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pitlanepeach · 3 months ago

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Radio Silence | Chapter Eight

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren't quirks, they're survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, strong language, fluff (iktr), Jos Verstappen, mentions of being touch starved.

Notes — Lando Norris (Rizzless, full of yearning & very dumb).

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! - Peach x

2020

The house was too quiet.

Not just empty, but hollow.

Amelia sat curled up on the carpet of the living room, knees tucked to her chest, her golf ball rolling in one hand; forward, back, forward, back. The familiar weight and texture helped, but only a little. Her thoughts were louder than usual. Less cooperative.

She had the lights dimmed. She always did when her parents weren’t home. No overheads. Just the little amber glow of the corner lamp, warm enough not to audibly hum.

It was nearing 1 a.m. but she hadn’t moved in hours. Alex’s latest simulation results were still open on her laptop, long since idle. A blanket had fallen half off the couch behind her. Her phone sat face-down on the rug, and every so often she’d stare at it.

Her brain kept doing it… that thing where it picked up one moment from months ago and turned it over and over like a stone with a crack in it. Lando smiling at someone else across the paddock the day after he stopped answering her texts. Lando walking past her in the paddock, head down, pretending not to see her.

She knew, rationally, that not everything was her fault. That sometimes people made decisions for reasons they couldn’t articulate, and sometimes those reasons had nothing to do with her. She knew that. But her brain didn’t care about logic at 1 a.m.

And so she sat there, golf ball in hand, spiralling quietly.

Then, without planning to, she reached for her phone. Flipped it over. Opened their last thread, months cold, and started to frantically type.

—

iMessage — 12:35am

Amelia If I asked you to come over right now, would you?

She stared at the message. Thumb hovering. No. That wasn’t right. It didn’t explain. He wouldn’t understand.

She deleted it. Started over.

Amelia: I’m overthinking again. I’m trying to blame myself for things I logically know aren’t my fault. But I’m stuck in it. And I don’t want to be alone. I know it’s late. I’m sorry. But if you’re awake, and if you still care, I’d like you to come over. Please.

She paused. Shook her head. Deleted it all.

She didn’t even know if he was in the country. That would be a better place to start.

Amelia: Are you in Woking?

Sent.

She dropped the phone onto the carpet and curled tighter around herself, her golf ball now tucked under her chin. She didn’t expect a reply.

But two minutes later, the screen lit up.

Lando Norris: Yes…?

Her fingers shook, but she didn’t let herself hesitate this time.

Amelia: I’m home alone. Come over. I am still angry at you, but I’m ready to talk to you now.

A beat.

Lando Norris: Ok im omw like right now

She exhaled. Just once.

And waited.

—

By the time Lando arrived, twenty-five minutes later, Amelia had turned off every light in the downstairs of the house. The golf ball was on the kitchen counter. Her hoodie sleeves were pulled over her hands. She didn’t meet him at the door; just unlocked it and left it slightly open before retreating to the living room.

She heard it click shut behind him, heard the rustle of his shoes coming off, his jacket too, and then his tentative footsteps.

“Hey,” he said from the hallway.

“Hello,” she replied, without looking up.

He hovered. “Do you want to shout at me?”

“No.” She frowned. She hated shouting, didn’t do it unless she couldn’t control it.

Lando let out a soft, nervous laugh and made his way into the living room. She was curled on the far end of the sofa, wrapped in a blanket, legs tucked tight. Her face was mostly shadowed except for the flicker of the lamp light.

He stood there, just looking at her, like he couldn’t believe that he was really stood there and the whole thing wasn’t some vivid dream. “You meant it? That you’re ready to talk?”

“I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it,” she said flatly.

“Right. Yeah, obviously,” he murmured, sinking into the opposite end of the couch, careful not to get too close. “Sorry. I just… when you texted me, I didn’t even think. I just got in the car.”

She looked at him then. Really looked.

“Did you speed?” she asked, sharply.

Lando blinked at her, a bit startled. “No!”

“Because if you crashed on the way over here, I’d feel responsible,” she said plainly. “And I don’t want to feel responsible for you right now.”

He winced. “Okay. That’s… yeah. Okay.”

Silence fell between them. Amelia ran her thumb across the edge of the blanket, grounding herself with the texture.

“Why didn’t you talk to me?” she asked, abruptly, because he obviously didn’t realise that she’d been waiting for him to fill the silence. “Why didn’t you just say, ‘I don’t want to be your friend anymore’? Why did you ghost me?”

Lando let his head drop back against the couch. “I know. I was just… a proper idiot,” he muttered. “But I didn’t know what to say.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What does that even mean? You’re here, aren’t you? So you need to say something, or maybe you should just leave.”

He let out a deep breath, scrubbing a hand through his hair, looking at her, his eyes soft and hazy. “It means I’m twenty and stupid and scared and people were telling me what to do and I listened to them. And then I missed you so much it made me sick, but by then I didn’t know how to fix it.”

She frowned at him. “Who was telling you what to do? Our dads?”

He nodded slowly. “And Max—” She sucked in a sharp breath, and he immediately clarified. “Fewtrell. Not Verstappen.” Her jaw unclenched, but only slightly, the tension in her shoulders still high and wired. “Your Max told me I was an idiot,” Lando went on, voice softer now. “My Max just… didn’t get it. I don’t think he meant any harm, he just… he thought this was all just a bit of fun, y’know? A risk.” He looked at her then, eyes searching. “But it wasn’t. Not to me. And not to you either. I know that now.”

“That’s so stupid.” She said, her voice quiet, staring at him with… something burning in her chest that she didn’t recognise. “I- I was never a risk. I would’ve been happy just to be your friend.” She told him, then shrugged. ”You were just stupid and didn’t talk to me… are you planning on still being stupid?” She asked.

He grinned weakly, shuffling closer to her end of the sofa. “Not that stupid. Just, like… medium stupid now. My normal level.”

She didn’t smile, but the corner of her mouth twitched. A little. Maybe.

“I need to know what you want,” she told him, voice low, a little uncertain. “I need clarity. Definitions. Parameters.”

“Okay,” Lando said instantly, sitting up a little straighter. “I want to be your friend again. But I also want to be the person you come to first when you need something. And… I want to take you on dates. And I want to be allowed to be jealous when I see you with other guys.”

Amelia blinked at him. Frowned. “That’s not very logical.”

“Nope,” he said, with a crooked smile. “But it’s honest.”

She went quiet, considering. Calculating. “You want exclusivity.”

He nodded. “Yeah. I mean, I want you.”

She tilted her head slightly, watching him like she was trying to determine if he was being serious. “That’s a lot to ask.”

“I know,” he said, quieter now. The grin softened into something more sincere, if a little self-deprecating. “But I’ll prove I’ve learned my lesson, yeah? I won’t let anyone else’s opinion get in my head again. Just… we can let this be ours. The only people that matter in this are me and you.”

Her fingers curled tighter around the edge of the blanket in her lap. Her voice was soft, almost hesitant. “That sounds… nice.”

Lando’s eyes softened. “I can make it nice for you. I promise.”

She looked at him for a long time, visibly sorting through every word, every possibility.

Then, finally, she swallowed and said, “I want you to hug me.”

Lando looked stunned, eyes going big. “What— I— Right now?”

“Yes.” She nodded.

He didn’t hesitate. He shifted over, cautiously, as if afraid she might change her mind. He wrapped his arms around her, gently at first, but she tensed.

“No,” she said. “Tighter.”

He pulled her closer, arms firm around her now, cheek pressing into her hair. She didn’t resist. In fact, she melted into him with a shudder of… relief? That’s what it felt like.

Her voice was muffled when she spoke again. “I still don’t forgive you.”

“I know,” he murmured, and then kissed the top of her head, just because he could. “I’ll keep being sorry for as long as it takes.”

—

Amelia sat across from Adrian, a half-finished plate of risotto in front of her, her attention fixed on the data tablet between them.

“I’m still not convinced about the changes to the front wing,” she mumbled, tapping twice on the screen to enlarge the image. “We’re losing more downforce at medium-speed corners than we’re gaining on the straights.”

Adrian leaned back, chewing thoughtfully. “Eh. I accounted for that. It’s a tradeoff, but one I’m willing to make on circuits like Baku. The trick will be making it modular enough to swap depending on track characteristics.”

“Or,” she said, narrowing her eyes, “we build in a collapsible adjustment into the lower element. Something passive. Nothing movable.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You want to trick the air?”

She shrugged. “I want to learn how to communicate with it.”

Adrian chuckled, a quiet, almost imperceptible sound. “You are dangerous when you’re well-fed, Miss Brown.”

“And you’re indulgent with your compliments when I’m right about something,” she shot back, just as quietly.

They were silent for a while after that. Amelia swiped between sketches on her iPad, adjusting airflow lines and drag coefficients with brisk finger movements. Adrian seemed to procure a pen out of nowhere in order to scribble onto a napkin.

Then came the sound of someone clearing their throat.

Amelia looked up and immediately went stiff. “Dad.” She said.

Zak Brown stood at the edge of the table, hands in his pockets, his usual confidence dampened into something smaller, more hesitant. “Sorry to interrupt. Adrian.”

Adrian nodded politely. “Zak.”

“I was hoping,” Zak said, directing the next part at his daughter, “to talk. Just for a minute.”

Amelia didn’t answer immediately. She just stared at him, expression unreadable. She looked more like her mother in that moment; sharp, poised, utterly unmoved.

Adrian glanced at her, then stood, placing his napkin beside his plate. “I’ll go check on the, ah, the thing. Don’t let him steal my dessert, Amelia.”

She gave him a tight nod. “I won’t.”

Zak slid into the vacated seat. He looked so out of place in the sleek Red Bull setup.

“You look good,” he offered, gently.

“That’s irrelevant,” Amelia said flatly. She folded her hands in her lap, her expression unmoved. “What do you want?”

Zak blinked. “I just wanted to talk. No team hats. No politics. Just me. Your dad.”

Her jaw flexed.

Outside, the drone of engines buzzed faintly. A plane banked overhead. The world kept spinning.

“I have nothing to say to you,” she said, each word cut with the precision of a scalpel. “You were mad at me for joining Red Bull. Now I’m mad at you for thinking that you had any right to be mad at me for doing it.”

He opened his mouth. Closed it again.

“If you didn’t believe in me, you could’ve just said so,” she continued. “But instead you decided to hide how valuable I was — you even managed to hide it from me.”

Zak looked stricken, like he hadn’t expected the blunt edge of her precision to turn on him. “It wasn’t like that,” he said softly. “I didn’t want to hold you back. I didn’t.”

“You didn’t hold me back,” she corrected. “You just… made me feel like less than I am.” She pushed her plate slightly away and picked up her tablet again. “If you want to speak to me next time, send an email. Don’t come to my workplace uninvited.”

Zak hesitated. His lips parted, some apology or explanation balancing on the edge of his tongue, but it was too late. She was already reading again, eyes back on CFD simulations, focus recalibrated.

Eventually, he nodded and stood. Quietly. Almost like he knew he was walking away from something that might never be the same again.

Adrian returned a moment later, setting a fresh cup of coffee down in front of her.

“Thanks,” Amelia murmured, not looking up.

He sat down again, resuming his notes.

They fell back into silence.

Only this time, it was heavier. And Amelia, despite her fixed stare on the airflow diagrams, felt all out of sorts.

—

Max had finished the Styrian Grand Prix on the podium, but it wasn’t enough. Not to him. Not with how close the win had been… close, but not close enough.

She’d sat with him after the race in his driver’s room, quiet while he paced, letting him unload every frustration, every tenth he felt he’d lost. She wrote it all down, every word, every critique, in the little black notebook she kept just for days like this.

Tomorrow, she’d take it to Adrian. They’d sit down, just the two of them, and dissect the upcoming update package slated for three races from now. She already had ideas, ways to tweak the beam wing, something about airflow around the bargeboards that had been bothering her all weekend.

But for now…

The movie played quietly in the background, some old comedy Lando had picked from Netflix, but Amelia barely registered the dialogue. Her legs were tucked beneath her, her back propped against the headboard, while Lando sprawled out on his stomach at the foot of the bed, idly flicking a piece of popcorn into the air and catching it in his mouth.

He missed half of them. She didn't say anything. She liked the way he grinned every time he caught one, proud of himself even for something so silly.

Amelia’s hands were clenched into fists beneath the throw blanket. Not from anger, but from restraint.

She wanted to touch him.

It was driving her slowly, irreversibly mad; how close he was. The slope of his shoulder. The way his hair flopped messily across his forehead. The familiar line of his jaw. Her brain kept imagining her hands pressing there, her cheek resting between his shoulder blades, her arms slipping around his waist.

She hadn’t touched anyone in days. She hadn’t touched him since Woking.

And her skin itched with it. That deep, crawling, ache-for-pressure kind of need that always built when she tried to push it down.

“I miss you being in my garage,” Lando said suddenly, breaking the silence.

Her eyes flicked to him. “You still see me every day in the paddock.”

“Yeah, but it’s not the same.” He shifted onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow so he could look at her. “It’s weird not having you with my engineers. They miss you too, you know. The McLaren team. They still talk about you all the time. Especially Chris.”

Amelia stared at him. “Chris used to say all the time that I was intimidating.”

“Yeah,” Lando grinned. “He still says that. But now it’s in a weirdly affectionate way. Not sure I like it.” He pulled a face.

Amelia allowed herself a small smile, eyes flicking over him with quiet curiosity. Ah. There it was; that little edge in his voice. The subtle shift in his posture.

So he really was serious. That jealousy he’d mentioned before wasn’t a passing joke. It was real, simmering just beneath the surface, slipping out in moments like this.

He was a very jealous man.

And apparently, not very good at hiding it.

Thinking about his jealousy had been a distraction, brief, fleeting, but now even that was tangled up in it. The way he got all possessive and fidgety when she mentioned other people, the way his jaw tensed when she told him about her relationships within the Red Bull team, the way he looked at her like she was already his, and no one else had a chance.

It should’ve annoyed her. It did annoy her. A little. But mostly… it just made her feel warmer. More aware of him. Of how close he was, right there beside her on the hotel bed, limbs relaxed, hoodie sleeves pushed up, expensive watch catching the soft light from the TV.

She clenched her toes. Pressed her knees together. Tried to focus on the movie. On the background music, on the plot, on literally anything else.

It didn’t work.

“You’re really quiet tonight,” Lando told her, eyebrows raised slightly. “What’s going on in that smarty-pants brain of yours?”

Amelia hesitated. Thought about brushing it off. About lying. But that wasn’t how they’d agreed to do this. They were supposed to always be honest with each other.

“I want to touch you,” she said plainly.

Lando froze. Then blinked. “Uh. Okay.”

She winced slightly, pulling the blanket higher. “Not like that. Not; well. I mean. Not necessarily. I just—” she exhaled sharply. “My brain wants pressure. From you. And I can’t focus on anything else.”

His face shifted; concern, understanding, something tender blooming behind his eyes.

“You could’ve just said something,” he murmured, sitting up. “You know you don’t have to ask twice with me.”

Her voice was small. “I don’t want to cross a line.”

He reached out then, slow, letting her see his hand coming before it landed lightly on her blanket-covered shin. “Hey. You tell me what you need. You’re the boss here.”

She stared at his hand for a moment. “Can I lie on you?”

He blinked. “Like…on me?”

“Yes.” She nodded.

“…Okay, yeah. Yeah. That’s, uh, that’s cool.”

Within seconds, she was curling into him. Her cheek pressed to his chest, her arms wound tight around his waist, and he stilled completely; like she was something precious and breakable.

“More,” she mumbled into his chest. He smelled good, like mens body wash and Dove bar soap. “Tighter.”

He obeyed instantly, arms coming around her, pulling her flush against him. She melted. Her muscles unspooled. Her fingers unclenched.

Lando dipped his head to press his cheek against her hair. “Is this good?”

She nodded, face buried in the soft fabric. “Yes.”

—

WhatsApp Groupchat — 2020 F1 Grid

George R. Can someone tell Amelia she left her iPad again please 😭

Charles L. She left it on a tyre stack next to the Ferrari garage earlier today

Carlos S. She treats technology like it’s disposable

Alex A. Not me tempted to open it and check her car design sketches...

Max V. Don’t. I’ll come get it, George.

Lando N. I’ll get it.

Valtteri B. 👀👀👀

Pierre G. Hold up what

George R. That was awkwardly timed

Charles L. Lando I thought you had ghosted her?

Alex A. He def ghosted her. That was a thing.

Max V. He did.

Daniel R. Uh oh. Maxie is angry 😬

Lando N. Okay yeah I did, but I apologised. We’re cool now, okay? So leave it out.

Carlos S. Grid never forgets

Sebastian V. Lando, she has forgiven you? Are you… friends now?

Lewis H. Is Max okay with this? Because I’m not okay with this.

Max V. No. I am not okay with it. DAT IS LETTERLIJK MIJN ZUS. ALS HIJ HAAR WEER PIJN DOET, VERMOORD IK HEM. (That is literally my sister. If he hurts her again, I will kill him.)

George R. Hands up if you just Google Translated that

Charles L. LORE DROP

Kimi R. Ah Max, is she another of Jos’ love children?

Alex A. They’re not actually related guys

Daniel R. No, just emotionally adopted Verstappen-style. Honestly, that’s more terrifying

Lando N. I SAID I’M BEING SERIOUS ABOUT HER NOW, OKAY? I’M NOT STUPID ANYMORE. I MEAN IT.

Lewis H. You’re twenty.

George R. Statistically, you’re probably still stupid

Daniel R. I’m not taking sides, but also… Max’s unhinged brother energy is kind of beautiful

Charles L. Agreed. Threatening murder in Dutch has a certain poetry

George R. So who is coming to get the iPad?

Max V. Me. She needs it for her work. At Red Bull. Where she belongs.

Lando N. Fucking hell, mate I get it Don’t need to rub it in.

—

The hum of the Red Bull garage wrapped around Amelia. The RB16 sat gleaming under the fluorescent lights, half a dozen mechanics orbiting around it. She stood off to the side, tablet in hand, stylus between her teeth, watching the numbers stream in from Max’s first systems run.

She was mid-sentence on a note to Adrian, something about rear tire temps in sector three, when a quiet, unmistakably firm voice cut through her concentration.

“Amelia.”

She turned. Jos Verstappen.

She hadn’t seen him up close since the day she signed with Red Bull. Now, in the garage, he looked the same; flat expression, arms loosely folded, presence heavy despite his silence.

“Mister Verstappen,” she said, adjusting her posture. “Hello.”

His eyes swept over the tablet in her hand, then to the car. “You’ve been busy.”

“I’m always busy,” Amelia agreed. “That’s the job.”

“I heard the changes to the under-tray and rear brake ducts came from you,” he said. “They’re working very well. Max is impressed.”

She squinted. “Of course they’re working. I ran the data half a dozen ways before I even suggested the update. I don’t like to waste people’s time on bad ideas.”

His mouth twitched. “You’re very confident.”

“No,” she said, finally glancing up from her tablet to look at him. “I’m correct. That’s different.”

Jos let out a low, quiet huff of amusement. “I like people who say what they think.”

She tilted her head. “I don’t see the point in saying anything else. It’s inefficient.”

That made something flicker in his expression; curiosity, maybe. Or calculation.

“Max appreciates honesty,” he added, watching her closely.

“I’m not honest for his sake.”

He paused. Then looked back to the car. “You’ve helped improve it. That’s obvious. Which is why I’ll ask this directly.”

She glanced up again, wary now. “Okay.”

“I want you focused entirely on Max,” Jos said. “Not just as a Red Bull employee. As part of his team. Private. Full-time. I’m prepared to make it official. I’ll buy out your Red Bull contract if I need to.”

Amelia blinked once. “No.”

He didn’t flinch. “That’s a quick answer.”

“Because I’ve thought about this before,” she said simply. “And my answer’s the same. I’m not leaving Adrian.”

“You could build your own legacy with Max.”

“I can still do that while working for Red Bull,” she replied. “Adrian lets me experiment. He listens when I speak. And I want to learn everything he knows before I try leading anything on my own.”

Jos’s jaw ticked. “And you think that outweighs the opportunity I have put in front of you?”

“I think long-term. Adrian Newey is the greatest car designer alive. Every day I work with him is an honour. And if Max wants a championship, he’ll get it. I’ll be part of that. But I will do it with Adrian or I will not do it at all.”

“You're ambitious,” he muttered, after a heavy pause. “But not greedy. That’s rare.”

She didn’t answer. Just turned back to her tablet, fingers swiping across the screen.

Jos studied her. His gaze was heavy, pressing. Then, finally, he said, “If you were my dochter, I wouldn’t let your talent go to waste. I’d protect it. Nurture it. Push you toward bigger and better.”

Amelia looked up again, cool and unreadable. “I would not be able to work with Max if I was your daughter. That would be a conflict of interest.”

That finally made him laugh. Quiet and sharp and vaguely dangerous. A glimmer of respect in the way his eyes narrowed. “I’ll respect your decision,” he said at last. “But I’ll ask again.”

“I’ll probably still say no.” She shrugged.

Jos gave a single nod. Then turned and walked away without another word, disappearing into the back of the garage.

Amelia scrunched up her nose, muttered something under her breath, and went back to her data like nothing had happened.

She didn’t notice the wide-eyed engineers still watching her — silent, stunned, impressed.

—

Ted Kravitz’s Qualifying Notebook – Hungarian Grand Prix 2020

"Alright, let’s get into it. We’re here at the Hungarian Grand Prix, and there’s something on everyone's minds right now. Well, a couple of things, but one of them in particular is the ever-growing interest in Amelia Brown."

He flicks through his notes briefly.

