#i was not prepared for it when i first watched it

[lostfracturess]

HOW TO FAKE DATE A DOCTOR — SATORU GOJO

pairing — doctor!satoru gojo x fem!reader

summary — for six months, you've watched dr. satoru gojo order the sweetest coffee on your menu every morning at exactly 7:15 AM. for six months, you've convinced yourself his intense stares must mean he's spotted something medically concerning about you—maybe a suspicious mole or concerning symptom. but when a desperate white lie about a fake boyfriend results in him volunteering to play the part at your family's christmas dinner, what begins as a simple pretend relationship might just turn into something real.

word count — 9 k

genre/tags — coffee shop AU, holiday romance, fake dating, friends to lovers, mutual pining, slow burn, fluff, idiots in love, reader is a med student and barista, gojo is a cardiologist, age difference (reader is 25/gojo early 30s)

warnings — 16+ ONLY. contains suggestive sexual content, non-graphic medical talk

author's note — hey lovelies, welcome to my first attempt at a holiday romance. this was meant to be a short drabble but somehow turned into this 9 k words of pure fluff and pining. it's my little christmas gift to you all hehe. whether you're celebrating with family, working holiday shifts, or just enjoying a quiet day, hope this makes you smile. thank you for reading, and merry christmas !! <3 (fanart in the header)

masterlist

You first noticed him six months ago.

It wasn't just because he was strikingly handsome, with hair the color of fresh snow and the bluest eyes you'd ever seen, though that certainly didn't hurt. It wasn't even because of his white coat and the stethoscope casually draped around his neck, marking him as one of the doctors from the nearby hospital.

No, what caught your attention was the way he looked at you.

Every morning, like clockwork, the bell above the door would chime at precisely 7:15 AM, and Dr. Satoru Gojo would walk into your café. He'd order the sweetest drink on your menu (always with extra whipped cream), and while you prepared it, his eyes would follow your every movement.

It wasn't creepy or uncomfortable. And it definitely wasn't flirting — at least, you didn't think it was. Perhaps he saw something, a suspicious mole you'd never noticed, and now he was trying to figure out how to tell the coffee girl she’s dying without ruining her morning rush. 

That had to be it.

You’d catch his gaze lingering when he thought you weren't looking. Sometimes, he'd tilt his head slightly, a small, almost imperceptible smile playing on his lips. It made you wonder what he was thinking. Was he judging your latte art? Probably. You were still working on that.

But when you turned around to give him his iced vanilla latte with extra whipped cream and three shots of caramel (it never varied, not once in six months), he'd break his smile to you, his gaze softening for a second, and then his fingers would brush against yours as you handed him the paper cup.

He always thanked you with “Much appreciated”. It made your heart skip a beat, if you'd be honest. Not that you read all too much into it of course. And so for six months, this had been your routine. 

5:30 AM: Arrive at the café.

6:00 AM: Open up, prep for the day. 

7:13 AM: Start making his drink because you knew he'd walk in exactly two minutes later. 

7:15 AM: Heart fluttering slightly as your hand brushed his as you gave him his order.

10:00 AM: Shift end. 

10:30 AM: Rush to classes.

Some mornings, he’d arrive in wrinkled scrubs, the faint scent of antiseptic clinging to him. Other days, it was a tailored dress shirt, sometimes with a matching tie. But the routine never changed.

Same order, same time, the same easy smile that would soften slightly when you remembered his order without him having to say it. Not that it was hard to begin with. 

“Someone’s got a secret admirer,” Maki would say, nudging you with her elbow as Dr. Gojo left. You’d roll your eyes, but a faint blush crept up your neck anyway.

Between customers, you'd try to squeeze in some studying. The early morning shift wasn't exactly ideal, but it paid better, and you needed every cent you could get for your pre-med textbooks. Those things cost more than your rent, it felt like.

Your anatomy textbook usually lay open behind the counter, hidden from customers' view but accessible during slower moments. Sometimes, when the morning rush died down, you'd catch Dr. Gojo's eyes flickering to the pages as you made his latte. His expression would shift slightly, but he never commented on it.

You wondered sometimes if he was judging your highlighting technique (chaotic at best) or your margin notes (mostly question marks). He must have gone through all this years ago, probably with much more grace than your current fumbling through medical terminology.

The café job barely covered your expenses — between tuition, rent, and those damn textbooks — but at least it was flexible with your class schedule. Your manager understood when you needed to switch shifts for exams, and the free coffee helped during all-nighters.

Your coworkers thought you were crazy for taking such early shifts. "No one should be awake at 5:30 AM," they'd say. But they didn't understand the quiet peace of morning prep, the satisfaction of perfect latte art, or the way certain blue eyes would crinkle at the corners when you got his order just right.

It was a small thing, a fleeting smile, a brush of fingertips, but it was enough to make the early mornings, the aching feet, the constant struggle, almost worth it.

Not that you stuck to this schedule just for him. Obviously not. The extra dollar per hour for opening shift was the real motivator. The fact that it coincided with Dr. Gojo's apparent coffee schedule was just... coincidence.

Sometimes, during chaotic study sessions between customers, you'd catch him watching you mouth medical terms to yourself as you steamed milk. His eyes would linger on your textbook, then flick back to your face with that same intense look that made you wonder if he was counting your remaining days or something—or still trying to figure out if that one mole on your cheek was turning malignant.

The morning you had your anatomy midterm, your textbook sat next to the register, full of sticky notes and frantic annotations. You saw him notice it, saw something shift in his expression as he took in the obvious signs of exam stress. That day, he left an extra large tip with a small note that just said "Good luck."

It was probably just pity. He'd been through med school. He knew the hell you were going through. That had to be it. Absolutely. No other explanation.

That’s what you told yourself, anyway, as you added the note into your wallet, shoving it down next to a crumpled grocery list and a faded movie ticket stub, as if burying it under a pile of mundane objects could somehow bury the flutter in your chest.

For six months, this had been your life. Balancing early mornings, late classes, endless studying, and the mystery of a doctor who looked at you like you were a puzzle he couldn't quite solve.

So when he finally broke pattern that random rainy monday morning, it wasn't with some dramatic revelation about your health you’d imagined. Instead, he tilted his head slightly while waiting for his usual and said, "You changed your hair."

You nearly dropped the caramel syrup. After six months of intense stares and loaded silences, after convincing yourself he was cataloging your symptoms or contemplating your mortality, he was commenting on your hair?

"Oh." Your hand instinctively went to the ends you'd trimmed over the weekend. "Yeah, just a few inches."

"It suits you." He said it so casually, like he hadn't just shattered half a year of mysterious doctor mystique with three words. Then, with that same matter-of-fact tone, "The pathophysiology textbook you were reading last week—Robbins, right? It’s really good. Especially the part about metaplasia. Interesting stuff."

And just like that, the spell was broken. No terminal diagnosis. No earth-shattering revelations. Just a doctor who apparently noticed haircuts and had opinions about medical textbooks. 

The sudden normalcy of it all was almost jarring. For months, you’d been half-convinced he was silently cataloging your every freckle, every mole, every perceived imperfection, convinced he was about to deliver some devastating news. Now? He was talking about metaplasia. It was almot—anticlimactic. 

And, if you were being honest, a little embarrassing. All those covert checks in the reflection of the espresso machine, all those frantic Google searches for “atypical nevi”—for this?

You almost wanted to laugh.

After that day, your morning routine shifted slightly. He still came in at exactly 7:15, still ordered the same diabetis-inducing latte, still watched you work with those intense blue eyes the color of glacial ice. But now he'd occasionally comment on your study materials, or mention an interesting case that related to whatever chapter you were currently highlighting.

"Cardiac arrhythmias today?" he'd ask, spotting your textbook. "Had a case of atrial fibrillation yesterday. The patient presented with…" He’d then launch into a quick explanation, sketching a diagram on a napkin that somehow made more sense than three hours of lecture on the same topic.

Your coworkers were almost disappointed by this development. "That's it?" Maki had said when you told her. "Six months of smoldering looks and he just... helps you study?"

But somehow, it felt right. The mysterious doctor with pretty eyes turned out to be just a man who noticed details and perhaps had a soft spot for struggling med students. 

He still made your heart do that stupid flutter thing when his fingers brushed yours during the handoff, but now you had a perfectly logical explanation for that of course—the vagus nerve or some other equally fascinating cardiovascular phenomenon he'd just explained.

That had to be it.

Some mornings, when the café was quiet and you were stumped by a concept, he'd even linger a few minutes after getting his order. He’d lean against the counter, close enough that you could smell the faint scent of his cologne, gesturing with his cup while breaking down complex medical theories into digestible pieces, somehow making autoimmune disorders sound as simple as iced latte recipes. 

"You'll make a good doctor," he said one morning, completely out of nowhere and your cheeks flushed a deep crimson.

Your relationship—if you could even call it that—settled into something comfortably in-between. More than customer and barista, less than friends, but with a rhythm all its own. He'd quiz you while you made his usual, turning morning coffee runs into study sessions.

"Name three complications of chronic hypertension," he'd say while you pumped caramel into his cup.

"Increased risk of heart attack, stroke, and kidney disease," you'd reply, adding the extra shot of espresso he never actually ordered but always appreciated.

"Good. Now tell me about secondary causes."

One random Tuesday morning, however, the bell didn't chime at 7:15. You glanced at the clock, then back at the door. 

7:16. 

7:17. 

A knot of unease tightened in your stomach. It was ridiculous, really. Why did you even care? He was just a customer. A regular customer, yes, but still just a customer. It wasn't like you were waiting for him or anything. You were just—used to the routine. That was all. 

But despite your attempts at rationalization, a small, nagging worry began to gnaw at you. Had something happened? Was he okay? You found yourself staring at the door, your hand hovering over the espresso machine, your usual movements faltering slightly. You even messed up a latte, the foam swirling into a sad, lopsided blob instead of the usual pretty rosetta. 

At 7:20, just as you were about to convince yourself he’d just overslept and that you were being completely ridiculous, the bell finally rang. He rushed in, slightly out of breath, his cheeks flushed. "Sorry I'm late," he said, his voice a little rushed. "Crazy morning at the hospital."

He looked like he’d run all the way, which was odd. Why would he run? It’s not like his coffee was that important. Right? And yet, your stupid heart did a little flip at the sight of him, a traitorous swell of warmth blooming in your chest. He made it. He was here.

He stayed extra long that morning. After the rush died down, he listened to you recite your flashcards, correcting your pronunciation of medical terms with a patience that made you wonder if he moonlighted as a professor. It was a strange sort of intimacy, this shared moment of slow study amidst the busy morning rush and the soft hum of the refrigerators. 

And you never wanted that morning to end.

Your coworkers had stopped teasing you about him—mostly—and started asking if he could explain their own health questions instead. Then came the random stormy Wednesday that changed everything.

The morning had started normally enough—he arriving at 7:15 sharp, you already having his sugar latte ready. But the sky had opened up while he was waiting, rain drumming against the café windows. It wasn’t a gentle shower. It was a deluge, the kind that turned streets into rivers in minutes.

"Did you bring an umbrella?" he asked, watching you glance at the downpour.

"No," you sighed, already dreading the soggy walk to campus. "I checked the forecast last night—it said sunny all day." You internally cursed the weather app.

"When does your shift end?"

"Huh? Oh, uhm 10 AM. I have microbiology at 10:30."

His lips twitched into a faint smile and he left without another word. You tried not to feel disappointed—what had you expected? It's not like he could control the weather.

But at 10 AM sharp, as you were pulling your jacket tighter and preparing to make a run for it, you spotted him through the rain-streaked windows. He was standing outside the café in his white coat, holding a large dark blue umbrella. 

Your heart definitely did more than flutter this time.

"Ready?" he asked when you emerged, as if waiting in the pouring rain for some barista was perfectly normal doctor behavior.

"You didn't have to—"

"Can't have my favorite barista catching pneumonia," he said. "Besides, I'm heading that direction anyway." You knew for a fact the hospital was in the opposite direction.

The walk to campus was suddenly—intimate. It was strange being this close to him. You’d seen him every morning for months, but always across the counter, a safe distance separating you. Now, you were walking side-by-side, the scent of his cologne so close it made it hard to focus on anything but his proximity, to say the least.

"So, what are you studying in Microbiology?" he asked, breaking the silence.

"We're covering bacterial pathogenesis this week," you replied, and the conversation drifted naturally to a discussion of how different pathogens could affect various organ systems like it was normal small talk.

As other pedestrians passed, their own umbrellas bobbing and weaving, he’d subtly pull you closer. Each time he did, your breath would catch in your throat, and a fresh wave of warmth would wash over you. You were grateful for his height, because you were certain your cheeks were flushed a deep shade of red.

It was absurd, how flustered you were by such a simple act, but the feeling of his arm occasionally brushing against yours, the shared intimacy of the small space beneath the umbrella, was enough to send your heart racing.

Desperate to focus on something else, you blurted out, "What kind of doctor are you, anyway? I never actually asked."

"Cardiology," he replied simply.

“Cardiology,” you repeated, the word lingering on your tongue. A doctor of the heart. When you reached the medical sciences building, he paused, lowering the umbrella slightly. The rain had begun to ease, but the air still smelled wet and clean.

"Thanks," you said, meeting his gaze. "For the umbrella escort."

"Anytime." That soft smile again, the one that made your heart do a stupid little skip again.

As you watched him walk away, umbrella tilted against the rain, you realized something had shifted. Maybe you weren't quite friends, maybe you weren't quite anything definable, but whatever this was—it felt like the beginning of something. Something more than just sharing an umbrella on rainy days.

⋆꙳•❅•̩❅*̩‧͙ *̩❆₊˚｡❆

Winter arrived on a random thursday morning, transforming rain into snow and turning your early morning walks to work into arctic expeditions.

It was during one of these frigid mornings, while you were preparing Dr. Gojo's usual order and the steam from the espresso machines fogging up the frost-covered windows, that your phone rang. Your mother's contact photo flashed on the screen.

You answered with your phone pressed between ear and shoulder, still working the machines. "Hi, Mom."

"Sweetheart! I was just planning Christmas dinner. You're bringing someone this year, right? That nice boy from your anatomy class you mentioned?"

You winced, catching Dr. Gojo's raised eyebrow from where he stood at the counter. "Mom—"

"Because Aunt Marie's daughter just got engaged, and you know how she gets—"

"My boyfriend's actually busy with hospital rotations," you blurted out, immediately wanting to punch yourself. "He's, uh, very dedicated to his work."

"Boyfriend? Why didn't you tell me? What's his name? What does he—"

"Sorry, Mom, huge line forming, gotta go!" You hung up, letting your forehead thump against the coffee machine with a groan.

"That sounded stressful," Dr. Gojo commented, amusement clear in his voice.

You looked up to find him watching you with that slight smile that always made you shiver. "Just my mom being... my mom." You resumed making his latte. "She's convinced that at twenty-five, I'm practically a spinster."

"Ah." He tilted his head. "And this fictional boyfriend with hospital rotations?"

Your cheeks heated. "Seemed easier than explaining why I'm still single. Between work, classes, and studying, I barely have time to sleep, let alone date." You handed him his usual. "Plus, now she'll stop trying to set me up with every eligible male she meets through her book club."

"A creative solution," he said, taking a sip. "Though hospital rotations over Christmas? Sounds like a terrible boyfriend." A playful smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

"Yeah, well, imaginary men are often disappointing." You started wiping down the counter, needing something to do with your hands. "At least this way I'll have a few weeks of peace before I have to tell her we broke up."

"Sounds like you've done this before," he observed, watching you attack an imaginary coffee stain with perhaps too much force.

"Is it that obvious?" You sighed, abandoning your fake cleaning. "Last year he was studying abroad. The year before that, he was sick. I'm running out of excuses, honestly. Pretty sure my mom's stopped believing me, but she plays along because it's less awkward than admitting we both know I'm lying."

He made a thoughtful sound, then pulled out his prescription pad (why did doctors always carry those around anyway?). You watched, confused, as he scribbled something down and slid it across the counter.

"Here," he said. "My number. Call me during Christmas dinner."

You stared at him. "What?"

"Well, your imaginary boyfriend should at least make an effort, don't you think?" His eyes held that familiar amusement. "I'll tell your mom all about my very important hospital rounds, maybe throw in some medical words. Make it convincing."

You stared at him, mouth slightly agape. Was he… offering to pretend to be your boyfriend? You couldn't quite process what was happening. 

"You know," he said, after you'd probably been quiet for too long, "some of us actually do work hospital rotations over Christmas."

"I know, I just—" You stopped, realizing how her words might have sounded. "Oh god, I didn't mean to imply… I know you probably have to work during the holidays too, I wasn't trying to—"

"Someone has to make sure all those Christmas dinner caused heart attacks are properly treated," he interrupted, that familiar, almost-smirk back on his face, easing the tension in your shoulders. "Though I do get Christmas morning off this year."

You couldn't tell if he was trying to make you feel better about your lie, your accidental insult, or just sharing information. With Dr. Gojo, it was often hard to tell. After a moment of stunned silence, you managed, "Are you… sure?"

"Perfectly.”

"Thank you," you said, finally finding your voice as you picked up the slip of paper. "Really, thank you."

"Anytime," he said, that familiar, soft smile gracing his lips. "Consider it a Christmas gift. From your very dedicated, albeit fictional, boyfriend."

As you watched him leave, coffee in hand and snowflakes catching in his white hair. Even if he was probably going to tease you endlessly about your fictional, workaholic boyfriend for weeks to come, a small, stupid part of you was already looking forward to it.

⋆꙳•❅•̩❅*̩‧͙ *̩❆₊˚｡❆

The Christmas dinner was a random Friday night.

The table, laden with enough food to feed a small army, was surrounded by the usual suspects and the dinner turned out to be exactly as excruciating as you'd expected. You'd barely made it through the appetizers before the interrogation began.

"So, this boyfriend of yours," Aunt Marie started. "What did you say he does again?"

"He's a doctor," you said into your mashed potatoes.

"A doctor!" your mother brightened. "You never mentioned that part."

Your cousin Sarah leaned forward. "What kind of doctor? Where did he study? How did you meet?"

You were considering faking a sudden illness when your phone buzzed. Dr. Gojo's name lit up your screen with a video call request. You hadn't even suggested a video call—he was truly committing to this.

"Oh, that's him now!" Your mother said, clapping her hands together. "Put him on speaker!"

Before you could protest, you were surrounded by a sea of curious relatives as you answered the call. The screen filled with Dr. Gojo's face, and—oh god—he was actually in scrubs, in what looked like a real operating room.

"Hey, my love," he said as if it was the most natural thing in the world, and the casual nickname hit you like a train, making you forget your own name. You felt your cheeks flush and it didn’t help that he somehow managed to look unfairly handsome even under the surgical lights. "Sorry I couldn't make it. We had an emergency valve replacement come in."

"Are you... actually in surgery right now?" you asked.

"Just finished!" He tilted the phone slightly to show a glimpse of a team of medical staff behind him, all of whom waved. One even gave a thumbs up. "Thought I'd catch you before dessert. Is that your family I see?"

Your entire extended family crammed themselves into frame, cooing and waving at your "doctor boyfriend" who was dedicated enough to call from work.

"Oh my god, he's gorgeous," your cousin said.

"Dr. Gojo," your mother pushed forward, "we're so disappointed you couldn't join us. Though of course, saving lives comes first!"

"Please, call me Satoru," he said, flashing that unfairly attractive smile of his. "And I'm more disappointed than anyone. I was really looking forward to trying your famous apple pie that your daughter keeps telling me about."

Your mother clutched her chest, delighted. You had never once mentioned her apple pie to him. 

"Are those Christmas decorations I see in the OR?" your aunt squinted at the screen.

And indeed, there were actual Christmas lights strung up in the background. Either this hospital was very festive, or he'd gone to ridiculous lengths for this act.

"We try to keep the holiday spirit alive, even here," he said, then suddenly looked off-screen. "Oh, looks like we have another emergency coming in." Dramatic beeping noises increased in the background. "I'm so sorry, but duty calls. It was lovely meeting you all!"

"Such a dedicated young man," your mother sighed after you ended the call.

"So handsome too," Aunt Marie added. "Those eyes!"

You slumped in your chair, caught between mortification and amusement. He really didn't have to go that far—the Christmas lights in the OR? The perfectly timed “emergency”? The entire surgical team playing along? It was almost impressive.

Your phone buzzed with a text: 'How'd I do? The lights were my colleague's idea. They says Merry Christmas, by the way. Your family seems nice.'

Another buzz, a separate message: 'Also, I expect a slice of that famous apple pie at the café tomorrow. After that performance, I think I've earned it.'

You typed back: 'You are absolutely insufferable. That was completely over the top.'

His response came almost instantly: 'Is that any way to talk to your dedicated doctor boyfriend who just saved a life AND charmed your entire family? I'm hurt.'

Despite yourself, you smiled.

Your phone buzzed one more time: 'By the way, your cousin already found my hospital's public contact info and sent a friend request. Should I accept? I feel like a committed boyfriend would.'

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. He was absolutely loving this. 

Way too much.

The next morning, you weren't surprised when he showed up at his usual 7:15, despite it being his day off. What did surprise you was that he was still wearing scrubs. They were rumpled, like he'd been wearing them for a while.

"Please tell me you didn't actually work all night just to make that video call more convincing," you said as he approached the counter.

"You know, I am a doctor in real life, right? This isn't just a cover for your mom." He smirked. "But anyway, just finished an actual emergency shift." He glanced at the paper bag you had waiting next to his usual sugary coffee. "Is that… what I think it is?"

"Your well-earned reward for yesterday's Oscar-worthy performance." You handed him both coffee and pie. "Though I still can't believe you got your entire surgical team to play along."

"Bold of you to assume I had to ask." He took a bite of the pie and his eyes widened slightly. "Okay, your mom's reputation is deserved. This is actually amazing."

"Yeah, well, enjoy it while it lasts, because—" You hesitated, took a deep breath, and decided to just rip the bandage off. "She invited you to dinner. Tomorrow."

He paused mid-bite. "Oh?"

"I told her you're probably busy—"

"What time?"

You stared at him. "What?"

"What time is dinner?" He took another bite of pie, looking perfectly casual about the whole thing. "I actually have Sunday evening off, and this pie has convinced me your mom's cooking is worth experiencing in person."

"You can't be serious."

"Why not?" He shrugged. "I've already met them virtually. Might as well complete the experience. Unless you're worried I'll embarrass you?"

"I'm worried you'll be too convincing again," you said. "My mom's already planning our wedding, by the way. She told me this morning that your 'dedication to work' proves you'd be a good husband."

"Well, I'd hate to disappoint a future mother-in-law."

"This isn't funny!"

"It's a little funny." He leaned against the counter, grinning. "Come on, one dinner. I promise to be slightly less charming this time."

"Somehow I doubt that's possible," you said before you could stop yourself.

His smile widened. "Was that a compliment?"

"That was a complaint about your inability to do anything halfway." You busied yourself with wiping down the already clean counter. "But fine. Sunday at seven. Try not to bring Christmas lights this time."

"No promises." He pushed off from the counter, taking his coffee and pie. "Oh, and by the way?"

"Hmm?"

"I accepted your cousin's friend request. She's already invited me to your family's New Year's party."

He was halfway to the door when he paused, turning back with an expression that was softer than his usual teasing smile. "You look pretty today, by the way. The new sweater suits you." 

You froze, your heart skipping a beat. You hadn't even realized he'd noticed you'd changed from your usual work shirt into a cozy sweater for your afternoon classes.

He was out the door before you could stammer out a response, leaving you to wonder what exactly you had gotten yourself into. And why one simple, genuine compliment made your heart race more than all his dramatic boyfriend performances combined.

⋆꙳•❅•̩❅*̩‧͙ *̩❆₊˚｡❆

Sunday evening found you pacing a worn path in the carpet by your parents' front door, checking your phone every two minutes. 7:15 came and went—apparently his almost unnervingly precise timing only applied to coffee runs. 

You tried to convince yourself it was fine, that doctors had unpredictable schedules, but a nervous flutter had taken up residence in your stomach.

At 7:20, your mom’s worried, "Maybe he got called into surgery?" was interrupted by the doorbell. You took a deep breath, smoothing down your dress, and opened the door.

Standing there was Dr. Gojo—Satoru, you supposed you should call him now—looking slightly disheveled in a way that somehow only emphasized his unfairly attractive features. His white dress shirt, though slightly untucked at the waist, bore the clear signs of a hurried ironing, and he was carrying what looked like an expensive bottle of wine—definitely not the kind you’d find at the corner store.

"I'm so sorry," he said, running a hand through his already slightly tousled white hair. "Emergency consultation ran late, and then traffic was—"

"It's fine," you interrupted, a wave of relief washing over you. He’d actually come. "Really. You didn't have to—"

But the rest of your sentence disappeared into a surprised squeak as he stepped forward, closing the small gap between you. He leaned in and gently pressed a kiss to your cheek, his free hand settling naturally on your waist, just above your hip, as if he’d done it a hundred times before.

"Hi," he whispered against your ear, and you could hear the smile in his voice. "Missed you today at the café."

You stood frozen, brain short-circuiting from the casual intimacy of it all. This wasn't part of the plan. You hadn't discussed... this. The way his hand felt warm through your dress, how his cologne made you slightly dizzy, how natural it felt to have him this close. It was as if your body already knew this was right, even if your mind was still scrambling to catch up.

"I... you..." Words. You needed words. "You're late."

He pulled back just enough to give you that familiar amused look. "And you're blushing."

Before you could even process that observation—or the fact that your heart was currently attempting to beat its way out of your chest—your mother appeared behind you. "Satoru! We're so glad you could make it!"

He smoothly stepped past you to greet your parents, all charm and apologies for his lateness, seamlessly weaving a plausible story about a last-minute emergency consult and unexpected traffic. He shook your father’s hand with just the right amount of respectful firmness and charmed your mother with a compliment about her festive decorations. All while he left you standing in the doorway, slightly dazed, trying to remember how to perform basic human functions like breathing and blinking.

The slight smirk he threw over his shoulder as he joined the others in the living room told you he knew exactly what he'd done.

Insufferable man.

The dinner was simultaneously the longest and shortest evening of your life. Satoru slipped into the role of doting boyfriend with an unsettling ease, weaving medical anecdotes (carefully tailored for a non-medical audience) and charming compliments into the conversation like he'd been rehearsing for weeks. He even managed to compliment Aunt Marie’s notoriously sweet cheesecake without visibly wincing.

