#it's like person 1: Hello! I like your hair!

[luvseisagi]

— this one's for you.

read part 1 here.

ft. isagi yoichi x reader. wc. 4k

summary. it all started with breakfast, and now you're quite literally the main character of an american teen romcom movie —whats next, a goal dedicated to you? content. fem!reader, fem pronouns used, fluff, crack, slow burn ?? they don't end up dating like officialy but kinda ?? isagis parents are like . very present here. college students!au. reader realizes shes down bad. isagi plays for the uni team and looks very hot doing it. author's note. remember i said id post this soon. well. uni's got me again im SO sorry, but here it is!! idk ive been meaning to write this for a while now but im not sure if i like it at all now ?? i read it too much i guess, hope u do like it tho <3

𝜗𝜚 english isnt my first language, so any corrections or advice are highly appreciated, as well as feedback (please) !

fuck. you think to yourself, going up the stairs as fast as you can. fuck fuck fuck.

you nimbly and silently dodge the faded blue and yellowish-white seats, crouching slightly, trying not to disturb the crowd already settled in the stands, muttering “sorry, i’m sorry, excuse me" every time you step on someone's foot or have to ask them to stand up so you can pass.

you get a couple of judgmental glances and a few retorts, but nothing embarrasses you more than finally reaching the front row of the stands and approaching the only empty seat next to a couple who are staring at you intently.

isagi's parents.

you hurriedly sit down after the person on your other side clears their throat —you’re blocking their view.

"hello," you dare to whisper, tilting your head forward before making eye contact with them, as if that way they can ignore the red hue that's invaded your entire face. "i'm sorry i was late. i got mixed up with the subway and didn't leave home early enough."

that's not true. you've been fully prepared —makeup done and outfit on—, hours before you had to leave. however, ten minutes before you had to get off the subway, you’d looked in the mirror and decided your hair wasn't right, so you had pulled out the hair straightener and brush again. what was supposed to be a simple touch-up turned into a nearly half-hour hairstyling session in front of your bathroom mirror.

and all your effort only served to have the warm summer wind ruffle your hair as you stepped outside.

"yn, right?" isagi's mother —undoubtedly related to him, they have the same eyes— gives you a warm look that makes your heartbeat slow down a bit. "don't worry, the game's just starting, they’re late too.”

"nice to finally meet you, yn." isagi's father peeks out from behind his wife and waves in greeting, also flashing a smile that's exactly like his son's. "yoichi has told us a lot about you."

you reciprocate his gesture with another smile, and turn your head toward the field in front of you. you have a perfect view of all the players from the spot they've reserved for you —high above the field, but not so high that the teams look like simple colored dots on a green blanket. you assume the ones wearing blue are your university's team, since that’s the college’s official color.

isagi has told you about his teammates and practice many times, but somehow he never mentioned any detail about the team's kit or his number.

you're a little embarrassed to ask out loud.

"uh..." you whisper again, leaning slightly closer to isagi's mother without taking your eyes off the field. "what number is yoichi?"

"yoichi, hm?" there's a hint of amusement in his voice, teasing you for using his son's first name. "he's number eleven —there, near the long-haired redheaded boy. do you see him?"

your gaze follows her directions and rests on the blue back of number eleven. his back is turned, but his disheveled black hair and the way he walks are impossible to mistake.

“oh! yeah, i see him now, thanks." you smile, and your chronic need to fill all silences forces you to add something more “i've really been wanting to see him play."

the woman turns her head toward you, looking at you with the same kind expression you see on her son's face every morning. 

"believe me, if you were eager, he was even more so.” she says. “he won't stop talking about you."

and that sentence is enough to make you not say anything else for a while.

you started to suspect that you liked Isagi a couple of weeks ago, before your sudden disappearance —when you panicked because you had no way of contacting him to let him know that you had a family emergency. you’d been chatting since tuesday, at all hours of the day, every day until the game, and he hadn't pressed too much about what happened, probably so you wouldn’t feel bad. from what you could gather, he had been waiting for you every day —but nothing serious, really, don’t worry about it.

taking into account what you already knew about him, you assumed he'd been sitting at the table with the breakfast set, waiting for you all three days of the week. just imagining it made you want to scream into your pillow —he was so kind it made you sick. it made your stomach flutter with butterflies.

that's why you begged your parents to let you return to tokyo for at least a couple of hours that monday afternoon, because, according to you, claiming you’d left something really important at the apartment and needed to pick it up to finish your proyects. you’d run to the campus cafeteria with half your savings in your wallet, a bright green post-it note with your number written on it, and a message for the waitress.

thank god it worked, and you got a text from Isagi the next day. for a solid second, you truly thought you'd messed up completely —and that isagi hated you.

just when you were starting to process the fact that you really liked him.

because you like him. of course you like him.

more than halfway through the school year, things had started to get a little complicated for you —living alone for the first time, not having any really close friends in the city, having to navigate the capital on your own. sure, you may be a sociable and outgoing person, but sometimes everything felt too big. even for you.

and then you met isagi.

being with him is easy. talking with him is easy. feeling better, comfortable, and safe with him is easy. there came a point over these past months when you’d go to bed thinking about seeing him the next day —and he never failed. every morning, he was there, waiting for you with a coffee, a piece of toast, and a smile that started sending a weird tingling into your stomach the moment saw it.

it only took one night of facetime with your best friend back home to realize that a simple friend doesn't make you smile like a fool just thinking about them.

that, and disappearing for a whole week only to come back with a gesture straight out of an american teen romcom definitely isn’t just friends behaviour, you’d say.

a gesture straight out of a teen romcom. a smile escapes you just thinking about it, and you have to bite your lower lip so no one —not the couple next to you, at least— will notice.

but that’s exactly what you look like, right? the main characters of a movie.

you check all the boxes, if you think about it —you met in the university cafeteria every morning and started talking to share a breakfast set because —surprise— you were perfectly compatible. it became a tradition for both of you, to the point you only looked forward to seeing the other every week. then, suddenly, you disappear for a whole week when everything’s going fine, and he has no way to contact you. very convenient for the plot. but really, you hadn’t thought about exchanging socials, since you saw each other every other day anyway. 

thankfully, you managed to give him your number through the cafeteria waitress.

and now you’re at a soccer match, wearing the first blue thing you found in your mother’s closet —a scarf way too warm for a summer day, but the only thing that could pass as team merch— to show your support. his parents are sitting next to you in the stands after saving you a seat. to top it all off, it's a perfect sunny day.

what’s the next thing? a goal dedicated to you?

oh. well. mental note —you think to yourself, snapping back to reality as isagi’s mother grabs your arm excitedly— don’t be sarcastic with the universe ever again.

because, right after spiraling with thoughts of the guy you like for about fifteen whole minutes, you might suddenly find yourself standing in front of your blue seat with your hands up, that guy’s mother pulling you to your feet. your hand grips the railing of the stands, your voice drowned among the crowd’s victory screams —and your gaze searches the field for the one who just scored the first goal of the game.

don’t be sarcastic with the universe again, because when your eyes land on number eleven from the blue team, you might surprise yourself by widely smiling and joining the choir of voices chanting his name, your voice blending into the roar as his teammates lift him in celebration.

and maybe —just maybe— your gaze meets his. and as he grabs his jersey by the number and presses a kiss to it, he points straight at you and mouths, this one’s for you.

or that’s what you think he says. you can’t really hear him from up here, and now everyone’s eyes are on you, and you honestly have no idea how to react.

the match continues, thankfully, and you sit back down without having to say anything. the crowd’s attention returns the field — though you’re pretty sure isagi’s mother is still watching you, but you’re not brave enough to turn and confirm it.

isagi yoichi just dedicated a goal to me. okay. fine. that’s completely fine and means nothing.

except you don’t feel fine at all. and you’re pretty sure it does mean something.

so this time, for real, you put all your attention on the match —because, if you’re honest, you have no idea of what’s been happening on the field since the game started. you try to follow the ball and recall all the plays isagi has described to you so many times. it’s a bit difficult, though, considering you never really understood them and mostly nodded along just because you liked seeing him light up while talking about the things he loves.

yeah. maybe you’ve been down bad for longer than you thought.

as your eyes lock onto number eleven again, you start to regret not paying attention earlier.

he’s a bit far from you now, waiting on the side of the field for a pass or a chance to steal the ball, while his teammate —the one with the blond streaks— skillfully advances with it, weaving through the opposing team. but you can see him clearly.

he looks focused, deep blue eyes fixed on the ball as it draws closer, his jet-black hair waves slightly in the breeze, a few damp strands clinging to his forehead. his mouth is parted slightly, his chest rising and falling with the rhythm of fast-paced breathing from running so much. his athletic shorts hug tightly around his thighs, muscles flexing as he starts to sprint after the now clear ball.

you swallow hard and blink a few times, trying to snap out of it. you're not the one who's been playing for nearly half an hour, but you're pretty sure you need a drink of water more than any of the players.

holy shit. since when is yoichi so hot?

you scratch the back of your neck nervously —a tic you’ve picked up from him—, eyes glued to the field. your face is hot and red, and you know it’s definitely not your too-warm scarf’s fault at all.

still, you can’t look away. you always knew he was handsome —way before you ever gathered the courage to talk to him—, but this is different. he looks confident, almost cocky. there’s a smug little grin when he steals the ball, raised brows when he blocks a goal, and the rest of the time he’s laser-focused, scanning the field. you can’t help but gulp every time his head turns toward the stands and his eyes land on you, even for just a second.

you don’t even catch what he’s yelling, both to his rivals and his teammates —probably not compliments or pretty words, judging by the way the crowd and even his parents react— because it’s impossible to focus on what he’s saying when he looks so aggressive and somehow so attractive doing it.

or maybe you just like him too much, and everything he does seems attractive.. 

either way, it doesn’t matter —because then he scores again, and the crowd erupts. you do too, but not because the scoreboard now reads 3-0, securing the win thanks to number ten’s earlier goal. no.

you turn bright red when, right after scoring, the striker looks straight at you —at your seat— with a confident, satisfied grin, and points at you again.

your legs actually tremble.

he’s driving you insane, and you’re pretty sure he knows it. 

you're so caught up in whatever spell he has you under that, for the rest of the match, you don't process a single a thing —even though your eyes never leave him once.

you do a good job of being a fan, though. 

you stand up with the crowd to clap and cheer when his teammates score two more goals —number 10, whose name is rin, as you've already learned, and the tall, white-haired boy, nagi. you even boo the other team when they get their first and only goal. you nod at all yoichi’s mother comments, who understands the game about as much as you do, and you smile politely at his father when he says something —which you mostly can’t hear over the crowd’s noise, but still respond to with an enthusiastic nod.

the heat gets intense enough that you’re forced to take your jacket off —not technically because of the weather, but no one but you needs to know that. by the end of the match, your jeans are rolled up and you’re left in just a tank top. but the scarf is still around your neck, and you make sure to adjust it carefully across your shoulders before following isagi’s parents down to the field once the crowd begins to disperse.

“what do you think, yn? isn’t he good?” his father asks. 

it’s the first time you can actually make out what he’s saying —the crowd had been way too loud before, and you didn’t want to repeat “what?” twenty times, so you’d just nodded and smiled.

“yeah, wow. he really is.” you answer, walking a little awkwardly between the two of them. you’re not even sure when exactly they managed to surround you “i understand now why you said he’s considered one of the best strikers in japan. i mean, he’s told me a lot about soccer, so i knew he had to be good just from how much he knows… but, wow. he’s amazing.” 

“yes, he is.” his mother adds, flashing you a wide smile. 

you meet her gaze and mirror the expression, and you know she means it when she says “we are very proud of him.”

his father nods in agreement, and something warm and fluttering blooms in your chest. it’s a weird feeling, being proud of someone just because you know others are proud of them too. feeling glad  —relieved, even— that people see him and admire him the same way you do. 

that’s love, you guess.

“he’s really thankful for you” you don’t know where it comes from, but you can’t stop yourself. “he’s told me a bunch of times. he loves you a lot.”

isagi’s mother’s smile softens, her right arm slipping around your shoulders. she adjusts your scarf gently, her fingers brushing your skin as she gives you a warm little squeeze.

“ah, we love him a lot, too.” she replies —then her kind smile shifts into something far too close to a teasing grin. “and something tells me we’re gonna love you a lot, too.”

you’re left completely speechless. you glance away quickly, unable to form a single coherent thought —let alone a response. what are you supposed to say when the mother of the guy you like basically gives you her blessing before you’re even official?

thankfully, isagi is finished talking to his coach and is now approaching you near the edge of the field. 

“yocchan!” his mother calls out, cupping her hands around her mouth to be heard —and removing her arm from around your shoulders in the process. “we’re here!”

you try to laugh at the nickname —you remember him confessing it to you a few mornings ago, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment— but you can’t. you can’t, because you’re speechless again. 

yoichi walks towards you with slow, steady steps.

his face is flushed and glistening with sweat, and his eyes still burn with the thrill of victory—there’re still traces of the same pride and confidence he only ever shows when he’s on the field in his gaze. strands of hair cling to his forehead, and his shirt, damp with sweat, sticks tightly to his frame.

then he grabs the hem of his jersey with one hand and lifts it to his face to wipe off the sweat from his mouth and nose. you try not to stare —really, you try—, but your eyes flick down to his stomach, and then straight back up to his eyes.

he's so attractive you almost choke on air.

isagi's mother starts to take a few steps toward him, but before she can reach him, a small group of girls intercepts him —practically swarming yoichi with flirtatious smiles and compliments that , judging by their tone, probably end with a request for his number.

however, despite how confident he is on the field, isagi’s not like that off of it —he’s more on the shy side. and he clearly has no interest in them at all.

he thanks them politely, as best he can, then awkwardly escapes the circle of attention they’ve trapped him in, practically jogging over to where his parents —and you— are waiting for him.

you know he's nervous when his hands goes to the back of his neck, ruffling his hair. he opens his mouth to say something, but no words come out.

it's funny how the silence is broken not by him, but by the same group of girls from before.

“i have no idea who that is.” one of them says, voice pitched just loud enough to be heard “maybe his sister? or his cousin, or something.”

you both burst out laughing at the interruption—and the assumption— and just like that, the awkward tension fades, letting isagi finally speak.

“thanks for coming.” he says. “i thought you weren’t going to show for a second, when the match started and i didn’t see you.” 

“yeah, had a little subway confusion, so…”

“no! no, i didn't mean it like a complaint or anything —just an observation. i’m really glad you made it.”

you smile softly.

“yeah, i’m really glad i came, too.”

he smiles back, and suddenly, it feels like the first day again, when neither of you knew what to say after that first hi.

you swallow hard, blink, and then break the silence.

“you were… fuck, you were amazing out there.” 

you’re staring at him —a little too openly. and then it hits you: you’re not alone. “oh! i mean- i mean, you were, wow, amazing out there.” you correct yourself quickly, glancing at his parents beside you.

his father chuckles.

“don’t worry. after all the things he’s shouted on the field, a simple fuck is nothing.”

your face burns red —redder than the opposing team’s jerseys— while both his parents laugh.

and you expect isagi to laugh too, or brush it off like he did with the girls earlier. but, instead, he blushes, and looks at you with that small, lopsided smile that makes your chest ache. 

then he looks away again, ruffling his hair.

there’s your breakfast partner again. not the star athlete —just the cute guy from the cafeteria that studies psychology and plays soccer.

"thanks. you, uh..”

he glances at his mom, who subtly gestures, nudging him to say more —like this is something they’ve rehearsed.

"you look very pretty today.” he finally says. 

then he adds, quickly:

“i mean, you always do —not just today. but you look specially pretty today." and he’s babbling again "that blue scarf looks great on you. but, uh, you also look kind of like you’re suffocating?”

you laugh. if only he knew it’s not the weather, but him, what’s making your face so red.

"i remembered uni's color was blue” you explain, fingers fidgeting with the end of the scarf. “didn’t have any merch, so i just tried to support you with whatever i had at home.”

what you don’t mention is that you stole it from you mom’s closet back in your hometown, after having a full-blown crisis over not owning anything remotely close to your college’s colors.

“well, i could give you something.” he offers, voice low and a bit nervous. “i have a few spare jerseys at home." 

you’re about to answer —or collapse, honestly, because you’re pretty sure this is the kind of things official couples do in cliché romantic movies— but then his mom cuts in:

“speaking of that —why don’t you come over, yn?” she asks. “i made yocchan’s favorite meal today. have lunch with us? he told us you live alone, so there’s no issue, right?” 

you start to understand where isagi got his talent for yapping.

“we’ll get to know you better, yoichi thanks you for coming to the game, and he gives you his jersey." 

your brain becomes a chaotic mess of thoughts. you want to say yes, obviously. you want to thank her for the invitation. you want to ask isagi what giving you his jersey means. you want to see his room and his house, but you also kind of want to run back to your place, dive onto your bed, and scream into a pillow.

isagi misreads your hesitation.

"mom, she might have plans. don’t pressure her—" 

"no, no, i’d love to go!" you interrupt quickly. 

yoichi raises a brow, clearly surprised —he knows you don’t really like his favorite dish. you’ve been bickering about it for weeks.

"thank you for inviting me."

"you heard her, yoichi, she said yes.” his mom beams. “now go shower, you’re still red from the match. you’ve got fifteen minutes, meet us at the car. meanwhile, yn and us have lots to talk about.”

somehow, she doesn’t make it sound like a threat, more like an invitation. 

drawing a smile, isagi mumbles a soft "sorry" before heading to the locker room. as he walks away, you call out: “i´ll be fine. i think she likes me." 

isagi’s smile is wide and bright right before he disappears through the locker room door. he’s so wrapped up in his own joy —so stupidly in love— he doesn’t even notice the trap he’s just walked into.

inside, the locker room is already full. his teammates are waiting, ready to tease him.

"i have some spare jerseys" karasu mocks, his voice high-pitched, grinning wide. "i could give you one”

isagi throws his towel at him.

"oh, shut up”

"nah, thats a good move, isagi" otoya chimes in “i've done that a bunch. nothing makes me play better than having a cute girl with my number on in the stands”

isagi doesn't love the comparison. otoya is famous for rotating girls every match —and that’s so not him. definitely not with you. 

he wants you at all his games. he wants you to be the only one ever, actually. for everything. only you, even if it seems too intense.

"its not like that" isagi says "i really like her. like… marry-her-like-her. having-kids-with-her-like-her. celebrate-christmas-with-her-like-her. ” 

otoya blinks.

"huh? well, i like all my girlfriends a lot too.”

isagi doesn’t respond —mostly because chigiri and reo immediately jump into a debate with otoya about how what he just said is probably offensive to, like, every girl in the country. and in the world.

still, one word lingers in his mind.

girlfriend. 

yeah. he wouldn’t mind calling you that at all.

masterlist.

tags ౨ৎ @ireallylikemenalot @rohfulike @numberonenessandnagistan @blu3-l0v3r .ᐟ (i tagged everyone who asked for the part 2, hope u dont mind <3 tell me if u want me to remove u from the list no prob!!)

﹫luvseisagi, june 2025.

[kpop-ruins-our-lives]

Bet - Choi Hyunwook scenario (Angst, smut, some fluff) Part 4 - end

Summary: Choi Hyunwook was a so called “bad boy” in school, has his group of friends and always makes trouble. Even though you didn’t know him personally, you just want a minute to feel, to take this man and infact you did get lucky. Sometimes taking a bet just to feed your pride is not a good idea.

PART 1 / PART 2 / PART 3

A/N: Hello everyone! I really hope you enjoyed this story as much as I did, It was a rollercoaster of emotions! Now, I am sad to to tell you this, but this part will be the last one. Love you, thank you for the support! Let me know what you think of the story!

Members: Choi Hyunwook x Reader Genre: Angst, some fluff, smut Warnings: mature language, fighting, minor injuries Word count: 4954

Between classes, Hyunwook and you would always find a way in some kind of playful banter. In the hallway, he’d lean against the lockers, waiting for you to pass by, a smirk already tugging at his lips before he even said anything.

“You again,” he’d tease as you walked past, stepping into your path just slightly, forcing you to slow down.

“You act like I’m the one following you around,” you’d fire back, rolling your eyes, but smiling anyway.

“That’s cute. Denial looks good on you,” he’d say, grin widening before walking off.

Then there were the quieter moments—the times when you’d catch each other in the back of the classroom, exchanging small glances.

One afternoon, as you sat together in the cafeteria, Hyunwook flicked a stray fry from his tray onto yours. “I don’t know why you act surprised when I do this. You should know by now that I have great aim.”

You rolled your eyes but nudged his shoulder.

“You think annoying me is some kind of art form?”

“Obviously. And I’m a master at it,” he said, leaning in, lowering his voice just slightly. “I wouldn’t waste this talent on just anyone.”

For a second, something shifted in the air—an unspoken challenge in the way his gaze lingered on yours, his teasing words carrying just a little more weight than usual.

And that’s when you asked him. “Hyunwook… why are you like this?”

His brows furrowed slightly. “Like what?”

You hesitated, but only for a second. “You know. The fights, the attitude. How you flirt with every girl who breathes in your direction.”

He chuckled at that, shaking his head, but you didn’t let him brush it off this time.

“Seriously,” you pressed. “Is there a reason? Why do you act the way you do?”

For the first time, he seemed caught off guard. His smirk faltered, even if just slightly. He leaned back, running a hand through his hair as he thought about it.

“I don’t know,” he admitted finally, voice quieter. “Maybe it’s just easier this way.”

You stared at him, feeling something shift between you again. “Easier?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged, looking away. “Easier to not think about it. To do what I do and move on.”

You let that sit for a moment. His honesty wasn’t much, but it was something.

Then, with a careful breath, you asked, “Then why are you still here? Why haven’t you moved on from me?”

His gaze snapped back to you. He opened his mouth like he was about to say something—but then, he stopped. His expression was unreadable like something had cracked inside him, and he wasn’t sure what to do about it.

But before you could press further, he let out a low chuckle, shaking his head again. “You ask a lot of questions.”

And just like that, the moment passed.

At least… for now. And maybe, just maybe, that was the first real crack in the perfect illusion he had built around himself. And reality had a way of catching up—whether he was ready for it or not.

---

Hyunwook never thought he’d be the kind of person to get caught up in someone—really caught up. He had spent years perfecting the art of detachment, keeping things light, never letting anyone get too close. But with you, it was different.

It wasn’t just the way you laughed, or the way you challenged him with your sharp remarks. It was the way you felt—the way your presence lingered even when you weren’t around.

He hated it. Or at least, he told himself he did.

Because the truth was, every time you walked into a room, his focus shifted. Every time you spoke, his attention was yours. And every time you looked at him—really looked at him—he felt something stir inside him that he didn’t know how to handle.

No matter where he was, Hyunwook always noticed you.

It wasn’t intentional—it just happened. His attention found you, settled on you, refused to shift. The way you laughed, the way your lips curled into a smirk when you challenged him, the way you carried yourself like you had no idea just how captivating you were. He found himself observing you without realizing it, caught in the pull of your presence in a way that unnerved him.

At the club that night, it was even worse. The dim lights, the bass thrumming through his veins, the warmth of alcohol buzzing in his system—it all made everything sharper. Every glance, every fleeting touch between you both felt magnified.

Hyunwook leaned against the bar, drink in hand, eyes drifting lazily across the crowd until they inevitably found you. You weren’t doing anything dramatic, just laughing at something, tossing your hair back slightly, but somehow, that was all it took.

And then, you felt it too.

Your eyes met his across the room, cutting through the blur of music and chatter, locking on like they had always meant to find each other at this exact moment. Something shifted.

Hyunwook didn’t look away—not at first. His gaze, heavy-lidded and hazy from alcohol, held something in it. Something raw, something he hadn’t let himself acknowledge before. His eyes weren’t just focused on you, they wanted you. Wanted to feel you, to taste you, to have your body pressed against his and remove every inch of space between you two.

The tension was undeniable—palpable.

His lips parted slightly, and then, slow and deliberate, his tongue darted out to wet them. The moment stretched just long enough for you to catch the hint of something playful in his expression—like he knew exactly what he was doing like he knew how much you wanted him right then.

Then, with a slow exhale, he turned his gaze away, a quiet smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

And that was it. That was the moment that sent a rush of heat through your body and left your pulse racing. The way he licked his lips, the way he smirked, the way he knew without either of you saying a word.

You wanted to feel him. You wanted to close the space, pull him in, and let your lips finally meet his like they were always meant to.

---

The sun hung low, casting golden hues across the riverbank as laughter echoed through the open space. All of you gathered at your usual hang-out spot.

Jihoon stood at the center, facing the boys, a playful smirk on his lips. “Alright, let’s see if all those lessons paid off,” Minho teased, cracking his knuckles as Taewoo circled around with mock seriousness.

“I bet he still trips over himself,” Taewoo joked, earning a laugh from everyone, including Jihoon, who rolled his eyes but took his stance.

Hyunwook watched with amusement, arms folded, observing Jihoon’s movements. He’d been part of those lessons—teaching Jihoon the tricks, the feints, the ways to anticipate a hit before it landed. Now, seeing Jihoon finally apply them was oddly satisfying.

The first few exchanges were lighthearted, testing reflexes rather than strength. Jihoon managed to dodge Taewoo’s playful jab, then countered with a calculated push that had everyone cheering.

“Okay, okay,” Minho laughed, patting Jihoon’s shoulder. “Not bad, rookie.”

You stood nearby, leaning against a rock, eyes scanning the scene, soaking in the energy around you. It was easy—effortless—to fall back into the warmth of the group. For a while, things felt normal again.

Then, when your gaze drifted across the space, it landed on him.

Hyunwook was already watching. His expression was unreadable at first, but as your eyes met, something softened. He held your gaze, just for a moment—long enough that it felt intentional. Then, the corners of his lips twitched into a small, almost hesitant smile. And without thinking, you smiled back.

It wasn’t much—it wasn’t a grand reconciliation or a confession—but it was something.

Then, Taewoo’s voice cut through the playful chaos.

“Alright, enough about fighting. Tomorrow night, all of you are coming to my house—no excuses.”

Jieun perked up. “What’s the occasion?”

“No occasion,” Taewoo shrugged. “We’ve been too busy avoiding each other lately. Tomorrow, we’re doing this—hanging out, playing games, drinking, eating properly for once.”

A collective agreement was passed through the group.

---

The night at Taewoo’s house had been light and carefree. Laughter, teasing, and the easy flow of conversation filled every corner of the room. As the evening wore on, someone suggested a game of Truth or Dare—a ritual that had always brought out both secrets and hilarity in equal measure.

Taewoo smiled taking a breath and spun the bottle on the coffee table. It slowly stopped spinning and landed on you.

"Y/N... Truth or dare?" he raised a brow"

"Truth." you spoke almost feeling nervous as you answered.

“Alright, truth time: do you... Have feelings for Hyunwook?” His question hung in the air as everyone fell silent, waiting for your answer. Your stomach twisted immediately, the air around you shifting, pressing down hard. All eyes landed on you, waiting, expecting. You could lie—maybe—but when you finally spoke, the truth tumbled out before you had time to stop it.

“Yes.”

A murmur of playful surprise washed over the group, punctuated by teasing “Oooohs” and knowing looks. You could feel every eye in the room on you—even Hyunwook’s gaze pierced through the playful crowd. His expression was unreadable, a mix of amusement and something darker, more guarded.

In that charged moment, when you confessed your feelings for him, Hyunwook’s heart pounded in quiet agony. Deep down, he had known all along that your gaze held more than just flirtatious fun, that you harbored something more genuine. For years, he had prided himself on being unattached—a master of keeping emotions at bay and maintaining his cool, untouchable persona.

As the group pressed on with the game, every eye fixated on you two, Hyunwook’s internal struggle was hidden behind a practiced mask of indifference. Minho this time spun the bottle, and it stopped as expected, on Hyunwook.

Hyunwook chose the truth. Minho with an excited smile leaned back on the sofa.

"Do you have feelings for Y/N?"

In a voice that was measured and steady, Hyunwook replied,

“No, I don’t.” The words fell like a weight into the suddenly icy silence, slicing through the expectant atmosphere with a clinical detachment that belied the turmoil churning inside him.

His focus had narrowed to just one thing: you.

In the charged silence between you both, he saw it—the way your expression flickered from shock to quiet devastation, the raw vulnerability in your eyes. And in that instant, regret crashed over him like a wave. He met your stare, he felt the walls he had spent so long building crack. He could see it in your eyes—the way they searched his for anything, any sign that his words weren’t true. And he wanted to say something, anything, to take it back. To let you know that, somehow, despite himself, you had shaken him in ways no one else ever had.

But he didn’t.

For one long heartbeat, your eyes locked. In that instant, the playful warmth that had defined so many past encounters gave way to something raw and unresolved. His own eyes clouded with a silent apology—one he couldn’t bring himself to say out loud. His regret was there, lingering behind the cool indifference he tried to maintain. There was a quiet desperation in the way his lips parted slightly, as if wanting to speak, but no words came. Because what could he possibly say? That he was lying? That he was scared? That despite everything, he did feel something?

It was too late.

His carefully maintained persona, built on the notion of non-commitment and fleeting pleasures, fought a losing battle against the undeniable truth evident in your eyes.

In that thick silence, you felt the tension so keenly that you could almost cut it with a knife. His declaration of indifference was not so much an absolute truth as it was a fortress he had constructed to keep his vulnerabilities at bay. Deep inside, Hyunwook wrestled with an emotion he barely understood himself—a feeling that might have grown into something more, had he not been so determined to push it away. But his fear of being vulnerable, of truly caring in a way that might change him forever, had always been his refuge. And even now, as your mutual stare held volumes of unsaid words, the irony stung: he had sensed your feelings long before you voiced them, yet instinct and habit compelled him to deny them.

You barely processed the reactions around you—the murmurs, the side glances, the tension hanging thick in the air. All you felt was the sharp sting of betrayal tightening in your chest, making it hard to breathe.

Without a word, you pushed yourself up from the couch, your pulse pounding in your ears as you stormed out of Taewoo’s house. The night air hit you like a slap, cool and biting against the warmth of your flushed skin. Your vision blurred with the weight of everything crashing down at once—anger, humiliation, heartbreak. It was too much.

And for the first time in a long time, Hyunwook wondered if maybe, just maybe, he had finally played himself out of the one thing that ever truly mattered.

Jieun wasn’t far behind. She caught up to you just outside the house, reaching for your arm. "Hey, wait—just talk to me for a second," she pleaded, her voice steady but concerned.

You pulled away slightly, crossing your arms as you tried to swallow the lump forming in your throat. "What’s there to talk about, Jieun?"

She sighed, rubbing her forehead like she was searching for the right words. "I warned you," she said softly. "I told you how Hyunwook is, how he acts—how he keeps things on the surface and never lets them get real. And I know you cared about him, I really do, but… you were just a passing excitement to him. Someone to fill his time, his needs."

Her words cut deep, sharper than you expected.

You turned to her, wounded.

"You think I was just some... distraction? Some girl he messed around with for fun? Do you really think that little of me?"

Jieun’s face softened, but her honesty remained unwavering.

"I think he cared more than he let on. But I also think he’s too much of a coward to admit it."

Meanwhile, back inside, the energy had shifted. The once-lively room was now weighed down with quiet unease.

Hyunwook sat on the edge of the couch, his jaw tight, his hands clasped together as if forcing himself to stay still. Minho and Taewoo exchanged glances before Minho finally broke the silence.

"What the hell was that, man?"

Hyunwook stayed quiet just taking a deep breath.

"You could’ve said anything else—literally anything else. But instead, you just threw her under the bus for what? To save face?" Taewoo said frustrated

Hyunwook scoffed. "I didn’t ‘throw her under the bus.’ I answered the question."

"Bullshit Hyunwook." Minho snapped.

"We all know you have feelings for her. You’ve had them for months. Hell, maybe even before that. So why lie? Why act like she meant nothing?"

Hyunwook clenched his jaw, eyes flashing with irritation. "You’re reading way too much into this."

"No, we’re not," Taewoo shot back. "The way you two were always around each other, the way you looked at her—hell, even tonight when she admitted how she felt, you looked like you wanted to say something. But instead, you went with the easy way out. Why?"

"It doesn’t matter." Hyunwook looked up at Minho and Taewoo

"Like hell, it doesn’t," Minho countered. "You keep pushing people away like it’s some game, but this—this wasn’t just another girl, another flirtation, another passing moment. This was different, and you damn well know it."

Hyunwook’s patience snapped. "You don’t know shit."

"Oh, but we do," Taewoo pressed.

"We’ve seen it, we’ve felt it—you were different with her. You actually cared. And instead of admitting it, you did exactly what we expected—ran from it. Just like you always do."

The room went still. Hyunwook’s fists clenched at his sides, frustration bubbling beneath his skin, not because they were wrong—but because they weren’t.

Minho sighed, shaking his head.

"You just lost someone who really did care about you, man." His voice was quieter now, more serious, more final. "She did. From day one."

Hyunwook’s chest tightened, his pulse loud in his ears. He didn’t respond—not because he didn’t have anything to say, but because for the first time in a long time, the weight of his choices sat heavily on his shoulders.

---

The months passed, but the feelings never faded.

Hyunwook had changed. Not outwardly—not in ways people pointed at and whispered about—but in the small ways that made the silence between you both unbearable. He slept more in class, head tilted against his arm as if exhaustion had finally caught up with him, but really, it was just a way to escape. The fights happened more often too—short bursts of frustration, anger spilling out in ways he didn’t fully understand. And every now and then, he would glance across the classroom or the hallway, trying—waiting—to catch you looking at him.

But you never were. Or at least, not when he was watching. Because when he wasn’t looking, you were.

That the feelings—the longing, the ache, the regret—they never disappeared. They just lived in moments neither of you were willing to admit to.

Hyunwook started going out more, drinking more, drowning himself in distractions he knew would never be enough. He flirted, and acted like nothing had changed, but the truth sat heavy in his chest every time his mind drifted back to you. Because even surrounded by people, it was you he wanted.

Meanwhile, you had distanced yourself from the group. No more late-night hangouts, no more playful teasing, no more Hyunwook. Even when Jieun asked—pleaded, really—you always told her no. You just couldn’t. Not after everything.

Jieun and Jihoon had gotten together. The two of them were effortless—so wrapped up in each other that sometimes you found yourself just watching, smiling at how natural it seemed. They had found each other. They had chosen each other, openly and without hesitation.

And maybe that was what hurt the most.

Because you and Hyunwook had that too—until the night it all shattered over one simple question and a moment of pride.

Because the truth was, you knew he had felt something. You had seen it in his eyes—the regret, the silent apology, the longing hidden beneath all his careless words.

Because when there were no words, Hyunwook’s eyes spoke the loudest.

And even now, even after months of silence, you still couldn’t forget them.

---

The party was loud, the kind of chaos that swallowed everything whole—music pulsing, laughter spilling across the room, drinks passing from hand to hand like lifelines. Hyunwook drowned himself in it, in the blur of alcohol and distraction, in the empty flirtations with girls who leaned in too easily, who giggled at his effortless charm. But none of it felt right.

The realization settled like a slow ache, buried beneath his intoxication, but clawing its way out. Hyunwook wanted to fight it. Needed to. So he drank more, leaned in closer to the next girl who smiled at him, and let himself pretend—for just a second—that none of this mattered.

But it did.

And then frustration took over. The anger at himself, at everything. The overwhelming need to destroy something just to feel something real again.