"Now, Amelia is the new kid on the block for Red Bull. Already making waves after just a few races. We’ve seen some huge improvements to the car's performance, especially with that under-tray and rear brake duct work she introduced. The engineers and Max, they’re all praising her contributions. But let’s be clear though, this isn’t just about her technical brilliance. It’s about her presence on the grid."

Cut to some shots of Amelia in the garage, clipboard in hand, as she discusses the car’s setup with Adrian Newey, looking fully unaware of the chaos surrounding her.

"Now, there’s something interesting happening here. When she first joined Red Bull, everyone was wondering how this would affect the dynamics, and we’ve certainly seen some whispers. Most notably, there’s been talk of Jos Verstappen eyeing Amelia pretty closely. I mean, this guy is never shy with his opinions, and his recent conversation with Amelia raised some eyebrows."

Cut to a clip of Jos and Amelia talking in the garage, with Jos gesturing animatedly and Amelia, typically blunt, responding with equal intensity.

Ted shifts, looking across the paddock, scanning the crowd of drivers and engineers.

“And let’s not forget that there’s still some tension between Amelia and McLaren, her father’s team. No doubt about it. There’s been a fair amount of speculation about her change in team and what exactly went down, but no one’s talking specifics. We know McLaren won’t love losing someone of her calibre to Red Bull, but Amelia's made it clear that it’s all about the opportunity to work with Adrian, not about the politics. Still, you can feel the strain."

Cut back to Ted, his face becoming more animated as he looks towards something happening across the paddock.

"But here’s the kicker, folks. As I’m talking about this tension, I see something that maybe changes the narrative just a little bit."

The camera follows Ted’s eyes as they zoom in on Amelia and Lando, who are sitting casually on a wall near the McLaren and Red Bull hospitality areas. Lando’s laughing at something, and Amelia, her arms crossed, is smiling; not just her usual polite smile, but a real one.

"Well, well, well... Looks like there may not be as much tension between Amelia and McLaren, or between her and Lando, as we thought, eh? That, my friends, is a sight we didn't expect to see so soon. Seems like the ghosts of the past are being put to bed, at least for now."

He grins, looking almost conspiratorial with the camera.

"And that’s all we’ve got for now, folks. The grid’s about to get busy with pre-race preparations, but keep an eye on Amelia. She’s making her mark, and I think we’ll be seeing a lot more of her, both in the garage and in the paddock. Could be a very exciting future ahead for her in this sport and beyond.”

NEXT CHAPTER

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theonottsbxtch · 10 months ago

Text

ITS OK IM OK | LN4

an: it's ok im ok by tate mcrae is out and i had this idea the minute i heard it the first time so i've been writing this the last two hours. this was very rushed so please be nice, slight oscar x yn (no use of yn)

written and smau

face claim: pintrest and queen t8

newgirlfriend just posted

liked by landonorris, maxfewtrell, maxverstappen1 and 159,382 others

oh he's so perfect

**coments have been restricted**

When she’d first broken up with Lando, she’d been distraught. He was the love of her life, or at least she’d thought. For over a month, she’d spent every passing moment reminiscing on all the good parts she could remember of the relationship, but as that month came to a close, the fog began to lift.

There was no good.

At first there was, there had been the dates, the gifts, the flowers and the continuous travelling alongside her. The texts of ‘I miss you’ and ‘I love you’ at least once a day had diminished into a ‘gn’ and ‘gm’ eleven months into the relationship.

The affection that once felt so constant had turned into something routine, something obligatory. She’d ignored the signs at first, brushing off the growing distance as just a phase, believing things would eventually go back to how they were in the beginning. But they didn’t.

She remembered the nights when he would cancel plans at the last minute, claiming he was too tired from work, yet his social media was filled with stories of nights out with his friends. The times he’d forgotten important moments — her promotion at work, her 21st birthday, their anniversary. Every time, he had a perfectly reasonable excuse that she had willingly swallowed, desperate to hold onto the image of the man she’d thought he was.

The excuses, the half-hearted apologies, and the lack of effort slowly chipped away at her, until one day, she woke up feeling emptier than ever, wondering where she’d gone wrong. She’d blamed herself, convinced she was being too demanding, too needy.

But now, with some distance, she could see it all for what it was: she’d been in love with an idea of him, a projection of her own desires. The real Lando was far from the prince charming she had made him out to be. He was just a guy who knew how to charm his way through life, good at saying the right things but never following through.

She realised now that the man she’d loved never truly existed; he was a mirage, built from wishful thinking and her own desperation to be loved.

So when Mclaren invited her to celebrate the new season, she took it knowing she was a mature adult, after all he’d moved on. So could she.

“She’s posted him again,” Her best friend spoke from the sofa where she’d been waiting for her to touch up her makeup. “Caption is ‘Oh he’s so perfect’ with some flowers and a teddy bear.”

“Poor girl.” She muttered to herself as she applied some gloss. “She’s still in the honeymoon phase,”

Her best friend hummed and laughed as she continued to scroll through the photos.

Unlike many ex girlfriends, she didn't hate the new girl, no if anything she pitied the next girl and the inevitable one after that, it wasn’t their fault that he acted like the perfect gentleman at the start.

She sighed, putting the lip gloss down and meeting her own eyes in the mirror. "I mean, she’s just like I was," she added, more to herself than to her friend. "I remember thinking he was my perfect match, too. All those little gestures, the compliments, the way he always seemed to know exactly what I wanted to hear. I fell for it, hard."

Her friend glanced up from the phone, a knowing look in her eyes. "Yeah, but you saw through it eventually. And you got out."

She nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Yeah, I did. And I’m not gonna pretend that was easy, but I did it. I’ve just gotta hope she figures it out sooner rather than later."

Her friend grinned. "I bet you’re dying to go up to her tonight and give her a friendly warning."

She laughed at that, shaking her head. "Oh, no. I’m not getting involved unless the opportunity comes up . She won’t listen anyway; no one does when they’re in the thick of it. Besides, it's not my place."

Her friend tilted her head, watching her closely. "You’re really okay with all this?"

She paused for a moment, considering her answer. Was she really okay? Seeing those photos had stirred something in her, but it wasn’t jealousy. It was more like a dull ache, a memory of a wound that had already healed. "I think so," she said finally, smiling a little. "I mean, it still sucks to see, but not in the way it used to. I guess... I’m more relieved than anything. Relieved that it’s not me anymore."

Her friend nodded in approval. "That’s growth, babe. And tonight, we’re gonna celebrate that growth with some champagne and dancing. No thinking about exes, just fun."

She laughed, grabbing her bag and turning to face her friend. "Deal. Now, let’s get out of here before I change my mind."

They headed out the door, a cool breeze greeting them as they stepped into the evening air. As they walked to the car, she glanced at her phone one more time, catching a glimpse of Lando’s face on her social media feed. His arm was around the new girl, that same easy smile on his lips, the same charm in his eyes. But this time, it didn’t sting. It didn’t make her chest tight or her stomach drop. She felt...nothing.

“His teammate was fitter anyway,” At first she hadn’t heard it but when she did, she turned to face her friend, “What? I’m saying what we all saw.”

“I’m not stirring that pot.”

“You’re not but I am.” Her friend laughed as she pulled out of the parking lot, “Think about it, he’ll be there tonight, freshly broken up. Maybe you two can bond over that.”

Her eyes widened as she looked at her friend, “He broke up with his girlfriend?”

“I knew you were interested!”

She rolled her eyes, feeling a flush creep up her neck. "I’m not interested," she insisted, but the hint of a smile played at the corners of her lips, betraying her. "It’s just… surprising, that’s all."

Her friend shot her a knowing look. “Oh, come on. I’ve seen how you look at him. All those race weekends, sneaking glances when you thought no one was watching. You can’t deny it.”

She laughed, a light, genuine sound she hadn’t heard from herself in a while. "You’re imagining things. Besides, just because Lando's teammate is single doesn’t mean I’m ready to jump into something new."

Her friend raised an eyebrow. “Who said anything about jumping? Maybe just dip a toe in. Have fun for once. You deserve it."

She hesitated, biting her lip as the car sped through the city streets. "I don’t know… it just feels too soon."

"Too soon? Or maybe the perfect time?" her friend challenged. "It’s not about replacing Lando. It’s about letting yourself feel good again."

She stared out the window, watching the city lights blur into a kaleidoscope of colours. Her friend was right. She had spent so long grieving over Lando, replaying every mistake and wondering where she went wrong. Maybe it was time to let someone else in, even just a little.

“Okay," she finally said, her voice steady. "If I see him tonight, I’ll talk to him. No expectations, no pressure. Just… a conversation."

Her friend grinned. “Now, that’s the spirit. And who knows? Maybe you’ll find out he’s more than just a pretty face.”

She laughed again, this time with more ease. “Or maybe I’ll find out he’s just another disaster waiting to happen.”

Her friend chuckled, “Only one way to find out.”

By the time they’d pulled up to the club and handed the keys to the valet, there was a solid blush on her cheeks. After all, she had spent the rest of the car ride looking at Oscar’ photos.

She felt the bass of the music underneath her feet as she and her friend handed their ID’s to the bouncer, waiting as he checked their names off the list.

“Right let me find some virgin cocktail, you go find Oscar.”

“Absolutely not, I’m getting a drink first.”

When they reached the bar, they eyed up the drinks board, everything seemed so tempting. Starting easy she ordered herself a vodka coke. No point trying to talk to Oscar if she was sloshed.

“Your replacement, 12 o’clock.” She heard her friend shout over her drink.

She turned around, subtly glancing in the direction her friend had pointed. There she was, the new girl — bright-eyed, smiling, and looking like she had the world at her feet. Her heart clenched for a moment, a tiny pang of something she didn’t want to name, but then she felt it ease just as quickly. It wasn’t jealousy; it was almost… nostalgia.

The girl was everything she remembered herself being — full of hope, dressed to impress, standing a little too close to him as if she needed to mark her territory. And there he was, Oscar, just as charming as ever. Leaning in, whispering something that made the girl laugh loudly, the kind of laugh that begged for attention.

Her friend nudged her side. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she said, swallowing a sip of her drink. “Just feeling pity, really.”

“Well,” her friend prompted, “you gonna say hi or what?”

She took a deep breath. “I think I’ll let them have their moment. Besides, I’m not in the mood to play the ex-girlfriend card tonight.”

Her friend snorted. “What, you don’t want to ruin their Instagram-perfect night?”

She grinned. “Tempting, but no.” She took another sip, feeling the warmth of the alcohol begin to relax her nerves. “Let’s dance, yeah?”

“Don’t have to ask me twice.”

Grabbing her phone off the bar and shoving it down her bra, she took her friend’s hand and brought her to the middle of the dance floor, some Flo Rida song making the walls shake.

Moving to the beat of the music, she looked as her friend began to dance on her, pulling her hand on her hip as they danced in sync enjoying the moment and ignoring the fact that she could see Lando looking at her and not his new girlfriend.

She felt the bass thump through her chest, each beat syncing with her pulse as she lost herself in the music. Her friend’s laughter was infectious, and she couldn’t help but grin, the tension in her shoulders easing as she swayed to the rhythm.

Lando’s gaze was heavy on her, almost burning through the crowd. She could feel it, a mix of curiosity and maybe a hint of regret. She didn’t look directly at him — not yet. Instead, she let her movements become more carefree, twirling with her friend and raising her arms in the air as the chorus hit. The whole room seemed to pulse with the beat, and she revelled in the feeling of letting go, if only for a moment.

Her friend leaned in, her voice barely audible over the music. “He’s staring,” she said with a sly smile.

She shrugged, flipping her hair back with a casual flick. “Let him,” she replied, her voice loud enough to be heard over the music but still cool and collected.

And then, on a whim, she spun around, facing him across the crowded room. Their eyes met, and she held his gaze for a heartbeat longer than she intended. His expression was unreadable — a mix of surprise, maybe a flicker of something else. But she didn’t want to decipher it; she didn’t care to.

Instead, she raised her drink in a mock toast, a sly smile playing at her lips, before turning her back to him again. She felt a surge of confidence, a quiet thrill in knowing she no longer needed his validation or attention. She was here to have fun, to enjoy the night, not to relive old memories or make a scene.

Her friend noticed the exchange and leaned in again. “You sure you don’t want to give him a piece of your mind?”

She laughed, a real, genuine laugh that felt good in her chest. “Nah, he can watch if he wants. It just shows he’s not as over it as I am.”

She turned her attention back to her friend, giving her a playful spin. “Anyway, I have a much hotter date.”

This time her friend laughed loudly, “Uh huh you do, I’ll go get us refills.”

“I’ll come with,” she offered, even though she was beginning to feel herself in the middle of the crowd.

“No, you just stay here.” Her friend gave her a final wink before disappearing into the crowd, leaving her alone on the dancefloor. The bass of the music pulsed through her, making her heart race in time with the beat. That’s when she spotted Oscar — tall, confident, with a warm smile that seemed to cut through the throng of people. He was one of the few people who had been genuinely kind to her since she’d met him, and there was a sense of magnetic energy between them.

He extended his hand with a charming grin. “May I have this dance?”

Without missing a beat, she placed her hand in his, feeling a thrill of excitement. They moved closer, the heat of their bodies melding together as the music swelled. He guided her into a slow, sensual dance, their movements smooth and synchronised. His hands rested lightly on her hips, and she could feel the tension of his touch, a mix of confidence and tenderness. Overlapping her hands on his, she tightened his grip on her hips.

As they danced, she felt a rush of freedom, the worries and old feelings from earlier dissolving into the rhythm. She glanced to her side and caught a glimpse of Lando across the room. He was watching them, his expression a mixture of surprise and frustration. For a moment, their eyes locked, and she saw the flash of jealousy in his gaze. She raised an eyebrow slightly, a smirk playing on her lips as if to say, “Look at me now.”

Returning her focus to the Oscar, she let herself be completely immersed in the moment. His touch was intoxicating, his eyes locked on hers with an intensity that made her feel desired and cherished. They moved together effortlessly, each step and sway adding to the intimate connection they were building on the dancefloor.

Oscar leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. “You look amazing tonight,” he murmured, his voice low and husky. “I mean you always have, but tonight things are different aren’t they?”

She shivered at his words, the tension between them palpable. She responded with a soft laugh, her fingers trailing up to his neck as she whispered back, “They are, aren’t they?”

As the song reached its climax, they pulled closer, their bodies pressed together in a way that felt both exhilarating and soothing. She let herself be lost in the sensation, feeling a newfound sense of liberation and sensuality. The world outside seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of them in their own private dance.

The song ended, but they stayed close, their breaths mingling. “I’m going to the bathroom, but I’ll see you here for round two?” she said, trying to be heard over the music.

“I won’t go anywhere,” he replied with a teasing smile, his voice like velvet. She wanted to linger in his warmth a moment longer, but she knew she needed to regroup. The minute she snapped out of her trance, she found the bar and her friend, dragging her to the nearest bathroom.

Finding the handicap stall, she pulled them inside and slumped against the wall, grabbing her drink out of her friend’s hand.

“Fuck me,” she whispered, her voice a mix of exhilaration and happiness.

“I am not Oscar, but I’m sure he would if you asked nicely,” her friend quipped, trying to lighten the mood.

She let out a tired laugh, shaking her head. “Not what I meant. I just… I don’t know. It’s weird being back in this place. Wow. That dance - I.”

Her friend gave her a knowing look. “At least give me a heads up if I’m going to drive home alone tonight.”

As she took another sip of her drink, she heard the bathroom door swing open, followed by the sound of animated giggling. It was Lando's new girlfriend, chattering excitedly with a friend. Her voice carried through the thin bathroom walls, brimming with admiration.

“Oh my god, he’s just so perfect!” she gushed. “I can’t believe how lucky I am. He’s got everything—charm, looks, and he’s so sweet. I feel like I’m in a dream.”

Her friend raised an eyebrow, glancing at her. “Are you okay?”

Suppressing a laugh, she stood up and pushed open the door to the cubicle. As she emerged, she locked eyes with Lando’s new girlfriend in the mirror.

“Hey there,” she said, her voice smooth yet edged with cool detachment. “So, which version of him is perfect, the off-season version or the regular season?”

The new girlfriend blinked, visibly startled. Her smile faltered, and she looked momentarily confused. “Uh, I don’t really understand what you mean.”

She could sense her best friend trying hard not to laugh behind her. Shrugging lightly, she maintained a mix of sympathy and detachment in her gaze. “Just a thought. Sometimes people have different sides to them, you know? What you’re seeing now might not be the whole picture.”

Before the new girlfriend could respond, her friend besides her chimed in . “You’re just jealous.”

She turned, a knowing smile on her lips. “Oh, sweetie, it’s okay. I’m perfectly fine. After all, I had him first.” Without giving the new girlfriend a chance to reply, she gently but firmly guided her friend out of the bathroom and back into the club.

As they re-entered the lively atmosphere, her friend grinned at her. “That was hot.”

She chuckled, feeling a sense of empowerment and closure. “Glad you think so. Let’s enjoy the rest of the night.”

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buzzingroyalty · 6 months ago

Text

how to grub your karkat

or you can use this for any other plush or if you wanna make a whole new plush entirely or whatever

disclaimer im not a professional in any sense of the word and theres anything technical im doing wrong or you think you can do it better by all means dont hold back

Things you’ll need

sewing machine unless youre really dedicated but doing it by hand is gonna be an agonizing feat i promise. I just used a straight stitch for everything

Fabrics: for the main body i suggest a minky or something soft, for the inner lining something in the same color as the main body and ideally with some stretch, and anything black for the legs. Less than a yard of each will do

if youre using minky or anything furry get a lint roller. Trust me

stuffing, i used polyfil

threads that match your fabrics

good fabric scissors

sewing needle for hand sewing/fixes

karkat plush (optional)

Heres the pattern i came up with! They are numbered for your convenience and pieces with the same numbers are going to be part of the same row of segments. cut everything out on the black lines (Make sure when you’re printing to fit the image to the page size.) on the left we have the belly pieces, the right is the main body, and we have the foot in between

Im using a relatively thin minky fabric, im sure you can use whatever but something with some fluffiness kinda helps to mask any imperfections in the sewing. When drawing out your patterns keep in mind what direction your fibers settle in and try to keep it consistent

On the wrong side of the fabric measure out at least a half inch seam allowance around each piece of the pattern, i used a centimeter and that worked but had me sweatin a bit.

For the main body pieces fold your fabric in half before you cut so you can have 2 of each segment that are mirrored to each other, i also extended all of the #1 pieces an additional centimeter/half inch at the top so we can fold them over at the very end. I highly suggest numbering the insides of all the cut pieces, especially in a way where you will remember what direction they are each meant to sit

After you’ve numbered all your pieces, set them aside and start making your feet!

Each of the 6 legs is made of two pieces, but i because i only had a swatch of the black minky i made up for the rest with some random black scrap fabric from an old project. Try to keep your fabric consistent if you can lol

I didnt give these pieces any more seam allowance on the fabric but i recommend adding a centimeter or half inch to the base of it to extend the length and have some more wiggle room

like so

Instead of cutting out 12 individual pieces and struggling to stitch them all together i started with 6, then pinning each piece real tight with the right/furry side down onto my secondary fabric, and slowly stitching around the shape real close to the edges- DO NOT CLOSE THE FLAT SIDE as we are going to stuff the feet through here

Now cut the shape out of the fabric and repeat till you have 6 feet

Now flip those bad boys inside out, stuff up, and if you wanna you can match them to their best pairs

now grab a pair of feeties and your #1 pieces and line them up, in this picture my belly #1 piece is shorter bc i forgot to add the extra centimeter and i recut that once i realized. Line those sides up with the right/furry parts touching and with the feet in between, flip it around to make sure everything's sitting the way you want it

Note. i didnt realize until later but i sewed my feet in upside down. save yourself the time it takes to fix it and dont make the same mistake

Straight stitch these layers together and repeat with the next two segments our good friends #2 & #3

Repeat this for the #2 and #3 sections but NOT THE #4, that part doesnt need feet! just line those edges up right/furry sides together and sew

the secret to the squish of the suit is making this inner lining from another fabric and stuffing it! I used what i had leftover from a stretchy red fabric for a kanaya skirt. For this we need to make a new pattern for each section, making sure it follows the curve of the round edge but the piece itself is shorter, almost like youre removing the seam allowance you added. Mine is a centimeter shorter on the top and on the bottom and reaches to the middle

Make one of these for each numbered segment,you only need to make half the pattern and you can fold your fabric in half on a crease and you end up with one symmetrical piece (bars)

Now you need to pin these pieces right on top of the wrong side of your numbered furry sections and line up the straight edges like so (disclaimer for LOTS OF SCARY NEEDLES !!)

Admittedly i didnt estimate how long these pieces needed to be very accurately and overshot it a bit, if you start pinning it from the middle and continue outwards on either side thatll ensure its not too lose and you can cut off any excess after

The only exception is piece #1, if you recall we gave this #1 section extra seam allowance. This is so we can sew down that excess at the neck later and hide any of the inside that might show once its all put together. Do not connect the top edge to the inner lining! Since i added an extra centimeter earlier im gonna leave that hanging and pin + sew down the inner lining a centimeter lower than the top edge. LEAVE THE CURVED EDGES OPEN! DONT SEW THEM TOGETHER! those stay open to stuff

Straight stitch the lined up edges together

Now you have all these skinned pieces of little freak and we need to connect all these segments together making sure to sew UNDER the existing stitches so we dont see those on the outside when its all put together

Inside looks like a bit of a mess but thats fine bc its not the part that matters

Now stuff it! you might need a stick or pencil or something long and thin to get stuffing into the middle bits

Now thats its stuffed you can finally close those curved edges. Try not to sew over a thick mound of stuffing, push it in a little further to give yourself some space and you can fluff it back out after everythings closed. I cut off that excess lining fabric after sewing

Ough… they filleted my boy…

Finally, match up all the edges and lines and HAND SEW them right sides together. You will destroy your machine trying to work around that stuffing i promise. You also have an excuse to get up from your work desk and sew on a couch or smth. I used a standard backstitch for a tight finish and again, make sure you sew under any existing stitches so they arent visible on the outside!