He sat close enough that your legs brushed under the table, his hand finding its way to your knee during your mother's third attempt to bring up wedding venues (she was already browsing bridal magazines online, you’d noticed). The casual touch, which should have made you incredibly nervous, instead felt strangely good, like a shared secret between the two of you in the midst of the family chaos.

"And how did you two actually meet?" your aunt asked over dessert.

"She makes the best coffee in the city," Satoru answered smoothly, his thumb drawing absent circles on your thigh beneath the tablecloth. "Though it took me months to work up the courage to say more than my order."

You nearly choked on your wine. He was mixing truth and fiction so seamlessly you almost believed it yourself. 

Every story he told had just enough reality to make you question your own memory. He mentioned how you study between customers, but added details about imaginary conversations. He even talked about your first "date" with such specificity that you found yourself half-believing it had happened.

His hand never left your leg for long, occasionally squeezing gently when your relatives’ questions became too invasive. Somehow, he’d effortlessly positioned himself as both the charming guest and the attentive boyfriend, deflecting awkward questions with a disarming smile. And you’d never been so grateful for anything in your life as you were for him breaking the pattern on that random, rainy Monday morning.

"He even helped me with pathophysiology," you found yourself saying, leaning into him slightly, enjoying it. Two could play at this game.

"She didn't need much help," he replied, his voice laced with a warmth that sounded genuinely proud. It made your heart flutter. "Just someone to hold her flashcards while she made my ridiculously sweet coffee."

Your father, who hadn't said much all evening, finally smiled. "She works too hard sometimes."

"She does," Satoru agreed, his hand sliding just a fraction higher on your thigh under the table. "Though that's one of the things I admire most about her." A wave of heat rushed to your face, and you quickly looked away, focusing on a particularly uninteresting spot on the tablecloth. This is getting out of hand.

As the conversation shifted to some other topic—something about your uncle's questionable golf swing—you leaned in slightly, whispering just loud enough for him to hear, "You're awfully charming."

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping lower so that only you could hear. "Funny, you don't seem to hate it." You felt your cheeks burn even hotter now.

By the time dinner ended, your mother was completely smitten, your aunts were bickering over who would host the next family gathering (with Satoru as the guest of honor, of course), and your cousin had somehow convinced him to follow her Instagram—and had already tagged him in three separate stories.

It was all too smooth, too perfect, too real. 

The way he helped you clear the table, his hand brushing the small of your back in a casual, yet intimate touch as he passed. How he effortlessly recalled every detail you’d ever mentioned about your family, from your grandmother’s obsession with crossword puzzles to your father’s love of bad puns. The soft, lingering looks he gave you when he thought no one was watching, filled with an emotion you couldn't quite decipher.

"You're very good at this," you said as you stood side by side at the sink, washing dishes after dinner.

"At what?"

"Playing pretend."

His hands paused for just a moment. "Who says I'm pretending?"

The wine glass you were drying slipped from your suddenly nerveless fingers. You managed to catch it before it shattered on the tile floor, but not before making enough noise to draw his attention.

"Hey." His hand was immediately at your waist, steadying you. "You okay?"

"Fine! I'm fine, just—" You set the glass down carefully, very aware of how close he was standing.  When you turned to face him, you found yourself effectively trapped between his broad frame and the hard edge of the kitchen counter. "Slippery hands. From the... soap."

"Hmm." His eyes searched your face, and for a fleeting moment, you thought—you could have sworn—his gaze flickered down to your lips before returning to meet your eyes. "You know, for someone who spends all day handling hot liquids, you've seemed very clumsy tonight."

"Maybe I'm just… distracted.”

You could feel the warmth of his breath on your face as he leaned infinitesimally closer, his eyes fixed on yours. One hand came up to gently brush a stray strand of hair from your cheek, his fingertips grazing your skin, the contact sending a shiver down your spine. "By what?" 

"You're doing it again," you whispered.

"Doing what?"

"Being too convincing."

A slow, almost hesitant smile spread across his face. It was a smile that reached his eyes, a smile that felt utterly real, utterly intimate, making your heart stutter in your chest. "Perhaps," he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath against your skin, "maybe I'm not trying to convince anyone anymore."

You could feel his breath ghosting over your lips, the slight tremor in his hand where it rested on your waist, the way the kitchen suddenly felt too warm, too small, too—

"Who wants coffee?" your mother's voice carried from the dining room, making you both jump apart. Satoru cleared his throat, taking a hasty step back, his hand dropping from your waist. 

The rest of dinner passed in a surreal haze, neither of you quite able to forget the charged moment in the kitchen. What was that? You kept replaying the scene in your mind. His hand on your waist, his breath on your lips, the sudden shift in his eyes. It had felt… different. More real than any of the playacting. 

It wasn't until your aunt, after a drawn out round of goodbyes and air kisses, finally got up to leave that anyone noticed the shift in the weather. "Oh my goodness," your mother gasped, pulling back the curtains. "When did it start snowing?"

Outside, the world had transformed into a winter wonderland that would've been charming under different circumstances. At least a foot of snow covered everything, still falling heavily in thick, white sheets.

"The weather alert says it's going to continue all night," your father reported, checking his phone. "They're advising against any travel. Roads are already getting bad."

Your mother immediately switched into hostess mode. "You absolutely can't drive in this, Satoru. These roads won't be plowed until morning, at the earliest."

"I'm sure I can—" he started.

"Absolutely not," she interrupted. "You'll stay here tonight. Both of you."

You nearly choked on air. "Mom—"

"Don't be silly, dear," she said, already bustling towards the hallway. "You can take your old room, of course. It's all made up. Satoru," she called over her shoulder, "I'll go find some spare cloths for you." Then, turning back to you, she added, "And honey, you still have some things in your old room, so it'll be just like old times!"

Old times? What old times? Your childhood bedroom with those old embarrassing school photos and faded posters of your first boyband crush that you’d somehow never gotten around to taking down? This was not part of the plan. This was definitely not part of the plan.

He wasn't supposed to see that side of you.

As you counted down the seconds until you completely died from embarrassment your parents bustled off to prepare the rooms, leaving you and Satoru alone again. He leaned against the window, watching the snow fall, a small smile playing at his lips.

"Convenient weather we're having," you said suspiciously.

He raised an eyebrow. "Are you implying I somehow arranged a snowstorm?"

"At this point, I wouldn't put it past you."

His laugh was soft and warm. "As flattered as I am by your faith in my abilities, even I can't control the weather." He glanced at you. "Though I have to admit, this is working out better than my original plan of pretending my car wouldn't start."

"You're impossible," you groaned.

"So I've been told." He pushed off from the window, moving closer. He stopped just inches away, until you could feel the heat from his body. His gaze dropped—or you thought it did, your pulse quickening at the mere possibility—to your lips for the briefest of moments before returning to meet your eyes. You blinked, trying to clear your head. No, it couldn't be. "Though I notice you're not exactly complaining about the situation."

Before you could formulate a witty retort (or even a coherent thought, for that matter), your mother’s voice rang out from upstairs, effectively putting an end to whatever was about to happen. "I found some spare clothes, Satoru! And honey," she called down, "your old band t-shirts are still in your dresser!"

You covered your face with your hands. "Please forget everything she's about to show you."

"Now how could I possibly pass up the chance to see teenage you's fashion choices?" 

You peaked through your fingers to find him smirking, looking far too delighted by this turn of events. This was going to be a very long night.

⋆꙳•❅•̩❅*̩‧͙ *̩❆₊˚｡❆

"I really can sleep on the floor," Satoru offered for the third time, shifting his weight awkwardly in the doorway of your childhood bedroom. He looked around, taking in your teenage decorating choices, and you could practically hear the gears turning in his head.

"Don't be ridiculous." You tried to sound casual as you smoothed down the NASA bedsheets you'd had since high school on your small bed, that suddenly looked barely big enough for one, let alone two adults. "We're both adults. We can share a bed without it being weird."

He was quiet for a moment, and when you glanced up, you found him studying your teenage self's wall decorations with poorly hidden amusement. It was a chaotic mixture of faded movie posters (mostly featuring heartthrobs from your early teens), band posters (an ambarrasing One Direction poster taking center stage), and a poorly crafted periodic table, complete with hand-drawn elements and color-coded categories.

"Nice periodic table," he finally said.

"Shut up," you muttered, throwing a pillow at him. He caught it easily, because of course he did. "Some of us were nerds before med school."

You turned to your old closet, pulling out one of those oversized band t-shirts you'd lived in during high school. You gripped the hem of your sweater, suddenly very aware of his presence in the small room.

You could feel his eyes on you, a weight on your back, and you could feel the heat creeping up your neck. You paused, your fingers frozen on the soft knit. "Um… could you…?" you trailed off, not wanting to meet his gaze.

He didn't say anything, didn't move. You could practically feel his gaze burning into your back. Finally, you turned, holding your band t-shirt protectively in front of you. "Seriously. Turn around."

He blinked. "You know, I am a doctor. I've seen it all."

"Still," you insisted, your cheeks flushing. "Turn. Around."

He sighed, but finally turned his back, though the lingering amusement in his eyes told you he was still enjoying the situation immensely.

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” you muttered, pulling the t-shirt over your head. You smoothed it down, then took a deep breath. 

"I would never," he said.

"You can turn around now."

He turned, his face carefully composed, though a telltale twitch at the corner of his mouth gave him away. His eyes traveled from the hem of the shirt to your face, making your heart stutter. "You look… cute."

"You're a terrible liar.”

You both settled into bed with careful movements, lying rigid as boards, backs facing each other in a vain attempt at maintaining some sort of personal space. The mattress, however, had other plans. It dipped under his weight, creating a subtle slope that kept trying to draw you toward the center—toward him. 

Your childhood bed, which had seemed perfectly adequate when you were sixteen, now felt absurdly small. You pressed against the edge, but it was no use, there couldn't have been more than a few inches between your back and his. You could feel the heat of his body, warming the small space between you, his every breath, the subtle shift of the sheets when he moved.

The silence stretched, filled only with the sound of falling snow outside your window and your own heartbeat. It felt so loud, you were certain he could hear it.

"Thank you," you finally whispered into the darkness. "For tonight. For all of it. You didn't have to do any of this."

The bed shifted as he turned over. After a moment's hesitation, you did too, finding yourself face to face with him in the dim light of the streetlamp filtering through your old curtains. His hair was disheveled from the pillow, his expression softer than you'd ever seen it.

"It was fun," he said simply, his breath warm against your cheek.

A small laugh escaped your lips. "Fun? My mom interrogated you about your entire medical history, my dad made you look at his coin collection for an hour, and my cousin tried to show you every embarrassing photo of me from middle school."

"The braces years were particularly charming."

You kicked his shin lightly under the covers. "Shut up."

He grinned, the warmth in his eyes visible even in the dim light. "I mean it, though. Your family is… lively."

"That's a polite way of saying chaotic."

"They care about you. It's nice."

You studied his face, searching for the truth in his words. "Why did you really come tonight? You could have easily found an excuse to avoid this disaster of a family dinner."

"Would you believe me if I said I wanted to?"

"No," you said. "Nobody wants to spend their evening being questioned by my parents and subjected to my aunt's weird baking."

He was quiet for a moment, his eyes never leaving yours. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, more serious. "Maybe I wanted to understand you better. See where you came from. Meet the people who made you... you."

Your heart stuttered in your chest. "Why would you care about any of that?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

You stared at him, suddenly very aware of how close you were, how little space there was between you in this too-small bed. "No," you whispered. "It's not obvious at all."

"Then I must be doing a terrible job of showing you."

Your heart was racing now, your voice barely audible. "Showing me what?"

Before you could respond, he shifted, until he was hovering above you. Your breath caught at the change, at how his white hair fell forward framing his face, at how his eyes seemed to hold entire galaxies in them.

And then he kissed you.

The kiss was nothing like the casual touch of lips from before. It was soft, sweet, and achingly tender at first. He moved against you slowly, his lips parting slightly, inviting you to deepen the kiss. You met his silent invitation, your own lips parting in response. One hand cupped your face, his thumb gently stroking your cheek, while the other braced against the mattress, supporting his weight. 

Then, with a soft sigh, he deepened the kiss, his lips moving against yours with a gentle urgency that made your heart ache with a longing you hadn’t known you carried. He pulled you closer, just a fraction, the kiss becoming more urgent, more demanding, yet still laced with a surprising tenderness. 

You could feel the rapid thump of his heart against your own chest but then, just as suddenly as it began, he pulled back, breaking the kiss. He didn't move far, though, remaining close enough that you could still feel his breath on your face, see the rapid rise and fall of his chest. "Still think I'm just playing pretend?"

This time, you didn't hesitate. You were the one who moved forward, your hand sliding into his hair, the soft strands tangling around your fingers, pulling him back down to you. His surprised intake of breath was quickly lost as your lips met again.

This kiss was different—deeper, more urgent, six months of watching and waiting poured into a single moment. He made a low sound in his throat as your fingers tightened in his hair, urging him closer. 

His own hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, his fingers pressing gently into the sensitive skin there. The weight of him pressed you into the mattress, his warmth seeping through the thin fabric of your band t-shirt.

"I've wanted to do that since the first time you rolled your eyes at my coffee order," he said against your lips, his voice rough in a way that sent shivers down your spine.

"That long?" You tried to sound teasing, but it came out breathless instead.

He smiled against your lips. "Longer, probably." He pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth, then another to your jawline. "Though watching you try to diagnose yourself with every terrible disease I mentioned was pretty entertaining, too."

You groaned, burying your face in the crook of his neck. "You're never going to let me live that down, are you?"

"Never," he agreed, pressing a kiss to your temple. Then, quieter, more intimate, "But I've got plenty of time to make it up to you."

His lips trailed down your neck, each gentle press sending shivers through your body. When he reached the collar of your t-shirt, he paused, his fingers toying with the hem. "Can I?"

You nodded, not trusting your voice, and he slowly, teasingly, pushed the fabric up, revealing your stomach inch by inch. The first brush of his lips against your bare skin made you gasp, your fingers tightening reflexively in his silky hair.

He took his time, pressing kisses to your belly, your ribs, the valley between your breasts. His tongue darted out, tasting your skin, leaving trails of fire in its wake. Your back arched, subtly at first, but with increasing urgency as his lips and hands explored your skin.

His fingers, still toying with the hem of your shirt, finally slipped beneath the fabric. He traced the curve of your waist, the swell of your breasts, leaving goosebumps in their wake. When his thumbs brushed over your nipples, you couldn't suppress the moan that escaped your lips. "More," you whispered, the word barely audible, but he heard it, his eyes flicking up to meet yours.

"You sure?"

"Yes," you breathed. "Please."

His fingers hooked into the waistband of your sleeping shorts. Your heart raced, your skin flushed, every nerve ending racing with the promise of what was to come.

He dragged the fabric down your legs, the cool air hitting your heated skin making you shiver. He settled between your thighs, his broad shoulders forcing your legs wider, and lifted one of your legs over his shoulder, his kisses trailing down your inner thigh. And then his mouth was on you, and the world fell away. 

⋆꙳•❅•̩❅*̩‧͙ *̩❆₊˚｡❆

The next morning felt like stepping into a dream—a world where Dr. Satoru Gojo, the man you’d spent six months convinced was silently diagnosing you with rare diseases, was actually just a man utterly smitten with you.

It was as if a blurry lens had finally snapped into focus, revealing a picture so obvious you almost laughed. All those intense stares, the carefully timed coffee shop visits, the way he’d linger at your counter, even helping you study—it had never been about mysterious illnesses or professional concern. 

He’d simply been trying to be near you, and you’d been too busy inventing medical mysteries to notice.

And the most embarrassing part? How obvious it had been to everyone else. Your coworkers’ knowing looks finally made sense, as did your mother’s immediate acceptance of him as your “boyfriend.” Even his colleagues had been in on it, helping stage that ridiculous Christmas video call just to make you smile. 

When you later confessed your obliviousness to your coworkers, their reactions ranged from “Finally!” to a bewildered “Wait, you mean he wasn’t actually your boyfriend this whole time?”

Over breakfast, as he effortlessly charmed your mother into accepting a third helping of pancakes he casually dropped the bomb to your mom, “I actually rearranged my entire consultation schedule to match her shifts. I don't even like coffee."

Your mind went blank for a moment. He… what? Then, the implications crashed down on you. He’d rearranged his entire work schedule just to see you. And he hated coffee. He’d only ever ordered those sugary lattes because… because of you.

A blush crept up your neck, and you couldn't believe how adorably dense you’d been.

He met your gaze then, his blue eyes softening in that way that always made your heart flutter. Only now you understood what that look truly meant. He hadn’t been studying you. He’d been cherishing you with his gaze. He’d wanted to see you, to be near you, to simply be with you. And the realization made you ridiculously, undeniably happy.

Satoru walked over to you from where he stood next to your mom and leaned down, his breath warm against your temple, and pressed a soft kiss there. You closed your eyes, savoring the simple touch. God, you wanted more. You wanted him closer, his arms around you, his lips on yours again, just like last night.

You'll probably never get enough of that.

He pulled back slightly, his hand cupping your cheek, his thumb gently stroking your skin. His gaze held yours, a soft smile playing on his lips. Then he whispered three words that made your world stand still, "I love you."

Three little words.

But those three words little changed everything.

It felt as though time itself had stopped. He loves me, the thought echoed in your mind, a fragile, beautiful sound you couldn't quite believe was real. You’d imagined this moment countless times in secret, tucked away in the quiet corners of your heart, but you'd never truly believed it could happen.

And in that moment, surrounded by the warmth of his hand, the sweet scent of pancakes, and the soft morning light filtering through the kitchen window, you knew you’d never been happier in your entire life. 

And most importantly, you didn't have to pretend anymore. He wasn't just someone you were pretending to date for your family's sake. He was actually your boyfriend. Really, truly your boyfriend. And what had once felt like a performance suddenly felt very much like coming home.

But the best part? At exactly 7:15 the next morning, he still walked in, ordered his usual diabetes in a cup, and watched you work with those intense blue eyes. Only now, when you handed him his drink, he'd pull you close for a kiss that tasted of caramel and cinnamon.

"You know," he said one morning, watching you make his order, "for someone smart enough to get into med school, you were remarkably dense about this whole thing."

"Says the man who spent six months staring instead of just asking me out."

"I was building suspense."

"You were being creepy."

"Maybe," he said, then smilled. "But it worked, didn't it?"

And really, you couldn't argue with that. Though you did make his next latte extra sweet, just to watch him pretend to enjoy it.

After all, some things were worth suffering through overly sugary coffee for.

masterlist

author's note — if you're familiar with a certain story on my blog, then no you didn't see this story, and this is definitely not a healthier version of another couple, and i absolutely do not have a thing for medical AUs, okay thank you.

anway, this was supposed to get spicier, but time got away from me because i really wanted to share it with you all for christmas so this is only suggestive, but i hope you enjoyed it either way. & thank you so much for reading this far !! your support means everything to me.

wishing you all a very merry christmas !! hope your holidays are filled with sweet coffee, warm embraces, and maybe even a handsome doctor of your own <3

ps: if you want to get notifications for future updates, you can join my taglist here!

tags — @fayuki @starmapz @snowsilver2000 @starlightanyaaa @sxnkuna

@cocomanga @nanamis-baker @rosso-seta @shervinss @chiyokoemilia

@janbannan @bloopsstuff

© lostfracturess. do not repost, translate, or copy my work.

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

omg can u do a small drabble where we’re arguing w toji and whenever we ask him a question he just reply’s with “no maam” or “yes maam” i need these so bad.

Yes Mam

Tags: Toji x fem!Reader, drabble, very slight angst, more fluff and crack than anything lol

An: Hiii! Thanks for your submission! I hope you don’t mind, but I added some period comfort throughout lol.

It had been a bad day.

It was the first and most brutal day of your period, and everything had been going wrong so far.

“Toji Fushiguro!” You shouted as your bottom touched the bitter cold toilet water. With no toilet seat to catch you, you had fallen right inside the bowl.

Your husband had a bad habit of leaving it up in the mornings. He was groggy when waking up, and he would forget to put the seat back down for you. When he was awake, he’d make a conscious effort to put it down so you wouldn’t fall in.

You were usually cautious enough to check before sitting down, but today you were in a rush and in too much of a pained headspace to think about checking. Thus, you had fallen right inside the golden throne with your knees to your chest and your bottom all cold and wet.

“Mam?” Toji replied as he peaked his head into the bathroom. His face contorted into the tightest expression to fight back a laugh. He knew that if he laughed at you right now, your mood would he sour for the rest of the day.

“You left the goddamn toilet seat up!” You whined, trying your best to let out a frustrated growl. Toji found you to be more cute than intimidating.

“I’m sorry, babydoll. Come here. Let me help you.” He said as he walked into the bathroom, extending his arm out to you as a peace offering.

You shook your head, deciding to get yourself up. You didn’t want peace. You needed retribution for his cosmic sin!

Toji watched as you climbed out of the toilet bowl. His lips were still pressed in a thin line. He could not even crack a smile right now.

“Did you even take out the trash like I asked?” You asked with a pointed gaze. Now, it was time to see what other misdeeds Toji had committed.

“Yes mam.” He replied as his gaze softened. He knew you were having a rough time and needed to vent out some frustrations. Too bad for you, Toji had been working around the house since he got out of bed this morning.

“What about the dishes-?”

“Washed and put away, mam.”

“…Okay… what about that leaky faucet? Did you get it fixed?”

“Yes mam.”

“Oh… uh.. What about the light bill?”

“Paid it this morning, mam.”

“Stop calling me that.” You finally snapped with a small pout. You were interrogating him like his mother, and he was responding to you as if you were his mom. It was weird and unsettling. “I’m doll or baby or some weird mixture of both — not mam.” Your lips curled into a pout that had Toji finally giving you his lopsided grin.

“C’mere, dollface.” He grunted as you got back decent and walked over to him, leaning into his embrace. He pressed a firm kiss to your forehead. “I got it, okay? You go relax in bed for the day. I know ya ain’t feeling good.”

You melted under his touch and caring tone. Toji didn’t seem like the type to be so gentle and patient, but it came easy when it was with you. He adored you, and he felt this innate desire to just provide and take care of you.

“I’m sorry.” You murmured weakly into his chest, and Toji rubbed soothing circles into your back.

“I know. It’s okay.” He assured you quietly before taking your hand and leading you back to your shared bedroom. He already had you a little spot prepared with your favorite blanket, a heating pad, pain medicine, and a cup of water.

Once he got you settled in, he handed you your nintendo switch and dimmed the lights. “Text me if ya need me, doll. I’m going out to try to fix that tire pressure sensor in your car.” He informed.

“Okay..” You replied in a shaky tone. Your eyes were full of tears. No one had ever taken care of you like Toji does. He’s truly set an unattainable standard for anyone else to reach.

“Don’t cry.” Toji laughed as he brushed the tears away from your cheeks. Your hormones must be affecting you like crazy to make you go from seething to crying within a minute.

“I love you, Toji.” You said, nuzzling your face into his arm.

“I love you too, mam.” He replied with a small kiss to your cheek and a head pat. You shot him a small glare from that dreadful nickname he has developed.

Toji quickly fled the room before your hormones could shift again.

[cntloup]

subtle things Simon does that make you go crazy for him (even more than you already are) 🫠

I feel like his love would be a kind of quiet love with subtle/silent declarations of his profound love and devotion 🖤

Simon Riley would shield your eyes with his hand and quickly get you away from the scene if you ever happened to come across a gory accident/fight on the street. and if such a scene ever makes you cry, he'd hold your head against his chest, cooing softly and slowly rubbing your back to calm you down.

while walking together on the sidewalk, he grabs you by the waist and picks you up like you weigh nothing and puts you down on the other side so he's on the side of the road. then, interlocks your hands together, giving it a light squeeze as a subtle reassurance.

he picks you up with his burly arms and carries you bridal style when you come across a big puddle on the street without even asking, earning a loud squeal and a light giggle from you as you wrap your arms around his neck.

he wraps his beefy arms around your shaking form, no questions asked as you sob your heart out after a tough day. then, carries you to bed, wraps you up in a blanket and plays your comfort show on the tv with snacks ready on your nightstand.

he's always there to comfort you after a nightmare and stays by your side whether you wanna talk about it or not, letting out a slight chuckle after hearing your request of him to lay his full weight on you so you'd calm down. and he gladly obliges while of course, being careful not to hurt you.

he carries all the bags when you go on a shopping spree, no objections allowed even if you're more than capable of doing it yourself. he goes 'bup bup bup' when you start talking, "it's my job, princess." he always says, "now go put on that pretty dress you picked out, lovie." also, he's always glad to be your personal blank canvas to test different shades of makeup on.

when he comes back home before you or has the day off while you work, he always makes sure to keep the house clean and tidy in order not to burden you any further after a long day. also, prepares you a bath and your favorite meal and puts on the show that you both have been watching when you return. then, cuddles with you while you're wrapped up in several blankets in bed and keeps you in his warm embrace all night.

whenever he returns from a deployment, the first thing he seeks out is you and he doesn't calm down until he gets his hands on you; not in a sexual way, but it's just him making sure that you're really there with him. and he clings to you like a lifeline until his exhausted body gives out and he falls asleep in your arms, finally home and at peace.

when he gets home, there are no words spoken. the first thing he does is rip the mask off his face and basically run to you, crashing his lips against yours as his beefy arms wrap around your waist to pull you closer to him, feel your body flushed against his as he sighs and groans into the fiery kiss, filled with passion and love, burning only for you as he literally takes your breath away.

[chaossturns]

innocent!reader giving bf!matt head for the first time

𝜗𝜚 bf!matt, oral (m!receiving), pet names, swearing, innocent!reader

𝜗𝜚 wc: 1216

matt couldn't stop thinking about your eagerness to have your mouth explore the uncharted territory of his body, which was his cock.

it’s a pity that such a attractive person like yourself has yet to explore the delights of pleasure with another, but he was overjoyed to be your partner in crime. he was excited to introduce you to the joys of pleasuring each other, uncovering your deepest desires and what brings you the most bliss also.

sitting on the edge of the bed, his leg slightly jittering, chest heaving with anticipation and longing of this moment finally coming to. he couldn't wait to see your innocent curiosity unfold before him.

as you nervously knelt in front of him in between his spread legs, matt’s breath caught in his fucking throat. the urge to lose control was strong, but he managed to reign in his primal desires, holding onto the sheets for dear life as the veins in his hands were bulging out

on your knees, those innocent eyes almost causing him to makes him want to cum on the spot without you even doing anything, he reached out to touch your cheek tenderly, feeling you nuzzle into his hand. god, you’re so precious, he didn’t deserve a sweet thing like you.

