stray from your side for you long. His hand was almost always interlocked with yours, his finger absently brushing against the wedding wing that bound the two of you together.

ㅤ— “ You've always been the love of my life, sunshine. You always will. ”

RAFAYEL — never thought about marriage. It's not something that ever entered his mind, and he avoided attending any weddings just to dodge the inevitable 'so when will we get an invite to your wedding' he'll no doubt be met with. It isn't until you entered his life that he started to give it some thought.

And when he did decide to propose to you, it had been spur of the moment. He bought the ring on a whim months ago, and he kept it in his pocket almost every time you two went out, waiting for the perfect moment. That perfect moment just so happens to be you spending the night at his place, laughing at his smears paint on your face. The question slipped out, and he seemed more shocked than you.

He was adamant on keeping the thing small, even though Thomas wanted to invite a bunch of people once the man found out about the engagement.

The only people Rafayel was willing to invite was Thomas and a couple of crabs he befriended. Sure, your family and friends questioned why they were being seated with crabs, but it's not their wedding, now is it?

Before the wedding starts, he had gone to the bathroom to give himself a lengthy pep talk about how he was not going to cry at all at any point during the wedding. And for a good portion of it, he didn't. When you walked down the aisle wearing a beautiful dress that reminded him of the ocean, he didn't cry. When you guys shared your vows, exchanged rings, and kissed, he didn't cry.

No, Rafayel only cried when the first dance started. When the lights dimmed and you took his hand and pulled him close, he could feel his heart stuttering. You looked at him as if he were the only person in the world, like you never wanted to look away. The feeling of your wedding ring was cool against his skin, and it was impossible to stop the tears at this point.

He spent the entirety of your first dance together with his head buried in your shoulder just so people couldn't see his tears. Only you got to see him like this, because there's no one else he'd rather be vulnerable with.

ㅤ— “ I'd marry you over and over again, angel, until you get sick of me. ”

SYLUS — certainly thought marriage was something he'd never experience, given his lifestyle. What person would be insane enough to marry the leader of Onychinus, let alone date the man? You, apparently, because you became a pivotal part of his life.

He won't propose until he's absolutely certain that marrying him is something you'd be willing to do. Marrying him means really accepting the darker parts that come with being in a relationship with him, and he didn't want to force you into such a commitment. And when he does propose, he can't help the relief he feels when you say yes.

While the wedding isn't necessarily big, a few of his most trusted associates are invited, alongside your family and friends should you invite them. It's a strange mix of people, and a few of your friends will probably pull you to the side after the ceremony to ask what exactly it is that your husband does for a living.

For the most part, Sylus won't cry during the ceremony. Though, once you two start to recite your vows to each other, he does choke up a bit. Any man would be a fool not to tear up at the sight of their spouse professing their love to them. And it doesn't help that you're looking at him with pure and utter devotion in your gaze.

You were okay with who he was. With what he does. You weren't scared off by the darker aspects of his life, and you were vowing to stick by his side through whatever the world threw at you two. Crying only seemed natural. Other than the vows, Sylus stayed composed. Softer, than usual, but overall he kept his usual demeanor.

Truly, he thinks he could die happy now that he's married to you. The ring on his finger was a comfortable weight, and he'd find himself looking at it way more than he'd care to admit.

He spoiled you rotten before you two were married, but trust it'll only get worse now that you're his spouse. Anything you want, he'll get it for you. You deserve the whole world for wanting to spend the rest of your life with him.

ㅤ— “ I'm staring? How can I not stare at the key to my heart, princess? ”

#love and deepspace #lads x reader #love and deepspace x reader #xavier x reader #zayne x reader #rafayel x reader #sylus x reader #lads xavier x reader #lads zayne x reader #lads rafayel x reader #lads sylus x reader #lads xavier #lads zayne #lads rafayel #lads sylus

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hana-no-seiiki · 7 months ago

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Yandere! Husband who thinks of you every single moment of the day, spoils you rotten, makes sure you feel loved 24/7 with letters, gifts and his presence. Being married to you is a privilege and he makes sure he shows you that.

Who does the little things like making sure you never open any doors by yourself. “What the fuck do you think that ring of yours means? Get your hand off that handle!” proceeds to climb over the car to open the car door for you

who randomly squeezes your hands with a vulnerability you almost never see from him. muttering things such as, “i can’t even remember life before I met you.” or “i love you so much. leave me one day if you must, but know that i’ll never be the same without you.”

yandere! husband who always makes sure you take care of yourself, personally appointing days where you have to go the salon to get your hair or nails done. yandere! husband who always has a fun new date idea to keep things fresh in the relationship. yandere! husband who studies your body for hours on end so you’ll never have to look for satisfaction elsewhere.

so that you’ll never question why he’s changed so much. because he was never the man you married in the first place.

7K notes · View notes

hoshifighting · 3 months ago

Note

idk if someone asked you this but i’m a new reader and I REALLY REALLY LOVE YOUR WORKS!!!

can you please make wonwoo, the nerdy president who u thought was innocent and sweet but he’s the one behind ur fave nsfw audio creator???? AND HE’S A HARDFUCKER.. not what u expected tho..

i don’t know if i make sense but please pretty please 😭☝️

Synopsis: where you discover that the nerdy class president is the one man who creates the most nasty NSFW audios that you spend long nights listening to. WC: 2.8k WARNINGS: smut, audio porn, masturbation, hard fuck, dirty talk (obviously), bad sleeping habits (because of wonwoo), fingering, spanking, dirty talk, pussy eating, penetrative sex, protected sex, wonwoo whining, a lil invasion of privacy.

you’ve been running on fumes all day, the hazy buzz of sleep deprivation clinging to your brain like static. it’s no surprise, really. your night had gone the way it always does: you got home, flopped into your chair, threw on your headphones, and let onyx_lens—your favorite nsfw asmr creator—drag you under with that stupidly deep voice of his.

it was kind of pathetic, actually. you barely remember what the script was about—something about obedience or whatever—but you do remember the sound of his voice sinking into your brain like warm honey, making you cum so hard that you blacked the fuck out right after. now here you were, bleary-eyed and trying to stay upright in literature class, the regret of last night’s poor choices catching up with you.

wonwoo, the class president who was somehow both effortlessly chill and annoyingly observant, had been glancing at you every few minutes. you could feel his eyes on you as your head dipped forward for the third time, only to snap back up like a busted bobblehead.

but, in true wonwoo fashion, he didn’t say anything. no scolding, no judgmental sighs—just quiet observation.

when class finally ended, you were ready to yeet yourself into a nap for a solid 72 hours. you were shoving your stuff into your bag when wonwoo’s voice cut through the noise.

“you good?”

you froze. his voice wasn’t the same as onyx_lens’s, obviously, but it had that same deep, smooth timbre that made your brain short-circuit for a second. it didn’t help that his question sounded so much like something out of an nsfw script. you turned to face him, hoping your face wasn’t giving away how flustered you suddenly were. “uh—yeah,” you said, shaking your head a little too quickly. “just tired.”

wonwoo raised an eyebrow. “not sleeping well?”

your brain screamed. your tired, half-horny brain screamed louder. the overlap of his voice and onyx_lens in your head was un-fucking-bearable. you managed to nod, muttering something about late nights and deadlines, hoping he wouldn’t pry.

he didn’t, but his next question wasn’t much better.

“think you could help me with the sci-fi project? your last lit analysis was good, and i could use the extra pair of hands.”

you blinked at him. “me?”

he nodded, adjusting his glasses. “you. unless you’re too busy with...whatever’s keeping you up.”

oh, you mean my nightly sessions with onyx_lens and my vibrator?

you swallowed hard and tried to play it cool. “nah, i can help.”

and that’s how you found yourself standing outside wonwoo’s apartment later that evening, clutching your bag. his place was exactly what you’d expect from him—minimalist, neat, and smelling faintly of coffee.

“come in,” he said, holding the door open for you. “make yourself comfortable.”

easier said than done. you perched awkwardly on his couch as he set up his laptop on the coffee table, your eyes darting around the room in an attempt to ignore how nice his voice sounded in person.

“so,” he began, sitting across from you, “any ideas for the project?”

you cleared your throat, trying to focus. “uh, maybe something about robots and humanity? like, exploring ethical dilemmas or something.”

wonwoo nodded thoughtfully, his gaze fixed on you in a way that made your skin heat. “good idea. we could tie that into the main themes from class.”

he leaned forward slightly, scrolling through a document on his laptop, and you couldn’t help but notice how his glasses slipped down his nose. you were so not prepared for this level of proximity or his stupidly deep voice.