When he pushed himself up, breath unsteady, fists clenched, Minho and Taewoo were already watching. They saw it—saw the storm brewing inside him, saw the way his jaw tightened, how his shoulders squared like he was ready for something reckless.

“Don’t,” Minho warned, stepping in front of him.

Hyunwook let out a bitter laugh. “Why not? What do you care?”

“We care because we know exactly what this is,” Taewoo said, voice firm but not unkind. “And this isn’t the way to handle it.”

It took longer than it should have, but somehow, they pulled him back—talked him down from whatever chaos he was about to unleash. And when Hyunwook finally stumbled outside, into the fresh air that hit him like a slap, everything caught up to him.

The guilt. The regret. The mess he had made.

And most of all—you.

He sat down on the patio, elbows on his knees, head in his hands, feeling his chest tighten with something he couldn’t control anymore.

The weight of the night pressed down on Hyunwook as he sat on the patio, the cold air barely enough to clear the storm raging inside him. His hands clenched around the empty glass in front of him, his head heavy with regret, desire, frustration—every feeling he had pushed away for months now flooding his system. He wanted you. He needed you. And the realization of that truth made him angrier than anything.

He exhaled sharply, dragging his hand down his face, overwhelmed. What the hell was wrong with him? Why did he do this to himself—to you? He had spent months convincing himself that pushing you away was the right thing to do, that keeping his distance meant keeping control. But control was an illusion now, slipping from his grasp with every second that passed without you.

With a sudden, reckless determination, he grabbed his glass and downed the last of his drink, the alcohol burning his throat as he stood abruptly. “I’m going to find her,” he muttered, voice rough, strained.

Minho and Taewoo immediately stepped in. “Hyunwook, stop,” Taewoo warned, standing as well.

“She doesn’t want to see you,” Minho added, more gentle but firm. “You hurt her, man. Just let it be.”

Hyunwook’s jaw clenched, his fists tightening at his sides. “I don’t care,” he said, voice raw with desperation. “Get out of my way.”

Minho reached for his arm, but Hyunwook shoved him off, frustration boiling over. “Just stop.”

He pulled out his phone, shaking his fingers fumbling to find your name in his contacts. His pulse pounded as he pressed the call, his breath uneven. The screen lit up—ringing.

You, on the other end, stared at your phone. Hyunwook’s name flashed on the screen, the familiar sight sending a ripple of emotions through your chest. It was 4 a.m.—what could he possibly want now?

You didn’t answer.

But he called again. And after the fifth time, with a frustrated sigh, you finally picked up.

“Hyunwook.” Your voice was cautious, tired, and uncertain.

And at that moment, the world stopped for him.

Hearing your voice after so long—it was enough to send a shiver through his body, enough to make him forget the alcohol in his veins, the anger in his chest, the chaos in his mind. You were there. You were real.

He tried to speak, but the words came out slurred, incoherent. You could barely understand him. “I need to see you,” he pleaded, voice desperate, unsteady.

You exhaled, shaking your head even though he couldn’t see you.

“No, Hyunwook.”

“Please.” His voice cracked, barely above a whisper.

You hesitated. You should have hung up. You should have ignored him. But something—maybe the worry, maybe the fact that despite everything, you still cared—kept you on the line.

And after a long pause, you finally sighed.

“I’m coming to get you.”

The street was quiet—everyone inside, the party long past its peak. As you arrived there he was, sitting on the front steps, head bowed, fingers loosely curled around the empty glass beside him.

As if sensing you, Hyunwook slowly lifted his head. His tired, hazy eyes found yours, and for a moment, he just looked.

There was silence.

You didn’t say anything. Neither did he.

When he finally moved, pushing himself up from the stairs, he stumbled slightly, his balance uneven, the alcohol in his system weighing him down. He barely managed to stand, but his gaze never wavered. You could see it—all of it. The raw mix of emotions flooding his expression, the quiet devastation, the longing, the regret buried deep behind the drunken haze.

Hyunwook opened his mouth, as if trying to say something, but no words came. Instead, his hand lifted, fingers brushing against your cheek in a way that sent a shiver down your spine—not from the touch, but from the weight of everything behind it.

A silent plea. A quiet wish for things to be different.

But this time—this time—you didn’t lean into it.

Slowly, carefully, you reached up and moved his hand away.

“No,” you murmured, your voice steady, but not cruel.

His brows furrowed slightly, confusion flickering across his face, but he didn’t fight it. He didn’t argue. He just stood there, lost, watching as you stepped back.

“I’m taking you home,” you said, voice firm now.

And suddenly, it was familiar—so familiar that it almost hurt.

Because once, when you were drunk, when you were the one stumbling through blurred emotions and overwhelming feelings, Hyunwook had been the one to take care of you.

Now, the roles were reversed.

And for the first time, you understood just how painful it was. Because taking care of someone you cared for—someone you had feelings for—was easy. But taking care of someone you had already lost? That was something else entirely. And neither of you were ready for it.

But tonight, there was no choice. Tonight, you would bring him home.

And no matter what happened after that, neither of you could escape the truth:

It was never supposed to end like this.

You walked beside Hyunwook, his steps uneven, his body leaning slightly toward you as the alcohol weighed him down. He wasn’t completely incoherent—but he was close.

His house wasn’t far, but every second of the walk felt heavier than it should have.

“Why’d you come?” His voice was rough, barely above a whisper, but the question hung in the air between you both like a fragile thread.

You didn’t answer right away. You kept your gaze ahead, hands wrapped around his wrist, steadying his movements when he stumbled slightly.

“You called me Hyunwook." you said

"Plus I sensed you were drunk. Someone had to make sure you got home safe,” you finally replied, voice firm but not unkind.

He let out a bitter chuckle. “That’s it?”

You sighed. You didn’t want to do this—not now, not like this.

“Yes, Hyunwook. That’s it.”

But he wasn’t satisfied with that answer. You could feel it in the way he turned his head to look at you, in the way his drunken haze barely dimmed the intensity in his gaze.

“You never used to walk away,” he murmured after a pause. “Not from me.”

That hurt. More than it should have. But you ignored it, ignored the way your chest tightened and instead focused on keeping your steps even.

The streetlights flickered softly as you finally reached his house. You helped him up the steps, pulled his keys from his pocket, and unlocked the door, guiding him inside. He sank onto the bed with a heavy sigh, head tilted back, eyes fluttering shut as if exhaustion had finally caught up to him.

You stood there, watching him for a moment, the weight of everything pressing down on you.

This used to be so different.

Once, it had been him taking care of you—his voice softer, his touch steady, his presence a comfort you never questioned. And now, you were standing in the same place, filling the same role, but everything felt so wrong.

You turned to leave, but before you could take a step, his voice stopped you.

“I miss you.”

It was barely audible—slurred and drenched in alcohol—but you heard it. And for a fleeting moment, you let yourself believe it, but then you shook your head, swallowed hard, and walked out the door.

The door clicked shut behind you, and with it, the last thread of control Hyunwook had been clinging to unraveled.

He laid on his stomach, body sinking deep into the mattress, pulling the sheets toward his face like they could somehow shield him from the crushing weight of regret. He buried himself there, fingers clutching the fabric like it was the only thing grounding him.

And then, finally—he broke.

The tears came silently at first, slipping past the barriers he had spent months reinforcing. But soon, his chest tightened, breath uneven, the sobs shaking him in ways he couldn’t control.

It wasn’t just regret. It wasn’t just longing. It was everything.

The ache of having you so close yet so far. The unbearable truth that this time, he had lost you for good.

Hyunwook wasn’t the kind of person who let emotions take over. He wasn’t the kind of person who let himself feel—not fully, not deeply. But now, alone in his room, drowning in the silence you left behind, he let himself think—really think—about you.

About every moment spent with you. The laughter, the teasing, the late-night conversations, the way your eyes had always searched his like you were trying to understand something he wouldn’t dare admit.

And as he lay there, shattered, drunk, exhausted, a quiet thought slipped through the chaos of his mind.

Maybe—just maybe—time would bring you back.

Not like this. Not with shattered words and bleeding wounds.

But in the right way.

Maybe one day, when the weight of pride and mistakes had faded, he could make things right.

He would make you happy. He would make you smile, laugh, feel loved—the way he should have from the beginning.

He would give you everything.

[wisterasxapril]

TOKYO REVENGERS HEAD CANONS

based on what i personally think would be fitting for these characters.

honestly, i didn’t expect it to go this direction, but it centers around the toman gang! ft. takemichi, draken, mikey, peh-yan, angry&smiley, baji, chifuyu and more

TW: suggestive behaviors, swearing, slight spoilers(?)

• while we know our favorite time traveling boi, takemichi, lives in absolute filth and might be super smelly, i really think that he either has smell blindness and thinks that it’s fine and that everyone was just dramatic OR that he actually takes multiple showers a day and has environment blindness to his own mess and doesn’t understand the smell around him

• oddly enough while baji may be easily one of the most feared people in toman, no one would ever guess that the person that baji fears the most is his own mom

• like he promised mama baji that he wasn’t going to fight & that he’d be home so she didn’t have to worry about him when she’s gone off to her night job. and when it turns out he came home to her waiting for him and she sees him covered in dirt and blood? i can totally see him shaking in his boots knowing he disappointed his mom

“Oh hey mom…I thought you were working toni-”

“Cut the bullshit, I called out because I had a hunch you’d be out. I’m going to beat your ass.”

“MOM PLEASE I’M SOR-”

• chifuyu is such a fake tough guy as much as he’s strong and is just as tank-ish as takemichi. this dude is a DWEEB like will pick up on slang, accents, mannerisms of fictional characters from tv shows to manga and it gets to a point where people will get second hand embarrassment for him but no one says anything bc it’s such a reoccurring thing

• idc what anyone says but mikey is super self absorbed. when he was younger, he was asked who he looked up to and this mf said himself and when he was told that he can’t say that? mikey threw a FIT

• draken is such a typical bike person like i think he would genuinely wish to be like tenya iida from my hero academia or iron man

• bc of draken’s love for bikes, emma would literally have so much beef with his bike that she BLAMES anything bad that happened to her on the bike

• like she would honestly personify draken’s bike and convince herself that it was alive

“…Emma, you do know it’s almost midnight. I really need to study for my test tomorrow. Also, you do know it’s just a bike, it can’t hurt you…?”

“No. No, no, no, Hinata! That’s what it wants you to think! I swear I was just minding my business while I was watching Draken mess with his bike and the damned thing moved its wheel and tripped me! It’s alive and it knows what it’s doing and it’s trying to get me to stay from Draken and it ju-…Hello? Did you just hang up on me?”

• mitsuya is so into designing that he smells the different fabrics and talk to them while he worked. like this dude is so down bad that club members or Peh-yan used to see him after club hours whispering sweet nothings and lovingly rub the fabrics on his cheek

• Peh-yan is actually much smarter than he leads people to believe and i would say it’s bc he cause he just respects Pah-chin so much that he doesn’t want him to ever feel bad about being dumb lol

• even though smiley is the eldest, he totally acts like a spoiled younger brat sometimes and angry has to take the responsibilities that should belong to the eldest

• and even though smiley loves his dear twin brother, it doesn’t change the fact he also despises the unruly curly hair both on angry and himself. so when he straightens his own hair and asks his brother to do the same? angry will straight up say no and walk away

• i can totally see smiley throwing a tantrum and calling angry names bc 1) smiley is the older brother and the youngest must always follow what their elders say 2) why can’t angry just see that smiley is just looking out for him? and 3) smiley lowkey just wants to match his little bro but doesn’t want to admit it bc it might make him look lame

“So, you just want me to straighten my hair because I’m going to be more popular? That’s so dumb.”

“C’mon Souya, stop being a fucking wet blanket. You have to do what I say!”

“Dude, you just want me to twin with you.”

“…what? N-no, that not it! Stop being so weird and do it now fuck face!”

“…bro, no. Also you missed the entire back side of your head. You look dumb as fuck right now.”

• yamagishi lowkey looks up to kisaki and is impressed by what this crazy fucker does in the background and doesn’t really fight. trust that yamagishi looks up to kisaki just bc he hates fighting and constantly is getting this ass beat and he’s tired of it

• makoto’s definetely a little freak, it’s canon that he got kicked out of takemichi’s house after his mom found him masturbating, but i like to think this event caused makoto get it together and lock in

• it’s also canon that his favorite spot is under the bed, so i can totally see makoto being super embarrassed after the ordeal and would use that spot to ground himself and that takemitchi would come visit him during this weird time to tell him it was okay and that it’s something he forget it ever happened

• like it’s such funny image bc just image for a month after makoto got caught, this dude would just lay under his bed whenever he could and takemichi would come visit, pushing a plate of food towards the bed, and it just looked like takemichi was making friends with a bed

• bless this man’s heart, but takuya was always mistaken for a girl in his early teens and somehow always carries a damsel in distress aura so both guys and girls always tried to come to his defense

• he was at the mall and some old man is trying to flirt with him? girls come to his aid. at the store and can’t reach something? a taller man will get it for him and tell him “not to stress with such pretty face and to not be embarrassed to ask for help”. walking home with bags of grocery? the older ladies at the park will unapologetically gossip out loud how it was a shame of how “frail of a pretty girl” takuya is and that it was shameful for how a girls’ parents to not be considerate

• even when the mizo middle five first joined, a lot of them would mistaken him as a girl but at least takuya had constant company wherever he went bc toman men were actually very protective of women

• lowkey atsushi would also get the same treatment, not as bad as takuya but the toman men would see him as ‘big sis’ for a while and ask him for advice, especially when it came to self care and more importantly hair care

• i totally see both takuya and atsushi milking the shit out of the weird assumptions just for the hell of it and when draken or mitsuya actually clears up the assumptions at a meeting, the toman men still are protective of takuya and still go to atsushi for ‘big sis’ advice

“Ugh, Takuya do you ever get annoyed with them thinking you’re still a girl? Ever since the meeting, they still come up to me for sister advice but the locker room behavior started. They kinda hit hard.”

“That’s a you problem. I’m just happy to have someone to hang out with me all the time and carry some stuff. ”

“They only do that because they still think you’re a pretty girl.”

“Yeah, key words on “pretty”. Maybe be prettier and you would be treated like a queen.”

“Dude, you’ve really let this get to your head.”

• we definitely do not talk enough about the toman men in general but while i’ve seen lots of posts of toman being chaotic, i feel the opposite. i see the toman men being fairly quiet and are softies

• despite all of that and while they have doubt a lot of the time, they definitely come through to support whatever mikey envisions or what they think he would envision.

• one of the captains or vice captains having lady problems? best believe they will come through to hold a boys night. when Pah-chin got locked up? the toman men definitely schemed to break him out for a long time even when draken out and threatened to beat them up if they don’t stop.

if you’ve made it this far, thank you for reading! this is def my first post so please don’t criticize too much 😭 let me know what you think <3

[whosashan]

Hello! I love your writing! I was wondering.. would it be possible to request a sequel to Bitter for all the guys? The angst really got me good, but an end Where they see the Reader move on, whether it be with another LI or another person. Those sorts of fics soothe the angst for me even if they don’t end up together again.

Sour

Pt.1

PAIRING: Love and Deepspace men x non-mc!reader

SYNOPSIS: A year has slipped through your fingers like sand, carrying away the sharp edges of bitterness— or so you thought. Yet, the past has a cruel way of resurfacing, and when you stand before your former lover once more, the question lingers: has time truly softened the wound, or does resentment still simmer beneath your skin?

A/N: A lot of you guys asked for a sequel, and I must say - I'm so greatful for all of your support. It feels unreal, knowing that so many people enjoy my writing and get engaged in it. I tried to include every suggestion you gave me in some way. It ended up quite long, because I wanted to make sure they suffer. I really hope it's up to your liking, enjoy!

Xavier

A year had passed—one carved from sorrow, stitched with bitterness. Betrayal, mistrust, insecurities—every fracture in your heart laid bare, every ugly truth dragged into the light.

And yet, in some quiet, inexplicable way, you were grateful.

Grateful for the clarity, for the stripping away of illusions, for the lesson that love—no matter how fervent—could not thrive on longing alone. You had spent so much time searching for a deeper meaning, convincing yourself there had to be one. But sometimes, the truth was simple. Painfully, mercilessly simple.

He hadn’t chosen you.

There had been texts, calls, attempts at conversation. Words typed and deleted, ringing phones you never answered. You knew his tactics too well—the pleading eyes, the soft-spoken apologies, the way he’d paint his regret with honeyed words. But you had learned. This time, you refused to fall.

And so, the city became a vast and empty place, void of Xavier’s shadow. No accidental encounters, no glimpses of golden hair in a crowded street. It was as if the universe had granted you mercy, shielding you from the ghost of what could have been.

And with time, bitter turned to sour. Sour softened into something gentler, something warm. Until one day, you woke up and found yourself unburdened.

You were thriving.

A promotion at work. New friends. Doors opening where once there had only been walls. It was almost absurd, how small your world had been, how much of yourself you had given away for the sake of love that was never truly yours.

Because in the end, one heartbreak wasn’t the end of the world.

And when you finally let yourself step forward, the idea of meeting someone new no longer felt like a betrayal of your past self. It was slow at first—hesitant, uncertain—but why should someone else pay the price for wounds they never inflicted?

You were seeing someone. The phrase alone felt foreign on your tongue, strange in your mind. But it was real. It was different. No silent doubts, no waiting for the inevitable unraveling. Just laughter. Just affection. Just love, in the simplest, most effortless form.

You were distracted by happiness.

And maybe that was why fate decided to test you.

The bell above the café door chimed, a familiar sound that had never meant anything—until now. Until the moment you met a gaze you once knew better than your own.

Blue. Icy, calculating, flickering with disbelief.

Xavier.

He looked different. Sharper somehow, but worn. Dark circles framed those piercing eyes, his golden hair a little unkempt, a crease forming between his brows. There was no laughter in his expression, no easy charm. Just silence—thick, heavy, laced with something you couldn’t name.

Like he was seeing a ghost.

Like, after all this time, he still wasn’t sure if you were real.

He stood from his table, slow and careful, as if you might vanish if he moved too quickly. You straightened your posture, steeling yourself.

"Y/N..."

Your name left his lips like a prayer. Soft. Tentative. As if he didn’t deserve to say it.

And maybe he didn’t.

Still, you had promised yourself you’d be better than bitterness. That you wouldn’t let the past sink its claws into you.

So you smiled. Small, polite, but distant. "Xavier. Long time no see."

Something flickered in his expression, fleeting but unmistakable. Hurt.

"Yeah," he echoed, glancing down for a moment, hands curling into fists before he exhaled, gathering himself. "Long time no see."

A pause. A heavy, unspoken weight settling between you.

And then—"Would you sit with me?" His voice was quieter now, more hesitant. "Just for a little while? I won’t... I won’t nag you, I swear." A ghost of a smile barely touched his lips.

For a moment, you considered.

Curiosity stirred—how had he been? How had life treated him? And yet, you knew better. You had spent too long craving answers that would never change the past. The Xavier who stood before you was not yours to worry about. Not anymore.

So you inhaled slowly, steadying your heart, and said simply, "I don’t think there’s anything left to talk about."

Blunt. Honest. Kind, but final.

And for once, you didn’t feel guilty for choosing yourself.

The bell rang again, the door swinging open, and warmth enveloped you as familiar arms wrapped around your waist, a kiss pressed to your cheek.

"Love," a voice murmured, teasing and light. "You always make me chase after you." They laughed, and you did too, the sound effortless.

Your partner turned, glancing at Xavier with mild curiosity. "Am I interrupting something?"

"Nothing at all," you assured, slipping your fingers into theirs, warmth meeting warmth. "Let’s go."

And as you walked away, hand in hand with the person who had mended what Xavier broke, you didn’t look back.

But he did.

Xavier stood frozen, watching as you disappeared into the city, just as he had let you slip through his fingers once before.

And this time, there was no note left behind. No final words.

Only silence.

And the weight of a mistake he could never undo.

...

But it seemed fate was not yet finished with him. Seeing you again was a wound torn open, an ache that refused to fade. Xavier realized, with the kind of clarity that arrives too late, that he couldn’t let you go.

Not without trying.

And it didn’t matter that you belonged to someone else now—desperation made a man reckless. He would settle for anything. A glance, a word, a sigh in his direction. Proof that he had not become a ghost in your memory.

So he searched. Called. Texted. Every message fell into silence, his words lost to the void. He wandered through the places you once loved, only to find them hollow, emptied of your presence. It was as if you had evaporated, leaving no trace behind.

But then—when he finally found you, sitting on a weathered park bench beneath the fading gold of an autumn sky—his breath hitched. You looked different. Not just in the way time shapes a person, but in the way peace does. It softened you, made you untouchable.

He hesitated. He didn’t want to startle you, didn’t want to seem like a desperate man chasing shadows. But wasn’t that exactly what he was? Obsessed, haunted, unraveling beneath the weight of his own mistakes.

And then you looked at him.

His heart stuttered. Your eyes—once a universe he had called home—held no welcome for him now. There was recognition, yes. But it was distant, indifferent. A ghost of a smile graced your lips, polite but hollow, and something inside him withered.

"I need to talk to you," he rasped, his voice raw from all the words he had never said.

You tilted your head, considering him in that quiet, unreadable way. Then, with a small sigh, you gestured to the empty space beside you. An invitation—not of warmth, but of duty. Perhaps you felt he deserved the clarity he had never given you.

He sat, feeling like a man standing at the edge of a cliff.

"I have no right to ask for forgiveness," he confessed, staring down at his hands as if the answers were etched into his skin. "I know that. But I feel... lost. Lost without you guiding me."

There was silence, heavy as the twilight creeping in around you. And then—

"What’s done is done." Your voice was steady, like the final toll of a bell. "You’re right—some things can’t be forgiven. And actions have consequences. I’ve moved on, Xavier. And you should, too. That’s the only clarity I can give you."

Your words struck like a blade, precise and inescapable. He had braced himself for anger, for screams, for the fury he knew he deserved. But instead, you looked at him with nothing but pity.

And that—God, that was worse.

"Y/N, please," he choked out, his resolve crumbling. "Just give me a chance. I’ll do anything. Anything."

He fell to his knees before you, the weight of his regret pressing him into the earth. Once, he had stood tall beside you. Now, he knelt at your feet, pleading for the remnants of something he had destroyed with his own hands.

You blinked, surprise flickering across your face before you exhaled softly. "I’m happily taken…" The words were gentle, but firm. And then, the final blow—"Engaged, actually."

You lifted your hand, and in the dimming light, the diamond on your finger gleamed like the last star in a dying sky.

Xavier’s breath left him in a ragged gasp. No. No, this couldn’t be real.

"Please—" He reached for you, his hands trembling, his world tilting beneath him. "I can’t do this without you."

You smiled then, and for the first time that evening, it was real. Soft, kind, but completely out of reach.

"I’m afraid that’s none of my business anymore."

You rose to your feet, turning away from him, your figure bathed in the golden light of a world that no longer had room for him. He watched, helpless, as you walked away—each step sealing his fate, each breath pulling you further from his grasp.

And when you disappeared beyond the trees, he realized the cruelest truth of all.

Some mistakes don’t come with second chances.

Zayne

A year.

A year since you had stood in the ruins of what you once called love, waiting for something—anything—to make sense. Since the walls of your world had collapsed beneath the weight of neglect, since the name Dr. Zayne had burned like acid on your tongue.

And yet, look at you now.

Thriving.

You had carved out a life that was entirely your own, no longer bending yourself into smaller, more convenient shapes to fit into someone else’s world. Your career—once just a dream, a hesitant whisper in the back of your mind—had become your reality, a space where your talents were not only recognized but celebrated. Your relationships flourished, no longer strained by the quiet loneliness of waiting for a man who always seemed just out of reach.

The girl who once sat by the phone, heart aching for a call that never came, was gone.

And yet, the ghosts of Zayne still lingered.

The recipe he once taught you? You still loved it, the taste laced with a bittersweet nostalgia. The song he always played while driving? Occasionally, you let it slip through your speakers, if only to remind yourself how far you had come. The pain of his absence had dulled into something quieter—no longer a gaping wound, but a faded scar.

You had learned to appreciate what his neglect had taught you.

Because he had shown you exactly what love wasn’t.

And now, you knew better.

...

It was supposed to be an ordinary evening.

Your partner—warm, steady, everything you had once begged for—had suffered a minor accident. Nothing dire, but enough to warrant a hospital visit, just to be sure. And so you stood there, waiting near the reception desk, arms crossed over your chest, glancing at the fluorescent glow of the overhead lights. The air smelled of antiseptic and sterile linens, the faint beeping of monitors a rhythmic pulse in the background.

And then—

You felt it before you saw it.

A gaze. Heavy. Familiar.

You turned.

And there he was.

Dr. Zayne.

For a moment, the world seemed to shrink, narrowing down to the space between you and him. He looked... different. Or maybe it was you who had changed. His sharp, professional composure remained, but there was something wearier about him now. The pristine white coat did little to hide the exhaustion beneath his eyes, the slight furrow of his brows, the way he adjusted his glasses in that meticulous way of his.

And yet, despite it all—he was still devastatingly familiar.

"Y/N?"

Your name fell from his lips like a habit he had forgotten he missed.

There was something almost startled in his expression, as if he hadn’t expected to see you here, hadn’t expected you at all.

"Did something happen? Are you hurt?" He was already stepping forward, concern etched into every line of his face.

There was a time when that look would have unraveled you. When your heart would have stuttered at the mere thought of being the center of his attention.

Now, it felt… strange.

Performative.

Not because you thought he was faking it—Zayne never faked anything—but because it no longer mattered.

You blinked, taken aback for a brief moment before schooling your features into something unreadable.

"I'm alright."

A pause.

Why did he sound as if he had just seen you yesterday? As if a year of silence had not stretched between you like an ocean?

Why was he looking at you like that?

And why—why did it still taste bitter?

His gaze flickered over you, searching for something, before he spoke again, his voice softer this time. "Then why are you here?"

You raised an eyebrow.

"Actually, it’s none of my business," he amended quickly, clearing his throat, adjusting his glasses again—nervous. Zayne never used to be nervous around you.

"But since you’re here," he continued, voice carefully composed, "perhaps we could talk? If you wouldn’t mind, of course."

There was something almost hesitant in his tone. Like he was reaching for something he wasn’t sure he had the right to ask for.

And before you could decide how to respond—

A warmth wrapped around you.

"Sorry I kept you waiting, baby."

A familiar voice. Soft lips pressed against your temple. A presence that felt like home.

Your partner.

Zayne went still.

You didn’t even need to look at him to know. You could feel it—the way the air between you turned sour, thick with something unspoken, something unacknowledged.

You turned to face your lover, melting into the easy affection they offered, their touch grounding you in a way Zayne’s never had.

"Is that your friend?" your partner asked curiously, glancing at Zayne with polite indifference.

You tilted your head, considering the question.

Friend?

No, that wasn’t quite right.

You let out a soft giggle, shrugging as you intertwined your fingers with theirs. "I guess?"

And then—without another glance, without another word—you turned, walking away.

Zayne remained where he stood, unmoving, silent.

He didn’t call after you. Didn’t reach out.

Because he knew.

He knew that if he had any place in your life, it would have been beside you, not behind you—watching as you disappeared into a world that no longer included him.

And now, the only thing he had left—

Was the taste of regret, bitter and lingering on his tongue.

...

Bitterness clung to Zayne like the aftertaste of a drink too strong, too sharp. And so, he sought sweetness in the only way he knew how—in thoughts of you.

Your touch, the gentle weight of your hand on his wrist. Your voice, quiet yet commanding, soft yet certain. Your presence, steady as the tide, once an anchor, now a ghost.

He had spent too long convincing himself he could let you go. That logic could silence longing, that reason could tame regret. But then he saw you again.

And the moment he did, he knew.

You belonged by his side.

So, it began. A pattern. A ritual. Lingering in the places you once adored, slipping into the coffee shop you used to frequent, hoping—praying—that fate would grant him another moment.

And fate, cruel and kind in equal measure, did.

You were alone, sipping your drink, fingers lazily scrolling through your phone. Every now and then, the corners of your lips twitched into a smile—small, fleeting, devastating. Zayne felt something in his chest splinter.

He wanted to be the reason for that smile again.

With a breath he wasn’t aware he had been holding, he stepped forward, lowering himself into the seat across from you.

"Y/N."

Your name left his lips like a confession, quiet, careful.

You lifted your gaze, expression unreadable, an eyebrow arching slightly at his sudden presence. But no shock. No warmth.

That alone made doubt creep in. But it was too late to turn back now.

"...That’s unexpected," you said, returning your attention to your phone. "I thought you didn’t like this café."

His lips curved, but there was no humor in it. "I don’t," he admitted, adjusting his glasses with practiced ease. "But I find myself drawn to places that remind me of you. Old habits die hard, it seems."

A pause. Then—

"Nice."

Nothing more. Not a smile, not a flicker of interest. Just a word, impersonal and distant, slipping from your lips with all the weight of an afterthought.

It caught him off guard. He hadn’t expected warmth, but this? This felt like standing outside in the cold, staring at a window where a fire once burned.

Still, he pressed forward.

"So," he began, voice smooth yet hesitant. "Have you been well?"

"Cut the small talk."

Your voice was calm, but your patience was thin, and when your eyes met his again, he saw it—exhaustion. The kind that settles after a storm, after too many words left unspoken for too long.

"What do you want, Zayne?"

He exhaled slowly, as if composing himself. "I see time has made you even more direct," he mused, before his gaze darkened, sharpened. "Very well. I won’t insult you with pleasantries. I came because I needed to speak with you—about us."

A flicker of something crossed your face, too fast for him to name. And then—

"There is no ‘us,’ Zayne."

Your words were soft, but they struck harder than a shout.

"We didn’t work out," you continued, your voice steady, final. "It happens. Move on."

His fingers curled against the table, the faintest twitch of his jaw betraying the emotion he so carefully masked.

"You make it sound so simple," he murmured, tilting his head slightly. "As if what we were—what we could have been—was nothing more than an inconsequential mistake."

"Not a mistake," you corrected. "A lesson."

He laughed then, low and humorless. "I see. And what exactly did I teach you?"

"That love is not enough."

It was cruel in its honesty. Devastating in its simplicity.

He looked away for a moment, staring at the swirl of steam rising from your drink, as if it held the answers he sought. Then, quieter this time, he said, "And yet, I find myself incapable of learning that lesson."

You didn’t respond. You only stood, preparing to leave.

That was when he reached for you.

Fingers wrapping around your wrist—gentle, hesitant, desperate. And in that moment, neither of you spoke.

Because you both felt it.

The ghost of what once was. The warmth of a memory neither had fully let go of.

His grip loosened, but he did not let go.

"Tell me," he said, voice softer now, raw in a way he had never allowed himself to be. "Is this truly the end?"

Your gaze met his, unwavering.

And then you nodded.

A single motion. Firm. Certain. Unshakable.

He let you go.

And though every part of him rebelled against it, though his heart ached with the knowledge that he would wake tomorrow with the same longing, the same regret, he told himself it was enough.

Because if you were happy—if someone else had succeeded where he had failed—then who was he to ask for more?

At least, that’s what he tried to believe.

Rafayel

A year had passed.

The seasons had shifted, weaving through time like a quiet symphony, their passage marked by sun-warmed afternoons and frost-kissed mornings. Life had carried on, carrying you with it.

And somehow, somewhere between then and now, you had left him behind.

Not in a single, heart-wrenching moment, not in some grand, dramatic farewell. No, you had left him slowly—like the tide pulling back from the shore, retreating inch by inch, until one day you realized there was nothing left to reach for.

And you were okay with that.

More than okay.

You had built something new from the pieces of yourself he had never cherished. A life that felt like yours, untouched by the weight of waiting, unburdened by the ache of almost-love.

And you had found someone. Someone who didn’t make you wonder if you were asking for too much. Someone who reached for you first, without hesitation.

You never thought about him anymore.

Not really.

But fate had a cruel sense of humor.

Because today, just as laughter spilled from your lips like honey, warm and golden, just as your partner squeezed your hand in theirs, grounding, steady—

You saw him.

Rafayel.

Standing at the entrance of the café, half-cast in shadow, his sharp gaze locked onto you like a man seeing a mirage in the desert.

Your breath did not hitch.

Your pulse did not quicken.

If there was an ache left inside you, it was nothing more than an old scar—a faint reminder of pain you had long since learned to live without.

But he—

He looked frozen.

Like he had walked into a moment he wasn’t supposed to witness.

Like the sight of you—laughing, radiant, untouched by him—was something he had never considered possible.

You met his gaze, tilting your head slightly.

Oh.

He hadn’t changed much. Still dressed in purple tones, still holding himself with that same quiet confidence, still looking at you like he was searching for something.

But he had changed.

His face was unreadable, but his eyes—once filled with amusement, teasing, always dancing just out of reach—were darker now. Heavier.

You knew that weight.

Regret.

Good.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you was thick with things left unsaid, ghosts of words that once sat on the tip of your tongue, always swallowed before they could escape.

And then, finally, he spoke.

“Y/N.”

Your name on his lips used to feel like the start of something. A promise. A quiet, unspoken longing.

Now, it was just a name.

You blinked at him, offering a small, polite smile—the kind you gave to distant acquaintances, to strangers who mistook familiarity for significance.

“Oh,” you said, as if realizing he was there for the first time. “Rafayel.”

The casualness in your voice was deliberate.

His expression didn’t change, but something in his posture did—just the slightest shift, just enough for you to know he felt it.

“It’s been a while,” he said.

It had.

A lifetime had passed in that year.

“Yes, it has.”

You didn’t ask him how he was. Didn’t give him the opening he was waiting for.

The silence stretched between you, long enough to feel like a choice.

The café smelled of coffee and cinnamon, of sugar melting into warm pastries, but the only thing you could taste was clarity—light, crisp, sweet.

Then—

“Who’s this?”

Your partner’s voice, gentle yet firm, cut through the stillness.

You turned to them, your gaze softening the moment it met theirs.

And that—that was what made Rafayel’s breath hitch.

The way you looked at them.

The way you had never looked at him.

“They’re an old friend,” you said simply.

Not a lover.

Not someone who had once left you waiting in the dark, sifting through the scraps of his affection, trying to find something whole.

Just someone you used to know.

And you knew he heard the finality in your voice.

For a second, just a fleeting second, something flickered in his expression.

Loss.

Too little, too late.

You turned back to your partner, your fingers still laced with theirs.

The conversation resumed. Effortless. Unbroken.

And Rafayel—who had once believed you would always be there, lingering like an unfinished story—stood there, realizing he had become nothing more than a footnote in yours.

You didn’t look back.

And the only taste he was left with—

Was bitter.

...

Regret clung to Rafayel like salt on skin—persistent, inescapable, a reminder of tides that had long since receded.

And he remembered—oh, how he remembered.

The scent of your skin, like the last breath of summer before the waves stole the warmth away. The way your hair moved with the wind, as if it carried secrets only the ocean knew. The way your voice curled around his name, a siren’s call that had once lured him home.

How you understood him without words, how you indulged his recklessness, how—for once—someone had seen him for more than his name, his face, his fortune.

He still knew your favorite color, the way your smile tilted just slightly to the left, how every imperfection only made you more devastatingly perfect in his eyes.

And he couldn’t forget.

He tried, but he was a drowning man, reaching for driftwood, for anything that could bring him back to shore. So, he watched from a distance, fingers hovering over your name on his screen, refreshing, searching. Checking where you were, who you were with, what you were doing.

