#it seems like she’d still want to take it in

[trashytracktales]

teammate!lando x reader where they had a bet and she loses…so he makes her crawl to her, hump the pillow, rub her bare clit against his clothed crotch ALL WHILE HE RECORDS HER (with consent ofc)

Lights, Camera, Action! | LN⁴

🔹️ summary ──── It was supposed to be a joke, then it became everything.

🔹️ pairing ──── Lando Norris x fem teammate!reader

🔹️ rating ──── explicit

🔹️ warnings ──── 18+, mature/sexual content, descriptive language, smut, nerdy!Lando, soft!dom Lando, recording (consensual), cushion humping, manhandling, orgasm from external stimulation, swearing, unprotected sex, mutual masturbation, overstimulation, playful teasing, camera kink??

🔹️ word count ──── 6.3k

🔹️ date ──── May 6, 2025

🔹️ a/n ──── How tf do I set my intention to go for PURE SMUT NO PLOT, yet still manage to write over 6k 😀 I don’t even know what’s this, nothing makes sense and we are living on a floating rock.

Hear me out, I usually only link the song, but then I remembered about this music video and I almost had an aneurysm because of how well it fits. I recommend watching it after reading though. Anyway, ENJOY!!

THE LAST RACE before the break fucked them both. Pretty hard. What was supposed to end with another 1-2 finish for the team turned into a disaster of strategy, pace, and pure bad luck.

Since getting back to Monaco, the fallout hasn’t left them alone. It’s pretty hard when everyone is talking about it; it can get lonely, too. Luckily for them, they’ve been texting back and forth for days, laced with sarcasm, blame, and just enough flirtation to keep the tension at its peak. However, neither of them said what they really wanted to say. But it was always there, between the lines as usual, and in the way her name popped up on his screen, making his stomach flip.

Every single time.

The bar is loud enough to blur that tension and even Lando, with his no-alcohol rule, is loose and laughing. They dance and talk about anything but racing, and for a while it feels like neither of them are carrying the weight of disappointment.

Friends come and go through their circle, a few fans spot them and ask for pictures — which they take, grinning too wide and standing too close for their own good. Somewhere between the fourth round of mocktails, a familiar song starts pulsing through the speakers, and that’s when she brings up the bet, half-laughing, stepping in front of him like she did back in the garage when she dared him.

“If I finish behind you, I owe you a private dance,” she said, confidence dripping from every word. She’d qualified ahead of Lando, and was so confident she can finish ahead of him, too. But since every race is unpredictable and full of unknowns, she ended up taking the checkered flag after him.

It was a joke, anyway. But she can’t say with all her heart that she hasn’t thought about it at least a few couple of times. Besides, it’s Lando who’s been constantly reminding her throughout the past few days and, even if it was in jest, the curiosity made her spend hours staring at the ceiling of her room, imagining different scenarios.

Now, it’s late when the door to his apartment clicks shut behind them with a clean, satisfying noise. Lando tosses his keys into the ceramic bowl on the console with more force than necessary, and while the keys clatter, one nearly skids off the edge, forcing him to reach for it instinctively. She doesn’t say anything, although she can’t help but finding amusing that the inanimate objects always decide to act up only when her teammate’s patience seems so fragile.

The sudden movement makes Lando whine in exasperation as she watches him kick off his shoes and drag a hand through his curls.

The place is quiet, as if reflecting their inner agitation, silently burning within. He’s not bothering turning on more than a lamp, but it’s enough to bathe the whole living room in a pale silver glow, making everything seem even more intimate than it should be.

As they step further into the apartment, the same silence hits them both, because it’s not just the sudden absence of noise, but the weight of it. They’ve never been this quiet around each other before. Usually, they’re the chaos in the garage, either laughing too loud or teasing mid-debriefs, always bringing the kind of energy that makes their engineers roll their eyes but secretly love it. Now though, it’s the first time neither of them knows what to say. Or how to act.

“Cute place,” she says, partly to break the silence, but mostly because it really is. Spacious, stylish, not super tidy, but very Lando in that sense.

“You know you don’t have to make small talk, right?” he laughs. “It was a stupid bet to begin with, since I was always going to finish ahead of you anyway.”

Her jaw drops slightly at the cockiness in his tone. This is the Lando she knows and, in other circumstances, she would find his confidence hot, but right now it only makes her want to knock that look off his face. Or sit on it just to shut him up. Either works.

“Always eager to finish first? Got it,” the playful jab lands right where she intended without too much effort; it’s a split-second flicker in his expression, the twitch of his jaw, and the way his arms tense.

That’s the spot, she thinks. That’s where it bruises his ego, not because it’s crude, but because it’s enough to sting. Which only makes her want to push harder.

Lando’s grin flattens a bit. “Well, someone’s gotta lead the way,” he replies casually, even though he caught her double meaning phrase.

“Right. Leading the way because you can’t pace yourself,” she fires back.

He chuckles. “Sounds like an excuse from someone who couldn’t keep up.”

They’re toe-to-toe now, all bite and smirk and so much tension. She’s half a second from throwing a cushion at him just to knock that pretty smile off when she glances past his shoulder and, without another word, she steps forward, fingers brushing lightly against Lando’s arm as she urges him to move out of her way, wandering farther into his apartment like she owns the place.

“Interesting,” she mumbles. “I saw you with the camera before,” the girl continues as Lando turns to follow her silhouette. “How about you film me while I dance? Give you some new material for land0.mov?”

Lando’s expression twitches barely, but she’s still able to notice it. That small flash of disbelief, quickly masked by a half-laugh, like he’s not sure if she’s joking or just testing him.

“No way, mate,” says Lando, but it’s already too late.

She nods slowly, letting the weight of her intention settle in the air they share. His boyish smirk fades into curiosity in an instant. It’s like watching him put a helmet on: composed, dialed in, serious in a way most people rarely get to see.

To give him more space to process, she veers toward the low shelf by his TV, crouching slightly. “Let’s see. Which one’s your favorite?” she asks nonchalantly, running her fingers along the row of cameras lined up like little trophies; old film bodies, modern DSLRs, and a few point-and-shoots with scratched lenses.

Lando stares at her like she suddenly grew two more heads in the meantime. “You play too much, you know that?”

“Yeah,” she shrugs, glancing at him over her shoulder. “Which one?” she repeats.

He blinks, opening his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out at first. After he rubs the bridge of his nose, Lando exhales slowly. “The, uh… the Leica. Second from the left. Black one,” he instructs. “I rarely use it, which makes it special, I guess.”

She lifts it delicately, turning it over in her hands. It’s heavier than she expected, sleek and cool against her skin. “Nice,” she grins. “Bet it makes everything look expensive.”

Lando hums in agreement, “Only shoots what’s directly in front of it. Look,” he says, getting so close to her that he’s now towering over her frame, while pointing at the camera. “Fixed lens, see? No lazy zooming, but the resolution is insane. The tricky part is that you have to move it yourself to get the shot you want,” he continues.

She looks up at him, noticing a slight shy grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. And, just when she thought Lando couldn’t get any nerdier, she hears his voice again.

“It’s a twenty-eight millimeter lens. That’s not crazy wide,” he informs her. “If you stay in the middle, the background’s gonna fall off all soft and blurry. Makes it feel…” he trails off, clearing his throat. “Personal. It’s not even about perfect framing or whatever,” he rushes to add. “It just catches whatever’s there, no hiding.”

“Did you use it before?” she asks, curiosity pulling the words out of her mouth without having the time to think them through.

“I did,” he replies with a grin, giving her enough time to come up with her own scenarios before adding, “On my cars.”

She smiles, her eyes sparkling in the dim light of the room. “So. If I move, you have to follow, hm?”

Lando nods.

She sets the camera down gently, then leans against the wall beside the shelf with her arms crossed. She’s aware that what she’s suggesting it’s pure insanity, especially after what’s been happening between them lately.

“Okay,” she finally says, holding her hand toward him, palm open. “Can I see your phone for a sec?”

Lando frowns, trying to hide a curious smile. “Why?” he asks, sliding the phone from his pocket and unlocks it, handing it over with suspicion in his voice.

She only flashes him a smile back, thumbing through his apps until she finds the little Spotify icon. A few seconds later, the speakers come alive with a sultry bassline that wraps the room in a charged ambiance.

The teasing in her voice is easy to catch next time she asks, “You seriously have a sex playlist called sex playlist? Men are so predictable.”

He chuckles, “Yeah? What’s yours called?”

“I’ll send you the link,” she winks at him jokingly, but that still has an unexpected effect on Lando. Maybe because he’s starting to understand that his teammate is hardly ever joking, actually.

For a second that feels like a week, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Just watches her, every muscle in his body taut like he’s holding himself back from something that’s about to come out anyway. It has to. Because everything has a limit, and theirs was crossed from the moment she entered his apartment.

With a quiet exhale, she presses herself lightly against the wall, then pushes off and crosses the living room in steady, cat-like steps, taking his hand in hers, fingers threading through his. Her touch is warm and somehow reassuring, her palm so small and silky against his. She guides Lando toward the couch with intent as if this isn’t his own home, nudging him gently until he sits.

She breaks away then, walks back across the room, and returns with the Leica in hand. “Turn it on,” she says simply, with enough clarity behind her words.

Lando stares at her, dumbfounded for a beat, before the corner of his mouth twitches upward in disbelief. “You’re insane.”

“I trust you to capture the best in me,” she admits.

He lets out a heavy breath, something between a laugh and a groan, and flips the switch at her insistence. The familiar click of the camera waking up is giving Lando chills, but when he glances up again, his hands still adjusting the ISO, she’s already pulling the shirt over her head, revealing a black bra and her toned shoulders dusted in the dim light.

She tilts her head. “Just make sure I look good, Lando.”

With that, she starts moving as slow as possible, every inch of revealed skin feeling like it’s offered, not given.

Lando’s hands are steady on the camera, but for some reason, breathing doesn’t feel automatic anymore, and he’s currently aware of every shaky breath he takes. His fingers work on instinct, dialing the aperture wider, letting in the glow of the cool lighting. His pulse is racing, heavy in his throat, because he can see everything through the lens, but is still not ready to look at her in the flesh.

For her, it’s easy to notice how focused he is, so she glances straight into the camera on purpose, with a spark of mischief in her gaze, like she knows exactly what she’s doing. To him. As a result, Lando’s knee starts bouncing, restless, his breathing too shallow to be subtle. He can’t remember the last time he felt so tightly wound, but it doesn’t even matter because what happens now will stay with him for a long time, and this is all he needs to remember from now on.

And then, it gets worse.

He stares at her while she’s arching slightly as she undoes her bra clasp, letting it slide off her shoulders and onto the floor without breaking eye contact with the camera. At that, Lando looks away out of instinct — out of that last shred of decency clawing at him. But the camera stays trained on her, and when he lifts his gaze again, it’s like a dam breaks inside him. Violently. The hunger that flashes across his face is instant, and impossible to hide. He doesn’t even try, because what fool could ever take his eyes off her?

Lando adjusts himself without thinking, moving in sync with her teasing gestures as she peels her panties down her legs from under her skirt. He tells himself to stay focused and capture the sensuality of her body with the last fragment of professionalism that he possesses. But that’s a losing game when his own body is burning with need, and every subtle curve and line of her turns into a map that he’s desperate to explore as soon as possible.

His focus lingers on the swell of her breasts, her nipples tightening in the open air. It forces him to swallow hard, a deep ache growing both inside him and his pants, knowing how badly he wants to lean forward and suck them into his mouth, to feel the heat of her skin against his tongue.

The camera dips lower as she dances to the hypnotic rhythm of his music, and Lando keeps working with her, baring the elegant slope of her waist and the strong lines of her thighs. The way she stands there, so natural and confident, feels like a direct hit to his chest that he welcomes without hesitation or any intention of dodging. She’s pure femininity, and that throws him into a black hole made only of her, where the gravity is so strong that there’s no escape.

He’s so focused on her that he almost stops breathing in order to make sure he gets the perfect shot, every shot. That makes Lando’s hand tighten around the camera, his knuckles whitening from the pressure. But his body has a mind on its own, apparently, and his thighs flex like he’s one wrong move away from standing. From closing the distance between them. Against his will, though, he sits there, shivering with the effort to stay still.

“Come on, Norris,” she says, and her voice wakes him up from the trance her shapes put him in. “I’ve seen you take tighter corners at Spa with less hesitation.”

Even though he tries to, he can’t stop the throaty laugh that comes out of him. Only for a moment, Lando lowers the camera again, and lets himself, finally, finally, see her. And this time, he doesn’t look away. He watches her shamelessly, while reaching behind him to take a cushion that he ends up tossing onto the floor near his feet, nodding toward it.

“Go on, then. Show me how desperate you are.”

There is something about the way he says it that sends a thrill straight through her. She heard that Lando is direct when it comes to his wants and needs, but to feel it on her skin hits different. Her pulse suddenly stutters with excitement as she lowers herself in front of him, straddling the cushion, her body already anticipating the liberating feeling.

The moment her hips roll forward and her mouth falls open in surprise at the faint pleasure, Lando is right there, capturing every gasp, every twitch, and every sweet reaction like it’s the only thing that matters. His mind runs wild with all the places he aches to touch — his hand curled around her throat, palms squeezing her breasts, fingers digging into her hips to hold her still while he teases her until she begs.

The temptation claws at him, full throttle. But he forces himself to handle the camera like a pro, because more than anything, he wants her to see what he sees: how devastatingly beautiful she is like this, undone and bold. Through his own lens, she’s a vision, and giving her that full picture keeps him going.

From her perspective, noticing Lando’s determination sends a fresh wave of heat throughout her body, making her rock her hips a little harder, and that puts a tension in his shoulders. A type of need he didn’t feel before.

To stop herself from making more embarrassing sounds, she meets his gaze over the camera, mouth slightly open. “Is this good?” she asks, voice breathy and half-mocking, although there’s something real underneath. A dare. A plea.

Lando looks at her again, revealing a flushed face and his blown wide pupils. “Yeah, don’t stop,” he replies hoarsely.

Her thighs squeeze around the cushion from the moment she hears the first note in voice, the soft fabric teasing against her clit with every slow roll of her hips, pulling breathy sounds from her. Behind the camera, Lando tails closely as she grinds back and forth, his jaw clenching at the small sounds slipping past her lips.

“Shit, that’s hot. Are you always this needy?” he asks out of pure curiosity, but the question is mostly rhetorical; of course she is. Judging by the way her chest heaves and how she leans forward slightly to catch as much friction as possible, the answer is obvious.

She wants to push back against the power shift, but she’s too lost in the rhythmic movement of her body. And it’s not as if Lando’s wrong. Every gentle brush gets increasingly out of control, each desperate grind into the cushion sending small waves of pleasure straight to her nerves, making her fingers curl into the couch for balance. For the control she’s rapidly losing.

Her eyes flutter closed for a moment, mouth constantly parting as the pleasure spirals inside her like a coil wound too tight.

Lando’s fingers flex over the shutter release, but he’s barely present anymore. He’s completely absorbed by what is happening on the other side of his lens, and it’s her moan that pulls him out of it, just as the pressure builds. So he reaches out, his hand entering the frame like an unexpected guest. With ease, his fingers grab the edge of the cushion beneath her, and she pauses, blinking up at him, flushed and dazed, breathing heavily like she just stepped out of the car after a last-lap push. With one strong pull, he slides it out from under her, making her gasp in surprise, her body jolting at the sudden loss.

“Lando,” she exhales irritated.

She gets her hands onto his knees to steady herself, thighs still wobbly, but he’s not looking at her anymore. He’s too busy staring at the soaked fabric instead, darkened with heat and want and everything she didn’t say out loud.

“That good?” he asks, but the arrogance in his voice diminished, giving way to his sincere curiosity.

She shakes her head, looking up at him again. “Not faking it, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

The fact that she is as sincere in her statement, encourages Lando to take things to the next level, just to see how much he can push before it’s too much. He throws the cushion aside with a thud, his eyes lit up with need.

“Come here,” he orders in a gentle tone, patting his lap.

She’s stunned at his words initially, and the way they leave no room for teasing. But then she catches the way his tongue drags slowly across his bottom lip, leaving it wet and shining, and something inside her pushes her to get up. She realizes that there’s nothing she wouldn’t do if he asked.

With calculated steps, she climbs him patiently, her thighs spreading over him. They’ve been in each other’s personal space in the past, when they had to do silly challenges for McLaren to entertain the fans. Still, even though there’s a camera between them just like before, the air feels different, charged with desire, unknown, and heavy lust. Because this time, it’s just them.

When her body sinks onto his, the scabrous fabric of his jeans meets the soaked warmth between her legs, the weight making Lando groan silently, his little sound hitting her low in her stomach. His reaction encourages her to continue, shifting on top of him in order to find the best position, enough to grind against his bulge. It’s thick and hard beneath her, and the simple contact is already maddening. Yet not nearly enough, and the realization that he’s just as affected by this makes the coil in her stomach tighten further.

“Keep going,” he speaks again as he lifts her skirt up to her waist, going back to the camera and angling it to capture the way she moves against him, right where her skin meets the fabric of his pants.

Her palm comes around his bicep for suport, letting the instincts guide her further. The pressure she chased a moment ago is still there, but it’s different this time around. More intense.

Lando grunts, his free hand gripping her hip to show her the pattern to follow. She whimpers while that sweet ache comes back, her body trembling with need. In no time, she can move on her own, and because she’s such a fast learner, Lando points the camera closer, eager to capture the wetness soaking through.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he says. “You’re making such a mess,” he exhales, bringing his hand between her legs to feel it before he could even process his own action. His thumb finds her clit, rubbing it gently, keeping his eyes on her face the whole time, craving to catch every reaction.

She moans, one hand squeezing his arm harder as her body rocks forward, chasing the release that she hopes it’s not that far into the future, especially if his hips continue to twitch beneath her the way they do, so impatient and reliant on her.

Unfortunately, the time almost stops the moment their faces get close enough to kiss. She can feel the heat of his breath and the pull between them, and she’s sure he can feel it too. Her eyes flick to his mouth, and Lando’s eyes stay on her, but no one dares to close the small gap. Because somehow, that would be more intimate than all of this. Kissing would mean acknowledging what’s been burning between them for a while now. It would mean admitting this is real, and admitting will complicate everything in both their personal and professional lives.

And neither of them are ready to take that chance yet.

With that in mind, she doesn’t lean in. She just closes her eyes and grinds harder, her hips rolling against his hand and the hard line of his cock beneath her. The sensation amplifies fast, and Lando never stops working her with his thumb. Soon enough, her breath comes out in spasms and her thighs start to shake. Her pace intensifies, chasing the high that’s been teasing at the edges of her patience, feeling the mess she’s made slick against Lando’s pants with every desperate press on it. Still, his hand stays steady, rubbing perfectly against her clit, matching the rhythm of her hips like he knows exactly all the ways she wants — and craves — to be touched.

With Lando’s help, it doesn’t take long until her body finally seizes, hips jerking forward uncontrollably as pleasure crashes over her. He moves with her, a silent apology for stopping her earlier written into every precise touch, making sure this time she falls apart completely. Because of him.

Luckily, the camera captures everything: his hand on her, the wet spot she’s left on his pants, the way her skin flushes and seems to crave more with each passing second, and the way her thighs shake when the aftershocks hit. It catches the way she starts trembling, too, body overwhelmed, aching for something deeper, something only he can give her right now.

Only he gives her time to ride it out instead, feeling all the ways her walls flutter, hungry and empty, and the sound that tears from his throat is nothing but a helpless moan. The sensation alone, even without him inside her, is enough to make his head spin. It wrecks him completely, makes him ache with the violent need to know how it would feel to be buried deep inside her, to have her tight, needy pussy squeezing around him while she comes undone all over again. Because of him.

The girl barely registers the camera being placed in her hands until Lando nudges her chin. “Here. See for yourself.”

Except, she doesn’t want it. Not yet. By her own choice, she takes it gently from his hand, presses RECORD again and turns it around, placing it on the padded arm of the couch. Facing them. Remembering Lando’s voice earlier, casual and offhand when he said that the camera only captures what’s in front of it.

Her fingers move impatiently, drifting to the hem of his shirt, bunching it in her hands. “Since you let me finish first,” she rushes to explain.

With that, she pulls the shirt up, and he lifts his arms to help her, muscles tightening under skin slick with the faintest sheen of sweat. Once it’s off, she tosses it to the side, her eyes drinking him in. Lando is warm under her palms, his chest rising and falling with each heavy breath, and she senses the same tension in him that’s barely holding him together.

She studies his face while her hand drifts lower, trailing down the center of his stomach, pausing at the waistband of his jeans. Carefully, she slips her hand inside, where she finds him hot and so painfully hard that it makes her mouth water. Without any instructions, her fingers curl around his soft skin, and the sight alone makes his stomach flip. She starts to stroke him teasing, but before she can go quicker, Lando grabs her wrist, groaning low in his throat.

“Just a sec,” he pants, voice cracking slightly. His hands are already moving, guiding her hips back over his lap with a need that borders on desperation.

This time, there’s no fabric between them, and her soaked heat presses directly against his length, making them both shuddering at the contact; skin on skin and no more barriers, just the unfiltered reality of what they both want. His hands find home on her hips, big and heavy, his control hanging by a thread.

Agonizingly slow, her clit slides along his hardness, slick and warm, sending sharp jolts of pleasure from one body to another. He can barely contain himself at the way she finds it so easy to rock against him, faster when she feels how thirsty Lando gets in a matter of seconds. He’s leaking already, the head of his cock glistening, smearing against her folds as she moves.

Completely flushed and utterly drunk with pleasure, he shifts beneath her, his arms wrapping tight around her waist, pulling her closer, even though there’s no physical space left between them. But it’s useless. No matter how close they are, there is only one way that would truly satisfy his urge.

“Please,” he whispers next to the shell of her ear, desperate and breathless. “Can I slide in?”

She’s a lost cause by now, and her reply is reduced to a broken hum, while she sits up just enough to guide the thick head of his cock to her entrance. Lando’s patience snaps at her quick response, and he thrusts his hips up in one motion, his hands holding her hips and pulling her down onto him at the same time. The stretch is overwhelming and takes her by surprise, knocking the wind out of her and making her vision blur at the edges as she tries to take all of him.

They moan together, helpless, her hands landing on his chest as she laughs shakily. “You trying to break me in half or?”

“Didn’t think you’d be so tight,” he groans in a strained voice.

Lando tries his best to take it slow, but the way she welcomes him, so warm and perfect, nearly undoes him the moment he’s all in. A shudder runs down his spine as he grips her hips with more force, thinking maybe if he doesn’t hold her right, the world will actually end.

And it may, based on how her hands are sliding up, clawing at his shoulders with her nails digging in to anchor herself. Her breath shudders out in short bursts as she does, her body struggling to adjust, to take everything he has to offer. All of him.

To test the waters, she starts circling her hips, hoping she’ll find the angle that makes her breath hitch, and when she does, it’s like lightning strikes between them. He’s impossibly deep, touching places inside her she didn’t even know could feel this good. Her pussy hugs him so tightly that Lando has to grit his teeth to shut himself up. Then she tilts her hips forward just slightly with every grind, rocking her clit perfectly against his pelvis while he’s buried inside her.

The effect she was looking for is instant, and she hears Lando choking on another moan, finally, “Fuck, yeah. Right there,” his fingers dig into her skin, hunger battling in his wide eyes. “Do that again, it feels so fucking good.”

“Shit, Lando,” she breaths out. “So deep, I can feel you everywhere.”

She pulls him in again and again, until he is practically whining beneath her. Seeing Lando so lost inside her makes her losing the rhythm, her breathing turning ragged, thighs ready to give up as exhaustion and pleasure blur into one. It’s messy and greedy on both sides, and when she finally collapses against his chest, she sobs out a cry, her voice cracking with it.

“Need you,” she exhales. “I can’t hold it anymore.”

Lando doesn’t waste a breath. One sharp, hungry movement and he’s planting his feet against the floor for leverage, thrusting up into her with everything he’s got. She gasps at the same time he groans deep in his chest, the sound vibrating between them as he finally takes her the way they’ve both needed.

Her mouth goes dry.

His jaw tightens.

Their breath grows heavier, shared in the tight, sweaty space. Her body tenses, then squeezes around him with such perfect pressure it leaves him breathless. A high-pitched moan spills from her, unexpected and honest, and she slaps a hand over her mouth, biting at it in order to shut herself up.

Gently, Lando catches her wrist, holding it firm. “If you’re gonna bite something,” he tilts his head, offering his shoulder, “Be a good girl and bite me instead.”

Her breathing is too fast and her mind runs at the speed of an F1 car. She can’t think straight and, for a moment, she just stays there, her forehead brushing the curve of his shoulder as she tries to catch herself from falling in too deep. Then slowly, like she’s giving in to something bigger than her, she places a kiss on his skin. Her lips press gently on it, trailing along the line of his neck to the dip of his collarbone. It’s the closest thing she’ll ever give him. The closest thing to letting herself feel for him.

He’s still warm, salty with sweat, and soft under her lips. And he smells so good, like skin and heat and something clean that clings to her nose and settles in her chest like smoke.

It drugs her.

The way his scent mixes with the feel of his breath against her temple, the way his pulse flutters beneath her lips — she has to stop. It’s too much, too close, too real.

“Think we should bet every race weekend, what do you say?” asks Lando, his pace quickening, hands guiding her up and down his cock like it’s the only thing that keeps him sane. “Would die to have you like this all the time, hm?”

“Mhm,” she grinds down until his name is all she can say. “Fuck. I’m so close.”

“Yeah, baby. I feel you.”

Her voice breaks off into a moan right when she’s about to speak again, to tell him not to go there and call her that. But Lando rolls his hips, pushing deeper, filling her inch by inch until there’s no space left, which shuts her up in an instant. They fuck in a rhythm that shouldn’t work, all sweat-slicked skin and shaky breaths. The air fills up with obscene sounds of them, their bodies colliding with enough force to make her whimper and moan his name all over again, each time he thrusts.

To help himself, he spreads her wider, holding her open for him, watching the way he disappears inside her, utterly wrecked by the sight. “Taking me so fucking well,” he says between thrusts, dragging his mouth over her jaw. “Look.”

She whines while looking down at where they’re joined. Lando moves his gaze on her expression with a grin on his face, so proud when he feels every spasm in her body; it’s a total mess. Her slick is all over him, coating his cock, his thighs, soaking through the waistband of his jeans that are still shoved only halfway down his hips. Each time they meet, there’s a wet sound echoing between them, sticky and warm, ricocheting against the walls in Lando’s living room like a drumbeat pulling them closer to the edge.

“You like how wrecked you’ve got me?”

She nods frantically, squeezing him so tight it makes Lando see stars. At that, he reaches up, brushing the strands of hair from her face, tucking them behind her ears with his long fingers. His hand stays there a moment, continuing to slide lower, fingertips skimming her jaw, then wrapping gently around her throat, enough to feel her pulse. To hold her in place.

In a matter of seconds, their eyes lock again. Her chest heaves and her eyes shine, but not just from pleasure. It’s because she wants to tell him that this isn’t what she expected. It’s much, much more, and it will leave a deep mark, no matter which path they’ll choose to take tomorrow morning.

His hands move hungrily, down from her neck to her chest, cupping her breasts, thumbs brushing over her nipples. He holds them carefully, wanting to memorize the shape, the weight, and the way they fill his palms, to make sure he won’t forget a single detail about her body.

“Lan,” she warns.

Lando hums, “Mhm. Right there with you, beautiful,” he assures her.

Her breathing is jagged, the rhythm of their hips desperate, chasing the edge that’s been teasing them since the moment she sank down onto him. Every motion drives him deeper, sends wave after wave crashing through her, because she’s right there for quite a while now.

“Hi there,” Lando’s voice brings her back. His hand comes up to cradle the back of her head, gently pulling her to see her face. “Look at me, I want to see you. Let me see you.”

