#its been a long time so this will be a warm up

[hayatoseyepatch]

Ｄｅｓｃｒｉｐｔｉｏｎ: Assigning positions I think the Love & Deepspace men would fuck you in. With twitter links! Mostly Inspired by Juno — Sabrina Carpenter.

Ｃｈａｒａｃｔｅｒｓ: Zayne|Rafayel|Xavier|Caleb|Sylus

Ｗｏｒｄ Ｃｏｕｎｔ: 3.5 k

Ｃｏｎｔａｉｎｓ: Multiple Characters x Fem!Reader

Ｃｏｎｔｅｎｔ Ｗａｒｎｉｎｇｓ: NSFW visuals (videos) in the links, penetrative sex (duh), unprotected sex, praise, degradation, mentions of breeding, use of pet names, manhandling, somnophilia (Xavier’s), cock warming (Rafayel’s), spanking, choking, marking, semi-public sex (Zayne’s).

Ａｕｔｈｏｒ’ｓ Ｎｏｔｅ: Happy New Year everyone! (੭ˊᵕˋ)੭♡ I feel like it has been an absolute MINUTE since I’ve written anything, and even longer since I’ve done headcannons. But with this most recent quad I’m feeling inspired. My writer's block has been absolutely insane someone please save me. I’ve never done this type of post just wanted to test the waters with something different. We also have so little on Caleb so his may not stand the test of time, but we shall see LMAO. Let me know what you think and I hope you enjoy! (ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ.ﾟ

Ｘａｖｉｅｒ － Ｓｐｏｏｎｉｎｇ

Xavier wasn’t sure how he slept at night before having you in his arms again. Rousing from sleep he couldn’t help but smile into the back of your neck, nose burying itself in the hair that rested at the base of your neck, taking a deep inhale of your scent. He never knew a smell could make him feel so at ease, but also stir up such heat in the pit of his stomach. His hands wandered your sleeping from, seeking out the warmth radiating from your skin. Nimble fingers slipping beneath the them of your sleep shirt, mind fuzzy and still glazed over with sleep. He was acting purely on instinct, and by the way you subtly arched your back into his touch as a large hand slipped beneath the swell of your breast — you were too.

The plush of your skin was so malleable beneath his fingers, thumb swiping the stiff peak of your hardened nipple as his lips kiss a trail up and down the side your neck. Swallowing a groan when his hips roll into the swell of your ass, not wanting to rouse you from your slumber just yet. His tongue slips past his lips to lick a fat stripe up the side of your neck before attaching his lips to the juncture where your shoulder met your neck. Desperation growing, the kiss was a mess of teeth and tongue, marking your skin as his hips continued to grind against you from behind. Xavier was so lost in the feel of you he nearly missed the groan that slipped from your lips and the way you began to grind back against him. Almost. Moving his lips to press against your ear, his voice is breathy and laced with yearning.

“Please bunny, need to be inside you, cant take it anymore.”

You were too groggy, still half asleep, so all you're able to muster is rolling your hips back on his own as your sign of approval. And that was all Xavier needed. Deft fingers pull your panties to the side, quick to also push down the waistband of his sleep pants, freeing his throbbing cock from their confines. He grips the base of himself with a shaky hand, using the head of his cock to part your folds. He allows himself a moment to swipe himself up your slit, collecting your wetness to use as lube. The head of his cock brushing your clit with every pass. Before long you finally felt the glorious stretch of him pushing past your entrance, sinking slowly inch by inch into your awaiting cunt. The both of you let out sighs of matched contentment as you take him to the base.

Xavier stays there for a moment, relishing the feel of your warmth engulfing him. However, his patience has its limits, and this yarning for you wins out as he begins to move. Xavier sets a steady pace from the start, using his grip on your breast and another on your hip as leverage to guide his thrusts, deep and shallow as his mouth continues it’s attention to the sensitive skin of your neck. Rocking his hips, angling them to hit that spot nestled deep inside you that has your vision blurring more with every pass. You knew neither of you would last long, not like this.

It seemed as if Xavier slept so much to simply replenish the energy needed to fuck you more. It was rare for you both to have a day off, and he didn’t intend on letting you leave this bed anytime soon. Not when your voice, airy and rasp from sleep, called his name so sweetly. Not when he could feel your walls spasming around him in an attempt to milk his cock for all he was worth. And especially not when you abruptly turn your head, lips slotting over his own in a desperate kiss, forcing him to swallow your moans as you came around his cock for the first of many times that day.

Ｚａｙｎｅ － Ｄｏｇｇｙ Ｓｔｙｌｅ

Zayne liked to consider himself a patient man, not one to lose his cool or one to give in when that patience is tested. But he is also a man, and everyone has their limits. Those limits being you coming into his place of work for your checkup lacking panties. He was suspicious from the moment you came in, wearing that smile that always alerted him to you being up to something. The small upward turn of your lips and poorly concealed anticipation lighting your features. He knew you better than anyone and always knew even the slightest change in you behavior. So as you sat on the examination table, he scrutinized you.

“What’s the matter? Is something wrong, doctor?”

That was his second inclination, the way you purred his profession title, as if the both of you did not share the same bed at night. With a lifted eyebrow he sanitizes his hands before sliding his gloves over deft fingers, scrutinizing eyes overlooking your frame. Taking this opportunity, you cross one leg over the under, the short length of your skirt revealing just whet you weren’t wearing underneath. Today had been a long day for Zayne, several surgeries and a booked schedule causing hm to miss his lunch. Hoping to get some reprieve with your presence he supposes at least it was thoughtful of you to bring him that lunch he missed out on.

 He wasted no time in locking the door to the examination room, coming to you in long strides before dropping to his knees. Strong, gloved, hands parting your thighs as he delves into your folds like a man starved. Zayne was usually a patient lover, taking his time to savor every part of you, making sure you’ve been thoroughly satisfied before indulging in his own pleasure. That was not the case today, eating your cunt until it was dripping with a combination of your arousal and his saliva, he stands to his feet. Not so much as bothering to remove his lab coat as he undoes his buckle. You only get a momentary glance of his cock before the world shifts. Using his strength to easily flip you over on the examination table. Bunching your skirt past your hips to expose your ass to his hungry gaze. A latex covered hand comes down on your ass in a harsh smack, fingers grasping the plump skin of your ass, using his grip to expose your dripping cunt to him. He sinks himself to the hilt with one harsh thrust. Leaning over to press his lips against your ear.

“You want to act like a slut, darling? Then I’ll fuck you like a slut.”

Zayne sets a steady pace from the start, relishing in the sounds he not only pulls from your lips but from your cunt as well. Loud squelching and the sounds of skin slapping against skin echo against the walls of the room. His fingers curling against the column of your throat, feeling your racing pulse beneath his fingers, as he uses his grip to aid in bouncing you back on his cock. He could feel the way your walls were fluttering around him, knowing the cut to your airflow with his earlier actions were sending you spiraling toward your release. Effortlessly he slides his free hand beneath you, fingers rubbing tight circles against your clit. Feeling you tighten around him coupled with hearing the begs and pleas that spill from your lips is all the encouragement Zayne needed. His hips lose the steady pace he had set opting instead to slap harshly and erratically against your own, chasing his high.

The sheer pleasure running through his veins is nearly overwhelming, spilling inside you with a groan. He was sure his sheer volume would be enough to rival your own, however he couldn't find it within himself to care too lost in the way you were making him feel. His hips continually rolling against yours even after he has spilled every last drop he had to offer deep within your walls, before the overstimulation he was giving himself becomes painful. He pulls from you, resting back on his heels, using a thumb to part you folds as he hungrily watches your cunt contract around nothing, his come starting to drip from your abused pussy, letting out a groan at the sight.

“How sweet of you to bring me lunch, darling. Now lets get you home for some rest, doctor’s orders.”

Ｓｙｌｕｓ － Ｍａｔｉｎｇ Ｐｒｅｓｓ

Sylus hated being away from you, between your job and Onychinus the both of you hadn’t been afforded the opportunity of spending too much time together as of late. Your opposing sleep schedules only aided in your recent separation, you coming home to him still asleep and just coming home as you opened your eyes. It was driving him mad. Pent-up frustration had his temper short and his trigger finger happy. So after an insistence from Luke and Kieran to return to your shared home early for the day, he would make no complaints. He hammed as he entered the home, seeing you just getting ready to tuck into bed. Eyes taking in the sight of you in nothing but one of his shirts, he was on you in an instant. Eyes rolling back at your scent, mixing with his own on your skin. Only to have you laid bare split open on his cock as quickly as he would allow himself to.

His hips don't falter, he keeps up his speed. Though each snap of his hips hitting deeper with each pass, angling his hips just right to find that sensitive spot deep inside your walls, grinning maliciously when he does so. His grip stays firm on the backs of your thighs keeping them pressed to your chest to reach the deepest parts of you. Loving the way your eyes roll back as you struggle to form even a coherent sentence from the way he used your body. His chuckle is deep, cruel, against your neck as you struggle to get out the syllables of his name. Coming broken between thrusts of his hips.

“Awh my poor little kitten, she’s getting her cunt fucked so good she can't even finish my name. Poor thing, here let daddy take care of you sweetie.”

He grins, reattaching his lips to your neck. Tongue, teeth, and lips marking the sensitive skin. He removes one hand from your knee. Eyes flickering with unbridled lust when our grip replaces his own, keeping your leg pressed where it was before he cold even obey you to do so. The thumb of his free hand slotting itself between your lips, eyes rolling back when your tongue circles the digit. Popping it from your mouth he used the coated wetness as lubrication to rub tight circles on your clit. Hips picking up pace in time with the kneading. His lips leave your throat capturing a sensitive nipple into his mouth, sucking on it harshly, aiming to overstimulate all of your sensitive spots in tandem. A loud cry falls from your lips, your unoccupied hand flying to your lips in an attempt to muffle the sound, lest Luke and Kieran hear your cries for their boss within their rooms. Noticing the hand you attempt to use to cover your mouth he grabs your wrist pinning it to the mattress next to your ear with the hand that was just overstimulating your clit.

“Sorry sweetie, I want to hear every cry, curse and whimper that falls from those lips, let me hear you kitten.”

He wastes no time returning the pace he had set, loud squelching and your moans filling the room like the sweetest symphony. The coil had been tight in his abdomen, but he would hold out, he wouldn’t allow himself to fall over the edge before you had. He picks up the pace once more, thrusts growing sloppy under the pleasure. His thumb quickens its pace pressing harder against the bundle of nerves. He groans loud and deep feeling your walls slam down on his cock eyes rolling back as whines and whimpers fall from his lips as your own release triggers his own. His body trembles violently as he topples over the edge painting your walls white. He slows his thrusts, body shaking as he overstimulates you both just a little bit before his hips are finally still. He releases your legs, quick to readjust your form wrapping you around him and pressing a long loving kiss to your lips.

Ｒａｆａｙｅｌ － Ｃｏｗｇｉｒｌ

You weren’t sure how long you had been sat here, when your boyfriend had asked if you wanted to sit with him while he finished his painting, you hadn’t envisioned that you would be doing that sat on his lap with his cock nestled deep inside you. Cock warming with Rafayel never ended in just that, his pleading excuse of “It helps me concentrate, cutie, please?” had you falling for it every time. Every shift in his seat, every time he reached over to dip his brush in the paint on his pallet, sent his cock deeper inside your drooling cunt. You were sure he knew it too, felt the way that even plugged with his cock, your arousal still leaked around you both. That he felt it dripping down his skin. You could only hope this was nearly as torturous for him as it was for you. By the sweat forming on his brow, and the way his paintbrush trembled in his grasp, you were sure it was.

And you would be correct.

It wasn’t long until the painting was long forgotten, Rafayel’s lips consuming your own, as if on a mission to lose himself in the embrace. Skilled hands removed your dress with ease, the lingering paint on his skin, staining your own as you hastily removed his shirt. His eyes zeroed in on the colors adorning your skin, a tangible reminder of his touch, he places a hand on your back to steady you, reaching over to coat his hand in the paint that was on his easel. He grips your wrist as he rolls his hips up into your waiting cunt, lips attaching themselves to the delicate skin of your collarbone, kissing a trail up to the shell of your ear. His hot breaths against the sensitive skin has a shiver raking up your spine in his grasp.

“Go on cutie, put your hand in the paint, want you to make a masterpiece on my skin, my muse.”

Grabbing your wrist, he dips your hand in the paint, just as he had done. A desperate whine slips past your lips when he thrusts sharply upward, hands gripping his shoulders, nails sinking into his skin in their grip. Using your hold on him as leverage to keep bouncing on his cock, the paint marking him, the sight of it on his skin makes your head fuzzy. Seeing the remnants of you on him has you touching him more, smearing the paint on his skin. You continue your movements, bouncing on his cock in time with his upward thrusts. Head dipping downward to capture a pebbled nipple between his lips, tongue laving over the bud as the sound of skin against skin fills the studio.

Your thighs tremble from the burn of exertion of your repeated movements. Sensing you were coming to your end, Rafayel comes to your aid. Hands gripping the plush of your hips as he fucks up into you, heels digging into the bar at the bottom of his stool to ground himself as he meets each one of your thrusts with one of his own. He knew your body like the back of his hand, every tremble, every quiver of your cunt, every desperate sound that fell from your lips he could identify as you nearing your end. His mouth switches to pay attention to your opposite nub teeth and tongue giving it the same treatment in time with the push of his hips. Pulling from you with a 'pop' to grit his teeth, baring down to keep his composure before you were able to release before him. He lets you pull him close hips snapping relentlessly thrusts growing sloppy as he feels your walls clamp down on his cock in your release. It sends him hurtling to his own release hips slapping violently against your own as he paints your insides with a loud scream of your name. His thrusts slow making sure he had filled you with every drop he had to offer. Heart racing, as his arms wrap around you and he pulls your trembling form to his chest pressing tender kisses everywhere his lips could reach.

“Such a good girl for me, cutie. Look at you, I think this might just be the most beautiful piece of art I’ve ever laid my eyes on.”

Ｃａｌｅｂ － Ｍｉｓｓｉｏｎａｒｙ

Caleb had always thought himself lucky to have spent so much time with you. He had the privilege of watching you grow, being by your side through so many monumental moments in your life. Birthdays, graduations, holidays — he got to spend every last one of them by your side. But the more you both grew older the more he realized you hadn’t seen him the way he had seen you, at least he hadn’t thought so. The way you had always treated him had felt so platonic, with no hope for you to ever see the way he had felt for you For him it was never platonic, being in love with you for longer than he could remember. And now, even as you both hastily pulled your lips from each other only long enough to rid each other’s clothes from your trembling bodies, he couldn’t believe you were finally his.

Caleb had dreamed of this for years. Having you like this, being able to touch you like this, seeing the way your face contorted in pleasure as you trembled beneath him. For once seeing him differently, not the sweet boy from your childhood, but as a man. Could only imagine the delicious way his name would sound not in the way he had always heard it but practically purred when laced with lust-fueled ecstasy. He was basking in it. The way you felt beneath his fingers as you trembled from his touch. Had fisted his cock on lonely nights to the mere thought of ever having you like this. Had spilled into his palm as he finished with your name on his lips.

But now he had you, and he had no plans on letting you go any time soon. He lets out a groan into your neck as he sinks into you, inch by agonizing inch until he was buried balls deep in your awaiting cunt. His eyes roll back at the way you greedily pull him in deeper, the fluttering walls of your cunt urging him to begin to move. He starts with deep shallow thrusts, wanting to savor the feeling of your welcoming walls after so many years of yearning. Needing to feel your deepest parts and enjoy every moment of being connected with you. However, he had his limits and the sweet way you cooed his name as you urged him on has him picking up the pace. His hips setting a steadfast pace, going deeper with each pass, gripping your hips as you call out his name.

He can't help it, the feeling of your velvety walls surrounding him, sucking him in for all he was worth, he throws his head back with another loud groan as he slowly withdraws his hips, pulling back until just the mushroom tip of his cock remains inside. With a perfect snap of his hips, aided by the sheer amount of wetness that had gathered to this point he enters back in with ease before picking up the pace again. His gaze returned to you, only to see how your arm was thrown over your face shielding you from him and muffling the sweet sounds spilling from your lips. Grabbing your wrist, he pins it firmly against the mattress beneath you, striking eyes boring into your own.

“Look at me, pipsqueak. I want you to keep your eyes on me.”

Caleb's voice came out gruff, desperate, as the pads of his fingers sank into the plush of your cheeks — forcing your gaze to remain locked on his own. The nickname you had heard your whole life now took on a different edge, sounding almost foreign to our ears.

“Need to see the look in your eyes as you lose yourself on my cock baby.”

Dividers, character banners, & writing by me. ૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა

Network tags: @pixelcafe-network @interstellar-inn

[xo100]

Little dreams - LN4

*:･ﾟ Summary: Y/N takes her son Leo to his first Grand Prix, where they meet his idol, Lando Norris. Lando’s kindness makes the weekend unforgettable, sparking joy for Leo and the possibility of something more for Y/N.

*:･ﾟ Word count: 1624

*:･ﾟ A/N: a few days ago I saw on insta that they now released his merch for kids and I immediately had to write a cute fic about it bc the hoodies are absolutely adorable!!!

masterlist / community / request

౨ৎ

The Silverstone paddock buzzed with its usual chaos. Engines roared in the background, journalists hustled between interviews, and fans craned their necks for glimpses of their favorite drivers. Among the crowd, a young boy with a mop of dark hair and a light blue hoodie clung to his mother’s hand, his face alight with wonder.

“Mom, this is the best day ever!” he exclaimed, his small feet practically bouncing with excitement.

His mother, Y/N, smiled down at him, squeezing his hand gently. “I’m glad you’re having fun, Leo. But remember, we have to stick together, okay? This place can get pretty crowded.”

Leo nodded earnestly, his big brown eyes scanning the bustling paddock. At just six years old, he already knew more about Formula 1 than most adults, a passion inherited from his mom. Y/N had grown up watching races with her dad, and now, as a single mother, she shared that same love with her son.

Leo’s favorite driver, without question, was Lando Norris. His room was decorated with McLaren posters, his toy cars all painted papaya orange, and his wardrobe—thanks to Y/N—now included Lando’s newly launched children’s merch line. The hoodie he wore today was his favorite piece, and he hadn’t stopped talking about it since it arrived in the mail.

“Do you think we’ll see him, Mom?” Leo asked, craning his neck to peer around a group of photographers.

Y/N crouched down to his level, brushing a stray curl from his forehead. “Maybe, sweetheart. We have paddock passes, so there’s a chance. But remember, the drivers are super busy, so we have to be patient.”

Leo nodded, though the excitement in his eyes didn’t dim. He clutched the small notepad and marker he’d brought, just in case he got the chance to ask for an autograph.

As they wandered through the paddock, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a wave of nostalgia. It had been years since she’d attended a race in person, but seeing it through Leo’s eyes made it even more magical.

“Mom! Look!” Leo’s voice was a mix of awe and urgency as he tugged on her hand.

Y/N followed his gaze and froze. Just a few feet away, leaning casually against a barrier and chatting with a team member, was Lando Norris himself.

“Go on,” Y/N encouraged softly, her heart swelling at the sight of her son’s hero so close.

Leo hesitated for a moment, his small frame vibrating with nervous energy. Then, with a deep breath, he squared his shoulders and marched forward.

“Hi, Lando!” he said, his voice high-pitched but clear. “You’re my favorite driver!”

Lando turned, his trademark grin lighting up his face as he crouched to Leo’s level. “Hey, buddy! Thanks for saying that. What’s your name?”

“Leo!” he said proudly, puffing out his chest. “And look! I’m wearing your hoodie!”

Lando’s eyes lit up as he took in the light blue hoodie, the logo of his brand displayed prominently on the front. “No way! That looks awesome on you, Leo. You’ve got great taste.”

Leo beamed, clutching the fabric of his hoodie. “My mom got it for me. She says you’re really cool, too!”

Y/N, who had been hanging back to give Leo his moment, felt her cheeks flush as Lando’s gaze shifted to her. He stood, his grin softening into something more genuine.

“Your mom sounds pretty cool herself,” he said, his voice warm.

Y/N stepped forward, laughing nervously. “Well, I’ve been a fan of the sport for a long time, so I guess I’m passing it on.”

“You’re doing a great job,” Lando said, glancing down at Leo, who was now rifling through his notepad. “It’s always nice to meet fans like you two.”

Leo held up the notepad eagerly. “Can you sign this? Please?”

“Of course!” Lando took the marker and scribbled a quick note, adding a little doodle of a race car next to his signature.

As he handed the notepad back, he turned to Y/N again. “Are you two here for the whole weekend?”

“Yes,” Y/N said. “It’s Leo’s first race, so I wanted to make it special.”

“Well, I think you’ve done a pretty good job so far,” Lando said, his tone teasing.

Y/N laughed, feeling a warmth spread through her chest. “Thanks. He’s been counting down the days for months.”

Lando crouched down again, ruffling Leo’s hair. “I hope you have the best time, Leo. And make sure you cheer extra loud for me, okay?”

“I will!” Leo promised, his face glowing with happiness.

As they walked away, Leo clutching his notepad like a treasure, Y/N glanced back over her shoulder. To her surprise, Lando was still watching them, a thoughtful smile on his face.

“Mom,” Leo said, looking up at her. “That was the best moment of my whole life.”

Y/N smiled, her heart full. “Mine too, sweetheart.”

Little did she know, it wasn’t the last time she’d see that thoughtful smile.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of excitement. Leo couldn’t stop talking about meeting Lando, recounting every detail of their conversation to anyone who would listen. Y/N smiled through it all, her heart full as she watched her son’s joy.

But as much as she tried to focus on the moment, she couldn’t quite shake the memory of Lando’s lingering gaze or the warmth in his voice when he spoke to her. It was probably nothing, she told herself. He was just being kind, like he always was with fans.

The next day, Y/N and Leo returned to the paddock, both dressed in their McLaren gear. Leo wore his hoodie again, proudly showing off the autograph Lando had added to the sleeve. The boy was on cloud nine, and Y/N couldn’t imagine how the weekend could get any better.

But then, it did.

As they wandered near the McLaren garage, a team member approached them with a friendly smile.

“Excuse me, are you Leo?”

Leo’s eyes widened as he nodded. “Yes! That’s me!”

The team member chuckled. “Lando mentioned meeting you yesterday. He thought you might like a closer look at the garage. Would you and your mom like to come in?”

Y/N blinked in surprise, her heart skipping a beat. “Are you serious?”

“Absolutely. Follow me.”

Leo practically dragged Y/N by the hand as they followed the team member into the garage. The space was a hive of activity, with engineers working on the cars and team members preparing for the upcoming qualifying session.

Lando was there, of course, leaning casually against the side of his car as he chatted with his race engineer. When he spotted Leo and Y/N, his face lit up with a grin.

“Leo! You made it!”

Leo beamed, running up to him. “This is so cool! Thank you, Lando!”

“Anything for my number one fan,” Lando said, ruffling Leo’s hair. He glanced at Y/N, his smile softening. “Glad you could make it, too.”

“I can’t believe this,” Y/N said, shaking her head. “This is amazing. Thank you so much.”

Lando shrugged, his eyes twinkling. “It’s nothing, really. I just wanted to make sure Leo had a weekend to remember.”

Leo was already engrossed in a conversation with one of the engineers, who was showing him the car’s steering wheel. Y/N took the opportunity to step closer to Lando.

“You didn’t have to do this,” she said, her voice low. “But it means the world to him. To both of us.”

Lando tilted his head, his gaze steady. “I could tell how much this means to you two. And honestly, it’s nice to meet fans who care about more than just the results. You’ve raised a great kid.”

Y/N felt a blush creep up her neck. “Thank you. That means a lot.”

They stood there for a moment, the noise of the garage fading into the background. Lando’s easy smile and the warmth in his eyes made her feel something she hadn’t felt in a long time—hope.

“Mom! Look!” Leo’s excited voice broke the moment as he ran over, holding a small piece of carbon fiber. “They gave me a piece of the car! Isn’t that cool?”

“That’s amazing, sweetheart,” Y/N said, crouching to his level. “You’ll have to find a special place for it at home.”

Leo nodded enthusiastically before turning back to Lando. “You’re the best driver ever!”

Lando laughed, crouching down to Leo’s level. “And you’re the best fan ever. Deal?”

“Deal!”

As they left the garage, Y/N couldn’t help but glance back one last time. Lando caught her eye and gave her a small wave, his smile lingering.

The rest of the weekend was a whirlwind of excitement. Leo cheered his heart out during qualifying and the race, and when Lando crossed the finish line in fourth place, he celebrated as if it were a win.

But the real surprise came after the race. As Y/N and Leo were preparing to leave, a McLaren team member approached them again, this time with an envelope.

“Lando asked me to give this to you,” he said, handing it to Y/N.

Curious, she opened it. Inside was a handwritten note:

Y/N and Leo, Thank you for making this weekend unforgettable. Leo, keep being the amazing fan you are. And Y/N, if you’re ever at another race, I’d love to see you again. Maybe we can grab a coffee sometime? -Lando

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as she read the note. She glanced at Leo, who was already excitedly telling a passerby about his piece of the car, and then back at the note.

Maybe, just maybe, this weekend wasn’t just a dream come true for Leo.

౨ৎ

*:･ﾟ Notes; thank you for reading, love’s! Hope you all enjoyed it! If there is something wrong or need to be edited, let me know!

*:･ﾟtags; @gridprincess-04 , @justaf1girl

[halo-chainsaw]

Shut up i'm talking patreon only 7$!!!!!

The patreon podcast is out, and I have just finished listening to it!

I decided to write down some notes for those who are interested but do not have the patreon. It's a long one, but I picked out what I thought would be important + silly moments here n there

Podcast is recorded the morning of Dream's video (I'm sorry but not to Tommyinnit)

Tommy called his mom about the situation first, discussing about how it was awful (pre reddit post)

Harry wrote the "you can call me anything but do not call me poor" LOL

Tommy didn't watch the dream stream but read a synopsis, and he said that was enough

He's spoken to Dream privately several times (starting 2023), all his friends told him that dream was taking advantage of him, but he wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt

He has told dream to change how he acts, and dream has refused. Has had conversations like this multiple times.

Told dream in a conversation he was no longer speaking to him and was no longer talking to him after he talked to his mom. Was previously ignoring him but blocked him outright.

After his dream v quackity sketch dream sent him awful and mean messages.

Jack and Tommy are pissed off about people saying to "resolve it privately". They have tried multiple times to solve things privately, but Dream will take things public.

Jack had a 2 hour long call with dream on jack's DADS BIRTHDAY??? and it was about why he didn't like dream, and about dream's allegations.

the "Jack mentions Dream" account bothers Jack since its a bunch of indirect things, and him responding to messages rather than him just bringing Dream up.

Dream says Jack spreads rumors about him.

Jack does not think dream is a p*dophile, but he finds the situation(s) he was in wildly inappropriate.

Dream showed everyone his evidence against the grooming allegations in the DreamSMP discord. Jack said he told Dream it weirded him out, because either way, he was still messaging a fan, and it pissed Dream off.

Jack flat out calls Dream "stupid".

He's very pissed about the "unfaithful" rumor, and he's very vocal about it for a minute.

Jack reiterates the editor story with the 50 quid

They point out how the Dream ignores the George and Caiti situation, along with clipping Tubbo out of context.

"I can't believe he thought he could win by just lying. Especially when you've got a reputation of lying." -Jack (paraphrased/two different sentences put together)

Tommy says the video were for him, not everyone else. Makes a jab about Dream unable to use media literacy.

Tommy says Dream knows what he's talking about when he refers to misogyny. That there's so much more behind the scenes, that it's miserable.