Love makes fools of men. But obsession—obsession turns them into ghosts.

And when he had mapped the rhythm of your days, he found himself drifting into them. Hovering at the edges of your world, waiting for the perfect moment to pull you back into his gravity.

When it finally happened, he caught you off guard.

You were walking, earphones in, humming a tune under your breath, lost in a world where he no longer belonged.

His hand found your shoulder.

Startled, you swung your bag on instinct, and it hit him square in the arm. He winced, clutching it dramatically.

“Ow, cutie! First, you break my heart, and now you try to break my arm?” His grin was lopsided, but his eyes betrayed him—searching, desperate.

You barely spared him a glance before rolling your eyes, turning away.

“No—wait.” His fingers caught your wrist, hesitant but firm.

You turned back, leveling him with a stare. "What? Want to get hit again?"

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, but it faltered under the weight of your indifference. He exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple.

"I would much rather prefer just to talk to you." His voice softened, no longer laced with teasing, but something closer to pleading.

Then, quieter—more deliberate—

“Y/N, take me back.”

You blinked. For a moment, silence stretched between you, the space between each breath vast as the horizon.

Then, you took a step back. And he felt the distance like an undertow, dragging him deeper.

“Absolutely not.”

There was no anger in your voice, no bitterness. Just finality, as gentle as a wave washing over forgotten footprints in the sand.

His throat bobbed. “…No?”

"You heard me."

His fingers twitched at his sides. “Cutie, please reconsider—”

“Oh god, don’t call me that.” You pinched the bridge of your nose, sighing.

He hesitated, but then his gaze turned serious, the teasing stripped away. “I know I made mistakes—”

“You broke us, Rafayel.”

His breath caught. The truth of it cut through him like cold water, merciless and clear.

“Y/N.” His voice was lower now, quiet in a way that made the world around you feel too loud. “I know I ruined things, but you can’t tell me we weren’t great. You can’t tell me what we had wasn’t—”

“It was.” You interrupted, your expression unreadable. “Until it wasn’t.”

Something inside him cracked.

"I've moved on," you said simply, shifting your bag over your shoulder. And then, with a ghost of a smirk—mocking, cruel in its lightness—

"You should too, fishie."

It should have made him laugh. It should have made him tease you back, call you something equally ridiculous.

Instead, it felt like the tide pulling him under.

He said nothing, only watching you, searching your face for something—anything—that might mean he still had a chance.

And then you turned.

He caught your wrist again, more desperately this time. “Tell me,” he murmured, voice unsteady. “Do you want me to beg? Is that it? Do you want to see me on my knees?”

You looked at him then, really looked at him.

"I just want to see you out of my sight."

The words landed like crashing waves against stone.

His grip loosened, and you slipped away like water through his fingers.

"Have a great life, Rafayel."

And you walked away.

He should have followed. Should have thrown pride to the wind, should have fallen at your feet and begged like a desperate sailor praying to the sea.

But something in your voice—calm, unwavering—told him the storm had passed. And all that was left was the wreckage.

So he stood still.

And for the first time, he let you drift beyond his reach.

For now.

Sylus

A year had passed since you walked away from Sylus, but time had done nothing to erase the ache in your chest, nor the memory of how effortlessly you had disappeared from his life. You had left as silently as a forgotten dream, taking your heart with you, and leaving him behind to rot in the wreckage of his own actions. The decision had seemed like a balm in the moment, a clean cut. But as the days turned into months, the absence had become a ghost. It hovered in the corners of your mind, a constant reminder of the man you thought you knew, the man who had ruined you. And yet, despite it all, you had learned to live again.

You had rebuilt yourself, piece by broken piece. You embraced the ordinary—the quiet routine of your life, the peace that had once seemed so elusive when he was around. Your life was no longer tangled in the complexity of him. You began to explore things you never had the courage to before, tasting freedom in ways that filled you with pride. The world, without Sylus, was kinder—gentler. You smiled more, laughed more, and found comfort in the simplest of things: a cup of coffee on a rainy day, the soft rustle of leaves underfoot in autumn, the glow of a sunset you hadn’t shared with anyone. You had learned to live for yourself.

And yet, somewhere in the back of your mind, a part of you still wondered what he was doing.

The knock at your door shattered the quiet peace you had so carefully built.

You hadn’t expected visitors—especially not him.

Standing there, on the other side of the threshold, was the man who had once been your whole world, the man who had broken it. Sylus.

His appearance was jarring. His usual immaculate self was ruffled, as though the weight of the world had been wearing on him in ways he never allowed anyone to see. His sharp features were drawn, eyes darker than you remembered. There was something unfamiliar in the way he held himself—no longer the man who walked into a room like he owned it, but someone who had been worn down by the passage of time, by regret. And yet, his eyes, the same eyes that had once mesmerized you, still held that magnetic pull. Only this time, they were haunted.

“Sylus,” you breathed, the name slipping out of you before you could stop it.

There was a moment of tense silence, where neither of you moved. And then, his lips parted—just slightly—and a flicker of something like amusement touched his face.

“Missed me, kitten?” His voice was smooth, but there was an unfamiliar hesitation there, something raw in the way he spoke to you.

You couldn’t tell if he was still playing games, or if this was something else entirely. You studied him for a long moment, trying to read him, trying to figure out why, after everything, he still seemed so... familiar.

But you no longer cared.

The words came out before you even thought them. “What are you doing here?” Your voice was soft, there was no venom, no fury. Only confusion. And a quiet indifference that was worse than anything you could’ve said.

His gaze faltered for a second, but he quickly regained his composure, though his smirk was tighter than usual. “I thought you’d be more excited to see me.”

His words were like a knife to the gut, but you felt nothing—not anymore. It was like you had been hollowed out over time, and there was nothing left inside you to give.

You tilted your head slightly, eyes cool. “Ah, where are my manners?” You couldn’t help the sarcasm that slipped out, though it wasn’t playful—more a shield against the weight of his presence. “Oh, how I missed my favorite liar! The one who broke my heart and threw me away like a piece of trash.” You rolled your eyes, a bitter laugh escaping your lips.

The words should have stung, but somehow, you found relief in saying them out loud. For so long, you had kept the hurt buried beneath layers of careful silence, and now, here it was—raw, unapologetic.

Sylus’s face flickered, a faint shadow of hurt passing through his gaze before he regained his composure. “The kitten has grown some claws, I see.” His voice was flat, but there was a trace of something in it, something he was trying to mask.

He took a step closer, as if expecting you to let him in, but you quickly moved to block the door.

“Don’t,” you said simply.

He raised an eyebrow, surprised at your sudden resolve, but you didn’t care.

“You’re not welcome here,” you said, your tone final.

Sylus’s eyes softened for a split second, and in that brief moment, you saw the desperation that clawed at him. The weight of his regret that he never allowed to surface. “You’re hurting me, sweetie,” he said, though it was far from playful. It sounded like a plea.

Your heart didn’t twitch. It didn’t soften. It just felt... heavy.

“Good,” you muttered, looking him up and down, and for the first time, you saw him clearly—not the man you had once adored, but a man who had lost everything and had nothing left to offer.

Just then, a voice came from inside your home.

“Darling, what’s taking you so long?”

You didn’t need to look back to feel your partner’s arms slide around your waist from behind, their presence warm and secure, a reminder of the love you had found after him.

“Hmm, who’s this?” Your partner asked lazily, looking past you to the man who once consumed your every thought.

Sylus’s gaze hardened, his eyes narrowing as he sized up the newcomer, but you weren’t going to offer him any answers. Not anymore.

“He got the wrong address,” you replied evenly, your voice indifferent as you turned back to face Sylus, daring him to challenge your words.

And just like that, the man who once held your heart in his hands realized the weight of his own failure. The realization hit him like a tidal wave.

Sylus opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. His chest rose and fell with unsteady breaths, as if he were choking on his own grief.

You met his gaze, and for the first time, you felt no anger—only a quiet, final resolve. “I think it's time for you to leave, sir.”

The silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating. His heart, once so certain and confident, now shattered under the weight of your indifference.

“Have a good night.” you whispered, the finality of the words slipping from your lips. And with that, you closed the door on him—on the man you once thought you could never escape.

Sylus stood there, staring at the wood that now separated you from him, as though hoping it would open again. But it wouldn’t.

He swallowed, hard. The man who had always prided himself on his control was now nothing more than a broken shell of his former self.

And it was all his doing.

For the first time in his life, Sylus had lost. And he had no one to blame but himself.

...

Sylus was not the kind of man who accepted defeat.

Not when you were so close, so painfully out of reach, like a forbidden fruit dangling just beyond his grasp.

He couldn't—no, he wouldn't—let you go so easily.

His mind clung to thoughts of you, obsessions blooming in every corner of his brain: your laughter, like the chiming of delicate bells, your playful words that always teased, always challenged him, your defiance that had once felt like the spark that kept him alive. You had been his equal, his match—two stars circling in an orbit of shared chaos and fire.

But now? Now you were slipping from him, dissolving into someone else’s arms, and that realization felt like a knife being twisted into his chest. He couldn't bear it. He could never bear it.

Bitterness seeped into his soul, a slow, insidious poison that clouded his thoughts. The feeling of helplessness was foreign to him, suffocating him in ways he had never known before. He had always been the one in control—always the one who commanded the world. And now you were gone, out of his reach, and it tore at him like a storm.

The thought of another touching you, breathing in your scent, seeing the soft glow of tenderness in your eyes—Sylus couldn't abide it. No. Not when he had once owned that gaze, that touch, that part of you that was his.

He needed one more chance.

Maybe it was for the peace of his mind, maybe it was his selfish longing, his desire to reclaim what he believed was his. Or maybe it was because he couldn't let go of the idea that you were a treasure meant for his eyes alone—his to hold, his to keep, like a rare, delicate jewel locked away.

And so, like the predator he was, Sylus followed you, carefully, subtly. With Mephisto keeping watch over you, it was easy to know where you'd be, when you'd be there.

Each time, he approached, his presence lingering just at the edges of your world—watching, waiting. But you rejected him. Rejected him with biting sarcasm, with icy silence that seemed to pierce his skin like a thousand knives.

It drove him mad.

The chase was maddening. The only thing that consumed him was the desire to have you in his arms once more, to feel the heat of your skin, the sweetness of your breath, the intimacy that he had once thought was infinite.

And then one evening, when he could no longer take the ache, he made his move.

You were walking home from work, the weight of the day pressing down on your shoulders. The quiet satisfaction of surviving the day was tempered by the exhaustion that clung to you. But as you turned the corner, a hand suddenly grasped your wrist, yanking you into a shadowed alley. Your heart pounded in your chest, a burst of adrenaline flooding your veins. You opened your mouth to scream, but before the sound could escape, a hand pressed over your lips.

"Relax. It's just me."

His voice—his damn voice—sounded like a lure, familiar and dangerous. Your body froze, not out of fear, but out of recognition. You knew it was Sylus, and despite everything, despite the years of hurt and betrayal, a twisted part of you felt… safe.

When he felt you relax, he let go. You spun around to face him, heart still hammering, but now tempered with anger.

"You’re crazy," you spat, your voice sharp and unforgiving. "What do you think you’re doing?"

His gaze, that unnerving mix of calm and intensity, bore into you. His expression was disturbingly relaxed, too casual for someone who had just dragged you into an alley against your will.

"Getting your attention," he said, his tone smooth, almost mocking. "Seems like it worked."

The words hit you like a slap. Your fists clenched, your anger bubbling over.

"You can’t just pull people into a dark alley, Sylus! You’re actually insane!" You jabbed your finger at his chest, each word punctuating the fury that burned through you.

Sylus didn’t flinch, though you could see the storm brewing behind his eyes.

"...I apologize," he said softly, his voice taking on a tenderness that was so unlike him. He reached out to touch your cheek, but his hand stopped halfway, as if he was still unsure whether he had the right.

The vulnerability in that simple motion—something so un-Sylus, so raw—stirred something inside you. Something you didn’t want to acknowledge.

You sighed heavily, the weight of everything pressing down on you. "What do you want?" Your voice was laced with frustration, your patience wearing thin.

"I thought that would be obvious by now," he said, a faint smirk curling at his lips, the teasing edge still present despite the darkness in his eyes. "Guess you’re not as sharp as I thought, kitten."

The bastard. Even now, he played with you like a cat with its prey.

"I swear, I’m going to file for a restraining order against you," you muttered, your voice tinged with disbelief.

"You can try," Sylus responded smoothly, his words dripping with a dangerous calm. "But you know well enough that such things won’t stop me."

You clenched your fists, your resolve hardening. The walls you had so carefully built around your heart in the past year came crashing down in a flood of anger and pain. You had moved on, healed—didn’t he see that?

"I want you to come back to me," he said, his voice now serious, his gaze earnest, though still haunted by the traces of his past mistakes.

But you wouldn’t crack. Not now.

"Never in this lifetime," you said, the finality of your words a heavy hammer to his chest.

Sylus’s lips twisted into a small, bitter smile. "Then, in another?" His words were light, but they carried a weight that you both felt. It was his way of hiding the hurt, the pain that had followed him like a shadow.

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you let the silence hang between you, thick and suffocating.

"I’ll pray that I never have to meet you again," you said softly, the words filled with a quiet kind of sorrow. "Not in this life, and not in the ones after."

And with that, you turned, walking away from him, leaving him shattered in the cold, empty alley.

Sylus watched you go, his chest tight with regret. His heart—something he had long kept locked away, something he had never truly allowed himself to feel—was breaking in ways he had never imagined. The storm inside him raged, but he couldn’t stop it.

You were gone, and this time, he knew—he knew—there would be no coming back.

Caleb

It’s been a year since you last saw Caleb.

Well, not really. Sometimes you caught glimpses of him in the crowd—just a silhouette, a shape that might be his. Your heart would catch in your throat, and for a fleeting moment, you’d swear it was him. But the figure would turn, and it would be a stranger. Your imagination had been cruel to you, conjuring up ghosts from your memories and stitching together faces from your longing. Perhaps it was just your mind showing you what you wished to see, like a cruel twist of fate reminding you of what had slipped through your fingers.

A year filled with growth. You learned to be soft with yourself, to breathe through the pain instead of suffocating in it. You allowed yourself to be bitter—let the sadness claw through your chest and the anger burn through your veins. You let yourself crumble, and when the dust settled, you gathered the fragments and made something beautiful from them. A mosaic of healing. You thanked the universe for the lesson, no matter how brutal it had been. Whether it was God, fate, or simply the chaos of life, you accepted it. You learned that you were the only constant in your own story—the one thing that would always remain when everyone else faded to whispers.

In those months, you blossomed. You breathed in the world with new lungs, filling your soul with every small moment that once went unnoticed. The way sunlight painted golden patterns on cracked sidewalks, the way the ocean waves whispered secrets to the shore, the taste of ripe fruit on a sweltering day. You poured your energy into your work, rebuilt neglected friendships, and found comfort in the warmth of those who remained. You taught yourself that it wasn’t your fault—none of it had been—and that loving him too much was never a mistake. Only, you needed to love yourself first.

And when you finally felt steady enough to open your heart again, love found you. They were calm where Caleb had been chaos, steady where Caleb had been a storm. A lighthouse guiding you back to yourself, reminding you that love wasn’t meant to break you. Their hands held you like you were fragile, but their love made you feel strong. You didn’t compare them—Caleb was a different life, a different story. But maybe that’s what you needed. You were happy, genuinely happy, for the first time in what felt like ages.

The train station buzzes around you like a hive of restless energy, travelers weaving past each other with hurried steps and heavy bags. Your lover has gone to grab snacks for the journey, leaving you alone on the worn wooden bench. The air smells of old books and fresh coffee, tinged with the metallic scent of steel tracks. You lean back, glancing at the faded timetable, feeling content in the hum of life moving around you.

And then, like a phantom stepping through the fog of memory, you see him. Caleb. The world seems to stop spinning, frozen in that singular moment. He’s standing on the opposite platform, hands shoved into his coat pockets, head bowed as if weighed down by the past. A bitter wind pulls at his hair, and for a second, he lifts his gaze. Your breath catches as his eyes meet yours, recognition dawning like sunlight cutting through rain. He hesitates, lips parting, and you see the flicker of regret, raw and unguarded.

The hurt surges up unexpectedly, but it’s quieter than it used to be, muted by time and acceptance. You don’t flinch when he takes a hesitant step forward, his mouth opening as if to call out to you. A thousand words hang between you—apologies, confessions, explanations—but none seem to find their way into the open. You see the yearning in his eyes, the way he’s looking at you as if trying to remember every detail he once took for granted.

Your lover appears at your side, offering a small smile as they hand you a paper bag filled with snacks. Their presence grounds you, pulls you back to reality from the haze of memory. Caleb sees them too, and the pain that flashes across his face is like a knife carving regret into his bones. You watch as he realizes what he’s lost—how you’ve moved on, how you’ve found happiness that doesn’t depend on him.

He lingers there, stranded on the other side of the tracks, unable to cross over to where you stand. You almost pity him—the way his shoulders sag, the way his jaw clenches to swallow whatever plea was forming. But the ache that once ruled you has softened, transformed into something quieter. You’re not angry anymore. You’re not shattered. You’ve built something new from the ruins he left behind.

Caleb lowers his gaze, as if surrendering to the weight of his own choices. And as the train pulls into the station, you take your lover’s hand, intertwining your fingers like roots that hold you steady. You feel Caleb’s stare on your back as you step onto the train, but you don’t look back. There’s nothing left to see—just the remnants of a past that no longer defines you.

As the train moves away, you feel a sense of peace wash over you. It’s not triumph, not victory—it’s closure, as quiet and gentle as a sunset slipping beneath the horizon. You made it out the other side. And that, more than anything, is the proof that you are whole again.

...

But the peace you felt wasn’t the same for Caleb. Seeing you again after what felt like a lifetime was like being thrown into the depths of the ocean—lungs burning, heart pounding, utterly helpless. He hadn’t known he was drowning until he saw you sitting there, your feet dangling off the edge of the bench, lips parted in a soft “o” of surprise. You looked at him with that same curiosity, that gentle tilt of your head, and it struck him just how far away you felt—like a dream that had slipped through his fingers.

It wasn’t his place to feel this way. Not anymore. But he couldn’t help the ache that gnawed at his ribs, nor the desperate urge to reach out and pull you into his arms, to whisper apologies into your skin until his words sunk into your bones. Yet even from a distance, he could see how your shoulders were relaxed, your gaze steady and unburdened, and it only made the chasm between you widen.

When another person’s hands found your own, threading fingers together with the ease of familiarity, his heart cracked open—raw and aching. It wasn’t his business. He shouldn’t care. But he did. Too much. More than he thought he still could.

He wanted to run after you, to say something—anything. But what would he even say? That he missed you so much it hurt? That he had spent a year convincing himself he’d made the right choice, only to realize how profoundly wrong he’d been? It all felt pointless now, tangled in regret and longing.

Endless scenarios crashed through his mind like waves against rock, and somewhere in that turmoil, he decided he needed to speak to you—one last time. He needed your attention on him, just once more.

He waited for you outside your workplace, nerves coiling tighter with every second that passed. He wondered if you’d be angry—if you’d tell him to leave and never come back. But when you appeared, you only offered a small, polite smile, one that didn’t quite reach your eyes. You looked at him with the calm detachment of someone who had long since made peace with the past.

“Hey...” he murmured, forcing a boyish grin that looked so out of place on his troubled face. He rubbed the back of his neck, as if trying to wring out the nerves clinging to him.

You smiled again—gentle, unbothered, and heartbreakingly kind. “Hi.” Your voice was soft, like a memory he couldn’t quite grasp, and it was that tenderness—free from bitterness—that made his chest ache. He had prepared himself for anger, for hurt laced in your words. Instead, you were kind. You always had been, like a flower that bent but never broke, even under the harshest of storms.

“I was wondering if we could talk,” he said finally, hesitating as if the words themselves might shatter.

You didn’t move, just nodded your head. “Talk, then.” Your tone was steady, as if he was just another passerby in your life, not the storm that once tore it apart.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and spoke, words stumbling over one another. “I guess... I didn’t realize how much I missed you—until I saw you at the station. I just—” He took a shaky breath. “I wanted to know if you’d ever consider forgiving me. For how foolish I was. For being so... selfish.” His eyes, those familiar, pleading puppy eyes, bore into yours, searching for a sliver of the past warmth.

You glanced at him, and he saw the flicker of something unreadable in your gaze before you answered. “Forgiveness is too much to ask for,” you replied softly, but your voice held a quiet strength that hadn’t been there before. “But I’ve learned to accept what happened. You should too, Caleb.”

His hands clenched at his sides, fighting the urge to reach out. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to accept it.”

You gave a sad, wistful smile, the kind that hurt more than any cruel words could have. “That’s on you,” you whispered, eyes glistening with a tenderness that had nothing to do with him anymore. “I’m happy now. I’ve built something beautiful out of the pieces you left behind. And I won’t let you take that from me.”

He lowered his head, unable to meet your gaze. “I never meant to hurt you,” he whispered.

Your smile faded, replaced by a quiet, unyielding resolve. “Intentions don’t erase consequences. Live a life without further regrets, Caleb.”

You didn’t wait for a response. You turned and walked away, each step decisive and unwavering, leaving him rooted to the spot—drowning in the knowledge that you were truly, undeniably gone.

And Caleb just stood there, feeling the hollow ache where your love used to be, realizing far too late that he had destroyed the only good thing he’d ever known.

@rubyrubyruuu / @browneyedgirl22 / @valentine-n-ragnarok / @whimsiecat / @esylwen / @crimsonmarabou / @we-rice-boi / @mitchelbr1 / @animegamerfox / @chgumji / @jeondyy / @rafayelridesfisheatsfish

[eddiesxangel]

1-800-HOT-TO-GO | E.M

Anonymous asked: Can i request a fic where either the reader reveals during a pizza and beers hangout she was a phone sex operator for a brief time and everyone is shocked and one of them jokingly asks if she was any good and she whispers something dirty in their ear and it changes their friendship

Cw: fem!reader, allusions to male masturbation, dirty talk 1.7k words

“Come again?”

“I used to work a sex hotline,” you shrug like it was no big deal.

“No way,” Eddie shakes his head. “I don’t believe you.”

You hear Steve and the others giggle around you, also in disbelief.

“Wanna bet?”

“Try me.” He wants to call your bluff because no way in hell did he not know this about you. You always were reserved when it came to talking about sex; never had you seemed promiscuous.

You hold up your hand to your ear, pretending it is a phone, and Eddie follows your lead.

“Ring ring,” he giggles.

“Hello.” You changed the pitch of your voice to be more sultry.

“Hi,” he smirks.

“Can I get a name, handsome?”

“ Eddie”

“Mmmm, hi, Eddie. I’m Candy.”

“Candy?”

He breaks character, but you don’t.

“the boys say it’s because I’m so sweet.” You fake giggle.

“This is my first time calling. I’m not sure what to do here.”

“That’s okay, I’ll walk you through it… you want to get comfortable for me?”

Eddie looks around the room at the others, who are trying to stifle their giggles. This night was supposed to be chill, with pizza and beers. He wasn’t really sure how you all ended up here.

“I’m comfortable.” He says without actually moving.”

“I wish I could see; you sound so sexy.” You sigh.

Another giggle leaves Eddie’s lips because who is this person who’s taken over your body?

“Yeah? you wish you could see be, Dollface?” Playing into it more.

You lean in to whisper so only he can hear it this time. “oh yeah, big boy; I bet your cock is already nice and hard for me. Such a good boy, I want you to fill me.” You sit back, take a loose tendril, twirl his hair around your finger, and watch Eddie’s eyes widen at what you just said.

“Oh-okay, that’s enough.” He chuckles, trying not to give away how turned on he just got. “I believe you!”

You sit back with a giggle and grab another slice of pizza like nothing just happened.

Everyone looked at you with shock.

Eddie quickly gets up and excuses himself to go to the bathroom.

“What did you say?!” Robin begs.

You shrug in response like it was another day at work… which it has been.

“Damn, is it hot in here?” Steve pops the collar of his shirt.

“You guys need to loosen up, my god.”

While you were still enjoying your pizza, Eddie was having a crisis. Never had he thought of you in that way until moments ago, listening to those filthy words slip from your lips.

“I bet your cock is already nice and hard for me. Such a good boy, I want you to fill me,” your words replayed in his mind while he tried to fight the blood rushing to his stiffening cock.

He can’t go back out there like this. Eddie splashed cold water on his face to try to snap him out of it, but it didn’t help.

A quick rap on the door startles Eddie out of his inner monologue.

“You okay, big boy? You’ve been in there fifteen minutes.” He hears you laugh from the other side.

Had it really been that long?

Eddie’s issue had not been resolved; in fact, it had worsened as he tried to push down the thought of you naked and spread out for him… talking to him like that.

“Yeah-I-uh- just a minute.” Eddie wanted to pull his hair out at how frustrated you had made him.

You were just pals, bubbies, amigos.

You weren’t attractive… were you?

Eddie never thought to look at you in that way; you’re just a friend, always had been, always will be… unless?

The more Eddie thought about it, the more he realized he did think your hair looked really pretty tonight. The way you always did your makeup really brought out your beautiful features…and when he got a whiff of your delicious perfume when you twirled his hair, he couldn’t get enough.

“You sure?” You try to jiggle the door handle, but it’s locked.

“Shit,” Eddie curses under with breath.

“Come on, Ed, talk to me, please?”

You hear the lock unlatch and watch the doorknob slowly turn as Eddie pokes his head out.

“Hi,” he’s short and sounds a bit out of breath.

“I hope what I said didn’t make you uncomfortable.”

Ed saw the worried look in your eyes.

“No! Well, I mean, yes, but…no.”

“Yes, but no?”

Eddie let out a deep sigh. He didn’t see a way out of this. He stepped aside to let you in and shut the door behind you.

“Eddie?” You look up at him.

“Hm?”

His eyes snap to your concerned face.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think it was a big deal! It did it all the time for work; I just… I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. clearly, I overstepped a boundary-“

“You’re not the only one.”

“What do you mean?”

Eddie moves his strategically placed hands to reveal the tent formed in his jeans and watches as your face falls into amused shock.

You cup your mouth to stifle an unexpected giggle.

“That’s not the reaction a guy wants when he shows a girl how turned on he is.”

“I’m sorry, I just!-didn’t think?”

“It’s okay. I’m just trying to get rid of it, but it’s not going away.”

“You mean?”

“I’m waiting it out.”

“Oh, ok.” You nod awkwardly.

An awkward silence washes over the both of you as you try so hard not to stare at his crotch.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to ask for your help if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I wasn’t!”

“Ok…”

Another very uncomfortable silence settled between the two of you as you fiddled with the hem of your shirt, trying to do everything in your power so as not to look down.

“I um… I guess I’ll just.” You point to the door that he’s blocking.

“Uh. Ok,” he nods and steps to the side.

You close the door behind you but don’t leave. You lean against the door and take a deep breath, trying to make sense of the evening.

Why did the thought of turning Eddie on excite you? He’s a friend. Just a friend. I always had and always will be.

With a deep breath, you go to push yourself up off the door, but before you’re able to, you hear your name being moaned from the other side of the door.

You froze. You knew you should move, but your feet were locked in place. More heavy breaths and the sound of muffled moans seeped from under the door gap, and you pressed your ear to the door.

Eddie was jerking off because of you… and you liked it?

Eddie bit back screaming your name as he finally released himself into the bathroom tissue. Finally, he could return to rejoin everyone without being physically uncomfortable.

He discarded his release, tucked himself back in, washed his hands, and unlocked the door, but he was ambushed when you fell onto him when he went to open the door.

You let out a squeak as you lost your balance, falling into Eddie as the door was opened from under you.

“Woah,” Eddie catches you before you’re able to fall. His rage hands wrap around your biceps, gripping tightly to brace your fall.

“Were you spying on me?”

“Oh god, sorry” you’re so embarrassed. The whole evening has been one shit show. You scramble to find your fitting to create space between you and Eddie.

“You were spying on me!”

“Shhhhh! Keep your voice down.”

“You totally were spying on me!” He accused.

“You’re the one who moaned my name!” You defend.

Eddie’s cheeks reddened.

“You’re the one who said all those… things!” his hands flailed.

“You’re the one who egged it on!”

“So!”

“So?”

“Yeah, so!”

“Woah, guys, what’s going on here?” Steve pops his head around the corner.

“Nothing,” you both glare.

“Ohhhhhkayyyyyyyy,” Steve turns a heel and walks back to the kitchen to grab a drink.

“Eddie,” you sigh, “I don’t want to argue. This is dumb, and we can pretend it never happened.”

“We could, but I gotta know.”

“What’s that?”

“Did you like it?” He took a step closer, filling the gap between you.

“What?” You look up at him.

“I asked if you like listening to me?” he brushed your hair behind your shoulder.

You gulp, not expecting Eddie’s demeanour to switch on a dime.

“I… I don’t know?”

“I think you did, and you’re too scared to admit it.” You can smell him. He is so close to you.

“Eddie, what are you doing?” You watch as he leans in closer.

“Just trust me.” His hands find the back of your neck, pulling you close.

“Eddie?”

“Let me try something.”

“Kay,” you whisper.

Eddie’s lips graze yours ever so lightly before he presses them fully.

A million and one thoughts run through your mind as Eddie kisses you.

You blame the cheap beer for letting this happen. You blame the beer for liking it. You blame the beer for kissing him back. You blame the beer for the tongue slip and the beer for how you wanted to moan when he pulled away.

“Woah”

“Yea woah,” you repeated dumbly.

“um… did you like it?”

“Yeah… did you?”

“Yeah.”

“cool… now what?”

“go out with me,” Eddie states confidently.

“Like a date?”

“what else would it be?” He chuckles.

“I don’t know?” You shrug, embarrassed that Eddie is getting you all flustered.

“You’re cute when you don’t know what to say.” He smirks.

“I’m cute?” You never thought hearing Eddie say those words would send butterflies fluttering through your tummy.

Eddie doesn’t answer verbally; he leans in to kiss you again to confirm his statement.

“We should get back to the others.” You sigh as you pull away.

“You didn’t answer me.”

“You didn’t ask me anything.”

“Yes, I did. I asked you out.”

“No, you said go out with me. That’s a statement, not a question.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“No,” Yes, you were totally messing with him.

“Will you go out on a date with me?”

“Just say yes! You’ve been gone for half an hour!” You hear Robin yell from the living room.

“Robin!” You hear Steve scold.

“What?”

You can’t help but laugh and can’t believe the next world’s coming out of your mouth.

“Okay, I’ll go out with you, Eddie.”

[pucksandpower]

Baby Girl Norris

Lando Norris x pediatrician!Reader

Summary: you know what you have to do — track down a world-famous Formula 1 driver, tell him about his newborn daughter, and maybe, if he’s willing, help him navigate single fatherhood — falling in love with their little family was not part of the plan … but doing so changes all your lives for the better

You take a deep breath as you enter the nursery, steeling yourself for the task ahead. As a pediatrician at the Princess Grace Hospital in Monaco, you’ve cared for thousands of babies over the years. But this case is different.

Baby Girl Norris, born just two hours ago, is now legally parentless after her mother signed away all parental rights. Hospital protocol demands you track down and notify the father before assuming guardianship. Easier said than done when the father is Formula 1 superstar Lando Norris.

Approaching the clear bassinet, you gaze down at the sleeping newborn. Wispy dark hair peeks out from under her pink cap. Ten tiny fingers curled into fists. She has no idea how complicated her life is about to become.

You flip through the chart again, verifying the details. Mother is French, here on a student visa. Refused to even look at the baby after a 27-hour labor, immediately signing away rights. Father listed as one Lando Norris of the United Kingdom.

You sigh, picking up the phone to dial the number listed. It rings five times before disconnecting. You try the landline for his Monaco residence with the same result. Probably outdated.

Time for plan B. You search the McLaren Racing website until you find a generic service line. Heart pounding, you dial.

“McLaren Technology Centre, this is Marie speaking.”

You take a breath. “Hello, I apologize for the strange request, but I need to reach Lando Norris as soon as possible. It’s … it’s regarding a private family matter.”

“I’m sorry, but Mr. Norris does not accept unsolicited communications. Have a nice-”

“Wait!” You interject. “Please, I am calling from Princess Grace Hospital in Monaco. We have a newborn baby girl here, and we believe Mr. Norris may be the father.”

Marie hesitates. “Hold please, I’ll transfer you.”

Your pulse quickens. This may actually work! But your hopes are quickly dashed.

“This is Andrew from McLaren Racing public relations. May I ask who I’m speaking with?” His tone is suspicious.

You explain again about the baby, her mother, and the situation.

Andrew sighs loudly. “I’m sure you understand we get calls like this constantly. Lando isn’t even in the hemisphere right now. I’m afraid we can’t help you.”

“No, wait, please!” But the line goes dead.

You frown, gears turning. The team must think you’re some obsessed fan or scammer. You’ll have to get creative.

Over the next two days, you call every related number you can find. Each time you’re met with more resistance. They must have flagged your information as a nuisance caller.

On the third day, you’re signing charts at the nurse’s station when a colleague walks by. “Did you hear? Lando Norris is coming to take a tour of the hospital next week. Some charity thing.”

Your eyes widen. This is it — your chance to intercept him in person!

You spend the next few days obsessing over what to say, how to convince him. Baby Girl Norris needs her father.

The big day arrives. Heart hammering, you lurk near the lobby, peering around the hallway corner as Lando walks in flanked by handlers. He looks exhausted but flashes his winning smile at the staff welcoming him.

You watch them start down the opposite hallway for the tour when you make your move. Rushing forward, you plant yourself firmly in his path.

“Mr. Norris! Sorry, I need just a minute of your time, it’s urgent-”

A member of his team immediately swoops in, pushing you back. “Ma’am, please. We kindly ask that you step aside.”

“No, wait!” You raise your voice over them. “Mr. Norris, my name is Dr. Y/N Y/L/N. I’m a pediatrician here. I’ve been trying to reach you for days now regarding your newborn daughter!”

The team looks exasperated, but Lando holds up a hand. “It’s okay, let her speak.” His eyes bore into yours warily.

You take a breath. “I know this sounds insane. But a baby girl was born here last week to a French student named Celeste Dubois. On the birth certificate, she named you as the father before signing away parental rights.”

You continue explaining the situation rapidly, watching Lando’s eyes widen in shock.

One of his handlers steps in. “You honestly expect us to believe this wild story? We’re on a timeline.” He tries to tug Lando along.

“No, it’s okay.” Lando stands firm, studying you intently. “What proof do you have of any of this?”

You hold his gaze. “I can show you the birth certificate, but a DNA test would confirm if you’re the father. It’s hospital policy to notify and provide the father an opportunity to assume custody.”

Lando chews his lip nervously. His team murmurs among themselves.

After a long pause, he speaks. “Even if this is some scam or mix-up, that poor child deserves to have answers. Please, lead the way for a test.”

You breathe a sigh of relief. Wordlessly, you turn and lead Lando to the lab. His team protests but he insists on following through.

In the lab, you supervise as the technician takes a simple cheek swab. “24 to 48 hours for results,” she confirms.

Lando nods, looking dazed. “Right. Okay. If she’s really mine, I want to step up. Just call me, yeah?” He extends his number on a slip of paper.

You smile and promise to be in touch. As he turns to leave, you feel swarmed with emotions. One major hurdle down, but nothing certain yet.