Speaking of the outside, once you stitch everything together you can very gently flip this sucker inside out

This is @hatamonu’s cat Cocaina, aka Coco. Her perfectly square figure made it into my grub files somehow so shes essential to the tutorial

Check the fit and all thats left to do is roughly baste stitch down that excess neck fabric onto the stuffed lining and youre set! I gave the thread slight tugs as i went to tighten the opening a bit put dont tighten it too much

tadaaaaa

It fits pretty snug but starts to slip a bit with motion. Heres a bounce test

If you do shake your baby make sure to safety pin the plush to the suit so he doesnt prematurely shed his exosekeleton

Now spread that baby fever and show your baby to the world

pics from the ALA 2025 homestuck meetup and supplied by para.dox.cos

Tysm for coming along this ride with me especially if you followed the prototype journey on twitter, much thanks to my more sewing savvy friend for the solution to my grub dilemma and for helping me design and build my dolorosa cosplay <3 much love and hopefully many more homestuck cosplays and meetups to come in the future!

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mandarinmoons · 11 months ago

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this has been making the rounds so i have to ask... could you do a quick blurb of reader with spencer during this interaction and they had been bickering before in the car (im sniffing enemies to lovers). once that guy says that she just BURSTS out laughing and can't stop even after spencer tells her to stop, but at this point tears are coming down her face. spencer wants to be mad (bc hello! enemies) but honestly he's just so down bad, he loves that this makes her smile/laugh. (woah that was cheesy, gonna go take a lactaid). thank youuuuu 💕😘

https://www.tumblr.com/tomcriuse/756127032794136576

I love your mind for this x

“You’re like a pipe cleaner with eyes. I could snap you like a twig.”

Spencer felt his eardrum possibly bursting due to the laugh that roared from your mouth. His eyebrows knitted in confusion as you hunched down, practically hugging your knees to your chest as you tried to calm down your breathing.

“It’s not that funny,” Spencer wanted to sound coarse, but he had a hard time hiding the slight chuckle that came from his mouth. He wanted to be annoyed, but a not so small part of his heart swelled with joy whenever he saw you laugh and to know that he was the one bringing out those happy tears, he was an overjoyed man indeed.

The man that had been questioned shut his door in confusion and Spencer grabbed your arms lightly to try and help you stand up. A second later you brushed his hands off and Spencer sighed on the inside as you two went back to the way things were before you started questioning the local.

Clearing your throat, you strode off to the car leaving Spencer looking at you as you walked off. His feelings were mixed up, just 10 minutes ago you two had been bickering over if Spencer had taken the right turn down the road or if he’d managed to make you both get lost (again) and now here he was, admiring the confident strut in your walk and remembering the little hairs that frame your face that you always pushed behind your ear that he found oh so adorable.

“Are you coming or not?”

Spencer snapped out of his thoughts when he heard you call out for him. What was a beautiful smile adoring your face had now turned into a tight lipped, and dare he say, annoyed stare. How your emotions managed to change so quickly was beyond him, but he nodded and jogged his way to you to keep up.

What felt like an eternity of silence, Spencer’s ears perked up when he heard a light chuckle coming out of your mouth.

“The rest of the team is so going to hear about this.”

“Y/N, c’mon now, it’s not that funny.”

“Is it not, pipe cleaner?”

Spencer felt his blood boiling, but he instantly cooled down when he saw your smile return and more giggles come out of your mouth. Suddenly all the anger he had felt the entire day had disappeared and it was all thanks to the sound of your laughter and the sweet smell of your perfume, which the scent of seemed to have an even tighter hold on him with every inch he got closer to you.

Whether he liked it or not (but internally he loved it) your perfume had lightly gotten on his hands as he tried to help you up and as he laid in bed late at night, even with washing his hands as thoroughly as he always does, the scent still lingered on his skin and he fell asleep with you in his thoughts and (finally) in his dreams.

Taglist: @radioactiveinvisible @whoisspence @sreidisms @lanascinnamongirls @luvkatryna @sp3ncelle @iluvreid @khxna @keiva1000 @reidstheyfriend @hiireadstuff @pleasantwitchgarden @cynbx @kimm4710 @niktwazny303 @reidsdaisies @mindfullycriminal @cumulo-stratus @gayfor-rosadiaz @gubsbuubs @multifandomsimp69 @chyozai @deppfanatic @potatovoyager @indyvelazquez @nini123 @justlivinginadaydream @kers505 @dan-the-womans-blog

Notice: I am no longer adding people into my taglist and will be discontinuing it soon so if you'd like to be kept up to date with my future works then please follow me x

You can find my masterlist here!

Let me know your thoughts in the comments and like & reblog to support <3

#spencer reid #spencer reid au #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x you #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid x fem! reader #spencer reid fluff

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miraclemuncher · 16 days ago

Text

ii. sirius slips up I day one, saturday morning

summary. Over summer holiday, James, Sirius, and Peter spend a weekend at Remus’ small, muggle populated village. For their Moony’s sake, they dedicate themselves to spend the entire weekend undercover as muggles. Especially when it comes to his cute neighbor. Will they be able to keep up the act all weekend long?

pairing. remus lupin x fem!reader

tags/warnings. marauders era, welsh!remus, fluff, crack, american author (im sorry), they’re all 17+ and can use magic idc, miniseries!!

taglist status. open!! comment on the miniseries masterlist to be added!!

Remus doesn’t know who to worry about more, James or Sirius.

He knows which one will be worse when Sirius causes a scene before they’ve even stepped a foot inside Remus’ home. Sirius is absolutely bewildered by his letterbox.

Sirius treats it like those baby toys where they match the shapes to the holes. It starts with slipping in Peter’s wand, then James’ glasses, then all of their wallets, then Peter asks, “Reckon your boot would fit through?”

With only one way to find out, Sirius raises his boot with his foot still wearing it. Balancing on one leg, he begins prodding at the letterbox with his foot.

Remus has to intervene. He pulls Sirius’ leg away from the letterbox. Sirius stumbles, but is held steady by James.

“There are muggles everywhere!” Remus hisses, still keeping a firm grip on Sirius’ leg. Though, the streets are currently deserted.

“Do all their houses have one of these?” Sirius says with amusement.

Remus briefly considers calling off their slumber party and sending them back to the portkey altogether. But then your voice from across the street draws him away from that thought.

“Hiya, Remus,” you call, hopping down from the driver’s seat of your dad’s battered blue truck. “Back from that fancy boarding school already?”

At the sight of you, the four boys freeze. Remus’ scowl instantly softens. James is miraculously silent for once. Sirius grins wider. And Peter is probably on the verge of fainting.

Remus is the first to compose himself, dropping Sirius’s leg indifferently. Following his lead, the rest quickly snap out of it, posing themselves as muggles to the best of their limited knowledge.

Remus raises a hand and waves. The rest earnestly mimic him, almost too enthusiastically. As ridiculous as they look, it’s honestly the best case scenario when it comes to those three.

“I actually got back two weeks ago. Where’ve you been?” Remus calls back.

“Lucky you,” you enviously say. “My school ended only yesterday.”

When you glance over at the other three, Remus quickly explains, “These are my mates from school. They’re visiting for the weekend.” He gestured to them, who were still eagerly waving. Remus thought they would’ve gotten the cue to introduce themselves. He has to send them a glare to get it through their thick skulls.

“I’m James!”

“Sirius Black!”

“P— Peter…!”

Likewise, you tell them your name and then say, “Nice to meet you all. Will I see you guys at Cerise’s party later tonight?”

In unison, their heads flick to Remus, eyes silently pleading for permission.

Those begging eyes are worthless against Remus. There would be nothing worse than two wizarding-raised boys, and Peter, at a muggle party, Cerise’s party no less. “We wouldn’t want to intrude—“

“Cerise said I can invite whoever,” you interrupt unhelpfully. You throw a cheeky look to Remus that only he understands. Welcome home!

“It’s settled then? We’re going to the party?” Sirius turns to Remus and asks with way too much excitement than Remus is comfortable with.

Everybody is looking at him now with unbelievablely ingratiating smiles.

Remus runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “Fine, we’ll go,” he grits out.

The three boys celebrate by tackling Remus to the ground in an attempt of a group hug.

In the midst of their chuckles and groans as they struggle to untangle themselves, he hears your own soft laugh. It’s not that bad to be home.

One of Remus’ many excuses for not inviting them to his house was that there’s nothing to do in his village. He thought giving them a tour of the village would’ve proved he wasn’t exaggerating, but they were somehow amazed at every aspect of the boring old town.

James, Sirius, and Peter gape into the window of a bakery. The three all forgot to retrieve their wallets after slipping them through the letterbox, and even if they hadn’t, they don’t carry muggle money.

They are pathetically salivating at the displays of treacle tarts and frosted cupcakes. They’re so focused on the baked goods that they don’t notice your blue truck is parked right next to them.

Remus had spotted you instantly, your truck being a dead giveaway to your presence. You were inside, chatting it up with the teenage clerk Remus clocks as Cerise.

It’s only when you wave at the four through the window that the other three realize it’s you.

They take the gesture as an invitation to come inside the bakery, the overhead bell jingling as they stumble in.

James Potter and Sirius Black who both come from generational wealth eagerly eye the boxed up dozen cupcakes in your arms.

“Oi, Cerise,” you lean against the counter and call over the clerk. “These are Remus’ mates from that elite, posh private school of his. They’ll be at your party later.”

Cerise waltzes over and places a hand on her hip. She gives them a once-over, judgmental eyes flicking from head to toe. She nods to James and Sirius first with a satisfied smirk, “Yeah, they’ll do just fine.“ Then she looks at Peter and pauses, “…This one is bringing beer.”

Peter is just ecstatic about still having an invite.

“Try to make my friends feel welcomed before ripping them apart,” Remus says dryly.

“Long time no see, Remus.” He’s not safe from the critical eyes either. “You’re also bringing beer,” Cerise decides.

His three friends, and even you erupt in light chuckles at that.

“You’re just saying that ‘cause my mam’s a brewer,” Remus replies.

Sirius abruptly stops laughing and turns to him. “Your mum’s a potioneer?” He gapes, under the impression that Mrs. Lupin was a regular ol’ muggle.

“Beer brewer,” Remus grits out, trying to sound calm.

Sirius knows he fucked up. “Oh,” is all he can muster.

Cerise squints at them, trying to make sense of what they mean.

“Cerise, pack up four of those biscuits for me, will you?” you cut in smoothly. “They were practically eyefucking these treats out there.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Remus insists.

“Don’t be a sore sod, Remus. Let me treat your friends.”

“Yeah, Remus,” Cerise copies your teasing tone, really, she just wants the business.

“Yeah Remus!” Sirius, James, and Peter then copy her, their sole desire being the biscuits.

Cerise glances at them oddly, more in a weirded out way than her earlier curious look and doesn’t question it further. She hands you the wrapped biscuits and you pay her with muggle cash.

As you follow the four boys out the bakery, you all wave Cerise goodbye in a chorus of See you later’s and Nice meeting you’s.

Pausing at your truck, Remus wordlessly takes the box of cupcakes from your hands so you can unlock the manual door.

“Are you all heading back to Remus’? I’ll give you a lift.” Knowing Remus would turn down the offer, you’re already cutting him off before he can even begin, “I’ll feel like a right prat if I just drive past you.”

Sirius’ face lights up, absolutely thrilled about the idea of being inside a car. He only sees them from the outside, through muggle movies or passing by them on the streets. The other two are clearly just as excited. They don’t even try hearing out Remus before climbing into your truck.

When Sirius calls the front seat, it’s a better time than any for Remus to really start stressing over their wizard-ness. Their debacle with his letterbox was just a warm up.

Somehow, Remus ends up in the cramped rear seats, squished between James and Peter. It at least gives him a decent view of whatever Sirius will get up to.

James and Sirius spend a solid minute figuring out how to fasten the seatbelts. Bless Peter for being the son of two muggleborn parents.

“Are you lot the reckless sort when it comes to driving then?” You ask, watching James struggle through the rear view mirror despite Remus’ best efforts to guide him. Sirius is in an even worse condition and almost strangles himself with the seatbelt if Peter hadn’t intervened.

“Something like that,” Remus absentmindedly replies. The others are too dumbfounded to have heard you.

You eventually decide that they can work out the extremely complicated seatbelts while on the road and begin driving.

James and Sirius are not prepared for the sensation. It’s not all that different from a broomstick, but still catches them off guard. In hindsight, Remus is surprised for a different reason. He didn’t know you’ve learned how to drive since the last time he’s been home.

“Hope you don’t mind, I’ve to refuel first,” you say as you drive on the rough, gravely road, oblivious to the fact James and Sirius are flinching. “My da’ll kill me if I return his truck empty.”

“He will?!” Sirius exclaims, genuinely concerned for your safety.

“Yeah,” you respond indifferently, Sirius only grows more horrified. It might be thoughtful if he wasn’t an utter idiot. “Said he won’t let me drive for a week if I use up all his gas again.”

Sirius slowly realizes you were exaggerating. Years of being raised by blood purists spewing muggle misinformation can’t be reversed so easily.

You smoothly pull into a gas station and climb out of the truck. “I’ll be just a minute,” you turn off the ignition and then head into the shop to pay for gas at the counter.

Once you're out of earshot, James exclaims, “You should’ve invited us way sooner, Moony! That Cerise is feisty! And what’s your deal with this girl?”

“At least try to be mundane at the party,” Remus skillfully dodges the main question. James wants to pry, but then Remus catches sight of Sirius adjusting the rearview mirror recklessly. “Careful, Sirius! This is the muggle equivalent to a Nimbus 500!”

“Really?” Sirius drawls out, squinting at the cracks running across the windscreen. “Seems more like a vintage Cleansweep to me,” he almost grimaces as he continues to play with the rearview mirror, which squeaks.

It promptly falls off.

For a brief moment, Remus can only hear his own thoughts, which is rare when he’s surrounded by his dear friends. Sirius has just damaged your dad’s car!

Sirius picks up the rearview mirror. “Er…” is all he manages to say, numbly holding the mirror in his hand like he’s been stunned.

They snap into action once they spot you leaving the shop. You don’t seem to notice the car rumbling or hear their panicked screams urging Sirius to fix it as you begin pumping the gas.

Sirius digs into his boot to retrieve his wand while James hisses, “Any day now, Padfoot!”

Sirius holds the mirror up to the mount connected to the windscreen and frantically chants, “Reparo! Reparo! Reparo!”

Just in the nick of time, the rearview mirror is back to normal and is in arguably better shape than it was before Sirius started fiddling with it.

You return to the car once you finish refueling the truck and fasten your seatbelt with expertise. They think they’ve successfully gotten away with it, but then you lean over and gaze at the windscreen.

“What the devil…” You murmur. The four boys hold their breath. “I swear there was a crack here,” you draw a finger along the windscreen.

“I didn’t see one,” Sirius quickly says, voice painfully tight.

“Me either,” James adds.

“Huh. Weird…” you ruminate.

The rest of the drive back to the neighborhood is tense and stiff. They quietly chew on the biscuits you bought them until arrival. They cordially file out the car.

You roll down the window and asks, “Do you guys need a ride to Cerise’s place?”

Their responses are instantaneous.

“We’ll have to pass.”

“I’m sure we can manage on our own.”

“No thank you…”

“We’re walking, actually!”

#remus lupin x yn #remus lupin x y/n #remus lupin x you #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin #remus x reader #remus x you

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inmyheaddd · 9 months ago

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walkin’ out the door with your bags - grayson hawthorne x reader - part one

⤷ “can you see me? im waiting for the right time. i can’t read you, but if you want, the pleasure’s all mine.”

summary: you and grayson hawthorne’s friendship is one that stretches over a long time. its a friendship that you cherish with your heart, and it’s also one that can be far too confusing for your own sake sometimes. warnings: glasses!grayson, reader & grayson are so oblivious it hurts a/n: new possible grayson childhood bsfs-to-lovers series??! wc: 1.5k masterlist || series masterlist — other parts!

you lay on your stomach, propped up on your elbows with your face in your hands.

next to you was grayson, sitting up against the headboard, typing up something as he listened to you rant about your day.

“he’s genuinely the worst teacher i’ve ever had, you know what he told me on the last non uniform day we had?” your legs were bent at the knee, swinging back and forth in the air as you ranted, your eyes on grayson, as his eyes were on his laptop.

“he asked me if i got into a bike accident on the way to school, because i wore ripped jeans.”

grayson hummed, his eyes meeting yours briefly before returning to his laptop. “ignore him, he’s trying too hard to be funny,” he commented with his voice taking on a hint of disgust,, “and miserably failing.” he added, as he adjusted his glasses on his nose bridge. “you have better things to focus on than strange men with their strange humor.”

you let out a chuckle through your nose, “yeah, i guess. very strange men indeed.”

you didn’t really wait for a response, as you continued to talk about your day and little things that happened. “oh!” you piped up,“and guess what?”

that’s how it always was with you and grayson, you talked — a lot, and he listened.

—

you walked over to the corner where a little blonde boy sat, sorting a puzzle by himself while all the other kids sat in the middle, a big bundle of chaos, toys, giggles, and shouts.

“um, excuse me? i have a question.” you stood, your hands clasped behind your back as you swayed gently side to side.

the boy— who you later learned to be grayson hawthorne, didn’t answer, only looking up at you in curiosity as a puzzle piece fell out of his hand.

you took that as an invitation, clearing your throat before you spoke, “why don’t you play with everyone else over there?” you asked, pointing to where all the other kids sat. it was halfway through the year, and he never once sat with the other kids, even when teachers asked him to.

you always found yourself absentmindedly looking at him as you played with friends, wondering why.

he was silent for a moment, and you debated going back. “i don’t really like kids.” he said quietly, his eyes back on the puzzle as he looked for the next piece.

you giggled like he had said the most outrageous statement ever, “but you’re a kid, silly.” you said, taking a step closer and sitting down next to him unpromptedly.

“well, i don’t like those kids.” he said, eyes meeting yours and then he looked you up and down, surprised at the fact that you were sitting so close to him.

“why are you sitting next to me?” he asked, his eyes wide with surprise and question as he looked at you.

“um…” you trailed off, “because we’re friends now, duh.” you flashed him a big smile, shrugging your shoulders.

—

he also made you laugh, and was there for you, and gave you advice, and helped you when you needed it, and he —well, he was just a really perfect friend in general. he always has been, since you were in the second grade.

“i’m getting glasses,” you said in a singsong voice, “isn’t that crazy?”

“you’re getting glasses?” he arched a brow up at you, with an almost-barely-there smile.

“yeah,” you said through a chuckle, “i think it’s the universes way of getting me back for making fun of you, way back when you first got them.”

grayson let out a breathy laugh and looked down at you, his gaze unwavering. “i distinctly remember you telling me how thankful you were to have 20/20 vision.”

“yeah, well…” you stifled a laugh, “you know what?” you voice perked up, a hint of humor present. “at least i know i’m gonna look better than you in them.”

a smile found your face as you teased him— though deep down his glasses were one of your favorite things about him.

the funny thing is, you distinctly remember teasing him about them to cover up just how much you adored them on him.

—

“we aren’t friends. i don’t know you.” the little furrow in his brows only deepened as he looked at you.

“okay, well, i’m your friend. you don’t have to be my friend.” you shrugged simply, as you searched for the next puzzle piece on the floor, putting it into place once you did.

he watched you in silence, like you were saying something completely foreign to him, “but that’s rude of me, and it’s unbalanced,” his brows furrowed, his lips almost in a pout like he was severely stressed about this.

“okay, then just be my friend!” you smiled brightly at him once again, “problem solved.” you added, the look on your face a complete contrast to his — which was very confused.

“but, friends are people who just want something from you. family always comes first.” he replied, like it was a rehearsed line he had heard a thousand times from someone else in his life.

you wondered what kind of monster told him that, and you were determined on changing his mind.

“what? no! friends are the best people you can find in the whole world. they’re your ‘family number two.’” you told him, but he didn’t seem convinced as he stared at you. “can i make you a proposal?”

his blonde brows shot to the top of his head, “you want to marry me?” his eyes went wide as he slightly scooted back from you.

“no, dummy! i meant like a deal,” you hummed, “i think i meant proposition…” you mumbled under your breath, more to yourself than to him.

—

grayson smiled at you, his gaze unwavering. “oh, surely. without a doubt.”

you gasped in mock offense, bringing yourself to sit up fully as you looked at him. “is that sarcasm you’re giving me, hawthorne?”

grayson didn’t say anything in response, only laughing under his breath and shaking his head, returning back to typing whatever he was doing earlier.

“you’re so rude, i don’t like you.” you said as you crossed your arms over your chest, sitting so close to him that you could rest your head on his shoulder.

his eyes found you on his shoulder. though you didn’t meet his gaze, you definitely felt it. “well, i’m stuck with you forever, aren’t i?”

“yeah, unfortunately for me.” you said through an exhale. “i’m deeply regretting my choices right now.” you mumbled , but you both knew that wasn’t true.

—

“deal? what deal are you giving me?“

“you just have to be my friend until friday! if you don’t like it, i’ll never talk to you again. i pinky swear.” you swore seriously, raising your eyebrows at the end to add to that effect.