Her body tenses, and just for a split second the frantic rhythm stutters, then finds its pace again as the orgasm rips through her with a blinding force. She keeps her eyes on his the whole time, riding it out with her hands burried in the curls at the back of his head. His hips jerk beneath her as he throbs inside her, overwhelmed by the way she fights to keep him in. It drives him crazy, and he moans loudly, trying to pull out, but her thighs close tighter around him.

“Inside,” she rushes to say, unable to form sentences longer than one word.

Lando’s jaw clenches so hard he feels like his teeth might snap from the force, every muscle in his body pulled tight and shivering. He holds on by a thread for half a second longer, but then her body flutters around him again, and with a loud, guttural gasp, he lets go, spilling inside her in thick pulses that only make her hold him tighter. His hands shake where they clutch at her hips, trying to pull her down even harder, like he can’t bear even a sliver of distance between them right in this moment.

None of them knows how much time passes like that, but neither of them moves again. She’s stays slumped against his chest, her face buried in the crook of his neck, while his arms stay locked around her waist, as if letting go might break whatever just happened between them.

Lando presses his cheek on the top of her head, his heart hammering so hard he’s sure she can feel it. But it’s fine, because he can feel hers, too.

His hands drift up and down her back in aimless strokes and, while she starts to come back to herself, she notices the music still playing softly around them, the same sultry beat from earlier floating through the air.

Her brows pinch together in confusion before realization hits. “How the fuck did you time your playlist so perfectly?”

Lando lets out a breathless laugh, “Talent.”

She snorts, dropping her head back onto his shoulder with a groan. “Goodness gracious, it is so hard tolerate you.”

“Liar,” he says, “You wanna kiss me so bad.”

She scoffs, rolling her eyes, but the way her cheeks heat up gives her away immediately. Lando laughs under his breath again, cocky and so annoyingly right. She opens her mouth to fire back, to tell him that no, she definitely doesn’t want to kiss his smug ass, but then her eyes catch the little red light blinking from across the couch.

The camera. Still recording.

She nudges him softly, grinning against the flush in her cheeks, and points at it. “Smile and wave, Norris,” she whispers, and Lando immediately flashes the most ridiculous smirk at the lens, making her laugh for real this time.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ MASTERLIST . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Thank you for reading!

None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

© trashy track tales, 2025

[just-aake]

Friends Don't Kiss

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Friends spend time together. They share inside jokes, quiet moments, maybe even late-night movies. And sometimes…they kiss. That’s normal. Right? At least, that’s what Natasha keeps telling herself.

Warnings: fluff, light angst

Words: 4140

“Would you kiss me?”

Steve chokes on his coffee, spluttering mid-sip. He coughs violently, thumping his fist against his chest as he tries to catch his breath.

Across the kitchen, Natasha doesn’t flinch. She stands coolly with a mug in hand, one hip leaning against the compound’s countertop, her expression unreadable.

“You know,” she adds, far too casually, “as a friend.”

Steve finally manages to recover, blinking at her like she’s grown a second head. 

“I’m gonna need a little more context.”

Natasha shrugs, gaze fixed somewhere past him. 

“Just making a point. I’ve kissed you before. We’re still just friends.”

“That was different,” Steve says slowly, carefully, like he’s not entirely sure where this conversation is headed. “We were on the run. It was for a mission.”

“Right,” Natasha nods quickly, seizing on that. “Exactly. So sometimes a kiss doesn’t have to mean anything.”

Steve sets down his coffee, eyebrows furrowing. 

“Did you kiss someone, Nat?”

She scoffs immediately, a sharp breath meant to dismiss the question, but her shoulders stiffen, betraying her.

“No,” she says too quickly, brushing past it. “Why would you ask that?”

Before Steve can press further, the kitchen door slides open.

You step in, pausing just briefly when your eyes meet hers. A flicker of something passes between you—then it’s gone, replaced by your familiar, easy smile.

“Morning,” you say, grabbing an apple from the counter before sliding easily into the space beside her. “You two solving world peace already?”

Natasha’s grip on her mug tightens. Her pulse trips over itself at your closeness, at the casual brush of your shoulder against hers.

“Morning,” she mutters, not quite meeting your eyes.

“You’re up earlier than usual,” Steve returns your greeting while watching both of you now with a curious gaze, noticing the subtle shift in the air. 

You shrug lightly.

“Decided to turn in early last night,” you respond before turning to Natasha. “Sorry, I didn’t see you when you got back, Nat.”

Natasha shakes her head, brushing off the apology.

“It’s fine,” she says simply. 

But it’s not. Not really. She had looked for you last night when she came back from her mission, hoping for your usual smile at the hangar. Instead, FRIDAY informed her you were already asleep. She’d swallowed her disappointment and told herself it didn’t matter.

Natasha takes another sip to keep herself occupied from further conversation. Unfortunately, it seems you have no intention of letting her do that.

“Can I have some?”

Natasha glances at you with a raise of her brow, and you give her a small smile as you nod at the mug in her hand.

“There’s more brewing,” she responds, gesturing to the coffee machine in the corner.

You don’t move her gaze from hers.

“I know,” you grin. “But I want yours.”

Natasha sighs, long-suffering but fond, and hands it over.

You take it with a bright smile in thanks, drinking the last of it with satisfaction.

Natasha watches you as you finish, her lips twitching slightly into the ghost of a smile before she can stop it.

Something about that simple exchange makes the room feel smaller. 

Steve observes you two quietly, picking up on the subtle tension that hums under the surface like a taut wire. You and Natasha have always been close. That’s not new. But something feels different now.

“Well, I’m heading to the training room,” you announce, handing Natasha back the mug and tossing the apple in your hand once before catching it again. “See you two later.”

You’re gone before either of them can respond.

The silence that follows stretches.

Steve leans against the table, watching the doorway you disappeared through before turning his eyes back to Natasha. 

“So,” he says, voice even, “something you’d like to share?”

Natasha scoffs, rolling her eyes as she pivots to rinse out her mug. 

“This has nothing to do with her.”

Her tone is dry and dismissive. But her mind betrays her.

She remembers the way the two of you had been curled up on the couch in the common room just a few nights ago. 

A rare, quiet evening with no missions, no alarms, just shared stories and laughter over absurd field mishaps. Your knees touching hers. Her arm draped along the back of the sofa. 

You leaning closer, head tilted back slightly as you laughed, completely at ease.

Natasha remembers the way her fingers twitched with the urge to touch you. 

How, without quite realizing it, her hand lifted to cup your cheek. 

The moment stretched, her breath caught, and then she leaned in.

The kiss was soft, hesitant in the way that Natasha had not fully comprehended what she had done.

When she does, she goes to pull away when you suddenly kiss her back.

Your hand had come up, anchoring against her shoulder, the other sliding to the back of her neck as you deepened it, slow and sure. 

Then, the elevator chimed.

And the moment shattered.

Instinctively, Natasha pulls back, jumping to her end of the couch by the time the other team members come into the room. 

Next thing she knows, you were swept up by a conversation with Wanda while Natasha sat there frozen, lips parted, heartbeat wild, her hand brushing over her mouth in disbelief. 

The warmth of your kiss still lingering on her skin like a brand.

You never brought it up again.

Neither did she.

And now, days later, she finds herself standing in the kitchen convincing herself that friends kiss sometimes. 

That it doesn’t have to mean anything. That it didn’t mean anything.

“Sure, Nat,” Steve says slowly, watching her a little too closely now. “A kiss doesn’t have to mean anything...”

Natasha relaxes slightly, but before the relief can take hold in her mind, Steve continues nonchalantly.

“…unless you want it to.”

Natasha doesn’t respond. Her jaw sets just slightly as she stares into her empty mug. Then, with a sigh, she curses herself for even asking Steve.

His words just brought up a flurry of new problems for her.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

She did it again.

She’s doing it again.

What started as a simple spar at your request had quickly escalated—one move leading to another, until she had you pinned flat on the mat. Her knees straddled your hips, hands locking your wrists above your head with effortless control.

You were both breathless, sweat-slicked skin flushed from exertion.

Then you smiled up at her, teeth flashing, that same teasing spark in your eyes that always got under her skin, and Natasha couldn’t look away. Couldn’t think past the heat in her chest. Her gaze dropped, lingering on the curve of your parted lips as you panted beneath her.

And before she could stop herself, she leaned in.

The kiss wasn’t hesitant this time. It was hungry, claiming, as if making up for every second she hadn’t let herself think about the feel of your lips since that night on the couch. Her grip loosened, hands sliding from your wrists to your sides, fingertips brushing over the sliver of skin just above your waistband.

Like before, you didn’t pull away.

Instead, your arms curled around her shoulders, pulling her closer with a quiet urgency. 

Her mouth moved against yours again, and again—slow, deliberate, until your breath caught and you exhaled her name in a moan that made something in her pulse stutter.

“Natasha…”

Her name on your lips.

It cracked through the haze like a whip.

And she freezes.

Reality slams back in, fast and merciless. 

Natasha pulls away suddenly, breathing hard as her eyes search yours. Her hands lift, hovering like she wasn’t sure where to place them anymore.

“Shit,” she mutters, shaken. “I’m—I’m sorry.”

You blink at her, dazed and confused, lips still parted.

But before you can say anything, the door slides open.

“Damn,” Sam’s voice calls out as he steps into the training room, towel slung over his shoulder. He pauses at the sight, then lets out a low whistle and smirks.

“Give her a break, Romanoff. She’s already red in the face.”

Natasha straightens back instinctively, only to realize the flush on your face wasn’t from exertion.

You let out a breath of laughter, dragging a hand through your hair. 

“I’m fine,” you say, voice light, easy. “She didn’t do anything wrong.”

Your palm lightly taps Natasha’s thigh—a subtle, casual cue.

She blinks at you, still hovering above, startled by how calmly you are taking all of this. Then she shifts, climbing off with fluid grace, but her mind still reels. 

Why weren’t you reacting differently? Why were you acting like what just happened between you two was normal for friends?

You push yourself to your feet and turn to offer your hand down to her.

Without hesitation, she takes it.

Your grip is warm and steady as you help her up. Before she can say anything, you brush your hand over her shoulder, flicking away the dust from your earlier scuffle. Then, like it was the most natural thing in the world, you pat her cheek twice, a gentle, reassuring touch.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” you repeat, softer this time.

And then you walk off coolly and composed, leaving her standing there.

Staring.

Processing.

“What the hell…” Natasha mutters under her breath.

Sam moves beside her, picking up a dumbbell nonchalantly like he hadn’t just walked in on something.

“Hey, Sam?” she asks, still staring after you. 

“Yeah?”

“Friends can kiss, right?” she asks. “Like… that’s a normal thing friends do sometimes?”

Sam pauses mid-curl and turns to look at her with a slow grin. 

“What kind of friends you got, Romanoff?” he chuckles. “’Cause I’d love an introduction.”

Natasha doesn’t respond.

Her eyes are still locked on the door you disappeared through, her thoughts a whirlwind of tangled lines she couldn’t figure out how or if she wanted to untangle.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

The movie plays on, its flickering light casting soft shadows across the darkened room. But Natasha isn’t watching it.

She’s trying to. Or at least pretending to.

Her eyes are on the screen, but her mind drifts, tangled in thoughts she can’t quite sort through. The question loops endlessly in her head like a broken reel.

Can friends kiss? Should friends kiss? Did it mean anything?

You shift slightly beside her, and the motion draws her out of the haze. Then comes a soft sound—a small yawn, muffled behind your hand. 

Natasha glances down at you.

Your head rests gently against her shoulder, your body curled comfortably into the side of hers. You’ve been like that for most of the movie—close, warm, familiar. Nothing new for the two of you. 

But now, it feels different. Everything feels different.

She tilts her head toward you slightly. 

“We can stop here if you want,” she offers, her voice low. “You’re tired.”

You shake your head with a sleepy smile, eyes barely open. 

“It’s fine. It’s almost finished anyway.”

Natasha studies your face for a moment longer, searching for something beneath your words. Then she relaxes, leaning her head against yours again, letting the rhythm of your breathing soothe her.

But only a few minutes pass before she feels your body grow heavier against her, your breath evening out. She shifts subtly to glance at you, and sure enough, your eyes are closed, mouth slightly parted in sleep.

A quiet exhale escapes her lips.

She lets the laptop finish playing the credits, then carefully reaches over to close it, setting it on the nightstand without disturbing you too much.

As she leans back again, her eyes linger on you, peaceful and completely unaware of the storm still quietly waging inside her.

She hesitates.

You’d probably sleep better in your own bed. Less risk of a sore neck.

“Hey,” she whispers, brushing her fingers lightly against your arm to wake you. “Want me to carry you to your room?”

You stir, eyes fluttering open, still half-lost in sleep. You look up at her, your gaze soft and unguarded.

“Can I sleep here?”

Natasha stills.

The way your face is tilted toward hers makes her heart stutter. You’re so close, lips parted slightly, your breath warm against her cheek.

Her fingers tighten against the sheets.

She should say no. But she doesn’t.

“…Sure,” she says instead, voice barely audible.

You smile in that sleepy, content way that always makes her chest ache, and shift to lie back more fully on the bed, your head finding the pillow beside hers like it’s always belonged there.

Natasha stays seated for a moment, just watching you. Studying the soft lines of your expression. The trust etched so easily into every part of you.

Then your eye cracks open, lazy and amused, and you pat the empty space beside you.

“Come on,” you murmur. “You should sleep too.”

Natasha swallows.

She moves beneath the covers slowly, cautiously, like the sheets might burn her. The moment her weight settles, you immediately scoot closer, nuzzling into the curve of her body with a comfort that’s almost too much.

She freezes.

Her arms hover mid-air, unsure where to land. Her instincts war with her confusion about the situation.

But then you sigh softly, and it eases something in her. She lets her arms wrap around you, tentatively at first, then fully. Her hand rests lightly against your back.

Your body fits against hers like it was always meant to.

Her heart beats too loud. Her thoughts race too fast.

But your breathing, soft and steady, grounds her.

You’re not overthinking this. You’re not avoiding eye contact or spiraling like she is. You’re just there. 

Maybe she is overreacting.

So she presses her lips to the top of your head, just barely a kiss, light and reverent.

And tells herself it’s fine.

That it’s just something friends do.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

The corridor outside the tech lab is mostly quiet, the hum of machinery muffled behind glass walls. Natasha had only meant to drop by to check on some routine data upload from her last mission, but she slows as she rounds the corner and catches sight of you through the glass.

You’re leaning against the counter in the lab, your stance relaxed, familiar. A quiet, polite smile plays on your lips as you speak to one of the newer lab techs, who is a little awkward in their stance and clearly trying to flirt.

Natasha pauses at the entrance, something instinctual anchoring her in place. 

“I just figured,” the technician says, nervously fidgeting with their hands, “maybe we could grab a coffee sometime?”

Natasha blinks. Her fingers tighten unconsciously around the datapad in her hand.

You let out a soft chuckle, not unkind. 

“That’s sweet,” you say, your tone warm but edged with gentle finality, “but I’m actually already seeing someone.”

Natasha frowns, her heart skipping heavily.

Since when?

The lab tech falters only slightly, nodding good-naturedly.

“Ah. No worries. It was worth a shot.”

“We could still be friends,” you offer kindly.

They chuckle lightly as they gather their things, nodding in agreement.

“Well, if they mess up,” the tech jokes, “you know where to find me.”

You smile again, a brief lift of your brow.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

They leave, footsteps fading down the hall.

Natasha stays frozen for a beat longer, her brain racing as she tries to understand. A strange, unfamiliar tightness lingers in her chest, something sharp and green and burning low.

Why didn’t you ever tell her you were seeing someone?

The question echoes through her like a bruise, throbbing harder the longer she thinks about it.

A few seconds pass before she finally moves, stepping into view from where she’d been half-hidden around the corner. Her approach is quiet, boots soft on the tile, but you look up at the sound anyway.

“Nat, hey,” you greet, still casual, like you hadn’t just said something that made her stomach drop unexpectedly.

Natasha crosses her arms across her chest.

“Were you ever going to introduce me to them?”

You blink at her, brow furrowing.

“Who?”

“The person you’re seeing.”

There’s a flicker of confusion in your expression, your head tilting slightly as if trying to piece together something obvious that you’ve somehow missed.

“That’d be…difficult,” you answer slowly.

Her heart skips again—this time not from surprise, but from something closer to hurt. 

“Why?” she presses, a little sharper now. “You don’t want them to meet your friends?”

Your mouth parts slightly. You study her, eyes narrowing faintly, not in anger, but in realization. 

“Is that what you are?” you ask quietly. “Just my friend?”

Natasha hesitates. Her arms tighten around herself, defensive.

“I thought I was,” she says with a shrug that tries too hard to be casual.

The silence that follows isn’t long, but it feels like it stretches forever.

You nod slowly, the movement small and almost imperceptible. 

“Right,” you murmur. “My mistake.”

And even though you smile, easy and familiar, there’s a flicker behind it. Something small and wounded that vanishes just as quickly as it appears. Like it costs a little more this time to offer it.

“I thought we were something more.”

Natasha’s lips part in stunned silence.

You shake your head slightly, not in denial, just…regret. 

“I’m sorry for the misunderstanding.”

Before she can find her voice, before she can reach out and ask what you mean—what she means to you—you step past her.

“I’ve got to prep for my mission,” you say quietly. “I’ll see you after, Nat.”

And then you’re gone.

The hallway seems impossibly still.

Natasha doesn’t move.

She just stands there, frozen in place, her eyes still on the space where you’d been just seconds ago.

I thought we were something more.

The words echo in her chest like a hollow ring of glass about to break.

Natasha presses a hand lightly to her sternum, as if she could push the ache away.

But it lingers. Deep and burning.

She knew it.

She knows it now more than ever.

Friends don’t kiss.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

The hangar is nearly silent at this hour, long past the time anyone should still be awake.

But Natasha is.

She leans against a metal railing in the far corner of the bay, arms crossed loosely, her mind racing in quiet loops. The empty stretch of concrete around her does little to ease the restless energy in her body. She’s been replaying your last conversation for hours now, trying to decipher what it meant, what you meant.

The distant hum of turbines pulls her attention up.

The Quinjet descends slowly, its engines quieting as it settles onto the landing pad. Her spine straightens involuntarily. She catches herself smoothing her palm against her thigh, like she’s bracing for something.

The ramp lowers with a hiss, and then there you are.

You spot her the moment you step down.

Your steps falter just a bit, surprised but not displeased. Your expression shifts into something soft and unreadable before you offer a faint smile.

“Hey,” you greet lightly. “You’re still up?”

Natasha picks up on the subtle wariness in your voice. Not distrust, just a layer of confusion she knows she put there.

“I wanted to talk,” she says, quieter now, her arms unfolding slightly. “If that’s okay.”

You pause. Then, after a breath, you nod.

“Yeah… we probably should’ve had this talk before I went around thinking we were something other than friends,” you joke, a little self-deprecating, but not cruel.

Natasha winces, her mouth twitching. She knows she earned that.

You exhale and tilt your head toward the hallway. 

“Come on. Let’s talk in my room. I need to get this mission stink off me.”

She follows without hesitation, grateful for the return of your usual teasing tone.

“Yeah, you do,” she quips back.

You gasp in mock offense, throwing a look over your shoulder. 

“Wow. Brutal honesty? No mercy, huh?”

Natasha just smirks. “Would you prefer lies?”

“Only the flattering kind,” you call as you enter your room.

Natasha follows in after you with a small chuckle. She sits at the edge of your bed, hands in her lap, waiting as you disappear into your bathroom. She hears the rush of water from the shower and feels oddly tense like she’s waiting for a mission to start, but this one requires emotional precision she hasn’t quite mastered.

When the bathroom door finally opens, and you emerge, a towel draped around your shoulders, skin still damp and fresh from the steam, Natasha’s thoughts short-circuit for a moment.

Her gaze catches on the curve of your neck, the soft line of your collarbone—

She tears her eyes away, scolding herself silently.

This is exactly how things got so muddled.

You shoot her an amused look as you dry your hair with the towel. 

“You gonna stare all night or talk?”

Natasha clears her throat, suddenly focused on her hands again. 

“Right. Sorry. I just…wanted to ask something.”

You toss the towel aside as you nod.

“Ask away.”

She hesitates. 

“Why…why did you think we were dating?”

You blink, surprised at the question. Then you let out a soft breath and sit beside her on the bed.

“Well,” you begin, voice easy but edged with a thread of honesty, “months ago, you asked me to go to the Avengers Festival with you. We spent the whole day together. Just us.”

“I thought you’d enjoy it,” Natasha replies quietly.

“I did. And I was even more excited when I thought you were asking me out on a date.”

You glance at her, gauging her reaction.

Natasha’s lips press into a thin line. 

“Only it wasn’t… to me.”

“Right,” you say, a hint of disappointment in your tone before you continue with a sigh. “But then you invited me to that new restaurant for dinner the next night.”

“You mentioned it once. I thought you’d want to go.”

“I did mention it. To Wanda. I didn’t expect you to remember something I had said in passing.”

Natasha lowers her gaze. 

“I do,” she murmurs.

You smile faintly. 

“Then came movie nights. Every week. Just us.”

“You hadn’t seen any of the classics. I thought it’d be fun.”

“And it was,” you say before teasingly adding as you lightly nudge her shoulders. “Especially learning you know all the lines.”

There’s a pause. Then your voice softens.

“Then…you kissed me.”

Natasha’s breath catches.

“Twice,” you continue.

Her eyes flick to yours.

“Three times,” you correct with a small smile, “if we’re counting the one where you got nervous and bailed halfway through, settling for the top of my head instead when you thought I was asleep.”

Natasha swallows, stunned into silence.

“Well?” you ask gently. “You gonna explain? Because last time I checked…”

You shift toward her, slow and deliberate.

“…friends don’t kiss.”

She searches for an answer. Any answer. But none of them feel true. Not the ones she told herself, not the ones that let her avoid the real thing.

“These past days I've been trying to convince myself that kissing didn’t have to mean anything,” Natasha admits, voice small. “That I could just…”

She trails off.

“Avoid what you actually felt?” you offer, your tone gentle, not accusatory.

She meets your eyes then, and something in her cracks. 

“Maybe I just didn’t want to admit I wanted something more. Because if I did…and you didn’t…”

“I did,” you interrupt softly.

Your hand lifts to her hair, your fingers brushing a few loose strands back, tucking them gently behind her ear.

“I do.”

Her breath trembles.

You stroke her cheek with your thumb, grounding her.

“No more mixed signals, Nat,” you say with a playful edge, though your eyes are sincere. “You’re gonna have to be more direct, or I’ll start thinking I made it all up.”

She doesn’t hesitate this time. Her hands slide to your waist as she pulls you closer, steady and sure.

“Tomorrow night…will you go out with me?” she murmurs.

You grin, raising a brow.

“On a date?”

She nods, smiling now too.

“On a date.”

You lean your forehead against hers.

“Then I’d love to.”

There’s a beat of stillness, warmth blooming in the quiet between you. Then Natasha’s gaze flicks behind you toward the bed and back at you, one brow rising.

“Can I stay here tonight?”

You raise an amused brow.

“You sure that’s a good idea?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

You smirk playfully.

“Because, in case you’re unsure…” you whisper, tilting your head closer to hers. “…friends don’t typically sleep with each other either.”

Natasha’s eyes sparkle, a soft smile forming on her face.

“Then it’s a good thing,” she says, drawing you in, her voice a low murmur at your lips, “that we’re not just friends anymore.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

a/n: a little something as I procrastinate on my series 😅 thank you for reading!

[jazziejax]

𝐉𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐧 𝐈𝐕 *𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - Modern AU | Elias ‘Stack’ Moore x Black!OC & Elijah ‘Smoke’ Moore | Modern AU

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 - Things get a little heated between Smoke and Juicy…more than once. But it’s also kind of cute.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - Mild sensual tension, soft dom undertones, food play(??), suggestive dialogue, light language. (let me know if I missed any!)

𝐉𝐚𝐳𝐳𝐢𝐞’𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 - this was honestly just something cute after all the love from my last chapter. If you guys keep it up with the feedback, trust, you’ll get more and more chapters out of me. ALSO, before you even start, this is heavily out of character. Halfway through, I realized this is more Stack coded and unless you’re nit-picky like me, it might not bother you. If you are, just close your eyes and imagine this is Smoke without all the trauma. I hope you guys enjoy! Sorry for the grammar mistakes and spelling errors!!

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 5,966+

𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐨𝐧, 𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢 | 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟎𝟎𝟑

Ever since that day after the skating rink, ever since the kiss they shared on her porch, Juicy had been over the moon whenever it came to Elijah Moore. Simply seeing him made a huge smile appear on the girls face, and though they hadn’t really agreed on what they were, even talked about it really, they were less than subtle.

Their eyes met every time the other entered the room, with stares that said more than they knew. Their lingering touches went untied, but they each felt the connection that seared between them. Their laughs were shared as usual, but there was a softness behind them that wasn’t there before.

They were not different. They were still the same.

But now new feelings were in the mix and things had started to shift into something more. Something more longing. Something more…lustful.

It first started after a long day Juicy and Mary working during the hair salon rush, she and Smoke sit on the porch alone. Stack was on her couch, asleep after the meal she and Sinclair made, and Mary was at home, getting ready for a date. Juicy was tired, barefoot, her legs in his lap while she eats from a bowl of peaches she’d sliced earlier.

Smoke watches her, his thumb brushing over the soft skin of her ankle.

“Why are you eatin’ like that?” He asked, and his voice was a bit hoarse from not speaking for a while, and now that he did.

“Like what?” The girl questioned, just before she slurped an another peach slice into her mouth.

“Like you tryna drive me crazy, girl.” He responded, causing her face to heat up at his innuendo. She let out a small laugh, but her voice is breathier than she means.

Ever since their kiss, sly comments like that have been having more of an impact on her than before. At first, she’d simply blush with a small laugh as she tried not to let her mind race, but now, she had this primal urge to pounce on him whenever she saw him, and his words didn’t make it any better.

Feeling bold, she leans forward, with the objective to feed him one of her slices and maybe say something as suggestive in response. But, just like that, his face was in bed from hers. And the world seemed to still around them as her breath got caught in her throat.

She slowly raised her fork to his lips, the dripping fruit leaking into the bowl she held up under his chin. Her eyes flickered from his intense eyes that never left her, and the fruit hanging between them.

He didn’t open his mouth until the peach was rubbed against his plump lip, and Juicy wanted to clench his legs as she watched his long tongue peek out as he took the fruit into his mouth.

He was barely done chewing before they were both leaning in, their eyes closed. And when their lips touched,she couldn’t help but think that the peach tastes way better on his lips. It wasn’t until he his tongue graced her lips didn’t she pull back from the kiss, an overwhelming feeling taking over her.

But Smoke took it as something else. He simply nodded before speaking gently. “Whenever you ready.” He said, his large hands subconsciously rubbing at her leg.

And Juicy simply continued eating her peaches, though they seemed a little closer now. And that moment stayed between them, warm and glowing like the sun touching her skin.

And those moments became more bold as time went on. Tension rose, feelings peaked and moments lingered.

The overhead bell of the Crown & Glory Beauty Supply store jingled softly as Smoke pushed the glass door open. It was dead in the store—just the faint buzz of an old fan rattling from a corner and a box TV in the top corner playing 106 & Park on low. The air-conditioning was working overtime, but it still couldn’t keep up with the summer heat beating against the glass windows. It was hot outside—real hot—the kind of heat that made everybody move just a little slower.

Juicy was behind the counter, leaning over a fashion magazine with a chewed-up pen between her fingers, glasses low on her nose, lips glossed just enough to look edible. It was new, a sparkly peach color that had a bit of flavor. He’d know, he’d tasted it when she first bought it.

Her hair was up in a messy up do, a slightly puffy roller set that was in need of a redo by her standards, with two curls escaping at the front to frame her face. She wore her name on a gold necklace and a cherry red tank top that clung to every curve like a second skin. She looked up when she heard the door, and saw Smoke stepping inside, her whole expression shifted—eyes bright, mouth soft, body leaning back with that familiar little grin she always tried to bite back.