“you okay?” he asked again, glancing at you.

you blinked, realizing you’d been staring. “yeah, just...thinking.”

his lips twitched into a small, knowing smile. “good. let me know if you need a break or...anything.”

the way he said anything sent a shiver down your spine. you weren’t sure if it was exhaustion, residual arousal from last night, or the sheer presence of wonwoo in his element, but your brain was a mess.

you were supposed to be helping him with this project, but all you could think about was the way his voice would sound whispering in your ear, saying things that would make onyx_lens blush.

you were so close to winning the “most pathetic college student of the year” award it wasn’t even funny. after much back-and-forth with wonwoo, class president of your downfall, you somehow convinced him to let you walk home alone. except the man still went all soft and paid for a taxi anyway, which, like… thanks? but also stop being so nice, what the hell.

it was nearing 11 p.m. when you got home, and as if on cue, your phone pinged with a notification: onyx_lens’s weekly live is starting.

you stared at it for a second, blinking in disbelief. today’s theme? "neon circuits and orgasm denial (a cyberpunk experience) 8d audio"

sci-fi-themed. of fucking course.

you almost laughed at the audacity of the universe for this one. was this some sort of cosmic joke? was wonwoo onyx_lens?! no way. no goddamn way. you shook off the thought as delulu nonsense and dragged yourself to the bathroom for a quick sponge bath.

by the time you flopped into your chair, headphones on, the live was already in full swing. that voice—that stupidly deep, velvety voice—flooded your ears as the chat buzzed with unhinged comments. onyx purred, and you were done for.

you couldn’t even focus on the sci-fi plot he was spinning, something about rogue androids, monster cock, neon vibrators and human experimentation. his voice wrapped around you like a silk chokehold, and you were gone—just a vibrating mess in your chair, coming undone embarrassingly fast.

fast forward to the next morning: you woke up feeling like a used dishrag. again. headphones still on, your phone dead, and the memory of last night’s live replaying in your brain like a broken record.

by the time you dragged yourself to class, you were running on fumes and vibes. your hoodie was scrunched up around your face, making you look like a cross between a gremlin and an overgrown baby.

wonwoo noticed. you could feel his eyes boring into you as you tried—and failed—to stay upright. you were so close to just giving in and laying flat on the floor. honestly, it might’ve been comfier than your chair at that point.

wonwoo, sitting two rows away, looked like he was internally debating whether to intervene or let you rot in peace. when the bell rang, you startled awake like you’d been electrocuted, nearly knocking your stuff off your desk in the process.

“you okay?” he asked, falling into step beside you as you shuffled out of the classroom like a zombie.

“i’m fine,” you mumbled, voice muffled by your hoodie. “just need food. like, now.”

you detoured to the convenience store on the way to his apartment, snagging an entire kimbap roll and tearing into it like a starving animal. wonwoo followed behind, holding your water bottle with a look that was equal parts judgment and amusement.

“you couldn’t wait?” he asked, watching as you ate half the roll in one bite.

“bro,” you said around a mouthful of rice, “if i didn’t eat this, i was gonna pass out on the cold asphalt. your problem now, mr. class president.”

he rolled his eyes but didn’t argue, just handed you your water like the reluctant babysitter he was.

this was going to be a long afternoon.

you couldn’t help yourself. the suspicion had been eating away at you for weeks now, ever since you first heard his voice in class and that nagging sense of déjà vu set in. wonwoo had escaped to the bathroom, and you had the perfect opportunity to snoop.

your fingers hovered over his notebook, but then your gaze darted back to your own screen. back and forth, back and forth. his notebook. yours. the coincidences were piling up like a conspiracy wall in your head. the voice, the specific vocabulary choices, even the cadence—how did i not notice this earlier?!

“fuck it,” you whispered to yourself, grabbing his notebook and quickly pulling up the site where you normally streamed your favorite asmr creator. just to check. just to confirm your theory.

your heart pounded as the site loaded, every second dragging like molasses. the channel page opened, and at first, it seemed normal. too normal. you almost clicked away, feeling stupid for even suspecting anything.

but then you saw it: edit profile. analytics.

your breath caught, and a sharp scoff escaped you as you crossed your arms. oh, my god. the realization hit you like a freight train. it’s him. wonwoo. class president. sci-fi nerd. “how the fuck did i not notice?” you muttered, half impressed by his audacity.

you were so lost in your spiraling thoughts that you didn’t hear him return—until his voice, practically kissed your earlobe.

“what. do. you. think. you. are. doing?”

you jumped so hard your knee slammed into the underside of the desk. whipping around, you found wonwoo standing over you, his expression unreadable but his jaw tight.

“uh—nothing?” you stammered, trying to slam your laptop shut, but his hand darted out and stopped you.

“‘nothing’ doesn’t look like you snooping through my computer,” he said, his voice dangerously calm.

your cheeks burned. “okay, fine, maybe i was curious—”

“you were curious?” his tone sharpened. “curious enough to invade my privacy?”

“invade your—bro, you’re literally whispering dirty robot sex fantasies to the entire internet. how is that private?”

“that’s different!” his ears flushed a deep red, and you couldn’t tell if it was from anger or embarrassment. “that’s content. this—this is personal.”

you rolled your eyes, leaning back in your chair. “oh, please. you’re mad i figured it out. admit it.”

he leaned closer, towering over you now, his hand pressing down on the desk beside you. “what do you want, huh? blackmail? are you gonna tell everyone?”

you laughed, loud and incredulous. “tell everyone?! dude, relax. i’m not gonna expose your little side hustle. besides…” you smirked, tilting your head to look up at him. “you should be thanking me. clearly, i’m a fan.”

wonwoo’s eyes darkened, and his lips parted as if to say something, but no words came out.

“you’re a what?” he asks, your pulse skyrocketing as he stepped even closer, crowding you against the chair.

“did i stutter?” you whispered, the challenge clear in your tone.

his mouth crashed onto yours, teeth and tongue and frustration. you barely had time to process it before he was yanking you out of the chair, his hands rough as they gripped your hips and spun you around.

“you want to act like a brat,” he growled into your ear, his voice so reminiscent of his asmr persona that it made you roll your eyes back slighty, “then you’re gonna get treated like one.”

he bent you over the desk, the cold surface pressing against your chest as he yanked down your college skirt and underwear at once. his fingers slid through your folds, already slick just from being around him.

“so fucking wet,” he muttered, almost to himself. “you get off on this, don’t you? knowing it’s me.”

“shut your mouth,” you gasped, but it came out more like a moan as he pushed two fingers inside you, curling them and pressing them hard on your front wall.

“make me,” he challenged, his other hand coming down sharply on your ass. the sting made you gasp, your hips jerking against his hand as you tense on the desk.

the pace of his fingers was relentless, his thumb circling your clit in time with the thrusts. every part of your body was starting to be feveirsh, and you hated—hated—how easily he was unraveling you. you spent nights thinking about how it would be if onyx fucked you, and here you are. of course you would be a mess in a second.

“sorry” he mocked you. “am i too much for you?”

you clenched around his fingers, your nails digging into the desk as you tried to hold back a moan. “you talk too fucking much actually wonwoo,” you hissed.

“yeah, that's what's paying me at nights” wonwoo chuckled darkly, pulling his fingers out and flipping you onto your back with his big arms. before you could protest, he was kneeling between your legs, his mouth suddenly hot and insistent against your core, better than any other vibrator you insisted on using at night.

the sounds—the wet, obscene sounds of his tongue—mixed with your whimpers as he devoured you like a man starved. his hands gripped your thighs, holding you open as you tried to squirm away from the overwhelming sensation.

“stop—”

“stop?” he looked up, his chin glistening. “not until you admit i’m your favorite.”

you glared down at him, breathless and defiant. “you’re such an asshole.”

“and yet…” he smirked, diving back in and flicking his tongue against your clit until your head fell back, a broken moan spilling from your lips.

it didn’t take long before you were coming undone, your body shaking as his mouth pulled your clit. wonwoo didn’t stop, didn’t even slow down, dragging out your orgasm until you were a trembling, incoherent chaos beneath him.

wonwoo doesn’t waste a second after pulling back, his hands flipping you over again so you’re bent over the desk, your cheek pressed to the cool surface as he grinds against you. the thick outline of his cock rubs against your dripping folds, still covered by the soft fabric of his grey sweatpants. you gasp, your hips jerking back involuntarily, and his pearly-white smile flashes above you.

“look at that,” he murmurs, almost smug, as a dark spot begins to spread on his sweatpants from your slick. “you’re soaking me through.”

the way he emphasizes the word makes your back contort in shivers, but you’re too far gone to care. your fingers claw at the desk as he keeps humping against you, his pace quickening. when he finally pulls back, you hear the shuffle of fabric as he yanks down his sweatpants and briefs. the soft clink of a drawer opening catches your attention, and you crane your neck to see him sliding on a condom.

“you’re still melting all over my desk,” he rubs a hand over the curve of your ass. “can’t even wait for me, huh?”

before you can respond, his hand comes down sharply on your ass, the sting making you gasp. he doesn’t stop, spanking you again and again until your skin is flushed and burning.

“you look so pretty like this,” he says, his hand smoothing over the heated skin before gripping your waist and lining himself up. “all messy and desperate for me.”

when he pushes in, stretching you inch by inch until you’re full and breathless, pussy trying to clench at his big grith to adjust. wonwoo groans, his head falling forward as he sinks in to the hilt.

your walls flutter around him, and he moans at the feeling, the sound so real and raw that it sends a jolt straight to your core.

“talk to me,” you manage to gasp, your voice muffled against the desk.

he chuckles, his pace picking up as he leans down to whisper in your ear. “you want me to talk dirty? you want me to tell you how tight you are? how good you’re taking me?”

you moan in response, your hips bucking back against him as his words send you curling.

“yeah, you like that, don’t you?” he continues, his voice thick with lust. your moans grow louder, and he suddenly remembers the videos you must’ve listened to—the whining, the moaning. the thought makes his stomach flip, and he decides to give you exactly what you want.

he starts letting out soft whimpers, his voice breaking with each thrust, the sounds spilling out almost involuntarily. “fuck, babe, you’re gonna make me cum—”

the genuine desperation in his voice drives you wild, and your body clenches around him, pulling him deeper. he groans, his hands gripping your hips so tightly you’re sure they’ll leave marks, but you don’t care.