"how about you do the honors of taking it out of my pants for me, hm?" matt asked of you with a voice of tenderness and a shaky exhale of desperation.

“o-okay,” you answered meekly, an overbearing amount of anxiety flooding throughout your body.

matt tried not to gasp as your delicate fingers fumbled with his belt, your touch gentle and hesitant. the anticipation was nearly unbearable, his cock straining against the confines of his pants, eager to be freed.

he watched you intently, taking in every detail of your expression - the way your brow furrowed in concentration, the slight tremble of your hands as you worked to undo his fly. it was almost too much to bear, the innocence in your eyes as you prepared to commit such a sinful act.

fuck, you were so cute when you're being naughty.

matt let out a shaky exhale, his hips twitching forward slightly as you finally managed to free his cock from its prison. it sprang forth, hard and ready, the tip already glistening with precum.

"go on then," he murmured, his voice low and husky with desire. "don't be shy. i want to feel that pretty mouth of yours."

he tangled his fingers in your hair, guiding you closer to his aching length. the first touch of your lips against his sensitive skin made him hiss in pleasure, his grip tightening reflexively.

god, your mouth felt so good.

matt fought the urge to thrust up into the wet heat of your mouth, wanting to let you set the pace. he could feel every flick of your tongue, every gentle suck, and it was driving him wild with need.

“that's it, just like that," he praised, his voice strained. "you're doing so well, baby."

he could feel his release already building, the pleasure coiling tight in his belly. but he didn't want this to end too soon. he wanted to savor every moment of your innocence being corrupted by his lust.

you took him deeper, your tongue swirling around his length. you were trying to make sure you got it right, wanting matt to enjoy this.

he could feel you taking him deeper, your throat stretching to accommodate his girth. the sensation was indescribable, a raw, primal pleasure that coursed through his veins like fire.

matt nearly lost it. the heat of your mouth, the way your tongue swirled around the sensitive head and length - it was almost too much to bear.

"that's it, take it all," he groaned, his hips twitching forward involuntarily. "fuck, you're so good at this."

matt couldn't believe how natural you were at this, how eagerly you devoured his cock like it was the most delicious thing you'd ever tasted. it was intoxicating, the way you surrendered yourself to the act with such innocent abandon.

he could feel his release building more and more, his balls tightening as you worked him over with your mouth. but he didn't want to cum yet. he wanted to savor this moment, to watch you pleasure him with those sweet, inexperienced lips.

"slow down, baby," he murmured, gently collecting your hair in his hand. "i don't want this to end too soon."

he looked down at you, taking in the sight of your lips stretched around his cock, your eyes glazed with lust. it was the most erotic thing he'd ever seen.

you looked so fucking hot like this.

matt knew he wouldn't last much longer. the pleasure was too intense, too overwhelming. but he was determined to make this last, to give you the pleasure you deserved.

"fuck, I'm close," he warned, his voice strained. "if you keep that up, i'm going to cum down your throat."

the thought alone was enough to make him shudder, his cock throbbing in your mouth. he could feel himself reaching the edge, the pressure mounting with every flick of your tongue.

"do you want that?" he asked, his voice rough with desire. "do you want me to fill your mouth with my cum?"

you hummed around his length, agreeing with his words as you continued.

the vibrations of your humming around his cock made matt’s breath catch in his throat. the sensation was exquisite, the gentle suction and the feeling of your lips stretched around him sending waves of pleasure coursing through his body.

the thought of filling your mouth with his cum, of seeing you swallow it down like a good girl was almost too much to bear.

"that's it, baby," he groaned, his hips twitching forward involuntarily. "take it all like a good girl."

matt’s hips beginning to rock, fucking your mouth with shallow thrusts as he chased his release. the wet heat of your throat, the slick slide of your tongue, the obscene sound of your slurping and sucking - it was driving him wild with lust.

"fuck, I'm gonna cum," he warned, his voice strained. "swallow it all down, baby. don't waste a single drop."

with a low, guttural moan, matt let go, his cock pulsing as he shot his load down your throat. the pleasure was intense, almost painful in its intensity, waves of ecstasy crashing over him as he emptied himself into your willing mouth.

he watched, transfixed, as you swallowed around him, your throat working to take every last drop. the sight was erotic beyond words, the knowledge that you were savoring his cum like it was the most delicious thing you'd ever tasted.

finally, as the last spurts of his release subsided, matt gently tugged on your hair, pulling you off his softening cock with string of cum and saliva connected your lips to his tip for a moment before breaking.

"fuck, that was incredible," he breathed, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. "you're a natural at this, baby."

you smiled at his praise, content with how good you were able to make him feel.

"i think you've earned a reward," he murmured, his voice low and husky. "how about you come up here and let me return the favor?"

a/n: guys why did i low key cook… 😭 (also thanks so much for 900 followers, it’s literally insane)

🏷️: @mattslolita @muwapsturniolo @luverboychris @sturnsslut @bigbeefybitch @itsnotmariahh @thenickgirl @thisisntmattsturniolo @sturniyolo69 @luvs4matt @joemamaaa42069 @conspiracy-ash @chrispotatos @watercolorskyy @sturnfannn @emely9274 @strnlslut @jetaimevous @gemzyy @sturn777

​©chaossturns

[limethefirst]

Hellooo, i hope your having a beautiful day. I saw your requests are open and that you wrote for movie shadow once. Would it be okay if maybe i requested movie shadow x a reader who prehaps eggmans niece. Maybe then when its just shadow, stone and her on the crab prehaps she takes shadow to her room on the crab and trys to play and show him some of her stuff not scared of him. Then maybe she remind him of maria 🥹? Idk i have sonic brainrot after seeing the movie today lol and ive had this idea since.

Do I look like her?

pairings: Shadow the Hedgehogs x reader (platonic)

warnings: sonic 3 spoilers

summary: as the niece of Eggman you are left behind on the crab with Shadow as the men finish their mission, but every time Shadow looks at you he sees someone else.

a/n: hii thank you so much for the request! I’ve been wanting to write more Sonic 3 fics because I love the movie so much! I hope this is to your liking and you have an amazing day!!!

You watched your uncle Robotnik and Gerald walked away together, planning to sneak into GUN and steal the final keycard they needed, leaving you, Stone and Shadow.

“I have avocados in The Crab. Let’s go make guac!” Stone chimed, both you and Shadow turned your head to look at him.

“Revenge guac.” Shadow responded, his brows furrowed watching as Stone slowly helped you back into the sewer drain.

You were warned about Shadow, he was dangerous Robotnik had told you. Robotnik was somewhat caring when it came to you, he wasn’t harsh nor rude, he saw you as a responsibility but not a burden. He was kinder around you, maybe he saw a bit of himself, being all alone in a world that tended to abandon.

Whatever it was, you knew his warnings were usually right, but having been around the hedgehog for a while you honestly didn’t believe your uncle. Shadow, although seemed tough, you could tell there was more behind the persona and all the walls he’d put up.

Stone walked over to the island in the middle of the Crab, preparing the avocados for the guacamole he planned to make.

You took the opportunity to show Shadow around. Being the youngest of the bunch you didn’t have many friends and this was a chance to make a new one.

Quickly you walked in front of Shadow, a bright smile on your face highlighting the innocence in all your features, it was eerily reminiscent of someone.

“Come, I wanna show you around!” You told Shadow, grabbing his gloved hand unannounced, making him slightly more on guard. Stone looked up from the guac he was currently working on, he seemed happy; smiling at the two kids.

Shadow didn’t say much as you dragged him to your room, he just looked at you. Watching as your hand gripped onto his, he couldn’t help but hold on as well. Fearing that if he let go he may never find it again.

As he watched you near the closed door, he couldn’t help but take in all that you were, your demeanor, your way of speaking, your bright attitude, it was just like hers.

“This is my room!” Your hand started letting go of his but his grip only tightened. You looked down at his hand and back up at him as his eyes scanned the small room. You only smiled at his gesture, not feeling the need to point it out.

As you guided him around still hand in hand you saw his eyes checking every corner of the room, “It’s small,”

Your sudden laugh catches him off guard, his head quickly turning to see your free hand covering your mouth, “Sorry sorry! It’s just that’s the first thing you say to me?” You jokingly tell the hedgehog.

He watches you for a little bit longer, his eyes widening. As he stares up at you, all he sees is her. It wasn’t physical, it wasn’t that you looked like Maria, no not at all, it was the fact your personality towards him resembled her so much.

You weren’t afraid, you approached him and didn’t see him as a weapon or some type of lab rat. It was like he was really a person around you, like he was capable of caring again.

Shadow didn’t say much, and that was okay, you could do most of the talking anyway, you enjoyed being able to finally talk to someone.

You sat Shadow down on the floor, letting go of his hand so you could show him some of the toys and games you owned, knowing he lived 50 years in the past you wanted to keep him up to date on all the newer stuff that had come up. While you were grabbing some items you decided to also play a movie, it would be cool to show him the new films they’d come out with.

He silently watched you hurry around the room, dropping strange toys onto him. He felt some weird string toys get stuck in his quills.

You heard him rustle around, seeing him pull out your worm on a string, “Very colorful,” he grunted, as he tossed the toy in the pile in front of him.

All you did was smile as you sat in front of him, describing each toy and how they worked, as the latest Godzilla movie played in the background.

It was ironic really, back then Godzilla was a monster and now he was a friend protecting the people from the other monsters.

He no longer sat with Maria watching movies and playing games, now he sat with you. Oh how things really have changed.

[kiwriteswords]

Could I request an Aaron Hotchner x Reader story where Reader is sunshine reader in a way like she is a hugger. She loves hugs and is very affectionate and in tune with her emotions. Hotch is taken back by it at first and begins to get used to it—needing her hugs at the end of the day!

Every touch is a redefining phrase [Aaron Hotchner x Affectionate!Fem!Reader]

Masterlist || Ao3||Word Count: 5k|| AN: I loved writing this one!

Tags/Warnings: no use of y/n, canon-typical themes, bau!reader, Aaron Hotchner's POV, touch deprived Hotch, Affectionate Reader, 5 + 1 trope

Summary: 5 times an affectionate reader showed a touch-starved Aaron Hotchner affection, plus 1 time Aaron Hotchner shows reader affection....with a bonus scene!

I.

In the dimly lit corridors of the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit, Aaron Hotchner paced slowly, his brow furrowed deep in thought after a particularly grueling day. The team had just closed a tough case, one that had stretched their mental and emotional fibers to their limits. It had been his job, as always, to remain the stoic anchor, the unflappable leader who guided his team through the storm. But some days, the weight was heavier, and the cracks in his armor felt wider.

As he passed by the bullpen, his eyes inadvertently caught the lively interaction around one of the desks. There you were, seamlessly woven into the fabric of his team. Hotch noticed how effortlessly you lifted spirits; with a kind word to Reid, a gentle pat on Rossi's back, or a knowing smile towards JJ that seemed to wash away the shadows of the day. To Penelope, you offered a bright laugh that echoed warmth, and with Derek or Emily, a light-hearted tease that brought out their best grins. It was as if you had always been there, a missing piece that had finally clicked into place, completing the intricate puzzle that was his team.

Hotch had always prided himself on his observational skills, but it wasn’t until recently, observing your interactions, that he realized just how integral you had become. Not just in the professional sense, but in a way that breathed a softer edge into the hardened facade of the BAU.

He continued to watch, a rare smile tugging at the corners of his usually stern mouth. It was then, perhaps by fate or fortunate timing, that you looked up and caught his gaze. The smile you offered him then was different—deeper, more personal. It acknowledged his silent presence and the unspoken hardships of his role.

Without a moment's hesitation, you excused yourself from the group and approached him. Hotch straightened, preparing to retreat behind his usual formalities, but the earnest concern in your eyes halted him.

"You look like you could use this more than anyone today," you said softly, stepping into his personal space with a cautious, but undeniably affectionate, energy.

Before he could protest or construct a wall of professional detachment, you wrapped your arms around him in a gentle, yet firm hug. It was an affectionate gesture, simple in its intent but profound in its impact. Hotch stiffened momentarily, unaccustomed to such displays at work, especially directed towards him. But then, slowly, the rigid lines of his posture softened, and he found himself returning the embrace. It was a rare acceptance of comfort, a silent admission of his own vulnerability.

In that quiet corridor, with the soft hum of the distant city filtering through the windows, Aaron Hotchner allowed himself a moment of human frailty. The warmth of your hug seeped into him, loosening the tight bands of tension that had wound around his chest. It was unexpected, this simple human connection, and he didn't realize how starved he had been for such affection—how touch, a basic human need, had been so scarce in his life lately.

When you finally stepped back, there was a mutual understanding in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the strength and solace found in simple human touch. Your smile was reassuring, not pitying, empowering him rather than making him feel exposed.

"Thank you," he managed to say, his voice lower than usual, touched with a rare warmth. "I... didn't realize how much I needed that."

You nodded, your expression filled with a gentle kindness that didn't need words. Hotch watched as you returned to the team, seamlessly resuming your role as their uplifting force. As he turned to head back to his office, a subtle shift in his stride, there was a lightness in his steps that hadn’t been there before.

In the solitude of his office, Aaron Hotchner sat behind his desk, allowing himself a moment to reflect. The day had been hard, yes, but the evening brought a revelation wrapped in a simple gesture of affection. Maybe, just maybe, he thought, this was what his team had been missing. And perhaps, he had been missing it too.

II.

Weeks passed since the incident in the hallway, and the relentless wheel of cases continued to turn. Each case brought its own challenges, its own darkness that the BAU team diligently worked to dispel. Yet, even as victories were won and communities restored, the emotional toll on each member, especially Hotch, mounted imperceptibly.

One late evening, after a particularly draining case involving a child victim—cases that always hit too close to home for Hotch—he found himself last in the office, paperwork strewn across his desk as he attempted to finalize reports. The clock ticked past midnight, a silent testament to the loneliness of leadership. Hotch’s office was dimly lit, the soft glow of his desk lamp casting long shadows across the room.

You had noticed his prolonged hours, the way his shoulders seemed to bear an ever-increasing weight. That night, instead of heading home with the rest of the team, you lingered. With a gentle knock on his open office door, you broke the stillness of his concentration.

“You’re burning the midnight oil again, Hotch,” you observed, leaning against the doorframe, your voice carrying a lilt of concern mixed with a gentle chiding.

Hotch looked up, slightly surprised to see you still there. He offered a tired smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Just finishing up,” he replied, his voice a low rumble in the quiet.

You didn’t move to leave; instead, you stepped inside, your presence filling the room with a comforting warmth. “You need to take a break, even if it’s just for a few minutes. Come on, walk with me to the break room. I promise the coffee is terrible, but the company isn’t.”

Reluctantly, Hotch rose from his chair, his movements stiff from hours of sitting. The two of you walked down the quiet hallway, the sound of your footsteps a soft echo in the empty building. Reaching the break room, you poured two pitiful excuses for coffee, handing one over with a sympathetic grimace.

Hotch accepted it with a grateful nod, the steam from the cup warming his face. You both leaned against the counter, sipping the bitter brew in companionable silence. Then, almost hesitantly, you placed your hand lightly on his arm, a silent offer of support.

“It’s tough, isn’t it? Being the one everyone looks up to, carrying all this weight alone?” you asked softly, your eyes meeting his with an understanding that went beyond mere words.

Hotch’s arm under your hand tensed initially, but as he met your gaze, something in him relaxed. It was as if your touch reassured him that it was okay to not always be the rock, to not always have to stand alone against the tide.

“Yes, it can be… overwhelming at times,” he admitted. The honesty in his voice more for himself than for you. He paused, considering his next words carefully. “And thank you, for… this,” he gestured slightly with his coffee cup, encompassing the late-night walk, the coffee, your comforting touch.

You smiled, your hand squeezing his arm gently before letting go. “You’re not alone, Hotch. We’re a team, remember? And sometimes, the team carries the leader just as much as the leader carries the team.”

The simplicity of your statement the sincerity in your voice, struck a chord within him. It was a reminder of the mutual support that formed the foundation of their team, a foundation that you had become an integral part of.

As you both returned to the quiet of the office, Hotch felt a subtle shift within him. The weight he carried seemed a little lighter, the path a little less solitary. And as he watched you walk back to your desk with a lightness in your step, he realized how much your presence had begun to mean to him—not just as a supportive colleague but as someone who could see through the armor he wore every day.

Maybe, Hotch thought as he settled back into his work with a newfound ease, maybe what he needed was right here all along, and perhaps, just perhaps, it was time to let that support in a little more.

III.

After a physically intense confrontation on a case that ended with Aaron Hotchner being thrown against a wall, the BAU team returned to Quantico wearied but victorious. Hotch, his usual composed self, dismissed his throbbing headache as a minor inconvenience, focusing instead on the paperwork that needed his attention. But you noticed. You always noticed when something was off, especially with him.

Late in the evening, as the office grew quiet with the departure of the team, you walked into Hotch’s office. He was hunched over a report, the dim light accentuating the strain in his eyes.

"Hotch, you need to take a break," you said, your tone firm yet filled with a gentle concern that he found harder to deflect than usual.

"I’m fine, just need to finish this up," Hotch replied without looking up, his voice a low grumble.

You didn’t buy his dismissal. Moving closer, you leaned against his desk, your presence unavoidable. "You’re not fine. I saw you hit your head. Let me at least check your pupils," you insisted, reaching for the small flashlight you’d started carrying after joining the BAU.

With a resigned sigh, Hotch finally leaned back in his chair and allowed you to hold his gaze as you shone the light briefly in each eye. His pupils responded normally, but the concern in your eyes didn’t wane. You reached out, your hand brushing against his forehead to check for any signs of swelling or deeper injury. Your touch was light, but to Hotch, it felt like a balm to the harshness of his day.

"You don’t have to always be the strongest one in the room, you know," you murmured as you withdrew your hand, your eyes searching his.

There was something about your words, softly spoken with an earnest warmth, that caught Hotch off-guard. He was used to being the pillar for others to lean on, not the other way around. Yet, as he sat there under your careful scrutiny, he couldn’t deny the comfort that your concern brought.

"Why don’t you let me drive you home tonight? Just to be safe," you suggested, already gathering some of his belongings as if it was decided.

Hotch wanted to protest—to insist that he was capable of taking care of himself—but the fatigue was gnawing at him, and the ease of your offer was too tempting to resist. "Alright," he conceded, a rare smile tugging at the corners of his lips, acknowledging the small victory in your eyes.

The drive to his place was quiet, the silence comfortable. When you arrived, you didn’t immediately leave as he expected. Instead, you followed him to the door, hesitating as he unlocked it.

"Would you like to come in for coffee? It’s the least I can do after making you drive all the way here," Hotch found himself saying, the invitation surprising even himself.

You nodded, stepping inside his home—a place few from work had ever entered. The domestic setting shifted something between you. In his kitchen, as you both moved to prepare the coffee, the space closed in, filled with a new, unspoken acknowledgment of the care between you.

Sitting across from him at his small kitchen table, you handed him a mug, your fingers brushing against his with a deliberate tenderness. "You know, it’s okay to rely on others sometimes, even for us who are used to being strong," you said, your voice low and comforting.

Hotch looked at you then, really looked at you. The soft lighting of the kitchen illuminated features filled with genuine affection and concern. He realized how natural it felt to have you here, in his personal space, offering care he was so unaccustomed to receiving.

"Thank you, for everything tonight," he said sincerely, the weight of his roles—unit chief, father, protector—temporarily lifted by your presence.

As you smiled, something in Hotch’s tightly controlled heart shifted. Maybe it was the warmth of the kitchen, or the way you looked sitting there across from him, but he felt a pull, a desire for something more than the solitude he’d so long accepted as part of his life.

And in that moment, with the simple act of sharing a late-night coffee, the distance between professional and personal began to blur, hinting at a potential future neither of you had yet voiced, but which suddenly seemed within reach.

IV.

The Behavioral Analysis Unit had seen its fair share of tense days, fraught with the grim realities of their work, but today was different. Today was a good day—a successful resolution to a complicated case, with the team working like a well-oiled machine. Spirits were high as they returned to the office, a rare buzz of laughter and light chatter filling the air. Yet, amidst the camaraderie and shared relief, Aaron Hotchner found himself anticipating something else, something more personal: the simple, affectionate gestures you offered so freely.

As unit chief, Hotch had always maintained a careful, composed demeanor, but lately, he found himself increasingly aware of how much he looked forward to those moments of kindness from you. He wasn’t naturally inclined towards affection; his career, his past, and his role as a father to Jack had demanded a more stoic approach to life. But your presence had subtly begun to alter the landscape of his daily experiences.

Standing by his office window, he watched as you interacted with the team, your laughter mingling with theirs, your hand resting briefly on Morgan’s shoulder in congratulations, your high-five with Garcia, and the gentle way you listened to Reid’s excited ramble about the statistical probabilities they had overcome. Each gesture seemed to weave you deeper into the fabric of the team, and Hotch couldn’t help but feel a warmth spread through him—a warmth he hadn’t known he’d been missing until you had started to fill that void.

When you finally turned towards his office, your smile bright and eyes shining with the success of the day, Hotch felt a pull in his chest. As you approached, his heart unconsciously beat a fraction faster, a reaction he was still coming to terms with.

“Hotch, we did it!” you exclaimed, stepping into his office with an energy that seemed to light up the dimly lit room. Without hesitation, and perhaps because the day's mood lifted all semblance of the usual barriers, you wrapped your arms around him in a celebratory hug.

Hotch stiffened for a mere second, old habits dying hard, but almost immediately relaxed into the embrace. Your hug was warm and sincere, and he found himself not wanting to step back too quickly. As you pulled away, your hands lingered on his arms, ensuring he was truly sharing in the moment with you.

“It was a team effort, but you played a crucial part,” Hotch found himself saying, his voice softer than usual. He was learning, slowly, how to return the warmth you so effortlessly gave.

“I just keep everyone on track,” you replied modestly, your hands finally dropping to your sides, but your smile remaining. “But seeing you smile like that? It’s definitely a highlight.”

Hotch was momentarily caught off guard. He hadn’t realized his expression had softened so visibly, nor that you were so attuned to his usually restrained emotions. “Well,” he started, clearing his throat slightly, “your positivity—it’s infectious.”

You chuckled, a sound that seemed to resonate in the quiet after the day’s chaos. “I’m glad it helps. But honestly, it’s days like today that remind me why we do what we do. And having a leader who keeps us grounded and focused—it makes all the difference, Hotch.”

The way you said his name, with a respect and a hint of something deeper, stirred something in him. It was a connection, palpable and growing stronger with each shared experience, each moment of exchanged comfort. Hotch was usually a man of few words, but as he stood there with you, he realized that your affection, once something he hadn’t known he needed, had become something he deeply valued.

As you turned to leave, ready to rejoin the celebrations outside, Hotch found himself speaking almost without thinking. “Thank you, for everything.”

You paused, then looked over your shoulder, your smile softening. “Anytime, Hotch.”

Watching you walk away, Hotch felt a sense of gratitude. Not just for the successful case, but for the unexpected gift of your presence in his life—something that had become as vital to him as the very work they did together. And as he stepped out to join the rest of his team, Aaron Hotchner felt a lightness in his step, a readiness to embrace whatever challenges lay ahead, knowing that with you by his side, even the tough days might feel a little less daunting.

V.

The intensity of the field operation had escalated unexpectedly, with the BAU team working to apprehend a highly volatile unsub. Aaron Hotchner, ever the leader, had taken point, his focus as sharp as it was relentless. Yet, in a split-second decision that had more to do with instinct than analysis, he found himself entering the building first, with minimal backup—a move that was dangerously close to reckless.

The operation concluded successfully, the unsub in custody and no injuries on their team, but the aftermath brought its own storm. Back at the BAU, the air was thick with adrenaline and relief, yet there was an undercurrent of tension, particularly from you.

Hotch could feel your eyes on him long before you approached. When you finally did, your steps were quick, your posture rigid with a kind of restrained energy. He braced himself, anticipating a debrief or perhaps a tactical critique, but what came was neither.

"Hotch, what were you thinking?" Your voice was low, charged with an emotion he hadn't often heard directed at him. It was anger, yes, but there was something more—something deeper, more personal.

"I made a judgment call," Hotch replied, his tone even, trying to maintain professional detachment. "It was necessary to—"

"Necessary?" you interrupted, stepping closer, your voice rising slightly with frustration. "You could have been killed, Aaron. What then?"

The use of his first name in such a tone caught him off guard, its impact silencing him for a moment. It wasn't just anger for a perceived tactical error; it was fear, raw and unmasked, the fear of losing him.

"You know the risks, we all do. I did what I thought best at the moment," Hotch tried to explain, his voice firmer, attempting to steer the conversation back to professional grounds.

But you shook your head, the movement sharp, dismissive of his justification. "I know the risks. I know we all face them every day but watching you... You didn't have to be the first one through that door, not without backup."

Hotch watched as you struggled for composure, your breaths deep as you worked to calm yourself. It was then he realized how deeply woven his safety was with your emotions, how much you cared—not just as a colleague but as someone who might bear deeper feelings for him.

"I don't know whether to yell at you or just..." Your voice trailed off, and suddenly, you stepped forward, closing the distance between you with a few brisk steps, and wrapped your arms around him in a firm hug.

Hotch stiffened, surprise overtaking him for a fraction of a second before he slowly returned the embrace. His arms around you felt both foreign and utterly right. He could feel your heart beating fast against his chest, your breath warm through the fabric of his shirt.

When you finally stepped back, there was a vulnerability in your eyes that mirrored his own internal conflict. "I'm sorry," you said, your voice softer now, "I just... I couldn't stand the thought of losing you."

Hotch took a deep breath, his usual composure tempered by the emotional intensity of the moment. "I understand," he said quietly. "And I'm sorry for causing you that fear."

As you nodded, a silent agreement passed between you, a mutual recognition of something more than just professional concern—a deep, personal connection that neither of you could deny.

That night, as Hotch lay awake, replaying the day's events, your words echoed in his mind. The fear in your voice, the relief in your hug—it all painted a picture he hadn't allowed himself to see fully until now. It wasn't just about duty or protecting others; it was about protecting what was growing between you two, something fragile yet potent.

Perhaps, Hotch thought, it was time to explore this new, uncharted territory, not as a leader or an agent, but simply as Aaron, a man who might just need someone as much as they needed him.