“You ain’t supposed to be here.” She said, but there was no real protest in her voice. Only that teasing lilt he had grown addicted to. “You might make me forget I’m on the clock.”

Smoke grinned and held up a white plastic bag with ‘Thank you’ plastered over the front. “What if I said I brought you lunch?”

Juicy’s stomach answered before she could, and she rolled her eyes, laughing as she grabbed her little purse from under the counter. “Let me tell Keisha I’m takin’ my lunch break before you turn me into a damn stereotype.” Smoke chuckled low as he watched her lean over the little half-door to call into the back. “Keish! I’m takin’ my lunch now. I’ll be back in thirty.”

“You got forty-five.” Keisha called back. “But only if you bring me a pineapple soda.”

Juicy didn’t answer, just gave Smoke a playful side-eye as she walked out from behind the counter and toward the door, hips swaying with nothing but pure temptation in her denim shorts. “Come on, Mr. Delivery Boy.” She said as she passed him, while Smoke watched her as she licked his lips.

The sun hit them hard the moment they stepped outside. Smoke held the door open to his cutlass for her, parked just under the shade of a half dead oak tree off center of the stores entrance. The inside smelled like Black Ice air freshener and a little bit like him, clean clothes, cologne, and something vaguely minty.

He slid into the drivers seat and handed her the paper bag before she’d even fully shuffled into her seat. She took it, eyes wide with creepy delight, already knowing what he’d gotten her. Smoke helped her take the food out, and held the white Styrofoam to-go plate like an offering. “Figured you’d forget to eat. Got you the ten piece lemon pepper from Dock’s.”

Juicy blinked, then her lips parted in a slow grin. “You got me the good fries?”

“Seasoned and crispy. Just how you like it.”

“Mmm.” She reached out for the plate and brushed his fingers as she took it, her nails freshly done in that glittery nude pink he noticed last night when they were tangled up on her bed whispering secrets into each other’s necks. “You’re spoiling me.” She said with a little smirk, already opening the box and letting the smell take her over. “You’re gonna make me expect this every shift.” She said as she grabbed a fork to pick her fries.

Smoke leaned back in his seat, his eyes taking her in without shame. “Maybe I like spoilin’ you.”

Juicy tried not to blush, but it came anyway, spreading warm and rosy across her cheeks. She sat back in the passenger seat and picked at the fries first, licking the Cajun salt from her fingertips like she didn’t know it was killing him slowly. Smoke leaned back and watched her pick at the wings, the smell of zesty spice thick in the car. She took one bite and hummed.

“I swear, this might be better than sex.” She said with a mother full.

He arched a brow, watching the way she licked her fingers. “Might?” He questioned.

She smirked and didn’t answer, reaching for a fry instead.

For a while, they sat in easy silence. The windows were cracked just enough to let the summer breeze tease its way in. Smoke tapped a beat against the steering wheel while Luther Vandross’s ‘Take You Out’ played low from the stereo.

They hadn’t exactly told any one of their…relationship, yet. That much was understood without it needing to be said. Not Mary, not Stack, and definitely not Martin, needed to know about why they had going on. It wasn’t out of shame—at least not for Juicy. It was protection. Privacy. It was not wanting to hear her brother’s mouth or deal with Mary’s need for graphic detail or the way girls in the neighborhood would start watching her.

Smoke didn’t push. He never did. He just kept showing up.

At the end of her shift last time, he’d been parked out front with the windows down and Aaliyah playing low, just waiting to walk her to her car. The time before that, they sat in the backseat of his Cutlass for thirty minutes saying goodbye with their mouths and not a single word. His hands had found the small of her back, the inside of her thigh, the curve of her neck. None of it was ever rushed. He was always asking for permission with touch alone.

Now, watching her eat, he had to stuff his hands into his pockets to keep from reaching out.

“How long you got left?” He asked.

“’Til six. Bianca’s mom coming to drop off some things, and I gotta tag ‘em and put ‘em up front.” She took another bite from a wing, eyes fluttering as she chewed. “This so good. I should slap you.” She hummed.

“You wanna slap me?” He teased, leaning in just a bit. “What happened to all that lovin’ from the other night?”

Juicy’s eyes met his as she sipped from the stare of her cup, and for a moment, everything else went quiet. The radio, the passing car, even the hum of the air conditioning within the vehicle.

“You keep bringin’ me food and walkin’ me to my car like some gentleman, you can get some lovin’ alright.”She said softly, lips curving into a grin. “You gon’ mess around and make me soft, Smoke.” She pouted, faking annoyance with him.

“Maybe I want that.” Smoke said, his voice low, head tilted. “You already soft in all the right places.” He smirked, his head tilted as he looked her up and down.

Juicy didn’t know how to respond to that, she just looked at him for a long second. Her eyes were deep brown, like pools of warm syrup, and they narrowed just enough to let him know she was feeling it.

“Anyway.” She said, turning her eyes back to her plate. “You don’t gotta keep doing all this.”

Smoke leaned closer, his hand sliding across the center console to tap her wrist. “You don’t want me to?”

Juicy’s lips parted just enough to suck in a breath. “I didn’t say that.” She murmured.

He gave her a crooked smile, one that pulled slow and easy like honey off the spoon.

“Then hush and eat.”

She smiled like she couldn’t help herself. “You gon’ wait here until I’m off?” She asked, playing with a fry.

“Maybe.” He said before glancing at his gold watch. “Maybe I’ll wait outside. Or maybe I’ll go nap and come back. But I’ll be here.”

Juicy rolled her eyes, but it didn’t match the quiet joy stretching across her face. “You need to stop acting like we go together.” She said, letting her impulsive thoughts win as typed with him.

Smoke leaned closer, voice brushing her ear. “Oh, we don’t?” He questioned, already knowing what game the bratty girl was trying to play with him, so he decided to play a different one.

She paused, the bite of her fry halfway to her mouth. Her lips twitched again, this time with something softer—something unsure but open. “Boy, go on somewhere.” She whispered, turning her eyes away from him.

But he stayed right there. Watching her eat. Watching her smile. Watching her pretend like they weren’t already wrapped up in something they couldn’t name yet—but it was definitely felt.

“Oh, I can’t be on your space now?” He questioned, leaning a bit closer over the console, his eyes trailing her face. “This my car, I can be where I want.”

“You’re gonna smell my breath, Smoke, move.” Juicy said, leaning away from him a bit, just as he was trying to trial his lips closer to her.

He didn’t flinch. “So?”

“My breath probably smells. And that fruit punch ain’t made it no better.” She said, looking over at him, her hand over her mouth as if to block the smell from reaching him. Smoke simply started into her eyes, the only thing he could see over her hands. His eye bounced between hers as he leaned a little closer, voice dropping. “Still wanna taste it.”

Juicy’s whole body went still, the corner of her lips twitching like she was fighting something. She turned to face him fully, one leg tucked under her. “You are real bold today, huh?” She questioned, letting her hand drop.

Smoke leaned in more, his palm resting on the back of her seat, his eyes locked onto her mouth. “You been sneakin’ around with me in parking lots and empty rooms for how many days now?” He retorted. “It ain’t about being bold, baby.”

She didn’t answer, only nipped at her bottom lip.

“You lettin’ me touch all up on you, makin’ me wait just to kiss you again…”

“You already kissed me.” She said, soft as a confession.

“Yeah.” He said, his thumb now brushing against her jawline. “But it ain’t enough. Not when I think about it every time you walk away from me.”

Juicy’s eyes fluttered closed for a half-second, the tension so thick it hung in the car like fog.

She opened her eyes again, and they were darker now, shaded in lust and something tender. “I’m really feelin’ you, Smoke.” She murmured. “I just don’t want nobody in my business yet. Not my brother, not Mary, nobody. Not ‘til I know this is real.”

Smoke nodded slowly. “Then let me show you it is.”

He leaned in again—closer this time—and just before their lips met, she pulled back and covered her mouth with her hand.

“Wait, wait, wait.” She said, laughing softly. “I told you. My breath probably smells like lunch.”

Smoke smirked. “I told you. I don’t care.”

Then he kissed her.

Soft at first, warm and slow, like a question he already knew the answer to. Juicy melted into it, her hand slipping behind his neck, her lips parting without hesitation. He kissed her like he’d been waiting since the rink, since the last car meetup, since every sideways glance and half-second pause between them.

She sighed into him, her body turning so her knee brushed his thigh, and his hand slid down to her waist, tugging her closer. Her fries were forgotten on the dash, the radio hummed on, and somewhere in the distance, construction work buzzed—but all she could focus on was the way his fingers pressed into her hip, the heat of his mouth, the way he kissed her like she was his favorite food and he was starving.

By the time they pulled apart, her lip gloss was gone and her heart was racing.

Smoke looked at her, thumb brushing the side of her face like she was fragile, like he was still tasting her.

“Is that real enough for you, Juicy?”

She caught her breath, smirk tugging at her lips.

“It’s a start.” She said cheekily.

Smoke laughed, low and warm, already leaning in again.

And outside, the sun beat on the windows, heavy and golden, while Aaliyah’s voice floated from the tiny TV in the corner:

“Boy, I’ve been watching you like a hawk in the sky…”

The next time was about a week later, and they were sort of high off not seeing each other for a minute.

The house was quiet. The kind that came only when the day had finally exhaled. A low hum from the box fan in the corner of her room carried through the walls, but otherwise, silence blanketed the place like the thick heat outside.

Tyson was down for bed, knocked out cold after a long afternoon of playing with his toy dinosaurs, goldfish crackers, and singing Whitney Houston songs off-key around the house. Sinclair was out on a date with some boy guy, and Martin was God-knows-where, probably laid up with the flavor of the week. The house was Juicy’s for the night, and she’d planned to take full advantage of that.

She had just slipped into her favorite silk moomoo—champagne-pink and ultra soft, loose fitting but clinging in just the right places while letting everything else breathe. Her legs were smooth, freshly shaven and moisturized, and her roller set was tightly secured beneath a silk, butter-colored scarf. Her room smelled like bag champa incense and cocoa butter, a familiar blend of calm and comfort. The lights were dim, casting a warm amber glow from her bedside lamp. Juicy glanced at the clock. 10:46 p.m.

She was leaning over her nightstand, lighting a second stick of incense when a sharp tap-tap at the window made her jump.

Her heart stuttered.

Wide-eyed, she turned slowly, suspicious, hand hovering near her dresser drawer where she kept her little knife—just in case. Another knock followed, softer this time. She crept toward the window, staying low, her silk moomoo brushing against the floor as she moved. She peeked between the slats of her blinds and gasped.

Smoke.

Standing outside her window, straight faced, his stature intense as if he could see through the blinds. His gold chain glinted under the streetlight, and he lifted his hand in a slow wave, eyes locked on hers.

Juicy let out a tiny squeal, panicking. “Oh my God,” she whispered to herself, yanking the curtain closed.

Her room turned dark again, but her mind was racing. She spun around, clutching her moomoo. Why tonight? Why when she had her scarf on, her rollers showing through the wrap? She felt so exposed, caught mid-transformation. She wasn’t cute, she wasn’t ready.

She paced, muttering, “Why the hell would he come tonight? I look crazy…” She was in distress.

Then, from outside, his voice cut through the quiet.

“I’ve already seen you in your rollers.” He said, cool and calm, like he was talking with his lips pressed against her skin instead of standing on the other side of a pane of glass. “Open the window, Juicy.”

She froze. Could he hear me? She thought.

Her breath was caught in her throat, somewhere between embarrassment and excitement. Then, with a soft curse and a helpless little pout, she padded back over to the window and lifted it with a quiet creak. A second later, Smoke was climbing through like some bad-ass high school boyfriend in a ’80s movie. It seems easy and he seemed unbothered, like he’d done it a hundred times before.

His feet touched down on her carpet and his eyes immediately swept over her.

“Damn.” He said, voice a little lower now. “You always look good, but this right here? Yeah…this different.” He said, his tongue peeking out to trace over his bottom lip.

Juicy crossed her arms, suddenly shy. “Don’t start…” She warned.

“I’m serious.” He said, taking a slow step closer. “I don’t know why you hidin’ from me like I ain’t seen you in a bonnet before.”

“This ain’t no bonnet.” She said, fussing gently, cheeks warm. “This a roller set. Whole different level of ugly.”

He chuckled. “Ugly where?”

“You’re blind, Smoke.”

“Nah.” He said, taking her hand. “I see just fine.”

And that was all it took for her shoulders to drop a little, her nerves to settle into something soft and warm.

She turned from him to straighten her bed, trying to keep her hands busy. “And now what’s given you the gall to show up this time of night?”

“Ain’t nobody home but you and the baby.” He said, settling onto the edge of her bed. “And he sleep, ain’t he?”

“Yeah, but you know how Sinclair be. If she find out you was over here this late, she gon’ tell everybody and they mama.”

Smoke leaned back on his palms, his chain sliding against his chest. “Then I guess we better be quiet.”

Juicy turned slowly to face him, chin lifted in that defiant little way she always did when she was trying to keep herself from melting. “Smoke…” She trailed off, trying not to grin as she fluffed the pillow, avoiding his eyes. “I’m serious.”

“I missed you.” He said, voice dipping again as she changed the subject. And by the way he rushed it out, it’s been meaning to come off his tongue since he first laid eyes on her. “Been runnin’ all week, tryna get shit done with Stack. I been thinkin’ ‘bout you, though. How you sound.” He began, his hands trailing over to her, pulling her closer by the fabric of her gown. “How you taste.” His raised his hand to light grace over her lips, which were buttered in chapstick. “How you make them little sounds when I kiss on that spot right there…” He reached up and brushed his fingers gently along the side of her neck.

Juicy shivered, tucking her neck a bit. “You can’t keep doin’ this…” She mumbled with a small pout.

“Doin’ what?”

“Showin’ up late, and sayin’ stuff that makes me forget why I said you couldn’t come over in the first place.”

He grinned slowly, a look Juicy knew was dangerous. “Then don’t say I can’t come over.” He shrugged, as if it was such a simple solution.

She rolled her eyes but her smile gave her away. “You get on my nerves.”

Smoke stood and stepped toward her, closing the small gap between them. “Good.” He said, hands sliding to her waist. “Then you gon’ really hate this.”

He leaned in slow, lips almost brushing hers when she suddenly pulled back a little, nose scrunching up.

“Wait.” She whispered, laughing nervously. “I just brushed my teeth…”

Smoke paused, then smirked.

“And?”

“And that’s nasty!”

“I don’t care if your breath smell like hot dogs at a block party.” He said, lowering his voice. “I still want it.”

She let out a laugh, hand lightly pushing at his chest. “Oh, you’re nasty.”

Then he kissed her, something warm and deep. And just like that, they melted.

The kiss grew, slow but intense, their bodies pressing close, her silk moomoo whispering as it moved between them. It deepened naturally, his hands resting gently on her waist while hers slid around his neck. His hands roamed gently, not grabbing but holding onto her he was trying to memorize every curve. Juicy kissed him back, one hand curling around the back of his neck, the other resting softly on his chest.

The incense smoke curled around them.

His touch was slow, reverent, but had an unmistakable heat underneath them. When he backed her against the dresser, one hand sliding along the small of her back, she gasped softly, then caught her breath in his mouth.

Her silk moomoo slipped between his fingers like water.

The incense kept burning. Outside, the world kept spinning, but inside that room, it was just the two of them, quiet and tangled, while suspended in heat and candlelight. They stayed locked in that moment, breath against breath, a love they weren’t ready to explain yet.

Eventually, Juicy pulled away, breathing a little harder, her lips kiss-swollen, eyes heavy and breath barely above a whisper. “You better go.” She whispered. “I don’t stay too long. You know I gotta be up early.”

Smoke rested his forehead against hers. “I ain’t stayin’. Just needed to see you.”

She brushed her fingers across his cheek. “I know.”

Then he kissed her once more before he turned to the window. But before he left, he glanced back at her over his shoulder and grinned. “You look real good in that, you know. Like, a housewife or some, might have to get you another.”

Juicy couldn’t fight her grin as she grabbed her pillow and threw it at him, laughing softly. “Get out, boy.”

He caught it easily, flashed a smirk before he tossed it back at her, and disappeared out the window into the thick summer night. Leaving Juicy standing in her incense filled, candle lit room, heart thudding against her moomoo, smiling like a woman who had it bad.

And then there were the soft moments between them neither questioned.

Two days later, the sun hung high in the sky, casting golden light over the neighborhood as Juicy walked over to Stack and Smoke’s place with a plastic bag hanging from her hand. She held Missy’s peach cobbler mingling with the buttery scent of her famous pecan pie. Tucked beneath it were still-warm containers from Sinclair cooking—fried catfish, cabbage, and macaroni and cheese with a crunchy, golden crust.

Juicy had just planned to drop it off. She assumed both men were home—maybe out back playing dominoes or arguing over the game on TV. So she didn’t bother calling, didn’t reapply her lip gloss, didn’t even leave with the intention of staying long. She had plans with Mary, anyway, to get their nails done and gossip.

But inside of the More residence, the house was cool and still, carrying the faint scent of weed and linen spray. The blinds were turned just enough to let in slats of warm afternoon light, stretching across the hardwood like tiger stripes. It was one of the rare days Stack wasn’t home—off somewhere chasing money or women or both—and the place felt too quiet without his usual loud presence. Smoke didn’t liked it that way.

But there was nothing he could do about it, so he had just settled on the couch, a blunt half-rolled between his fingers, when a soft knock landed on the front door.

He knew that knock. And he was giddy about it before even getting up, though his face didn't really show it.

When he opened the door, there she was. His Juicy, dressed in a fitted white tank top and jeans that hugged her hips just right, gold earrings swaying gently with every movement and and her baby fat belly peeking out proudly, crowned by a ruby-studded belly ring that glinted in the sun. She held a little plastic grocery bag in her hand like she was just dropping something off, like she hadn't planned this.

When Juicy knocked, she expected Stack’s voice booming through the door or both of them calling out to her. But instead, it was Smoke who opened it—shirtless, as usual, his chain glinting in the light and his black durag still on.

“Oh.” She said, blinking.

His lips curved. “Oh?”

“I thought both y’all was here.”

“Nah. Stack out handling something. Just me,” he said, stepping aside and nodding her in. “Come on.”

She hesitated only for a second before stepping into the house. The cool air brushed against her skin, goosebumps rising as the scent of sandalwood and cologne hit her nose. Her skin was glistening from her coco butter later and smelled like brown sugar and his eyes trailed her figure as she walked by.

She set the bag on the kitchen counter and was already turning to leave when she felt him. His presence was close, his body blocking her path without even touching her.

“Where you going?” Smoke asked softly.

Juicy tilted her head, eyes narrowing, but her lips twitched. That voice of his. That low, patient, and just on the edge of coaxing voice, always meant trouble.

“I just came to drop these off.” She said, brushing invisible lint off her shirt. “Mary’s waitin’ on me. We supposed to go get our nails did.”

He didn’t move.

“I want you to fix me a plate.”

Juicy raised a brow. “You want me to fix you your plate?” She repeated, a bit take aback by his audacity.

“I’m hungry.” He said, voice deeper now, eyes still gentle. “Come on, Juicy.” He pleaded.

She let out a breathy laugh, not even bothering to hide her smile now. “Alright, damn. Let me wash my hands.”

In the kitchen, she moved like she’d done it a hundred times before. Opened the cabinets, found the plates without asking, scooped a fat helping of mac and cheese onto a plate, along with some catfish and added a side of cabbage, warmed it up in the microwave all while Smoke leaned against the fridge and watched her with something that looked dangerously close to adoration.

When the microwave dinged, she grabbed a fork, set it on the plate, and handed it to him.

But he didn’t take it.

Instead, he jutted his head before he turned and walked to the living room, flopping back onto the couch with the blunt now behind his ear, juicy following.

When juicy stood there, his plate and fork in her hands, Smoke looked back up at her and then patted the cushion next to him. Juicy narrowed her eyes. “Boy, if you don’t—”

“Come on, Juicy.” He said again, sweet and smooth and far too tempting.

She sighed, rolled her eyes, but made her way over and sat beside him, holding the plate out to him again. But Smoke simply looked over at her again, a rare playful glint in his eyes, and Juicy was rolling her eyes at him before he even opened his mouth.

“You ain’t gon’ feed me?” He asked.

“Boy, what?” She asked, scoffing softly, though her amusement was apparent as she held a small smile at him. Smoke snaked his lips, cutting his eyes at her. “Come on, Juicy.” He said, and his voice was soft but thick with something heavier. Something that sat right beneath the surface and made her heart skip just a little. She stared at him, lips parted, that nervous excitement fluttering in her chest when she noticed how…domesticated this felt and how soft it was. She could feel her body heat rise. He was shirtless, gold chain glinting, and close enough that she could count the lashes on his eyes.

“Okay.” She agreed before she broke a piece of the fish and brought it to his lips. He took it, slow, like he was tasting her fingers as much as the food. She rolled her eyes and fed him a bite of mac and cheese next. He let out a low groan of approval that sent heat curling up her spine.

“You gon’ spoil me.” He murmured between bites.

“Ain’t that what you want?” She asked, smirking.

He looked at her, eyes soft and unreadable. “I want you.”

She cut her eyes to him as she gather food onto the fork and held it in front of his mouth. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Too late.” And they sat down on the couch beside, and she feed him for a while, with the plate and fork in hand. The vibe had shifted into something playful to soft. The television played in the background, an episode of The Sparanos, humming low through the TV speakers.

She fed him fork after fork, laughing when he groaned dramatically at how good the food was, rolling his eyes and leaning back like he couldn’t take it. Juice wiped a bit of hot sauce from the corner of his mouth with her thumb and licked it away.

“You act like you ain’t never ate before.”

“I ain’t never ate like this.” He teased.

When the plate was clean, she started gathering it up, brushing crumbs off her lap. “Alright, I gotta go. Mary gon’ think I stood her up—”

“Hold up.” Smoke said, stretching. “I ain’t get dessert yet.”

“You want dessert?” The girl asked, a bit sassily as she placed her hands on her hip. “Yeah, I want something sweet.”

She rolled her eyes but was smiling too hard to pretend she meant it. “Fine. Pecan pie or cobbler?”

He pointed at her. “You pick.”

“That was the entrée. I want somethin’ sweet.”

She went to the kitchen and cut him a slice of Missy’s pecan pie. This time, she sat closer. Their thighs touched, as she fed him bite after bite while he kept his eyes on her, not the TV. Her fingers brushed his lips as she fed him, and he kissed the pad of her thumb when she wasn’t expecting it.

“Boy, don’t start.”

“I ain’t even done nothin’ yet.”

By the time the plate was clean, they were both smiling and too close. They laughed at something dumb on the screen and Juicy shook her head and almost dropped the fork when Smoke licked a bit of filling off her finger instead of letting her wipe it. “You a mess.” She murmured, but her tone was fond.

He took the plate and set it on the coffee table, then leaned forward, brushing his lips across her jaw before resting his forehead against hers. “Let me take you to Mary’s.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to.”

So she gave in. Of course she did.

She climbed in his car, trying not to smile the whole time. He drove with one hand on the wheel and the other resting on her thigh, slow strokes up and down that kept her distracted the entire ride. The windows down and the radio humming some slow R&B track that made her cheeks warm.

They didn’t talk much—just let the cicadas hum outside and the warm summer breeze float through the cracked window.

When they pulled up in front of Mary’s, she started to unbuckle, but he caught her wrist.

“Hold on.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded stack of bills. She tried to protest, but he shook his head.

“Smoke—”

“Get somethin’ extra. Gel or whatever y’all get.”

“You know I don’t need your money.” She whispered.

“I know. But I want you lookin’ good for me. You not payin’ for your own nails and toes when I’m around. That’s mine now.”

She looked at him, lips parted, unsure whether to argue or melt.

“You always doin’ the most.” She muttered, cheeks hot. And he didn’t answer, he just leaned in and kissed her, deep and slow. It was soft and slow on the cheek, just behind the curve of her jaw, before it moved to her lips. A hand found the small of her back, and before she could fully process the moment, he took a handful of her denim covered bottom into his hand, causing Juicy to let out a small yelp into his mouth. When he pulled back, and she was on her way out of the car, he gave her a light smack her on the bottom as she stepped out of the car. “Go on now, Juicy.”

She stumbled out the car, heart racing, money clutched in her hand, cheeks redder than cherry polish. She let out a tiny squeal and grinned all the way up the walkway. She walked into Mary’s house still smiling.

Mary was in the living room, filing her nails. “What you grinnin’ for?”

Juicy simply let out a sigh, fluttering her eyes to make sure this was still real life. “Don’t worry about it.” She muttered, waving her off. But the grin didn’t fade. Not even a little.

@the2daily4scoop @childishgambinaax @notapradagurl7 @marley1773 @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @synsualsage @wabi-sabi1090 @jackierose902109 @simethingidk @theunsweetenedtruth @blondfortheweekend @nunya7394 @brattyfics @ramp-it-up @afrosandsweatpants @blkandchic @foxybrownsugababe @avoidthings @lovelylocs @thickemadame @greeneggsanpam @blkgirlsneedlove2 @abrienirvana @jojoworldsblog @j0ysyndr0m3 @vile-harlot @inkdrippeddreams @imsohappyilovekbop @bbymuthaaa @susanhill @angryflowerwitch @aliensuperstvr @blackisy2k @the2daily4scoop @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @michifilmz @wabi-sabi1090 @jackierose902109 @ingeniousmindoftune @aesthetic-lyssa @yamst3rdamctrl @vaintya1 @-harmonytbh @heyyimmisunderstood @chrisevansmentee @lewispool @br3nt-12 @pinkpantheris @motheroffae @afroslacks @deethe80senthusiast

[asapeveryday]

noctuary pt.2 - p.b + tlou au

noc·​tu·​ary ˈnäkchəˌwerē

: a collection of a single night's events, thoughts or dreams

--part one

pairing: Paige Bueckers x reader

AU: The Last of Us 2 x Wbb crossover

warnings: canon-typical violence,

synopsis: you meet her on the brink of giving up. she’s suspicious, too nice, too charismatic. you know you should be on guard, but you’ve got nowhere to go, and she’s eager to have nobody to be.

notes: this took me so longggg LMAOO sorry

YOU'D ONLY MANAGED to walk for an hour or so, breathing heavy beneath the dark night, before you couldn’t quite keep up with her through the long grass.

She’d shouldered the two bags, only shedding the occasional grunt when one slipped slightly off of her shoulder. You kept a close eye on her hand, possessively strung over the strap of the luggage you’d almost died for.

You don’t know why you’re so desperate to hold on to it. Maybe a part of you still thinks it could be a ticket out, a secret railroad to safety.

Well, it was hers now. It lost all power the moment you stepped foot on that job.

She turns, stopping for what might be the fourteenth time in the past hour to see how you’re holding up.

The moon is full behind her, solemn light shining around the corners of her body, dancing on the curves of her flexed arms, the trail of her veins, the depressions of every scar across her skin.

“We’re gonna stop here.” She sighs, taking in the sight of your struggle. You were able to walk for the first half hour, but now you’re reduced to a limp again.

Your leg aches with dull pain, blood just barely crusting on the edges of the flayed skin. You try to bite back on the noises, but you’ve already seen the subtle turn of her head here and there, glancing at you through peripheral vision in attempted subtly.

You notice every time. Her stare burns you more than your wound does.

“Here?” You ask, looking around. “In the field?”

“Any better ideas?” She snorts, sliding the backpacks off of her and onto the ground. “Nothing lives here but mice. And ticks, probably. It’s safer than open road, or the forest, that’s for sure.”

You don’t respond, simply watching as she unzips her backpack and pulls out a few items—various flasks of water, fabric wrapped food and a dish rag.

She tosses a flask and the rag over to you before sitting down on the swaying grass. You grab the supplies before backtracking, sitting farther away from her. She raises a brow but says nothing.

Carefully, you pour a small amount of water from the flask onto the rag, and press it to the gash on your leg. Your body shivers from the slight sting.