The next 48 hours pass at a snail’s pace. When the lab calls, your fingers shake as you unfold the results. Positive. A 99.99% match.

You pass along the news and arrange a meeting at the hospital. The press can’t know about this yet.

Approaching the secluded waiting room, you pause to observe Lando through the window. He paces nervously, running his hands through his hair again and again. His usual polished veneer is gone, replaced by a young man anxiously awaiting life-changing news. Your heart goes out to him.

Finally knocking, he whirls around as you enter. “Well? Is she really mine?”

You nod, holding out the results. He accepts them with unsteady hands.

“I’m sorry I ever doubted you,” he says quietly. “This is just ... a lot.”

“I understand. It’s a complicated situation. But you’re here now.” You offer an encouraging smile.

Lando takes a deep breath. “Can I meet her?”

You lead him to the nursery viewing room. He presses against the glass, eyes scanning until they settle on bassinet D7. His brows knit together.

“That’s her?” His voice wavers slightly.

You nod. “Would you like to go inside and hold her?”

He hesitates. “I don’t want to confuse or upset her.”

You gesture reassuringly. “Newborns seek warmth and a gentle touch. She’ll appreciate the contact.”

Looking uncertain, Lando follows you into the nursery. You lift the swaddled baby, carefully transferring her into Lando’s awkward embrace. He peers down at her, his expression unreadable.

“She’s so tiny ...” he murmurs. The newborn girl yawns, eyes still shut, snuggling instinctively into his chest.

Lando’s guarded facade finally cracks, eyes glistening. He adjusts his arms to cradle her more securely.

“Hi there,” he whispers. “I’m your ...” He trails off, not quite able to say it.

You touch his shoulder gently. “You’re her father. And she needs you.”

He nods, never breaking his gaze from the newborn’s face. “I’ll do right by her, I promise. Whatever it takes.”

Relief sweeps over you. While an arduous legal process awaits, this sweet child will finally have a real family.

As Lando rocks the baby gently, he suddenly laughs. “She’s a real beauty, isn’t she? Look at that hair. Thick and curly, just like her old man.”

You chuckle. “It appears so. Have you thought about a name?”

He hums contemplatively. “I’ve always been partial to Georgia. Gigi for short.”

“Georgia Norris,” you say with a smile. “It’s perfect.”

The new father beams down at his daughter. “Welcome to the world, little Gigi. I can’t wait to take you home.”

As you observe this tender moment, your heart swells for both father and daughter. With someone as loving and dedicated as Lando by her side, Gigi’s future looks bright indeed.

Watching them meet for the first time — seeing a family begin to blossom out of hardship and uncertainty — is the greatest reward of your job. As you quietly slip out to give them space, you can’t hold back a smile. Everything, after all, is turning out exactly as it should.

***

After spending over an hour bonding with his newborn daughter in the nursery, Lando reluctantly hands her back to the nurse for feeding time. He turns to you, smiling but still looking dazed.

“I can’t thank you enough, Y/N. Really. You’ve given me and Gigi a new start.”

You touch his arm warmly. “Of course. I’m so glad I could help connect you two. She’s absolutely beautiful.”

Lando grins proudly. “She really is perfect. I already love her so much, it’s mad. I just ...” His face falls slightly. “I don’t have the first clue how to actually take care of a baby. Let alone with my job, traveling all the time for races and training. What have I gotten myself into?”

He runs an anxious hand through his curls. Your heart goes out to him.

“Hey, it’s okay.” You gesture for him to follow you out to the waiting room for privacy.

Lando collapses onto the sofa, head in hands. “Sorry, I’m just now fully realizing what this means. A baby, she’s completely dependent on me! I don’t know the first thing about babies. I’m barely an adult myself!”

You sit beside him. “Lando, look at me.” He lifts his head reluctantly. You offer an encouraging smile.

“It’s normal to feel overwhelmed. But you stepped up when Gigi needed you most. That’s what matters. With some guidance, you’ll be an amazing father.”

He doesn’t look convinced. You continue gently, “Here’s what we’ll do. I’ll give you all the essential information for first-time parents. I’ll even set you up with parenting classes, and we have a support group-”

Lando groans loudly, letting his head fall back. You suppress a chuckle.

“Okay, forget classes for now. Just focus on learning the basics. Things like feeding, changing, bathing. Infant CPR. I’ll give you my cell to text with questions anytime. Day or night.”

You jot down your number and hand it to him. He nods, looking slightly encouraged.

“We’ll also get you connected with services that can assist first-time parents with supplies, nutrition consultants, and childcare options.”

His eyes widen again. “God, I haven’t even told my family yet! Or bought anything she’ll need!” He scrubs at his face anxiously.

You lay a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Breathe. Setbacks are expected. But you’ll get there.”

Lando takes a deep breath, regaining some composure. “You’re right. Sorry for the meltdown. I really appreciate you talking me down.”

“Don’t apologize. I’d be more concerned if you weren’t at all anxious about this huge life change.”

You smile warmly. “But you accepted your daughter unconditionally when it mattered most. Not every man in your position would do that. I know you’ll figure the rest out over time. It’s a process.”

He nods, starting to calm down. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. We’ll take it step by step.”

You spend the next hour walking Lando through all the basics — safe sleep, feeding schedules, hygiene, developmental milestones, and pediatrician visits. He takes vigorous notes on his phone, determination returning to his face.

“Clothes, blankets, nappies, bottles ...” He mumbles to himself as he types. “Maybe pick up a parenting book or two as well ...”

You grin, happy to see him growing more at ease and optimistic. When the nurse returns with a sleeping Gigi, Lando immediately takes her back into his arms.

“We’ve got this, little one,” he whispers to her. “I’ll give you the absolute best in life … starting with a nice new flat for us here in Monaco.” He looks back at you questioningly.

You nod in approval. “Giving Gigi a stable home should be your top priority.”

He smiles down at the baby, gently stroking her cheek. “Daddy will take good care of you. I promise.”

Your heart swells at the natural bond already forming between father and daughter. In this moment, any lingering doubts fade away. However difficult the road ahead, together they’ll be just fine.

After another hour visiting together, it’s time for Lando to head out. He’s clearly still anxious but also radiating love when he gazes at Gigi.

“Thank you again for everything,” he says sincerely, shaking your hand. “I’ll call my parents when I get home. Figure out how to break the news and beg for their help.”

He chuckles and you join in. “Don’t hesitate to text me anytime. About anything.”

Lando glances down at your scrawled cell number, then back up with a crooked grin. “Careful or I might take you up on the anything part.”

You blush slightly, waving him off. “Get out of here, you charmer. Go buy a crib and get some rest. Your life is about to get very busy.”

With a laugh, Lando walks backwards toward the exit, pointing finger guns at you. “Yes ma’am, Dr. Y/L/N. Catch you later.”

You stand shaking your head as he disappears from view. What an interesting patient case this has turned out to be.

Over the next several weeks, you and Lando text constantly. He sends cute videos and photos of Gigi along with his near-constant questions about her care. You don’t mind at all — you’re happy to guide him through this life transition.

True to his word, he quickly finds and furnishes a family-friendly luxury apartment in Monaco. He introduces Gigi to his stunned but excited parents via video call. He adjusts his training schedule to maximize time with her.

When his race travel resumes, he arranges for his parents or a local nanny to assist with Gigi full-time. Still, being apart takes an obvious toll on him.

The day before he’s set to fly to Australia for the first race of the season, Lando texts you a selfie looking forlorn, with Gigi snoozing on his chest.

Can you believe she’s already a month old? I don’t want to leave her!

You grin down at the photo. Gigi’s little rosebud lips are slightly parted as she sleeps. Lando’s staring at her adoringly despite the bags under his eyes.

I know it’s hard being away from her. But Gigi knows she has a father who loves her so much. Focus on making her proud out there!

You always know just what to say, doc. I’ll text you after the race!

You smile softly as you set down your phone. Over the past weeks, you’ve found yourself looking forward to Lando’s frequent messages and photos. He’s relieved when you reassure him he’s doing a great job as a new dad. And seeing Gigi thrive and grow under his doting care makes your heart fuller.

Professionally, your work is done now that Gigi and Lando are connected. But you can’t help feeling personally invested in this little family you helped create. You make a silent vow to always be there for them both, as long as they need you.

***

Weeks later, you’re jolted awake by your ringing cellphone. Bleary-eyed, you check the time: 2:37 am. Who could be calling at this hour?

You don’t recognize the number on your buzzing phone. But you answer anyway, just in case it’s an emergency.

“Hello?” You mumble into the phone.

“Y/N? Oh thank god!” The panicked voice on the other end makes you sit bolt upright.

Lando.

“Lando? What’s wrong?” Worry floods your system, instantly washing away any grogginess.

“It’s Georgia,” he cries. “She woke up crying and felt so hot. I took her temperature — it’s 39 degrees! I think she has a fever?”

You’re already throwing off your blankets, phone tucked against your shoulder. “Okay, stay calm. How is she acting otherwise?”

“She’s crying and really fussy. Won’t take her bottle. I don’t know what to do!” Lando sounds near tears himself.

“Shhh, deep breath,” you soothe. “Fever in babies this young is serious. You need to take her to emergency department right away.”

“Right, emergency, of course-” Lando rambles nervously.

“I’ll meet you there ASAP. Princess Grace Hospital, yes?”

“Yes, please hurry!” He ends the call abruptly. You scramble for clothes with adrenaline pounding.

In under ten minutes, you’re peeling out of your driveway towards the hospital. Even at this hour, Monaco’s streets remain congested. You drum your fingers anxiously on the steering wheel, praying Georgia will be okay.

Once you’ve parked, you race inside the ED doors. Your eyes scan the crowded waiting room until you spot Lando pacing in the corner, Georgia whimpering against his shoulder.

You rush over. “Lando!”

He turns, relief washing over his features. “Y/N, you came. Thank you.”

“Of course.” You squeeze his arm comfortingly before looking Georgia over with practiced eyes. Her cheeks are flushed, eyelids fluttering as she whines. Definitely not well.

Lando bounces lightly, trying to soothe her. “They told me it’s at least an hour wait. She’s getting worse though.” His eyes glisten with tears.

Your protective instincts flare, seeing them both so distraught. Striding to the check-in desk, you put on your most authoritative voice.

“Excuse me, I’m Dr. Y/L/N. I have an infant patient here who needs immediate evaluation.”

The nurse scans the packed waiting room. “I’m so sorry doctor, we’re doing our best. If you could just wait-”

You interrupt firmly. “This is a seven week old with a spiking fever. She requires urgent triage and treatment, not a waiting room. I must insist we be seen next.”

The nurse purses her lips, but can’t really argue with your reasoning. “Of course. I’ll let the charge nurse know to get you back immediately.”

You nod curtly before returning to Lando, who looks awed. “Blimey, remind me not to get on your bad side.”

The hint of a smile on his lips relieves you. Georgia’s still fussy as you both follow a nurse back moments later.

In an exam room, you help transfer the baby from Lando’s arms to the table. Her pitiful crying tugs at your heart.

Lando hovers anxiously as you take Georgia’s vitals and change her into a hospital gown. 39.1°C — higher than the concerning range for an infant. You frown in worry. Poor little love.

Soon the attending pediatrician arrives to assess her. You explain the situation from Lando’s frantic call to racing over. The doctor asks questions while examining Georgia’s ears, throat, and reflexes. Lando clutches your hand tightly the entire time.

After what feels like an eternity, the pediatrician steps back. “Given the fever with no apparent source, I’m concerned this could be a serious bacterial infection. We’ll run labs to check for things like meningitis. Start IV antibiotics and paracetamol to bring her fever down quickly.”

Lando pales, swaying slightly at the onslaught of medical terms. You slip an arm around him supportively.

“You’re saying she might have meningitis?” Lando chokes out.

The doctor holds up his hands. “It’s just one possibility. We’re not sure yet. The labs will tell us more.”

Lando buries his face in his hands. Your heart breaks seeing his shoulders shaking.

After the doctor departs to order tests, you guide Lando to sit down, keeping an arm around him. “Hey, try to breathe. Georgia needs her daddy calm and strong right now.”

Lando drags a hand over his wet eyes. “God, I’m trying. But she’s so little and sick. What if … what if it’s something serious?” His voice breaks again.

You turn him gently to face you, hands on his shoulders. “Listen to me. Whatever is going on, we will figure it out, okay? I’m right here with you both.”

He searches your face before nodding unsteadily. You draw him into a fierce hug.

“We’ve got this,” you whisper.

A nurse entering startles you apart. “Alright, time for labs.”

You both watch anxiously as she collects blood and other samples from a deeply unhappy Georgia. Her shrieking cries at the poking and prodding are harrowing. Lando has gone deathly pale.

Once finished, the nurse situates an IV line in Georgia’s tiny hand, securing it with tape and popping a pacifier in her mouth. Her eyelids droop, cries fading to soft whimpers as medication starts flowing.

You glance at Lando. “Why don’t you hold her again? Skin to skin contact will help soothe you both.”

Looking relieved by the suggestion, Lando strips off his shirt and takes Georgia, nestling her against his bare chest. You drape a blanket over them before rubbing his back comfortingly.

Georgia’s fussing settles as her father hums softly, eyes never leaving her face. The pure love between them makes your throat tighten.

Despite the uncertainty ahead, you know Georgia couldn’t be in better hands. And you silently vow to remain steadfast by their side, for whatever comes next.

Eventually Georgia drifts to sleep. The pediatrician returns shortly after with test results. “Good news. All the cultures are negative so far. With the antibiotics and paracetamol, her fever is already decreasing.”

You and Lando both sigh in relief.

“So no meningitis?” Lando asks hopefully.

The doctor shakes his head. “Doesn’t appear to be. We’ll repeat testing tomorrow, but likely just a minor bacterial infection. She’ll need to stay a few days for monitoring and fluids.”

Lando clutches Georgia closer. “Anything she needs. Thank you, doctor.”

Once you’re alone again, Lando gazes down at his sleeping daughter. “I was so scared,” he admits softly.

You nod, squeezing his shoulder. “I know. But she’s getting great care now. Try and rest — it’s been a long night.”

Lando glances at the empty cot along the wall. “Stay? Please? I … I don’t want to be alone right now.” His voice sounds so small and vulnerable.

Your chest tightens. “Of course.”

You help shift Lando and Georgia onto the little bed. She stirs slightly as you both get settled on either side of her.

Lando strokes Georgia’s cheek tenderly. “My brave girl. You’re going to be just fine.” Glancing up, his eyes meet yours. “Thank you, Y/N. For everything.”

You offer a tired smile, taking his hand. “That’s what I’m here for. Get some sleep.”

Exhaustion quickly pulls you under. But Lando’s hand remains wrapped firmly in yours until morning.

A strong bond has formed between the three of you. And you know that whatever the future brings, you’ll be facing it together.

***

A few weeks after the scare, you’re finishing paperwork at your desk when your cell rings. Lando’s name pops up, making you smile.

Since the hospitalization, you and Lando have fallen into a routine of near daily calls and texts about Georgia. You don’t mind at all — you adore hearing the latest antics and milestones of your special little patient. Not to mention Lando’s voice tends to brighten your day.

You answer warmly. “Lando! How are my favorite patients today?”

He chuckles. “Well, Georgia just mastered holding her head up while on her tummy. She’s getting so strong! But uh, that’s actually why I’m calling ...”

You detect the hesitancy in his tone. “What’s up?”

Lando sighs. “So McLaren just sprung a mandatory sponsorship meeting on me last minute. It’s in like an hour. I don’t have any childcare lined up though.”

You frown sympathetically. The demands of Lando’s career often collide with new parenthood. “Oh no. Can you reschedule or bring Georgia with you?”

“I tried, but it’s impossible to postpone. And definitely not an ideal environment for a baby,” he laments. “I don’t have any family nearby and my usual nanny said it’s too short notice.”

Your thoughts race, heart sinking at imagining his distress. “Hmm. Well, do you happen to have any trusted neighbors or friends there who could babysit?”

Lando makes a frustrated noise. “I’ve barely met my neighbors. And my mates, well, most are even less qualified than me for childcare. I’m stuck.” Defeat colors his tone.

You bite your lip, hesitating only a moment before saying gently, “Lando, I could come watch her.”

“What? Really?” He sounds stunned. “But isn’t it your day off?”

“It’s no problem, truly,” you insist. “I don’t live far. Be there in fifteen?”

“I-I don’t know what to say. You’re a lifesaver, Y/N. Thank you, thank you!” Lando gushes gratefully.

You smile, already grabbing your keys. “Anytime. See you soon!”

On the drive over, butterflies flutter in your stomach. You adore Georgia, of course. But something about visiting Lando’s home, being fully immersed in his world, feels monumentally intimate.

Taking a deep breath, you remind yourself that your priority is helping a friend in need.

You park outside Lando’s sleek modern condo building and take the elevator up after checking in with the concierge. Before you can even knock, the front door swings open.

“Y/N, thank god,” Lando sighs in relief. He looks unfairly attractive despite being slightly disheveled in a dress shirt and slacks. “Please, come in.”

Stepping inside the open concept condo, your eyes sweep over minimalist furniture and racing memorabilia decorating the shelves. Cozy baby items like a playmat and bouncer provide stark contrast. It’s uniquely Lando.

“Nice place,” you remark sincerely.

“Thanks. Still feels empty sometimes, but slowly making it a home for Gigi.” He smiles softly. “Speaking of which ...”

You follow Lando down a short hallway to the nursery. Your heart melts at the sight of Georgia kicking on a playmat, wearing a pink romper with a giant bow.

Lando swoops her up, blowing raspberries on her cheek. “Daddy’s got a big important meeting, princess. But Y/N is going to play with you instead.”

He passes the baby over. Georgia gives you a gummy smile, cooing.

“There’s my sweet girl.” You tickle her belly, eliciting a giggle. Lando beams proudly.

“Alright, her bottle is prepped in the fridge, and there’s clean nappies on the change table. Call if you need anything at all.”

Lando leans down to kiss Georgia’s head. “Be good for Y/N, monkey.”

With a final grateful smile your way, he heads out. You settle on the nursery floor with Georgia. “What adventures shall we have today, miss?”

The next few hours pass in a blur of playing, feeding, changing, and rocking little Georgia. You even manage a nap time by singing softly, something that always seemed to soothe her in the hospital.

Watching her sleep, you feel a rush of tenderness for the tiny being who has depended on you since her first moments. You vow to always be there when Lando and Georgia need you.

Soon enough, Lando returns home looking drained. But his whole face lights up seeing you and Georgia on the floor.

“How’d it go?” He asks, crouching down to tickle her toes.

“Perfect. We had lots of fun, isn’t that right, lovebug?” You hand the baby over for cuddles.

“Daddy missed you.” Lando nuzzles Georgia, before giving you a grateful smile. “I can’t thank you enough. Truly. You’re a natural with her.”

You wave off his praise, but can’t deny the warm spark his words ignite.

After chatting a bit more about Georgia’s afternoon and Lando’s meeting, it’s time for you to head out.

At the door, Lando halts you with a gentle hand on your wrist.

“Hey, let me take you to dinner this week — a proper thank you,” he entreats. “Anywhere you like.”

Your pulse quickens. It sounds suspiciously close to a date. But Lando’s smiling hopefully, and you find yourself nodding before overthinking it.

“I’d love that.”

Lando grins, looking both relieved and excited. “Brilliant! I’ll text you details. Have a safe drive home.”

Strapping into your car, your thoughts race wildly. This man and his daughter have captured your heart. What started as a professional duty has grown into so much more.

As you drive away, Lando and Georgia waving from the window, you can’t keep the giddy smile off your face.

Your lives are intertwining in the most marvelous ways. And you can’t wait to see what adventures are in store next.

***

The following Saturday evening, you stand in front of the mirror, fussing with your hair and makeup. Glancing at the clock, you feel butterflies swarming. Lando will arrive any minute to pick you up for dinner.

You smooth non-existent wrinkles from your knee-length black dress. It’s daringly low cut for you, but you want to feel beautiful tonight.

A buzz from your phone makes you jolt. Lando is here! Taking a deep breath, you grab your purse and hurry downstairs.

Stepping outside your apartment building, you freeze in awe. Gleaming in the golden hour sunlight is a sleek dark blue vintage supercar unlike any other you’ve seen before.

The driver door opens, and Lando steps out looking devastatingly handsome in a tailored suit. He beams. “Wow, Y/N. You look absolutely stunning.”

You blush at the sincerity in his warm gaze. “Thank you. This is … quite the car!”

Lando grins, patting the hood affectionately. “She’s my baby — a Lamborghini Miura. Isn’t she a beauty?”

You take in the aerodynamic lines and what you can only assume is a very powerful engine. “Gorgeous. And probably costs more than my yearly income.”

Lando laughs. “But she’s perfect for impressing a lovely date.” He winks before opening the passenger door for you.

You carefully climb in, hyper aware of the tiny black dress riding up your thighs. Lando’s eyes trace your legs appreciatively as you smooth your skirt.

Soon you’re zipping through the seaside city, wind whipping your hair through the open windows. Lando navigates the roads expertly.

He glances your way. “Hope this is alright! Wanted to take the fun car out while the weather holds up.”

You grin at him. “Are you kidding? I feel like a movie star!”

He looks delighted, picking up speed as you both relax into the ride.

Before long, you pull up at the legendary Hotel de Paris Monte-Carlo. A uniformed valet opens your door. Taking the proffered hand, you step out feeling like a princess.

Lando offers his arm. “Shall we?”

Inside the opulent restaurant, you’re quickly shown to an intimate table beside a window overlooking the glittering Mediterranean sea. Soft piano music fills the space.

“Lando, this is incredible,” you breathe, taking it all in.

He smiles, eyes never leaving your face. “Only the best for you.”

You blush again at his sincerity. A waiter appears to take your drink order. When you request just water, Lando insists you pick any wine on the menu.

You settle on a creamy chardonnay that pairs perfectly with your scallops and Lando’s steak. Thoughtful touches like him pulling out your chair or refilling your wine glass make the lavish meal all the more special.

The conversation flows effortlessly from racing to traveling to favourite films and music. More than once, Lando’s foot brushes yours beneath the table, sending sparks skittering across your skin.

After dessert, you both linger over coffee, hands unconsciously joined on the pristine tablecloth between you. The connection humming between you feels profound.

When Lando finally checks his watch with a reluctant sigh, you’re surprised to see you’ve been there for over three hours. It felt like mere minutes.

On the drive back, you steal glances at his sharp profile in the fading light. Joy bubbles inside you. The evening exceeded your wildest expectations.

Too soon, you’re pulling up outside your building. Lando hurries around to open your door, ever the gentleman. Clasping his hand, you step out onto the curb together.

Turning, you find him watching you closely. “I had the most wonderful time tonight,” you say sincerely.

Lando’s face breaks into a grin. “Truly magical. Thank you for coming, Y/N.” He squeezes your hand, thumb tracing delicate circles.

On impulse, you lean up and press a soft kiss to his cheek. “Goodnight, Lando.”

With a final squeeze of his hand, you turn and walk inside, casting a coy look back to see him touching his cheek in wonder.

Safely in your apartment, you kick off your heels, collapsing onto the sofa with a giddy smile. The evening played in your mind like a movie — the fancy car, exquisite dinner, effortless conversation. And that powerful connection with Lando blossoming into something new and tender.

What started as a professional relationship has organically grown into a deep friendship over your shared love of little Georgia. But tonight awoke a yearning for more. You sensed the same from Lando in the way he looked at you — with affection, wonder, and desire.

You drift off on the couch still reliving each vivid moment. This feels like the start of something life changing.

Meanwhile, Lando remains fixed outside your building, fingers brushing the spot your lips graced. The soft press seared an imprint deep within him.

People had warned him pursuing anything romantic with Georgia’s physician was unwise. But from the instant he saw you holding his fragile newborn girl, instinct told him you were special. That only grew each day as your compassion and devotion soothed his frightened heart.

Tonight confirmed what he felt blooming for weeks now — he’s completely enchanted by you.

With your laughter still echoing in his mind, Lando finally drives off into the night. He knows his future, wherever it leads, must have you and Georgia in it. He’s falling, fast and hard.

And for once, recklessly chasing his heart feels entirely right. He just hopes you’ll take this leap with him.

***

On a sunny afternoon, you’re sitting cross-legged on Lando’s living room rug playing with Georgia. At nearly four months old now, she’s mastered rolling over and absolutely loves tummy time.

You grin as she determinedly pushes up on her hands, rocking back and forth. “That’s it, clever girl! You’ve almost got it.”

Georgia gives you a gummy smile before toppling over with a huff. Behind you, Lando chuckles from the couch where he’s on hold with a takeaway place.

“I swear she gets more stubborn every day. Definitely takes after me,” he remarks fondly.

You smile. “She knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to work for it. Sound familiar?”

Lando laughs. “Too right. At this rate, she’ll be racing cars herself soon.”

You’re about to respond when the sound of the front door opening makes you both freeze. Before you can react, an accented female voice calls out excitedly.

“Lando, darling! Surprise, we’ve come to visit!”

Lando flies off the couch just as his parents round the corner. “Mum! Dad! What are you doing here?”

He embraces them both tightly while you hover awkwardly behind Georgia. What must Lando’s family think finding a strange woman playing with their grandchild?

But before you can open your mouth to explain, Lando’s mum spots you. Her face lights up. “Y/N! How wonderful to finally meet you in person!”

To your shock, she swoops down and hugs you like a long lost relative. Bewildered, you return the embrace.

Over her shoulder, Lando rubs his neck sheepishly. “Yeah, I may have told them a fair bit about you and Gigi ...”

His father approaches next, politely shaking your hand. “Lando speaks very highly of you, Y/N. Thank you for taking such good care of our boy and the little one.”

“Oh, um, of course!” You manage to stammer out. Lando mentioned you to his parents? The thought makes your heart flutter wildly.

Before you can dwell on it, Georgia lets out an impatient shriek from her abandoned tummy time.

Cisca gasps, immediately scooping her up. “Oh my goodness, look how big you’ve gotten, baby girl!” She tickles Georgia’s belly, eliciting sweet giggles.

Lando smiles softly at the sight. You feel privileged to witness this intimate family moment.

Soon you’re all seated around the living room, chatting comfortably. Adam keeps throwing not-so-subtle winks Lando’s way whenever you and Cisca fawn over Georgia together. Lando just shakes his head, cheeks slightly flushed.

Later, his parents insist on taking you both out to dinner at a nice restaurant. Over the meal, you observe how Cisca’s animated mannerisms and Adam’s dry wit remind you so much of Lando. He clearly inherited the best of both.

Walking back to the car afterwards, Cisca links her arm through yours fondly. “I’m just thrilled Lando has you looking after him and little Georgia. It takes a very special woman to so selflessly love and support someone else’s child.”

You squeeze her arm, touched. “Well, they make it easy. I’d do anything for those two.”

Cisca pats your hand knowingly. “I can see that, dear. Don’t ever let my son take that for granted.”

Glancing ahead, you watch Lando swinging a sleepy Georgia in his arms, gazing down at her with pure adoration. Your heart clenches.

“I don’t think that’s possible. He’s the most devoted father imaginable,” you reply softly.

Cisca follows your gaze, smiling. “He is at that. Just like his own.”

Adam wraps an arm around his wife, kissing her temple. Cisca leans into him with a contented sigh. Their easy intimacy and abiding love is relationship goals.

You find yourself sneaking another peek at Lando, imagining strolling arm in arm like that one day. But it’s too soon for such daydreams.

Still, meeting his wonderful parents today, seeing how he talks about you … it feels like things are shifting into place.

That night, as Lando walks you to your car, he stops you with a hand on your wrist. “Thank you again for today. You were brilliant with my parents — they’re absolutely smitten.”

You grin. “They’re lovely. I see where you get it from.”

Lando rolls his eyes but smiles bashfully. An impulse has you leaning in to kiss his cheek.

“Goodnight, Lando.” With a little wave, you slip into your car before he can respond.

But the awestruck look on Lando’s face stays with you the whole drive home. Something big is on the horizon, you can feel it.

And if the way his family embraced you today is any indication, you have their full support too. You’ve never been more excited about what the future holds.

***

A few days later, you’re rushing around your apartment getting ready. Lando invited you over for dinner and a movie tonight while his parents watch Georgia. You’ve been looking forward to the rare child-free evening all week.

After debating outfit options, you decide on form fitting jeans and a silky camisole. Casual yet flirty. Dabbing on a bit of perfume, you check yourself in the mirror. You want to knock his socks off.

Precisely at six, your phone chimes with a text from Lando that he’s waiting outside. Taking a deep breath, you go meet him.

As expected, he looks effortlessly handsome leaning against his flashy car grinning at you. “Well don’t you look gorgeous tonight,” he remarks, opening your door.

You smirk, settling into the low seat. “Not looking too bad yourself, Mr. Norris.”

Lando just winks before speeding off into the golden hour sunlight. You chat easily throughout the short drive about your days apart. When you mention missing Georgia, Lando smiles softly.

“Me too, constantly. But she’s in great hands with my parents tonight.” Reaching over, he gives your hand an affectionate squeeze that makes your heart race.

Soon you pull up outside Lando’s sleek condo building. He leads you upstairs, fingers entwined.

Inside, mouthwatering aromas fill the air. You follow Lando to the kitchen where pots bubble away on the stove.

“I hope you’re hungry. My dad’s recipe for chicken curry.” Lando stirs one of the pots before glancing at you shyly. “I may have been practicing all week.”

You grin, touched that he went to such effort. “It smells incredible! I didn’t know you could cook.”

“Full of surprises.” Lando winks. “Now you just relax while I finish up.”

You perch at the kitchen island while Lando works. The domesticity of it all makes your chest feel warm. You could definitely get used to this.

Soon dinner is served along with a crisp white wine. You compliment Lando between bites, making him preen. Everything is delicious.

Over dessert, your feet become entangled beneath the small table. The simmering looks passing between you leave no doubt this is a date.

With dishes cleared, Lando leads you to the living room. “Now, the entertainment portion of the evening.” He gestures grandly towards the large TV.

You settle onto the plush grey sectional while Lando queues up your chosen rom-com. Before pressing play, he pauses.

“Do you maybe want to get more comfortable?” He gestures to the blanket and abundance of throw pillows nearby.

You smile, touched at how he’s trying to create a cozy movie watching environment. “That sounds perfect.”

Working together, you both strip down to t-shirts and lounge pants, then arrange the pillows and blankets into a comfy nest. Your heart races at the intimacy of it all.

Lando opens his arms for you to curl against his chest. You sigh, breathing in his comforting scent. His steady heartbeat thrums beneath your ear as the movie starts.

About halfway through, you glance up to see Lando staring down at you tenderly, movie forgotten. He brushes a strand of hair from your face, fingers trailing down to tilt your chin up. Eyes fluttering shut, you lean in as his lips meet yours in a soft, lingering kiss.

Everything around you fades away. The only sensation is Lando’s gentle lips moving with yours, laced with warmth and affection.

When you finally break apart, faces lingering close, he exhales shakily. “Wow. That was ...”

“Perfect,” you whisper, caressing his stubbled cheek. Lando nuzzles into your touch.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a very long time,” he admits with a crooked smile.

You grin. “What took you so long?”

Lando laughs, pulling you closer again. Your lips find their way back together naturally. With your legs entwined and his hand trailing up and down your back, you lose all track of time and space.

Eventually you pull back just to catch your breath, lips pleasantly swollen. Lando strokes your hair tenderly.

“Y/N, you must know by now how truly special you are to me. From the moment we met, I felt fate bringing us together. And I never want to let you go.” His eyes search yours intently.

Your pulse quickens. “Lando ...”

“What I’m trying to say is ...” He takes a deep breath. “Will you be my girlfriend? Officially?”

Joy erupts inside you as you throw your arms around his neck. “Yes, I’d love nothing more!”

Lando’s delighted laughter vibrates against you as he squeezes you tight. You stay locked in an embrace, trading giddy kisses until sleepiness inevitably sets in.

Lando carries you to bed, tucking you both under the covers with your head pillowed on his chest. You drift off smiling, his steady heartbeat your lullaby.

Waking wrapped in Lando’s arms the next morning feels like pure bliss. He stirs, blinking awake to see you watching him fondly.

“Morning, beautiful.” Lando caresses your cheek before capturing your lips in a tender good morning kiss.

You hum contentedly. “I could get very used to this.”

“Well luckily, you’re my girlfriend now. So you’re stuck with me.” He grins playfully.

You snuggle impossibly closer. “Wouldn’t want it any other way.”

***

On a sunny spring morning, you’re in Lando’s kitchen pureeing some bananas for Georgia’s breakfast. At nearly one year old now, she’s mastered eating soft finger foods.

Lando wanders in with Georgia propped on his hip, her dark curls tied up in adorable pigtails. “Someone’s ready for her breakfast!”

You grin, smoothing Georgia’s hair back to kiss her chubby cheek. “Morning, my darling! Got your bananas all ready.”

Lando settles Georgia into her high chair, handing you her baby spoon shaped like a rabbit. “Not sure who’s more excited about mealtimes now, her or me,” he jokes.

You laugh. “Gotta get our girl fed so she has energy to get into everything!”

Georgia bangs her hands impatiently on the tray until you scoop up a spoonful of bananas. “Alright, here comes the Formula 1 car!”

You zoom the spoon around playfully before popping it in her mouth. Georgia squeals in delight, kicking her little feet.

Lando leans against the counter smiling as you continue taking turns feeding her. When the last bites are finished, he grabs a washcloth to wipe Georgia’s sticky face and hands.

“Who’s my big girl eating like such a pro?” He coos, tickling her belly. Georgia dissolves into adorable giggles.

Setting the washcloth down, Lando brushes a stray banana strand from her hair. “You’re the sweetest, most beautiful girl in the whole world. Yes you are!”

Georgia beams up at him, waving her hands excitedly. Then clear as day, she exclaims “Mama!”

You freeze in shock. Did she just ...

Lando’s eyes fly to yours, equally stunned. An awkward tension instantly permeates the room.

“I-I never encouraged that, I swear,” Lando rushes to explain, panicked. “I always call you by name when I talk about you to her.”

“No no, of course, I didn’t think-” You halt, flustered. “I would never try to make her call me ...” You can’t even say it, heart pounding wildly.

A heavy silence falls. You avert your eyes, anxiously twisting the washcloth between your hands.

Lando scrubs a hand down his face. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know why she ...” He trails off helplessly.

After a long pause, Lando touches your arm gently. “Hey, look at me?”

You reluctantly meet his earnest gaze. Lando takes your hands in his, tone serious.

“Y/N, you must know how much I respect your role in Georgia’s life. We’re partners in this, fully. I would never try to force a maternal label on you.”

His obvious sincerity makes you instantly relax. Offering a small smile, you squeeze his hands.

“Of course. I didn’t think that. It just took me by surprise is all.” You take a deep breath before continuing hesitantly.

“But, well … the idea of Georgia seeing me that way doesn’t scare me. Not if it happens naturally.” You chance a glance at Lando through your lashes.

His eyes soften. “Truly?” At your shy nod, a smile spreads across his face.

“Because, well, I was thinking the same.” Lando cradles your face between his palms. “You already are a mum to her in every way that matters.”

You release a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Joy and relief flood your system.

Georgia makes an impatient noise, breaking the tender spell. You both chuckle.

Lando lifts her from the chair into his arms. “Don’t worry princess, your mama isn’t going anywhere.”