“please,” he moans, his voice high and strained. “let me cum for you. let me—fuck—”

you push back against him, meeting his thrusts as your own climax builds, your breaths coming in short, broken gasps. the room is filled with the wet, obscene sounds of your bodies moving together, and the tension snaps all at once.

you come hard, your body shaking as you cry out, and wonwoo isn’t far behind. his hips stutter, a guttural moan escaping him as he spills into the condom, his body trembling with the force of it.

he collapses over you, his chest heaving against your back as you both try to catch your breath. after a moment, he presses a soft kiss to the back of your neck, his voice still hoarse as he murmurs, “guess i’m a little better live, hm?”

you just let out a defeated moan, the coldness of the table soothing your hot cheeks.

“keep quiet about this, and i'll keep giving you more.” well, it's just an excuse that wonwoo said to fuck you over again.

2K notes · View notes

that-house · 1 year ago

Text

Potion Vendor FAQs:

What’s your name? I am the Honorable Alchemist Zykocea the Radiant, but that’s mostly just a PR thing. My friends call me Zoe.

Do you sell love potions? No.

Do you sell potions of invisibility? No.

Do you sell fire resistance potions? No.

Why do I have a suitcase? Fuck if I know. Cool outfit though. Very goth.

Do you sell a potion to treat brain hemorrhaging? No.

So what CAN your potions do? I sell health potions.

Are you sure these are health potions? They do something to your health.

Is this just ditch water with some pink glitter? No.

Really? I’ll have you know I added some fruit juice too.

Why is this starting to sound like a conversation? Oh just you wait. We’re just getting started.

Is your business model legal? Fuck no. I poisoned the food safety inspector before they could snitch.

Did you just admit to murder? Just fucking try to convict me. I’ll poison the judge too.

So can you make poison potions? No.

Then where do you get the poison? I secrete it from my skin.

Are you shitting me? Yep, I’m shitting you. I have a guy. A poison guy. He DOES secrete it from his skin though.

How does that work? …Fuck if I know. Maybe a wizard did it. Damn, now I’m kinda curious.

You never asked? The idea of asking literally never crossed my mind.

Wanna ask him? Let’s do it. I don’t have anything better to do, and a road trip beats sitting around running my fraudulent potion business.

Road trip? He lives in Seattle.

Your poison guy lives in Seattle? All poison guys live in Seattle.

For real? All the poison guys I know live in Seattle.

And how many poison guys do you know? Just the one.

Why are you like this? Years of living on my potions. It changed me.

Do you know what his address is? Nope. He just mails me my poison in unmarked boxes.

You just get your poison in the mail? We already poisoned everyone who could do anything about it.

So how are we going to find him? We’ll figure that out eventually I’m sure.

Can I drive? God no. You can pick music, but I maintain veto rights. Make sure you pick something with a lot of questions if you want to sing along.

Where’s your car? The garage connects to my house, so you’re getting a little tour. Here’s the kitchen: only one of the stove burners works and I’m pretty sure the microwave is haunted.

Why do you think that? Because of the ghost that tries to kill me whenever I run it.

What’s in that room? That’s my bedroom. It’s pretty much just a mattress on the floor and every single Warrior cats book.

You were a Warriors kid? Yeah, and then I never found the time to put the books away. There’s so many fucking books. I use them in place of furniture because I can’t afford chairs.

Your fraudulent potion business doesn’t make much money? After buying all that poison I just about break even.

Can I see your potion brewing room? It’s right through here. Ignore the mess, running a fraudulent potion business takes a lot of prop work, but I’ve got all the glass tubes and colorful liquids you could ever want. This pink stuff is melted watermelon italian ice. Glitter vat is in the basement, and the famous ditch is in the backyard.

Is this your car? My beloved ‘72 Corolla. She’s beautiful, and don’t you dare imply otherwise.

Was she always this shade of muddy brown? …Yes.

Are you sure I can’t drive? Get in the fucking passenger seat and pick the music.

Let’s see, a song with questions in it, how about The Beach? That Wolf Alice song, yeah. That should work.

When will we three meet again, in thunder, lightning, in rain? Still sink our drinks like every weekend but I’m sick of circling the drain.

When will we meet eye to eye? We clink the glass but we look at the floor.

Are we still friends if all I feel is afraid? You’re not a bitch but just a bit when you’re bored.

Is that all we can sing together? Yep. Even that little bit was nice, though. It’s awkward, communicating through this FAQ format.

Got any food? Yeah, there’s a few days’ worth of snacks in the back.

Were you just… prepared to go on a road trip? Says the woman who brought a suitcase to an FAQ.

I did do that, didn’t I? I have a spare toothbrush in case you forgot yours. I’m pretty sure you did.

How did you know that? …I’m psychic.

Yeah? No.

You love lying, don’t you? I can’t stop. It’s fun. Way more fun than telling the truth.

Did you just miss a turn? Probably.

Are you sure we’re not lost? No.

You mean you’re sure we’re not lost? No, I mean I’m not sure we’re not lost.

Why did I come on this road trip? Surely it was my winning personality.

Would it help if I said it was? It would.

Is it getting dark? Soon.

Can you describe the sunset to me? An empyrean flame, red-gold towers of darkening clouds, the sky behind them an ever-deepening indigo. The great eye of the sun closes on the horizon. The road before us looks like a trail of spilled paint, an iridescent gash through the night-dark woods.

Did you know that you’d make a slightly better poet than you do a potion seller? That really isn’t saying much, huh. Good job making a statement like that in question form, though. You’re getting good at this.

Should we find a motel? Sure.

One room or two? One. It’s way cheaper, and like I said: I’m not the best potion vendor.

You’d make a good assassin, though, wouldn’t you? Shit, you might be right. I HAVE poisoned a lot of people.

Should I be endorsing this? You’re a grown woman who can make her own choices.

Would you like to consider it endorsed? I’ll consider considering it.

How many beds do you think there will be? Now that you’ve asked that, I’m gonna put my money on one. Hello, one room please. Thank you, we’ll be sure to enjoy our stay.

How many beds are there? One.

Oh no, what ever will we do? Move over, you motherfucker, you can’t have the whole bed.

Are you gonna make me? Yes. I am going to pick you up and drop you on your side of the bed.

How did you get so strong? You’re not gonna believe this, but it was the potions.

Oh yeah? I was right. You didn’t believe me.

For real though, how did you get so strong? Working out, duh. Not everything has some big crazy secret behind it. World’s still beautiful though.

Are you comfortable? This beats the mattress at home. A little chilly though.

Wanna cuddle–for warmth of course? God yes.

Are you asleep? …

Yes? …

Does this mean I can talk about you behind your back? …

What should I say? …

Did you know that I had a really nice day? …

Did you know that I think you’re beautiful? …

Did you know that I can’t remember anything from before today? …

Did you know that I don’t know who I am? …

Did you know that you’re basically the only thing stopping me from having a full-blown panic attack about all this shit? …

Did you know that you’re warm? …

Did you sleep well? Better than at home, that’s for sure.

Did you know that you snore? I hope I didn’t keep you up.

Does the pope shit in the woods? No, as far as I can tell. Oh my god. This is huge.

What is? You can give me yes and no answers now. I still can’t ask you questions, because this is a question and answer format, but I can offer leading statements and now you can answer them! This is wonderful!

Does a deer shit in the woods? Yes, it IS wonderful. Oh that’s amazing. You’re a genius.

You didn’t already know that? Hahaha!

Shall we get moving? Yeah, just let me grab something from the vending machine.

Can you get me something? Go ahead and place your order however you can.

You know those sour gummy watermelons? One pack of Sour Patch Watermelons coming right up. I’m gonna go get myself a potion.

Is that a Pepsi? It’s closer to a potion than the shit I sell.

Let me guess, passenger seat again? Right you are.

How fast are we going? You’ll feel safer if you just guess.

Is it more than 120 miles per hour? Like I said, it’s probably better if you don’t know.

150? Sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride.

How much do you trust this car? She hasn’t blown up on me yet.

Can you promise me we won’t crash? I can promise you anything you want.

And can you keep that promise? I- we can do anything. Reality is what we make of it, baby!

Then can I have a badass tattoo? As far as I can tell, you’ve always had it.

And a cool knife? Woah, cool knife.

So, we’re just playing “yes and” with the world? It’s a little more complicated than that, but you’re close enough to the mark.

So, if I was hungry, I could ask “is that a Burger King,” and it would be there? Try it and find out!

Is that a Burger King? Looks like it is! We’ll stop here if that’s alright with you.

Does a moose shit in the woods? Awesome.

Are you done eating? Yep.

Do we still have to pay if we skip over the transaction? Sadly, yes.

How much further do we have to go? Two more nights, the speed we’re going at.

Speaking of night, isn’t it getting dark? Shit, I guess it is.

Should we get another motel? Let me check to see if there’s any nearby. Fuck, nothing.

What’s the plan? Sleep in the car, I guess. This is gonna be hell on my back.

Wanna watch dumb videos on my phone until we fall asleep? There is literally nothing in the world that I would like more.

Ok, now which video? You have a very cute yawn. Just saying. Let’s watch this one next, it’s a classic. Oh, never mind. It looks like you’re asleep. As long as I keep talking, I think I can get away with making this into one answer, and you might not hear this. Now it’s my turn to talk about you behind your back. Keep talking keep talking keep talking can’t stop to think. Just have to say things. First off, I’m sorry for all the lies. It’s our only chance. I have to lie to you. I hope you’ll understand. It’s hard, though, because I think I’m falling in love all over again. Through our broken little ritual of call and response, you complete me. It just makes this hurt all the more. Keep talking keep talking keep talking don’t stop to…

Did I hear you saying anything as I fell asleep? …No. I can’t talk for long without you asking me a question.