It doesn’t help that you feel her eyes follow your every motion, from flipping the flask open and shut, to cleaning the blood off of your skin.

When you’re finished your leg looks significantly better. You take a satisfied sip from the flask to clear the parch in your throat, pointedly avoiding her stare.

The grass sways in the summer wind, long except for the bits you and her have stepped on. The sky seems so large from where you’re sitting, the moon practically engulfs you whole.

When you turn your head she’s still staring unabashedly, mouth in half-chew, a soggy looking sandwich in hand.

“Want one?” She asks.

“No.” You shake your head.

She tosses you a cloth wrapped lump anyways. It lands between your feet. You don’t touch it.

“Drink more water.” She probes. “Your voice is all messed.”

You don’t touch the water again, either. You simply look at her, at how her posture is so casual, how her hand dangles off of her bent knee, fingers tapping imaginary beats.

She must not consider you a threat at all.

She notices your obvious distance, the quiet defiance you hit her with, comment after comment. You can see cogs turn in her head, but the thoughts never surface.

You’re not like her. You often simmer to the top, imagination bubbling over, words frothing out of your mouth.

“You don’t seem to mind giving me all this water.” You state, glancing at the flask beside you. It’s the second one she’s given you, handing it out like one would utter a greeting. Without question.

“You need it.” She shrugs.

“It doesn’t benefit you.” You continue on.

“So?” She cocks her head.

“So?” You repeat incredulously. There really has to be something wrong with her.

“Yeah, so?” She repeats, calm expression unchanging. “You need it. You’re hurt.”

She has to be playing you. Playing a part. Playing something. There’s no way this is real, that she’s actually thinks you'll believe she's cabable of being that generous. After all, who could?

You just bite your lip, brows furrowed. Her eyes burn through you.

“You have a problem.” She says after a beat.

“I don’t.”

“You do.” She insists, tongue sliding over her teeth as she finishes the last of her food. “You’re thinking too much.”

“Hard not to.” You mumble under your breath. She hears.

“So ask.”

“Ask what?”

“Anything.” She raises a brow. “Instead of answering everything by yourself. And being so fuckin' wrong.”

Her finger keeps tapping. Her chest rises and falls. She waits, watches and waits.

“Why were you there?” You ask.

“Me and my community live a few hours from here. We send out people every so often to clear out the outskirts, make sure there aren’t too many of those fuckers around.” She says.

You watch her face. The way she talks, how her lips move, her intonation. Her eyes never leave yours, not that you stare long enough to make sure.

“You’re alone,” you state, “so where are the others?”

Her mouth straightens a little, just momentarily, like the question stirs something in her. You just don’t know what.

“They came out with me.” She finally says. “I strayed off, though.”

“Not very smart.”

“I can handle it.” She chuckles, glancing to the axe behind her for a moment. “You saw me.”

“Right.” You tut, recalling how she killed those clickers head-on.

“So won’t they be looking for you?” You ask.

“Nah,” she shakes her head, “not yet. If I’m back in a few days they won’t be worried.”

“So you do this a lot, huh”

“Do what?”

“Go off alone.” You state.

She shifts around. “I guess so.”

You both sit with that.

You wet your lips. “Why’d you help me? And don’t say because I needed it.”

She laughs a bit at that, shaking her head.

“Well, I’m s’possed to clear out whatever shit I find. You managed to drag three clickers into a zombie-free zone. I had to take care of that.”

“But why’d you help me?” You ask again. “Why’d you tell me to get up? Why’d you walk with me?”

You manage to hold her eye now. Despite the feeling of those cold blues on yours, you feel something better than burning, something comforting. The look on her face is torn, lip between her teeth, lashes drooping down as she glances at her hands.

She finally struggles to hold your gaze.

“You tested me.” You continue. “You wanted to see if I could still walk, and for how long. You wanted to see if I was still valid afterwards, or if I had lost it.”

She purses her lips now. Her finger doesn’t tap, her mouth doesn’t quirk into a grin.

She raises her head again.

“I couldn’t leave you.” She mumbles. “You never leave someone who hasn’t given up.”

“I did give up.” You scoff. “I was ready to die.”

“No, you weren’t.” She snaps back with intensity you didn’t expect.

She licks her lips, recollecting her thoughts.

“You weren’t.” She continues. “You got up. You walked. Even with blood dripping down your fucking leg, you walked. You somehow managed to give me attitude without saying a word.”

You frown. There had to be some alterior motive here. If it weren't for the genuinity in her voice, you'd say she was trying to play hero.

But the way she reddens, eyes lost in the grass by your feet, disputes that.

“You got up.” She repeats. “People who give up don’t get up again.”

She says it so sadly, her mind clearly in farther fields. Just for a moment, you see when her thoughts trail off, and you catch when she comes back again.

You pause for a moment, letting her words dwell in the air before your next question. “Why invite me to come with you?”

“Leaving you there was as good as leaving you for dead.” She shrugs. “Where else do you have to go?”

The words strike a chord in your heart, the exact thoughts you’ve been wrestling this whole time. You have nowhere to go. You belong nowhere now. This ‘community’ your stranger is offering you is a last resort, a valiant effort at giving survival another shot.

In that sense she’s right, then. Maybe you haven’t given up as much as you thought.

“One more thing—”

“Ah, hold on.” She cuts you off, curious smile finally gracing her face. “S’not fair unless I ask you some questions too.”

You furrow your brow in response, but stay silent, mentally preparing for all of the questions she could possibly spring on you, and all of the responses you aren’t ready to give her.

“When was the last time you showered?” She asks.

“What?”

“Not to be a dick.” She snorts, grinning with amusement. “But do you not have showers, wherever it is you came from? No lakes or rivers?”

“First of all, fuck you.” You snap, hating the way your stomach dips as she laughs. “You’re literally covered in blood. It’s worse that it’s not even yours.”

“Girls usually like it when I’m fresh out of a fight.” She hums.

“Those girls probably have no sense of smell.” You retort, to which she raises her hands in surrender.

“C’mere and smell me, then.” She shrugs, attempting to hold her laughter in. “Let’s see if you’re right.”

“You’re actually disgusting.” You sneer.

“C’mon, don’t be shy now.”

“Stop.”

“Aight, fine.” She finally relents. “What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever eaten?”

“What the hell are these questions?”

“Didn’t we say it’s my turn?” She tuts, eyes suddenly sharp. You can’t help but stiffen like a trained dog, the way her gaze can flair genuinely makes your stomach tumble.

“Right.” She clicks her tongue, smiling at your silence. “So, what is it? Mine is probably frog.”

“Raccoon.” You sigh.

“Not afraid of rabies?” She raises a brow.

“It was out of desperation. And I’m still here, so I guess I got unlucky.” You scoff, mostly at your half-hearted deprecation. You notice her mouth doesn’t quirk at the implication.

“Was it good?” She asks.

“I don’t remember.” You say, “I was young. I think I felt bad about eating it. That’s all I know.”

“Makes sense.” She nods. “Favourite way to kill the infected?”

“Crossbow.”

She whistles, eyes widening. “Whoa, wasn’t expecting that one.”

“No?” You cock your head.

“Not at all.” She grins, suddenly surveying you like she’s trying to imagine you holding one. “Very badass. Where’s that crossbow now?”

“Weapons like that are a delicacy for me.” You mutter. “Last time I handled one I was probably like, sixteen. After that fighting wasn’t really an option.”

She digests your answer, imagination probably still running wild. She doesn’t ask you anything else, sensing your feelings about the topic.

The silence is sobering, and you realize you've been having genuine conversation with a complete stranger. Suddenly you feel discomfort creeping up your spine at the idea of being too trusting.

It's hard not to, after all, she had saved your life.

If she wants to think of another question, you don’t give her the chance. You lie down on the flattened grass, turning so that your back faces her. It’s dark enough for you to know you should get some rest.

You hear her shuffle around a bit, before the grass crunches and you assume she’s lying down too. Crickets creak from somewhere in front of you. You try to shut your eyes, but any drowsiness you felt before is gone.

You try to focus on your breathing, on relaxing your muscles. You count to 20, then 50, then 100. You imagine curly white sheep hopping over a fence.

Sleep doesn’t even come close.

And what’s worse is that you can hear her moving around behind you, sighing every so often or readjusting herself. She can’t sleep either.

You lay still for a few minutes, willing yourself to drift off, hoping you’ll wake up to morning light. Nothing happens.

Finally, you decide to roll onto your other side, though you regret it when you do because you realize she’s facing you. Your eyes meet awkwardly.

“Can’t sleep?” She mumbles.

“No.” You frown. You realize that both of you have unintentionally shuffled closer to one another, the distance you tried to create earlier slightly diminished.

She rolls onto her back, arms and legs spread. Her fingers almost touch yours before you pull away, not that she notices. You allow yourself to stare at her side profile, her sharp jaw and sloped nose.

The way her lips perk, the length of her lashes. Her eyes stay on the starry sky long enough for you to memorize her features before they dart back to meet yours.

You turn to lie on your back too.

“Is your favourite way to kill them with an axe?” You find yourself asking, quiet against the night.

“I like close combat.” She says, voice raspy and low. “The axe is good as long as it’s not blunt. Otherwise I’m okay with revolvers, shotguns, all that.”

“Ever used a rifle?” You ask.

“Just for hunting food. Not them.” She licks her lips. You realize she does that a lot, her tongue is always darting out for one reason or another.

“Did you grow up here? Or are you from somewhere else.” She asks, carefully.

“I’ve been all over the place.” You respond. “Not sure which is mine.”

“I get that.” She nods.

You have a question for her, but it takes some time to get it out. It’s more personal, a question that’s always complicated to ask. It opens too many wounds, ruins too many conversations.

“Do you…have siblings?”

To your surprise, her face doesn’t cringe or furrow at the mention. In fact, she breaks out into a sappy smile.

“Three.” She says happily. “They’re everything to me. Two boys, one girl.”

She stalls for a moment after that, considering her next words carefully. You can feel the questions gradually beginning to grow more personal. More dangerous.

"Did you have a...boyfriend? Back wherever you came from?" She asks, voice softer, as if she herself doesn't want to hear the answer.

You turn your back towards her again, and this time, you really do fall asleep.

—

MORNING LIGHT makes the walk easier on both of you, even when the rolling fields shift into grassy forest floors, hundred-year-old oaks surrounding a loosely maintained path throughout it all.

Your leg is better, already beginning to scab around the edges. It still hurts to walk, but you manage fine.

"I can take my backpack now." You say.

"Not yours anymore." She smirks arrogantly, reminding you of your apparent debt to her. "I can't wait to open this up and see what's inside."

"Someone was going to give us two military-grade rifles for that bag." You scoff, still raw from the whole debacle.

"Us?" She raises a brow, hands on the backpack straps.

"My...group, I guess you could say." You stutter.

"So you deliver stuff and everyone gets paid?"

"Obviously not." You scoff. "It's a hierarchy with two people at the top. They connect with people willing to trade, the rest of us go out and do the dirty work. Travelling, fighting infected off, dealing with shitty clients. They get the majority of whatever you bring back, but if you do the risky jobs they'll give you half."

"And you're playing delivery girl alone?"

"Risky jobs usually allow groups to travel together. I haven't been on a job with other people since I was a teenager, though."

"And if you're fighting infected then why aren't you armed?" She raises a brow. "Did you lose your weapon while you were running?"

"I had no weapon as punishment." You state, eyes straight ahead. "It's how they discipline you when you mess up. They send you off with less safety than what you had already."

She inhales, obviously astounded by everything you're telling her. "And...the leg?" She mutters.

"I pissed off more people than I thought I did. Someone decided to teach me a lesson."

The blonde beside you opens her mouth, ready to shoot out another perturbed question before you both hear a shuffle somewhere behind you.

You both spin around, backs straight and eyes alert, to scan the forest surrounding you. There isn't anything that stands out, just mile-high trees, damp woody floors and sunlight shining through leaves.

You can hear her breathing beside you, and the occasional rustle of tree branches against wind, but nothing else.

"An animal?" You ask under your breath.

"Probably." She mutters, though you watch as her grip tightens around the handle of her axe.

There isn’t much talking after that, questions fleeting, dead on her tongue. Stories untold, running wild in your head. You watch the swaying trees and wonder what the hell you’re doing with your life. She grips her axe tight, eyes staring straight ahead.

And then there’s another rustle. This time to your left.

“We’re in a forest.” You say, though your heart does jump. “There are animals in forests.”

“S’gotta be one heavy fuckin’ animal to thump around like that.” Paige mutters, brows furrowed. She looks like an animal herself, lips darting out to poke at the corner of her mouth in focus, eyes wide and darting all over the direction of the noise. She sees through you completely, like you’re not even there. If you were prey, she’d be predator.

And you’d be terrified.

The thought itself makes you take a step away from her, subtly, not that anything could break her train of thought right now.

She carefully continues walking, eyes still on the rows of trees to your left. You follow, eyeing her just as closely, eyeing the way she adjusts her hold on her axe, the way she shifts her centre of gravity.

And then your head whips around to the trees. There’s another noise, like feet shifting around, like hands on thick tree bark.

Goosebumps cover the expanse of your arms.

“Something is watching us.” You say, understanding now. You feel it, more than just noise. The feeling of unseeing eyes, of impending action. It makes you sick. Your leg pulses with dull pain, reminding you of its presence. Reminding you that if something is there, you don’t stand a chance.

She keeps walking, staring through you still. “Don’t stop.” She says, quiet and low. “Walk. Be alert. Whatever it is will come out eventually.”

You look at her again, the way her stance is that of a perched creature ready to attack, and try to trust that she’ll be ready.

The rest of the walk is silent. Careful, deliberately so. Both of you expecting something, feeling something. You’re paranoid, every rustle of grass or trees, every caw from blue jays and hawks making you flinch. You shiver sometimes, when a twig snaps from your left. But you keep walking. She grips her axe, you, your wits.

You thought your close brush with death would toughen you up, but it’s only made you more scared.

And when the twigs snap again, and you see the way the blonde’s eyes go wide as saucers, your heart almost gives out.

It comes out of the woods like it’d materialized from thin air, fungus sprouting from every pore of its being, eyes moddled over, teeth rotted green and black.

“Move!” She yells, and she shoves you to the ground with one hand as the other swings the axe back. You cry out as you fall forward, landing on your injured leg first. Little fireworks of pain shoot through your body, but there’s no time to register it.

Her feet are next to your head, and you frantically roll away from her and scramble to get up. There’s an infected in place of where you stood, retching and wrestling with the girl’s weapon. You watch in heavy-panting horror as it lurches to bite her neck, to which she manages to dodge with difficulty before kicking it away from her.

Your eyes catch something from the other side of the woody clearing, and then you see it, you really see it.

Mouth open, salivating, panting. Eyes crusted over, scraggly hair poking between branches of fungi. Fingers weathered, dirty nails clinging to a tree. It blends in perfectly with the earthy colours, waiting. Watching without eyes.

Watching you.

You flinch as the blonde lets out a strangled noise, shoving both of the back packs off of her before placing a foot back and swinging with all her might. Her axe meets the creature in front of her with an awful, squelching noise, and she heaves to pull the axe out as it flails about. The infected attacking her screams, voice still bordering on human.

She winds back again to axe it down, and your eyes dart back to the other one across from you. It’s come closer.

Carefully, chest quivering with every breath, you crawl over to where the backpacks have landed on the dusty ground. You keep your eyes on it as you reach for them. The contents of your bag won’t help you in this scenario, so you let yourself feel around inside of the girl’s, hoping to find anything sharp, metal, heavy.

The infected’s hands part from the tree it hides behind. It takes a few weary steps forward.

You hear the sound of metal cutting air behind you, the occasional huff and grunt. Frantic screeching. The blood flying.

You feel something cool, a handle. It’s small. You pull it out of the bag and half glance at it. An army knife.

The infected creature isn’t walking anymore. It’ll have to do.

When it starts to run you can help but let out a cry. You almost freeze, but your heart beats so fast that you dart up to your feet. Your pain is drowned out, you can barely think as you embellish that little blade.

It flies towards you mouth open, hands grasping at your shoulders like nails on wood. You hold the knife out, swing back and stab it in the neck, blood spurting out of it like it’s been freshly turned.

The blood coats your face, your lips, your lashes. It clenches harder, it’s head lops forward to snap at your flesh. You kick it’s chest frantically away, it clings onto you but wobbles. With another burst of adrenaline you kick it again, harder, and it falls backwards, taking you with it.

It flails beneath you, hands ripping holes in your clothes, saliva flying, fantasizing about your taste. You scramble to straddle it, pinning it down with shaking legs, and you grip the knife with both hands before bringing it over your head.

And you bring it down, feeling the moment the steel punctures it’s rotting chest. It lets out another ear-bursting scream, spit flying everywhere.

You struggle to pull back, but when you do you stab it again, and again.

It dies for a second time beneath you. The only noise left is your pathetic whimpers, and her heavy breathing behind you.

“We’re good.” The girl says, placing a careful hand on your shoulder. “There aren’t any left.”

Frightfully, you snap out of your post-fight daze and scramble to get off of the infected, shoving her hand off of you. She takes a step back, face spattered with blood, yet concerned.

You’re still breathing hard, and the ache in your leg is back, pain quadrupled from the dull pulsing it was before.

Your sides are hurting too, it had gripped you hard enough to tear flesh. You just stare at the girl in front of you, heart racing so fast you can’t even formulate a thought.

Her eyes catch on your torn shirt, and then trail down to your leg. You watch her take in a breath as she narrows in on your previous wound.

“Shit.” She curses, taking a step towards you.

You step back just as fast. “Stay there.” You bite, the pain getting to you. “Did it bite you?”

“No, no I’m not bit.” She states, showing off her bare arms. “You can check me.”

“Get back.” You shake your head, taking another shaky step away. You suddenly feel dizzy, but you're far too pumped to even consider closing your eyes. Every scampering move away from her makes your head sway.

"You good?" She asks lowly, though you're sure she knows the answer. When you ignore her question, she bites her lip in concern. "Your leg..."

You glance down at your left shin, horrified to see the once-scabbing wound is fresh and open again, smearing blood all over the skin of your legs, covered in mud and dirt.

The sight alone makes you want to vomit. You feel dirtier than you ever have, every blink leaving a sticky feeling behind.

She takes another step towards you, axe now on the ground behind her. You feel herded like an animal, her blue eyes piercing you through your delirium. You realize she's freshly sprayed with blood too, spattered over her pale skin, painting her blonde hair pink.

Your vision turns spotty before you can think to turn the knife on her, too.

--

THE SOUND of running water is the first thing you hear, and for a moment you think you're dead, waking in some semblance of heaven, where skies are cloudlessly lavender, and nature is on your side.

Throbbing, full-body pain, snaps you back to reality.

You blink a few times, registering that the sky is lavender, the kind of shade adorned by afternoon-turned-evening light. Birds chirp somewhere far off. You’re still surrounded by trees.

You sit up, albeit with obvious soreness, and look around you. You’re laying—sitting now, on a bed of rock overlooking a short cliff. Water pours abundantly from another cliff nearby, and below you is a pool of water.

To your side, is her.

She’s wringing water out of her blood-soaked tank top, her torso bare with the exception of a tattered sports bra. Her hair is down, slightly wavy with dampness. Her skin in glistening.

She looks up from her tank top before you can observe any further, blue eyes attentive, lashes fanned out. You briefly recall the terrifying feeling her gaze had given you before you passed out. You don’t feel it anymore.

“You’re up.” She says, a smile playing on her lips.

“Where are we?” You ask groggily, glancing around the area one more time.

“I found a waterfall.” She shrugs, following your stare. “Figured we needed to clean up.”

You touch your face at that moment, and realize it’s not sticky with anything but sweat. In fact, it’s got the moisture of water. Your clothes are still stiff and disgusting. Your hair coated with grime and blood.

Your leg is free of any blood, though. It’s been gently cleaned off and wrapped with a slightly dingy cloth—one of the ones you used before. It still pulses, but not with the sharpness it had held before.

“If we get to camp by tomorrow then we can probably prevent infection.” She chimes in, watching you observe everything.

“How far?” You croak.

She passes you a flask, now filled with fresh water, and shrugs. “If we leave here tomorrow morning? Little over an hour.”

You nod, opening the flask and bottoming out faster than you can blink. She takes the empty flask back with amusement in her eyes, and you watch as she tosses it back in the bag. You notice just how defined the muscles of her core are, and the way her biceps twist as she fumbles around with her backpack.

You look back at your leg again. Then around at the waterfall.

She really can’t be as good as she seems, can she?

“You cleaned me off.” You settle.

“I tried.” She nods. “Can’t have that shit on you too long, if you ingest it then you’re in trouble.”

“How long was I out for?”

She chews her lip. “I dunno. Three hours?”

“And how far are we from before?” You ask.

“Like…two hours?”

Your jaw practically snaps open.

“You carried me around for that long?”

“You came around at some points, so it wasn’t all me.” She says, eyes steady on yours. “We couldn’t stay anyways. There were a few more stalkers.”

“What?” You gape, immediately checking her bare skin for sighs of struggle. There are a few open gashes all over her arms, and a large scar on her stomach, but nothing else.

She notices your stare, pursing her lips for a moment. “I’m fine.” She chuckles. “Wasn’t too bad, I caught it before it flew at me this time.”

“Fuck.” You sigh, shaking your head. “That was scary.”

“You’re telling me!” She laughs outwardly now, and you realize her laugh is oddly high compared to her speaking voice, more girlish. It’s cute.

“It literally came running out at us, I had to shove you the hell outta the way.” She continues, rubbing her eyes.

“I was so confused.” You manage to chuckle. “And when I saw that other one I genuinely thought I was gonna die.”

“Yeah.” She mumbles, looking at you seriously now. You don’t want to know what exactly she’s thinking about while she looks at you.

“You’re…good now, right?”

“I’m good.” You nod, sitting up a little straighter. “You wouldn’t happen to have spare clothes, right?”

“Nah.” She frowns. “That’s why I’m washing this, you should too.”

“Uhuh.” You mumble, looking down at your bloodstained shirt. “Might be past saving.”

“Take the opportunity while you got it.” She grins, laying out her tank to dry. She stands up then, holding out her hands to you.

“Let’s go?” She cocks her head.

You stare at her hands, the callouses and scars, the dirt under her nails. You consider.

She bares her teeth in a smile when your palms slide against hers, and she heaves you up with little difficulty.

She takes one of your arms and slings it around her shoulder, holding onto your wrist tight as she steps down the rocky bank with you. You should be uncomfortable, peeling away from her bare skin, but you need the support.

She’s very introspective, she notices every wince that graces your face, every jump at pressure that’s too much. You’ve never felt so read in your life. Luckily, you don’t have the energy to feel put off.

Once you’re by the foot of the falls, her grasp loosens. She keeps her fingers around your wrist, trailing beside you as you carefully walk into the water, letting out a scream when the frigid cold hits you.

The water is freezing, but soothing. It washes away any residue left on your skin, wakes you up, makes you feel fresh. The pool by the foot of the waterfall is shallow enough for your feet to stand flat. Once you reach waist-length water, you slip your hand out of her gasp and let your fingers find the hem of your tattered shirt.

Unlike her, you’re not wearing a sports bra underneath. They’re hard to come by these days, most people don’t bother anymore. You feel her stare on you ask you peel the fabric off of your skin like a shiver down your spine, before dipping down further till your chest is submerged by the water.

She watches, lips slightly parted, as you wet your hair as evenly as you can, dunk your shirt underneath, and wring it out.

Finally, you manage to meet her gaze.

“What?” You ask.

“Nothing.” She responds curtly, though you feel those cold blues dance along the line of your shoulders.

“Yeah.” You scoff. “Sure.”

She splashes your face with cold water.

“Hey!” You squeal, shooting her a look.

“You’re dirty as fuck.” She smirks. “Just helping you out.”

You splash her back with equal intensity, relishing how her brows furrow.

“Don’t start.” She warns, voice low. “You won’t win with me.”

“Keep talking.” You tease, splashing her again.

She meets you with another wave, simultaneously trying to doge your own attacks.

“Stop!” You laugh, barely able to see her through the splashes of water. “Okay, truce! Truce!”

“Hell no!” She huffs. “I fuckin’ win! No truce!”

She splashes you with more water just as you open your mouth to respond, and she lets out a woooooo! of triumph.

The splashing stops then, and you’re met with her stare. Her blue eyes above the greenish water, a closed mouth, almost childish smile on her face.

You dip half of your face under the water to hide your own grin, and suddenly you get this tight feeling in your chest.

It’s weird, almost like the feeling you get when you’re jealous, but better. Not tight I’m a way that makes you sick, but in a way that makes your heart hammer in excitement.

It catches you totally off guard.

You’re the first to break eye contact, rising above the water to your full height with one arm slung lazily over your breasts. You try to ignore how your face gets hot as you slosh past her through the water, fishing your soaked shirt out before you leave the falls.

You feel her stare on your back as you walk every step of the way.

—

YOU HOLD YOUR HANDS against the open flame, a pleasurable shiver running through your body at the warmth.

She’s managed to get a steady fire going a little past the waterfall, on a patch of grass overlooking the beautiful water. The sky is darker now, lavender turned mauve, moon visible between tree branches.

Your shirt is still a little damp, but it’s better than nothing. The newfound warmth will take care of it anyways.

“What food have you always wanted to try?” You ask, continuing the game you two had been playing since you got out of the water.

“Pasta and lobster.” She responds immediately. “I want to see a lobster in real life. There’s no fuckin’ way they’re real.”

You let out a laugh. “Fair. Crabs can’t be real either.”

“Aren’t they like, the same?”

“I guess.” You shrug.

She stares at you a little longer, lips between her teeth, and you simply raise a brow. She looks nice against the firelight, with her clean blonde hair thrown back in a bun, face free of sweat and blood. She actually seems to be beautiful.

“What’s in the bag?” She asks, and you know she’s been waiting to ask.

You suck your cheek for a moment in thought, before deciding to double down. “Since you’re holding it hostage, you might as well find out.”

“Oh, bet.” She says excitedly, getting up to grab your backpack. She returns with a giddy expression, and when she unzips the bag and peers into its contents, her eyes widen.

“What the fuck.” She gasps.

“Yeah.” You say, biting back a grin as she pulls out bags on bags filled with a dried green plant.

“Holy shit.” She adds. “Is it just this? Do you have…”

“Should be paper in there.” You nod.

She rummages through one of the smaller pockets till she retrieves a tin of rolling paper.

“Can I?” She chirps, giddy like a child.

“S’ for your community, though.” You tease, smiling as she scoffs and rolls her eyes.

“They won’t miss one joint.” She huffs, hurriedly opening up a baggy.

You watch as she prepares the joint with ease, filling and rolling the paper before licking the edge, eyes daringly holding your stare as her tongue darts out to wet the paper.

You try to banish that tight feeling in your chest again, especially when she proudly smiles at her work.

She lights it from the outskirts of the fire, brings the joint to her lips and inhales deeply. Her eyes shut as the smoke enters her, and then they flutter open as she purses her lips to blow it out into the night.

“Shiiiit.” She groans, throwing her head back. “Needed that.”

“No weed at your camp?” You ask.

“We got weed.” She shakes her head, taking another hit and exhaling while looking at you. “Just not like this.”

“It’s good, right?” You smile, taking the joint from her fingers when she offers. The first inhale burns a little, but fills you up in a way you’ve missed dearly. You exhale feeling better already. “You can see why someone would trade so much for it.”

“I would’ve offered more.” She sighs, watching how your lips curl around the paper, how the smoke exits from your mouth.

“When was your first?”

“Sixteen.” She says, taking it back from you. “Did you smoke much back at your community?”

“If I behaved.” You smile. “Do you have friends at your camp?”

She grins, as if just thinking about them makes her happy. “A bunch.”

“Who?” You ask.