Tommy says he doesn't want to do any of this anymore, that it's pointless. He says Youtube doesn't make him happy, that he doesn't fit in, and he wants to be done. He will still be posting to Youtube because he loves making videos, but he doesn't want to be part of the Youtube sphere/culture. He wants to be a proper comedian.

"I might as well go down sayin' what I fuckin' mean." -Tommy

brings up the "putting others down", Tommy reiterates how he's been very kind/warm to everyone, but if someone famous is being an asshole he's gonna make a joke about it. "That's what I've done with Logan, done to you, and what I'm going to continue to do."

Tommy calls him one of the most self indulgent and exhausting people he's ever met.

Brings up Dream calling him the internet police, he says that he's just sick of the bullshit. "When I see it, say it."

Tommy reiterates he can't do this much longer, that it's all pointless. Dream is just doing what he's been doing for years. He is not proud of dream and he doesn't respect him. Tells him straight to "Fuck off".

Tommy would talk to Jack, unsure if what was happening with Dream was odd/bad or not. He's a little relieved that it's in the public eye now.

Jack talks about how everyone on the server is talking against him, that no one is defending him. They've all known he's awful.

Tommy says he felt close to Dream, so he struggled with seeing the bad actions he had done. He felt skewed/manipulated.

Tommy tells a story about back when he was 14, he would annoy people in Hypixel by lobby spamming. One day he heads into a streamer's chat that he looked up to and said hello. the streamer, who was about 20 at the time, tore into him, calling him the R slur and many other horrible things. He said he felt heartbroken and shaken up. "Shit like this just happens along the way, and it's miserable, but like- for me, I just keep remindin' myself "this isn't the first time I've done this"."

Jack tried to make his disassociation as public as possible, he had told Dream to his face (during the allegations) in the DreamSMP discord that he did not want to be associated with him anymore.

Talks about how people still group DreamSMP members with Dream, and how they think every member is bad due to Dream's actions, and he's tired of it.

He doesn't like how public everything is, but he's glad people can finally see that they don't like Dream.

Tommy, from now on, is telling everyone how he feels. He's going to be blatant. (if that's what i understood from a comment he made)

Jack is still shocked that Dream chose that moment of all things to jump in. They have made comments here and there but Dream never said anything.

Jack talks about a part in his stream where he says something along the lines of "I'd understand this type of outburst if we had been bullying im for weeks and weeks. But we haven't been. Nor would that make it okay." And then someone on twitter said "Jack just admitted that they'd been bullying Dream non stop for weeks and he's proud of it!!!!" Jack says he can't believe people's ability to misinterpret.

Tommy saw Tubbo dissecting Dream's stream for 7 hours and knew that was the point it was becoming ridiculous.

Jack blatantly calls out how Dream uses manipulation tactics in how he speaks to the public. Tommy calls it painful for him to watch because it's what Dream had done to him and others in private.

Jack goes back to Dream's stream, talking about their phone call together, about how it was disingenuous and weird to bring up publicly. He says there are things he can't talk about publicly that formed his opinion.

"I just think he's like an impossibly self-indulgent, selfish man, who thinks everyone's on his own time." -Tommy

Jack thought Dream was purposefully being negligent in the way he would speak, and while he still is, he is seeing that a lot of it also comes from Dream not being able to pick up on social cues and norms. Though, he also reiterates that it doesn't excuse his awful behavior.

"I don't get how he can't listen to anyone else." -Tommy

Both of them have talked to Dream multiple times about how he acts and he never listens. Not even just them, they say "We all have really tried", which implies more members of the SMP or other personal friends.

"He doesn't seem to feel very much empathy for the pain he's caused, and if I was in his shoes- I don't know where his guilt is." -Tommy

They talk about his inability to apologize and how they can't understand it. Tommy gets a little heated. Dream has given them empty apologies and goes to do the same things again. They talk about how he doubles down over and over until no one sides with him, that's when he apologizes.

Jack calls Dream dismissive, and how its obvious that he doesn't care.

Tommy implores the audience to not imagine these dramas as Youtubers doing it, but to imagine their friends doing these things. Youtubers are not above others, there's no difference. The only difference is responsibility.

Jack points out how it's odd that they decide to post these things. It shows that they just double down on their awful actions.

Tommy ends by saying he doesn't want to continue this, but if there are things that need to be said then they will be, but on the Patreon.

Jack says he is done as well, that he's done with all his serious points, but he will be making jokes here and there. He won't be joking about rumors, but things that actually happened.

"Anyway, back to writing!" "Guys, let's all get back to coding."

[mggslover]

Addicted

In which Spencer meets a beautiful stranger at his local dealer, his addiction to weed rapidly turning into an addiction to her.

Pairing: stoner!spencer x stoner!fem!reader Genre: slight angst x smut (18+) Content warnings: weed usage (not promoting it! pls zont zo it), short mentions of tobias hankel and maeve, finger sucking, mutual masturbation, lazy high sex Word count: 3,6k A/n: my first fic inspired on a song! when i listened to 'denial is a river' by doechii, this fic immediately started to form in my mind

Spencer oftentimes wondered when he started becoming afraid of his own mind. Maybe there was never a starting point — maybe it was rooted in his bones, something he never had the chance to escape. An inherited terror, passed down like a family heirloom. 

He knew the descent into insanity was inevitable. That there would come a time when his mind, the thing he’s relied on all his life, would betray him. That he’d watch the pieces of himself scatter until his identity was nothing but a cruel mockery of who he once was.

What Spencer didn’t expect was for that moment to arrive so soon. He never imagined his first meeting with madness to be in a dark cabin as the sting of Dilaudid coursed through his veins. And what Spencer least expected was how he’d feel afterward — how, no matter the trauma, he would find himself aching for that sensation, longing for it to return.

With his reason still intact, he managed to sign himself up for a support group destined for addicts in law enforcement. Rehab might’ve been the hardest battle he’d had to face, and being clean is a title he still doesn't deserve. Because even though it’s been years since his arms last looked blue, he’s been smoking weed habitually. 

It started when a police officer in the program spoke up about his struggle with weed addiction, going into detail about the tranquilizing effects and how it left him unable to focus on the job. Whereas his story would sound appalling to most, Spencer found appeal in its descriptions. Cannabis offered the same calming qualities as Dilaudid, but with a lower overdose risk, and on top of that, it was far easier to obtain.

So when the officer casually slipped his dealer’s address in the middle of immersively sharing his story, Spencer made a mental note and found himself on the location later that day. The transaction was easier than he’d expected; showing the cash in his pocket was enough for the gruff man to hand him a small, opaque bag, its contents concealed. 

That same night, Spencer found himself sitting on his couch, supplies spread out on the coffee table before him. He remembered a guy from his PhD mathematics program, rolling a blunt in Yale’s community garden under the same big tree where Spencer would read his literature for the day. It gave him some of an idea on how to proceed. Once he had the wrap filled, he methodically pinched and smoothed the paper as he rolled it with his fingers, careful to avoid tearing. 

He didn’t feel much with the first drag, but as he inhaled deeper, a tingling sensation spread to his head and chest, almost coaxing him into a dosed state. The world around him instantly softened, and he sank further into the couch, as if a fuzzy, warm blanket had draped over him.

That moment marked the first of many, as Spencer would often return to the plant when experiencing withdrawal or when he started developing headaches later in his life. He frequently recalled how the officer mentioned performing less at his job while under the influence, but for Spencer, it had the opposite effect. He tended to approach cases too objectively and analytically. When he would go home at the end of the day and smoke before bed, his mind would suddenly make creative, out-of-the-box connections — connections he had never considered before. 

Spencer wasn’t ready to give up weed just yet.

———

You were lying down, your head resting on the armrest of the pink velvet couch that stood in the corner of your therapist’s office. For the past fifteen minutes, you’d been staring at a small star painted on the ceiling, which was part of a mural of the universe. It was supposed to help people ground themselves — to remind them that their existence was nothing more than a tiny spark in the entire cosmos.

“I don’t know,” you eventually responded in a sigh as your therapist questioned you once again. “This is a really dark time for me, I’m going through a lot.”

“By ‘a lot’, you mean drugs?”

You were thrown off guard by the inquiry, brows furrowing. “Um, I wouldn’t-”

“Drugs?” She repeated, her pen ready in hand, as her notebook rested open on her lap.

Your head shot up from its position on the armrest of the couch. “No, it’s a-”

“No?” She probed, her eyes raised up, glasses perched on the bridge of her nose.

“It’s a natural plant,” you stated, sitting up straighter.

“No, I’m not judging.”

You rolled your eyes at her attempt to reassure you. “I’m not an addict.” 

“I’m just saying-”

“I don’t think-”

“You wanna talk about it?”

———

The door slamming behind you was as much of a response as you would offer her. With hurried steps you walked out of the building, hand reaching into your pocket as you searched for your car keys. With a small click of the door, you entered your beat-up old car, shivering as you still haven’t been able to fix the radiator. 

You didn’t need to pull up the GPS — not that you even owned one — to know where you were headed. You speed-dialed your dealer as you rounded a corner, and maybe that was enough to confirm that you did have a bit of a problem with drugs. At least you were seeing a therapist; not many can say the same.

The sun was disappearing behind the clouds as you pulled into the familiar motell parking lot. There was a chill in the air, making you pull your jacket tighter around you as you walked toward room number 13. 

Your attention was drawn to a tall, lanky man with messy curls, bouncing on the balls of his feet with his hands tucked in his pockets as he stood in front of the door. It was a rare sight to see someone ahead of you in line — usually people would arrive one by one to not bring any attention to the scene, but then again, you made an appointment at the very last minute.

You walked up to him, standing beside him in an attempt to make the scene look like a casual visit. You offered a polite smile, which he returned with a brief wave of his hand. Awkwardly, you turned your gaze to the door in front of you, waiting. You could feel his eyes scanning over you, making you reach up to fix your hair, just in case something was out of place. He seemed to notice your action and turned his head.

After a minute, you cleared your throat. “Did you knock?”

He looked at you, and you weren’t expecting the flutter in your stomach as you met his deep, brown eyes. 

“I did,” he answered. “It’s been four minutes and twenty eight seconds, which, based on my previous encounters, gives him approximately three more seconds to open the door.”

You fell silent as the door opened, just like the handsome stranger had predicted. You reached into your jacket pocket, pausing when you found it empty. Your heart began racing as you checked the other pocket, then anxiously patted down your jeans.

“Fuck.”

“Are you okay?” The brown-haired man asked in concern.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just- I forgot my wallet.” 

“I could pay for you.” 

The casualty of his offer took you by surprise. “Really?” 

It was embarrassing that you didn’t turn him down, but you didn’t have the energy to be polite — today had been rough, and all you wanted to do was go home and relax. You felt a little less guilty when the stranger’s lips curled into a smile, as if he was happy to do this for you.

“Well, I don’t give a shit who pays. Just give the damn money — it’s cold.” 

The stranger’s lips tightened in response as he handed the man twice the usual amount of bills. The dealer handed over two small bags in return, closing the door behind him with a loud slam. 

“Here you go.”

You breathed out a soft ‘thank you’ as you accepted the bag from him. “I’ll pay you back next time.”

“That’s okay. I don’t mind,” he replied with a casual wave of his hand. 

You exchanged names, which led him to compliment yours and give you a brief history lesson on its origins. 

“I never expected to learn more about myself from a total stranger,” you chuckled. 

You didn’t notice he had walked you to your car until you stopped in front of it. “This is me. Where are you parked, or are you staying here?”

“I got here by subway, actually.”

You raised your brows, surprised. This wasn’t the safest neighborhood, especially at night, and Spencer didn’t strike you as the type to wander around here. 

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” you asked, just to be certain.

“Absolutely!” he answered, lifting up his shirt, revealing a gun holstered at his waist. “I can handle myself.”

Alarm bells blared in your mind at the sight, and you instinctively stepped back. 

“Wait! No, no, no,” Spencer put his hands up, showing you that he meant no harm. “I work at the FBI.”

He could read the doubt in your expression, slowly moving one hand to his jacket while keeping the other raised in the air. Carefully, he retrieved his badge and held it out, revealing it to you. You leaned in, observing the golden emblem and the ID picture beside it.

“Now, that wasn’t what I was expecting,” you said with a relieved sigh. “I guess I can offer you a ride, then?”

Spencer looked at you, as if considering all the possible outcomes of his answer. He ended up nodding his head and giving you a soft grin.  

“I’d appreciate that. Thanks.” 

The car ride was filled with a comfortable silence, the weight of the day settling over both of you. 

“You seem nervous,” he observed.

“How’d you know?”

“Your fingers are tapping against the steering wheel, and they’re out of rhythm with the radio, so it’s not like you’re tapping along with the song.”

“I guess I am.” You turned your head to him, then back to the road. “It has nothing to do with you, though. I feel oddly comfortable around you.”

When you glanced at him again, he was smiling, a glimmer in his eyes, shyly playing with his fingers. “Me too.”

———

You hadn’t expected Spencer to invite you in when you arrived at his house. He suggested you smoke together, saying you shouldn’t be driving while feeling anxious. 

Honestly, you didn’t care about the reasoning. You just wanted to spend more time with him. 

You were sitting beside him on the couch, legs pulled up and half draped over his as you took another drag from your joint. You didn’t know who started the conversation, but somehow you found yourself opening up about life and its struggles.

“I caught my ex cheating. He was supposed to pick up his stuff and leave the next day, but instead he crashed my place and just… destroyed everything I owned.”

His expression remained neutral, like he was trying not to judge, though his eyes said enough. After a beat, he spoke up again. “My girlfriend got shot in front of my face.”

Your eyes widened in shock, but the weed dulled your reaction. “Oh shit.”

“Yeah… shit,” he muttered in an exhale, picking up his joint again. 

Your eyes were drawn to his fingers, noticing the long, slender shape of them, the small bones shifting under his skin as he gripped the joint. The image of a tree flashed through your mind, its branches moving in the wind — or maybe it was just the weed making your mind wander. 

As he brought the joint to his lips, your gaze followed the movement, your breath catching when his pink lips parted just enough to reveal a hint of his tongue. A shiver ran down your spine as your eyes lingered there, entranced. He closed his lips around it, letting out a low hum that was almost a moan as he inhaled. 

He exhaled, filling the air with smoke, the rich scent enveloping you.

“Can I take a hit?” 

He didn’t question why you weren’t using your own. Instead he handed you the joint, his fingers brushing lightly against yours as you took it.  

You kept eye contact with him as you placed it between your lips, softly moaning at the contact, knowing his mouth had been right where yours was. 

Spencer took you in with dark, tired eyes. You threw your leg over his thigh, feeling the need to be closer to him as the air around you grew warmer. 

He didn’t seem to mind your clinginess, which gave you the confidence to lean in closer. Carefully, you reached out, your nails lightly grazing his jaw, making him shiver as he let out a quiet purr at the touch. 

“What are you doing?” he asked in a husky whisper, more intrigued than accusatory.

“I’m horny,” you whispered against his lips, fingers trailing down his jaw. 

His breath heaved at the proximity. “Evidence shows that cannabis can enhance sexual pleasure.” 

“Yeah?” you purred, lips brushing against his. “And what should I do about it?”

“You should touch yourself.”

“Should I now?” your voice teasingly sang as you leaned back, your hands sensually moving up the sides of your body before squeezing your breasts through your shirt.

“Like this?”

He blinked a couple of times, licking his lips. “A bit lower.”

You smirked, your hands trailing down your body, relishing how he was taking you in, unable to look away. Your hand stopped as you cupped your heat through your clothes, slowly rubbing your fingers in circles. “Here?”

He groaned at the sight, nodding his head in confirmation. “Right there.”

Spencer’s bulge pressed against your leg, which you had thrown over his lap. You couldn’t resist moving against it, making him gasp as he threw his head back.

“You should take care of that,” you suggested, nodding towards his pants. “Let me give you something to work with.” 

Spencer’s gaze was expectant, as he watched you slowly peel your clothes off. Inch by inch, you revealed your skin, leaving him desperate for more. 

Spencer mirrored your actions, undressing himself before he took a hold of your bare leg, placing it back on his lap, so that your legs were spread wide open. With one arm behind you, he pulled you in closer, his other hand reaching out to caress the skin in between your breasts, making you catch your breath. 

His hand trailed further up your skin, until his fingers were lightly tapping against your lips. “Open up for me,” he murmured.

You obeyed without hesitation, parting your lips for him to slide two of his fingers inside of your mouth. You responded instinctively, wrapping your lips around them, your cheeks hollowing as you started moving your head back and forth. Your tongue swirled in lazy circles, humming at the taste of his skin.

“Good girl,” he cooed in approval. “Get them all nice and wet, so that I can touch you.”

Spencer watched your eyes sparkle at his words. When a moan escaped your lips, vibrating around his fingers, he was reminded once again why he loved being high — it soothed his anxiety in a way that made his thoughts spill out without overthinking. And it thrilled him to see the effect his words had on you, words that would usually stay locked in his mind. 

The hand that had been resting around your shoulder wandered down to your breast, giving it an experimental squeeze. You moaned around his fingers, meeting his gaze, his nose nearly brushing yours as he watched you with intent focus. 

He pulled his fingers from your mouth with a pop, before he reached down to press them against your pussy. You closed your eyes in bliss as he rubbed his fingers up and down your slit, the combined juices of your slickness and your mouth made his fingers easily slip between your folds with every move.

“You’re so wet,” he whispered in awe as he pressed a soft kiss to the side of your mouth. 

“That’s your fault,” you teased, a playful smile tugging at your lips. He chuckled, his breath brushing your cheek. “I’ll take the blame,” he murmured before pressing his mouth to yours.

You hungrily accepted his kiss. Your hand slid between his thighs, finding his hard length pressed against his stomach. His cock felt warm against your palm as you wrapped your fingers around him, the movement causing a string of precum to form, connecting from his tip to his happy trail. 

Spencer groaned into your mouth, his tongue swirling against yours, deepening the kiss even further. You traced your thumb over the sensitive head of his cock, causing him to buck his hips and pressing his fingers harder against your clit in response. 

You squirmed at the intensity of his touch. His slender fingers continued to trail over your pussy, teasing with delicate strokes before slipping a finger into your dripping heat.

“Fuck, that feels good,” you moaned. 

You began stroking his length, squeezing him gently as you flicked your wrist. Every movement was a lazy, unhurried exploration of each other’s bodies. Savoring the haze of the high as it sharpened your every sensation. 

You broke the kiss, as you reached for the joint on the coffee table, turning toward Spencer with a playful glint in your eye. He gratefully parted his lips, as you placed the roll between them. He took a deep drag, the smoke curling into his lungs. You leaned closer, opening your mouth in anticipation to receive the smoky breath he exhaled, as you shared the pleasure.

Spencer took in the sight of you. Your swollen lips were slightly parted as you breathed in. Your nipples were hard with excitement, and your pussy glistened around his fingers as he slowly pumped them in and out of you. You were a sight to behold, and he couldn’t believe how lucky he’d gotten tonight.

He could look at you all day. He’s never felt so drawn to someone before, and he could easily finish just by watching your body as you sat bare in front of him. His cock fitted perfectly in your delicate hands. You were gripping him just right, bringing him closer to the release he’s been longing for.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed, the words slipping out naturally. 

“So are you,” you replied just as sensually, your eyes tracing the way your hand palmed him, feeling his heavy weight in your grip. “I wanna know how you’d feel inside of me.”

A flush crept across his cheeks at your bluntness. “Yeah?”

You nodded slowly, humming in response. “Bet you’d fill me up so good.”

“Jesus,” he groaned, swallowing hard as he could feel the way you clenched around his fingers.

“Are you clean?” you asked him, and he quickly nodded.

He eagerly grabbed your hips as you crawled on top of him, moaning softly as he felt the weight of you. His hand slid to your neck, pulling you in for a sloppy kiss, sucking your bottom lip.

You reached down between your bodies, fingers curling around his thick length as you guided him to your entrance. You let out a shaky whisper as he filled you up more than you expected. Spencer noted the furrow in your brow, but before he could remind you to take your time, you were already rocking your hips against him.

“Oh, baby,” he cried out, his hands sliding to your back as you wrapped your arms around his neck. Your thighs rolled over his, and he met your pace, thrusting up into you.

“You feel so good,” he continued moaning as his fingers dug into your skin. 

You could only whimper in response and you fastened your movements, your breasts brushing against him with each slide of your hips.

He could feel you tightening around him, your legs trembling against his. “Spencer, I-”

You didn’t need to finish your sentence for him to understand. “Me too, sweetheart,” he groaned. “Please, don’t stop.”

You kept moving, the urgency in his voice spurring you on. You leaned in to capture his lips one more time, and Spencer accepted with a desperate whine. 

The pressure in your core finally broke, and you cried out his name as an overwhelming pleasure washed over you. Spencer’s grip on your hips tightened, and he pushed up into you one last time, his body shuddering as the warmth of his release filled you.

“You’re so amazing,” he sleepily groaned, nuzzling his head into your chest as you came down from the high. You chuckled at the scene, unsure if he even noticed how clingy he was being. It had to be the weed that made him hold onto you like that, but the action still made your heart flutter, imagining how you could be the reason why he’s acting this way.  

“Can you pick up the joint for me?” he softly asked, his lips brushing against your stomach. 

You giggled. “You’re really an addict.”

“I’m just addicted to you.”

[eowynstwin]

peristalsis - ii.

selkie!soap x reader. depression. suicidal ideation. strangers to "lovers." 4.9k. . Running away from life to the Scottish Hebrides, you meet a man who won't leave you alone. . Masterlist. Ao3.

previous

You sleep long enough that, when you wake up, you have enough energy to cry.

It’s a big one. The kind of cry that threatens to turn your throat out, with how hard you sob. Alone in the cottage, far away from anything resembling civilization, you wail like wounded animal, choking on your own tears and mucus, losing track of your body buried underneath the covers—

But it happens at a remove. You watch yourself implode from someplace deep inside, not entirely sure why it’s happening at all—but long past trying to figure it out.

This is how it’s been for a while. There’s nothing special about it anymore. Nothing urgent. Most of the time, you are a blank space of a person, a vacuum where joy or rage or fear should be, but occasionally some maelstrom or another kicks up to fill it in, and your only course of action is to ride it out until it ends.

You’ve stopped trying to fix it. And you’ve stopped hoping anyone else can, either.

So you cry, until at last, you’re empty again. Or you’re too tired to continue. The difference is negligible, but functionally irrelevant. Once it’s done, you get out of bed.

The pressure in the shower is as weak as Johnny reported, but the water is indeed warm when you turn it on; you stand naked under the flow, arms hanging at your sides.

The day stretches itself out before you with nothing to occupying it, just as you’d planned. Nothing to work towards; no effort to put forward. Nothing, thanks to your choice of locale, to feel guilty about not seeking out.

A day of peace and utter quiet.

Suddenly—violent banging, somewhere in the cottage. It startles you; you jump so sharply at the noise that you smack your wrist on the soap caddy attached to the shower wall. The banging comes again—annoyed, you realize with no little bemusement that someone is at the front door.

You wrap yourself in a towel and hobble out of the bathroom to answer it, a piece of your mind on your tongue, dart-shaped and ready to fly—

Of course it’s Johnny.

Johnny, big and burly in a sweater, kilt, and pelt once again, two paper cups balanced in one large hand and a grocery bag hanging from the other. Whose dark brows shoot up his forehead as his eyes travel with surprise, and blatant appreciation, down the dripping length your body.

“Well, good mornin’, bonnie,” he purrs.

“What,” you grunt. A cold breath of wind chooses that moment to force its way through the door, gasping across the shower water still running in rivulets from your hair to the rolled edge of your towel. Goosebumps erupt from your bare skin in millions of simultaneous pinpricks—you flinch bodily at the chill.

“Ah, hell’s bells, don’t just stand there,” Johnny says, following the wind. “It’s freezin,’ go on, let me get in, hurry.”

You let him step inside, for some reason, and he shuts the door behind him with the heel of his boot. He wastes no time after that, heading to the kitchen to set down his things.

“Brought breakfast!” he says cheerfully. “There’s this bakery on Barra I thought you’d like, fresh doughnuts and coffee. Dunno how you take yours, but there’s sugar in the pantry and cream in the fridge.”

“I don’t want breakfast,” you say.

“What? ‘Course you do. I’m no’ takin’ you seal-watchin’ on an empty stomach.”

He starts unpacking the grocery bag and setting things on the counter while your jaw hangs open. Several things occur to you to say—I never agreed to that and what the hell is wrong with you, for starters—but your stomach growls at him before you can. The aroma of fresh-baked pastry wafts through the kitchen when he opens one box, and he turns to grin at you, cheeks dimpling.

“Do you get dressed, bonnie,” he says. “It’ll still be here when y’get back.”

It is less polite than he perhaps intends it to be, given that his gaze travels appreciatively across your bare shoulders. You cross your arms fruitlessly over your chest and, nothing else for it, retreat to the bedroom, feeling his eyes on you the whole way.

You return to the kitchen after having pulled on wool leggings and the same fleecy sweater from the day before. Johnny, one hip set against the counter, has a cup of steaming coffee in one hand and a half-eaten cruller in the other, crumbs at the corner of his mouth.

“Got anythin’ heavier?” he asks around a chewed-up mouthful. “Gets cold out there.”

You look down at his bare calves, broad and taut and covered in a down of dark hair. “You seem alright.”

“I’m used to it,” he says, shrugging—the muscles flexing under your gaze.

You purse your lips. “I don’t have anything.” You hadn’t intended to leave the cottage overmuch.

You approach the counter. Johnny does not move a centimeter, forcing you to stand close as you pick through the two boxes of doughnuts and feel the body heat radiating off of him, displacing the scent of fried dough with his musk.

“That’s all right,” he says. You’re close enough to hear the way his voice hums deep in his chest. “I can keep you warm.”

You snatch a plain glazed from the box and take two very large steps away from him. The hair on the back of your neck lifts as you press against the sink behind you. If he notices your reaction, it doesn’t seem to bother him in the slightest—he lifts the cup to his lips and drinks, eyes sliding closed with simple, obvious pleasure, dark lashes curling against his cheek.

You take the brief respite from his gaze to stare at him. In the morning light, on a full night of sleep, you can almost believe that whatever you’d seen in him yesterday had been nothing more than a misfire of exhausted synapses. An overlay of a dream; a circadian prompt to rectify nearly seventeen hours of sleeplessness. You’d been cold, and tired, and hungry. That was all.

You bite down on your doughnut, not really tasting it. The nerves along your spine twitch and contract around the memory of his flashing gaze.

His eyes open again, and he smiles at you. “Good?” He flicks a look at the single bite you’ve taken, looks at your mouth, and then waits for your reply.

“It’s fine,” you grumble. Then, “How did you get here? I didn’t hear the truck drive up. Do you live close by?”

“Sometimes,” he says. He looks pleased that you’ve asked, that you’re interested at all, and you immediately regret inquiring. “Live on a boat, me. Moored in the cove right now.”

“A…boat,” you say.

“Aye.” A wisp of dark hair, something he must have missed when he gelled his mohawk this morning, flutters as he nods. “Nice and cozy. Not as grand as all this, mind.” He gestures around with coffee and doughnut at the less than five hundred square feet of the cottage. “But it’s still a sight nicer than some other places I’ve slept.”

He’s likely hinting at his military service. “Okay,” is all you say, unwilling to entertain it.

He smirk—undeterred. “We’ll take her out once you’re ready.”

“I never said I was going.”

Dark brows lift. “Got somethin’ else planned for today?” he asks, incredulous, as if he never imagined you wouldn’t want to hang out with him.