+1

In the quiet aftermath of a routine day at the BAU, Aaron Hotchner found himself lingering in the bullpen longer than usual. The files were all processed, the team had largely dispersed, and the soft hum of the office equipment filled the space with a gentle, familiar buzz. But tonight, he wasn’t drawn to the solitude of his office or the call of the paperwork that always awaited him. Instead, his gaze kept drifting towards your desk, where you were methodically organizing your case notes.

The past weeks had subtly shifted the dynamics of your interactions. Each shared glance, every quiet conversation had slowly woven a deeper connection between you two—a connection Hotch had grown to rely on more than he'd anticipated. He realized, with a clarity that was both thrilling and daunting, that he was no longer merely receiving your affectionate gestures out of happenstance or your innate kindness. Now, he found himself seeking them out, craving the warmth and solace they offered.

"Staying late again, Hotch?" Your voice broke through his reverie as you stood up, stretching slightly after hours of sitting.

"Just wrapping up," Hotch replied, his voice steady, though his heart beat slightly faster with the decision he was about to make. "Actually, could we talk for a minute?"

Your brow furrowed lightly with concern, but you nodded, walking over to where he stood. "Of course. Everything okay?"

He led the way to his office, holding the door open for you before closing it gently behind him. The privacy of the office felt suddenly significant, the space between them charged with all the unspoken words of the past months.

Hotch took a deep breath, his usual composure battling with the need to express feelings that were far from professional. "I wanted to thank you," he began, watching your reaction closely. "For everything these past weeks... for your support."

You smiled, a soft, genuine expression that made his heart skip. "I’m always here for the team," you replied, then added more softly, "for you."

"It’s more than that," Hotch said, stepping closer. His voice was low, each word measured but heavy with emotion. "I find myself looking forward to our interactions. Not just because of the comfort you bring, but because I... I value you. Greatly."

The air seemed to shift as he spoke, the room growing quieter, the distance between you more profound yet somehow closer. You looked up at him, your eyes searching his, and in them, he saw a reflection of his own uncertainty mingled with hope.

"I’ve come to rely on your presence," Hotch continued, his usual restraint giving way to a vulnerability he seldom showed. "Not just as a teammate, but as someone very important to me. I’m not sure what that means for us, but I needed to be honest about my feelings."

Your response was soft, a whisper that filled the room with more warmth than the dim light could provide. "I’m glad you told me, Aaron. Because I feel the same way. I was just waiting for you to see it, too."

In that confession, a weight lifted from Hotch’s shoulders, a burden he hadn’t fully acknowledged he’d been carrying. Without another word, he stepped forward, closing the remaining space between you, his movements tentative but driven by a newfound courage. When he wrapped his arms around you, it was with a gentleness born of deep affection and respect.

You returned the embrace, your arms encircling him, offering not just comfort but a promise. Hotch held you closer, a sigh of relief and contentment escaping him. Here, in the quiet solidarity of his office, he allowed himself to simply feel—to embrace the affection and connection that had grown between you, no longer just his sanctuary from the demands of his job, but a central part of his life he no longer wished to be without.

As you both pulled away, the look you shared was one of mutual understanding and anticipation. No words were needed to affirm the change; it was as profound as it was silent, marking a new beginning that neither of you would have to face alone again.

+ bonus.

Weeks into their newfound relationship, Aaron Hotchner found himself navigating a world that felt both profoundly familiar and refreshingly new. Each day brought with it the usual challenges of leading the BAU, but now there was an undercurrent of anticipation for the quieter moments he could share with you—moments that, until recently, he hadn't allowed himself to fully acknowledge or embrace.

It was late on a Thursday evening when Hotch realized the day had gotten away from him. The caseload had been heavier than usual, the paperwork nearly endless, and he had spent hours in a tense negotiation during a standoff that had thankfully ended without incident. As the office slowly emptied, Hotch felt the weight of the day pressing down on him, a familiar exhaustion that now, thankfully, had a remedy he was no longer hesitant to seek.

He found you in your office, wrapping up your own day. The soft glow of your desk lamp illuminated your focused expression, a sight that now brought him an immense sense of peace. Hotch knocked lightly on the open door, his presence causing you to look up with a smile that instantly eased some of the tension in his shoulders.

"Hey," you greeted, your voice warm. "Everything okay?"

Hotch stepped inside, his hands in his pockets, his posture relaxed yet revealing a hint of his need. "Could use a moment with you," he admitted, something he might have struggled to voice before, but now felt right, necessary.

You nodded, understanding immediately. You stood and approached him, your hands finding his in a gentle but firm grasp. "Let’s go for a walk," you suggested, and Hotch merely nodded in agreement, grateful.

The night was cool and clear as you both walked in silence to a nearby park, a route that had become a cherished routine. The quiet of the evening was a stark contrast to the day's chaos, the rhythmic sound of your footsteps together grounding him.

After a few minutes, you stopped at a secluded bench, turning to face him. "What’s on your mind, Aaron?" you asked, your concern evident.

"It’s nothing specific," Hotch began, his gaze meeting yours under the streetlights. "Today was just... long. And I found myself thinking about this moment—just being here with you." He paused, his voice softening. "I guess I’m still getting used to the fact that I can ask for this, for us."

You smiled, stepping closer, your hands reaching up to gently cradle his face. "You can always ask, Aaron. Whenever you need to feel connected, or just need to escape for a while. I’m here," you reassured him, your touch as soothing as your words.

Hotch leaned into your touch, a contented sigh escaping him. "I’m glad," he murmured, closing his eyes briefly to savor the warmth of your hands, the affection in your gesture. "I never knew how much I needed this... needed you."

Then, impulsively, perhaps driven by the depth of his emotions, Hotch wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into an embrace that spoke volumes. It was an embrace of gratitude, of recognition of the space you had come to occupy in his life—not just as a partner but as a source of strength and comfort.

You hugged him back just as tightly, your own sigh of contentment mingling with the night air. "I need you too, Aaron," you whispered, words that fortified the bond between you, sealing the promise of mutual support and affection.

As you both eventually pulled away, there was a shared smile, a silent acknowledgment of the journey ahead—of challenges to face and joys to embrace, together. Hotch realized then, with a clarity that filled him with a profound sense of peace, that this—this simple, beautiful exchange of affection—was now an integral part of his life, a part he cherished deeply and would safeguard with all he had.

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch

@estragos

@todorokishoe24

@looking1016

@khxna

@rousethemouse

@averyhotchner

@reidfile

@bernelflo

@lover-of-books-and-tea

@frickin-bats

@sleepysongbirdsings

@justyourusualash

@person-005

@iyskgd

[sidneywasfound]

WHY NOT BOTH...? | Lando Norris x Oscar Piastri x Fem!Reader 🎁

Pairings: Oscar Piastri x Fem!Reader, Lando Norris x Fem!Reader,

Warnings; Lando being jelous because of Oscar and Reader,Reader being a brat,Smutt,Hair pulling/grabbing,threesome,Unprotected sex,Dirty talk,Oral (f recieving),Handjob,A scene inspired by the movie 'Challengers' hehe.

AUTHORS NOTE; MERRY CHRISTMAS GUYS, I know it's Christmas Eve,but I'm gonna give you the christmas present now ♡

English is not My first lenguage this may have some mistakes hehe

⋅°₊ • ୨୧ ‧₊° ⋅

You and Oscar don't have any kind of Shyness when it comes to Public displays of...love?...You used to get Comfortable in his lap while he was sitting on the couch,both watching tiktoks in his phone. All this kind of affection really Made Lando upset about the situation between You and him,At first you were flirting with him, and now you're sitting on Oscar's lap?. It is the last year christmas party that Max organized, everyone was chatting,eating something from the snacks,dancing...but lando was watching you both,laughing together,talking...He knew that Oscar did it secretly, but every time he laughed he hid his face in your neck to pretend he was trying to hide his laugh, but he is clever and Lando knew it,he just wanted to find a stupid excuse to feel your neck and Vanilla scent on his face and lips.

Later,People started to celebrate, dancing and doing parties stuff. Almost all the lights in the huge house were off except for some party lights. Lando lost sight of them, since Yuki had invited him to the karaoke that was in the other room. After a while he saw them,Sitting on the big couch, She was on Oscar's lap kissing him Passionately,With one hand resting on Oscar's cheek and the other grabbing the hair from the back of his head,pulling him wildly towards her while their tongues moved in each other's mouths, Oscar stared to move his hand towards your inner thigh making you lower your kisses to his neck and play with the hem of his sweatshirt. Lando was freezing,watching You and Oscar like some kind of fetish, Fascinated with the movements of your tongue, wishing to be the one who is kissing you aka Oscar Fucking Piastri.

Lando decided that this was enough teasing for the night,and when You went to the kitchen for a beverage he approached You ."Hey,are you busy?" Lando said leaning on the kitchen countertop,You looked at him in surprise as you poured yourself some coke."Are you that desperate...?" You said,and god he was dying,It was a pretty common thing of you,You were never with someone just to be with someone, You emanated superiority and power making yourself seem unreachable,and that made Oscar and Lando die to be with you,looking like two chihuahas humping to your leg for attention. "i'm not desperate." Lando said trying to be tough. "And why were you spying on me while i'm kissing Oscar? Or maybe you were spying on Oscar ? Don't worry, I'm not judging!" She said mockingly,a thing that also put the two of them in a shy and submissive mood. "Of course not!,but i'm done of being with him one day and me the next, is this a joke to You?" Lando said grabbing your arm and making eye contact with you ."maybe...If You guys stop being such bitches to me, we could make an arrangement between us..." Lando looked at you confused, "just...Okay Lando, I'll wait for you in the room upstairs... let's finish this quickly..." She went up the stairs and lando stood in the middle of the kitchen surprised.

Lando decided to wait a little before going upstairs,He had to mentally prepare himself to fuck her so good that she would have to stay with him for the next few days. He sat on the couch,beside Oscar and Charles. Oscar looked at him sideways in confusion and started using his phone. Instead Charles decided to talk to him "are You okay mate? You look kinda weird and nervous" Charles said with sympathy and his thick accent. " Yeah mate,just a tough night,isn't?" Lando says joking "Yeah,sure" Oscar says unexpectedly with pride without taking his eyes off the phone. Now Lando really wanted to hit him, "sure,Yuki beat us all at karaoke, it seems that he has a hidden talent!" Charles says innocently "You two should compete sometime,To see who is the Best and toughest of you haha!" Charles said naively,while Oscar and Lando look at each other smirking with pride in their imaginary competition.

Finally Lando decided it was time to enter the room,She was lying on the bed with her clothes disheveled,She was barefoot, a strap of her top fell revealing a part of her bra,Her skirt was a little raised, revealing her panties between her legs,Her hair was messy,Her breathing was Messy,making her chest rise with each breath, and making her tits press against her tight top. "Fuck,You are going to kill me..." Lando said feeling the bulge in his pants grow. He approached her kissing her desperately "Wait Lando...stop..." She said as he kissed her neck "what's...wrong?...?" He said in between Kisses,"We have to wait for Oscar...",She said making lando stop abruptly,moving away from your neck to look at you. "W-wha-?",he was interrumped by the sound of the Wooden door opening."My God, You gorgeous...teasing me all the night wha-..." Oscar came through the door, paralyzed with the view of your legs wide Open and Lando between them."What is Lando doing here?!" He said upset. She pulled Lando off her and sat on the edge of the bed. The two, Dazed, without asking quickly went to sit beside her, leaving her in the middle.

"it's just...i love You guys so much!..and...I can't resist having just one of You..." She said with a fake pout."Well,You have to decide...You can't keep teasing us like this..." Oscar said,putting a hand on your thigh. She remained silent,She raised her head looking at Oscar and approached his face,Their breaths touched, she caressed his cheek lightly,He put a hand on her waist. She brought her lips closer and made them touch Oscar's,With their mouths half open,Slowly and slightly she began to put the tip of her tongue in his mouth,making him grab the back of her head to kiss her Passionately,Her tongue played his tongue, while he devoured her lips making obscene noises. Lando was dumbfounded,Looking at Oscar with jealousy while she lightly touched his inner thigh. She slowly separated from him while he looked at her enamorated with his mouth half open, leaving a thread of saliva between their lips.

Lando was silent ,thinking that he had already lost his chance until she turned to him. She came closer and started kissing him desperately, in a completely different way than how she kissed Oscar. Lando brought her closer to him, putting his tongue in her mouth and kissing her lips that let out soft moans. She started to put a hand under his shirt but stopped and separated from him, staying back in the middle. The two looked at each other waiting for her to decide, but she remained silent without saying anything.She looked at them flirtatiously smiling,"Why not both?".She began to take off her top, revealing her bra that they were wanting to see so bad. Without hesitating any longer, the two coordinated at the same time to kiss her neck on both sides,She moaned and grabbed both of their heads, lifting her head to give them space.

She started kissing desperately Oscar while unbuckling Lando's pants. From one moment to the next, Oscar appear between your legs lifting your skirt to kiss the Slim fabric of your underwear. You let out a moan that echoed on Lando's lips making him harder,You put your hand in his pants to take out his member stroking it. Oscar pulled down your underwear to give a lick to your cunt. You moaned lightly after this, moving your hand faster making Lando whimper too. Oscar started to move his tongue between your folds,Licking your clit and sticking his tongue as deep as he could. Lando lowered his hand to your cunt to start rubbing your clit,Leaving Oscar with less things to lick. You moaned as you kissed Lando with your hand squeezing and moving up and down his length. "I-im ah..." Lando couldn't finish his sentence when he felt his orgasm coming, leaving only a very pornographic moan. Staining his abdomen and a little of your hand. You grabbed Oscar's hair and pulled it, moaning as you felt your orgasm coming "ah Oscar!..." Luckily you didn't finish so you pushed him towards you, leaving him on top of you, making his member touch your crotch.

"Come on Lando...if you position yourself correctly I can suck you off..." You said while kissing Oscar but Lando was defeated on the side of the bed "Calm down guys, I already fucked her yesterday...I'm exhausted" Oscar laughed and you blushed when you heard that. "H-hey!,I just wanted to include you know..." Lando looked at her "Well next time we do this I'll fuck you." Oscar lined up and slowly entered you, letting out a moan from both of you. "Wait...again?,You're okay with that?" Lando looked at you pretending to stop and think,While Oscar began to thrust into You making You moan, And cling to his back "As long as I can enjoy watching you get fucked this good then I don't care." Lando said watching as Oscar rammed into you wildly,You just rolled your eyes."looks like The little slut's game went wrong" Lando said mocking You."She was trying to make us jealous and now she's like the obedient whore",Oscar said thrusting you faster.

You felt the wave of pleasure pass over you and you moaned as you felt Oscar finish inside you.The three of You lay on the bed face up, both of them lying on her tits, The music of the party was loud but isolated."Do you think this relationship will work?" She said, Lando and Oscar looked at each other. "If we continue like this, I hope it lasts forever" Oscar said laughing,You and Lando smiled, you were about to talk when you heard a familiar voice outside the door.

"Yes and I hope You guys clean the room and the sheets after this!"no other one but Max Verstappen shouted at them from outside his room.

"shit" The three of them said seeing all the clothes thrown all over the room.

⋅°₊ • ୨୧ ‧₊° ⋅

Tags: @that-one-little-soybean

[captain-huggy-bear]

To Fight a Ten Year Old

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: N/A

Summary: In which Quinn is prepared to time travel to whoop some ten year old butt because you tell him a story from your childhood and he takes it personally.

Notes: Alas, I did in fact experience this as a child, but I can laugh about it now :) Also writing soccer instead of football actually hurt me.

Very silly + short idea to be honest but hope it brings a smile to some faces!

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)

Writing Masterlist

It's a stupid little back and forth the two of you have going as you get ready for bed, silly little questions like 'tell me about your first broken bone' and 'why is your favourite animal your favourite?'. It's something Quinn and you have been doing since you first started dating. It started as a way to get to know each other better and ended up a habit, a ritual of sorts.

Each year the questions get harder to think of as your lives become more intertwined, most of your stories featuring the other, but it still raises interesting moments from your childhoods and silly little stories that explain a lot about you or him. Things you probably wouldn't find out about each other unless you asked these random questions or a family member brought it up at Thanksgiving or Christmas.

Today is no different. You're going through your night routine, taking off your make up and moisturising your skin, while Quinn brushes his teeth in the adjoining bathroom, door open so you can talk.

"Okay..." He's thinking hard, even as he talks around his toothbrush leaning his head out of the bathroom to watch you as you wipe away your eyeliner, "How about first heartbreak?" His voice is muffled around the toothbrush and almost sounds like he's underwater, despite this he never seems to want to wait until he's done.

"Like first heartbreak? Or first proper heartbreak?" You're running a cloth over the rest of your face as you ask, wiping away concealer and blush, an array of colours smearing the fabric. Your skin being revealed bit by bit.

"What's the difference?" He briefly disappears back into the bathroom to spit out his toothpaste and put his toothbrush away, but you know he's still listening as you explain.

"Well, first heartbreak is that time as a little kid that you thought you were in love and got hurt by it but it wasn't serious. You were probably over it by the next week, and first proper heartbreak is when you're older and it actually is heartbreak and you can't get over it for at least 3 months."

He hums as he comes back to lean against the doorframe, shoulders looking delicious without a shirt on, "First heartbreak, probably less depressing for a Monday night."

You take a moment, reaching for your moisturiser as you think back. There are many moments you could think of where you thought you were in love as a litte kid and had your heart broken as a result, but one stands out the most.

"Okay, um...When I was 10 years old I really liked like this boy in class called Cameron but Cameron really liked Emily, a girl 2 years older than us." You can still remember it now, the way he used to sit with her whenever he had the chance, how she clearly did not want a kid 2 years younger than her hanging around, how lovesick he was...how lovesick you were.

"Okay, so Cameron likes a cougar?" You glare over at him as you rub moisturiser into your skin, disapproving as he grins at you, straight teeth peeking out from behind his lips.

"2 years apart at the age of 10 and 12 does not make someone a cougar, Quinn!"

"I don't know, baby, seems pretty cougar-ish to me." You roll your eyes at him as he strolls closer to you, taking your comb in hand and tilting your head forward gently. He's careful as he starts to detangle your hair, careful not to pull too harshly on your scalp, much kinder than your mother used to be when you were a child. Quinn's always careful not to hurt you, apologetic if a tangle pulls too roughly.

"You're ridiculous. Anyway, where was I?" You reach for the detangler handing it back to him as he works, closing your eyes gently.

"You liked a spotty kid called Cameron." There's a hint of dislike riding his voice, even as his fingers are careful as they pull strands of your hair apart, teasing out knots.

Your eyes flash open and meet his in the vanity mirror, lips pursed at the way he insults a ten year old he's never met, "I liked a tall, cute kid called Cameron who was into soccer."

"Yeah, like I said, spotty." The dislike turns to a jealous sort of mumble, matched only by the sour look on his face that has you huffing out a laugh.

"Are you jealous of a ten year old?"

"He's not ten anymore..."

"Do I need to remind you this is a story of heartbreak?"

"Still, should've been me." His hands slide from your hair, comb having been put back on the side, and down to the base of your neck. Long fingers working at the tension there, you lean back into his fingers even as you call him out for his ridiculousness.

"We didn't even know each other! You're absurd, anyway, so I was certain Cameron was my future husband and I decided to be very brave one Valentine's day and get him a card and a gift." You lean a little to the right as Quinn hits a knot on the left side of your shoulder, you sway back into him.

"I'm proud of little you, that's gutsy." He can almost imagine it, little you bravely handing over a glittery red and pink monstrosity, little bows in your hair and chubby cheeks.

"I know, braver than I am now." You're not sure you'd have been brave enough to do something like that now, it had been Quinn after all who'd made the first move, Quinn who'd set the pace of your relationship at the start, "So I get him some chocolates, those stupid cheap heart shaped ones, and I make a stupid card covered in glitter and all sorts. I take my time and I write a heartfelt confession inside and then decided to give it to him in front of the entire class."

"No..." His voice drops, horror filling it as he looks at you through the mirror, mouth slightly open, eyes wide. You nod at him, confirming his worst fears, he knows how this is about to go down.

"Yeah, rookie move. I do it though, I hand it over and then he proceeds to not even read the card and um, rip it up in front of me and the entire class while telling me that he was going to marry Emily."

His fingers still in their massage. In fact, Quinn completely stills, his entire body rigid as he frowns at you through the mirror, there's a silence, long and heavy before he speaks.

"Where does Cameron live?"

"Quinn." You turn in your seat to look up at him, lips pursed together.

"I'm serious where does he live I'm going to go have some words with him," He crosses his arms and there's a brief moment where you're distracted by the strength and definition in his forearms before you really process that he's considering having words with a guy who broke your heart when you were ten.

"About his choices when he was ten?"

"Yeah! Who does that to someone, not only did he reject you, which is an insane decision by the way, he embarrasses my baby in front of the entire class!" Quinn reaches for your hands as he rants, pulling you to your feet, as his fingers twist and twine with yours. You'd think he's just joking but his tone is completely serious and it makes your heart warm, no matter how silly he's being. He's genuinely personally offended on your behalf about something that happened when you were a child, before you knew each other. It's sweet. Silly and absurd, but sweet.

"You can't fight a guy who broke my heart at the age of ten."

"Sure, I can or I can get Millsy to do it." He cracks a smile at that, even though he's serious about wanting words with this Cameron, he's also aware he's being absurd. He tugs you closer by the hands even as you glare up at him like a disappointed parent.

"You are not setting Miller on my childhood crush!"

"Why not?"

"Because it's ridiculous! It was over a decade ago!" Even as you protest you're smiling, arms reaching up to rest over his shoulders and around the back of his neck. Fingers twisting the strands of brunet hair that rest there.

"And, he broke your heart and that's not acceptable, baby, i'm sorry, I have to defend your honour." Quinn palms rest on each of your hips, pulling you in as his fingers curl into your pajama bottoms.

"But, it was a good thing."

"How is that a good thing?"

"Because if he hadn't done that, I might have married him and been stuck in a loveless marriage and then never met you or met you but not been able to be with you." You look at him with a little smirk like you've beat him at his own game, like you've outplayed him in a game of chess.

"So you're saying that I actually should be thanking that spotty kid for breaking your heart?"

"Yes."

There's a moment of silence as he draws you ever closer, leaning down to brush his nose against yours, all soft lidded eyes and warmth. Pliant like a docile house cat.

"I'm not thanking him, I will, however, not get Millsy to fight him." It's mumbled so close to your lips that they're brushing his, an almost kiss that speaks volumes about where his mind is now.

"Good, because I'm not breaking you or Miller out of prison."

"You don't love me enough?" He doesn't even have the decency to pretend to be offended or care as his eyes are heavy, focus on your lips, not your eyes and certainly not on the ten year old he was threatening to set Miller on 5 seconds ago.

"Oh, I love you enough, but I do not have that skill set, honey."

"I don't know, think you could probably charm the officers into letting me out, baby." Quinn brushes the tip of his nose purposefully with yours and you know he's seconds from breaking and just kissing you, he has his tells, his little gestures that have consistently given him away.

"You suggesting I seduce the police now?" You pull back just enough to get his attention, to force a pout from him at the distance, his fingers scrambling at your back to pull you back in.

"...Nawwh, only me."

"You're an idiot." He pulls in you in with enough force that your chests bump with a soft smack, rubbing his cheek against yours just because he knows the stratch of his beard will get a giggle from you as you shy away from the sensation.

"I'm your idiot though."

"Mmm, my idiot." You mumble it against his lips as he finally breaks, self control being ditched in favour of the way you sigh against his mouth. He tastes like spearmint toothpaste, minty and sweet as his lips part beneath yours with a hum.

Maybe heartbreak at ten sucked, but you can't help but be thankful for it when you ended up winning the jackpot when you scored Quinn. So much better than spotty ten year old Cameron.

[sweetdispatch]

We need to talk - Q. Hughes

part 1

pairing: Quinn Hughes x girlfriend!reader

summary: Quinn and his girlfriend have a heart to heart conversation about what happened in the past two days

warning: mentions of sex (nothing graphic), swear words

words: 1.2k

note: continuation to the "The card", thank you for request and pushing me to make second part!

---

When you woke up, Quinn wasn’t by your side, which was unusual because he loved to cuddle you in the morning, especially when he had a free day and didn't have to rush on training. You were laying in bed thinking about the past two days. You and Quinn had an argument. He used the card. You said a safeword. You two promised to talk about it in the morning.

You groaned at the thought of having a confrontation with Quinn. The last thing you wanted was to talk with him about it. You felt embarrassed that this stupid argument had a domino effect and now, you had to explain yourself. You started to wonder if there was even a point of giving him a cold shoulder. It was, you had full right to do it. 

After 30 minutes, you decided to start the day and have the conversation behind you. You couldn’t be mad at Quinn forever. He deserved to hear your point of view and why it hurt you that much. You went into a closet to pick clothes for today and went into a bathroom. You stood in the shower longer than always, trying to collect all your thoughts of what you were planning to say to him. 

You stepped out from the bathroom and took a deep breath before you left the bedroom. There was no turning back now. Immediately you went into the kitchen to make yourself a cup of mint tea. You tried to cut the coffee and you were drinking tea every morning. To your surprise, you saw an already prepared drink on the kitchen island in your favorite mug.

“I heard you going into the bathroom so I made you a tea so you don’t have to wait until it’s ready” You heard Quinn’ words and turned to see him sitting on the couch and reading a book.

“Thank you” You grabbed the cup and took a first sip.

“Also, I bought your favorite donuts. You have them on a plate next to the sink” You looked there and saw three chocolate donuts.

“You didn’t have to go to the bakery and buy them. I would eat something from the fridge” 

“But I wanted” He shrugged. 

You took the plate and mug and sat next to him on the couch. You started scrolling your phone while eating to occupy your mind. You wanted to turn on the tv and watch your tv show but you were too scared. The atmosphere in the living room was tense and the last thing you needed was another argument.

“You can turn on the tv. I don’t mind and you know it” Quinn said, not even bothering to look at you from the book he was reading. 

“It’s fine. I’m almost done” You replied.

After 5 minutes, you finished your breakfast and went to wash your plate and mug. You were doing this longer than always. Everything not to start the conversation about what happened between you in these past two days. You turned off the water and took a deep breath. Quinn finished a chapter and put his book back on the coffee table. 

“I think we need to talk about what happened” He started.

“Yeah, we need to” You replied and sat again on the couch trying to keep your distance. 

There was a silence between you two. None of you wanted to start this unpleasant conversation. 