“Ah, double question.” She tuts, but answers anyways. “Azzi’s my best. She’s been on some trip looking for supplies for a while, so I haven’t seen her. Then there’s Nika, KK, Aubrey…” she hums, “I could keep going.”

“Okay, miss popular.” You snort.

“You got friends?” She asks.

“I pick pretty carefully.” You shrug. “Cait was my life saver. She went off on her own a few months back, got sick of being pushed around. She was the strongest of all of us, so she could do it, you know? Anyways, after she left I kinda just drifted around.”

“And…your leg. Who’d you piss off?” She bites her lip.

“Double question.” You tut, shaking your head. “My turn. If you were alive before the infected existed, what would you be doing for a living?”

She thinks about this one hard, harder than she has for any question before. She brows furrows, her tongue darts out to lick her pink lips, her hands fidget.

“I dunno.” She says. “My old man, he said if you were real good at sports, you could get paid for it. Even go to school for free cause of it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” She nods, eyes breaking from yours to stare at the starry sky. She looks hopeful, like she’s thought of this a billion times before.

“He used to be some coach at one of the schools. People say he was the best. He taught me how to play when I first came to camp, n’ sometimes I teach the kids who hang around the court. He says I’m pretty good.”

“What sport?” You ask, blowing smoke out, feeling light on your feet.

She takes the bunt from you again, inhaling, holding it in, and exhaling.

“Basketball.” She murmurs.

“Must be nice.” You nod. “To have your job be basketball.”

“I’d kill to have at it.” She scoffs. “If we weren’t…if life wasn’t like this, I think playing ball is the only thing i’d be doing.”

You sit in comfortable quiet, passing the blunt around, staring too hard, too long, sweating by the fire.

“Your leg.” She says after a while. “What happened?”

“Did too many jobs,” you sigh, “did em’ too well. Had nobody backing me up after Caitlyn left. People scheme, you know? Saw me as a threat n’ whatever. It started with framing me for petty shit that got me in trouble. I was banned from doing jobs in groups. Started getting weapon privileges revoked.”

“And you were still dominating.” She finishes.

“Yeah.” You nod. “It helped to distract from the fact that I was fucking miserable. I liked the risk of those jobs, I liked getting payment. I didn’t realize I was undermining everyone else.”

“So they jumped you? They cut your leg?” She raises a brow.

“No.” You scoff. “They tricked me. Interfered with the info for this job, gave me the wrong location for drop off. Had someone waiting there.”

“With a fucking saw.” She spits, clearly bothered. “Sick fucks.”

It’s quiet again.

“It’ll be better. Once we’re at my camp.” She starts again, voice genuine. “They’re good people for the most part. We got a good foundation. You’ll fit in.”

“I still can’t understand why you decided to bring me along.” You hum.

“I can’t leave people behind.” She says, eyes on the ground now. “I just can’t. I’ve seen what it does, I’ve…” she trails off, and you realize whatever the reason is, she can’t articulate it yet.

Instead, you simply lean into her a little. It’s foreign, but it also seems to tame that tight feeling in your heart, she stiffens at first, but leans into your warmth a little too. Maybe it's the weed, or the need to feel warmer. You're not sure.

“Who’s turn is it?” She asks, raspy and low against the crackling fire.

“I don’t know.” You hum. Your eyes are starting to feel heavy, the air is thick with the smell of bonfire and weed. She’s warm against you.

“I have a question.” She says, quieter than before.

“Okay.” You whisper.

“Your name.” She mumbles, the words reverbing throughout your body, soothing as a lullaby. “I don’t know it. I want your name.���

You give it to her, slow and lazy. She nods, repeating it, feeling the intonation, analyzing you as she says it till it sticks.

You’re almost adrift now, eyelids fluttering shut, heartbeat slowing.

You manage one last question,

“What is your name?” You ask, almost silent.

She hears you anyways, and you feel her heart against you.

Her lips open, her tongue slips out to wet them. Her eyes meet yours again.

“Paige.” She says.

“My name is Paige.”

—taglist

@cowboybueckers @sweetbcgs @rishofkf @yailtsv @juumecca @bueckers2fudd @syraxsbigfanfr

[kccisfuckingmagical]

Bach to you

(Kerstin Casparij x ClassicalMusician!Reader)

The front door clicked shut with a quiet finality, and you didn’t need to look up from your sheet music to know who it was. The heavy sigh, the shuffling of boots being kicked off, the way the air in the flat seemed to sag with exhaustion—it was all unmistakably her.

Kerstin.

You kept playing, your fingers dancing over the keys of your oboe, the rich, mournful tones of Bach’s Oboe Concerto in A minor filling the space. The melody was steady, deliberate—a lifeline if she wanted to take it.

A soft thud told you she’d dropped her bag. Then, silence. You glanced up just in time to see her lean against the doorframe of the living room, still in her training gear, her hair a messy halo of blonde strands escaping her ponytail. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, and her shoulders were slumped in a way that made your chest ache.

She didn’t say anything. Just watched you, her expression unreadable.

You finished the movement before lowering your oboe, offering her a small smile. “Rough day?”

Kerstin exhaled sharply, rubbing her face. “Becks’ done her ankle in training. Again. That’s twice in three months.”

You winced sympathetically. “God, not before Chelsea?”

“Exactly.” She groaned, sinking onto the couch beside you, her body collapsing like a marionette with its strings cut. “And now we’re down another defender. It’s freaking exhausting.”

You set your oboe carefully on its stand and reached for her hand, threading your fingers through hers. Her skin was warm, calloused from hours of training in the gym, her nails short and practical. You squeezed gently, voice soft and careful. “You’re allowed to be tired, love.”

She let out a shaky breath, her thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I know. It’s just—sometimes I wonder if we’ll ever catch a break.”

You hummed, leaning in to press a kiss to her temple. “Want me to keep playing?”

Kerstin nodded, her eyes fluttering shut. “Please. It’s the only thing that doesn’t feel like it’s asking something from me right now.”

You chuckled softly, lifting your oboe again. “Bach it is, then.”

As you played, the music wrapped around her like a blanket, the familiar phrases weaving through the tension in her muscles, coaxing her to relax. By the time you reached the adagio, her head had dropped, her breathing slow and even.

You smiled, moved over to her side, pressing another kiss to her hair. “Better?”

She mumbled something unintelligible against your shirt, but the way her fingers tightened around yours was answer enough.

Cheesy? Maybe. But sometimes, after a day like today, cheesy was exactly what she needed.

The morning of the Chelsea match dawned with that particular Manchester gloom that clung to the windows and made the city feel hushed. Kerstin had left before sunrise, her pre-match routine beginning in the dark. You'd felt the bed dip as she rose, her lips brushing your temple in a silent goodbye.

By the time you woke properly, the flat was empty save for the lingering scent of her coffee. You stretched, your fingers itching for your oboe—match days always made you restless. Settling at your music stand, you flipped through your performance binder until you landed on the glossy sleeve of your album with the Berlin Radio Symphony Orchestra. Bach: The Oboe Concertos.The recording engineers had captured the rich, woody timbre of your Loreé oboe perfectly.

You send the recording through your family shared Apple Music and sent it to Kerstin:

You🎵: For when the pitch feels too loud. Track 3. xx

The three dots appeared immediately:

Kerstin⚽️: Stealing my pre-match playlist spot from Stormzy. This is abuse.

Kerstin⚽️: Thank you. 🩵

Kerstin waited until the physio had finished strapping her ankles before pulling up the album on her phone. She'd downloaded it months ago—of course she had—but never dared play it where anyone might hear. Now, as the dressing room buzzed with pre-match energy, she connected her headphone with Bluetooth. (the nice one you'd bought her last Christmas) and let the opening notes of the A minor concerto fill her ears.

The effect was instantaneous. The tightness between her shoulders eased as your oboe's familiar voice wrapped around her. She closed her eyes, imagining you in your concert blacks, fingers flying over the silver keys—

"Bloody hell, is this classical?"

Kerstin's eyes flew open to see Jess Park looming over her, peering onto her screen, one eyebrow arched. Across the room, her best team buddy Mary Fowler's head snapped up like a meerkat's.

Kerstin stopped the track. "It's just—"

"Wait." Jess squinted her eyes. "Is this—?"

Jill Roord was already crossing the room, looking into Kerstin’s phone, her grin widening. "No. Way. This isn't just classical, this is y/n’s classical." She jabbed a finger at Kerstin's phone. "That's your missus!"

The dressing room erupted.

“Ooh, let's hear!" Laia abandoned her last minute hair adjustments.

Kerstin made a valiant attempt to shield her phone, but Jill was quicker, connecting her phone into the locker room’s speaker, and cranking the volume until your cadenza soared through the room.

Viv Miedema actually paused mid-stretch. "Jesus, she's good."

"Course she is," Jill crowed, dodging Kerstin's swipe. "She's at the Hallé! This is what you called? The real posh stuff!"

Kerstin buried her face in her hands as Mary started dramatically conducting an imaginary orchestra.

The game was everything they'd feared—physical, relentless, with Chelsea pressing high from the first whistle. By the 65th minute, Kerstin's kit was streaked with grass and sweat, her voice hoarse from organising the backline.

Then it happened: a late tackle that sent her sprawling, the ref waving play on. Kerstin rolled to her feet, blood roaring in her ears—

And there it was. The melody.

Not through any headphones, but in her bones, in the rhythm of her breathing. The opening phrase of your adagio movement rose unbidden, and before she could stop herself, she was humming it under her breath as she jogged back into position.

Lauren James, marking her tightly, gave her the most bewildered side-eye. "What the hell?"

From nearby, Jill choked back a laugh. "She's gone full Mozart!"

Kerstin ignored them, only mentally correcting her national teammate. It’s fucking Bach, you uncivilised barbarian. Focusing on the imaginary oboe line as she tracked back. The tension in her chest unraveled note by note.

After the loss against Chelsea four days ago, Man City finally won this Champions League 1st leg match 2-0 courtesy to Viv’s brace.

You were annotating a new orchestral score in the living room when the front door slammed.

"I'm never living this down," Kerstin announced, flopping onto the sofa face-first.

You marked your place with a pencil. "Let me guess—"

"Jill made the entire bus listen to your album. Twice." Her voice was muffled by the cushions. "Lily Murphy keeps calling me 'Maestro.'"

You bit your lip. "And did it—"

"Work?" Kerstin rolled over, fixing you with a glare that lacked any real heat. "Unfortunately." She tugged you down beside her, your oboe calluses catching against her warm palms. "Next time I’ll listen to your tracks under a Taylor Swift album cover"

You giggled and pressed a kiss on her cheek. "Pretty sure that’s copyright infringement, mijn liefje."

kerstin_casparij Shoutout to my personal oboist for the pre-match playlist upgrade 🎶 Bach being superior to Chelsea. @yourinstagram

[augustinamiaumiau]

LN5 SPOILERS-The second hairpin

After Maomao agrees to participate at the banquet as Lahan’s relative she returns to her room where she finds a tailor. She assumes it’s Lahan’s doing.

When the tailor leaves she sits on the bed where she obverves a box.

When she opens it she discovers a hair stick.

“For just a moment, she thought that somehow the silver hair stick she had never expected to see again had managed to return to her”

Maomao knows it’s from Jinshi because it looks very similar to the one he gifted her.

Maomao describes it as a “lovely piece, carved with the image of the moon and flowers-and poppies. Lovely, yes, but Maomao grinned as she realized what the poppies meant.”

Poppy seeds is Chinese Culture represent passion and deep love and Maomao knows it.

“She went ahead and put the stick in her hair, just because. Strangely, it felt rather fitting, and the way she continued to wear the accessory thereafter was perhaps rather unlike her.”

With the knowledge of who gave it to her and what it means she decides to wear it. She feels like it fits her and keeps wearing it which is “unlike her”-highlighting what a big deal this is.

At the banquet Rikuson remarks the hair stick and how beautiful it is.

Maomao is not ready or emotionally equipped to acknowledge its significance or talk about it so she makes up a reason why Rikuson might seem intersted in it which also solves the “mystery” of why some noble women were glancing at her hair.

“Maomao remembered she was still wearing the hair stick from the paulownia-wood box. It wasn’t flamboyant, but even the untutored eye could tell it was of fine make. Maomao had thought she’d detected the more well-bred young ladies in the room occasionally glancing, and now she understood why.”

The next night Lahan takes a dig at Maomao

“Well,” Lahan said, eyeing her. “They say clothes make the man, but apparently the same doesn’t go for women. At least some of them.”

“Shut up.”

Which trigger an unusual moment of insecurity in her.

“Maomao was dragging a heavy skirt behind her. The outfit, like the meal, was western-style, more or less. Not exactly the same-it hadn’t been possible to get something like that ready-but the silhouette, the overall look, was similar, including the bone hoop that went around her waist to puff out the skirt. It was also the style with western dresses to squeeze the waist and shop the top half of the cleavage for emphasis-but sadly, Maomao didn’t have much to show off, and lest she embarrass herself, she instead wore a long-sleeved top, submitting only to having her waist cinched about with a belt.

They did her hair too, somewhat; it was put up in a rather showy manner, but ultimately the stylists were limited by the material. It was better than it had been, perhaps, but it suffered by the truly resplendent comparisons present at the banquet. She looked like a stalk of shepherd’s purse among a field of roses and peonies.”

Maomao sees herself as inferior to these noble women appearence wise. She sees herself as an ugly plant while she compers them to beautiful flowers. She doesn’t want to show her cleavage to not emberass herself because she doesn’t have a big chest, it doesn’t matter what she’s wearing because in her head she’ll forever be lacking compared to them.

But.

There’s one thing that makes her feel better.

“Just one thing helped calm her in this otherwise unfamiliar and unsuitable ensemble: a fine silver hair stick.”

The hairpin calms her down because it’s proof that she has something these women don’t, but wish to have: a hairstick from the Moon Prince. She is the chosen one, they aren’t.

Later when Rikuson invites her to dance he tries to remind her that she’s not a “desinterest third party. Never forget the import of what you wear on your head.”

It wasn’t her choice to go to the Western Capital and she only reculantly agreed to participate at the banquet as a lady of the La clan because Lahan convinced her to, but to wear that hairpin was her decision, nobody else’s.

[motorsportbarbie13]

Hurricane - Part 7

{“Emma.” Her head snapped in the direction of her name being called. She was surprised to see it was GP. “Go make sure he’s okay, yeah?” Emma bit her lip, eyes bouncing between where the engineer stood and the door that Max had just stormed out of. “Are you sure?” GP nodded, removing his headset and placing it on the counter beside him. “You’re probably the only who he’ll see right now. He needs you.”}

warnings/notes: no warnings that i can think of. as always, thank you to my writing therapist @lestapiastrisgirl. in the interest of transparency, this one is going to end here, for now. i feel like this is a good place to pause since i'm feeling a little...wrung out...creatively. i don't think emma&max's story is done quite yet but i also need to take a pause. i'll put together a little update post later this afternoon in case anyone is interested in what my summer plans are. OKAY! onto part seven!! word count: 6.8k

hurricane master list main master list ask me anything

The low hum of conversation and the clinking of silverware filled the trendy Miami restaurant that Charles had chosen. If it had been up to Max, he’d be back in his hotel room stewing over the fact that it was now Friday evening and Emma was still avoiding him. He picked at his fish, the Michelin starred chef’s excellently seared salmon tasing like ash in his mouth. Across the table, Charles was droning on about…something. What it was, Max wasn’t quite sure but his friend’s usual charm filled the space that Max couldn’t be bothered to worry about. Because Max was distracted, he was only catching snippets of the conversation, his attention constantly flitting to his phone that was lying face-up on the table beside him. 

No new messages. Not a single text from Emma since before sprint qualifying yesterday, and even that one had been a cool and even toned ‘they’re waiting for you in the media pen.’ She’d been the epitome of professional since they’d arrived in Miami but there was a slight edge to it now. It was still the same Emma that he’d come to know: competent, organized, ensuring that his schedule was strictly adhered to but there was something missing. The easy banter, the shared smiles, the comfortable intimacy that had begun to blossom between them since Emma had joined him in Japan had seemingly vanished overnight. 

She’d excused herself early again tonight, saying the jet lag was hitting her harder for some reason and that she’d wanted to get some sleep ahead of the sprint race tomorrow morning. Max hadn’t pushed but her icing him out had the panic building in his chest. The memory of falling asleep with Emma wrapped around him, the smell of her floral shampoo comforting him in a way he wasn’t familiar with was like an ache that he couldn’t make better. She hadn’t seemed uncomfortable that night, hadn’t seemed like he was pushing her too far. Maybe he had read it all wrong though because the memory of waking up alone that next morning was sharp and painful, blotting out the way he’d felt with Emma in his bed. 

He’d tried, of course, since they’d arrived in Miami. A few casual remarks during the pilates class on Thursday, an inside joke cracked softly amidst the bustle of the garage in between practice and sprint qualifying earlier in the day. They were desperate attempts to bridge this awkward chasm that Max was seemingly responsible for creating but nothing had worked. He’d been met with bright, almost brittle, friendliness that felt more like a shield than an invitation. 

It was driving him insane. 

Charles’ laughter faded as he noticed Max tapping his phone for what felt like the fiftieth time that night. He leaned forward slightly, something like concern playing on his face. “Everything alright? You seem a bit preoccupied tonight.” 

Max forced what he hoped looked like a nonchalant shrug, picking at a stray piece of potato on his plate. “Fine.” He clipped. “Just tired. Long day of dragging that car to places it doesn’t belong.” 

A wry, understanding smile ghosted across Charles’ face. “You usually handle that shit like it’s a walk in the park. You’ve been…” He pauses, looking at his friend thoughtfully. Charles had known Max for a long time, since they were children, so he was fairly confident in his ability to read the moods of the Dutchman. “Off since you got here. Did something happen earlier this week?” 

Max knew he was asking specifically about Emma. His jaw tightened, the muscle there fluttering as he tried to choose how to evade giving Charles a real answer. Charles senses that there’s more behind Max’s silence and he lets the question hang in the air between them for longer than he normally would. Lifting his wine glass, Charles takes a sip, casually observing Max over the rim. 

“It just seems like there’s tension there. Between you and Emma, that is.” He stated it like it was a fact, not a question. Max hated how easily Charles was able to read him. “She’s usually around during media day and in the garage. I don’t think I saw her leave Red Bull hospitality all day.” 

Max finally meets Charles’ gaze, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features. “She was just working, Charles. Catching up on things. Race weekends are busy, Miami especially.” 

Charles raised an eyebrow. “Emma is never that quiet in the paddock, you know that. Even when she’s working, she’s usually lobbing sarcastic comments at Lando. Those two bicker like brother and sister most of the time. I think Ollie and Kimi were a little lost without her. They both asked me twice if I’d seen her and if I thought that she was mad at them.” He pauses again, choosing his words carefully. He knows Max and his propensity to shut down if challenged too hard. “You’re different too. You’ve been quieter than normal, distracted. Anxious even.” He leans closer, his voice dropping slightly. “Everything okay between you two?”  

Max hesitated for just a beat too long and Charles saw the walls crack open. He took a long sip of water, the cold doing little to cool the heated anxiety rising in his chest. He trusted Charles, more than most, and the weight of the anxiety that had been sitting in his stomach like a ball of lead for the last three days was unbearable. 

“Nope.” He admits, letting the singular word hang in the air like a confession. 

Charles sets down his wine glass, look of concern etched on his face. “Alright, what happened then?” 

Max scrubbed a hand over his face, unfamiliar with this level of vulnerability. But he was going crazy living in his head over this so he knew he needed to get it out. “Do you remember that storm we had the other night?” 

Charles nodded, but remains silent otherwise. 

“She is apparently terrified of storms and she kind of…ended up sleeping in my bed.” He paused. “With me.” The words hung in the air between them, heavy with the implication of what he’d just said. 

Charles blinked, brows rising slightly as a flicker of surprise crossed his features. He’d seen the way the two had interacted around each other, anyone with eyes could see the steady undercurrent of something more than just a professional relationship wanting to form. What Charles hadn’t realized was the depth of it. “With you?” 

Max nodded, a small, almost reflexive smile touching the corner of his mouth at the memory. “Just slept, nothing more.” 

“And?” 

Max nodded again, “And I liked it. More than I should have. It felt right. Natural almost. Like she belonged there.” His smile faded then, replaced by a frown. “And she’s been avoiding me ever since. She’s being professional. Polite. But it’s not the same. Like she regrets what happened or something, like I crossed a line and she’s angry I took advantage of her or something. This whole week she’s been distant.” He pulled out his phone again, his thumb brushing over her name in his contact list. Sunshine. “I keep waiting for her to text me, for some sign that she’s not completely regretting it, or me.” 

Charles watched him as he rambled. Spiraled, really. He could see the turmoil on his friends face, the unguarded vulnerability in his eyes. “Have you talked to her about it?” He asked gently. “About what happened, how you feel.” 

Max rolled his eye, a defeated sigh escaping his lips. “I haven’t had the chance. Or I haven’t taken the chance because I’m afraid of the answer. I thought we were going in one direction and suddenly, she’s made a u-turn and I’m left trying to follow her lead. I don’t want to push her, she’s been through a lot already but this is driving me insane. I don’t know what to do, Charles.” 

“You need to talk to her, my friend. This is just going to fester and if you’re not careful, it’s going to effect your performance this weekend.” 

Max heaved a sigh, picking at the last bits of his salmon. He knew Charles was right. Of course Charles was right. He was being a coward and needed to suck it up. Emma meant more to him than this and he was allowing her to drift away. He didn’t want to lose her but from the way she was retreating from him already, Max knew hew as already headed that way. He needed to make a move and needed to make it fast. 

Picking up his phone, Max opened up the string of messages between him and Emma and typed out a quick text and hit send before he could second guess his actions. 

Hey Sunshine, I think we need to talk. 

********

The early morning sun hung low over the skyline, barely breaching the high rise buildings at Emma’s back. She sat near the water’s edge of a quiet stretch of beach, coffee in one hand, phone in the other. The text message she’d woken up to this morning stared back at her like a snake poised to bite. 

The green and white striped beach towel she’d nicked from the hotel pool was feather soft beneath her as Emma stretched out on the sand, toes pointed in a delicious stretch that she could feel beginning to burn. The beach was quiet at this time of the day, the only ones taking in the serene setting was Emma, a couple walking down the beach hand in hand, and a few seagulls. 

Emma leaned back on the palms of her hands, fingers digging deeply into the warm sand beneath her. 

As she stared out over the water watching the white tipped waves roll in over and over, her mind kept flickering back to the text message Max had sent last night. He’d called her Sunshine again and she hated the way her heart fluttered at the nickname only Max used. She’d never asked why he’d picked the nickname, just preened under the attention every time he’d used it. And then he’d said they’d needed to talk. Her stomach churned unpleasantly at the thought. Was he regretting what had happened? Was he rethinking the whole arrangement they had? Did Max want to fire her?

 How had this gotten away from her so quickly? One moment she was dealing with her anxieties the best way she knew how and the next, Max was there, trying to take care of her like no one had ever wanted to. She couldn’t be falling for Max. It just wasn’t a good idea. He was her boss. Her boss that also happened to be her best friend’s older brother. 

It was so messy. 

Emma hated messy. 

But with the mess came contentment. It had felt so right. So easy and natural, to just curl up in Max’s bed beside him, tucked into his side like she had belonged there all along. How could it be messy if it was what was supposed to happen all along? 

Emma wasn’t built for this kind of vulnerability. Not after a lifetime of self-reliance and independence. Vulnerability was terrifying and something that was for other people. She couldn’t afford it and she didn’t want to risk the only stable thing in her life. The ingrained fear of history repeating itself, of this fragile connection she’d developed with Max shattering like glass, was a constant source of anxiety for her ever since she woke up the morning before.  

She rubbed at her temples, the bright sunlight beating down on her from the height of its daily trek across the sky, doing little to help the spiraling she was doing. 

Enough. 

Enough of this overthinking. 

Emma knew herself well enough to know that she needed help to get out of this hole she was digging herself deeper and deeper. She couldn’t go to Max. And her mother was out of the question, she still hadn’t spoken to Gloria since the day she had accused Emma of sleeping with Max (ironic, considering the position she was in right now). She reached for her phone and begun to scroll through her contacts. Her finger hovered over Victoria’s contact. Could she go to Vic for this? She’d always been there for Emma in the past, when her overthinking had gotten the best of her. But this was about her brother of all people. There was no way to pretend she was spiraling about another person, Vic would see right through her. 

You’ve got to trust her. A small voice whispered in Emma’s head as she debated what she should do. Vic is your best friend. It’ll be okay. 

Drawing in a deep breath, Emma hit Victoria’s contact before listening to it ring. 

“Bestie!!!” Victoria picked up on only the second ring, voice cheerful and happy. It had been a while since the two had been able to catch up and Emma grinned at the sound of her best friend’s voice. “How’s Miami?” 

Emma leaned back on the beach towel, closing her eyes. “Hot.” She groaned. 

“I bet. I don’t know why the FIA thought Florida in May was a good idea.”

“Especially after two straight weeks in the Middle East too. Like, have some mercy on us.” 

Victoria chuckled. In the background, Emma could hear the sounds of her 2 boys playing together. “So, how are things going with Max? Is he being nice to you?” 

Emma had to tamp down a laugh at the sheer absurdity of the question. “He’s fine. More than fine, actually.” She said, voice shaky. 

That seemed to pique Victoria’s interest. “Oh?” 

If there was one thing that Victoria was good at, it was letting Emma talk at her own pace. She could tell there was something there, something deeper going on that had prompted the call from the way Emma ended that sentence but she knew better than to push. Victoria knew that pushing Emma on anything would only result in her shutting down. From the way her voice wavered when she had answered her question, Victoria knew that this was going to take a little cajoling. 

“You know how we got that really bad storm in Monaco Tuesday night?” 

“Yeah. It sounded pretty crazy from your texts. You’re not the biggest fan of thunderstorms, are you?” 

Emma chuckled, dragging a single finger through the sun-warmed sand. “Not at all.” 

“So…” Victoria prompted again, patiently waiting for her best friend to spill. 

“Once we stopped texting, I was all alone and I started to get really anxious. So anxious that I started baking.” 

On the other end of the line, Victoria winced. She knew Emma stress-baked while she was anxious but it usually had to be pretty bad for her to switch the oven on that late at night. She idly wondered where her brother was going to come into play in this story. 

“And then Max found me in his kitchen at 2 in the morning.” 

“He did? Was he sleepwalking? Usually once that man is asleep, he is out for the night.” 

Emma was surprised to hear this because she knew how quiet she had been that night. It made her wonder why Max had woken up in the first place. She had just assumed he was a light sleeper and that she had been too loud. 

“No, he was wide awake. I think the lights in the kitchen woke him up or something.” 

Another beat of silence. Victoria was clearly trying to piece things together. Emma knew she was dragging the story out far too dramatically but she was seriously reconsidering what she was about to confess. “And then what happened?” Victoria asked softly. 

Emma hesitated, the image of Max’s concerned face in the dim kitchen light flashing through her mind. “He…he was really nice about it, Vic. He didn’t make fun of me for being scared, didn’t say I was being stupid or say my baking was a dumb or anything. He just, sort of stayed. And then the storm got worse and…” Emma draws in a big breath, closing her eyes. “And by then it was nearly 3 in the morning and we had a flight to catch, so he wanted me to get some sleep but I knew I wasn’t going to be able to sleep so he asked if I wanted to try sleeping with him…” 

The last bit of the story comes out in a hurried rush and Emma shuts her eyes tight as soon as the truth is out in the open. For a moment, Victoria is quiet, like she was trying to figure out how to respond. “You slept with him in his bed?” 

Emma can’t read her best friend’s tone so she just replies with a simple “Yeah.” Before she squeezes her eyes tighter. Here it comes. The anger. The explosion. The accusal of betrayal. 

A longer silence stretched between them. Emma could practically hear Victoria’s mind racing all the way across the Atlantic Ocean. 

Finally, Victoria was able to form a proper sentence. “Well, it’s about damn time.” 