“No, I—”

You wrack your brain. You have no intention of explaining to this complete stranger that the last thing you’d wanted to do, when you booked this trip, was really anything at all—and in fact, you hadn’t even considered that that might be something anyone else would care much about.

Much less proactively address.

“No,” you repeat, sulking.

Johnny considers you, chewing. His eyes do not stray, this time, to places they don’t belong; but there’s an insight to them. A sharp awareness. A perception in his gaze that is just as undressing, as if whatever is going on with you is visible to the naked eye.

“I figure,” he says, slowly, as if to coax, “you put your wee shoes on, an’ I’ll pack this back up, and we take it along.”

“You don’t have to do this,” you grouse. “I don’t need you to, like—be my tour guide.”

“Aye, but that doesnae mean I don’t wanna,” he retorts, smiling.

He shoves the last bite of cruller in his mouth and gazes patiently at you as he works it with his jaw, the muscles flexing along his temples as he chews.

Exhaustion, your constant companion, stares you down alongside him. It would take so much more energy to fight him than to go along with whatever he has planned. Energy you just don’t have anymore. And going along doesn’t mean you have to pretend to enjoy yourself—it’s not like you care enough about Johnny’s self-esteem to conjure up a happy face to show him.

You can go, and be a bitch about it, and once you do maybe he’ll realize you’re not at all worth the effort he’s making, and then finally leave you alone.

“Fine,” you say, which is how you end up on a fishing trawler headed south toward, ostensibly, a colony of breeding seals.

It’s an old vessel—that much is obvious. Its edges and corners are dull with the passage of time and constant maintenance, scuffed by innumerable passes-over with cleaner and cloth. Mildew competes with the aroma of fresh varnish as Johnny leads you onto the bridge, which is mercifully closed in from the ocean wind.

The interior is mostly wood of a warm, orangish variety—you can’t tell if that’s a decision made with aesthetics or function in mind. The space comprises a kitchen, surprisingly well-appointed with a stove, sink, countertop, and fridge, and a small sitting area with both couch and booth seating. Surrounding windows allow in the grey light of the morning.

“Bought it off an old bloke on Lewis,” Johnny says, taking his place at the wheel, which is in a little alcove off the kitchen.

If you’d thought steering a boat would have curtailed his chatting, you’d have been wrong—he seems to have no trouble with that and talking, incessantly, at the same time, as he pulls the vessel away from the cove and into the open water.

“All his family moved to the mainland, he told me, an’ this is after generations fishin’ these islands, even makin’ it through the Clearances! No money in it anymore, he said, not like you could make in some office somewhere countin’ someone else’s money.” He checks something on the dashboard in front of him, but it doesn’t distract him for long. “Held on for a while, but people just kept leavin,’ an’ he was gettin’ too old to go out on his own. Got such a good price on it, I think he was just happy someone else was gonna take up the tradition.”

“Did he sell you the cottage too?” you ask, and then dig your nails into your wrist for encouraging him.

“Yup,” he says. “No one else wanted it, but me? I saw somethin’ special about it.”

He turns to smile at you—no doubt pleased you made the connection. You avert your gaze.

“Imagine someday I’ll have my own family here,” he continues. “Good place for it. Nice and slow, not like city living. Can hear yourself think out here. Perfect place to have a few wee ones.”

“If people stop leaving,” you mutter.

He turns to you again. “I’m no’ worried about that,” he replies. He’s still smiling. “You came here, after all.”

You have nothing to say to that.

The trip is a short one—Johnny brings the trawler alongside an island he informs you is called Mingulay, a square mile smaller than Vatersay’s tiny dot in the North Atlantic. Unlike the latter, he says, this island has not been inhabited since 1912, and has been completely reclaimed by the ocean and its wildlife.

After he drops anchor offshore, Johnny disappears down a steep flight of stairs below deck, which he had not offered a tour of, and emerges a short time later with a large, bulky coat.

“Didn’t I tell you?” he says proudly, holding it out by the shoulders. “Here, turn ‘round.”

You pause in the middle of reaching for it. You don’t know exactly why you comply—it occurs to you that if you grabbed for the jacket, he could simply not let go of it, and you would end up exactly where he wants you anyway. So you lower your arm and, resigned, give him your back.

He steps up behind you. Warmth pours off of him, more than you think any human body should be able to generate.

You hear him inhale, deeply, as he brings the jacket to your back. As you slide your arms into the sleeves, you feel his exhale on the nape of your neck, teasing through individual follicles of hair.

“There w’go,” he murmurs, much closer than you expected.

You can hear the low hum of his voice in his chest; his hands linger on your shoulders far longer than they need to, heavy, big enough that his index fingers brush along your collarbones.

When his hands make to slide down your back you step away from him and fumble to zip the jacket up; he chuckles lightly behind you. When you turn to face him, his lips are curled—smug.

“Alright then,” he says. “Let’s get out there.”

He rows the two of you to shore in a small kayak, two pairs of binoculars in your lap as you huddle away from the wind. You’ll be walking to the haul-out, he says—getting too close to the breeding grounds, which he calls a rookery, would spook them, possibly causing a stampede.

“It’s grey seals we’re gonna see,” he explains as the two of you pick your way across the rocky landscape. “Not the biggest haul-out you could see, some colonies get into the thousands, but we’ll have it all to ourselves.”

He insists on taking your elbow every time the two of you cross particularly uneven terrain, even though you don’t need it. You think he takes your attempts to shake him off as proof of your lack of balance, because he grasps you all the tighter every time.

“I’m not a child, Johnny, I can walk on my own,” you finally snap at him.

“Just bein’ a gentleman, bonnie,” he replies nonchalantly. He does not let you go.

As you get closer, you hear the seals before you see them, and when their voices reach you across the open island, you stop dead.

Groaning, grunting, hissing in a cacophonous chorus. Some part of your hindbrain double-takes, reshuffles itself—some ancestral instinct always on the lookout for predation. If you’d been given a chance to guess what a colony of mating seals might have sounded like, you’re not sure you could have guessed what they sounded like.

Certainly not like what you hear now—

Like people.

Johnny grins at you when he notices. “Aye, it’s a right ruckus, innit?”

He leads you up a small rise, where he has the two of you settle belly-down over the machair to overlook the wedge of rocky coast that the colony has claimed for its own.

And when you finally see it—it’s underwhelming.

Perhaps two hundred long, fat bodies, in varying shades of brown and grey, lay indolently along the rocks, in groups of three or four, some heavily galumphing from one place to another while others roll occasionally from side to side. The shifting winds catch their scent and blow it uncaringly into your face; you nearly gag at the admixture of dead fish and ammonia.

It doesn’t escape you that this is a rare thing to witness; you are not wholly immune to the fact that you are only a hundred meters away from something most people only encounter on a screen. It’s just that without a swell of awed music in the backdrop, or a narrator’s breathless wonder at the miracle of pinniped life, what’s left for you to observe is a population of wet, stinking animals, shitting where they lay, vocalizing without cease while they laze about doing basically nothing.

Johnny does not seem to notice your disillusionment; he hands you one pair of binoculars, and directs your attention to activity along the shoreline. You follow to where he’s pointing; one larger seal is hassling a smaller one, which snarls at the aggressor as it thrashes around with its substantial bulk.

“Little one there—” Johnny says, “that’s a female, probably obvious. Big one knows she’s ready to mate, can smell it on her.”

The female bares her teeth and lunges at the bigger male, which flinches back but holds his ground.

“Doesn’t look like she agrees,” you mutter.

“She’s just givin’ him a hard time. She’s all in heat, see? Just makes her cranky,” Johnny says. You feel his eyes on you, and lower your binoculars to look at him. “She’s got to fuss to feel all in control.”

You flush. “Right.”

“You don’t think so?”

“No,” you say. “He’s—he’s just bothering her.”

He gazes at you for a moment, contemplative. Corners of his mouth quirking upward. He does not reply for a long moment, long enough that you have to avert your gaze from his.

“Nah,” he finally says, and you don’t think you’re imagining the low, sultry note in his voice. “She wants it bad as he does.”

You scowl, uncomfortably perceived, and return your binoculars—the pair is still facing off, gurgling and growling at each other. The female is slim, almost sleek, unlike most of the other seals populating the rookery.

“Is she sick?” you ask.

“Hm? Oh, no, she’s alright. The mums lose a lot of weight when they nurse. Takes three weeks, and they don’t eat in the meantime.”

“Jesus.”

“Be nice if the dads ever brought ‘em a bite, aye?” Johnny agrees. “Deadbeats, the lot of them.”

The two of you survey the colony in silence for a moment. As the morning wears on, the cloud covering thins overhead, allowing cool sunlight to filter through. The temperature doesn’t rise in response; begrudgingly, you tug Johnny’s jacket a little tighter around you.

Then, suddenly, his hand lands on your back, between your shoulder blades.

“Got some pups over there,” he says. “Look, by the kelp.”

You find them; smaller bodies, white dinged with wet sand and dirt, lounge near their mothers or wriggle with aimless difficulty. They’re fluffy and round as plush toys, with shining black eyes and noses, and once Johnny’s pointed them out you can differentiate the higher, sweeter pitch of their cries from the overall cacophony.

“Sometimes,” Johnny murmurs, “search and rescue’ll get called out because someone thought they heard a baby crying. Some kid stranded or lost, right? Turns out to be a baby seal.”

“That’s kind of scary,” you say.

“Aye,” says Johnny. “Always makes me think that’s where the old legends come from, about seal people or mermaids.”

A small ways away, some of the mothers lay with their pups far into the surf, letting the waves break over them. You watch as one mother thunks her large head overtop of her pup’s as the water rushes toward them; the pup wriggles, and then, as the wave engulfs them, it begins to thrash, whipping up a panicked froth.

“Time for swimming lessons already?” Johnny muses. “Seems early.”

You’re horrified. “She’s going to drown it!”

The hand still on your back pats you consolingly. “Just watch,” says Johnny.

The wave reaches as far up the shore as gravity allows, and then begins to recede. The pup’s thrashing calms as the air meets its face once again; the cow allows the pup to lift its head, and after a few sputters, the pup seems no worse for wear.

“They’re hardier than they look, bonnie,” Johnny says.

His hand, heavy and warm even over his borrowed jacket, slides down from your shoulders to your lower back, and then he rubs, slowly, side to side, as if to comfort you—but the knobs of your spine contract at his touch.

“Last of the births this season, looks like,” he says. “Mum’s getting ready to leave—probably not the only one.”

Something hard drops into your stomach.

“They leave their babies?” you ask.

“Aye. Once they’re done nursing, they mate, and then they go.”

You look back at the other cows with their pups. One baby has its muzzle to its mother’s belly, quivering and suckling, while she lays with her head on a patch of grass. She looks uninterested—more, she looks disinterested. As if how voraciously her pup is nursing has nothing much to do with her, and she’s bored of even having to think about it.

Bored—and already looking forward to the next part of her life without a baby in it.

“That’s horrible,” you say.

“They’re solitary animals, bonnie,” Johnny says, not ungently. “The only time they’re really all together is for this.”

A line tightens between your stomach and throat, and you feel it start to build between your ribs. A tremor—foreshocks. The wind picks up, bringing a sharp chill off the ocean and up the rise that cuts into your stinging eyes, abrades the naked skin of your hands and the exposed part of your neck.

When you look through your binoculars again, you wonder how many of the pups you see have already been abandoned.

“Aw, bonnie,” Johnny says. There’s a kind of pity in his voice that has your hackles raising.

“I want to leave,” you say, yanking away from his touch and shuffling down the incline. “Take me back to the cottage.”

“Bonnie, it’s okay!” Johnny protests, rolling to his back to look at you as you stand. “The pups make it, they figure out how to fend for themselves.”

You glare at him, vision blurring. “All of them?”

Some part of you knows you’re being irrational—knows that nature is a cruel home, and that many children face worse fates than the seal pups. Abandoning the young, the needy, is no aberration; it is, in fact, far more the standard than the human practice, which lingers for decades—

Most of the time.

Johnny has no response. He holds your angry gaze, brows drawn low, mouth pressed into a thin line. It’s the first time that cocky aura, which seems to rest in every fine line on his face and every angle at which he holds his body, is completely absent.

He isn’t reflecting your anger back at you, though—he’s internalizing it. Letting it hit him, you think, and trying to use it to figure you out.

You do not want to be figured out.

You scoff again. “Take me back,” you repeat, and then you start walking in the direction you came, without waiting for him to follow.

Johnny drops you off in the cove, and thankfully does not linger this time before he departs—he bids you farewell after rowing you to shore, contemplation on his face, and then leaves you to yourself.

You retreat, seeking the cottage’s empty quiet.

As you perch on the couch you listen to the radiator hum—the wind blow over the reeds in the thatch roof—your own heart beating a drum in the arteries of your neck.

Percussive. Quick and hard. Like heavy knockers on a door. Pounding as if to burst through.

You realize you’re still wearing Johnny’s jacket, and you throw it off, disgusted with yourself. You get up and pace, and try to ignore it lying in a heap on the floor.

You do something you swore you wouldn’t do the moment you set foot on the island—you turn your phone back on.

True to Johnny’s word, there’s no signal. You picked this island, this part of the world, for a reason; for the past several years, a slow exodus from the British isles has vacated the need for dedicated cell towers or satellite or internet access, especially given that the only ones who remain are too old now to want it or need it or know how to use it.

It’s isolated. Cut off. Left behind by anyone with better options, and only clung to by those trying to preserve the only way of life they know.

Some kinder part of you belongs with that demographic; the part that was telling your mother the truth, before getting on the plane.

The rest of you holds your phone up and starts walking around.

In the furthest corner in the bedroom, you find a single bar of signal. A tiny chip of connectivity—a thin, frayed thread. Something you lied to yourself about cutting.

It’s a weak connection. Unstable. It could take a while—you stand there, waiting.

The screen dims. You tap it again.

Blank.

You unlock it, look through your apps. Wonder if maybe your notifications are bugged by your new SIM card.

Nothing—

No one.

You whip around and, with a cry, pitch the thing at the far wall—it hits the stone with a crunch, falling to the floor in pieces.

You’re out of the cottage then in a mad dash, door slamming behind you, driving yourself back into the wind. Far away—you want to be far away, far from everything, so far that nothing could possibly reach you. You trudge down the path toward the beach, banding your arms across your chest, shivering in the cold, and yet you hardly feel it.

Not worth it. No point. Waste of your time. Energy. All of it. Stop trying. Stop wanting. Nothing. Nothing. You want nothing.

You’re halfway down to the shore, not really knowing what you’re going to do when you get there, when you catch sight of a body on the sand.

You gasp, a sharp breath down your larynx, and freeze in a dead halt.

The body is completely still.

A swimmer? A diver? It’s dark, like it just pulled itself out of the ocean—or washed up—

Then, it moves. A twitch, a ripple across its bulk, and your chest rapidly decompresses.

A seal. It’s a large seal, lounging alone on the beach.

You stand motionless. You’re very close—much closer than you and Johnny had been at the rookery. You hadn’t contended with the sheer size of the animals, tucked safely up and away from them, but there is no illusion of distance now.

It’s the biggest one you’ve seen today, you’re sure of it. Bigger, you think, than most adult men. Its pelt is a riot of every shade of grey, splashy, like liquid paint thrown across a canvas. Black speckles scatter overtop of marbled white and cool slate, and down the center of its back is a broad, dark line, soft at the edges, which reaches all the way up to the top of the seal’s head.

The bull—it must be male—turns over. It lifts its head, and opens its eyes—

Fear suddenly zips up your spine as it looks right at you.

You stumble backward and trip on your own feet, landing hard on your ass. Johnny’s care with keeping enough distance from the colony rushes back to you, along with the warring couple’s bared teeth.

They can’t move that fast on land, right? They aren’t interested in people, right?

You scramble backward. It’s so much bigger than you ever would have imagined. If it got to you—threw itself over you—it could crush you with its weight alone—

The bull watches you placidly. Unperturbed.

You pause.

Its small eyes are dark and glossy—watchful and focused. The whiskers on its muzzle twitch a little as it takes you in. It breathes, deeply and evenly, huge body expanding and contracting at a slow, calm tempo. Its—his—nostrils flex, widening and narrowing, as he blinks docilely.

Unafraid.

If anything—curious.

Then he snorts, and wriggles in place. It startles a laugh out of you, more reaction than humor. Still watching you, the bull lowers his head back down, resting it again on the sand.

Your heartbeat abates. He doesn’t move again—nor does his attention leave you. Slowly, you sit up.

Wary. No sudden movements.

He doesn’t react; only continues to watch you.

You draw your knees up. Wrap your arms around your shins, and dust a bit of sand from your leggings. Rest your chin in the crevice between your knees.

There’s an intelligence in the bull’s eyes that is fathoms deep. There is a massive gulf between his experience of the world and yours, millennia of evolution separating your species from his—and yet…as you hold his gaze, you recognize the look in it.

Him, seeing you. And seeing you see him. The pendulum swinging between awareness of each other, and recognition of that shared awareness.

An empty space in the cloud cover passes overhead; sunlight touches the earth, warms it briefly before disappearing again. You wonder a little why this bull isn’t with the other seals.

Johnny would probably know.

“I didn’t come for you, you know,” you grumble at him.

The seal blinks. Awareness notwithstanding, you don’t share any language.

You sigh. “I guess you didn’t come to see me either,” you say.

But you don’t move away.

And you stay like that for a long while, you and he—regarding each other as the wind breathes out across the shore.

next chapter early access

a/n: follow for more seal facts™

Also huge thanks to Lev for trawler listings/info. Didn't explore it much this chapter but Soap's boat will show up more soon :)

[meadowfics]

nursery rhymes

hwang jun-ho x pregnant!reader

you and hwang jun-ho prepare for the arrival of your baby

warnings: none. no games are included in the fic below

jun-ho has been over the moon since finding out you’re pregnant, and it shows in everything he does.

he's been a little different from his quiet, laid back self.

he will go from rubbing your feet after a long day to making sure you always have your favorite snacks within reach.

he’s determined to make this journey as comfortable as possible for you.

after finding out that the both of you will be having a girl, the both of you decided to start on the nursery.

the two of you spent hours choosing the perfect color for the nursery.

you agreed on a warm cream as the base, with soft pink accents in a few decorative pieces.

jun-ho insisted on doing everything himself, with the help of his friend gi-hun.

even though he got a little paint on the ceiling and some in his hair...

you teased him endlessly, but he just laughed and said it was for his little girl.

he loves to place his hands on your belly, especially when you’re both lying in bed.

he’ll trace little patterns with his fingers and whisper things like,

“do you think she’ll be more like you or me?”

or “she’s going to be so loved, y/n.”

he’s secretly been reading parenting books, but he tries to play it cool.

one day, you caught him watching a video on how to properly swaddle a baby, and he turned bright red.

“i just want to be prepared,”

he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck.

most of the time, when he is home from detective work, he will be in the nursery.

you’ll find him carefully assembling the crib, double-checking every screw, and making sure it’s perfect.

when he’s done, he proudly shows it to you like he just built a masterpiece.

clearly, the nursery quickly became jun-ho’s favorite project, and he’s surprisingly meticulous about every little detail.

jun ho will measure the walls three times before hanging anything to make sure everything is perfectly aligned.

the lighting inside of the walls and built-in bookshelfs took you off guard.

it was perfect!

on a sunny afternoon, you were bored so you wanted to go grocery shopping.

jun-ho insisted on going with you, but things like grocery shopping were something that you preferred doing alone.

so, he spent time on the nursery while you were in the city gathering fruits, rice, and noodles for home.

jun-ho realized the hardwood floor might be too cold in the nursery...

so soft, neutral-colored rug became a must-have.

he made sure it was plush enough for tummy time with the baby and even laid down on it to test the comfort himself.

when you got home, a little before sundown, you could guess where jun-ho was.

jun-ho was sitting in the nursery with the lights dimmed, looking around with a small smile.

"hey, I'm back!"

you say softly.

the man smiles at you, taking in your eyes before looking down at your belly.

its only eight weeks before the baby is expected to come..

"what are you doing?"

you giggle.

the man looked up from your belly behind your cashmere jacket.

“nothing really, I'm just imagining what it’ll be like when she’s here.”

if you want a visual of the nursery that he eventually put together for the baby :D

I hope you enjoyed! I might expand on this jun-ho x pregnant!reader thing

[mumblesplash]

uh oh 👀👀👀

Z shines like an angel in the light of the burning debris falling around him. A grin on his face and a lit bomb in hand—unleashed.

S watches him fondly from the cover of a street pole

It's good to see him like this, she thinks. Even if it can't last for long.

"Back up a bit, Z!"

The voice of T-piece slices S from her reveries. She points her shotgun towards the club entrance, covering Z's retreat.

The brass grate road is scattered with the remains of a carriage and the mechanical steeds that once pulled it. Looking at the corpse of the alternate inside it—her own—S knows that Z's intervention came just in time. Even in death, the clone is fuzzy around the edges. There must've been two or three universes intersecting at that point already, and the rot was about to burst.  If the clone had been allowed to lay eyes on S-prime…well, it’s a good thing Z got there first!

In through a crack in the base of S's mind flows a steady trickle of new memories—a whole life lived under violet skies—ended in flames within the carriage before her now.  Samantha.

S dashes those memories away with a hum of her favorite showtune. It shouldn't be this easy, but she's had a lot of practice.

An L-clone crawls sobbing from the wreckage. Burnt and broken, with too many limbs and more and more eyes with each passing second—

S unloads into its center mass, stopping the reaction short. A satisfying gurgle rewards her.

This world is more spoiled than we thought, S muses.

Not that she cares all that much. It's one of those tech worlds that's killed most of its plants—S-prime couldn't even find a window-box to poach.  Useless. It's been too long since she's had something new to add to the garden—

"S, on your right!"

A rush of air as someone sweeps past S's side. The familiar smell of sweat. Bare shoulders glistening in the violet city lights.

T-piece bounds over the wreckage like a young god of war, one hand swinging a metal bat and the other wielding a set of brass knuckles edged with an outward-facing blade—a trench spike. T dives low, a practiced movement taking them just under the spread of her shotgun. S fires again into the chest of the Z-clone running out of the club. She feels more than sees T-piece taking down somone in her periphery. The crunch of impact sounds suspiciously non-fatal—so it's probably some world resident looking to make themselves a hero that he's dealing with.

Whoever you are, be thankful sweet T-piece dealt with you before you got to me.

More bodies stream out of the club’s open doors, dressed in glitter and glass and wearing faces of panic—none of them known to her.  S lets them flow around her unscathed.  A twisting pair of Z-clones emerges and S is ready to meet them.

From down the street charge a gaggle of familiar faces—but before S can more than register them out of the corner of her eye a series of muffled shots drops them one by one.

Mighty I-prime.  Efficient as always. The bastard.

A second later one of Z's bombs belatedly lands on the corpses and detonates.

"You fucking show off!" Z shouts towards I-prime's position above. "I had this!"

No reply save smug silence.   

"Of course you did, darling," S says, turning to cover the other end of the street. "You're where you're supposed to be, unlike someone."

S waits for T-piece to tell them to focus, to save it for the post-mission angry sex (which never really works out the pressure points but it does soothe them for awhile)—but this time…

He doesn't.

Strange.

S's watch blares a sudden alarm—one short blast and three longs. She has scant moments to shield her face with a forearm before J is released from the Hold.

The windows on the ground floor of the club all shatter at once. A hailstorm of knives whistles above S's head. A warm mist settles over her skin—the blood of alternates, shed from J's blades as they fly by.

S whoops from adrenaline and delight. Z answers her with a cackle, his laughter rising up like a firework ascending to beautiful destruction.  Z reaches up into the gap between the worlds and pulls down a string of firecrackers.  He races towards the club doors and the battle beyond, lighting fuses as he flies.

“Wait!” T-piece screams. “Z, stop!”

S gets it a moment later.

In the street around the club they’ve encountered alternates of I, of herself, of L and J.  Coming out of the  club, however…

It’s just been Z.

We knew most of the Z-clones would be inside, that’s why we were supposed to cover down the street, not the entrance!

S bellows Z’s name.

All those Z-clones, in a world this badly spoiled—if they see their prime, is that a chain reaction we can even stop?

Z turns his head towards their cries.  S prays for him to understand—

But before Z has a chance to stop himself, a higher power intervenes.

Emerald vines, thick as a wrist and lined with sharp prickles, burst from a fold in space beneath Z’s feet and entangle him.  Z hollers in shock and in pain—but is halted.

“What the fuck?” Z calls, thrashing against the Hold.

S rushes to him.  Fuck the fight, fuck the mission, and fuck I-piece for being in the wrong damn spot!

And T-piece doesn’t stop her.  S glimpses them as her feet fly.  T stands still and upright in the haze of blood and viscera.  Their eyes carry a blunt anger that burns even from S’s periphery.

“Hold the line!” T-piece shouts.  “I’m gonna find I.  And have a talk.”

S doesn’t turn back to respond, only raising a thumbs up in acknowledgement.

Later, that will haunt her.  That she didn’t turn to see T go.

On the bloody brass street S faces Z, furious and helpless, and embraces him.  She presses her body against his thorns and nips at the lobe of his ear.      

“I fucked up,” Z breathes into her neck.

“I know, darling.  It’s okay.”

“It’s okay,” Z repeats.  “I'm alright. Hold the line.”

“I know.”

One more squeeze—to make them both yelp, to intermingle the blood from fresh scratches, to remind Z that pain is nothing but together they are everything—and S returns her focus to the broken windows before her.

T-piece is right, S thinks.  Z's right. Gotta focus. We can't go losing worlds for dumb reasons.

The idle thought slips through her brain like a trout through a stream, unopposed and unquestioned. It's something S simply knows—the same way she knows what dolphins are and who Judy Garland is and how the Martian Civil War was lost and that plants need light to grow.

Wouldn't want the Boss getting angry.

alright here's the rundown. more detailed version coming soon probably. the things i do for you guys

(transcript of prologue below the cut)

It's a lavender sky this time, this world. A lavender sky deepening to aubergine over a city of neon and brass. It's beautiful in it's way, just like any other city on any other world.

I-prime hasn't bothered to learn its name.

He stands in the hotel window, watching the burnished streets below gleam with fading light. The rhythmic thrum beneath his feet signals the rousing of the club below. They're playing a song that I has never heard in his life, yet part of him remembers it all the same.

The blank-faced watch on his wrist chimes a single long tone. I-piece taps its face without taking his eyes off the path into the nightclub.

"Hello, T."

"You're not in position," T says through the speaker. Their voice betrays none of the frustration that I knows he must feel.

"I'm where I need to be," I-prime says.

"We talked about this—"

"Yes, you talked, that's what you do. I make decisions."

T-piece's response is cut off by further chimes from the watch. Short, long, short, short—then the voice of L comes through.

"There's no time," she says. "The Boss just Held onto J. It's on, it's now."

"As expected," says I.

With a snap of his fingers the air before him splits. I-prime reaches into the crack between two universes and retrieves his sniper rifle. He looks down its sights, out the window, down the gleaming street.

Someone approaches the door to the club. A tall, svelt man with a face that I-prime is so sick of seeing other people wear.

I wonder what this one's named, I-prime muses as he lines up the shot.

Izaak? Ignacius? Indigo?

As he pulls the trigger on himself from another life, I-prime knows it doesn't matter what this alternate is called.

He lost track of their names a long time ago.

[hivemuthur]

Okay okay okay,

Viktor x Reader emotional smut/hurt comfort

Viktor spends all night in his lab and he forgets you guys planned a dinner because you had a fight because he missed dinner for working in his lab just a week prior. So you’re all dressed up waiting for him to walk through the door to go to dinner and he just… never shows. You wait as long as you can until you give up and go to bed, leaving your shoes and outfit you were wearing crumpled on the floor. He comes home and he sees the outfit and he’s like ah… shit.