Hearing those words from Lando sends your heart soaring. You join the cuddle, Georgia nestled happily between you.

“Our sweet girl,” Lando murmurs, meeting your gaze over her little head. The pure love reflected back at you erases any lingering doubts.

You place a soft kiss to Georgia’s curls, then lean up to capture Lando’s lips. The promise of your future together never felt stronger.

Many more milestones await, for Georgia and your relationship both. But you know without question that the bonds between you three will only continue growing deeper.

Of all the twists and turns on this journey, your little family is the sweetest gift of all.

***

The day of the Monaco Grand Prix dawns bright and clear. You finish braiding Georgia’s hair as she babbles happily. At 18 months old now, her vocabulary expands daily.

“There we go, pretty girl! All set to cheer on Daddy!”

Georgia grins. “Dada race!”

You smile, smoothing her dress. “That’s right, darling!”

A knock sounds right before Lando pokes his head into the nursery. “My two favorite girls about ready?”

Scooping up Georgia, you turn so he can admire her race day outfit. “Well don’t we look beautiful!” Lando tickles Georgia’s tummy before pulling you both into a hug.

“I can’t tell you how much it means to have you both here today,” he says softly.

You squeeze him tight. As a pediatrician, getting full weekends off for races proved nearly impossible. But for Monaco, you moved mountains.

“We wouldn’t miss it for the world,” you assure him. Lando’s responding smile warms your heart.

The energy at the track is electric. Georgia’s eyes widen taking in all the sights and sounds. You carry her through the paddock towards the McLaren garage, Lando greeting various people along the way.

Inside, Lando steals a quick kiss. “I better go get suited up. See you after?”

You nod, adjusting a squirmy Georgia on your hip. “We’ll be cheering the loudest!”

Lando changes into his race suit, then leads you both over to his car. Georgia is mesmerized, reaching a tiny hand towards the shiny machine.

“That’s right munchkin, this is what Daddy drives!” Lando points out key features, then grabs a helmet from a crew member.

“Want to try it on?” Not waiting for an answer, Lando gently fits the helmet over Georgia’s curls. She immediately shrieks in delight.

Laughing, Lando scoops her up, zooming her around like she’s driving. “Look at you, a future champion in the making!”

You snap some photos of the adorable scene until it’s time for Lando to go off with his performance coach. After one last kiss for both of you, he disappears into the controlled pre-race chaos.

An assistant escorts you to the McLaren hospitality suite overlooking the pit lane. The view of the gleaming harbor and yachts reminds you this race is unlike anywhere else.

As start time nears, you cuddle a restless Georgia close, pointing out Lando’s car lined up on the grid. “See? There’s Daddy! He’s about to go racing.” Her little brow furrows, not quite understanding.

When the lights go out, Georgia startles at the loud roar of engines. Rubbing her back soothingly, you keep your eyes glued to the screen as the cars hurtle towards the tight first corner bottleneck.

“Come on Lando,” you murmur under your breath. He emerges from the chaos in 4th position. Off to a promising start.

Over the next 90 minutes, you fluctuate between pure elation and anxiety as the race unfolds. A collision forces Lando to pit unexpectedly. Just as your heart rate settles, another car spins right in front of him, spraying debris across the track.

But Lando holds his nerve, keeping the car under control to cross the line in P3. You leap up, cheering loudly with Georgia.

Soon Lando emerges, hair damp from the obligatory champagne shower.

His race suit is unzipped to the waist as he sweeps you both into an exuberant hug. “You did so good,” you murmur into his neck. Pulling back, Lando caresses Georgia’s head where it rests heavily on your shoulder.

“Little one tuckered herself out cheering for Daddy, hmm?” He takes her gently as she nuzzles into his chest with a yawn.

“Let’s get my best girls home.” With Georgia cradled in one arm and the other around your waist, Lando leads you out of the paddock like a proud family man. Your heart feels fit to burst.

That night after Georgia is tucked into bed, you curl up together on the couch. The TV plays highlights of the race you lived firsthand.

Lando absently strokes your hair. “You know, the lads invited me out to celebrate tonight.”

You lift your head. “Oh really? You should go have fun!”

But Lando just smiles, pulling you closer. “And miss this? Not a chance.” He kisses you tenderly. “Partying in Monaco holds nothing on being with my two favorite people.”

You kiss him again, touched. However far Lando’s career takes him, you know his heart will remain right here with you and Georgia.

***

Summer finally arrives, bringing a short respite between races for Lando. Eager to make the most of it, you suggest visiting your hometown to introduce him and Georgia to your parents.

“They’d love to finally meet you both,” you say over breakfast one morning.

Lando smiles, reaching across the table to squeeze your hand. “That sounds brilliant, love. I can’t wait to see where you grew up.”

You grin excitedly. “It’s nothing glamorous like Monaco. But I have so many good memories there.”

With plans made, you set off early one sunny Saturday morning, boarding a flight with Georgia securely buckled into her carrier. She babbles happily for most of the flight, enchanted by the clouds and miniature landscape passing below. Lando keeps one hand firmly clasped in yours the entire time.

Late afternoon, you finally pull up outside the cozy house you grew up in. Taking a deep breath, you unbuckle a sleepy Georgia from her seat.

“We’re here, Gigi! Ready to meet Grandma and Grandpa?”

She rubs her eyes with a tiny fist, still drowsy. Lando comes around to lift her into his arms.

“Someone’s a bit tired from all the traveling, huh? Maybe a quick nap first?” He kisses Georgia’s fuzzy head as she snuggles into his shoulder.

You nod, smoothing down her rumpled sundress. Taking Lando’s free hand, you head up the front walk.

Before you can even knock, the front door swings open. Your mum stands beaming at the threshold.

“Y/N! Oh, let me see her!” She sweeps you into a tight hug before immediately cooing over a now awake Georgia. “What an absolute darling!”

You grin. “Mom, meet your granddaughter, Georgia.” Saying it out loud sends a little thrill through you.

Your mother gently strokes Georgia’s dark curls. “Look at all this beautiful hair! Those eyes are all her daddy though.” She smiles warmly at Lando.

“It’s lovely to finally meet you, Mrs. Y/L/N,” Lando says politely, shaking her extended hand.

“Oh please, call me Y/M/N! Now come in, come in!” She ushers you both inside the familiar cozy house.

Your dad appears from his office to exchange hearty handshakes and hugs. Lando looks slightly overwhelmed by the enthusiastic welcome.

Sensing this, you squeeze his arm reassuringly. “Why don’t I put Georgia down for her nap? You guys chat.”

Lando shoots you a grateful smile. You disappear down the hall to your childhood bedroom, now converted to a cozy nursery space. Georgia is out like a light before you’ve even finished tucking her in.

Returning to the living room, you pause in the doorway, heart swelling at the scene. Lando sits between your parents on the sofa as they animatedly show him your baby photos. His eyes shine taking it all in. This is the sense of family he’s long craved.

Eventually Georgia wakes, cranky and clingy. You scoop her up, breathing in that sweet baby scent as you rub her back.

“I know, lots of new things happening today. But you’re being so brave.” Dropping a kiss to her curls, you return to the living room.

Your mother immediately reaches for Georgia, who goes willingly into her arms. “Come sit with Grandma, sweetheart.”

Settling on the couch between your parents again, Lando slips an arm around your shoulders. Georgia babbles happily from your mother’s lap.

The rest of the day passes comfortably as your parents dote on their new granddaughter. Watching your mom help Georgia toddle around the yard, your dad pushing her on the tree swing, Lando’s arm stays wrapped securely around you.

That night after Georgia is down, you find Lando out on the back porch gazing up at the stars. You join him on the steps, leaning your head on his shoulder.

“You okay?”

Lando looks down at you with a soft smile. “More than. Today was really special.”

He brushes a strand of hair from your face. “Seeing how your parents just immediately welcomed us into the family … it means everything. I never expected to find this.” His voice turns thick with emotion.

You lift your head to meet his sincere gaze, heart brimming over. No words needed, you convey it all in a tender kiss.

When you eventually pull apart, foreheads touching, Lando exhales shakily. “Being here with you and Gigi, it just feels so right. Like we were always meant to be a family.”

Joyful tears prick your eyes hearing him voice the same feeling living inside you. You cradle his face gently.

“We were, Lando. From that very first day in the hospital, I knew fate brought us together for a reason.”

Lando’s responding smile could outshine the moon and stars overhead. He kisses you again, soft and unhurried, arms encircling you on that familiar back porch.

***

Two years to the day after that fateful first meeting, you’re finishing rounds in the maternity ward when your supervisor requests you in her office. Brow furrowed, you make your way down the hall and knock lightly.

“Come in!”

You step inside to find her beaming behind her desk. “Y/N! Please, have a seat.”

Perplexed, you settle into the plush chair across from her. “Is everything okay?”

“Better than okay, I’d say.” She grins and slides an official document across the desk towards you. “Take a look at this.”

You scan the letter, eyes widening. It’s a notice of a 250,000 euro donation to the hospital’s maternity ward and nursery … made in your name.

“What? This must be a mistake, I didn’t ...” You trail off, completely baffled.

Your supervisor laughs. “Oh it’s quite real, I assure you. In fact, the donor himself insisted on being here today to celebrate.”

Before you can respond, a knock sounds. You turn to see Lando stroll in, right on cue, with a grinning Georgia perched on his hip.

“Lando!” You gasp. “Did you … is this from you?”

He smiles almost shyly, setting Georgia down so she can toddle over to you. “Wanted to do something meaningful to mark the anniversary of when we first met.”

You stand frozen in shock as Georgia crashes into your legs. Scooping her up, you turn back to Lando with tears in your eyes.

“This is too much, I … I don’t know what to say.” You glance between him and your equally emotional supervisor.

Lando moves closer, taking your hands in his. “Say you’ll come with me for a proper celebration? Just the three of us?” He brushes his thumbs over your knuckles, eyes twinkling.

Unable to form words, you simply nod. Lando’s face lights up with that smile that still makes your heart skip.

After signing some paperwork and hugging your supervisor profusely, you allow Lando to lead you out to the car, Georgia babbling happily between you. But instead of heading home, he drives to the glittering harbor front.

There, you gasp to see a magnificent yacht floating ready at the dock. A crew in crisp white uniforms wait nearby.

Lando grins at your stunned reaction. “Told you we’re celebrating in style today!”

The staff smiles warmly as you board, cooing over Georgia toddling around excitedly. She especially loves watching the foam trail behind the yacht as it pulls away from shore.

You stand wrapped in Lando’s arms, his chin resting on your shoulder. “I still can’t believe you did all this,” you murmur.

Lando presses a kiss to your temple. “You deserve it all and more, my love.”

You pass a blissful afternoon on the water, enjoying a gourmet lunch and each other’s company. Lando is attentive as ever, making sure you want for nothing.

As the sun dips low, a crew member approaches. “So sorry to interrupt, but we’ll be arriving shortly. Please follow me downstairs to prepare.”

You glance questioningly at Lando, but he just smiles and urges you to follow with Georgia. Down in your luxurious cabin, an elegant evening gown awaits on the bed alongside a tiny version for Georgia.

Your heart flutters wildly now. Lando is clearly planning something major. You help Georgia into her dress, your hands shaking slightly with anticipation.

A knock at the door announces the crew member has returned. “We’ve arrived back at port, whenever you’re ready.”

Back up top, Lando stands waiting in a sharp suit, holding a bouquet of roses. He looks devastatingly handsome.

Taking your hand, he leads you down the gangplank onto the dock where a car waits to whisk you away into the hills overlooking the sea. The sunset bathes everything in golden light.

When the car stops at a secluded lookout point, Lando helps you out then retrieves a sleepy Georgia. Hand in hand, you approach the cliff edge.

Down below, a massive light display flashes to life along the shoreline. You gasp as the glowing words become clear:

Y/N, will you marry me?

You clap a hand over your mouth, spinning to Lando with tears pooling in your eyes. He’s down on one knee, Georgia sitting next to him playing with flower petals.

“Two years ago, you came into our lives and changed everything,” Lando begins emotionally. “Your compassion and selflessness as a doctor saved my fragile new family.”

He takes a shaky breath. “But you gave me so much more than that. Your kindness, your beauty inside and out, your incredible love for me and Georgia … you’re my dream come true.”

Tears spill freely down your cheeks as Lando pulls out a glittering diamond ring. “So Y/N Y/L/N, nothing would make me happier than for you to officially become my family. Will you marry me?”

A joyful sob escapes you as you sink down, throwing your arms around him. “Yes, Lando, a million times yes!”

His relieved laughter vibrates against you. When you pull back, Lando takes your hand gently to slide the exquisite ring onto your finger. A perfect fit.

Georgia seems to sense the significance of the moment and toddles over to wrap her little arms around your legs. You lift her into a fierce hug between you.

“I love you both so very much,” you whisper emotionally. Lando’s responding smile outshines the luminous lights along the shore.

Cradling your faces in his hands, he seals his proposal with the sweetest kiss as the sunset fades to twilight.

You linger wrapped in Lando’s arms, Georgia nestled between you, as the first stars emerge overhead. Right here, surrounded by your little family, you’ve never felt happier or more at peace.

It’s extraordinary what two short years can bring — unexpected joy, profound purpose, and a love greater than you dared dream.

The brightest days are still ahead. But tonight, in this perfect moment, you know you’ve already found everything you’ll ever need.

***

The day of your wedding to Lando dawns bright and sunny — perfect weather for an outdoor ceremony overlooking the glittering Mediterranean sea.

Inside the bridal suite, your mother puts the final pins in your elegant updo while your bridesmaids fuss over the train of your lace gown.

A knock at the door announces your father’s arrival. When you turn to face him in your wedding finery, his eyes well up.

“Oh sweetheart … you look absolutely beautiful.”

You immediately tear up too, embracing him tightly. “Don’t make me ruin my makeup before I’ve even walked down the aisle!”

He laughs wetly, dabbing at his eyes with a handkerchief. “Couldn’t help it! My girl is all grown up.”

Looking in the mirror, you hardly recognize yourself in the exquisite dress and pinned-back curls. But the overwhelmed bride staring back has the same little girl dreams you harbored all those years ago. Dreams that are finally coming true today.

Another quick knock precedes Georgia toddling in, chubby legs pumping. Your flower girl is absolutely angelic in her silky dress.

“Mama, pwetty!” She declares, rushing over for cuddles. You scoop her up, breathing in that sweet baby scent you adore.

“You look so beautiful, my love.” Blinking back fresh tears, you smooth down her unruly curls. “Ready to walk down the aisle with flowers?”

Georgia just grins and reaches for your necklace. You tickle her belly, making her dissolve into adorable giggles. Your heart swells with love for your daughter.

Too soon, the wedding coordinator is poking her head in. “Sorry to interrupt, but it’s just about time!”

Butterflies erupt as everyone hustles to line up. Your father tucks your arm through his, beaming with pride. Just outside the doors, Georgia toddles down the petal-strewn aisle ahead of you both.

Then the soaring orchestral processional begins, and you step out into the golden afternoon sunlight. Gasps and murmurs rise at the sight of your dramatic gown trailing behind.

But your eyes lock instantly on Lando under the flower-woven arch, looking devastatingly handsome in his slate grey suit. His face lights up, and you know that your own mirrors the same wonder and joy.

The ceremony passes in a blur of emotions. Before you know it, the officiant instructs you and Lando to face each other and take hands. Time for the vows.

You go first, hands shaking as you pull out your prepared words. But speaking from the heart comes easily.

“Lando, when we first met under the most unexpected circumstances, I had no idea of the amazing journey we’d go on together. My job was to ensure your new daughter received the care she deserved.”

Your voice wavers slightly. “But so quickly, you both became so much more. Being welcomed into your family was the greatest gift. Watching Georgia grow, guiding her first steps and words ...”

You have to pause, blinking back more tears. Lando squeezes your hands encouragingly.

Composing yourself, you continue thickly, “I vow to always provide that same nurturing love and support. I promise to be your safe place to call home after long days apart. And I pledge to show our daughter daily what it means to be a strong, compassionate woman.”

Taking a shaky breath, you finish softly, “You two are my entire world. Loving you is life’s greatest joy.”

Lando’s eyes glisten as he brushes away the single tear trailing down your cheek. His thumbs linger, cradling your face tenderly.

Clearing his throat, he begins his own vows, voice wavering with emotion. “Y/N, you appeared in my life like an angel that frightening day at the hospital. I was so lost, overwhelmed by the massive responsibility of suddenly having Georgia.”

He glances down at your joined hands. “But your compassion and wisdom guided me through those uncertain early days. You made us feel safe.”

Looking up, his eyes pierce yours intensely. “What started as our doctor-patient relationship grew into the most important friendship I’ve ever known. And then, miraculously, into true, deep love. Thank you for loving Georgia as your own and showing me what true partnership means.”

Lando’s voice cracks. He pauses to take a shaky breath. “So I vow to spend every day reciprocating that love and support. I promise to shield you from the chaos of my world and provide a peaceful home for our family.”

Then he turns, taking a folded paper from the best man. “I asked Georgia if she wanted to say anything to her mama today.”

He opens it to reveal a drawing of three stick figures, one much smaller than the others. Scribbled hearts surround you all.

Lando’s voice thickens. “She said to tell you she loves you ‘this much’ and that you’re the best mama ever.”

A sob escapes you as Lando refolds the cherished drawing and hands it over. You press it to your heart, blinking back a fresh wave of tears.

Finally, you slip the wedding bands onto each other’s fingers with whispered words of eternal love and commitment.

When the officiant pronounces you husband and wife, Lando sweeps you into his arms for the kind of kiss that steals your breath and stops time.

You are finally, officially, wholeheartedly one.

The reception flies by in more happy tears, moving speeches, delicious food, and dancing under the stars. Watching Lando twirl Georgia around the floor tugs at your heart.

Later, as you slow dance wrapped in your new husband’s arms, Lando kisses your hair and whispers, “Ready for this new adventure together, Dr. Y/L/N-Norris?”

You beam up at him. “Absolutely. Lead the way, Mr. Norris.”

No matter where life takes you next on this journey, your family will thrive and grow stronger. Lando’s love lifts you up in ways you never imagined possible. And you vow to cherish and repay that gift until your last breath.

***

Returning home from a blissful honeymoon, you settle back into domestic life with Lando and Georgia. Mornings are spent over pancakes, playing hide and seek, and dancing around the living room. The pure joy of your little family never ceases to warm your heart.

One evening after putting Georgia to bed, you curl up with Lando on the couch and hesitantly broach something you’ve been thinking about.

“So I wanted to discuss something with you. It’s just an idea, and please don’t feel pressured at all.” You take a deep breath. “What would you think about me officially adopting Gigi?”

Lando’s eyes widen in surprise. You rush to continue explaining.

“I don’t want you to think I need a piece of paper to love her with my whole heart, because I already do. More than anything in this world.” Your voice cracks slightly.

Reaching out, you grasp his hands. “I just want to make sure that no matter what, I have a legal right to take care of her. But only if you’re completely comfortable with it!”

Lando is quiet for a long moment, studying your anxious face. Then a smile spreads across his face. “Love, I think it’s a beautiful idea.”

You sag in relief. “Truly? I wasn’t sure if it was too much ...”

Lando silences you with a tender kiss. “Gigi is the luckiest girl in the world to have you as her mum. I want the whole world to know that too.”

Tears prick your eyes as Lando caresses your cheek. “The day you promised to love Georgia as your own was the moment I knew you were different. I see how you are with her — the time, the care, the unconditional love ...” His voice cracks slightly.

“You gave us the greatest gift. I want you to have the same security that she’ll always be yours.”

A single tear traces down your cheek. Lando brushes it away gently before drawing you into his arms. You cling to him, heart overflowing with love and gratitude.

When you finally pull back, Lando is dabbing at his own eyes. “So,” he says with a watery chuckle, “How do we make this official?”

You explain the process — paperwork, a hearing, lawyer fees. He waves it all off.

“Whatever it takes. I’ll call our attorney first thing tomorrow.” Lando squeezes you tight. “Soon you’ll legally be Gigi’s mum too!”

You grin and kiss him soundly. With Lando fully on board, excitement takes root.

Over the next weeks, you go through the steps — filing petitions, scheduling court dates, and explaining the process in age-appropriate ways to an occasionally grumpy Georgia when she can’t go play outside instead.

Finally, the big day arrives. You dress Georgia in her favorite pink checkered dress and do her hair in perfect pigtails.

“My beautiful girl,” you murmur, smoothing down a flyaway curl. Her answering smile melts your heart.

At the courthouse, you all meet the social worker assigned to your case. She questions you and Lando gently about your relationship, home life, and approach to parenting. You cling tight to Lando’s hand the entire time.

Finally, it’s time for the hearing before a grandfatherly judge. He smiles warmly, peering over his glasses at you all.

“Well, I must say, this is one of the more straightforward cases to come before me. I can see clear as day how much love exists in this family.”

Relief floods you. The judge continues, “Therefore, I am more than pleased to grant the petition to finalize the adoption of Georgia Senna Norris by her mother, Y/N Y/L/N-Norris.” He bangs his gavel with an air of finality.

Joyful tears pour down your face. Lando whoops and sweeps you into a spinning hug. Even Georgia seems to realize something momentous just occurred, clapping her little hands.

In a daze, you sign the final paperwork making it official before emerging from the courthouse into the warm sunlight, your family now fully complete.

That evening, after Georgia is asleep, you curl up with Lando in bed, reliving the special day. He kisses your hair and murmurs, “I’m so proud of you, Mama.”

You grin against his chest. “I never thought I could feel so much love. She’s changed my life in every way.”

Lando tilts your chin up, eyes glowing. “That’s exactly how I feel about you. My girls who make life beautiful.”

***

One sunny afternoon, you’re in the kitchen prepping a snack for four-year-old Georgia when she comes bounding in from preschool.

“Mummy, guess what? My friend Amy at school is gonna be a big sister!” She hops up on her stool, eyes bright with excitement.

“Oh really? That’s fun!” You slice an apple into bunny shapes.

Georgia nods vigorously. “Yeah! Her mum has a baby in her tummy. Can I have a brother or sister in your tummy too?”

You freeze, knife hovering over the apple. Slowly setting it down, you turn to face her. “You want a little sibling?”

“Yes yes yes!” She bounces in her seat. “I asked Daddy already and he said I should ask you too.”

Your mind spins. A baby … it’s something you and Lando have only vaguely discussed as a someday possibility. But with Georgia asking so eagerly, the concept suddenly feels very real.

Just then, Lando walks in from his office. Georgia immediately appeals to him. “Daddy, tell Mummy we should have a baby! I wanna be a big sister.”

Lando meets your startled gaze, scrubbing a hand through his curls. “Well, uh, what do you think, love? Could be kinda nice to add to our crew.”

You glance between their hopeful faces, heart swelling. “I think … that could be really special for our family.”

Georgia cheers while Lando grins, coming over to wrap you in a hug. “A mini you running around? Sign me up.” His smile falters slightly. “Only if you want to though, truly.”

You squeeze him back. “I really do. We’ve come so far since the days of newborn Georgia. I’d love to go through it all again with you.”

The joy lighting up Lando’s face erases any lingering doubts.

That night after Georgia is asleep, you curl up together to discuss logistics. “I’ll need to give notice at the hospital once I’m pregnant so they can find someone to cover my maternity leave.”

Lando waves dismissively. “Don’t worry about any of that. Focus on growing our little muffin and I’ll handle the rest.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Our little muffin?”

“Or crumpet. Jellybean. Peanut.” Lando grins. “Take your pick, I’ve got a million terrible nicknames ready to go.”

Laughing, you swat his chest playfully. Sobering, you add, “It won’t be easy juggling a newborn and busy four year-old. But I can’t wait to see Georgia as a big sister.”

Lando smiles tenderly, threading his fingers through yours. “You’re already the most incredible mum. Our kids are so lucky.”

Your throat tightens at the absolute faith in his voice. No matter the challenges ahead, you’ll get through them together.

When you share the news with Georgia, she screeches loud enough to wake the neighbors. Her enthusiasm never wanes over the following months.

Finally, the big day arrives. After a long but relatively smooth delivery, your son enters the world screaming indignantly. The sound is music to your ears.

Lando cuts the cord with shaking hands before your little boy is placed in your arms. Love surges fiercely and instantly.

“Hi Maddox,” you whisper through joyful tears. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

Lando presses a kiss to both your heads before going to bring Georgia in. She gasps softly, climbing up to peer at her new brother with wide eyes.

“He’s so little!” Reaching out a gentle finger, she strokes Maddox’s downy cheek. Your heart clenches watching your babies meet.

Georgia cuddles close as you adjust her arm to help cradle Maddox. “I’m your big sister Gigi! I’m gonna help take care of you.” She drops a sloppy kiss on his forehead.

Blinking back a fresh wave of tears, you meet Lando’s equally wet gaze. The road that first led you to Lando has become so much more than you ever imagined. But you wouldn’t change a single unexpected twist or turn.

***

You link arms with Lando as you make your way through the familiar Silverstone paddock. The distinctive smell of race fuel hangs in the air, mingling with the buzz of excitement rippling through the crowd.

Georgia skips ahead, her brunette curls bouncing with each step, while Maddox clings to Lando’s free hand, his eyes wide with wonder. Alexa, your two-year-old, nestles securely in your arms, her tiny fingers clutching the McLaren teddy bear she insisted on bringing today. A small smile tugs at your lips as you glance down at her cherubic face, so much like Lando’s. Your heart swells with love for your beautiful family.

“Mummy, look!” Georgia calls out, pointing towards the McLaren garage suite. “Can we go in and see the car later?”

“We’ll see, darling,” you reply with a wink, knowing full well that Lando will ensure a special tour for the kids.

Lando squeezes your hand, his warm eyes twinkling with adoration. “Anything for my favorite girls … and Maddox,” he teases, ruffling Maddox’s hair playfully.

Maddox giggles, his freckled cheeks dimpling. “I’m your favorite boy though, right?”

“Of course,” Lando assures him with a conspiratorial wink.

As you continue down the bustling pathway, a Sky Sports reporter spots your family and rushes over, microphone in hand.

“Lando! Dr. Y/L/N-Norris! Do you have a moment for a quick interview?” He asks, his cameraman already rolling.

Lando nods, ever the professional. “Sure, mate. Go ahead.”

The reporter flashes a bright smile at the camera. “We’re here at the Silverstone Circuit with McLaren driver, Lando Norris, his wife, Dr. Y/N Y/L/N-Norris, and their children, Georgia, Maddox, and Alexa. It’s the weekend of the British Grand Prix, and the Norris family has been a fixture in the paddock for years.”

He turns to Georgia and Maddox, crouching down to their level. “So, you two must love coming to the races with your dad. What’s your favorite part?”

Georgia’s eyes light up as she launches into an enthusiastic explanation about the cars and the pit stops, her hands gesturing animatedly. Maddox, the quieter one, simply mumbles “the colors” with a shy grin.

The reporter chuckles, clearly charmed by the children’s responses. Straightening up, he addresses you and Lando. “And how about you two? Managing a hectic F1 schedule with three young kids can’t be easy. What’s the secret?”

Before either of you can respond, Georgia pipes up, “But it’s not three kids, it’s five!”

You tense, shooting Lando a panicked glance. This wasn’t how you’d planned to share the news of your pregnancy.

“Five kids?” The reporter’s brows furrow in confusion.

Georgia nods matter-of-factly. “Yep, there are two more babies in Mummy’s belly!”

A hush falls over the small crowd that has gathered nearby, and you can feel dozens of eyes trained on your still-flat stomach. Heat rushes to your cheeks as you instinctively place a protective hand over your abdomen.

The reporter blinks, clearly thrown off-script. “Well, I … congratulations! That’s certainly going to be a handful.”

You force a laugh, leaning into Lando’s solid frame. “Yes, well, Lando’s always said he wants a football team.”

Your husband grins, that cheeky grin you fell in love with, and wraps an arm around your waist. “What can I say? I like to keep things interesting.”

The crowd titters with amusement, and you can feel the tension dissipating.

“I can only imagine,” the reporter replies with a smile. “Well, thank you all for chatting with us today, and congratulations again on your growing family!”

As the reporter and his crew move on, you turn to Lando, your eyes shining with unshed tears — a heady mix of residual mortification and overwhelming love.

“I’m so sorry,” you murmur, stroking his stubbled jaw. “I know we wanted to share the news on our own terms.”

Lando silences you with a tender kiss, his lips warm and achingly familiar against yours. When he pulls back, his gaze is soft, adoring.

“Are you kidding? There’s no better way to announce it than through Gigi,” he says with a wink. “Besides, I’m just happy the whole world knows that I have super sperm.”

You laugh despite yourself, shoving his shoulder playfully. “You’re impossible.”

“But you love me,” he counters, that infuriatingly irresistible grin stretching across his face.

“God help me, I do,” you sigh, melting into his embrace.

Georgia bounds over then, Maddox and Alexa in tow, her expression a mixture of exhilaration and uncertainty.

“Was I not supposed to tell, Mummy? Did I do something wrong?” She asks, her eyes wide and questioning.

You quickly kneel down, gathering all three children into your arms and peppering their faces with kisses.

“No, my darling, you didn’t do anything wrong. You just … surprised us, that’s all.” You share a look with Lando over their heads, a look that conveys a thousand words — your hopes, your dreams, your boundless love for this incredible little family you’ve created together.

Lando reaches down, ruffling Georgia’s curls with one hand while gently squeezing your shoulder with the other. A silent promise, a vow to always be by your side as you navigate the beautiful chaos of your life together.

Rising to your feet, you adjust Alexa on your hip and take Georgia’s small hand in your own. Maddox slips his hand into Lando’s, and you set off once more, the television crew long forgotten.

This is your life — a whirlwind of races and airports, photoshoots and interviews. But it’s also quiet nights cuddled on the sofa, re-watching Disney movies for the millionth time. It’s family hugs and sloppy baby kisses, skinned knees and endless giggles. It’s laundry piled to the ceiling and sleepless nights spent pacing the nursery.

It’s messy and magical, exhausting and exhilarating. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[thesvnandthemooon]

𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞

18+ MINORS DNI

a/n: i said i wouldn’t do requests atm but this was requested by a very dear reader on wattpad and i just couldn’t say no 🙂‍↕️

summary: based on the song by bruno mars; masc rich lawyer!reader, bartender!natasha. nat has blonde hair here (no idea how important that detail really is tbh)

warnings: smut…(a bunch of it, actually — strap usage, fingering, oral (n receiving)), alcohol/being drunk; i think that’s it?

word count: 8.2k

part 1, part 2

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

— LOS ANGELES, USA —

Exiting your car that night, you don't expect that, not too long later, you'll have her in your passenger seat. Like your own personal Cinderella, she'll be with you once the clock strikes midnight.

However, your evening doesn't start as fairytale-like as it'll end.

It's been a shitty day. A brutal case you'd been working on for months. As almost always, it entailed dealing with insufferable clients and their enormous egos, biased judges and ruthless opponents, 80-hour weeks and tons of stress — only to lose the case.

It was humiliating, leaving the court room. You'd trailed to your car like a wet dog and sat there, forehead on your steering wheel, for a solid five minutes. Only when you realized that the press was starting to surround your car, you'd pressed the start button and torn down the street.

Let's pretend you didn't hit a trash can on your way out. Maybe that'll make your day look less like a shitshow.

Being the child of two of Hollywood's most successful lawyers, everyone's eyes are on you. News articles, social media backlash, professional rivals that revel in your failure. You can't afford even a single misstep. Yes, in your case, even a lost case is a misstep. It's just more proof, they'll say. That you're only here because mommy and daddy funneled millions into your trust fund before you even turned 18.

You rarely frequent bars, since there never seems to be enough time for that. It's why you usually keep a bottle of whiskey in your office (telling yourself that's completely normal) — but tonight, you don't want to get drunk sitting in silence. Too many thoughts, too many worries. Instead, you pull up in front of LA's most famous bar.

Hollywood elites, business moguls, and the ultra-wealthy. Expensive champagne flows like water, its coloration matching the golden hues of the bars interior. You step inside and, for once, only feel mildly out of place.

You walk across marble floors and approach the bar. Sitting down, you undo the top button of your shirt and watch the woman in front of you turn around.

A bartender, but possibly the most gorgeous one you've ever seen. Blonde hair and a red dress, makeup so flawless you'd never be able to tell she's been working for over six hours now. If you weren't still pissed off about that stupid case, you'd be able to appreciate the sight a lot more, though.

You lean in and almost order a whiskey. But you have that in your office, so you change your mind.

"Just a martini", you mumble, already reaching for your purse. "Stirred."

She studies you with interest, not saying a word. The memory flits through her head — you, in this bar, two years ago. Middle length hair, slicked back, and a suit. Passed out in the corner. You have no idea this happened, as you were completely out of it, but she remembers.

"No 'hello'? 'Good evening'? What's the magic word again?"

You look up and stare at her, your Black Card between your fingers. "Sorry?"

She shrugs and reaches for the mixing glass. Ice clinks, the gin swirling like liquid silver under the bar's lights as she stirs.

"Maybe my expectations are too high", she says and pours the vermouth. "I should be used to people like you."

You raise your eyebrows, your jaw slackening slightly. "People like me?"

"Exactly. Let me tell you something, hotshot", she says, leaning over the bar. "Have you seen who enters this place? Rich people. Snobby people. The upper one percent. You sat your cute little ass down and muttered your order like you're being forced to sit here."

"Well", you say, struggling to find an excuse for your lack of manners, "I had a shitty day, okay? All I want is a few drinks."

"Not too many", she says, finally straining the liquid into the glass. She plucks an olive from its jar and rolls it between her fingers, her eyes on yours, before dropping it into the drink. "You don't hold your liquors too well, do you?"

"What?"

"Not important."

You accept the martini and take a tentative sip. You study her like she studied you, but with an air of irritation. Your day's been miserable enough already. No need for her to pile on.

"Listen", you say, "I'm not really in the mood to talk. I know you bartenders like to play shrink-"

"I prefer the word therapist, but go on."

"But", you say sharply, shooting her a halfhearted glare, "I had a bad day. A really, really bad day. You probably can't even imagine. So just let it go, alright?"

"Understood", she says. Her green eyes, however, twinkle with the kind of mirth that tells you she definitely will not let it go.

Can someone drive you up the wall but also be annoyingly attractive? Apparently. You're experiencing it in that very moment.

The silence lasts exactly two minutes. It's enough time for the bartender to prepare a Bloody Mary and hand it to a different customer, then she turns toward you again. You groan and let your head fall onto the counter of the bar.

"Ouch", you mutter.

"You're like a child", she states. "A petulant little child who didn't get their way. What happened, hotshot?"

"Leave me alone", you mumble, your breath fogging up the smooth surface of the countertop.

"It can't be that bad." She leans in, arms crossed on the counter, and lowers her head so her face is right in front of yours. You dare look at her and immediately regret it. The green in her eyes is sage with specks of seafoam, mint and apple, unfairly captivating.

Then, her breath hits your lips. Sweet and warm, with an undercurrent of mint.

Before you can imagine her bent over the counter in a very different situation, you quickly close your eyes and press your face against the countertop.

"Let me guess", she says, seemingly oblivious to your internal struggle, "you lost a deal? No, not that. Maybe your shoes don't match your suit? No? Fine. Oh, I got it. Someone had the audacity to say no to you today."

"Truly, fuck you."

"That's a bold thing to say to the woman making your drinks, darling."

You groan and sit up, strands of messy hair blocking your vision. She smirks and brushes them aside.