“I think we should start from the beginning” Quinn took a deep breath. “Why were you so mad after the argument?” 

“Are you serious?” You looked at him and you saw that he didn’t have a single clue. “You said that I’m not doing anything. I get it, you might not see it but I’m cleaning the whole apartment. I’m cooking for you. I’m always washing your suits. I’m doing everything for you to make your life easier so you don’t have to do it and focus on hockey” 

“I never asked you for that” He replied.

“I know, but I’m your girlfriend and I want you to have everything done so you can rest after games” You fought back.

“Okay, I’m sorry. I understand why you got mad but I never asked you for that. Although I really appreciate it. I never saw you doing this and I took everything for granted. It was wrong from my side and I’m truly sorry” Quinn grabbed your hand. “I’m really sorry, I just… I don’t even know what I was thinking when I said it. As I’m thinking now, you’re doing everything here. Sorry for saying that”

“Thanks for saying this but it would be nice if you would start noticing it. It really hurt me when you accused me of not doing anything” You squeezed his hand. 

“I will. I promise to be a better boyfriend and be grateful for the things you are doing. I guess… No, no excuses. What I said was wrong and I need to be better for you. You deserve the world” He brought your hand and placed a kiss on top of it.

“Okay, we sorted things out, it’s time to do something different” You tried to stand up but Quinn stopped you.

“We have to talk about what happened yesterday when we had sex. I know you don’t want to but I need to know for the future” 

“Quinn, drop it. It’s embarrassing” You covered your face in your hands.

“It’s not. We have the word to use it. I just want to know what I did wrong to push you to say it” He gently grabbed your wrists to look at your face. “Please”

“It was too much. I felt overstimulated and overwhelmed by your actions. I needed to cum really badly but at the same time I was too fucked and I said it so you could stop. I’m sorry for this” You said and looked at your legs. Quinn placed his fingers under your chin and you were forced to look at him. 

“Don’t apologise. You had full right to say it. I should be the one to apologise for pushing you too much” 

“I like when you’re rough and dominant but I guess orgasm denial is not my thing” You joked and heard him laughing.

“I’ll remember for the next time. I’m really sorry for the past two days. I was terrible for you” He admitted. 

“Stop it. It was just a misunderstanding between us and things like this happened. Glad we could sort things out” You smiled. 

“Are we alright?” Quinn asked you.

“We are alright” You leaned and pecked his lips. “How about staying on the couch all day and just enjoying the moment of peace?” You proposed.

“I’m up for it” He kissed you again. 

Quinn laid on the couch and pulled you closer to him so could place your head on his chest. You were listening to his heartbeat while he was scrolling through Netflix to find a movie to watch. You two laid in comfortable silence while a movie was played in the background. From time to time, Quinn was placing kisses on top of your head. You were glad that you two were back on the right track. 

[shaisuki]

Hii. Could I please request Geto (or gojo) who bullies insecure chubby reader but then gets stunned and almost offended when she starts to get close to another guy. And it's even worse that she's recently been trying to give the silent treatment since she's wants to be all strong and stand her ground and stuff. (maybe goes as far as smacking his hand away and all if ykwim)

❝ BITE BACK! ❞

FEATURING. GOJO SATORU AND GETO SUGURU

CONTENT WARNINGS. implied bullying + jealousy + hints of sabotaging.

SYNOPSIS. it takes a new guy for you to fight your bullies.

recently, you've been smiling a lot.

the kind of smile that reaches your eyes. the corners crinkling and there's the unmistakable twinkle in those round eyes of yours. a dimple showing in your cherubic cheeks. you think they wouldn't notice but they did. not with their prying eyes following your every movement and quirk of your face.

suguru noticed it first. there's the whispers and chatters of every student body passing by in the courtyard. he sees you in the midst of the crowd, alternating between running and walking like you were in a rush before disappearing in the next building. he paid it no mind, you may be running late and all the other reasons except meeting with someone.

it happened one afternoon, suguru and satoru was walking towards your class and then a familiar figure casually walks towards someone. a man. they didn't pay it no mind believing that you're off to talk to that guy about things relating to your classes and then a scene unfolds in front of them. one they thought wouldn't expect seeing.

they watched — transfixed. the cold hard stare being sent to both of you and then without a beat, the man raises his arm to pat your head and you — clearly taken aback — bloomed a shy smile. your head lowering to avert his gaze and from the looks of it, you were feeling bashful.

it didn't stop there, the hand that was patting your head descended down to cup your round cheek before pinching it. the action made their irritation trigger over something so simple. you didn't act that way when they do the same to you. (it always brought you to tears. gojo's pinches leaves bruises and geto squishing your round cheeks made you cry.) they didn't thought of it and that made them seething in anger.

fear not, they didn't confront you about it. waiting for you to crack under their scrutinizing gazes while you continue forced to be with them. thriving on the way you squirmed but nothing happened not the way they expected it to be that you'll go vulnerable at them for the pressure they're putting you on.

why does it bother to see you with that lowlife so much? they were much better than that trash. looks and popularity wise and they give you the same affection that guy does to you. (although the guy was much gentler to you, not the same way they've been treating you.) it gotten worst that your undivided attention is being stolen in broad daylight from them and they don't like to share.

you have gotten clever to. the excuses were so convincing and real. avoiding them was like the easiest task for you to do so and it left them no choice but to confront you about your behavior towards them. they can't have you hanging out with that guy.

the expressions on their face was something you were prepared for. their jaws clench, face hardening on what just occured.

did you just slapped gojo's hand away from you? with your big girl talks about not taking a shit for them and won't tolerate anything of the their stupid actions towards you. it cut deep to their unwavering assertion of their pride towards you. their little mouse is being hostile and brace towards them. that son of a bitch was really putting an influence with you. they ought to be taught a lesson and they just have the perfect thing on their mind but first they have to deal with their little mouse in front of them. staring daggers at them and aren't you just the cutest thing ever.

they will let it slide — just this time after they took care of that scum taking their little mousey from them and after that — there would be no more rambunctious attitude and you will be only left with your pliant attitude towards them. you will only be their mouse for them to play.

[misctf]

Christmas Curse

Hey everyone! Happy Holidays. If you have any holiday-themed asks, I will try to prioritize those. Hope you enjoy this story!

“Yeah, yeah Stacy, I know.” Matt grumbles, “You’ll be here soon. Got it.” He rolls his eyes, “ Jesus Stacy, I got the kids their presents. I know how to be a dad.” He hangs up, “Fuckin’ bitch.” He mumbles.

Matt yawns and starts preparing his morning coffee. He was going to need it. While he didn’t really mind having his kids over, he did hate having to see his ex-wife. Always nagging him, even after they signed the papers. It was that nagging that drove him to cheat on her with one of his clients at the gym. At least that’s how he justified it. A small frown formed on his lips as he sips his coffee.

“First Christmas since the divorce.” He mumbles, looking around his empty apartment, “Damn.” A part of him starts to feel guilty- his kids deserved better. No decorations, no tree, not even a single light, “Fuck. I won’t hear the end of this.” His thoughts return to his ex-wife.

He quickly walks to his closet where he had a few things that he got from the house after the divorce. He sighs as he realizes most of the decorations he took were broken- likely due to how unceremoniously he treated them during the move.

“Oh god.” He grimaces as he pulls out their Elf on the Shelf, “Terrifying little fucker.” He chuckles, “Yeah, you got me good, Stacy.”

It was the one decoration Stacy insisted he take in the divorce. Likely because of how much it creeped him out. Just another petty move on her part, he figured. Yet part of him can’t help but smile. His kids loved the thing.

“I guess this’ll do.” He quickly walks back to the kitchen and places it lamely on a chair.

He walks over to grab his coffee and upon turning around, he raises an eyebrow. The damn thing was on the ground. Matt walks over and quickly places it back on the chair, making sure there was no way it could fall.

“Creepy fucker.” He mumbles, turning around again.

Thump

“Really?” Matt turns back to find it on the ground again, “Seriously, what the hell?” He picks it up and looks at it closely, “Stay put.” He realizes he sounds insane- talking to an inanimate object.

“Make me.” Matt’s eyes widen as he realizes the decoration just talked to him. Its eyes blinking. Its giggles echoing in his ears.

“Gah what the fuck!?”

Matt cries out as it bites down firmly on his thumb and he throws it across the room. He stares at the small teeth marks on his thumb and watches as the little demon scurries away, its giggling filling his apartment. Matt’s breath became heavier as he stumbled to the kitchen sink and started cleaning out his cut. His thoughts were racing and he was feeling dizzy.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck...” He’s mumbling to himself, and he shakily grabs his cup of coffee.

But when the bitter liquid touches his tongue he gags and drops the mug. Its disgusting. Bitter, sour, and he spits out as much as he can. He quickly rushes to his fridge, looking for anything that might get that disgusting taste out of his mouth. But none of his protein shakes look appealing, nor does almond milk or his protein smoothies. Matt doesn’t know what compels him, but he grabs the chocolate milk he got his kids last time they visited. Without much thought, he begins to guzzle it, downing the carton in a matter of seconds.

“So good...” He giggles, wiping his mouth.

His eyes widen at the realization of what he just did. He just ruined his macros for the day without even thinking about it. At least the taste from the coffee was gone. Matt shakes his head- realizing he has bigger things to worry about. He needed to find that elf. As his thoughts return to his predicament, he can hear a giggle coming from the bedroom.

“Fudger...” Matt mumbles, “Fudger? No I meant fudger! What the fudge?” He shakes his head, trying to curse, “Sugar plums... I need to find that thINg.”

Frustrated at his inability to curse, and the strange cracking of his voice, Matt rushes to his room. Desperate to find the monster and give it back to Stacy. Of course she gave him a cursed doll. And as he storms down the hallway, he absentmindedly scratches at his beard. The hairs falling away, leaving his cheeks smooth and hairless. Unbeknownst to him, they take on a rosier complexion, filling out slightly and becoming rounder.

“ThERe you ARe.” Matt’s voice cracks as he notices the decoration sitting atop his tall dresser, “Come here.”

Matt approaches his dresser and reaches to grab it but finds his arms no longer reach the top of it. The elf grins and teases Matt, reaching out to Matt, who is unable to grab it. Just missing ever so slightly. The personal trainer is growing frustrated, now standing on his tippee toes as he desperately swats at the elf.

“Why can’t I reach it?” Matt thinks. At 6’3” he never had an issue reaching the top of the dresser.

And as he lifts his arms above his hand, he catches a whiff from his exposed pits. But it’s not his musk that invades his nostrils. No, it’s sweet. Like gingerbread and holly. He lowers his arms, not even registering that his pit hair has vanished.

“What’s happening to me?” He whispers, his voice softer. The masculine edge diminished. He looks up at the elf, who is smiling at him, “What did you do to me?”

Matt turns and looks over at his full body mirror. A high-pitched gasp leaves his mouth as he catches a glimpse of himself. He’s short... at least 5’4”. And his muscles look softer. He saunters over to the mirror, feeling his smooth face, rubbing a hand through his dissipating chest hairs. His tokens of masculinity vanishing at an alarming rate. His face cute- elfish even. Just like... just like...

“No, no, no!” Matt’s voice has settled on its higher tenor, “Stop this!” He hisses, hating how pouty his voice sounds, “Please! I...” He turns to confront the elf.

But it’s no longer on the dresser. Matt’s heart is pounding in his chest as he swings back to watch the changes continue. He grunts as his meaty pecs let out a hissing sound and deflate before his eyes. Days of chest flies and bench pressing seem to reverse themselves as his chest becomes flat, his two nipples becoming perkier and sensitive to the cool air in his apartment. He can’t help but massage his flat chest with his dainty and smooth hands. Part of him enjoying how cute he looks, another part utterly horrified at the loss of his gains.  

“Wait, please don’t... not my arms!”

In a moment of lucid thought, he realizes that his impressive tris and bis are releasing the same hissing sounds. Rapidly becoming stick-like and nonthreatening. Matt feels tears well up in his eyes. He loved to flex- to show off to his clients. He loved holding women in his muscular arms. How they would run their hands along them and his abs... His abs! He watches as they too smooth over and vanish, giving him a lean tummy. His treasure trail, another symbol of his masculinity has similarly vanished. The hairs falling to the ground, leaving Matt smooth.

“Oh god...” Matt feels for his Adam’s apple and frowns, “Even my voice...” He stumbles backwards and slides down the wall, “Oh!” He moans as his inflated ass cushions him, “Wh-what...?” He moans as he feels his larger ass. His hands filling with the flesh of his larger, jiggling mounds, “Ohhhhh...”

He gives them a squeeze, part of him embarrassed at how sensitive they are. At how each squeeze causes his dick to harden with pleasure. And as he moans again, he can’t help but realize that the bulge in his pants becomes less prominent. While part of him screams to stop, the pleasure he’s getting from just squeezing his ass overpowers any remaining willpower he might have. When he finally does pull his hands away from his ass and looks down his pants, his heart sinks. His dick has settled on 2 inches hard. Far from the thick meat women would beg for. And while part of him wanted to cry, to beg to return to his masculine form, another part urged him to give his ass another squeeze. And he did. Again and again and again...

It was a few hours later when he heard a knock at his door. Matt was lying face down, ass in the air, his dainty hands massaging his thicc ass. He slowly pushes himself up and giggles. His rosy cheeks rounding out more as a smile forms on his cute face. He quickly walks over to the closet where he rummages through tank-tops and hoodies.

“So ugly and boring...” Matt thinks as he hums a Christmas tune to himself.

And then he finds it. He never really remembered buying it, but the red footie pajamas, white fluffy mittens, and Santa hat are absolutely perfect. He quickly puts them on and walks over to the mirror.

“Ohhh I look so good!” He giggles, lifting his leg and doing a twirl.

Part of him registers that he looks exactly like the elf. A near perfect, human replica. And while he feels deep down this is wrong, that he isn’t some elf-like, twink with a big ass, he can’t imagine being anything else.

“No please! Let me out!” Matt’s giggling stops as he listens closely to the voice in his head. And when he stares in the mirror, he sees who he used to be. A desperate fear in the man’s eyes, “Please! I’m not...”

“Shhhhh!” Giggling fills the air, “We have a lot to do!”

Matt leaves the mirror, the sound of sobbing echoing deep within his brain. But Matt can’t be bothered right now. He quickly swings open the door and grins when he sees Stacy.

“Stacy!” He sings, “Merry Christmas Eve!”

Stacy grins, “Seems like you found my gift.” She says, “I just came by to pick up the presents for the kids. I think they should stay with me this Christmas.”

Matt frowns, “Alright... It’s not like I’m ready for Christmas anyway.” He pouts, crossing his arms.

Matt watches as Stacy leaves with the few presents he got for his kids. Internally, Matt is begging to be freed. This isn’t what he wanted. This wasn’t... His thoughts slow as he feels hands grip his massive ass. The two Matts moaning in unison. Their minds melding in the midst of their shared pleasure. And internally, Matt realizes it’s too late. As the new Matt opens up Grindr to find a hairy daddy to fuck his brains out, Matt realizes by the time Christmas morning comes around, he and this new Matt will be one.

As he dreads his future, he can hear a giggle coming from down the hall. One last mocking laugh from the elf on the shelf.

[scrumdidiliyumyum]

Something special |||

Yan!Batfam x Neglected!Reader

Prologue - > Part 1 - > Part 2 - > Part 3

How could he have known that you were with your friends?

You sat there for a while, in the cold car with the sudden realization that that man you had quite literally just met knew something he shouldn't have. Were you overthinking it? Were you just to tired to really comprehend the actual situation, your mind instantly going to something more darker and blaming an innocent man?

Maybe you were paranoid, just maybe. He was a vigilante for goodness sakes. He helps people, saves them. He most likely just assumed that you were out and about, hanging out with buds. There wasn't any need to jump to such big conclusions- to make an innocent man the target of your paranoia.

As you sat there, you tried your best to control your breathing, feeling it go out of control every time the thought of him knowing more than he should've creeped back into your mind. Maybe you really were just going crazy for all you knew.

Your hand shakily reached up to the ignition with the key to start the far, you couldn't think about this right now. Not in the middle of who knows where, alone, in a car. You tried, keyword tried, to push it away, to shoo away the bad thoughts until you were in a safer environment to be allowed to do so.

You drove back to the manor, trying to keep your mind in a happy place. Thinking of things to distract yourself, not noticing the skillfully hidden figure watching your vehicle make its way onto the street.

You slowly made your way towards the manor doors, not wanting to go in. God, why didn't you ask to stay over at a friend's house? If anytime was good, now would be, when your head was working against you and you could've used a friend to help you with it all.

Ah.

Your mind went back to a few certain people as you thought that. As much as you would've loved to, staying at a friend's house when some people were, "keeping an eye out on you," Suddenly disappearing probably wouldn't be the smartest move on your part.

You let out a sigh as you slowly opened the doors, looking around for a minute before making the hike up the stairs and back to your room. You kept looking around, at all the little places you memorized from walking through these halls for years. Something you were hoping would change very soon.

You jumped out of your trance as you felt a hand tap on your shoulder, whipping around and coming face to face with Duke who still had a worried look on his face. You opened your mouth to speak, but closed it as he beat you to it.

"Are you alright? I was worried when you disappeared all of a sudden." You held back to urge to roll your eyes, "yeah I'm fine don't worry. Really, there's no reason to be worried." You stood there awkwardly for a second before slowly turning to make your way back to your room.

Duke suddenly put that to a halt as he said, "hey, you shouldn't stress yourself out so much. I know you wanna work hard, but maybe try to relax, yeah?" You looked back at him, trying to think of what to say.

You would've been mad if it was anyone else, should've been mad nonetheless, but you never really knew Duke. He was always nice, and you both were older, teens when you both had first met. Despite everything, he still treated you the kindest.

So you sighed, before fully turning to face him. You softly smiled at him before saying, "thanks Duke, I'll keep that in mind." You patted his arm before walking back to your room trying to ignore the face he made, just wanting to sleep and prepare yourself for whatever tomorrow intailed.

Man you wished that you were old enough to drink.

You adjusted your uniform, tidying up as best as you could. You were a tad bit nervous, more than usual as today was the day you decided to quit a club. You had to step out of your comfort zone, and maybe it wasn't a big deal to some, but for you it was a really big deal.

All the times you had walked through those halls, hoping for something more from the very people that lived there, it hurt more than everything. And it still didnt hurt any less, but you were gonna make it okay, because you did have people to rely on, people who would be there, who would gladly hang up your photos and take time out of their day to be with you.

You wanted more then everything to start doing stuff you liked, be with people you liked, so that's exactly what you were going to do.

You gathered up the rest of your stray items and set them into your bag. Nervous yes, but overall thrilled to be doing this, patting your self before making your way towards your door to get to school.

You looked at a picture from one of the many photo booths you had run into the night before, hung up on your wall of you, Aryan and Ethan, all smiling, happy and making weird faces.

For the first time in awhile going to school didn't seem to hard.

"I'm sorry, I'm what?"

Your debate teachers face scrunched up slightly as he started to explain, "well, you're out, that's it." He paused before continuing, "technically, isn't that what you wanted? So I don't see the problem." You felt nothing but absolute confusion as he said that, slowly processing his words.

You did amazing, was, were, one of the best debaters, you were always helpful, willing to offer a helping hand to those that needed one, inside and outside the class. So what was the problem? Why were you suddenly cut off the team?

Him sighing and gesturing for you to lean in brought back your attention, "look, kid, to be honest, your amazing. But, this other kid, don't really know his name, started with a D? I don't know, but he waltzed in here, saying how he wanted you off the team, and started going on about you and stuff, something like that."

He scratched his head, "usually, I would just shoo people like that off, but he had a signed paper and everything!" He waved his arms around to emphasize the paper, "look, I'm sorry kid, I figured you knew about it since... well, y'know."

You could feel a huge headache coming on, desperately needing a pill. You paused your thoughts as you took what he said to mind. You stumbled on your words, "I- I'm sorry, Damien?" He nodded his head, getting a grim look on his face, "don't get me wrong, I've dealt with some freaky kids, but that one was definitely pretty freakish."

You were about to make your way into another rant, when you decided to leave it as it is. As much as you wanted to fight him on it, you know it wasn't his fault. You took a breath and forced yourself to calm down and smiled at him politely before taking your stuff and storming off, making turns through the halls towards your car.

You were going to talk to him, yell, whatever. Yes, you were going to quit the club, or a club, but just because didn't mean he had the right to butt in. It was your choice to make, one that seemed to be a good one, one that make you excited until you got there only to find out Damien had gotten you kicked out in the first place.

You and Damien never had a close relationship, always having some sort of rift between the two of you no matter what you did to try and repair it. And for once, for once, you decided you were gonna move on, live your own life, and he decides he doesn't want that?

No.

You weren't gonna just let him decide this. This was for you to decide, and you weren't gonna let him make something that should've been a new chapter into something else as he had done one too many times. You really didn't want that to happen right now, especially when this particular thing was supposed to be a turning point for you.

Maybe you were being dramatic, but in all honesty you couldn't care less. Sure, maybe at the base of it all, what you were really mad at was not just this, but all the other times he was ruined things for you, turning stuff that made you happy into stuff that made you cry and sick everytime it entered your sight, the fact that you were always to weak to put a stop to it.

You just hoped that you would be strong enough to tell him this time.

You slowly made your way towards Damien, having searched for him for a good while. You were filled with anger earlier, but it slowly faded away and out of your body once you noticed Dick standing by him.

You didn't know how to confront him with Dick by your side, at most he wouldn't care, right? You hoped with every fiber in your body that they would push whatever you decided on saying to the deep depths of their minds. As you neared them, the moment they took notice of you, you almost had to double back and go throw up from how nervous you were.

But, you held your ground and continued walking until you were infront of them, trying to hide how harshly you were breathing and the mini panic attack you were having on the inside. "Damien, can I talk to you, somewhere private?" You said with as much confidence you could muster. He stared for a moment before responding, "why? We can talk right here."

The small bite in his tone reminded you exactly why you were in this situation in the first place. Taking a deep breath, "fine. Damien, why did you get me kicked out of my club? It's my club, and you shouldn't have to go behind my back to talk to my teacher." You waited, trying your best to ignore Dick just staring at you.

He rubbed his eyes, sighing, before giving you a fierce look, "look, whether you like it or not, you're my sister. What you do directly effects me and father. And I'd rather not have to deal with you passing out in public, with everyone as a witness."

You scoffed at what he said, " your sister? Well whether you like it or not, it's not for you to decide! What I decide to do with my life outside- actually, inside this manor as well, had absolutely nothing to do with you, or anyone else that lives here."

You breathed harshly out of your nose, trying to keep a cool head but failing miserably. You took in a deep breath before starting another rant, " and y'know what Damien? I passed out once why does everyone think I'm suddenly this super fragile person?" -You barely noticed the way he winced from the pure venom of which you spat his name- "I honestly hate-"

Suddenly Dick covered your mouth, pausing after doing so as if not even meaning to. His eyes jolted around for a bit before settling on whispering, "please don't say stuff like that, okay?" You stared at him, pushing his hand off your mouth. "Say what? That I hate your guts? Is that what the problem is?"

He almost looked surprised at the hatred in your voice, before letting out a sigh, "look, I'm sorry okay? You're probably tired, and just need to go lay down-"

You laughed incredulously, absolutely shocked at his words. Had he even been listening? You decided that you had had enough of his- no, enough of their bullshit. It wasn't your job to cater to their every whim.

You decided then and there to just leave. You rubbed hard at your face, as if to try and rid of the tension and unadulterated anger coursing through your body. Was this whole family crazy? You honestly couldn't care less, you were tired, hungry, and just wanted to be somewhere safe.

You suddenly looked at the two annoyed, "I'm gonna stay at a friend's house tonight. Bye!" Quickly turning around, you started to make your way back down where you had come from. You pushed anything they had said out of your head as you tried to mentally retrace your footsteps back.

Because you had already spaced out, you hadn't noticed Dick speading towards you, completely blocking your path. You jumped at him suddenly invading your view, giving him a questioning look. He looked back at Damien a few times before muttering a quick, 'I'm sorry' and snatching your phone out of your hand.

You looked at him incredulously, at this point really wondering if it was all a dream. Dick stood there, trying to convince you to go to your room. "Look, I'm sorry, can you please go back for now? I promise I'll give it back later I just-" He paused as he looked back at Damien, the both of them having a silent conversation.

Suddenly Damien sighed and spoke up, "go away, I need to talk to Dick." You could feel his stare bore into the back of your head. You scoffed and just left, figuring it wasn't worth the fight. Although you wanted to try and grab it, you tried to soothe yourself with the fact that you still had your computer to contact someone- anyone.

Running Walking away, you could faintly hear Damien start to talk to Dick, 'I thought we told you already-' but you quickly pushed it out of your head. All you could think of at the moment was how pissed you were with those two, what was their problem??

Frankly, any other day you wouldn't have left. It was your phone, and they couldn't just suddenly decide to team up and take it away. But, you didn't care anymore, you were done with having nothing to deal with, then now having to deal with everything.

You tried to soothe yourself with the fact that this time tomorrow you would be out of here.

You walked into your room and slammed the door, sliding down against it trying your best to calm down. For all you knew they could've broken it. You mentally beat yourself up for not just snatching the phone back. The thought of that made you remember something as you sprung up, making your way towards your desk.

Pulling multiple draws open before your eyes finally landed on what you were looking for, you quickly grabbed it out, pushing along the few trinkets that resided on top.

Your laptop.

You needed to message someone, maybe Aryan? Would she even answer? Or maybe Ethan, he might-

.

You paused before quickly turning back towards the desk, once again looking through the drawer that held your laptop. You looked through it multiple times, taking everything out before moving towards other drawers.

After moving everything out, looking once again through the mountain of items that sat om your floor, even going as far as any other desks, drawers, hell, your backpack. Yet no matter where you looked, you couldn't find it. Did someone steal it? Did Aryan- or no, even Miss Honey take it?

Where the hell was your camera?

The dim room was faintly lit up by the big computer screen, shining onto nearby objects and the young man who sat at the desk it resided on. He watched the video, taking in every detail of it. The small giggles that got let out every now and then, the way you threw flour at the other girl in the video, laughing and smiling brightly.

Tim looked over the video, and the many others that were on the sim card over and over again. It was so weird- he never really cared about you, still didn't really. Then what was that aching tug in his heart? but nonetheless, seeing you there, no longer the small kid that he could always sense trailing somewhere behind him, it was weird.