Then it’s angry fight over not feeling like he cares enough, feeling second to his work, not feeling enough for him etc all the insecurities coming out.

And then smut eventually when he comforts reader

Pls 🧎🏽‍♀️

Hi Anon! I have to say, this scene gave me a lot more trouble than I thought it would, but I hope the fight is believable.

Once more, we have been blessed with my smut fairy's benediction (who has already helped me flesh out the scenes in What was that? that are yet to come) - @rennethen has written a beautiful skeleton for a sex scene in this fic, that we edited together AND she also did a thorough research around position that we used here AND recommends for you to put on Start a Fire by Ryan Star. So everyone say thank you! I love writing with you, thank you so much! ♡ Here we go:

Lover, You Should've Come Over

viktorxfemale!reader explicit! angst/comfort/smut

word count: 3,7K

—

His eyelids felt gritty, like there was painful sand beneath them, while the clock announced another passing hour. Viktor sighed and felt that his frown would not loosen on its own, so he pressed a hand to his forehead in an attempt to iron it out. The relief was brief, fleeting, and another sigh followed.

He glanced at the notes scattered across his desk—unfinished sketches and equations scrawled hastily in chalk, bits of which flaked off the blackboard like flour. Blinking a few times, he turned his gaze to the window. Dawn was approaching. For a moment, he considered collapsing onto the tiny, worn-out couch in the corner of the lab, a relic from late nights and lost time shared with Jayce. It had been set up precisely for moments like this, when the concept of time slipped through their fingers.

But the thought of crawling into a warm bed next to you tugged at him, finally winning the battle against exhaustion.

Slowly, he rose, his joints cracking audibly in protest. The sound echoed around the empty lab, a dry reminder of how long he’d been hunched over the desk. He considered tidying up but quickly abandoned the idea, his fatigue winning over perfectionism. Instead, he stacked the notes into a precarious tower on his desk and shoved a handful of loose papers into his bag haphazardly.

He was used to this feeling— an odd drunkenness of the body that didn’t see a drop of alcohol, fuel running out after more than twenty hours without sleep. His limbs felt stiff, his muscles sluggish and uncooperative, resulting in a wobbly trot and a certain alienation from one’s own hands. Dry throat, dry eyes, sensation of faint nausea lingering somewhere below his larynx, everything easily meltable in a cup of tea and the embrace of a properly soft mattress.

In some strange way, this was his favourite part of the day. The academy was silent, the streets of Piltover almost deserted, save for a few early risers starting their work at dawn. He stopped by the bakery to pick up fresh bread and pastries for breakfast, savouring the slow, solitary stroll home. Soon enough, he would wrap himself around you, breathing in the comforting scent of your hair as he drifted into a few blissful hours of sleep.

Quietly, he slipped his key into the lock and turned it, careful not to make a sound. He hesitated before setting the keys in the bowl by the door, opting instead to hold onto them to avoid clatter.

He stepped further into the apartment, orange morning sun already breaching the curtains, as motes of dust danced around, suspended in the still air. The scent of freshly baked bread mingled with the lingering warmth. He slipped off his shoes, careful not to make noise, and padded towards the bedroom with a soft groan.

It was then he saw them—your clothes and shoes discarded on the floor, right in the hallway. The sight made him pause. The shoes were still upright, as if you’d stepped out of them, resigned. The dress, crumpled, was draped across the chair near the door. Slowly, his tired mind pulled the pieces from the deep well of memory.

Dinner. He’d forgotten. Zatraceně.

His face crunched itself painfully at the thought of what awaited him. Fully deserved, yet, far away from pleasant. He swallowed it down and pushed the bedroom door open with a soft creak.

“Lásko,” he murmured, his voice low and hesitant, guilt clinging to the edges of the pet name. “Are you asleep?”

A long, unhappy sigh came from the bed. “No.” Silence, for a moment. “Now that I know you’re alive—” you croaked quietly, your voice muffled by the pillow. “Where have you been?”

If it hadn’t been clear until then, the sound of your voice betrayed just how much crying you had done in the last few hours. It was raw and hoarse, thick with exhaustion, a sniffle caught at the back of your throat.

“I—” Viktor started, faltering before quickly trying to correct himself. “I forgot. I am so, so sorry.”

Nothing, just a stare, as you lifted yourself up from the pillows and crossed your arms on your chest. Eyebrows pinched together in a fake pity.

“Work. I swear, it completely slipped my mind, and I am so, so sorry,” Viktor pleaded, making a few wobbly steps toward the bed, only to stop at your scoff.

“That’s… good to know. Well, if you ever decide I am worthy of your time, you know where to find me,” you retorted and slumped back into the pillow, stubborn tears already pushing themselves past your eyelids.

“Please don’t be like that, I didn’t mean to hurt you.” Few more steps, unsure, as Viktor leaned heavily on his cane. His voice exasperated, as he had absolutely no energy to fight now. He would do anything for forgiveness and a place in bed, his muscles screaming for rest.

“Viktor I frankly don’t care what you’ve meant or didn’t mean to do, it is what it is,” you said sharply, narrowing the space for discussion. “For someone who fights so fiercely to not be forgotten, you sure forget about others easily.”

“Was that necessary?” A hot feeling washed over him, not yet anger, but irritation that glued his feet to the floor and made him adjust his stance. “Do you really want to fight at 4 a.am.?”

“Yes, that is my deepest desire to have a fight with you at dawn. What do you think? Is it my fault that we are having this conversation?” You rose again, facing him from the stronghold of your shared bed, Viktor dangerously close to losing his residence rights.

“No, it’s my fault, as you’ve made it very clear. And I am sorry, and it will never happen again. I don’t know what else I can say, really.” Seeing your deadly glare, he added, “And I don’t forget you. I just forgot about dinner. I’m sorry.” The last apology weaker than the others, as he run out of options.

“I somehow fail to see the difference between forgetting me and forgetting dinner—twice— as the result of both is identical,” you huffed dangerously, kicking the duvet off yourself. Anger surging through you, mixing with disbelief at his complete lack of willingness to own his sins.

“Lásko, please. I am so infinitely tired, please let’s not do this now,” Viktor pleaded again, his voice straining, the undercurrent of upset making your skin crawl. He spread his hands apart, making another step toward the bed to find himself stood at the edge of it. And it was too close.

You swung your legs over the mattress, tears of anger burning your cheeks. “As you wish. Bed’s all yours.” Another spit and you stood up, ready to run away and press yourself into the couch to muffle your sobs, when Viktor’s hand stopped you.

“Please don’t go. Please. This is the last thing I want.” This time his voice more sincere. Sadness in his eyes. A real lingering guilt. But if you were to give in, nothing would change.

“No, Viktor. Should’ve thought about this before you decided to marry yourself to work.”

“And what do you mean by this?” he asked in a confused tone, his hand leaving your arm. 

“I mean… I don’t know what I mean, I’m tired. And what I also mean, maybe you should reconsider if there is truly a space for someone else in your life. Or maybe you need someone more memorable, I really don’t know,” you mumbled, all your insecurities gnawing at you simultaneously. All the times when Viktor forgot about something you had asked for, all the times he was late or didn’t show up at all, all the times when you had to ignore young assistants giggling around him, when you would finally decide to pick him up from work.

“Please, you cannot be serious right now.” Viktor felt his ribs clenching around his heart, a very unpleasant kind of tightness settling in his chest. Or maybe just his heart swelled up in his chest, pumped with anger and disbelief. Either way, it ached. “How dare you throw such an accusation at me.”

“How dare I? Have you, I don’t know, tried to take a walk in my shoes? You can take a stroll, they are in the corridor, ready for the dinner.” This very finite, very spiteful remark made you momentarily proud of yourself, until you saw the shift in Viktor’s eyes.

“I haven’t. I didn’t think I should. Because I trust you, when you say you love me, and I was hoping you trusted me as well, despite the slip ups,” he said quietly, his gaze low. “You knew who I was before we stepped into this, I’ve told you that I am not good at this kind of maintenance.”

“Maintenance?” You were fuming. Absolutely, completely furious. Courtship and basic human decency to not leave someone hanging for hours reduced to such a soulless, technical term. “You cannot wipe your face with the excuse of being broken every time you fuck something up, Viktor.”

And that was it. It was enough. Enough to rip through Viktor’s chest with a cold blade. He took a sharp inhale, but before anything could fall out from his mouth you realised what you had just said. Stumbling over your own words, you retreated quickly, “Viktor, I’m so sorry, I—”

“No. No,” he whispered, his tone icy as he shrugged your hand off his arm. “It is you who doesn’t get the right to wipe your face with something I have bared in front of you in trust.” And you saw his eyes welling up and you felt your own heart swelling in fear. Your hand shot back where it was rejected, again, and Viktor pushed it off, again.

“Please, Viktor, I didn’t mean to say it.”

“Yes, you did. And what is worse—I haven’t ignored you on purpose. I forgot. Which is in its definition an unintentional act. Whereas, you have gone for the kill. Intentionally.” His tone measured, calculated, walls raising up as he turned his face away from you.

You stood there, struck. Looking blankly into space, regretting not taking Viktor up on that ‘let’s not fight now’ option from a few moments ago. After a few very loud, very echoey breaths your resolve finally broke and a long suppressed sob pushed itself out of you with full force. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, falling back into the mattress. “I just… miss you—” An undignified hick escaped you. “I miss you so much Viktor, I really didn’t mean to say it, I’m so sorry…” After that, an incomprehensive wave of words mixed with gasps and cries followed.

Viktor stood there for a minute, chewing at the inside of his cheek, clearly still wounded, he just didn’t know what wounded him more. The fact that his love called him broken in a spiteful retort, or the fact that she was now crying at the crack of dawn, because of him.

Tentatively, he shifted closer to you, a featherlight touch of his hands to your shoulder startling you. You felt the mattress dip next to you and your head being pulled to his chest, which made you fall apart completely.

Viktor hugged you tightly, your tears dampening his jumper, his own throat working very hard to suppress emotion bubbling to the surface. “Please forgive me,” he whispered softly between soothing sounds he was humming to you. “Please, I can’t bear it.”

“I don’t work myself to the bone, lose sleep, lose time, because I want to be far from you. I am doing this for something greater, for a chance to fix what I can. To… to matter. And I… miss you as well,” he said calmly, holding you close to his chest.

“Do you?” you quipped sheepishly, trying to muster whatever composure was left within you. Cradled in Viktor’s arms, you found yourself at a loss of other words. The argument suddenly dissolved into something softer as you began tracing your fingers idly along the beauty marks on his neck.

Viktor nodded a few times too many and placed his hand on your neck. “I will be more mindful,” he said simply. “And you can visit me at work more often and pull me out of there by the ear. How does that sound?”

It was your turn to nod, spreading dampness across your face. You swung your legs over his lap and nuzzled your face into his hair. Viktor shifted slightly, his hand brushing a stray strand of hair from your cheek.

“Will you let me make it all up to you?” he asked softly, his voice low and reverent. His thumb lingered on your skin, tracing the faintest curve of your cheekbone.

You swallowed, your skin getting warmer under a blush. “Well, what do you have in mind?” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Something you might like,” Viktor replied, leaning closer, his forehead resting against yours. “Let me show you how much I’ve missed you.”

You didn’t respond right away, your breath catching as his fingers grazed your jaw, sliding down to cradle your chin. His touch was featherlight, almost hesitant, but his gaze never wavered, holding you captive.

“Okay,” you breathed, the word escaping before you could stop it.

His lips quivered into the faintest smile—playful, yet soft. He shifted again, his hands trailing down your arms until he caught your hands in his, threading his fingers through yours. He brought them to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, slow and deliberate.

“Děkuji,” he murmured, the gratitude in his voice making your heart ache.

His movements were careful as he guided you to lay down and took a moment to unclip his leg brace. He then scrambled up beside you, your knees touching, each move soft and lazy, giving away how tired his body was after another sleepless night. You let him pull you closer, his arms wrapping securely around you, his touch steady and grounding.

You took a long, audible inhale, as your fingertips traced the lines of his face. The faint circles beneath his eyes, the curve of his jaw, the slight harshness of stubble that rasped under your touch. Viktor closed his eyes briefly, a soft sigh escaping him as if your touch alone was enough to undo him.

“You’re so tired,” you said softly, your thumb brushing over the shadow on his cheek.

“We can take this slow,” he murmured, his lips quivering into a smile. His hand found your waist, his touch firm yet gentle. “I like taking my time with you.”

He dipped his head, his lips grazing the side of your neck. The warmth of his breath sent a shiver down your spine as he whispered, “I am really sorry, lásko. I hope you believe me.”

Your breath hitched as his words bounced off your skin. “I do. And I am sorry too,” you whispered back, trying to will the blush away from your cheeks.

He gave you a tentative kiss, barely a press of his lips to yours. For a moment, lips were just touching, mouths slightly open as you both breathed each other in. He smelled of ink and chalk, a powdery scent lingering in your nose. His hands pressed firmer on your sides as he pulled you closer, your stomachs pressed together. 

One of his legs snaked in between yours and he pressed his knee to your core, warmth already pooling in your lower belly. Your kissing deepened, tongues got involved and you could feel your teeth clacking against each other. Noses pressed together, as your hands travelled under the layers of his clothing to ghost over his stomach and his hips bucked into yours, making you gasp. 

“Tickles,” he chuckled into your mouth, his breath growing heavier and quiet moans escaped him with each kiss. You let your hands wander, finding an easy rhythm as you glided your touch onto his hips and thighs.

Feeling him grow harder beneath you, you palmed his length through the trousers and ground your hand on it. Viktor gasped at the sudden attention to his cock, the fabric adding a delicious friction to the movement.

He reciprocated easily with the knee between your legs. Lazily, he moved it back and forth, testing the pressure to see where it made you squirm. One of his hands traversed the plane of your back downwards to your ass to fondle it gently, his fingers dancing on it, tracing words before allowing himself a leisurely squeeze.

Your kissing grew hungrier and you added some pressure to your hand to finally grip his now fully hard cock through the cloth. Viktor’s body wordlessly asked for more, bucking needily into your touch, his brows pinched together, his panting breaths fanning your face.

He retreated his knee from between yours and before you could whine, his cock and your cunt met in a long, sloppy drag of your bodies against each other. He ground himself against you with a desperate want, as if his brain suddenly remembered what was missing when spent long hours at work.

The material of his pants became unbearably tight against the almost nonexistent layer of your knickers. His hand abandoned your ass in favour of snaking under your soft, frilly nightdress to cup your bare breast, while the other cradled your cheek. He tilted your head to nip at your neck and you whined at the sudden attention to all the sensitive spots on your body—his hand groping your chest, thumb brushing against your nipple, his cock against you, the feeling of his teeth on your neck, followed by soothing kisses, love marks already blooming on your skin.

“You are doing so well, lásko,” he murmured into your neck, the honeyed sound melting something inside you. “You have no idea how you make me feel.” A low whisper followed by the feeling of his hands shifting you onto your stomach, as he pulled himself up to sit. He grabbed a pillow to stabilize his knee and pulled your skirts up to your shoulder blades.

He took a moment to take in the view, tracing your skin with his fingertips, to finally press his face to your ass cheek, his lips leaving a trail of kisses up your spine, his hands gently beckoning your hips up. He guided your left knee to bend, mirroring his own, when he caged himself on top of you, his chest splayed flat against your back. 

His left arm cradled around your chest, palm cupping your cheek as you intertwined your fingers with his. You could feel his length ghosting between your legs, but even the sharp press of your hips against him wasn’t enough. “Viktor, please,” you let out an undignified huff and Viktor chuckled into the nape of your neck, snaking his free hand between your front and the mattress.

He cupped your cunt, material sticky against his fingers and you could feel his mouth blooming into a smug smile as he teased, “Missed me so much, have you?”

His clothed cock poked at the wet membrane of your knickers as his fingers began their precise work on your clit, the friction of the fabric becoming unbearable and you couldn’t help another mewl, “Viktor, please, I can’t—”

You got cut off by your own sob, when Viktor murmured into your ear, “Oh, but I like you so much like this.” He placed an infuriatingly sloppy kiss on your pulse point, your hips bucking against your will. You didn’t know which was worse, the teasing or the absence of his fingers, because the whine that escaped you when he retreated his hand made your breath catch in your throat.

He freed his cock from the confinement of the fly, not bothering with the rest. Then, he slid the gusset of your underwear to the side and dragged his fingers along your seam, coating them with your slick, before inserting one inside. Gently adding another, he hummed appreciatively, your clit mercilessly teased with his thumb.

When you were ready, he wrapped himself back around you, took his cock to wet it at your entrance and sunk into you slowly, drawing a long, breathy moan from your lips. Once fully sheathed, he pulled his hips back to give you a snappy thrust, before finding a rhythm. His free hand wandered back to your clit, his attention unwavering, as he worked you in small, steady circles.

Your breathing grew heavier, and Viktor slid the fingers of his other hand from your cheek into your mouth, teasing your tongue. Completely trapped underneath him, you were at the mercy of his hips and his fingers, as he murmured sweet nothings into your ear.

Sinking deeper and deeper into you he hit a spot that drew a wail from the bottom of your throat, your hips bucked in the tight space between him and the bed, his fingers unwavering between your legs and you could feel yourself tightening, your core tied into a knot close to a release.

His movements grew more sloppy and needy, his mouth close to your ear, murmuring, “You are doing so well, I love you so much,” in a hushed tone between kisses pressed to your temple and the back of your neck. With your walls tightening around him, he came with a loud groan, flexing on top of you, bringing you with him with a couple precise flicks of his fingers. You came as he was spilling inside you, the feeling of damp warmth spreading around your underbelly.

He drew a couple of hot breaths, still splayed on your back, before rolling to the side and dragging you close with your back to his chest. He combed your hair away from your neck and placed a lingering kiss on the spot where it met your shoulders.

You took his hand into yours and brought it to your lips to press a kiss to his knuckles. He chuckled warmly and asked, “Am I forgiven?”

“The judge and the jury agree the atonement was sufficient,” you teased, though your voice was barely there. You shifted around to face him and nuzzled your face into his neck. “I now would like to prove a theory that this would be equally enjoyable if provided upon a shorter hiatus.”

“Oh you know me,” he murmured into your hair. “I would do anything for science.”

[harrygoeswest]

Lazy Days

Featuring fiance!Harry, nail painting, bath smut, and general soppy shit.

Trigger warnings: [if there was a 6th Spice Girl she would've been called] soft spice