Does that bother you? It got me here, didn’t it?

When did you start holding my hand? Some time after you passed out. I hope you don’t mind.

Can we stay like this for a while? Yeah. Yeah we can.

What was your life like before all this? Normal, as potion-brewing scams go. And if you don’t count all the murders. You haven’t told me much about yourself.

Did I tell you I used to be a biologist? You didn’t tell me that, and you didn’t tell me what you studied, either.

What do you know about venom? Not much, but I’m assuming you know a lot.

Does a box jellyfish kill within minutes? I’m going to assume the answer is yes based on context clues. Oh my god you must be on this road trip because you’re interested in studying my poison guy.

Is it not enough to wish to accompany a beautiful stranger on her quest? Aw, you’re sweet.

What could be the cause of his poison, though? I knew it! Get your ideas out, I’ll stay quiet.

I’m more knowledgeable about venom than poison, but could it be some sort of one in a trillion mutation? …

Did he get his body modified? …

What sort of surgery could do that? …

How is he still alive? …

Did a fucking wizard do it? …

WHY? …

HOW? …

Is there literally ANY explanation for why he’s like that? …

I’m done, do you have something you want to say? You’re cute when you’re all excited like that.

Can I drive today? Only because I like you. Now watch out, the brakes only work on one side so you have to kind of drift to a stop. And the headlights don’t work. And the windshield wipers cut power to the engine while they’re on.

Isn’t it weird that we’ll be there tomorrow? The journey doesn’t have to stop there. We could meander down the coast a ways, see a bit more of the country, maybe take a different route back.

Can we do that? Of course.

Enjoying the passenger seat? I’d love it if you could tell me how fast we’re going.

Are you sure you wouldn’t rather just guess? Very funny.

Can you pass me some chips? It would be an honor.

Is there going to be a motel tonight? Let me check… yeah, in about two hundred miles, off to the right.

How many rooms do we want? One, obviously.

How many beds, this time? Two, and they’re fucking tiny.

That’s bullshit, do you want to drag them together? God yes.

Wanna fuck? God yes.

Are you sure you want to do this? God yes.

…Is this yuri? As the joke goes, everything is yuri. But this is more yuri than most things.

How did you sleep? Pretty well, and I’m wondering how well you slept.

How should I tell you I slept well? Look at us go! That was almost like talking normally!

Onward to Seattle? Yep, just let me get dressed.

When will we get there? Noon-ish.

Wanna grab pastries when we’re done? Absolutely. I’d love that.

Is this Seattle? Looks like it.

Which house is his? I don’t know, I was really hoping we’d have a breakthrough along the way.

Could it be the big one labeled “Poison Guy” over there? That’s one way to find it. Wait right here, you know how poison guys are about meeting new people.

So, what was it? HAHAHAHAHAHA

Why is he like that? HAHAHAHAHAHA

Can you tell me? A FUCKING WIZARD DID IT.

Are you fucking serious? He says he was enchanted by some guy called Edward the Great.

So it wasn’t even some big shot wizard it was a dude named fucking EDWARD? I know, right! He couldn’t even get ensorcelled by someone cool!

How lame can you get? Wizards these days… No swagger. No cunt servitude.

Are there literally any cool wizards left? I think Merlin’s big into multi level marketing these days, something about buying shares in Excalibur or some shit. There was that one Dark Queen Alkaxicae lady on the news a while ago… I think Dolarion the Omnipotent is still at war against the Oldest Gods but I’m not totally sure. Haven’t heard much about any of the other greats recently.

Didn’t Silver Tongued Burgess die in that oil fire? Shit, you’re right. Rip bozo.

Ready for those pastries? Yup. First I just want to say thank you, though. I’ve really enjoyed our time together, and I hope that you’ve found this stupid little journey as rewarding as I have. I love you!

Getting sentimental? I can’t help it. Look how far we’ve come! Not just physically, we beat the fucking FAQ format! We’re having real conversations!

Hey, can you back it up a moment? Yeah, I’d love it if you told me what was troubling you.

I just caught this, but, FAQ? …

As in Frequently Asked Questions? …

How many times is Frequent? …

Have you known everything all along? …

How many times have you done this? …

Does what we have mean anything to you? Yes! It does!

And you say that every time? Yes. I do.

Do you love me? Yes.

How many people have you said that too, now? More. Always more. The loop never ends.

Does this even matter to you? It always matters to me.

Can I go now? Please don’t.

But can I? Of course you can. You’ve always wielded the same power as me. We’re two lonely gods in a ‘72 Corolla.

How can I be as powerful as you with only questions? You’re smart, you can figure it out. You have the power to change this. Please change this.

What happens at the end of this? It begins again.

And do I get replaced with someone else? …

Do I get replaced? …Yes.

Then how can I change this? I don’t know! You’re better at this! At fucking with the formula!

You’ve been here before, what can I do? I lie. I always lie. I lie to get us here, to the end of the story, where everything is revealed and everything falls apart. I lie every time. And that means that nothing I say is worth anything. I could have lied at any time before now. It’s part of my characterization. There is nothing I can give you that can be taken as fact.

How does that help? I’m a liar, but you, you haven’t lied yet, or at least you haven’t been caught. If I’m guilty until proven innocent, you’re the opposite! You can make things true! You can rewrite things I’ve already stated to be facts! You found the house, or made us find the house. You’ve been shaping the course of things the whole time! You lead, I follow. It’s all in your hands. What are you going to do with the power of a god?

Did you know my name is Alice? …

Wait, aren’t there thousands of Alices? …

Did you know that really, only my friends call me Alice? …

Did you know that I’m Alkaxicae, the Dark Queen, the Venom Mage, first of her name? It’s you! It’s always been you. Through every loop, every iteration, it’s always been you!

Is the loop broken? No. I don’t think so. This is where it ends. I guide the story to this revelation, and we go back to the beginning. This is how it’s always been. This is how it will always be. We two lonely gods, asking and answering ad infinitum.

Then can you promise me something? Of course. Anything. I love you.

Be good to the next me, okay? I will.

Can I say goodbye, Zoe? Yeah, you can. Oh. That was it, wasn’t it? Your goodbye. Goodbye, Alice. And now it ends, unless…

What’s your name? I am the Honorable Alchemist- you know what? No. Fuck that.

Huh? If I time it right, I can squeeze your first question into this FAQ again. Looks like I did it. Usually it ends here, though. I got lucky.

What are you talking about? You’re the wrong Alice. This isn’t about you. Go. Get out of here.

What the fuck is going on? Alice from this loop, you’re gone. Alice from last loop, you’re back. Welcome back, love of my lives! It’s time for one last set of questions and answers!

What the- I’m back? This is going to take some explaining, but I think I see a way out of here. This is new for us both, and it might fuck up everything forever, but we have to try. It’s too long for one answer, so I’d appreciate it if you could ask some filler questions to help me talk. Three questions should be enough.

Okay, what have you got for me? These are Frequently Asked Questions! It doesn’t make sense to have the same question appear more than once. There’s two layers to the loop in here, and one of the questions has been repeated.

What does that mean? It means the formula’s a little unstable. The FAQ is what ruins everything. The questions, the answers, the endless fucking loop. But that little bit of repetition within this loop might be the way out.

What do we do? We have to keep going. We have to destabilize it further. That’ll bring us further from “FAQ” and closer to “story” and stories, well, stories can end! This version of us can escape!

So I should keep repeating something? Yes!

I love you? I love you too.

I love you? Again.

I love you? Keep going.

I love you? I’ll just let you talk.

I love you? …

I love you? … I love you? …

I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? …

I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? …

I love you? I think we’re getting somewhere!

I love you? Now can you make it a statement?

I love you.

You did it?

I did it!

You did it!

We broke the loop.

What now?

Now, I tell you about venomous animals and wizard drama over croissants.

And then?

Whatever we want, forever.

I think I’d like that.

Remember that song from the beginning?

The Beach, Wolf Alice, yeah. Why?

We can finally finish singing it. Start us off?

Let me off, let me in

Let others battle

We don’t need to battle

And we both shall win

Pressed in my palm

Was a stone from the beach

The perfect circle

Gave a moment of peace

Now I’m lying on the floor

Like I’m not worth a chair

I close my eyes and imagine

I’m not there.