He remembers the first time he met you, you coming up to him with a smile, bandages on your knee, hair wild. It was amusing seeing someone so full of life and color in such a desolate and dark manor. With how sleep deprived he was, he genuinely thought for a second that he went to the wrong manor.

But you weren't little, you weren't the same joy filled kid that he ran into so few times. You were older, and because he didn't know you it was easier to just place you as a faceless nobody.

Well, until you were brought to his attention.

It was like a parasite, the way he slowly heard more and more people talking about you, worrying about you. It honestly didn't make sense. You really weren't special, you had a few quirks here and there, but that was about it. What was so different?

After he ransacked your room, looking through drawers and settling on stealing a camera, he connected it to his computer and looked through the contents. There was a mountain of pictures, ranging from sunsets, to photos with friends, to even the beautiful shimmering ocean.(when did you visit the ocean?)

As much as he hated to admit it, he understood where the rest were coming from. The fact that you hadn't ever touched the dark vigilante life- never having the get your hands dirty from another person's blood, it made you so much different than them.

You were human, something to be treasured, to be kept safe and sound. He couldn't help but think of how different you seemed as of late. In the few times he saw you, he saw a quiet wallflower. But now? Seeing you so of life almost made him... admire you in a way.

The humanity you had, having the ability to be happy and share your love with those around you so freely. He could tell from each picture and video he looked at, the way you talked, looked, it made it so clear that you were someone overflowing with love.

And he longed for you to share it with him as well.

Hey guys...long time no see....

(*´Д`)

I wanted to drop this chapter for christmasss!!! Sorry it isn't Christmas themed though (-。-;) Can you guys tell how readers slowly starting to get more pissed off?? I'm VERY excited to not write a breakdown wink wink Anywaysss I've said this a million times but MERRY CHRISTMAS Or HAPPY HOLIDAYS if you dont celebrate SENDING HUGS AND KISSES TAGLIST : @wizzerreblogs, @darktrashpoetry, @daddyissuesehe, @chericia, @iluvcatzz, @fightmebissh, @fionnalopez-blog, @otterluver05, @kitkatkitmeow, @caged-birdies-blog, @ocean-mochi, @tatsuri-zomushiki, @nickey-diano, @nickey-diano, @cloudserenity, @seleneprince, @degenerates-posts, @definitely-not-sammie, @pix-stuff, @nervousalpacalady, @mys0cksrwet, @kore-of-the-underworld, @lilyalone, @alliwantisadonut, @shadowytravlerlover, @dreamsarenicer, @dhanyasri, @blackbirdsblackberries Thank you for the support 💓 I'm going to bed now (´Д` )

[nebulousmoon3990]

GHOSTS OF THE PAST (Batfam x neglected hero reader)

𓂃› CHRISTMAS SPECIAL

Warning: spelling mistakes (English is not my first language) and the reader has black hair and blue eyes (sorry), fem reader! I accept criticism, everything is fiction!

The lights in New York shone in the middle of the winter night, the snow, fluffy and white, fell slowly due to the cold wind that adorned the city. The moon shone with a subtle glow, illuminating the buildings and streets, on these same streets people were still walking in large numbers, different from normal, the end of the year night made everyone run to buy gifts and prepare for the celebration.

Amidst the vastness of buildings, a solitary figure was hanging from the building. Sitting on her knees, she watched the movement on the avenues.

You had the mask over your face, the penetrating cold on your body made you shiver sometimes, not that you cared about the cold.

But even if you didn't care about the cold or if it caused you discomfort, you knew the limits that the human body could withstand (although you are technically not 'human'), so you had the decency to wear a jacket and raise the hood.

Watching the city and lost in your thoughts, you barely noticed the wind beside you change, but of course your danger sensor never fails, so you knew when he was next to you.

"I thought you'd already left." You heard Conner sigh in defeat, almost laughing at your reaction, almost.

"Nah, I thought I'd keep my favorite spider friend company." He floated next to you, leaning proudly towards you. Before, the constant presence of supers irritated you, but you learned to get used to them, even liking them sometimes.

"Well, you're wasting your time, I'll finish patrol early today." You peeled your hands off the wall, making you stand leaning over the building. Conner's eyes widened, flying closer to you. "W-wait, seriously?!"

Oh, bad choice.

"What, so you actually have a life outside of heroin work?" You rolled your eyes as you walked down the building. You weren't lying, although you would rather finish your patrol, you needed to go to a store. Alex is preparing a night of sweets and homemade food for Christmas, she asked you to pick up some ingredients for her.

"Who would have thought, and here I thought the little spider lived alone and lonely" Conner drastically put his hand on his chest and made a cheap show of you, trying to tease you.

"Ha ha, very funny little super, but since I live alone and lonely, I'll leave now." You launched the web over another building and swung upwards, stopping on a rooftop. You were about to run again when Conner's voice reached you. "Wait, spider!"

You turned to find Conner in front of you, he seemed to want to say something, but gave up. He rubbed his neck, looking away. "I was hoping to convince you to go home but it looks like I'll have to settle for this…"

You turned to him, confused, the snow falling between the two of you. "Settle for what–" Your eyes widened as Conner handed you a gift box, it was wrapped in cupcakes.

You looked at Conner, who was smiling shyly at you. "Merry Christmas Spider-Woman."

Oh

Oh.

You took the gift hesitantly, your red face (thank God) hidden under the mask, you took the box, contouring its folds, when you gathered the courage to speak again. "Thank you Conner, I really appreciate it."

Conner's smile grew bigger than it could, the bright gold smile that lit up any darkness. "No problem, next Christmas I'll convince you to spend it with us."

"Maybe, who knows?"

Conner was surprised again, but this time you didn't let him speak. You activated your camouflage, jumping away from the place, heading home.

But as you jumped between the buildings, a smile appeared on your face.

You were happy, we won't lie.

MERRY CHRISTMAS AND HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE 💞

@daiyanomochi - @amber-content - @wizzerreblogs - @foggyv-oid - @kore-of-the-underworld - @theunknowntravel3r - @space1crow - @shortnsweetsposts - @popursocks - @sugasweettea - @salfishers - @itachisank - @jsprien213 - @infirebaby - @yhin-gg -@h-ib @bunbunboysworld - @h-ib - @sheep-from-rad - @tatsuri-zomushiki - @the-holy-pigeon - @geminis93 - @horror-lover-69 - @mybones537 - @eyeless-kun - @timotheechalametswifeys - @justabreadslice - @nymphzy0 - @1-800-g00ber - @pix-stuff - @jsprien213

Bye 𖹭

[orangeblossomsintheair]

LIONHEART (1/2) – LN4

summary : lando’s anxious journey as a dad-to-be

wc : 11k

an : this fic is kind of the antithesis of my whole “casual blog” thing but we close our eyes!! not beta read and quite a mess. it’s also longer so i hope that’s okay :>

Lando had always been confident.

On the track, in the spotlight, with a helmet on his head and a steering wheel in his hands. But when you told him you were pregnant, all of that certainty evaporated in an instant.

He just stood there in the middle of your kitchen, staring at you as if you’d just announced you were moving to Mars.

“You’re joking,” he said after a beat, his voice higher than usual, almost squeaky.

“Why would I joke about this?” you replied, holding up the positive test, your own emotions a mix of excitement and nervousness.

He blinked, his aquamarine eyes wide with disbelief, before breaking into a grin so wide it could’ve lit up the whole room. “I’m going to be a dad?”

“Yes, Lando,” you said, trying not to laugh at how genuinely dumbfounded he looked.

“A dad?” he repeated, as though saying it louder would make it sink in faster.

“Yes, Lando,” you said again, this time laughing outright.

He crossed the room in two strides, pulling you into his arms and lifting you off your feet.

He spun you around with an uncontainable excitement, his hoodie brushing against your cheek as he held you tight.

“This is insane,” he mumbled into your hair. “We’re going to be parents!”

“Careful,” you said, swatting at him lightly as he set you down. “You don’t want to shake the baby loose already.”

“Oh, right,” he said, letting go and stepping back. His head jerked up as he processed your words, looking alarmed. “Wait, is that a thing? Can I- are you okay? Are we okay? Is the baby okay?”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Lando, I found out like an hour ago. I’m pretty sure we’re fine.”

He paced the kitchen, running a hand through his curls as his grin came and went in waves. “A baby. We’re having a baby. Oh my God. Do you think it’s a boy or a girl?”

“I don’t know yet, Lando,” you said, sitting down on the couch to watch him spiral. “We’ll find out soon enough.”

“What if it’s twins?” he gasped, spinning around to face you. “Oh, I should call my mum. No, wait, too soon. We need to come up with a plan first. Have you eaten today? You need to eat. Should we go to a doctor? Ooh, they need to be a really good doctor if they’re handling my wife and baby. Should I buy baby books? Do people still read books, or do we just Google everything now?”

“Lando,” you said firmly, grabbing his hand to pull him to a stop. “Breathe.”

He took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly, nodding. “Right. Breathing. I can do that.”

He knelt down in front of you, his hands resting gently on your knees. “Sorry, I’m just… this is the biggest thing we’ve ever done.”

You smiled, brushing a curl out of his face. “It is. But we’ve got this, Lando.”

He leaned forward, resting his forehead against your belly, even though it wasn’t showing yet. “Hi in there,” he murmured, his voice soft and filled with wonder. “I’m your dad. I can’t promise I’ll always know what I’m doing, but I promise I’m going to love you more than anything in the world.”

—-

Lando had always been a man of routine– wake up, train, meetings, practice, race, repeat.

But preparing to be a dad? That was a whole different kind of race.

“I need a list,” he muttered one evening, pacing the living room while you sat on the couch, trying not to laugh. “No, like, several lists. One for baby stuff, one for the hospital bag, one for- what else do we need? Is there a book about this? Should I read a book?”

“Lando,” you interrupted gently, “you’re spiraling again.”

“I’m not spiraling! I’m… planning,” he countered, though the way he was raking his hand through his curls said otherwise. “We have to be ready, love. What if the baby comes early? What if I’m away for a race?”

You set aside the baby name book you were half-heartedly skimming and grabbed his hand, pulling him to sit beside you. “We’ll figure it out, okay? You’re doing great.”

He groaned, slumping against the couch. “Am I, though? I can barely keep my plants alive. How am I supposed to keep a tiny human alive?”

“First of all, I’m the one who keeps your plants alive,” you teased, earning a weak laugh from him. “And second, you’re going to be an amazing dad. You care so much already. It’s sweet.”

“But what if I miss something important?” he said, turning to you with wide, anxious eyes. “Like the first kick, or the first cry, or- or- what if you need me and I’m halfway across the world?”

You reached up to smooth his curls, trying to ease his tension. “Lando, you’ve already done so much. The private suite, rearranging your travel schedule to be here for every appointment… You’re balancing everything perfectly.”

—-

The next weekend, Lando was halfway across the world for a race.

He had tried to keep his focus on the track, but his mind kept drifting back to you, sitting at home with your feet propped up, texting him updates about every little thing- what you were craving, how you were feeling, and whether the baby had started kicking.

During a rare free afternoon between practice sessions, he found himself wandering into a bookstore. He had no real plan, he just knew he wanted to learn everything there was to know about being a dad.

The parenting section was tucked in a quiet corner of the shop, and as he stood there surrounded by shelves filled with brightly colored covers promising to teach him how to raise a baby, the weight of it all started to settle in.

At first, Lando was focused, scanning the titles with a determined expression. “The New Dad’s Guide to Baby Basics,” “How to Survive Your Baby’s First Year,” “Sleep Training 101.”

He picked up a few books, flipping through them as if the answers to all his worries might jump out at him.

He grabbed his phone, quickly dialing you.

“Hey, love,” he said, his voice soft and warm. “Quick question- do you think the baby’s gonna like white noise machines? Because this one book says they’re a lifesaver, but another one says they’re not necessary. And then there’s this other chapter about swaddling- do you know how to swaddle? Because I don’t.”

You laughed softly on the other end of the line. “Lando, you’re overthinking again. We’ve got months to figure this all out.”

“I know,” he sighed, running a hand through his curls. “I just… I want to be good at this. I want to be ready.”

And then, as he stood there in the middle of the bookstore, holding a stack of baby books, it hit him.

He was going to be a dad.

The thought wasn’t new. It had been there since the day you told him you were pregnant. But standing there, picturing your little family and the tiny person who was going to look up to him, rely on him, need him… it was overwhelming in the best way.

“Lando?” you said gently, pulling him back to the moment. “You okay?”

“I just-” He laughed nervously. “It’s a lot, you know? I mean, I’m going to be someone’s dad. That’s huge. What if I mess up? I’m practically a child!”

“Yeah,” he said, though his voice cracked a little. He cleared his throat, his free hand gripping the book tightly.

You smiled, wishing you could hug him through the phone. “You won’t mess up. You’re already doing amazing, and the baby’s not even here yet. You care so much, Lando. That’s what matters.”

He took a deep breath, letting your words sink in. “Thanks, love. I just… I want to do this right. For you. For them.”

“You will,” you reassured him. “And for the record, I think the baby’s going to love white noise machines and your ridiculous dad jokes.”

Lando chuckled, the tension in his chest easing slightly. “You think? Because I’ve already got a few saved up. Want to hear one?”

“No,” you teased, laughing. “Save them for when the baby’s old enough to groan at them.”

He grinned, his confidence slowly returning as he balanced the books in his arms. “Okay, okay. I’ll wait. But just so you know, they’re gold.”

After that call, Lando left the store with an armful of books and a heart that was a little fuller, a little steadier.

But one thing he knew for sure- he couldn’t wait to meet the little person who was already changing his world.

He still had moments of doubt, of wondering if he was truly ready for this massive change in his life.

—-

Even as Lando threw himself into preparation mode with the same energy he brought to a race weekend, scouring books and online articles about parenting, he still often got hilariously sidetracked by baby-related gadgets and gear.

“Did you know they make mini race suits for babies?” he asked one night, sprawled across the couch with his phone in hand, his eyes wide with excitement.

You glanced up from your own book, raising an eyebrow. “Lando, the baby’s not even born yet. Don’t you think it’s a little early for racing gear?”

“But imagine the photos!” he argued, sitting up and holding his phone out toward you like it was the discovery of the century.

On the screen was a tiny race suit in McLaren orange. “Our kid’s first photo: full McLaren merch. It’ll be iconic!”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “Iconic or not, I think diapers are going to be a bigger priority than race suits.”

“Lando,” you said, trying to sound serious but failing as a smile tugged at your lips, “our baby isn’t going to be born straight into a Formula 1 garage.”

“Why not both?” he shot back with a grin, already scrolling to find more baby-sized racing gear.

��Oh my god, look at this! miniature headphones for the paddock! Our baby could be sitting in the garage, looking like a proper little team member.”

He gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. “Blasphemy! Of course they are. It’s practically tradition.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help feeling touched by his enthusiasm. He wasn’t just excited; he was genuinely looking forward to every part of being a dad, even the ridiculous ones.

That wasn’t to say there weren’t more.. unwise moments even with non-racing related baby items.

Like the time he came home from a race weekend with three identical diaper bags.

“Lando,” you said, holding one up. “Why do we need three of these?”

“They’re different brands,” he explained, looking genuinely confused as to why you were asking. “What if one of them is better? Or has more pockets?”

“Pockets?”

“Yeah! Babies need a lot of stuff, right? I saw a mom at the airport with one of these, and she looked like she had her life together. I want you to have your life together too.”

You burst out laughing, and he groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Stop laughing! I’m trying to be prepared!”

“You’re overprepared,” you said, setting the bags down and walking over to wrap your arms around him. “But that’s why I love you.”

But it also wasn’t all fun and games.

Lando was determined to be as supportive as possible, especially when it came to your comfort. He took “protective husband” to a whole new level during your first trimester, hovering like an overzealous pit crew.

“Lando, I can still carry my own bag,” you told him one morning as he practically wrestled your tote out of your hands.

“Nope,” he said firmly, slinging it over his shoulder like it was his new personal mission. “You’re carrying our future world champion. I’ve got this.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “It’s a tote bag, not a tire. I think I can manage.”

“Well, I’m not taking any chances,” he replied, puffing out his chest dramatically. “What kind of dad would I be if I let you strain yourself this early?”

“A sane one?” you teased.

He huffed, clutching the bag like it was a trophy. “I’ll ignore that slander. Now, where’s your water bottle? And your snacks? Have you eaten? Do you need to sit down?”

You groaned, rolling your eyes. “Lando, I’m fine. You don’t need to act like I’m about to collapse any second.”

“Not on my watch,” he declared, marching ahead of you with your bag.

“Do you even know how many articles I’ve read about pregnancy? You’re supposed to avoid heavy lifting, stay hydrated, and-”

“-and avoid stress,” you interrupted, smirking. “Which you’re causing right now with all this hovering.”

“I’m helping,” he corrected, spinning around to face you with a determined look. “And besides, you’d thank me if you saw the kind of stuff I’ve been reading. Did you know some women crave chalk during pregnancy? Chalk! What if that happens to you? I need to be prepared!”

“Lando, I’m not craving chalk,” you said, trying not to laugh.

“Not yet,” he countered, narrowing his eyes like it was only a matter of time. “But when you do, I’ll be ready with… I don’t know, chalk alternatives or something.”

“Is that what you’ve been doing on your phone? Researching chalk alternatives?”

“Did you know we might need a whole new mattress? Pregnant people need optimal support. And I saw this thing about belly bands. Do you want one? I can order it right now. Oh! And don’t even get me started on prenatal yoga-”

“Among other things,” he said with a shrug, completely serious.

You reached out to grab his arm, laughing. “Okay, slow down, Mr. Norris. You’re going to give yourself a stress rash before we even get to the second trimester.”

He looked at you sheepishly, his determination softening into a shy smile. “I just… I want to do this right, you know? I’ve never done this before.”

You softened, cupping his cheek. “I know, love. And you’re doing amazing. But you don’t have to do everything perfectly. Just… be here. That’s all I need.”

His shoulders relaxed a little, and he leaned into your touch. “Okay,” he murmured.

Then, after a beat: “But I’m still carrying the bag.”

“Of course you are,” you said, shaking your head as he flashed you that trademark cheeky grin.

From then on, Lando took his role as your personal assistant very seriously. He stocked the fridge with all your favorite snacks, some of which you hadn’t even asked for.

“I saw this article about pickles and peanut butter,” he said one day, holding up a jar. “Do you think you’ll want to try it? Should I get bread?”

“You’re the one who’s going to end up eating it,” you teased.

And when it came to appointments, he was like a man on a mission. He set reminders, packed snacks for the waiting room, and even insisted on bringing a notebook to jot down questions.

“I don’t want to forget anything important,” he said, scribbling furiously while the doctor explained prenatal vitamins.

“You’re going to end up with a full-on pregnancy thesis,” you joked.

“Because I need to know everything.”

“Good,” he replied, deadpan.

He was equal parts adorable and exhausting, but one thing was clear: Lando was already the most devoted dad-to-be you could have asked for.

—-

He didn’t care what he had to move around, he was going to be there.

Lando insisted on attending every single doctor’s appointment, even if it meant rearranging his training schedule or skipping a media event.

Your husband had always been incredibly aware of his public image, and he knew his absence in a lot of McLaren PR videos was beginning to be noticed.

The whispers started subtly at first, just a few fans commenting on his social media posts, wondering why he wasn’t posting as frequently, why he wasn’t sharing his usual behind-the-scenes content.

Fans questioning his commitment to racing, accusing him of not showing up enough for the sport.

But over time, it started to get louder. On Twitter, the rumors spread like wildfire.

He couldn’t give a damn, to be honest.

He was fidgeting with the strap of his McLaren cap, spinning it around in his hands like it was the only thing grounding him.

“I don’t want to miss anything,” he told you one day as you both waited in the ultrasound room.

“What if they show us something important, like the baby’s heartbeat, and I’m not here? I’d never forgive myself.”

“You’ll see everything,” you assured him, lacing your fingers with his and giving his hand a squeeze. “I promise you won’t miss a thing.”

He exhaled deeply but didn’t stop fidgeting. “Do you think they’re okay? Like, really okay? What if the baby’s too small? What if-”

“Lando,” you interrupted gently, giving him a pointed look. “Breathe. Everything’s fine. You’re panicking for nothing.”

He let out a nervous laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “Sorry, I just... I’ve never been this nervous before. Not even before my first race.”

He leaned forward, his eyes glued to the screen, his hand clutching yours like it was a lifeline.

When the ultrasound tech finally entered the room and began the scan, Lando nearly jumped out of his seat.

“Alright,” the tech said with a kind smile, turning the screen toward you both. “Here’s your baby.”

Lando froze, his eyes wide as the faint image of your baby appeared on the monitor. “That’s… them?” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

“That’s them,” the tech confirmed, moving the wand slightly. “And if you look right here, you’ll see their heartbeat.”

She pointed to a tiny flicker on the screen, and Lando’s breath caught. “Is that… Is that their heart?”

“Yes,” she said warmly. “That’s your baby’s heartbeat.”

“Oh my God,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “That’s them. That’s our baby.”

Lando’s eyes immediately welled up with tears. He blinked rapidly, clearly trying to keep them from falling, but one slipped down his cheek anyway.

You reached up to wipe the tear from his cheek, your own eyes misty. “They’re perfect, aren’t they?”

Then he turned to you with the biggest grin you’d ever seen, his face lighting up like a kid on Christmas morning. “They’ve already got your heart, don’t they?”

“They are,” he said, his voice full of awe.

“And yours,” you added softly, squeezing his hand.

Lando laughed quietly, his free hand running through his hair. “This is insane. Like, actually insane. That’s a real human. Our human. I don’t even know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” you replied, smiling at him. “Just feel it.”

He nodded, his gaze drifting back to the screen. “They’re so small,” he murmured, almost to himself. Then he let out a shaky laugh.

“God, I hope they get your patience. And your smarts. And maybe your taste in music too, because mine’s questionable at best.”

“They’ll be a little bit of both of us,” you said. “The good and the bad.”

“And hopefully less of the bad,” he joked, his smile growing wider. “Although if they’re anything like me, they’ll probably be a little naughty regardless.”

He spent a few moments just staring in silent awe of the ultrasound before leaning over and pressing a kiss to your temple. “We’re going to be okay, aren’t we?”

You nodded, resting your head against his shoulder. “More than okay, Lando. We’re going to be great.”

He asked the tech at least three times if he could get extra printouts of the ultrasound, and as soon as you left the room, he was texting the photo to his parents.

For the rest of the appointment, Lando couldn’t stop staring at the monitor.

“You won’t believe this,” he said excitedly as he hit send. “They’re already perfect. I mean, look at them!”

You laughed, shaking your head at his enthusiasm. “You’re going to be insufferable, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely,” he replied with a grin, slipping the ultrasound photo into his wallet like it was his most prized possession.

—-

His hands were a blur, adjusting every little decoration as if this one cake would determine the future of the entire Norris family.

Lando stood in the kitchen, pacing around the table with the cake in front of him.

He wiped his brow for what felt like the tenth time, clearly worked up.

“You’re sure you’re okay with this?” Lando asked again, his voice laced with nerves, as he fiddled with the tiny blue and pink ribbons on top of the cake.

You raised an eyebrow, watching him with a grin. “Lando, it’s just cake. I don’t need a fireworks show or a parade. Just let me eat it. We’re finding out if we’re having a mini-me or mini-you today, not the cure for world hunger.”

He looked at you, eyes wide with mock concern. “I know! But this is important, okay? This cake isn’t just cake. It’s the cake that’s gonna reveal if our baby’s gonna have my style or your... I don’t know, your taste in TV shows.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, so my TV shows are the problem now? I seem to remember you binge-watching those ridiculous reality shows last week.”

Lando chuckled, adjusting the cake for the third time. “Fine. But I will not apologize for the occasional guilty pleasure, okay?”

His mom was practically jumping up and down, already holding a bottle of champagne in one hand.

Before you could fire back, there was a knock at the door, and Lando’s parents stormed in, as excited as ever, clearly eager to be part of the big reveal.

“Alright, alright, we ready for this?!” she practically shouted, already bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Lando, you didn’t mess up the cake, did you?”

Lando puffed out his chest, trying to seem cool, but you could tell he was as jittery as a kid before Christmas. “What do you think? I’m a pro. I’ve got this under control.”

His dad leaned in and clapped him on the back with a knowing look. “Sure, sure. It’s just cake, son. Don’t overthink it.”

“Easy for you to say!” Lando replied, rolling his eyes but clearly taking comfort in his dad’s easy confidence.

“Do I need to set up a tent or something for you? I can go grab the calm-down snacks,” his mom teased, already rifling through the bags of baby gifts she had brought with her.

He turned back to the cake, brushing his hands against his jeans as if trying to shake off his nerves. “Right. Big moment.”

Lando gave her a playful glare. “I’m fine, Mom. I’m just...you know, a little excited.”

You crossed your arms, trying to stifle your laughter at the drama of it all. “You know, you’re acting like you’re about to drive the final lap of a Grand Prix, not slice a cake, right?”

Lando shot you a look, half guilty, half defensive. “What do you mean? This is important, okay?”

“Yeah, because the world is watching,” you quipped, leaning against the counter with a grin.

“Absolutely! What if the cake doesn’t come out perfectly? What if it’s not the right color? What if-”

“Lando,” you interrupted with a chuckle, “I’m pretty sure it’ll be okay if it’s not perfect. It’s just a cake.”

He sighed dramatically. “You don’t get it. This is a moment. A huge one! I can’t mess this up.”

(Lando’s parents exchanged amused glances. “He’s got it bad, huh?” his dad whispered to his mom.

“Oh, you don’t even know,” she replied with a wink.)

“You’re really sure you’re not panicking?” you teased, nudging him, raising an eyebrow.

Lando flashed you a grin. “Nope. I’ve totally got it handled. This is the most important moment of our lives, and I’m... handling it.”

The cake, a simple vanilla sponge with soft pastel decorations, sat in front of you all like a ticking clock. Lando’s hands hovered above it, shaking slightly as he gripped the knife.

The room filled up with laughter and chatter as family and friends settled into their spots, everyone eager to be a part of the big moment.

You placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Lando, it’s going to be fine.”

He gave you a nervous smile. “Yeah, I know. I’m just- just a little excited.”

He cut the first slice carefully, holding his breath. His eyes darted between the cake and you, trying to gauge the moment, the color, the reaction.

“Is it-” Lando’s mom leaned forward, eager and almost bouncing in her seat. “Is it blue or pink?”

His hands trembled for a moment, and then, without warning, his lips curled into a grin so wide it could have lit up the whole room.