Word Count: 3,870

A/N: Hiyaaaa. Ages ago (and I really do mean like actual years ago, on a blog long since forgotten) I posted on here a head cannon of all the things I think Harry does during his down time. This is basically just that, but in fic version. Hope you likey like!

~~~

It’s the shifting of weight on the mattress that stirs you from slumber; the sudden absence of warmth from another body at your back; the whisper of fingertips over your hips and thighs. Still, your body is too tired, your limbs too sore to stay conscious for long, and once the rustle of sheets and padding of feet against the hardwood dissipates, you fall back into the darkness of sleep.

Not too long later, you’re awoken again—the click of a door, the soft clunk of clay on wood. Between sponged kisses up your spine where you lay on your front, you catch a whiff of coffee. You smile to yourself.

Those same fingers from before trace the curve of your sides, those lips now pressed lovingly against the nape of your neck. As tentative fingers make way for strong, capable, safe hands, a satisfied sigh leaves you. You’re gently tugged back into the solid embrace of your lover, his front to your back, skin to skin. His arms are a blockade, arresting you into submission.

“Good morning,” Harry practically slurs, his lips brushing and breath tickling your ear.

Melting against him, your response is a croaked, “Hi.”

That plush mouth of his ghosts across your shoulder and back to your neck in slow, tantric lines. While one hand—one arm—remains firmly in place to keep your body gripped to his, the other travels to his favourite places. He starts with small, spiralling circles on your hip, before migrating to the soft swell of your stomach, following the scars of stretch marks on your thighs. You can feel his barred hand testing the weight of your boob, a light-pressured knead.

A satisfied, breathy moan leaves you, and Harry’s grip tightens.

“When was the last time we did this?” he asks, still massaging your breast.

“Did what?” You barely open your mouth to speak.

“Just…nothing? Slept in? Cuddled?”

You grunt, thoughtful. You can’t remember. “Too long.”

His hum sounds like an agreement. “Shall we just…stay in today?”

You idly skim your fingers along his forearm. “Can you manage to sit still for that long?”

He pinches your waist, and you yelp. “I can for you.”

A fizzy kind of happiness begins to bubble its way through you. He achieves this feeling a lot, with his words. His actions. Sometimes just his face. He’s so handsome.

“Deal,” you finally agree.

You drift in and out of consciousness as Harry’s mouth and fingers map your body. He mumbles in your ear in gentle pries for attention, sometimes compliments and verbal loving. Subtle affections. And it’s also contemplation—what are you going to do with your day off together?—or future planning—do you sit your mean uncle next to his problematic third cousin at the wedding just to see who makes a scene first?

You elbow him for that one, even though he makes you laugh with his boyish mischief.

Sunlight filters in through the bedroom blinds, and even though it’s cold outside, it warms your skin where it touches. Harry notices the same thing you do—the way your engagement ring glints off the light—because his hand finds yours, particularly that one finger with his ring on it, and starts toying with it.

Saying yes was the easiest decision you’ve ever made, and for some reason, Harry struggles to believe it sometimes. Why he ever thought you’d say no is beyond you.

In the quiet room, the endless band recedes as the focal point of your attention while his hands continue to caress and travel around the plains of your body. You simply let him, snuggling back into his embrace, holding his arms around you so he doesn’t let you go.

Before long you feel the sensation of want growing, pooling between your legs. It appears much the same for Harry, whose length has stiffened at your back. With a slight adjustment you let it slip between your thighs, sliding against your bare pussy. You release equally tortured groans, his face shoving into your neck, his tongue tasting and his lips sponging kisses there.

You reach behind you, pushing your fingers through his hair and gripping, keeping him pressed to you as closely as possible. His mouth finds yours, tongue eager as it slips between your lips. The kiss is anything but innocent, and it causes the friction between your legs to heighten.

“Find a condom, H,” you beg breathily.

His presence slinks away, only briefly, and you turn over your shoulder to watch him clumsily searching for a foil packet in the drawer of his bedside table. Producing one, he gets to work.

Once he’s rolled it on he’s back with you, arms returning around your middle and his length squeezing through the space between your thighs. He lifts your leg up by the back of your thigh, and his cock sinks into the heat of your wet pussy.

“Fuck yeah,” he mumbles, nibbling his way down your shoulder, “y’always feel so fucking good.”

“So do you,” you huff out, as your body adjusts to the feel of him.

It starts slow, calm. All of your recent intimate moments have been rushed and sloppy because you’re hardly ever home at the same time and you’re too exhausted to do anything. But this…this feels like the opposite.

Harry takes his time. He keeps your leg aloft while he moves in and out of you, talking in your ear with his favoured phrases.

“Can we move?” you ask after so long. “My leg’s starting to cramp.”

“Sure.” He slows down and pulls out of you. “How d’you want it?”

Throwing him a devilish smile, you roll onto your front and lift your ass in the air.

Harry chuckles. He takes a firm grip on one of your round ass cheeks, squeezing and pinching, before landing a swift smack to that same place.

You groan, arching further into the mattress.

His dick sneaks back inside of you and he takes your hips in his hands. His thrusting starts off measured, timed to perfection to build the ache inside you. His cock really does feel sensational, the way it stretches your inner walls, filling you up. 

“That feel good?” 

“So fucking good,” you assure him. “But I need it faster, baby.”

“How fast?”

“Just…faster than this. It’s nice and all, but I like it when you’re a bit messy.”

“Funny, you never say that when I’m drunk.”

Drunk Harry trying to have sex is…an experience. And not necessarily in a good way.

“I want to feel my backside jiggling, and that ain’t happening at this pace.”

He smacks your ass again, his palm immediately soothing the sting. “I can do that.”

And boy does he deliver. With his hands back on your waist he pistons his hips with vigour. It feels sensational. Your body comes alive as every thrust reaches a deeper, more pleasurable place.

“Fuck, Harry, yes.”

He loves that—the praise you give him. Turns him on and builds him up. He gets faster, sloppier. He becomes uncoordinated, jostling your body forwards, backwards.

You reach under the pillows, fisting the sheets and the corner of the mattress, just looking for purchase on anything.

“You feel. So. Good.” He punctuates each word of his statement with a punishing pump of his hips.

A cry leaves you, and you bury your head further.

He smacks your ass again. And again. The sharpness of it, the crack of skin-on-skin echoes through the room.

You suddenly feel his weight over you, the warmth of his skin against your back. His cock shifts inside you, a strangled gasp garbling from your mouth at the bottoming feeling of it close to your stomach.

His teeth sink into the crook of your neck and then he soothes the bite over with his tongue. “You’re edible.”

“Likewise,” you choke.

Still thrusting away, he grabs a boob in one hand and toys with your clit with the other.

The noises you’re making become hysterical and disconnected. You’re a mad woman—you’ve lost your mind.

“Harry,” you pant.

“I know,” he grunts, his teeth in your neck again. “Fuck.”

“I’m gonna come.”

“Yeah?” His breathless question leaves perspiration along your shoulder.

“Yeah. Come with me?”

“I’ll certainly fucking try.”

You clench your pussy around him. “Please?”

“Shit!” he yells. “Do that again.”

So you do, your delicate muscles contracting around his thick, hard length. He rubs your clit faster, and you tumble over the edge as he follows.

Spent, Harry collapses onto you, his body a delicious weight.

“Fuck, that was good,” he pants.

“It really was.”

“I think I need a nap.”

“We’ve only just woken up.”

“You’re the one who wanted it fast and hard.”

“Yeah. And?”

He sighs, his lips grazing your neck and shoulder. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

— — —

Later that morning, as you’re pulling fixings out of the fridge for a cooked breakfast, Harry appears out of the pantry, tying an apron around his waist.

A laugh tumbles out of you. “What are you doing, H?”

He gestures down himself with both hands. “Getting ready to make breakfast.”

“You and I both know you will not be doing any of the cooking.”

“I will be here for moral support.”

“Right. Which involves sitting there,” you point to a stool at the island, “and looking pretty.”

He flashes a winning smile. “You think I’m pretty?”

In lieu of swatting him with a tea towel, you flip him the bird.

“Is there anything I can do?” he offers, even as he’s rounding the counter to take his usual seat.

On a sigh, you say, “No, Harry. Your company is all I need.”

“You’ll be sick of me by the end of the day,” he predicts.

“Impossible.”

The food is a poached egg and salmon affair, which you plate up and serve at the counter. You take a seat in the stool beside Harry, both turned towards each other with your knees interlocking. He eats his breakfast one-handed, his other resting on your knee, squeezing every so often.

Rumours by Fleetwood Mac drifts from a speaker on the windowsill—Harry’s choice—eventually bleeding into Rock Spectacle from the Barenaked Ladies—your favourite.

When you’re done eating, Harry collects up all your dirty crockery and leaves a peck to the top of your head as he passes. While he does the washing up, you take the clothes out of the washing machine and put them into the dryer, then add a second load to the washer.

You finish your task before him, so you head into the living room and start looking for something to binge for the day. When Harry does reappear, now only in his boxers, he snatches the remote out of your hand, wraps an arm around your waist and yanks you down onto the sofa with him. You yelp as you tumble into his lap.

“What do we need to catch up on?” he asks, barely struggling with breath as he rearranges you with ease.

You wind up with your legs draped across his lap, the rest of your frame curled into his side. You make an attempt to swipe the remote out of his hands, but he holds it aloft with a shouted, “No!”

Heaving a sigh, you give up. “Silent Witness is back on. Or there’s, like, ten new murder documentaries on Netflix.”

He gives you a funny look. “Anything that doesn’t involve death?”

You scoff.

“Please. You love it.”

“I’m concerned you’ve watched so many at this point you could easily murder me and get away with it.”

“And you’d be right,” you deadpan.

He barks a laugh. “Fine. Murder in the day, rom-coms at night.”

“Good plan.”

— — —

Some hours later, when the low January sun is just past its highest point, the two of you vacate your nest on the sofa for some lunch. While Harry puts something together from the scraps in the fridge, you find the bits you need to paint your nails. Once you’ve eaten, you set everything up on the coffee table.

“What are you doing?”

Peering up at him from your seat on the floor, you answer, “I’m painting my nails.”

He’s quiet for a moment, curiously studying his own nails. “Will you do mine too?”

You fight the twitch of your mouth. “Sure. Pick your colours out.”

He joins you on the floor to rifle through your polishes. “What are you having?”

“Blue. Dark glitter and pastel.”

“I want the same.”

“Alright,” you say with a giggle.

“Can I paint yours?”

“If you like.”

So, with your insane murder documentary on in the background, you take turns to paint each other’s nails over the coffee table. He’s meticulous and particular with his work—tidying your cuticles, filing your nails to an even length, and never painting outside the lines. He also applies cuticle oil when he’s finished.

“Only thing missing is the warm flannel massage,” you joke.

He gives you another of his funny looks. “Do you want that?”

“No,” you chuckle.

“I’ll do it,” he insists, “hang on.”

“Harry, it was a joke!” you call after him as he runs from the room.

A minute later, he returns with a steaming flannel in hand. Retaking his seat, he leans over the table and takes each of your hands in turn, massaging your fingers and palms with the hot cloth.

“How do they look?” he asks as you admire your fresh manicure.

“They’re perfect,” you declare. “In fact, I’m concerned my abilities aren’t up to scratch.”

Your fiancé scoffs. “Don’t talk bollocks. They’ve always looked good.”

Deciding to keep quiet, you snatch his hand in one of your own and the cuticle stick in the other. While you prep his nails for polish, you keep an ear trained on the TV and what’s happening in the story. Harry remains suspiciously quiet, but you can feel his gaze on you all the time—not what you’re doing to his nails, but on you. It should be unnerving. Maybe even disconcerting, but you actually find it oddly relaxing. You’re so used to having his eyes on you—though it has always boggled you why he’d want to—it’s a comfort. You feel safe with him.

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter at something said on the telly, and you catch Harry’s nose wrinkle.

“That’s grim,” he agrees under his breath.

“You gonna do that to me one day?” you tease.

“What? Quarter up your dead body and shove it in a barrel?”

“Yeah.”

He barks a laugh. “No way. You’re no use to me dead, darling.”

“Aw. That might be the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Fuck off,” he scoffs.

— — —

The sound of a cork being popped causes your head to lift from where you’d been staring thoughtless at the rising bath water. You find Harry standing in the doorway to the bathroom, two wine glasses slid between his long fingers and a bottle of something bubbly in the other.

“What’s that?” you ask, swirling the water around with your foot to even out the temperature.

Steam swirls seductively through the air, rising from the tub in wafts and waves. Lavender and chamomile candles burn in the corners and on the windowsill. Your bath time playlist fills the otherwise silent room, featuring pandemic Taylor Swift and early London Grammar tracks.

“Wine, duh.” Harry places one glass on the lip of the tub and the other on the floor.

You watch bewildered as he fills both. “What for?”

“We’re celebrating.”

“Celebrating what?”

He kisses his teeth and shakes his head, his response an exasperated, “So many questions.”

You roll your eyes as you strip out of your clothes, knowing well enough you’re not going to get an answer to any of them. Also, who really cares what the wine is for? You’re an adult with no work commitments tomorrow.

Harry sits beside the tub using a stolen pillow from your bed to cushion his backside. While you talk more wedding plans his hand dangles in the water, sometimes just swirling the water around idly, other times gliding a finger up and down your arm, your waist, your thigh.

His touch is intoxicating, and you find yourself sinking lower into the water.

His gaze trails to your legs where they’ve subtly spread for him. Expression hungry, he dances his fingers across your inner thigh and up to your pussy.

The conversation naturally drifts off as he starts teasing your clit, his chin now resting on the side of the tub to watch his work.

He knows exactly what he’s doing, he’s done it so many times—a talented man with talented fingers. Perhaps not quite like this, though, set up in the bathtub, but it works all the same. In fact it might be even better this way. 

He works his way around your needy clit and then into your wanting heat with his finger, causing your body temperature to spike. You moan and gasp your way through his clever ministrations, having to bite down on your own finger when he adds a second to take up more space.

What actually finishes you off, unbelievably, is when he leans in to kiss you.

When you’ve calmed down he slowly removes his fingers, and he’s about to wipe them on a towel, but you snatch his hand and clean them up yourself before he can. He groans and kisses you again.

With your legs like jelly, Harry helps you rise out of the bath and onto the solid, heated bathroom floor. He finds your towel and wraps it around you like a well-sated little burrito. He brings you into his arms, your body flush against his, and he pecks the tip of your nose ever so lightly. You can’t help but smile up at him, because you seem to have found the man who is the exact perfect mix of sweet and spicy. Your smile brings out his own—dimples and laugh lines and all.

“Shall we get a takeaway?” he asks, breaking the spell you’d found yourself in.

“I’ve bought stuff in for dinner!”

“Ah, we can have that tomorrow.”

“Harry,” you scold.

“I really want Thai.”

“You always want Thai.”

“That’s not true. Yesterday while you worked late I had sushi.”

“But was that really just a substitute for Thai while I wasn’t home?”

“Nope. I really wanted sushi.”

“Sure.”

“Come on, bab,” he starts nudging you towards the door, “go put your jim-jams on, and I’ll put the order in and set the lounge up for movies.”

“You don’t know what I want,” you argue, digging your heels in.

“You have the same thing every time, my love.”

“Well maybe I want something different.”

“No, you don't.” 

At the entrance to your bedroom, he whips off your towel and shoves you through the door. “Go on.”

— — —

Harry’s phone starts chirping on the coffee table when you’re nearly done with your first film. His head is in your lap, knees up with his white-socked feet pressed against the arm of the sofa. Your hands are in his hair, freshly painted nails scratching his scalp. You love the noise he makes when you do it—he purrs like a kitten.

Glen Powell and Sydney Sweeney bicker their way around Sydney on the telly, with Glen’s abs and Sydney’s chest on display for the entirety of Australia to see. Not that you’re complaining.

Harry blindly reaches for his phone while moving as little as possible, and lifts it high to check the caller ID.

You wince at his mother’s name on the screen because you know he’ll never turn her down if he’s free, even though it’s your first day off together in months and you’re in the middle of a film. This isn’t to say you have anything against the woman—you don’t. She’s amazing, kind, and generous.

But…

“Pause the TV, bab?”

Harry is a mummy’s boy.

And sometimes, just sometimes, you don’t feel up to listening to their conversation for an hour.

Still, you love the man and his mother, so you pause the movie and paste on a smile that portrays interest. Anne asks about your day, how work is going, how the wedding planning is coming along, and fortunately these are all things you can give invested updates on.

Conversation naturally turns to Harry’s sister, the baby, and the next time you’re all free at the same time. Your work is unpredictable, so as always you can only give the disappointing, unhelpful answer of “You’ll let her know soon.”

You’re not sure exactly how long you end up on the phone with your mother-in-law-to-be, but it’s approximately one whole glass of wine. As soon as the call ends, Harry curls up right back next to you, his head returned to its favourite place in your lap.

Another two full films later—10 Things I Hate About You and 13 Going on 30—you finally hit your limit and decide to call it a night. You do a quick tidy up, clearing the mess of your dinner and that second ‘celebratory’ bottle of wine. Not wanting to wake up to a mess, the two of you tag team the dishes, although Harry spends the first few minutes clinging to you from behind and feeling you up in lewd ways.

It’s late by the time you’re done. You can’t fight the yawning you’re doing, and your body is close to shutting down. The ascent of the staircase to bed looks like a mountain.

“Want a piggyback?” Harry offers with a peck to your cheek.

“Yes please,” you say, still yawning.

“Climb on, then.”

You scramble ungracefully onto his back, your arms fastened around his neck and your legs hooked in the crease of his elbows. He carries you up the one flight with criminal ease and straight into your shared bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him.

“Ready for bed?” he asks, settling you back on your feet.

Smothering another yawn, you nod as you stumble toward the bed. “I am. How can I be so tired after doing nothing all day?”

He smiles down at you, green eyes shiny and hooded. “You’ve worked hard recently. It’s probably catching up to you.”

You grunt in response. His hands paw at your clothes so you allow him to undress you. Once you’re both naked you tumble into bed.

Finding yourself back in an innocent tangle of limbs, you sink against the warmth of his body.

“What shall we do tomorrow?” Harry prompts, his lips brushing your temple.

Your finger traces the lines of tattoos on his chest—the swallows, the butterfly, the ‘g’ and the dates. “No idea.”

“Walk?”

“No.”

“Drive?”

“Maybe.”

“Noted.” He giggles, kissing your temple where his lips rest. “I know just the place to go.”

“Yeah?”

He hums. “I think you’ll like it.”

“If you’re with me, I’m sure I will.”

His arms tighten around you, and you reciprocate his grip, burying your face into his neck.

“I love you, H,” you mumble, on the cusp of unconsciousness.

And just as you slip into that dark, warm abyss, you hear his whispered, “I love you, too.”

[gf2bellamy]

caring — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) summary: your dad does not approve of spencer content warnings: established relationship, spencer being insecure, reader's dad being sort of rude / cold to spencer , reader's dad think he's doing the best for reader, reader has a good relationship with dad, spencer shutting reader out, reader works in cyber divison, reader and spencer live together

The soft rustle of leaves brushing against the windows filled the quiet space of Spencer’s apartment. The golden hues of an autumn morning streamed through the curtains, casting a warm glow on the cozy room.

You stood by the door, pulling your coat tighter as a brisk wind rattled against the glass outside. 

Spencer approached you, a faint smile on his lips. He held your scarf in his hands, carefully unraveling it before stepping closer. “Hold still,” he murmured, his voice soft but steady. 

You obeyed, smiling up at him as he draped the scarf around your neck with precision. His long fingers worked carefully, adjusting the fabric so it sat just right. 

“There,” he said, stepping back to inspect his handiwork. His warm brown eyes flicked to yours, and he smiled, satisfied. 

“Thank you,” you said softly, your voice carrying a touch of fondness. 

His cheeks flushed the faintest pink as he adjusted his own scarf. “It’s windy today. I don't want you to catch a cold,” he explained, as if that needed clarification. 

You chuckled, reaching out to smooth the lapel of his coat. “You’re too good to me, you know that?” 

Spencer tilted his head, a flicker of shyness in his expression. “Well, someone has to make sure you’re taken care of.” 

The two of you were heading into work, it wasn’t an urgent case—just a simple day of catching up on paperwork.

As you slipped on your gloves, Spencer grabbed the bag slung over the arm of the couch and handed it to you.

“Ready?” he asked. You nodded, meeting his gaze with a warm smile. “Ready.” 

He opened the door for you, the cool autumn breeze brushing past as you stepped outside together. 

As you stepped outside, the crisp autumn air greeted you, its cool touch a refreshing contrast to the warmth of Spencer’s apartment.

You walked side by side, heading towards the car, when something caught your eye—a figure standing near the sidewalk, slightly obscured by a tree. 

Your steps faltered, and for a brief moment, the world seemed to slow down. The figure was familiar, but it took a moment for your mind to register who it was. 

“Dad?”

Spencer, walking just a little ahead of you, turned at the sound of your voice. His expression was a mix of confusion and surprise as you pulled your hand from his. 

Without a second thought, you stepped toward the man standing in front of you, your eyes widening as you made your way over.

The last time you had seen him was a month ago, maybe more—life had been so hectic, and the guilt of not visiting more often weighed heavily on your chest.

“Dad, what are you doing here?” you asked, trying to keep the mix of surprise and concern from your voice. 

He looked almost like he’d been waiting for you, his weathered face softening when he saw you approaching.

“I thought I’d surprise you,” he said with a sheepish grin, though his eyes held a hint of something unspoken. “Been a while, hasn’t it?” 

You’d been busy with work, the last few weeks especially, and the guilt gnawed at you.

You’d meant to call, meant to visit—but life had gotten in the way, as it often did. 

“I didn’t think I’d catch you on your way out,” your father continued, his voice laced with quiet affection. 

Spencer, who had been standing off to the side, observing quietly, stepped forward, his presence almost unnoticed until he was right beside you.

The moment he moved closer, the atmosphere seemed to shift. 

Your father, who had been focused on you, looked up at Spencer. For just a split second, you caught a glimmer in his eyes—something unreadable. It was the kind of look that made your chest tighten, but you didn’t mention it. 

“Hello, Dr. Reid,” your father greeted your boyfriend in a polite, neutral tone, though there was an edge to it that made you instinctively glance between the two of them. 

“Spencer. Spencer is fine,” Spencer replied quickly, his nervous smile never faltering as he reached out to shake your dad’s hand.

The gesture was stiff, formal and a little awkward.

You shifted uncomfortably, watching the exchange with a tightness in your chest.

You’d been dating Spencer for over a year now, but you still weren’t sure about your dad’s true feelings toward him. You knew he didn’t exactly dislike Spencer, but he certainly didn’t seem too fond of him either.

Spencer, ever perceptive, had long since picked up on your father's dismissive feelings towards him.

You could sense that Spencer, despite his usual confidence in everything else, was trying to navigate this delicate moment. But you could also see the unease behind his smile—the way his eyes darted between you and your father, trying to gauge where things stood. 

You glanced at your dad, trying to shift the conversation. “Dad,” you began, your voice gentle but firm. “You’re barely wearing anything. It’s freezing out here.” You pointed at his bare neck, where the cold wind seemed to bite even more fiercely. 

You saw the smallest shift in your father’s expression, something like embarrassment, before he cleared his throat. “I’m fine,” he muttered, brushing it off. 

But you could tell he wasn’t. 

“Let me grab a scarf from Spencer’s car,” you suggested, already taking a step toward the vehicle, but not before glancing back at the two of them. 

Spencer gave you a small smile, one that was so tender it almost made your heart ache. You could see him silently telling you he was fine with you stepping away.

You nodded at him and then turned back toward your father. “I won’t be long,” you said with a small, forced smile. 

As you made your way toward Spencer’s car, your thoughts felt scattered. You knew leaving wasn’t the best idea. There was a part of you that wanted to stay, to attempt to bridge whatever gap still lingered between your father and Spencer.

But the other part of you knew that staying would only make the atmosphere more unbearable—like you were sitting on a ticking time bomb, waiting for the explosion of the awkward tension. 

"So my daughter is staying at your apartment?" Your father's voice was calm but laced with a quiet intensity that immediately set Spencer on edge. 

Spencer, already feeling the pressure of the conversation, turned slightly to face him. His nerves betrayed him as he fiddled with the strap of his bag, the small movement signaling his unease. "

Yes....yes, sir," Spencer responded, his voice steady, but it was clear from the way his shoulders tensed that he was aware of how this conversation was going to unfold. 

Your father narrowed his eyes, clearly sizing Spencer up, perhaps trying to gauge his worthiness. "How long?" 

"Two months," Spencer replied, trying to keep his voice even. His eyes flicked toward you, though you were too far to hear or see. You seemed to be having trouble finding the scarf in the back of the car, your movements a bit more frantic than usual.

Spencer’s gaze lingered on you for a moment, silently hoping you would find it soon, but his thoughts were quickly dragged back to the uncomfortable exchange. 

Your father shook his head, his disappointment clear. "Two months, huh? That’s quite a bit of time." He seemed to be chewing on that thought, weighing the idea with a deep furrow in his brow. "She told me you work in the Behavioral Analysis Unit." 

"I do," Spencer answered immediately.

He was starting to see where this conversation was headed, and it wasn’t a place he wanted to be. 

"Must keep you busy," your father remarked, his words dripping with something more sinister. "You travel a lot, don’t you?" 

"Yes," Spencer responded, his foot unconsciously tapping against the concrete, the rhythmic motion a sign of his growing anxiety.

He paused for a second, attempting to read the situation, but your father’s next words took him completely by surprise. 

Your father’s expression hardened as he continued, his tone becoming more pointed. "You realize that this job of yours… it takes you away more than it keeps you here, right? You’re never really going to be here for her. And I’m not sure that’s something she deserves." 

Spencer’s chest tightened as he processed the words. He hadn’t expected this kind of conversation—wasn’t ready for your father’s directness.

It was clear now that your dad wasn’t just concerned about the job; he was worried about you, about what kind of future you might have with someone like Spencer. 

"I’m not saying you don’t have a good job," your father continued, his voice taking on a more condescending edge. "But you’re always going to be more away than with her. And that’s not fair."

He shook his head again, his lips pressed into a thin line. "I don’t want her alone, Spencer. I don’t want her left behind because of your career. She deserves more than that. She deserves someone who can be there for her." 

The weight of his words hit Spencer like a physical blow. He felt as if the ground beneath him had shifted, the certainty he once had about his place in your life now crumbling with every syllable your father spoke.

Spencer’s stomach turned in knots, his mind racing for something to say, but all that came out was a quiet, "I… I understand." 

Your father took a deep breath, his gaze never wavering from Spencer. "I’m just telling you this because I care about her, Spencer. And I don’t want her getting hurt in the end." His voice softened a fraction, but the finality of his words was undeniable.

"You need to think about what you’re offering her." 

Spencer stood there, speechless, his throat tight as the conversation sunk in. He hadn’t expected this—he hadn’t expected the quiet disapproval from your father. But now it was clear.

The man who had raised you didn’t trust Spencer to be the partner you deserved, not when Spencer’s job kept him so far from home. Spencer wasn’t sure how to respond. 

The air felt thick with pressure, but before he could gather his thoughts, he noticed you walking back toward them. You had the scarf in your hands.

You stopped beside Spencer, casting a quick glance at him before looking at your father. 

"Everything okay?" you asked, your voice light, but there was a faint tension behind your words as you noticed the heavy silence between the two men. 

Spencer took a deep breath, forcing a smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Yeah, everything’s fine," he said, his voice softer than usual. 

But your father didn’t respond right away. Instead, he gave Spencer one last lingering look before turning his attention back to you.

His tone had softened, but the protective distance remained. "Just remember, sweetheart," your father said, his voice almost gentle, though the underlying message was as clear as ever. "I only want what’s best for you." 

You could feel the weight of the conversation hanging over you. You knew exactly how it had gone—the unspoken judgment, the subtle disapproval your father carried for Spencer.

Your gaze shifted to Spencer, who was standing beside you but not meeting your eyes. He was staring straight ahead, his expression distant, almost like he was retreating into himself. 

You let out a small sigh, a mixture of frustration and helplessness filling your chest. “We have to get to work now,” you said, forcing a smile as you turned back to your father.

You were trying to maintain some normalcy, trying to erase the discomfort that had seeped into the air. “Do you want to catch dinner tonight?” 

You hoped that by inviting him, you could ease the tension, maybe even convince him about how good Spencer was for you.

“No, no, I don’t want to be a bother,” your father replied quickly. He stepped forward and gave you a quick hug. “I’ll visit you some other time.” 

He pulled away, and before you could say anything else, your father turned toward Spencer, giving him a quick, almost reluctant nod. “Spencer,” he muttered, and though his tone wasn’t unkind, it wasn’t friendly either. 

Spencer, his shoulders tense, barely glanced up at your father. He gave a small nod back, his response as polite and curt as possible. 

As your father walked away, heading toward his car, you stood there in silence with Spencer, both of you watching as he got in and drove off. 

Once the sound of the car faded into the distance, you turned to Spencer, but he was already walking toward the car.

A lump formed in your throat as you watched him. You knew him too well. His silence was louder than any words he could have said.

“Spencer,” you called, your voice softer than you intended. 

You could hear the slight hitch in his breath as he paused for a moment, standing with his back to you. 

You sighed loudly, frustration and helplessness flooding over you as you stared at his back.

You knew your father—his protective nature, his quiet judgment, his insistence that you deserve more.

And you knew Spencer, his brilliance and kindness and all the ways he loved you, even when things were difficult.

But right now, both sides seemed to be pushing against each other, leaving you caught in the middle, trying to hold it all together. 

You took a step toward him, your words almost catching in your throat.

“Spence.” you called out again. 

He turned slowly, his expression unreadable, but there was a heaviness in his eyes that made your heart ache. He wasn’t angry—not at you, anyway. 

"What did he say?" you asked softly, your voice careful, like stepping on glass. 

Spencer paused, his shoulders stiffening. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, as if trying to push the memory away.

“Nothing. It’s okay,” he muttered, his tone clipped, before he turned and made his way to the driver’s seat. 

The finality in his words stung, even though you knew he didn’t mean it to.

You bit your lip, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to well up. You didn’t want to cry now. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you climbed into the passenger’s seat. 