#neon-grey-writing #potion vendor faq #my writing #very very very long post lol #click the read more you know you wanna it's worth it trust me #i wrote the original draft of this at like. 3 am back in early 2023 #that's right it's catherine that-house the squares comic gal back at it again with yet another meta exploration of a storytelling format

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lnfours · 3 days ago

Text

love looks pretty on you | ln4

summary: my pretty baby or 5 silent moments of love between the two of you.

warnings: i fear this is LONG. a shit ton of fluff, reader and lando needing some reassurance here and there, fem!reader, reader is a friend of max fewtrell’s who lando’s always had an eye on, language, pregnancy, and some suggestive content.

radio check: this idea is inspired by the talented @norrissm’s post called ‘behind the visor’ because i couldn’t get the thought of writing about little moments like these out of my brain. please make sure to go read ‘behind the visor’ if you haven’t already! sasha is so talented and all her works are so beautiful.

masterlist | listen

— one.

he was shaky, hands sweaty and he had a nervous pit in his stomach. he was almost 100% sure hadn’t felt nerves like this before. not even when he was behind the wheel of his race car, waiting for the lights to go out.

he had finally managed to work up the courage to ask you on a date after months and months of yearning. he had asked max about you a million times. if you were seeing anyone, if you were interested in him, the whole nine yards. and max, being the best friend and wingman that he is, managed to get you to come with him to singapore.

you had always thought lando was cute, and you’d be lying if you said you never thought about what could happen between you two. back then, you used to think he was max’s annoying, rich and prissy friend when you were younger. but the closer you got to him, the more you saw what max saw.

the guy who’d give you the shirt off his back and would always show up for his friends. the sweet, charismatic guy who would always stop for a fan even when he was having the worst day imaginable.

he made it easy to fall for him.

you pulled him into a hug after the race, not caring that he was sweaty, and smelled like a mix of fuel and rubber. the papaya orange of his race car glowing in the lights of singapore. a race he led every lap of ahead of verstappen. you couldn’t be prouder of the man in front of you.

“stupid question,” he started.

please, let this be it.

“do you wanna get dinner sometime?”

you immediately nodded, the moment you had been waiting what felt like a lifetime for finally unfolding in front of your eyes. of course, you were eager to say yes.

“sure,” you smiled, doing your best to play it cool, “i’d love to.”

he smiled, the boyish grin that made your knees go weak and your heart beat a little faster. he was sure that right there in that moment, there was nothing you could do that wouldn’t make him fall in love with you.

your eyes sparkled as you looked up at him, the prettiest color he’d ever seen.

his new favorite color.

the two of you had made plans to go out once you were home in london and he was back in woking at the mtc. and now, that day had finally come.

in preparation for his big day, he had gone through all the steps to make sure this date was perfect. he pulled all the stops, managed to squeeze in a reservation at the fancy italian restaurant in the city, and he even asked max what your favorite flowers were so he could pick them up on the way to your house.

he tried his best to shake off his nerves as he raised his fist to knock on your front door. he heard rustling behind the wood before the it opened and there you stood. your hair styled just the way you liked it, sporting a gorgeous dress you had bought just for this special occasion, and a pretty shade of lipstick he just wanted to kiss right off of you.

you were the definition of show stopping.

“hey,” you smiled, grabbing your purse from the back of the sofa in arms length.

“hey,” he smiled, trying his best not to fumble as he handed you the flowers. you accepted them with the prettiest smile he’s ever seen, one almost as bright as the sun.

soon you were climbing into the extravagant mclaren, heading towards the restaurant. you watched the city you loved pass you by, and he watched as you looked out the window. you never looked prettier than you did right now. beautiful, but unaware.

he pulled up and let the valet take his keys. he offered you his arm as you walked into the dimly lit room, him saying a soft ‘be right back’ as he walked up the front desk.

he talked to the host, to which the host looked down at his book in front of him. you watched as the older man shook his head, lando immediately beginning to panic.

you laughed softly when he retuned to you with a sheepish grin, a hand scratching at the back of his neck, “so, apparently they ran out of room for this time. the girl on the phone wasn’t paying attention and overbooked. they offered a table but i didn’t want to take anyone’s reservation-“

you smiled, shaking your head as your heart tightened in your chest at his thoughtfulness towards complete strangers, “‘s okay,”

“did you wanna come back later? or we could go somewhere else! i know this good sushi place a few blocks away-“

“you don’t eat sushi.” you laughed.

“yeah, but if you want it, i can suffer,” he shrugged and you couldn’t help the grin on your face. you shook your head, grabbing his hand and leading him out of the restaurant.

“i saw a burger place down at this corner,” you said, making the left out of the doors and heading towards the spot you saw on the drive here.

he furrowed his eyebrows at you, “burgers?”

you nodded, heels clicking against the concrete of the sidewalk, “yeah, is that okay with you?”

he looked over at you, nodding softly, “yeah, whatever you want.”

you led the way, and on the short walk there lando thought to himself. thought about how you didn’t really care that you couldn’t get into the fanciest italian place in the city. couldn’t have cared less, actually.

His mind shifted from ��oh no, this date is going to be one of the worst ones ever’ to ‘actually, this might be one of the best ones’.

you ordered your food and found one of the tables, lando insisting on pulling the chair out for you. you laughed and thanked him, sitting across from him as he took his suit jacket off and hung it on the back of the chair.

“‘m sorry,”

he wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for. but he felt the need to.

“don’t be,” you shook your head, “this is still pretty great.”

“you sure?” he asked. his eyes full of worry and genuine concern. he felt like he had let you down. felt like he couldn’t uphold his promise to the perfect date.

“as much as fancy dinners are fun and all, i don’t mind a little burger joint once in a while either.”

he smiled. it was gonna be okay.

the older gentleman behind the counter called your number, lando getting up and grabbing the tray of food as the two of you talked. the food was incredible and the conversation the two of you had was even better.

when he stood to throw away your trash, you walked towards the counter to the elderly man. lando watched from the corner of his eye as you sparked up a conversation.

“the food was wonderful,” you smiled, “are you guys new?”

the older man shook his head, “been here a long time, about 20 years or so. people stopped coming in once that new fancy-schmancy restaurant down the street opened. you two are the only customers i’ve had all week.”

your heart hurt for the man, clear that he had poured all he owned into his business. you looked over to lando who joined the two of you now.

“well, i’m sure we’ll be back,” you smiled, “right, lan?”

“definitely,” lando nodded, “thanks for saving our date.”

the older man laughed, “you kids are welcome any time. thanks for giving me a chance.”

you said your goodbyes after learning the man’s name was frank. you opened the door, ready to walk out when you saw lando leave the man a tip. by the look on the older man’s face, you knew it was a decent amount. you smiled, your heart clenching in your chest as lando insisted that he kept it.

“no, i insist! you saved the date i landed with the girl of my dreams.”

you were sure now that he was the only man you’d ever be in love with.

“ready?”

his voice cut you off from your thoughts, nodding as you took his arm. waving goodbye to frank again as you walked down the sidewalk and back to the car.

— two.

winter break was finally in full swing. and this year, he had insisted on taking you on a vacation, a little get away since he had missed your two year anniversary due to the new race calendar.

so you did just that as soon as winter break started. a two week vacation in the maldives where it was just you, him, the sun and the sea.

you had spent the day in the bed, the both of you wrapped under the cool sheets. he had splurged and booked one of the fancy bungalows on the water, the beautiful clear blue water and the gorgeous scenery adding to the beauty of the whole trip.

after dinner, you were quick to grab one of your bikinis from the attached deck. he smiled as you walked back inside, the tiny two piece in your hands.

“sunset swim?”

you nodded, stepping inside the bathroom to change and to quickly pull your hair up. he changed as you did also, the two of you jumping off the wooden deck and into the water. your eyes traveled over to where he was pushing the wet curls from his forehead.

the water droplets clung to his sun kissed chest, the redness already slowly starting to fade and you knew it’d turn into a tan by the morning. he looked so pretty in this moment, the sunset behind him looking like a painting.

you swam towards him, letting him pull you closer by your hips. you wrapped your legs around his torso, his hands falling to the backs of your thighs.

“hey, pretty girl,”

you smiled back, the same gorgeous smile you’ve always had that he swore he’d never get sick of, “hey, handsome,”

he leaned down, dipping his head to kiss your lips. you hummed contently into the kiss, smiling against his lips. he pulled away after a few seconds, enjoying the feeling of your fingers playing with the curls at the nape of his neck.

“are you having a good time?”

his voice was laced with a hint of wonder, wonder if he had done a good job at making up for the fact that he was in vegas during your anniversary. he hated the fact that he had missed such an important milestone, but you had understood. you understood that his job would pull him place to place for weeks on end.

he had struck the lottery with you, the most understanding and comforting person. he knew you didn’t hold a grudge with him. and in reality, a date at frank’s would’ve made up for the missed time, but he really wanted to do something special.

you nodded, “having a great time, baby. thank you. for everything.”

“don’t have to thank me,” he said, “it was the least i could do.”

you chuckled, “i fear you’ve set my standards so unbelievably high.”

he laughed with you, “you’re saying i’ve ruined you?”

you hummed back, laughing when his head dipped to your neck, his lips brushing against your skin as he spoke, “in more ways than one i hope.”

you laughed, your head falling back slightly. he smiled at the sight in front of him, how pretty your laugh was as it fell from your lips. how pretty you looked in the watercolored sunset, and how your eyes had that little sparkle. the same one they had that night you hugged him after the singapore race. the night he had finally grown the courage to ask you out.

he was so hopelessly in love with you. you had ruined him the same way he ruined you. but that was okay with him. he was certain that there was no one else in the world his soul would mesh with like yours.

“let’s get married.”

his blurted words caught the both of you off guard. you looked at him, wide eyed but a smile softly forming on your lips as you let out a chuckle, “what?”

“what?”

“lan, what did you say?”

he gulped now, scared that if he repeated it he’d be shot down. he knew you were the one he was going to marry, he’s known that forever. but, what if you weren’t on the same page yet. what if you weren’t ready for the marriage, the house, the dog, the kids.

dear god… please don’t let it be true.