When Lando saw the blue filling spill out from the cake, it was like a switch flipped inside him.

He threw his arms up in the air, as if he’d just crossed the finish line, his chest puffing out like he’d just clinched a Grand Prix victory.

“I’ve got a son! A SON! I’m gonna be a dad to a little boy!” he exclaimed, his voice rising in a playful tone, as if he was addressing a crowd at a podium.

“YES!” he yelled, his voice carrying the excitement and relief of a race win. He even did a little fist pump, completely caught up in the moment, forgetting the cake still had to be served.

His family burst into laughter, but Lando didn't care. He was riding high on the adrenaline of the moment, his face flushed with joy. He turned to you, eyes wide and sparkling, as if the world had just handed him the greatest trophy imaginable.

“Lando, you’re not actually racing a Grand Prix right now,” you said, your laughter shaking your voice. “You don’t need to act like you just won Monaco!”

Lando paused for a split second, still grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Oh, but I am! This is my Monaco moment!”

—-

Before your son arrived, the two of you spent countless hours brainstorming names, debating, and laughing at your ideas, the excitement of becoming parents finally hitting both of you.

Lando, sprawled beside you with his laptop open, occasionally paused to glance at you, a goofy grin on his face.

You sat on the couch in the private suite, your legs curled up underneath you as you flicked through baby name books.

“You know what would be funny?” Lando said, his eyes lighting up. “If we named him after a race track. Like, Monaco or Spa.”

You raised an eyebrow, amused but skeptical. “Monaco? Really? We’re naming our kid after a place?”

Lando shrugged with a playful grin. “It’s iconic. Imagine saying, ‘This is my son, Spa Norris.’ Sounds like he’s destined to be a Formula 1 champion, right?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Yeah, that’s not going to fly. I’m not going to name our son after a race track, Lando.”

He pouted, pretending to be disappointed. “You’re no fun. I thought you’d be into it.”

You shot him a playful look. “Well, if you’re going to go that route, we might as well name him something like 'Aston' or 'Ferrari'.”

Lando dramatically gasped. “Ferrari Norris?” he echoed, as if he’d just had an epiphany. “That actually sounds pretty cool.” He immediately began typing it into his phone. “Imagine the headlines: ‘Little Ferrari Norris shows up at the karting track, stealing the show already.’”

You chuckled, giving him a teasing nudge. “Okay, okay. Let’s put a pin in that one, but seriously, we need something that isn’t a car or a race track. We need to think long-term. He’s not going to be five years old forever.”

Lando sat back, tapping his fingers on the side of his laptop, deep in thought. “How about Maximus? It sounds strong, right?”

You gave him a flat look. “You realize that would just end up as Max, and then we’d have to deal with every comparison to Verstappen and Max, right?”

Lando’s eyes widened slightly as you pointed out the potential issue. He paused, tapping his fingers on the laptop as he processed your words.

“Oh, right,” he said slowly, running a hand through his hair. “Maximus could be a disaster. Imagine our kid being called Max every time. He’ll spend his whole life being compared to Verstappen, and Max.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, not ideal. We’re already in the spotlight enough with you and everything, we don’t need to add fuel to the fire.”

Lando groaned, slouching slightly in his chair. “Okay, so no Maximus. What about... Thor? Sounds strong, right? A god or something.”

You blinked, trying to keep a straight face. “Lando, we're naming our kid, not preparing him for a Marvel movie.”

“I’m just saying,” he grinned, holding his hands up in mock defense. “Thor Norris. Sounds pretty cool, right? Imagine him on the playground.”

“Yeah, until he gets bullied for being named after a thunder god,” you replied with a teasing smile. “We want a name that’s strong, but also, you know, normal.”

Lando sighed dramatically, rubbing his temples. “Why is this so hard? This is supposed to be the fun part!”

“Because you're overthinking it,” you said, leaning over to ruffle his hair. “We don't need to make him sound like a superhero. We need something that suits him, something that feels right.”

Lando scrolled through a few more names on his phone. “What about Leo? You know, like the lion?”

You looked over at him, a thoughtful expression crossing your face. “Leo.. huh, I kind of like that.”

Lando met your gaze, his smile softening. “I do too. It feels strong. But it’s also… warm. I can imagine him growing up with that name.”

“I think that’s the one,” you said softly, your heart warming at the thought of it.

You smiled, already picturing your son, little Leo, chasing after you both in a go-kart, or laughing as he wore his tiny McLaren onesie.

Lando nodded, his voice quieter now. “Leo Norris. Yeah… I like it.”

A mix of excitement and nervous energy filled the air. But above it all, you both felt the quiet, comforting certainty that you’d chosen the right name.

You both sat there for a while, soaking in the reality that soon, you’d have a little one to love and raise.

“Leo Norris,” Lando repeated, his grin returning. “You’re going to be so cool, little guy.”

—-

By the time the baby’s due date was right around the corner, Lando had practically perfected the art of juggling his high-pressure career with impending fatherhood.

He FaceTimed you every chance he got during race weekends, even if it was just for a few minutes, to check in and ask how you and the baby were doing.

Every call was an opportunity for him to make silly faces at your growing belly, as if your unborn child could already understand what he was doing.

“How’s my little team doing today?” Lando asked, his face beaming from the screen, grinning like a kid with a secret.

You raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean, ‘little team’? It’s still just one person, you know.”

He paused, holding his hands up as though giving you a game plan. “It’s all about the future, babe. Right now, it’s just me and you, but soon, we’re gonna have our first real team member. And I’m gonna be the best team principal there ever was.” He winked, clearly enjoying the idea.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Uh-huh. Sure. First, you have to figure out how to change a diaper before you’re giving out performance reviews.”

Lando's grin faded slightly, and his expression became more serious. “I can change a tire under pressure, but... a diaper? You’re sure I’m gonna be okay with that?”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “You’ve changed car tires with a stopwatch ticking down. A diaper is like... one percent of the stress.”

Lando scratched his head, clearly still not totally convinced. “Yeah, but there’s a lot more wiggle with a baby than with a tire.”

You chuckled, hearing the nerves in his voice despite his usual cocky demeanor. “I’m sure you’ll manage. You’re gonna be a great dad. Besides, how bad can it be? Worst-case scenario, we just put him in a McLaren onesie and call it a day.”

Lando’s eyes lit up. “Wait, does McLaren make baby clothes?” he asked, suddenly distracted, pulling out his phone.

You sighed, trying not to laugh. “Focus, Lando, the baby comes first, not McLaren merch.”

He was too busy scrolling through his phone, searching for baby-sized McLaren gear. “Just imagine! Tiny little race suits! Our kid’s first proper race suit! It’ll be legendary*”

But he didn’t hear you.

You smirked. “Right, because that’s all a baby needs, to be decked out in McLaren gear. A future world champion and fashion icon.”

Lando nodded seriously, still scrolling. “Exactly. The sooner they start looking the part, the sooner they’ll feel the pressure to deliver.”

You shook your head, your lips curving into a smile. “You’re definitely going to spoil this kid rotten.”

“I’m just preparing them for greatness!” Lando declared, his voice mock-serious. “Besides, they’re going to have someone to look up to.”

You laughed, a soft teasing tone in your voice. “You mean you? The guy who keeps asking me if he’ll be cool enough for a toddler?”

Lando looked at you, eyebrows furrowing with mock panic. “I just want them to think I’m cool, okay? What if they’re disappointed? What if they grow up to think I’m just some guy who drives a car really fast and wears too many McLaren hats?”

You snorted, not even trying to hide your amusement. “Lando, you drive a Formula 1 car for a living. I think you’ll manage to impress a toddler.”

“Yeah, well, toddlers are tough critics,” he muttered, flopping back onto his bed. “What if they want a cooler dad? Like, what if they see some famous soccer player or something and think he’s way cooler than their dad?”

“Lando, the kid isn’t even born yet, and you’re already stressing about being the coolest parent?” You shook your head, trying to hold back laughter. “Relax. You’re gonna be the coolest dad, hands down.”

“You really think so?” Lando asked, his tone suddenly turning sincere, a soft smile curling his lips.

“Absolutely,” you replied, your voice full of confidence. “You’re gonna be amazing. And anyway, when they get older, they'll think you're the coolest just because you drive an F1 car. That’s literally a dream job for kids.”

Lando smiled at you through the screen, clearly reassured. “Alright, alright. I can live with that.” He paused for a moment, his

“I’m gonna train them up. Baby steps, right? First, it’s McLaren onesies. Then, they’ll be driving go-karts by five.”

—-

You rolled your eyes, laughing. “I think you’ve got a few years before that happens, buddy.”

You watched him from the couch, amused by how obviously he was working up the courage to say something.

Lando had been pacing the living room for what felt like hours, his hands in his hair and his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

Finally, unable to take his fidgeting any longer, you set your book down and raised an eyebrow at him.

“Alright, spill it,” you said, crossing your arms.

He stopped pacing, turning to you with a sheepish grin. “Okay, don’t get mad, but… can I tell Carlos?”

You blinked at him, confused. “Tell Carlos what?”

“The baby!” Lando blurted, throwing his hands in the air. “I swear I won’t say anything to anyone else, but I feel like I’m going to burst if I don’t tell someone. And Carlos, he’s my best mate in the paddock, you know? and I feel like I’m going to burst if I don’t tell someone. He’s good at keeping secrets! Remember when I told him about… well, you know…”

You smirked. “The time you accidentally spilled coffee all over Zak’s favorite race notes and blamed the wind?”

Lando groaned, running a hand through his curls. “Yes, that! He didn’t tell anyone!”

He leaned in closer, his big, pleading eyes locking onto yours. “Please, love. I need someone to talk to about this in the paddock. I promise it’ll stay between me and him. And you, of course. You’re the boss.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you said, shaking your head with a smile.

“But adorable?” he pressed, grinning mischievously.

You laughed, shaking your head at his antics. “Alright, alright. You can tell Carlos. But only Carlos. If I see headlines about ‘Baby Norris’ next week, I’m blaming you.”

Lando let out a victorious whoop, throwing his arms around you and pressing a kiss to your cheek. “You won’t regret this, I promise! I’ll handle it perfectly.”

“Uh-huh,” you teased. “Just don’t come crying to me if he accidentally tells the entire grid.”

“He won’t!” Lando assured you, already pulling out his phone. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a Spaniard to swear into secrecy.”

—-

He’d pulled you aside earlier on, his brow furrowed in a mix of excitement and concern.

Lando, despite his enthusiasm around friends and family, had always been the type to keep his personal life as far away from the media as possible, especially when it came to you and your pregnancy.

“I just want to protect you from all that stress, love,” he’d said softly, his hands resting on your shoulders. “The media’s only gonna make everything harder. Let’s keep it to ourselves and family and friends until we’re ready.”

So, you kept things under wraps, avoiding public appearances and letting Lando handle the media while you focused on your health and well-being.

You’d agreed, knowing his intention was to shield you from any unnecessary pressure.

At first, you’d manage to sneak in a few appearances, sitting in the background, away from the cameras. But soon, you started pulling back even more, skipping races altogether. The tabloids, however, didn’t miss a beat.

But as your pregnancy progressed and your bump started to show, it became harder to stay out of the public eye.

You could practically see the frustration building in him. He was giving off full-on whiny vibes, and you couldn't help but smirk at how ridiculous the whole thing seemed.

Lando was pacing back and forth in your living room, muttering to himself as he read through the latest batch of articles about him and your supposed divorce.

“I swear, they’ve completely lost their minds!” Lando groaned, throwing his phone down onto the couch with a dramatic flair. “What do they mean we’re getting divorced? Have they seen you? Why would I ever, ever, let you go?”

You leaned back on the couch, trying to keep your composure as he began pacing again. “Lando, calm down. It’s just the media. They love making stuff up.”

“No, it’s not just the media!” he whined, stopping mid-pacing to stare at you. “This is serious! They think I’m out here with a divorce like that’s even a thing. I’m happily married! You’re at home growing our kid, not plotting some dramatic breakup!”

You tried to hold back your laugh, but Lando’s whining was getting funnier by the second. “Babe, seriously, it’s not the end of the world. You’re acting like the tabloids are going to come for us with pitchforks.”

“I’m just trying to figure out how they got this idea. I’m not... like, I’m not perfect, but come on! Look at you! You’re gorgeous, and we’re over here living our best life, why would I ever let you go?”

“I’m just-” He paused, running his hands through his hair like he was about to pull it out.

You grinned, giving him a teasing side-eye. “Aww, are you saying I’m too good for you?”

Lando froze, turning to you with wide eyes. “No! I mean, yes, but no!” He huffed dramatically, flopping down onto the couch next to you. “You’re perfect! You’re the perfect wife! And you’re the one who makes everything better, and now they’re out here saying I’m getting divorced? No! That’s not how this works!”

You reached over, resting your hand on his, trying to hold back your own laughter. “Lando, babe, it’s just rumors. People are bored. They don’t know anything, and they’re making stuff up. Just ignore it.”

“Ignore it? How am I supposed to ignore this? They’re making me look like the worst husband in the world! Divorce? I’ve been married for, like, what, five minutes? And now I’m already getting a bad rep? This is ridiculous!”

He looked at you like you’d just suggested the impossible.

You snorted, finally giving in to the humor of the situation. “Okay, okay, so how are you planning to fix it? Go out there and shout from the rooftops?”

Lando sighed heavily, clearly still upset. “I don’t know! Maybe I should just do an entire press conference. ‘Hello, everyone, just in case there was any doubt, I’m not divorced! I’m happily married! And I’m going home to my gorgeous wife and our baby, who will totally not grow up to be a Formula 1 driver, I promise.’”

You couldn’t stop laughing now. “Babe, just post a picture of us and say ‘Still happily married’ that’ll do the trick.”

Lando groaned in frustration. “But why do I have to do that? Why can’t people just know? It’s like they’ve forgotten what happiness looks like. They’re just out here making up stories!”

You patted his leg, smiling fondly at him. “You’re cute when you get worked up, you know that?”

He shot you a look. “I’m serious! This is outrageous. I swear, if I see one more headline about our ‘divorce,’ I’m gonna lose it.”

“Alright, alright,” you said, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “Calm down. It’s just noise. We know what’s real.”

Lando pouted, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m not a fan of this noise. It’s too much, and I just want to be left alone to focus on being an amazing husband and father. Is that too much to ask?”

You smiled, giving him a reassuring squeeze. “No, love. It’s not too much to ask. But maybe, just maybe, try to ignore the headlines for once?”

He sighed dramatically. “Fine. I’ll try. But if they start talking about me again... I’m calling a press conference.”

—-

Lando had just finished a grueling race, his face flushed with exertion but still carrying that unmistakable grin.

He was on cloud nine, but he could already sense the usual flood of media around him. It was never just about the race with him, it was always about something else, something personal.

As he was making his way to the interview zone, one journalist, eager to get the scoop, stepped in front of him with a grin.

The media had taken their guesses and spun them into wild stories. He had kept quiet for as long as possible, but today, something inside him snapped.

“Lando, congratulations on the win! How’s everything going with your wife? We’ve heard a lot of speculation recently, some rumors flying around about your relationship. Can you clear that up for us?”

Lando froze mid-step, his brow furrowing. The questions about his relationship with you had been relentless recently, but this, this was the last straw.

He glanced over at his PR team, who were silently freaking out in the background, and then he turned back to the reporter, a small, sarcastic smirk pulling at his lips. “Yeah, here’s the thing.”

“Rumors?” Lando repeated, voice low but filled with frustration.

He paused, taking a deep breath. His hands were shaking from the adrenaline of the race, but his eyes were laser-focused on the reporter.

“Here’s the thing,” Lando said again, this time louder, looking directly into the camera, “I’m going to give a shout-out to my beautiful wife right now, and to hell with everyone else. To all the tabloids, the rumors, and the people making things up… fuck you. I love my wife. She’s amazing. We’re happy. Now, can we get back to the racing?”

The crowd of reporters and cameras around him seemed to freeze for a moment, unsure of how to react to his sudden outburst.

Lando’s eyes burned with a mixture of frustration and determination as he stood there, refusing to back down.

“Seriously,” he continued, his voice steadier now, but still tinged with that raw intensity, “I’ve kept quiet for as long as I can. I get it, you want the drama, you want the headlines.”

He glanced around at the sea of microphones pointed at him, his gaze intense. The silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by the hum of distant chatter.

“But I’m here to race,” he added, his jaw clenched. “So, let me make it clear. My wife and I are doing great. I’m not hiding anything from anyone. The only thing I’m focused on is the fact that I just finished on a podium position, and that's what matters.”

For a moment, he allowed himself to breathe, his chest still rising and falling from the aftershocks of the race and the adrenaline of the moment.

The reporter, still holding the microphone, looked almost shocked by Lando’s outburst, but before they could get another word in, Lando raised his hand, cutting them off.

“I’ve had enough,” he said firmly. “So here’s the deal. To everyone who wants to keep spreading rumors or digging into our lives. Don’t. And to my wife, if you’re watching this, I love you. You’re incredible.”

There was a brief moment of silence, and then, with a final glance at the camera, Lando broke into a grin.

“And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a celebration to get to. See you at the next race.”

With that, he turned, walking away from the reporters, leaving them dumbfounded and speechless. His PR team scrambled behind him, clearly trying to catch up and figure out how to spin this into something less... explosive, but Lando wasn’t having it.

He was done with the noise, done with the rumors. And if the media wanted a story, they could have that one because he wasn’t hiding his love for you, and he wasn’t going to let anyone tell a different story.

Back in the paddock, as he made his way toward the celebration, he pulled out his phone, sending you a quick text: “Hey, I may have just lost my cool on live TV but don’t worry, it was for you. Love you always 🧡”

As soon as the text sent, Lando couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all.

—-

You didn’t have a chance to misinterpret anything when you were bombarded by videos of Lando’s recent stunt by your friends and family.

When you saw the text pop up on your phone, you blinked at it for a moment, reading it over a few times to make sure you weren’t misinterpreting things.

You froze.

The sheer audacity of him, of his love for you, left you speechless for a moment.

This was a whole other level. You couldn’t help but let out a laugh, a combination of shock and amusement.

Of course, Lando had always been passionate, always been the kind of person who wasn’t afraid to stand up for what mattered to him. But this?

You immediately hit the video call button, your heart racing.

When his face appeared on the screen, he was still beaming with that grin he wore after a good race, sweaty, glowing, and impossibly handsome.

But then, his eyes widened when he saw the expression on your face.

“What?” he asked, still out of breath from the race, his grin fading a little. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

You couldn’t help yourself. “Lando Norris,” you began, trying to keep your voice steady, “did you just… tell everyone to fuck off on live TV?!”

His eyes grew comically wide, and he immediately slapped a hand to his forehead, groaning dramatically as if he was ashamed of his actions. “I swear I didn’t mean to-”

“Oh, you didn’t mean to?!” you interrupted, laughing uncontrollably, clutching your stomach from how hard you were giggling. “Lando, that was literally a full-on ‘fuck you’ to the media! And you said it was for me?!”

He flushed, sheepish but still trying to hide his growing smile. “Look, okay, I was just- uh- tired of the rumors, alright? And when they asked about you- about us- I just kind of... lost it. I wasn’t thinking. I just wanted to make sure they all knew how much I love you. How happy we are.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” you said, still laughing, wiping a tear from your eye. “You’re really doing a great job of showing that. It was the most Lando Norris thing you could’ve done!”

Lando leaned back against the wall, clearly embarrassed but still that familiar, playful Lando you knew and loved. “I didn’t think it’d go that far,” he muttered, but then his grin returned. “But you know what? Fuck it. They can say what they want.”

You let out a breath, finally calming down, though you were still grinning. “You are such a dork,” you said, shaking your head with affection. “But I love you for it. Seriously. I never thought I’d be watching you on TV yelling at the media like that.”

He puffed out his chest, doing a little dramatic bow. “What can I say? I’m just a man in love.”

“I’m starting to think you’re also a man who has no filter,” you teased, leaning in closer to the screen. “But I can’t deny, it’s kind of… hot.”

Lando’s cheeks flushed at that, and he let out a chuckle. “Oh, now you’re really making me blush. I can’t believe I just did that...”

“You definitely made a statement,” you said, the smile still playing on your lips. “The whole world now knows you’re not just a great driver- you're a very passionate husband, apparently. Also, good luck with your PR team after that one.”

“Oh, they’re probably freaking out right now,” Lando said with a knowing grin. “But hey, at least I got to make things clear.”

You paused for a moment, letting his words settle. “You know what, Lando? I really appreciate it. I know the media can be overwhelming, and I’m glad you’re doing what you can to protect us, even if it means embarrassing yourself a little. But just... maybe next time? You could, I don’t know, use a little less profanity?”

“Right,” he said, nodding seriously. “Next time, I’ll scream it in sign language. Less dramatic, more subtle.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart swelled with affection. “You’re impossible.”

“I know,” he grinned. “But I’m your impossible.”

—-

The grueling months of races, travel, and endless media commitments were finally over, and he was about to have a few weeks of uninterrupted time with you and the baby.

When the end of the racing season finally rolled around, Lando could hardly contain his excitement.

The weight of the season had been heavy, and now that it was over, he felt like he could breathe again, and it felt amazing.

The moment he heard the announcement that the season was officially over, his excitement bubbled over. He was practically buzzing with anticipation, his usual calm and collected persona giving way to a wide, ear-to-ear grin.

For weeks leading up to the last race, Lando had been counting down the days.

It was as if the pressure of racing and all the responsibilities had just melted away, and he was ready to dive straight into a new kind of excitement, one that involved a lot more time at home with you.

You were sitting on the couch, relaxing after your own busy day, scrolling through your phone, when you heard the familiar sound of

Lando’s boots hitting the floor. He was almost running, and his footsteps were light and fast, as if he couldn’t wait to see you.

Without a second thought, he rushed over to where you were sitting, scooping you up into his arms like you weighed nothing at all. He spun you around once, a burst of laughter escaping his lips.

“Babe!” he shouted, throwing his bag down with abandon, his voice practically singing with happiness.

“I’m home, I’m home, I’m home!” he repeated, his grin so wide it almost seemed to stretch across his face.

“I’m more than happy,” he replied, his eyes sparkling with joy. “I’m ecstatic. Finally, a break. No planes, no races, no media, just me, you, and... well, you know, our little one,” he added, glancing down at your belly with a soft smile.

You couldn’t help but laugh as his excitement flooded the room, feeling the warmth of his embrace. "Well, I can tell you’re happy about the season being over," you teased, giving him a playful look as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

“Sounds perfect,” you said, feeling the love in his words. “I think we both deserve a break.”

Lando nodded enthusiastically. “I can’t wait to just be home with you. I’ve missed so much of this year, and now I get to make up for it. I’ve got so many plans. We can do all the things we’ve been talking about, prepare the nursery, take walks together, have breakfast in bed, watch terrible movies... you know, all the usual relaxing stuff.”

You raised an eyebrow, amused by his enthusiasm. “Breakfast in bed every day, huh? That’s a bold claim.”

“I’m up for the challenge,” he grinned, a playful glint in his eyes. “I’m making the most of this time. No more rushing around, no more stress. Just time with you, our little one, and whatever chaos we manage to create together.”

He flopped down onto the couch beside you, pulling you in closer. His hand found its way to your growing belly, and he couldn’t wipe the smile off his face as he gently placed his hand there. “I’m so ready for this next chapter, you know? I know the last few months have been crazy, but this... this is going to be perfect.”

—-

Soft, neutral tones, sleek furniture that didn’t scream “baby” but still felt warm and inviting, and subtle touches of personality like a tiny McLaren-themed mobile hanging above the crib.

Lando stood in the middle of the nearly-finished nursery, hands on his hips, looking ridiculously proud of himself. The room was stunning.

“You know,” he said, turning to you with a grin, “I think I’ve outdone myself. Custom everything. No IKEA in sight. You’re welcome.”

“You do realize you’ve spent more on this room than most people spend on their entire house, right?”

You raised an eyebrow from where you were sitting on the plush nursery chair he’d insisted be upholstered with "only the softest fabric money can buy."

He scoffed, gesturing at the solid oak crib. “This bad boy? Handmade by some guy in Sweden who’s apparently a genius with wood. And the changing table? Designed by an actual ergonomist! No sore backs for us.”

He shot you a mock-offended look. “Excuse me for wanting the best for our baby. It’s called quality assurance.”

You tried to keep a straight face but couldn’t help laughing. “Lando, it’s a baby. They’re not going to care if their crib is custom-made or from IKEA. They’ll drool on it all the same.”

He gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. “Excuse me! Our baby deserves the best! The absolute best. I’m not about to put our kid in some flimsy crib where one tantrum could bring it down.”

“Pretty sure you’re the only one throwing tantrums right now,” you teased.

He ignored you, walking over to the rocking chair and giving it an experimental sway. “This chair, by the way? Perfect for late-night story time. I tested at least twenty before I found the one.”

“You sat in twenty rocking chairs?”

“Of course,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “What if I’d chosen one that squeaked or wasn’t comfy enough for cuddles? I’m thinking ahead, love.”

“Thinking ahead is spending three months’ salary on a nursery?”

“And it’s not just the furniture. Look at the details. That mobile? Custom order. The wallpaper? Hand-painted by some artist in Italy. Even the shelves are organized by height so the books will be easier to grab when the baby’s older. I’m not messing around.”

“Investment,” he corrected, plopping down beside you with a satisfied sigh.

You shook your head, still smiling. “It’s beautiful, Lando. Really. You’ve done an amazing job.”

“Of course I have,” he said smugly, leaning back. But after a moment, his expression softened. “I just… I want everything to be perfect, you know? For them. For you. I want this room to feel safe and special and like… like a little haven.”

Your heart melted as you reached out to take his hand. “It already does, babe. It’s perfect because you made it with love.”

“Also with a ridiculous amount of money,” he added, flashing you a cheeky grin.

You laughed. “That, too.”

Lando leaned down to kiss your forehead, his voice full of affection. “Anything for you two. Now, all that’s left is to teach the baby to say ‘McLaren’ before anything else.”

You laughed, pulling back to give him a playful shove. “Don’t push your luck.”

“Fine,” he said with a wink. “Second word, then.”

—-

When the day finally came, Lando was fresh off a meeting with his team, when your water broke in the middle of your living room.

“Now?” he yelped, nearly dropping the cup of tea he’d just handed you. His wide, panicked eyes darted between you and the puddle forming at your feet. “It’s happening now?”

“Yes, Lando, now!” you snapped, clutching your belly as another contraction hit.