“Wait. What?” Emma’s head spins. “You’re not mad? Worried? Disappointed?” 

“Mad? Oh my God, Em! I’ve been waiting for something like this to happen between you two since like, day one. Disappointed? Why on earth would I be disappointed? My best friend might be finally be realizing what an amazing guy my incredibly stubborn brother is!” 

Emma let out a shaky laugh, the butterflies in her stomach settling into something almost manageable as she realized her feelings for Max might not cost her her best friend. “It’s so complicated though, Vic! He’s my boss! I could lose my job. What if it was just a one time thing? A pity snuggle, if you will?” 

The laugh that bursts out of Victoria has Emma laughing uncertainly herself. “I’m dying at the term ‘pity snuggle’, please. Max hates being touched, hates people in his space so the fact that he allowed you to sleep in his bed? That man is down bad for you.” 

“I don’t know, Vic. What if I’m reading way too much into this? And I ruin our friendship? I don’t want to lose him in my life. I don’t want to mess this up.” 

“Okay, hold on. Breathe.” Victoria says firmly. “First of all, you’re amazing at your job. There’s no way he would ever fire you, the entire senior leadership team at Red Bull would riot. You’ve whipped that man into shape quicker than anyone on staff has been able to. Secondly, my brother may be a stupid idiot, but he’s not cruel. If he didn’t have feelings for you, he wouldn’t have had you in his bed, he wouldn’t have comforted you like that.” Victoria pauses for a moment, as if she wants to let Emma absorb everything that she’s saying. “And third, I know you have your reasons to be caution and to not trust someone’s intentions but Max isn’t them, Em. He’s a decent guy when he’s not yelling at GP about how shit his steering is.” 

Emma snort laughed at that but found herself nodding along. “I know.” She whispered, willing her head to go along with the logic that her heart was already trying to follow. “He texted me last night. I didn’t see it until this morning but he wants to talk.”

“Okay! This is good!” Victoria started. 

“Good? Vic! No one ever started a good conversation off with ‘we need to talk’. Never!” 

Victoria hummed, “See, normally you’re right but this is Max we’re talking about. He texts like a 70 year old most of the time, he probably just thought this was easiest.” 

Emma squinted at the horizon. That didn’t quite sound like the Max she knew. He was always texting her. Stories about what Helmut was bitching about that day, questions about her day, quick check-ins. But, she reminded herself, this was Victoria’s brother so she probably knew better. 

“Just see what he has to say and then go from there. Because I’m guessing that you’ve spent the last however many days spiraling in your head.” 

“I hate how predictable I am.” Emma grumbled, rolling her eyes. 

Victora chuckles, “Please for the love of all that is holy, my dear, stop overthinking everything that happens. It’s okay to maybe allow yourself to want this, Em.” 

And that was the exact problem, wasn’t it? Because if Emma started to want this thing between her and Max to take root in her heart and grow into something, that meant opening herself up to a new level of hurt she wasn’t even sure she’d be able to ever come back from. 

********

‘Yeah, I think we do. After the sprint today though. Focus on the race, k? 

Max stared down at the text Emma had sent him a few hours ago. He’d been at the track early, preferring to spend the morning of a race day alone, getting into his head. Sometimes Emma drove with him but more often than not, she found her way to the track on her own. Max hadn’t even bothered asking her if she wanted to come with him because his text had gone unanswered last night. Anxiety had churned in his stomach until well past midnight. He assumed she had just fallen asleep early but the ‘what ifs’ played over and over in his head until the sleep had finally swept him under. 

The reply had come just as he was walking out of his hotel room, the relief of Emma finally answering him had felt like a cold splash of water in the middle of the Miami heat. He wasn’t entirely sure how he was supposed to focus on anything other than finally getting everything out in the open though. If he’d had his way, Max would have gone right over to her room that morning before leaving but he knew he shouldn’t push her. 

He knew Emma’s routine on a race weekend by now and as he checked his watch for what felt like the fifth time in sixty seconds, he frowned. She was late. He scanned the Red Bull hospitality suite looking for the familiar shock of long blonde hair, listened for her laugh but…nothing. 

“Hey, Laurie, have you seen Emma?” 

The PR intern that Emma was particularly close with swiveled her head in Max’s direction, cheeks going a bit pink. “Oh! Um! No, not this morning. She was still getting ready when I had to leave so she said she’d grab an Uber.” 

Max frowned. It was nearly time for him to get in the car for the sprint race. It was pouring rain, a random storm popping up wasn’t unheard of in the spring but the torrent of rain that beat against the windows was going to make the sprint race interesting for sure. They were already talking about a delay. Max was hoping the rain would hold though. He drove his best in the wet and he’d need every ounce of luck he had to pull out a decent finish today.

“It’s going to take her forever to get here, what with the traffic and now with this rain.” He murmured, more to himself than to Laurie, who looked like she didn’t quite know how to respond. His eyes flicked over to the brunette, seemingly suddenly realizing that she was still waiting for him to talk. “Will you let me know if she shows up?” 

Laurie nodded, a smile touching her lips before she turned around to continue on her way. 

Max glanced at his phone again. He needed to get changed and then over to the garage for some last minute prep. He couldn’t hang around the hospitality area for much longer but there was something twisting in his stomach at the thought of not seeing Emma before he got in the car. It made him uncomfortable, not knowing if she was going to make it or not. Not knowing what she was going to say after the race. She could be prepared to end it right then. Maybe that was why she was late, she was busy trying to find a flight home or figure out what she was going to do after she quit. 

“Max, you’ve got to start getting ready.” Rupert appears over his shoulder suddenly, tapping at his watch. 

Max nodded, glancing at the door one last time. “Yeah. I’m going. Hey, if you see Emma can you let her know I’m looking for her.” 

Rupert nodded, “Of course. She’ll be here soon, I’m sure.” 

Max started towards the stairs that led to his drivers room as he pulled out his phone to type a message. Everything okay? You’re usually not this late…am I going to see you before I get in the car?

Three dots appeared almost instantly and then disappeared. Appeared again for a beat and then a message: traffic is a fucking nightmare. I’m so sorry I’m late, I’m trying. 

Max shucked off his team kit before slipping into his fireproofs and race suit. As he started out towards the garage, he replied: Not mad, just be safe. 

He tucked his phone back in his pocket, anxiety somewhat calmed knowing that Emma was on her way and wasn’t trying to flee the country. Max was finally able to switch into racing mode for what felt like the first time all day. He was meticulous about it, his preparation. Check in with GP, talk about setup, take a look at track conditions (terrible) and the weather (even worse), and then it was helmet on and time to focus. 

There was still a bit of his attention that was elsewhere. Out of the corner of his eye, every flash of blonde caught his eye, tricking him into thinking it was Emma but as Max slipped on his racing boots, listening to GP talk about final setups he was still looking for her. 

“Alright, lets get onto the grid. The race will probably be delayed because of the rain but they want us out there now.” GP said in his ear, yanking Max’s focus back to what mattered. 

He’d have to get into the car without seeing her and it was driving him insane. 

And then he saw it. 

A flash of blonde hair followed by the voice that he could pick out of a loud room with ease. Emma. She had just jogged into the garage, gauzy white maxi skit swishing at her feet. She was flushed and slightly out of breath, like she’d run in from the paddock. Max was surprised to see one of his team jackets around her shoulders, a few sizes too big for her petite frame. 

He was already half-way into the car, there was no way he could get out to go see her without causing a scene, something that he knew she wouldn’t like. So he settled for eye contact and a wink, both of which drew a small smile from her and it was enough to allow Max to focus on the task at hand. 

And then the race went completely sideways. 

*******

Emma watched in horror from the garage as Max’s race fell apart. 

A pit lane mistake. 

Damaged front wing. 

Ten second penalty. 

The sight of his name tumbling down to the bottom of the timing tower. 

Everything went so bad so quick and Emma had to just sit and watch the entire thing play out in front of her. She had flashbacks to Bahrain, how angry Max had been with the team and himself afterwards. This was going to be worse. The mistake by the crew was inexcusable and from her spot in the viewing area in the garage, she could practically see steam pouring out of Christian’s ears. 

She watched at Max got out of the car, do his post-race check-in with the FIA, and then make a beeline out of the garage. He didn’t even stop to say anything to GP, didn’t take his helmet off, nothing. She’d never seen him this angry and she didn’t quite know what to do. Part of her wanted to go running after him but Emma didn’t quite know her place here. She was his assistant, not family. She didn’t know if he’d want to see her, talk to her, especially with this thing they had hanging heavy between them. Now wasn’t the time to bring up personal shit, she knew that. Especially when she knew Max was going to have to regroup in just a few hours and somehow put together a good qualifying session. 

“Emma.” Her head snapped in the direction of her name being called. She was surprised to see it was GP. “Go make sure he’s okay, yeah?” 

Emma bit her lip, eyes bouncing between where the engineer stood and the door that Max had just stormed out of. “Are you sure?” 

GP nodded, removing his headset and placing it on the counter beside him. “You’re probably the only who he’ll see right now. He needs you.” 

Emma’s heart thudded at GP’s words. She didn’t know if she trusted her instincts here but she trusted GP, he’d known Max for years. Emma nodded, something in her chest clicking into place, a surge of nervous energy cutting through her. She didn’t hesitate, turning and practically jogging towards the door Max had just disappeared through. She knew the layout of the paddock well enough to know that he was probably on his way back to his drivers room at the back of Red Bull’s hospitality. 

Getting through the crowded paddock wasn’t all that difficult and before she knew it, Emma was standing outside the door of Max’s drivers room, her hand hovering over the cool metal handle. A thousand things raced through her mind. Was there anything helpful she could say in the moment? Was GP right, did he need her? Would he even want to see her? Would her anxieties be proven right and would he fire her on the spot?

She needed to stop spiraling. Victoria’s words played in her head: Max wasn’t cruel. He didn’t do things that he didn’t want to. He cared about her. She wanted to badly to believe that, to know that on the other side of this door, she’d find the Max she’d begun falling for the moment he came to her rescue at Victoria’s request. 

Taking a deep breath, she knocked softly, so softly she barely made a sound against the door. Without waiting for a response, her anxiety and need to put eyes on Max, overriding any sense of propriety, she pushed it open and stepped inside. 

The room was dim, the curtains drawn against the relentless Miami sun. Max was standing at the window, his back to her, and his shoulders were slumped in a way she hadn’t seen from him since Bahrain. The air in the room was thick with raw frustration and disappointment. 

He didn’t turn around immediately and for one heart-wrenching moment, Emma wondered if she’d made a mistake. Maybe he did want to be alone. Maybe GP had been wrong and she’d overstepped once again. Her mother’s voice started to sound in her head. She’d made another mistake and this one was going to cost her. 

“Max?” She called softly, barely loud enough for him to hear. 

But he did. Max’s shoulders tensed almost imperceptibly. He remained still for another beat and then slowly, deliberately he turned. 

The sight of his face made Emma’s heart clench. His usual sharp, focused gaze was clouded with a raw mixture of anger and hurt. Jaw tight, there was a muscle twitching in his cheek, he looked lost. Heartbroken. Defeated. Vulnerable in a way that Emma knew no one else got to see. 

When his eyes focused on her, when he realized who it was that was in his room to see his despair though, something shifted. The anger didn’t completely vanish, but a flicker of surprise, then something softer, warmer, replaced some of the harshness. It was like a dam had cracked, allowing Emma a glimpse of the vulnerability he usually kept so fiercely guarded. 

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The only sound in the room was the soft ticking of the clock that hung above the doorway behind Emma. Max’s gaze searched hers, a silent question in his stormy blue eyes. And in that moment, standing in the dim quiet of his drivers room, surrounded by the remnants of a disastrous race, all of the carefully constructed walls they had both erected to keep each other out since Monaco crumbled away like sand castles at high tide. 

All that was left was the raw, undeniable connection that had sparked between them on a sidewalk in the middle of a Monegasque neighborhood. A connection neither of them could, or would, deny any longer. Emma searched Max’s face for confirmation that she wasn’t the only one feeling the seismic shift between them. That she wasn’t alone in the way she felt the air turn warm, anticipatory almost. What she saw in Max’s eyes wasn’t the anger or frustration that had been so plainly laid across his face just moments before. No, that was gone. What she saw was a deep, almost desperate longing, a desire that she hadn’t ever seen turned in her direction in her entire life. 

In that moment, Emma knew. Emma knew so profoundly and certainly that GP had been right. Max did need her. And more than that, she realized that she terrifyingly, desperately, needed Max too. Needed him in a way that she had never let herself need someone before because she’d never been allowed to need someone in the way that she needed Max. It was almost a need on a molecular level. A magnetic level. 

“You came.” Max said roughly, almost a whisper, as if he couldn’t quite wrap his brain around the fact that she had come after him. The anger still simmered beneath the surface, that was evident in the tightness of his jaw, but the surprise of seeing Emma there in his drivers room, still tucked into his jacket, had momentarily eclipsed it. 

Emma’s heart clenched at the need in his voice, the statement that was so raw and vulnerable. “Of course I did.” She replied softly, her voice trembling a bit. She took a small step further into the room. “You needed me.” It wasn’t a question, just a simple statement of fact, finally a recognition of the bond that had formed between them over the last weeks they’d spent together. 

With one statement, one look, the professional boundaries, the carefully constructed walls, meant nothing. All that mattered was the fact that both Emma and Max were finally ready to admit there was something raw and real between them, something that couldn’t be denied any longer because it was making the both of them miserable. 

A flicker of something that looked a lot like relief washed over Max’s face, softening the harsh lines of the lingering anger. He took one step. And then another. One last one and he had closed the distance between them. His eyes searched hers, a silent plea for reassurance. He didn’t want to make the same mistake as before, didn’t want to push her into something that she regretted. But something in Max’s heart told him that the night in Monaco that he’d held her until she’d felt safe enough to sleep wasn’t a mistake, it hadn’t been something she regretted. 

Without another word, without hesitation, he reached out, his rough hands framing the softness of her face. His thumbs brushed softly against her cheeks, the touch sending a delicious shiver down her spine. Emma’s breath caught, her own hands rising instinctively to capture his wrists, fingers gripping him tightly. 

His gaze dropped to hers for one single, fleeting moment and a silent question passed between them. They both knew that there was no going back after this. If they crossed this line, everything was going to change. Everything would become real, the feelings that had been simmering just below the surface would be out in the open. No take backs. Nothing. It was a prospect that both terrified and thrilled Emma as she let her eyes dip from Max’s intense gaze down to his lips and quickly back up again.

And then, Max closed the remaining distance, his mouth finding hers in a kiss that was both desperate and tender all at the same time. It wasn’t a gently brush like the almost-kiss in Monaco. This was a calming kiss. A release of all the pent-up emotions, the fear, the longing, the unspoken connection that had been simmering between them since the moment Max had rescued her in his green Aston Martin. 

Emma met his kiss with a fervor of her own. All of her anxieties and uncertainties melted away the moment Max’s lips pressed into hers, warm and unyielding, demanding and gentle all at the same time. The world outside of the room they stood in ceased to exist. The disastrous race, the difficult season, the weight of a difficult family situation. It all fell away and the world around them quieted. 

The kiss deepened, the initial urgency softening into tender exploration. Max’s hands tightened slightly on Emma’s face, his thumb stroking her cheek gently as his lips moved over hers with a sort of reverence she had never felt before. Emma leaned into the kiss, her own hands sliding up his arms, the rough fabric of his race suit scratching against the palms of her hands. The lingering scent of burnt rubber and motor oil clung to him but none of that mattered to Emma. All that mattered was that Max was kissing her and she had never felt like this in her entire life. 

His lips parted slightly, his tongue tracing the seam of her lips and Emma opened for him, sighing with relief at the feeling of having him so close. Her hips tipped forward, desperate for their own friction and Max dropped a hand to her waist, pulling her impossibly closer into his body. He needed to be closer to her, needed to feel how she responded to him, how she opened for him in a desperate attempt to show him how much she needed him, wanted him. 

The anxiety that had been a constant companion to them both over the last few days began to recede, replaced by a warmth that shimmered between them. Something clicked into place and it was like this was how it was always supposed to be. Emma’s arms instinctively circled his neck, her fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck. The nearness of him, the solid feel of his body against hers, it all felt like coming home. It was a sense of belonging with someone, to someone, that Emma hadn’t realized she’d been searching for. 

The kiss finally softened, their lips parting with a soft sigh. A breathess silence hung between them for a moment, the weight of the past few days lifting with each breath. Emma’s forehead rested against Max’s chest, the steady beat of his heart a comforting rhythm. 

A small smile tugged at the corner of Max’s lips. “Well,” He murmured into her hair, voice still husky. “That definitely wasn’t in your job description.” 

Emma chuckled, pulling back slightly to look up at him, cheeks flushed a pretty shade of pink. Max decided then and there that shade of pink was his new favorite color. “Hmm…” she mused, grinning wickedly. “Maybe I should add ‘proficient in stress-reducing strategies’ to my resume now. Think HR will approve?” 

Max’s grin widened, the tension that had been clouding his features since Emma had walked through the door finally easing. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the curve of her neck, the warmth of his mouth on her skin sending a shiver down Emma’s spine. 

“As much as I’d like to thoroughly discuss the finer points of that particular skill set,” He murmured against her skin, “I think the FIA might have something to say about me me missing the entirety of my media duties if I don’t get into the media pen in the next ten minutes.” He pulled away slightly, a wry smile on his face. 

Emma shook her head, “Who would’ve thought it would be you reminding me about being on time to media duties.” 

Max rolled his eyes before turning to grab his water bottle from the couch behind him. When he faced Emma again, his heart clenched at the sheer happiness sitting brightly on her face. He decided then and there that he’d spend the rest of his life making sure Emma always looked like that when she looked at him.

 “Come on, Sunshine,” He started, holding his hand out to twine his fingers with his. “We don’t want to keep the media waiting.”  

[jiggy-manda]

jealous!mari headcanons

mari ibarra x fem!reader

warnings: nsfw towards the end, majority is fluff, established relationship (mostly)

sfw

mari really wanted to be on the same team as you for capture the bone but nat wanted all the couples on different teams

was smug as hellll when she helped her team win by being the decoy, but you couldn’t stop teasing her about how annoyed and mopey she would’ve been if she’d lost

she denies that that would’ve happened, saying she’s not competitive, but you both know that’s not true

says random things to make you blush, loves whispering in your ear

“you know, it would’ve been so much better if you were the one on top of me during the game”

“don’t you wanna help me celebrate? it’s a bit rude not to congratulate the winner…”

i like to imagine that when she made the remark about cabin guy to lottie it was to impress akilah because mari was so loser lesbian with it & i feel like she’d be like that around you before you started dating 😭 like girl be calm

SET on sleeping in the same hut together, regardless of its size. usually you sleep in hers but if you ever end up going back to yours at the end of the night, she’ll eventually crawl in to join you with a cute frown on her face

“you don’t wanna sleep with me?” (you always want to)

“can i… sleep here then?” (of course she can)

she also “accidentally” puts extra hoodies and blankets on your side of the makeshift bed so you can sleep better 🤲

sometimes her jealousy shows more as being upset, but she’ll always try to mask it with her witty remarks

but deep inside she’s just a big softie who doesn’t understand why you don’t want to be with her 24 hours a day 😔😔😔 (you do, it’s just not realistically possible)

she’s a BIGGG pouter when she’s upset. you tease her? she pouts. you go a few hours without seeing her during the day? she’s pouting the second you get back

mari’s jealousy comes out more when shauna is around you, especially because it seems to her that shauna continues to spend time with you solely to piss her off

one time you were assigned to help shauna prepare dinner and mari nearly turned red in the face watching the smirk grow on shauna’s face

nsfw

to me mari is a switch so the way she reacts to jealousy intimacy-wise would depend on the situation

if it was because of shauna or another perceived wrong, she’s much more dominant and controlling

if it was because you weren’t spending enough time with her lately or something smaller like that, she’d be more soft and just want you to “prove” to her that she’s the only one for you (ofc she already knows that)

she prefers for you to go down on her in those softer moments, but when her jealousy is gearing towards anger, she likes taking you with her fingers

she’s much more secure in the relationship than it may seem; regardless of her “anger” when it comes to moments of jealousy, she knows you wouldn’t ever cheat or do anything to hurt her

she could never tell you that, of course. she’s a badass!! a nonchalant, very confident badass who definitely doesn’t think about you every second of the day

ik this is supposed to be a nsfw section but for some reason i don’t feel like mari would be the type to start hooking up during a moment of jealousy ykwim 🤨 i feel like she’s more the type to storm off and sulk until you notice

DOES jump your bones once she’s over it tho. like you do still have “jealous” sex but usually by that point you’ve worked it out

she’s still possessive at heart though so she will be leaving marks all over for shauna to see

and you don’t even care :)

[babydoll372]

Lesson Plan

Pairings: Melissa Schemmenti x preg!reader

Word count: 2189

Warnings: pregnancy, mentions of feet but not at all sexually, labor, children

Wrote this BEFORE I watched Abbott Elementary but tbh I’m too lazy to change all of it so ignore the scenery differences and attitude difference

Melissa had a fond and proud smile as she walked into her classroom today, resting her items down and then ensuring she had everything she needed before the overbearingly loud bell rang. Barbara even stopped in and asked a few questions, the two speaking for about ten minutes before the woman hurried out after checking her watch. Melissa watched as her students filed into the classroom, each giving her high fives or fist bumps as pleased as she stood by the door. After taking attendance, she sat everyone in the front of the class on the rug.

“Okay everyone, I want you all to listen up because what I’m going to tell you in the next few minutes is very important…” She waited for all of her young student's eyes to wander up to her, their lips shutting and heads turning. “Thank you, thank you.” She grabbed a handheld whiteboard and sat down on a seat tall enough to oversee them all.

“Now, who here remembers when Mrs. Schemmenti told you all about her wife?” Most of them raised their hands and she praised them quietly. “And does anyone remember when Mrs. Schemmenti said her wife was pregnant?” Again, a few more raised their hands and she silently acknowledged them. They seemed very interested in whatever she planned to say, and she couldn’t help but internally coo at the thought of having this in a few year's time with you.

“Who here doesn't know what pregnant means?” About four kids shyly raised their hands, and a few kids giggled in response.

“Hey, hey, that’s okay, we don’t judge! Well, when someone is pregnant that means they’re carrying a baby in their tummy. They carry this baby around for 9 months until the baby comes out, which is called birth. That baby then grows into a toddler, child, teenager, and so forth. Which means each and every mommy in this world was pregnant before having their baby unless they adopted or were like me, and had their partner or even a friend give birth instead them. Does that make any sense?” She illustrated her wording on the whiteboard for the students, and they nodded in response to her question after watching and listening closely. One raised their hand.

“Yes, Damion?”

“Is your baby gonna be a boy or a girl?” He excitedly asked, and Melissa chuckled and waited for all of their eagerness to die down before telling.

“Well, we will be having a son - meaning a boy.” More than half of the boys cheered, more than half of the girls looked disappointed, and the rest clapped their hands or held their hands up in celebration. Melissa only laughed and asked them calmly to settle down, to which they almost instantly obeyed.

“So the reason I am explaining pregnancy and birth is because I have some sad news for you guys too…” She sighed, breaking their filled joy as she could see their smiles in turn fade. “Because our baby will be born soon, I will be taking paternity leave. Can anyone tell me what that is?” Zero hands raised, and she didn’t find any disappointment in explaining. “Paternity leave is when the person not carrying the baby has to leave all work-related duties due to the baby being born. So…I will not be here for a little while, you guys…” All of them instantly either whined, babbled about why they needed her, or begged her not to leave. She frowned, cooing under her breath before raising her voice once again.

“It’s okay, it’s okay! I will still be coming back, this is only so I can take care of my wife and our baby, it’s a good thing!” She couldn’t hold her true smile at the thought alone, even if she’d be leaving the children who she felt as though she had been a part of raising, she was thrilled to have the opportunity to have a child of her own. The rest of them still weren’t on the exact same page as her, they were clearly still upset because they did not understand what was going on.

“But you’re gonna be leaving us, Mrs. S!” One of them proclaimed with a deep frown, and the others mumbled their own agreements to his claim.

“Yeah! Why does the baby get to be with you and we don’t?”

“Well, this is going to be a very, very tiny baby! Delilah, honey, do you mind grabbing that doll for me, sweetie?” She asked the girl closest to the toy box. It wasn’t a common thing that the children got to use it, only on Fridays for the last fifteen minutes of class as a reward and send-off. She quickly came back over with the toy and Melissa thanked her, holding the doll in her arm in a cradling form for everyone to see.

“Now, I want you to picture this doll..but even smaller! That’s how tiny my baby is going to be. He is going to need a lot of love and a lot of attention. While you guys know how to eat and drink and use the potty on your own, this baby won’t! This baby will need his mommies to teach him everything, and that means I need to be with him for a little while until he is ready to learn from his peers and teachers just like you guys have.” She explained thoroughly, concealing a chuckle at their shocked faces when she mentioned how small he’d be.

“I have a baby sister, she’s the same size!” One boy yelled out with his hand held up high.

“Do you know how old she is?”

“Uhm, I think she’s 1 and a half, that’s what Mommy says.”

“Oh, so she’s a little bit bigger than this doll and she’s still learning how to eat and drink and go potty on her own, right?” The child nodded at Melissa’s question as another instantly raised their hand, fear written on their face.

“Does that mean you’ll be gone for a year and a half, Mrs. S?!” Before everyone else could freak out at the thought, she quickly escalated and shut down that worry.

“No, no, don’t worry about that! I will be gone for a little over a month, so not very long at all. However, my wife will be home for almost three months with the baby. Can you believe that? Now, I don’t think that’s very fair, right?”

“No, we want you here!”

“Yay! You have to come back early!”

“Will you be here in time for my birthday?”

“Can you name him after me?”

“No, me!”

“No, me! Please!”

——

Later that day around her lunch break she went into the break room and spotted her friends sitting in their regular seats, hers being open for her. All of them greeted her, some asking questions about you, how the students took the news, or just about her day. Likewise, Melissa could only hide her smile as she was pouring her coffee and facing the counters instead, none of them got to see the smile you brought out of her, that was something she liked to say only you earned.

“Y/N’s doing great, the baby is thriving- oh, and the kids all now hate my wife and child,” Melissa spoke as she turned around, shrugging while taking a sip from her mug and gladly taking her spot at the table.

“What? Why? Shouldn’t they be excited that you get to celebrate having a child - creating a family?” Janine said with her own enthusiasm at just the idea alone, and everyone turned to look at her as if she was an idiotic outcast.

“Janine, they’re six and seven, they don’t give a shit about anyone but themselves.”

——

Once she got home she instantly started the cleaning process. She was tired from work, yes, but she couldn’t let you come home from an even longer day to a disappointing house. By the time you arrived a little bit past 6:00 PM, she had dinner halfway done and most of the house cleaned up. You sighed in relief, whining with every step until your wife came rushing out of the kitchen to come see you, instantly frowning at your state.

“Oh, love…I told you to be careful on your feet! Here, come sit,” She led you to the couch and you slowly sat down while clutching your stomach, placing your feet up on the table after removing your shoes in a very aggressive manner that Melissa didn’t want to get in the way of. She then placed her bottom on the table, easily lifting your feet onto her lap and steadily rubbing her thumbs into your sore points.

“No, don’t! They’re probably all sweaty and gross…” You acted as though you didn’t want her soft fingers giving you gentle touches, but yet you deep down craved it. You were a nurse working at the nearby hospital, and while specializing in the OB-GYN department, you still often neglected your own care due to the priority of your patients and upper employees.

“And you think I care? Y/N, I promise you they don’t smell one bit, okay? And they’re not sweaty either.” You nodded, grateful for her reassurance as she simply hummed along to a tune she had been listening to before you got home, but after an eleven-hour shift and carrying your baby who was needing to burst soon, the tiniest sound irritated you. And so did the smell coming from the kitchen.

“What are you making?” She glanced up with a slight hint of fear in her eyes. She knew that tone, it never meant you were happy, and clearly, you weren’t excited to try whatever she was making.