“buuuut,” you added, your voice taking on a complete 180. ”if you like it, even just a little, you’re stuck with me.” you paused for dramatic effect, adding in a singsong voice. “forever and ever.”

—

you felt him chuckle and you found yourself smiling at the mere action. he seemed to never laugh around anyone but you. “you know, that may have been the single choice in my life i don’t regret making.”

the way he said that nearly undid you. you lifted your head, sitting upright to see him fully.

your voice came out quieter than you thought it would, with a smile on your lips. “are you being serious?” your eyes searched his face, looking for any signs of teasing, even though you knew you wouldn’t find any.

his answer was short, but it packed so much. “why wouldn’t i be?” there wasn’t even a hint of a smile on his face anymore, and his eyes stayed locked on yours, apart from when they flickered down to your lips for a millisecond.

“i…” you trailed off, literally at a loss for words as his eyes looked into yours. “i don’t know,” you managed to come up with, eyes glued to his for far too long.

“sorry,” you said through a laugh, “i don’t know what that was.” you shook your head as you looked back at the bed beneath you.

you adjusted the way you were sitting, perhaps subconsciously putting a little bit of space between you. well, you had to.

you couldn’t ruin your friendship because of your silly feelings. it’s part of the reason it’s lasted so long. better to have hidden your feelings and still have him, than speak them aloud and lose him. right? right.

—

grayson’s eyebrows knitted together as he watched you, noticing the little bit of space you put in between you two as you quickly switched the topic, noticing the way you didn’t look straight up at him for more than 2 seconds, and the way your fingers fiddled with each other.

he said something wrong, didn’t he?

in all honestly, he wasn’t listening to a word you said, albeit, you weren’t paying attention to what you were saying either, just letting the words fall of your tongue without even thinking; trying to fill the awkward silence you had put there.

as he nodded and gave vague responses to you, he replayed all the other moments he had come so close to saying something, something about the way he felt for you, and had felt for god knows how long.

—

you left his house a few minutes later, pretending to get a text from your friend asking for you urgently.

in all realness though, you went straight home, lay in bed, and screamed into your pillow.

‘why did i say that? why can’t i just speak about my feelings? why am i like this?’ were some of the many thoughts that ran through your head like clockwork.

next time, you promised yourself. next time you would talk about your feelings — or — next time you wouldn’t slip up in the slightest, so that tiny crack that led to said feelings wouldn’t ever show.

you weren’t entirely sure which one of the two you were promising.

a/n: this was honestly more of a prologue to set the scene, the real stuff comes soon i promise!!

part two

taglist: @x-liv25-jamieswife @wish-i-were-heather @thecircularlibrary @whatsamongus @taysbrina

@littlemissmentallyunstable @anintellectualintellectual @bewitchingkisses @maybxlle @sheisntyou

@emelia07 @midiosaamor @sweetreveriee @charsoamerican

#𝜗𝜚 walking out the door with your bags series #grayson Hawthorne #grayson hawthorne headcanons #grayson hawthorne x reader #the inheritance games #the grandest game #jameson hawthorne #xander hawthorne #nash hawthorne #grayson hawthorne fluff #tig headcanons #avery kylie grambs #tgg #tig #❦ jude writes

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lovebvni · 9 months ago

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mindset of manifestation & how i manifest

like melanie martínez, i am back from the dead.

i apologize for being gone so long, but i needed a break from tumblr. i saw toxicity swirling in the community, my life got busy, and i decided it was just time for a break. when i was planking to come back, i just saw how things got terrible and i got upset and decided not to come back.

so, im back now and with a little tutorial on how i manifest!!! <3 i hope this can help some of you out.

let’s start with background.

manifesting is kind of like predicting the future. you have something you want to happen, then it happens soon after. i feel like this is the easiest way to get into the manifestation mindset. you cannot change what you’re getting if you want it. could you change your mind later and return it like a package? yes! but before it arrives, you know it’s arrival is coming.

sure, there can be delays, but it all is going to turn out YOUR way in the end.

nile and i have been working on our mindset and this is something they wrote that i think can be really helpful — as it was to me.

from the past two years we have been actively manifesting, we learned that we often saw things as “crazy”. but manifesting isn’t crazy, it’s quite normal.

every time you get dressed in the morning, it’s an act of manifestation. you’re showing up with what you want.

manifestation is a mondane activity!! stop treating it like it was a kiss from an angel!

by reading this, you’re manifesting your eyes working, you’ve used your hands to open an app, and you have believed you can read and get through this blog! without manifesting that, you would not be here.

the first step to manifestation is believing you can do it, believing you have done it, and believing you will continue to do it. period.

there are many MANY different ways to manifest, but i manifest in 3 ways (sometimes i use all three, sometimes i use just 1 or 2.)

!! I ALMOSR FORGOT TO PUT THIS AND IM ADDING IT BEFORE I GET TO NUMBER 2 OMG!!

STOP! BEFORE ANYTHING ELSE I WANT YOU TO GET A NOTEBOOK, A SHEET OF PAPER, OR MAKE A CHECKLIST ON YOUR PHONE IN YOUR NOTES APP!!!

now i want you to write down everything you want right now down and leave the boxes blank if you haven’t gotten them yet.

once you get through that, i want you to randomly click between some of the items you want and write down things you wanted that you did get! they can be some simple and things from years ago, what matters is you have them down. throw in some things that you may have to do for school or work while you’re at it.

here’s an example! (left is before checking off, right is after)

as you can see, i added a note to the side because i got what i wanted and more abundantly! i had been manifesting a dog since i was a young child, and in 2021, i got 2!!!! (one is laying at my feet right now <3)

continue to do this daily, weekly, or whatever you have time for. i personally do this on notion and i try to add something new daily (im adding the heartstopper thing rn!!)

but yeah!! write everything u want down, and continue to add to it, just so u can see progress DOES happen and your work and effort DOES pay off!

affirming and persisting

this id the first way i learned to manifest, and the most self-explanatory.

you simply repeat what you want over and over until you get it! but not in the future tense, in the current or past tense.

ex; “i passed my maths final!”, “im so happy my boyfriend gave me those roses for valentine’s day, he’s so sweet!”, “i finished the essay for english like a week before it was due!” “i got the lead role in my play! im so excited!” etc.

now, the common factor between all of these is having a positive mindset about them. i cannot tell you HOW many times i manifested something would go well, and right before they happened, i got in a shitty mind space and wondered if it would ever happen.

but, nonetheless, i persisted through and i got what i wanted.

the pain have have been feeling cant compare to the joy that is coming. Romans 8:18

persisting is basically pushing through. think about the time you didn’t think you would make it through an injury, a school year, a trial, yet you still walked through it — even if it was slow.

like when work days are long and you want to go home, but you can’t, so you persist.

i try to think of my manifestations as an ultimatum. it’s going to happen, and that’s final. the only thing you have to do to get it is stay conscious.

and staying conscious, walking through those days, is how you get to the end!

i use affirming and persisting with pretty much everything, which is why it was first.

2. listening to subs.

it’s that simple — listen to an audible subliminal that has the results you want over and over!! that’s all i do u guys. here’s my playlist if u want it (IF I DELETE IT CHECK MY PINNED POST!! I UPDATE IT OFTEN)

i often use @stilljuststardust’s subs, slade’s subs, enchanted workshops’ subs and i want it, i got it’s subs!

all of them are trusted and credible. i cannot promise you that all the subs in my playlist will work for you, as they are (sometimes) linked to my personal desires.

3. pinterest manifestation!!

i recommend having either a whole pinterest account or a board set aside for this way of manifestation.

you simply make boards (or sections) for things you want. i would say this is best for physical items, people, looks, makeup, etc. things that re physically tangible, rather than something like reality shifting (although i do have a reality shifting board! it has been working pretty well <3)

i also have one for my mindset, my religion, so on and so forth (link btw)

i think this is pretty self explanatory. just save picture of things you want and quotes/affirmations and DONE!

i also use this sub with it :p it’s worked WONDERSSS!

if you have any other questions i will be happy to answer them!! i love you all!! go manifest!!

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big-poppa23 · 2 months ago

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Echoes of Silence: Part Three

synapse: a rebellion is formed. but life never turns out the way they want it to.

pairing: kang dae-ho x deaf!reader

contains: reader is deaf, blood, death, ptsd

a/n: this is the last part of this series until season 3 comes out. but you guys love this pairing so much, im gonna write more of it like outside of the games, what life could’ve been, etc. yes im in my delulu wandavision era so something like that for now.

part one part two

. . .

About half an hour later, players from both sides began trickling back from the bathroom. Not all returned. Those who did were splattered with blood, their faces hard and unyielding. Moments later, the loudspeaker crackled to life, coldly announcing the eliminated players.

She stood close to Dae-ho as both teams tallied their losses. The O team had taken the brunt of it, their numbers noticeably thinner compared to the X side. Whispers of tension spread through the room, cut short by the sudden announcement for lights out.

As the other players shuffled off to their bunks, Y/N caught sight of Gi-hun, his eyes locked on the massive thirty-minute timer on the wall. His expression was tense, calculating. She approached him quietly, scribbling in her notebook before holding it up for him to read: What’s wrong?

Gi-hun scanned the note, his jaw tight. “Get the others,” he said firmly. “We need to talk about what happens next.”

Understanding immediately, she nodded and hurried off, signaling to Dae-ho, In-ho, Jung-bae, and a few others. One by one, they gathered beneath the shadows of the towering bunk bed platforms, huddled close and ready to hear the plan.

Dae-ho’s gaze flickered across the platform to the O team, where clusters of players leaned in close, their hushed words carrying just beyond his hearing. He pressed his lips together, then turned back and lowered himself onto the bunk step beside Y/N.

He leaned toward their small circle and spoke in a low voice, “Those bastards are acting suspicious. It looks like they’re up to something.”

Jung-bae let out a short, amused snort. “Whatever those idiots do, once we win the vote tomorrow, it’ll all be over.”

“You think we’ll be okay?” Dae-ho added, glancing at Y/N before addressing Gi-hun. “They say things were really crazy in the bathroom earlier.”

Y/N caught Gi-hun’s serious expression and climbed down to crouch in front of him. She flipped open her notebook, her pen scribbling furiously before she held it up: You’ve seen this before—what happens now?

Gi-hun read the question, then exhaled slowly. “Once the lights go out,” he said, voice low and steady, “the other side will try to kill us. If they eliminate enough of us before morning, they can swing the vote and boost the prize.”

A tense quiet settled over their group as each member absorbed the reality: the night ahead would decide everything.

In-ho crossed his arms, his eyes steely with resolve. “Let’s attack first,” he said firmly. “They’re probably thinking we’ll just wait for the second vote. We can use it to our advantage. We’ll attack them first once the lights go out.”

Gi-hun shook his head. “We can’t do that. We shouldn’t kill each other. That’s exactly what they want us to do.”

Jung-bae raised an eyebrow. “‘They’?”

Gi-hun’s gaze drifting upward. “The ones who created this game. The ones who watch us play. If we’re going to fight someone, it should be them.”

Dae-ho frowned. “And where are they?”

Gi-hun pointed above them. “On the upper levels are the rooms they control the games from. The man in the black mask is their leader. Once we capture him, we’ll be able to win.”

Curious and skeptical, she scribbled quickly in her notebook before showing it to him: How are you going to fight them? They have GUNS.

Gi-hun glanced down at the note, his eyes hardening with determination. That’s when he explained the plan: when the lights went out and chaos erupted, they would hide beneath the beds—keeping out of the fight. As the violence grew and the guards inevitably stepped in, they’d play dead, blending in with the fallen. When the moment was right, they’d seize the guards’ weapons.

With the plan set, the group exchanged tense nods before scattering back to their bunks. The timer was already ticking down, and they each braced themselves for the darkness and bloodshed that was sure to follow.

And suddenly, the lights were out.

As soon as the lights went out, she slipped quietly from her bed. Suddenly, a hand shot out and grabbed her wrist, making her jump. Before she could let out a sound, another hand covered her mouth—it was Dae-ho.

He pressed a finger to his lips, signaling for silence. Then, gently lowering his hand from her mouth to hers, he pulled her toward a nearby bunk bed. Together, they slid underneath, and she reached up to tug the blanket just enough to drape over the edge, hiding them from view.

She turned her head to look at him, her eyes barely adjusting to the shadows. He signed slowly, his movements careful and deliberate, ‘Are you scared?’

She paused before nodding honestly. ‘A little. You?’ she signed back.

Dae-ho managed a faint smile, his fingers brushing against hers. ‘Yeah. But I’m with you. That makes it better.’

Her heart clenched at the sincerity in his eyes, and she squeezed his hand back. The room grew eerily silent and then…

Instantly, chaos erupted. Screams, the crash of metal against metal, and the pounding of footsteps filled the air. She gripped Dae-ho’s hand tighter, her breaths shallow and rapid as shadows moved violently around them.

One of their teammates suddenly collapsed right in front of their bunk, a glass bottle plunged into their back.

Without thinking, she pressed her hand over Dae-ho’s eyes to shield him from the gruesome sight, then buried her face into his shoulder, trying to steady her racing heart.

Dae-ho slowly turned away to look at and only focus on her, leaning in close, his breath warm against her ear. ‘Stay with me,’ he signed in the darkness, his hands trembling slightly.

‘Always,’ she signed back, both of her hands squeezing his.

The lights above flickered violently, casting jagged shadows across the floor as silhouettes fought and fell. Shouts erupted, followed by deafening silence, only to be broken by more screams. Dae-ho’s breath hitched, and she could feel the tension in his grip, his fingers curling just a bit tighter around hers.

Through the thin fabric of the blanket, she could make out blurred shapes moving closer. Her heartbeat quickened, but she glanced at him—his eyes still locked on her, searching her face for any sign of fear. But she didn’t flinch. Instead, she signed, ‘We’ll get through this.’

He nodded once, resolutely. His free hand moved shakily, fingers signing, ‘I won’t let anything happen to you.’

Then, suddenly, the lights flickered back on, harsh and unforgiving. The heavy sound of doors sliding open echoed through the room. Dae-ho slowly slid out from beneath the bunk bed, moving with calculated caution. She followed close behind, keeping near Jung-bae, all three of them flattening themselves against the cold concrete floor, lying still and silent as if lifeless.

Around them, the guards began to pull the remaining players apart, forcing them to cease the brutal fight. The tension was thick, every breath held tight in anticipation. Guards moved among the fallen, scanning their necks for the tracker devices.

A guard reached Jung-bae first, pressing the device against his neck. But in an instant, Jung-bae sprang to life, his hands grabbing the guard in a sudden violent grip. At the same moment, Dae-ho’s trembling hands found a broken glass bottle, and with a sharp crack, he smashed it against the guard’s skull.

Without hesitation, she reached over, fingers closing around the handgun secured at the guard’s thigh. She raised it swiftly and fired—a single, fatal shot to the guard’s head.

Another guard charged, rifle raised, aiming straight at Dae-ho. Instinctively, Dae-ho covered his head, bracing for the impact. But before the rifle could fire, she reacted instantly, squeezing the trigger again. The second guard crumpled to the floor, the rifle clattering beside him.

Dae-ho slowly lowered his arms, blinking in disbelief, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. His eyes locked onto hers, and for the first time, he saw the fierce fire smoldering beneath her quiet exterior. He swallowed hard, nodding silently in gratitude.

She returned the nod without hesitation, sliding the rifle across to him. Without wasting a second, she rose and joined Gi-hun, Jung-bae, and the others, unleashing a barrage of gunfire on the remaining guards. The empty handgun was tossed aside as she grabbed a rifle from a fallen enemy, firing relentlessly.

“Retreat.” It was announced to the guards.

Five guards scrambled back, sprinting for the exit just as the heavy doors slammed shut behind them. Only the square-helmeted guard was left, trapped inside with the surviving players.

She strode up to the guard with unwavering determination, the rifle steady in her hands as she pressed the barrel against his chest, forcing him to his knees. Without a word, she stripped him of his weapons and ammo, her movements swift and unyielding. Other players followed her lead, scavenging guns and ammunition from fallen guards and tossing them into a growing pile in the center of the room.

Gi-hun’s voice cut through the tense silence as he spoke to the crowd, urging them to join the rebellion, to fight back and take control. His words hung in the air like a lifeline, but only two players stepped forward, their faces set with grim determination. The rest hesitated, fear outweighing desperation.

As the small group prepared to move out, with the now unmasked guard shoved forward ahead of them, Dae-ho suddenly reached out, his hand gently catching her arm. She stopped, turning to face him, brows knitting together in confusion.

He slung the rifle over his shoulder, eyes filled with something she couldn’t quite place, before signing slowly, deliberately: ‘I don’t think you should go with us.’

Her eyes narrowed in disbelief. ‘Why not? I can take care of myself.’

‘I know,’ he signed back, his hands shaking slightly. ‘But it’s dangerous. You’d be safer if you stayed here.’

She glanced over her shoulder at the remaining players—the O team lingering near the back, their eyes sharp and untrustworthy. ‘Safer? With them?’ She looked back at him, her jaw clenched. ‘What happened to ‘together’ or “stay with me”?’

Dae-ho stepped closer, his hands moving slowly but firmly. ‘I don’t want to lose you. I care too much about you to see you get hurt…or die.’ His gaze softened, voice dropping to a whisper only she could read. ‘You saw what happened during lights out, how people died. I can’t see you that way, it would—‘ He stopped, his hands freezing mid-sign as he took a shaky breath.

‘It would what?’ she signed, her eyes searching his.

His hands resumed, slower this time. ‘It would kill me.’

Her heart clenched painfully at his confession. ‘How do you think I would feel if I stayed and you didn’t come back to me? We’ve come too far to separate now.’

Dae-ho sighed, sadness pooling in his gaze. His hand found hers, gripping it gently but firmly. “Please,” he whispered aloud, his voice strained but clear enough for her to read his lips. “I need you safe and alive. Do this for me…just once.”

Her eyes glimmered with unshed tears, but after a long pause, she let out a sigh. Her hands slipped to her shoulder, removing the rifle and placing it onto his. Stepping closer, she leaned up and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his cheek. When she pulled back, her hands moved gracefully. ‘You better come back to me.’

He smiled, his eyes softening. ‘I promise I will.’

Before they moved out, she made her way to In-ho, tapping his arm. He turned, momentarily surprised before his expression softened.

‘Stay safe,’ she signed.

A flicker of something unspoken passed through his eyes—regret? Pain? But he smiled gently, nodding. ‘You too.’

Without another word, she stepped back, watching as Dae-ho and the others moved towards the doors. She stood still, hands clasped tightly together, her eyes fixed on Dae-ho until the side door they went through, closed silently, leaving her alone with nothing but silence and hope as she went to go sit with Player 222, to keep her safe in case the O team tried anything.

. . .

She sat cross-legged on the cold concrete floor beside Player 222—Jun-hee. The woman’s hands rested protectively over her swollen belly, eyes fixed on the doors where the others had disappeared. Even though the distant gunfire felt like it was miles away, muffled and distorted to her ears, she could still feel the vibrations ripple through the floor, echoing up her spine. Every distant rumble sent a shiver of anxiety through her chest.

Jun-hee glanced over, her expression tight with fear. “You think they’ll be okay?” she asked softly, voice cracking under the weight of uncertainty.

Y/N hesitated, then slowly nodded. They have to be. She wrote in her notebook with firm, deliberate movements, as if the strength of her belief could will it into existence. Jun-hee read the note, lips pressing into a thin line as she absorbed the reassurance.

The silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating, only punctuated by the faint tremors of violence echoing from beyond the walls. Y/N’s hands curled into fists, her knuckles white from tension. She kept her gaze locked on the steel doors, silently praying—no, demanding—that Dae-ho and the rest of them would walk back through them.

And soon.

And that was when she saw him—stumbling through the steel doors of the dormitory. His face was pale, eyes wide and frantic as if he’d just seen ghosts. His hands shook as he rifled through the pockets of a lifeless guard, muttering something under his breath, too low for her to make out. He grabbed a magazine clip, shoving it into his jacket pocket before moving on to the next body with desperate urgency.

Y/N didn’t hesitate; she hurried over, already reaching for her notepad to write a question, but he shot up before she could scribble a single word. “Magazines,” he blurted out, his voice cracking as he spoke, hands flapping nervously at his sides. “Get the magazines from their pockets. Hurry!”

His eyes darted around the room like a cornered animal, and for a moment, she saw something raw and terrifying in his expression—fear, pure and unfiltered. She swallowed back her concern, nodding firmly before jogging to the nearest guard, patting down the stiff, lifeless body. Yong-sik quickly joined her, his mother right behind him, both wordlessly assisting. She glanced up occasionally, sparing worried looks at Dae-ho, whose hands trembled as he stuffed magazine after magazine into a crumpled jacket.

When they had gathered everything they could find, she brought the last magazine over to the pile. Yong-sik gave Dae-ho a nod. “That’s all we could find,” he said, his voice strained.

Dae-ho nodded briskly, hurriedly balling up the jacket with the magazines tucked inside. His movements were jerky, his breath ragged. Without another word, he spun on his heel and headed for the dormitory doors. But he stopped—just outside, frozen as if something invisible held him back. His head tilted upwards toward the sounds of distant gunfire, eyes locked on the ceiling like he could see through it.

She watched him carefully, her heart clenching at the way his shoulders trembled, the jacket slipping slightly from his grip. His body seemed to go rigid, and then, slowly, he began backing up, step by step, until he re-entered the dormitory. He still clutched the jacket like it was the only thing keeping him upright, but his eyes were glazed over with a look of pure terror.

Her feet moved before her mind did, crossing the room to him. She gently tapped his arm, and he flinched so hard the magazines spilled from his grasp, clattering onto the floor. But when he saw her, the panic in his gaze softened, replaced with something far more vulnerable.