The silence between you was deafening. You stared out the window, the familiar streets passing by in a blur, but your mind wasn’t on the scenery.

You found yourself missing the easy, lighthearted atmosphere that had filled Spencer’s apartment just an hour ago.

Neither of you spoke the entire drive to work. Even in the elevator, where you usually exchanged soft smiles or playful remarks, the silence persisted.

Spencer was clearly lost in thought, his brows furrowed, his gaze distant. The tension in his body hadn’t eased since the conversation with your father, and though you knew he needed time to process, the quiet was starting to feel unbearable. 

You spent the morning at your desk, your fingers hovering over your keyboard, barely getting any work done.

The cyber division hadn’t assigned you much today—thankfully—but even the small tasks you had felt like too much in your distracted state.

Your thoughts kept drifting back to Spencer.

By lunchtime, you couldn’t take it anymore.

You needed someone to talk to.

You rushed toward Garcia’s office. The door to her brightly decorated space was slightly ajar, and you didn’t hesitate to step inside.

Garcia was at her desk, typing furiously, her energy as electric as ever. 

“Hey, sunshine!” she greeted, glancing up with a warm smile. But her expression shifted the moment she saw the look on your face. “Oh no, what happened? Did someone hurt you? Who do I need to destroy?” 

You let out a shaky laugh, her dramatic response easing the tension in your chest just a little. “No, it’s not that... It’s just... I need to talk.” 

Garcia’s face softened, and she swiveled her chair to face you fully. “Of course, sweetie. Sit down. Spill.” 

You sat on the edge of the other chair in the room, your hands wringing in your lap as you tried to find the words. “It’s Spencer,” you admitted, your voice small. 

Garcia’s eyes widened slightly, but she didn’t interrupt, letting you continue. 

“We saw my dad this morning,” you explained, your words tumbling out in a rush. “And… it didn’t go well. My dad said something to Spencer. I don’t know what exactly, but whatever it was, it really upset him. He’s been distant ever since.” You paused, taking a deep breath as the emotions you’d been holding back threatened to spill over. “And I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t even know what to say to him.” 

Garcia reached out, placing a comforting hand on yours. “First of all, breathe. It’s okay to feel overwhelmed.” 

You nodded, trying to steady your breathing as she continued. 

“Second,” she said, her tone gentle but firm, “this is Spencer we’re talking about. You know how he is.Whatever your dad said probably hit a nerve—he’s probably overthinking every word, replaying the conversation in his head a thousand times.” 

You nodded again, her words resonating. “I just don’t want him to think my dad’s opinion matters more than how I feel about him. I love him, Garcia. I don’t want him to doubt that.” 

Garcia smiled softly, her eyes warm with understanding. “Then tell him that. Remind him how much he means to you. Sometimes, when people are hurting, they just need to know they’re not alone.” 

Her words struck a chord, and you felt a small wave of relief wash over you. “You’re right,” you said, your voice steadier now. “I do need to talk to him.” 

Garcia gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. “You’ve got this, sunshine. Spencer loves you. He just needs a little reminder that he’s enough.” 

You smiled at her, feeling a little lighter for the first time all day. “Thank you, Garcia. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” 

“Anytime,” she said with a wink. “Now, go get your genius boyfriend and fix this.” 

After work, you stood by Spencer’s car, your scarf pulled tightly around your neck as the chilly evening air bit at your skin.

Normally, Spencer would meet you at your desk, both of you leaving together like clockwork, but today he’d been distant, avoiding the usual routine. 

The wait felt endless as you fiddled with your scarf, trying to keep the cold at bay. Spencer was always the one to fix it for you, his fingers deft but gentle, ensuring it was snug enough to keep you warm.

The memory brought a small pang to your chest.

Finally, you spotted his familiar figure emerging through the building’s glass doors. When he reached the car, he stood just in front of you, fumbling with the keys to turn it on remotely. 

“Hey,” he said quietly, not meeting your eyes. 

You leaned your back against the car, the metal cool against your coat. “Hey,” you replied softly, watching him. 

Spencer moved to open the driver’s side door, and you felt a pang in your chest as he avoided lingering near you.

As he opened the door, you spoke, your voice quiet but carrying a weight you couldn’t hide. “I missed you today.” 

Spencer paused, glancing at you briefly. There was something unreadable in his expression, a flicker of emotion that disappeared as quickly as it came.

Without a word, he got into the driver’s seat, shutting the door behind him. 

Your heart ached at the distance between you. You slipped into the passenger’s seat, closing the door softly, the silence in the car feeling heavier than the cold outside.

Spencer adjusted his mirrors and reached for the gear shift, but before he could start the car, you reached out and placed your hand gently over his. 

“Spence, come on,” you said, your voice trembling slightly. “Talk to me.” 

He froze under your touch, his fingers stilling against the gear shift. For a moment, he didn’t move, didn’t say anything.

“Please,” you whispered, your voice wavering. “Don’t shut me out.” 

Spencer let out a shaky breath, his hand slipping from the gear shift to rest in his lap. He still wouldn’t look at you, his gaze fixed on some distant point outside the windshield. 

You felt your throat tighten, but you pressed on. “Spence, I know my dad said something to you. I don’t know what, but I can see how much it hurt you. Please, just tell me. Whatever it is, we can work through it together.” 

He turned his head slightly, finally meeting your eyes. The vulnerability there made your heart ache.

“It’s not just what he said,” Spencer admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s the truth in it. He’s right. I’m gone so much—I’ll always be gone so much. You deserve someone who’s there for you, someone who can give you the stability your father wants for you.” 

Your chest tightened as his words sank in. “Spencer, no,” you said, shaking your head. “That’s not his decision to make. That’s not your decision to make. It’s mine. And I chose you. I choose you every single day.” 

He looked away again, his jaw clenching as he wrestled with his thoughts. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “I don’t want you to end up resenting me because I can’t always be there.” 

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “Do you know how I feel when you’re not there?” you asked, your voice soft but unwavering. “I miss you. Of course, I do. But I don’t resent you for it, Spence. I know what your job means to you. I know how important it is. And I love that about you. I love you.” 

Spencer’s gaze softened as he stared into your eyes, his brown eyes searching yours for any trace of doubt.

He couldn’t deny how much he missed you today. 

“Your dad really doesn’t like me,” he mumbled, his voice low and laced with hurt. He tried to keep his expression neutral, but the cracks were showing.

It wasn’t just disappointment; it was the ache of knowing one of the most important men in your life didn’t want him there. 

“Spence,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly as you lifted your hand to his face. You cupped his cheek, your thumb brushing gently over his skin, grounding him in the moment.

“My dad doesn’t know you the way I do. He doesn’t see everything you do for me, the way you love me. And that’s on him. But I do, Spencer. I see it. I feel it. Every single day.” 

Spencer closed his eyes for a moment, leaning into your touch. The warmth of your palm against his cheek was enough to steady him, to remind him that no matter what anyone else thought, you were here, choosing him. 

His eyes opened, meeting yours again, and for the first time that day, the tension seemed to lift slightly. He reached up, his fingers wrapping gently around your wrist, holding your hand against his cheek. 

“I don’t deserve you,” he murmured, a faint smile tugging at his lips despite the lingering sadness in his voice. 

“You do,” you insisted, your voice firm. “And I’ll keep reminding you of that until you believe it.” 

Spencer let out a soft, almost shaky laugh, his shoulders relaxing as he looked at you with an expression filled with both gratitude and affection.

A small smile formed on your face at the sound of his laugh. “You’re stuck with me, whether my dad likes it or not.” 

He pulled you into a gentle embrace, his arms wrapping around you as he rested his chin on the top of your head.

“I love you,” he whispered softly. 

“I love you too, Spence,” you replied, your voice muffled against his chest. 

For the first time that day, everything felt right again. 

[awwitschuu]

𐙚 | TELL ME YOU NEED ME

cw: whiny! reader, teasing, f! reader, cream pie, clit stimulation, 🦾, caleb is kinda condescending but it’s hot so! MDNI! blank/ ageless blogs will be blocked <3

being so needy and embarrassingly horny that you try to throw hints that fly over your sweet boyfriend caleb’s head:( cuddled up and “adjusting yourself” against his bulge, not wearing any panties so it’s easier for him to access your needy cunt. it’s been an hour and he still hasn’t gotten the clue and fucked your brains out.

it’s so bad you have to spell it out for him as if it’s not embarrassing enough, wiggling your ass against him and taking one of his thick fingers to suck on. it isn’t until then that your bf has an “ooh!” moment and acts accordingly, pulling your shorts to the side and toying with your clit.

“you’re a mess down here, were you really waiting for me? i had no clue, poor baby.” caleb whispers, kissing your neck as an apology. “a-about time, dummy…” you whine, the yummy sensation of him spreading you on his fingers making you shudder. little did you know, caleb already knew what you wanted. playing dumb so you got all worked up and needy for his touch, he just didn’t expect for you to make the first move. he gets off on pushing all of your cute little buttons.

its not long until he has you laid on your back and he’s crowding over you, his heavy cock rubbing in between your slick puffy folds. you’re so impatient and pouty that he finds it adorable almost, glossed lips quivering and brows scrunched together as you paw at his chest for him to push it in. his tip continues to bump against your sticky clit, slick collecting on the head and shaft. “my my, i think my pretty girl forgot her manners,” he coos, his voice layered in a thick honey. he slaps your pussy a few times with his cock, the weight of it sends shivers through your legs.

“i know you can use that sweet brain of yours and ask nicely for what you want, yeah?” his hips continue their prior rhythm, his length gliding in between you as he waits on you to whine the magic words. you’re so beyond frustrated, your mind so clouded with need that you give in, as much as you hate to.

“p-please caleb…fuck me…stick it in i can’t take it anymore…”

you’re so pretty when you’re pliant and needy for him and only him, caleb knows you can’t help it sometimes, especially with him being away for long periods at a time. he pushes his cock in slowly, warm tight rings of muscle hugging around him. “there we go, princess. i knew you could do it.” he coos as his hips thrust into you, your body jolting in tandem. he pushes your legs to you chest, his cock sinking deeper into your heat until it presses against that spongy sweet spot. the way he speaks to you doesn’t even compare to how rough he is right now, the headboard thumping against the wall over and over.

“you’ve been waiting for this, huh? for me to come home and take care of my sweet girl?” caleb leans down, his lips breaths away from yours as he hooks your legs over his strong forearms. his gaze is intimately drawn to yours, the eye contact between you both causing warmth to saturate your cheeks. you can’t help but clamp down on him tighter, making him hiss from the heightened pleasure. “u-uh huh, missed you so much caleb!” your lips smoosh against his in a passionate yet sloppy kiss, your tongues clashing together as he fucks you harder, swallowing each and every moan that spills from you.

your legs wrap around his waist, locking him in place as he fucks deeper into you, his tip continuously nudging against the depths of your pussy. “p-princess wait i’m gonna cum! you feel so fucking good, baby!” caleb groans, his moans growing louder with each stroke. you can feel him twitching inside you, he’s trying so hard not to cum inside but you’re not making it easy. your alluring saccharine scent is so intoxicating and you’re so soft. the way you’re moaning his name right now is pure music to him, if he had it his way he’d stay like this forever. “c-cum inside! i want it all, baby!”

his eyes shoot open with shock when he hears that, did he hear you right? “y-you sure? i need you to be sure…” you nod, your lashes fluttering at him as your eyes beg for him to fill you until he can’t anymore. “oh f-fuck.” he groans, his breaking point reached as his hips begin to stutter. you feel his sticky load spill from his sensitive tip and flood your cunt, a creamy ring of your juices forming around him. you expect him to be exhausted after that, rubbing his back and placing a kiss to his temple, but he’s still hard inside you in fact harder than before.

“that wasn’t fair, princess…” he smirks as he flips you over onto your hands and knees, the cool sensation of the titanium making up his hand gripping your hip. “you didn’t cum. i need that needy little pussy of yours to cream on me at least once, or i won’t be satisfied.” his cock finds its place inside of you once more, this time his strokes more deliberate and intense. “besides, you wanted me to fuck your brains out, riiight?” he switches hands so that his robotic one can play with your clit, massaging the sensitive bud into tight circles. your legs begin to tremble as you’re overwhelmed with pleasure, his cock stretching you out with each powerful thrust, you can’t help but cry out. the muscles in your calves grow tight as you start to come close, the final nail in the coffin hit when caleb pushes down on your back so it’s arched more, causing him to hit deeper.

“gonna cum! gonna c-cum!!” you squeal, feeling caleb twitch inside you like before, this time his rhythm remains focused. your hips move on their own, now fucking yourself on his cock desperately to claim your high. “what a greedy lil thing, wanna cum that bad?” he chuckles darkly, his metallic finger buzzing against your clit. “go ahead, princess. you can take it.”

a.n: sorry but gonna stop here bc it’s getting long but yeah….hes so mean on the low NGH!! i thinks ill expand on his finger being able to vibrate in another post tehe. tysm for reading! if you enjoyed pls feel free to like, reblog and comment!! xoxo

tags: @awwgasm @zehrbear

[v6quewrlds]

angst/fluff finally getting pregnant after trying for months with justin

🥺 please and thank yewww

imagine finding out with justin.

The cleaning spree had started as a way to pass the time while Justin was running errands, but now as you held the pregnancy test in your trembling hand, your focus had shifted. You had found the test buried under a pile of expired cosmetics and dust bunnies, a relic from a past hope. The little plastic stick stared back at you, its pink lines stark against the white background, whispering the news you had longed to hear.

With a deep breath, you composed yourself and sent a text to Justin. You didn't want to get ahead of yourself, the test had been sitting there for who knew how long, and you wanted to be sure. "Can you grab a pregnancy test on your way home?" You tried to keep any hint of excitement from your words, not wanting to jinx it.

His reply came 15 minutes later through an incoming call, "Are you serious?" Justin's voice was a mix of excitement and confusion, echoing through the bathroom. "Please tell me this isn't a prank."

Your heart fluttered as you held the phone against your ear. "Hello to you too," you teased, trying to keep your voice steady. "No, I'm not kidding. I was cleaning out the bathroom and took an old test just to see. It was positive."

Justin's footsteps grew louder as he rushed through the front door, a bag from the convenience store in hand. "Babe, you're not messing with me?" When you appeared at the bottom of the stairs, he looked at you with wide eyes, his long limbs frozen mid-step.

You couldn't help but chuckle at his expression. "Yes, Justin. I'm serious." You nodded, turning to return to the bathroom, Justin hot on your tail. "But I want to take another one to be absolutely sure." You took the new test from the bag, your heart racing. The room felt smaller as you both waited for the result, the air thick with anticipation.

Justin's eyes darted around the room, trying to find something to distract him from the ticking seconds. "You think this is the one?" he asked, his voice hopeful but tentative.

You took a deep breath and responded, "We'll know in a few minutes." You leaned your head against his chest, your arms crossed over your stomach as if to hold in the secret you both hoped was coming true. The silence was deafening as the timer on his phone counted counting down.

When the moment of truth arrived, you took the test in your shaky hands and looked at it. 'Pregnant' glared back at you in bold letters. The room seemed to spin, and you had to grip the countertop to keep yourself from collapsing. Justin's arms wrapped around your waist, his breath warm against your neck. "We're having a baby," he whispered, awe in his voice.

The two of you stared at each other, the reality slowly setting in. Then he picked you up, twirling you around the bathroom, your laughter echoing off the walls. You had talked about this day for so long, planning, dreaming, and sometimes fearing. Now it was finally here, and the excitement was overwhelming.

"Holy shit!" Justin exclaimed, setting you back down on the floor with a gentle thud. He looked at the test in your hand with a grin so wide it could've split his face in two. "We're having a baby."

You couldn't help but laugh at his excitement, your own nerves giving way to a sense of giddiness. "Might as well show me your list of names," Justin hummed as he held you close.

"I don't know what you're talking about," you giggled, playing coy as you leaned into his warmth.

[yeeterthek33per]

It's Warm and The Charms-a-workin' (Glódís Perla Viggósdóttir x Reader)

A/n Requested. Gettin back into it, y'all (again)

Content/Warning(s): Fluff, Swearing, Gay. (Idk)

"I swear it keeps getting nicer every time I come back here."

A few heads turn your way with curious gazes at the newly deboarded woman barely wrapped up in a long sleeve shirt, jacket and jeans, gazing around with a warm smile despite the severe chill swirling around the country for the Christmas holidays.

"C'mon you, their waiting at the gate for us, they've been asking when I'm going to bring you back to Iceland. You know sometimes I think they love you more than me."

Your girlfriend shakes her head fondly, taking your hand and dragging your somehow hot running self up the stairs into the terminal from the freezing cold outside, occasionally passed by a rushing flightgoer with small apologies for brushing past in the narrow walkway.

The sun was just starting to crest over the horizon, showing itself finally in its short daily visit over Reykjavik, the early morning flight from Germany to Keflavík and then Reykjavik allowing you enough time to land during daylight hours.

Not that you minded the evening hours in Iceland.

The place was beautiful this time of year, or even just in general but having constantly running festive lighting all year round was certainly a plus.

The airport hustle around you feels somewhat familiar to the one in Munich as your hand tightens in Glódís' to hold her closer to you as you move around the crowd, eventually spotting the familiar faces of your (you're hoping) future in-laws.

Viggó and Magnea both approach you with warm smiles, quickly bringing you in for hugs each, rapid greetings to you and their daughter who's amused look of "Told-you-so" makes you chuckle.

"Quickly, We need to get home before the sun goes down, we have some places to take you to."

"Of course, I'll grab our suitcases and meet you outside the terminal if you go find the car?"

You turn to Glódís, nodding towards the arrivals baggage claim.

"Okay, call me if you get lost again."

The small smirk on her face makes you roll your eyes and huff at her playfully.

"I will not. Now stop it."

She chuckles.

An antic look on her face and your surprised by a very sudden slap to your butt and you jump, nearly swearing at the loudness alone and a soft glare back her way.

"Well get moving!"

Glaring harder at the Icelander, you rather swiftly reprimanding her.

"Damn it, Gló, not in front of your-"

Her parents look back, amused at how quickly you shut your mouth, flustered.

Magnea nudges the ginger towards the door with an amused smile on her face, leaving you to grab the packed bags.

"Leave the poor girl alone, Glódís."

The last thing you hear in the loud airport from them is Glódís' soft giggle as they exit, leaving you staring at the luggage conveyor's entrance to the arrivals lobby.

Standing in silence as you take in the warmth of the air conditioning, blasting through the large building, battling against the ever present cold threatening to overwhelm the area through the ever open automatic doors.

Given how busy Munich always is, it surprises you how much you seem to relax in the busy-ness of Reykjavik.

Maybe it's in the way you find yourself thinking about what you're doing during the trip here for the week.

Maybe it's the thought of the long conversations ahead, constantly going over how to word your one question to the girl you love's parents.

Maybe it's a bit traditional and outdated of you.

Maybe it's something you know she won't be mad about you asking.

You'd talked about marriage before, long before now, back when you were still acclimating, still just friends with the woman.

She'd said marriage was something she wanted in the future.

That whenever it happened, it happened.

You thank the lord every day that you'd gotten an answer that day because any other day would've definitely scared the poor woman off given how quickly you'd both gotten together within your first seven months at the club.

Regardless, she wanted marriage, the question was, does she want it with you?

It's a nervous thought, it makes you tick every day you spend with her because you find yourself falling head over heels in love with this woman.

The fact you even have those doubts worries you.

You're so comfortable with each other, there's no part of her you don't know already.

There's no part of you that she doesn't know or at least have an idea of by now.

She knows your ticks, your nervous habits, your expressions, even somehow conquering the art of your weird southern sayings.

Lord, she knows what you're about to say before you say it.

It takes all of a single look and she knows how you're feeling before you do.

The best part is, it was all so easy to settle into, it wasn't slow, it wasn't fast, just the right speed for you to fall for each other.

The domesticity.

And that's when you realise that your fears shouldn't be fears at all.

The fact Glódís hasn't run away from the domesticity tells you everything.

Why stay comfortable with that if she wasn't in it for the long haul, right?

Not to mention she's been talking a lot about your teammates weddings and...

Oh.

She's been hinting this whole time.

Oh shoot.

She's been hinting this whole time and you've missed it- and you're about to miss the brightly coloured suitcases belonging to you and her travelling past you on the conveyor for the fourth time.

Swiftly grappling onto the straps of the bags, you wheel them out to the carpark, your previous thoughts ringing through your head and you spot the Toyota belonging to Viggó pulled up closer to the carparks entrance.

Glódís looks from her watch held up towards her face, giving you a teasing smile as you walk towards the car.

"Took your time, hey?"

"C'mon, you know they take an age gettin' the bags loaded onto the conveyor. I did NOT get lost."

The cheeky smile on her face as she presses a soft kiss to your cheek makes you pout, and she chuckles, grabbing the bags from your hands to lug them up into the trunk.

The drive back to Kópavogur is shorter than you expected, surprised at so little traffic on the way back to the large town where the woman sitting leant on your shoulder grew up.

Her warm breath puffing against the skin of your neck as she watches you take in the surroundings of the roads through the car window, relaxes you.

The whole time you spend watching car after car go past, the buildings occasionally towering over the highways and side roads remind you of your time back in Portland.

You notice the slowing puffs of air against you, and the woman on your shoulder falls asleep there before the end of the trip, having been awake long before the majority of the trip over here began.

Carefully holding her head there, your hand rests on her face, and shifts to her knee, and you make eye contact with her father in the rear vision mirror, who smiles at the sight behind him.

Ever the protective father, his smile at you stems from the place where he knows his stubborn, intelligent and strong daughter has found someone who'll protect her in even the smallest moments without question, and with no words spoken, gives you a small nod, which you smile softly at and return the gesture.

Upon arrival, you gently stir the woman with a kiss to the forehead and a couple nudges, helping her from the car with a hand down and a wink, which she accepts with a small grin, plus a chuckle from Viggó which earns him a slap to the shoulder from his wife, something to the effect of "Leave them be." exiting the woman's mouth.

Not that you pay him much mind, your eyes locked on your girlfriend who's currently leading you and your suitcase over to her childhood home, her spare key already in hand.

The house is a warm, two story building, with an older brick touch compared to the modern surroundings you'd seen.

The small yard out front neat and clean and from the glimpse you get of the backyard over the side wooden fence, the same goes out there.

Though an old children's swing set and occasional small toys linger out in the grassy snow still, seemingly left there as a memory of the growth of the woman currently holding the thick wooden front door open for you and the older couple.

You step aside to gesture in only for them to practically push you in themselves, insisting guests first.

The house is still warm on the inside, the snow not making it past the concrete path and stoop, a drastic change in temperature for your now Munich accustomed self, much used to the warmth of the ranch you grew up on.

The inside is just as neatly kept as the yards, exceptions made for their home to look lived in, reminding you of your own.

You like a clean home but nobody loves a place not lived in.

It's perfect and you missed it, saying so out loud out of gratitude to your girlfriend's parents for letting you stay there.

"The place is beautiful as always, Ma'am."

Magnea chuckles, patting you on the shoulder as she moves past you to drop her bag by the entryway on the table.

"Thank you, Y/n. You know how I feel about being called that, though."

Your cheeks turn a soft pink, apology on the tip of your tongue until you get an amused pointed look from the older Icelander.

"Habits die hard."

Rubbing the back of your neck, you move to put your suitcase up in the room where Glódís has disappeared to, only to be grabbed by the shoulder and pulled to a corner of the kitchen by the older pair, voices hushed as they gesture for you to come closer.

"You got it, right?"

Back straightening, eyes widening in surprise, you stutter softly.

"Got w-what?"

"Oh come on, no need to hide it from us, we can see that look anywhere."

Glancing back and forth between them, Viggó's eyes in particular watching your own as they flicker trying to work out if they mean what you think they mean.

"Yes, that. Did you find one for her?"

Swallowing, you nod.

"Yeah, but how-"

"How did we know? Please. It's obvious."

Magnea is quick to ease the panicking look in your eyes.

"Not so obvious as for her to know it's happening but we know an approaching proposal when we see it. Especially when you suddenly start getting nervous around us. Your girlfriend's parents."

Viggó nods.

"You've got something to ask us, right?"

You hesitantly nod, going to open your mouth.

"Well don't."

Oh shoot. They don't approve. This is bad.

"We're not the ones you should be asking. Nobody but our daughter needs to be asked."

Oh.

"I completely understand, but it's just something we've discussed previously, and coming from how I grew up, even if I wasn't planning on taking much account of the answer, it's still nice to ask and-"

"And we completely understand, we know our girl would say yes to you in a heartbeat regardless of our answer, and she knows well that we know she wouldn't listen to us if we said no anyway, but our answer will be the same regardless because it's not us you're asking."

Viggó's hand tightens on your shoulder.

"You've shown how much we can trust you with our little girl, even though she's not little anymore, she's our baby, and you've proven how much you love her. And we'll always say yes to the one who protects her and loves her like you do."

Nodding, your eyes tear up a little, a wide smile crossing your face.

"Thank you, Sir. I appreciate that. And yes, I love your daughter more than anything. And she's given just as much back, more than me actually. I owe her so much and I wanna spend the rest of my life giving that back to her."

"Good, we know you will. In the mean time, you should probably go upstairs, lord knows she's dying to ask you about the conversation we just had."

You chuckle, nodding in agreement.

"Don't forget to show us later!"

Magnea calls up after you on your way up the stairs and at this point, the pink in your cheeks crawls up to the tips of your ears, which you practically have to smack away before you enter through the half closed door of the now rearranged bedroom.

Instead of the old bed there, it's been switched out for a larger queen size, though her old posters and dresser still remain, wanting to preserve her teen years yet again.

The woman is sat twiddling her thumbs on the mattress pretending like she hadn't just been attempting to listen down the hallway, not unlike her younger years when her parents had hushed conversations away from prying ears.

"Cute baby. You're not subtle, though."

Groaning, she flops back on the bed.

"Take that as you won't tell me?"

"Mm, no. You'll find out later. Just some stuff about our plans for the week."

The red head pouts up you as you sit on the mattress beside her dramatically limp body.

"Nothing? Not even a little hint?"

She reaches up, her thumb and forefinger held up in your direction indicating a small gap.

Laughing, you move her fingers together, closing the gap altogether.

"Nada, beautiful. Nothin'. You'll be fine. You, missy, need a lil' patience."

Leaning over, you press kiss after kiss to her face, finally shifting to her lips, silencing her soft grumbles turned giggles, her hands moving to remove your beanie, tangling in your loose long hair, tucking it back behind your ear as you smile down at her.

"Alright, alright. No more plotting with my parents, though. Those two won't tell me anything either, this is so not fair."

Chuckling you poke her nose.

"No guarantees, sorry."

Another soft pout that you kiss away, being pulled back in for a longer softer one, her grip on the back of your neck loosening to let you pull back a few centimetres.

"Now c'mon, we're losing daylight and your parents have stuff still planned for us."

Much to the chagrin of your girlfriend, she finds you constantly having quiet words with the two throughout your walk around the city, occasionally glancing her way with loving, encouraging eyes.

It's driving her mad trying to work out what's happening, not used to being this excluded from conversations, but she let's it happen, knowing it's just you bonding with the pair, remembering how nervous you'd been to meet them the first time around.

----

"Baby, relax, they'll love you."

Your hands grip the armrests of the middle seat on the plane tightly, knee bouncing slightly, much to the annoyance of the seat occupant on your right.

"I know but it's the first time I'm meeting anyone of my partners' parents, let alone yours, Gló."

Her expression softens at the genuinely stressed look in your eye.

She's never given you reason to be nervous, talking about the times her dad had proven time and time again that he wasn't as much of a threat as he liked to present.

Then again, maybe that was the point.

You didn't wanna disappoint the man and woman who'd raised the woman you'd fallen so hard for.

A hand loosening your curled fist and tangling fingers with yours makes you look at her finally, eyes cautiously meeting hers.

"Baby, they love you already, I don't know how many times they've asked me to bring you home for the winter break. There's no possible way they don't love you."

"But what if I don't live up to what they expect to see?"

Her hands cup your face, and your knee finally stops it's vibrating harshly against the carpeted floor of the plane.

"They expect you to be you, not anyone else. They don't expect anything because they wanna meet you, the human being who's behind all the love and time you've given me that I've told them about."

Biting your lower lip, you nod slowly, taking slower breaths to calm yourself as the plane begins it's descent into Reykjavik.

"Okay, I can accept that."

She nods in agreement, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek, settling properly back into her seat, ready for landing as soon as possible to get to see her family again finally.

-

"Y/n! Finally, look at you! So strong and beautiful, isn't she, Viggó?"

Your cheeks flush at the praise from the blonde haired woman enveloping you in a surprisingly warm embrace for a first meeting, your eyes darting back and forth between the older woman and your very much amused girlfriend, who's holding back laughter at your reaction.

"Mamma, let the girl breathe."

The woman pulls back, holding you in her grip still, hands on your arms looking over you with a never wavering smile before turning you towards the now standing next to you older gentleman, Glódís' father.

"Nice to finally meet you, Sir."

Holding out your hand, you go for a handshake only to have it half smacked away with an amused chuckle and hugged tightly by the much stronger than you anticipated older man.

"None of that formality, we're a hugging family here."

"Do I get my hugs, now, too?"

Having to remind her parents she's there teasingly, she's quickly enveloped by her mother, who presses a kiss to her cheek.

"Sorry, darling, she's so much more beautiful in person, why did you not tell us this?"

"Mamma, don't overwhelm the poor girl, she's about to combust."

"Magnea, dear, she's just met us, save the compliments for later."

Her dad chuckles, arm still around your shoulder squeezing you with a force only the excitedness of a dad meeting a new friend can.