"This", you say, narrowing your eyes, "is why I don't go to bars."

"Oh, please." She tilts her head. "Me? Harmless."

"Harmless, but annoying. Like a damn housefly."

"How sweet", she says drily. "You know your way around women, huh?"

You give her a deadpan look. She has no clue (or maybe she does — whatever), but you haven't been involved with anyone in over a year now. That is, if you don't count hookups and one night stands and such.

Flirting is also not your strongest suit, but it is hers. You just haven't realized it yet.

"I'm a busy woman", you say. "The only women I see are clients and coworkers."

"Clients, as in...?"

"No." You raise your eyebrows, unimpressed. "I'm a lawyer, not a hooker."

"A lawyer?" She smiles and tilts her head. "Wow. That's exciting."

Sarcasm, obviously. You roll your eyes and lean back a little. Good thing the barstool has a backrest, otherwise you'd be on the floor by now.

"Come on. All you do is pour booze into glasses and poke olives with toothpicks."

"Don't forget pouring water into ice cube trays."

She chuckles when you roll your eyes again. Leaning over the counter, she brushes her fingertips against the collar of your shirt.

Your cheeks heat up. She notices the rosy flush in your face and tilts her head, giving a soft hum.

"So, a lawyer", she says. "A lawyer who had a shitty day."

"Precisely."

"A lawyer who definitely isn't a hooker, either. So asking about the price per hour would be pointless."

You pause before exhaling sharply, dragging a hand down your face — exhausted, annoyed, still half-thinking about your case. But then her words settle, her meaning really sinking in, and despite everything, your lips twitch.

You open your mouth, then close it again. Finally, you lift your glass and down your martini. She laughs quietly.

"I'm Natasha", she says. "And it's a pleasure to meet you, hotshot."

"Y/N", you say, rubbing your eyes with your free hand. "Sorry. I'm tired and ready for bed."

"Me too", she says. She slides the empty glass from your fingers and puts it aside. "I assume you meant something else, though."

You let out a laugh and lean back, hands covering your face. You lower them and smile faintly, eyes running up and down her body. The bar covers everything up to her waist, but that doesn't matter. She's beautiful, and so is the dress she's wearing, and the irritation you felt earlier has shifted into something entirely different.

You're not sure whether there's some kind of rule about this — are bartenders allowed to flirt with customers? —, but, truthfully, you don't care. How long has it been since you felt this kind of attraction toward someone? How long has it been since someone flirted with you and you actually felt the urge to flirt back?

It hasn't been years, but it's been more than a while.

You sit there in silence, eyes still locked on Natasha. She leans over the counter and adjusts the collar of your shirt again. Skin peeks through the unbuttoned buttons at the top, her gaze lingering on it for a brief moment.

"Your shift", you say, watching her pull away. "When's it end?"

She glances at her watch. Midnight. "About two hours. Why? Planning to wait up for me?"

"Maybe" You hum, fingers drumming against the countertop. "You could leave early", you then suggest, tentatively, as if expecting her to say no.

But Natasha glances at the other bartender. Her hands move to untie the apron she's wearing, which she tucks under the bar, then she tells her coworker to cover for her. You can see her hesitate, scanning the space, before she walks around the counter to get to your side.

Before you realize what's happening, you're leading her out of the bar. The air is warm outside, but not suffocating anymore. You feel the light breeze — crisper, fresher, thanks to Beverly Hills being closer to the ocean — and breathe in. No overwhelming variety of perfumes and colognes. All you smell is the faint scent of whatever perfume Natasha is wearing.

You lead her to your car. She pauses when she sees the cracked headlight.

"Hit a trash can", you say before she can ask.

"I see." She glances at you, smiling. "I truly hope you won't get me into a car crash tonight, hotshot."

You crack a smile and sigh, running your fingers through your hair. She laughs and squeezes your arm, then moves to sit in the passenger seat.

You spend your first night together.

When you wake up to the sight of her, hair mussed and naked body wrapped up in thin bedsheets, you know there will be more moments like this.

. . .

— NEW YORK, USA —

Two months and a few meetups (dates? hookups?) later, you fly her out to Manhattan.

It was your idea. You'd gotten sick of having to travel to LA all the time, only to leave again days later. Your main residence is in New York, after all, not California. It's where your condo is, your law firm, where you spend a majority of your time.

Natasha agreed without having to reconsider. You didn't even have to mention it'd be one of your private jets, or that your chauffeur Richard would drive her to your place. She had no clue she'd be sipping champagne and testing caviar during the entire flight, and she said yes anyway.

She knows you have money. She knows you'll spoil her. She doesn't expect it, either. It does happen, though, and she does enjoy it a lot.

There's something special about being able to kick off her heels and stretch out on plush leather seats, letting the staff pamper her. With face masks from South Korea and fresh fruit straight from Thailand, the five hours she spends aloft suddenly seem almost too short.

Richard drives Natasha to the condominium you live in. Billionaires' Row is full of luxury buildings, but yours manages to stand out anyway. High ceilings, floor to ceiling windows, a grand porte-cochère. She spots Rolls Royces and Bentleys being parked by valets in pressed suits and subtly raises her eyebrows. It's starting to get out of hand.

In front of the elevator, she's handed a keycard. Richard instructs her how to use it, then she's on her own.

It takes her all the way upstairs into your penthouse, the elevator bypassing every other floor. Then it stops, the doors swish open, and she's in your condo. In your living room, to be more specific.

A fireplace, a stocked bar (top-shelf liquors, because why not), a glass coffee table. The sectional couch in front of her looks like it costs more than a standard car, too. She glances at the dark marble floor beneath her feet — probably from Italy — and takes a few steps into the condo. As soon as she's stepped out of the elevator, the door closes automatically.

Natasha knew you were rich, but goddamn, this is a lot to take in.

She takes another few steps into the living room and listens for any kind of noise. Unsurprisingly, she can't hear anything. The walls are most likely soundproof, so she won't be able to hear you unless she's in the same room.

Walking closer to the fireplace, she finds a note on it. A normal piece of paper, thankfully, not some expensive textured shit. She reads what you wrote and smiles faintly.

Natasha,

I'm in my office to work on a new case. Sorry I wasn't there to personally pick you up. Will make up for it later, I promise.

Lunch is in the fridge. Make yourself at home. I insist.

— Hotshot :)

Once she realizes she's smiling, she quickly shakes her head and puts the note aside.

Make herself at home? No need to tell her twice.

High heels in one hand, she pads through the long hallway and into the kitchen. Stainless steel appliances, a huge espresso machine she'll definitely play around with at some time, sleek kitchen furniture. A peek into the fridge tells her you — or your private chef, more likely — made paella. She closes it again and walks into the adjacent dining room.

Some plants that look like small palm trees, a long table for at least 16 people, a New Zealand wool rug.

Boring.

Back to the hallway she goes, the heated floors warm under her bare feet. Up the stairs, then back down, hand sliding over the glass railings. Two bathrooms, both with rain showers, a small wine cellar-like room, a huge balcony with a view of Central Park. Somehow, she ends up on the rooftop (and definitely makes sure to remember the pool there) before finally making her way back inside.

Your bedroom is next, complete with an en-suite bathroom and walk-in closet. She's seen the other bathrooms already and was, quite frankly, not impressed enough to look at this one as well. Instead, she decides to check out what kind of clothes you wear.

Natasha spins around in the massive space and scans everything. A minibar, a huge mirror, a seating area. It smells like fresh linen and that very same perfume you were wearing when you first took her home not too long ago.

Two months, she recalls. It's only been two months, and you're already whisking her away whenever you want.

She drags her hand along one of the black walnut shelves, inspecting handmade leather shoes and rows of accessories. Ties, watches, rings. She stops and eyes the tailored suits. Her hand moves to the back of her dress, fumbling with the zipper and pulling it down, then she lets the thin piece of fabric fall to the polished floor.

She steps out of the dress that's pooled around her feet and reaches for a crisp button-down. She puts it on and inspects herself in front of the mirror, then grabs some niche Parisian perfume from your fragrance collection. A spritz behind her ear, one on her wrist...

"Having fun?"

Natasha whips around and stares at you. You're leaning against the doorframe, trying to hide your smile. Despite being at home, where you should be comfortable enough to let loose for a little, you're in a suit. Your hair, however, is messy. A strand partially blocks your vision.

It took you ten minutes to find her. You didn't expect to walk in on her half-naked, barefoot, only wearing one of your shirts. Are you complaining, though? Absolutely not.

"You told me to make myself at home."

"So you did."

"Exactly."

"That's good." You push off the doorframe and stroll into the room. "Not gonna say hi?"

She meets you halfway, her arms coming up to wrap around your neck. Lips brush against yours, a fleeting contact, and your hands rub her waist. "Hi", she mumbles.

"Hey", you whisper, kissing her. First quickly, then a little more deeply. Your hands run up her sides, letting her shirt ride up, and you feel smooth warm skin under your palms. You pull away only to trail kisses along her jaw. "Missed you. How long have you been here?"

Natasha closes her eyes, her fingers raking through your short hair. "About an hour. Lonely?"

"It's a big apartment."

"Penthouse."

"Whatever", you mutter, catching her mouth again. Your thumbs hook into the waistband of her underwear and play with the lace. "Did you have lunch? The paella — I had it made for you."

"I wasn't hungry", she says, speaking in between kisses. "They served all kinds of stuff on my flight. First time trying mangosteen."

"Mhm, my favorite." You squeeze her waist before letting go of her. Walking further into the room, you pick up her dress from the floor and toss it over your shoulder. Her scent hits you, faint and sweet and familiar already. "Listen, I got another meeting in about an hour. Shouldn't take too long, though. You good here or should I ask Richie to give you the tour? He'll take you anywhere as long as it's not somewhere up in the clouds. Poor dude's got a fear of heights."

Natasha lingers where you left her, arms crossed over her chest. She watches you adjust things she never would've noticed are different: pushing the perfume bottle backwards the tiniest bit so it's perfectly aligned with the others, running your hand over the stack of button-ups to remove a crease she wouldn't be able to spot with a magnifying glass, nudging one of the shoes she touched.

"No", she says absently. "I'd rather stay here and wait."

"Whatever you want." You turn around and walk back to her. You wrap your arm around her waist and lead her out of the walk-in closet, faces inches apart, a smile on your lips. "I'd show you around, but I feel like that's pointless."

Natasha rolls her eyes and laughs, tugging at your shirt. You feel her lips against yours, the touch brief but charged with electricity. "You told me to make myself at home, so I did. Can't blame me for that."

"Not blaming you. Just happy you felt comfy enough to rummage through my clothes."

"I didn't 'rummage' through them."

"Oh no?" You grab the hem of the button-up she's sporting and smirk. "What's that, then?"

She doesn't say anything. Instead, she cups your face and pulls you into a deep kiss.

It's the first time in over three years that you cancel a meeting.

. . .

The rug you're on is soft and fluffy, the fireplace next to you way too hot for a September morning.

Sleep-warm skin and cashmere blankets, a half-empty bottle of wine left next to the coffee table. Natasha wakes, blinking lazily, and stretches her arms. You turn just enough to be able to kiss her forehead.

"Morning", you mumble.

"Morning", she replies, hands moving to your chest. Fingertips dance over bare skin, then she starts buttoning up your shirt. "We slept in."

"Yeah", you say, still tired, and lay back down. "Fuck. I have so much work to do."

"No, you have me to do."

"Obviously. Top priority."

Her hands splay out on your chest and smooth out the fabric of your shirt. She leans in, plush lips on your jaw, kisses that are warm and a little too arousing. It's 9 in the morning, and you need to get your ass off the floor and into the office.

However, there is a pretty, naked lady next to you, and that is much more enticing than a desk chair and a meeting with a bunch of old people. And her mouth is all over your skin, her hands starting to roam your body, and fuck it, maybe you can cancel again. Just one more time.

"Dammit", you curse, nails raking down her back. "You're costing me a shit-ton of money, baby."

"You have enough money as it is", she mumbles, voice muffled against your neck. Your arms wind around her. "There's only one woman in your arms, though. Your choice."

You hum, nose buried in her messy hair. Her kisses against your neck start to become wetter, more urgent, her hands squeezing and squishing every part of you she can reach. You moan and she knows she's convinced you.

You hastily take off your shirt and push all the blankets aside, then hold her close before rolling over. You're on top now, where you want to be, and start trailing hickeys along her throat. Her fingers run through your unruly hair and mess it up further.

Palms squeeze and run over smooth skin. Your hand kneads her thigh before moving between her legs. Wet heat against, then around, your fingers. You thrust in and out slowly, rhythmically, and listen to the way her breathing gets heavier.

Face buried in the crook of her neck, you leave lazy kisses on her skin. Slender fingers tug at your hair, insistently, telling you to go faster.

The fire next to you crackles, but it's nowhere near as hot as the space between you. Heavy breathing and muffled moans, fingers curling and nudging deeper. Your thumb circles her clit and you hear a little whine. Natasha comes around your fingers, clenching and unclenching, and you bite back your own moans.

"Shit", she mumbles, slumping into the rug again.

"Yeah." You lift your fingers to your mouth and quickly lick them clean. "I still got work."

"Breakfast first?"

A knock on the doorframe makes you both whirl around. Your eyes land on your private chef slash maid, who's got her eyes covered with her hand. You can see the timid look on her face, anyway.

"Sorry", she says. "I waited until you were...done. I made breakfast and didn't want to disturb you, Ms. Y/L/N. Also, Mr. Pasini is waiting for you."

"Linda", you say, grabbing a blanket and covering both you and Natasha with it. You're so aghast you don't even know what to say. "That's, uhm- that's good. Give us a minute? Please?"

She nods, stepping away and bumping into a potted plant.

"Of course. My apologies, Ma'am. I'll be in the kitchen."

The second she's gone, Natasha starts laughing. You narrow your eyes at her, but the smile on her face is too infectious to not crack one as well. You sigh and melt into her. A kiss is placed on her cheek.

"Alright, laugh it up."

She smirks and jabs a finger into your side. "Come on, that was hilarious. Does she usually stalk you like some creep?"

"No", you say firmly, sitting up and putting on your shirt. Your fingers tremble slightly as you button it up. "She doesn't. And she didn't 'stalk us', she just heard we were finished and came to inform me about breakfast."

"Sounds believable enough, hotshot. You're sure she doesn't have a secret crush on you?"

"She's 58 and married, dummy." You get up and look for your underwear. "I promise, she's just a sweet lady who helps my blood sugar spike. Try her madeleines, they're godly."

Natasha hums and gets up, still butt naked. She grabs her lace panties and the shirt she stole from you the night before and puts both on. You, one leg in your slacks and the other hovering in the air, watch her with wide eyes as she makes a beeline for the kitchen.

"Wait-"

"Breakfast", she says, unbothered, and adjusts her hair a little. "Hurry your pretty little ass up or all the madeleines will be gone."

The exaggerated French accent she used to pronounce the pastry makes you roll your eyes. You hurry to get into your pants before following after her, zipping up and fastening the button.

"You're naked!"

"Anything that could be considered inappropriate is covered."

"I can see your butt."

She glances at you over her shoulder, strolling into the kitchen. Linda glances at her, but doesn't seem too surprised by the sight. Instead, she plates breakfast for you. Avocado on sourdough toast, freshly squeezed juice, Eggs Benedict, buttery madeleines, some cappuccino.

As soon as she's done, she tells you to enjoy your meal. You catch the small smile on her face as she leaves the room to go on about her duties.

"You were right", Natasha says, sitting on a chair with her foot propped up on the seat. "These are godly."

"Told you", you say absently, scrolling through your work-related emails. "The best. Dip them in the cappuccino."

She hums, eating in silence and watching you respond to emails and texts. Her leg stretches out under the table to bump against yours. Then, she rests it in your lap. You squeeze her calf, eyes locked on your phone.

"Hey", you mumble, sliding your hand further down her leg and tapping her ankle, "how would you feel about a slight change of plans?"

"Hm?" Natasha tilts her head, a half-finished glass of orange juice in her hand.

You turn around and show her the email. She leans forward, eyebrows furrowed, and reads it.

"I said we'd spend the next two weeks here, but I gotta go to Tokyo. Work-stuff. Want to tag along?"

"Tokyo?" She looks up. "Just like that?"

"Yeah. Like I said, work-stuff."

She smiles faintly, then shrugs. "Sure. Why not."

"Great."

"All of this is normal, right?"

"What?"

"Forget it, hotshot." She gets up and kisses your temple. "See you in a minute. I have to try that rain shower before we leave."

The urge to get up and follow her like a lovesick puppy is strong. But then your phone buzzes, announcing another email, and you sigh as you realize you'll have to wait a bit longer.

. . .

— TOKYO, JAPAN —

You order the sushi in near-perfect Japanese.

Natasha leans into your side. Clad in the off-shoulder black dress with the deep neckline that you got her right after your arrival, she's been turning heads all night long. Her fingers toy with the shimmering necklace you put on her, oblivious to the 18k white gold's worth, and her eyes roam the restaurant's interior.

"Fancy", she whispers once the server has dashed off. "I wanted to come here for a while."

"This restaurant? I've been here a couple times."

"No, dummy. Japan. Tokyo." She smiles and looks at you. You flush under her gaze and nudge her cheek with your nose. Her hand cups your cheek, thumb against your lips, and you press a kiss to it. "You need to get out of your bubble more, you know."

"What bubble?"

"This bubble. Not every experience has a Michelin star, or costs a couple thousand bucks. There's more to life than just fancy dinners, hotshot."

You hum, studying here. There's a truth to her words that stings. You're privileged, and you know it, but your lifestyle and career make everything about you and everything you do so different. The way you live traps you in a bubble you either can't or won't escape, which limits the things you experience.

Natasha is the best example for that. You may have been lucky enough to run into her, sure, but only because of a coincidence. Again, you don't go to bars. You don't go out with friends, or even colleagues. You spend your Friday nights sitting at your desk with a dozen files opened on your laptop. Maybe you'll drink some whiskey or fall asleep ten minutes into a movie, too, but that's about it.

"You'd rather I take you to McDonald's tomorrow?", you ask, trying to deflect. She tilts her head. "Okay, okay. Not a fan of the clown. Got it."

"You know what I mean", she says, hooking a finger into the collar of your shirt. "Saving up for another car, or jet, won't make you happy."

"I know", you say earnestly. "It's why I got you. To spend that money on you instead. Now — sake or umeshu?"

"Oh, no. Wait. Did you just-"

"I'll spoil you rotten", you say, quickly pecking her lips, "and get happy in return. You make me happy. Now tell me what drink you want."

She rolls her eyes, but doesn't argue. It's not like she doesn't like the whole princess treatment you've been giving her ever since your first night together, after all. She enjoys it maybe even too much.

You enjoy it, too. Before her, all you knew was work and lonely beds. Pleasure mostly came from meaningless one night stands, never lasting longer than a couple hours, or — a classic — your own hand.

It's different now. You get to satisfy someone else, someone who's interested in you, who makes you smile, who's pretty. You can spoil her all you want. Dresses, champagne, jewelry, spontaneous trips to the most gorgeous places on earth. In return, she makes you happy. There's not even much she has to do to achieve that. You appreciate it a whole lot, anyway.

Her breath fans your ear, lips tickling your skin. You exhale sharply, silently, and close your eyes.

"Sake, please", she mumbles, voice sultry and soft. Her hand runs down your front, deliberately brushing against the buttons of your shirt, before coming to rest on your thigh. "And you. Sake and you."

. . .

Being in another country usually means vacation.

Not for you, though. You've been stuck behind your desk for over an hour now. Keyboards clack, the a/c hums, bedsheets rustle. In front of you are floor-to-ceiling windows, displaying Tokyo's skyline. Thousands of lights in every color imaginable adorn tall buildings, creating a sea of neon. Billboards and pulsing nights, and streets that never seem to sleep.

You're not sleeping, either. And neither is Natasha. While you're tapping a pen against your knee before responding to an email, she keeps rolling over in bed and trying to fight boredom.

You briefly glance at her. Only in a silk robe that hugs her curves and leaves little to the imagination, it's getting increasingly harder to not just call it a day and join her.

You turn to your laptop again and bite back a sigh. Another email popped up, this time by one of your employees, so you click the reply symbol and start typing. Right as you hit send, you feel a familiar pair of hands on your shoulders. You close your eyes when her palms slide down to your chest.

"Hey", she murmurs, warmth breath fanning your ear. Her lips press against your nape, then the side of your neck. "Still working?"

"It won't end. I just keep getting new emails."

She hums, continuing to trail hot kisses along your neck. Her fingers fumble with the buttons on your shirt, slowly undoing them. "You need to relax a little, you know. Forget about work and come to bed with me."

"Emails", you protest. Natasha smiles against your neck. Her hands move down to yours on the keyboard, gently peeling them off. "I need to finish this. It's important. Seriously."

No response. Heat shoots into your lower belly when she sucks on your pulse point. She runs her hands up your arms and to your biceps, squeezing the muscles there, then she slides the shirt off your shoulders. Fingers dance across your skin, trace your chest and your stomach, before teasing the waistband of your pants.

"I want you to fuck me", she rasps into your ear. "Show me I'm important, too."

Of course she's important. More important than the emails, more important than anything else. Can you say it, though?

No. The only thing that leaves your mouth is a quiet whine. You hear the laptop in front of you being shut. Natasha pulls at the back of your chair and swivels it around, your eyes opening automatically.

The sight is godly. She's standing between your legs, her robe thin and enveloping her body like a second layer of skin. You catch a glimpse of the bra she's wearing, black lace showing through the open top of the robe, and your fingers twitch with the desire to touch her.

You cave. Fingers find the end of the silk sash around her waist to give it a deliberate tug. The robe comes open and reveals creamy skin and black lingerie.

"When did you..."

"You left your credit card when you went downstairs to pick up those files", she says, fingers trailing along your jaw. Her hand cups your jaw. "Thought it'd be a nice surprise."

"Credit card fraud", you say, both amused and turned on. "Theft, too. Dammit."

"You like it, though."

Oh, you do. You can't even be mad. There's more than enough money on your bank account, and truthfully, purchases like this one benefit you both.

You put your hands on her waist and get up. Her body is flush with yours, her breath fanning your lips. You kiss her, tasting strawberries and sake, and trace the seam of her lips with your tongue. Her mouth opens, letting you deepen the kiss, and you swallow her moans.

Bodies up against the window, the heat between you fogging up the glass. Natasha's robe falls to the floor, and you start trailing kisses over her shoulder and chest. You pull away for a split second to drink her in. With the backdrop of the city's lights — bright and flickering and reflecting off her skin — you're once again proven that she's the most gorgeous thing you've ever seen.

The clasp of her bra comes undone easily. You push the straps off her shoulders, let the tiny piece of clothing slide off, then your mouth is attached to her body again. Hands squeeze and grope her breasts, thumbs flicking over her nipples, before running down her sides.

You hear a soft thud when her head falls back against the window. Breathy moans and mhh-sounds, nimble fingers raking through your hair. You lick a stripe over her breast and suck her nipple between your lips. Pushing aside the fabric of her panties, you find her cunt. Her pussy is soaked, your fingers sliding in with ease.

"Fuck", she moans, tugging at your hair. "Baby, slow down."

You look up, not able to speak through the mouthful of boob. She looks down at you, panting, and brushes some hair away from your forehead.

You don't want to slow down. Not now, not when she's looking at you like this, still wearing the panties she bought with your money, standing in the suite you payed for. She makes you happy. She chases the loneliness away. You want to give her everything, the entire world, and that includes a night filled with orgasms.

Holding eye contact, you thrust your fingers into her. Her hips buck to chase the feeling. Moans fill the space around you, whiny and needy, and her hips rut against your hand with more fervor.

Your mouth releases her breast. You litter it with kisses and hickeys, still fucking her with your fingers. You slowly sink to your knees to bury your face against her stomach, leaving kisses there as well, and continuing pumping your fingers in and out of her. Slickness covers your hands, dripping down your wrists, and Natasha meets every thrust.

"I'll buy you everything", you moan. "Anything. Whatever you want."

"Bribing me?" She tries to laugh, but it comes out strained. She grinds against your hand, forcing you in deeper. You nudge that spongy little part and hear another moan. "I'm not your trophy, you know."

"No." You kiss along her lower stomach, your free hand gripping her thigh. Your movements become quicker, harder, feeling her walls clench around you in desperation. "Never said you were."

Natasha wants to respond, but in that moment, she can't. She lifts one leg and hooks it over your shoulder, letting herself take you wholly. Goosebumps and kiss-bitten lips, hickeys and flushed skin. Your fingers curl, your lips wrap around her clit, and her body tenses up.

You feel her orgasm as if it were your own. Intense, all-consuming, wiping every thought from her brain. She keeps riding your hand until it all becomes overstimulating, then you pull out.

Looking up, the sight of her disheveled state brings a smirk to your face. She pinches your bottom lip.

"Ow. What's that for?", you ask, her fingers lingering on your mouth.

"You're getting cocky."

"Am not."

"You definitely are. Get up, hotshot."

You grumble and kiss her fingertips, but do as told. Natasha leans in to kiss you, her hands fumbling with the zipper on your slacks. She walks you backwards, pushes you onto the bed, straddles you. The bedsheets are cool against your skin, tangled from Natasha's earlier tossing and turning.

There's not much time to think about any of that, though.

. . .

— RIO DE JANEIRO, BRAZIL —

A private pool that seems to spill out into the ocean below. A plate of fruit sits on the edge, the papaya and mangoes long forgotten about, with two empty coconut shells next to it.

Aside from the lapping of the water and the rustling of the trees, only your soft moans fill the air. Her hands on your shoulders and yours on her hips, you guide her up and down the strap rhythmically. She looks down, watching the girthy piece of silicone through the water. How its full length disappears inside of her, again and again, blurred by the water you're in.

Another moan. You lean in and press your lips to her collarbone, tasting sunscreen and something sweet. Her fingers mess up your hair and slide back down to your shoulders, fingernails raking over your skin and leaving marks.

"I'm close", she whimpers, hips rotating on the strap. You guide her every movement, pushing the toy in as deep as you can. You watch stupidly how her body moves on it.

"Sound like it, too", you rasp. After almost a year of this, you know every telltale sign. "Open wider, baby."

Her thighs part just the tiniest bit more, but it's enough for her clit to rub against the base of the harness. Her head drops forward, forehead resting against yours, and she cries out quietly.

"Fuck, I-"

"Almost there." You rub her sides and watch her ride harder, pushing herself over the edge. Once the climax has lost most of its intensity, she collapses against you. "Holy."

"I feel like we should stop. For our neighbors' sake."

You laugh and kiss her bare shoulder. You're both completely naked, thanks to the pool being directly attached to your suite. No one can see you, but you're sure many people can hear you.

"Need a break already?", you tease.

"No, hotshot", she replies, nuzzling your neck with her face. "I just want to enjoy this for a moment. No distractions."

This. You and her, intertwined, doing nothing in particular. It shouldn't surprise you, but it does, anyway.

Neither of you know where this is going. You don't know whether this is just going to end someday, or whether you actually have a shot at making it. But, truthfully, you don't know what 'making it' would entail, either.

Natasha also doesn't know. She still doesn't know whether you feel the same as her. Whether you're in as deep as she is. Maybe she is exactly what she fears most to be — a trophy. Someone you don't feel anything real for.

You don't talk about it. Starting a conversation like that is risky, because the worst case scenario is everything falling apart.

In the beginning, it was fun. It was passionate and indulgent, a sexy fantasy. It was all about sex and money and pouring champagne like it's water.

Then, feelings came into play. You're not sure whether that's ever ended well.

. . .

— PARIS, FRANCE —

"God, you're obsessed."

You look up, still kneeling on the floor with a high heel in your hand. You give her a deadpan look.

"Keep that up and you're sleeping on the balcony tonight. Now give me your foot."

"I'm just saying. You, on your knees for me? Should've rented out the jewelry store instead."

"What?... Oh. Ha. Uhm-"

Natasha laughs and does as told. You shake your head, cheeks pink and warm, and slide the heel onto her foot. You make sure it fits right and then hum in approval.

Aside from the two of you, the changing room is empty. In fact, the entire store is. You rented it out for the next few hours, making it easier for Natasha to look at clothes and try them on without being bothered.

"Not bad", she says, resting her leg over your shoulder. You turn your head and kiss her calf. "Maybe in another color?"

"Which one? Black, maybe? Or lilac? Those would look nice with that dress you-"

"Y/N", she cuts you off, "this one's fine. Really. I like it."

You give her a skeptical look, but she just raises her eyebrows at you. She seems to be telling the truth, so you squeeze her ankle before moving her leg off your shoulder. Straightening up, you reach for another dress.

Natasha grabs it and steps into the fitting room. She returns not too long after, and the sight renders you speechless.

A deep red gown, its fabric hugging every curve just right. The silk cascades down her body and pools at her feet, but the long slit at the side keeps it from looking too modest. Your eyes land on the plunging sinful neckline, then trace the delicate straps framing her shoulders.

She steps in front of the mirror and studies herself. In this lightning, the dress looks like molten wine clinging to her skin. You finally look up and catch her gaze in the mirror. Paired with the faint smirk, the timeless dress becomes something entirely different.

Dangerous. Unfair.

Heat crackles between you. You swallow heavily, eyes locked on the sight, fingers twitching and want throbbing in your body.

"You're staring."

You swallow again. "You're in that."

"I am."

Your hands ball into fists. You shift and try crossing your legs, but when she runs a hand down her side, it's over. You step closer, unable to stop yourself at this point. Your hands find her waist, your lips hover next to her ear. Then, you press a kiss to her earlobe.

Your hands wander further up her body, cupping the swell of her breasts. You toy with her hardened nipples, which are barely concealed by the dress's thin fabric. Natasha moans and leans into you.

"We're in a store."

"We're alone."

"The employees..."

"The employees won't come in unless we call them", you assure her, voice a strained mumble. Your fingers tug at the neckline of her dress until her chest is revealed, then you tuck the fabric under her breast. "Look at you. Fuck."

Her head drops against your shoulder. You kiss her neck, bared to you, and cup her breast. Your free hand runs down her body, finding the slit of her dress and dipping underneath it.

"Move the dress?", you mumble.

One hand on the back of your head, Natasha pulls the skirt of the dress aside until you can see everything clearly. Her thighs, her lingerie, the garter belt. Creamy skin, adorned by the faintest of stretch marks. Your face has been buried between those very thighs dozens of times by now, but you'll never get sick of the feeling.

You run your fingers over her underwear. It's soaked.

"That was quick."

"Really? You'll make fun of me now?"

"No, baby." You kiss her shoulder and pull away, only to step around her and get on your knees again. This time, for an entirely different reason. You hold onto her thighs and look up. Her breathing is slightly uneven. "This okay?"

"Anything else wouldn't be okay", she replies. You hook your fingers into the waistband of her underwear and pull it down. It drops to the ground and gives you a full view of her cunt. Hand on the back of your head, she guides you closer.

You bury your face between her legs and immediately feel the slick heat. It coats your cheeks, your tongue, letting you taste the tangy sweetness you've grown familiar with. You grip the backs of her thighs for more support and run your tongue through her folds.

Natasha feels every touch, every movement. She grips your hair to keep herself from falling over, nails digging into your scalp. You eat her out surrounded by mirrors, letting her see every angle of what you're doing to her.

. . .

Hand in hand, you walk down Avenue Montaigne.

The sun is beaming down at you, making the street look even more fairytale-like than it already is. Tall buildings, brick walls, trees lined up on either side of the road. You squeeze her hand.

"What's next?", you ask, looking at her. "Perfume? Maybe a purse?"

Natasha tilts her head. There you go again, asking about things that should be irrelevant. Things that, if she's being honest, never were relevant. All of this extravagance is fun. Being flown around in private jets, traveling the world, getting whatever she wants whenever she wants it — she enjoys it, no doubt.

But is that all she wants?

Of course not. In fact, it’d be a lie if she said it ever was.

From that first night in the bar, she wasn't trying to find someone who'd drown her in money. Otherwise, she would've found someone like that ages ago. The bar she worked in was one of the most prestigious in all of Los Angeles. It would've been easy to pick a random person and make them fall for her.

She didn't want that, though. She stuck to dating literally anyone else to avoid ending up as a trophy, as someone who isn't anything else but something to make her partner look good.

Then, you stumbled in. Not once, but twice. Everything about you was painfully similar to the other people sitting in that same bar that night, but you were also completely unlike them.

Everything about you screamed money. The stupid suit, the Black Card, the way you talked to her. But you weren't snobby. She'd known that from the first time she saw you there — when you got so drunk you passed out. Everyone else cares about their reputation, their public image, but you let yourself get black out drunk.

You returned. You sat down right in front of her. She took one look at your face pressed against the counter, hair a mess, and knew she'd love whatever is hidden underneath that hated suit you were wearing.

Your hair is always a mess. Even now, walking down the street in Paris's most luxurious shopping street, you look like you got caught in a storm. Short, unruly strands, some blocking your vision, others hastily tucked behind your ear.

Natasha stops in the middle of the street. She leans in and kisses you.

Another indulgence or something sincere — she doesn't know. Maybe she doesn't want to know.

"No more shopping", she says. You give her an unsure look. "Please."

"Okay", you mumble. You continue walking.

Her instruction should be simple enough to follow. No more shopping, no more expensive clothes, no more Michelin starred food. But how does someone who's spent their entire life surviving on money, and gifts, and everything material, suddenly change their ways? It's your form of affection.

It's more difficult than it should be.

You keep walking. You don't pay the big designer brands any mind.

That is, until you pass Chaumet.

A French jeweler specializing in refined pieces, romantic pieces. Jewelry with meaning.

Your eye catches the engagement rings. Natasha follows your gaze.

For a moment, neither of you move. Do you really have what it takes?

You look at her. She brushes the hair away from your eyes. Your hand squeezes hers once more.

A bell rings, a door closes.

It's your last big purchase of the day.

[gravegoer]

Hello, how about a part 2 of being Sevika's boss maybe when they got together or something like that thankyouuu and i love all of your ficss thank you making them hehe

Sevika's Boss ꩜ part 2

hi anon, sevikas boss fanfic got a lot of love a while ago so im happy to write part 2 !! let me know if you enjoyed i threw in some misunderstandings for fun here..maybe kind of angst?? its okay tho you make up very quickly PART 1 , masterlist

You and Sevika hung around eachother a lot, I mean that was normal right? She is your second in command afterall.

Personally, you didn't see a problem with it, and nor did Sevika.

She had grown accustomed to your presence and didn't mind all your small, loving touches and annoying jokes.

And yes, sometimes she went a little overboard for you, like what kind of subordinate stays at their bosses house to tend to them whilst they are injured? Or goes out for drinks every weekend? But maybe your relationship was starting to exceed the bounds of boss and employee.

She has definitely warmed up to you more than she did with Silco. She thinks it was your charming personality, or cute outfits, your smile...

Some people might say you sitting in Sevikas lap while you fixed up her arm might be indecency in the workplace, but you found it to be a simple and innocent task.

But this begs the question, what exactly is your relationship?

This is also a question Jinx was starting to ask herself.

"So uh...whats with you and Sevika?" Jinx asked in an almost singsongy voice.

She flipped her gun around in her hand haphazardly while she was sprawled out on your (Silcos) desk.

"What do you mean whats with us..?" You shook your head, mimicking her movements with your pen.

"I meaaan, you guys act like a married couple or something!" She threw her two hands in the air with a 'duh' kind of look plastered on her face.