“Uh, it’s spicy chili…Barbara mentioned that spicy foods can usually help a woman get closer to contractions. I don’t really believe it, but I thought we could try it.” You huffed, adjusting to sit up now as she supported your back in doing so, and you looked up at her with a small pout.

“You know I hate spice…”

“We have tons of milk, don’t worry! And I can add some stuff to make it more sweet than spicy, do you want that instead?” You nodded with a quiet whimper and she left a peck on your forehead before speed-walking to the kitchen to fix her mistake.

“And wash your hands, please! I don’t want my gross feet on my food!” You called out, and she laughed to herself while standing over the sink.

“One: I am washing my hands already. And two: your feet weren’t gross, you’re being dramatic!”

“I am not being dramatic, I am being clean and safe! Don’t call me dramatic again, Melissa!” She gulped, wiping her hands and glancing out from the open door of the kitchen to where you were lying, giving an apologetic smile.

“I’m sorry, dear…I love you!” You returned the phrase with a small growing smile, and soon after you two were eating in the dining room, the high chair was already in place next to you both as you and your wife could only imagine what would come in just a few days. Just as she was clearing your plates, you were suddenly struck with a sharp pain, your hand reaching out to grip her arm for support.

“What? What is it? Talk to me, sweetheart, what are you feeling?” Melissa worriedly asked, hearing your groans of pain and seeing a tear already stream down your face. The bowls were forgotten on the table now, nothing else mattered to her but you in this moment.

“I-…ugh! It hurts so bad…” She nodded, rubbing your back up and down and crouching to reach your level.

“Are we going to the hospital, Y/N? Is this a labor thing or a ‘my wife is a horrible cook and I’ll hate her forever’ thing?” She managed to get a small laugh out of you, making her feel succeeded enough to ensure she was making the right moves with this. That was until she glanced down.

“Y/N…I- I think, uhm…I think we need to get you to the hospital right away.” She nodded to her answer, and that’s when you realized your water had broken when the pain started. Your eyes widened and you looked up at her in shock, only to see she was trying to conceal the same emotion. She had to help you the entire way, stopping briefly whenever contractions hit as she carefully counted the time between them. When she reached the hospital they instantly recognized you, and the woman moving you in a wheelchair softly rubbed your shoulder to soothe you. You two reached your given room quickly and as you were placed in the bed and informed you’d be checked on in just a short moment, Melissa could only stand there as she held your hand, holding back a tear as she quietly spoke.

“We’re gonna have a baby…” You smiled back at her through the pain and earlier exhaustion, nodding solemnly.

“We’re gonna have a baby.”

[ericshoney]

In the past ~ Bucky Barnes

Summary: Bucky always seems to avoid you and you needed to know why.

Warnings: Mentions of car crash, HYDRA, slight angst, mild language.

Reader's Age: 16

The Stark Tower wasn't just a monument of metal and glass; it was home. For Y/N Stark, it was a playground, a laboratory, and a slightly chaotic family hub. Being Tony Stark's daughter had its perks. She had access to cutting-edge technology, a practically unlimited supply of snacks, and a front-row seat to superhero shenanigans. The Avengers were her extended, if slightly dysfunctional, family. Steve told dad jokes, Natasha taught her self-defence moves, and Bruce was always willing to help with her science projects.

But there was one Avenger who remained a mystery, a ghost in her otherwise vibrant world: Bucky Barnes. She’d catch glimpses of him in the communal kitchen, grabbing a quick coffee before disappearing, or see him heading towards the training room as she wandered the halls. Each time, he’d acknowledge her with a curt nod, his steel-blue eyes holding a flicker of something unreadable before he'd quickly turn away.

It wasn't that he was unfriendly, exactly. More like…avoidant. The others told her Bucky was a private person, still struggling with his past. But Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling it was more personal than that. She was sixteen, observant, and acutely aware that Bucky avoided her like she was a landmine waiting to explode.

One afternoon, armed with a half-eaten bag of chips and a healthy dose of teenage determination, Y/N decided to confront the mystery. She found Bucky in the library, a space usually deserted, lost in the pages of a worn leather-bound book.

Taking a deep breath, she approached. "Hey, Bucky," she said, trying for a casual tone.

He looked up, startled, the book snapping shut in his hands. That unreadable look flickered in his eyes again, quickly masked by a carefully neutral expression. "Y/N."

"I was just wondering," she began, trying to ignore the sudden dryness in her mouth, "why you always, like, avoid me?"

Silence stretched between them, punctuated only by the hum of the Tower's ventilation system. Bucky’s jaw tightened. He looked away, towards the cityscape visible through the panoramic window.

"It's not personal," he finally said, his voice gruff.

Y/N scoffed, the sound echoing slightly in the quiet room. "Yeah, right. That's what everyone says. But you literally run the other way when you see me coming. Is it something I did? Did I accidentally insult your favourite hat or something?"

"I feel guilty." Bucky blurted out.

Guilty? Did you eat my cereal? Use my shampoo? What have you got to feel guilty about, you're a super soldier!" Y/n exclaimed.

Bucky sighed and looked up at the young girl, a spitting image of her father, a reminder of everything he did.

"Did Tony ever tell you about his parents?" He questioned.

"He said they died in a car crash when he was fairly young when they passed and that he wanted to be a better father than his ever was." She answered with a casual shrug.

Upon hearing her response, Bucky felt even more guilty. She didn't know the true reason for their death, meaning this conversation was going to be even harder, a conversation he thought he'd never had to have.

"Bucky your doing that intense staring thing again. Look if you're just going to feed me some bullshit, I'm just gonna go." She said, ready to leave the quiet room.

"I'm the reason your grandparents are dead. I killed them." He confessed, studying the girls face for any sign of anger, hate or sadness.

"Was that at a time HYDRA had you?" She asked carefully, knowing the trauma was still there.

Bucky nodded silently, making the teenager sigh. She went and sat next to the ex-assassin and gave him a soft smile, "I'm not angry Bucky, I can't be."

"Your...not?" He called.

"No. I can't be. I didn't know them, it was such a long time ago and honestly from the stories dad has told me, Howard Stark wasn't the warmest person." She chuckled.

Bucky let out a small chuckle too, something that seemed to warm Y/n's heart. Something that made all her anxieties and worries about the man fade away.

"So can you not avoid me? Can we agree it's in the past?" She offered.

"Deal, mini Stark."

Tags:

@parkjihoonsnudes @riowritesitall @mandmilovehim @onelesslonelygirlbieber6 @lgbtq-girl

Dividers by: @issysh3ll

[corpsedogs]

Dreaming costs money (Jason Todd x reader)

✿ chapter 5 — the two of you come back from the hotel, you then ask him why your father hired him. tag and masterlist

The door clicked shut behind you as you and Jason entered the room. You kicked off your boots, tossed your hoodie on the nearest chair, and collapsed face-first into the bed.

“Okay,” you mumbled into the duvet. “That was the best night I’ve had in… forever.”

Jason set his jacket on the back of a chair and locked the door behind him, checking the windows like he always did. “Glad tacos and walking aimlessly through back alleys counts as luxury now.”

You rolled over, watching him from the bed. “You’re always on edge. Even after tacos.”

He didn’t respond, just moved to the table and started unloading his gear: a knife, a sidearm, a burner phone. You sat up, crossing your legs under you.

“Why’d my dad pick you?” you asked suddenly.

Jason paused, then gave you a long look. “What?”

“To be my bodyguard.”

Jason exhaled, sat down on the edge of his bed. “He didn’t pick me because I’m the best. He picked me because he owns me.”

You blinked. “What does that mean?”

Jason rubbed a hand down his face, like he was already regretting the answer. “A couple weeks ago, I raided his armories. All of them. One night. Took out half his weapon supply.”

You stared. “You’re joking.”

“I’m really not,” he muttered.

“And you’re still alive because…?”

“Because instead of killing me, he decided to get creative. Said if I didn’t do this, he’d expose who I really am. Jason Todd. Put a bounty on my head and let the entire criminal underworld rip me to pieces.”

You swallowed hard, the weight of it settling in. “So… this is punishment?”

“This is leverage,” he said quietly. “This whole gig is just me buying my safety back.”

You looked at him carefully now, “And you agreed? Just like that?”

He met your eyes. “You think I had a choice?” Silence stretched. You bit your lip, then asked more gently, “Do you hate it? Watching me, being here?”

When your mom died, your dad took advantage of it. Though technically Mari had a boss, if Black Mask said so— she’d follow. So you’d always be surprised with new bodyguards hired or killed.

You were exhausted of this cycle, seeing all these people die because your dad think they didn’t do a good job.

Jason didn’t answer immediately. He leaned back on his palms and looked over at you, softer than before. “At first, yeah. I hated it.”

“And now?”

He shrugged. “Now I don’t know. You’re not what I expected either.”

You didn’t say anything, but your eyes lingered on him longer than they should have. The space between your beds suddenly felt smaller than it had all night.

“Get some sleep,” Jason said at last, standing. “We’ve got a long day tomorrow.”

You nodded slowly and turned away, but your mind stayed wide awake.

And so did his.

You wondered, how long was he going to last like the rest? You worried he’d be gone by the time you woke up— and the next day you’d see another bodyguard take his place.

The room was quiet, save for the faint hum of the air conditioning and the rustle of sheets as you shifted on the bed.

Despite how tired you were, sleep was elusive. You kept replaying the conversation in your head.

You let out a quiet sigh, staring up at the ceiling. It wasn’t like you had anyone to talk to about it, but you weren’t sure you wanted to. It wasn’t his problem, but it felt like it was slowly becoming yours.

You heard Jason’s movements across the room, the scrape of a chair, the faint clink of his knives as he meticulously cleaned them. Even in the dark, he was always alert. His life, it seemed, had trained him to never stop scanning, never stop being prepared.

You turned over, propping yourself up on one elbow. “Jason?” you called softly, unsure if he’d hear you.

He stopped mid-action and looked over at you. “Yeah?”

You hesitated, fighting the urge to roll over and bury yourself in the blankets again. Instead, you locked eyes with him. “What happens if I mess up? If I don’t make this easy for you?”

Jason didn’t immediately answer, but the shift in his expression told you he wasn’t entirely caught off guard.

He sat down on the edge of the bed closest to you, his posture loose but still tense, like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with the distance between you.

“If you mess up…” He trailed off, but then gave you a pointed look, like he was deciding how much of the truth he should share. “I’ll deal with it. But I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

You swallowed at the weight of his words, but a small smirk tugged at the corner of your lips. “Is that a promise, or a threat?”

Jason’s eyes glinted in the dim light. “Depends on how you act.” He chuckled softly. “And if you stop trying to sneak off and get yourself into trouble every five minutes.”

You couldn’t help but laugh quietly. “I can’t help it. Being stuck in a hotel room all the time is driving me crazy.”

“I’m the one guarding you,” he said, leaning back with a dry look. “You don’t see me complaining.”

A beat of silence stretched between you, comfortable for a moment.

Something about the way he looked at you, though, made your chest tighten a little.

You shifted in your bed, tugging the blanket tighter around you. “I didn’t ask for this either,” you murmured, your voice softer now. “Being a crime lord’s daughter. Having everyone else in my life wrapped up in it.”

Jason’s expression softened, but he didn’t say anything at first. He just leaned back and studied you for a second before speaking quietly. “Doesn’t matter if you asked for it or not. You’re in it now. I’ll help you through it. But you gotta trust me.”

You’d heard it all before— people making promises they couldn’t keep. But there was something in Jason’s voice, something different that made you believe it.

You let out a soft exhale and slowly leaned back into your pillow, staring at the ceiling. Jason, on the other hand, was still sitting there. Silent. Waiting.

“Get some sleep, for real.” he repeated, softer this time.

You turned your head toward him, eyes half-lidded. “Goodnight, Jason.”

tags: @deadbeatphobos @lingxio @nkryuki @lettucel0ver @punchdrunkjay @ydkmsstuff

[to-the-stars8]

Reviving Love

Jason Todd x Reader Chapters AO3

Chapter 17

You swirled the coffee in your plastic cup, half-annoyed by your already disintegrating paper straw, before taking a sip. Across from you sat Tessa, one of your closest friends since middle school, who was away typing on her phone. She tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear before begrudgingly shoving her phone into the bag wedged between her thigh and the arm of the chair. 

“I hate dating!” She said a little too loudly, a few heads in the coffee shop turning to look your way. “I was talking to some guy, and he just told me he’s not looking for anything serious. It’s, like, dude take ‘long-term relationship’ off your profile, ugh!”

You gave her a pitiful smile, knowing her pain. Before Jason, your life had been filled with Bumble, Hinge, and Tinder dates that usually led to nothing. You were sure that you hadn’t even made it to a second date for most, if any, of your matches. 

Not that Tessa had much luck, either. She’d been single longer than you, and, truly, you wanted nothing more than to give her your lucky love life. 

Tessa shook her head, before resting her chin in her hand. “You have a new man, how’d you meet him,” she asked. 

You bit back a smile as you glanced down at your phone on the table. Like he knew he was being talked about, Jason had texted you. Looking back at Tessa, you finally answered. 

“He paid for my groceries.” You still remembered how he looked at you after offering to pay– eyes checking you out, and a subtle smile on his face. 

Tessa crossed her arms, leaning back in her chair. “He got a hot brother or something? I need a man who’s gonna pay for my groceries.”

“I don’t know, Tes,” you said with a laugh, nodding toward the coffee shop window. “But you can ask him yourself.”

Outside, Jason was passing by, his eyes sweeping the room as he walked. 

You felt your face flush seeing him. He looked incredibly handsome today with the way his hair curled perfectly around his face and eyes looked incredibly bright. Jason was wearing the sweatshirt you had bought him (it was a dark green that complimented his eyes perfectly, with white lettering of a quote from his favorite book) and black jeans that hugged his thighs just right. 

Tessa looked back at you before looking at Jason again. You had assumed she was admiring his beauty like you always did until you saw the crease in her brow. When Jason entered, he bee-lined straight for you. Placing a kiss on your forehead, he looked at Tessa, shyly introducing himself.

“We went to school together, didn’t we?” Tessa remarked, the crease in her brow disappearing.

Jason tried to smile politely, but it was strained. You would have said he seemed rather uncomfortable. “No, I don’t think so.”

“No, no, we did,” Tessa insisted, looking at you briefly before switching her gaze back to Jason. “You’re last name’s Todd, right?”

“It’s Richards, actually,” He quickly stated. He sat in the empty seat next to you, hands nervously tapping against his knee.

Tessa opened her mouth before closing it again. You stared down at the table, distracted by a memory being thrust to the front of your mind. It was of Jason Todd. You recalled his sweet smile and kind words before they were snuffed out all too soon. As you looked back at your Jason, who was alive, you shook your head. They did share some similarities–that you couldn’t deny. 

The words lingered like smoke in the air. You swallowed hard and forced a smile, desperate to steer the conversation away from the past. “Are you hungry?”

Jason shook his head almost immediately, his response a little too quick. “Just wanted to pop in to say hi since I was nearby.”

You reached out, brushing your fingers against his arm before pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. He returned it, and some of the tension seemed to melt from his shoulders. There was still a stiffness to him, something caged behind his eyes.

Tessa didn’t say anything, just sipped her coffee, eyes bouncing between the two of you. She smiled, though it was tight and unreadable, as she said, “You two are cute.”

Jason ducked his head, gaze falling to the floor. His fingers were still bouncing an anxious rhythm against his knee, out of sync with everything else in the room. It wasn’t the look of a man caught in a sweet moment. No, he was acting like he was trying not to be noticed. 

You watched him for a second longer, unease curling in your gut, even as you reached for his hand. No, it would be impossible for Jason Richards to be Jason Todd. 

“You must be from Gotham, then,” Tessa finally concluded. “We must’ve run into each other before.”

Jason chuckled. “Maybe. I tend to have one of those faces. People say I look like Bruce Wayne a lot.”

Tessa clapped her hands together. “That’s it!”

You turned to Jason, noticing that he actually did look a little like Bruce Wayne. In a certain light. 

But in that same light, if you weren’t careful, he also looked like Jason Todd. The boy with the sweet smile and kind words. 

Shaking the thought from your head, you looked at Tessa, then at Jason, “So, Jay, you got any hot brothers for Tessa?”

[cryingatwindermerepeaks]

hai adi !! would u be open to writin’ for baby natty again ?? mayb where she’s super tiny an doesnt realize until she has an accident , leadin’ to a meltdown

Little!Nat - Slipping

Notes -> little!nat, cg!lottie, little!jackie, accidents, diapers, meltdown, crying, post-rescue theyallliveinabighousetogether au

Word count: 1316

It wasn’t unusual for Nat not to understand the games that the others wanted to play with her. So she didn’t really think too hard into it when the storyline Jackie was explaining for her calico critters wasn’t making any sense at all. The cat was getting a divorce, maybe? From the bunny. She wasn’t really sure. It was getting harder to hold onto Jackie’s words as they continued to play, like Nat’s head had been stuffed with cotton wool or something. It was fine, she was fine. Jackie didn’t seem to notice anyway, happy to lead the game and instruct Nat very closely on where her critter (a little mouse) should be standing. “He can maybe be friends with my bunny?” Jackie offered, waiting patiently for Nat to respond. Nat only nodded distantly, aware and apologetic that she wasn’t being much fun. “Or he can be cheating with the kitty if you’d rather?” Jackie offered.

“Ok, that sounds good,” Nat agreed, trying to make her voice sound bigger than she felt. As they continued to play, Nat let Jackie take the lead. She leant back against her heels and let Jackie play out her little scenarios as she chewed absentmindedly on her thumb nail. Jackie wasn’t usually Nat’s first go to when she was regressed, typically preferring the more rough house style play she’d find with Van or Shauna. But for some reason today she’d been craving the gentleness that playing with Jackie brought. Nat wasn’t too worried about not playing too actively with Jackie - the girl was very used to occupying herself. It gave Nat the space she needed to let her mind go a little fuzzier than usual- why, she wasn’t really sure, maybe she was just tired.

“Uh, Natty?” Jackie’s voice cut through the clouds in Nat’s head, her big doe eyes wide and worried as they looked at Nat. “Do you need the potty?” Jackie asked quietly. Nat frowned for a moment, not understanding the root of the question until she realised that she was actively squirming and holding herself. Oh. Nat nodded quickly, shame flooding her face. This was so stupid, she shouldn’t need Jackie to remind her to use the bathroom.

Nat quickly scrambled to her feet, dropping the little mouse from her hand as she stood. It was an entirely achievable 3-ish meters from the playroom to the bathroom but Nat’s mind felt hazy and her steps wobbly. She only managed two shaky little shuffles away from Jackie before she felt warmth spread down the insides of her khaki shorts. Where they had once been loose and baggy, they now clung itchily to her thighs. Her chest pounded, panic settling in quickly. No, no, no, no. It seeped down into her socks too, the dampness making her skin crawl and her stomach ache like she was going to throw up. She started to cry, which felt like the only thing in the world she knew how to do. Jackie was saying something but Nat couldn’t hear it. She just felt so stupid, so pathetic and so, so small. Nat covered her eyes with her hands, not making any attempt to move. If she maybe just stayed very still she’d be sucked up into the ground and none of this would matter. Nat felt completely hopeless. There were more voices now - worried ones that made the nauseas pit in Nat’s stomach grow. But then - over all the other voices - there was Lottie.

“Ok, thank you for getting me Mar. How about everyone goes downstairs now, you can watch tv until Tai gets home, ok? Yes, even you Van. Go on, Nat will be fine.” Lottie spoke calmly but firmly. Even after she was sure everyone else was gone, Nat couldn’t find the strength in her to remove the palms of her hands from where they pressed into her eyelids. “Natty, buddy? Can you look at Mama?” Lottie gently placed her arms on Nat’s forearms, gently guiding her hands away from her face. Nat sniffled, looking down at the small puddle she stood in with shame. Everything was so awful. She felt small, and hopeless and Lottie was still being so gentle which Nat did not deserve. She whined, thrashing her arms a little where Lottie was still holding them gently.

“Stupid, stupid,” she cried through shaky sobs, stomping her foot angrily.

Lottie moved back a little, giving Nat the space she needed. “You’re not stupid baby, you’re just feeling a little smaller than usual.” Nat sobbed roughly, choking on her own tears as exhaustion and shame took over her body. “Poor little thing, it’s ok, let’s get you cleaned up.” Lottie cooed, moving closer once Nat was done thrashing. Nat whimpered, even the idea of walking felt far too big. “Oh I know, Mama knows, you’re so small,” Lottie cooed, gently hoisting Nat up into her arms. Though it was a long time ago now, all those soccer drills had done wonders to Lottie’s strength.

Lottie carried Nat into her room, gently placing her down so she could fetch the change mat from under Nat’s bed. “Did you just not realise you had to go?” She asked gently, guiding Nat down to lay against the dinosaur patterned plastic. Nat just shrugged, pulling her thumb up to her mouth and suckling harshly. “Oh no you don’t,” Lottie laughed softly, reaching over to replace Nat’s thumb with her pacifier. It was Nat’s favourite when she was very small - a soft beige with a little brown bear on the front. “Alright, little one, let’s get you out of these icky clothes.”

Lottie started with Nat’s socks, gently pulling them off, which was an immediate relief to Natty. It took a little bit of coaxing to get Nat to assist her in getting her shorts and boxers off. Clearly, Nat was feeling smaller than usual and Lottie’s words were going right over her head. Still, they got there in the end and Lottie managed to gently wipe Nat clean with baby wipes. It certainly wasn’t the most effective method she knew for accidents like this, but it wasn’t worth the meltdown she’d face for trying to wrangle Nat into the bath in this headspace. “Should Mama get you a onesie?” Lottie cooed softly, rubbing Nat’s belly. Nat just garbled softly around her pacifier, watching Lottie with wide baby eyes. “Mm, I think so. A nice onesie and a diaper for my little baby.” Lottie reached over to Nat’s dresser picking out a onesie patterned with blue gingham from the bottom drawer and a diaper from the drawer next to it. After applying a healthy amount of lotion and baby powder, Lottie dressed Nat up. At the last minute she added a pair of sweatpants on top to offer Nat a little more dignity. “Aren’t you so cute,” Lottie cooed, helping Nat sit up. Nat whined softly at the praise but regardless, reached for Lottie. “Sure thing bud,” Lottie smiled, standing up and picking Nat up into her arms. It took more effort than she’d ever admit. “I think someone needs a nap and a bottle,” she suggested, already settling Nat down on her bed. Nat didn’t respond, happy to let her Mama make all the decisions.

Lottie tucked Nat in tightly, “I’ll be back with your baba in a minute,” Lottie promised, placing a kiss to Nat’s forehead. As promised, Lottie returned not a minute too late, Nat’s bottle - patterned with little yellow ducks - filled with milk. She slipped into bed next to the little, pulling Nat into her lap so she was supporting the back of the little’s head in the crook of her arm. She replaced Nat’s pacifier with the nipple of the bottle and used the hand that wasn’t holding the milk to Nat’s lips to find Rocky, her stuffed Woolf. “Nothing to worry about now baby, Mama’s got you.”

[queef-of-fortune]

Marionette (Doflamingo X Reader)

Chapter Thirty-eight:

Plot: When the Straw Hat crew got separated, Kuma sent her to the kingdom of Dressrosa.Unfortunately for her, she caught the eye of none other than the king himself. Donquixote Doflamingo.

Weeks had passed since he had gotten her the swing. She used it of course. Usually during those late work nights of his. (Y/N) didn’t mind. Karma and her would just curl up together and read or nap.

Doflamingo didn’t talk much on those nights. There was always an eerie silence in the room. It was so quiet the only sound in the room was the scratching of his pen on parchment as well as the electricity running through the walls. Occasionally he would grunt or mumble to himself but not much else. He seemed too busy to put up with her yet he didn’t want her too far away from him.

(Y/N) didn’t know whether he feared she’d run or if he truly just craved her companionship.

On the nights he didn’t work, the two of them would sit in the bedroom while he yammered on about whatever nonsense she clearly didn’t care about. He would feed her exotic chocolates and rare wines until the sun would come up some nights. She wouldn’t give him much information about herself. No matter how much he asked, she always kept the answers vague and minimal.

“What’s your favorite color?” He would ask eagerly, tapping his glass as he laid on his belly on the mattress across from her.

“I don’t know, don’t care.” She would reply blandly, her face void of emotion.

“What about your childhood? What was that like? Did you have a family?” He would grin broadly as he spoke, almost as if she were truly answering his questions.

“It was okay I guess. And yeah I have a family.” She’d answer back vaguely.

He knew he’d never get any answers out of her. Not until she wanted to of course. The problem was that she didn’t want to and didn’t see herself wanting to in the foreseeable future. Mainly out of fear he might find out about her past. She couldn’t tell him. Not yet at least. Not like he’d believe her anyways.

Her past was so unbelievably complicated. She was in an entirely different timeframe than the one she was born into. Somewhere in the far future and the only thing that tied her to her home was her phone, still hidden in his bathroom. Some days she’d forget it was even there. Others, she was sick to her stomach with worry, scared he’d find it.

A few days ago he almost caught her. (Y/N) had decided to go hide away in the bathroom one morning. She had some personal business to take care of and she was desperate for a little bit of nostalgia. So while on the toilet, she pulled her phone from the vase her phone was hidden in.

(Y/N) made sure the door was locked before pulling it quietly from its secret hiding place. Doflamingo was still sprawled out, completely knocked from a night of heavy drinking and smoking. So she assumed she was safe. But as long as she remained in his grasp, she was never truly safe.

She turned the phone on. It had been kept off. Scared that somehow it might go off or even die. She’d been here for months at this point and didn’t expect it to even turn back on. She thought it’d be completely dead. But she got lucky. She just wanted to scroll through some pictures for a while. Something to give her hope.

There were all sorts of videos and pictures of her and the crew. Franky was the most fascinated with the device. It was one of the coolest things anybody on the ship had ever seen. I mean in this world what kind of object has the power to call, send messages, play music, and has games?

Brook and Luffy were always requesting songs to be played. Especially at dinner when the whole crew was together. Luffy seemed to like upbeat pop music, Brook liked soulful, funky music, and Robin liked softer, more meaningful music. Zoro, unsurprisingly, didn’t seem to care much either way. However, (Y/N) would catch him bopping his head to some rap music occasionally when he pretended to sleep on the deck.

(Y/N) scrolled through her music, sound off of course, looking at each Strawhats favorite song and genre. She sighed longingly, wishing she was with them. Hell, she’d even take her old life before Luffy over the situation she was in now.

Just as she was about to finish up in the bathroom, Doflamingo banged loudly from the other side of the door, startling her so bad she audibly gasped and dropped her phone on the marble floor beneath her.

“What are you up to in there?” Doflamingo’s voice called out, jiggling the knob as he did so.

(Y/N) panicked and blurted out— “Just taking a shit, be out in a sec!”

Doflamingo was silent for a moment, the door handle quit moving as well. She could sense his disgust and disdain for her brutally honest reply. He was obviously hoping to catch her doing something more interesting.

“Eugh! Hurry up!” He exclaimed before moving away from the door, utterly grossed out.

After such a close call, she thought it best to not get her phone out again. She felt like she was a grounded teenager again, sneaking her phone back from her mothers room.

Today was a much different day. Doflamingo’s rustling woke her sometime in the night. It was unusual. He’d never woken her up before. (Y/N) was soundly asleep. Doflamingo was spooning her and she was spooning the cat. That was until he began to move and mumble in his sleep.

His grip on her tightened, initially waking her. In a half-asleep state, she removed herself from his arms and laid flat on her stomach and tried to go back to sleep. However, he flipped over onto his back and began to murmur and groan louder. Doflamingo’s breathing quickened as his head thrashed from side to side.

“No… No… Stay away from me!” He hollered into the night.

(Y/N) was no longer dozing back to sleep. She was now upright and staring into his face, eyes wide and mouth slightly ajar. Her heart was pounding in her chest as she watched him struggle in his sleep. She didn’t know whether to wake him or not.