He spun in circles for a moment, muttering to himself, “Keys, keys, where did I- oh, my God, this is happening.”

“Lando!” you barked, cutting through his panic.

“Yes, yes! Okay! Keys! Bag! You!” He grabbed the hospital bag you’d packed weeks ago, slung it over one shoulder, then hesitated. “Wait, do you need me to carry you? Should I-”

“Just get me to the car!”

In record time, he managed to get you into the passenger seat, though not without fumbling with your seatbelt for what felt like an eternity.

“I race cars for a living,” he muttered to himself, hands trembling as he buckled you in. “Why is this harder than a pit stop?”

“Because a pit stop doesn’t scream at you every five minutes,” you shot back, gripping the door handle as another contraction rippled through your body.

---

At the hospital, Lando was a walking ball of nerves. He practically burst into the maternity ward, announcing to the nurses, “My wife’s having a baby! Right now! Like, right now!”

One of the nurses calmly guided you to a room, giving Lando a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “First-time dad?” she asked with a knowing smile.

“Is it that obvious?” he mumbled, following behind like a lost puppy.

Inside the delivery room, Lando couldn’t sit still. He paced back and forth, running his hands through his hair. “Are they supposed to take this long? Shouldn’t someone check on her again? Is she okay? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Lando,” you groaned through clenched teeth. “But if you don’t stop pacing, I might strangle you before this baby gets here.”

He froze mid-step, holding his hands up in surrender. “Right. No pacing. Got it. I’ll just... stand here.”

Once he could actually think past his panic, Lando immediately whipped out his phone, his fingers fumbling over the screen as he dialed his parents. The phone barely rang once before his mom answered.

“Lando? Everything okay?” her voice was calm but laced with concern, likely from the sheer urgency of his call.

“Mum! She’s in labor!” Lando practically shouted into the phone, his words tumbling out at record speed. “Like, actual labor. Right now. We’re at the hospital. It’s happening!”

“Oh, Lando, that’s wonderful!” his mom exclaimed, her tone immediately switching to excitement. “How is she? How are you?”

“She’s... well, she’s in labor!” Lando replied, running a hand through his already tousled curls. “I think she’s fine, but I don’t know! She might be mad at me for pacing too much. I stopped though. Well, sort of. Anyway, can you and Dad get here? Like, now?”

“We’re on our way, love,” she reassured him with a laugh.

By the time his parents arrived, just minutes later, Lando’s initial excitement had given way to full-blown panic. He was sitting in the corner of the room, staring at his hands, muttering under his breath.

“Do you think the baby will like me? What if they don’t like me? What if I’m a terrible dad? Oh my God, I forgot to pack snacks! What kind of dad forgets snacks?”

His parents stepped into the room, his mom taking one look at him and immediately placing a hand on his shoulder. “Lando, breathe,” she said gently, her eyes crinkling with amusement.

He jumped up at their arrival, waving his hands around. “I can’t breathe, Mum! Do you know how much responsibility this is? I’m going to be someone’s dad! What if I drop the baby? What if I don’t hold them right? Or they cry every time they see me? I-”

His dad cut him off with a firm but comforting hand on his back. “You’re going to be fine, son. You’ve got this.”

Lando looked over at you, lying on the hospital bed, still managing to roll your eyes at his dramatics despite the situation. “Does she think I’ve got this?” he asked, gesturing to you.

You groaned, partly from the contraction and partly from his antics. “Lando, if you don’t stop spiraling, I’ll personally make sure you get kicked out of this delivery room.”

His mom laughed, stepping closer to you. “She’s got it under control, doesn’t she?”

“She always does,” Lando muttered, his wide eyes darting between you and the monitors. “But what if I’m not ready, Mum?” he whispered, leaning closer to his mother as if it were a secret.

His mom reached up, brushing a curl from his forehead. “You’ll be ready when you see your baby for the first time, Lando. Trust me. You’ve already proven you’ll do whatever it takes to be a great dad. Now stop worrying and be there for your wife.”

Lando nodded, taking a deep breath and straightening up. Then he turned to you with newfound determination. “Okay. What do you need, love? Water? Ice chips? A—”

“A calm husband,” you interrupted, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Right,” he said, nodding rapidly. “Calm husband. Got it.”

And for the next two minutes, he actually managed to stay calm. Until the nurse walked in and said, “Alright, it’s time to push.”

Then all bets were off.

---

When your son (your son!) finally arrived after hours of labor, the world seemed to pause. Lando stood frozen as one of the nurses handed him the tiny, swaddled baby. His hands shook as he cradled Leo against his chest, staring down at him in awe.

His aquamarine eyes were wide as he stared down at the newborn. “Wow,” he whispered, his voice shaky. “He’s... so small. Like, really small. Are we sure he’s okay?”

“Lando, he’s a baby,” you said, exasperated but smiling, the exhaustion hitting you in waves. “They’re supposed to be small.”

“Yeah, but this small?” he asked, carefully holding Leo as if he were made of glass. He glanced at the nurse for reassurance. “Is this normal? What if I break him?”

The nurse chuckled. “You won’t, Mr. Norris. Just make sure to support his head, and you’ll be fine.”

“Support his head,” Lando repeated, adjusting his grip like he was handling the most fragile trophy in the world. Then he looked down at your son again, a mixture of awe and terror on his face. “Hey, little guy,” he murmured. “It’s, uh... it’s me. Your dad. I’m new at this, so, uh, go easy on me, yeah?”

You laughed softly, despite the ache in your body. “He’s not going to grade you, Lando.”

“Good, because I’m already giving myself a D+,” he muttered, carefully sitting beside you on the hospital bed.

Lando looked up at you, his eyes glassy. “You did so good,” he said softly. “So, so good. Thank you for... for him.”

As the tiny bundle in his arm let out a tiny whimper, Lando instinctively rocked him, whispering, “Shh, mate, it’s okay. Daddy’s got you.”

“You’re a natural,” the nurse commented, smiling as she adjusted your blankets.

“Really?” Lando glanced up, his grin sheepish but full of pride. “Because I feel like I’m one wrong move away from dropping him.”

“You won’t,” you reassured him, reaching out to touch his arm. “You’re already amazing.”

He smiled, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. “You’re the amazing one. I mean, you just made a person. How insane is that?”

As he sat beside you, still holding him as if he were the most precious thing in the world.

You rested your head against his shoulder, watching as he studied every tiny feature of Leo’s face. “He’s got my eyes,” he murmured, awed.

“And your gap-toothed smile too, probably,” you teased.

He chuckled, brushing a fingertip gently over Leo’s tiny hand. “That’s not a bad thing. He’ll be unstoppable. Just wait until he sees his first go-kart.”

[winwintea]

mutual affection

PAIRING ↬ physics student!park jisung x fem!reader

TAGS ↬ FLUFF!!! the cheese is so cheesing here, way too many physics puns, you might cringe but here it is, i love park jisung, love love love him

SUMMARY ↬ sometimes, love isn’t theoretical—it’s proven, one note at a time.

WORD COUNT ↬ 2.6k words

AUTHOR’S NOTE ↬ wow i’m a nerd. MEERRY CHRISTMAS @polarisjisung THIS ONE IS FOR YOU MY LOVE <33

PLAYLIST ↬ rhinestone eyes - gorillaz; swan - miyeon; song 2 - blur; missing you - ftisland;

JISUNG TAPPED HIS PEN AGAINST HIS NOTEBOOK RHYTHMICALLY,

pretending to take notes as the professor droned on about Schrödinger's Equation. It wasn’t that he disliked quantum mechanics—he loved it—but today, the equations felt heavier than usual. His eyes wandered to the person sitting next to him—you.

You were furiously scribbling in your notebook, not writing notes but...drawing? Jisung squinted. Was that a...cat? No, two cats. One inside a box labeled "alive" and the other "dead." He felt a grin tugging at his lips before he could stop himself.

A faint chuckle escaped, and he ducked his head, mortified, as you glanced his way. He was sure he’d blown his cover—who laughs during a physics lecture? But instead of being annoyed, your lips began to form a small smirk.

“Like what you see?” you whispered, sliding your notebook slightly closer to him.

Jisung blinked. Was this a test? A joke? Chenle said he always had trouble talking to women. Something about playing too much League and not touching grass. But it wasn’t his fault! And Chenle was wrong. He did touch grass. He hesitated but gave you an awkward nod, his brain scrambling for something to say. “It’s, uh... creative. Schrödinger would be impressed.”

You snorted softly, flipping the notebook his way completely. Beneath the doodle, you wrote:

"Your turn."

Jisung froze. Your turn? What was he supposed to draw? He glanced back at you, but you were already watching the professor again, feigning disinterest, though the corner of your mouth continued to twitch with amusement.

Heart pounding, Jisung picked up his pen. Drawing wasn’t exactly his forte, but he couldn’t just pass up the challenge. He quickly sketched a stick figure version of himself, complete with messy hair and oversized glasses, holding a comically oversized Geiger counter pointed at the box.

Next to the drawing, he added:

“Should I open it or...?”

He slid the notebook back your way, staring straight ahead, willing himself not to blush. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw you lean over to inspect his work. There was a brief pause, and then—you laughed. Not just a quiet chuckle but an actual laugh, soft and melodic.

“That’s not bad,” you whispered, your tone teasing. “Stick figures are an underrated art form.”

Jisung risked a glance your way, only to find you grinning at him, eyes bright with amusement. For the first time, he smiled back without overthinking it.

As the lecture continued, neither of you paid much attention to the professor. Instead, your notebook became the canvas for the beginning of a tradition—tiny doodles, puns, and inside jokes that somehow made quantum mechanics infinitely more interesting.

Jisung couldn’t explain it, but as he scribbled out a little equation to accompany his next doodle, he felt a strange, unfamiliar excitement bubbling in his chest. For the first time, class didn’t feel so dull anymore.

It started with Schrödinger’s cat, but it didn’t stop there. For the next lecture, Jisung was prepared. He had a small stack of sticky notes tucked into his notebook, ready for whatever you might throw at him.

You were already scribbling something when he slid into his seat. The professor began discussing wave-particle duality, but Jisung’s focus was on the tiny folded note you flicked onto his desk.

He cautiously unfolded it. Written in neat handwriting was:

“Are you made of copper and tellurium? Because you’re Cu-Te.”

Jisung nearly choked on air, covering his mouth to stifle a laugh. He could feel the tips of his ears heating up as he turned to look at you. You were staring straight ahead, pen twirling between your fingers, but your smirk gave you away.

He scribbled back quickly:

“Are you a black hole? Because you’ve got some serious pull.”

You took the note, bit your lip to keep from laughing, and scribbled something before passing it back.

“Careful, Park. You might reach escape velocity at this rate.”

For the rest of the lecture, neither of you could keep straight faces. Jisung felt lighter than he had in weeks.

Two lectures later, during a painfully long discussion on thermodynamic entropy, Jisung felt like his brain was melting. Next to him, you seemed to be having the same struggle.

He noticed you sketching again, your tongue sticking out slightly in concentration. A few minutes later, you nudged his elbow and slid a folded scrap paper toward him.

He opened it to find an absolutely ridiculous cartoon: a dramatic black hole with wild hair and glasses that looked suspiciously like the professor’s. Around it, little stick figures were being sucked into the gravitational pull, textbooks flying everywhere.

At the bottom, you’d scrawled:

“Entropy? More like ENTRAP-Y.”

Jisung clamped a hand over his mouth, shoulders shaking as he tried (and failed) to contain his laughter. The professor paused, eyes squinting at the two of you, and Jisung froze in shock.

When the professor turned back to the whiteboard, Jisung quickly scribbled a response:

“I think I just lost three brain cells to this singularity.”

You snorted quietly, and for the rest of the class, both of you avoided eye contact to prevent another laughing fit.

It wasn’t always jokes. At some point, the notes started to change.

One afternoon, after a particularly rough group presentation where Jisung stumbled over his words more than once, he slumped into his usual seat next to you, clutching his notebook like a shield.

You didn’t say anything at first, just slid a folded piece of paper onto his desk.

“You did great today. Public speaking is the worst, but you made your point, and honestly, half the class was lost after the second slide anyway.”

Jisung stared at the note for a long moment before writing back.

“Thanks. I always feel like I’m messing up. Group projects make it ten times worse because I’m scared I’ll let everyone down.”

You read it, your expression softening before you wrote back:

“I get that. But hey, if we ever have to do a project together, I’ll handle the talking, and you can handle the math. Deal?”

Jisung’s chest felt warm in a way he couldn’t quite describe.

“Deal.”

It was late in the semester, the kind of day where the sunlight streamed through the classroom windows just right, making everything feel a little softer. The professor was lecturing about particle accelerators, and Jisung was genuinely trying to focus—until he noticed you scribbling on a slip of paper.

You passed it to him without looking up.

“If you could work anywhere in the world, where would it be?”

Jisung hesitated. No one had ever asked him that before—not seriously, anyway.

“NASA, probably. Ever since I was a kid, I’ve had this strange obsession with space. It feels like there’s so much to discover, you know?”

You grinned when you read his response.

“That’s so cool. I’d want to be there too. Maybe one day we’ll run into each other in the cafeteria, arguing about quarks over sandwiches.”

Jisung smiled, his heart doing this weird fluttery thing that he couldn’t quite explain.

“I’d argue that up quarks are superior, but I’d let you win. Probably.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, scribbled something back, and slid the note over.

“You’d let me win? Park Jisung, are you challenging me to a quark debate?”

For the rest of class, Jisung couldn’t stop smiling.

Each note became a little window into your world and a bridge into his. It wasn’t just the jokes or the sketches—it was the little truths tucked between the lines. And every time he unfolded a piece of paper from you, Jisung felt a little less like an awkward physics student and a little more like…someone special.

Jisung’s head was spinning as he shoved his notebook into his backpack. The lecture had just ended, and while most of the class was still debating the finer points of entropy, his focus was on the small scrap of paper tucked between the pages of his notes.

It wasn’t supposed to leave his bag. It was just…a silly thought he’d scribbled down late at night when he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

But as he hurried to pack up, the folded note slipped loose and landed on your desk.

He didn’t notice until he was halfway out the door.

You were still sitting, absently flipping through your notes, when your gaze fell on the scrap of paper. You picked it up and unfolded it, eyebrows raising at the messy handwriting:

“I think the Doppler effect explains why my heart races whenever you’re near.”

You froze. The edges of the paper trembled in your fingers as the words sank in, and your cheeks warmed instantly.

“Jisung?” you called out instinctively, but he was already gone, lost in the crowd of students exiting the lecture hall.

Heart pounding, you hesitated for a moment before grabbing your pen. On the back of the note, you wrote carefully:

“Newton’s Third Law says every action has an equal and opposite reaction. I feel the same way.”

The next lecture couldn’t come fast enough.

Jisung didn’t sleep much the night before class. The realization that he’d left that note behind had haunted him. Maybe you’d thrown it away. Maybe you’d laughed at it.

But when he walked into the lecture hall the next day, you were already there. Sitting in your usual seat, you looked up as he approached, and your smile was soft—almost shy.

“Hey,” you said, sliding a small folded note across the desk.

Jisung swallowed nervously, hands trembling slightly as he opened it.

Newton’s Third Law. Equal and opposite reaction.

His eyes scanned the words once, twice, before he finally dared to meet your gaze. You were biting your lip, your eyes bright with anticipation.

Jisung’s voice came out barely above a whisper. “You—You feel the same?”

You nodded. “It’s simple physics, Park. Cause and effect.”

He let out a breathless laugh, hand coming up to cover his face as his shoulders shook slightly. “I can’t believe you’re using physics laws to confess to me right now.”

“Technically, you started it,” you said with a grin.

It was the end of a particularly brutal thermodynamics lecture. Jisung’s brain was fried, and judging by your furrowed brow, you weren’t faring much better.

The professor dismissed the class, and everyone packed up sluggishly. Jisung hesitated as he glanced at you, still scribbling something in your notes.

“See you later?” you said casually, but Jisung didn’t respond.

Instead, he slid a small, carefully folded piece of paper onto your desk before rushing out the door.

You blinked after him, confused, before carefully unfolding the note.

It was a Feynman diagram.

But instead of particle interactions, Jisung had mapped out…you and him.

At one vertex was a little stick figure of him, labeled “Jisung”, and at another, a tiny doodle of you labeled “(Y/N)”. Between the two were arrows labeled “Shared Jokes”, “Physics Puns”, and “Mutual Nerdiness”, and tiny hearts scattered along the connections.

At the bottom, in small, slightly wobbly handwriting, he’d written:

“I like you.”

Your face felt like it was on fire, but you couldn’t stop the wide smile spreading across your lips.

When you walked out of the lecture hall, Jisung was leaning against the wall, clutching the strap of his backpack like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.

“Jisung,” you said softly, holding up the note.

He shifted nervously, avoiding your gaze. “I, um…I thought it might be easier to…you know…diagram it out.”

You laughed—a soft, delighted sound—and pulled out your pen.

Carefully, right at the bottom of his diagram, you added a new arrow connecting your doodle to his.

“Mutual Affection.”

You held it up so he could see, and Jisung’s eyes widened. His lips parted slightly in surprise before breaking into the brightest smile you’d ever seen.

“So…you like me too?” he asked quietly, voice trembling just a little.

“I think it’s safe to say we’ve reached a stable equilibrium,” you said with a grin.

He laughed—a sound full of relief and joy—and for a moment, the two of you just stood there, smiling at each other in the middle of the crowded hallway.

Physics could explain a lot of things, but this? The way Jisung’s heart felt like it was about to escape his chest, the way your eyes would crinkle when you smiled at him—this felt like a force of nature all its own.

By the time midterms had passed and the days grew shorter, the notes between you and Jisung had shifted. There were still plenty of physics jokes and ridiculous doodles—like the time he drew you both as photons bouncing off a reflective surface—but now there were softer words, too.

Between derivatives and integrals, you’d find little sentences scribbled in his neat handwriting:

“I hope you’re eating enough today.”

“You looked really pretty in the lab yesterday.”

“The universe is expanding, but I think my feelings for you are growing faster.”

In return, you wrote him notes on sticky tabs and slipped them into his textbook:

“Don’t stay up too late studying tonight. Even electrons need rest.”

One afternoon, after a particularly chaotic study session in the library, Jisung passed you a folded note with a tiny sketch of two orbiting electrons, labeled “You” and “Me”, with a little heart in the nucleus.

Underneath, he’d written:

“Stable bond achieved.”

You laughed softly, clutching the note like it was precious cargo.

“Park Jisung, you’re ridiculous,” you whispered.

He grinned, cheeks turning pink. “But you like it, right?”

You leaned over, planting a soft kiss on his cheek. “I like you.”

Jisung turned bright red and nearly dropped his pen.

The lecture hall was unnervingly silent during your final exam. The only sounds were the scratch of pencils on paper and the faint ticking of the clock.

You were halfway through a particularly frustrating question on thermodynamic efficiency when your calculator, which you’d been using furiously, clicked slightly as you pressed down on the buttons.

You frowned, turning it over—and noticed a tiny piece of folded paper tucked neatly into the battery compartment.

Your eyes darted up to scan the room. Jisung was a few rows ahead, hunched over his paper, completely engrossed in his work.

Heart racing, you carefully unfolded the note beneath the desk.

It was a small sketch, drawn with the same endearing messiness Jisung always brought to his doodles.

At the top, a hand-drawn banner read: “You’re the best experiment I’ve ever run.”

Below it, a sketch of the two of you: you with your hair tied back, him with his glasses askew and a shy smile. Little stars and hearts floated around the cartoon versions of yourselves, and at the bottom, he’d written:

“Hypothesis: Spending time with you improves my mood exponentially. Conclusion: Hypothesis confirmed.”

You pressed your hand over your mouth to hide your smile, your face heating up as tears pricked the corners of your eyes.

Carefully, you scribbled on the back with your pencil:

“Conclusion peer-reviewed and verified. Park Jisung, you’re my favorite discovery.”

When the exam ended, and everyone started filing out, you caught up to him in the hallway.

“Hey, Newton,” you said softly.

Jisung turned, his nervous smile flickering into something brighter when he saw you holding up the note.

“Did you…did you find it?” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I did.” You stepped closer, holding the paper gently between your fingers. “You know, I think you might be my best result yet.”

Jisung let out a soft laugh, cheeks flushed pink. “Does that mean we’ve achieved optimal conditions?”

You grinned, reaching out to intertwine your fingers with his. “Definitely. Stable equilibrium achieved.”

TAGLIST ↬ @lyvhie @aquaphoenixz @galacticnct @yizhrt @polarisjisung @multifandomania @spacejip @peterm4rker @viasdreams

[monstersflashlight]

Advent calendar: Day 20. Misfortunes and Sexullus Phallicus

A/N: This one is about Miss Santa, and let’s say she’s a holiday witch, to make it easier. Also this is very ridiculous and I love it, if it makes you cringe… I’m sorry (but not really). Enjoy! And happy Christmas Eve to those who celebrate!

Miss Santa x fem!reader || magic, sex pollen, dub-con, pegging, sex toys, dirty talk (kinda)

When you started dating Miss Santa, you weren’t expecting to be as many problems as there were. You expected it to be hard, because not everyday you started dating a magical being that could teleport and conjure shit out of thin air, but dang if it wasn’t even worse than you expected.

First week dating, you accidentally activated a magic spell that made all elves lose the holiday spirit for a whole day. Which didn’t seem too bad, but then you had to watch how mad they were when they had to work extra hard to recover that lost day of work. You apologized so many times the word lost its meaning.

When you were dating for a bit over a month, you accidentally sent the big dude (aka Klaus himself) a picture of you wearing only a red hat and two pom-poms… (Yeah, strategically placed.) You had to apologize to him, too, much to his amusement and your girlfriend’s dismay.

But the misfortunes didn’t end there.

You were visiting her in the office, looking around as she finished the paperwork for the day, when you saw a weird looking plant. “What kind of plant is this?” You asked, leaning in and inhaling deeply.

She looked up instantly. “Don’t smell tha-” She warned, but it was too late. “You smelled it.” She sighed, face palming as she stared at you. “What am I going to do with you?” She asked rhetorically.

“What?” You looked at her, confused and blinking slowly. Your brain felt a bit fuzzy. “What did I do now?”

“You inhaled the pollen of the Sexullus Phallicus,” she said as if that explained everything. You looked at her puzzled, expecting more information. “Sex pollen, my love, you inhaled sex pollen,” she said, sighing again and looking completely done with you. But the tiny smile at the corner of her lips reassured you a little.

“What’s going to happen to me now?” You asked, a bit confused, but most of all, a bit scared.

“You are going to get incredibly horny, and you’d be insatiable for a few days.” That didn’t sound too bad. Don’t look at me like that. It is bad. You are going to be needing to be filled constantly.” You smirked, liking the sound of that. “Sometimes I don’t know why I put up with you,” she added, all dramatic.

“Because you love me,” you sing-song-ed at her, smiling big. She tried to hide a mirroring smile, but she failed.

“We are in so much trouble,” she lamented a second later, picking up all the papers she was working on and stacking them in a neat pile. “We need to prepare, we need to move. We might not have enough time to get home…” She was panicking.

“Relaaaax, I’m all fine,” you told her, your hands fanning your suddenly too hot face. And then the pain started. “FUCK.”

She looked up instantly, staring at you and teleporting to your side in less than a blink. “What? What happened?”

“It hurts. It hurts,” you repeated over and over, falling to the ground and adopting a fetal position.

She looked anxious, her face turning a light shade of green. “What hurts, my love? Tell me so I can help.” She kept fussing over you, her hands hovering over your body because she wasn’t sure where to touch you.

“My pussy. I need you to touch my pussy,” you said between pants, your thighs rubbing together but providing no relief at all.

She choked on a breath, and you caught her almost laughing, but the frown on her beautiful face never left. “I gotcha, I gotcha… Don’t worry my love, we’ll get thru this. I’ll fuck you until you are so drained you can’t even blink without thinking about my cock.” Her words made you whimper. You want that. You want her cock.

“Please, Santa, please… I need your cock,” you begged, squirming on the floor, reaching for her and pulling her head down until you could kiss her lips softly.

The moment she snapped her fingers, she was naked and had a harness appeared around her narrow hips. Your heart was beating a thousand miles per minute. “Now, now… Who has been a naughty girl this year?” She asked, teasingly. You almost wanted to laugh at the silly pun, but your pussy was so wet and your clit so needy, that you could only whimper. “Sorry, sorry, my love. You know I joke when I’m nervous,” she apologized. “Are you ready?” She questioned either way, always worried about you.

“Yes. Yes. Yes,” you chanted. She snapped her fingers again and your clothes disappeared. You sighed in relief as she moved over you and positioned her purple dick over your clenching pussy. “Please, Santaaa…” You begged again.

“Whatever you desire, my love,” she whispered. She leaned down to kiss you deeply as her hips thrust forward until she was buried as deep as possible.

“Is not enough, not enough, not enough…” You shook your head from side to side, your body tensing under hers.

“Shit, okay. Okay.” She snapped her fingers again, and you felt your pussy filled to the brim, making you scream her name as you tried to wriggle your hips to get it deeper. “This size better?” You nodded vehemently, grabbing her by the hair and pulling strongly until she whined and started to fuck you with intent.

“More, more, more… Santa, more!” You kept telling her, as she puffed and huffed as she tried to go as deep and fast as possible. She was thrusting so hard your body was moving across the floor of her office, your hands scratching her back until you smelled blood.

It was glorious.

Your first orgasm was earth shattering, and you screamed her name so loud you were sure the big man heard you all across the north pole. But you didn’t care. All the world could be listening and you’d be chanting your love and adoration for her cock for them to hear.

But she didn’t stop. And you didn’t ask her to. You needed more. You needed all. So she kept pounding into you until you came, and came, and came again.

Her strength was starting to flatter after your fifth orgasm, but you still hadn’t had enough. So you flipped her over and started riding her with desperation. She was flushed and sweaty, her hair stuck to her face and her eyes glassy after such an effort. She’d never looked so hot.

At some point, she teleported you to your house, her dick never leaving your hungry pussy. It lasted three days, and she had to make you eat and drink as she kept you full of cock, using special enchanted dildos that kept fucking you even when she left for the bathroom.

By the time it ended, you’d never felt so well fucked in your life. She would never know that you did it on purpose, and you were the one who sent the plant to her…

A/N: Thank y’all for joining me for this Advent Calendar, it’s been so fun to write: I explored some kinks, wrote weird monsters, and overall I think it was a very fun experience, let me know what y’all thought.