You pushed one of her braids to the side to pull out a paper from under it. One of Sevikas reports from a recent trip. Her handwriting was an imperfect cursive. Sighing, you put your face in your hand while you held the paper, staring at it diligently.

Jinx looked at you quizically at your lack of an answer. She sharply pushes the paper down with the tip of her gun, "Hey, are you— Oh," She let out a nasally laugh at the paper, "Damn, you got it bad, huh, toots?"

"What? I have what bad?" You slid the paper away and tilted your head at her.

The blue-haired girl sat up and rested a spindly arm on her knee, "You're so in L word with her." She snickered at you.

"Im in—" Your face flushed at your realization. "I am not in 'L word' with her." You raised your hands to do finger quotes around 'L word.'

"Hmmmm, are you sure?" She teased, putting her gun to her chin and looking up in mock thought "I mean, you practically cling to her, you always walk home with her, and plus you talk about her all the time– hell! You talk to her all the time."

You stared at Jinx, now zoning out in thought. What were you supposed to tell Sevika? Does Sevika even think the same way about you? Would that relationship even be appropriate?

"You know what?" You stood up and pointed in Jinx' face, "Im going to do it—"

She attempted to cut you off with a meek,

"Sevikas—"

"Im going to tell her I love her," You continued, Jinx' half attempt to save your ass fell on deaf ears.

You looked up, finger still in the girls face to make eye contact with a very familiar set of grey eyes. Fuck.

Sevikas gaze faltered, and she cleared her throat, bringing a fist to her mouth, "Um. I came to ask you if you wanted to grab a drink, but it seems like you have better plans."

Holy shit. She didn't know it was about her. Is that good or bad? You only felt a few seconds of relief before Sevika just turned around and walked out. That was bad.

Jinx whistled, still under the pressure of your pointing finger, "You have some explaining to do."

You fumbled over your words before pushing Jinx' forehead back with your finger. "Ughh.. This is your fault."

You drooped back down into the large chair, putting your head in your hand and heaving a sigh.

"Just go tell her while you still have a chance. She's probably going to be moping around the Last Drop," Jinx got up from her spot on the desk, and some papers fell with her.

"That's my queue to leave, though," She hopped out of the office with a little too much energy, probably on her way to cause more mischief.

You sighed and packed up your stuff, picking up stray papers and shoving them into a random drawer on your desk.

Grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder, you pushed open the double doors to your office. It was time to go to the last drop.

poor sevika

Your entrance was signified with the ding of a bell atop the door. Music was playing loudly, and people were swarmed around the bar. Your eyes scanned the nearest areas for Sevika, but as you figures she was nowhere in sight.

She was most definitely in her usual gambling spot. You didn't want to approach her while she was in the middle of a game, so you waited at a nearby table, making sure to stay out of her sight.

You could hear the groans of the men at her table, most definitely losing. Chuckling at this, you watched as a waiter came up to your table asking for your order.

You just asked for a simple whiskey sour, hanging your bag on the back of your chair.

Several minutes (and a few drinks later), you felt someone's eyes on the back of your head. Turning around, you, once again, were met with steely grey eyes. Sevika stood near behind you with her arms crossed. The game had finished.

"You get rejected or something." She deadpanned.

"No—well.. not yet." You turned around in your chair to face her, the metal back of the chair was now settled between your legs.

You held what you thought was your sixth whiskey sour in between your fingers, chin resting on the top of the chair back.

She scoffed at this, turning her head to avoid eye contact. You could have sworn a small blush coated her cheeks. But her frown made you think otherwise, her large forearms tensed before she spoke.

"Oh, so you're waiting for her here."

How cruel of you to profess your love to someone in the place you knew Sevika would be. You probably wanted her to see it, right?

"Yeah, shes already here." You said, still staring at her side profile, tracing the scar on her cheek with your eyes.

The neon lights illuminated her face and brought out every curve and angle. But your thoughts were interrupted by her stern and almost angry voice.

"I should leave then," she started to walk away, but you reached out quickly.

(I dont know why you would do that when she wasn't even in arms length to begin with.) You started to fall forward, you let out a small yelp and held onto the chair, your drink falling onto the ground. You awaited impact, but it never came.

Instead, you were met with strong arms holding the back of your chair up. Sevika was bent over slightly, both mechanical arm and human arm on the metal of the chair. And for the third time, you made eye contact with now very close grey eyes. Her eyebrows were furrowed in shock or frustration- you couldn't tell.

Without another thought, you grabbed her by the collar and pulled her lips into yours. At first, she tried to pull away but eventually melted into the heat of the kiss. She sat your chair back up on four legs, and her elbows lean on the top of the chair, encircling you.

Almost as soon and she relented she pulled away, "What the hell are you doing," She rasped, wiping her mouth with the back of a large hand.

Her lips were still puffy from the kiss, but almost more downturned than before. When you didn't respond she offered a question, "Are you drunk?"

Your lopsided grin told her all she needed to know. She knew she needed to take you home, but she was going to do so reluctantly. Afterall you were going to become someone else's girl, couldn't have her hands all over you like she usually did.

She grabbed you (almost roughly) by the arms and pulled you out of the chair, "How are you going to profess your love now?" She scoffed.

"I just did, was that not enough?" Your words were slurred and you helped her by stepping up with heavy legs.

She furrowed her brows until she came to a not-so-shocking realization. Cursing under her breath she smirked at you. You could almost see the relief wash over her face.

Her thick arm held you by your upper torso as she almost carried you to the doors. She sighed at your stupidness, why not just tell her right away, then you wouldn't have to have gone through all the trouble.

She eyed your glossed over eyes, shaking her head at the dumb smirk that held its place on your face. She could feel the quiver of your body against the cold night wind.

At that she lifted you into her arms, covering you with her cloak. You looked up at her with wide eyes, burying your face in the material. God she wanted to kiss you so bad. But she'd save that for the awkward talk in the morning.

thank you for reading ! yes i see your asks all your fics are on the way I swear !!!! much love

[luveline]

hello might i ask for sassy badass reckless reader who is the #1 leading cause of aaron's gray hairs pls 🤞🏻 he is SO exasperated with her like he is TIRED™ but also tweaking bcs he's horrendously down bad for her he's gna throw up

Good morning. I hope you slept well, honey. Can you come to work early, say 6.10AM? I’d like to see you and talk about something in person. 

You squint at the text that’s just come through. Another follows as you’re finishing, lighting the dark of your room.

I love you. Sorry, I know you don’t like when I forget to tell you in the mornings. 

Your own response is sent without propriety. I love you too handsome. 6.10 is not gonna work.

Can you make an effort for me? he asks. 

You do your very best. 

“It’s almost seven,” Hotch says when you finally get there that morning, his frown audible and plain to see. 

You hold up the bag of sugar donuts you’d purchased from the truck on the square just outside of Quantico’s endless parking lots. “Necessary delay.” 

“Unnecessary. I asked you nicely to come early and you’re barely on time,” he grumbles. 

How adorable. You put the bag of donuts on the desk and ignore the paperwork laid out waiting for you in favour of his side of the desk. He smells like cedar, his suit sleeve starched under your hand. You lean back against the lip of his desk and pretend you hadn’t been thinking about climbing into his lap —he’s formidable and lovely and that’s the best combination for lounging about atop someone, especially when that someone is very good at pressing you backwards, and better at kissing your neck. 

He knows what you’re thinking. “You’ve woken up in a mood,” he murmurs. 

“A good one,” you promise. 

You take his coffee and steal a sip. Hotch, resigned, lays a hand on your thigh. “I have important things to talk about, you know? I thought I made that clear this morning.” 

“You made a couple of things clear.” 

“Don’t say it like that.” 

“Like what?” 

“Like I…” He tilts his head to the side. “Like I’ve been sending you dirty texts or photos.” 

“Is that an option? I don’t think I’ve subscribed to those emails.” 

“You make me out to be this salacious lark–”

“Aaron, I don’t do anything of the sort.” You can hardly hold back a laugh. “I’m sorry I implied you were sexting me, okay? I wish you had been.” He sighs a long-suffering sigh as you carry on. “But you were very formal. I’ll be sure to tell HR the same thing.” 

His hand slips between your thighs. Nowhere it shouldn’t be, just trapped between soft flesh. “Don’t tell HR anything.” 

His coffee is lukewarm and unsweetened on your tongue. Would it kill your uptight love to add just a dash of cream and sugar? Wrinkling your nose, you set aside the mug and press your mildly heated hand to his cheek. Just quickly, brushing a thumb up to the skin below his eye before you let it fall. “Tell me what you wanted me to come in early for. And, for the record, I’m sorry for not trying to get here before, just I didn’t sleep well, and my neck hurt too much to rush.” 

He looks like he wants to ignore your apology. He doesn’t ask you for much, and showing up when he’d wanted you to would’ve been the kinder thing to do —he can be annoyed as both boss or boyfriend. 

But he doesn’t have it in him. 

“Why didn’t you sleep?” he asks softly. 

“Thinking too much about my nice boyfriend.” 

“Really?” 

You slouch a little. Cover his hand where it rests between your legs. “I don’t know. It was really hot, and my mattress is getting old, probably.” 

He ushers you down for a sympathetic kiss. He’s always so sorry to hear about your minor ailments, he must like you too much. 

You attempt to crawl into his lap, curling an arm behind his head. He, disgruntled and yet far from reluctant, lets you take a seat. 

[kunasthiast]

wagyu nights

you had exactly three things on your to-do-list that monday morning. yes, a monday. satan’s favorite day. the kind of monday where you wake up already annoyed, already hot, already feral. 

number 1. drink your overpriced espresso from starbucks that makes your heart do backflips and your soul exit your body. you only ordered it because that goddamn espresso song’s been living in your head rent-free for weeks. 

number 2. avoid signing another one of gojo’s illegal, morally questionable, legally actionable birthday cards. last time you did, his lawyer called you personally.

number 3. get a tattoo right above your ass crack and surprise your husband like the loving, stable wife you pretend to be in public.

because why the fuck not? 

you were thirty. rich. hot. emotionally stable (depending on the hour). married to that pink-haired demon of a man for five goddamn years – willingly and obsessively. no kids, yet. no regrets. just an unhinged, borderline feral, mutually destructive love story and an ever-growing collection of in-laws and nosy strangers asking, “so when are the babies coming?”

to which you always replied, smiling sweetly, creepily, and with too much eye contact: “we’re practicing really hard.”

and if there’s one thing sukuna adored even more than your face, your attitude, or your uncanny ability to outdrink him at every celebratory orgies of capitalism, it was –

“your fuckin’ back dimples,” he growled that morning, voice still hoarse, from where he lay starfished across your bed. shirtless. legs splayed. tattoos on full display like a fucking warning sign.

you stood in front of the full-length mirror, shirt lifted just enough to peek at your lower back, contemplating the most deranged monday decision possible: a sternum piece? an underboob tat? nah. a fucking tramp stamp.   

“what about them?” you asked absently, twisting for a better view, ass poked out, looking like a possessed girl in an exorcism movie.

his eyes raked over you like you were his personal religion (yes, you are), “they’re my favorite handles.”

“for what?”

“sin. more specifically, you bent over the bathroom counter-sin. five-star tasting menu kinda shit, babe.”

“romantic,” you deadpanned, still deciding between a cybersigilism tat, a cute hello kitty tramp stamp, or that fucking succubus design you’ve been manifesting since last month’s hormonal spiral.

but by the time your fourth sip of espresso kicked in and your third brain cell screamed YOLO – you were already texting yuki for a walk-in.  

because nothing says married life like getting a surprise ass tattoo and flashing it at dinner like a goddamn crackerjack prize. 

by noon, you were half in your sweatpants, wearing his hoodie over a crop top, sunglasses indoors, phone in one hand, car keys in the other. you looked like a rich housewife fleeing a crime scene. 

then, of course, sukuna came out of his office room, voice still scratchy from some hellish meeting (and yes, you definitely heard the phrase “who the fuck approved this?” echoed through the door). tattoos peeked out from under his rolled-up sleeves. he looked good. he always does. dangerously so. and he definitely came out because he sensed the chaos radiating off you like a sixth sense.

“where the fuck you going today, baby?”

you froze mid-sprint at the door.

“uhh… nowhere,” you lied, immediately. “just… errands, love.”

he stared at you.

you smiled.

he squinted harder, “… you only say ‘errands’ when you’re gonna make a dramatic and irreversible decision.”

“what?! noooo! do i look like i make bad decisions?” 

“baby. last time you said ‘errands’ you came home with a cat and a navel piercing. so yes. yes, you do.”

“well, you love both,” you shrugged, opening the door.

he cocked a brow. “i do. but if you come back with a fucking dog, a nipple ring, or another limited-edition cursed item from that thrift store you claim ain’t haunted, we’re gonna have a serious talk, baby.”

“fine,” you grinned, blowing him a kiss.

he narrowed his eyes like a man who knew his wife was about to commit arson, metaphorical or otherwise. “wait. hold up –”

ding.

his phone lit up. followed by another. and another.

“fucking hell,” he muttered, reading whatever fresh corporate nightmare just got dumped on him (his own company = his own chaos = karma’s kiss on the forehead). and just like that – fate (and capitalism) intervened.

“baby, i gotta take this. don’t do anything –”

click.

door’s already closed. too late. 

you were gone. off into the wild, espresso-fueled unknown with a dream, a credit card, and the dangerous confidence of a woman who pays her own bills and gets off on impulsive decisions. 

—

thirty-two minutes later.

yuki took one look at you from her desk and said, “okay, what are we permanently etching into your flesh today?”

“i need something that says crazily in love but also i know where the bodies are buried,” you said, peeling off your hoodie. “thinking tramp stamp. succubus, cybersigilism style. red ink.‘kuna’s initials. maybe a heart in the middle. definitely unholy.”

“hmm, classic monday,” she nodded, already grabbing her ipad to draw it on the spot. “want some glitter drips?”

“yes,” you grinned, too excited for this.

“he’s gonna lose his mind,” you grinned, high off espresso, reckless affection, and the promise of delightful spousal torment.

“in a good way or a divorce way?”

“yes.”

forty-five minutes later.

you were face down, ass-up on yuki’s table, hair in a messy bun, chewing gum like it owed you money.

“‘kay, hold real still,” yuki said, gloves snapping on. “‘bout to tattoo the most feral love note of all time on your ass.”

“god bless,” you whispered, as the buzz of the machine started.

two hours later, your phone buzzed like a possessed bee on the tray next to you. texts. missed calls. a voicemail that probably just said “baby” in ten different emotional tones.

but you ignored it, because sukuna would find out soon enough. and please, your marriage survived worse. like the time you accidentally sexted the family group chat (your side). 

or that time you thought it’d be romantic to surprise him with a homemade dinner, only to somehow set fire to the kitchen and set off the smoke detectors. sukuna waltzed in, unfazed, and ended up effortlessly whipping up a five-course meal in under an hour – leaving you sulking on the couch, watching him plate perfectly cooked dishes while you nursed a glass of wine (your only consolation being the fact that at least you hadn’t set the house on fire. this time). but then, just when you thought he was gonna give you the “i told you so” lecture, he kissed you on the cheek, gave you a hug, and murmured, “still love you, babe.”

anyway, at least the tattoo’s done. and it looks glorious as fuck.

you admired it in the mirror like it was renaissance art. well… satanic, slightly unhinged renaissance art.

a little heart with “R.S” in the middle. glowing red. framed by digital sigils and glittery hellfire drips. you looked like the cover of a cursed y2k CD and it was absolutely iconic. just what you loved.

“i’m never wearing any tops again,” you declared, pulling your sweatpants up.

“he’s either gonna fuck you into next tuesday or call a priest,” yuki said, proud of her work.

“either way, it’s a win.”

—

you didn’t go straight home after the tattoo, obviously. you were an emotionally stable adult woman with needs and responsibilities.

so after the pain and the buzz wore off a little (just for today, obvs), you stopped by paradise. ready for some retail therapy. with a necessary detour to just distract yourself from the inevitable chaos waiting for you at home.

a few hours and a few (more like 5) shopping bags later, you stopped by that place. the one with the overpriced wagyu and the mochi ice cream your husband pretends not to like but always, mysteriously, finishes. it was part guilt on not replying to his texts and calls (fine, maybe 30% avoidance), part instinct, part monday-night tradition. 

he cooks 90% of the time, but random weekdays? random weekdays like monday tonight is for takeout treaty nights.

so you picked up dinner and rolled into the driveway at exactly 9:47PM. full of caffeine, permanent ink, and deeply smug satisfaction. 

your phone buzzed with the energy of a hundred (okay, 50?) unread texts, but you had food in your hand and a hot husband waiting to yell at you (let him fucking try), so life was good.

the moment you stepped in, you immediately announced with maximum dramatic flair, “babyyy, i’m hooooome!” fully expecting to find him in his usual end-of-day poses: brooding in the kitchen, bossing someone around on the phone, or lounging on the couch with black mirror playing on the tv and whisky on hand. 

and, of course – there he was. shirtless, barefoot, and tattoos out, as usual. leaning against the kitchen island with a glass of whisky on his hand and a phone in the other (probs, terrorizing his assistant). his crimson eyes, sharp as ever, were already scanning you with that knowing look. 

“you’re late,” sukuna said as he ended the phone call, voice deceptively calm.

you just grinned, kicking the door closed behind you and waltzing in too happily. “told ya i had errands, baby.”

his eyes flicked to the five shopping bags hanging off your arms like battle trophies. “did you rob a boutique or black out in dior again?”

“bit of both,” you winked, dropped the bags on the floor, placed the takeout on the counter like peace offering, and kissed him on the lips. “got us dinner, daddy.”

he stared at the takeout bag like it was a peace offering from a war criminal he loved deeply, “sweetheart, what’d you do.”

“excuse me?!” you gasped, scandalized.

“you only bring home wagyu and mochi balls together when you’ve done something insane. or need to butter me up for something worse than a felony, sweetheart,” he said, already digging into the bag like wasn’t fully planning on giving you hell for ghosting him all day. “go ahead. confess.”

you just blinked at him. smiled. took the mochi ice cream container and hugged it like it was a baby kitten. “maybe i just missed my emotionally unavailable, incredibly stressed-for-today yet very hot husband and wanted to feed him like the loving wife i am.”

“uh-huh,” he muttered as he raised a brow, unimpressed. “i texted you fifty-two times. called you over twenty.”

“and i saw every single one of ‘em,” you said sweetly, pulling out plates and chopsticks. “and ignored all. with love.”

“obviously, given your non-existent replies.”

“i was processing,” you said solemnly, handing him a plate. “like a baby giraffe. learning how to walk.”

he gave you that look – one that said i both adore and fear you – and took the plate. “tell me you didn’t crash the car.”

“pfft, the car’s fine, babe.” you said.

“tell me you didn’t sign another one of gojo’s birthday cards.”

“why would i –”

he stared. you stared back. and then, just like clockwork, he reached forward and tugged at the hem of his (your) hoodie you were wearing, “baby. what is it.”

“nothing.”

“show me.”

“nope. absolutely not.”

“sweetheart.”

you bit into your mochi dramatically. chewing on it. and then very calmly turned around, lifted up your hoodie, and pulled down your sweatpants just enough to show off the new ink on the small of your back. that fucking succubus red-inked tattoo with his initials. all stylized. deadly cute. 

you didn’t need to look at him to know that he was staring.

sukuna blinked. put down his chopsticks. stared like you just pulled a gun on him. well, obvs  yeah, not literally. 

“oh, fuck,” he muttered after two seconds. 

you pulled your hoodie back down and faced him, still chewing. “like it? so freaking cute, right?”

his voice dropped. low.“you got my fuckin’ initials tattooed on your ass.”

“technically, above it.”

he exhaled like he’d seen god, “baby. what the fuck. ‘course i fuckin’ love it.”

“you’re welcome,” you said sweetly, stealing a piece of his wagyu like a menace.

he stared at you for a beat… then he started laughing. not chuckles. not that fake corporate laugh he does when he’s about to buy out someone’s soul. real, head-thrown-back, unhinged maniacal laughter your husband is capable of.

and then he said, still breathless: “fuck, baby, i love you. but the only position we’re doing for the next month is backshots.”

you picked up another mochi ball, chewed slowly, and said, like a woman casually signing a soul contract, “i mean, that’s all we can do right now anyway. tattoo aftercare, duh. can’t have friction. or—y’know—fluids.”

there was a pause.

“such a sacrifice. i’m selfless like that.”

—

which is how you found yourself bent over the fucking kitchen counter.

ass up. hoodie, crop top, and bra somewhere on the floor. tramp stamp fully on display. and your hot, undeniably feral husband was shoving his thick fucking cock in your pussy like this was his last day on earth. giving you that much deserved backshot. 

“fuck, baby. you’re so fuckin’ tight,” sukuna grunted, his teeth grazing your neck. his hands gripped your hips tightly as he pounded into you from behind, his cock stretching your tight pussy with each thrust. hitting deep and hard, so perfect. 

“mm, fuck yes, more baby more,” you moaned into the marble, eyes fluttering.

and sukuna – god, he was loud. and when he moans? he fucking moans it out. loud, unfiltered, guttural sounds right in your ear. “want more, baby?”

his words sent shivers down your spine, and you arched your back, pushing your ass against him, “mmm, harder, ‘kuna,” you nodded and begged, voice already wrecked.

he didn’t need telling twice. he slammed into you harder, relentless with forceful thrusts that had your tits bouncing with every stroke and making your toes curl. 

“shit, you’re taking me so fucking well, baby.” he growled, one hand found your clit, the other tightening around your hips. “gonna make you cum so fuckin’ hard tonight.”

your moans grew louder as he continued to hammer your pussy, the pleasure building with each powerful stroke, and very determined to make you cum hard on his cock. your moans filled the kitchen, each thrust sending you closer to the edge.

“oh god yes, yes, baby, just like that!” you cried out, feeling your climax approaching rapidly. “i’m cumming, i’m –”

sukuna shoved himself deeper, thick cock buried inside as your pussy clenched around him, milking his shaft for all it was worth. you screamed his name, back aching, and body shaking. 

“fuck baby, i love you!” he groaned, hips stuttering as he came with a loud, filthy growl. his hot seed spilling deep inside you.

you both stayed like that for a moment – breathless, trembling, and fucking grinning in the aftermath of your intense and sukuna’s selfless lovemaking. 

then he smacked your ass and said, with deep reverence, “i fucking love this pussy and that fucking tattoo.” 

“now that’s what i call romance, daddy” you said as you turn your face to look at him. his cock still very much inside you. 

yeah.

that was probably the night it happened.

the one that’d changed your life in about nine months.

but that was future you’s next challenge.

tonight, there was wagyu. mochi. your menacingly feral husband. your very smug tramp stamp. and a kitchen full of bad decisions marinated in love.

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

a/n: this is me convincing myself that tramp stamps are fucking sexy and i’m getting them as my next piece of tat this year lol also fuck I need this sukuna in my fucking life – universe, gods, angels… PLEASE hear me out

[abswife]

best friend

you and your best friend ellie are spending the day goofing off like usual, but things take a turn when a tickle fight goes a little too far.

hello! i know it's been literal months since I've posted, and to that i have to say... woops! anyway, here's something i threw together in a moment of creative inspiration involving nerdy loser ellie! this might suck so let me know if it's not hot garbage and you want a part 2

cw// sesbian lex, top!ellie, bottom!reader, fingering, cunnilingus, so fluffy, like you might get a toothache this is so sweet, ellie being a big loser and sweetheart, reader is only described as having hair and is afab

word count- 3k

mdni i swear to god

“No, I’m telling you- a T-rex is nothing compared to a pterodactyl!” Ellie insisted, lightly nudging your leg with her sock-clad toes. You giggled at her, amused by her persistence to get her point across. But, despite her obvious knowledge in this particular field, you felt the need to be contrary. You shift back a little on her bed, leaning against the headboard.

“Mmm, I don’t know Els… a T-rex is pretty big.” You hummed, plastering a skeptical look on your face. She scoffed, offended by your audacity to doubt her.

“Well yeah, but they can’t fly! They have little nub arms, like, they couldn’t even grab you!” She curled her arms in front of her, making little swiping motions with them. “See?”

You couldn’t help but let out a bark of laughter at her- frankly- spot-on impression. You shoved her, making her topple back, almost falling off of her side of the bed entirely. She let out a little yelp, catching herself just on the edge. She spun back around with a mock look of shock.

“What? You didn’t like my impression? I’ll have you know I’ve been told no one can do a T-rex like me!” She shouted, clambering up onto her knees. Using the height advantage, she reached down to your ribcage to begin an assault of tickles. You screeched and tried to make a grab at her hands but she scrambled them around your torso, making it hard to get a grip.

“Els! Quit it!” You managed to say through your uncontrollable laughter. You thrashed, but she trapped your legs between her knees. A shit-eating grin adorned her freckled face as she continued her attack. You could feel your face getting hot from exertion but you refused to give in.

Finally, you managed to grab her wrists well enough to pry them from your body, immediately gulping down air while you knew you still could. However, Ellie quickly twisted her wrists from your grasp and grabbed onto yours instead, pinning them against the pillows next to your head. Instantly, you felt a shift in energy. Ellie’s smile dropped slightly as she stilled, eyes locked on yours. You tried to catch your breath, but it was hard with the way she was 1. still on top of you, and 2. looking at you like that.

You and Ellie had been friends for as long as you could remember. You were next door neighbors and, being two girls the same age, you quickly became each other’s besties. Even when Ellie and her dad, Joel, moved across town in middle school you stayed close. You were constantly at her house, it was practically your second home. Ellie was your favorite person in the world. She also happened to be your longtime crush. Ever since the 7th grade, when she started getting taller and grew into her features. You both knew you each like girls, but Ellie always had a crush on some other girl at your school. You didn’t want to ruin the relationship you had with your best friend by telling her you liked her when she obviously didn’t like you back. So anytime your hug lingered a little too long, or you accidentally brushed her arm or leg, you’d get tense and nervous.

You felt your face heat up more, the feeling worsening when you felt her breath fan across your face. Oh shit, was she getting closer? Your gaze flicked down to her lips, now merely centimeters from yours. When you looked back up to her eyes, she was staring at your lips. You let out a stuttering exhale, clenching your bound hands into fists. 

“Els…” You breathed out, and her eyes snapped back up to yours. You pulled one of your hands free from her now slacked grip and rested it on her cheek. She whispered your name and once again briefly looked down to your lips. You slid your hand around to the back of her neck and pulled her down towards you. You watched her eyes slide shut, and then did the same right as your mouths met.

Her lips were slightly chapped, but her mouth was warm and soft against yours. You could feel her hand that still held your wrist tighten its grip, and you scraped your nails across her hairline. She pulled back for a moment to change her angle so she could kiss you deeper and you hummed, enjoying the way her mouth pressed fully against yours. She gave an experimental lick into the crease of your lips and your breath shuddered. You felt her finally release her hold on your other wrist to instead hold your waist, her pinky brushing just under your t-shirt. You reached your arm around her back, tugging her body closer to yours. You both let out a soft moan at the feeling of your bodies aligning as her hips slotted between your parted thighs.

She drew her face back and you opened your eyes. She looked down at you and lightly brushed stray hair on your temple away. She leaned back down to kiss the corner of your lips, then your cheek, then your jaw, and onward along the expanse of your neck. You tipped your chin back, encouraging her to keep going. Her plush lips left wet kisses across your throat, occasionally nipping at the skin and soothing the sting with her tongue. She sucked at a patch of skin below your ear and you bucked your hips up involuntarily. The hand that held your waist slid lower to push your shirt up slightly.

  She paused her ministrations to ask, “Is this okay?” You quickly nodded and tugged her back down into a kiss, needing to feel her lips on you. You felt her hand under your shirt slowly creep up higher until it rested on your ribs, just under your breast. You slid your hand up to fully palm the back of her head and took hold of her hair. A groan slipped out of her and you squeezed her hips between your thighs at the sound.

Ellie muttered out a curse as she once again parted from you. “Can I take this off? Please?” She asked, fumbling with the hem of your shirt, desperation leaking into her tone. You nodded again, but she shook her head and leaned an inch closer. “No, need you to say it.”

You furrowed your brows and pouted, but quickly gave in. “Yes, take it off. Yours too.” You said, bunching the fabric of her own shirt in your fist. The corner of her lips turned up at your request and she leaned back down to give you a peck before sitting back on her haunches. She pulled your shirt up and you leaned forward, putting your arms above your head to make it easier for her. 

As soon as your head and arms were freed from the fabric, you leaned back down and expected her to immediately remove hers. However, she sat with the shirt still in her grip, staring at your bare chest. You blushed, but you weren’t embarrassed. You could tell from the look on her face she liked what she saw. You grabbed her shirt and tugged on it. “C’mon…” You muttered, eager to get your own view. Without taking her eyes away from where they were fixated, Ellie swiftly pulled the garment up and over her head, exposing her small breasts. You mimicked her actions, staring unabashedly at her pink nipples.

Finally, she leaned back down to slide a calloused hand up your waist until she palmed your tit. She bit her lip and couldn’t seem to decide on whether to watch her own hands play with your tits, or watch your expressions. She pinched a nipple between her fingers and rolled, and your breath hitched at the feeling, biting your own lip. “God…” She muttered. She couldn’t hold herself back from kissing you again, and you held her face to keep her there. You whimpered into her mouth as she continued to toy with your nipples, and slid your hands down to do the same. You felt her breath catch when you pressed your thumbs down flat against them and flicked down. You both continued like that for a while, kissing and moaning into each other’s mouths as you played with the other’s breasts. 

A particularly harsh pinch had you tossing your head back and bucking your hips up. This spurred her to reattach herself to your neck and grind down against you, earning her a high pitched noise from you. Ellie began her descent down your body, trailing her lips along your chest and the valley between your breasts. She made a quick detour to flick a nipple with her tongue, then suck it into her hot mouth. You arched your back, chasing the feeling as she continued her journey. Her hands gripped your hips as she sucked marks into your stomach. Your hands made their way into her hair, pushing it back from her face to see her better. Her fingers curled into the waistband of your sweats, just barely inching them down to plant kisses closer to your navel. You squirmed at the sensation, tightening your grip on her auburn locks.

Her fern green eyes looked up into yours, lips hovering no more than a couple inches from the skin of your hips. “You want these off?” She asked, voice raspy and dripping with lust. You whispered a soft ‘yes’, not trusting your voice enough to try for anything more. Seemingly satisfied, she nipped at your hips once more before sliding down farther to give herself room to fully remove your pants. She slowly tugged your sweatpants and underwear down at once before becoming impatient halfway through and practically ripping them the rest of the way off, slinging them off to the side. 

You suddenly felt a wave of self consciousness and clamped your knees together before she could turn back to you. When she did, she frowned slightly. She planted her hands on your ankles and looked up to your face. “Baby,” She started, making your heart jump at the pet name, “lemme see.” You felt blood rush both up to your face and downward, and you wiped your sweaty palms onto the sheets below you. Her hands skated up your calves, coming to rest just below your kneecaps as she sat up higher. She pressed messy kisses to your knees, pushing her thumbs into the insides, trying to encourage you to open up. Despite your- admittedly misplaced- sudden insecurity, you slowly parted your legs, displaying your whole body for her eyes to feast on. And feast they did.

Another curse slipped from her peachy lips, gaze locked on your wet pussy. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.” Ellie said, her eyes briefly flicking up to your face. She seemed to take herself by surprise, and a deep blush spread up from her pale chest. Her reaction was oddly adorable, and you breathed out a small giggle. That must have reassured her, as a shy smile appeared back on her face. 

You reached your hand out towards her and curled your fingers in. “C’mere.” You said. Obediently, she crawled her way back up your naked body and let herself be pulled into a passionate kiss. Your fingers brushed her jaw, feeling the ends of her hair tickle your knuckles. She broke the kiss, but couldn’t stop herself from giving you one more peck, and then one to your cheek. “Will you take your pants off too? I don’t want to be the only one naked.” You requested, thumbs circling the apples of her cheeks. Her smile turned impish, and she twisted her head to press her lips to your palm. 

“I can’t believe it. The past ten minutes you’ve been trying to get into my pants?” She jokingly questioned, making you laugh loudly. 

“Believe it or not I have.” You answered, sliding a hand down to give her hard nipple a pinch. She gasped, holding a hand to her chest.

“Well, you could have told me!” Ellie exclaimed, then leaned her head down to litter your chest with kisses. Still softly laughing, you glided your hands up and down her back until she sat back. She twisted her body around to hook her thumbs into her pants and slide them down her legs, her underwear going along with them. As she stood back on her knees to face you again, you caught a glimpse of the patch of red hair covering her mound before she leaned back over you to continue worshipping your body with her mouth. 

Ellie quickly made her way back to her previous stopping point, the stretch of skin right above your navel. She leaned back slightly and brought a hand up, gently pushing your thigh further out to give herself more room. She admired your glistening folds, and slid a single finger right down the middle, collecting your essence. You bit your lip, the anticipation driving you crazy. She finally pressed her thumb against the underside of your clit, rubbing up and down gently. The stimulation made your thigh twitch and your breath catch. Taking notice of this reaction, Ellie pressed down harder, making firm circles. This made your breathing pick up, and you reached a hand up to palm at your breast, needing something to focus on other than her unintentional teasing. 

She used her index and middle finger to part your lips, spreading you out for her. Reaching her head down, she licked a fat stripe from your entrance to your clit. You breathed out her name, sweat beginning to form on your hairline. She shushed you gently in consolation just before diving back into you, tongue exploring. She suctioned your clit into her mouth while flicking it with her wet muscle, and you cried out. You were beginning to wonder if she had actually done this before and just never told you.

Your wondering was cut off when she used the two fingers she had been using to open you up to swirl broad circles over your bud and locked her gaze on you. “Can I finger you?” She asked almost too casually, too caught up in her excitement to be nervous. The eager look on her face almost made you want to deny her, but you were too needy yourself.

“Go ‘head Els.” You said. She grinned and messily smacked a kiss on your aching clit, running her fingers through more of your wetness. Slowly, she inserted her middle finger up to the knuckle, then pulled back until just the pad remained inside. The foreign feeling made you furrow your brows, both out of frustration and pleasure. She found a rhythm quickly and her eyes locked onto the sight of her lazily pumping in and out. Experimentally, she curled her finger upwards towards your front. This action had you clenching down, a whimper being pulled from your throat. Her emerald irises snapped up to your face, noticing how her actions affected you. 

As she pressed a second finger in alongside the first, she bent down to keep licking you. The sensation was immediately overwhelming, and one of your hands shot down to grab onto her short hair. Once again, she curled her fingers up just as they bottomed out inside you and your hips jumped from the bed. Your brain told you the feeling was too much, but your body craved more. She found her rhythm again, slightly faster now. Her tongue laved over your bud, spreading your slick as it leaked from your hole. She hummed, and the vibrations caused your moans to increase in pitch. “Fuck! Like that- ah!” You cried out, encouraging her to continue exactly as she was. Thankfully, Ellie listened, pace never faltering as she fucked her fingers deep inside of you.

You could feel the warmth building up in your belly and knew you would cum soon. Fearing she would suddenly pull away or slow down, your grip on her hair tightened and you pulled her mouth flush to your pussy. Ellie moaned and let herself be shoved into you, opting to suck on your clit rather than lick. Your breath caught in your throat, back arching in a harsh curve as you felt your orgasm rapidly approach. Ellie dug her nails into the thigh she held as they began to shake around her head.