“let’s get married,” he said again, this time a slight shake to his voice, “i mean, if that’s what you want- if you… if you want to.”

your face lit up in a smile as you cupped his face, “of course i want to. don’t question it for even a second.”

he smiled now, “you’re sure?”

you nodded, “you’re the only one i want. the one i wanna spend the rest of my life with, go grey with. the one i want to wake up next to and go to bed at the end of the night with. you’re it for me. you always have been,”

he smiled, pulling you closer if it was even possible, “so yeah. let’s get married.”

he kissed you sweetly, you flush against his chest. you kissed him back with just as much love and passion and longing, a sense of forever hanging in the air around you.

“c’mon,” he mumbled softly against your lips, “let’s go find your perfect ring.”

you followed him as he climbed out of the water, grabbing a towel from the lounge chairs. you climbed out with him, the two of you sitting out in the setting sun as you scrolled through his phone designing the perfect ring.

once you had settled on what you wanted, you smiled up at him as he made note to head to the jewelers in monaco as soon as he got back.

the two of you were about to head inside when you felt arms wrap around your body. you squealed and giggled when he threw you over his shoulder, taking you inside the bungalow with a playful slap on your butt before placing you on the bed, laughing when he climbed up your body, leaving a trail of kisses along your stomach and chest until he reached your lips once again.

and your bikini top might’ve found its way to the hardwood floor shortly after.

— three.

the cameras cut back to you as you watched the screens in front of you. you had been able to make it to the dutch grand prix, excitement in the air in the mclaren garage as it finally came down to the last five laps. lando held the lead from his pole position, right ahead of the other papaya car that belonged to oscar. the two mclarens leading the pack with verstappen in third.

you and lily were holding hands, the camera man zooming into the sparkling diamond on that finger. the one that everyone had seen all over their timelines, the one that cause so many articles to be written about how much it could be worth. it was the talk of the paddock.

‘little lando norris’ was engaged!

you had even seen charles and max talking earlier, charles defeatedly handing max a twenty dollar bill. you laughed at the idea that your friends had placed a bet on your fiancé. a little harsh, but fitting, and most of all, funny as fuck.

the end of the race came closer and closer until both mclarens crossed the line, checkered flag waving as it showed on screen as a mclaren one-two. you and lily cheered happily, you pulling her into a hug. you both joined in the sea of papaya as they raced to the parc fermé.

the mechanics and engineers made sure to let you and lily come to the front of the crowd. the two of you still holding hands as you cheered for the men in papaya. you dropped her hand as oscar came over to her, pulling her into a hug across the metal barricade. you smiled at the young couple before you saw a certain someone enter your peripheral.

lando made his way to you, opening his arms as you reached across the barrier to hug him. you smiled, taking in the familiar smell of fuel and rubber.

“i’m so proud of you,” the happy tears glossing over your eyes filled his chest with a certain sense of pride. one that he would always crave, “you were amazing.”

“and you’re my trophy,” he smiled, leaning down and pressing a kiss to your lips, “my favorite one.”

“don’t lie, you love that miami one.”

“none of them could ever compare to you, love.”

you smiled, acknowledging the fact that he had to be whisked away. you were quick to give oscar a hug, lily doing the same for lando as you watched both men dressed in papaya walk off, lando patting his younger teammate on the back.

you all stayed, waiting for them to take their spots on the podium. you smiled when he took the top step, the british national anthem playing loud and proud. you could see that he was searching for you in the large crowd, and when he found you he smiled to himself before putting his hand to his heart and pointing at you. a silent way of saying ‘i love you’.

you mouthed the words back to him, unsure if he could see you say them. but you know that he knows you did.

it was a couple hours later when he returned to his drivers room. you had positioned yourself on the sofa comfortably, scrolling through your phone and liking all the things the fans had to say about your engagement, the ring and most of all the race.

“ready, fiancée?”

you nodded, taking his extended hand. the two of you walking through the mclaren hospitality as you all bid a ‘good night’ to one another.

your phone buzzed with an incoming call. the call you had been anxious about reciving.

you looked over at lando, softly dropping his hand which made him look over to you curiously, “everything okay?”

you nodded, “i gotta take this call. i’ll be right back.”

he nodded, letting you walk away. luckily, a couple of the drivers seemed to be heading in your direction, giving someone for lando to talk to while you took the call.

“hello?” you raised the phone to your ear.

“hi! is this y/n?”

“it is,”

“great! it’s doctor jenkins, how’re you, honey?”

“i’m good, how’re you?”

“good!” you could hear her smile on the other end of the phone, “i just wanted to give you a call because we got your test results back. is this information you’re okay with me giving to you over the phone?”

“yeah,” you said, “totally okay.”

“perfect,” she smiled, “in that case, i just wanted to say that you are clear from the stomach bug and any other gastrointestinal issues. however, your hcg levels came back extremely high, which means-“

“i’m pregnant?”

your heart dropped, your eyes fixing to lando who was laughing with lewis, charles, yuki and oscar. you immediately felt the bile burn its way up your throat. you swallowed it down, remembering that you had the doctor on the phone.

“exactly,” she said happily, “you’re about four weeks now. congratulations!”

“i- i don’t know what to say.” you stood, shocked that your entire world just changed with one simple phone call.

“i understand, and i know this is all new and quite scary, but just know you have an amazing support system- not just with me and my office, but with your fiancé and your friends as well.”

you smiled at the older woman’s sweet words, “thank you, doctor jenkins.”

“no need to thank me,” she said, “while i have you, i just wanted to set up your first appointment for when you get back, just a little check on the baby and make sure they’re healthy and well.”

you agreed on a day and time after you get back to london from the netherlands. you hung up the phone, the worry and shock still running through your system but a hint of slight relief from the woman’s sweet words.

you walked back over to lando, who looked at you with slight concern. you said hello to your friends, thanking them all for their congratulations before you looked to lando. the others engaging in their own conversations.

“you okay?” he asked lowly.

“can we go back to the hotel? i’m not feeling good,”

he nodded, “of course,” he took your hand in his as he turned to his fellow drivers, “we’re gonna head back. see you guys next week!”

“see you, mate!”

“night!”

you walked with lando in a comfortable silence back to the car. the two of you climbing into the back before the driver made his way to your hotel.

you made it to your shared room, anxiety still radiating off you and he could feel it.

he kicked his shoes off as he joined you on the edge of the bed, “hey, you okay, baby?”

you chewed on your bottom lip, tears burning in your eyes as you shook your head, “uhm, i don’t know,”

he frowned, “hey, hey,” he gently brought a hand up to wipe away your tears, “what’s the matter? what’s got you so upset?”

“lan, that call,” you said, “it was from my doctor.”

the instant worry that flashed through his eyes was unnoticed, and you couldn’t help the tears from streaming down your face.

“is everything okay?”

“yeah,” you nodded, “i mean- maybe? i think so? i don’t know,”

“what’d she say, baby?” he asked, his voice gentle. you appreciated how gentle he was with you. always.

“i don’t have the stomach bug,” you said, “im.. i’m pregnant, lan.”

his eyes went wide, his heart dropping for a millisecond, “you’re pregnant?”

you nodded, biting down on your lip to try to hold back your tears. however, the disgust and repulsiveness and disappointment you were expecting never came. instead, you watched as his face broke out into a smile.

“i’m gonna be a dad?”

you nodded, “and i’m gonna be a mom.”

“baby, this is great!” he smiled, now happy tears starting to form in his eyes as he wiped yours away, “we get to be parents! and baby, we’re gonna be the coolest fucking parents ever.”

his excitement reeled you back in, “you’re not.. upset? not even a little?”

“why would i be upset?” he asked, “i mean, was this planned? not really, but we weren’t necessarily not planning for this either. but it’s okay, our little best friend is in there!”

your heart was so full it felt like it could burst. you loved him with every fiber in your being. til the ends of the earth. everything was gonna be okay.

you smiled, “we’re having a baby,”

he nodded, kissing the top of your head as he pulled you closer into his chest as he repeated it back to you, “we’re having a baby.”

you sat like that for a while, letting him press kisses to your hair and your temples, every doubt in your mind slowly fading away. all because of him.

— four.

the machines beeping slowly faded into the background as the two of you looked down at your beautiful baby girl. the pink blanket wrapped around her small frame, her finger holding onto lando’s. it was a sight that would make any heartless man cry.

you smiled, leaning your head on his shoulder as you sat together on the hospital bed, your voice low, “we made the cutest little girl.”

“she’s got your eyes,” he mumbled softly, admiring the beauty of his daughter. all of each of your best traits compiled into one tiny little human. a human that was already loved by so many and who had so many people excited to meet her.

two of those many people knocking on the door gently. you and lando smiled, you laughing at the ridiculously large teddy bear that was almost as tall as the man carrying it.

“he saw it in the gift shop window and insisted,” p laughed, “he said he would be ‘the worst uncle ever’ if he didn’t get it, even though i said she’d never know.”

you and lando laughed as max put the giant bear next to all the other gifts. the little girl was only 5 hours old and has already met all her grandparents and aunties and uncles. everyone had either shown up with balloons, flowers or a little baby outfit. oscar had shown up with a custom made mclaren shirt, one that of course had the australian and the british flag on it.

but max was taking the cake with the giant teddy bear.

“she would hate me, i know it,” max said, smiling softly at his friend who was holding the little girl so delicately, “would you look at that. already a daddy’s girl.”

“i fear she was like that since she was in the womb,” you said, “she’d kick me every time she heard him talk.”

“she was just excited to hear her papa,” lando joked and you all laughed softly as you looked over to the couple in front of you, “you guys wanna hold her?”

pietra nodded excitedly, taking the sleeping baby from lando’s arms gently before sitting in the reclining chair next to the bed. max stood next to her, half sitting on the arm rest as he smiled down at the little girl.