“I-I’m sorry…” His voice cracked, barely a whisper. “I can’t do it…I can’t…” He stumbled backward, collapsing onto one of the bunk beds, curling in on himself like he was trying to make his body as small as possible.

Y/N’s eyes flickered to the magazines scattered on the floor, then back to him. She knelt beside him, her hand resting gently on his arm, but he wouldn’t meet her gaze. His shoulders shook with every unsteady breath.

Yong-sik, his mother, and Jun-hee watched from a distance, concern etched into their faces. Swallowing her hesitation, Y/N reached over, carefully removing the rifle from Dae-ho’s shoulder. His hands were limp; he barely seemed to notice. Slinging it over her shoulder, she loaded a fresh magazine into it with a clean, practiced motion before grabbing her notepad. She quickly scribbled down a message and held it up for the others to see: I’m going out to give them the magazines. Stay with him.

Yong-sik nodded firmly, his mother clutched his arm tightly, and Jun-hee bit her lip but gave a quick nod of acknowledgment. Y/N picked up the fallen magazines, stuffing them back into the jacket before standing up. Her eyes were already locked on the doors.

But then—a hand gripped her arm. Hard.

She turned back, and there he was. Dae-ho, eyes red-rimmed and glassy, clinging to her like she was the only solid thing in a crumbling world. His hand trembled, but he held on with surprising strength. “Please…” His voice was barely more than a whisper, but she read his lips, the desperation there. “Please don’t leave me alone…I can’t…I don’t want you to��to…”

He couldn’t finish, but he didn’t have to. She understood. She saw it in the way his shoulders hunched, the way his breathing hitched as he tried to steady himself. It wasn’t just fear. It was dread—the kind that sank deep into the bones, chilling every part of him.

Her gaze flickered back to the jacket full of magazines, then to him. Slowly, she let the fabric slip from her shoulder, the pile of ammunition hitting the floor with a dull thud. Her hands signed with firm finality: ‘I’m staying. With you.’

His breath shuddered, and his eyes brimmed with relief, mingling with disbelief. His hands reached up, brushing her cheek gently, and for a moment, the chaos of the world outside seemed to fade.

“Thank you…” he whispered, voice cracking.

She just nodded, her hands finding his as they sat together in silence, waiting for whatever would come next.

Hyun-ju burst through the door, eyes wide with panic as she scanned the room. “Dae-ho!” she called out, her voice trembling with desperation.

Y/N stood up immediately, waving her over before scribbling furiously in her notebook. I think he’s having an episode.

Hyun-ju’s eyes flickered with understanding, and she rushed over, her gaze shifting between Y/N and Dae-ho. He had straightened up, hands shaking, eyes unfocused. “I’m sorry…I’m sorry…” he kept whispering, voice thin and broken.

Y/N pointed to the fallen magazines at their feet. Dae-ho’s murmurs grew softer, but his body tensed, flinching as if expecting a blow. Hyun-ju knelt down, quickly gathering the magazines, her movements steady and practiced. Y/N stayed close, hands rubbing Dae-ho’s arms gently, grounding him as best as she could.

Hyun-ju moved to leave, sparing one last glance at him before turning towards the doors. But that was when it happened—the heavy iron doors swung open with a thunderous clang, and a wave of guards stormed in, rifles raised. Their presence filled the room with electric tension, and one of them fired a shot into the air. The deafening crack made everyone flinch.

“ON THE FLOOR! NOW!” the head guard barked, his voice slicing through the chaos.

Y/N’s eyes snapped to Hyun-ju, who had already reloaded her gun, determination blazing in her eyes. Her hands were steady, her grip firm—she was ready to fight. But before she could raise her weapon, Yong-sik’s mother hurried over, gripping her arm. “No,” she whispered desperately, tears pooling in her eyes. “You can’t die like this.”

Hyun-ju hesitated, her gaze hardening before it softened just slightly. Her hands shook for a brief moment, and Y/N saw the fight slowly drain from her eyes.

Y/N felt Dae-ho’s hand in hers, shaking but steady enough. She squeezed it tightly, her eyes closing as she took a slow, measured breath. She didn’t know what came next, but she knew one thing for certain: she wouldn’t let go.

Not now. Not ever.

Y/N took Dae-ho’s trembling hand in both of hers, her grip firm and steady despite the storm of emotions brewing inside her. She squeezed gently, trying to anchor him—and herself—in this impossible reality. The rebellion had failed. The games were still on. They were still trapped.

Dae-ho’s gaze was fixed on the floor, his breathing ragged and uneven. She gently rubbed her thumb over his knuckles, grounding him with the small gesture. His eyes slowly lifted to meet hers, glassy with fear and something that looked like guilt.

He swallowed hard, his lips parting as if to speak, but nothing came out. She shook her head softly, her eyes firm and resolute, silently telling him that this wasn’t his fault. That they were still here, still fighting.

The room was eerily quiet, broken only by the shuffling of feet and the occasional sob. Guards moved through the room like shadows, their masks reflecting the dim light as they collected weapons.

The air was heavy with dread, suffocating and unyielding.

Y/N turned her head, watching as Hyun-ju sat slumped against the wall, her hands buried in her hair. Yong-sik’s mother was beside her, whispering soft words that Y/N couldn’t hear but understood all the same.

She turned back to Dae-ho, releasing one hand to grab her notebook, not wanting to overwhelm him by signing and instead scribbling quickly before holding it up for him to read.

We’re still alive. That means we still have a chance. We keep fighting. Together.

Dae-ho stared at the words, his hands still shaking, but his eyes began to clear. He nodded, the faintest hint of determination breaking through his fear. His hand gripped hers a little tighter.

She smiled softly, even if it didn’t quite reach her eyes. ‘Together,’ she signed, sealing the promise between them.

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mmurderhousewrites · 1 year ago

Text

Rich Baby Daddy pt. one (sukuna x reader)

Summary: You're invited to a party by a close friend and end up bumping into someone from your past.

Warnings: none.

The mornings used to be your favorite. Waking up next to your hunk of a man. The sun shining through your bedroom windows. Oh how you missed those lovely mornings.

Now however, your mornings consisted of you waking up at the crack of dawn due to your crying 4 year old. bathing and clothing not only yourself but your child as well, making breakfast, and somehow managing to get to work on time.

Now on your days off, if you were lucky, Yuji, your son, would sleep in. And if god was somehow on your side that day, your baby daddy might even come pick up his son for awhile, giving you some free time. But those days were rare considering Sukuna is a business man.

Sukuna is the CEO of jujutsu tech, a huge electronic corporation. you had met him through your close friend getou and hit it off. Eventually you two moved in with each other and not long after that he got you pregnant.

Times have changed though unfortunatley. Sukuna is a very hard working man, so hardworking that he put his job before his own family. About a year after yuji was born you decided to leave after getting into a big argument with sukuna, taking yuji with you.

At first you stayed with your parents for a while before finding yourself a cute apartment in the city, it was a two bedroom 1 and a half bathroom. That's where you and yuji have been ever since.

You and your baby dad have had a neutral relationship ever since, sukuna of course always trying to get you to go back but times have changed and you are a new woman.

As of now it was about 1:00pm. You worked as a journalist in the new station in the city, not to far from your apartment. sitting at your desk, going through old news feed, your phone dings.

Looking over you see youve gotten a message. It was from Getou.

Geto: hey, theres some kind of party later a friend of mine is hosting. Wanted to know if u were interested in being my plus 1 ;p

You giggle to yourself. What a flirt. You could always drop yuji off to your parents for the night, after all they loved your little pink haired baby. And on top of that you could use a night out.

Quickly typing back to geto you respond,

Me: Sounds interesting.. Whats the dresscode?

geto: formal. I figure you might get a good story out of one of these rich folks huh?

Me: hmmm i think im sold suguru.

geto: great! ill pick you up at 8.

"L/N! I'm not paying you to text on your phone! I need a story!" You hear your boss, Mark yell from his office behind you.

You roll your eyes before collecting your things, standing up you head over to marks office. "The Richardsons are hosting a party tonight, i'm gonna see what tea i can find. I know the juliani"s are hiding something." You say leaning against the door frame.

"yeah well the Juliani's have a mind of their own."

"im gonna leave to go get ready." you say turning around, heading to the exit.

"L/N!" Mark calls out to you making you stop and turn to face him. "be careful. I don't need another Journalist coming up missing." You nod your head before leaving the building and heading to the parking lot.

It was true, the last journalist who went to investage the Juliani family, they turned up missing. In fact it was your coworker Nobara Kugisaki. Police reports were made out by her family about a week ago and nothing has come up.

you shivered as you walked to your car, the cold making it so you can see your breathe. Once you reached your car, a small 2020 Honda civic, you opened your door and put your bags in.

"Y/n" you freeze, hearing that oh so sexy voice say your name for the first time in what? months?

Turning around you find yourself face to face with the man you once loved, oh who are you kidding still love. He was wearing a long black coat and black jeans, his pink hair ruffled as usual and his tattoos just added to his handsome features.

"ryo- what are you doing here?" You ask, crossing your arms.

He walks closer to you, making you take a step back, leaning against your cars back door.

"i just wanted to see you." He says quietly, swiping a piece of your hair out of your face and behind your ear. You can't help but blush.

Pushing his hand away, you roll your eyes. "What are you really here for" you werent an idiot. Sukuna is a powerful man and busy one at that, there was no way he got out of work just to come see you.. especially considering he barely seen your son. But you couldn't be mad after all he was sending you checks every few weeks with at least 3,000$ on them.. so he was still providing for you and yuji in a way.

He chuckles, "I heard youre going to that party later with Getou.."

Was he serious right now? "What about it?" You question, eyebrow perking up.

"Don't go." He says darkly.

"Are you kidding me? What are you jealous? I'm a grown woman i deserve a night out once in a while!" You say before turning away and hoping in your car.

Sukuna leans against your window, so you roll it down. "Look kitten, if i were you i'd actually listen to your baby dad for once. It's not gonna be pretty" he smiles before backing away from your car.

You take this opportunity to pull out of the parking lot, making your way to yuji's daycare.

When you arrive at the daycare. You are first greeted by gojo, one of the daycare teachers and also getou's best friend.

"Well hello there Y/N! Here for yuuji?" Gojo asks, leaning towards you. "Its nap time right now so the children are asleep."

"Well unfortunately i'm going to have ti disturb his sleep because we have a pretty busy schedule for tonight" you laugh. "How have you been?" You havent really had a conversation with gojo in a while, you and him werent close, maybe because of how much of an extrovert he is.

"Im alriiight! I got a new apartment on 37th its a real beautyy." He drags on.

"Nice! Thats good to here" gojo pulls out his walky talky and yells loudly, "yuji has an early dismissal!!"

Next thing you know, theres a bunch of crying children in the next room over. What an idiot. You mentally facepalm.

Shoko, another daycare teacher comes out with yuji in her arms. He looks over to you and smiles.

After you get yuji and yourself situated in the car, you guys make your way over to your parents house. You had called them on your way to get yuji and of course they were more then thrilled to take yuji for the night.

Your parents lived anout 25 minutes away from the city so the drive wasnt too bad. Yuji was in his carseat playing on his ipad and minding his business.

"Mommy can i have 100$" your four year old says randomly. You cant help but laugh loudly.

"What do you need $100 for butt?" You ask, looking back at your som through the rear view mirror.

"I want a trampoline" he says, looking at you.

"You already have a trampoline at Nana's house and youre going there right now."

"But thats at nana's i want my own! My friend megumi has one at his house" he says, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah yeah."

After dropping your sin off to your parents, and making your way make home, you look through your closet trying to find a decent formal dress. You did have quit a few dresses considering you and sukuna would attend parties and other get togethers for business reasons.

Coming across a long black velvet dress you stop your search. This dress is skin tight and strapless, but has small diamonds adorned around the dress, making it sparkle just right.

Once you got dressed and finished your makeup, you put your hair up into a slick back ponytail, and added a little star charm clip to go with it. You looked absolutely gorgeous. Though your choice in heels would definitely make your feet sore after a night of dancing, looking good is what truly mattered. After all you were really only going to collect some dirt on any of the business men doing work with the Juliani's.

Tonight sure was going to be interesting.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #sukuna #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #gojo #yuji #yujiitadori #toji fushiguro #megumi fushiguro #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna smut #jjk smut #jjk headcannons

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notiddygothgf · 22 days ago

Text

★ pairings: aki hayakawa x fem reader

★❝ I got you, Angel. ❞

★ c.w.: so much yearning, smut, nipple play (f!receiving), riding, nasty depraved car sex, unsafe sex lol, infidelity, angst, did i mention yearning? lmfao, obsessive!aki. god hes so nasty in this chap lol. not beta'd

★ a/n: okay so when i said i was back... apparently i lied lol. i started a summer chem course and its accelerated so when i tell you this shit has been whooping my asssssss! anyway! i wanted to finish this one before updating my other stories, but it wound up being so long that im going to have to add one third and final chapter after this anyway LMFAOAO! so!! i hope you all enjoy this chapter as much as i enjoyed watching it come to fruition. If this ff seems like its moving fast, thats cus it is. It's a short story (and also theyre obsessed w eachother lol). keep those comments coming -- i just might update sooner lollll.

★ w.c: 15.4k

for your love ; chapter index

AKI WAS GOING INSANE. Sitting across from you at the long banquet table, surrounded by the hum of forced laughter and clinking glasses, he could barely hear a thing over the sound of his own heartbeat.

You were breathtaking, as per usual, simply breathtaking. The dress accentuated you in ways that made it impossible for him to focus on anything else, and every time your eyes flicked up to meet his, fleeting and full of affection, it only made it worse. He felt like he was unraveling by the second.

God, you were driving him insane.

Your husband was standing nearby, glass in hand, laying on the charm for a cluster of higher-ups. Aki watched him talk, laugh, gesture – all too comfortably. The man was admittedly charismatic, and seemingly oblivious to the tension boiling between you and his superior.

Aki's fingers itched. He needed to do something. Anything. He was going to lose his fucking mind.

On the table sat a pen – a sleek, branded thing meant for guests to write down well-wishes or advice to new recruits on the little cards provided. Some cute Public Safety tradition he really couldn't give less of a shit about. He picked it up, eyes still locked on you, and dragged a cocktail napkin toward him.

His handwriting was sharp and quick.

I want to see you outside.

He folded the napkin once, casually, like it was nothing. But his hand trembled just slightly as he leaned forward and slid it toward you across the white tablecloth, the edge of the note stopping just near your fingertips.

You looked down. A beat passed.

Then your fingers closed over the napkin like you already knew exactly what it said. You unfolded the tiny paper square, pretty eyes drooping to scan the letters on its surface. He watched them widen before you slid the note beneath the table, cradling it to your lap so your husband wouldn't see it.

You scribbled something down, and Aki felt his heart race.

A moment later, checking to make sure your husband wasn't looking, you slid the napkin back to him. Your fingers brushed in the middle – a small, tiny movement, but it sent jolts of electricity up his arm. He fumbled the tiny thing, damn near dropping it before he was able to pry it open and read it.

Not here. Someone will notice.

His mind was already spiraling. It wasn't rejection. It was restraint. Fear. Desire wound tight and hidden beneath a composed exterior.

It's not a no.

His hand shook as he reached for the pen. It felt too small in his grip, his fingers too stiff.

He wrote fast, pressing the tip of the pen harder than necessary.

Then when?

The words looked desperate, he knew that. Not his usual stoic script. His hand hovered above the napkin for a moment afterward, as if he was thinking of adding more, but stopped himself. He folded it in half again, heart pounding, and pushed it back across the table. When no one else could see it.

It was risky – stupid as hell, he fucking knew that, but he couldn't help it.

Your eyes flicked down again, and this time you didn't wait. You opened it right there in front of your plate, using the edge of your hand to shield it from sight. You didn't look surprised. You just picked up the pen again and wrote, then slid the napkin back to him one final time.

I'll be at the 9 o'clock mass this Sunday while my husband is out.

The handwriting was delicate. Pretty, even. Fitting for someone like you.

Aki's throat tightened as he read it. He stared at the napkin for a few long seconds, barely breathing.

You wanted to see him.

And not in a hallway or behind some locked door at HQ. A church. Sunday. You were giving him time.

Someone called his name. "Hayakawa!"

He blinked.

Laughter echoed down the table. He looked up, someone gesturing at him with a toast, waiting for a response.

He nodded, distracted, forcing something like a smile. Then, before he could second guess it, he grabbed the napkin, folded it with trembling fingers, and wiped the corner of his mouth with it. A single motion, casual. Inconspicuous.

Then he stuffed it into the bottom of his empty glass like it was just trash.

But his hands were still shaking. His jaw was tight.

And, fuck, his mind was already on Sunday.

As Aki sat in the driver's seat of his car, his heart was practically beating right out of his chest. Behind him, the jacket of his Public Safety uniform was draped over the backseat, leaving him in a button down that felt far too hot, no tie – he'd had to stop by HQ for some paperwork. In front of him, the church stood tall, its white walls reflecting the morning sunlight. It was a sanctuary, a promise of purity.

But there was nothing pure about what Aki had come here for.

Nervous was a vast understatement. He sat anxiously in the driver's seat, wringing his hands in his lap, bouncing his leg up and down, eyes darting over to the red double doors of the church's entrance. Outside, it was raining – not too much, but just enough for him to hear the pitter-patter as the droplets met his windshield.

God, he thought, I could really use a cigarette.

The little pack felt heavy in his pants pocket. His fingers itched for another, but then he would have blown through three cigarettes in one morning, which was ridiculous, even for him.

Was this even the right church? He'd double-checked the address twice, triple-checked the time you'd given him. But now, sitting here, he wasn't so sure. What if you'd meant the nine o'clock evening mass? What if it wasn't today at all? What if you changed your mind and just didn't want to tell him? He certainly wouldn't have blamed you.

You're spiraling, he told himself. Breathe.

But the silence around him felt oppressive, like even the birds had the decency to quiet down for the awkwardness of the moment. His mind wouldn't stop running. Did he look too tense? Too eager? Should he have worn something else? His shirt felt too stiff, his palms too clammy.

What the hell was he doing here?

And then, as if on cue, the doors opened, releasing a flood of churchgoers onto the sidewalk and street – all of them dressed in their Sunday best. Among them, nearly smothered by smiling faces, there you were, wearing a pretty white dress of your own. You had a flower pinned to your hair.

You stepped out.

A sundress, soft and summery, one that flowed out around your waist. Matching heels clicking softly against the pavement. Hair done, makeup subtle, like you hadn't tried too hard but still managed to look... stunning.

Of fucking course you did.

His heart did something strange in his chest. His thoughts slowed for a second – not gone, just momentarily stunned into silence by your beauty.

You didn't hesitate. No wave, no smile. Just a glance, and then you crossed the lot and pulled open the passenger side door like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You got in without saying a word.

And suddenly, the air in the car felt thick.

Aki cleared his throat, moving to break the silence, but you did it before he could.

"Drive to the woods," You told him, gaze curtly avoiding his. "Near the outskirts of the city."

"Why the woods?" he asked.

"I don't want anyone seeing us together," you admitted, your voice low, like you weren't sure if you should've said it out loud.

He nodded, jaw clenched. His fingers twitched as he shifted the car into gear. He was trembling just slightly, just enough for him to feel it. He felt as if he had never been this close to you before, not for this long. Not in such a small space, not with so much left unsaid between you.

The drive took twenty minutes. It passed in complete silence.

He kept his eyes on the road, but he was writhing beneath the tension – beneath his hyper awareness of your every move. At every stoplight, his fingers would tighten against the steering wheel.

There was so much to say.

You didn't speak. Neither did he. The silence between you was heavy, but not empty.

When he finally pulled off the main road and into the clearing, trees crowding in on either side, he parked the car and killed the engine.

And then... nothing.

He didn't look at you. Just sat there, staring ahead, his hands still gripping the wheel like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

Taking a deep breath, you finally spoke up, "I'm so confused. I keep telling myself this is wrong– that I'm not supposed to feel like this. I made a vow, but..." She trailed off, breath catching. "Every time I see you, my chest gets tight, and I can't breathe, and– God, Aki– my heart feels like it's going to burst out of my chest."

I feel that way too.

"If I'm–" You turned your head to the side, but you didn't quite meet his eyes, "If I'm imagining this–"

"You're not imagining it," Was his rushed response. He whipped his head around to look at you – really look at you, your hair, your eyes as they turned to meet his gaze. Subconsciously, perhaps, his eyes dropped down to the pink, pretty arch of your lips. He wasn't a fan of how hoarse his voice sounded when he added, "I can't stop thinking about you either."

An admission. A guilty one. Truthfully, you had been the only thing on his mind in recent days – especially since you'd gone and kissed him in the bathroom at the party. Fuck, you were driving him up the wall.

And now, you sat before him, the picture of beauty. Your hands were neatly folded in your lap, fingernails freshly painted with a french tip. Your lips trembled ever-so-slightly. Your eyes peered up into his like you were searching for an answer he didn't have.

"I think about you all the time," You admitted, glancing out the windshield, as if the words filled you with shame. Aki felt like the wind had been knocked right out of him. "At the store, when I'm with him... even when I don't want to, and I hate that I feel– I don't... I don't know what it means."

You exhaled, then. A shuddering, trembling breath that materialized in the cold air between the two of you. You were so close to him, eyes lined with a shade that flattered them, lips begging to be kissed. He could smell your perfume – hints of lavender, something floral mixed together with the smell of freshly fallen rain – and it was driving him insane.

Your eyes began to water. "Every time I'm in bed with him, I wish it was you."

The words hit him like a punch to the fucking ribs.