You let out one last pitchy whine as your high crashed over you. Your thighs squished her cheeks as they attempted to close, but she used both of her hands to push them back open, holding your hips down at the same time. Her mouth continued its assault, head moving side to side as she worked you through your orgasm. The feeling quickly became overwhelming, and your palm pushed against her forehead. “Els… too much…” You croaked out. She finally broke contact with your glossy pussy, opting instead to stare at the way your hole clenched around nothing. 

“Fuck baby…” Ellie muttered, reaching up to run a thumb through your wetness, accidentally brushing your sensitive bud and making you jump. Panting, you grabbed her hand and pulled it up, wanting her to come up and kiss you. She seemed to understand this and made a slow journey back to you, leaving searing kisses across your body on the way. Once you were finally face to face you pulled her down for a proper smooch, hands cradling each side of her face. She brushed your hair back from your sweaty face as you tried to peck her on each of her freckles. She hummed a laugh and captured your lips in another soft kiss before pulling back and resting her head beside yours, nose nuzzling into your pulse point. You let out a heavy sigh, letting the aftershocks wrack through you as you rubbed her back.

“I love you.” She said, pressing her lips to your earlobe. 

You smiled and tugged her hair to look her in the eyes. “I love you too.” You responded, thumbing her pouty bottom lip. She kissed your thumb, and held your face in one of her hands. 

Her breath shuddered as your hand slithered down her torso, fingertips playing with the curly hair just above her pussy. “Your turn?”

[witherby]

I wonder what mouse would think of an injured Kon being taken back to the bat cave after being beaten by kryptonite, like a pt 2 of meet the family lol, would they put everyone in a pocket dimension or would they take Kon into a pocket dimension?

-🔱

Yeah, we can explore the follow-up to this scenario for sure. 😏

Littlest Wayne: Meet the Family, pt. 2

Part 1 is Here!

Masterlist is Here!

Your brother is acting weird. When you try to go down to the Cave to greet the boys after patrol, Jason hooks his arm under your legs and tucks you into his side, like when you were a child pretending to be a football, and takes you back upstairs. You squirm and wriggle to no avail, throwing your arms up incredulously.

"Jay!? Hello!?" You cry.

"Hey," he says, nonchalant as ever. He waltzes into the living room and deposits you on the plush, cream couch, sinking down on the other end and draping his legs across your lap like a seatbelt. "Dick's detoxing from Fear Gas. Can't go down there or he might mistake you for a goon and swing."

You frown. "Scarecrow was out? There wasn't the usual alert."

"He wasn't a threat long enough to warrant one," Jason shrugs. "Stumbled upon one of his labs while we were chasin' a different lead and took him out. Managed to dose Dick but Tim, Dami and I are fine."

"Oh. Okay. Does he need anything?"

Jason gives you a fond smile. "Nothing our civvie-sib needs to worry about. Let your big, mighty heroes fix it."

"I don't think shooting people makes you a hero, Jay."

"Alright, then let your favorite vigilantes fix it."

"Hmm, dunno. I think Green Arrow is my favorite vigilante."

"Take that back right now."

You lift an eyebrow. "I will not."

Jason gasps and lightly kicks you with his boot. You flick him in the ankle. He reaches over and flicks your ear. You stick your finger in your mouth and then jam it in his ear. He yelps and climbs off the couch to get away from you.

"Dammit, Mousey, that's gross!"

"So is sticking your dirty boots in my lap fresh off a patrol! These pants are expensive and your feet smell like the Gotham sewer system." You stand up and pointedly brush dirt off your thighs.

"Okay, alright! Point taken. Truce?"

You sigh and bump your fist against his, smiling despite your irritation. "I'm going to shower and sleep, then. D'you need anything?"

Jason shakes his head. He ruffles your hair as you walk past him and you use your shadows to trip him as he walks towards the kitchen. He hits the ground with a cry and swears after you, and you grin as you run up the stairs.

Once safe in the confines of your bedroom, you turn on the shower in the ensuite and lock the door, then slip into the darkness and sink down to the cave to investigate the real reason he didn't want you down there. Because Jason lied when he told you about Scarecrow.

You don't think he knows about this particular tell, but he always shrugs his right shoulder when he's lying and the left when he's being honest. Any normal person wouldn't have picked up on that, but as you descend into the Batcave, you recognize that you didn't grow up in a normal family. Getting anybody to admit to anything in this house, even the inconsequential shit like a slight cough, is like pulling teeth, so you've had to learn to read their body language over the years to glean the info you want.

As the darkness guides you along, helping you identify objects (the computer, the batmobile, the display cases for old suits) and people, (Dick, Tim, and Damian, all of whom are noticeably free from the influence of Fear Toxin), you also glean the thing they didn't want you to find.

Rather, the person.

"Were you planning on getting this done sometime in the next week?" Damian complains. Dick hip-checks him since his hands are too busy tweezing shards of Kryptonite out of Conner's prone body, bent over him as they crowd around the medical bed.

"Listen, shut up, listen," Dick stammers, like he usually does when something is his fault. You make a note of that while your shadow blends in with the walls. "I'm almost done. Then we can go put him in Superman's little UV sun room, let him heal up there, and put him back in Metropolis. It's fine! He'll be out of here before B ever knew he was in Gotham."

"Um." Tim, who's sitting on the counter across the room, holds up his phone. "B accessed the footage. He told me he's on his way back."

Damian, your unflappable youngest brother with a glare sharp enough to cut diamond, suddenly looks nervous.

"This may have been poor planning on our end."

"No!" Dick cries, hands shaking as he pulls more Kryptonite out of Conner's skin. "The plan was to knock some sense into the kid that thought he could sneak into our baby sibling's bedroom in the middle of the night, okay? And we did that! Plan succeeded! We got a little overzealous! It's fine, everything is fine!"

Damian and Tim look at Dick, then at the escrima sticks lying on the medical tray with the extracted Kryptonite, then at each other. You watch their expressions shift and the two of them nod at the same time.

"Everything's fine," Tim echoes calmly, then hops down and dashes for the door.

"You've got this," Damian agrees, quickly following suit.

Dick wilts like a flower as he watches them leave. "Abandoners! Traitors!! Assholes!!!"

You're inclined to agree. Clearly all of them had something to do with this, they just didn't want to get yelled at by Bruce. Conner groans weakly on the table and recaptures your attention, shifting onto his side. Dick presses a hand to his shoulder to keep him still, looking truly repentant.

"Shh," he says, "two more shards, okay? Let me pull those out and then we'll get you fixed up, kid."

"Hurts..." Conner grunts, returning to consciousness with a hiss of air through his teeth. "Pain sucks..."

"You've never gotten hurt before?" Dick asks. He looks like the guilt is going to pull him to the ground, all hunched over the cot with his tweezers like Quasimodo. He plucks out the last shards and deposits them on the medical cart beside him, then pushes it far enough away from Conner that it shouldn't bother him anymore.

"No," Conner mutters. He cracks an eye open and glares at Dick over his shoulder. "So thanks for that, Nightwing... Or would you prefer Dick Grayson?"

Dick chews the inside of his cheek, expressionless despite the panic you know he's feeling. He's bearing most of his weight on the balls of his feet, body instinctively poised to run from problematic situations like the train wreck of a conversation before him.

"Um. Who's that?"

You almost snort from your hiding spot. Conner levels him with a flat look and pushes himself into an upright position with a grunt. His arms tremble from the strain and Dick quickly steadies him with an arm around his waist. His thumb brushes against one of the tears in Conner's suit, a visual reminder of the damage he caused even though the wounds have closed.

"Even without being told ahead of time, it's not hard to put together: The person I rescued from the conservatory fire," Conner says, staring right at Dick, "was a Wayne. It's their room I entered later that night to see if they were okay and introduce myself. So, unless there's another Wayne out there with four older brothers who came to Metropolis, beat me, and dragged me back to Gotham in the world's worst version of the Shovel Talk, you're Dick Grayson. By that logic, Robin, Red Robin, and Red Hood are Damian, Tim, and Jason."

He brushes Dick's arm away and gets to his feet, leaning on the cot to support himself. The splatters of blood left behind highlight the tenseness of the conversation. He gestures to it with a sneer.

"And you wouldn't have swung so hard if it wasn't personal. My suit is ruined."

Dick swears under his breath, running his fingers through his hair.

"I — yes, okay, you got us. You gotta keep that a secret, though. Understand? A lot of shit would go sideways if the wrong people found out our identities."

Conner turns and shuffles towards the door of the medical bay. Dick blocks the exit and looks at him, panicking under the domino mask.

"I'm serious," he says. "You can't tell anyone. Does Lex know already? Did you reveal that information to someone else?"

"Great questions. Should've thought about that," Conner says, nudging Dick effortlessly out of the way now that the kryptonite is out of his system, "before you came to my city, insulted my character, attacked, and kidnapped me."

"Yes, we should've!"

Your shadow blends seamlessly into Dick's as he gets up and hurries after Conner. He doesn't appear to be strong enough to fly away yet, but the pale blue of his iris is quickly turning red. His strength is returning while his patience wanes, mentally checked out of this pseudo-interrogation.

"Look, Superkid —"

"Superman!"

Dick flashes his palms in surrender as those eyes snap to him. "Sure. Superman. Don't think that's gonna last in the long-term, though; we've already got one of those. People are gonna get confused."

"Not when he steps down and acknowledges me as his superior."

"I — okay, whoa, let's put a pin in that because we absolutely have to discuss that later — listen, I'm sorry. I'm really sorry we jumped you like that and didn't give you the chance to talk it out. But you gotta understand how dangerous that was for our sibling."

"You think I was going to hurt them?" Conner asks, gritting his teeth. His fists clench at his sides and Dick takes a large step back. His stance widens and he ducks his head a little, de-escalating the situation as quickly as possible while still poised to defend himself if necessary.

"We don't know what you were going to do. That's the point. No one knows who you are or what you want." Dick gestures between himself and Conner emphatically, shaking his head as your name is mentioned. "They're not a vigilante like us. They're just a civilian. And while they're far from helpless, they are my baby sibling. Some stranger nobody has information about took an interest in them specifically, found their home, and snuck into their bedroom through the window in the middle of the night. The only reason we even know that is because they told us about it the next morning."

Dick peels the domino mask off his face and gives Conner an exhausted frown, pleading with him to see reason.

"That was terrifying to hear about. In a house full of detectives, nobody knew you were there. You could have hurt them. You could have taken them. You could have done any number of terrible things to my family, and we would've been none the wiser. Do you realize how inherently threatening that is, kid? Regardless of your intentions, all we knew was what you did, hours after the fact."

Conner turns his head away and crosses his arms. The red fades from his eyes along with the majority of his ire.

"I get it," he says. "Sorry for scaring you, but you can rest assured I mean them no harm."

"Great. I believe you," Dick says. "But you can't do that again. Sneaking into the Manor unannounced like that is the fastest way to get B to beat your ass."

"Tch. Like father, like son."

Dick grimaces. "I— well. Yeah. I'm sorry."

"I heard you the first time." Conner's posture straightens up and his feet leave the floor, recovered enough to use most of his powers again. "I'm gonna go now —"

"Wait!" Dick snatches his ankle. Conner stops and glares.

"Ugh. What!"

"I'm also extremely serious about the identity thing. You need to keep that to yourself. How do I know you aren't gonna run back to Luthor and immediately spill our secrets?"

The boy tilts his head, considering. Dick's grip gets tighter despite the futility of it. All the Kryptonite he could've used to subdue him, to keep him from leaving the Cave while they hash this out, is lying in a medical cart several yards out of reach. In their current positions, he's no more a hindrance than a gentle breeze.

"You don't... Unless you offer me something."

Dick's expression hardens and he clenches his jaw, no doubt already running a dozen calculations through his brain. "What do you want? Money? Territory?"

"Visitation."

You watch your brother falter. Your confusion echoes his. "What?"

Conner gently kicks his leg. Dick releases him, and the boy floats back down to the ground. Despite being almost half a foot shorter than your brother, his presence is large. Just like Uncle Clark's. His expression is no-nonsense and his hands slide into the pockets of his leather jacket. He's looking at Dick like a man that knows he's got the game stacked in his favor. Dick's looking at Conner like he's gauging how much time he's got before a bomb goes off.

"I want your sibling."

And

wasn't that just

the worst fucking way to answer that question.

Your hold on Dick's shadow slips away in your shock. You sink fully back into the void before you can find out how your brother reacts to Conner's declaration. You aren't sure you want to know.

You re-emerge in your bathroom, gasping in the steam from the abandoned shower you were pretending to take and hastily turning the knobs off. The heat in the room is nothing compared to the burning in your cheeks.

"What," you sputter, aloud, alone, and incredulous, "the fuck does that mean!!"

[foreveradreamaway]

streaming- MV33/1

summary- a compilation of moments from maxs streams

i really loved writing this as i always have small idea that aren’t long enough to be their own post, if you have any small idea that goes with this or just in general then please comment it or send it to me and i will make a part two or another post similar <3

max loved to stream every now and then. he loved the interactions with fans and getting to play with his friends. you also loved when max streamed because it gave you some peace and quiet for a while, it also allowed you to do some house work without max following you like a lost puppy.

you had made numerous appearances in his streams and his fans loved it. probably enjoying seeing you both as actual humans and getting to see how you both live your daily lives together. some fans had made a compilation of the many times you made an appearance in one of maxs streams.

🏎️

max sat in his gaming chair immersed in whatever game he was playing. you needed something from the room he was in and it couldn’t wait.

you opened the door as slowly and quietly as possible and creeped over to the thing you needed. apparently you weren’t quiet enough and he heard you. he moved one side of his headset off his ear.

“sorry, i just needed to grab the end thing for the hoover.” you sheepishly smiled. he only grinned in return. you took this as the opportunity to walk up behind him so you were in the frame.

“what are you playing?” you questioned as your face finally came in shot.

“im playing cod with lando, charles and carlos”

“aww cute” you sent a quick wave to say hello to everyone that was on the other end of the camera. however your eyes were quickly caught by the top of maxs head.

“can they hear me?” you questioned, he nodded. “okay. hello everyone, it’s your favourite person in the world here and i just needed to show you something” max had a confused look on his face as he watched you through the camera, wondering what you were about to show.

your hands reached for each side of the head set that was on his head and slowly removed it and handed it to him. your hands then went to either side of his head and tilted it down.

“max gets really bad headset hair guys and it will literally stay like this for the rest of the day” max’s hands quickly went up to his hair to attempt to fix while you and the chat couldn’t help but laugh.

“shut up” he grumbled as he lifted the head set back onto his head. “love you baby!” you called over your shoulder as you left the room.

“i hate her”

“i heard that!”

🏎️

“mijn liefste, wil je zo pasta? Ik ben er nu een paar aan het maken” you can’t be seen as you poke your head round the door.

“Het gaat goed, dank je schat” he replies while not taking his eyes off the game but removing one side of his headset. “welke pasta ben je aan het maken?”

“i know i’m learning but im not that good yet max” you laugh.

“i said ‘what pasta are you making” he replies, suddenly feeling hunger bubble his stomach.

“i’m not sure yet. are you sure you don’t want any? i’ll surprise you” making food has always been one of your love languages, your mum had shown you to cook as soon as she could and you picked it up quick.

“yeah go on then” he finally turns to you and smiles as you walk away. when he finally turns back he sees the chat filled with questions and people telling him how cute you both are.

“yeah she is learning dutch. i’m teaching her” his face lights up as he talks about you. “it’s very easy for her though because she already knows other languages so she picks it up quickly” his smile never leaving his face.

🏎️

max is looking intensely at the chat in-front of him, reading everything is the chat. answering a couple questions. he does this until he sees a familiar name come up.

“‘answer your phone’ what?” he quickly picks up his phone to see that he has ten missed calls from you. he is quick to call you back.

“max stop putting your phone on do not disturb and silent” you scold. he always did when he was streaming, he always said it was because he didn’t want to be disturbed however sometimes it was important. like now.

“sorry schat.”

“do you want anything from the shop? i’ve already got your m&ms and tomato soup.” max had a soft spot for m&ms and everyone knows about this man’s love of tomato soup.

“no i’m okay thank you baby. what are we having for dinner” max had a massive smile on his face. half because he was talking to you and because he knew how much everyone watching would love the conversation.

“well you’ve got mean prep” you couldn’t help but laugh as max groaned loudly and threw his head back. he hated meal prep. don’t get me wrong he loved being healthy and eating nice food but sometimes he just craved your cooking. “and i’m having a stir fry.”

“ugh whatever. i want stir fry”

“i know baby. ill make you one as soon as your nutritionist will allow me too”

“okay fine. when will you be home?” max kept the phone close to his mic to make sure everyone would be able to hear you on the other end of the phone.

“not long, i took the ferrari so it won’t take me long to get home. i don’t have my keys so be ready to pick up your phone and open the door! okay, i love you bye” you ended the phone call quickly before he could say anything about you taking his car.

“i swear she prefers my cars over her own” he laughed as he read through the chat again.

🏎️

when you moved in with max you demanded that a sofa be put into his gaming/office room. he got you the cosiest sofa he could just to make sure you were comfy. max spent a lot of time in the room and you missed him when he was in there.

before you lived together, you tried to sit on the floor when you were round but you just weren’t comfortable enough so that’s when you demanded a sofa. if max was streaming or just had some admin stuff to do, you would just sit on the sofa and enjoy each-others company.

max was streaming, as per usual, while you sat all snuggled up on the sofa across the room. you had one the comfiest jumper of his that you could find, his joggers, a blanket covering your whole body and tucked under your chin and you glasses that sat on your nose.

max had specifically bought a pair of joggers that were too small for him. one day he came home to see you wearing a pair of his that were far to big for you and when he questioned you, you said that you just enjoy wearing his clothes. so the next day he went and bought a pair that were to small and placed them in his waldrobe. from then on they were yours.

you were also a secret iPad kid at heart. your iPad was literally your prized possession and you took it everywhere with you. now was no different as you sat there with your ipad resting on your legs as you watched tik tok.

“look” you turned the ipad around so that it was facing max, he leant on the arm rest of the chair to get a better view of what you were showing him. it was a cat.

“we should get sassy and jimmy one” he laughed as you nodded. he sat back into his chair and caught what the chat were saying. many people asking where you were.

he grabbed the camera from its holder and turned it to face you, showing you under the blanket. he got up out his chair and moved to sit next to you on the sofa.

“you are actually such an old man” you laughed as he struggled to hold the camera so that it would get a view of both of you. “give it to me” you took the camera from his hand and wrapped your other arm around his neck to bring him closer to you.

“hey guys, it’s your favourite person in the world here” the camera now had a perfect view of both of you as you put a quick peace sign up to the camera. you quickly nudged max and his fingers quickly went to the same position as yours. “i want to show you all my outfit, hold this baby” you handed the camera to max and threw the blanket onto him as you stood from your seat.

“max, show them my whole body my love” you laughed as he was only showing the camera your legs. “i’m trying Schat” you leant forward a bit and moved maxs hand so it faced where it should be.

“okay so my glasses are from specsavers, they are the only people i trust with my glasses. even if i need a new pair i would rather fly home than get a pair from anywhere else. because if they messed my glasses up i would just hear my mum in my ear saying ‘should have gone to specsavers’. my jumper is maxs- where is this jumper from?” you questioned him.

“umm its a zara one i think”

“okay so the jumper is from zara and these joggers are from nike. can i even say that? do they even sponsor you?” max’s laugh could be heard from behind the camera before he replies. “yeah it’s okay. i think” his face fell into a sheepish grin behind the camera.

“my socks are from god knows where. and the blanket is from also god knows where.” you gave the camera a big smile as you fell back into your previous position.

“you are the new version of maxplaining”

“shut up”

🏎️

“can we play fifa?” you were sat on the floor, cross legged, next to max while he sat in his gaming chair. “you only want to play fifa because you always beat me” he huffed.

“exactly” you grinned at him.

[feral-futch]

[JanetGoodPlaceNotAGirl.gif]

but like... that is so very Real And Same of you tbh

also sorry about the literal max amount of tags on this; I do think you will enjoy them though probably? 😅

I could get over anything as long as I have something new to be obsessed with

[eliasmelody]

Love Beyond the Surface

Part 2 !

Tag: Rafeyel x f!reader, Sylus x f!reader Warning: reader is not MC, angst, no comfort (yet), parallel universe(isekai), third-person, violence, suicide thought

"You're in love with someone who is not me." "How can you be so sure?" "Cause I'm nothing like her" "It's not the looks or personality that I'm in love with. It's the soul"

You know them, but they don't know you. Still, no barrier you erect can conceal the truth of their discovery.

Part 1! [Xavier, Zayne] x reader

✦.────────── ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ ────────── .✦

You truly love the game, you really do. The atmosphere, the intricate details, the beautiful lighting that sets the perfect mood, and the voice lines that bring each character to life. It all comes together so beautifully.

The protagonist of the game is strong, smart, and undeniably beautiful, exactly like what you would expect in a game like this. And she’s nothing like you. Or rather, you're nothing like her. There are moments when you can’t help but feel a twinge of envy, but other times, you just push it aside and enjoy the ride.

But now, as you look at her across the street with your own eyes now, you're sure that you are definitely not her. You let out a quiet sigh, turning away and heading back to your temporary resting spot in this world. The weight of the different life is heavy in your thoughts. You need to find a way to get back.

✦.────────── ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ ────────── .✦

🐠 RAFAYEL:

"When you go out, you have to return to me… Safe and sound"

Looking for inspiration is like chasing the horizon, no matter how far you go, it always feels just out of reach. 

He found himself standing on the beach, his feet sinking into the soft sand. The gentle pressure was a comfort, grounding him after the storm of life had left him feeling lost.

His favorite spot on the beach was hidden away, with the jagged rocks and crashing waves made it a dangerous place, it was where he went to escape, to think.

But today, as he reached the shore, he saw a girl at the water’s edge. The wind tousled her hair, and the fading light painted her silhouette. She seemed unaware of the danger. 

"Hello miss." He said but she didn't answer.

Drawing closer, he observed her as she silently watched the sunset, seemingly mesmerized by its beauty. For a moment, he caught himself staring at it too. 

"You know, I envy the sunset…" In a calm and suave voice, his words carried on the salty wind. He just had the urge to say something.

"Why?" She replies in a monotone tone.

Rafayel leaned against a nearby jagged rock. A faint smile played at the corner of his lips. "Because from where I stand, it looks like the sun is running away to escape the night." 

He paused for a brief moment before continuing. "Yet, no matter how far it runs, the night always catches up... eventually."

"... And which one are you?"

A hint of amusement danced in his eyes as he heard her question. The crashing waves provided a rhythmic background to their conversation.

"Well, aren’t you observant?" He replied, a hint of curiosity in his tone. "Which one do you think I am?"

"... You're quite good looking, there must be a lot of people chasing after you. I'd say the sun." 

Rafayel chuckled, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Are you chasing after me as well?" His voice is low and velvety.

She tenses at his words, her eyes meeting his. It felt like something inside of her had been triggered, but she quickly composed herself "... You sound confident."

Rafayel’s gaze didn’t waver, locked with hers as a hint of mockery appeared on his lips.

"It’s not confidence, it’s merely stating the obvious." He said, a hint of arrogance in his tone. "After all, why wouldn’t anyone chase after me?"

She rolls her eyes fondly. "Of course you would say something like that." She replies, a hint of amusement in her voice.

His smirk grew at her response, enjoying the amusement in her tone. "Although, you have a certain... boldness, if I may say. Admiring my looks from afar?" 

"It's not a crime to appreciate beauty. That doesn’t mean I’m looking to chase after it, though"

Rafayel’s grin widened at her words, his gaze still fixed on her face. "Fair enough." He conceded 

"But why are you out here all alone... in a place like this?" His voice dropped a bit. Though he tried to make it sound playful, there was still a hint of worry beneath his words.

"And you?" Her tone was unamused as she raised an eyebrow.

"Touché." He murmured, his voice low and amused. "I guess we're both here for similar reasons then... seeking escape from... whatever it is we’re running from."

She let out a huff, unimpressed "You thought I'm gonna suicide or something?"

Rafayel stiffened at her words, his playful demeanor disappearing for a moment. "No, that’s not what I meant…" 

He paused, his gaze searching her face as the implications of her words sunk in, and he spoke again, his voice more serious this time. "Are you... Are you seriously thinking about... that?"

After a long pause, she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "Even if I am. What's wrong with it?" 

Rafayel's heart twisted at her words. He let out a sigh, his voice now carrying a hint of a plea as he spoke. "Don’t say things like that… I don’t want to hear that from your mouth."

She let out a small, mock laugh, her smirk widening. "Why? Can't handle the dark side, princess?"

His eyes narrowed at her smirk, her words striking a nerve. A hint of annoyance flickered across his face as he retorted.

"Watch it, I'm not a princess." He said, his tone a mix of irritation and annoyance. "And it's not about handling the dark side. It’s about not wanting to hear someone I–" care.

He paused, his words trailing off. The waves continued to crash relentlessly against the shore, their rhythmic sound a sharp contrast to the silence between them.

She glanced at him with a look of indifference, before shaking her head slightly. Without a word, she turned on her heel and walked away. He didn’t stop her, his mind raced, tangled in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.

He didn’t know who this woman was, not really. But the words coming from her mouth... It cut into him somehow, deeper than he expected. It was strange… she is just a stranger... Isn’t she?

"You have to return to me." "I can't… I’m lost."

✦.────────── ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ ────────── .✦

🐦‍⬛ SYLUS:

"You should know very well that I adore you. There's no love purer than mine."

He’s riding his motorbike, feeling the rush of wind against his face as the engine roars beneath him. Soon, the motorbike slows, and he pulls into the parking lot of a 24/7 convenience store. The neon sign casts a cold, bright glow against the night sky. 

He doesn’t usually smoke, never really found the appeal. But tonight, something about the weight of the day and the quiet hum of the road makes him reconsider. He hesitates for a moment before grabbing a pack. 

He doesn’t bat an eye as the cashier rings him up, barely glancing at her. With a quick, practiced motion, he pulls out a lighter, flicking it open.

"… I’m sorry, but you can’t smoke in here."

The words hang in the air, and for a second, he doesn’t react. His hand pauses mid-air, lighter still flickering. He looks up, catching the brief flicker of nervousness in the cashier’s eyes. 

The trouble in the N09 zone drained him today, hours spent with that damn rock hide, the one that never stays put. His evol tightens a bit, frustration crawling up his spine. The air in the store seems to shift, thickening, as if his mood is somehow pulling the atmosphere down with him. 

Her gaze flickers nervously to the door and then back to him. Finally, his hand twitches at his side, his lips barely curling into something like a smile, but it’s anything but reassuring.

"Don’t worry." He mutters, his voice low. "I’m leaving."

She slowly bows and murmurs. "T-Thank you for shopping here." The cashier doesn’t breathe easily until he turns toward the door.

He takes a deep breath of the cigarette, the smoke filling his lungs and mixing with the cool night air. The crispness of it cuts through the haze in his mind, sharpening his senses just enough to make the world feel real again.

A car pulls up nearby, the engine rumbling as it slows to a stop beside his motorcycle. A few men spill out of the car, their laughter loud and grating. They don’t look good.

He takes another drag off the cigarette, the smoke curling in the air as his gaze drifts lazily back to the ground. After a few moments, the quiet is shattered by a loud crash from inside the store. The sound of glass breaking, followed by shouting and the unmistakable thud of something heavy being thrown. His hand freezes mid-air, cigarette still dangling between his fingers. The sound cuts through the night like a knife, and for a split second, everything goes still.

He doesn't have time for this. It's not his problem. But then again, the poor girl cashier is working alone tonight. He can picture her now, young, probably too new for the job. Her nervous energy, the way she kept glancing at him earlier, tells him everything he needs to know. 

The decision hits him before he can even think twice. He takes a breath, steeling himself. With a quick motion, he heads toward the door.

The gangsters fight exactly how they look, loud, flashy, all show and no substance. He picks up a beer from a nearby shelf this time, uncapping it with a twist of his wrist and takes one sip. The cool bottle in his hand feels strangely normal against the chaos.

As the last of the gangsters stumbles away, nursing a bruised jaw, he steps over their mess, moving toward the poor girl behind the counter. She’s frozen, wide-eyed, and still shaking, her hands gripping the edge of the register like it’s the only thing keeping her upright.

The silence presses in on him, heavy and thick, as he notices the bruise on her face. It’s subtle, but there, a faint purple mark along her cheekbone, probably from when they shoved or hit her. His gaze lingers on it longer than he means.

He doesn’t like the look of it. He doesn’t like how the skin around her eyes is still wide with fear, how she’s clearly trying to hold herself together but doesn’t really have the strength.

She doesn’t dare look up, but she can feel the weight of his eyes, cold and assessing. The longer he stands there, the harder it becomes to breathe.

Without a word, he throws a bunch of cash onto the counter, more than enough to cover whatever damage they caused. When he speaks, his voice is low, almost quiet. "Take it."

He watches her for a long beat. The air between them thickens again. And then, as if something inside him shifts, taking a step forward. He reaches for the counter, pushing the money just a little closer to her.

But the moment his hand moves, she flinches back, instinctively pulling away like she expects him to do something worse. For a split second, he freezes, his hand hovering just above the counter. His jaw tightens, his breath steadying. He retracts his hand slowly, pulling it back from the counter like he’s been burned.

"Lock up when you're done." He mutters then leaves.

Starting his bike, he tries to push it away, but her face stays in his mind. "Damn it." He mutters, pulling away. It lingers longer than it should, and for the first time in a long while, he doesn’t feel in control.

"There's no love purer than mine" "Your love scares me."

✦.────────── ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ ────────── .✦ Picture: belong to Love & Deepspace official (not me)

✦.────────── ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ ────────── .✦

No hate to the MC. Her character is well-built, and i love her personality. And that is allllll. I love angst. Is this even consider an angst though? Should i write the follow-up?

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

⋆⭒˚.⋆ Self-On Kode with Jaemin ⋆⭒˚.⋆

idol!Jaemin x f!idol!reader

summary: you and your best friend are very close, so you'll know what it's like to text him, right?

(cw: f!reader, idol!reader)

a/n: I am not currently accepting any new self-on kode requests

"Wow," you breathe out in wonder as you look around the studio from your pink chair, "I have watched so many of these videos. I love them." You bow softly to the camera, "Oh yes, hello, today I will be known as bunny."

On the other side of the wall, Jaemin settles into his seat, smiling at the camera while introducing himself, "Hello, I am Jaemin fron NCT Dream, but today I will be rabbit."

You bop your head along to your music softly, typing out your first message before your eyes widen slightly with surprise, "there are so many heart emojis! Woah, 1, 2, 3, 4... 11 heart emojis."

"Is this how you text everyone?" Jaemin reads off his phone, he pouts softly before typing back, "Yes, of course. Do you not like to feel happy?"

You laugh incredulously, "of course I like feeling happy. Emojis don't equate to happiness, Rabbit."

You both manage to move on and make small talk while you ignore the gross amount of emojis being used. Your partner seems to be fairly nice and happy-go-lucky, but you're still not quite sure who your partner is.

You and Jaemin had been close friends since you both started training together. He was strangely outgoing and outspoken in a way that was overwhelming at first but you quickly grew to like. He was a comforting person to be around and a great listener. He quickly became one of the few people you grew close to and felt a genuine friendship with.

It took a few years for you to develop a crush. He had been in the awkward puberty stage when you first met and that shaggy hair wasn't doing him too many favors. Then he took a medical break and came back to Seoul looking like a whole new guy. A very handsome new guy. 7 years ago was when you saw him in a new light, no longer just your nerdy best friend. And about 2 years ago that new light had led you to see him romantically.

Who could blame you with the way you two acted? There were countless inside jokes, regular hang out sessions with just the two of you, gifts exchanged, and way too much affection between two people who should only be friends.

When you see the screenshot sent to you, a flash of recognition hits you, could it be Jaemin? No, it couldn't be. Looking at the screen you zoom in, looking at an order for a pink variety floral bouquet. Why is it familiar? Well, because at the beginning of the week you'd gotten a pink variety bouquet from your best friend. Jaemin couldn't be your partner though, right?

You bite your bottom lip while typing out your response, "oooh, flowers for your girlfriend or boyfriend?"

Jaemin's cheeks flush a soft pink, chuckling under his breath, "something like that." He quickly adds, "just someone special."

The staff lets the both of you chat before moving you both along to send screenshots of you YouTube history. You take your screenshot and look up from your phone to look at the staff around the cameras, "I told you I'm a big fan so don't be surprised."

Jaemin laughs to himself while he looks at the picture, "wow, I have a big fan in my midst. Looks like we're twins..."

You cover your mouth as you laugh, looking at your screen which shows an almost identical image. Your partner had been binging the very same series. Another weird coincidence since last night you'd been watching these videos on your TV and live texting Jaemin about them. It was too much of a coincidence, it was getting weird.

Then came the most recent picture, you sent a picture of the shade of lip gloss your makeup artist had used on you and on your phone is a picture of an arm flexed. A very beefy, muscular arm and no face. "Woah," you breathe out. You can't even bring yourself to look at the camera, too embarrassed to show your face after how you just sat and stared at the picture for a straight minute with the screen really close to your face.

"You work out I take it?" You type back, slapping your palm against your forehead with embarrassment. You can see you manager turn away from you with second-hand embarrassment and you want to run behind the set and hide.

Thankfully your partner doesn't dwell on that and soon enough the staff is asking both of you to give your guesses.

Jaemin rubs his chin, "could it be one of my staff members? The makeup, the video history. I'm not sure."

In front of the blue wall, you try not too look at the camera, embarrassed by your behavior, "could it be Jaemin?"

You stand nervously on your side of the set, refusing to move and panicking while waiting for your partner to show themselves. From around the corner you see a familiar head of hair, then a familiar set of eyes, then a whole face with a dazzling smile. "Jaemin!" You breathe out in relief as you rush toward him and embrace him.

"It's you!" Jaemin exclaims while he hugs you.

You pull away from the hug, letting Jaemin fix your hair as you ask, "so, did you know it was me?"

"No, did you know it was me?" He asks in response.

"I had an idea..."

The staff have you both sit at a high top table and you pick up the conversation from there. Jaemin pokes your arm with a teasing smile, "how did you know it was me?"

"Well, you sent me the flowers you had a screenshot of and we watched the videos at the same time last night," you explain.

"You didn't recognize my arm?" He asks with a playful wiggle of his brows.

"You don't flex for me!"

He holds an arm up, flexing his arm as he tugs his sleeve up his bicep, "well, here you go. Get a good look. You should be able to recognize your best friend by any part of his body."

You hide your face in your hands. You don't think he meant to make an innuendo, but that smile on his face has you second guessing. One of the staff members chimes in, changing the subject and asks about the 'someone special.'

Jaemin drops his arm, cocking his head to the side, "she is someone special to me. She's the most special person to me."

"You can't say that!" You whine, shoving his shoulder softly.

He catches your hand, holding it in his own hands with a pouty look, "but you are."

"You're annoying," you whisper with a glare that isn't malicious at all.

"You like it," Jaemin whispers back, booping your nose with a smile.

The screen fades to black with a selfie of you and Jaemin with matching playful pouts, cheeks pressed against each other's as the credits roll.

The next month when matching statements go out about the two of you dating, neither you or Jaemin will admit that it was this interview that did it, but you both (and almost a million other people) know the truth.