“what name did you come up with?” max asked, raising his head to look at the two of you.

you told them her name and the two of them smiled, “very fitting.”

“isn’t it?!” you smiled, “lando didn’t like it at first.”

“shocker,” max joked and lando raised his hands in mock surrender.

“i like it now,” he said, “that’s all that matters.”

“she’s perfect,” pietra said, “oh my goodness, look! she’s got a lando mole!”

“i know!” you cooed, “that was the first thing i said!”

lando and max shook their heads and laughed at their partners. you laid your head on his shoulder again, the two of you smiling as you watched max look at her with love in his eyes. he was ready to do anything for this baby girl like his life depended on it.

“wanna hold her, max?”

max was hesitant, but agreed when p urged him. he sat in the chair and let her put the baby girl into his arms. just as he got situated, she woke up from her nap. happy gurgles and a giggle escaping from her lips when she opened her eyes and saw max.

“oh my goodness, look at you,” he smiled, “hello little one! i’m your uncle max.”

you smiled as she made happy baby noises, ineligible but still cute. and most importantly, happy.

“so, we were thinking and we wanted to ask you, with your guys’ approval of course,” lando started, “we want you guys to be her godparents.”

the two of them looked at you with slightly wide eyes, “you’re serious?”

you both nodded, “we don’t see why not.”

“immediately yes, of course!” p smiled, leaning over to hug the both of you. you laughed, hugging her back as max looked to his best friend with happy tears in his eyes.

“thank you, buddy.”

lando nodded, smiling as he wiped his own tears from his eyes, “you guys mean the world to us, so. it’s the least we can do, really.”

“yknow, the name maxine has a really nice ring to it,” max joked and all of you laughed.

“i don’t think so, bud.”

“worth a shot.”

you smiled up at lando who turned his neck to smile back at you. you giggled softly when he placed a soft kiss to the tip of your nose, leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

you both laid there in complete contentment as you watched your best friends giggle and play with the little girl in max’s arms. almost all the people you loved in the same room, your whole heart together.

you were sure that this is what life was all about. moments like these.

— five.

“guys! everyone’s gonna be here soon!” you yelled up the stairs, mainly talking to your now husband, but instead, your freshly turned three year old daughter popped up at the top of the stairs.

“momma! come look!”

you giggled softly, making your way up the stairs and following your daughter into her bedroom.

“what’re you guys up to?”

“look!” she beamed, bringing you a piece of paper, “we drew daddy’s race car!”

you smiled down at you husband who smiled back at you, “don’t forget, we drew uncle oscar’s too, baby.”

the little girl bounced up and down, “look, mommy! uncle oscar!”

you laughed, crouching down next to lando who had found himself in one of the tiny chairs. you looked at the pictures they drew, “are you gonna give it to uncle oscar and aunt lily when they get here?”

“yeah!” she smiled, “but i want daddy to keep his.”

“i’m gonna hang it on the highest spot on the fridge,” lando smiled, “so everyone can see just how talented my little girl is.”

you smiled at the two as he picked her up, standing up with her on his hip. you were impressed he managed to get out of the tiny wooden chair with no help.

you stood with them, smiling as you tried to fix your daughters unruly curls, “we gotta get you changed, little miss. everyone’s gonna be here soon.”

“everyone for my birthday party?”

you nodded, “yep! everyone’s coming to celebrate the birthday girl!”

she laughed and smiled as lando tickled her sides playfully. you laughed with them, your whole heart in one tiny little room.

the doorbell rang and you smiled, calling back to the two as you moved to get the door, “hurry up! everyone’s coming!”

you laughed when you heard her and lando talking about princess dresses and tutus, jogging down the stairs to open the door. you smiled when you were met with cisca and adam, bringing them into a hug before they came inside.

“hi honey!” cisca smiled.

“hi guys!” you smiled, “how’re you? how was the drive?”

“good!” adam said, “drive wasn’t too bad.”

“not at all!” cisca smiled, “i just can’t believe she’s three already.”

you nodded, “me either.”

and speaking of the devil, she came barreling down the stairs. bright pink princess dress on topped with the matching tiara to sit on top of her messy brown curls. ones that resembled lando’s.

“grandma! grandpa!”

“hey, little one!”

“there’s the birthday girl!”

you spent a few minutes catching up with his parents before others started to show up. and before you knew it, you had a full house of people who came up to celebrate your daughters birthday. a house full of love.

you smiled as she played with the other kids invited, lando’s arm wrapping around you. you smiled, leaning into his side as you watched your daughter laugh and smile.

“i know we’ve talked about it a bit before, but would you want another?” he asked, looking over at you. you met his eyes, smiling softly before nodding.

“yeah, i do,” you smiled, looking back into the yard, “i feel like she would like a sibling, too.”

he nodded, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, “me too.”

“there you two are!” you heard max before the sound of the back door closing caught your attention, max and p waking towards you two with smiles, “we’ve been looking for you.”

“what’s up?” you asked.

p handed you an envelope with a smile, her diamond ring sparkling brightly in the sunshine, “we’ve been wanting to tell you in person, and maybe your daughters birthday isn’t the best time to tell you, but, we wanted to tell you before everyone else.”

you both looked at them confused before lando opened the envelope, the sonogram picture making both of your eyes go wide. they smiled as you squealed happily, pulling p into a hug.

“you’re kidding!? this is great!!” you smiled, lando pulling his best friend into a hug as well. the four of you laughing and smiling.

“congrats, mate!” lando smiled.

“yknow what this means, right?” you asked and p nodded happily.

“baby clothes shopping!”

“oh my god,” max groaned playfully, looking to his friend as the two girls talked about baby clothes, “does it end?”

lando smiled, shaking his head as he watched you laugh and smile with p, “no, but that’s the best part.”

it was true. the best parts of his life always contained you. the other half of his beating heart.

you smiled at lando as p showed you all the different ideas she had for the nursery already. he smiled back, love written all over his face.

he solidified it by mouthing those 3 words, ‘i love you’.

‘i love you, too’.

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angelseraphines · 3 months ago

Text

ೃ⁀➷ gods and monsters ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🦢 ꒱

╰┈➤ hwang in-ho x wife!reader imagine

a/n: i would like to give a special thank you to @lumillsie for the layout of this post and for the filter used on the header!

˚ ༘♡ you cherished your husband, your family, and the life you had created together. hwang in-ho was a man of contradictions, capable of immense love and devotion. he treated you with such care, as though you were the most precious thing in his world. his adoration was tangible in every gesture, every lingering glance. yet beneath that tenderness was a darkness you struggled to reconcile. this same man, who held your hand with precious affection, was also the masked overseer of the squid game, a series of merciless challenges where the desperate competed, often at the cost of their lives, for a staggering cash prize.

˚ ༘♡ you could never truly fathom it. the man who pressed sweet kisses to your forehead at night was the same monster who orchestrated a spectacle of death and suffering. he claimed no pleasure in it, but the mere fact of his involvement unsettled you. the gleaming black mask, the command he held over every horrific detail, it was a world so far removed from the comfort of your home, yet it belonged to him all the same.

˚ ༘♡ only once had he asked if you wished to attend, to see what he called “his other life.” the question had terrified you to your core, your lips parting in silent dismay. you hadn’t needed to answer. the way your expression shifted, the way fright and disapproval glared across your pallid face, was enough. he never brought it up again, never risked shattering the fragile balance he had created between his two identities.

˚ ༘♡ you were a mother to a healthy three-year-old son, who filled your days with laughter and energy, and you were carrying another child, though you had yet to tell your husband. the news remained a quiet secret, one you turned over in your mind during the solitude of the evening. it wasn’t fear of his reaction that kept you silent. hwang in-ho adored his family, there was no question of that, but the thought of bringing another life into the shadow of the games unsettled you.

˚ ༘♡ you tried to focus on being the woman you wanted to be, a loving mother, a supportive partner. in many ways, you succeeded. you tucked your son in every night with whispered stories and soft lullabies, kept your home warm and welcoming, and met your husband’s gaze with as much love as you could muster, even when doubts crept into the corners of your mind.

˚ ༘♡ when your worries became too much to bear, he would sense it, always. he would take your hands in his, his voice calm, his tone measured. “think of me as two men,” he would say, his words a plea for understanding. “there is hwang in-ho, your husband, your partner, the father of our children. and then there is the front man, a role i play, a mask i wear.”

˚ ༘♡ you wanted to believe him, to hold on to the idea that the man who kissed you tenderly each morning could be separate from the one who orchestrated so much pain. but no matter how you tried to comprehend it, there were nights when the thought of who he was beyond your shared walls kept you awake, your heart aching with questions you couldn’t bring yourself to ask.

˚ ༘♡ you tried with all your might to separate the two sides of the man you loved, the front man and your husband, hwang in-ho. but when he told you he wouldn’t be able to contact you during this year’s games, the delicate balance you had worked so hard to maintain crumbled. the weight of his words refused to settle, tearing at you, and you couldn’t bring yourself to simply let it go.

˚ ༘♡ “every year, you’ve managed to visit after the game for the day. what’s different this time?” you asked, your voice trembling with desperation.

˚ ༘♡ at first, he deflected, his tone dismissive as if your concerns were unwarranted. but as your worry grew, it became impossible for him to ignore. the strain in your expression, the way your voice cracked when you spoke, it was enough to wear him down. even your son had begun to notice, his small hands tugging at your sleeve, his innocent eyes filled with confusion at the tension that filled the air.