His breath stalled completely., heart stumbling over itself. His hands flexed uselessly against his thighs. He didn't move, didn't dare look directly at you—not when he felt like something inside him had just cracked open.

He'd imagined this. He'd fantasized about you saying something just like that, in a hundred different ways, on a hundred different sleepless nights, but hearing it, really hearing it with your voice so soft and raw and full of everything you'd been holding back wrecked him.

She thinks about me.

She thinks about being in bed with me.

She wants me, too.

Something wild and possessive surged in his chest, something he wasn't proud of. He tried to shove it down, tried to stay rational, but it was like trying to hold back a tide with bare hands.

God, I am not your strongest soldier.

Every time I'm in bed with him, I wish it was you.

"Don't say that," He exhaled sharply, turning his head to the side. He couldn't bear to look at you anymore, not when you were sitting there looking so perfect, so delectable that his fingers twitched with the urge to reach out and hold you, touch you.

"I wanna know what it's like to kiss you, how you feel," You breathed out, and the words came flowing like water, like you were trying to ruin him. You inched a little closer, and he turned around to face you head on. Closer, still, and he could feel your breath as it fanned across his chin. "I know it's wrong but I can't– I can't take it anymore. I want you, Aki."

I want you.

And he thought, Fuck, I want you too. So much that it hurts.

He could easily lie to himself. He could sit and say that he was an honorable man, that he had no intentions of pursuing a married woman, but he would be convincing no one – including himself. No, at the end of the day, he had come here to meet you with one intention in mind.

Instead, all that came out was a sigh, "You don't know what you're asking."

"I do– I..." You broke off, voice trembling. "I need you, Aki."

Fuck, say my name like that again.

His breath left him in a sharp exhale. Every nerve in his body lit up, blood rushing hot and fast to all of the wrong places.

He felt like an animal. Like something primal had been caged in his chest and was now clawing its way out.

You moved closer. Not much, just a few inches, but it was enough. Enough to make him lose whatever thread of composure he was holding onto. You were right there. Practically nose to nose.

He could see the shimmer of tears in your eyes. The slight part of your lips. Your breath mingled with his, warm, unsteady. You looked up at him, and he looked down at you, and for a moment neither of you moved.

But everything inside him did.

Your voice broke through the stillness, barely above a whisper. "Say something, please."

He let out a low, helpless sound – half laugh, half groan – and shook his head like he was scolding himself, like he couldn't believe what he was about to do.

Fuck it.

"You have no fucking idea what you do to me," he said, voice rough.

And then he was leaning down – finally, finally – and kissing you. Fuck, you tasted like heaven, melting on his tongue like a decadent chocolate. His arms wrapped around you without so much as a second thought, tugging at your shoulders, pulling you ever closer to him. He couldn't get enough.

There was nothing hesitant about it. No cautious testing of boundaries. No slow burn. Just heat. Immediate, consuming. Like striking a match to dry leaves.

Your lips were soft, warmer than he imagined, parting under his like they belonged there. He groaned low in his throat when you kissed him back, mouth opening, breath mingling with his as your tongues met – tentative at first, then deeper, hungrier.

Sweet and sharp, like whatever gloss you wore mixed with the ghost of coffee and something that was just you. It went straight to his head, dizzying. Addictive.

He tilted his head, kissing you harder. Lips pressing, dragging, catching slightly before sealing again, wetter now, messier. Your breath hitched against his mouth, and it nearly fucking undid him.

Quickly, desperately, you climbed into his seat.

You were in his lap now, knees bracketing his thighs, your body warm and solid against his as you pressed closer. His hands found your hips, steadying you, pulling you against him with a desperation he couldn't hide.

Your hands were everywhere, gripping his shoulders, threading into his hair, tugging just hard enough to make his stomach twist, to make his ponytail come loose. He could feel the shape of your thighs around him, the press of your chest against his, the soft whimper you tried to swallow when he nipped at your lower lip. The way you arched up into him while your hands tangled into his hair.

"God," he muttered into your mouth, panting, "You're driving me insane."

You pulled him back in instead of answering, and he let you. Let himself get lost in it.

He reached down and shoved the seat back with one hand, the click of the lever sharp in the quiet. The seat slid, giving you both just enough room, but not nearly enough distance.

Not that either of you wanted space.

He kissed you like he was starved for it. Like this was the only time he'd ever get to. His tongue slid against yours again, slow at first, then deeper, hungrier. He caught your lip between his teeth and you gasped, and it sent fire straight down his spine.

His hands were roaming now – your back, your waist, fingertips grazing under the hem of your dress like they couldn't help themselves. Fuck, like he couldn't help himself (he couldn't.)

Your lips were going to be the death of him. He didn't even care that the two of you were making out in the driver's seat of his car like a bunch of horny highschoolers. No, the only thing that mattered was you – your scent, your hands on his shoulder, in his hair, your lips sliding up against his like two puzzle pieces, finally joined together. All that mattered was the way you felt pressed right up against him – all soft curves where he had sharp angles, so warm between the thighs that he could hardly wrap his head around it.

Fuck, he would give the world just to have a taste of you.

I cannot believe I'm actually about to do this.

His kisses strayed from your lips – though he couldn't stand the thought of not being liplocked with you for even a moment – to trail down the valley of your jaw, your neck. He lavished the area with love – nipping, licking, sucking the skin there like brush strokes over a blank canvas. You whined, tossing your head back, hair falling out of your face, rolling your hips down into his lap, and, fuck, he was so hard, it was becoming difficult to think straight.

And then your hands were on him, pulling him closer, fiddling with the buttons of his white dress shirt. You undid the first while Aki's lips dropped lower, peppering hot, open-mouthed kisses to your collarbone.

"Marks–" You gasped once you were finished undoing the buttons, pushing his shirt open and revealing his chest, his toned stomach. "Don't leave marks."

Wouldn't dream of it. No, he knew exactly how hard to bite. Not enough to leave a trace, but just enough to have you arching up into his touch so prettily. He had always prided himself on being a quick learner, and this was no different. Your body was an open book, and he yearned to gloss his hands through the pages, lose himself in them. As his fingertip grazed over stretch marks and curves, he couldn't help but be starstruck by you.

Never in his life had he ever seen a woman so beautiful.

Your hands roamed over his chest like those of a sculptor, mapping out the planes of his pecs, revering his body like you were amazed. He wasn't proud of the shaky moan that left his lips when your fingers grazed his abs.

What? He was pent up.

And, judging by the way his hands gravitated towards your breasts to respond in kind, he was lost beyond retrieval. The mounds were warm through the fabric, soft in his hands. He kneaded the tender flesh more gently than he'd ever held anything before. It was then that he realized something that made his slacks grow ever tighter.

You weren't wearing a fucking bra.

Good lord, He thought, pausing to collect himself before he creamed his pants like an idiot. You had gone to church without a bra on... for him?

That's just downright sinful.

The way you were grinding yourself down on him had him losing his grip on reality.

Your fingers stayed tangled in his hair, nails scraping lightly against his scalp as you tugged and rolled your hips, just enough to draw a guttural sound from his throat. His mouth hung open beneath yours, breath ragged, hips twitching up to meet yours with a helplessness he couldn't hide.

He moved his hand. Slid it down from your chest with a kind of reverence, fingertips trailing over your ribs, the soft tremble of your stomach, until he reached your hip and gripped it like it was the only thing keeping him tethered.

Your noses bumped. Foreheads pressed together. You didn't kiss him.

You just gasped into each other's mouths, barely touching, the heat of your breath mingling in the space where your lips should have met. Every sound he made rattled through you. Every exhale felt like it could tip you over.

Still, he didn't dare to move any further, out of fear of scaring you off. That is, of course, until you spoke up.

"Touch me," you whispered, like it was a prayer, "Please..."

The words set his heart ablaze.

His thumb brushed against your hip bone like he was memorizing the shape of you. Then, slowly – shakily – his hand dipped a little lower, gracing the hem of your pretty little sundress, slipping just below. The moment his hand made contact with the warm skin of your thigh, he couldn't resist the urge to squeeze the delicate flesh. He was gentle, of course. No, he didn't want to break you.

Though, honestly, he would if you asked him to with that pretty lilt in your voice. The one that drove him mad.

Suddenly feeling a whole lot less experienced than he actually was, his fingers grazed your inner thighs, moving up, up, until they met with the warm fabric between your legs. You made the prettiest little sound into his mouth, shifting your hips down a little harder, and that was all it fucking took to have him hooking a finger beneath the crotch of your panties, pulling it to the side.

He dipped a digit experimentally into the aching warmth between your plush thighs, and, fuck, you were dripping for him. Tracing up and down, up and down, he leaned forward and captured your lips again, reeling from how fucking wet you were.

He should have looked away. Should've closed his eyes, buried his face in your neck, done anything but watch you like this – hips grinding against his hand in slow, sinful circles, breath shaky, fingers tangled in his hair like you were holding him in place on purpose.

But, shit, you looked too good like this. Ruined and trying not to fall apart all over him.

His hand was still slick from touching you – he could feel it in the space between your skin and his, warm and wet, proof of how badly you wanted him. And he couldn't stop himself. He brought his hand up slowly, deliberately, and met your gaze like a challenge.

You didn't look away.

You watched him, wide-eyed, lips parted, as he dragged his tongue across his fingers, tasting the heat you'd left behind. His breath hitched at the way your expression shifted from disbelief to something far hungrier, but he never once dared to break eye contact.

His tongue moved with purpose, tasting you off his own hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. It was salty, sweet, just the slightest tang, and he groaned at the taste of you.

I'm gonna lose my mind.

He only wished the two of you had more time together. Maybe then, he would be able to lay you down in the backseat, feel you fall apart against his mouth.

Then, his fingers were exploring your pleasure again, inching towards your core, parting the wet folds and teasing you gently, slowly. With his index and middle finger, he traced a line down to your entrance, petting it gently. With his thumb, he searched for your puffy clit – and once he found it, he zeroed in on it, using the pad of his finger to rub tiny circles around it.

"Aki..." You breathed out, breath fogging up the driver side window. You ground your wet pussy right into his hand, practically begging him to dip a finger inside.

Who was he to deny you such a pleasure? Keeping your foreheads pressed together – and his thumb on your clit – he teased a finger over your hole, slipping it inside of you with no resistance. You felt even warmer on the inside, gummy walls clinging to his digit like you didn't want to let it go. Then, when you moaned his name again – and he decided that he would do anything just to hear you say it like that again – he added another, just because you took them so fucking well.

"I got you, pretty baby," He crooned softly, just faintly enough for you to hear.

You felt unreal, and the thought that you (potentially) wanted him and his dick anywhere near the oasis between your legs was enough to have him feeling dizzy. You hugged his fingers like they fucking belonged there. He couldn't help but do everything he could to stretch you open, to hear those pretty noises of yours. Scissoring them, curling them, using them to feel around until–

"Oh– Right there!" You gasped out rather suddenly, grip tightening around his hair.

Found it.

It felt only slightly different from the surrounding area. A little spongier, tucked just out of the way, a few knuckles deep. Once he'd succeeded at finding it, he began to press the tips of his fingers into it, massaging the area slowly, like he had all day.

He nuzzled your nose with the end of his, bringing your lips together for a chaste kiss. "Right there, Angel?"

"Mhm," You replied – so perfectly, like something straight out of a wet dream.

You were so fucking wet. Practically dripping down his palm, his wrist. Even though his arm ached from the angle, he would be damned if he stopped now. He wanted– no, fuck, he needed to make you feel good.

His thumb worked a little harder on your clit, eagerly rolling over the needy bud in circles, side to side – more desperation than real finesse, but judging by the way you were rutting against his palm, he was doing just fine.

Back arched, hands running slow and lazy over your own body like you needed to feel something, anything – your fingers grazing your sides, slipping up to your chest, catching slightly on the fabric of your dress. Like something straight out of one of the damn porno magazines Denji had left on the kitchen table, you squeezed your chest through the dress, hands doing everything they could to get the edge off.

Your breaths were shallow, uneven, lips parted as you looked up at him through half-lidded eyes that shimmered with heat and something else he didn't want to name, all while groping yourself like you wanted him to do it instead.

It killed him.

You looked untouchable like this. Barely holding yourself together. And yet you were right there in front of him, moving like you belonged to him, like you wanted him to see every inch of you come undone.

He didn't mean to reach for you. Not really.

But his fingers lifted anyway – slow and trembling, like a fucking virgin – and he let them skim over the soft fabric of your dress, hovering at the low neckline. His breath hitched as he touched it. Not your skin. Not yet... just the barrier.

Then, while continuing to fuck you open on his long fingers, he used his spare hand to slip the strap of your dress off of your shoulder, then the other. The moment you caught onto what he was trying to do, your eyes darkened. Then, slowly, agonizingly, you reached for the top of your dress and rolled it down.

Finally free of their confines, the mounds on your chest fell free, and, fuck, he felt like an animal. They were by far the prettiest he'd ever seen – though, honestly, anything that was attached to you could easily have achieved the same title – plump, plush, with pretty nipples hardened into stiff little peaks.

He was practically drooling at the sight.

His blue eyes – uncertain, but filled to the brim with adoration – drank in the sight of you like this. Hair messy (with that pretty little flower still clipped into it), lips glossy with spit, eyes blown wide with pleasure. It killed him to know that he was the reason for that.

Then you fucking smiled at him, breathless and debauched while you brought his free hand up to cup one of your tits. He felt unworthy. Still, that didn't stop him from wrapping his fingers around it and rolling the soft skin around in his palm, from crooking his fingers back up into that place deep inside of you that had you breathing out his name.

"Aki."

Fuck, he didn't think he would ever be able to get it out of his head.

Peering up at you once more to make sure that you were okay for him to continue, he leaned forward, bringing his face up to the plush of your chest and practically burying it between your tits. He was overwhelmed with desire, with the need to kiss whatever skin he could touch. Your sternum, the inside of your breast. By the time his lips finally wrapped around your nipple, you were tangling your fingers into the back of his head, into his hair.

The skin was warm, slightly pebbled as he rolled his tongue over the bud in a few expert strokes. He rolled it between his teeth next – not enough to hurt, but enough to make you grip him a little harder. He sucked like he was on a mission to brand you with his tongue, his eager lips.

You gasped, turned, arched up into him. In all honesty, managing to fingerfuck you while keeping one of your tits in his mouth proved to be much easier said than done, but he could die happy like this.

Slowly, your hand slid down between your body and his, glossing over his abs, his navel, until you were tugging at his belt.

Fuck.

At first, he wasn't certain about continuing – maybe it was a mistake?

But, then, your hand dipped a little lower. It caressed his thigh, his crotch, then gripped him tightly through his slacks. He fucking gasped – his dick was throbbing so hard that he wouldn't have been surprised if he exploded.

Okay, definitely not a mistake.

You gripped him harder, tighter, and his words came out as a shuddering gasp against your lips. "I don't... have protection."

Fucking idiot.

You have one chance to spend time alone with the girl of your dreams, and you forget to bring a fucking condom?

Then again, he hadn't been bold enough to assume even for a minute that you would want him the way he wanted you.

Still, you shook your pretty little head, hair shifting from side to side as you did so, and answered, "Don't care, please... I'm clean, I just– I need you."

I don't want to take any chances, he thought. It was bad enough that he had even thought about fucking a married woman. The last thing he needed was for you to get knocked up.

But, fuck, he felt like he would die if he didn't get inside of you.

"That's too risky," He decided to do the right thing. He swallowed, the apple of his throat bobbing beneath the heady weight of your ravenous gaze – locked onto him like you already owned him. "What if we–"

"I'm on birth control," You grinned.

He stared at you.

His heart lurched so hard it nearly knocked the breath out of his lungs.

Fuck.

It echoed in his head, loud and helpless. His control fractured. Every reason he had for holding back – duty, caution, fear – melted beneath the heat of your grin and the way your hand slid down his stomach, undid his belt buckle like you wanted him to break.

"It's okay, Aki," you said again, softer this time, like a promise. Or a dare.

He took a sharp breath, chest rising beneath you, and exhaled like it physically hurt to hold himself back. His hands gripped your hips tighter, fingertips digging into your skin like he needed something to tether himself to before he fucking melted into the seat.

You were going to be the death of him.

Fuck me, he thought, not sure if it was a curse or a prayer.

"Fuck, you're gonna be the death of me," he said aloud this time, his lips brushing against your jaw, his forehead pressing to yours like he needed to steady himself. But he was already gone.

And you – smiling like you'd just undone him – simply finished undoing his belt. Then, once you were satisfied with that,you tugged at the waistband of his black slacks.

Instead of stopping you, instead of putting an end to this like he most definitely should have done, he helped you. He withdrew his fingers from your heat, using both hands to wiggle his slacks and boxers down to his thighs. Just enough to finally free his aching cock from its restraints.

He felt nervous – more nervous than he had any reason to be. But, fucking hell, when your eyes dropped down to his lap, widening at the size of him, it was hard to not let it get to his head.

You didn't take long to make up your mind, though, lowering yourself right down onto it and rocking your hips back.

And then you started to move.

A steady, languid rhythm, rocking your hips back and forth, sliding against him in a way that made it hard to breathe, let alone think. His hands hovered at your waist, unsure whether to grip you tighter or just let you have him however you fucking wanted. He watched you like he was dreaming – eyes dark and hungry, mouth slightly open, utterly helpless.

You were the picture of pornographic beauty.

Head thrown back, throat exposed, mouth parted on a soft, broken sigh as your body moved with instinct and intention. Your back arched so beautifully while the window cast fragments of sunlight onto your tits, like something out of a painting, the curve of your spine drawing his eyes down your body, and he swore he'd never forget the way you looked right now. Lit only by the low light and the haze of shared heat, riding the edge of your own desire right there in his goddamn lap.

You were using him to take the edge off, and it was driving him insane.

Because you weren't even looking at him – and still, you had him. Entirely. Mind, body, every last shred of restraint. You didn't need to try. Just the way you moved – like you knew you were being worshipped, like a serpent – was enough to ruin him.

"Fuck," he breathed out, "Use me, baby, just like that."

You moaned in response, rutting your hips down a little harder, a little faster. He could feel you – too much and not enough at the same time – warm, wet, tempting.

His eyes dragged up the line of your body again, and he felt his chest tighten. Not just with need, but something deeper. Something more dangerous. He was enamored by you, completely.

Slowly, not wanting to disrupt you (but needing to feel you a little deeper), he reached between your body and his. Then, he grabbed his dick and held it up, sliding it back and forth until it caught on your entrance and, fuck, you sank down like it was nothing.

Well, not nothing. Though your body practically sucked him in, your eyes were squeezed shut, brows furrowed with concentration. Your thighs were shaking, too, telltale signs that it hurt a little more than you wanted to let on.

"You got it, pretty," He breathed out words of encouragement. "Just like that."

Once the tip was in, Aki pressed a kiss to your chin – the only place he could reach. It seemed to spur you on, because only a moment later, you were pushing your hips the rest of the way down, down down.

His head dropped back against the seat with a dull thud, a sharp exhale tearing from his throat as your warmth took him in, inch by inch.

She takes me so well.

Then, he bottomed out inside of you. It was fucking perfect – so warm, so wet, hugging him just tight enough to make his head spin. You were perfect and, fuck, the two of you let out the most synchronized moan the moment your ass met his lap.

You started fucking him like your life depended on it, picking a slow riding pace while you grew accustomed to the feeling of him so deep inside of you, but it changed to a faster one rather quickly.

Up. Down. Up. Down. You bounced on his lap, desperately chasing the promise of pleasure, and it was driving him fucking crazy. Subconsciously, his hands reached for your hips, guiding their motions while you undid him at the seams.

"Oh my God–" You gasped out. Your hand shot out to the side, grasping the window, then his chest for support. All of the heat was beginning to fog the windows up, so much so that he couldn't see a damn thing outside. Eyes squeezed shut, mouth gaped open, you cried again, "Oh my God–"

The sound that tore from his throat wasn't planned, wasn't controlled – it was a choked-off moan that escaped before he could catch it. His eyes rolled back as your pussy dragged against up and down his shaft, body melting into his like it was second nature, like you were made to move like this on top of him.

"F-fuck," he gasped, his grip tightening on your waist, but it didn't stop you. If anything, you only rocked harder, back and forth, pressing down on him with a slow, teasing rhythm that made it impossible to breathe.

What? It had been a while for him.

You were fucking him with intent, like you wanted to see him fall apart one gasp at a time.

And, God, it was working.

He could feel every curve of your body rolling into his, the heat, the slick friction, the pretty noises you made every time your hips met.

His head fell back against the seat again, jaw slack, eyes fluttering shut as he moved with you, utterly helpless. It felt like he was fucking melting. Like you were dragging him under with nothing more than the way your body moved on top of his.

Your hands roamed up his chest like you were studying him, measuring his reactions, learning what made his breath catch and his muscles lock. You leaned in when he moaned. Smiled when he cursed. You were doing this on purpose – drawing him out, winding him up, making him lose his grip.

And suddenly he was looking at you again. Really looking.

Your hair had fallen into your face, strands clinging to sweat-damp skin, and he reached up – slow, gently – and tucked it gently behind your ear. His fingers lingered there, brushing the shell of it, soft and barely-there, and you fucking smiled at him.

God, you were breathtaking.

His gaze dropped down to his lap, to the junction between your body and his. He could feel your clit bumping his navel when you leaned forward, changing the angle. He could see the sweat dripping down your neck, down his abdomen. Above all else, he could see you– all of you.

"You– Ha," He gasped out, voice breaking on a whimper, "You feel so fuckin' good, Angel."

You were an angel. Ethereal, calm, kind, fucking perfect. (Not to mention that the pussy was out of this world).