"Yes, well, we're both very happy to have you here at home, now we have so much to do, let's get you both back to Kópavogur so you can rest up in time for it. We have so much to discuss."

----

And, lord, discuss they did.

Everything from your life in Germany right now down to every little adventure you had as a ranch owner's daughter.

Every horse you ever rode, every animal you cared for, everything you did as kid, they loved hearing about it. If it wasn't for the curious wonderment in their eyes, it would've felt like an interrogation.

All your girlfriend did was sit back, smiling behind every sip of her drink the whole time, more than happy to let you do the talking for once.

Her parents knew what she did already, they've seen her life, watched her games, it was nice to have someone take over for a while.

Of course, she didn't escape all of it, but she was letting you take the brunt of it for most of the trip, occasionally nudging her parents away from you for a little while to let you breathe.

Not that you minded any of it.

They were intense.

Hoo boy were they intense.

But it was nice and you enjoyed the feeling. Not that your own parents don't ask and talk to you, but it's different coming from people who aren't traditional southern farmers.

Your parents, albeit proud of how far you've come, don't quite find the excitement in your life that Glódís' parents do, and you find yourself appreciating that more than you want to admit.

This time around, though, it's less about your life growing up.

A lot about your national team games, a heck of a lot about the time you've spent with Glódís and more catchups from the last time about six months ago when you'd seen them in Munich.

It's just as the sun starts cresting back over the opposite end of the skyline when you realise you'd been talking for a good four hours at least.

From going to get food and some fresh groceries, to hanging out with Viggó while Glódís and Magnea went to go find coffee for the lot of you, which your aching tired body was practically begging for by the time the sun fully sets and the pair return.

Given how cold it is out, your girlfriend finds herself missing your warmth and eventually pulls you away from the pair long enough to tuck herself into your side, much to your amusement, given how you'd figured she'd be the one holding your shivering self, again, much to your surprise.

You grow up in one of the hottest places in the US and here you are taking the cold in one of the coldest countries on the planet like you were on a holiday in Ibiza.

Of which, if you looked down long enough at the red head who grew up in said cold climate (which Glódís would argue isn't even the coldest part of iceland, far from it) , you'd see the annoyed tick in her eye as she shivers her way under your jacket, gotten far too used to the mediocre temperatures in Germany.

The walk for the most part is quieter than the initial part of the day, both you and the other couple enjoying the sights of the night side of Reykjavik.

It takes until you hear and feel the constant yawns from the woman tucked into you that you finally mention that you should head back to the house for rest, given how little sleep the older woman had before you'd left.

She half protests, having been enjoying the stroll, but then she yawns again, and your amused smirk down at her makes her roll her eyes and concede, her parents leading you back to where you'd first started the walk.

On the drive back home, a couple things catch your attention, despite your eyes fighting to shut tight for the night wrapped up in the warmth of the a/c in the car and Glódís dead asleep on your shoulder on the way home.

One, there's a lot of city activity for... you check your watch with a soft expression of surprise.. six pm.

Two, driving slowly along a high pedestrian area, something out the window catches your eye quickly, feeling a soft giddy excitement you haven't felt since you'd first come to Germany and found the horses on the farm just next to where you were currently living on the outskirts of Munich.

Trotting happily along the snow ridden paths, a fluffy white Icelandic horse, strong and beautiful in it's journey. Beside it, another one, a deep brown in colour and attached to the rest of it.

Decorative reigns and a sleigh, designed in time for the Christmas holidays, and sat in said sleigh, a happily giggling couple gazing around at the slow falling snow that had begun about half an hour into your drive back home.

It gives you an idea.

----

You awake to an alarm you hadn't even realised you'd set on your phone, still not used to the limited daylight hours, instead of the creeping sunlight through the curtains, you can still see the vague flashing of Christmas lights outside the bedroom window.

Tucked into your side, your love groans softly, tugging you closer to her in an attempt at sheltering herself from the blaring notification going off on your side of the bed.

Finally, with bleary eyes, you attack the phone with enough hand that it stops ringing and you glance at the clock.

"9:00"

In a graceful attempt at trying to get your brain cells to communicate, you think it's nine pm with how dark it is out still and ignore the alarm you'd set before bed.

Within ten minutes, there's a soft peak of glare attacking the white snow out front of the house that sparkles up through the gaps in the blinds.

A soft mumble of, "You didn't close them all the way." huffed into the skin of your jawline as she presses tired kisses against your skin.

Finally, you turn and pull yourself close enough to the blinds to close them fully, a hand drags you back into the oven warmth of the blankets, curling into your chest once more, happily taking a few more minutes of sleep.

Then, a soft knock at the bedroom door awakens you again, this time to nearly full sunlight and a head of blonde hair poking in past the frame to your affirmation to come in.

Magnea smiles softly, shaking her head at the woman buried under ten layers of blankets barely visible to the outside world, and then your half of the bed half empty of said blankets and your form curled around the wrapped up lump.

"You two best be getting up, I swear, Germany has done that woman's sleep schedule no good."

You chuckle, half asleep still, but relent, managing to wrench your sleep shirt away from the iron grip of the defender, wrapping her up a bit tighter to let her sleep longer and tug on a pair of pants to join her parents downstairs, wanting to discuss with them the idea that popped into your head last night.

"You mentioned Glódís loved horses as a child, right? Or the Icelandic ones, at least, am I right?"

Viggó nods, gesturing to a framed photo on the wall of a young strawberry blonde girl on the back of a saddled Icelandic horse, smiling gleefully, clinging to it's mane, face just about buried in it.

"Loved them, obsessed with them. We were convinced she'd become a farmer when she grew up but, well, football became an interest at a slightly older age than then. Why do you ask?"

"I think I know what I wanna do for the... you know."

Viggó slowly nods, a raised brow in your direction.

"You know I love horses myself so I figured this might work out perfectly for us. A Christmas sleigh ride. Maybe coordinated with dinner and well... a proposal."

Nodding thoughtfully, Magnea looks to her husband for a few moments and then grins.

"That sounds wonderful, she'll love it. She'd marry you no matter where but she'll definitely love this more than anything."

Humming, you take a sip of the coffee that Viggó sits down in front of you with a thank you and a grateful smile.

"I know we discussed the dinner by the coast but I just fell in love with those horses when I saw them last night, plus seeing those people, it just reminded me so much of us and-"

Soft, slow padding footsteps down the steps interrupt your sentence and your head perks up to watch the doorway, a tired looking Glódís wandering into the kitchen and you pass her your cup with a small smile and kiss to the cheek, knowing she preferred a slightly cooler coffee than straight from the pot.

"Good morning, Prinsessa."

There's a soft teasing in Magnea's voice, though it goes mostly ignored by her daughter bar the small amused eye roll.

"I'm so used to Germany now, my sleep schedule, my cold tolerance. I need to come back to Iceland before I retire, I swear."

"Sounds good to us."

A small chuckle and Viggó clinks his mug with his wife's.

You chuckle along with them.

"Considering I'm the American here, I genuinely don't understand how I have the better tolerance for the cold than you right now. I grew up in Texas, woman."

"Shush."

Poking your tongue out at her, you stand up to move towards the coffee pot, helping yourself to another cup, setting another brew on knowing this wouldn't be the last one of the morning before you all left to your business for the day.

Letting silence take over the room, you slowly drink the freshly poured beverage in your hand before it's sneakily snagged by the other woman, already having finished your previous coffee for you as is.

Luckily, you don't mind sharing your morning coffee with her if it means you get to see the cheeky, grateful smile on her face, and you get to receive the sweet peck she gives you afterward.

Her body slots against yours easily, cuddling into your side as she browses her Instagram while you glance over the local paper that's been sat on the bench since yesterday morning.

You haven't quite mastered the language, but you know enough to get by whilst going over the various little bits and pieces of the latest news in Kópavogur and Reykjavik.

The warmth in the moment has you melting into the domesticity and you find your heart racing a little as you glance down at the no longer phone occupied woman, instead noticing she's watching you.

Her eyes watching your expression, a cute little focused look on your face as you glance over the wording on the page.

The twinkle in your eye as you put each word together on the page with connection and context.

She loves how much effort you put into life with her.

Every little thing, from the language she grew up speaking to the way she enjoys her coffee to the exact temperature she takes her showers. You're unbelievably sweet to her, and she loves every bit of you for it.

Feeling her eyes on you, you turn your head in her direction with a soft smile.

"You 'kay, darlin'?"

Even that makes her heart flutter. She thought she might be used to it by now. The pet names, the little drawl. But no, here she is blushing at the littlest flirt from you.

She hums, pressing a soft peck to your lips nodding.

"M'fine. Perfect. Just thinking."

You shift, arms wrapping around the other woman's waste and she sets her cup down to not accidentally spill any.

"Thinkin' about?"

"You."

Raising a brow down at her, your hands shift to rest on her lower back, fingers intertwining to rest there.

"Yeah?"

She hums, straightening the no existent collar of your sleep shirt.

"And the fact you've been sneaky planning something for today with those two, and you've yet to tell me what we're even doing."

Her head nods to the pair sitting drinking and reading their papers at the kitchen table.

"Well that's the point ain't it? It's a secret, can't tell you til we get there."

A soft protest leaves her lips.

"But I don't even know what I need for today. What clothes do I wear? Do I need extras?"

Chuckling, you silence with another soft kiss.

"Warm clothes, preferably something comfy to walk around the snow in."

"That gives me nothing."

The soft whine from her lips elicits another chuckle from you.

"Like I said, you'll find out when we get there. Just relax for the day, we don't have anything to do for a good couple hours."

"But it'll be dark out then."

"That's fine, we can do something in the mean time if you want?"

"Do we have anything else planned?"

"Nope, whatever you wanna do."

There's a soft twitch in her brow that you know anywhere, that's her tell-tale sign to holding back laughter.

Sighing, you shake your head at her response.

"Not that. Cheeky. Good lord, your parents are right there, hush with that."

The response only makes her actually laugh.

----

It seems Glódís only wanted to spend the day with just you, thus allowing her parents to do what you needed from them and make a couple phone calls without suspicion.

Thus, you'd both taken a long walk into the city to look at some of the day shops.

You note she's eyeing up the local arcades and decide to steer her that way, cashing in some cards and spend the extra time racing between machines, both of your competitive streaks running free.

Between bragging about being able to get more kills than you in the zombie shooter, and you bragging about having better shooting skills in the basketball game, there's plenty of laughter between you and your heart skips several beats throughout the day watching her eyes light up with every win.

By the time you leave the arcade, it's with a couple arm fulls of prizes (mainly you carrying the majority at your own insistence, your girlfriend knowing you'd only stubbornly attempt to carry the lot if she argued any more).

The walk back to her childhood home takes you until well past sunset and exactly around the time her parents send you a message that you need to be back soon.

As soon as you both stumble in the door, much to the amusement of a patiently waiting Viggó and Magnea, both sat in the kitchen chatting quietly, you urge her to run the stuff upstairs and you stop by the kitchen to quickly go over everything once more.

You head upstairs, making sure to grab an extra jacket to bundle the woman and yourself up a bit more for the night weather.

"So do I get to-"

"Nope."

"Aw come on."

She's just about pleading.

"You'll like this one, promise."

The whole way there, she's chatting animatedly about some of the funnier moments of the day with her parents, so she doesn't put as much thought into the location of where the car stops as she would have.

There's a small lit pathway that leads between and over a small hill that she almost thinks she recognises but it's only when you encourage her to head up the hill first, sharing a quick grateful hug with her parents and them wishing everything goes to plan giddily.

The crest of the hill gives way to the sound of consistent crunches in the snow by occasional other people walking the area, mainly couples arm in arm, quietly chattering between them, soft giggles and huffed chuckles.

And then the occasional jingle of something she recognises to be Christmas style bells and she only realises what they belong to when she turns the corner at the bottom of the hill once again, you following closely with a small nervous smile and a new weight in your inner jacket pocket.

It's when she freezes, turning to you with a small smile like she's holding it back a little.

"Did you book us a sleigh ride?"

Nodding, you gesture towards the attendant at a small table by the building where there's a currently stationary sleigh, one horse being reigned up and the other being walked back into the stables away from the sight.

"Quite possibly. Go check it out."

She absolutely melts at the way you shuffle kick some snow, the bashful smile peaking out of your lips.

Walking back to you, she drags you in by the hand for a sweet kiss.

"I love it, let's go."

All but dragging you over to the attendant, you give them your name, and they nod, directing you over to the sleigh that's just being reigned up as you approach.

"But wait, where are Mamma and Pabbi, are they coming?"

"They had to book for later but there's a little extra after, now come on."

Easily guided up into the sleigh and handed a couple extra blankets, the horse moves out towards the tree surrounded path in the snow.

The Icelanders face is lit up the whole time, curled up into your side enjoying the ride, but gets confused when an attendant guides the sleigh off the usual path and down another less travelled path, sending you both a small wink and you do your best subtle thumbs up.

"Just that little extra I was talking about."

The path is lit nicely, and diverts down a small hillside through some trees, opening up beside a small frozen over lake with a small litup almost campsite area, chairs, tables and fairy lights strung up between the area.

The sleigh stops, the horse snorting, and huffing at the attendants waving hand to slow the sleigh.

Jumping out, you encourage the woman down into your arms,

The area is big enough that the attendant simply smiles, waves you both off and you trek down to a small table lit with the warmth of a couple campfires dotting the area, a single candle and some warm food sitting in thermos waiting for you.

A thick waterproof mat covered with a blanket lines the ground near the campfire, the warmth crackling and popping around the area.

Glódís watches in awe as you take her hand to sit her down at the table.

"Dinner is served, beautiful."

"This is so- how?"

Smiling knowingly, you nod towards the guy standing attending the horse back at the path.

"I had a favour to call in from the last time I was here. Remember that time I took off for couple hours those seven months ago for a couple days?"

Nodding slowly, she eyes you suspiciously, a small smile tugging at her lips.

"I was helping him get a newly adult horse trained up for the rides. I'd been missing home a bit, so I figured someone would need some ranch-hand experience somewhere."

Melting at the starry look in your eye as you eye up the majestic creature currently huffing and puffing as the guy gets into the sled and leads it back up the path, she grabs your cheeks with her gloved hands.

"I love you so fucking much."

You're smiling back at her so much it almost hurts, and you lean in pressing your now slightly cold lips to her mostly freezing ones, and she hums, taking in your warmth.

"Love you, too, Dream girl."

Finally, you sit down across from her at the table, popping open the steaming pots to see what looks to be some really nice stews and a flask of tea.

Humming softly at the warmth, you both tuck in, the woman across from looking at you with a soft sparkle in her eye, now, almost like she knows somethings up.

It's mildly spicy, and brings a warmth to your chest as you have a few spoonfuls.

Glódís practically melts into her chair across from you.

"I missed this. Stew in the winter is so good."

Smiling at her as you take another bite and swallow.

"Remind me to cook more when we get home."

It's not long before you're both sitting in silence and cuddled up on the blanket looking out at the slowly falling snowflakes now starting to blow in for the night.

She's curled up into your chest, just about falling asleep as she murmurs occasionally, chatting about little things.

Shifting slightly, a small crease in her brow as she almost frowns at the feeling a small object poking her through your jacket.

When you notice what's happening you nudge her to sit up.

"What's in your pocket ba-"

"Another part of this evening, actually."

Sitting back on your ankles, you reach into the inner pocket, pulling out a small object wrapped up in a square folded cloth, fiddling but not quite revealing the precious metal beneath the soft fabric.

"Gló, since the day we met, there's been something about you, something intriguing, something brilliant, something that drew me right in and had me obsessed with you. Admired you. Saw something in you that pulled every string in my heart just bein' near you."

Your girlfriend sits up, hair catching snowflakes as they fall, mild confusion crossing her expression as you talk, though it only takes seconds for her expression to melt and she's smiling up at you as you speak.

"You gave me something other than business as usual to look forward to. This beautiful, powerful, caring, strong woman leading the team with all the love and support in the world. You had me hook line n sinker. I had no chance."

"Even now, it's moments like these, I spend every moment thinkin' about how lucky I am to have you. In the quiet, peaceful moments away from the hectic life we live. I've spent my whole life chasing victory, chasin' the big life, chasin' dreams my parents or myself never thought possible because I was just a plain ol' ranch hand to be the moment I was born."

Her hand grips your non occupied one, fingers squeezing comfortingly around yours.

"Here you are, I found one of the best things to happen to me since that scout in Houston. You mean everything to me and you've given me everything I was never able to ask for out loud."

There's a shine to your eyes as you sniffle slightly.

"You make me feel so small yet so damn big. Small because I'm constantly in awe of everything you do, Big because you build me up in ways I'll never be able to wholly thank you for, you make me feel like I'm able to do anything with you there, which is why, here and now, I'm asking one thing aloud."

Shifting to one knee, letting the sides of the cotton cloth fall away from the top of the ring held between your thumb and forefinger, tears wavering on the very cusp of falling.

Looking into her deep brown eyes, sparkling in the fire light, tears brimming her own.

"You wonderful, beautiful, sweet, strong, caring, gorgeous, intelligent, fearless, breathtaking- did I mention beautiful?"

She giggles but it's half muffled as her hand moves to cover her mouth in disbelief and tears do start falling down her cold kissed cheeks.

"The Love of my life. Glódís Perla Viggósdóttir, will you let me spend the rest of our lives loving you, caring for you the way you have been for me, will you marry me?"

Waiting with baited breath, though it feels like forever, it's a second and she jumps on you, hands cupping your face to kiss you, falling back onto the blanket.

The air is sucked from your lungs, and you kiss her back just as hard, though the growing grins on both of your faces makes it hard to keep your composure.

She barely pulls back enough to give you a verbal answer, her hands tangling in your hair under your beanie.

"God yes. Hell to the yes. A thousand times over. Every life time, yes."

Your hand still clutches the ring like your life depends on it, afraid to lose it in the small tussle.

Forehead pressed tightly to hers, sucking in a shaky breath as you press the ring around and onto her finger, the platinum shining brightly, encrusted with gems along to top of the band, one sat peeking out at the top brighter than the others.

It's beautiful, it shines under the moonlight, sparkling between the two of you.

It's the best thing you've done so far.

It's perfect because you've spent so much time waiting for this and it's finally here.

It's perfect because it's Glódís.

And you wouldn't change a damn thing.

The kiss she pulls you in for as you both fall back onto the blanket, giggles, more tears and the warmth of the surrounding campfires, says all you need to know

She wouldn't change a thing either.

You, her favourite charmer.

You, the love of her life, the one who swept her off her feet and now hold her so close.

And you feel it in every kiss from that point on, too.

[fear-less]

₊˚⊹˚ 𐙚 she ignored my letter!

pairing: james potter x f!reader

➥ In which, James writes you a love letter and hides it into your luggage carrying your clothes, not knowing he put it in a pocket you never open.

Warnings: angst, fluff, james pov, this inspired by awae (aka the best show ever)

a/n: heyyy... i had sm fun writing this, can't wait to write the rest of this bc i literally LOVE anne with an e and this is inspired by it ofc!!!! anyways, im barely writing now..smh, its cause im reading manacled and its literally heart breaking... im also editing on ae and its so hard so im slowly learning😭 but i want to finish this mini series by next week!!

series masterlist ! - divider creds: i-mmaculatus & dollywons

James had liked you for a while now. He wasn’t quite sure when it started—maybe it was the way you laughed at his jokes, always the loudest in the room. Or perhaps it was when he’d catch you staring at him, your gaze lingering just a bit too long, thinking he was too distracted to notice.

With the Christmas holidays fast approaching, James knew he had to make a move. He had to let you know how he felt. If you didn’t feel the same, maybe the time apart over the holiday would make it less awkward. But he couldn’t let another term slip by in silence.

Knowing your love for all things old-fashioned, James decided there was no better way to confess his feelings than through a handwritten letter. It felt personal, genuine—something you’d appreciate. But writing it turned out to be harder than he imagined.

He’d written and discarded at least a dozen drafts, each one crumpled and tossed aside in frustration. Finally, after half an hour of agonizing over the perfect words, he settled on this version. It was short, straightforward, and sincere:

Dear, (Y/N)

I don’t know how to say this without sounding like a complete idiot. I’ve tried a hundred times, and every single attempt has been worse than the last. So here’s the truth—I’m hopelessly in love with you.

You’ve probably guessed I’m not great at being subtle. But what I’ve never been able to say outright is how much you mean to me. The way you laugh, the way your nose scrunches when you’re concentrating—Merlin, you make it impossible to focus on anything else. I want you to know that you’ve made me braver, happier, better. If you don’t feel the same, that’s okay—I just needed to get this off my chest.

Yours, James

He sighed deeply, folding the letter carefully before slipping it into an envelope. Your name was written on the front in his slightly shaky handwriting. Taking a steadying breath, he tucked it into the inside pocket of his robes. He’d leave it somewhere you’d find it tomorrow, just before you both left for the holidays.

As he lay awake that night, James tried to figure out the best way to deliver the letter. Should he hand it to you directly? No, that was too nerve-wracking—he’d probably end up babbling like an idiot. Maybe he could slip it into your bag and avoid the risk of witnessing your reaction.

The morning was crisp, the kind of cold that painted your cheeks red and sent little clouds of breath swirling in the air. On the platform, the train sat waiting, puffing out plumes of steam that mingled with the frosty air. It was alive with the sound of students saying goodbye and dragging their luggage over the cobblestones.

James walked beside you, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He was doing his best to appear casual, though every step he took felt heavier with the weight of the letter in his robe.

“Let me take that for you,” he blurted suddenly, nodding toward your luggage.

You blinked, surprised by the offer, but your lips curved into a warm smile. “Oh, thanks, James. That’s really sweet of you.”

He shrugged, trying to play it cool, but his ears turned a telltale shade of pink at your words. “What kind of bloke would I be if I didn’t help you out?” he mumbled, his voice tinged with nervous humor.

The two of you chatted as you strolled toward the train. You told him about your plans for the holidays—how you were excited to see your family, how your mum always made far too much food, and how you couldn’t wait to decorate the tree. James listened intently, nodding and laughing at all the right moments, even as his mind raced ahead to the task at hand.

Then, his opportunity came.

You turned away for a brief moment, waving at one of your friends across the platform. James acted quickly, pulling the envelope from his pocket and slipping it into the outermost compartment of your bag. His fingers brushed the fabric for only a second, but it felt like an eternity.

His heart was hammering so loudly he was certain it could be heard over the clamor of the platform. He straightened up just as you turned back to him, completely oblivious to what had just transpired.

“Thanks again for carrying that,” you said with a smile, your eyes meeting his.

James gave a small, lopsided grin and shifted your bag on his shoulder. “Anytime,” he replied, his voice steady despite the storm of nerves swirling inside him.

As the train’s whistle blew, signaling it was time to board, James knew there was no turning back now. All he could do was wait—and hope that when you found the letter, you’d read it and understand the words that had taken him so long to say.

It had been days since you’d left for the holidays, and James still hadn’t heard from you. Each passing day only worsened the sinking feeling in his chest.

Did you not feel the same? Did you hate him for ruining the friendship? Or worse, were you so disgusted by his confession that you couldn’t even bear to send him a letter saying so?

By Christmas morning, the knot of worry in James’s stomach had become unbearable. He’d stopped pacing and pretending not to care. He spent the early hours staring at the window, waiting for an owl that seemed as though it would never come.

But then, just as the first rays of sunlight streamed through his frosted window, he saw it—a familiar owl perched outside, clutching a small envelope in its talons. His heart leapt with a desperate flicker of hope. Maybe you’d only just found the letter. Maybe you’d taken your time because you wanted to write something perfect.

James hurried to open the window, shivering as the cold air rushed in. The owl extended its leg, allowing him to untie the letter. “Thanks, mate,” James murmured, absently offering the owl a treat before it flew off into the winter sky.

His fingers trembled as he opened the envelope, eager to see your handwriting. But his heart sank the moment he read the first line.

“Happy Christmas, James!”

No mention of his letter. No response to his confession. Just a short, cheerful note wishing him a wonderful holiday and apologizing for not writing sooner. You explained that things had been hectic at home and promised to catch up with him soon.

James felt his chest tighten, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. The hope he’d been clinging to was slipping through his fingers.

You’d ignored his letter.

You’d chosen to act as though he’d never written it at all, as if he’d never poured his heart out on that piece of parchment.

James scoffed, his grip on the letter tightening. Fine, he thought bitterly. If you were going to pretend his confession didn’t exist, he could do the same.

He shoved the letter onto his desk, glaring at it as if it were the source of his frustration. Deep down, though, he knew the truth: he didn’t want to ignore you. He wanted to write back, to ask if you’d found the letter, to make sure you weren’t upset with him.

But pride was a stubborn thing, and James Potter wasn’t about to let his vulnerability show again—not now.

As the snow fell softly outside his window, James sat in silence, staring at the letter and wondering if he’d made a mistake by ever writing to you in the first place.

When it was time to return to Hogwarts, James made no effort to find you. Normally, he’d scan the platform, pretending it was a coincidence whenever his eyes landed on you. This time, he couldn’t bring himself to look.

He saw you anyway, just briefly—standing near your family, your face lit up with that familiar smile. His heart leaped in his chest, and his legs almost betrayed him, ready to stride over and say something, anything. But he stopped himself.

Instead, James turned sharply, mumbling a quick goodbye to his parents before heading onto the train. He didn’t want to see you—not now.

The walk through the train felt heavier than usual. He knew exactly where his friends would be—the same compartment they’d claimed since their first year—but it felt like an eternity to get there. When he finally slid open the door, the familiar faces of Sirius, Remus, and Peter greeted him.

“Oi, Prongs!” Sirius called cheerfully, but his grin faltered when James slumped onto the seat next to Peter with a loud huff.

James leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. He could feel Sirius’s gaze on him, curious and probing.

“What’s got your wand in a knot?” Sirius asked, unable to resist.

“Don’t.” James’s voice was sharp, firm. It was rare for him to be in a foul mood, let alone snappish.

Sirius raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I won’t say a word.”

The tension in the compartment was palpable. The train rattled on, and the usual chatter of the four friends was noticeably absent. Sirius kept stealing glances at James, who sat brooding, arms crossed. Peter fidgeted nervously, while Remus flipped through a book, clearly uncomfortable with the silence.

Finally, about an hour into the ride, James broke.

“She ignored my letter.” His voice was low, bitter, but it shattered the quiet like a hex.

The others exchanged looks before Peter spoke hesitantly. “She really ignored it?”

“Yes, Peter,” James snapped, his tone sharp enough to make Peter flinch. Realizing what he’d done, James sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” Peter mumbled, avoiding eye contact.

“Maybe she didn’t see it,” Remus offered, his tone calm and rational. “What if it got lost in her luggage? Or someone else found it and hid it? Maybe you gave her another piece of parchment? There’s always a chance—”

“Moony, no.” James cut him off, his voice strained. “I double-checked. It was the right letter, in the right spot. And who doesn’t check their trunk full of clothes over the holiday?”

“Maybe she doesn’t,” Sirius said with a shrug, trying to lighten the mood. “You know, women can be unpredictable. Maybe she’s got a secret stash for random letters in her trunk.”

“No, she checks,” James said with certainty. “I’ve slipped plenty of things into her luggage before, and she’s always found them. She just doesn’t fancy me back.” His voice cracked slightly at the end, but he forced a small, bitter smile. “And it’s fine. I’ll get over it. I always do, right?”

The compartment fell silent again, the weight of James’s words sinking in.

Sirius leaned forward, a flicker of frustration in his eyes. “It’s not fine, James. If she didn’t fancy you back, that’s one thing. But ignoring you? That’s—”

“Don’t,” James interrupted quietly, his gaze fixed on the floor. “Don’t make it worse, Padfoot.”

Sirius bit back a retort and leaned back in his seat, muttering under his breath.

The rest of the ride passed more comfortably, but the shadow of James’s disappointment lingered. His friends cracked jokes and told stories, trying to lift his spirits, but even when he laughed, it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Deep down, James wondered if he’d ever stop wishing that you’d read his letter and felt the same way.

Hours later, everyone had gathered in the Great Hall. The enchanted ceiling reflected the dusky evening sky, and the buzz of students catching up after the holiday filled the room. Normally, James would sit with Sirius to his left, you to his right, and Remus and Peter across from him. It was a familiar arrangement, one you’d fallen into without question.

But tonight, James broke the routine.

He subtly nudged Peter into the spot on his right before sitting down, leaving the space where you’d usually sit conspicuously empty.

You walked in a moment later, scanning the Gryffindor table until you spotted your usual group. But when you approached, your steps faltered. Peter sat where you always did, looking apologetic but saying nothing.

Your eyes darted to James, silently questioning him, but he avoided your gaze, his attention fixed stubbornly on his plate.

Confused, you looked to Remus for an explanation. Out of all the Marauders, he was the one you trusted most to give you a straight answer. But Remus only shrugged, his expression carefully neutral, though the twitch at the corner of his mouth hinted at discomfort.

You scoffed, your chest tightening. First, James ignored you all through the holiday, and now he didn’t even want to sit near you? Fine. If he wanted to sulk like a child, you weren’t going to beg for his attention.