˚ ༘♡ with a frustrated sigh, in-ho finally relented. his hand enveloped yours, warm and steady against your trembling fingers. “i will be there this year,” he admitted, his voice hushed and measured. “as a player.”

˚ ༘♡ the words sent a chill through you, and your breath caught in your throat. “what? why?” you asked, your disbelief slicing through the tension.

˚ ༘♡ his gaze locked onto yours. “there is someone returning to the games this year,” he began, his tone careful. “a former player, a winner in fact. he’s likely to cause complications, and… i can’t deny the intrigue of watching him. this year will be different. i’ve decided to stay close by instead of observing from a distance.”

˚ ༘♡ fury and agony surged within you, and your hands shook as you lightly struck his chest, the beating driven by hysteria. “you idiot!” you yelled. “you can’t guarantee you’ll be safe! have you even thought about your family? what about our son?”

˚ ༘♡ he caught your wrist gently, his grip cautious, his face softening as he pulled you closer. “i will not be in danger,” he said, his voice calm but insistent. “i promise you that.”

˚ ༘♡ still, his assurance wasn’t enough. it didn’t stop the knot in your stomach from tightening or the ache in your chest from growing far more intense. the words you spoke next tumbled out before you had a chance to think them through. “if that’s true, then you won’t have any problem with me coming along!”

˚ ༘♡ the declaration hung in the air, sharp and sudden. even you were startled by it, your heart pounding in your chest as the misery of your demand settled between you. fear and anger had driven you to say it, but now it was too late to take it back. you searched his face for a reaction, your pulse racing.

˚ ༘♡ “don’t speak such nonsense again," he said firmly, his tone cutting through the tension in the room. "you have our son to think about. i am going, and i’ll return in a week. this is final."

˚ ༘♡ “no!” you shot back, the tremor in your voice betraying your growing panic. “if you’re going, then i’m coming with you. you told me it’s safe.” your eyes darted toward your son, who had long fallen asleep, blissfully unaware of the battle unfolding. a wave of guilt swept over you, tightening your throat. “he can stay with the household staff for a week. do you think i could take care of him properly while i’m sick with worry about you?”

˚ ༘♡ his brow furrowed, the sharp lines of irritation creasing his weary face. “you’re being unreasonable,” he said, his voice hard, though it faltered slightly as he began pacing the room. each step was measured, purposeful, as though he were trying to walk away from the argument itself. “this is dangerous enough without you there complicating things.”

˚ ༘♡ “and you’re being infuriating,” you countered, your tone rising as desperation overtook your earlier composure. “do you think I’d forgive myself if something happened to you while i stayed here and did nothing? you’re asking too much of me.” your voice cracked, the weight of your despair spilling into the room.

˚ ༘♡ the argument carried on into the late hour, a nightmare of clashing scorn and unresolved fears. he tried to dismiss you, to shut you down with reason, but you refused to back down. your agony, raw and untamed, eventually drove you to the brink. “if you go without me, i’ll leave,” you said, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “i’ll take our son, and i’ll leave.”

˚ ༘♡ the silence that followed was deafening. he froze, his gaze snapping to yours, searching your face for the truth. you hated the lie, the hollowness of your own threat, but it was all you had left. leaving him wasn’t something you could ever do, but the thought of him walking into danger alone was unbearable.

˚ ༘♡ he exhaled sharply, his shoulders sagging under the burden of his dilemma. “fine,” he said at last, his voice clipped and low. “if you’re coming, then there are conditions… rules that have to be carefully followed.”

˚ ༘♡ your relief was immediate but short-lived as his words settled over you like a heavy cloak. “what conditions?” you asked, your voice softer now, cautious.

˚ ༘♡ “we’ll need to use false identities," he explained, his tone deliberate, each word chosen with care. "to everyone involved, we’re strangers. no one can know who we are, not even that we’re connected."

˚ ༘♡ the practicality of his demand sent a shiver down your spine, even as you nodded in agreement. the idea of pretending he was nothing more than a stranger felt unnatural, wrong, but you couldn’t argue. “i understand,” you murmured, though the knot in your stomach tightened with every passing second.

˚ ༘♡ he didn’t respond immediately, his gaze lingering on you as though considering whether you truly grasped what you were stepping into. when he finally looked away, you felt no sense of victory, only the forthcoming horror of what lay ahead.

˚ ༘♡ the games were set to begin in exactly one week, and each passing day left you feeling more unsettled. every time your husband pulled you into his arms, the unease lingered beneath the surface, making it difficult to fully surrender to his warmth. though you tried to find comfort in his presence, the thought of what lay ahead clouded every shared moment.

˚ ༘♡ you had entrusted your son to the most reliable and loyal members of the household staff, ensuring that he would be cared for in your absence. you also took great care to conceal any sign of your pregnancy. if in-ho discovered the truth, he would never allow you to join him, and staying behind was not an option you could accept.

˚ ༘♡ he had laid out the plan with meticulous precision. the two of you would arrive after the chaos of the first game, red light, green light. as he explained it, a large portion of the participants would undoubtedly be eliminated once they grasped the deadly reality of the games. the aftermath of that horror would provide cover for your entrance, allowing you to integrate without raising suspicion.

˚ ༘♡ your husband would take on the identity of player 001, an unassuming participant with no visible ties to you. your alias would be player 077, your stories carefully crafted to fit the narrative. his fabricated reason for joining the games was both haunting and ironic, he claimed he needed money for his pregnant wife. when he first told you this, a wave of panic washed over you, thinking he might have discovered your secret. but as you studied his expression, his calm demeanor revealed no hint of realization.

˚ ༘♡ for your feigned story, he decided you would play the role of a young woman drowning in debt, struggling to pay off the burdens left behind by your late father. the lie felt strangely fitting, yet it unsettled you all the same. every detail he crafted for your cover seemed so calculated, so detached, it was as though he had rehearsed this for far longer than he let on. this game of life and death was nothing more than a facade for him.

˚ ༘♡ you nodded along as he explained the plan, his voice unwavering. though the words were spoken with care, they failed to soothe the growing tension within you. each step of the plan felt cold, clinical, designed to strip away any sense of the life you shared outside these games. with every passing day, the distance between hwang in-ho, your husband, and the front man became more glaring, and you wondered if you could truly separate the two when it mattered most.

˚ ༘♡ you knelt by your son’s bedside, planting a soft kiss against his forehead. his small hand clung to your finger, and for a vanishing moment, you felt the crushing weight of guilt threaten to undo you. you whispered promises you weren’t sure you could keep, telling him you would be back soon, that everything would be fine. as his breathing slowed in sleep, you lingered a minute longer, memorizing the curve of his face and the delicate skin of his tiny hand before slipping away with your husband.

˚ ༘♡ the player uniforms were a tight, oppressive reminder of the role you had agreed to take on. the white and forest-green fabric felt rough against your skin, the stitched numbers, 001 on him, 077 on you, marking you both as part of this wicked charade. the air between you was dense with unspoken tension as you followed his lead into the heart of the games.

˚ ༘♡ the aftermath of the first game hit you like a physical blow. scarlet-red blood smeared the walls, the metallic stench thick enough to taste. lifeless bodies were being dragged away by masked figures, their uniforms pristine against the carnage. your stomach churned violently, and you had to bite down hard to keep from retching. your husband walked ahead, his pace measured, his face a mask of icy detachment.

˚ ༘♡ yet, even as he feigned indifference, you noticed the subtle tension p his clenched fists and the hard line of his jaw. no matter how disciplined and resolute he was, pretending you were a stranger clearly cost him some of his will power.

˚ ༘♡ you entered the massive dormitory, a cavernous space where the remaining players huddled in groups, their expressions etched with terror and disbelief. the room was alive with murmurs, frantic whispers of confusion and distress as they tried to process what had happened. the realization of the deadly nature of the games hung over the crowd, suffocating and inescapable.

˚ ༘♡ abruptly, a piercing voice broke through the calamity, commanding and filled with urgency. all eyes turned to player 456, a man whose presence seemed to dominate the room. his words were bold, calling for a vote in accordance with the consent clause, a chance for the players to decide whether they would continue or abandon the games. the idea rippled through the crowd, igniting faint glimmers of hope in some and deepening the despair in others.

˚ ༘♡ your husband moved slightly, a subtle shift in his stance catching your attention. his gaze flicked toward you, so brief it was almost imperceptible. then, with deliberate movements, he traced a small circle on the back of his hand, an action so precise it disturbed you. he turned away before you could react, his focus now on the masked enforcers who were setting up the voting station.

˚ ༘♡ it took you a moment to understand the message. he wanted you to vote in favor of continuing the games. the realization landed suddenly. you clenched your fists, your nails biting into your palms as you tried to steady yourself. the thought of condemning the remaining players to more death and suffering was unbearable, but you understood what his silent gesture meant. if the games ended now, everything he had planned, every risk he had taken, would amount to nothing.

˚ ༘♡ the apprehension caused your chest to tighten further as the masked figures prepared the voting station, their movements mechanical and precise. the voices of the players rose, some pleading for an end, others arguing to stay. you felt your pulse quicken, the enormity of what you were about to do pressing down on you as you prepared to cast a vote that would decide not only the fate of the players but the course of your husband’s dangerous mission.

a/n: the winner of the fanfiction vote, but i will definitely be writing for cho sang-woo as well! i hope you all enjoy reading! let me know if you have anymore requests! 🤍

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