You felt better than fucking nicotine – like he'd gone his whole life without taking a desperately needed hit and then, suddenly, you were there... invading his lungs, filling his chest and making him feel so warm.

"S'big," You groaned back in response, "So fucking big, fuck."

Your hand was back on the foggy window, gripping at nothing in particular, and he didn't even care about leaving fingerprints. You felt like heaven wrapped around him. It was insane, he thought, how quickly you had been able to tear him apart.

I'm not gonna last very long at this rate, he noted.

But, shit, one look at you, and he knew he wouldn't be the only one. You were practically starstruck – eyes glazed over with pleasure, lips full of praise, of cries of his name.

"Aki," You breathed.

Aki. Aki. Aki.

Fuck, he thought, Say it again.

You were beginning to lose momentum. Your hips began to falter, thighs tense and undoubtedly sore from holding yourself up. So, deciding that that was his cue to take the reins, he planted his feet firmly on the floor, hands gripping your hips like a vice.

My turn, he thought.

Then, he lifted his his up off of the seat, thrusting into you from a new angle that had you nearly screaming for him. He could feel himself slide that much deeper, hit spots harder than you were able to hit by your own ministrations. Your pussy clenched down on him like it was your fucking job – every time his hips were flush up against your ass, you rocked your hips back and forth in tandem.

"Yes, Aki, fuck me!" The words were ripped out of your chest, and they only spurred him on. "Harder, fuck, just like that–"

God, it was perfect.

Eventually, he figured out what made you tick, which angles made you scream, which ones made you arch your back. He built up a rhythm, hips snapping up against your ass, sensitive tip of his dick hitting your walls every single goddamn time. Your body was a maze, and he was lost in its intricate twists and turns.

His grip tightened around your hips, calloused pads of his fingers sinking into your soft skin like he was trying to fucking brand himself there, to mark you – to make sure you felt him long after this was over.

The possessiveness washed over him in waves. He watched you from beneath dark lashes, half lidded eyes, shuddering groans practically torn from his chest – your wide-blown pupils, that damn pink flush across your face and body that drove him half mad. You were unraveling – Fuck, you were so pretty like this, and you didn't even know it. Your lips were parted. Your voice caught on the edge of every moan like a fucking prayer to him and him alone.

And he thought, with a heat so sharp it nearly burnt a whole through his damn chest – He doesn't deserve you.

No, he didn't.

Not the man you wore that damn ring for. Not the one who sat across from you at the table every night and criticized your cooking like it was nothing. Aki would bet that he didn't even know what you sounded like when you fell apart like this, how you looked.

So he leaned up, breath ragged against your neck, and the words slipped out before he could even stop them, "You ever been fucked like this, Angel?"

His angel. He didn't care how delusional it sounded. No, right now, you were his.

Your response was instant, shattered, "No– never," You gasped out. "He could never fuck me like you."

Fuck.

Aki shuddered, eyes squeezed shut for a second while he tried to hold it together, tried to keep fucking up into you without falter, but he couldn't. He was already fucking gone. The words had already sunken their claws into his brain, looping around on repeat, echoing louder than the heavenly sounds you were making.

"Yeah?" He asked, voice rougher than he intended, cracking on the edge of a growl, "Say it again."

And your nails dug into his shoulders like you needed to cling to something, like you would fall apart if you didn't. Your head dropped down to his neck, letting him take over, lips brushing against hot skin while you licked a stripe up his neck.

"Only you."

Your teeth grazed his jaw, his neck – when you bit down on the skin like you wanted to mark him, he died a little inside.

"Haah–" His breath caught in his chest before he fucking broke.

He pounded up into you, sharp – more possessive than he had any right being, like he wanted to drive the point home, bury it deep enough that you never forgot it. You jolted against him, eyes flying wide, and he watched hungrily – watched as you trembled, watched as your pretty eyes rolled right back into your eyelids.

"Don't stop–" You cried out. "Oh, God, don't stop!"

Then you leaned back, and it was the prettiest fucking thing. Your dress slipped a little lower, pooling around your waist, exposing you before his ravenous gaze. The full swell of your breasts bounced every time the two of you met in the middle. From here, he could see where your cunt greedily sucked him in, and it was mesmerizing.

"I got you, Angel," He groaned, hand sneaking down between your body and his, finding your clit and pinching it gently between two digits. Then, he rolled it around in tiny circles. It was small, almost imperceptible, but it was enough to have you bouncing harder, pulling him deeper. He was babbling, and he didn't care, "M'g'nna take care of you. Promise."

He threw his head back against the headrest, trying to hold on, trying not to cum, but you felt like fucking paradise.Focus, dammit.

He couldn't. Not when you were making such debauched sounds while you met his thrusts in the middle, and certainly not when you reached down and grabbed him by the necklace, tugging until he was sitting up high enough for you to crash your lips against his. It was more desperate than anything, open mouthed and full of tongue. It was heated, it was filthy, but, fuck, he didn't give a damn.

Head thumping against the headrest, he let you brace your hands on his chest, pushing him down against it. Then, you brought your feet up onto the seat, and you fucked him even harder.

"Aki–i–" You whined, "I'm close–"

Aki's lashes fluttered shut, eyes threatening to roll all the way back. Oh my, God.

You rose and fell on his dick like you were chasing something, like you were on a mission, and he fucking let you. No, more than that – he met you in the middle, slamming up into you with such force that the car bounced.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," You pleaded with him.

Your nails scraped his chest until the skin turned pink beneath your fingertips, dragging across flushed skin that was slick with sweat. He moaned, head tipping back for a second while he savored the feeling of you – he could feel your walls pulsing, feel your pussy squeezing him. His hair clung to his forehead, damp and disheveled, and he slicked it back with one hand so he could see you better. So he could see what he was fucking doing to you.

No, he didn't even want to blink, lest he miss a moment of this – Your head tossed all the way back, flower tangled in your messy hair, face flushed with a pretty pink hue.

"Look at you," He growled, licking his bottom lip slowly – filthy, "You're fucking perfect– You like this, Angel? Like–" A gasp, "Like being fucked dumb?"

You cried out like he'd hit a nerve, head thrown back so far your throat arched for him, exposed and trembling. He watched a bead of sweat drip down the column, down your collarbones. The sight wrecked him – how open you were, how shameless, like you wanted him to see every inch of you come undone.

"I can feel you, pretty," he rasped, digging his fingers harder into your hips, rutting up into you. "You're fuckin' soaked. You always this wet, or am I just special?"

You whined, leaned forward like gravity didn't matter, like the only thing tethering you to this earth was him. Your mouth caught his in a hot, sloppy kiss, all tongue and moans and teeth, and you moaned into him, into his mouth like you were giving him that sound to keep.

He swallowed it down, groaning into your mouth. "That's it. That's it, baby. Give it to me. Let 'em hear you– You gonna cum?"

"Oh– God, I think I am," You gasped, "I've never– I don't–"

But, then, your body spoke for you, arching up into his touch. Every time your hips met his ass, he could hear that pussy making a mess out of him. His fingers kept on rubbing your puffy clit, bringing you that much closer to the edge.

He needed to see you fall apart.

Your pace stuttered, your thighs trembling, overwhelmed, wrecked – and his hands roamed your back, your ass, your ribs, grounding you in place as he met every grind with a sharp, punishing thrust.

"This pussy was made for me," he growled against your mouth. "Only me, right?"

You gasped, nodding frantically, lips brushing his as you breathed it out, breaking for him completely.

"I'm yours, Aki– fuck, I'm yours."

And then you shattered.

Your whole body tensed, spine arching like a bowstring pulled taut, and you cried out – his fucking name, over and over – into his mouth, into his skin, wherever your lips could land as the pleasure ripped through you, wave after fucking wave. He could feel you, feel your walls spasming wildly around his dick while you fell apart.

Your thighs shook around him, locking up, trying to hold onto something, anything, as your release crashed through you so violently it nearly stole the breath from your lungs.

He caught you when you came down, his arms around your waist, holding you firm, grounding you as you fell apart in his lap. His name spilled from your mouth like a prayer, like a confession, broken and reverent, and he watched you, eyes wild, jaw clenched, as you rode it out.

Holy fucking shit.

"That's it," he rasped, voice thick with awe and lust and something darker,. "Just like that. God, baby, look at you. So fuckin' perfect when you cum for me."

You trembled against him, still grinding, desperate and raw, not ready to stop, even when your body was. There was a puddle in his lap, undoubtedly some mixture of your juices and his that he knew he would have to clean up after this.

"I'm so fucking close," he groaned, licking his lips as his hands slid down your back, rough and greedy. "You meant that, didn't you?"

You barely had the strength to nod, still gasping for air.

He pulled you in, mouth brushing your ear, voice wrecked and low and so uncharacteristically possessive.

"You're mine, right?" he growled. "Say it again."

And even now, still pulsing from the aftershock, you gave him what he wanted – because it was the truth.

"I'm yours," you whispered, voice trembling like you fucking meant it. Then, your hands slid up to his jaw, craning his head towards you, making him look at you. "I need you to cum inside of me."

Perhaps a more reasonable, less debauched version of Aki would have put the breaks on this whole ordeal – would have pulled out and saved the risk. But the Aki that was currently buried balls deep in a warmth so wet it made the whole world spin couldn't hold on a moment longer, sitting up to bury his face in your neck, to kiss at the skin between your jaw and your chest.

"Cum for me, Aki," You begged, pressing a kiss to his forehead, cradling the back of his head.

You were still trembling when he grabbed your hips tighter, the way a drowning man might cling to the last breath in his lungs. You didn't even need to move anymore – he took over, rutting up into you with sharp, desperate thrusts, like your words had broken the last thread of his control.

"Fuck," he panted, burying his face in your neck. "You feel me? Shit–"

You clenched around him, body still sensitive and twitching, and that's what did it. He groaned – loud, low, feral – and he stiffened beneath you, hips slamming up one last time as he came hard, breath torn from his lungs.

"Ah– fuck, Angel–" His voice cracked, jaw slack as he spilled into you, holding you down like he was scared you'd vanish if he let go. His whole body trembled through it, sweat dripping from his temple as he rode it out, buried deep, gasping like the air was too thick to fucking breathe.

You both went still, bodies pressed together, skin sticking with sweat and the heat of what you'd just done. Your heart thundered against your ribs like it wanted to break free.

For a moment, neither of you said anything.

You stayed like that, chests rising and falling, his arms still wrapped around your waist, your fingers knotted in the mess of his hair.

Silence settled between you, broken only by the sound of your harsh, uneven breaths. Then... reality crept back in.

You lifted your head from his shoulder and looked at him. His hair was a mess, his face flushed, his lips parted as he tried to catch his breath. He looked as stunned as he felt.

Your eyes met. And it hit you both at the same time.

Suddenly, he didn't care about the ring. He was content to have you like this.

You buried your face in his chest, shuddering breath muffled against his skin, and he wrapped an arm around you again, still holding you close.

Fuck, he was so screwed.

Aki didn't say very much during the ride back to your house. Truthfully, he didn't trust his own voice – not when his hands still smelled like you, not when your thighs were pressed tight together like you were reliving the moment. Both of you remained still, as if the slightest movement would shatter the moment.

He'd rolled the windows down to clear up some of the fog. Your lipstick was still faintly smudged, even though you'd fixed it (and wiped the remnants off of his own lips), but not enough for it to be noticeable. No, in fact, if you weren't anxiously drinking in every molecule of your appearance (like Aki was), you wouldn't have noticed it at all.

And he felt the weight of what he'd just done at every fucking red light.

It wasn't regret – No, he would do it again if you asked, in fact. It was something far worse; affection.

His heart hadn't stopped racing since you climbed back into the seat – since he shifted the car back into drive and pulled out onto the main road like nothing had happened. And now, as he parked up the street from your house, it felt like it was about to beat straight out of his chest.

It's safer this way, he thought. No one will see us.

Honestly, he didn't give a damn if anyone saw. Your lips were fucking branded onto his, like a memory he wouldn't ever be able to shake. No, he was already gone.

You didn't move to open the door right away. In fact, you didn't move to open it at all, and even though he was staring straight ahead, pretending like he was focused on the dashboard, he could feel the weight of your gaze on him.

Then, releasing a shuddering sigh, you broke the silence. Quietly, like you didn't want him to hear.

"I don't think we can see each other again after this."

The words cut a little deeper than he expected. Still, he'd anticipated them. He nodded slowly, not because he wanted to, but because he had to. He hadn't been dense enough to think – even for a second – that this could have been anything more than a one-time-thing.

Still, that didn't make it hurt any less.

Of course you'd say that. He swallowed hard.

You were still looking up at him – through eyes smudged with black at the corners – and it was killing him a little more with each passing second. That fucking expression on your face was going to drive him crazy. Regret, maybe, or something else entirely – something he could almost have mistaken for longing if he let himself be stupid about it.

The words, You don't want that, do you? Were on the tip of his tongue. He didn't say them.

No, he knew that you belonged to someone else.

So, instead, he watched you take his lack of an answer for acceptance, stepping out of the car. Watched as your fingers tightened around the door ever-so-slightly, watched as the wind caught in your hair.

"Goodbye, Captain Hayakawa," You addressed him with a formality he absolutely despised.

Then, he watched you walk away without turning back. He waited, of course – like the stupid dog he was, like he would have waited an entire lifetime for you (and it felt like he had) – until the door to your place shut softly behind you.

He sat there, engine running, hands still on the wheel.

Waiting. Just in case.

A week of radio silence had Aki's head in the fucking gutter

The silence was deafening – it spread slowly, day by day, rooted itself into the deepest corners of his life and hollowed him out from the inside. Not a moment went by that you weren't on his mind. Aki wasn't the clingy type – at least, he thought he wasn't – but, apparently, one mistake was enough to change everything he thought he knew about himself.

The silence stretched, stayed, hardened, and he couldn't fucking stop thinking about you.

He kept telling himself that he should've expected this. Getting involved with a married woman was ballsy, even for him. Plus, you'd made it clear as day that you didn't want it to be anything more than what it already had been – "I don't think we can see each other again after this."

But, fuck – that didn't stop the replay.

It was constant. You, flushed and breathless, straddling him in the dark. The windows of his car steamed up, his hands dragging over bare skin, your voice breaking on a cry of his name. It haunted him in the shower, in his sleep, fucking everywhere.

He sat on the porch at night more often than he'd admit, staring at nothing in particular. He'd burned through a pack of cigarettes, already. That was bad, even for him. Himeno would have been pissed if she saw the mess he'd been reduced to in the span of a week. He was barely eating anymore, let alone sleeping.

Though you had never set foot in his house, each room felt haunted by the ghost of you. Somehow, he would imagine you there anyway – a dangerous train of thought, considering that you were married. He would imagine your purse on his chair, your heels kicked off at the door. The way you would practically purr when he pulled you into his lap, pressed kisses to your sensitive neck, hiked your dress up around your hips, touched you just the way you liked.

And, God, the sounds. It felt as if they'd been etched into a little record in his brain, spinning round and round on repeat.They crept in while he was in the shower, hand braced against the tile while he imagined how you'd feel from behind. When he was dressing for work, and his fingers burned like they'd just slipped beneath the hem of your dress. When he was in bed, and he imagined how you'd taste, fuck.

The scent of your perfume still clung to the shirt he'd worn on Sunday. It had been in the same spot since he came home, tossed haphazardly on his dresser so he could treat the stains (if there were any, he hadn't even checked yet).

Experimentally, he held it up to his nose one day before work, just to see if it still smelled like you. It did. He should have thrown it in the wash.

He didn't.

He was down bad.

On missions, it was no better. He was quieter than usual – not that anyone noticed. He was always quiet. But now, he was distracted. Off-balance.

He'd catch himself turning toward shadows that didn't move, clearing corners too fast or too slow. He was still functional – he was always fucking functional, he had to be – but his edge was gone. That hard, clean instinct that had once kept him sharp was now dulled by distraction. By memories of pretty eyes and soft hands.

You, in the passenger seat, undoing your seatbelt with shaky hands. You, riding him. Your fingers in his hair, your mouth trailing down his throat. The way your voice caught when you moaned his name – like you needed him (and it had been quite a long time since he'd last felt needed).

It replayed constantly. Even when he didn't want it to.

Now he sat in the meeting room, back stiff, palms flat on the table. The overhead lights were bright and clinical, buzzing faintly above his head. The projector clicked through a slide deck slowly – maps, timelines, entry points. Strategic chatter filled the air.

It was a typical Friday at Public Safety.

And standing at the front of the room, running the entire brief, was him.

Your fucking husband.

Aki's eyes were on the screen. On the lines and bullet points. He even nodded now and then, just to sell the illusion. But his mind?

Elsewhere. On you, pressed against the fogged-up window. The windshield dripping with condensation. His hands under your dress, dragging it up. The way you gasped – not in shock, but in relief. That low, shaking moan, the way you choked out his name when you rode out the apex of your pleasure all over him – it haunted him, every damn night. Worse than any nightmare.

And right now, while your husband droned on about terrain and extraction windows, Aki's memory had decided to rerun it in full-color detail – The way you clenched around him. How hot you'd felt, how tightly you held onto him, like you couldn't bear to let go.

"Oh, God, don't stop!"

"I got you, Angel."

He kept his gaze fixed on the map, jaw tight, but his mind was far from tactics and floor plans. You were flooding back again – the grip of your thighs, the scrape of your nails across his ribs. The sounds you made. That soft gasp when he first pushed inside, how you buried your face in his shoulder like you couldn't believe you'd gone through with it.

He shifted in his seat, jaw tight. This was ludicrous. He needed to pull himself the fuck together. He needed–

Your husband turned, mid-sentence, gesturing to the map – and his eyes landed squarely on Aki. They locked for a second too long. Something jolted in Aki's chest. A moment of pure, skin-prickling dread.

He kept his face flat, unreadable. He was good at that. Had years of practice. But his heart thudded like he'd just been caught doing something vile.

Does he know?

That look – it wasn't angry. Not suspicious. But something in it lingered, like the man was trying to see through him. Like he was reaching into Aki's head and pulling something out.

Or maybe he was just imagining it.

You fucked his wife.

You fucked his wife and now you're sitting here, listening to him talk like nothing ever happened.

It made his stomach twist.

"He could never fuck me like you."

"Do you think we should invade from the front or back entrance?" Your husband's voice cut through his thoughts.

Aki barely picked his head up when he answered, not quite meeting his eyes, "The back."

Though, truthfully, he had no idea what the fuck they were talking about.

Aki stood in the hallway after the meeting concluded with his back pressed up against the wall, phone receiver pressed to his ear. Idly, his thumb brushed the dial buttons on the wall. A few of the numbers were more worn out than others, obviously from repeated wear and tear.

Makima was talking on the other end of the line. He was only half-listening.

"Kyoto's undermanned. Three agents have been hospitalized," She sighed, voice as robotic as it always was. "Their division can't handle the incoming assignments on their own. I was thinking about sending someone from Tokyo HQ."

The mission would take a week. Maybe more.

Aki's eyes flicked towards the end of the hallway, towards nothing in particular, really, but his mind saw your husband again – that condescending smile he always wore, like he'd already won some bullshit game Aki wasn't a part of.

He was beginning to hate that man. Not for any respectable reason, and certainly not out loud. In his eyes, the man was an obstacle – he knew that was a horrible way to think about it, but you struck up a sort of possessiveness in him that he'd never felt before. Truthfully, he didn't know what to do with it.

Maybe it was irrational. Maybe it was bitter, but Aki couldn't forget the last time he saw you. He'd been trapped in the memory ever since, actually – doomed to replay the image of you closing the door, of you telling him that you couldn't see him again – and it was all his fault.

Then, he thought of the party – of how shamelessly your husband handed you off to one of his superiors. The way you'd simply smiled, like you were used to being sold out. Like it was normal.

It made Aki feel like something was rotting inside of him.

No, that was the thing. You didn't look happy. Not miserable, either. Just... dulled. As if all of the warmth left in you had been tucked into some box deep inside, locked away.

The idea wasn't sudden. Not in the slightest. It was more like a steady drip. A week..

It wasn't much time, but it was something. Before he knew it, Aki was about to make the most selfish decision he'd ever made in his entire life.

"Why don't you send that rookie, Nakamura?" He said smoothly, hoping his ulterior motives didn't translate. "He's capable."

The briefest silence fell over the line, then Makima replied, as level as ever, "I'll make the arrangements."

A week without him.

The words echoed in his mind after he put the receiver back on its hook and pushed himself off the wall. As he trekked down the hallway, he took slow, measured footsteps. Inside his head, though, he was buzzing with thoughts about what a week without your husband would entail.

He could go see you.

Yeah, just once. Nothing crazy, nothing grand – he wasn't stupid enough to do that. He could just... check in. Stop by under the pretense of neighborly concern. Maybe you'd even smile when you saw him.

The thought sent a dull, stupid throb through his chest.

He pictured you opening the door, looking up at him through those pretty lashes. Maybe your hair would be messy, like it was the first time he met you. He'd say he was going for a walk. Maybe you would ask to join him.

Or, worse. Maybe, you'd invite him in. Offer tea. Maybe the two of you would talk.

Or maybe– just maybe – you could go out with him. Somewhere neutral, casual, just to get some fresh air.

Again, he'd be content just to talk to you.

It was a fucking ridiculous thought. Somewhere deep in the back of his deluded mind, he knew that. You were married.That ring on your damn finger wasn't theoretical. Your life was structured around someone else – someone who treated you very poorly, admitted, but someone you were bound to.

He could tell himself he wasn't delusional, but it would be a lie.

Still, once the idea had been formed, it lodged itself right between his ribs. It wasn't that he expected anything from you. Admittedly, that would be easier to process, but no. All he wanted was to see you.