“You’re dead…” He grumbled painfully.

The glasses he never removed were still firmly placed on his head, keeping his eyes hidden as always. But she noticed something seeping out from the corners of his eyes. Tears. She knew she had to wake him from his nightmare. It didn’t matter if he hit her in the process. He might even do more harm if she left him like this.

With a gentle, shaky hand, she patted him on his broad, sweaty chest. “Hey, Doffy…” She whispered, tapping him again.

It didn’t work. He only stirred harder, his fists pounded into the mattress as he yelled again.

“Don’t touch me!” He bellowed, shaking his head.

She jumped back for a second, wincing as if expecting him to swing at her. Once she realized he was still dreaming, she reached a hand out again. This time, rubbing his cheek with a tenderness only a mother would have.

“Shhh….” She hushed him, stroking his cheek with her thumb. “Wake up, you’re okay.” She hummed.

He didn’t wake but his breathing slowed. (Y/N) tried again, this time tapping his cheek lightly with her two fingers.

“Doffy.” She said a little louder, “Wake up.”

He then inhaled deeply, clearly startled. He looked around frantically before sitting up so quickly he pushed her back onto her butt with his shoulder.

“What? What is it!?” He continued to look around as if he was expecting an intruder.

The only thing moving in the room was Karma, who was pouting in the windowsill, cleaning her tail in the moonlight.

“Are you okay?” (Y/N) asked, sitting back up to get a good look at him.

The sweat from his night terror was glistening in the light that peeked through his sheer curtains. His chest rose and fell quickly, shoulders shaking as he peered down at the girl in his bed.

“I’m fine. Why did you wake me?” He seemed almost offended that she woke him.

“I’m sorry.” She murmured, looking down at his chest. “You were having a bad dream.”

“No I wasn’t.” He answered quickly, throwing himself back down onto the bed, lying with his back facing her. “Go back to bed.”

(Y/N) sat there for a moment before reluctantly laying back down in the bed. She knew he would never admit to having a moment of weakness in front of her. Especially not after his last fall out at his birthday party. That was embarrassing for the both of them and he knew it.

Doflamingo was of course still pretending to be too drunk to remember. (Y/N) knew better than to ever bring it up again. She was afraid of what kind of reaction she’d receive.

The next morning he was gone before her. Nothing too unusual. If he was upset with her in any way or had embarrassed himself, she noticed that he woke first and would leave for breakfast without her. It made her wonder how someone so big made such little waves when he vanished from the room.

She didn’t feel like going to breakfast. If he wanted to pout then fine, she’d let him. Why chase after a man who behaved like a pestilent child? She dressed herself and made her way to the library.

Once inside, someone was waiting for her. Not Doflamingo, thank God. But Violet. He of course requested that the two women spend more time together. (Y/N) knew he just wanted to find information out about her. She wasn’t that stupid or naive. Yet there was something comforting and real about Violet. She was always so kind to (Y/N), regardless of how much she snapped at her.

“There you are,” Violet spoke as soon as she entered. “We were wondering what happened to you. I think the Young Master is looking for you.” Violet couldn’t help but giggle, covering her mouth at the idea of Doflamingo searching the palace for her.

“Fuck him. Let him look.” (Y/N) scoffed, sauntering over to the chair that sat on Violet's right side.

She plopped down lazily in the chair, completely spread out as if she was Doflamingo. Although she wouldn’t admit it, she had acquired some of his attributes. Like right now for example. Not to mention she had been walking the halls as if she owned the place. And she kind of did. She was now allowed to freely roam the halls as she pleased, and no one could say a word to her. Not even Trebol or Diamanté.

“You know he’ll be upset. I don’t understand why you insist on toying with him. He’s very dangerous.” Violet warned.

(Y/N) rolled her eyes, smirking slightly. “What’s he going to do to me? Really? Let me go? What a punishment.” She replied dryly.

Violet just shook her head, lightly laughing. “You’re braver than most I know, I’ve never seen him behave this way before either.”

“That’s what everyone says.” (Y/N) replied, seemingly intrigued. “What’s up with him, huh? Seems like a big baby to me.”

Violet stifled her laughter at that, mainly out of fear he might hear her.

“You can’t say that, what if he hears?” She scolded.

“I’m not scared of his bitch ass.” (Y/N) lied.

She leaned in closer to Violet, lowering her voice to a whisper as she glanced at the doors. “I’ve got him wrapped around my finger.” She grinned as she spoke.

Violet looked almost stunned by her confident answer. The expression only deepened when the doors to the library flew open. Of course it was him. It was always him.

“Oh man…” (Y/N) quietly complained.

“There you are pajarito.” Doflamingo’s booming voice echoed throughout the library as he stormed towards her, coat billowing behind him like a pink cape. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you, where were you?” He stopped in front of her, hands on his hips as he demanded an answer.

“I was in bed. I didn’t want breakfast.” She answered him simply.

He only huffed in return before crossing his arms over his chest. That answer clearly wasn’t good enough.

“Why? What’s the matter? Are you ill?” He immediately squatted down on her level, placing the back of his hand on her forehead almost as if he was checking her temperature.

She swatted his hand away with a disgusted scoff. “I am fine.” She hissed, glaring a hole through him.

He stood, sighing as he ran a finger through his hair. His eyes never left his prize. He didn’t even glance in Violet’s direction. Not that she was complaining. It was as if she wasn’t even there.

“Fine, if you insist.” He threw his hands up in mock defeat, grinning. “I just wanted to tell you to be in the room by eight tonight. I have plans for us.” He said.

(Y/N) took a deep breath, exhaling dramatically. “Fine, I’ll be there.” She waved him off as if she were the boss of him, yet he obliged, smiling madly as he waved goodbye to her.

Later that night, (Y/N) had made her way back to the library. She still had about two hours until she had to meet with her captor. Until then she’d just read in solitude. While she read, Doflamingo was planning a romantic night. He wanted tonight to be the night.

He instructed the maids to put on fresh sheets. The cooks were told to prepare an arrangement of aphrodisiacs for them to indulge in. Dark chocolate covered strawberries, figs, pomegranate seeds, as well as a bottle of his finest champagne. He wanted the room to exude romance and pure sexuality.

He showered up, and put on his best cologne, dressed in his finest silk robe, slightly opened to show off his chest, and nothing underneath. All for her. It was a deep blood red in color and short in length. He wanted her to crave his body like he craved hers.

7:45pm.

‘She’ll be here any minute.’ He thought to himself.

Doflamingo had a last minute idea. He’d set the bathroom up for an erotic bath together. It was the closest he’d manage to get so far. That night played through his mind as he filled the tub up. The smell of the lavender bath oil made the hairs on the back of his neck stand with excitement. It sent a wave of arousal through him as he was reminded of how her breast felt beneath his palm, how her hard nipple felt on his tongue.

8:00pm

The tub was filled with bubbles and steaming water. He decorated the bathroom with pink rose petals leading a trail to the tub. The only light inside was the various scented candles he lined around the wall of the tub. If this didn’t woo her, he didn’t know what would.

Doflamingo laid himself out on the bed, trying his hardest to look seductive. He laid on his side, propping up his head with his elbow as he waited for her. And waited, and waited, and waited.

8:15pm

He was now beginning to grow impatient. Worried even. Did she finally escape? Was she playing with him? Avoiding him on purpose? No, no. She was just making him wait. Teasing him. That’s all, nothing more.

8:30pm

Now he was pissed. This was beyond a playful joke. She was so downright dissing him. And he wasn’t going to stand for it. Just as he was about to put out the candles and go find her, the bedroom door creaked open, revealing the girl and her cat as they trudged inside.

(Y/N) didn’t even notice the candles and roses strewn across the room as she let the cat down on the floor.

“There you are. I said eight.” He said, his jaw clenched as he tried his hardest to not sound as angry as he was.

“Sorry,” she shrugged, hardly noticing his attire and position. “I lost track of time.”

Doflamingo pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling in disappointment. “It’s fine. Just forget it. Come here.” He wiped the sneer from his face and put on a smile as he beckoned her, curling his first finger.

She rolled her eyes before finally taking in the room as well as him. Her eyes widened in realization. He was trying to climb on her. Again. The tray of food was laid out before him, two flutes of champagne were set out along with a bottle on the bedside table.

(Y/N) sighed. She wasn’t going to give in. It didn’t matter how badly he wanted her. It wasn’t happening. She shuffled forwards towards the bed, kicking off her shoes as she climbed up beside him. But before she could climb into the bed he put a hand out, stopping her.

“Ah, ah, ah.” He teased. “Why don’t you put on something a little more comfortable?” He let a finger trail against her exposed collarbone.

He then pointed to a matching silk robe in her size, hanging at the end of the bedframe. She glared at him but only for a moment before snatching the robe from the bed and making her way to the bathroom. But just before she could enter, he stopped her yet again.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He called after her.

“To change?” She said, a brow raised as she pointed towards the door.

He didn’t want to ruin the surprise, he couldn’t have her go in yet or she’d never fall for it.

“Change here. I want to watch.”

It was the perfect excuse. It wasn’t a lie but it distracted her enough.

“Ew, no way!” She grimaced in disgust, placing the robe over her chest as if he were trying to undress her himself.

“Oh come on, like I haven’t seen what you’ve got already.” He licked his lips as his mind ran wild with thoughts.

“Not all of it, and I’d like to keep it that way.” She retorted.

“Not for long you won’t.” He chuckled softly. “Change here, I won’t look, promise.” He placed one of his large hands over his already shaded eyes.

(Y/N) didn’t trust him, but she knew it was best to just do as she was told. She turned her back to him before placing the robe overtop of her dress. With her back still turned she let the dress drop from her figure before tying the robe tightly around her. Once covered, she climbed into the bed next to him.

Doflamingo uncovered his eyes, taking in her new, laidback appearance.

“Perfect, mi amor.” He cooed in her ear.

He handed her a glass, filled to the brim with bubbling champagne as he himself took one. He clinked the glasses together before promptly downing his. Doflamingo was honestly a little nervous. Not that he’d admit it of course. He needed the booze to loosen him up a little.

“I’ve gotten you a little something as well.” Doflamingo said as he filled up his glass.

He then picked up a perfectly rolled joint from the tray of food, handing it to her as well as a lighter. She took them both in the same hand before following Doflamingo and downing her glass. He offered to refill it for her and she took the offer without hesitation.

(Y/N) then placed the joint loosely between her lips, flicking the lighter at its tip. The flame reflected in Doflamingo’s glasses as he watched. How she mesmerized him. The way she so effortlessly inhaled the smoke into her lungs. Not to mention the fact that it drove him absolutely crazy when she exhaled the smoke through her nose.

The way the smoke curled around her nostrils. It made her look like a dragon. Powerful. Confident. Beautiful. He loved to watch her smoke. He propped himself up on his elbow and sipped as he watched her.

“So,” Doflamingo finally spoke up. “How have you and Violet been getting along?”

“Fine.”

“Good, good. I want you to have friends. Maybe I could have you spend some time with Baby soon, how does that sound?” He asked, trying to sound sincere but not quite cutting it.

She shrugged nonchalantly, like she didn’t care one way or the other. The ember in the joint burned bright in the dimly lit room. Doflamingo couldn’t keep his eyes off of it. Off of her.

“Why do you keep me here?” She asked, sounding rather unapologetic.

Doflamingo leaned back against the headboard as he downed the second glass. With a clink he set it down on the bedside table. He looked amused that she would even ask such a question.

“Isn’t it obvious?” He grinned, taking the joint from between her lips and placing it between his own. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted in a partner.”

“And what would that be?” She challenged him.

“Well,” He outstretched his long legs, getting comfortable before he continued. “You’re extremely loyal— not to me yet but soon you will be. You’re absolutely breathtaking as well.” He grinned broadly at that statement before devouring her form with his eyes.

“You’re as brilliant as you are beautiful, and not to mention how you can take a hit and a joke. Makes me wonder what else you can take.” He chuckled at his innuendo.

(Y/N) frowned and rolled her eyes at him. She didn’t say anything at first. Just watched as the smoke danced around the white frames of his sunglasses. She wanted to rip them from his face, call him a coward, and kick his ass right then and there. But she knew she’d never win. And hell, he’d probably like it.

He finished off the rest of the joint in one long puff before putting it out in the ashtray nearby. It was probably a good thing he didn’t let her finish it. She was already high enough. Her eyes and head were equally as heavy and she could feel her ears and neck heating up from the champagne.

The second glass remained full in her hand, completely untouched. She was almost afraid to get too wasted around him tonight. She could tell over the past few days he was getting touchy with her. More than usual. There was an occasional brush of fingers or head pushing her hair back out of her face, holding her hand maybe. But this was different.

“There’s plenty of women who are better than me. Closer to your age, bigger too. So that doesn’t really answer my question.” She said suddenly.

Doflamingo chuckled, pouring himself a third glass. He sipped from it rather than chugging it this time. Then he leaned forwards, only mere inches away from her face. With his free hand he reached out, cupping her chin in his massive palm.

“You’re different from any other woman I’ve ever met. I knew you weren’t like the others even before we met. I could tell from the look in your eyes. The way you stood. There’s something there that you won’t let me see. And I want all of you.” Doflamingo purred, just above a whisper.

“Well you can’t have me.” She seethed, squinting her eyes at him.

He leaned back.” We’ll see about that, pajarito.”

The two sat in a charged silence for a moment. Just staring at one another.

“Drink.” He said.

(Y/N) glanced down at the flute of champagne. She was gripping the stem of the glass so tightly she feared it might snap. She loosened her grip and brought her shaky hand up to her mouth, drinking as he instructed.

Doflamingo finished off his third glass without taking his eyes off of her. The way she looked in that robe made him want to take her right there. To take the glass from her hand, swipe the tray of aphrodisiacs into the floor and have her as many times as he wanted. The effects of the alcohol were starting to take over his brain. He was feeling rather impulsive.

“Here,” He reached out, plucking a strawberry from the tray and brushing it against her bottom lip. “Try it.”

The cool, hardened, dark chocolate slid with ease across her lips with ease. The condensation clinging to her skin. She parted her lips and let him place the strawberry between her teeth. He held the stem as she crunched down on it. Their eyes never left one another as they did so. As she chewed, she knew this was going to be a long night.

[rookamell]

Been seeing a lot of discussion on the Varric Problem again so here is my Neve/Lace discussion about it after they meet with the First Warden

“Neve,” Lace said, walking into the detective’s room. “I need to talk to you. About Rook.”

She’d wanted to go talk to Rook about Antoine and Evka, to give her an alternative to the First Warden, like Dorian had suggested.

After filling Bellara in on the day’s events with Neve, she’d gone up to Rook’s room, to check if she was there, but it had been empty. So, she’d gone to the infirmary for some elfroot for her head, and found Rook there, talking aloud to the bed where they’d had Varric, where Bianca still lay, untouched.

Lace hadn’t heard what she was saying, and she’d simply assumed Rook was talking out loud to herself, using the crossbow as a sounding board. It was common enough. The amount of times Lace had talked herself through something out loud to one of her Embrium plants was, frankly, embarrassing.

But something had felt… off. And Rook had the same faraway look on her face she’d had during his funeral.

“Well,” Neve said, absently swatting at a wisp where it was hovering around her head. “That’s a coincidence.”

“Something feels… wrong,” she said, sitting down on what she supposed was Neve’s excuse for a cot. The mage stood up and walked around the table, leaning back against it and crossing her dwarven-made leg over the other, the picture of sophisticated grace.

“Did something happen?”

“I wanted to go talk to her about my Warden contacts,” Lace said. “Antoine and Evka, out in Hossberg. She wasn’t in her room, so I thought I’d go get some elfroot- “

She kept talking, stopping Neve from enquiring about her headaches. They were manageable, and getting better.

“- And she was… talking to Bianca. Varric’s crossbow.”

Neve frowned, her mouth pressing into a line.

“She could have just been talking out loud to herself,” Neve said. “I’m not ashamed to say I’ve had some very heated disagreements with my corkboard- “

“That’s what I thought too,” Lace said. “But then, I started thinking about it. She’s been… strange, ever since Varric died. And that dizzy spell she had today? In Dock Town?”

Neve hesitated.

It had been a long day. Venatori, darkspawn, the Shadows. Lace knew some of what had happened between Rook and Dorian, enough to know it was a sore spot. It had been an even longer day for Rook and Neve, but Rook had had worse. Lace knew Rook had had worse.

“Have you noticed anything else?” she finally asked. “The timing? What exactly happens?”

Lace frowned. She thought back, to Varric’s funeral, the vacant look in Rook’s eyes. When she’d tried to talk to her afterwards. Rook had forgotten to report it to Leliana, too, which was…

“It’s always about Varric,” she said slowly. “Even today, it happened after I told her I’d contacted the First Warden. She must have been thinking about… “

Neve nodded when Lace looked at her.

“I’ve had suspicions,” she said. “Mostly confirmed today when we were out in Minrathous.”

She paused again, looking as though she was weighing how much to say.

“I think it’s Solas.”

Lace blinked. Solas?

“But Rook said he couldn’t hurt her,” Lace said. “Their connection was only enough for him to talk to her. Sometimes.”

“Solas is an ancient elven trickster god,” Neve said. “I don’t think we should necessarily take him at his word.”

“I trust Rook, though,” Lace said.

“And if she doesn’t know?”

“So, what?” Lace stood up, agitated. “You think he’s manipulating her into thinking…?”

“Forgetting about Varric?” Neve said, also starting to pace. “Not caring about Varric? I don’t know, Lace, and there’s no way to find out.”

“So, what do we do?” Lace asked. Maker, she was in over her head here. Before any of this, the closest she’d ever come to magic was watching other people do it.

Neve stopped pacing, then stared out of the window for a long time. Wisps swarmed around her head, but she was so deep in thought she seemed not to see them, even.

“I don’t think we can do anything,” Neve said quietly.

“What?” Lace gaped at her. “Neve! He’s using blood magic on her! We can’t just- “

“I don’t know what else to do, Lace,” Neve said. “The only way I can see to stop him from doing anything is to kill him, which we can’t do. Partly because he’s trapped in the Fade, and partly because Rook’s right. We need him.”

She turned back to Lace, who was still reeling.

“Has she been acting differently?” Neve asked. “Besides Varric, I mean. You knew her the longest.”

Lace pushed aside her indignance and thought about it. Had Rook been acting differently?

“No,” she said slowly. “No, she’s still Rook. Exactly the same, just… weird wherever Varric is concerned.”

Neve nodded, as if she’d been expecting that answer.

“But why would Solas do that, Neve?” Lace asked. “What’s the point?”

“To keep her focused?” Neve shrugged. “To keep her from thinking about anything other than the gods? He wants us to end them as much as we do, doesn’t he?”

“I suppose… “

“Look,” Neve said. “I think Rook is the best person for the job Varric wanted her to do, Solas in her head or no, and I’ve only known her for a few days. I’m sure the others will agree. And maybe it’s not such a bad thing, not having to think about…”

She trailed off, and Lace felt the now-familiar sting of loss.

Maybe it wasn’t so bad if Rook didn’t have to feel that.

“What about the others?” Lace asked. “Bellara, Lucanis?”

“They’ve both lost people,” Neve said, not unkindly. “I’m sure if we mention she’s taking it hard, they’ll be careful about it.”

“We should keep an eye on her, though,” Lace said. “If she changes, or- “

“I don’t think Solas has enough of a connection to do more than he’s doing,” Neve said thoughtfully. “Personally, I try to stay away from blood magic, but from what I know, the fact that he’s able to do even that much is incredible.”

“Right,” Lace said flatly. “He’s super good at blood magic.”

Neve grinned slightly.

“What?” she asked slyly. “Don’t tell me you don’t appreciate the grift.”

[serensama]

A word with friends

Thank you to @hedwigoprah for creating this game and to @jenn2d2 for assisting in her stead and coming up with this wonderful prompt this week! Love you both ❤️

This week's word is Perspicacious:

Definition:

Quick in noticing, understanding, or judging things accurately or of acute mental vision or discernment.

Also Perspicaciously, Perspicaciousness , or Perspicacity.

This week’s is longer because I missed last week’s redolent which I also slipped in :D

How long will I be able to keep up this prompt driven fic? We shall see! (The ongoing fic/document will be updated in my masterlist in case anyone wants to read the whole thing hehe) ^_^

———

Lilya hated when he did this. Acted like he was a hurt or offended older brother after he ascended to Fifth Talon. She was no longer a fledgling under his wing but someone he had trusted to shield him, to be his blade and confidante. But no, in one fell swoop she felt like their history had been wiped clean and he was just that Crow who checked in on her from time to time to see if she’d been killed yet.

The man hissed as he sat down, rubbing his leg under the table - something he only ever did in her or Teia’s presence- taking his time to collect his thoughts. She did not dare to move or breathe too heavily in case it seemed like she was too affected by his reaction to Illario, lest he find reason to go back out and strike his cane upon him again like he was her whipping boy. Not that she was worried about him. Viago wouldn’t seriously hurt him, he respected Caterina too much, and as much of an idiot as Illario was, he was still a well trained Crow. It would take more than a few hits with a stick to break him.

Knowing Illario he was probably already at the Diamond, charming some pretty noble with stories about his injuries, that they were from rescuing a child from a runaway horse, or perhaps from fulfilling a contract killing a rival assassin to save the King of Antiva. Some bullshit. Illario was always good at spinning fanciful tales that for some reason only she could see through. How that was possible was a mystery to her, for he was such a terrible liar.

The silence stretched on between them, Viago drumming his fingers against the polished blackwood of his desk, absentmindedly pushing his writing pad to the correct angle, fixing his slightly askew quill in its holder. Oh, was he waiting for her to say something first? Not bloody likely.

The last time that happened the two of them got into such a heated argument, she hastily accepted a contract that was too dangerous for her to do alone, but she was so stubborn and angry that she went off and did it anyway.

When she came back home, no worse for wear, in less time than the mission had allotted for- Viago didn’t talk to her for a week. He looked so furious at her she truly did think he was going to poison her.

Lilya had gone to Teia at a loss at what to do, the Seventh Talon only laughed and told her to allow the man to stew and he’d get over it in time. The older woman then drew her into a hug and whispered that he hadn’t slept well for days after her departure, for fear a messenger would come with news of her death. She had to resort to drugging him- which he was furious about and ended things with her for betraying his trust, which lasted a total of four days before she found him slipping between her sheets once again. Give him time, she soothed, he was scared. The idiot’s never been that scared before.

Viago glared up at her and still said nothing, only throwing something at her. Lilya quietly swore as she tried to catch it, fumbling a couple of times before it settled in her grip. The Crow flashed him a flat stare, not willing to add any heat in her gaze in case he decided to piff something else at her head when she wasn’t paying attention.

“Tell me what you see,” he instructed plainly, leaning further into his seat, the air still thick with tension as he waited for her response.

Lilya turned the bottle in her hands a couple of times and inspected the ornate crystal atomiser in her hand, the dark indigo of the bottle reflecting beautifully in the light.

“It is a bottle of perfume”, she replied, unsure of what he was expecting from her. She could already hear Viago in her head, the man never missed an opportunity to lecture her over doing anything he deemed stupid. ‘You’re too smart to be this dumb, Lilya!’ was by far her favourite backhanded compliment he gave her.

Viago waited for her to elaborate, only to be met with more dumbfounded silence. He groaned and shook his head in dismay, his eyes piercing her with such an intense stare she almost wanted to call down a fiery meteor to squash and cremate her just to escape his ire.

“Really? Is that it? Is that damned boy that good in bed for my Little Bird to completely lose her perspicacious nature?” he challenged, “Is a fuck all it takes for you to lose your head these days?”

He knew how much his needling affected her. Even before he rose to Talon, his remarks always cut the deepest and she would do whatever she could to earn back his favour. She didn’t know how he held this power over her or when it came about, but in truth she wasn’t even upset about it, because she knew that even if they argued constantly, even with their confusing, tangled mess of a relationship- Viago always had her back. Just like she had his. That level of trust was impossible to find in life, let alone within the Crows.

Lilya huffed and went back to re-examining the beautiful bottle in her hand. Taking a step closer to the nearest candle, she rotated it and found an etching in a fancy flowing script on the metal rim of the pump her eyes hadn’t picked up earlier, D A. She recognised it, embarrassment quickly colouring her cheeks from her initial oversight.

“It’s a perfume by Doña Abella.”

“And?”

“It is in her crystal atomiser, meaning whoever purchased it was someone with a lot of money.”

“Anything else?”

“It is in her signature bottle, meaning it is a personalised scent she crafted and not made by one of her master perfumers. Whoever commissioned this spent a lot of time and a lot more coin on this, whoever they were. Doña Abella rarely makes new perfumes and if she does, that particular scent only belongs to that customer alone- it is what makes her work so exclusive. Whoever this person is must be important or has very close ties to someone very important.”

Viago let his hand fall onto the desk, his annoyed expression fading into a proud smirk at her assessment. He knew that she’d know that much just by seeing it, and at the very least, the knowledge he imparted about art and beauty had not fallen on deaf ears- even if his other more pertinent teachings remained unheeded.

“Correct. It is a bespoke scent crafted by Doña Abella herself. Reportedly it took months to create, the client was very particular, never happy until they captured the scent perfectly for their intended recipient.” He watched as Lilya’s brows rose just a little, clearly impressed by the dedication of the customer.

“Is it safe to smell, to spray?” she asked, a part of her practically preening at how the Talon's gaze softened with approval at her question, waiting until he silently permitted her to do so with a simple wave of his hand. With a measured squeeze of the pump, she was greeted with a light but moreish fragrance. She knew instantly why the perfumes were in such high demand, barely half a pump of it and the entire room was redolent with the aroma of iris, pink pepper and a warm salty musk she couldn’t quite place but she knew she wanted to bathe in the scent if she could. “That is… wow. That’s amazing. Whoever this was for sure is loved for someone to go through all this trouble.”

“…Quite. And yes, a remarkable scent to be sure.”

“So, what’s the deal with it? Are you sending me to handle the customer or the person they were hoping to give it to? Oh, please don’t tell me we have to kill Doña Abella… She's a national treasure. So many dream of purchasing a bottle if they ever have enough money. One fledging I trained with in the capital said she was going to buy a bottle when she became a Crow… pity she didn’t make it out of training.”

The Fifth Talon’s smirk faded.

“No, your contract has nothing to do with this. A full dossier will be sent to your room, you’ll be expected to leave by tomorrow morning at the latest.”

“Then why did you ask me about the perfume?” Lilya frowned, questioning the obscure impromptu lesson in observation from her Talon… unless… oh Maker. Did he create that for… her?! Was that what his rage was about? His disappointment? Was he really trying to get back together with her? Hadn’t they gone over this? Wasn’t he madly in love with Teia anyway?

Viago’s stare hardened again like he could read her mind, his disapproval bubbling over once more.

“Because Illario gave me that. Instructed me to give it to you. Tell me, Lilya, why is the man that you previously claimed was just a dalliance to pass time, giving you such a gift if all you are is a mere tumble in the sack?”

Lilya paled.

Okay. At least he didn’t want to get back together.

“You said it yourself. The recipient of such a gift is surely loved. If it were only a matter of coin, it wouldn't cause me any concern. But the Dellamorte spent time. Effort. No man does that for someone he does not intend for more.”

She didn’t know. Couldn’t know. She had to speak to Illario. To clear the whole mess up before it got too out of hand and-

“The harmless sex in the alleyways, hotel getaways and missions you took together I could have forgiven. All Crows indulge in that. But the moment you took him here, into our - my! - House? You both crossed a line that people in our positions cannot do. Not without blood spilling for you both. What have you gotten us into, Little Bird? How am I supposed to save you from this?”

———

Softly tagging: @rookamell @hightowerqueen @himluv @thedissonantverses @gingervitus @introvertedfangrl @trash-nerd @davrinsleftpectoral @eiluned @kabsey @serstolas @cocoboots in case you wanted to play ^_^