Without another word, you turned on your heel and walked further down the table, sliding into a seat beside your other group of friends. You forced yourself to laugh at their jokes and join in their chatter, but your mind kept wandering back to James.

At the Gryffindor table, James’s eyes flicked toward you more often than he’d admit. Every time he saw you laughing with your friends, his stomach twisted.

“Why is she acting like I’m the one in the wrong?” James muttered under his breath, jabbing at a piece of roast potato with his fork.

“Maybe because you’re acting like a prat?” Sirius replied, his tone laced with amusement as he leaned closer.

James shot him a glare.

“Look, Prongs,” Sirius continued, dropping the teasing. “She doesn’t know what’s going on. You didn’t even give her a chance to explain, and now you’re sulking like a first-year who lost his chocolate frog cards.”

“Explain what? She ignored my letter, Padfoot. What’s there to explain?” James hissed, though his tone lacked its usual conviction.

Remus sighed, setting down his goblet. “Did it ever cross your mind that maybe she doesn’t even know what letter you’re talking about?”

James froze, his fork hovering mid-air.

“Just talk to her, mate,” Sirius said, giving James a nudge. “Or don’t. But if you keep this up, you’re only making it worse—for both of you.”

James huffed, slumping back in his seat. The truth was, he didn’t know if he had it in him to face you just yet.

From across the hall, you caught the way James’s shoulders sagged, and for a brief moment, you considered walking over. But pride held you in place. If James wanted to act like this, fine. Two could play that game.

You and James hadn’t spoken in what felt like weeks. The once effortless connection you shared had been replaced with an awkward silence that weighed heavily on you. It wasn’t just James—it felt like the whole group of Marauders had grown distant, their usual antics and inside jokes missing their spark when you were around.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d done something to upset him. But what? You racked your brain for answers, replaying every interaction from the past few months. James had always been one of your closest friends—why was he acting so strange?

Charms class was the hardest part of it all. You always sat beside James, sharing notes, exchanging whispers, and stifling laughs when Professor Flitwick wasn’t looking. Now, you sat in the same spot, the chair next to you glaringly empty.

You tried to focus on the professor’s instructions, but your thoughts were louder than his voice. Scribbling aimlessly in your notebook, you hardly noticed when someone approached your desk.

“Are you alright?”

Startled, you looked up to see a boy with a blue-and-bronze tie standing beside you. His face was vaguely familiar—you’d seen him around in class but had never spoken to him.

“Yeah—yes, I’m fine,” you stammered, blinking in confusion. Why was he talking to you?

He gave a polite, slightly amused smile. “Well, can you move your stuff? I’m sitting here now. We’re partners for the project.”

“Oh!” Heat rose to your cheeks as you hurriedly shoved your books to one side. “Sorry about that. I didn’t realize.”

“No worries,” he said, settling into the chair beside you. “I figured you weren’t paying attention—no offense. But I was, so I’ll explain what Professor Flitwick said.”

You managed a small smile, relieved by his casual tone. “Thanks. That’s… helpful.”

While he began outlining the project details, your focus wavered, glancing at James out of the corner of your eye. He was across the room, seated next to a loud and enthusiastic partner who seemed to be trying desperately to get his attention. But James wasn’t listening.

His gaze was fixed on you.

There was a flicker of something in his expression—jealousy, maybe? Regret? Whatever it was, it made your stomach twist.

You quickly turned your attention back to your new partner, nodding along to his explanation, even if you weren’t entirely listening. You felt James’s eyes on you the entire time, but you refused to look back.

Across the room, James’s jaw clenched. His partner waved a hand in front of his face, snapping him out of his trance.

“Oi, Potter! Are you even listening?”

“Huh? Yeah, sure,” James muttered, though his eyes drifted back to you moments later.

He hated this—seeing someone else sitting beside you, making you smile when that used to be his seat, his job. But he didn’t know how to fix it. The letter. The silence. The way he’d avoided you. It all felt too big now, too messy to undo.

Still, James couldn’t stop watching you, his heart sinking further with every laugh you shared with your new partner.

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taglist!! @zowiiiisblog , @kxnnxy , @rainingleaves , @icollectrubberduckies , @elsie-bells

[elryuse]

For Better Or Worse, Right?

Yandere Asa & Rami X Male Reader

Requested By My Friend @superkpopeditsgirlgroup on Tumblr & Discord. I hope You Like it.

The first time you saw Asa and Rami on stage, you were captivated. The way they moved, the way their voices blended seamlessly—it was perfection, an artistry that touched something deep within you. You followed them religiously, attending every live broadcast, buying every album, and scouring social media for their latest updates. Your admiration wasn't just infatuation; it felt like love. You convinced yourself that what you wanted most was their happiness, even if it came at the expense of your own.

But never in your wildest dreams did you think you'd meet them.

The day of the fan meeting felt surreal. As you stood in line clutching your album and a handwritten letter, your heart raced. Hundreds of other fans surrounded you, all buzzing with the same excitement. Yet, for some inexplicable reason, you felt like today was your day. A flicker of hope, perhaps foolish, told you that something special would happen.

When it was finally your turn, you stepped up to the table where Asa and Rami sat, radiant and smiling. Asa's sharp eyes scanned you curiously, while Rami offered you a warm, genuine grin.

"Hello! What's your name?" Asa asked, tilting her head slightly.

You swallowed hard, feeling your palms grow damp. "Y-Y/n."

Rami leaned forward slightly, her voice soft yet teasing. "You look nervous, Y/n. Don't worry; we don't bite."

Their laughter, light and melodic, put you at ease, if only for a moment. You handed them your album and watched as they signed it, occasionally glancing up at you. It felt like time slowed as they asked you questions—what you liked about their music, which performance was your favorite. You answered as best you could, trying not to stumble over your words.

Then, as Asa was handing back your album, she slipped a small note inside. Her fingers brushed yours for the briefest moment, sending a shiver up your spine. She winked before leaning back.

The fan meeting ended, but your world had just shifted. When you opened the note later, it simply read: Text me sometime with a phone number scrawled beneath it. Your hands trembled. Was this a mistake? Did she give this to anyone else?

You stared at the note all night, questioning its authenticity. But the next day, with your courage bolstered, you sent a text. To your surprise, the reply came quickly.

Asa : Hey, Y/n! It’s me, Asa. Don’t tell anyone I gave you my number, okay? ;) How are you?

You : Hi, Asa. I’m… honestly, I’m still trying to believe this is real. Is it really you?

Asa : Of course, silly! Why would I joke about this? Rami says hi, by the way!

Rami : Hi, Y/n! Asa’s been talking about you nonstop since yesterday, so I figured I’d join in, haha.

From that point on, your life became a whirlwind of excitement. Asa and Rami texted you daily, sharing photos and updates that no one else got to see. Sometimes, they’d even call late at night, their laughter and voices keeping you company when the world felt too quiet.

"Y/n," Asa said one night during a call, her voice playful but serious underneath. "You’re really special, you know that? I can tell you genuinely care about us, not just as idols but as people. That’s rare."

"I just want you both to be happy," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Well," Rami chimed in, her tone lighter, "you make us happy too. Don’t forget that."

It felt like a dream. They were everything you ever wanted—kind, funny, and breathtakingly beautiful. And somehow, inexplicably, they seemed to like you back.

The dream, however, began to crack weeks later.

One evening, after a particularly long day, you received a text from Asa. At first, your heart leaped, but as you read it, a strange weight settled in your chest.

Asa : Hey, Y/n. Just thought you should know—Rami and I both have boyfriends. I hope that doesn’t change anything between us.

Your hands froze over the screen. Boyfriends? It felt like the air had been knocked out of your lungs. You re-read the message several times, hoping you’d misunderstood. But the words didn’t change. They had boyfriends.

"Are you okay with that?" Asa asked during a call later, her tone light but with an edge of concern.

"Of course," you lied, forcing a laugh. "Why wouldn’t I be? I just want you both to be happy, remember?"

Asa sighed in relief. "I knew you’d understand. You’re too sweet, Y/n."

Despite your words, a storm brewed inside you. You convinced yourself it didn’t matter. They were happy, and that was all you ever wanted. But as time passed, the texts grew less frequent. The calls dwindled. Asa and Rami, once so warm and engaging, began to feel distant.

One evening, after nearly two weeks of silence, you decided to text them. The reply was curt.

Rami : Sorry, Y/n. We’ve been really busy lately. Hope you’re doing well.

Busy? You wanted to believe it, but their social media told a different story. Pictures of them laughing with friends, enjoying lavish dinners, and spending time with their boyfriends flooded your feed. There was no mention of being "busy."

The pain was sharp, almost unbearable. You sat in your room, staring at your phone, hoping for another message, another chance to feel the warmth they once offered. But the screen remained dark.

Had they forgotten about you? Did the moments you shared mean nothing to them? The thought consumed you, pulling you into a dark, restless spiral.

The decision to let go wasn’t easy. It had taken weeks—no, months—of restless nights, wondering if you were just a footnote in their story. Asa and Rami had once made you feel like you belonged in their world, but now, that world felt unreachable.

Staring at your phone, you took a deep breath and began typing the message that had been weighing on your mind.

You : Hey Asa, hey Rami. I hope you’re both doing well. I just wanted to say thank you—for everything. Knowing you, even for a little while, has been one of the best experiences of my life.

I think it’s time for me to step back, though. You both have your group, your fans, and your lives. And I’ll keep supporting you, always. But it’s time for me to focus on my own life, too.

No matter what, I’ll always love you both. Take care, okay?

You hesitated before pressing send. Once the message left your phone, there was no taking it back. But deep down, you knew this was for the best. The bond you once shared was gone, and clinging to it only made the ache worse.

Asa responded a few hours later, her reply short and devoid of emotion.

Asa : Got it. Thanks for understanding. Take care too.

Rami didn’t respond at all.

It stung, more than you cared to admit. But you told yourself this was the closure you needed. They were busy with their careers, their boyfriends, their lives. It was selfish to expect anything more.

For the first time in what felt like forever, your phone was quiet. There were no late-night texts, no selcas or updates that made your heart flutter. The silence was deafening at first, but slowly, you began to adjust.

You focused on work, picking up new hobbies to fill the void they left behind. Life started to feel... manageable. The pain lingered, but it dulled over time. You told yourself that Asa and Rami had moved on, and so should you.

Meanwhile, Asa and Rami were riding the high of their latest comeback. Their schedules were packed with performances, interviews, and fan events. They barely noticed your absence, too consumed by the whirlwind of their careers and their relationships.

At least, that’s what you thought.

It started small. A message from Asa late at night.

Asa : Hey, haven’t heard from you in a while. Everything okay?

You stared at the screen, conflicted. Part of you wanted to reply, to fall back into the pattern of clinging to their fleeting attention. But you resisted. She didn’t need you, not really.

A few days later, Rami sent you a selca. Her smile was radiant as always, but the caption beneath it struck an odd note.

Rami : Miss your compliments, Y/n. Hope you’re doing okay.

Why now? You hadn’t heard from them in weeks, and now they were reaching out as if nothing had changed. You replied politely but kept your responses brief, not wanting to reopen wounds that had barely begun to heal.

But the messages didn’t stop.

Asa and Rami started texting you daily again, more frequently than before. At first, it was casual—asking how you were, what you were up to. Then it became more persistent.

Asa : Why don’t you ever call anymore?

Rami: You’re not ignoring us, are you?

You tried to maintain boundaries, replying sporadically, but they seemed determined to pull you back into their orbit. They’d send you photos—candid shots from backstage, videos of them goofing around in the studio. It was as if they were trying to remind you of the connection you once shared.

One night, Asa called you out of the blue. Her voice was unusually sharp.

"Why haven’t you been talking to us, Y/n?" she demanded.

"I thought it was better this way," you admitted. "You’re both so busy, and I didn’t want to get in the way."

"You’re not in the way," Asa snapped. "We... we liked having you around. Don’t you care about us anymore?"

Her words left you stunned. Before you could respond, Rami’s voice joined the call, softer but no less insistent.

"You promised you’d always love us, Y/n. Did you forget?"

Their messages became more erratic over the following weeks. If you didn’t reply quickly enough, they’d bombard you with texts, sometimes accusing, sometimes pleading.

Asa : Are you talking to someone else?

Rami : Don’t forget who was there for you first.

You started to feel like a prisoner in your own life, their presence suffocating despite the physical distance between you. They began to show up in unexpected places—cafes you frequented, even outside your apartment building. Always with the same excuses: "We were in the area," or "We just wanted to see you."

Their boyfriends seemed to vanish from the picture. Asa and Rami never mentioned them anymore, and their social media accounts were conspicuously devoid of any couple photos. When you asked about it, Asa brushed it off with a dismissive laugh.

"They weren’t important," she said. "Not like you."

One night, you came home to find a package waiting for you. Inside was a framed photo of Asa and Rami, along with a handwritten note.

We belong to you, Y/n. Don’t ever forget that.

Your heart pounded as you stared at the note. The handwriting was shaky, almost frantic. The realization hit you like a punch to the gut: they hadn’t moved on at all. If anything, they had become obsessed.

You tried to confront them, but they denied everything, their voices sweet and convincing. "You’re imagining things," Rami said, her smile never reaching her eyes. "We just care about you, that’s all."

But their actions told a different story. You began to feel like you were being watched, their presence lingering even when they weren’t there.

The opportunity to manage Nov4 was a lifeline. After everything with Asa and Rami, it felt like a chance to start over. Nov4 was a smaller girl group, just beginning to make a name for themselves in the competitive industry. The girls—Mina, Hana, Jisoo, and Nari—were hardworking, kind, and grateful for your guidance. Working with them brought a sense of purpose you hadn’t felt in months.

For the first time in a while, you felt like you could breathe.

But it didn’t last.

The fan event was supposed to be a joyous occasion, a chance for Nov4 to connect with their growing fanbase. You stood near the back of the venue, watching as the girls charmed their audience with bright smiles and energetic performances.

Everything seemed perfect—until you felt it.

A chill ran down your spine, the unmistakable sensation of being watched. You scanned the crowd, your heart sinking when your eyes landed on two familiar figures. Asa and Rami.

They stood near the back, their faces partially obscured by masks and hats, but their eyes told you everything. They weren’t here for Nov4. They were here for you.

Asa’s glare was sharp enough to cut steel, while Rami’s expression was a mix of hurt and fury. They didn’t approach, didn’t make a scene, but their presence was enough to rattle you.

Your phone buzzed incessantly in your pocket.

Asa : So this is what you’ve been doing? Babysitting nobodies?

Rami : Do you think you can replace us with them?

Asa : We see you, Y/n. Don’t ignore us.

Your hands trembled as you turned off your phone, shoving it deep into your pocket. This was wrong. What they were doing was wrong. They had boyfriends, for God’s sake. Why couldn’t they just leave you alone?

Ignoring them seemed like the only option, but it only seemed to provoke them further. The messages became more erratic, their tone oscillating between anger and desperation.

Asa : You’re ours, Y/n. You promised.

Rami : Why are you avoiding us? Do you think you can escape?

Asa : We’re not going to let you forget us.

You blocked their numbers, but somehow, they found other ways to contact you—through anonymous accounts, through emails, even through fan mail addressed to Nov4.

One night, as you were walking back to your car after a long day at the studio, you found a note taped to your windshield.

You can’t hide from us, Y/n.

Your blood ran cold

The breaking point came during another fan event for Nov4. The girls were busy signing albums and chatting with fans when you noticed a commotion near the entrance. Asa and Rami walked in, flanked by their boyfriends.

Your stomach dropped.

They made a beeline for you, their expressions icy and unreadable. Before you could react, Asa’s boyfriend shoved you back against a table, causing a loud crash that drew everyone’s attention.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Asa hissed, her voice low but venomous.

"You think you can just walk away from us?" Rami added, her eyes glinting with malice.

The girls of Nov4 froze, their smiles faltering as they watched the scene unfold. Mina stepped forward hesitantly. "Is everything okay?"

Asa turned to her, her smile sickly sweet. "Oh, everything’s fine. We’re just catching up with an old friend. Right, Y/n?"

You didn’t answer, your jaw clenched as you tried to contain your humiliation. Asa’s boyfriend gave you another shove for good measure, laughing mockingly.

"You’re pathetic," he said, loud enough for everyone to hear.

Jisoo and Nari moved to your side, their expressions protective. "Leave him alone," Jisoo said, her voice trembling but firm.

Asa sneered, but she didn’t push further. "We’ll see you around, Y/n," she said, her tone dripping with warning.

They left as suddenly as they’d arrived, leaving you to deal with the aftermath. Nov4’s fans whispered among themselves, the girls looking at you with a mixture of concern and confusion.

That night, Mina found you sitting alone in the practice room, staring blankly at the floor. She sat down beside you, her usual bubbly demeanor subdued.

"Who were they?" she asked gently.

"Just... people I used to know," you said, your voice hollow.

Mina didn’t push for details. Instead, she placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. "Whatever’s going on, we’ve got your back. Okay?"

Her words brought a lump to your throat. You nodded, grateful but unable to shake the feeling of dread that clung to you like a shadow.

Because deep down, you knew this wasn’t over. Asa and Rami weren’t going to let you go that easily.

The bullying started subtly but escalated quickly. Asa and Rami seemed determined to destroy every shred of peace you’d managed to find. At first, it was snide remarks during public events, whispers loud enough for you and Nov4 to overhear.

"Guess even nobodies need a manager," Rami had said once, her boyfriend laughing along.

Their boyfriends became involved, too, their behavior disgusting and cruel. They made lewd jokes about Nov4, their appearances, and their talents. The girls—Mina, Hana, Jisoo, and Nari—tried to stay strong, but it was clear the harassment was taking a toll.

You saw the exhaustion in their eyes, the way their smiles faltered during rehearsals.

One night, as you were walking Mina to her car, she confided in you. "Why are they doing this to us, Y/n? What did we do wrong?"

You couldn’t tell her the truth. That this nightmare was because of you.

"I’ll handle it," you said firmly, though the weight of your promise felt unbearable.

When Asa and Rami’s harassment extended to Nov4’s performances—spreading false rumors, sabotaging their equipment—you’d had enough. You sent a message demanding a meeting, hoping to reason with them.

They replied almost instantly.

Asa : We’ll be there. We’ve been waiting for you to come to your senses.

The meeting took place in an abandoned café after hours. Asa and Rami arrived hand in hand, their smiles unsettlingly sweet.

"You wanted to talk?" Asa asked, her tone mockingly innocent.

"Stop this," you said, your voice trembling with suppressed rage. "Leave Nov4 out of this. Whatever you want from me, I’ll—"

"Whatever we want?" Rami interrupted, smirking. "Y/n, you already know what we want. We want you."

"I can’t—I won’t," you stammered. "This is wrong, and you know it. You have boyfriends, careers—"

"Boyfriends?" Asa cut you off, laughing darkly. "Oh, Y/n. You still don’t get it, do you?"

Rami reached into her bag and pulled out a tablet. She tapped the screen, and a live feed appeared.

Your blood ran cold.

Nov4. The girls were tied to chairs in what looked like a dimly lit basement. They were crying, their muffled screams piercing your heart.

"What—what the hell is this?" you yelled, lunging toward them.

Rami stepped back, holding the tablet out of reach. "Don’t worry," she said sweetly. "We’re just helping you make a decision."

"Let them go!" you begged, your voice cracking. "They haven’t done anything! Please, I’ll do whatever you want—just don’t hurt them!"

Asa leaned in, her face inches from yours. "You say that, but you’re still trying to run from us. Why, Y/n? Why can’t you see we’re meant to be together?"

"This isn’t love," you spat, tears streaming down your face. "This is sick!"

Asa and Rami exchanged a look before smiling.

"Well," Asa said, her tone turning cold. "If you’re not going to choose, we’ll make the decision for you."

She gestured to the tablet, and the camera angle shifted. Two men stepped into the frame—Asa and Rami’s so-called boyfriends. One of them smirked at the camera before pulling out a knife.

"No!" you screamed, your voice breaking as the men approached the girls.

Mina, Hana, Jisoo, and Nari screamed, their cries muffled by the gags. You pleaded, begged, but Asa and Rami just watched, their expressions eerily calm.

The men acted quickly, their movements efficient and brutal. You screamed as the feed went black, the sound of the girls’ cries haunting you.

"You... you monsters!" you yelled, collapsing to your knees.

Asa crouched beside you, her voice a whisper. "Don’t you see? We did this for you. They were in the way."

"You’re insane!"

Rami sighed, her tone almost bored. "You’ll understand eventually. But for now..."

There was an explosion in the distance, shaking the ground beneath you.

Asa smiled. "Oh, don’t worry about them. They’ve served their purpose."

You stared at them in horror as they stood, hand in hand, laughing at the destruction they’d wrought.

You collapsed to the ground, your knees weak and trembling. The weight of it all the screams of Nov4 still echoing in your mind, the sight of Asa and Rami laughing as if they hadn't just orchestrated a massacre-was too much.

"You're monsters," you whispered, your voice hoarse.

Rami knelt in front of you, her eyes wide and filled with a dark kind of love. "We're not monsters, Y/n. We're your salvation."

"You'll understand someday," Asa said, crouching beside you, her voice soft like a lullaby. "This is all for you. Everything we've done is because we love you."

"Love?" you spat, tears streaming down your face. "You call this love? You've destroyed everything! You've killed innocent people!"

Rami tilted her head, her smile unnervingly gentle. "They were just distractions. Now it's just us. The way it was always meant to be."

Your hands clenched into fists, your nails digging into your palms. Guilt and anger warred within you, but the guilt won.

"This is my fault," you whispered, your voice breaking. "If I'd stayed away... if I'd just..."

"You're right," Asa said, her tone calm yet cruel.

"It is your fault. But that's okay. We forgive you."

Rami leaned closer, her breath warm against your ear. "We'll always forgive you, Y/n. No matter what."

You couldn't take it anymore. The weight of their words, the lives lost because of you-it was unbearable. A broken sob escaped your lips as you clutched your head, shaking violently.

"I... I can't do this anymore," you choked out. "I can't..."

Your hand moved instinctively toward your pocket, where you kept a small pocketknife.

Maybe, just maybe, you could end this nightmare.

But Asa was faster. Her hand shot out, grabbing your wrist with an iron grip.

"Ah-ah," she cooed, her voice a mockery of sweetness. "That's not an option, Y/n. You don't get to leave us."

Rami pulled a syringe from her bag, the liquid inside glowing faintly in the dim light. "We thought you might try something stupid," she said with a sigh. "But don't worry, we've got it under control."

Your eyes widened in panic as you struggled, but Asa's grip was unyielding.

"Let me go!" you screamed, thrashing against them. "Please, just let me go!"

Rami's smile never wavered as she pressed the needle against your arm. "Shh," she whispered. "It'll all be over soon."

The sharp prick of the needle pierced your skin, and a cold numbness began to spread through your body. Your vision blurred, the edges of the world dissolving into darkness.

"No... no," you mumbled, your voice weak.

Asa leaned in close, her lips brushing against your ear. "You're ours now, Y/n. There's no more running, no more hiding."

"You'll never escape us," Rami added, her voice low and haunting.

As the world faded away, their faces were the last thing you saw-smiling, serene, and utterly unhinged.

"You belong to us," they said in unison, their voices echoing in your mind as you slipped into unconsciousness.

And with that, everything went dark.

The End

[gumisbwunni]

PT 4

a/n: so this took me ages to write... tysm for the support, hope yall enjoy. Pt 1, Pt 2, Pt 3,

───────────୨ৎ───────────

You adjust the scarf around your neck, your breath curling in the frosty evening air as you stood by the crepe stand, glancing at the menu as the festive lights twinkled above, casting a warm glow over the crowd. People around you laughing, chatting, and enjoying the cold evening.

“Y/N!”

You turned quickly, a little startled, to see Satoru pushing his way through the crowd. His usual mischievous grin was on his face, and the familiar sight of him made your heart race, despite the years apart. He was dressed casually in a hoodie under a coat, looking as effortless as ever.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said, a little out of breath. “Got caught up in a crowd. What are you getting?”

You smiled, trying to play it cool. “Just deciding,” you said, looking up at the menu.

Without a second thought, Satoru reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his wallet. “I’ll get it for you,” he said, giving you thats tupid grin you kenw all too well.

You hesitated. “Are you sure? I can pay for my own—”

“Nah, I insist,” he said with a chuckle, tapping his card against the counter before you could protest further. “And besides, It's the least I can do after making you wait.”

the server handed him the crepes, Satoru passed you your order, and you both stepped away from the booth, the rich scent of the crepes wafting in the air.

As you wandered through the festival, you both chatted about your lives, sharing stories of what you’d been up to since high school. But it wasn’t long before Satoru glanced over at the towering, neon-lit roller coaster nearby, and a mischievous grin spread across his face.

“So,” he said, voice dripping with teasing energy, “are you ready for the ride of your life?”

You followed his gaze to the terrifying, twisting roller coaster. “You mean the ride of your life,” you shot back, raising an eyebrow. “You know I’m not about to get on that death trap.”

He raised his hands in mock surrender, laughing. “You’re a grown woman, and you’re scared of roller coasters?”

“I’m not scared,” you said quickly, though your stomach flipped at the thought. “I’m just… cautious. There’s a difference.”

Satoru chuckled. “Sure, sure. Cautious. Well, I’m not forcing you, but it couldve been fun.”

“Not happening,” you said firmly, taking a bite of your crepe. The sweet, warm flavor distracted you for a second, but the amusement in his eyes made you feel a little more exposed than you liked.

You spend the next hour wandering the festival, stopping at game booths and snack stands. At one point, Satoru wins you a small stuffed hello kitty, handing it to you with a crooked grin.

“For old times’ sake,” he says. “You’ve always liked hello kitty”

You stare at the plushie in your hands, something tight curling in your chest. “thank you”

“Of course.” His voice is quieter now, tinged with something you can’t quite name.

By the time the festival begins winding down, the lightness in the air has given way to a quieter, more intimate tension. Satoru suggests grabbing a drink somewhere, and you agree, like a giddy teenager in love.

The coffee shop is cozy, its walls lined with bookshelves and twinkling string lights. You wrap your hands around your mug of hot chocolate, letting the warmth seep into your fingers as you glance at Satoru across the table. He’s stirring his drink with a small wooden stick, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips as his eyes meet yours.

“This is nice…” You pause, feeling a little flustered under his gaze. “I mean, the shop,” you quickly add.

He chuckles, looking around the room. “Yeah, it hasn’t changed much.”

The rich scent of chocolate fills the air as you lean in closer to inhale. “This chocolate smells amazing,” you say, closing your eyes for a moment to savor it.

Satoru nods, his gaze softening, though there’s a hesitation in his voice. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

You tighten your grip on the mug, the warmth grounding you. “I was a bit nervous, if I’m being honest. It’s been years.”

“Well, I’m glad you came,” he says with a genuine smile, and it feels like a quiet weight lifts from your chest.

For a moment, you just smile at each other, the quiet between you oddly comfortable.

“Do you remember the wedding invitation Shoko made for you in high school? The one she sent to everyone—including our teacher?”he asks suddenly, his grin widening.

You nearly choked on your hot chocolate , but you couldn’t stop the embarrassed laugh that slipped out. “How could I forget? That was… mortifying.”

Satoru smirked, clearly relishing in your discomfort. “I still can’t believe she did that. you got so red, i can remember you getting so embarrassed.”

“shut up,” you protested, though you couldn’t help but smile. “I thought I was going to die of embarrassment.”

He laughed, the sound making your chest tighten a little. “It was funny. Her photoshop skills needed a little work, but the effort was there.”

You shot him a playful glare. “God, don’t remind me. I’m sure she still has that picture.”

He shakes his head, the warmth in his eyes making your chest ache. “Those were good times.”

“They were,” you say softly, your smile fading slightly.

The laughter between you quiets, replaced by a lingering stillness. You trace the rim of your mug with your finger, unsure how to bridge the widening gap between lighthearted memories and the unspoken weight of the past.

Satoru seems to sense it too. He clears his throat and leans forward, resting his arms on the table. “So, uh… how long are you in town?”

“Just a few more days,” you say, meeting his gaze. “It’s weird being back after all this time.”

“I can imagine.” He hesitates, then adds, “Do you visit often?”

“Not really,” you admit. “I guess I just didn’t feel like there was much of a reason to.”

He nods slowly, his expression unreadable. “I get that.”

The conversation stalls again, and you feel your pulse quicken. You don’t know if it’s the quiet atmosphere or the way Satoru keeps looking at you like he wants to say something, but the tension is impossible to ignore.

“You ever think about high school?” he asks suddenly.

You blink, surprised by the question. “Sometimes,” you say carefully. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” he says, shrugging. “I guess I’ve just been thinking about it more lately. Seeing you again… it brings a lot back.”

You swallow, your hands tightening around your mug. “Like what?”

He hesitates, his eyes searching yours. “Like how easy it used to be. How much fun we had.” He pauses, his voice softening. “And how fast it all changed.”

Your chest tightens, and you look down at your drink, unable to hold his gaze any longer. “I didn’t mean for it to,” you say quietly.

“I know,” he says, his tone gentler now. “But it still did.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The noise of the coffee shop fades into the background, leaving only the sound of your breathing. The words hang between you, heavy and unspoken for so long.

Satoru breaks the silence. “I waited for you that night, you know.” His voice is soft, almost hesitant. “I thought maybe… maybe it meant something to you.”

Your heart twists painfully. “It did,” you whisper, your voice cracking. “I just… I didn’t know how to tell you.”

Satoru’s jaw clenches, and he runs a hand through his hair, his frustration evident. “I would’ve understood, Y/N. If you’d just said something—anything.”

“I know,” you say, your voice cracking. “I know I should’ve, but I didn’t know how. I thought… I thought it was better to just leave.”

“Better for who?” he asks, his voice rising slightly.

Your throat feels tight, but you force the words out. “I didn’t know. I thought it was better for you. Everything was happening so fast, and…” You hesitate, lowering your gaze. “You weren’t exactly talking to me much by then, either.”

His jaw tightens. “You didn’t come to the game.”

“I couldn’t,” you say quickly. “There was stuff going on at home. I wanted to go, I swear I did, but I didn’t think you’d care after how you started acting.”

His lips part, but no words come out. Instead, he lets out a sharp breath, raking a hand through his hair. “You think I didn’t care?” he says finally. “Y/N, I waited for you all night. Like an idiot, looking at the bleachers any chance I got.”

Your heart twists painfully. “I’m sorry,” you whisper.

But Satoru just stares at you, the years of unspoken feelings in his eyes, and for a moment, all you can hear is the beating of your own heart.

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