The truth was a whole lot uglier than he wanted to admit. He missed you.

Aki sighed, dragging his hand through his hair while he rounded the corner into the stairwell. He swore he wouldn't do anything stupid.

But maybe – again, just maybe – he would knock at your door, stupidity be damned.

The fluorescent lights in the supermarket buzzed faintly overhead as Aki reached for a bottle of shampoo, scanning the label with the practiced indifference of someone who had better things to be doing. Denji was somewhere behind him, loud and half-helpful as usual, and Power...

"This smells like strawberries," Power declared proudly from halfway down the aisle, uncapping a bottle of shampoo and bringing it straight to her mouth.

"Don't you dare," Aki snapped, not even turning to look. "It's not edible."

"Why not? It has strawberries right on the packaging." she called back indignantly.

Dear God, He exhaled sharply through his nose and rubbed at his temple.

Then he saw them, tucked between cheap bath bombs and seasonal clearance junk.

A small stand of fresh bouquets, shoved in a plastic tub of water like an afterthought. Most of them were a little wilted, but one caught his eye – pink tulips. Simple. Elegant. Pretty in a quiet kind of way.

Just like you.

His hand hovered near the edge of the bouquet, not quite touching. Something in his chest pinched. It wouldn't have been the first time he bought you flowers (and certainly not the first time he'd thought about it, but now the idea felt stupid. He didn't even know if you'd want to see him after what he – after what the both of you – did.

"You like someone."

Aki glanced over his shoulder.

Denji was watching him with that all-knowing grin of his. For a moment, Aki weighed the pros and cons of knocking it right off his face in front of everyone.

"What?"

"You like someone," Denji repeated, grinning harder ow. "You've been staring at those flowers like they're gonna tell you your future. Someone has a crush."

"I don't–" Aki paused, groaned, and turned back toward the shelf. "Shut up."

"Oh my god," Denji said, delighted, following him. "It is true. I knew it. No wonder you've been pacing around the house like the side dude in a romance manga. Who is it? Wait– do I know her? Is it Miss Makima?"

Aki let out a long, tired sigh, the kind that came from knowing resistance was futile.

"It's not Makima, I'll tell you that," he finally admitted (though he wasn't entirely sure why), voice low.

Denji cackled. "Damn. Never thought I'd see hardass Hayakawa wrapped around a girl's finger. No wonder you've been so quiet lately."

I hate that he's right?

"Shut up," Aki muttered again, dragging a hand through his hair. "I fucked up. I'm trying to make amends. That's all."

"Yeah? If you wanna win a girl over, forget the flowers," Denji said with a lazy shrug. "Just show up at her house. Girls love that shit."

Aki shot him a flat look. "And how would you know what girls like?"

Denji wasn't getting any action from anything other than his right hand any time soon.

"I'm telling you, man," Denji continued, completely unbothered. "I saw it in a soap opera once. Dude showed up at her place after they had a fight, and she practically tackled him into bed. Tore his clothes off. Total win."

Aki sighed, then glanced back at the bouquet. The color of those tulips reminded him of you, of the shade of your lips right after he kissed you. The soft look on your face just before you asked him – begged him – to push you a little further.

Aki dropped the bouquet into the cart like it had personally offended him. The flowers landed with a soft rustle, crushed a little against the metal. "No. I'm not doing that," he muttered, pushing the cart forward. "She told me not to come by. I'm not just going to show up like some creep."

Behind him, Denji trailed close, his grin still plastered on like it had been superglued there. "Don't be ridiculous," Aki added, glancing over. "That stuff doesn't happen in real life. You know soap operas are fake, right?"

Denji gave the aisle a quick glance, then leaned in like he was about to share state secrets. "So girls don't, like..." he whispered, "...orgasm?"

Aki stopped walking and smacked him upside the head, flat-palmed and hard enough to make a dull thwack. "Keep your voice down, dumbass."

Denji stumbled a step, rubbing his skull.

"Real life's nothing like the pornos. Once you figure that out, maybe you'll actually get laid," He added.

Denji narrowed his eyes. "Oh yeah? And how would you know, topknot?"

Aki should've ignored him. Should've walked away, found a new aisle to disappear into.

But then, incriminatingly enough, his mind thought of you.

Thought of the way your lashes fluttered when you came undone atop him, the way your breath hitched when his canines grazed your neck, the way your fingers trembled when you reached for him after. His jaw clenched.

Denji's eyes lit up, like he could follow the entire trajectory of that thought. "No way," he gasped. "No way."

Aki blinked. "What."

"You're not a virgin?" Denji looked like he'd just discovered aliens.

Aki sighed. "I'm twenty-two."

"That doesn't mean anything!"

"We're not having the birds and the bees talk in the middle of the store," he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. "I need a fucking cigarette."

"How many?" Denji asked, as if he were polling for science.

"Probably a few," Aki replied dryly. "You're aging me prematurely. I think I'm getting gray hairs because of you."

"No, how many girls have you banged?" Denji pressed. Then, glancing around the aisle, he leaned closer, cupping his hand around his mouth so no one else could hear him. "And do you know how to make them–?"

"That's none of your fucking business," Aki snapped, shooting him a look sharp enough to silence him for exactly two seconds. Across the aisle, an old woman furrowed her brows. Aki shot her an apologetic expression.

"Go be useful. Help Power pick out a bar of soap or something. She needs it. Badly," He sighed.

Seemingly undeterred by Aki's command, Denji pressed his luck, grin widening, "You're deflecting."

Aki paused, narrowing his eyes at the little twat. "Where the fuck did you learn that word?"

"TV," Denji shrugged, like that should have been obvious.

"Oh my fucking God," Aki reached up to pinch his temple. There was a migraine coming, he was sure of it. He alwayshad one when Denji was around. "I knew I should have hidden that damn remote."

That was the problem. He let Denji have the TV for thirty minutes each night. Thirty fucking minutes while he stepped out for a smoke, and suddenly the kid was a licensed therapist.

"This girl you like..." Denji asked again, like he didn't give a damn who might have been listening. "Did you do her, too?"

Aki looked around, like you might have been lurking just around the corner. Then, he reached into the cart, rolling up the promotional flyer and promptly smacking Denji over the head with it.

"Do you want to get your ass kicked?" Aki returned the question. He was deflecting. He hated how right Denji was.

"You're not denying it!" Denji shouted out, shoving a finger in Aki's face like he'd cracked a fucking murder case. "Hayakawa, you dog!"

That's so rich coming from this little perv.

Power spoke up at the end of the aisle (as if this whole situation couldn't have gotten any worse). "He's not a dog, you moron. He's a human. Everyone knows that."

There is no God, Aki thought.

Denji ignored her. "Why is everyone but me getting laid?" He groaned with a dramatic toss of his hands up into the air. Then, as if struck by some source of fucking inspiration, he added, "Hey... does she have a younger sister?"

Aki stopped in his tracks at that. Then, he turned slowly, bearing a look on his face that could have withered a fucking plant.

Finally, Denji caved. "Okay. Geez. Nevermind," he muttered. "I hope you get gonorrhea. Bitch."

"Eat shit," Aki retorted flatly, pushing the cart again. "Maybe if you spent less time pissing me off and more time talking to real women, you wouldn't have anything to complain about."

"Why? So I can end up all stressed and broody over some chick, like you?" Denji laughed, clapping an unwelcome hand on Aki's back. "Yeah, I'm good."

"Beats dying a virgin," Aki taunted him, shrugging him off. He knew it was low hanging fruit. He didn't give a shit about being the bigger person, not anymore.

And definitely not when Denji frowned.

Aki told himself he wouldn't bother you – that he couldn't see you again. You wanted to be good.

And, apparently, he didn't. There he was, standing outside of your church holding the bouquet of flowers he'd picked up the day before at the supermarket – only one day after your husband left for Kyoto. He knew it was deplorable, fuck, he knew he was out of line, but he felt like he would have died if he didn't at least try to make ammends with you.

He watched the doors like some shameful apparition, far too scared to actually go in, bouquet of tulips clenched in one hand. He'd meant to throw them out, he really did. He came close – three times, actually. But he couldn't.

So, he brought them. He wasn't entirely sure how this whole stupid idea of his would actually go. The fact that he was even here, waiting outside such a sacred place knowing he'd already tasted the forbidden fruit, was crazy.

He shouldn't have come.

In fact, he was about to turn and go right back to the car, but those damned doors creaked open, and he watched as the churchgoers came pouring out. Among them, you – sun reflecting off of the side of your face, making the curve of your cheek glow soft and gold.

And, your eyes–

They fucking softened when they found him. Not in anger, no... in recognition. Like some part of you had wanted him to come.

You wandered over to where he was standing – fearlessly, too. Gently, you peered at the tulips in his hand and took them without hesitation.

"They're beautiful," was the first thing you said to him.

The words were enough to kick his heartbeat up a few notches. He did his best to ignore the feeling he got as your fingers brushed his. He didn't trust himself to speak, but the words, "Do you have a minute?" were out before he could stop them.

He nodded towards his car, hoping that you didn't misinterpret what he was saying and assumed he wanted to repeat past mistakes (he did, just not today). You followed without question, heels tapping against concrete as you made your way to the passenger seat. He followed suit – but only after holding the door open for you.

Once the two of you were in the car again, Aki swallowed, clearing his throat.

"I wanted to apologize," He finally began, voice hoarse. "For my actions last week. It was... unprofessional of me."

He paused after the words he'd rehearsed were out in the open. Every line of restraint, every intricately chosen phrase slipped right through his fucking fingers the moment he laid eyes on you.

"There's nothing to apologize for," You breathed out. Your voice was soft – too damn soft. "I don't regret what we did."

Aki's breath stilled entirely, like he would create a hairline fracture in the moment by releasing it. You weren't looking at him, not directly – your gaze was hovering somewhere past his shoulders, like you, too, felt as if eye contact would unravel you. You were sad – he could tell, and it killed him to think that he might have been the cause of that.

Is it because I sent her husband away? He thought.

"Why did you come here, Aki?" You asked, finally addressing him by name. It looked like you knew the answer and just didn't want to hear it. "What do you want?"

The words cut a whole lot deeper than he expected, but he figured it was the least he deserved for complicating your life. So, instead, he glanced away, jaw flexing.

"Do you want me to tell you what I wanted to tell you?" He asked you. "Or do you want the honest answer?"

It was raw – uncharacteristically so, even for him. He simply couldn't bear to beat around the bush any longer.

You blinked up at him, like you hadn't expected him to be so candid with you, but nodded anyway. "Be honest."

Here goes nothing, I guess.

Aki's shoulders sank, feeling the weight melt away from his shoulders.

"I want you," He admitted quietly. "I want... I want us to stop pretending this didn't happen. I want us to stop ignoring each other. I want you to get out of my head – to stop haunting me every time I light up a fucking cigarette."

He swallowed, voice dropping another notch, like he was ashamed. "I... want to be with you."

That was it. The words were out, now, and he couldn't take them back. His heart felt like it was about to beat right out of his chest. Slowly, he turned to look at you, frightened by what you might say.

You didn't speak. You sat there, looking at nothing in particular, eyes shimmering with unfallen tears. You reached up to wipe them quickly, like you didn't want him to see it.

"I know you sent my husband away to Kyoto," You spoke up, tone unreadable in a way that had him overthinking it. "I'm glad you did, honestly. I haven't been able to look him in the eye since..."

You trailed off, sentence unfinished. "I don't know what to do, Aki. I'm so confused, I feel like my head's about to burst."

He sighed, quietly resigned to his own fate. "I know I... I know I shouldn't be here. I know it's not fair to ask you for anything else given that I've already put you in a horrible position."

His gaze fell over the street, like maybe the answer was out there instead of in the car with you. "But, I can't–"

He faltered.

"I feel like I'm losing my mind," He exhaled. "I swear, I'll forget about what happened between us, if that's what you need– if it means I can keep seeing you, even just like this."

But, the moment the words left his mouth, he knew he was full of shit. He could never forget you, even if he wanted to.He couldn't even pretend that your touch hadn't burned a hole straight through his skin, like kissing you hadn't scarred his memory.

You started to cry, then, effectively cracking his heart open in his chest.

He wasn't being fair to you.

"I'm sorry," He whispered, reaching out to wipe a tear from your eye. "I shouldn't have said that."

"That's the thing," You answered back, eyes glassy as you looked into his. "I do– I do want to see you again. I wanna make the same mistake again. I want..."

You trailed off again, and it made Aki want to rip his own hair out, before you went back on what you sai, "You shouldn't be here, Aki. Someone will see you."

"Let them see," He rushed out. He didn't care how desperate he seemed. No, he would have regretted it for the rest of his life, if he didn't tell you how he felt. "Are you happy?"

The words felt foreign, uncanny.

"What?" You asked.

"With your husband," He swallowed. "With your life. Are you happy? If you are, then tell me, and..." He damn near choked on his next words, "I won't bother you again. I'll go, I swear, I'll understand. I won't bother you anymore."

He meant it. He swore he did, even if the thought of never seeing you again felt like resigning himself to death.

You looked up. Opened your mouth, like you wanted to say yes, like you wanted to tell him your life had been perfect before he'd come along and homewrecked it. But nothing came out, and you sealed your lips a moment later.

Reaching into the pocket of your pants, you pulled out a small object – his lighter. You took your hand and pressed it into his palm, gently curling his fingers around it like a goodbye you couldn't even say out loud.

Then, before he could stop you, you were opening the car door and stepping out without a word. Gently closing the door. Walking down the street with the morning sun shining off of your silhouette.

His hand tightened around the little lighter like it might have kept the moment – might have kept you from slipping out of his grasp. Helplessly, his eyes trailed you as you continued right on down the road – down your back, down to the curve of your hips, the way they swayed as you walked away.

Even devastated, he still couldn't fucking help himself.

"Fuck," He muttered beneath his breath, covering his eyes with his hands and laying his head back against the seat.

The rain was coming down heavily – it had been falling for hours, the kind of rain that soaked deep into the concrete, the wood of the porch, made everything smell like earth. Aki sat slouched on the steps, elbows braced up on his knees. A half-burnt cigarette was pinched between two fingers.

His skin was still tingling from how cold he'd let the water run during his shower only half an hour ago. It was a vain effort to get you out of his head, a last ditch attempt, and it obviously didn't work.

Tonight, there had been a celebration of his birthday. Nothing too big. A few of the division leaders had organized a little get together at a nearby izakaya in his honor. His chest was still warm, skin buzzing from the few beers in his system. It had been a pleasant distraction. Hayakawa's birthday. Another year older, another year spent above ground.

He wasn't drunk anymore, though, and now his fingers were trembling as he lifted the cigarette butt to his lips. They hadn't done that in a long time – not since Himeno had passed. Not since those nights when he would sit out on the porch just like this, too drained to even stand, chain smoking in complete silence to quell the emptiness in his chest. The tip of the cigarette glowed orange as his hand shook. He pretended he didn't notice either.

Because he was a glutton for punishment, apparently, his eyes drifted across the street. The outline of your house was familiar, even in the rain. A light was on upstairs.

Were you up there? Reading? Crying? Lying awake, staring at the ceiling, just as he had been doing?

Were you thinking about him?

God, he could only hope you were.

Aki let the warmth flow into his chest before he exhaled slowly, smoke curling around his jaw, bleeding into the rain. The water ran in rivulets from the porch roof, a steady dripping sound.

It was your birthday, too. You were probably spending it alone. Your husband was in Kyoto, after all. It was unfortunate timing, honestly (he knew he was selfish).

He closed his eyes. Inhaled again, and the smoke caught a little in his chest.

Suddenly, Aki remembered why he didn't do relationships. This was why.

It ran deeper than grief. It was hollow – it was loneliness, sharpened into a blade that cut him deep. He didn't want to go back inside of the house. It felt too damn empty.

He dragged another inhale and looked over at your house.

Are you thinking about me?

A part of him wanted to walk across the street and knock. See your face, even if only for a moment – even if you only told him to leave, even if you didn't say anything at all.

Fuck, he needed to hear your voice. To see you again. Anything was better than this fucking silence.

Outside of the porch, the rain kept on falling. He pulled another drag, slow and savory, craning his neck back to breathe it out. His eyes remained glued onto the light in your window like it might have given him an answer – remind him that he wasn't alone.

It didn't, of course, because he was alone.

He missed you.

He missed you like his body missed oxygen. Like he missed the feeling of that first smoke. Like thirst, like obsession.

You had her, and you let her go.

Shit, if he left right then, he could have been standing at your front door within a few minutes. Less, maybe. That's all it would take – just a few steps.

I feel lost without her.

The thought came hard and fast; Don't go over there.

You'll only make things worse.

A more reasonable version of Aki Hayakawa would have made peace with that fact already, but he wasn't himself. Instead, he leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees, watching the rain wash the world in silver.

His eyes found your porch again before he could stop them.

But what if she's thinking about me, too?

It was so fucking stupid. He knew that, but the ache wouldn't leave.

Stay, he thought. You would hate him if he showed up again. You had every right to.

Go, said the more depraved half of him.

Aki soothed a hand over his face, trying to talk himself down from the ledge. Be sensible.

But you were in his mind again, like a fucking symbiotic organism that had crawled its way inside and sunken its teeth into his brain.

Denji's words from the supermarket were a cruel, broken record.

"Just show up. Girls love that shit."

Aki squeezed his eyes shut. There's no way I'm about to take advice from shit-for-brains.

Oh, but he was.

"Fucking idiot," He sighed aloud – to Denji or himself, though, he wasn't entirely sure. His cigarette was down to the filter now, burning just a little too close to his fingertips. After a long moment – watching the burn climb higher and higher – he flicked it out into the street. The ember spun, hissed as it made contact with a puddle and went out.

Fuck this, he thought. Then, he stood, stomach turning the moment he did.

Before he could stop himself, he was already stepping out into the rain, letting it drip down his damp hair, letting it seep through his sweater. He moved through anyway, driven by nothing more than pure, stupid obsession.

His sweatpants were damp by the time he reached the sidewalk. It reminded him that this was really happening – that he was really alive. As each step brought him closer and closer to your house, his heart wouldn't stop pounding in his chest. The porch was steeped in warm light. From here, he could hear the birds chirping outside of your place.

His hands stayed in his pocket the whole time, fingers curled tight. It was pathetic enough that he had come over in the first place, but to trudge through the rain like some lovesick asshole in a drama was low, even for him.

But something in his chest refused to give.

You'll regret it if you don't. You'll regret it for the rest of your fucking life.

He hadn't felt this nervous in years. He knew better, and he was doing it anyway.

Go home. Be a fucking adult for once in your life.

His feet met the base step of your porch. He hesitated. He was cold to the bone, and he couldn't bring himself to care.

Then, after a lengthy pause, he knocked three times. Then, he waited, heart in his throat, lungs tight in his chest, until the door opened.

You appeared, like something out of a dream, wrapped in light and the comfiest-looking nightgown he'd ever seen, brows furrowed in disbelief. He swore the oxygen left his lungs entirely.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

The scent of dinner drifted out from behind you – you were cooking. Oddly enough, the smell was reminiscent of a childhood he'd nearly forgotten. Of a warm bowl of soup after school, of his mother's arms.

You smelled like home.

"You'll catch a cold out there," You breathed out softly, glancing behind him to make sure no one was watching before ushering him inside, "Come inside."

Aki nodded. Again, he didn't really trust his own voice to convey what he wanted to say – hell, what did he want to say?

Either way, he kicked off his shoes when he stepped inside and reached back to shut the door behind him – and lock it, sealing his fate.

He hadn't meant to stay, of course, but the second that door was closed behind him, he knew he wasn't going anywhere.

a/n: i know. im getting so bad w the cliffhangers though, buttttt its so late over here rn so i wanted to drop a lil sum sum before going back to publishing my other two (the dante ff and pornstar, duh). im so behind. wish me luck as i catch up!!! x oh, and as always, yall better lmk what you thought in the comments ;)))

credits: I obviously do not own csm or anything related to it. please do not reproduce, copy, or translate my works anywhere. dont fk w me im a bruja.

also: come find me on my wattpad if u wanna interact more!

taglist: @mitsuyeahhh , @sleepysnk , @enneadec , @noaabean , @em1e , @drakensdarling , @bertholdts--butt , @satanlovesusall666 , @mitsuwuyaa , @noctifule , @scaraphobia , @ask-the-insect-hashira , @lovingranchturkeyweasel , @bontensbabygirl , @slvdsjjk , @novacrystalli , @hanmastattoos , @kodzuksn , @hqtiny , @ohmaiscool15 , @redlittlequeen , @leivane , @goldeneagles-posts , @yeahblahlame , @no-oneelsebutnsu , @cookiesandcreammy , @cawwn , @the-haitani-baton , @littlelovebug98 , @armani78 , @mindurownbussines , @kokos-property , @violetmatcha , @hp-simp505 , @acethebrave , @mitsuyeahhh , @sleepysnk , @enneadec , @noaabean , @em1e , @drakensdarling , @bertholdts--butt , @satanlovesusall666 , @mitsuwuyaa , @noctifule , @scaraphobia , @ask-the-insect-hashira , @lovingranchturkeyweasel , @bontensbabygirl , @slvdsjjk , @novacrystalli , @hanmastattoos , @kodzuksn , @hqtiny , @ohmaiscool15 , @redlittlequeen , @leivane , @goldeneagles-posts , @yeahblahlame , @no-oneelsebutnsu , @cookiesandcreammy , @cawwn , @the-haitani-baton , @littlelovebug98 , @armani78 , @mindurownbussines , @kokos-property , @violetmatcha , @hp-simp505 , @mrshayakawaa , @xxpr3ttyk173rxx

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